Three days passed with no acceptance of his follower request on the Twitter account.
Peter would check back frequently, in between patrols as Spider-Man and learning his way around Harley's habits at the apartment. He was always careful to shield his phone from his new roommate anytime his curiosity got the best of him and forced him to check it before he could slip into the privacy his room provided. The account seemed like a dead end, and he wondered, briefly, if he was going crazy. But the crumpled blue flyer that he kept in his desk's top drawer, under a mountain of other papers, assured him that no, he had not absolutely lost his marbles. Not yet at least.
Someone did know his name.
And they were looking for him.
If it was Morgan (and he really wasn't entirely sure it was, even as something deep inside him asked 'who else could it be?) he knew he was screwed. He hadn't called the school to turn the job down yet, because he'd wanted to see if the Twitter account was actually who he suspected, first. If it wasn't, it was an easy yes. The money was something he really, really didn't want to pass up, but he knew if it was her, he couldn't risk reentering her life. He'd done enough damage to the people he cared about before, and he had no plans to continue that trend.
He was doing just fine on his own, thank you very much. He'd been handling everything by himself for the last three years.
He didn't need anyone.
That didn't stop him from wanting them, though. Even when he tried to keep those thoughts buried, tucked safely in a vault in the back of his mind, there was a small part of him that craved that feeling of simply being known. For three years, he'd been a ghost. People saw him, sure, but they didn't really know him. Not in the way MJ and Ned had. Or Happy. Certainly not in the way Pepper and Morgan did.
Morgan would be nine.
He wondered how much she had changed, since he'd last seen her.
At six, before the events that would later destroy his life, she'd lost her front teeth. She'd insisted that she stay over at Peter's and May's apartment that night to wait for the tooth fairy to visit. Pepper had sighed in exasperation, telling her she wasn't sure the tooth fairly would be able to find her if she wasn't at home, safe in bed. Morgan had rebutted, asking how she collected the teeth from kid's who lost them at sleepovers. 'Besides,' she'd reasoned, 'if she's as good at her job as she claims she is, she'll know where to find me.'
Peter, for his part, had been pleased she wanted to hang out with him and had readily accepted when Pepper had called May to ask them if it was alright. Pepper had given him a doubtful look after dropping her off, but had pressed the money into the palm of his hand before warning him that Morgan had been talking about trying to catch the tooth fairy lately. Peter had laughed, at the time. But when he'd wound up with his hand ensnared in some sort of trap while trying to slip the money under the pillow, he realized he'd vastly underestimated the smarts of his little sister. She'd woken up, despite his quiet, muffled attempts to loosen himself, a gap-toothed grin lighting up her face.
"I knew it!" She'd exclaimed, crossing her arms determinedly in front of herself as Peter huffed and rested his chin on the mattress to stare up at her, hand still encircled in the thick twine she'd managed to smuggle in. "I kept asking Mommy if the tooth fairy is real." She'd stood up on the bed and moved the pillow to free Peter and he'd sighed before sitting on the edge of the bed as she snuggled back into the blankets.
"You're not upset she's not?" He'd asked and Morgan had simply giggled.
"No." She'd said, shrugging. "I think adults lie to kids all the time. They think we're stupid or something." Peter had simply stared at her before swooping in to drop a kiss on her forehead. "But I had to experiment. To make sure." She'd continued, blinking owlishly up at him. "Because there's a lot of really weird stuff that is real, so I wanted to test my hypothesis." Her statement had been matter-of-fact, and Peter had laughed before he'd tucked the blankets tighter around her.
"God, you're just like your dad." He'd said, shaking his head fondly. Morgan had smiled at that and leaned forward to press a kiss to his cheek as she flung her arms around him in a hug. "Too smart for your own good."
And that had been that.
Neither of them told Pepper about her little experiment, and Morgan had winked slyly at him the next time she'd lost a tooth and run to her mother to show her.
Yeah, she was definitely Tony's daughter.
