Author's Note: At long last, it's here: The Aftermath – Overhauled. I know I owe you all an explanation for the long delay, so long story short. When I first started writing the story, it was at 2 a.m. after a long day. I finished the first chapter knowing it was bad, but I was too sleep-deprived to care and I just posted it without any proofreading. The second and third chapters were produced in a similar manner, both products of my half-asleep brain. Last year, I finally couldn't stand my own shitty writing and decided to give the whole story an overhaul.
I'm not saying the overhauled version's writing is that good, but at least it's better than the original. I've rewritten most of Chapters 1 – 3, but the "rewriting" is in the spirit of "extensive beta'ing".
Simply put, here's what has changed: Wording, Dialogues, Descriptions, etc.
And here's what hasn't changed: Plot, Characters, Events, Developments, etc.
In other words, if you've read the older version: you don't have to read the new Chapters 1 – 3 since the plot is exactly the same as before; but if you're interested in more humor and (relatively) better writing, then I recommend reading the new version of the first three chapters as well.
Sorry for the long wait, dear readers! With Chapters 1 - 3 cleaned up, the fic can finally move forward!
Thank you all for your patience and support! I love you guys!
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Hope you enjoy this chapter!
Thank you, Twisted Ingenue, PoisonGirl125, MaryxSKEETSKEET, IcePrincess87, Tuni-chan, Strike the Dirge, Lord Loveless, mattson718, Schattentaenzerin, blackhearteddistruction, canedtweety, Juniour, MarvelGirl52, Satji, Shadowspliced and All of My Readers!
-:-
The Aftermath
Chapter 3
In Which Peter Gains Some Insight into Harry's Life
It was a good thing Harry still slept in his old room even after he took over the mansion, or Peter would've had a hard (and spooky) time locating him. Upon reaching his friend's room, Peter paused. Judging from the light and movements on the other side of the door, Harry was still awake. He thanked God for being such a good god and took a deep breath. He knocked on the door carefully, ready to swallow his pride and ask for the impossible.
Harry opened the door promptly like he already knew he was there and regarded him impatiently.
"Yes?"
"I was just wondering…" Peter swallowed, "This is gonna sound weird, but…I…well…"
Realization emerged in Harry's one remaining eye and his mouth curled into a cold smile. "Well, what do you know, Spider-Man's still afraid of a guestroom."
"Of course not! I just thought you might need a bodyguard." That was just sad; Peter didn't even believe it himself.
"Need a bodyguard?" Harry repeated with a mocking half-smile, "Me? He who almost killed Spider-Man?"
"But you are the CEO of Os –"
"Yes, a dying company, all thanks to you."
"Okay, so maybe your rivals wouldn't want to assassinate you, but what about the shareholders? They look pretty pissed to me." Oh. Dear. God. Did he just say that? It was even lamer than before.
"And my death would only hurt the stock price even more, which is something anyone with common sense knows."
Was it just him or did Harry just say he didn't have common sense? What a douche.
"The shareholders might want you to die so they could have a new CEO!"
Harry sighed and almost rolled his eyes. "Peter, this is Wall Street we're talking about. Things like that don't happen here. They may want to get rid of me, but actually assassinate me?" Harry smiled patronizingly, "Please."
Peter wanted to remind him that exceptions do happen, so he opened his mouth –
"And I doubt any assassin would be able to leave this place alive should they try."
Peter opened his mouth, wanting to say he shouldn't kill people so casually –
"And I don't care about your Life Is Sacred bullshit."
How did he do that?
"And for your information, I can seemingly read your mind because you are the single most predictable being I've ever –"
"Stop assuming what I'm going to say!" Peter shouted in frustration.
"Buddy, I don't assume," said Harry dryly, "I know."
Peter wanted to tell him that his arrogance was appalling –
"Anyway, I don't need a bodyguard. End of discussion. Good night."
Peter knew the critical moment had come when Harry started closing the bedroom door. As he watched his entrance to a ghost-free night get narrower and narrower in slow-motion, he slammed a hand against the door just in time to keep it open, "Wait!"
Harry stopped his movement and looked at him, not surprised whatsoever. "What?"
Peter forced himself to swallow his pride like he originally planned, "You're right. I'm scared. You win. Happy now?"
Harry just smiled as if this was all some sort of entertainment to him. "Scared? No…you?"
"Yes!" Peter began losing his temper, "I just want to sleep on your floor, okay?"
To his frustration, Harry chuckled.
"Spiders have no spine, do they?" his friend asked tauntingly.
