Title: The Return of the Prodigal Father
Author: Normandie_M
E-Mail: filia_85@yahoo.com.au
Rating: PG? PG-13
Summary: Norman considers his son for a moment or two.
A/N: This is set after Harry tells Norman about MJ and Peter. Yes, that's about it. Credit to The Verve. The beginning of 'Bittersweet Symphony' inspired the ending of this fic a little. ': :' denotes the Goblin talking, and apologies if I got the colour of Harry's eyes wrong. They looked brown to me. ^^;
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"But......I can't...."
I moaned, staring at the visage in the mirror that matched me in all ways but one. He was poisoning my mind.
: : This is your only option, Normy, and you know it! If the little Spider will not join you, then your son must.: :
I struggled to my feet, slumping into the well-worn chair that faced my reflection. I could feel the cold sweat forming on my palms and forehead.
"I-I-I will not allow my Son to be corrupted by this." I protested.
My reflection looked back at me, the cackling noise grating on my senses.
: : What a contradiction, Normy! Ha, you don't want your son corrupted. I think that's too late. Your parenting skills have seen to that: :
I could see myself flinch. The Goblin had taunted me in many ways, but he had never had a go at me about Harry. For a brief moment, I cast my mind back into the mere shadows of the past.
"Mr Osborn.....you have a son."
"Thankyou-"
"There's something else, Mr Osborn....it's about your wife. I'm afraid she's passed away...."
An heir, at the price of the one person who truly understood me. This one, tiny child (Emily lived long enough to name him Harry), who stared at the world with the very brown eyes that she'd possessed, had taken away Emily, who'd loved me, supported me, wanted me.
I remember when I first held him in my arms. It was like holding an expensive porcelain doll. One violent feeling and it would smash into pieces. I also remember the nurse looking at me with a sympathetic smile and expectant eyes. I knew she wanted to know what I thought. I was almost inclined not to answer, but for the sake of politeness, I began to rack my mind for an answer. And then I looked at my son, at his brown eyes and those perfectly-formed fingers that were waving and stretching up towards me.
"He's so........small."
I'd meant to say perfect.
Really.
Eighteen years later, I still can't find the right words. I feel like someone who starts reading a book in the middle instead of the beginning. I suspect while I was present in physical form during the first decade or so of Harry's life, my mind was really elsewhere. Yes, I did all the things a Father would normally do. I read to him, took him out to his favourite resteraunt, even played with him when I had the time. However, I self conciously knew that my heart was not in it. And it hurt to concede that.
I love my Son. I don't know how, but I do.
I want the best for him. Nothing less than the best for Harold Osborn. When he returned for holidays, I began to see the resemblances. He's nearly inherited all his traits from me. Facial structure, the head of thick auburn hair, the occasional flashes of moodiness. Except for two things: the dark brown eyes of his Mother, and the evident sensitivity.
I know he wants to impress me. He wants me to be happy. Is that what a Father-Son relationship is about?
I kept tabs on his social life at his schools, girlfriends and such. Harry has spoken of previous girlfriends to me, but I never had the honour of meeting them. Mary-Jane Watson was the first one I've met. Yes, she was beautiful and kind, but in the few moments that I was in her presence, I could not mistake the way she looked at Peter Parker, perhaps because Emily used to look at me that way before we were married.
It's unfair that Peter will have the love of this woman and the adoration of the city as Spider-Man. Harry has tried so hard, and I feel almost assured that he will be worthy of continuing my legacy when I am but mere dust. However, people like Peter stand in the way. Truly, he's a brilliant boy and if things were different, he could've been the one who inherited Oscorp.
However, in this situation, things cannot continue like this. The Goblin is right, no matter how I may argue it. Harry must be avenged....and learn.
The Goblin's cackles and the sound of my son's voice snap me out of my reverie.
Finally, I say "Harry......must be avenged."
My persona chuckles softly, before answering "Hell yeah...."
Then, realizing that I am needed elsewhere, he settles down and I am able to leave the room without having to crawl and stumble as I have before. I come out into the corridor and lean heavily on the banister. There, on the landing, my son stands, a broken expression shading his features.
"What is it?" I ask, trying not to sound weary.
He spreads his arms out in a gesture of apology. What has he to apologise for?
"You were right about MJ...."
Oh.
"You were right about everything. She's in love with Peter."
I was right. "Parker?" I murmur.
He assents, and I can't help but ask "And how does he feel about her?"
I watch as Harry begins to climb the second flight of stairs, talking as he goes about how Parker's loved her since the fourth grade. How touching. And he tries to deny it. Yes, ever the damned hero. Being all noble and honest and sincere.....I feel sick to the stomach thinking about it. I shake my head as Harry looks up at me sadly, and more than ever, I feel a strong surge of Fatherly love for him. The pain of a broken heart, which I suffered as much he did, so many years ago at his expense.
"I'm so sorry," I say, standing at the top of the stairs. A low sigh escapes me, and I finally find myself able to make some admissions.
"I haven't always been there for you, have I?"
I can see the hesitation in Harry's face. He wants to say so. "Well....you're busy. You're an important man.....I understand."
Did he have any choice?
"That's no excuse," I reply, slowly moving down the stairs "but I'm proud of you, and I've lost sight of that somewhere, but I'm going to make it up to you Harry. I'm going to rectify......certain inequities."
I beckon him forward, and take him in my arms. I've never felt so stable or unstable in my life. For a fleeting moment I think I can feel his sad, angry tears on my shoulder. He holds onto me tighter, as if embracing someone he hasn't seen in years. And he is.
This is the return of the Prodigal Father, asking for forgiveness and mercy.