He'd missed her, more than he'd realized. The flyer had sparked something inside of him, something warm and familiar, but he knew he couldn't give in to the feeling. It didn't matter if she remembered. All that mattered was whether or not she was safe. And she wouldn't be, if he was back in her life. That much had been made crystal clear to him, three years ago. Being Spider-Man was dangerous. More so for the people he cared about than himself, though his body could attest to the dangers of his alter ego, if the brutal hits he took on the regular were any sort of indicator.
He was startled out of his reminiscing by a knock on his door. He frowned and stood, crossing the room over threadbare carpet to pull it open. Harley waited on the other side, his blue eyes sparkling.
"Hey, Peter Parker."
"Hey, Harley." He said, narrowing his eyes a bit. "Everything ok? I just washed towels, if that's what you're looking for. They should be in the dryer, downstairs. I can go grab them later, but if you need them now, I'll give you the laundry room key. Remind me to make you a copy." Harley just laughed again and shook his head.
"You're really bad at making friends." He said, when his laughter subsided. Peter's frown deepened and he stepped back from the door.
"Well, if that's all you knocked on the door for, I've got some homework I should really be working on—" he hooked a thumb over his shoulder towards his desk, but Harley just shook his head.
"No, wait, that came out wrong. Sorry." He scuffed his shoe against the faux hardwood floor of the hallway, looking down as if he were suddenly nervous. "I actually was just going to let you know I ordered some takeout. Chinese, if you're interested." Peter titled his head, brow scrunching together. Harley raised his hands in mock-defeat for the third time since Peter had met him. "No pressure. Just thought I'd offer. Figured we could do a little roommate bonding?" He looked hopeful, like a puppy who knew it was about to be adopted. Peter sighed. Chinese didn't sound bad. He hadn't eaten since yesterday, his stomach in far too many knots to try and ingest anything.
"Yeah. Okay. I could eat." He shrugged, and Harley's face lit up like a Christmas tree.
"Cool, it'll be here in twenty."
"Wait, so how old are you?"
They had ended up in the living room, the tv Harley had brought with him quietly playing the news in the background while they waited for their food to arrive. Peter had been too poor to afford a tv for the past three years, much more concerned with everything else he had going on, but Harley had asked if it was alright if he set up his gaming system in the living room and Peter didn't really mind, so long as it didn't keep him up any later than he already stayed. He glanced at it, his ears picking up on the soft voices that were currently discussing Spider-Man. He tried not to turn and stare at it, mostly to prevent Harley from thinking he was being a weirdo.
"Twenty." Peter said, around a mouthful of noodles. Somehow, Harley had gotten his exact order correct, but he'd just shrugged and said he was good at guessing when Peter had asked how he knew.
Peter's brows drew together for a moment, and he swallowed, drawn back to the conversation at hand. "Scratch that. Twenty-one, now, I guess." He shrugged and dug back into the food in front of him, before looking back up at Harley who was watching him, expectantly.
"You don't know your own age?" The other boy asked, a sort of confused, teasing smile on his face.
"I forget." Peter said, picking at his noodles and dropping his gaze again, a frown creasing over his visage once more. He cleared his throat and shrugged, still refusing to lift his eyes. He hesitated and took another large bite. Had he really forgotten his birthday this year? Granted, he hadn't really celebrated them for three years, hadn't celebrated any holiday, really, but he remembered a time when birthdays had been a big deal to him. "Don't really celebrate them, much anymore. It's January now, so it's gotta be twenty-one. I guess I forgot." He continued, finally filling the silence that had stretched between them with an accompanied shrug. He looked up to meet Harley's befuddled gaze.
"How did you forget your own birthday?" Harley asked after a moment. Peter shrugged again and returned to staring back down into the carton of food, stirring the contents thoughtfully with his chopsticks. Once upon a time, he'd counted the days down to his birthdays. It was and easy date to remember, only three days after Christmas, and for having a birthday so close to a holiday, it was a miracle that his friends and family never got annoyed with his love of them.