It was Peter's turn to narrow his eyes; he swore if Harry mocked him one more time he would punch him so hard that his ancestors would –
"I suppose I could tolerate your existence on my floor for one night."
What?
"But you just said –"
"Yeah, I mocked you. Got a problem with that?"
Peter opened his mouth, finally ready with a comeback –
"And no, I don't care if my mocking makes you ungrateful, 'cause the satisfaction I get is priceless."
Peter closed his mouth grudgingly. He wanted to say something, anything, to get back at Harry, but he eventually decided against it. He was too tired and he didn't want to give Harry any incentive to kick him out after all the mocking he'd been through.
Miraculously, Harry didn't make any more charming comments. He just stepped back and let Peter enter his bedroom.
Harry's room was just like any other room in the mansion: clean, spacious and totally unimaginative. Given Harry's equally unimaginative naming system, Peter wasn't really surprised. Come on, Crossbow-1? Seriously.
Peter often wondered if the Osborns bought the furniture all at once or Norman Osborn just had a thing for consistently spooky furniture.
"There's a spare mattress in the closet," said Harry noncommittally.
Peter felt a ray of sunshine in his otherwise dark, miserable life. It was comforting to know his friend still wanted him to be as comfortable as possible, which was a very good sign for their hopefully repairable friendship.
He joked playfully, "So you do care!"
"On second thought,"
Peter mentally bitch-slapped himself. Parker, you IDIOT!
He'd thought he was being funny, but apparently Harry begged to differ.
"Spiders like you only deserve the cold, hard floor, right?"
"Uh…"
"It's settled, then." Harry gave him the cold shoulders and got into bed, not sparing him a single glance.
Peter rolled his eyes when he saw Harry still kept the cold shoulders thing up even after lying down and getting comfortable. That's just plain chil –
"It's not childish – I simply prefer not to look at a filth pile when I try to get some sleep."
Still sounds childish to me. Peter snorted.
"Harry?"
"What?" Still the cold shoulders.
"Could I at least have a…pillow and blanket?"
"Closet."
"Okay," Peter opened the closet and that was when he saw it: the most glorious, comfortable-looking, beautiful mattress he'd ever seen.
"Harry?"
"What?"
"You sure I can't have the mattress?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
"Oh. Okay…" Peter pulled out the huge pillow and blanket, and he brought them to the floor beside Harry's bed.
As he lay down on the cold, hard floor, he had an idea.
"Harry?"
"WHAT?"
"Do you have a sleeping bag that I can borrow?"
"That would defeat the purpose now, wouldn't it?"
"Fine, fine. Way to go, Harry, have fun torturing your friendly neighborhood Peter Parker."
"I will."
Peter rolled his eyes and surrendered to his cold, hard fate. After all, sleeping safely on the cold, hard floor still beat sleeping in the comfortable bed of a haunted guestroom.
"Harry?"
Harry sat up all of a sudden and stared at him with one widened bloodshot eye that only belonged in a horror movie.
"WHAT DO YOU HAVE AGAINST THE IDEA OF SLEEPING?"
Peter gulped. Contrary to popular belief, Spider-Man wasn't undaunted by horror movies. "I-I-I was just wondering if you want me to turn-turn-turn off the lights for you!"
Harry didn't say anything. His bloodshot eye was still horror movie material, but it was somewhat softened. He just regarded Peter silently, his face unreadable.
After Peter was stared at for twenty-seven seconds – counted it – Harry's face finally looked kind of friendly.
"Thanks,"
Peter inwardly sighed in relief. If Manhattan's CEOs were all unpredictable and cranky like Harry, then it was a miracle Manhattan hadn't blown itself up yet.
"No problem…" Peter stood up and switched off the lights.
Harry lay back down and closed his eyes again. Peter sat down on the cold, hard floor, painfully aware of just how cold and hard the floor could be.
"Harry?"
Harry heaved a long sigh. "What?"
"Can I have your sleeping bag?"
There was silence for a short while, and then Harry sighed again and said tiredly: "Take the mattress."
Peter couldn't be more grateful to hear that.
-:-
The next morning Peter woke up rested and content. He couldn't remember the last time he slept so well, all thanks to the one wonderful entity that occupied this residence – the Osborn Mansion Air Conditioning System.
Maybe he should call it OMACS. Or Omacs, just to make it more human. He sighed out of sheer appreciation.
