Hello writers block , my old friend. Seriously, every time I tried to write it take me hours just to get 200 words. I also started to feel pretty crappy about my writing.

-shyangel101: thanks so much for reviewing; it means a lot. I only hope you're still reading this.

With that being said thanks to anyone else who is still reading this! You guys are great!

Chapter 10:
Could This Be A Chemical Reaction?

Normally Reagan would be thrilled to have a whole weekend away from Oscorp and Harry, but since he referred to her informally she's been a little anxious to see him again. The excitement of building a rapport with Harry now seems a far closer reality than it did last week, and of course by the time Monday rolls around she's about 12% lucid and 88% giddy about the whole thing. So giddy, in fact, that waking up on Monday seems much less unwarranted.

As she normally does; Reagan grabs the first articles of clothing she comes across, in this case, baggy purple cargo pants and a frumpy cream coloured cardigan with cherries all over it. She also grabs a beanie to cover her messy hair.

Before she can do much of anything else her doorbell sounds throughout her apartment. Reagan leaps over to her door and pulls it opened. Standing on the other side of her doorway is Tracey with a large suitcase. Reagan throws her friend a confused look. "You lose your keys or something? Also is there a dead body in there?" She points at the suitcase.

"Hey, best friend. I don't have a home," Tracey flashes a fake smile. "How are you doing? Why does half of you look like you're stuck in the 90s and the other like Molly Hooper? Can I move in with you? Hey have you had those pants since the 90s?" The rapid bombardment of questions confuses Reagan and the only reply she can manage is an absentminded "yes". Tracey steps through the doorway, struggling a little with her suit case. "Great, I'll just take the couch," she says between grunts.

Reagan raises an eyebrow at her friend, but nonetheless she helps push the suitcase over to the couch. As the short woman is pushing she brings up the elephant in the room, "I'm going to need you to be a twinge more insightful about why you're moving in."

Suddenly Tracey stops pulling and spins on her heels, "well," she starts, vexed. "Today I told my roommate – sorry ex-roommate – he is an attention-seeking, man-child, who can't seem to put dirty cereal bowls in the sink. Do I find them in the washroom, in the living room, and even my bedroom? Yes. But goodness forbids he actually put them in the sink." Somewhere in the middle of her rant Tracey had begun to pace, while the shorter women propped her elbows on the suitcase (that reached just over her waist) and rested her head on her fists.

"And what did Colin do after you said all that to him?"

"He threw an orange at me!"

Tracey had been living with Colin, her ever-so-cleanly-roommate, for two years. A little bit after Tracey had moved to Manhattan for school she realized she didn't have enough money to live in the dorms long-term. So, when she heard a classmate was looking for a roommate she jumped at the opportunity. It was fine at first; they got along well enough and no red flags went off, however, after a while little things the other did started to irritate.

"Look, Reagan, you know I wouldn't encroach on you if I had another choice – and if you want me gone I'll skedaddle – but I need a place to crash while I look for a new home." The brunette reasoned with a calmer voice than the one she had before. "Please."

Reagan stands at her full height and walks around the huge suitcase to grab her friend's hand. "I don't mind having you here. Besides, it can be like the slumber parties I was never invited to in elementary school. HA! Suck it Meg Bishop; who's the giant nerd now?"

Tracey clasps the hand holding one of hers with her other, with a deep, dramatic sigh Tracey gazes into Reagan's eyes with her own doe ones. "It's still you, Molly Hooper." With a laugh the girls let go of each other and silently agree to finish moving the suitcase to the chesterfield. Once there the two sit parallel on opposite ends of the couch, with their legs stretched out on the cushions. The two discuss how and when they will retrieve the rest of Tracey's things and where it will be stowed. Tracey suggests she just rent a storage unit, but Reagan insists she keep her smaller items in her apartment and the larger ones in her own storage unit in the basement of the building.

With the arrangements out of the way Reagan insists they do something stereotypical, like braid each other's hair and talk about boys. Tracey doesn't waste a second, because even though the badly dressed midget was joking, talking about boys is just an open invitation to talk about one Harry Osborn.

"…I'm just saying that normally you would be complaining about him by now, when in reality you haven't spoken a word about Harry in days. Is it killing you to not talk about him as much as it's killing me to not know why you're not talking about him?"

