Harley hadn't been kidding when he'd said he had makeup that would help cover Peter's newfound black eye, and he was learning sometimes it was best to not ask his new roommate how he stumbled into the things he did. Instead, he let Harley gently pat the stuff onto his bruised eye as they sat on the barstools in their kitchen, the sun rising slowly in their living room window behind Harley, obscuring his face in shadows and preventing Peter from figuring out what he was thinking. His touch was gentle, ghosting over Peter's mottled skin, his barely-visible features furrowed in concentration as he blended the makeup in with the tips of his fingers, his warm breath fanning over Peter's face.
Under normal circumstances, Peter wasn't big on the whole touching aspect. He'd found his lack of human touch sort of came with the territory of being completely alone for three years and keeping oneself shut off from all personal human interaction. Humans had a thing about touching the people they loved; be it affectionate cuffs on shoulders, or kisses dropped into hair, it was a secret language that everyone spoke and Peter had seemingly forgotten the words to after such little practice. It wasn't to say that he didn't miss hugs and kisses from the people he loved, but he'd found if he kept to himself and encouraged as little skin-to-skin contact as possible, he didn't miss it as much. But after the fight from the night before, and his lack of clear-headedness in regards to what had followed, he found himself leaning into Harley's hands. He pulled back, as soon as he realized what he'd been doing, his face flushing red.
If Harley noticed, he didn't say anything.
Instead, for the first time since Peter had met him, he remained unsettlingly quiet.
Peter glanced at him occasionally as he worked, wondering when the other boy would break the silence that stretched like a valley between them, but Harley's brow remained furrowed, and his lips pursed as he focused on the task at hand. When he seemed satisfied with the state of Peter's face, he stepped back, wiping his hands on a napkin before crouching down to Peter's eye level and humming softly as he used the sunlight behind him to glance over the work he'd completed. He nodded in satisfaction to himself before pulling back and stepping towards the sink to wash his hands without a word.
Peter sat in the silence that remained, waiting for one of the noticeable quips that usually accompanied any sort of time spent with Harley—no matter the hour—but he was met with only an uneasy quiet. He watched as Harley turned the faucet off, then made himself busy by flipping on the kitchen light and grabbing several things out of the fridge before clicking the gas stove on and beginning to melt the butter and crack the eggs he'd acquired into a waiting pan, still not speaking.
Peter wondered if he was giving him the silent treatment after the plate incident the night before, and he refrained from sighing in exasperation. Harley had said he wasn't mad, and he'd seemed sincere about it, at the time, but the cold shoulder he was offering up said otherwise.
"Are you sure we're good?" He finally ventured to ask, hand rising to tap at the makeup-covered bruise around his eye socket, his calloused fingers brushing over the carefully crafted art Harley had so patiently painted. He pulled his fingers back to look them over, but no residual makeup was visible.
Harley let out a sarcastic sounding grunt at his question. "Why wouldn't we be?" He asked shrugging noncommittally as he stirred what looked to be homemade pancake batter, still refusing to face Peter. He dropped his hand back into his lap to fully focus on his roommate, who's behavior was unlike any manner he'd ever presented. Peter bit his lip, eyes trained on his back, as if boring holes into the space there would make him return to his normal happy-go-lucky self. This new persona Harley was presenting him was off-putting, and it was making Peter's skin crawl. He hated when people were upset with him and didn't tell him, even if it wasn't something he'd really had to deal with for the past three years.
"I don't know, you just seem….off today." Peter said uncertainly. Harley let out a soft sigh before finally turning around the face him again, leaning against the counter as he wiped his hands on a dish towel.
"I'm fine, Parker." He assured him earnestly, his blue eyes revealing nothing of his state of mind. Peter bit his lip, watching him closely for any indication he was lying.
"Are you sure?" He asked again, wondering why he suddenly cared so much. He'd spent all this time keeping Harley at arms length, so he really wasn't sure why all the sudden his brain was so concerned with what the other boy thought and how he was behaving. Harley looked him up and down, smiled wryly and turned back to the eggs that were sizzling in the pan. He started up another burner and began mixing the pancake mix he'd concocted with a steady hand, adding milk and eggs before he poured some of the batter onto the heated secondary pan. In expert fashion, he removed the eggs, cooked to sunny-side-up perfection, deposited them on a plate before flipping the pancake over and pressing down on the golden-brown cooked side, the uncooked dough singing softly under the pressure.
Peter waited, the sound of breakfast the only noise in the otherwise quiet of their apartment.
"Yeah." Harley said, after another moment. "I'm okay. Just got a lot on my mind this morning." He offered Peter a tight smile as he placed the freshly cooked pancake on the plate next to the eggs, moving to grab butter and syrup and placing them within arms reach of Peter. The food-laden plate followed shortly after, and Harley offered him an odd smile that didn't quite reach the blue of his eyes.
"Oh. Okay." Peter said slowly, acknowledging the excuse, but still not quite buying it. "Anything I can do to help?" Harley stepped back against the countertop at that, crossing his arms over his chest and settling his face into something unreadable.
"Nah, I'm alright." He said, one shoulder rising into a half shrug, his eyes still trained on Peter.
"Oh." Peter repeated, picking at the pancake before cutting into it and lifting a bite to his mouth. Despite his apprehensions, and the odd tightrope-like act he seemed to be playing with Harley, he couldn't help but notice that the pancakes were delicious—if somewhat oddly familiar. His brow furrowed, and he slowed the bite down, trying to figure out why they tasted like something he'd had before. "These are really good." He said, quietly, glancing back up towards the other boy. Harley dipped his head in acknowledgement and uncrossed his arms before turning back towards the stove and making his own plate. "You should be a chef." Peter continued, taking another bite.
A laugh escaped Harley and he turned around again so Peter could see him roll his eyes. "I'm pretty sure my moms would kill me if I went into anything other than biomechanics. Cooking is just a hobby, one that I picked up during the First Snap." He said with another shrug and Peter swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.
'Moms?'
He knew it was probably polite to ask, to try and get to know Harley deeper, but the part of him that warned him against getting to close to anyone screamed in protest, so he kept his mouth shut. Besides, the less he knew about Harley's home life, the better. He'd been in a few situations were whatever villain of the week he was fighting tried to get information on him only to be completely unsuccessful since no one knew Peter Parker. It was better, this way, keeping his distance. If he got too close to other people, they could be used against him.
He'd learned that the hard way.
But that didn't stop the incessant thought that had wriggled its way into his head. Hadn't Harley just told him the man that had 'practically' raised him had died a few years ago? Of course, Peter knew that didn't necessarily mean he'd had a traditional family, and it didn't help that he had never even gone so far as to ask Harley anything about his home life. All knowledge he'd gleaned from his new roommate had been brought up by Harley himself. It just seemed odd that he'd mentioned a father figure and two moms. Unconventional, surely, but Peter had never been one to judge. He couldn't help the curiosity burned through him at the offhand comment though, and he wondered if Harley was even aware that he had let that bit of information slip. Was he trying to pull the wool over Peter's eyes? And if so, why?
He took another thoughtful bite of his breakfast, still pondering Harley's comment and why the pancakes tasted so familiar. He hadn't had pancakes this good since—
Oh.
Oh, fuck.
The last time Peter had had pancakes that tasted like this—made with brown sugar, cinnamon, and a dash of clove that was just distinct enough to decipher but not overpower—had been when Tony was still alive.
And the realization hit him like a fucking train.
His fork clattered to the plate, and he looked up at Harley, who raised an eyebrow skeptically at him.
"You ok?" Harley asked, his own fork hovering in the air with a bite of pancake held to its prongs, his head tilted to assess him. Peter's mouth was dry, and he couldn't seem to formulate a response. He tried not to let the realization of the puzzle pieces he'd just put together and the memories that followed show on his face, but he wasn't sure he'd be able to help it.
That little knowing glint his roommate always seemed to have in his eyes.
All the incessant questions.
How he'd just 'happened' upon Peter and his spare bedroom.
Peter had known him, and he Peter.
