Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The whole building smelled like dust, sweat, and way too much Axe body spray. Everyone was running around, yelling, trying to get stuff done. End-of-term chaos. End-of-year madness. People were bouncing between rooms, shouting over each other about what belonged to who, saying rushed goodbyes in hallways or under open windows. Some had already left. Some were still in survival mode.

Some guy two floors down was blasting music so loud the whole dorm could hear it. Someone else knocked over a towering pile of boxes waiting for a courier. The air buzzed with that weird, jumpy summer energy-like everything was about to end and explode at the same time.

But Harley didn’t feel it.

His room already looked like it had been gutted. Most of his stuff was packed, taped up, and shoved out into the hallway-books, clothes, posters, all of it. What was left were just the essentials, scattered across his bare mattress, waiting for him to figure out how the hell to cram them into the single bag he planned to carry with him.

A notebook, his laptop, a hoodie, two mismatched Converse, a phone charger that sparked like it wanted to catch fire, some jeans, a couple of shirts, underwear, and a bunch of random junk-just enough to last maybe two, three days before the rest of his stuff got to where he was going.

Gene was lying on his stomach on the other side of the room, flipping through a random magazine he’d found while packing. He looked bored, like he was just killing time until he got the text saying his mom was outside and it was time to go. But Harley had known Gene long enough, after years of sharing a room, to know that was just his thing. Acting like he didn’t care. Total BS.

“You sure you don’t want the poster?” Gene asked without looking up.

“You licked the back of it so it’d stick to the wall,” Harley said. “So yeah… licked it, claimed it, whatever. It’s yours.”

Gene laughed and flipped another page in the magazine.

No one said anything for a while. Somewhere a few rooms down, someone was yelling about missing headphones. Someone else ran through the hallway in flip-flops, the slap-slap echo weirdly dramatic.

Eventually, Gene rolled onto his back and dropped the magazine onto his chest. He stared up at the ceiling, but Harley could tell he was building up to something.

“So… if my mom actually pulls off getting those Les Mis tickets,” Gene started, “and somehow convinces my dad to leave D.C. for, like, one single day, and we really do end up in New York… I’ll find the building. I’ll chuck rocks at a window or yell up to one that just feels like it has your vibe.”

“ You’ll freak out the interns,” Harley muttered, finally stuffing the last thing into his bag. The zipper was being stubborn, but he was more stubborn.

“Good,” Gene said without missing a beat. “I hate interns.”

“You’d actually come?” Harley asked, tugging the zipper shut like he was winning some kind of quiet war.

“Duh,” Gene said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You really think I’m gonna let you vanish into Billionaire World without at least checking you’re still alive?”

Harley gave a crooked smile, about to say something, when a knock interrupted him. It was quick and offbeat, the kind of knock that wasn’t waiting for an answer.

“Yo,” Cam, from down the hall, called out, already halfway into the room, pushing someone else aside in the hallway. “So it’s for real? You’re actually leaving today?”

“Yup,” Harley said, standing up from the floor.

Cam must’ve taken that as a full invitation, because he stepped all the way in without bothering to shut the door behind him. Eli and Aaron followed close behind-his teammates from the swim team, looking like they’d already mentally checked out of school.

They had summer all over them-messy laces, sunglasses perched on their heads, and streaks of dust from packing smeared on their arms. Eli somehow had some on his nose, too.

“So I guess this is it, Stark,” Aaron said with that crooked grin of his. “Big city, robots, fame, fortune. Whatever else comes with your name.”

Harley shook his hand, but Aaron pulled him into one of those quick, one-armed bro-hugs before he could say anything. Then he was gone, just like that.

“You’ve got, what, three weeks max before some malfunctioning Roomba drags you into a tech void?” Eli said, raising both hands like he was washing his hands of him.

“I’m really gonna miss your constant faith in me,” Harley said flatly.

“Check in on the group chat once in a while,” Cam added, slinging an arm over Eli’s shoulders. “Drop a message now and then. If you go all tower-hermit on us, I’m posting your fifth-grade bowl cut pics.”

“Do that,” Harley shot back, “and I might accidentally leak your seventh-grade love notes to Selena. Remember those? With the song lyrics?”

Cam winced like he’d just taken psychic damage. “Low blow, Stark.”

They stood around for a while longer, trading lazy jokes and making stupid bets no one would ever remember.

Cam left first, giving Harley a salute as he backed out the door. Eli followed not long after-someone was yelling his name from somewhere down the hall. Everyone had something left to do: packing, parents waiting, last flights to catch.

And then it was just Harley and Gene again.

And the quiet that followed felt heavier than before. Not uncomfortable-just real. The kind of quiet that knows what it means.

“You good?” Gene asked, getting up and nudging his beat-up Air Jordan against the backpack that had been shoved under the chair.

“Sure,” Harley said, walking over to the desk and looking out the window toward the courtyard. Two girls were wrapped around each other in a hug like the world might split in half when they let go. One of them turned toward the parking lot. The other headed back toward the girls’ dorm, wiping at her face.

Gene gave him a quick pat on the shoulder.

“I’ll give you guys a minute,” he said, glancing toward the door. Harley frowned and turned just in time to see Jamie standing in the doorway, not quite inside, not quite out.

Neither of them moved at first. They just waited until Gene was gone.

“I was supposed to be the one leaving before you,” Jamie finally said. “Didn’t think saying goodbye to you would feel this weird.”

Harley actually smiled. He hadn’t either.

“But it does,” he shrugged. He knew exactly what Jamie meant. Jamie had been his first roommate. The first person who showed him how to sneak food from the cafeteria and how to keep a homesick panic attack quiet enough not to wake anyone. He’d been eleven. Harley had been eight, lost, and scared. Jamie had helped anyway. Harley was supposed to be the one sending Jamie off when he graduated next year. But now it was Harley leaving. And not coming back.

Jamie handed him a piece of notebook paper, ripped unevenly and folded so many times it was practically soft.

“ I wrote down all the cheat codes. For Civilization and, you know… real life. Not sure they work, though.”

“Thanks,” Harley said, not opening it yet. He just turned it over a few times in his hand.

Jamie hesitated.

“You gonna miss this place?”

Harley thought about lying. But he didn’t.

“Yeah.”

“I hope I see you again someday. Even if it’s just bumping into each other on the street,” Jamie said, with a smile that didn’t quite land.

“You’ll be the first person I call if I ever get arrested,” Harley promised.

Jamie nodded and headed for the door, but paused in the frame. He braced one hand against it, then turned back over his shoulder.

“Hey, Junior?”

“Yeah?”

“No one’s gonna be able to replace you,” Jamie said-and then he was gone before Harley could answer.

He looked down at the crumpled paper in his hand. It was exactly what Jamie said it was-cheat codes for Civ, half of them misspelled, all of them things Harley already knew. But at the bottom, scrawled in smaller, messier handwriting, was something else:

You were the best part of this place. Don’t let anyone make you think you were just passing through.

Harley swallowed hard but folded the paper carefully-like it was something breakable-and slipped it into the pocket of his jeans. It was time to go. He slung his bag over his shoulder and looked around the room that had been more of a home than anything else he’d ever had. Closing the door behind him felt weirdly surreal. Honestly, the whole walk through campus felt that way. Like a lucid dream, or one of those weird déjà vu moments, or maybe just some brain glitch he didn’t have a name for.

The grass was aggressively green. The sky was aggressively bright. Someone was throwing a frisbee. Someone else was laughing way too loud. The wheels of some suitcase clicked against the pavement like a metronome.

“Gonna miss your music, Stark!” someone yelled.

Harley made some vague head-tilt gesture back.

“Who’s gonna break into the vending machines now?” someone else asked, patting his back. Harley barely recognized the guy.

“Take care, man.”

He hunched his shoulders and readjusted the strap of his bag. It was a six-minute walk from his dorm to East Hall. Three, if you jogged. He didn’t jog.

He didn’t knock, either. She hated that. Said it made her feel like some kind of landlady. Her door was already propped open anyway, held by a beat-up Adidas.

Olivia was sitting cross-legged on her bed, folding her shirts into impossibly tiny squares. Her phone was facedown on the pillow next to her. She didn’t look up, but she definitely knew it was him.

“Took you long enough,” she said.

“Had to fight my way through the fan club,” he answered, dropping his bag by her desk.

She smiled, but only for a second. Harley liked her smile. She was really pretty when she smiled.

