Chapter 3

Harry is beyond tired when he finally arrives home, back at the Osborn apartments. Adjusting to university life had seemed like it would be easy, but now the unruly schedule and increased workload had just made it all the more difficult for him. Hell, trying to get back into a regular sleeping pattern was a whole new ballpark. At least with school his sleep had been fairly consistent – not so with university.

He turns to his bodyguard, "Okay, Lewis, you can head off if you want."

Lewis shakes his head, "No can do, Harry. I have to get permission from your father first."

"What?! Since when?"

"New rules, apparently." Lewis said, tapping away at his phone, "He wouldn't give me the specifics, but something tells me he thinks you're more at risk now you're at university."

"I'm already half-way through the year! Why now?"

"That's something you'll need to ask him about, I'm afraid." Lewis said, following after Harry as they entered the elevator to the top floors.

After years of silence and awkward conversation, dinner with Norman Osborn has always been a strange event. For Norman to be home for dinner is rare enough, but for him to sound interested in anything concerning Harry is stranger still.

"Harry," Norman said in between small bites of his food, "I haven't seen your little friend, Peter, around here lately."

It is a question masked as a statement. Harry fears that Norman would physically combust if he were to ever show concern in a direct way, like a normal parent. Perhaps he had done it once, and had accidentally scared Harry's Mom to death. Norman didn't like to talk about it, so Harry wasn't quite sure. It was a possibility. Stranger things had happened.

"Uh, we've both been busy, Dad. The university is a big place and his timetable is all over the place." Harry half-lied, wiping at his mouth delicately with a napkin, and very deliberately not mentioning the fact that Peter hadn't been round in over a year.

Norman chewed at his food slowly, appearing to be deep in thought. He swallows.

"Ah." There is a brief silence, and then: "It's a pity. You'd do well with a smart boy like him close by. You've just never been as sharp-minded…"

Harry grits his teeth, but remains silent. Back-handed comments were Norman's speciality, and Harry had quickly learned to never react to them. Better to suffer in silence.

"Hmmm." Harry nodded instead, already ignoring Norman's longwinded spiel about Harry being a family disappointment.

"…are his aunt and uncle well?"

Harry paused, spoon halfway to his mouth, momentarily stunned.

"…uh, his uncle is dead, Dad. It's been about three years." he said tentatively.

"Oh. That's right. But is his aunt well?"

"…I haven't got a clue. I'll ask Peter next time I see him, okay?" Harry lied again, picking up his spoon.

Norman let the barest hint of a smile cross his features, in what ends up looking like a grimace. They sit in silence for a good while, as Harry struggles to process their conversation, as well as how to approach his father about the weird 'curfew'. In all their years together, Norman had never instituted strict rules but had only expected Harry to 'not shame the Osborn name' or to 'disgrace himself'. Whereas other kids were allowed to mess-up, Harry had been expected, from birth, to just be good and quiet, or if he was to rebel, to do so well out of sight.

It hurt that Norman didn't care much about Harry's wellbeing, but rather whether Harry was going to embarrass the family name. Of course, Harry had just had to deal with it, like everything else. It was infuriating.

With renewed irritation flooding through is veins, Harry opts to just ask his father right out about it:

"…Lewis tells me that I don't have any power to dismiss him anymore. That he has to ask you for permission to leave."

Norman's brow furrows ever so slightly, as if the very act of being questioned by his son was reprehensible. Not surprisingly, Harry thought.

"Yes. That's correct." Norman said finally.

"Why?"

"The streets aren't safe, Harry. This city gets more and more wretched with each day." Norman said simply, still paying more attention to his food than the son sitting across from him.

"But in our own house? I can't tell him to leave?! Surely, we're safe here, what with the security detail?"

"Harry." Norman is glaring now, his cutlery still; "I won't say anymore on the matter. You'll just have to accept it."

Harry grits his teeth, but doesn't answer.

Arguing with Norman never resolved anything, it just made things worse. He'd learnt that the hard way, over the years. Of course, he wanted so badly to yell and scream, to protest! But Norman would never yield.

…gosh, he needed a smoke.

Only when Norman has finished his dinner and gone back out to the office, is Harry finally free to take a breather out on the balcony. He hated this constant tip-toeing around Norman, but if he was to live with his father he would just have to put up with it. He'd successfully done so for the past nineteen-years, but that didn't mean it got any easier. If anything, Norman had gotten worse over the years.