Then Peter noticed he was alone. Harry's bed was empty and somebody, presumably Harry himself, had already made the bed. He glanced at the clock and realized in horror that it was almost noon. But then he remembered it was Saturday and he had no classes to be late for.
Still, staying in bed until noon made Peter feel a little guilty. Maybe that had something to do with him not fulfilling his Spider-Man duty. Ah well, even superheroes needed to take a break every once in a while.
Peter got up and stretched his arms in the warm winter sun. It was nice waking up in a clean room, maybe he should try making his own (future) apartment less sloppy for a change.
Taking his time returning the pillow, blanket and mattress back to the closet, Peter absently wondered if Harry was having some mind-numbing meeting again. Glad that he was not Harry Osborn, he returned to the guestroom to change.
-:-
"Good morning, Mr. Parker."
"Hi, Bernard!" Peter replied cheerfully as he was indeed in a cheerful mood.
The brunch was excellent and he absentmindedly considered if he should go on a patrol on this lazy Saturday afternoon. Then he noticed the living crossbow.
"Hi….Charlie…" He greeted cautiously. Charlie was staring at him in that creepy fashion again, as if he'd just found his lunch. Jesus, did his bolt just twitch?
"Look, I don't know what's going on in that mantis head of yours, but scaring me on a daily basis is not funny –"
The crossbow fired again.
And Peter was, unsurprisingly, on the ceiling again. To his annoyance, Charlie was faking it again.
The robot giggled in that weird robot way, and Peter rolled his eyes and jumped down from the ceiling.
"Ha ha, very funny, Charlie, keep doing that and you just might win the Sickest Robot Sidekick Award."
Charlie just kept on giggling and rolled away, all chipper and giggly.
Peter snorted, "Robots…"
"Mr. Parker,"
Peter turned around to face Bernard.
"Mr. Osborn asked me to give you this," Bernard produced a folded piece of paper from his suit pocket and handed it to Peter politely.
Peter took it and thanked the old butler before unfolding it to read:
Peter,
I'm having meetings all day, so DON'T call me unless the world is going to explode. On second thought, don't call me EVEN IF the world is going to explode. And kindly don't touch anything unless you ask Bernard first.
Harry
"Well, isn't that a dandy way to greet someone on his Saturday," Peter rolled his eyes and put the piece of paper into his pocket. "As if I'd break anything valuable –"
Crash!
He'd knocked over an expensive-looking vase. As the antique fell on the floor, it shattered into a million little pieces right in front of him.
"…Never mind."
-:-
After Bernard had reassured him, repeatedly, that the Vase Incident was nothing to worry about ("And no, Mr. Osborn won't kill you for that."), Peter returned to the guestroom, trying to stay out of trouble.
Turning on his police radio, he dug out his textbooks and sat down on the bed. He tried to study.
Why is Harry so unfriendly again? He thought distractedly as he stared at a diagram, his brain not processing any information at all. Oh, right, I supposedly killed his dad. Waaait a minute, he hates me because 'you've never treated me right'.
Peter thought about this for a while and reached his conclusion.
Nah, he's just trying to make me feel bad.
Even though he does have a point. Kind of. Not really. Or does he?
Nah.
Peter smiled in relief as he decided he was in fact the nicest guy on Earth, so there was no way he could have never treated Harry right.
Though he had to admit, Harry had always been there for him, such as now, however unfriendly and nasty. Staring at the diagram some more, Peter eventually decided that Harry was actually the best friend anyone could ever hope for.
Bernard knocked on the opened door lightly and spoke, "Mr. Parker, Mr. Osborn has faxed you a message."
Peter thought it must be a sign or something. He gladly accepted the piece of paper Bernard brought him, "Thanks, Bernard!"
The old butler smiled good-naturedly and left.
Peter looked down at the paper and read:
Peter,
You'd better start looking for a new apartment since I won't put up with a filth pile like you forever.
Harry
Peter rolled his eyes. Scratch that. Harry Osborn is definitely NOT the best friend anyone could ever hope for.
-:-
Charlie, Peter noticed, seemed to be particularly attached to Bernard. Wherever Bernard went, Charlie went, too. He was like a shadow to the old butler. Peter had thought since Charlie was built by Harry, the robot would be more attached to his own maker. While Charlie did love Harry, it wasn't like the way he loved Bernard. Harry must have something to do with it.
Charlie rolled into Peter's room and Peter eyed him suspiciously. Charlie stopped in front of him and stared. And stared. And stared. And stared some more.
"Don't even think about it," Peter hissed threateningly.