“You leaving now?”

“Yeah.”

“Happy picking you up?”

“He’s probably already circled the lot three times, threatened the parking guy, and cussed me out under his breath for taking too long.”

Olivia kept folding. She was wearing his hoodie. He didn’t mention it. She didn’t either. He didn’t know what to say, so he leaned against the wall, arms crossed, like he was just passing through. Like he wasn’t actually staying.

“So,” she said, still not looking at him, “you stopping by to ghost me in person, or just here for some poetic closure?”

“Ghosting sounds kind of harsh.”

“Mhm.”

Harley rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head.

“I just… I don’t want this to be weird.”

“It’s already weird,” she said, finally meeting his eyes.

“I know.”

They were quiet for a second. Then she stood up and walked over to him. She had to tilt her chin up to look at his face, and Harley knew she was reading him like a book.

“You don’t have to do the whole lone wolf thing,” she said gently.

“I suck at goodbyes,” he admitted, his brow creasing as he looked down at her.

“No kidding.”

She stepped closer and rested her forehead against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her automatically. He didn’t even know what this was. It’s not like they were serious. They held hands in dark movie theaters, sometimes snuck into each other’s rooms just to fall asleep listening to the other breathe. They stargazed. They kissed after school dances. But they weren’t a couple. Not officially.

“I don’t think we should keep… you know… this going,” he said eventually. “I’m leaving. I have no clue what my life’s about to look like. And it wouldn’t be fair to-”

“Harley.”

“What?”

“I get it.”

He looked down. Their eyes met. She didn’t look mad. Just a little sad.

“You’re allowed to be scared,” she said, shrugging. “You’re allowed to not know what you’re doing. You’re even allowed to bail on me, if that’s what makes it easier for you.”

“ I’m not bailing,” he muttered.

“You kind of are.”

He had to look away. Because yeah. He kind of was.

“I just don’t want this to be harder than it has to be. For you,” he added.

Olivia stood on her toes and touched his face. She kissed his cheek, then his mouth. Soft. Final.

“I’m gonna be okay,” she said. “But if you ever need anything-anything-Stark you’ll call me. Got it?”

“Got it,” Harley repeated.

Olivia smiled, wrapped herself tighter in his hoodie, and went back to folding clothes.

“You should go before I start crying,” she added, her voice sounding like she was already halfway there.

So Harley grabbed his bag and headed for the door.

“Thanks,” he said, not even sure if she heard him.

He didn’t head straight to the parking lot after leaving Olivia’s. Instead, he stopped at the edge of the courtyard, turning his face up toward the sun. Just trying to soak in a little more of it - the air, the light, the whole damn atmosphere of the place. Memorizing every corner, every face he might never see again.

One of the main school buildings was right across from him. The windows were tall and narrow, topped with weirdly fancy arches that were chipped in random places and filled with pigeon nests or God-knows-what. The second one from the left on the third floor was open. The English classroom. Harley knew that window. He knew that classroom. He knew who was usually inside.

He didn’t think it through. He just moved.

The hallways were quiet in that unnatural way that made his footsteps in his squeaky sneakers sound way louder than they should. No voices, no laughter, no chaos. Just him and the faint buzz of fluorescent lights.

The door to the classroom was open too, breeze filtering in enough to rustle a few loose papers.
Mr. Carson was leaning against the desk, sleeves rolled up, sorting through what looked like the last batch of essays they’d turned in. There were two coffee mugs nearby, both crusty and clearly not washed in several days.

He looked up, saw Harley, and smiled - like he’d known he’d show up.

“Kinda figured you might swing by to say goodbye,” he said, cheerful as always.

“Almost didn’t.”

“But here you are.”

Mr. Carson didn’t hug him or do anything dumb like that. Instead, he tilted his head toward the desk by the window - Harley’s desk. The one where he’d spent a hundred sleepy afternoons pretending he wasn’t enjoying the class.

Harley sat down. Looked around the room. The whiteboard still had a quote from Catch-22 scrawled half-erased in the corner. A beat-up copy of Beowulf was face-down on the windowsill. Some sad, mangled pen had been jammed into the radiator and left there. Everything looked the same. Like nothing had changed. Like this wasn’t the last time Harley would ever sit here.

“You ready?” Mr. Carson asked.

“Apparently.”

They sat in a silence that wasn’t really uncomfortable, just heavy. Familiar.

“I keep thinking I forgot something,” Harley muttered, slouching a little. “Like, I’ll get in the car and suddenly realize I left my spine in the dining hall or my phone under my bed or that essay I wrote in fifth grade stuffed behind my dresser.”

Mr. Carson laughed, moving around to lean on the front of the desk.

“If it’s the essay, send it to me. I’d love to read it.”

“No promises,” Harley said with a small grin.

“You did good here,” Carson said, softer now.

“I barely did anything.”

“You did when it mattered. You showed up. Even when you didn’t want to. That counts.”

Outside the window, a gust of wind sent the trees swaying. Somewhere across the lawn, a girl shouted from a car window - Call me! - like it was the most important thing in the world. Harley didn’t look away from the window.

“I know it’s scary,” Mr. Carson went on, voice low. “And weird. And probably not at all how you pictured it.”

“It’s just a move,” Harley said, still watching the courtyard, rubbing his palms together. “That’s all.”

“Sure,” Mr. Carson agreed. “Just a move.”

Another silence. This one crept in slower, crawled under his collar.

Then Mr. Carson pushed off the desk and crossed the room. Harley didn’t turn until something thumped gently on the desk in front of him.

A copy of The Haunting of Hill House - old, beat up, clearly read a hundred times. The first book they’d really talked about. The first time Harley had actually gotten excited about class. Symbolism, metaphors, weirdness - all the stuff he used to roll his eyes at suddenly felt worth thinking about.

“For you,” Mr. Carson said. “Keep it. Or don’t. But, y’know… if you ever feel like a haunted house yourself, give me a call, alright?”

Harley blinked a few times before he managed a nod.

“Yeah. I will.” It came out too fast. He stood up too fast, too. Stuffed the book into his already-overstuffed bag and rolled his shoulders back like that’d help. “I should go. Before Happy leaves me behind and I have to walk to New York.”

“He’d never leave you,” Mr. Carson said, smiling.

“No. Probably not.”

Harley turned without saying a word and headed back the way he’d come. The sun had started to dip, just enough to make the courtyard look older, weirder. Shadows stretched out across the stone like fingers, grabbing at things.

He was halfway down the stone steps that led to the maintenance shed. From there, it was just a short walk along the gravel path to the old, lopsided oak tree - the one that looked like a stiff breeze could knock it over, but somehow survived every thunderstorm - and then he’d be at the parent-and-guest parking lot.

He couldn’t see any familiar cars from where he stood, but Happy was probably parked somewhere shady, planning the fastest possible escape from the campus - or yelling at some rich kid who didn’t know how to drive their unnecessarily expensive car.

"Hey! Stark!"

Harley turned instinctively. Gene was sprinting toward him, cutting diagonally across the perfectly manicured lawn. He looked winded, like he’d already made it halfway to his parents’ car before remembering something. His backpack hung off one shoulder, sunglasses slipping off his head, both hands occupied.

“I was gonna let you leave all chill and casual,” Gene panted, hands on his hips, “but then I remembered I’m actually a good person and a halfway decent friend, so…”

He held something out. Harley took the paper bag from his hand, frowning.

“What’s this supposed to be?”

“Contraband. Gummies. Off Ms. Hayworth’s desk,” Gene said proudly.

“She’s gonna haunt you,” Harley muttered, smirking.

“She already does,” Gene shrugged.

They stood there awkwardly for a second, both trying not to be weird about it. But then Gene pulled him into a hug. A real one. No dumb shoulder taps or one-arm pats. Tight and real. And even though Harley didn’t move at first, he let himself lean into it.

“You’re gonna hate New York,” Gene said into his shoulder. “Too many taxis. Too many people wearing sunglasses indoors. Too many people dressed all in black like it’s their whole personality.”

“I’ll survive.”

“Hope so.”

They let go before either of them could get teary. But Harley kept a hand on Gene’s shoulder for a beat longer.

“Take care of this place, yeah?”

“I’ll keep your legend alive,” Gene said, flashing a mock-serious look. “Stark the Menace. Patron Saint of Broken Fire Alarms and Unauthorized Rooftop Access.”

