When he's really drunk, a ghost twists out of thin air and calls himself Harry. "I would tell you sobering up helps you live longer, but that would be boring."
The first time Tony gets drunk enough to see Harry, he is alone. Well, excluding those models in his bedroom but he's not sober enough to remember, so he's alone. He is reaching up for another glass when his clumsy movements knocks into the ground, and he watches it shatter across the wooden floor. To clean or not to clean.
"Jarvis?" Tony starts, picking his bare feet off the floor to avoid the shards, and he is aware he looks like an idiot, but he figures all drunk people do and it's not like anyone's here to watch. Something sounds next to him, like shoes crushing glass. Jarvis is notably silent. Another malfunction, wonderful. A small part of him is worried, but there is a bigger part that really couldn't give a shit.
"You should have booked an appointment," Tony says drily, turning to his uninvited guest, "I'm a busy guy." A man/boy?- a man is staring blankly at him. Green eyes examine Tony's disheveled state, the glass beneath his shoes, and raises an eyebrow.
"Clearly," the man says, voice clear and sharp. Tony shrinks back, blinks rapidly as the voice seems to ring in his ears.
"British," Tony scoffs, and the man says nothing as he scrapes the glass with his shoe under the couch. Tony squints his eyes at the man, vision wavering for a few moments. He tries to say "What do you want" and "How did you get in here" at the same moment and the only thing that gets out is "How you want it". Which suspiciously sounds like something a prostitute would say, Tony realizes several seconds later, and hurries to correct himself.
But the man just looks bored, seeming not to hear the words at all, and scrutinizes Tony carefully. The light messes with the sharp angles of his face, and it makes him look vaguely menacing. Tony clears his throat, ignores the burn of alcohol in his veins, and straightens.
"I don't know how it is in your country, mate," Tony says, attempting an accent and only making a fool of himself, "but here, we respect each others' privacy, and don't budge into people's home."
The man blinks slowly.
"How'd you even get in?" Tony asks, frowning.
"The front door," is the dry answer, and he stands up. Tony is still a little slow so when he finally catches up the man is already in the kitchen, bottles clinking and clapping and all those sounds that glass can make and Tony protests.
"Hey, that's some quality stuff you're taking there!" Forgetting that all the alcohol was actually in the mini-bar, and stumbling into the kitchen island.
"Damn," he hisses, "Stubbed a toe."
"A very painful feeling, I'm sure," the man drawls, and slides a glass of something across the counter. Tony glares at it suspiciously then at the man.
"I don't like getting gifts from strangers," Tony says, and the man rolls his eyes. Tony watches how the messy dark hair seems to bounce as the man shakes his head at Tony. He snaps his attention back to the man when he snaps his fingers.
"My name's Harry. Now drink, Mr. Stark, or we won't be able to talk much longer." Tony didn't really know what to make of that. Was it a threat or was Harry gonna be so hurt Tony didn't want to drink he'd leave? Both disturbing scenarios.
"Who says I want to keep talking?" Tony says, but downs the drink anyways. He coughs and puts the glass down with a scowl.
"That's not my drink," Tony says, blinking rapidly when the world spins and straightens itself, before staring up at Harry. The man looks amused.
"I didn't drug it," Harry says, and Tony sighs.
"Too bad," Tony says, and sits down on a stool, "or you'd have an excuse about why it tastes like horseshit." Harry hums vaguely.
Tony takes some minutes to gather his thoughts into something coherent. "Care to explain why you're here again?"
"Because I want to be," Harry shrugs, "you are a very interesting character, Stark, from what the papers say."
"The paper says a lot of things," Tony replies, smirks. "I can't say you're not the first big fan to go this far though."
"I'm sure you can't," Harry retorts and reaches across the counter to wrap his fingers tightly around Tony's wrist. Er, okay, not very weird at all. Tony was used to attention, but they knew enough not to touch him.
"Look, man," Tony says, "this is awkward, but I'm-"
But Harry has already dropped his hand, looking disinterested again. Tony frowns. That wasn't strange either. His mind starts to run. He never saw Harry enter the room, or the building, and Harry was weird. Really weird. And Tony was drunk, definitely drunk.
"Hallucinations," Tony says, and Harry tilts his head to the side curiously. He points an accusing finger at the man, glaring.
"You're a hallucination," Tony says, and Harry doesn't refute him. He's right.
"What they says about me is mildly disturbing," Tony groans, and shakes his head, moving back to the living room to collapse on the couch. He doesn't hear Harry following him (he's not really hearing anything real, is he) but when he looks up green eyes stare down at him from the back of the couch.
