Several weeks later, Harry is walking Liz to the door.

"Is it wrong that I don't want you to leave yet?" Harry asks her.

Liz simply chuckles.

"I don't want to leave either, but I have to."

Harry pouts.

"I'll be back later though." Liz says as she pecks Harry's cheek. "I promise."

Harry kisses her.

"I'll be counting the hours."

And with that, Liz leaves Harry's house.

Harry sighs contently, feeling a lot happier than before in life.

A few minutes later, the doorbell rings as he's making breakfast. He turns the flames of the stove down and walks towards the door. He almost doesn't answer it once he sees who it is, but he finds himself opening the door anyway. Maybe Peter needed to hear him clearly say that it was really over between them to get him to go away.

"What the hell do you want?" A tired Harry asks his ex-husband, dragging a hand roughly down the back of his head and suddenly feeling a lot more awake.

"Can I come in?" Peter asks, peering up at Harry through his eyelashes and shoving a shaky hand into his pocket.

"No." Harry states. "I thought we were clear on our shit, so if it wasn't clear to you, then maybe this will work. Have a nice life."

"Please," Peter begs, biting at his lip and ripping some of the skin off.

Harry gets a good look at him, and what he sees almost makes him feel sorry for the guy. His always perfectly styled hair is now crusty and sticking up every which way. His clothes are mismatched and wrinkled. His skin looks so pale, almost taking on a gray, sickly color, and his eyes are bloodshot and puffy. He looks terrible and for some reason, Harry is enjoying the sight.

"Can I please come in?" Peter asks again, and Harry relents, but he keeps his guard up.

Harry steps aside, gesturing towards the living room so Peter could come inside. He can feel his ex-husband's body heat when he passes by him slowly, and Harry backs up more. He doesn't want to be too close to him. Harry closes the door behind him and lets out a long sigh. This was going to be fun.

Peter sits down on the couch and he looks uncomfortable and nervous. He starts playing with a loose thread on the cushion just so he can have something to do.

"What?" Harry asks him. He doesn't want to draw this out any longer than absolutely necessary. After all, he's already moved on.

"I came here because I wanted to tell you that I'm so, so sorry for everything that I did to you." Peter mumbles, looking up at Harry with sullen eyes that are covered with unshed tears. "I don't know what I was thinking during our marriage." He cries, smacking his fist onto his thigh. "It was the stupidest and worst thing I've ever done, and I'm so fucking sorry for it."

"I've heard your apologies a thousand times, Peter. I'm done hearing them." Harry says, and he sees Peter flinch at his cold tone. Tough. "I'm happy in life right now, and I wish that you find some in your life as well, because we couldn't find it at all." He finishes, waving his finger back and forth between the two of them.

Peter furiously wipes at the tears on his cheeks with the back of his hands, and he heaves himself off the couch on wobbly legs. He starts to reach out for Harry, so he moves back even further. God, not this shit again. He's basically blending into the wall at this point.

"Don't touch me," Harry says, throwing his arms out like he's warding off a vampire. "Please."

Peter nods, but it looks like it's physically paining him to do it. His eyes flick rapidly over Harry's face, and then he hangs his head, chin hitting his chest.

"I made a decision." Peter whispers to the ground, before looking up at Harry. His eyelashes are clumped together. "I'm going to check myself into a rehab facility, again."

Harry simply stares at his ex-husband.

"Harry." Peter sighs, running a trembling hand through his un-done locks. "I hate myself so much right now. It kills me to know how much I've hurt you because of all the shit I've put you through over the years. I'm so fucking sorry. And, I know I can say that to you a billion times, a trillion times, and it won't matter, but I want you to know that I'm gonna try."

Harry doesn't know what to say.

"I'm gonna get clean for you, and our kids." He hears Peter say, and Harry runs a hand across his face.

"Is that all you wanted to say?" Harry asks him in a bored tone.

"No." Peter admits, trying and failing to smooth down his wrinkled shirt. "Pete, I know I've hurt you, and I know you want nothing to do with me, and I don't blame you for it. I would do the exact same thing if I was in your shoes. But, I really need you with me through this." he says, reaching out for Harry again, but he shoots him a look and he moves away.

Harry is torn. On one hand, he is so furious with this man that he called his husband for years, and he feels like a part of him always will be, but on the other hand, he knows that addicts need to have some sort of support system in place if they ever want to truly recover. Peter didn't have much in the way of support. Peter didn't have a lot of real friends. As far as he was concerned, Wade didn't count.

"Please, Harry." Peter begs, and he's no longer biting his lip to keep it from trembling. Each choked out sob hits Harry's eardrums like an air horn.

"I don't know-" Harry murmurs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Please." Peter pleads again, and he risks stepping a few inches closer. "I can't do this without you." he cries, clasping his hands on either side of Harry's face to bring their foreheads together, and Harry lets him. Peter practically crumples in his arms, gripping weak hands on Harry's neck in an attempt to keep himself upright.

Harry indulges him for a few moments, but then he moves away, making sure to steady Peter on his feet before removing his hands from his upper arms.

"Okay," Harry whispers, and he desperately hopes that he won't regret saying it. Peter reaches out to wrap Harry into another hug, but Harry shoots out his arms. That's enough touching for today.