"I haven't really celebrated it since my aunt died." He confessed. He heard Harley's intake of air, sharper this time, but he continued to pretend like he hadn't.
He didn't talk about May very often, not anymore. He still thought about her almost daily, though. Sometimes, when he'd wake up, it would take a minute for everything to kick in. He'd wake up wondering what May was probably already burning in the kitchen, and for about ten seconds, everything would feel normal. Then, he was violently pulled back to reality as the tidal wave of everything he'd lost came crashing back into his consciousness. May wasn't alive anymore. Instead, she'd been added to his list of regrets, right up there with Tony, MJ, Ned, Pepper, Morgan and all of the other people he'd let down, over the years.
"Oh." Harley hesitated, but his words snapped Peter out of his thoughts. "I'm sorry. Was it recent?"
"Three years ago, now." Peter said, clearing his throat and standing up. He avoided looking at Harley as he made his way into the kitchen, his appetite suddenly disappearing.
"Geez. So, you've been on your own since you were eighteen?" Harley called after him, and Peter nodded.
"Seventeen. But I guess, technically eighteen." He corrected, bending over a bit as he pulled the fridge open to search for a good spot to store his leftovers. "She died right before Christmas. But yeah, hard to keep track of dates when you're the only one to remind yourself." He stood, smiling tightly as he looked back towards the other boy, but he knew it looked sour. Harley huffed and got to his feet as well, approaching him and tugging the carton off the shelf and pressing it back into Peter's hand.
"To forgotten birthdays." He said, tapping his carton lightly against Peter's. "I'm a bad roommate." He continued; his blue eyes trained on Peter's face. "Didn't even get you a gift." Peter laughed at that, and this time it was genuine.
"It was a month ago." He shook his head and put the carton back as he shut the door and scooted around his new roommate. "You didn't even know me then. Don't worry about it." Harley frowned.
"When, exactly?" He asked.
"December 28th." Peter murmured, taking another bite of his food, despite the unease in his stomach.
"Damn." Harley muttered, taking a big bite of his own food. "I can't believe you didn't celebrate your 21st. That's, like, the holy grail of birthdays." He shook his head, still eating but moving to seat himself on the counter. Peter eyed him, but ultimately declined the protest that raised in his throat. He turned towards the dishes that had gathered over the day and started washing them while Harley continued to snack. "We're going to have to throw a party." Harley said, tilting his head back to rest against the cabinet.
"Absolutely not." Peter said, head thrown back in the sudden, unbidden laughter that bubbled out of him at the suggestion. "That sounds like my worst nightmare." He glanced at Harley, dropping a cup on the drying rack. "A bunch of people? In my house? Messing with my stuff? Hard pass." He shook his head again and Harley's eyes glittered in the yellow lamplight. Peter shot him a look. "I'm serious, Harley."
"As a heart attack?" Peter threw the dish-towel at him, and Harley batted it away midair, laughing as he slid off the counter and dropped his now-empty carton in the trash. He slipped into one of the ratty barstools that Peter had managed to snag from a street corner before they'd been picked up for the dump. "But for real, Parker. What harm could come of a little celebration? Surely you've got family that's upset they didn't take you out to get drunk downtown? I'd be happy to invite them. I can't just let you not celebrate a date as big as that." Peter's could feel his expression darken, and he focused back on washing the few dishes that remained.
"No." He said, after a minute. "My family's all dead." Harley sobered quickly at that, all laughter dying in the air.
"Oh. Shit." Peter tossed another look over his head to see Harley's head was bowed, as he stared into his clasped hands. He looked up, frowning. "If it helps, the guy who practically raised me died a few years ago. So, I know what it's like, losing someone you love." Peter resumed the task at hand, looking away from Harley so the the other boy wouldn't see the tears that stung suddenly at his eyes. He knew the feeling of loss all too well. And so, it seemed, did Harley.