"Personal space," Tony drawls, "ever heard of it?"
"Well I'm a part of you," Harry says, "so I don't reckon so."
"That doesn't even make sense now," Tony groans, and sighs. Sometimes, he wonders if getting drunk is worth it. Ah, who is he kidding. It's worth it ten times over. Something dark twinkles in Harry's eyes, and Tony's headache starts to throb harder. His eyes dull a few seconds later, and his image starts to blur, fraying at the edges.
"What's wrong with you," Tony says, leaning back into the couch as Harry's form starts to distort.
"Sober," Harry says, referring to Tony and the billionaire frowns, smiles, frowns.
"Great," Tony says to the empty air, and falls asleep.
He wakes up to Pepper's face hovering over his own, scowling lightly.
"Ah, exactly what I love waking up to."
Pepper rolls her eyes and pops a breath mint into his mouth, and he almost chokes. She offers a thin smile, and helps him stand up.
"We're already running a little late, Mr. Stark, as usual, so why don't you quickly change into something suitable and we'll be on our way, shall we?"
Tony blinks as he's shoved politely into his bedroom. What was the meeting again? As he moves to the closet he catches the sight of ruffled bedsheets, like someone was sleeping there last night. Well, then why wasn't he?
"Hey, Pepper," he calls out, and hears his assistant pause outside his door.
"Yes?" she demands when he doesn't continue.
"Why was I sleeping on the couch?"
"Ask the two models that were in your bed, Mr. Stark," Pepper sighs, and moves away from the door when her phone rings. "Yes, yes, he'll be there," he hears and hurries before Pepper gets irritated.
When he steps out, Pepper straightens his suit quickly and wrinkles her nose. "I'm surprised you don't have a massive hangover."
"Me too," Tony answers and watches as Pepper walks over to the scattered items near the door. She picks up a bottle of cheap perfume and sniffs it tentatively.
"It'll have to do," she says and moves to spray it over him.
"Great, now they know I'm a carefree playboy instead of a raging alcoholic."
"Not with the latest rumor going around," Pepper states lightly, and Tony immediately picks up on it.
"What was that?"
Pepper ushers him out the door, closing and locking the door behind them. Waves over the car.
"Pepper?"
He remembers Harry right in the middle of the interview. Some bald guy is going on and on about how the merging will help both companies, though Tony already knows the answer. He won't. He knows their type, and a few sales lost is nothing. He is holding a folder up to his face, (very subtle, mind you) and was just trying to catch some rest when the feeling of cold fingers wrapping around his wrist comes up.
He jolts up, and the table slams against his knees. Folders slide, people exclaim, the bald man's speech stops. Tony takes off the manila of papers off his face, and stands up, clapping slowly.
"Bravo! Amazing speech. Unfortunately, I'm going to have to say no to any and all suggestions." He lets the information process, before making a show of bowing and leaves the council.
"Mr. Stark!" Pepper catches up to him, looking flustered. A good look on her.
"Don't worry, Pepper. I was going to say no even if I was listening."
"You weren't listening? Never mind that. Even if you were going to reject them, you shouldn't have made such a rude exit. Connections are just as important assets as skills in business, Mr. Stark. Surely, you knew that."
Tony pauses and glances at Pepper. "Where were you?"
"Right next to you," Pepper hisses, "and I thought you were dozing off. I was going to talk for you, or at least wake you up before whispering your lines."
"Oh, Miss Potts, what would I do without you?"
"The same thing, clearly," Pepper says, frowning. She takes a deep breath before calming.
"Apologies," she says, and doesn't mean it. "I just don't want more bad publicity for you, what with the sexuality scandal."
"Which one is that?" Tony frowns.
Pepper looks uncomfortable. "It doesn't matter. It's cleared up now. Doesn't make it any better, but at least it's true this time."
"Right," Tony drawls, and rubs his wrist absent-mindedly.
"Are you hurt?" Pepper asks, noticing the movement.
"Hm? No, this is nothing. Just a dream, that's all." Pepper doesn't look convinced, but doesn't press. Flashes of dark eyes and sharp faces makes him falter before continuing to the car. If Pepper notices, she doesn't mention it.
Tony wanes off the alcohol for a while. (Of course, when he comes back he meets Harry in his first try, but he doesn't know that).
Note: The bad thing about an awesome witty character is you're not as witty as them. This fic isn't really friendship with Harry, but I didn't really have anything else to use. The only knowledge I have of drunkenness is from crappy chickflicks, so ignoring that, thoughts?