Linnet's Note: First Spidey fic that I've ever written, and it's slightly MJ/Harry. Well, one sided, at least, but still. A good dose of Strawberry Pie can't hurt anyone, right? I couldn't stand seeing Harry looking all happy at the wedding, it was weird. So this is right before.
Disclaimer: Nope. No own.
Damn lucky man, Harry thought bitterly, fixing his green bow tie. Astronaut, rich dad...
rich dad that is alive, and Mary Jane.
He had gotten the invitation two weeks ago-the pretty boy was marrying his MJ. John Jameson, Harry snorted, what a name. A bit rushed, he thought, pouring himself a drink. He'd need a few more before the wedding, he was sure.
It had been a very nice, very fancy invitation. In calligraphy, and everything. Harry was sure that printing out God only knows how many invitations would cost more than the wedding itself, probably. The shame was that the Jamesons would be able to actually afford it.
I'm happy for them. Harry told himself firmly, taking a long drink from the wine. I'm happy, and without the Daily Bugle, I'll loose Oscorp. He paused, and then thought, And I'll Mary Jane will probably stop talking to me. It's not like we talk anyway.
Another long drink. She'll look stunning in the dress, I'm sure.
Another drink. Delicious wine. Thank God I'm not the best man.
An even longer drink. Where was this stuff from? Is Pete coming? Hope not.
He raised the glass to his lips again, and paused. What the hell did he think he was doing? Getting himself drunk for Mary Jane's wedding?
Yes.
No, Harry thought, he wasn't. He was just making the whole experience more bearable.
Why do I have to make it more bearable? She's my best friend, and we didn't want to be anything more.
Harry looked into the floor length mirror.
Yes. We did, and then dad had to go a screw the whole thing up and now I'm going to my ex-girlfriend's wedding.
He straightened his tie again. Damn thing wouldn't stay on straight.
And the catch is that I'm not the one waiting for her at the altar. It's some boy scout with no life and no responsibilities and a pretty girl. And I'm the ex-boyfriend in the audience that isn't even given the honor of sitting in the front row.
Life hadn't been easy for Harry Osborn, and everyone knew that. But this? This was going just a bit too far.
Wonder where they're honeymooning? Paris, Italy, France? The moon? He gave his reflection a sarcastic smile at this. If it were me, we'd go wherever she wanted.
He eyed the wine again, then shook his head and turned back to the mirror.
She'd be treated like a queen, with me. Then again, she will be with the Jameson boy.
Harry muffled a curse as the tie came loose again. With a sigh, he just unbuttoned the top of his shirt and threw the thing off.
He studied his reflection in the mirror. Same brown hair, same brown eyes, same face, same body, same man.
Am I not good enough for her? I have money.
Harry sighed, looking at the portrait of his father on the wall next to him.
That's it, isn't it? That's what ruined Otto. And my father. The power, the money. He forgot how to see, didn't he?
He knew that he'd have to go to the wedding. And the reception after. Maybe he'd ask for a dance? No, because then little Johnny would be all overprotective.
Mary Jane Jameson.
Harry looked at the clock, wondering why he thought that Mary Jane Osborn would sound better.
Fifteen minutes before I need to leave. Damn.
He turned to look at the bottle of wine that was sitting on the table. He was turning into his father-drinking away his troubles in some wine or a strong martini. In disgust, Harry stood, grabbed the bottle, opened the nearest window, and poured it all out.
She's probably in the dress right now, excited for the most important day of her life.
He stared at his reflection again, taking in his bedraggled appearance.
She probably looks even more beautiful than usual. Jameson will have his breath knocked out of his scrawny little body when he sees her.
Harry sighed again and turned to the portrait on the wall, staring at his father's frozen, smirking face accusingly.
"This is all your fault, you know," He said loudly. His voice was bitter, and it startled him. His head turned to the mirror again, and for once he was pleased that he didn't look like his father. "All your damn fault."
He was not like his father, and he never would be. He wouldn't drown his troubles, he wouldn't let the money-or, currently, lack thereof-go to his head. he wouldn't loose control like his father, because he was not his father.
With this thought, Harry ran a hand through his neatly fixed hair and walked to the kitchen, in search of the martini cooler he had bought last week.