"It sucks, doesn't it?" He asked, wiping his hands on the dish towel and turning back towards his new roommate once he was sure his eyes wouldn't betray him.
"Yeah. Yeah, it really does."
Peter hummed, a shared silence of grief hovering in the air between them.
Maybe this was a roommate that wouldn't end badly. He wasn't quite sure of what to make of Harley just yet, but so far he seemed pretty decent. He was quiet, but kind. He'd been doing his dishes and had kept their living room clean, adding a rug and his little TV set up so it wasn't just a couch and some posters hung on the walls. It looked more like a home, now. Somewhere people lived, rather than a barren storage room.
It was nice.
But Peter knew he needed to tread carefully. He couldn't let himself get too close to Harley. He knew what closeness could cost him, and he wasn't willing to end up right back where he'd started. He glanced at Harley, who was tapping away with slender fingers on his phone, brow furrowed a bit.
"Well, I'm going to go to bed." Peter said, after a moment. Harley looked up, and nodded. "Early morning tomorrow. First day of school." Harley laughed at that.
"Where'd you say you were working, again?" Harley asked, head tilting.
"Oh, I don't think I mentioned it. It's a private school. Kate Willard Preparatory School? I dunno, it's well paying but…" he hesitated, catching himself. Harley was watching him intently, and his face had darkened a bit. Peter suppressed a shiver at the sight. "Do you know it?"
"I've heard of it." Harley confirmed, his blue eyes suddenly trained on Peter's face again. "Why weren't you going to accept their offer in the first place?" Peter drew in a breath and shook his head.
"I thought someone I used to know was there." He had really considered calling and declining the offer. But the radio silence from the Twitter account had left him doubting himself. He really, really couldn't pass up the opportunity to make more money and there was no real guarantee that Morgan was the one looking for him. Sure, there were plenty of clues that pointed to that, but with no real confirmation of his hunch, he had decided to take the job. He could always quit later if something came up. Resume and reputation with Dr. Otto be damned.
"Ah, ex girlfriend or something?" Peter huffed out a laugh at the question and shook his head.
"No, nothing like that. It's a long story. Maybe I'll tell you about it, sometime." Fat chance of that ever happening. But Harley didn't need to know that. "Thanks for dinner." Harley hummed thoughtfully, and nodded.
"Yeah. Have a good night. And good luck on your first day tomorrow."
Morgan Stark had known since she was five that the world was not a normal place for people with her last name.
She'd grown up hearing tales of her dad's heroics as Iron Man, and everyone just…expected her to be like him. It was like she didn't even have a choice in the matter. She didn't think anyone did it with any sort of any intentional malice, least of all her Uncle Happy and Uncle Rhodey, who were the ones that told her the most stories, especially when her mom was out for the evening on a business meeting.
They just really loved to talk about her dad.
But if she were being totally honest? She didn't really remember much about the infamous Tony Stark.
She did, however, remember some things about her dad. They were only a few, fleeting moments of late-night popsicles and bedtime stories under fairy lights and canopy's that stuck out in her mind, but stick out they did. She remembered early mornings in the lab that housed his suits, rock music blaring in the speakers before he'd put on some Disney movie soundtrack and swing her around the room, dancing with her atop his feet until Mom woke up and made them return to the kitchen for breakfast.
That was her dad. Not the "Tony Stark" that everyone thought they knew.
She'd heard plenty of stories from the older girls at school, who would sometimes print out old news articles on some ridiculous escapade he'd gotten himself into in his younger years (before the Avengers, and presumably, her mom) that they'd then proceed to slip into the slats of her locker during passing periods. They loved to do that, and one time, they'd filled her locker up so much so, when she'd opened it a flurry of sleek prints advertising half-naked women spilled out and fluttered through the hallways for the rest of the day.
She'd been the one to get detention for that.