It felt like a lifetime ago, and he'd looked different at the funeral, but Peter had known him. It was why he'd seemed so familiar since the start, but in all honesty, he tried to block Tony's funeral out whenever he could. It felt more like a blur with every day that passed; a blip that only reminded him of pain that he kept carefully locked in the vault in the back of his head. Now that he was thinking about it though, it was easy to remember that Harley's easygoing demeanor had been nowhere to be found that day, and his blue eyes had been downcast every single time Peter had spotted him. They'd never even talked, and Peter had watched as Harley been one of the first to leave the 'celebration of life,' which was a fucking joke of a name if Peter had ever heard one, not that he'd ever tell Pepper that. Peter had been taking Morgan up the stairs to tuck her into bed later that evening and he'd spotted Pepper pulling the other boy into a hug, dropping a kiss into his hair as she whispered something he was too far out of earshot to hear. Harley been wearing a suit that was slightly too big for his lanky frame, practically to the point that it looked it was wearing him more than he wore it. They'd never even spoken, too caught up in their own grief. Funerals weren't exactly the best place to make new friends, in Peter's opinion, so he'd simply tried to distract himself by keeping Morgan occupied until the ceremony had started.
'If it helps, the guy who practically raised me died a few years ago.' The words rang in his ears, a sharp, sudden reminder of Harley's new residency in the apartment. He had told Peter, had tried to bond with him over the loss of Tony, when he'd finally managed to tell him about losing May.
And Peter hadn't even realized it.
Goddammit. How could he have been so stupid?
"Peter?" Harley called, concern rising on his face, his words pulling Peter out of his sudden stupor. "Are you okay?" He repeated, setting his fork down to assess him fully. Peter swallowed hard, forcing himself to nod, despite the thoughts swirling in his head that argued otherwise.
"Yeah, um…yeah," He cleared his throat. "I'm okay. I just realized what time it is. I have to leave for work, or I'm going to be late." He lied, the words burning as they left him. Harley's eyes darted to the clock on the stove, and his brow furrowed.
"It's like 5:45 am." He said, softly. "I'm pretty sure you need to eat the rest of your breakfast, first. I thought you didn't have to be in until seven, anyways. Hangovers are no joke, especially as a teacher. Screaming kids plus a pounding head doesn't equal a great day." Harley laughed, but it sounded forced for the first time since Peter had known him, and his heart thundered in his chest at the thought.
If everyone except for Morgan had forgotten, then what, exactly, did Harley know? Had Morgan somehow roped him into her insane plot? He wouldn't put it past her to do just that, but Jesus, who was going to believe a nine year old about someone disappearing from existence? Who was he kidding, if anyone could convince someone a person was real, despite all evidence pointing to the contrary, it was Morgan Stark.
"Mhm." He finally managed to hum around the sip of water he'd managed to shakily take, his mind still racing. He set the glass down, all semblance of an appetite leaving him as suddenly as it had arrived. He'd been ravenous when he'd woken up, but this new information was enough to make his stomach roll like the crashing waves of an ocean caught in a storm.
He knew Harley, of that much he was undeniably certain.
They'd never been introduced, not in any sort of formal capacity, but he'd heard things about him, even after the funeral. Happy had mentioned him in passing, something about an adoption during The Blip, while they were still in Europe. Peter hadn't had any time to follow up on it though, too concerned with the events of Quentin Beck and the destruction that was wrought on his life, shortly after. It didn't help that Pepper had never mentioned him either, and Peter was pretty sure it was because she'd already had too much on her plate after Tony's death to try and introduce the two kid's her husband had practically adopted and brought into her family on top of everything else.
He couldn't exactly fault her for that, but he couldn't help but feel like such a fucking idiot for missing all the signs. All this time, he'd been gallivanting around New York City, thinking everything was totally fine, that all the risk his secret identity may cause remained delegated solely to him; that everyone he cared about—and by extension the people they cared about—were perfectly safe with him out of their lives. But now, now he had to worry about his roommate, who he was fairly certain had been adopted by Pepper and Tony. God, he wished he'd asked Happy more about it while they were still in Europe. He wouldn't even be in this situation if he'd done that. But yet again, he was in another situation that he had no control over that would probably end up with someone he cared about getting hurt.
Fuck.
He couldn't help himself as he stumbled to his feet, heart still pounding his chest, the barstool scraping against the wooden floor as he gripped the counter to ground himself, hoping Harley wouldn't notice the way he had to actively not grasp it too hard in an effort to not crack the shoddy material between his palms, as well as his sudden upset. He was unsuccessful, and Harley's hand shot out to steady him as he swayed in place. Peter recoiled at the sensation, as if he'd been branded by a searing iron, the blood roaring in his ears while his mind scrambled to figure out what sort of predicament he'd gotten himself into this time.
Harley's hand dropped away immediately, and he sat up straighter, twisting him to face him, worry sharpening on his features. "Peter." He said softly. Peter swallowed, hard, still avoiding his gaze. "You look like you're about to pass out." Harley's voice was soft and soothing as it registered in Peter's ears, like he had dealt with something like this before and he knew exactly what he was supposed to do.
Peter supposed he wasn't that for off, on that guess. If Harley's relationship with Tony had been anything like his own, then he almost certainly knew of the panic attacks Tony had been prone to. Peter himself had spent plenty of nights at the lab with the older man; had woken up enough times and wandered down to the kitchen to find Tony making a pot of coffee obsessively trying to keep himself awake to prevent another attack; it had happened enough times that Tony had finally told him what was really going on. They'd talked about it in length, and Tony had even talked him down from his first one, after they'd put Adrian Toomes away, when Peter had woken up in a cold sweat one night, the smell of wet cement and sparking wires sharp in his nose, the feeling of being smothered under a building too heavy for him to lift, the crushing weight still pressing down on his chest long after he'd woken up.
God, he wished Tony were still here.
He'd have taken care of this whole multiversal mess before it'd even gotten off the ground. Peter probably never would have asked Strange to make the first spell, because Tony would have called MIT and sorted the whole thing out before he'd had the chance to fuck everything up.
Maybe May would have even still been alive.
Tears burned suddenly in Peter's eyes, his throat constricting at the thought. Harley stood up, and Peter tried to take a breath, fighting against the panic rising in his chest. It'd been about two years since he'd last had a panic attack, the last one creeping up on him suddenly, on the anniversary of May's death. He'd barely managed to calm himself down then, and he'd ended up spending the whole remainder of the evening at home under his covers, his hands shaking until he'd finally managed to fall into a fitful sleep. He still had nightmares about her death, sometimes, though he usually wouldn't have an attack unless it was a particularly bad dream.
"Peter?" Harley murmured again, his eyebrows drawn together. "Sit down, please. Sit down." Peter didn't listen, shaking his head quickly, still managing to keep his eyes averted. "You'll feel better, please, just sit down." Harley's voice remained soft, trying to reassure him but Peter wasn't really listening.
"I—" He stepped back from Harley, trying not to stumble over himself. "I've got to go get ready. Um. Thank you for breakfast. Uh…" He turned without another word, racing for his bedroom door. Harley didn't follow, and he tried not to slam it shut behind him. He rested his head on the wood, leaning heavily against it as he attempted to take deep, steadying breaths. He closed his eyes, counting slowly in his head, trying not to let his panic overwhelm him.
What the fuck was he going to do, now?
Harley had no clue what went through Peter's mind during breakfast, but he'd seen the sharp spike of panic that had consumed his face as he'd eaten his pancakes, and the way he'd practically sprinted towards his room afterwards had been cause enough for concern in its own merit.
For a second, he worried that Peter remembered the events from the night before, but he didn't think that was possible. Peter hadn't woken up once the entire tike Harley had tended to him. He'd remained blissfully unconscious to the world, completely unaware of what was happening around him.