Charlie just beeped chipperly and continued his staring.
Peter rolled his eyes. If that stupid mantis thought he could scare him using the same stupid trick three times –
The crossbow fired. Peter was on the ceiling. Charlie was giggling. And Peter just knew the bolt wasn't shot this time, either.
Peter narrowed his eyes in annoyance as he jumped back down. "Oh, you miserable little –"
But Satan's Robot already rolled away, still giggling like a girl.
Peter sighed. He bet Harry was behind all this.
The police radio informed that there was a bank robbery at Citibank and Peter, in reflex, quickly found his Spider-Man suit, donned it and leapt out of the windows.
-:-
The bank robber said he just needed the money to buy some Ford stock to make up for the loss he got from Lehman Brothers' bankruptcy. Well, Peter didn't know much about finance and economics, but robbing (crippled) banks like Citibank to buy more stocks sounded stupid and low. He should bury the money in his backyard or hide it in the mattress!
Peter sighed. Besides, Ford? Couldn't that guy do better? Everybody knew Ford wasn't doing well these days.
The recession seemed to be boosting the crime rate. Peter mused as he handed the disgruntled criminal to the police and swung away.
As he patrolled absentmindedly, he found that the Oscorp Building was just nearby. Peter debated with himself for ten seconds and decided Harry definitely needed to be checked up on, what with his unbelievably short temper and overreaction tendency.
Peter landed on the Oscorp Building's rooftop and climbed down the wall and windows to look for Harry floor by floor.
During his search, he noticed the building itself was almost empty and the lights were mostly off, which reminded him that it was weekend. When he peeked through a window of the eighteenth floor, he immediately found his friend.
Dressed in typical business attire, Harry was leaning back against his desk and watching two middle-aged men argue in his office. One of them was chubby and almost bald, the other was thinner but not thin and had a little more hair than the chubby one.
"We're not an ATM," the almost bald guy said firmly.
"I never said we were, Phil." the guy with more hair was pissed and impatient and desperate, "So what if the cost is a bit high? Spending a little money now would help us earn big in the –"
The almost bald guy, Phil, cut him off, "Thirty million dollars is not a little money."
The guy with more hair was clearly frustrated, "If this campaign worked, we'd earn at least a hundred million in return!"
"And if it didn't, we'd waste thirty million." Phil said, "The Company can't afford your gamble right now. I can't afford your gamble right now. The Shareholder Meeting –"
"Is next month, I know!" Guy with More Hair snapped, "It's not a gamble, asshole, it's an investment!"
"Before it pays off, it's just a gamble."
"Oh yeah? Then what do you propose we do to sell the new line?"
Phil replied patronizingly, "Something that doesn't cost thirty million dollars."
Guy with More Hair glared, "Well, let's have it: how much are you willing to give us?"
"Ten million."
"A third? Just because you're the fucking CFO, doesn't mean you can –"
"You bet your ass I can!"
"Guys," Harry stepped in tiredly, "I need to review this with Joe and the others, so before we reach our conclusion, just Calm. Down."
Phil and Guy with More Hair looked reluctant, but they agreed. After Harry told them both to go home and have a nice weekend and remain calm, they grudgingly left.
Harry closed the door and turned around to face the windows with an annoyed look.
"So, Spider-Man, just how may I be of service?"
"You knew I was here all along?" Peter poked his head into view, upside-down style.
"Obviously," Harry said indifferently, "what do you want?"
"Can't a guy drop by and say 'hi' to his best friend anymore?" Peter joked, but it came out sounding defensive.
"In this case? No, of course not. I thought I told you not to –"
"Call you, I know. So I'm not calling you; I'm visiting you."
Harry let out an exasperated sigh. "Fine, whatever, I'm almost done here anyway. So swing away, or something." he said dismissively, "I'll be home in half an hour."
Peter couldn't help but smile. He had a (temporary) home to go back to, where there were people actually waiting for him. He never cared for expensive furniture and luxuries, but he did crave human company, and that was the reason he liked living in the Osborn Mansion. Harry just called it their "home". He knew Harry didn't mean anything by it, but the idea of sharing a home with family made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
Peter suddenly wanted to tempt fate.
"Any chance you're interested in swinging home with me?"
Maybe that wasn't such a good idea after all. Harry stared at him as though he was nuts.
"Peter, Tim is waiting in the car, I don't need more publicity, and you don't exactly inspire confidence with your amazing personality."
"All right, you don't want to swing home with me, I get it. But did you have to be so nasty about it?"