“Sounds about right.”

Gene gave him one last crooked grin and turned to jog back the way he came. His parents were probably waiting at one of the side gates.

Harley sighed and spun around - only to nearly walk face-first into Mr. Halvorsen.

The dorm supervisor. The guy who’d written him up a hundred times, confiscated half his stuff, and once made him repaint a wall for reasons Harley still didn’t fully understand. He had a clipboard under one arm and a can of Diet Coke in the other.

“Stark. I’ve gotta admit, I’m shocked you’re leaving before I had the chance to expel you,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re gonna miss me,” Harley grinned.

“Like I’d miss a clogged toilet,” Halvorsen muttered - but he switched the Coke to his other hand and held one out. Harley shook it, quick and solid.

“Wherever you end up,” Halvorsen said, a little hesitant for once, “I hope it’s something. A beginning. Or… at least not an ending.”

Harley had to blink a few times.

“Thanks. That… uh…”

“Don’t get all sentimental on me, Stark,” Halvorsen cut in, already walking off like none of that had happened.

Harley straightened up a little. Maybe where he was going could be something.
Maybe it didn’t have to be an ending.

The black Audi was parked in the fifth row. Polished, expensive-looking, and just classy enough to blend in with the school’s whole legacy and expectations vibe. The moment Harley saw it, something inside him twisted - part relief, part sheer anxiety.

Happy was already out of the car before Harley even got close. He met him halfway, took the duffel bag without asking, and pulled him into one of his usual hugs - short, solid, no-nonsense. Although… maybe they both held on a second or two longer than normal. Not that either of them would admit it.

Happy’s face looked the same as always. Not smiling, not scowling. Just… Happy. But his eyes flicked over Harley like he was checking: everything still in one piece? Ready to go?

“You got everything?” he asked.

“Yup. Room’s officially empty and depressing,” Harley replied, trailing him toward the car.

“Bet it always was.”

“You wound me,” Harley snorted.

They got in. The engine purred to life like it knew it was supposed to behave.

It wasn’t until they were on the main road that Harley let his head rest against the window. He watched the school vanish slowly in the rearview mirror, one familiar building at a time.

“So,” Happy started. “Still terrible at Spanish?”

“Worse, actually,” Harley grinned.

“Impressive. That’s a real gift.”

“And you?” Harley shot back, still watching the scenery shrink behind them. “Still pretending you’re not emotionally invested in a kid you only see like, once a year?”

“I miss the pre-sarcasm version of you,” Happy sighed.

“There never was one.”

They slipped into an easy rhythm. All the way to the airport and through the short private flight, they talked. About school, classes, the fencing tournament Harley bailed on, Gene’s brief and confusing obsession with lacrosse, and a lot more than anyone needed to say about Downton Abbey. Harley made fun of himself freely, laughed a lot, rolled his eyes way too dramatically whenever Happy brought up disciplinary complaints from dorm staff.

But somewhere over New Haven, the jokes started tasting a little stale.

Silence stretched out - not uncomfortable, but definitely noticeable.

“So... how’s he doing?” Harley finally asked.

Happy didn’t need to ask who he was.

“Better. Some days are still rough. But overall, he’s doing okay. Focused.”

“And Pep?”

“She’s… she’s doing good too,” Happy said, fiddling with the cap of his ginger ale.

“I saw the house on TV. The new one.”

“Mhm.”

“Looks expensive.”

“Because it is.”

Harley turned the empty Sprite can in his hands, stalling a bit.

“How’re you doing?”

Happy looked surprised. Caught off guard, almost.

“Me?” He shrugged. “I’m good. Don’t worry about me.”

“I came to see you in the hospital, you know,” Harley said, trying not to make it sound like some big dramatic revelation - even if it kind of felt like one in his head. “Back when you got hurt.”

“Yeah?” Happy’s brow furrowed.

“Yeah. Ditched school, booked the cheapest flight I could find. The kind that smells like cleaning spray and bad decisions.”

Happy didn’t say anything at first. Just nodded once.

“Thanks for showing up,” he said quietly. “Even if I was out cold.”

“Wasn’t sure they’d let me in.”

“They probably shouldn’t have.”

“But they did,” Harley grinned.

Silence again, but softer this time. Harley looked around the jet, a little restless. Then, more cautiously:

“So… this whole move. That was… Dad’s idea?”

Happy shifted slightly in his seat. Barely a movement, but Harley clocked it immediately.

“I mean, I get that Pepper probably pushed for it too,” Harley added quickly, trying to sound casual. “But… was it his idea? Even a little bit?”

Happy exhaled. Loudly. Scratched his cheek. Didn’t meet Harley’s eyes.

“It was… a group decision.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Like… joint effort.”

“Of course.”

“Kid-” Happy finally looked at him, but Harley just raised a hand.

“It’s fine. I get it. I was just wondering.”

He turned back toward the window, watching the clouds drift by like they might have answers in them. He could feel Happy looking at him, but didn’t look back. Not yet.

He didn’t need more answers right now. Not all at once.

The landing and the ride into Manhattan were almost completely silent.

Harley stared out the window, watching the skyline grow taller, closer, heavier. His heart was pounding like he was about to take a final exam for a class he forgot he was enrolled in.

Of course Happy noticed. But maybe because of the awkwardness from earlier, he didn’t say anything for a long time.

“You okay?” he asked eventually. Not pushy. Just… there. Harley appreciated that.

He shrugged, eyes still locked on the spot where the buildings met the sky.

“Yeah. I guess. I mean… maybe. Maybe we could stop by the office or something first? Pick up Pepper? Or I dunno. Take a detour. Get coffee?”

“You want coffee?” Happy raised an eyebrow.

“Nah. Just stalling.”

“All the offices are in the Tower. Pepper’s at home,” Happy said with a crooked smile.

“Home?” Harley snapped his head toward him. “You mean the apartment?”

“Mhm. Whole top floor. That’s the new normal,” Happy said gently.

“ What about Rhodey?” Harley asked, hesitating.

“He’s there too. Said he wasn’t about to miss your grand return,” Happy added with a small wave of his hand.

Harley blew out a breath, cheeks puffing. His stomach was one big, tangled knot of nerves.

And when the Tower finally came into view-it got worse.

It didn’t even look real. Like something out of a movie. All glass and steel, absurdly tall, shining in the sun like it had no business belonging to people. It didn’t look like a place someone lived in. It looked like a monument.

By the time they pulled into the private parking garage, Harley felt like he’d swallowed his own tongue. They took a private elevator up. Happy punched in some code, scanned something else, pressed his finger on a different sensor. Harley kept his eyes forward the whole time.

The elevator dinged softly, and the doors slid open. Everything smelled like lemons and money.

“There he is!” Rhodey’s voice sliced clean through the polished silence the moment Harley stepped into the hallway. “Look at you! What were they feeding you up there? Magic beans?”

Harley laughed-awkwardly, maybe-but the tension started to peel off his shoulders.

Pepper appeared a second later, arms already open. Harley didn’t even think-he just hugged her tight, tighter than he meant to. But she was warm and real.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his temple.

Harley wanted to say something back, but Rhodey threw an arm around his shoulders and started steering him into whatever part of the floor counted as the living room.

“Good thing you showed up. We were way overdue for some quality hang time,” Rhodey said.

They talked for a bit. Pepper asked about the flight. Rhodey made fun of his hair. Harley tried not to keep mental tabs on every unfamiliar piece of furniture or every squeak of his sneakers on the floor. Everything was too big. Too clean. Too quiet.

Then the elevator dinged again.

All the conversation stopped.

All eyes turned toward the hallway.

Tony walked out from around the corner, tablet in one hand, eyebrows already raised. But the moment he saw Harley, he froze.

“Harley?” His voice was quiet. Confused. “I mean-hey! I… didn’t-wasn’t expecting you yet.”

Harley felt whatever smile he had completely slide off his face. He wasn’t even sure what he’d expected-maybe a grin. A hug. Something. But not this. Not surprise.

“Hey,” he said, voice small and dry.

“Yeah,” Tony blinked, gave him a thumbs-up, then turned away.

Something sharp twisted in Harley’s chest. But he straightened up, forced himself to smile at Pepper, and didn’t listen too hard to the sound of the elevator leaving.

It didn’t matter.

It wasn’t like he’d just been reminded what it felt like to be wanted by everyone… except the one person who should’ve led the charge.