Harley, for his part, had been incredibly careful about getting him out of the bath and into his room without causing further injury to him. He'd taken him out of the soaking wet suit and left it on a crumpled floor by the foot of his bed, before promptly struggling to get the heavily muscled, half-naked boy into a bed he had clearly outgrown a while ago, careful to avoid the nasty river of bruises that spattered his torso. Harley had even made a mental note to ask Pepper if they had any spare mattresses they were planning on getting rid of that he could somehow sneakily convince Peter to take as he'd gently tucked him under the tattered blankets. His shivering finally began to slow, once Harley cranked the heat in the house. He'd even gone so far as to warm some water bottles and tuck them atop the sheets and under the duvet, praying his roommate wasn't going to have permanent brain damage or frostbite of some sort. Harley had never been the nursing type, but he had helped patch up plenty of the Avenger's after battles, so he'd ended up picking up some good tips and tricks from Helen Cho and her team. Once he'd managed to calm down and wrap his mind around his roommate's secret identity, he'd gone into full care-taker mode, and he was thankful for the distraction on his plans to interrogate their little sister.
He kept vigil for two hours after that, until his eyelids had begun to droop and sleep beckoned him like an old friend. Instead of giving in, he'd gotten up from his spot in Peter's chair by the desk, gently feeling at his forehead. They didn't have a thermometer for him to check his actual temperature, but Harley's mom had used the back of her hand enough times to gage his own fevers as a child, and he had no doubt he'd be able to do the same. It didn't seem like Peter was running one, and his breathing had finally evened out. His skin was warmer to the touch (finally), and Harley made sure to take the water bottles out from under his covers and return them to the kitchen, not wanting Peter to suspect anything when he finally woke up the next morning. By the time he'd returned to the room, Peter had shifted from his spot in the middle of the bed, instead curling up in a ball near the top, his face scrunched up with worry. Even in his sleep, he didn't seem to relax.
He frowned at the sight of him, looking so small and vulnerable on his own and shook his head. His face was a bruised mess, but Harley had managed to gently wipe all the blood from the cuts, and it looked like they were slowly stitching themselves together. He was curious how exactly that worked, but he figured he'd have to ask once this whole mess was cleared up. As it stood, he was just happy that he seemed to be healing, albeit very slowly. It was the second time he'd had a superhero crash land directly in his life, though Tony had been a lot more conscious and talkative (and an asshole) than Peter currently was. He'd had plenty of cuts and bruises himself though.
Harley tucked the covers tighter around Peter and bit his lip before making his way towards the door, still thinking of his first time meeting Tony. He hesitated for a moment, then pulled it open, feeling for the lock on the handle. He knew that if Peter had any suspicion that he had learned he was Spider-Man, the other boy would up and disappear out of their lives once more. Maybe for good this time. He couldn't bear the thought of how that would affect Morgan, so he knew he needed to cover his tracks and pray that Peter had no memory of the events that followed his Cleary wild night out. So, he bent down to look at the lock and shrugged when he realized it was the kind that could easily be undone by a butter knife. If Peter didn't wake up on his own, he could pick it, should the need arise. Hesitantly, he twisted it into place, knowing from experience that Peter locked it every night and would be suspicious if he woke up to find it unlocked. It was becoming increasingly clear why the other boy completed all the seemingly odd little rituals he had; clearly, he was trying to keep his secret identity just that: a secret.
Harley had stepped out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him and shook his head. He blew out a steady breath and rested the back of his skull against the thin wood separating them, praying Peter would be okay. Then, he scrubbed a hand down his face and made his way into the kitchen.
It was almost five am at that point, and he realized he'd been taking care of the other boy for a little over two hours. He knew Peter had his second day at work in a few hours, and he hoped he wouldn't have to call the place on his behalf to explain that he had been somehow injured the night before and would be unable to make it in for his second day. He worried Peter would lose the job if that was the case, and even though he wasn't entirely sure what Morgan had done to get him to work at her school, he knew she'd be pissed off if he suddenly didn't show up anymore. He worried if that happened, she may never speak to him again, even if he wasn't the one at fault.
And when Harley worried, he turned to the one thing that always helped calm his mind and clear his head: cooking.
It was something he'd bonded with Tony on, during The Blip. Neither of them had been very good at falling asleep at the time, and nine out of ten times, when Harley would wander into the lake house's kitchen, Tony would already be there, brewing his second carafe of coffee and hunched over notes from his most recent extracurricular activities.
So, in the early morning hours before twilight faded and dawn began to creep in, Tony had taught him to cook. Most mornings, by the time Pepper and Morgan rolled out of bed, they'd have a miniature feast prepared for them. Tony had taught him everything, secretly admitting that he'd always been an excellent cook, having been taught by his mother, Maria. 'She was Italian. And Italian's don't fuck around when it comes to their food.' Tony had said, winking sly at him as he'd showed him how to make the 'perfect' crepe.
It was a relaxing task that Harley had grown to love and, of course, every time he cooked after the Second Snap, he thought of Tony.
Cooking helped keep the nightmares at bay. If he was cooking, he was awake. Awake meant an escape from the things that tried to haunt him in his sleep. And it wasn't that he had nightmares very often anymore, now that things had started to fully settle down in his personal and profession life, but the stress of his newfound secret was not a very promising indication that the nightmares would stay at bay. Anytime Harley got to stressed, his nightmares seemed to creep back into his subconscious; dark reminders of the things he tried to avoid in the daytime.
He was exhausted from taking care of Peter, but he knew if he tried to sleep now, he'd either have nightmares until he woke up again, or he'd be too worried about checking on Peter to actually fall asleep. So, he kept himself busy.
Their fridge was practically empty, save for a few eggs, some milk and a few cartons of leftover food they hadn't thrown out yet. He frowned, then checked the cabinets for his other ingredients. His fingers danced over the flour, sugar and spices that resided in their respective cabinets. He started to pull everything down when glass crunched under his slipper. He froze, praying he hadn't sliced his foot open and glanced down to find the cup that had seemingly shattered against the floor. He sighed, and quickly checked to make sure he hadn't cut himself. Much to his relief, there wasn't any blood, and he didn't feel the tell-tale slice of pain that usually accompanied a cut on glass.
He sighed and brushed the particles of glass off of his slipped before going to the pantry and grabbing a broom and dustpan to clean the mess up, wondering how Peter had been conscious enough to get himself a glass before he'd wandered into their living room to pass out. His brow furrowed at the thought, and he turned towards the door, eyes landing on the deadbolt, which had clearly not been put in place.
Now that was weird.
Peter was a lot of things, but he was nothing if not cautious. He always made sure they locked the door, as if it were a religious ritual, sometimes turning around to double check if he really wasn't sure. Harley was starting to understand why, now; with so many secrets, it was hard to feel safe, even in your own home.
So why was their front door unlocked? He'd heard the thump of Peter falling through his window earlier that morning, there was no way he'd gone through the front door at any point. Strange. He thought, frowning as he twisted the lock in place. He then proceeded to dump the dustpan of glass into their trash can and push the mystery of the unlocked door aside; he'd have to look into that later. After he washed his hands again, he returned to making his homemade pancake batter, an old family recipe Tony had taught him and warned him against sharing, the threat of haunting him long after he'd died, fresh on his lips. Harley had always laughed at the time, but now, it didn't seem like such bad idea. Maybe if he shared the recipe, Tony would make good on his promise and haunt them. God only knew how much they still needed and missed him, even now, nearly four years after his death.
The loss of him had struck them all hard, but he was pretty sure it struck Morgan the hardest.
She hadn't really had a concept of death, having only been five years old, and it had been hard, explaining to her that her dad was never coming back. She'd hid in her room for a week, once they'd finally managed to get her to understand, and when she finally came out, she hadn't said another word about him. In fact, she rarely brought him up, after that. Rhodey and Happy talked to her about him whenever they visited; Harley had walked in on them telling her stories a few times, and she'd always listened quietly. He knew Pepper didn't really like to talk about Tony, because he could barely get her to talk about her dead husband with him, let alone rehash old wounds with her young daughter. So, when Morgan had said Peter was always there for her, he couldn't' help but wonder if that meant Peter talked to her about Tony. He knew he slacked in that department himself, but Harley had never really had people in his life, outside of his biological mom and sister, that cared about him like Tony had. So, losing him had been extremely difficult, and even more so to talk about, especially when it came to telling Morgan about him. It was like a wall that he couldn't quite scale. He wanted to talk with her about it, to tell her all the stupid things her dad had done when she was still too little to remember, but it honestly just…hurt too much.