"You'll just have to suffer, Trace, because I am not telling you anything." Reagan sticks her tongue out.

"I will make you break. I can always make you break."

And she dose. Not even ten minutes later Tracey's persistence makes Reagan crumble like an over baked cake. She comes clean about everything: Harry and her apologizing to each other, Harry accidentally calling her by her first name, their sort-of lunch date, and the psychoanalysis Harry gave her about her past relationships. Well, she tells Tracey almost everything. The only thing she leaves out is Harry's unfortunate situation of dying.

Tracey, being the outspoken person she is tells Reagan exactly what she thinks. Like how it's about time they make an attempt at being courteous to one another and that she's pretty sure they can both benefit from a friendship (as strange as that friendship would be). However, like Reagan, Tracey keeps something to herself, her suspect of Reagan's growing feelings towards the billionaire. Feelings surpassing those of a mere friendship, feelings that Reagan may not (yet) know what they really are.

Later that day, after Reagan had helped settle Tracey in, the former bids farewell to the latter and tells her that if she needs anything to call.

Reagan, now alone in the elevator pushes the button for the floor above her own rather than the lobby's button. Once on her desired floor she finds the apartment above her own. Reagan takes a fat envelope from her bag and as best as she can stuffs it under the door. Inside the envelope is a wad of cash (a wad she recently received from Harry Osborn as her first pay) and a note that simply says "PLEASE STAY!"

Walking down the familiar hallway near Harry's office (a hallway Reagan hasn't had any trouble with since Harry 'hired' her) Reagan suddenly runs into trouble. A large man wearing military body armor comes marching into view followed by a parade of scientists. Reagan, being fairly certain they haven't seen her, ducks behind a nearby plant. It is very rare for Reagan to be overly thankful for her tiny stature, but in this moment she is.

Before Reagan can move from her hiding spot the sound of high heeled shoes echo through the hall. She watches the owner of those shoes, a dark brunette in a pretty black dress, pass right by her; muttering something about Harry and his odd behaviour. 'Aw, I'm not the only girl he pisses off, and here I thought I was special.' Reagan continues her walk to the CEO office more carefully.

Reagan stops at the door of the office, noticing that Harry is not alone. Both Harry and this new, yet somewhat familiar, stranger have their backs facing Reagan. Not even ten seconds pass before the not-so-unknown-unknown turns quickly on his hills to face her, like he can sense her presence. The man appears to be a little younger than Reagan, and he is quite beautiful by anyone's standers; with his gravity-defying hair and thick eyebrows. The guy gives Reagan a curious look and a quick once over, he then quirks an eyebrow at her. Reagan sends him back the same expression but with an open mouth.

It isn't until Reagan sees the red beanie hanging out of his back pocket that she realizes who this is. It's the guy she had seen at Jane's Carousel. The railing-hopper, as her called him.

The brunet throws her an inquisitive "Hi?"

To which Reagan replies with her own meek "Hi," followed by a just as meek smile.

Harry turns around to see who has Peter's attention and a look that says he totally forgot she was coming flashes across his face.

"Should I go?" She asks Harry.

"No, it's alright. Come in," he waves for her to move forwards as he himself comes to stand beside the other guy. When Reagan is in an acceptable proximity of the two she stops and rocks on her feet. "Miss Knox this is Peter Parker. Pete, Miss Knox," Harry introduces the two strangers then moves to sit on the edge of his desk.

Reagan smiles at Peter and meets his hand with her own to shake. "Parker, as in Dr. Parker?" She asks.

Peter's smile grows bigger as they continue to shake hands. "Yeah, that's right. He was my father. Uh, Tell me, Miss Knox do you, like, work for Harry or…"

They are still shaking hands.

"Please," Reagan draws out. "Call me Reagan, I insist. It's actually my preference." Although her gaze is on Peter her words are directed towards the other male party. "And I – I um, do I work for Har – Mr. Osborn? Well, you see I, um, I-"

Still shaking hands.

Harry cuts her off, deciding it would be better than her incoherent ramblings. "She works with me personal, not for Oscorp. You see, I employer her to help me organize some personal and work...stuff. So I don't screw up running my kingdom."