Peter decides not to push his luck any more than he already has, so he swipes at his eyes a few more times and heads towards the front door. When they get out onto the porch, Peter pauses. He probably thinks he should say something else, maybe not leave it like this between them, but he chokes on air.

"I just want you to know," Harry starts, clearing his throat and wringing his hands together. "I already forgave you for what you did. I didn't think that I'd ever be able to forgive you. I sure as hell don't trust you anymore as the trust is completely broken, but I'll be here." Peter nods like that's what he was expecting to hear all along, but he flinches just the same. "But," Harry sighs, scratching at his chin, "I'll help you through this and maybe we can go back to being friends."

"Thank you." Peter says with a sincerity Harry's never heard from him before. "I know I don't deserve it, so thank you." Harry gives a curt nod in response, and Peter walks away.

"Thank goodness I lowered the stove for the boiled eggs." Harry says to himself.

So, Harry makes his way over to the rehab facility bright and early on a Saturday morning, and he immediately situates himself against an inconspicuous corner in the main lobby. He starts cracking his fingers together in an attempt to calm the shaking. He looks around the area, avoiding the gaze of anyone in uniform, and bites his lip, gnawing on the skin until it hurts. He sees a few patients being wheeled around, he hears the shuffling of papers from the main desk and the phone constantly ringing, he smells the greasy food from the downstairs cafeteria, and it all passes in a flurry of people hugging their loved ones tight as they walk off to have their scheduled visitation.

He doesn't know why this place is giving him the creeps, and he rubs his hands up and down his arms because they have broken out in goosebumps. It's so bright in here, with fluorescent lighting overhead and white walls. There are potted plants littering the floor and flowers on tables. Each wall is covered in paintings of streams or beaches or shining fields, which he assumes is supposed to be calming. He supposes the vibe they're trying to give off is one of hope and a fresh beginning on life, but he doesn't feel any of that.

The air he's breathing into his lungs tastes stale and the room seems too small. He can hear the hacking of a patient upstairs and he smells the sharp sting of antiseptic—almost overpowering in its amount. Everything looks cold and hollow, like if he snapped his fingers the truth about this place would be revealed.

He doesn't know why he's being this way. He was the one who was always championing rehab, but the thought of Peter here makes his stomach roll, and makes him feel like he's about to retch into the nearest fern. He's sure the staff is perfectly competent, professional, and caring, and that there are many success stories from people who have been treated here, but he's being confronted with the reality of the situation for the first time and it's tripping him up.

Before he can sink even further into himself, a lovely Indian woman with a kind smile and brightly, polished nails asks him if he's a Mr. Harry Osborn. He nods his head and pushes himself off the wall, following her into a large room with windows all around. He eyes the chairs set up in a circle and the table laid out with cookies and water, and he steels himself for what's to come. About six people are already sitting down, and some of them look just as nervous as he is, while some look like they've been here plenty of times and know the staff on a first name basis.

The woman introduces herself as Dr. Maxine Shaw, but instructs everyone to call her Max. The session doesn't include the patient, but rather four sets of families are brought together to create an open forum where they could talk about their feelings or issues. Harry feels the beads of sweat already forming on his forehead and he wipes them away with the back of his hand. He came to this because he wanted to learn how to help Peter; he's just hoping he doesn't have to say anything. He's pretty sure they can't force him to.

Once the floor is open, a woman gets up and introduces herself as Dana. Apparently, this is her daughter's third time in rehab. She talks about the anxiety she deals with every day, and the hopelessness she felt after the second time it didn't work out. She talks about divorcing from her husband when he refused to support their good for nothing junkie of a daughter. She talks about the anger she feels at herself for not being able to stop the cycle, and how she feels like a failure as a parent. But, she also talks about the hope she feels, and how sure she is that this time it'll work for her daughter.

Another woman stands up next, introducing herself as Regine, and points to an elderly couple beside her who she introduces as Daryl and Susan. Her husband just entered rehab for the first time to battle his alcohol addiction, and she brought his parents along for the session. She talks about her fears and nervousness that her husband will fall off the wagon as soon as he exits the facility. She talks about their six-year-old daughter, and cries when she talks about having to explain to her where her daddy is. His parents talk about how hard it is to see their son in this position, but they believe in his strength and that's why they're here.

A family of four gets up next, and they say much of the same. Once they sit down, all eyes turn to Harry, but he just shakes his head to indicate that he doesn't feel like sharing. Max nods her head in understanding and so does Dana, and then Dr. Max gets up and starts talking to them about what they could do to take care of themselves.

"This meeting today isn't so much about the addict in your life as it is about you," she says. "This is about what you can do for yourself. Your behavior affects them just as much as their behavior affects you."

Once the session is over, Harry dashes out of the facility and leans against the brick wall of the building. He starts gasping in the humid air and yanking at his collar. He calmed himself down, ignoring the stares of pedestrians on the street, and starts walking towards the park. There's no way he can stand getting on a crowded subway right now.

He knew this was going to be difficult, but he didn't know it was going to be this hard. Listening to those stories today should have helped him, but all he can think about is being there for a third time just like Dana and hoping more than anything that he wouldn't have to be back for a fourth. He's always believed Peter was a strong person, but cocaine is one demon he never thought that Peter had been able to exorcise after their divorce. He thinks he needs it too much. He needs it more than he needs anything else, oranyoneelse.