Harry regarded him coldly. "Yes."
Peter huffed unhappily and rolled his eyes at his friend, not that Harry could see it through the mask, but it made him feel a little bit better.
Harry seemed to think he was too busy to waste any more time on the lowly (but selfless and brave) Spider-Man, so he returned to his desk and started sorting out files that needed to be taken home. Peter stared at him from the other side of the windows and remained upside-down, wondering how long it'd take for Harry to say –
"What?" Harry snapped and glared at the upside-down superhero.
Sixteen seconds. That's a new record.
"Just observing," Peter answered nonchalantly.
"Don't you need to patrol?" Harry was more than annoyed.
"I'm on coffee break,"
"So go get your coffee," Harry returned his attention to the files and ignored him altogether.
Harry was no fun. At all. Peter sighed and watched Harry looking through a thick pile of paper (probably financial statements), his brow furrowing every now and then as he stopped at some pages and looked at them closely with his remaining eye. Peter studied the blinded eye and the burned half of the face, and he was reminded of that terrible night again.
Desperate to distract himself, Peter opted for conversation. "Just so you know, I broke the big vase in the hallway this afternoon…"
Harry's head immediately snapped up and he stared at Peter with eyes so wide that Peter thought his eyeballs were going to pop out.
"You what?"
"It was an accident!" Peter said quickly, "I was reading that note you gave me and I wasn't looking where I was going and –"
"Did you clean up the mess?" Harry asked passively.
"Of course! Well, more like Bernard cleaned up the mess, but I helped!"
"I knew you'd be trouble…" Harry then got distracted by something in the document he was reading and the subject was dropped.
Peter frowned. That was it? He'd broken his expensive-looking vase and all Harry did was complain a little?
Harry quietly sighed as he put the document down. He closed his sore eyes briefly before opening them again to put documents into his (unsurprisingly) black briefcase. Then he turned off his (what the heck?) black laptop and stuffed it into the briefcase as well. Peter noticed once again how distressed his friend looked, how his shoulders sagged in fatigue and his movements were slow and lacked energy. Peter wondered sadly when Harry had become such a joyless puddle of stress.
"Harry?"
"What?" Harry responded without looking up.
"Charlie is a menace,"
Harry closed his briefcase and looked at him, waiting for him to elaborate.
"He got me twice today," Peter pretended to look annoyed; though, all truth be told, he was annoyed. Very, very annoyed.
"Did he now," Harry's mood had improved drastically, "A cunning little guy, isn't he?"
"I'll say," Peter rolled his eyes, "I swear, he's got your morbid sense of humor."
It worked like a charm. Harry obviously took great pride in Charlie and his robot evilness, so any complaint from the intended victim lightened up his day like no other. He actually smiled, though that smile was caused by (immature) malicious smugness.
"Okay, you don't have to be so smug about it, do you?" Peter asked wryly. So maybe it wasn't such a good idea to remain upside-down for so long, because now he was seeing things: there was no way Harry just gave him a somewhat grateful smile that disappeared all too quickly.
Harry just shrugged and pushed his huge black chair back against the huge black wooden desk, then he grabbed his heavy briefcase and walked towards the door.
"Hey, you're not even saying goodbye?" Peter did his best to pretend to be hurt, though he knew Harry wouldn't buy it anyway.
"Goodbye," Harry turned off the lights and left the office, locking the door behind him.
"This, is getting annoying." Still hanging outside the windows upside-down and staring into the now dark and empty office, Peter decided he didn't like the recently emerged tendency of Harry turning off the lights on him.
-:-
Peter got back to the Osborn Mansion later that night after doing another round of patrol. When he swung back into the guest room, he found Charlie staring at him from the doorframe.
"Charlie, I swear, this is not –"
Bang!
The bolt wasn't fired, but Peter was on the ceiling anyway, and Charlie looked as though he'd die from giggling.
Peter wanted to web that lunatic robot into a web ball. "You know you're one sick robot, right?"
Charlie just kept on giggling.
Peter entered the dining room after changing clothes, only to find Harry reading newspaper at the long dinner table with Bernard clearing out the table beside him. They both looked up as he approached, Bernard with a smile, and Harry a brief nod before returning his focus to the news.
Wall Street Journal again? Peter craned his neck to look at what Harry was reading. Why not New York Times for a change? That's a lot more liberal –
"My dad made a donation to Wall Street Journal, so we have free permanent subscription." Harry said, eyes not leaving the newspaper.
