"Can't blame you," he answers, shrugging a shoulder as he leans against the bench and casually drapes an arm over the back with an exaggerated stretch. "I'm pretty fucking fantastic, if you hadn't already noticed, I think I'd like working for me, too."

Coop's turned to teasing to ease any tension, to squash any sense of discomfort or uncertainty or even suspicion April might have toward him now that he knows more of the truth about her past. She doesn't need to give him the gory details if she doesn't want to, and he'll never ask for them because they're her stories to tell and her choice of whether she wants to talk about them or not; but what he says remains true, she's his friend, and Coop would do anything for the people he cares about.

"And hell, I don't know for sure that you didn't. You could be like, I don't know. Mable Cross. June Chandler. Avril Lavgine. What do I know? Going to need some receipts here, my friend, I probably should have demanded a social security card before hiring you."