Chapter Text

By the time his third day in New York rolled around, Harley had figured out that if he pressed the right combination fast enough in the west-most elevator, he could get it to stop at a maintenance floor that no one else seemed to use.

Not that he did anything special there-he just stood by the window sometimes, eating a candy bar and listening to the hum of dozens of people moving above and below him. Trying to feel if the building had a soul or something.

It wasn’t much, but it was something. Something his.

Stark Tower-or Avengers Tower, or whatever it was calling itself now-had ninety-three floors. Harley hadn’t explored all of them yet, but he planned to.

The sixteenth floor, for example, had a koi pond. A real one. With actual fish. And floor thirty-two had a vending machine that didn’t need coins to give you snacks. That one was officially his favorite.

His own floor-the penthouse-was full of sleek design choices and open space. Gorgeous, obviously. Everything in there was new, deliberate, overly modern. It felt a little like being inside a luxury catalog. Like someone had hired a very expensive interior designer to stage a lifestyle, not a home.

Harley’s room was at the end of the hallway, right across from the master bedroom that Tony and Pepper shared. It was already fully furnished when he got there-white, chrome, and kind of cold.

It had its own bathroom, which smelled exactly like the one in Malibu. Same detergent. Same everything.

Harley hadn’t picked this room. And honestly, it didn’t really feel like his.

It was the kind of room a rich person might assume a teenager would want-futuristic, minimalist, and totally impersonal.

It was exactly the kind of place you gave to someone you didn’t really know-but hoped would stay.

But Harley did have his stuff.

Years of collecting, rearranging, holding onto things that meant something. His boxes arrived on the second day. It wasn’t enough to fill the brushed-metal shelves that looked like they belonged in a spaceship, or to cram the soft-close drawers in the dresser, or to take up more than a few corners of the walls.

The room was easily twice the size of his old dorm room-and that one, he’d always had to share.

It didn’t really resemble his bedroom back in Malibu either, except maybe for the size of the windows.

That old room had been painted blue and was packed with junk, souvenirs, half-dead plants, and surfboards he hadn’t touched since he was twelve. It had been decorated for a younger version of himself-the one who thought he and his dad were going to eat tacos every Friday forever.

By day four, Harley had started decorating in random bursts of energy, somewhere between wandering the tower’s upper floors and zoning out while staring at the city skyline, trying to decide if he liked it or if it was just too much.

Pepper had left him a neat little pile of stuff on his desk-pushpins, wall hooks, painter’s tape, and some swatches of wall color. On top was a sticky note that read: Go wild. Within reason.

Harley had rolled his eyes at it, but he’d smiled too.

So he started putting things up.

The Body Snatcher poster-corners a little bent-and The Wasp Woman, in near-perfect condition. He and Gene had swiped both from the old cinema in the town near their school. The place ran classic horror movies every Thursday and didn’t lock up very well.

There was the fencing tournament banner that someone had accidentally mailed to the dorm instead of the main school building, and since Harley was on the team, he figured it was fair game.

A Godzilla print he found while sneaking around during a lockdown drill.

A terrible-quality Iron Giant promo he’d traded for two Pokémon cards in fifth grade.

And an unreasonably expensive photo print of Queen Elizabeth from the 1950s that, for reasons he couldn’t really explain, just… spoke to him.

He filled the shelf with books-yellowed and battered-most of them gifts, prizes, or just stuff people had left behind in his dorm over the years.

But The Haunting of Hill House went on the desk. Just in case. In case he ever felt like looking at it.

He found a spot for the paper rhinoceros too. It didn’t look anything like a real rhino, but Harley had made it a few months back and felt weirdly attached to it. Along with it came a bunch of random junk, plus his dented school thermos that didn’t actually keep anything warm and which he had no reason to use anymore-but kept anyway.

The photos took the longest.

He covered the strip of wall between the two giant windows with blurry shots from movie nights, group hangouts, half-legal escapades pulled off by creatively unsupervised boys. Most of them were dumb or grainy or both, but they made the place feel less like a museum.

The one he liked most was of Pepper. She was wearing this stunning dress and had an even more stunning smile, and Harley-tucked up against her side-had a look on his face like his shoes were way too tight.

Back at school, that photo had always gone above his desk. Every year.

It was a little harder to find a place for the photo strip he’d taken with Olivia during the holidays, but eventually he tucked it into the edge of the mirror.

One picture stayed face-down in a drawer until day six.

At first, he hadn’t even meant to bring it with him. He’d planned to leave it behind, forget it existed. And when he realized it had made the trip, he figured there was no way he’d actually hang it.

He was maybe seven when it was taken-probably the last summer before everything started to fall apart.

He was sitting on a sun-bleached bench, feet not even touching the ground. Tony had an arm slung across the backrest behind him, sunglasses pushed into his hair, ice cream cone in hand. He looked like someone nothing could touch.

Behind them, laughing at something off-camera, was Obie. One hand on Harley’s shoulder. One on Tony’s.

Harley stared at that one for a long time.

Then he took a breath and pinned it up with the rest.

Tony saw the photo on day eight.

He’d been walking past Harley’s room, slowed down when he noticed the door open, and leaned in. Harley didn’t comment. It was Tony’s house.

But his eyes went straight to the Malibu picture. He walked over and just stood there, staring at it for a solid few minutes. Harley stared at him back, just as still.

“Obie was good to you,” Tony said eventually, his voice low and strange-like he was tired, or like something inside him was pulling tight. “Really good.”

Harley didn’t answer. But his chest tightened.

He had loved Obie. Trusted him. For years, Obie was the one grown-up Harley felt like he could actually talk to. The one who showed up. Who picked him up from school, who reminded Tony about his birthday, who clapped at school plays when Tony sent an assistant instead.

And then, apparently, he’d tried to kill Tony.

Harley wanted to rip the photo off the wall. But he didn’t.

“I’m not saying take it down,” Tony said, straightening up a little too fast, throwing Harley a look he couldn’t totally read. “It’s your room. I just… get it. If it’s weird. It’s weird for me too.”

Harley didn’t know what he was supposed to do with that. And before he could figure it out, Tony was already gone.

Left the air a little messier than it had been.

By day ten, Tony flew out to Dubai. Something about licensing. Something something PR. Something something fire to put out.

Harley didn’t ask.

He just watched from his spot on the couch as Tony stepped into the elevator-one hand on his suitcase, the other still glued to his phone.

It looked like every other time Tony disappeared. When Harley was five. Or seven. Or twelve. Always movement, blur, noise.

But Harley wasn’t seven anymore.

Seven-year-old Harley probably would’ve cried. Clung to his dad’s leg. Gotten bribed with ice cream or a trip to the beach or some overpriced toy.

Fifteen-year-old Harley was old enough to know Tony had surgery a few months ago to remove the damn shrapnel from his chest. That he could’ve died. Again.

Pepper didn’t talk about it, but Harley noticed how worried she was. How sometimes, mid-sentence, she’d just go quiet, or rub her thumb into her palm-the thing she did only when she was really anxious.

He noticed. So he didn’t add to it. Didn’t ask how Tony was feeling. Or if he should even be flying.

She didn’t need that. She deserved peace.

And Harley… Harley had kind of made his peace with the fact that with Tony, you had to never be too surprised when he left, and never get too hopeful when he came back.

Still, that night, Harley rode the elevator up and down for a long time.

Just to feel something move.

On day eleven, Happy took him on the Staten Island Ferry. Supposedly because Harley had once mentioned he’d never been, but more likely to keep his mind off Tony.

It was grossly humid, the water smelled awful, and the benches were weirdly sticky.

But Harley kind of liked it anyway.

It was normal. No holograms, no upgrades, no AI giving snarky commentary. Just a boat. A ferry. Full of overheated people and stale snack food.

They sat on the upper deck, eating fries that were somehow both soggy and way too salty, watching other passengers go by.

“Better, right?” Happy asked eventually, leaning over the railing. “This city makes a little more sense with wind in your hair.”

By day thirteen, Harley had started showing up in Pepper’s office after lunch.

It smelled like expensive perfume and coffee and something that was just… her.

He never knocked. He never had. It was exactly like when he was ten and used to sit on the couch in her office doing summer math packets while she worked late.

“Need something?” she asked the first time, giving him that warm, familiar smile.

“Naaah,” he said, plopping into the seat across from her and pulling out his phone to reply to something in the group chat. “This floor has the best snacks.”