Both Reagan and Peter turn their heads to Harry and give him the same look that reads as 'that is the worst lie I've ever heard.'

"Can you to please stop that?" Harry sighs and gestures to their still shaking hands. Realizing what they've been doing they quickly unclasp their hands. Peter runs his now free hand through his hair and mutters a "sorry," where Reagan just rests her fist on her lips to hide her face. She nods at his apology, expressing one of her own.

"Anyway," Harry interjects. "I forgot Miss Knox was coming in today when I asked you here Peter." Harry knocks a tattoo on the desk underneath him and then mouths "sorry" to Reagan.

"Oh that's alright, he's cute," Reagan reassures Harry. "But more importantly," Reagan chimes up again before Peter can say something cheeky. Her quick dismissal of Peter's looks cases Peter to deflate a little and Harry to send him a pointed look. "I have questions about the body armor I just saw. What's it made from? I read in that one report about self-healing suits; is that one of them? Is it just armor or is it fitted with weapons as well? Lastly, does the suit become wired to the organic wearer?" As Reagan was asking the question she was also moving closer to Harry.

"Nano-fibers, yeah, not yet, yeah, anything else?" Harry answers the questions in monotone.

She nods her head, "What's the bionics like with my last question?"

At this Peter takes a couple long strides to stand beside her and chimes in with "I'd like to know that too!"

"It's actually very simple. The suit uses a series of injected implants into the nervous system to A: monitor the body and B: take control if the body begins to shut down. The nano-fibers are not only used in the exterior of the suit but also in the injections. Of course we're not the first company to introduce technologically advanced battle armors, but we are one of the leading in human focused battle armors. You see companies like Stark Industries and Trask Industries lean more too robotic intelligence, the latter more so then the former. Stark's are – were, I should say. Given the incident where an evil mastermind took control and tried to blow up an inter expo. Anyway, as I was saying: Stark's battle armors were more like a cluster of robots with a human-mother commanding each squadron. Now Trask is focused on individual AI units, which are born and bred for the soul sadistic purpose of mass genocide of mutant kind. So my point, lady and dork, is that here at Oscorp we won't try and enslave you with mass brutality of robots; we will enslave you by making YOU the robots." After Harry's monologue he gives the two a sarcastic smile, showing his dimples in all their vicious glory.

With a cheeky smirk Peter asks "Is that last part a promise?"

As the guys laugh Reagan watches on in curiosity. The only other time she's seen Harry look this happy is when she observed him last week; talking to the same man standing beside her. The same man who is now in joyous conversion with Harry, the person she has decided to undertake the endeavour of a friendship with. A sudden trembling envy washes over Reagan as she watches the two. Reagan knows she should be happy that Harry is able to be comfortable with someone, but she still wants that person to be her. Or she at least wants to be one of the people he considers a friend. She wants to hang out with him, talk to him normally, and for goodness sake call him by his first name…and have him call her by hers.

Reagan is pulled into their conversation when she hears Harry talk about some research of Peter's dad that they were unable to find.

"…I've asked around and nobody seems to be able to find this stuff. I was wondering if you might have some of your father's work," Harry asks.

Peter shakes his head, "No, he didn't leave anything like that. Sorry."

Harry nods his head and gives Peter a look of understanding, almost like he expected Peter's answer. There's a moment of silence between the trio. Reagan can't quite place it, but awkwardness lingers in the still moment.

"Well," Peter starts. "You ready to head out, Harry?"

"Yeah, just give me a sec," the golden brunet says to the darker one.

As the darker brunet shuffles backwards, with his hands doing an odd dance he says "You do what you gotta do. I'll just be over her talking to Reagan." Peter grabs Reagan by the arm and leads her across the room, out of Harry's hearing. Reagan looks up at him in puzzlement. "So Harry and I, we're going to my place for dinner and youshouldcome…with us." Even though they are far enough from Harry he still speaks in a low tone.

Stunned by Peter's request, Reagan gazes up at the man, whose chin she barely meets. Her mouth begins to move before her words can form. "That's really nice, Peter, but I can't-"

"Nonononononono, just hear me out, alright? Just – just give me a minute. You see Harry really wants you come-"

Reagan cuts him off with a sarcastic hum. "Is that so?"