He really couldn't blame her for wanting Peter back, especially if he was a connection to their dad that Harley couldn't quite be.
He couldn't get the thought of his head, even after he'd managed to get Peter to follow him into the kitchen for a miniature makeup session and breakfast. He couldn't figure out what, exactly, had caused Peter to panic, but he didn't even say a word as he slipped out the front door, slinging his satchel over his shoulder and shooting Harley a quick, measured look. He'd obviously calmed down in the time since he'd gone into his room, and Harley didn't want to push him, so he'd let him go without argument, resolving to talk to him when he got home.
He sat for a while, on the couch, carefully running through everything he'd discovered in the early hours of the morning in his head. Peter was Spider-Man, and he didn't know that Harley knew. Morgan was adamant that he was her brother, that Tony had been largely involved in his life, and seeing as his alter-ego had been recruited by Iron Man himself, and said alter-ego had showed up unconscious on his floor, he no longer had a reason to not believe her tale, wild as it may have first seemed.
Harley sighed, and ran a hand down his face, trying to figure out how, exactly, he was going to get Morgan, Peter, and himself through this unscathed. Peter was obviously keeping secrets of his own that were throwing a wrench in the whole 'reuniting the family' plan Morgan had, and Harley had no doubt that Pepper was going to lose her mind when she found out how far behind her back he and Morgan had gone. The fact that he knew Peter was Spider-Man's real identity and hadn't immediately reported it wasn't going to make her go any easier either, in fact, that was probably going to be the final nail in the coffin he seemed to be building himself. Pepper wasn't going to believe them, not just on their word. She loved them, but she was incredibly practical. If he couldn't get Peter to show her who he was on his own terms, she was never going to believe them. And he didn't think there was any chance in hell he'd be able to convince Peter to unmask himself in front of her. Not without a fight, at least.
He stood up and began cleaning up the mess he'd made while cooking breakfast in the kitchen, when he was struck with a thought.
What if he could prove who Peter was?
It would be an incredible invasion of his privacy, and Harley wasn't exactly keen on that aspect, but he was almost certain it would be the only way to do it. Biting his lip, he turned the water off in the kitchen sink and dried his hands on a dish towel and took a deep breath, trying to steel his resolve. He closed his eyes for a second, thinking, then shook his head and made his way into Peter's room.
The door was unlocked, and he immediately felt guiltier at the trust Peter had in him. How could he know that Harley was going to snoop? He pushed the feeling down and began looking, trying to convince himself that he was doing this for the greater good.
There was nothing of particular note in Peter's room, the walls barren and his sheets threadbare; only a sole, thin olive-green blanket on his bed—the same one Harley had tucked around him earlier that day. His desk was stacked with thick text books, pens scattered recklessly across the surface of it, his papers littered with handwritten notes and equations. Harley frowned and sifted through them, looking for anything he could use as proof. The notes yielded nothing except proof that Peter was an exceptionally good student, and his suit, which had been by the edge of the bed was nowhere to be found. Harley let out another soft sigh and headed for the closet.
It was smaller than his, and Harley wondered if Peter had always given the bigger of the two bedrooms to his roommates. Then, he realized, he gave the other room away because this one had a window that overlooked the alleyway behind their building, an easy escape for his escapades as Spider-Man. The other bedroom didn't have a window. He smiled wryly at the realization and made himself busy digging around in his closet.
He was on the verge of giving up when he finally managed to dislodge all of the clothes on the ground to uncover a tall, hefty looking, black-topped glass case that looked to be holding a swirling storm of red, blue, and golden nanites.
"Geez, Parker." He muttered, grinning. "You've been keeping this in the closet the whole time?" He tugged the case out of the corner, huffing at the weight of it. The nanites continued to move, and Harley stared in wonder at one of the last creations of the late, great Tony Stark. The Iron Spider. No one had seen Spider-Man in this suit for nearly three years, and Harley wondered why, exactly, that was the case. It seemed to be in decent condition, the nanites still active, but it obviously hadn't been touched in quite some time. He wiped the dust that had gathered on the glass, frowning.
He could use this, as proof of Peter's relationship with Tony. The technology would have some sort of memory of him, right? Tony was very particular about how his inventions worked, especially when they were given as a gift, something Harley could attest to that, first hand. Suits with this caliber of technology weren't cheap, and while money wasn't really something Tony ever worried about, he still liked to keep his various toys from getting broken. He had always made sure to code the suits to recognize the people that wore them, and they wouldn't work if you weren't the owner or an authorized user.
His eyes landed on the panel on the bottom of the casing, it's blinking light a clear indicator that he would need to enter a six-digit code to unlock it. Harley tapped the glass gently, considering it. He didn't really know enough about Peter to even attempt a guess, but he had an inkling that if Morgan meant as much to Peter as he did to her, it wouldn't be a far cry to attempt her birthdate.
He typed the numbers in, leaned back on his heels, and waited. The lock seemed to consider what he'd entered for a moment, then lit up green. The nanites dropped to the bottom of the case, and the glass top hissed indicating it was unlocked. Harley raised an eyebrow and undid the latch, reaching down inside. The nanites swarmed over his hand and arm, the colors of the Spider-Man suit quickly taking over the rest of his frame until the suit had fully consumed him. He grinned down at it, as the nanites twisted up and over his neck and face, the world darkening for the briefest of moments before an interface popped up and his vision cleared.
"Welcome, Harley Keener. My name is Karen, how may I assist you, today?" The AI's voice was pleasant, and Harley couldn't help but grin at the thought of Tony creating a separate AI for Peter's suit. He always was the kind of person to overdo it.
"Hi Karen, emergency override protocol. Turn off location services and remain disconnected from FRIDAY's database. Authorized user: Harley Keener." He said, knowing she would listen. He'd been granted access to certain commands after Tony and Pepper had adopted him, but he'd never really had to take advantage of it, until now.
There was a pause, then: "Authorized user override confirmed. What else can I do for you today?" Harley took a breath at the question, looking over his gloved hands and marveling at the idea of being Spider-Man. There was no way he'd be able to do the things Peter could, having never been imbued with any sort of superpowers outside of the brains he'd been born with, but the thrill didn't escape him regardless. But that wasn't what he was here for.
"Karen, what can you tell me about Peter Parker?" The AI didn't respond for a moment, and Harley wondered if she'd heard his question. He was just about to repeat it, when she spoke again.
"I apologize, Mr. Keener. I have no record of a Peter Parker in my database. I am afraid I cannot process your request, at this time." She finally said, tone still ever-pleasant. Harley frowned at that. It didn't do him much good to have a suit if it couldn't even identify its original owner. Pepper would be pleased he'd brought back technology that Tony had created, but without a surefire way of identifying Peter as the person who wore it, he was pretty sure he was shit out of luck.
"That's alright, Karen. How do I get this thing off of me?" He asked with a sigh.
"Simply return to the housing unit, lower your arm inside and the nanites will return to their holding space." Karen hummed. He nodded, and moved to do just that, when he had another thought.
"Karen, I need you to prevent a connection from the home base from occurring until instructed to do otherwise by myself or another authorized user. User code: potato gun." He ordered firmly, rolling his eyes at the code. It was a stupid name that Tony had come up with, after their first meeting, when Harley had threatened the older man with the only weapon he'd had at his disposal, and Tony had never let it go.
"Request confirmed. Reconnection will not be issued until further authorization is issued." Harley let out a breath and did as she'd previously instructed. The nanites slid off of him, and he took a deep breath of air, free from the confines of the suit. How the hell did Peter wear that thing for hours a day? It was hard to breathe in, and he couldn't imagine trying to swing through the streets of New York with that mask on 24/7. He shook his head and closed the lid, clicking the latch back in place, watching as the nanites resumed the swirling that he'd so rudely interrupted.
He bit his lip, and pulled out his phone, snapping a quick video of the motion before he returned the casing to its previous hiding place, in the back of the closet. He covered it carefully with the clothes he'd pulled out, hoping Peter wouldn't notice that the shape of the pile had changed. It clearly hadn't been touched in some time, so he figured he was clear on that front.