Author: Normandie_M
E-Mail: filia_85@yahoo.com.au
Rating: PG? PG-13
Summary: Norman considers his son for a moment or two.
A/N: This is set after Harry tells Norman about MJ and Peter. Yes, that's about it. Credit to The Verve. The beginning of 'Bittersweet Symphony' inspired the ending of this fic a little. ': :' denotes the Goblin talking, and apologies if I got the colour of Harry's eyes wrong. They looked brown to me. ^^;
************************************************************************************************
"But......I can't...."
I moaned, staring at the visage in the mirror that matched me in all ways but one. He was poisoning my mind.
: : This is your only option, Normy, and you know it! If the little Spider will not join you, then your son must.: :
I struggled to my feet, slumping into the well-worn chair that faced my reflection. I could feel the cold sweat forming on my palms and forehead.
"I-I-I will not allow my Son to be corrupted by this." I protested.
My reflection looked back at me, the cackling noise grating on my senses.
: : What a contradiction, Normy! Ha, you don't want your son corrupted. I think that's too late. Your parenting skills have seen to that: :
I could see myself flinch. The Goblin had taunted me in many ways, but he had never had a go at me about Harry. For a brief moment, I cast my mind back into the mere shadows of the past.
"Mr Osborn.....you have a son."
"Thankyou-"
"There's something else, Mr Osborn....it's about your wife. I'm afraid she's passed away...."
An heir, at the price of the one person who truly understood me. This one, tiny child (Emily lived long enough to name him Harry), who stared at the world with the very brown eyes that she'd possessed, had taken away Emily, who'd loved me, supported me, wanted me.
I remember when I first held him in my arms. It was like holding an expensive porcelain doll. One violent feeling and it would smash into pieces. I also remember the nurse looking at me with a sympathetic smile and expectant eyes. I knew she wanted to know what I thought. I was almost inclined not to answer, but for the sake of politeness, I began to rack my mind for an answer. And then I looked at my son, at his brown eyes and those perfectly-formed fingers that were waving and stretching up towards me.
"He's so........small."
I'd meant to say perfect.
Really.
Eighteen years later, I still can't find the right words. I feel like someone who starts reading a book in the middle instead of the beginning. I suspect while I was present in physical form during the first decade or so of Harry's life, my mind was really elsewhere. Yes, I did all the things a Father would normally do. I read to him, took him out to his favourite resteraunt, even played with him when I had the time. However, I self conciously knew that my heart was not in it. And it hurt to concede that.
I love my Son. I don't know how, but I do.
I want the best for him. Nothing less than the best for Harold Osborn. When he returned for holidays, I began to see the resemblances. He's nearly inherited all his traits from me. Facial structure, the head of thick auburn hair, the occasional flashes of moodiness. Except for two things: the dark brown eyes of his Mother, and the evident sensitivity.
I know he wants to impress me. He wants me to be happy. Is that what a Father-Son relationship is about?
I kept tabs on his social life at his schools, girlfriends and such. Harry has spoken of previous girlfriends to me, but I never had the honour of meeting them. Mary-Jane Watson was the first one I've met. Yes, she was beautiful and kind, but in the few moments that I was in her presence, I could not mistake the way she looked at Peter Parker, perhaps because Emily used to look at me that way before we were married.
It's unfair that Peter will have the love of this woman and the adoration of the city as Spider-Man. Harry has tried so hard, and I feel almost assured that he will be worthy of continuing my legacy when I am but mere dust. However, people like Peter stand in the way. Truly, he's a brilliant boy and if things were different, he could've been the one who inherited Oscorp.
However, in this situation, things cannot continue like this. The Goblin is right, no matter how I may argue it. Harry must be avenged....and learn.
The Goblin's cackles and the sound of my son's voice snap me out of my reverie.
Finally, I say "Harry......must be avenged."
My persona chuckles softly, before answering "Hell yeah...."
Then, realizing that I am needed elsewhere, he settles down and I am able to leave the room without having to crawl and stumble as I have before. I come out into the corridor and lean heavily on the banister. There, on the landing, my son stands, a broken expression shading his features.
"What is it?" I ask, trying not to sound weary.
He spreads his arms out in a gesture of apology. What has he to apologise for?
"You were right about MJ...."
Oh.
"You were right about everything. She's in love with Peter."
I was right. "Parker?" I murmur.
He assents, and I can't help but ask "And how does he feel about her?"
I watch as Harry begins to climb the second flight of stairs, talking as he goes about how Parker's loved her since the fourth grade. How touching. And he tries to deny it. Yes, ever the damned hero. Being all noble and honest and sincere.....I feel sick to the stomach thinking about it. I shake my head as Harry looks up at me sadly, and more than ever, I feel a strong surge of Fatherly love for him. The pain of a broken heart, which I suffered as much he did, so many years ago at his expense.
"I'm so sorry," I say, standing at the top of the stairs. A low sigh escapes me, and I finally find myself able to make some admissions.
"I haven't always been there for you, have I?"
I can see the hesitation in Harry's face. He wants to say so. "Well....you're busy. You're an important man.....I understand."
Did he have any choice?
"That's no excuse," I reply, slowly moving down the stairs "but I'm proud of you, and I've lost sight of that somewhere, but I'm going to make it up to you Harry. I'm going to rectify......certain inequities."
I beckon him forward, and take him in my arms. I've never felt so stable or unstable in my life. For a fleeting moment I think I can feel his sad, angry tears on my shoulder. He holds onto me tighter, as if embracing someone he hasn't seen in years. And he is.
This is the return of the Prodigal Father, asking for forgiveness and mercy.