"That wasn't a minute! That was rude, I'm just trying to tell you something and you cut me off," he says with almost believable offence. "Now as a matter of fact, yes that is so. He may not look it or act it, but he wants you to come along. I mean who knows him better than me? His best friend? Well, we are one in the same. That's right you're talking to Harry Osborn's best friend and Harry Osborn's best friend is telling you that Harry Osborn wants you to come for dinner. What do you say to that?"

What does she say to that? On one hand she doesn't know this Peter Parker, and even though he's really kind he's also kind of strange. She's sure he means well, but what if her coming makes Harry upset? All her effort would be for not. But then there's the other hand. In its simplest form this is a chance to hang out with Harry, to get to know him, to build her metaphorical bridge of friendship.

Reagan takes a deep breath. 'Never is a shitty choice,' she reminds herself.

"Okay, If Harry wants me to. I'll come for dinner."

Peter grins from ear to ear. "Great! He does, he totally does. I'm just gonna go over there and tell him he does," Peter mutters the last part to himself. He then leaps over to Harry on the other side of the room. "Hey buddy," he says as he puts his hand on Harry's solder. "Just wanted to let you know that Reagan is coming with us."

"What?" Harry whispers, all his attention is on Peter. "Why is Rea – Miss Knox joining us?"

"Okay, okay, okay." Peter makes calming motions with his hands. "First: you can call her Reagan; she obviously wants you to. Second: she's pretty and smart and you seem to like her well enough. And third: I knew you don't do complicated, but how complicated can she be?"

"Okay, first:" Harry mimics his best friend. "How do you know that, and how do you know I want to call her by her first name? Second: I'm not commenting on that. Third: You have no idea, my friend."

A frustrated groan is let out by Peter. "First: if you don't want to use her first name why are you trying so hard not to use it? Second: you can't deny any of what I said about her. Denying that would be like denying that broccoli is the worst tasting vegetable. Third: maybe you need a little complicated."

Harry is really resisting the urge to punch his friend. "First – NO! We are not doing this any longer; it's stupid." Harry groans. "Bring her if you want, but I can't promise that she and I won't come to blood." With his last remark Harry grabs a green scarf lying on his desk and angrily ties it around his neck.

Peter fist pumps the air at his victory, and then moves across the office, towards the door. "Let's make like a bakery truck and haul buns!"

Harry bounds to catch up with Peter. "We should hurry if we're gonna catch the train."

Reagan lingers behind, a little stunned with fear. "Subway," she mutters to herself. "Um, actually I don't do public transportation," she voices. As the two guys swing around to face her with dumbfounded looks she bites her lower lip. "Sorry, it's a personal thing. You guys can just leave me behind."

"Nonsense," Peter dismisses. "Harry's got a limo," he exclaims with a twisted grin.

"I also have much less inconspicuous cars."

To say the drive to Peter's house is nothing out of the ordinary would be a lie. To Reagan (and everybody else in the car) it is extremely uncomfortable, what with Peter making up origin stories for how Harry and she met and Harry and her lying on the spot about how they met. The tale they spin conflicts with itself since both parties didn't consult each other before hand, and they very unfortunately can read the other's mind. But Peter just sits there, smiling and listening to their catatonic story telling abilities, even when the story makes no since. Peter suspects they have a reason for keeping their true meeting a secret, and even though he is silent now he won't hesitate to interrogate Harry about the runaround they're giving him later. For the meantime though; Peter just whines about how the limo would have been so much cooler to take. This leads to an argument about how Harry doesn't want to draw any unwelcome attention to Peter's Aunt. Peter retorts with the principle 'if you got a limo you should use it.'

"Would you two slow down? My legs aren't as long as Canada," an irked Reagan yells at the men taking long strides a few feet in front of her.

The two brunets turn their heads towards her; they then turn to eye each other in silent conversation. Harry stops altogether while Peter jogs backwards to Reagan's side. He matches her forward pace and throws an arm around her solder.

"Sorry, you're so tiny I just forgot about you," Peter sheepishly shrugs.

Reagan glares up at Peter.

As they walk by Harry Peter puts his free arm around Harry's solder; sandwiching himself. "Harry agrees that your height is problematic. Don't you, Harry?"