How did he DO that? Peter stared at his friend. Seriously, can he read minds?
During his patrol, he'd been thinking about ways to make Harry less unhappy, and now seemed like a good time to put them into practice.
"Hey, Harry," he tried to sound casual.
Harry looked up at him with his remaining eye.
"Do you need to work tomorrow?" Peter asked as he sat down, and good old Bernard brought him a plate of Buffalo wings.
Harry regarded him cautiously. "No."
"In that case, I was just thinking it's been a long time since we last went out together and Central Park –"
"Pete," Harry interrupted before he could finish inviting him to the Central Park, "It's raining tomorrow."
Ouch. Okay, so maybe going out wasn't the best idea.
"So you're not interested?" Peter sometimes did wonder why he had the stupid habit of asking obvious questions, but he needed to make sure.
It was apparent Harry'd planned to be mean and nasty again, but he seemed to have changed his mind midway after he saw how crestfallen Peter was, "I would go with you, buddy, but I have a…surgery tomorrow."
A surgery?
"For what?" Peter asked, concerned that Harry might have managed to contract a terminal disease right after his brush with death.
Harry looked at him passively, expression irritated and sarcastic.
"What?" Peter asked uncomfortably. What did he do this time?
Harry just continued with the Look and refused to answer.
Then Peter had an epiphany.
"Ohhhhh," he exclaimed in revelation, and Harry waited not-so-patiently, "For your neck, right?" he missed the despaired roll of eye from his friend, "Office people always get neck problems after using computers for too long!"
Bernard looked between amused and sympathetic, Charlie was staring at him like he was very funny, and Harry was…looking at him as if he was the most embarrassing creature he'd ever had the misfortune to encounter.
Peter felt defensive. "Hey, if I keep getting it wrong, why don't you just spell it out for me already?"
Harry stared at him, narrow-eyed and resentful, and turned his face a bit sideways, revealing more of the disfigured half.
Peter winced. Unsure of what to say to that, he lowered his gaze to the cooling chicken wings.
"Sorry," he said, which was all he dared to say.
He chanced a glance at Harry, who just shrugged indifferently as if he'd already got over the whole I-am-disfigured thing.
"I actually prefer not having the surgery, but the Board's right: the Shareholders and customers don't need any more reminders of the Oscorp Curse."
Peter nodded. Looked like his friend wasn't about to start screaming and hurling pumpkin bombs at him. Phew. To further promote peace and serenity, he cheerfully picked up a Buffalo wing and chewed on it, because a normal dinner atmosphere needed normal stuff for basis. "But why would you not want to get your face fixed?"
Harry frowned, "I don't like the idea of people putting skin from somewhere outside my face onto my face."
"Oh." That kind of made sense. Having finished a chicken wing, Peter began chewing on another one. "Where are they getting the new skin from, anyway?"
Harry narrowed his eyes and said in a manner that indicated how distasteful he found the answer to be, "My butt."
Peter choked on the Buffalo wing and only narrowly avoided having the bones stuck in his throat.
"What?" he stared at his friend after getting the dangerous food out of his mouth.
"Yup," Harry nodded in confirmation, eyes fixed grimly on the dining table before him. "Either there, or some skin from another person."
Okay, now that was even more disturbing. Wasn't there a movie about a blind girl who got a new pair of eyes from someone else and started seeing ghosts and all those crazy stuff? Totally creepy.
"They're gonna fix your eye, too?" Peter asked, trying to steer his thoughts away from disturbing horror movies.
"No," Harry said, firm as steel, "I don't appreciate having someone else's eyeball in my socket."
Okay, he really needed to stop thinking about that movie.
"Then what about artificial ones?" Peter tried and failed to banish terrifying scenes of the movie's trailer from his mind (yes, he'd only watched the trailer; got a problem with that?).
"No, thanks." Harry replied without delay.
That was probably a good choice since with an artificial eye, Harry would remind him of those Terminator movie posters –
STOP associating Harry with movies, Parker!
"But you said the shareholders –"
"Look," Harry put the newspaper down with a loud thump, "I'm already making compromises for them with my face, so they'd better back off with my eye."
Peter nodded in agreement desperately, smelling the start of another round of Harry's volcanic eruption. "Geez, buddy," he tried to grin brightly, hoping to bribe his way out of being at the receiving end of his friend's temper, "if I didn't know better, I'd think you don't even want to have your face fixed!"
Harry's eyes narrowed and stared at him, annoyed and pissed.