So, with far too much gusto, Harry throws on his silk kimono and heads out onto the balcony. When he lights up a cigarette and just inhales the smoke, he feels his nerves instantly settle and his breathing slows. It's terrible, that it's come to this, but it works so goddamned well that Harry just can't bring himself to give it up.

In fact, he's so caught up in the experience that he fails to notice the second person appearing on the balcony.

"That's a bad habit, you've got there, Mr. Osborn."

"Fuck-" Harry jumped, dropping the cigarette in his surprise. "What the hell?!"

To his horror, Spider-Man has perched himself dangerously upon the banister, head tilted in what looks like curiosity. Harry can't tell exactly. Stupid mask.

"You're trespassing!" Harry sputtered, unable to disguise his shock. "What are you doing here?"

"I make it a habit to check up on people I've helped out."

"What? Seriously?"

Honestly, it reeked of bullshit. Why the hell had Spider-Man just shown up on his balcony? Had he decided that Harry Osborn was a public menace and needed to be taken to the police? …had he seen that interview and wanted revenge for Harry's angry rambling? Oh god, he didn't want to die at the hands of a guy wearing a freaking leotard!

"Yeah! Isn't getting thrown off a roof just a little bit traumatic?"

Harry blinked, "Well, I guess when you put it like that…"

Spider-Man laughs, shifting slightly as if to make himself more comfortable.

How very pretentious, to make himself at home in the Osborn apartments! Harry thought, folding his arms angrily. Why, Spider-Man was acting as if he'd been here before! And that was a disturbing thought indeed.

"…so, are you doing well? Looks like you're not too afraid of heights, at the very least. How many floors up are we?" Spider-Man continued, seeming to sense Harry's growing impatience.

Harry shrugged, lighting up another cigarette with trembling hands, "…fuck, maybe twenty. You tell me, you got up the hard way."

"I'm not too sure about that. It wasn't that difficult."

…of course, it wasn't. Harry wasn't sure how they did it, but superheroes sure could take a beating. He wishes he could be that strong. Then maybe he could finally tell Norman to get lost without serious repercussions… nice.

"So, have I ticked all the boxes? Am I fit and healthy enough for you?" Harry takes a moment to blow smoke at Spider-Man, as if to challenge him to say anything else.

"You should probably quit smoking, but yeah, I'm satisfied."

Harry rolls his eyes, before turning to go inside, "Good. I can't talk to you all night."

"Hold up, I got you a little something!"

Harry paused, failing to mask his surprise, "What?"

"Here you go!"

With that, Spider-Man pushes something into his free hand.

It's a tiny little bobble-head, made with cheap plastic and a particularly horrible paint-job. The coil is overstretched, making the ridiculous thing fly hazardously in all directions. Despite its kitschy appearance, it is obvious enough who the figure is.

Harry raised an eyebrow, "Really? You got me a bobble-head of yourself?"

Spider-Man shrugged, "I can't keep an eye on you twenty-four seven, unfortunately. So, little Spider-Man here will do that for me! That way I can always look out for you!"

The superhero sounds awkward, as he shifts side to side on the banister, as if trying to stave away his nerves. It is strangely intimate to see him acting like this.

Something in Harry melts a little and he smiles, still peering at the bobble-head, "It's kind of cute I guess."

Clapping his hands together, Spider-Man whoops excitedly, very nearly toppling over the banister.

"I knew you'd like it!"

"I wouldn't go that far."

"Hey!"

Harry ignores him, suddenly deep in thought.

"Hey, Spider-Guy, is it alright if I mention this to my friend? She writes a blog about you. The interview would really help her out – she wants to try her hand at journalism, yanno? It's nothing official – just fan-site stuff, so you probably won't get into trouble with The Daily Bugle again…"

For a moment, Spider-Man is silent, standing motionless upon the balcony. Seeming to look right at Harry, thinking. Harry shuffles his feet nervously, suddenly shy. This attention was strange, too focused.

"Y-yeah, yeah that's fine, Harry. You go right ahead."

"Thanks."

Every night for a week after that, Harry makes a habit of lingering out on his balcony long after his cigarette has been snuffed out. He ignores the biting cold breeze and sits in his wicker chair, with a blanket wrapped tightly around himself, watching the blinking lights and towering buildings, listening to the sound of sirens, people yelling, and the angry hum of traffic. There is a strange harmony to it all.

Even so, Harry himself is on edge. His stomach jumps strangely with every startling movement, and he breathes in sharply with every out of the ordinary sound.

He waits, until it gets too cold to bare, and then retreats inside.