She hummed quietly and went back to her work.

She didn’t mention that this floor didn’t actually have any vending machines. Or a kitchen.

And he didn’t mention that she was the closest thing he had to a mom.

Technically, though, he did say it.

On day fourteen, in the evening, Pepper was making popcorn while Harley sprawled across the kitchen island waiting for her to finish.

“Thanks, you know,” he said, tilting his head to look at her.

“For what?” she asked, turning toward him with a curious smile.

“For being with him,” he said, holding her gaze.

She froze mid-motion.

“I mean-with Tony. I’m glad it’s you.”

He didn’t say the rest. That it was good it wasn’t someone fake or plastic. That it wasn’t someone who disappeared when Tony did.

He never called her Mom. That word felt too big, too late, too weird in his mouth.

But honestly, he couldn’t really remember life before her. Not in any real way.

“Of course. Always,” she said, like she understood all of it.

And when she ruffled his hair a moment later, he didn’t say anything.

Didn’t need to.

On day fifteen, Tony sent him a photo of a camel with the caption has your energy.

Harley didn’t reply.

But he saved the picture anyway.

On day seventeen, the stuff Harley had ordered one random night while doom-scrolling through obscure shopping sites finally showed up.

So now he had a new rug, a chair that absolutely didn’t match anything else in the room, and three cacti lined up on the windowsill that he named Philip, Charles, and William-even though he fully accepted they were doomed.

He also had a basketball hoop that wouldn’t have fit in any room smaller than this one, but lucky for him, this was the Tower.

By day eighteen, Harley had officially run out of things to do.

He’d rearranged his bed at least three times. Hung up the medals he swore he never would-the ones from elementary school tournaments that barely counted. For a while, he just lay there, staring at the ceiling or playing FIFA even though he didn’t actually care about soccer.

With nothing left to do, he circled back to the first thing he’d started with: exploring.

Except by the time he finished wandering around floor forty-eight-which turned out to be an actual maze of nothing interesting-he decided walking around definitely wasn’t his thing.

So he pulled out the skateboard he’d shoved under the bed back on day nine, when he’d first opened the box labeled IMPORTANT.

Same board he’d technically gotten for his thirteenth birthday. It showed up two weeks late. No card. But it had the Stark Industries logo printed on the underside, like that was supposed to explain everything.

It was from Tony, so Harley had made a personal vow to ride it until the wheels literally fell off. Which, to be fair, almost happened that one time he went full speed over the uneven bricks near the school auditorium.

Not that he was good at it or anything.

Even if someone offered him millions, he still wouldn’t be able to land a proper kickflip. He’d proved that on the school trip to Geneva back in November when he tried one, split his eyebrow open, and chipped the tail of the board.

But he could ollie over pretty much anything.

Curbs, door thresholds, caution-wet-floor signs, even the little fountain on floor thirty-seven.

Didn’t matter what it was-if it stood still long enough, Harley could ollie over it.

By day twenty-one, Harley had been caught by security five separate times.

And each time had its own flavor.

The first time, he got kicked out. Literally.

It was on the eighty-ninth floor-some kind of logistics zone, full of crates, drones, conveyor belts, and mechanical arms. It looked basically abandoned, way more sci-fi than any of the other floors he’d seen so far, and honestly kind of perfect for skating.

He’d just managed to hop over one of the conveyor belts, letting his board roll underneath, and had barely tried to slide down the metal edge of what he decided was an extremely ugly bench, when two dudes materialized out of nowhere.

They had radios, jackets with SI printed on the back, and expressions that screamed we hate teenagers.

“Hey! Hey!”

Harley froze mid-move and let himself coast backward on the board, eyebrows raised.

“You’re not authorized to be here!” one of them yelled.

“Sorry, I was just-” Harley started, lifting a hand, trying to explain.

But he didn’t get the chance.

Next thing he knew, he was physically herded into the elevator. His hoodie got yanked halfway up his back, one of his shoes came untied, and they tossed his board in after him like it was a crime scene weapon. One of them punched the LOBBY button with unnecessary force.

Harley felt like a supervillain.

“Next time, it’s NYPD, you little punk,” one of the guys said as the doors started to close.

“I live here, jackass,” Harley muttered under his breath as he hit the STOP button and got off one floor down.

He didn’t dare take the elevator back up, though. Just in case.

He took the stairs for the next five floors.

The second time, he ran for it.

And he wasn’t even doing anything remotely illegal. He was just wandering around the lower floors, hoping to find that weird zen garden Pepper had mentioned offhand one morning-and maybe a cool spot to take a photo to send to his friends.

But then some door opened somewhere and someone called out:
“Excuse me, who are you here with?”

“Oh, I’m just-” Harley shot his best smile at the guy heading his way.

Didn’t help.

A few seconds later, a completely different dude was coming toward him-this one had a radio and a bulletproof vest with the SI logo on it. Apparently the lower floors had fancier security.

So Harley did the only logical thing. He bolted.

Full-on sprint through a carpeted hallway, down some stairs that felt way more public than the emergency ones he usually used. He tore through a chill zone meant for engineers, and a utility corridor that smelled like printer ink and wires. Knocked over a trash can somewhere along the way. But he lost them.

Somewhere near the cafeteria on the twenty-fifth floor, he managed to duck behind a massive rolling cart stacked with even more massive cooking pots. He stayed there until it felt safe.

When he ran into Happy a few hours later and the guy asked what he’d been up to that afternoon, Harley just shrugged and said he’d found a vending machine that sold expired grape soda. Then silently begged JARVIS not to rat him out.

The third time was when things got actually serious.

Harley’s original plan had just been to ride the elevators. For fun.

But when the elevator stopped by itself on the forty-first floor, it felt like an invitation. Music still blaring in his headphones, he stepped out.

The floor was full of weird corners and pointless ramps-two stairs down just to be followed by three up. Classic Stark Tower nonsense.

Harley had just gone for a landing off one of those random drops when someone tackled him like they were playing in the goddamn Super Bowl.

He hit the floor hard, board flying off somewhere, his shoulder crunching painfully against the tile.

“Hey, what the-! Get OFF!”

Nobody listened.

Someone twisted his arms behind his back, someone else grabbed his board. The next ten minutes were a whirlwind of being dragged into some kind of security office and getting exactly zero sympathy.

“Harley Stark,” he said for maybe the eighth time when they kept asking who he was and what the hell he was doing there.

Cue another eye roll.

“Right. And I’m Pepper Potts.”

“No, like, seriously.”

“No ID. No adult supervision. No anything. And don’t you dare say Stark again.”

They were maybe two seconds away from calling the actual cops when Happy finally walked in, radiating the specific kind of energy reserved for exhausted uncles.

“Jesus Christ,” he said, staring directly at Harley. “Can you please find a hobby that doesn’t give me gray hair?”

Harley just grinned.

They gave him his board back. Finally. One of the guards even said sorry.

And the fact that Happy ended up taking him to that zen garden Harley had been trying to find earlier-and handed him a bag of chips while muttering something about how Harley was gonna send him to an early grave before his dad did-only made the whole thing better.

The fourth and fifth times both happened on the same day.

Honestly, they were starting to feel like part of the routine-Harley went somewhere he wasn’t supposed to, jumped over something a little too fragile-looking, someone yelled something about a possible intruder. And like clockwork, Happy showed up within ten minutes, frowning and holding something decent to eat.

By the fifth time, he even gave Harley a ride on one of those little transport carts, the kind they usually use for crates and equipment. Harley stuck his hand out like he was surfing through the air.

But that fifth time also came with a warning.

“You’re stressing out my mid-level staff,” Happy complained. “I’m gonna have to start printing you a guest badge every morning.”

“I’ll behave,” Harley promised with his best innocent smile-making a mental note to limit his boarding to the penthouse, the roof, the garage, and the outdoor areas. Not like there were many floors left anyway. At that point, he’d pretty much officially hit all 93 of them. The rest of the Tower’s nooks and crannies? He could explore those more... discreetly.

Luckily, on day twenty-two, Rhodey dropped by. Still in uniform, coming from who-knows-where, and holding two tickets to a Yankees vs. Mets game like some kind of angel.

“You’ve grown again,” he said as a hello.

“You’ve been saying that since I was nine,” Harley rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, and you keep growing. Stop doing that and I’ll stop saying it.”