How, exactly, it was her fault, she didn't know. And she'd been quick to tell the Dean that, arguing that she hadn't been the one to put them in there. So, why was she the one getting in trouble? Dr. Reynold's had just shaken her head, lips pressed into a thin, tight line before she'd called her mom.
The older girls had giggled and whispered, side-eyeing Morgan any time she passed them in the hallway for the rest of the day, acting like she hadn't already researched every little thing the internet had to offer on her dad as soon as she'd learned how to use a computer. Her mom didn't like to talk about him much, so she'd had to arm herself with the knowledge the worldwide web had provided, instead.
And in the end, it wasn't really like their stupid prank had mattered, ultimately. She didn't really like the older girls, or the school itself, for that matter. Almost everyone that attended was snobby, and stuck up, and thought they were better than everyone else.
She knew better, though.
They didn't like her because she was smarter than them. Her mom had her tested when she was seven. She was already reading at an advanced college level, and after practically living in the lab with her dad for the first five years of her life, she'd learned a thing or two when it came to math and science.
Needless to say, her results had astounded even the proctor of the test.
So much so that they thought she'd cheated.
As if.
Instead of arguing with them, she'd simply retaken it, spitefully determined to prove them wrong. Her results had been even better, the second time around, since she was actually trying. She'd sat in the hallway afterwards, kicking her legs as she'd waited patiently on the uncomfortable wood chair while her mom talked in quiet whispers in their office, shaking her head to the point that Morgan wasn't entirely sure her hair wasn't going to shake loose from her skull. Her face had been pinched, and Morgan knew from the crease in her brow that she was worried.
They'd gone to get ice cream, after, and her mom had explained that they thought she should be put into an advanced school. Something private, where she would excel without 'undue influence.' She was pretty sure that was the unofficial motto of Kate Willard Preparatory School. The number of times she'd heard it while getting in trouble was enough to make her want to pop her own eardrums.
No Undue Influence.
No undue influence, like her dad (in his life prior to her) was considered.
That wasn't the person she'd known though. Her dad was just that: her dad. He'd been a goofy scientist, an inventor who had silly pet names for everyone he loved, and always reserved a special forehead kiss for her while tucking her in to bed.
She couldn't really remember much else about him, except for feeling safe when he was around.
Well, that and her big brother, whom he'd practically adopted.
Peter was the best older brother a girl could ask for. He was nice, and fun to hang out with, and he put up with her incessant questions without complaint, calmly thinking them through, in a way that told her he'd really listened. He'd pause, consider what she'd asked, his mouth twisting thoughtfully before he gave her an answer. He'd treated her like his equal. He didn't walk around eggshells around her, too afraid to talk about her dad. In fact, he'd practically relished in the memories. Everyone else acted like talking about her dad was taboo. Like if they didn't say his name, all memory of him would simply disappear from her mind.
She hated that.
Her dad had died. And the only person who seemed to get it was Peter. Even when he'd had to go to Europe for his school field trip, he'd made sure to text her regularly, just to check in. He'd even called her, one night, his face bruised and cut up and his eyes a little wet with unshed tears, based on the view the camera provided. He hadn't told her why, just explained that he'd had a bad night. She'd distracted him, telling him a silly story about Gerald getting into her mom's goji bush, again. Peter had laughed, and his tears had dried a little. Then Uncle Happy had jumped on and told her they'd had to go. Important Avengers business or something along those lines.
She wished he'd told her more, because a few months later, no one even knew who he was.
She wasn't entirely sure what had happened. She'd woken up that morning, practically bouncing out of her bed, the excitement of getting to see Peter for the first time in three weeks coursing through her veins. Mom had told her there was a lot of legal stuff going on and that they'd needed to lay low, which meant no play dates with Peter.
Morgan hated laying low. Their house, despite all of the upgrades her mom and dad had installed in it, got very boring, very quickly when she didn't have anyone to play with. There was only so many movies she could watch before she was itching to run around in the woods, but Mom said that was dangerous to do alone and she had too many conference calls to supervise her. But she'd promised once everything cleared up they'd have Peter over, first thing.