Then, he pulled out his phone again, pulled up Pepper's cell number and hesitated over the call button. Was he really ready to fill her in on this whole situation? Was this suit, without the body that wore it, going to be enough proof? It clearly didn't recognize Peter, having no record of him in its database, and yeah, sure, it was in their apartment, but would that be enough for her to be convinced? And would Morgan forgive him for telling her first?
He blew out the breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding, and pressed dial. The phone rang twice before she picked up.
"Harley, honey, is everything okay? I've got my first meeting of the weekend with Norman in—" Pepper hesitated, clearly checking her watch, and Harley waited patiently. "—about four minutes. I was just about to go in, and then I've got to go to Morgan's school after to talk to someone." He could practically picture her with her hand on the handle of the glass doors that led to her office, her phone tucked against her shoulder as she juggled her thin black briefcase, the one she always carried for business meetings. He ran a hand down his face, before staring squarely at the closed closet door that hid the nanites, and Peter's secret.
"Yeah…" He hesitated and cleared his throat. "Yeah, hey, sorry to be calling so early. Um, I was just wondering, is Morgan home today? I was thinking about stopping by and maybe taking her to lunch or something?" He didn't know why he couldn't bring himself to tell her yet, but it was clear his subconscious agreed with the decision, artfully attempting to steer him away from what he had originally called to say. "I haven't seen her in a while." He continued, still hesitant. Pepper laughed aloud on the other end.
"Of course, sweetie. You know you could have just text her and ask." She said, a teasing tone taking over. "She's in a little bit of trouble with me, but honestly, I could use the help of a conversation from her big brother." Harley winced at that, his mind flashing to Peter, but he nodded anyway, even though she couldn't see him. "Could you try and get her to talk to you about whatever's been bothering her? I can't seem to get through to her." He could hear the pained smile in her voice.
"Yeah, yeah, of course. I'll see what I can find out." He assured her. He was going to figure out what was going on with her, just not necessarily in the way Pepper was hoping. "And Pep? Don't beat yourself up. Morgan's…" he paused, trying to think of how to explain it. "Morgan's just like Tony." He said, hoping that would reassure her. He couldn't bring himself to tell her, just yet, what was going on, but he knew he was going to have too, eventually. He hoped the reminder would soften the blow of the betrayal that their secrets would certainly land.
"I know." She said, her voice a quiet confession. "That's what worries me."
Peter found he couldn't focus in the slightest once he got to work.
He stumbled through the front doors, far too early for any students to have ventured out of their rooms or to have been dropped off yet, and managed to meander his way into the teacher's lounge. Several of the full-time staff were already there, brewing coffee and chattering happily with each other. Peter avoided everyone's gaze at his entrance and sat at one of the empty tables, his leg shaking up and down as his mind continued to drift. Marnie had hummed at the sight of him, her eyebrow flicking up as soon as she spotted him and she'd made her way quickly across the room, cornering him as she sank down in one of the empty chairs beside him.
"Why do you look like you've been hit by a dump truck?" She asked, hand rising to his makeup covered eye. He flinched away, and she dropped her hand twice as fast. "Sorry." She said, smiling tightly. "I just know what makeup covering a bruise looks like." Her face darkened at that, and Peter wondered why she would know how to spot such an odd thing. "You did a pretty good job covering it though, what brand did you use?" She was whispering, her eyes darting to the other teachers, who had resumed their conversations without much thought towards them.
He grit his teeth and shook his head. "I'm not sure. My roommate did it for me." Marnie's eyebrow climbed higher at that, and her frown deepened.
"Are you okay? Is there someone I should call for you?" Her brow furrowed, and worry crept into her voice. "I know some people that can help if you need it, Peter." Her voice dropped even lower, and she glanced at the other teacher's, who continued to pay them no mind. "They helped me out when I left my husband a year ago." She raised her right hand, where a thin white band of skin could be spotted on her ring finger, smiling sourly. "We got married out of high school, and I didn't understand until I was thirty that someone who loves you, doesn't hit you." Peter took a short, sharp breath, and met her gaze evenly. She smiled sadly.
"I promise, I'm okay." He assured her, but Marnie still looked doubtful. He tried to smile in assurance. "I promise. I just went out for drinks with some friends last night, and things got a little out of hand at the bar. Nothing to write home about though, really." It was the same lie he'd told Harley, and it didn't feel any better repeating it to the poor woman who clearly only wanted to help. "I'm really fine, Marnie." He attempted again, and she tilted her head, watching him with her sharp brown eyes.
"Okay." She said, finally. "I believe you. But Peter, if you need help with anything, you'd better call me, okay? I can come pick you up, any time. I don't care if it's three am, or three pm. You call me if you need help." He offered her a genuine smile at that, and she relaxed. He could practically picture her showing up at the apartment, some sort of weapon at the ready to help. He knew he didn't need her assistance, if anything, she'd be hurt if she ever faced any of the villains he did on a regular basis without any powers, but her immediate concern for his welfare made a heady warmth bloom in his chest.
It'd been a long time since he had someone so adamantly on his side, ready to help without question.
Well, sort of a long time.
Harley seemed to want to help him, but Peter couldn't exactly figure out why, yet. He wasn't entirely sure he knew who Peter was, but if Morgan had anything to do with it, he had no doubt that that was the case. If Harley was the adopted son Happy had mentioned all those years ago, it was certainly no coincidence that he'd showed up in Peter's life again, right as Morgan had.
God, he was in too deep already.
He suddenly longed for the warmth of his bed, or the thrill of swinging above the skyline, something, anything, that would help clear his head and distract him from the thrumming pain in his ribs. He'd had one of the worst nights of his life less than 12 hours prior, and the idea that his new roommate—someone he was steadily growing to care about—was actually in on whatever scheme his little sister had concocted was more than he cared to give thought to.
"Thank you, Marnie. I appreciate it." He finally managed to murmur, and she nodded, reaching out to gently pat his hand. He let her, for once not pulling away. "But I really am okay." She smiled at his reassurances, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. She didn't press any further though, and they fell into a comfortable silence until the bell indicating classes were about to begin, rang.
He and Marnie walked to class together in a comfortable, mutual silence, as Peter silently tried to talk himself down from looking up Marnie's ex and paying him a little visit. She was an incredibly sweet woman, and one of the few staff members that had made any sort of effort to welcome him into the school, and the thought of someone actively trying to hurt her made him nauseous. She'd made it clear that they had separated, but Peter knew the statistics of violent exes that managed to hurt their partners, long after the relationship had ended. He made a mental note to look into him as they entered the classroom.
The students were already seated, and they perked up at their entrance, the classroom quickly coming alive as they began pulling out notebooks and pads of paper and pencils to take notes. Marnie gestured for him to take a seat in the smaller desk she'd clearly had brought in for him, at the front of the class, next to hers. He shot her a small smile and set his bag down, pulling out his phone and settling his satchel on the desk. Marnie began talking with the girls, quickly covering all of the material they had gone over the day before, while Peter organized himself.
He jumped when his phone dinged on the desk, vibrating slightly and Marnie glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, her eyebrow winging up in concern.
"Everyone, please remember to silence your cellphones." She said, shooting him a knowing look. He smiled tightly at her and sat in his chair, picking his phone up and clicking the sound off as he check the notification that had appeared. His heart seemed to stop in his chest as he read it, his hands immediately going clammy.
mhs_sightings has accepted your follower request!
And immediately after that:
mhs_sightings has requested to follow you!
Peter's chest tightened even more, and his gaze snapped back up towards Marnie. 'You okay?' She mouthed, her gaze back on him, concern clearly written across her face. He forced himself to nod, slinking lower into his seat, where his antics wouldn't be noticed by the class.
'All good, family stuff.' He mouthed back. Her frown dropped further on her face, but she nodded and turned back towards the class.
"Alright girls!" She said, clapping her hands together, as the students all straightened in their seats, paying full attention to her. "I need you to open your textbooks to page 72! We have a lot of material to review and discuss, so keep up…" Peter tuned Marnie and the students out, carefully glancing at his phone in his lap, his heart racing in his chest, blindly accepting the follower request.