“And you keep getting older,” Harley shot back-pretty sure he heard Pepper laugh at that, even though she was mid-phone call in the next room.

Harley didn’t even like baseball that much. But he knew the stadium would be loud, and Rhodey was the kind of guy who’d definitely buy him a hot dog and let him ramble about stupid stuff.

They barely watched the game. Mostly, they roasted the players and made fun of the people in the stands.

“You know,” Rhodey said at one point, “you could visit me on base sometime.”

“They let civilians in?”

“Being unauthorized hasn’t stopped you so far, from what Happy tells me.”

“Okay. Ouch.”

Harley even pretended to root for the Mets just to mess with him-Rhodey was a die-hard Yankees fan.

In retaliation, Rhodey bought him one of those giant foam fingers, the kind that made Harley cringe on sight.

“This thing is disgusting,” Harley declared.

But he kept it on the whole game. And the entire ride back.

On the twenty-fourth day, Tony came back. Loudly, of course-like always. In his style. Full of energy, the kind that usually showed up a few minutes before he did. Full of chaos too, the kind that probably made the interns flinch.

Harley was sprawled out in that ridiculously out-of-place armchair in his room, texting Gene about how Olivia probably had a new boyfriend, judging by her Instagram posts.

He heard the elevator arrive, the doors sliding open. Then Pepper’s voice-too quiet to make out the words, but just loud enough to hear how soft it was. Happy-soft.

"I missed you. Did you miss me?" Tony’s voice was definitely louder. “Come on, tell me you missed me.”

Some kind of mumbling answered him. Harley dropped his phone onto his chest and listened more closely.

“…island. Not clear.”

He sat up just as Tony’s shadow appeared in the doorway. He looked pretty much the same. Which wasn’t exactly a good thing. He had dark circles under his eyes and might’ve actually been skinnier than before, if that was even possible.

"Hey, kid!" Tony said casually, leaning in the doorway. "You eaten today?"

"Yeah," Harley lied.

"Cool," Tony said, stepping into the room, eyeing random stuff and avoiding the clothes scattered on the floor. “You changed things around.”

“You were gone a while.”

“I was gone on business,” Tony said, putting weird emphasis on business. “Is that poster crooked or is it just me?”

Harley looked at the poster Tony was pointing at. It was definitely crooked.

“It’s straight,” he said. “Mostly.”

“Cool. Cool. I brought you something.”

Harley frowned deeper, watching closely as Tony reached into a suitcase he’d dropped in the doorway and pulled out a miniature gold camel. It looked kinda deflated, dusty, and very obviously from some tourist-trap market.

“You brought me a camel?” Harley asked, turning the figure over in his hands.

“A gold camel. Classic. Exotic. Culturally questionable. But it’s got personality.”

“Uh… thanks, I guess.”

“You’re welcome, kid,” Tony said, clapping his hands onto Harley’s shoulders. He gave them a quick squeeze, drummed his fingers in some rhythm only he seemed to know, and then headed for the door.

“Hey,” Tony said suddenly, turning around with an expression Harley couldn’t quite read. “If you’re gonna ride your board indoors again, please, please stay out of the AI calibration rooms. You nearly ran over a prototype eyeball.”

“When was I even in that kind of room?” Harley frowned, genuinely unable to remember anything that looked remotely like an eyeball.

“Just…” Tony gave him a tired smile. “Don’t make me sew a GPS tracker into your hoodie.”

And without waiting for a reply, he left. Leaning back in his seat, Harley could just see Tony heading to his room. Good. Maybe he planned on sleeping. Getting some rest.

Pepper came into view a moment later. And Harley would’ve had to be blind not to see how her face lit up at the sight of the camel in his hands.

“He missed you,” she said, and walked into the room Tony had just disappeared into.

On the twenty-sixth day, that weird limbo Harley had been living in-sharing a roof with his dad but barely talking to him-either ended, shifted, or... something.

It was late morning. Quiet and calm. Pepper had been at the office for hours. Harley was halfway through a bowl of way-too-sweet cereal, sitting at the kitchen island. Some jazz was playing in the background. JARVIS liked to play that kind of crap. Harley wasn’t a fan, but it wasn’t annoying enough to ask for something else. He tapped his heel against the stool in time with the music, not really thinking about it.

Tony showed up without any fanfare. No explosions. Just barefoot, hair a mess, wearing a washed-out MIT shirt that was probably older than Harley, blinking like he hadn’t quite finished booting up. He mumbled a greeting and Harley mumbled something back, fully expecting him to disappear again.

But he didn’t.

He made himself coffee, sat down across from Harley, and started scrolling through what looked like emails on his phone. He looked tired-but not bone-deep tired. Not destroyed. Just like a normal guy who hadn’t slept great.

Harley had no idea what to do with that. It was weird. But not bad-weird. Just… weird.

His phone buzzed. Reflexively, he grabbed it and read the message.

We’re coming Friday. Mom wore him down. Les Mis. Get ready,

Harley smiled. His shoulders relaxed without him even realizing.

“Some girl?” Tony asked over the rim of his phone.

“You always think it’s a girl,” Harley rolled his eyes, but there wasn’t any bite to it.

“Optimism,” Tony said, taking another sip of coffee. “Or pattern recognition.”

“It’s Gene,” Harley replied, not bothering to react to the rest.

“Gene…” Tony tilted his head like he was digging through mental file folders. “Is that the one with the weird vocabulary and even weirder shoes?”

Harley squinted at him.

“You saw him once. When you came to get me to sign the papers to make Pepper CEO. That time you thought you were dying. Again.”

“Right,” Tony said, like he was genuinely turning that memory over in his head. “That was a funny time.”

“Mhm,” Harley snorted before he could stop himself. It wasn’t a funny time. “Super funny for me too.”

“Was he the one with braces?” Tony asked. Harley looked up from the reply he was typing to Gene.

“Yuuuup,” Harley said, still not totally sure what was going on. “He’s flying in Friday.”

“Do we need to pick him up from the airport?” Tony asked immediately. Like, zero hesitation.

“Nah, his mom’s definitely got it all planned. They’re staying at some Carlyle or whatever, and I’m sure they’ve got a whole fleet of drivers,” Harley explained, setting down his phone and actually looking at his dad.

“Mm, fancy,” Tony said. “Anyway, if you want, I can have JARVIS clear my weekend. We could hang out. You could, like, officially introduce us.”

Harley felt like his heart might’ve straight-up left his chest. Not only had Tony remembered something about his life-he was offering to make time for it.

“I’ll let you know, okay?” Harley said, and yeah, his eyes were definitely shinier than they should’ve been.

“Cool,” Tony nodded, grabbing his coffee and tablet and heading for the elevator.

Chapter Text

By Friday, Harley was practically bouncing off the walls.

He tried not to be. He told himself it was just dinner. Just Gene. Just Gene’s parents. Who he liked. A lot.

He honestly didn’t know what had him so keyed up. Maybe it was that he hadn’t seen Gene in a month. Maybe it was that Gene was coming back to their school in the fall, to their room, and Harley… wasn’t. Or maybe it was because this was going to be the first time his dad and Pepper were really meeting them. Not in passing. Not in some weird hallway moment. But like, sitting down. At a table. Eating.

And his dad had promised he’d be there. Harley knew better than to trust those promises-but this one had sounded real. He hoped it was real.

He couldn’t sit still the entire day. At some point he rearranged all the books in the living room-first by genre, then by color, because it looked neater that way. He changed his shirt like three times just to make sure he looked decent. By noon he’d checked the time eight times and asked JARVIS for the coordinates of the plane four times, even though Gene wasn’t supposed to land until three, and dinner was at six.

By the time Pepper came back from the office, Harley had already set the table and swapped out the silverware twice.

“You okay?” she asked gently, with a little amused smile.

“Sure. Just… I don’t know,” he said, shrugging, hands stuffed in his pockets as he rocked on his heels. “I’ve got a weird feeling this is gonna be a disaster.”

“Sweetheart,” she said, coming over and brushing his hair off his forehead, “they know you. You’ve spent a dozen weekends with them, Christmas break… They love you. Molly would probably say you look handsome even if you showed up in a trash bag.”

“I just don’t want it to be weird,” he muttered, staring at the floor.

“And I’m just saying, you don’t have to impress anyone. Be yourself,” she said like that was a simple fix to everything.

“I’m still nervous.”

