A/N: This first chapter are two 'after the credits' scenes, so to speak, for A Lesson in Domesticity.

Marvel After-the-Credits Scene One

"Looks like I came a little late to the party," Bruce said to Thor, looking around the press conference room. Most everyone was filing out. Thor slapped him on the back. Bruce really wished he wouldn't do that.

"Your assistance was, thankfully in this incident this morning, not required! As such, it was not required this evening for the press!" Thor said.

"Oh," Bruce said, a crease appearing in his brow in confusion. "Then why did you call me in?"

"I have a proposition for you, dear friend!" Thor boomed, guiding him with one giant hand into the hall. Jane and Darcy stood there, waiting, along with Clint and Natasha. "Jane and Natasha and Clint and Darcy and I all wish to go out! But I thought it would be better if you were here! And I thought, even better, if you and Darcy could be a pair for the evening!"

"What?" both Bruce and Darcy asked. Bruce asked calmly—a little too calmly, perhaps—and Darcy squawked.

"Yes, it is a fabulous idea! I always have the best of ideas! Will you join us, man-of-science-and-rage?" Thor asked. Bruce looked at Darcy. Darcy shrugged.

"Yeah I—I guess. Sounds…fun," Bruce said. Thor pounded him on the back again, so hard that Bruce had to catch his glasses as they went flying off his face. He really wished Thor wouldn't do that. Darcy took his arm.

"If you get handsy," she said, "I'll taze you." Bruce blinked back at her.

"That's probably not the best idea…" he said cautiously. She just raised an eyebrow and met his gaze.

"I. Will. Taze. You," she said, and then she walked off with the rest of the group as they all walked, laughing and chatting out of the Triskelion. Bruce just smiled as he caught up.

Actually, this could be even more fun than he'd expected.

After-the-Credits, Scene Two

They wouldn't say why. They wouldn't even say how. But he was dead and gone.

There had been so much he'd wanted to say, so much he'd needed to say. And now he'd never get to say it, not to anything but a headstone.

Harry swirled around the alcohol in his glass. He'd been left with a mess, too. Oscorp stock was plummeting as the Avengers announced that it was Oscorp tech that caused the Goblin, and Oscorp tech that dispersed the lizard serum. It would be a miracle if Harry avoided the company going bankrupt.

Harry drank the glass, poured another.

He'd called Peter. Who else would he call? But Peter was in the hospital. Appendicitis, Tony Stark had told him briskly when he'd picked up Peter's phone. Besides, Harry had made a mess of all that, too.

That was all the Osborns were good at it would seem. Making messes for other people to clean up.

Harry drained the second glass. Poured another.

The Avengers were all to blame for this. He even knew that they had something to do with his father's death. It had been S.H.I.E.L.D. who called him, after all. What else could that mean? And yet his father's death was brushed under the rug while the news gossiped about Captain America and Iron Man being married. As if that mattered. They couldn't just take his life, they had to take his legacy, too, and they even had to take his death's spotlight. They took everything from him, and everything from Harry, too.

Harry drained his third glass and got up, with no real aim or knowledge of where he was going. He stopped when he caught sight of the mirror. Rumpled shirt, mussed hair, red eyes, and an alcohol stain on his jacket. He could practically hear his father's scathing voice in his head. You're a mess, Harry.

"Harry." He heard.

But of course, it was all just in his head.

"Harry."

Or so he thought.