"I mean, don't you want to get your face fixed?" Sensible questions like that would probably only make Harry the Grouch snap.
"No," Harry snapped. Figures. "I don't like people messing around with my face."
"It's not like they'll really change your face," Peter reasoned, "that's why it's called 'restoration'. Besides," he knew he shouldn't say it, but he was going to anyway, "your face is already changed."
Surprisingly, Harry didn't scream "And all thanks to you!" as Peter had expected – perhaps he did mean what he said about forgiving him for the disfiguration… What a good person.
"And I've had enough face-changing for this lifetime, so if you don't mind, I'd rather keep it to a minimum." Bitterly Harry added, "Not that I have a choice."
Huh. So Harry thought restoring his face meant even more change to his already changed face. Peter was sure more than half of the world population would disagree, but this was Harry they were talking about: stubborn, depressed and, just a little bit, slightly crazy. Like his dad.
Somehow thinking of Norman Osborn reminded him of the haunted guest room. And thinking of the haunted guest room reminded him of a very, gravely serious problem.
Harry'd picked up his Wall Street Journal, and Bernard took Peter's empty plate back to the kitchen with Charlie beeping and following behind cheerfully.
Peter steeled himself; now seemed like a good time to broach the subject.
"Uh…Harry?"
Harry glanced at him.
"About the sleeping arrangements…you know…"
His friend just looked at him, wearing that irritatingly mocking expression.
Silence ensued.
When Peter was about to give up, Harry finally sighed in resignation, "Fine."
-:-
When bedtime came, Harry bade everyone goodnight and went into his study for another late night conference call. Bernard and Charlie left for their room while Peter left for Harry's.
Peter pulled out the lovely mattress from the closet and laid the mattress down fondly, wondering if growing attached to a mattress was considered a type of mental illness. But frankly, he loved the mattress!
He cheerfully got his blanket and pillow ready for the night as his mind wandered cheerfully.
Why do I get the feeling that I'm not supposed to be so cheerful?
Oh.
Oh, crap.
He'd totally forgotten about the night patrol! Peter rushed back to the guest room, momentarily forgetting that it was supposed to be haunted, and turned on his police radio quickly. He just in time caught the latter half of a transmission regarding a fire in downtown Manhattan.
-:-
When Peter got back to the Osborn Mansion's dimly lit living room, it was already past midnight. He was tired, filthy, and covered in ash.
Apparently some homicidal nutcase had decided to set an entire apartment building on fire to vent his frustration at the current economy and, and Peter quoted, "It's just not fair these people get to hole up in their fancy little apartments when we're starving in the cold!"
Peter wanted to punch him for thinking killing innocent people was fair. He managed to rescue all of the residents with the firefighters (they'd really done a good job, by the way – good men), but he was saddened by the looks of fright on the residents' faces as they watched their homes being burned down to nothing but ashes and ruins.
Yet what haunted him the most were the criminal's eyes. Underneath the hatred and fury and madness were genuine anguish and sorrow, despair for a hopeless life and a bleak future.
This just proved Peter's theory of the recession boosting the crime rate. Maybe he should write a paper on that… "On the Correlation between the Health of the Economy and the Frequency of Criminal Activity". Yeah, he could publish it on Wall Street Journal or Business Week. Who knows, maybe he'd even get a Pulitzer for it… Or Nobel. Who'd ever think he would get a Nobel for economics? Or was it sociology? Did they even have Nobels for sociology?
Peter wondered as he tried to distract himself from the sadness this incident provoked in him. He looked around the nice living room fondly. I sure hope nobody tried to burn this building down. But then again, this place was full of rich people, so maybe they should set up some emergency water system to automatically pour water…
"Nope, carbon dioxide is still a much better choice," he muttered as he got out of the upper half of his dirty Spidey suit. He knew it was probably impolite to stand half-naked in Harry's living room, but everybody was asleep and he was too uncomfortable and tired to care.
"Better choice for what?"
Peter nearly jumped onto the ceiling at the abrupt appearance of Harry's voice. He seemed to have developed some kind of reflexive reaction involving getting onto the ceiling in the face of possible danger… It was all Charlie's fault. Stupid crossbow.
He turned to see Harry regarding him passively on the couch. A dark blue mug with an Oscorp logo on it was in his bony hands. So Harry'd been here all along; he must have been really exhausted to have missed his friend's presence altogether.
"Hey, buddy," Peter greeted tiredly, "I was just thinking about the best way to put out a fire. By the way, carbon –"
"I know what carbon dioxide is, Pete; everyone does."