“I’ll be there too, remember?” Pepper reminded him, giving him a quick one-armed hug that smelled like her perfume and the city.

And that did help. A little.

Maybe.

Gene and his parents, of course, arrived exactly on time.

Harley had been waiting by the elevator the second JARVIS announced their guests were on their way up, and when the doors opened and he saw Gene in a polo shirt, one of the ones he hated but wore anyway because his mom liked how he looked in them, he had to physically stop himself from grinning like an idiot.

“Harley!” Gene’s mom said warmly. “You’ve gotten so handsome!”

He really tried to ignore Pepper’s look from behind him, the one burning into the back of his neck that basically screamed told you so.

“And you’re almost taller than me now,” Mr. Williams added, offering him a firm, very grown-up handshake.

“Mrs. Williams, Mr. Williams,” Harley greeted politely, but slipped past them quickly to wrap Gene in a hug. “Gene!”

Tony showed up late, but only by seven minutes, which, by his standards, was pretty much early. He was wearing some nice sweater that looked almost ironed, and dress shoes, which, compared to the stuff he usually wandered around the house in, might as well have been black-tie attire.

He walked in holding a bottle of wine as some kind of peace offering, with a look on his face that said something like hey, I promised, and here I am.

“Good evening,” he greeted them, looking slightly awkward but still with that natural charm Harley half admired and half found infuriating. “Apologies, I got caught up in the lab.”

He didn’t shake hands, that wasn’t his style, but he nodded respectfully to each of the guests.

“Senator Williams…”

“Gene’s fine,” Mr. Williams interrupted easily.

“Gene, Molly. And you must be the other Gene,” Tony said as he sat at the head of the table, grinning at the teenager.

“Yeah,” Gene replied, polite. “That’s me. The smaller one.”

“Not so samll anymore,” Tony muttered, giving him a quick once-over. “Last time I saw you, you were what, eleven? Now you’re basically a grown man.”

Harley blinked and glanced around. That was… nice. Weirdly nice. He felt a little off-balance, like the first time the older guys at school handed him a joint and he wasn’t sure whether to act cool or run.

“I’m glad you’re visiting-even if it’s just in passing,” Tony went on, voice loud and cheerful as Pepper started bringing out food. “Pepper tells me you’re the reason Harley hasn’t fully turned into me yet, so thanks for your service.”

Molly laughed-really laughed, full and genuine-and the senator smiled like a man who’d seen way weirder things in his day.

Harley threw his dad a bewildered look, then shrugged in Gene’s direction like I have no idea either, man.

Dinner was actually really good. Surprisingly good. And kind of… nice?

Pepper-because obviously-had organized the whole thing. She ordered food from that fancy Italian place around the corner, the one with prices so ridiculous Harley honestly had no idea how they were still in business. There was some kind of pasta with roasted vegetables and a dessert with more chocolate than should legally be allowed.

The conversation flowed, too. They talked briefly about the weather in New York and politics-though not for long-and much more about music. Gene even told a few stories from school that had everyone laughing. Pepper mostly steered the conversation, but Tony didn’t interrupt or hijack anything. He was… normal. Normal in a way Harley hadn’t realized he missed until now.

And Harley actually relaxed. He let himself enjoy the night.

Gene was still Gene. His parents still clearly adored him, just like Pepper had promised. And Tony had shown up. That had to count for something.

“So, sweetheart,” Mrs. Williams said at one point, turning to him with genuine interest. “Do you know what you’ll be doing in the fall? Any thoughts on school?”

Harley opened his mouth. He was about to say that not really. That he couldn’t picture himself at any school that wasn’t their school. That he figured he’d try something in the city, since Tony clearly wanted him close. That he was planning to talk it over with Pepper soon.

But before he could get a single word out-

“He’s all set,” Tony cut in, smiling like it was great news. “Midtown Tech. Excellent program. Strong focus on STEM. Great networking potential. Close enough to home. We’ve got a whole plan.”

Harley froze, fork halfway to his mouth.

Gene’s smile faltered. Mrs. Williams blinked, just one blink too many. And Mr. Williams tilted his head ever so slightly, like he’d just picked up a weird scent in the room.

Harley could feel all three of them looking at him.

“Oh,” Molly said finally, still watching him, not Tony. “That’s… wonderful.”

“Mhm,” Harley said flatly, finally shoving the bite of pasta into his mouth. “So wonderful.”

“Genius in the making,” Tony added, resting a hand casually on the back of Harley’s chair like he hadn’t just detonated a conversational grenade. “He’s not thrilled about chemistry, but that’s just because he hasn’t had the right teachers. Give him a little time.”

Pepper coughed into her napkin.

Harley took a long sip of water. Then another. And kind of wished it was wine like the grown-ups were drinking.

Dinner went on.

The conversation kept flowing easily enough, but Harley knew-he knew-they were checking on him now. Like every so often someone’s eyes would flick his way, just to see if he’d gotten up and bolted.

So he smiled. Warmly. He laughed at the right parts. Joined in when it made sense. He did the thing. But it felt like everyone at the table, except Tony, had noticed that Harley wasn’t exactly glowing anymore.

And he really felt it later when Mrs. Williams hugged him just a little too tightly before they left, and Mr. Williams made a casual offer about joining them for some sightseeing the next day. Gene just patted him on the back.

And Harley stood there, smiling, wondering when exactly the night had stopped feeling so good.

Harley smiled when Pepper told him to sleep well and not stay up too late. He even nodded to his dad in passing as they disappeared down the hallway to their bedroom.

But instead of heading to bed, he dragged one of the chairs out onto the landing pad. the one that was probably meant for helicopters or Iron Man suits or whatever, and pulled his hoodie up over his head. He sat down and looked out over the flickering lights of the city below.

A message popped up on his phone.

Gene: That was… subtle.

Harley: Yeah. Didn’t think I’d find out like that.

Gene: Kinda sucked. But my mom’s completely in love with you.

Harley: I’m kinda in love with her too.

Gene: 10 a.m. tomorrow? In front of the Ritz?

Harley just sent him a thumbs-up. And on his way back to his room, hoodie still up, phone still warm in his hand, he felt a little better.

He didn’t get much sleep that night. Not in the nightmares or tossing-and-turning kind of way, more like waking up from what barely counted as a nap and just… staring at the ceiling.
The room felt suffocating, even though it was still way too big.

Pepper must’ve left around six-he heard the familiar rhythm of her heels followed by the elevator doors. Tony either never came out of his room or had slipped out to the lab while Harley was actually asleep. Either way, it worked out. He didn’t have to focus on dodging them.

Twenty minutes later, he was already walking through the swanky lobby of the Ritz. He was halfway to the front desk-ready to ask someone to let the Williams family know he was there when Senator Williams came down the stairs with a bright smile and a promise they’d be heading out any second.

A few moments after that, they were stepping into the MET. Harley had never been. Museums weren’t really his thing. He’d been to a few on school trips, sure, but it wasn’t how he usually chose to spend his own time.

But the building looked impressive from the outside in a way that felt different from the Tower. More permanent, maybe. Harley liked that.
Inside, it was even better.

It was quiet, even though there were a lot of people moving through the space. Quiet and interesting. Full of stuff that had no real reason to exist in the same place but somehow worked. It smelled like wet stone and floor polish and sweaty tourists. The ceilings were high, but not in a show-offy kind of way.

They started with the Impressionists.

Gene kept trying to mimic the facial expressions from the portraits and came up with a ranking system based on how much he’d want each person in a group project. Harley joined in, obviously. They both agreed they’d absolutely want to work with the woman sitting naked on a chair.

That’s when Gene’s mom gently placed a hand on each of their shoulders and asked them-very diplomatically-to maybe dial it down a little. Not mad, just... seasoned. Like she was used to teenage boy nonsense.

Harley gave her his biggest, most innocent smile.

Gene, in an uncharacteristic show of respect, dropped the game after that but only to switch tactics. He started reading all the plaques in the arms and armor exhibit in a terrible British accent.

Turns out, for a lawyer, Gene’s mom had a weirdly deep knowledge of swords and spears and whatever else counts as ancient murder tools.

Gene rolled his eyes every time she casually dropped another historical fact like it was no big deal but he and Harley still listened to every word.

Mr. Williams had to step away for a few minutes to take some important call while they were in the Temple of Dendur, but he came back shortly after, apologizing and dramatically silencing his phone like he was sealing it in a vault.