Harry gazes off in front of him; deep in thought. He doesn't show any mirth towards Peter's jest, only an indiscernible attitude. Harry looks over at Peter and in a soft voice utters, "Oh, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd!...And though she be but little, she is fierce." The last three of Harry's words are spoken to Reagan instead of Peter, and the gleam of esteem in Harry's eyes does not go unnoticed by the CEO's best friend.

As the group climbs the steps of a townhouse their conversation is discontinued, but not forgotten. Both Reagan and Peter make mental note to speak to Harry, although for different reasons.

"Aunt May! Were here," Peter yells as they pass the threshold.

A very sweet looking lady appears before them. The greying of her hair and gently wrinkling of her face give her away to being in her late 50s to early 60s. Aunt May, as Peter called her, grabs her nephew in a warm hug. She then turns to Harry and with a bright smile gives Harry the same warm greeting.

"Oh, Harry," May places her hands on either side of his face. "I can't believe how much you've grown."

Harry smiles at May and places his hand over top of hers, "It's really good to see you, Aunt May. I think I missed you more then I missed Peter," Harry gives her a genuine smile.

"Hello?" May shifts her attention to Reagan, who originally went unnoticed when May greeted the boys. She gives Reagan a puzzled look, then Harry, and finally Peter. "Peter, you said it was just you and Harry. You didn't say more people were coming."

Peter puts his hands up in defence as his aunt marches toward him. "I-I didn't think it would matter. I figured she and Harry would be like a package deal. You know: with every irritating rich boy you get a sociable, sweet gal."

"You didn't think it would matter? I cooked for three of us, Peter."

"Aunt May, look at how small she is; she'll barely eat anything."

With her hands on her hips May glares at Peter, "Peter-"

"Um, sorry," Reagan interrupts them. "As much as I'm opposed to being regarded to only by my stature," she glares at Peter. "If the amount of food is a problem I-"

"Nonononono," May well-meaningly cuts her off. "There is enough food for you; there just won't be for Peter. Besides as Harry's girlfriend you're always welcome."

At the same time, Harry and Reagan leap forward with urgency to inform May her assumption is negative.

"I don't date anything that's purple."

"I am not tall enough to ride that ride."

May slaps Peter's hand away from taking another serving of pasta (for the third time). "Peter, when the guests are done then you can have more," she says with a stern look. Her attention then shifts to Reagan. "So, Reagan, are you in school or are you working right now?"

"I'm majoring in computer science and minoring in computer programming. As for work I do some computer mumbo-jumbo for independent parties."

May gives Reagan a sweet smile, "I'd ask you more about it but I'm afraid I don't know anything about computers, I'm sure that's a topic Peter would enjoy though."

"I'd be careful though," Harry cautions Reagan. "As pretty as Peter is he can turn into a huge dweeb."

"Maybe we can cancel each other out," Reagan shrugs. "Anything else you'd like to know, May?"

"Please call me Aunt May, dear. Did you grow up in New York?"

Reagan shakes her head, "No; I was born in California and when I was nine I moved to Colorado. I've only been in New York for about two years."

"And which state do you like the most?" May asks.

"New York, there's nothing quite like this city."

Dinner continues on in the same light, warm manner as May asks Reagan more questions and Peter and a reluctant Harry tell stories of their youth.

May has retired to bed; calming she had an early shift tomorrow and Peter has run off leaving Harry and Reagan standing awkwardly in the living room. "So," Reagan begins. She brings a fist up to rest lightly on her lips. "So, do you normally quote Shakespeare?"

In a frank tone Harry answers her, "People should always quote Shakespeare; no matter the circumstance. But when I was studying abroad I…ahh…studied it. So…"

"What else did you study abroad?"

Harry slips his hands in his pockets and his shoulders relax. "Mostly languages; dead and not."

At that moment Peter enters the room, holding something behind his back. "Okay, I couldn't find any decks, but I did find Candyland!" With an ear-to-ear smile Peter pulls an old game box with bright pink lettering from behind him.

Harry gives Peter a look of part skepticism and part frustration.

"This could work," Reagan announces. Harry's look passes to her. "I'm serious! If we land on red we tell an embarrassing story. Orange: we'll say a regret we have, purple: a happy memory, blue: we take off an article of clothing – I'm kidding. We'll take a shot. - Green is a free square, yellow: we…get to…take a shot, and pink: we have to do an impression of the person to our left. Yeah?"