Oh. Right. "You done with the conference call?"
"Yeah," Harry sipped whatever it was in his mug. Probably coffee. No, not if Harry was planning on getting some sleep. So maybe…milk? Juice?
…Why did he even care again?
"So destiny called, huh?"
Peter was pulled out of his decidedly arbitrary mind-wandering by the question. "Some guy set an apartment building on fire."
Harry's eyes narrowed, "Lunatic."
"Yeah," Peter nodded, pleased that Harry wasn't too indifferent about this disaster. "But what are you doing out of bed?"
Harry shrugged noncommittally. "Just thinking,"
"About…?" Peter prompted, curiosity piqued.
Harry gave him a dry smile, "You really wanna know?"
Peter nodded encouragingly.
"Okay, then," his friend set the mug down, and Peter finally saw what was inside: plain old water. How utterly unimaginative and Harry-ish.
"I was thinking about Oscorp's new contract with Epsilon, and the meeting with General Bio on Friday, and the lunch with the Bobs on Wednes –"
"The Bobs?" Peter'd actually started calculating the level of boringness of those thoughts, but the weird name still caught his attention.
"Two guys from the Fed. Both are called 'Bob'."
"…Huh," said Peter, wondering why there were so many Bobs around Harry. As far as he could tell, Harry'd been talking to a Bob last night, and now, another two Bobs. He bet Guy with More Hair was a Bob, too.
"Hey, Harry? What's Guy with More – that guy's name? You know, the guy arguing with Phil today in your office."
Harry raised an eyebrow, "Bob."
Ha! Right on.
Then he noticed Harry was looking at him with that unimpressed look again, as if he could guess what ridiculously random thoughts he was having in his head. Feeling self-conscious, Peter cleared his throat, "Anyway, you were saying?"
He was still surprised when Harry just carried on as if nothing had happened.
"And the lunch with the Bobs on Wednesday, and my twenty-six meetings with different departments and the Board next week, and I have to call J.P. Ford –"
"J.P. who?"
"President of Ford Medicine. And the biotech conference two weeks later, and I have to fire a guy, and I have to make a public announcement after the surgery, and, of course, my surgery."
"Wow, that's quite a handful…" Peter wasn't sure if he was supposed to sound impressed or sympathetic, so he went with the neutral tone.
It was then Peter suddenly realized that he was still standing half-naked in Harry's living room and in front of Harry himself. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, but Harry didn't seem to notice. Or care. His friend just picked up his Oscorp mug again and sipped his water, eyes downcast.
Debating between putting the filthy costume back on and just pretending he was in fact fully clothed, Peter wondered…
Eureka!
…Parker, you're such a nerd. But a brilliant nerd. A nerd who is a GENIUS!
See, he'd got it all figured out. Harry was sitting in the living room all by himself in the middle of night with no company but a boring cup of water because he was nervous about the upcoming surgery.
"It's gonna be all right, Harry," he smiled reassuringly when Harry looked up at him, "It's just a surgery; people have them all the time."
Harry just shrugged and went back to staring at the water in his mug.
Peter groaned inwardly at the lack of reaction. "If you want, I could accompany you."
Harry glanced up at him, obviously thinking he was nuts again.
"By…sitting outside the operation room. And showering you with family warmth and friendship when you're done."
Harry just grunted and returned to his water-staring.
Oh well. Nobody could say he hadn't tried, right?
Peter was itching to take a shower right now, but he didn't like the idea of leaving Harry alone in the living room with all those depressing thoughts. It was like his friend had a perpetual rain cloud over his head.
Peter was about to suggest his friend to get some sleep when Harry finally finished his water. Harry went into the kitchen with the mug and Peter heard him washing it at the sink. When Harry reemerged from the kitchen, Peter half-expected him to just go upstairs as if he wasn't there.
But Harry stopped somewhere near him.
"You can come to the hospital if you want," Harry said wearily, yawning. Peter decided to take that as a "Yes! Please go with me! Your friendship is the only thing keeping me sane in this miserable world!"
"And, Pete?"
Peter snapped out of his daydream where Harry saw him as the bestest friend ever in the whole universe. "What?"
"You're lucky Bernard's asleep – he'd have a heart attack if he saw you like this."
So Harry did notice. A particularly teasing reply was right on the tip of Peter's tongue, but Harry then added:
"He wouldn't appreciate having a filthy household pest in the living room he'd just cleaned up."
Why did the guy have to be so mean, again?
-:-
To be continued...