Fuck.
He'd completely forgotten about the twitter account, too wrapped up in the confirmation of Morgan remembering him, and the fact that he had known Harley, in his prior life. He didn't know what he'd expected to happen after he followed her, but he'd been too concerned with actually meeting her to remember he'd done so. Evidently, she hadn't seemed to have forgotten, or not noticed.
mhs_sightings: i know it's you, peter.
Peter's jaw clenched at the words on his screen, and he folded in on himself, trying not to absolutely panic. His ribs creaked in protest at the movement, and he quickly adjusted himself in the seat, trying not to make the dull ache any sharper than it needed to be.
anonymouspiders: who's peter?
He finally ventured to message back, biting at his thumbnail as he waited for the response he knew was sure to follow. He knew Morgan was no idiot, and he had no doubt she wouldn't see right through his façade, but he could only hope she'd let it go. He'd been an idiot for following her in the first place. He should have just ignored the flyer. It would have been easier that way. No one would have recognized his name anyways, and maybe she would have never spotted him grabbing her flyer, if he'd done that. But he'd been too caught up in the moment, unthinking of what consequences his actions would reap.
He rubbed tiredly at his face, still waiting. His phone buzzed suddenly, and he quickly snapped to attention, opening the new message in record time.
mhs_sightings: if you really want to keep playing dumb, that's fine. but like i said in the courtyard, i'm going to prove i know you.
He ground his teeth together, sensing that her utter determination was going to be no match for him. He let out a sharp exhale, and straightened his shoulders. Fine. He'd just have to lay down the law. He had to make sure she understood the importance of what he was doing.
anonymouspiders: morgan.
He hesitated. Then, shaking his head, typed the rest of the message out, and pressed send, rubbing hard at his temple, his shoulder's exceptionally tight with stress. He could hear Marnie still talking in the background, and he prayed she wouldn't ask him for help while he tried to sort this mess out.
anonymouspiders: this isn't a joke, or a game. this is real life, and incredibly serious stuff. you don't understand the fire you're playing with. i'm not the person you remember, and i never will be, again. do you understand me? this is real life stuff. you can't be in my life, and i can't be in yours. i'm sorry. but that's just how it has to be.
He waited, biting his lip as her text bubbles that indicated she was typing popped back up.
mhs_sightings: i knew it was you.
He could tell she was going to ignore everything he was saying, and he ground his teeth together, eyes scanning over the message that followed shortly after.
mhs_sightings: no one believed me. everyone thought i was going crazy. i don't care what you have to say about it, you're not leaving me again. you don't get to disappear and act like i don't exist. it's not fair. what did i do wrong?
His heart ached at the question and her confession. She'd done nothing to deserve what he was putting her through, and they both knew it. He wanted to strangle Strange for somehow allowing her to escape the memory loss spell. Her remembering and him being unable to do anything about it almost hurt worse than everyone forgetting. She remembered, but he couldn't let her be in his life, no matter what.
His phone buzzed again, and he glanced down at it, under the desk.
mhs_sightings: i don't know what happened, and i want to, so if you don't tell me, i'm just going to figure it out for myself. you don't get to decide whether or not i get to have you in my life. we're brother and sister, peter. just because you're afraid, doesn't mean that's not true.
He waited as another three dots popped up again, indicating she wasn't in any way done with what she had to say. Then, finally:
mhs_sightings: i love you, and i know you love me too, even if you won't say it. i'm going to figure out how to fix this. i promise. see you next week.
Peter tried to refrain from screaming and banging his head on the desk in frustration at her words. She'd always been way too stubborn, just like her dad, and Peter himself. He'd known getting her to give up wouldn't be easy, but he had naively hoped it would be.
He let out a sharp breath and went to text her back, only to be met with a message.
You are unable to send or receive messages from the account mhs_sightings.
His mouth dropped open as his eyes skimmed the text. Had she seriously blocked him? He tapped her user profile and was met with a screaming black and white message that simply read: "You're blocked. You can't see or follow mhs_sightings Tweets."
That little shit.
He scoffed to himself, staring at the screen. Between the new Doc Ock, his sudden discovery of Harley's prior involvement in his life, and Morgan's memory of him, it really felt like the universe was laughing at him as it threw every curveball his way that it could. He was never going to catch a break. He didn't know what his hellion of a younger sister had planned, nor would he go so far as venturing a guess, but he had a sinking feeling it was going to be out of his control, either way.
He really needed to find time to go see Stephen Strange to get everything cleared up, and this time, he wasn't going to let anything, or anyone stop him.
Morgan, in all her frantic feelings that followed finding Peter, had completely forgotten about the Twitter account.
She hadn't really intended for it to be anything other than some sort of way for him to find her, and since it was a private account, and no one knew the prodigy of Stark Industries had a Twitter, she didn't have any followers. She'd only created it to help her find Peter, seeing as once he'd been erased from existence, his phone number had disappeared too. She'd tried to text it, a few times, after his sudden vanishing, and after weeks of getting no response, someone finally text back. They'd been confused and had told her the phone number was only recently assigned to them and that they had no clue who Peter was. She'd blocked it, after that, her mom and Aunt Nat's warnings of talking to strangers a sharp, ringing reminder in the back of her mind.
And for three years, she'd had no way to talk to her older brother.
When she'd been formulating her plan, Twitter had seemed like the most logical move. She knew she was under the required age listed in their terms and conditions, but she figured it didn't really matter in the long run. She'd be thirteen in few years, and as it stood, she was smarter than most thirteen-year-olds. She knew her mom would be furious if she found out about it, because all their social media accounts had to be carefully vetted and password protected. They'd had too many instances of people trying to track them down based off one little post someone made, but she wasn't planning on getting the account verified, nor was she planning on using it for anything other than aiding in her search for Peter.
She'd chosen a profile picture that would look like a normal landscape photo to anyone who'd never been to the lake house, but distinct enough that if Peter found it, he'd know it really was her. They'd spent hours exploring the grounds together, rotating between playing in her little playhouse Dad had built, and taking kayaks out onto the lake in the early morning when no one else was awake and the water still looked like glass.
She'd known he would recognize it in a heartbeat, if he hadn't somehow been made to forget, like everyone else. And now she had confirmation that he really did remember, and it seemed like they were the only two people in the world who knew who he really was.
After the denial he'd tried to play in the courtyard, she hadn't thought to check the account, not since creating it, in fact. She'd kept all notifications for the app muted, knowing if her mom saw a Twitter notification pop up, she'd be grounded for the rest of eternity. She'd always been very clear with Morgan about her rules on social media, citing that she only wanted to keep her safe. Morgan had no doubt that the statement was true, but she had more important things to worry about than her own safety.
By the time she got around to finally checking the account, she realized she'd missed Peter's follower request. She accepted it, on the spot, and waited.
It hadn't taken him long to answer, and what he'd said had not been anywhere near what she had wanted to hear. She was just so sick and tired of everyone acting like she was just some dumb kid. First, her mom, then Uncle Happy and Uncle Rhodey, then Harley, and now Peter too? He'd never treated her like that, before. She hated that he thought she couldn't handle 'adult' things he had mentioned, whatever that even meant. He knew how smart she was, he knew she could handle more than most adults, but he was acting like she was covered in yellow caution tape and bubble wrap that, if removed, would result in her falling to pieces. It was exhausting, having every adult in her life tell her she was a genius and treat her like an idiot.
So, she blocked him.
It hadn't really been a part of the plan.
In fact, it was nowhere close to being part of the plan.
She'd hoped, like some stupid little kid, that if he did find her on the dumb bird app, that it would be a way for them to connect again—to bridge the lost time until she figured out how to convince her mom that he wasn't some stranger she'd brought into their lives. But he'd made it very clear he wasn't going to be of any help to her, and she was sort of dreading her mom trying to meet him now.
Would that just make him disappear again?