Peter nods his head, "Sounds good to me. But we don't really have shot alcohol and buying it may prove to be difficult."

"Well," Reagan gives the guys a look that says she knows something they don't. "Lucky for you two I'm a nice legal twenty-two. Now where can I buy some alcohol?" She asks Peter, but before he can answer her she speaks again. "Never mind, I'll just use Harry as a dowsing."

Harry snaps his head to Reagan; his gaze tells her she's walking on thin ice. Reagan, however, only gives Harry a wink before pushing along the muddy blonde. With Peter on their heels she nudges Harry's chest so he walks backwards, and with little resistance he allows her to guild him to the street. Once there Reagan links her hands with Harry's and holds them out, just like one would with a dowsing rod, and closes her eyes.

It's slightly an awkward image, Harry Osborn holding hands with a purple-haired midget whilst sanding completely still. An image made stranger still by the confused onlooker, simple known as Peter Parker, to their outlandish behaviour.

With a playful grin Harry nods his head, motioning for Peter to lead the way. As Peter does so; Harry tightens his grip on the tiny hands in his and leads their owner after Peter.

"This is stupid," Harry curtly voices as Peter sets up the board game and Reagan lays three shot glasses on the table.

The two willing participants look over to each other and mentally converse the following:

Peter: You deal with this.

Reagan: Why do I have to deal with this? He's your friend.

Peter: Because I'm highly convinced he's in love with you and will do anything you say.

Of course, because neither of these two have powers involving telepathy; that conversation never actually happened and Reagan is blissful unaware of the inkling Peter has towards Harry's feelings for her.

"Come on, Harry," pleas Reagan. "For once in your life, man, be the fourteen year-old girl at a slumber party that you've always wanted to be."

"There was no part of that sentence that didn't make me feel uncomfortable," Harry utters.

With a smirk Peter chimes in, "so you'll join?"

Harry nods reluctantly, knowing that between the two he doesn't have a choice.

"Shots, all around," cheers what should be the responsible (legal) adult. "Come on, I want to get you boys good and drunk by the time the nights over."

That is the opposite of what happens. None of them but Reagan get particularly drunk, much to the dismay of Harry (who has hit none of the designated shot squares). This of course causes Harry a lot of ridicule from Reagan, the most inebriated of the three. She defends herself with "I have not had a lot to drink, I'm just small and a lightweight. Peter, is not as drunk as Reagan, but still fairly tipsy (as he had snuck another shot before the game).

They've been playing for a couple rounds; so far the highlights for Reagan have been Harry's happy (but faint) memory of his mom singing Beatle songs, and Peter's impression of her (for which he stole her beanie. He has yet to give it back).

"Take a card, BUM," a very drunk Reagan yells to Harry.

"Nah."

Reagan rolls her eyes at him, "You're just jelly 'causes you haven't taken a shot and I have," she taunts. When Harry doesn't make a move to take another card she quickly grabs one and waves it at him until he grabs it from her. "Green, looks like you're safe – this time, you cocky dishwasher!" Reagan clears her throat. "Sorry, I get a little in-you-face when I'm drunk."

While Reagan is 'trash-talking' Peter pulls his card, an orange.

"A regret, huh? I – I," Peter huffs. "I regret that sometimes I used to think I'd never know what it would be like to have a proper dad, even though I had one."

A sombre silence passes through the group, one that does not last long though.

"I'm sandwiched between two encyclopedias for daddy issues. And I just said that out loud instead of thinking it in my head. Why do I always do that? I am so sorry you two – I didn't mean anything by it. Peter, I'm not making fun of you I just – I just – I," at this point Reagan starts crying. "I'm not that bad of a person. I mean I know my mouth moves before my brain does sometimes, but I don't mean to be a jerk-"

Peter cuts Reagan's monologue off with, "It's fine Raggy," Peter soothes her as he pulls her in for a hug. "We're all good, everything is good. Now let's turn the tap on that fountain off," He coos while rubbing away her tears.

As Peter continues to console the tearful girl Harry gapes, open-mouthed, at the show in front of him. "I wish I was as drunk as you two right now," he mumbles to himself.