So, when she'd walked into the living room only to find her mom sitting on the couch watching the news with her arms folded across her stomach, her red hair in loose waves, and her face pinched in that expression of concern Morgan so rarely saw on her face, she'd been more than a little concerned.
Had something happened to Peter?
She crawled onto the couch beside her and was pulled under the warmth of the blanket covering her mom's lap. They'd watched quietly, listening as the news anchor announced the destruction that had been dealt to the Statue of Liberty. The shield they were trying to add on had fallen, and it appeared to be because of a fight involving Spider-Man. No one had died, but no one had seen Spider-Man since, either.
Her mom had gotten up, shaking her head, and murmuring softly under her breath as Morgan had remained rooted to her seat, shell-shocked. She could hear rustling from the kitchen, and when she finally could force her voice to comply, she asked the only question her mind could formulate:
"Is Peter okay? Have you checked on him yet?" Her voice had come out squeaky as she shifted in her seat, knees digging into the couch cushions as she peered over the back of it. Her mom had turned from the task at hand to look at her, eyebrows drawn together in confusion.
"Checked on who, sweetie?" She'd asked, returning to the stove to start the kettle. Morgan stared at her, wondering if she was pulling a prank. It wasn't a very funny one, she decided.
"Peter?" She asked again, frowning.
"Is that a new friend of yours?" Pepper had called back, still busying herself with the tea. "I don't think you've told me about a 'Peter' before." Morgan had stared at her, completely bewildered. Pepper had simply hummed and continued making her tea, oblivious to the fact that Morgan's world was crumbling around her for the second time in her short life.
That had been three years ago.
Morgan had learned very quickly (in this strange, alternate universe that she'd seemed to have woken up in) that Peter Parker didn't exist. Or, if he did, no one seemed to know who he was.
No one, and she meant it when she said absolutely no one, knew who she was talking about when she brought him up. Uncle Happy had just nodded at her, half-listening while tapping away at his phone as she'd tried to explain. He'd furrowed his brow a bit and given her the side eye when she'd said he was Spider-Man, before laughing and telling her that her imagination was getting away from her, again as he ruffled her hair.
Uncle Rhodey hadn't been much help, either.
Sure, he'd listened a lot more intently that Uncle Happy had, but his pleasant nodding and 'oh, yes, mhm. I see's had quickly grated on her nerves and had only served to prove that he didn't believe her either.
It was infuriating.
Everyone told her she was a genius, but they sure didn't like listening to her.
After that, she'd thrown herself into trying to prove it, but it was hard to convince anyone of anything at only 6 years old. No one would take her seriously. It didn't exactly help that she barely had control over her emotions, either. Genius or not. She was just a kid, and kids weren't supposed to be the ones trying to control their emotions. They weren't supposed to worry about anything other than being a kid, or so they told her. But Morgan knew she wasn't a normal kid, just like she knew her world had been shoved off of its axis with no notice, seemingly overnight.
Peter was her brother, but nobody remembered him.
She was determined to change that.
She started by making a list of everything she could remember about the boy everyone had forgotten. His favorite colors (red and blue, obviously), the color of his eyes and hair, what he ordered on his ice cream anytime they went out (he gagged when she ordered mint chocolate chip, claiming it was a crime against humanity. She was pretty sure that was just his spider bite talking). There were a lot of things to try and remember on her own, and with no one else to offer any sort of assistance, she wasn't sure she'd be able to do it all herself. She didn't let the idea scare her though, instead carrying around a little notebook and scribbling down her thoughts and memories whenever a new one came up.
For three years, Morgan kept her knowledge of Peter Parker completely to herself. She became quieter, more reserved, as she retreated into herself; her notebook a constant companion on her quest to remember. Her mom thought something was wrong, and Morgan didn't know how to explain to her that something was wrong, but she wouldn't know it, because she didn't remember.