The idea of that, terrified her even more than him being angry with her, and it made her realize: she didn't really know Peter. Not anymore, at least. And that was probably the thing that hurt the worst, out of all of it. It had been three years since she'd last seen him, and he was acting like those three years didn't even matter. Like how much they had changed, and grown into the people they were becoming, and the time they'd lost, didn't even matter. He hadn't even fully admitted that he knew her; he never gave the confirmation that he was the Peter she remembered. And the way he'd dodged her questions, acting like she was something that could be put on a shelf like the stupid photo her dad had once had of him—the one that had sat near the sink in the kitchen but was gone now, just like him—stung sharper than being attacked by a horde of hornets (something she had experienced, and had no wish of reliving).
Frankly, she didn't really want to talk to him, after that. But that didn't mean she was giving up. She didn't know what was making him so determined to remain forgotten, and she wished he would have told her, because it just didn't make sense. How could he act like she didn't mean anything to him?
She made a vow to herself, when this was all cleared up, that she was going to give him a hard time for all the stupid games he was making her play.
"Morgan?" She froze in her chair by her desk, immediately stopping the scribbling she'd been doing in her notebook as soon as she heard the voice. She frowned, and swiveled in her seat, crossing her arms stubbornly across her chest as she was met with the sight of her other older brother, Harley. He stood in the doorway, leaning against it with his own arms crossed, his blue eyes icy.
Uh oh.
It was hard to keep the tough girl façade up when he had that expression.
It wasn't often that Harley was mad; in fact, it was nearly impossible to get him to that state. Harley was easy-going and funny, a dumb dad joke at the ready and a popsicle to follow almost every time he showed up. He wore his heart on his sleeve, and for the most part, he was carefree and always ready to laugh. So when he was angry, it was very visibly noticeable.
Like now.
His blue eyes were sharp as he stared at her, arms still folded over each other, waiting. She tried not to squirm in her chair under the weight of his gaze, and instead determined that she would steel her own resolve and make him just as uncomfortable.
"I could have sworn Mom taught us manners." She started, glaring up at him. If he wanted to start out angry, she could do that too. She had plenty to be angry about. He thought he was so clever, trying to keep the 'secret' that Peter was his new roommate from her. But Morgan had known, as soon as her mom had mentioned it in passing, that he'd managed to land himself a room in Peter's apartment. So, she wasn't going to give him an inch, in this game of Risk they were playing. "You're supposed to knock." She continued, haughtily, swiveling back in her chair, even as her ears burned. "What if I was changing?"
"I did knock." Harley refuted, finally stepping into the room, striding across the small space and turning her chair back to face him as he dropped into a crouch in front of her, his brow furrowed above his angry blue eyes. "You didn't say anything, so I opened the door and you were scribbling in your journal—" He snatched it off the desk as he said it, flipping through the pages. Morgan didn't even move, just narrowed her eyes at him as he skimmed the page.
"You're supposed to wait for an answer." She rebutted. Harley scoffed at that, closing her notebook, and setting it back on the desk.
"Yeah, somehow I don't think you would have answered, either way." He muttered, standing suddenly. Morgan watched him, as he paced the length of her room, his mind clearly running a mile a minute. "Listen to me, Morgan. We're going to have a very serious conversation, and you are not going to lie to me. If you lie, I am going straight to Mom and telling her everything you've been doing."
"Harley!" She couldn't help the way her voice immediately raised in pitch, fear flooding through her at the idea of her secret getting out before she was ready for it to. "You promised you wouldn't!"
"Yeah, well, that was before I found some stuff out." He shot back, glaring at her.
"So, what, you want to be a deserter and a liar, now?" She spit back, regretting the words as soon as they left her mouth, seeing the immediate hurt that flashed across Harley's face at her barbed words.
"That's not fair." Harley said quietly, all the anger seeming to dissipate out of him as suddenly as it had arrived. "You don't get it, Morgan." He said, frowning and sinking slowly onto the edge of her bed as she remained perched on her rollie-chair, warily watching him. "When I left…" He paused, taking a deep breath, and looked up to meet her gaze. His blue eyes were sad, so sad they reminded her of the night of her dad's funeral. It was one of the last times she'd seen him, before he'd moved back to Tennessee, and his eyes had been that same pool of blue they were now, endlessly deep, and endlessly sad. It was a strange look to be sitting on Harley's face, and she hated to see it, for two reasons. Harley never looked like that, and because he did, it was making her soften. She didn't want to give in, but she couldn't help it. She hated when anyone she cared about looked anywhere close to the expression he was making. So, she stayed quiet, and waited for him to finish. "When I left, it wasn't because I didn't want to see you, or watch you grow up into this…insane little person you've become." He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Your dad, our dad, meant a whole lot to me. More than most people have ever meant to me, my biological dad included. I know you can't possibly remember everything from when you were little, but Morgan, he raised me too. And being in this house, with all those memories…" He took a shuddering breath but didn't break their eye contact. Morgan remained frozen in her seat, so still she wasn't even sure she was breathing. "Being in this house was a little too much for me. So yeah, I ran away. I 'deserted' you and Pepper. And I'm sorry for that. I shouldn't have left you like that. It wasn't fair."
Morgan swallowed, hard. It was the first time he'd admitted to leaving so abruptly and hadn't just brushed over it. She'd never told him, since she still wasn't quite sure she could trust him when he'd come back and weaseled his way into her plan of finding Peter, she'd never brought it up, but losing him when he could so easily reach her, was just as bad as Peter being forgotten.
"When you left," she said, quietly, looking down. "it was like I lost both of my brothers." Harley inhaled deeply at the statement.
"That's fair." He finally ventured to say. Morgan looked up at him, and he offered her a crooked smile. "I really am sorry, Morgoona." He whispered. She got up and made her way over to him, sitting criss-cross-apple-sauce on the sheets beside him as she grabbed his hand.
"Okay." She said, shrugging. "I forgive you."
"So can we move past this and try to figure out how we're going to get Peter back into the regularly scheduled Stark House chaos?" He asked. Morgan nodded hesitantly.
"Mhm. I think so. But um…Harley?" He titled his head, watching her and she swallowed, nervously. "I might have done something really stupid and got Aunt Nat involved. And she's really pissed off about something and she's supposed to pick me up Monday, and I'm worried she's going to tell Mom." She confessed. Harley's eyebrow rose, and he hummed.
"Honestly, Morgs, I'm not even sure I'm not going to tell Mom. We're in pretty deep right now. There's a lot of stuff going on that even you don't know about."
"Harley." She said sharply, tugging her hand out of his and smacking his leg. "You can't tell her. You promised me that you wouldn't." She reminded him.
"Yeah, I know. But I'm going to need you to tell me why you kept the fact that he was Spider-Man from me." She gathered her hands in her lap at his words and bit her lip, her face twisting.
"Well…" She started. "I figured you really wouldn't tell me anything, if you knew that." She wrinkled her nose, sparing him a glance out of the corner of her eye. He smiled wryly at her and she returned her gaze to her hands, folded in her lap. "So I figured it was better to keep it secret, for now. I didn't know you were going to track him down and live with him." She prodded, suddenly straightening and turning towards him again. He grinned at that and shook his head, his curls bouncing. He flopped back on her bed, crossing his arms behind his head and stared up at her ceiling. He'd helped her dad paint the fluffy white clouds over the baby blue, when her mom had still been pregnant with her. They'd told her that story a couple of times, and her Uncle Rhodey had bemoaned having to pull the carpet up and replace it after the mess they'd made.
"Well, before I divulge all of his secrets, why don't you tell me how the hell you got Natasha involved without her telling Mom, and what, exactly, you had her do." Harley said, glancing towards her. She laughed nervously, tucking her hair behind her ear before flopping face first into her blankets beside him.
"Ummm…" She said, face suddenly burning. "So, I'm not really sure why she hasn't told Mom, I have an idea, but I haven't asked, because if I ask, then she's going to know I'm onto her and then she's definitely going to tell Mom." Harley huffed a laugh at her rapid fire explanation.
"Ohhhkay, so what do you know that I don't?" He asked.
"I don't, really. Know anything, I mean. I just think she feels guilty for something that happened with Dad. She won't tell me what it's about, but I think that she thinks…she owes him or something? And by helping me, she's paying him back for whatever she feels guilty about?" It came out as a question more than a statement, and Harley poked her side so she'd roll over to look at him. His face was serious, and he was frowning again.