"What was that, Harry?" A now less tearful Reagan asks from her spot in Peter's arms.

Ignoring her question he tells her she can make up her offence to him by sharing some of the issues she has with her dad. He's joking. Sober Reagan would have known that, but drunk Reagan, well.

"I don't have daddy issues," she says honestly. "Now my daddy is an issue. When my prom date came to pick me up my dad gave him one of those head cameras and told him to give me that instead of a corsage. That way my dad could see everything that happened. It was a joke of course, but right before we left I did overhear him tell my date that if I got pregnant I would be the one going to university and starting a career and he would be the one to give up his scholarship and his dreams to stay at home with the baby."

"And look at you now; no baby," Peter exclaims.

Reagan gives Peter a very energetic high-five.

"Wait, wait, wait," Harry pauses and gives Reagan a focused stare, his expression reads as though he has something very important to say. "You had a date to prom? How'd that work with your inability to commit to relationships?" Harry tries to keep a straight face, but fails.

Reagan cocks an eyebrow an with a smirk creeping at the corners of her mouth she gibes "Almost as well as your ability to be less than six and a half steps from alcohol."

The ribbing between the two goes on, unfortunately for Peter (who finally reminds the two they are still playing a game).

This isn't really what Peter expected when he invited Reagan along; he expected Harry to sweet-talk Reagan like she was a bond girl. That's how he's always hit on girls. Sure Peter hasn't seen Harry flirt since middle school, but come on, he dated a model. You date models by being classy, not by calling them an overpaid eggplant. Of course there is always the obvious answer as to why Harry is treating her differently, he's not into her. However, that answer doesn't work for Peter, because there was a point in Peter's life where he knew this rich arse better than anyone else did. And he does not miss when Harry steals glances at her or the genuine smile every time she says something so dorky it would make Steve Urkel cringe or how he's been subtly touching her all night (a brush of the shoulder, a hand on her back to guide her, a knock of the knees). There is no question in Peter's mind about whether Harry is into her or not, although, there is a question about why he hasn't done anything about it. After all, if Harry wants something Harry will go for it.

"So what are you waiting for, what's stopping you from asking her out, man?" Peter asks Harry.

With the game done and the night at an end Peter dragged Harry into the kitchen to find something to sober him up (and talk about Reagan).

"Pete, I'm a little tired and less drunk then I'd like to be. Can we not play the pronoun game?"

"Her," Peter whispers and nods his head to the drunken girl lying on the couch, trying to keep a spoon on her nose. "You fancy her-"

"I do not! Is this why you pulled me in here, to talk about her?"

"Of course it is! You and I both know coffee doesn't really sober you up. But it does make you more alert so drink up," Peter hands Harry a mug with the coffee he had been making. "Shakespeare? Come on, Harry you cannot tell me you don't like her. Not after you compared her to a summer's day."

A look of recognition passes through Harry's eyes, then a groan through his teeth. "Why did I quote Shakespeare? Crap, I'm an idiot." He lets out another groan. "You remember when I said I don't do complicated? Well, my relationship with Reag...her is very complicated. I don't want to hurt her, not more then I already have and if she and I were a couple and I die – did something to hurt her I…well I just couldn't put her through that. That's why I can't tell her how I feel, that's why I can't act on my feelings. I'd just end up hurting her."

"I get it," Peter responds with a far off look. "You want to keep her from harm, and you choose her being safe over you being happy…" Peter clears his throat.

Harry raises his eyebrows, "Your complicated?" He asks.

Peter nods, "Yeah, I'll tell you about it sometime. As for now you have a drunken girl you need to drive home."

"What, why me?"

"Because I don't trust her in a taxi and you heard her, she doesn't do public transportation. Plus you're the only one out of the two of us who is sober enough to drive. Also you're in love with her."

"Hey, I never said love; I'm attracted to her. Plus these feelings are new and people don't fall in love that fast. Anyone who does is an idiot."

Peter's only response for Harry is an 'mmhmm' and a shove to the living room.

"Guys," whispers Reagan. She's lying on her back, with a spoon on her nose, and her hands beside her face, in the air ready to catch the spoon if it should do the unthinkable and fall. "I've finally got the spoon to stay. I am superior."