Her mom's solution had been Kate Willard Preparatory School.
No one had ever said it to Morgan, nor had they ever even presumed that she was aware, but she knew it was because her mom was worried that she'd end up like her dad. They were two different sides of the same coin, both of them smarter than almost everyone they knew, from a very young age. Her mom had seen what a lack of guidance had done to her dad in his early years, and it was obvious she wanted to prevent Morgan from going down the same road. She figured everyone would much prefer she skip the whole 'prodigy turns wild child' and Kate Willard was the exact place to keep her on the straight and narrow.
It was technically a high school, and they didn't typically admit anyone under the age of fourteen, but Morgan had the test results to prove her merit. Slap her last name on the resume, and the admissions council had called her mom within the hour to have her come in for an interview.
They had, of course, fawned over her, attempting to get her mom to agree to attendance at their school. Morgan wasn't stupid, she knew they mostly wanted her there for funding. Her mother, for her part, had asked all of the right questions and taken plenty of notes during their first tour guide of the campus grounds. They'd ended up deciding Morgan would board for five days out of the week, which let her come home on the weekends.
It'd been an adjustment, to say the least, but at the time, Morgan had been excited of the prospect of new friends and something to keep her distracted and entertained whenever her mom was busy with the family business. And five days a week away from home seemed more like a blessing than a curse.
The classes were supposed to be tough, but Morgan didn't think they really were. She heard complaints from the other girls, the ones that excluded and teased her, but she was too prideful to offer them any sort of help. Because of her age difference, the older girls had no interest in her help, even if she was smarter than all of them combined. Instead, she listened to them complain about their grades and roll their eyes whenever she was given her homework back with an A+. After a year, she didn't mind the stares and nasty looks they'd give her and she never complained to her mom, grateful to no longer be homeschooled, even if she didn't have any friends still.
And one weekend, when her mom came to pick her up after a particularly brutal week at school, she came with a surprise.
"Harley!" She squealed, too excited to care what the older girls thought as she raced to him, flinging her arms around him. He picked her up, swinging her in a circle as they laughed and began to catch up. It'd been a while since she'd seen him, but Pepper had flown him in for the week so he could attend his college orientation at NYU and start settling in to his new internship at Stark Industries.
They'd gotten home quicker than normal, all of them too distracted with their chatter to notice the time ticking away on the long drive back. They'd gone inside, her mom promising to make dinner while Morgan ran upstairs with Harley trailing after her. She'd led him to her room, showing him the new decorations that lined her walls, and her newest book series. He'd watched, eyes glimmering and she'd left him in there by himself for a bit while she slipped away to use the bathroom.
When she came back, he was standing at her desk, looking down at something. He turned around when he heard her approach, her olive-green notebook in his large hand as he looked at her quizzically.
"Hey, Morgs? What the fuck is this?" He held the notebook up higher, his eyebrow scrunched together like a caterpillar, and she knew she was in trouble.
Crap.
"Who's Peter? And why do you have a whole notebook dedicated to him, filled with things he likes and doesn't like?" Morgan huffed and crossed the room in a few quick steps, reaching for the notebook. Harley simply raised it higher, holding it out of her reach. He'd had another growth spurt since she'd last seen him, and it was like trying to climb a slippery mountain face as she attempted to get it back.
"Harley, give it back!" She squeaked, slapping at his legs to try and gain a painful advantage that would possibly convince him to return it to her possession. It didn't. Harley simply nudged her away from him, still holding the notebook out her reach as he flipped through the pages, glancing down at her with pursed lips.
"Morgan, do you have a crush?" His voice was teasing, but she recoiled and smacked him harder.
"Ew!" She said, frowning. "That's so gross." She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, all gangly limbs and self-righteousness as she pouted up at him. "And it's none of your business why I have that." Harley's eyebrow raised, and he flipped to one of the last pages. His eyes skimmed over it, and he hummed, thoughtfully.