"Morgan, that's like…scarily intuitive. And also, I think we might need to get you checked for signs of being a psychopath." She stared at him, trying to figure out if he was being serious when he cracked, bursting into a snorting fit of laughter. "I'm kidding. But yeah, um, you're not far off the mark there. Uh, Dad didn't really like to talk much about it, but yeah, he and Nat had a falling out. Right about the time he met Peter, if I'm following this insane timeline properly." He shrugged. "She did something bad, and I don't think he ever really forgave her for it. But I don't think I should tell you what exactly went down. I know you're a grudge holder." He teased, knocking against her again. "So it's probably best If we wait for you to learn all the stuff that went on behind the scenes, okay? For now, it's best to just remember that she and Mom are good, they've patched stuff up, and we need to respect that. Let's not go digging up buried hatchets, alright?" Her mouth twisted, her brain urging her to dig more and find out what exactly had gone wrong, but she didn't want to argue with Harley again. It wasn't a full explanation, but it was enough, for now.
"Okay." She said instead, raising one shoulder in a half shrug. "But I'm holding you to that. How old is old enough for me to know?" She asked. Harley laughed again and grabbed a pillow to smack her with.
"Let's say thirty." She clambered to her feet, shaking the bed beneath them as she grabbed her own pillow and smacked him with it in return, causing feathers and down to go everywhere. Harley burst out laughing again, enough to keep the bed shaking as feathers began to float down around them, and Morgan grinned at him. "Fine, fine." He conceded, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Let's say…sixteen? Maybe fourteen, if Mom has ungrounded you by then, for all the schemes you've concocted, which, by the way, I still want to know about." Morgan ducked her head sheepishly and dropped back into her cross-legged position beside him.
"Okay, so, um…confession time, I guess." She took a deep breath, sobering after their earlier antics, her mouth twisting nervously. "I asked Aunt Nat to hack into Mom's twitter account." Harley's eyebrow raised higher at that.
"…For?" He asked, when she didn't continue. She let out a breath, deflating beside him.
"I had her message Doctor Olivia Octavius, one of Peter's teachers." Harley sat up, staring at her.
"Morgan…" He said, slowly, his own face starkly serious. "What did you do?"
"Look," She started, raising her hands to try and calm him down. "I know it was probably stupid. But I hacked into the New York University school website. I found Peter had registered for a couple of classes, and I found out that he was in the class of one of the professors who is friends with the Dean of my school. She always speaks at the stupid end of year event that Mom drags me to. So, I knew she and Mom had maybe run into each other, but never really met. And I knew I couldn't have Mom recommend Peter for the open teacher's aide position at school…" She trailed off, waiting to see if Harley had caught on. He clearly had, if his dramatic groan and flop back onto her bed was any indication. He covered his face with his hands, and his voice came out muffled as he spoke through them.
"Are you seriously telling me that you had Nat hack into your mom's account, DM Peter's professor, after you basically stalked her, and put it in this poor woman's ear that Pepper Potts thought Peter Parker was a good fit for your school? And you don't think is going to come back and bite you in the ass?" Morgan grinned sheepishly, as Harley peered through his fingers at her. "Morgan." He groaned, even louder.
"What?!" She said, standing up again to tower over him. "I made sure Nat deleted the evidence."
"Morgan, that is basically bribery, Octavius probably thinks Stark Industries is interested in her work now, dude, this is so not cool, I cannot believe Nat helped you with this." Harley said, shaking his head.
"It's not bribery," Morgan argued, indignantly. "I didn't have Nat offer her money, I just had her put the idea in her head!"
"Oh, god, kid." Harley sat up and tugged her down beside him again, gripping her hand. "That is not how things work in the adult world, trust me. I've been working at Stark Industries long enough to know everything is a transaction. People are like vultures. If Professor Olivia thinks Pepper Potts messaged her, she's probably going to be knocking doors down trying to contact her again and get funding for her projects. This is so not good. What are you going to do if she reaches out to Mom again?" Morgan frowned and hunched her shoulders.
"Is that really how adults do business? That's stupid." She muttered and Harley barked a laugh.
"Yeah, it's fucking stupid." Harley agreed, earnestly. "But that's just how shit works. Fuck, I cannot believe Nat agreed to help you with that. Was she out of her damn mind?" Morgan glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.
"You'd better be glad Mom isn't here." She said, and he shot her a pointed look. "She'd have made you put money in the swear jar for every curse word you just said."
"Ah, fuck the swear jar." Harley muttered.
"That will be five dollars in the swear jar, Keener." They both jumped at the sound of Happy's voice, sitting up in tandem to look at him. He smiled, but Morgan's heart raced in her chest at the sight of him. How much had he heard? She'd forgotten he was outside, working on fixing up Gerald's shed from where he'd kicked a hole in the wall, and keeping an eye on her like her mom had asked him too, so his sudden arrival did nothing to calm her already rapid pulse.
"Oh, um, hi Uncle Happy!" She greeted getting to her feet and racing to envelop him in a hug. He grinned, lifting her up and squeezing her tightly before settling her back on her own two feet and ruffling her hair.
"Hey stink bug, you guys hungry? I was going to make some sandwiches. Don't want your mom coming home and you claiming I didn't feed you." He teased. Morgan laughed, hoping it didn't sound nervous, and spared a glance towards Harley. He didn't seem tense in the slightest, waving and offering his trademark easy smile to Happy who smiled back. "Good to see you, Keener."
"You too, old man. What kind of sandwich are we talking?"
"None for you, you little vulture. Especially not with the old man comment." Happy winked and Harley rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, yeah, well I'll stop calling you that when you stop being it." Happy stuck his tongue out at him, and Morgan couldn't help the giggle that bubbled up in her chest at their antics, despite her apprehensions.
"Well, I'm making my famous chicken salad, just got all the ingredients on my way up this morning. Why don't you guys go wash your hands and then come help me get everything set up." Happy offered. Morgan nodded, eagerly, leaning into the hope that he hadn't heard their conversation, and wanting another minute alone with Harley.
"Yeah, that sounds good, I was going to take Morgan out for lunch, but honestly, driving anywhere with the snow that's about to start is probably not the best idea." Harley said, and Happy grunted in agreement.
"Yeah, you might not even be making it home tonight. We can set up the guest room after and you can stay for the next night, and I can drop you off when I take Morgan to school in the morning. May want to call your roommate and let him know. You know Pepper will kill me if I let you out of the house once it starts." Harley grinned and nodded in agreement.
"Yeah, thank you, Happy. Works for me. We'll be down in just a minute?" Happy nodded at him, and ruffled Morgan's hair again.
"No trouble, this week, got it, squirt?" She nodded up at him, knowing that she was definitely going to be getting herself in trouble just so she could talk to Peter again. But Happy didn't need to know that, not yet at least. His smile softened at her nod, and he carried on. "Alright, you guys had better be down in the next five minutes." He warned, turning around, and making his way down the hallway and to the stairs that descended into the living room. Morgan watched him go, waiting until his head disappeared before she whipped back around to face Harley.
"You don't think he heard us, do you?" She asked, her flood of worry returning as soon as he was out of sight. Harley just rolled his eyes.
"Do you think we'd be having this conversation if he did?" He asked. Morgan narrowed her eyes at him, then nodded slowly.
"Okay." She said, nodding again, more in reassurance for herself. "Harley, I'm serious, I don't want you telling Mom yet, okay? Please?" She pleaded, stepping towards him, and grabbing his hand in her own. Harley bit his lip, considering her.
"We're putting a pin in this conversation, but we'll talk more about it later, okay?" He said finally, squeezing her hand.
"Promise." Morgan insisted, squeezing back. "And promise me that you're going to catch me up on everything you know about Peter, because I promise I'm going to tell you everything else. No more secrets." She said solemnly, gaze resting firmly on him. Harley took a deep breath but nodded.
"I promise." He agreed. "Now let's go help Happy before he comes back up here and actually does overhear us."