"Yes, I'm sure gravity has nothing to do with it," Harry says, then flicks the spoon off her nose.

A very long and dramatic gasp escapes from Reagan. "You bastard," she hisses.

"Are you sure you that's your address?" Harry asks the girl in his passenger seat.

"Pff, Yeah. Do you know your address? It's in loser-vile b-t-dubs."

Harry's grip on the wheal tightens. "I'm going to ignore that," he mutters more to himself then his passenger. "I just want to make sure you didn't give me the address to an ex-boyfriend or something." The silence from the girl beside him concerns Harry. Glancing over to the girl he sees she has a thoughtful expression, there is slight confusion and concern in her eyes.

"…If that's the address for the tattoo artist where did the forensic smarty-guy live? Well I defiantly didn't give him the address for the guy who plays th-the...adult ukulele." Reagan pauses for a moment to think over the address she gave Harry. She turns to him and says, "We should be good."

Harry gives her a curt nod before asking (against his better judgement), "A tattoo artist, a forensic scientist, and a guitarist. Do you have a type?" As soon as the words leave his mouth he regrets them. Silently Harry prays that she is too intoxicated to sense his jealousy in that little slip. She is. But her feeble state does not discourage her from answering Harry.

"Hot and moody, with a slight superiority complex. I'm a glutton for punishment."

Harry presses his lips together in order to not say anything else that could be construed as attraction for the hacker. Although seeing as she is contently distracted with opening and closing her window she probably isn't able to construe anything.

Harry cuts the engine; now the only sound to be heard in the car is a gentle snore from Reagan. She fell asleep some time ago while singing her rendition of that blue song (she changed blue to purple though).

Harry reaches over to brush some hair off of Reagan's face but stops himself before he can touch her. It would be too affectionate, too real for him. It's easy for Harry to tell others it's just meaningless attraction he feels for Reagan, but to himself he'd be lying. Harry hasn't fully confronted himself about what he feels for the girl in front of him, however, he can't deny he cares for her.

It would be so easy to just reach out and touch her, to hold her in his arms, or even kiss her. He plays it out in his mind. He'd cup her face with one hand and then gently glide his thumb over her cheek and lips. He'd lean over to her and stop for a moment with his lips just grazing hers; able to feel her light breaths tickle him. Once her close proximity becomes too much he'd push his lips on her's-

"Don't go down that path, Harry. Get it together," Harry scolds himself. "And stop turning into her. Normal people don't talk to themselves."

"No, only crazy people do that," groggily Reagan's voice breaks the silence.

"We're here, you can get out of the car now," he states; ignoring her.

Reagan simple nods her head and opens the door. When she steps out of the car she stumbles to the ground. "My Legs, they're broken!"

Harry huffs and gets out of the car. "They're not broken," he says as he helps her up. He pulls her arm around his neck and raps his arm around her waist to support her weight. "I'll walk you to your apartment."

Reagan can only hum in response as her intoxicated mind thinks 'Harry too close.'

The CEO manages to drag Reagan up to her apartment door (it's a wonder he achieves that with Reagan pointing in place of giving him actual directions to her apartment.) He leans her against her door while she fishes for her keys, forming on her face is a bright smile that says she found the lost city of Atlantis and not just the keys for her apartment. The woman attempts to effortlessly slide her keys into the lock while simultaneously saying good bye to Harry.

"Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow," she quotes. With a proud smile she says to Harry, "See I can do it too!"

He grins at her, "You can quote Shakespeare but you can't unlock your door. How am I not working for you?" Harry grabs her hand that is struggling with the key and helps her unlock her door. "Good night, Reagan. Take tomorrow off and sober up," Harry tells her while gently pushing her into her apartment.

The last thing Harry hears as the door closes on him is Reagan yelling "Trace, I'm drunk!"

Important stuff (kind of):

I've decided to go back and clean up my pass chapter. Nothing in the story will change, so you won't have to read them if you don't want to. I will say in the top author notes if the chapter has been edited though.

Once I'm done that I'll start on the next chapter. I'd like to update within the next month or two, but we'll see...

Lastly, I made a tumblr for my Fanfiction (under the same pen name). Check it out if you want.

Fav, follow, and please review. Your reviews help me so much and I honestly read then over and over (not crazy). Thanks for staying with me!