"So, what, it's obviously not a boy from school, since it's an all girl's school. What, then? An imaginary friend?" He glanced down at her again, and she stamped her foot against the ground. She could feel her face turning red and Harley finally relented, handing her the notebook.
"He's not imaginary." Morgan said, haughtily. She held the journal close and sank down onto the carpet. Harley followed suit, sitting cross-legged across from her, patiently waiting. She eyed him, gaze narrowed in suspicion.
"Then tell me what it is. 'Cause right now, you're looking a little like a stalker. Which, gotta say, for an evil genius, that would track. You're a genius, but you're not evil. So, tell me what's going on." He leaned forward, staring at her, hard. Morgan hesitated at his words, biting her lip.
And then she relented.
She told him all about Peter, and how he'd seemingly disappeared; how no one remembered him, except for her. And Harley had listened, his face revealing nothing as she talked, his hands clasped together in his concentration. When she was done, she stared at him, waiting.
"That's um…" He frowned. "That's really interesting."
"I knew it." She muttered, rolling her eyes. She hadn't talked about Peter to anyone real in three years, not since her mom, Happy and Rhodey had looked at her like she was crazy. She'd just kept it to herself, determined to find Peter on her own, at some point. "No one has ever believed me, but he's real!" Her frown deepened and she stared down at the journal in her hands. "Why would I make him up?" She looked back at Harley, and he sighed.
"Fine, Morgan. I believe you." He stared at her, sincerity in his voice and Morgan let out a deep breath, practically deflating in her seat across from him.
"You do?" She whispered.
"Yeah. But listen, you have to promise me you're not going to do some stupid shit like trying to find him on your own. You can't go chasing strangers down, I know, I know—" he held up a hand to prevent her interruption, seeing the immediate protest that rose to her lips. "—you think you know him. But Morgan, if everyone forgot him, or whatever the hell happened, why do you remember? What if there's a reason everyone forgot him?" He stared at her hard, and Morgan stared back, refusing to be intimidated, annoyance rising in her at the mere suggestion that Peter was anyone other than she remembered.
"Peter is nice." She snapped, holding her journal close to her chest. "He was always there for me." Harley sighed and shook his head at the jab.
"Morgan, you know I lived in Tennessee, I didn't have a choice on how often I could come visit—" Morgan just rolled her eyes at the excuse and huffily made her way to her desk, and pulling a drawer open to shove the notebook deep under the other notebooks that rested inside.
"—Harley, if you're going to be mean about everything, I'm just never going to talk to you about anything important to me, ever again." She said, refusing to look at him as tears burned in her eyes.
"C'mon, Morgs." He huffed, and reached forward to ruffle her hair, but she ducked out of his reach. He sighed. "Really, dude?" She shot him a sour look and he shook his head. "Look. Just. Let me look into it first, okay? I'm serious, Morgan, don't do anything stupid. I'll help you find him, if he really is real, but I want to check him out first. I'll keep you posted on everything I find, because I might need your notes for some help. But you can't do anything stupid and try to meet him without me there, do you understand?" Morgan looked up at him, her eyes wide at the offer.
"You promise me you'll tell me everything?" She asked, after a moment, her eyes trained on his face as she tried to assess his sincerity. Harley nodded, meeting her gaze head on. "Fine." She said, crossing her arms again. "I won't reach out to him until you tell me it's okay too, if you help me find him." Harley looked her over, doubt on his face.
"Promise?" He asked, watching her carefully.
On her hidden hands, she crossed her fingers. "I promise. So long as you promise not to tell Mom, or Uncle Happy or Uncle Rhodey." Harley frowned, but nodded his consent.
"Fine. For now, we keep it just between us." Morgan sagged in relief, and Harley reached out again, this time successfully ruffling her hair. She looked up at him, trusting what he said to be true.
If her own plan didn't work, then Harley would never have to know what she'd already done.
And if it did? Well, she'd figure out how to explain that, later.