Harley was genuinely having a good time.

Toward the end of the trip, they wandered into the modern art wing. They were all standing in front of a painting that looked… well, no one really knew what it was supposed to be. Mr. Williams had his arm around his wife’s waist, explaining what he thought the painting meant. Something about the human soul, or maybe a really sick cow.

Gene and Harley were trying hard not to laugh. That huge blue blotch couldn’t possibly be both a metaphor for the depths of human existence and a deformed farm animal. But Mr. Williams seemed pretty committed to both ideas.

“You have such a beautiful family,” an older woman said as she passed, clearly one of those people who loved inserting themselves into strangers’ lives. Apparently she’d been eavesdropping.

“Oh, thank you very much,” Mr. Williams said, smiling, totally unbothered.

Harley glanced at him sharply. Just to check, just to make sure Mr. Williams hadn’t forgotten he was standing right there.

He hadn’t. Didn’t even blink.

But he also didn’t correct her. Didn’t say anything like Oh, he’s just a friend of my son’s. Didn’t laugh awkwardly or dodge the comment. Just let the moment be what it was.

And Harley… felt warm. Right in the chest, like someone had lit a small fire under his ribs.

It wasn’t real, not really. But it wasn’t fake either. It was better than a weird silence or being left out. It was just... kind.

For a moment, Harley let himself lean into the daydream. He imagined going back with them to their Ritz-Carlton suite, Gene’s mom asking if he was hungry, Mr. Williams insisting he put on a nicer shirt for the theater, one someone had packed for him without asking. Maybe there were old photo albums. Embarrassing preschool stories. Inside jokes. A team. A family.

But the moment passed. Of course it did.

He and his dad rarely went out together. At first, he’d been too young for Tony’s kind of fun. Then it became about keeping his identity quiet. Then came the kidnapping attempt, and Tony freaked out. After that, boarding school. And then just more distance, like a slow fade to static.

So no one ever told them they were a beautiful family. At least barely anyone knew what the mysterious son of Tony Stark even looked like.

Not that people would ever say they looked alike.

Rhodey once said they had the same smile.

Happy said they had the same chin.

Pepper mentioned the shape of their ears, maybe.

But Harley didn’t see it. He and Tony were opposites. Fire and water.

Tony had brown eyes-Harley’s were blue.

Tony had dark hair-Harley was blond.

Tony had his iconic haircut and goatee-Harley changed his hair every month and couldn’t grow a single decent facial hair if his life depended on it.

People said he looked like Tony’s mom. His grandmother.
But outside of maybe both having slightly upturned noses, Harley didn’t buy it.

He thought he looked like his own mom.

The woman he barely remembered.

Just a scent. And a green dress with little white flowers.

Still. He was glad Mr. Williams hadn’t corrected that lady.

It didn’t make things real. But it made them nice.

When Gene’s mom started ushering them toward the exit, Harley gave the family a dramatic little bow, tossed out a few jokes about how the Senator was definitely going to cry during the show, and wished them a great evening before peeling off and heading home-apartment-tower-whatever.

He decided to walk.

Hands jammed deep into his pockets, fingers digging harder the longer he walked.
He wasn’t really sure why that stupid little comment had made him feel so good.
Or why it also made him feel like crap.

The apartment was quiet.

Too quiet.

Harley frowned and glanced at the clock. Almost 7 p.m. Pepper was rarely out this late unless something major was going on. But she clearly wasn’t home. The playlist she always put on when she was winding down for the evening wasn’t echoing off the sleek walls, and the kitchen was dark except for the soft under-cabinet lights she always had JARVIS leave on, just in case someone wants a midnight snack.

There was a soft clink from down the hallway.

Harley turned his head.

The door to the master bedroom was cracked open.

There were sounds coming from inside

Definitely Tony-ish sounds.

Harley sighed.

He wasn’t sure if he felt like talking.

Everything about today left him feeling kind of… weird.

He drifted toward the fridge, mostly on autopilot.

And that’s when he saw a small purple sticky note stuck near the top corner.

Harls,
There’s lemon chicken on the middle shelf. Please heat it up. Don’t eat cold meat.
Love, xP

The x was new.

It made Harley smile, stupid and small.

Sure enough, the chicken was right there where she said it would be.

He opened the container, let the lemony scent hit him, and his stomach turned.

He wasn’t hungry anymore.

Why hadn’t he corrected that woman? The one at the museum.

Why hadn’t he said, Oh no, I’m not their kid.

Why had he just let it slide like he didn’t already have a dad who lived in the tallest tower in Manhattan?

Like he didn’t have a dad with a suit that could blow a hole through the moon?
Like he didn’t have a sorta-stepmom who ran a multi-billion-dollar company and still somehow made him lemon chicken for dinner?

He had a dad.

He had Pepper.

He had a room with a whole wall of windows and a bathroom that looked like it belonged in a spa.

He had an AI that constantly asked if he needed anything.

He had all of that.

And he still didn’t say no.

Harley shut the fridge and glanced back down the hallway.

He’d spent the morning rotting in his room, deliberately waiting until Pepper left for work so he wouldn’t accidentally run into her. And she still left him dinner. And a note.

Why was he even mad?

It wasn’t like he wanted to go to boarding school back then but in the end, it kind of became home. The best thing that had ever happened to him, honestly. So maybe Midtown had a shot too.

Yeah, sure, it sucked that no one asked him first. But maybe that was better.

Harley nodded a little to himself.

He should stop being such a child about it.

A faint clink came from the bedroom again.

Harley let out a long sigh and, without thinking much, started down the hallway.
He knocked lightly, then pushed the door open before getting an answer.

The room was flooded with that golden kind of light you only get at sunset.
It spilled in through the wide, uncovered windows, stretching warm shadows across the carpet.

Harley’s eyes flicked to the view.

Different from the one in his room. No Empire State Building, but he could make out the dusky shape of Central Park instead.

The TV was on. Muted.

Jaws.

Somewhere still near the beginning, probably just after the shark took out that kid on the raft.

Tony was sitting on the lounge bench or ottoman, or whatever Pepper always called that thing at the foot of the bed.

He had his legs propped up on the coffee table, a tablet balanced on one knee. Looked like he was tinkering with some design schematics or circuit layouts.

And beside his foot, on the table, was a glass.
Nearly full.

Amber liquid catching the light in a way that was honestly kind of beautiful.

But it wasn’t tea.

Wasn’t soda.

It was something you sipped.

Something you poured slow.

Something you drank while pretending not to remember how bad things could get.

Harley stared at it and stopped in the doorway, trying not to scowl.

But Tony must’ve caught the look anyway.

Of course he did.

“One,” Tony said calmly. Not defensive. Just… explaining. “Just one.”

Harley nodded.

Didn’t say anything.

His throat felt tight, and he didn’t know why.

It’s not like Tony was drunk.

He wasn’t slurring, wasn’t wobbling, wasn’t being loud or laughing too hard.

He was just sitting there.

Working. Watching a movie.

No party.

No music.

Just Tony and a single glass of whiskey.

But Harley remembered what just one looked like ten years ago.

When just one turned into just five or just ten.

When Pepper would get mad in that quiet, clipped way because she wasn’t anyone yet, not really, not enough to make Tony listen.

When Obie would gently steer Tony out of a room.

When Tony, smelling like a bottle of rubbing alcohol, would fall asleep halfway through a bedtime story he never finished.

When strange women would say good morning to Harley on their way out, wearing yesterday’s clothes and laughing weirdly.

He remembered being seven and reading those headlines.

TONY STARK ACCUSED OF STATUTORY RAPE.

TONY STARK ESCAPES DUI CHARGES.

He remembered having to look up what statutory rape even meant.
Remembered the way Happy clenched his jaw when Harley asked.

He remembered the party yacht.

That awful birthday video from Vegas with someone’s thong on Tony’s head
and how he’d seen it secondhand, in a hallway at school, being passed around by guys laughing way too loud.

He remembered Rhodey telling him that he and Tony had stopped talking for a while after one too many benders.

“Really. Just one,” Tony said again.

And as he did, he pushed the glass further down the table, set the tablet aside, and swung his feet to the floor like he was trying to seem more approachable.

“Not throwing a Stark Expo in here, I promise.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Harley mumbled as he dropped onto the far end of the couch, eyes fixed on the people freaking out about a man-eating shark.

“But you wanted to,” Tony shrugged, shifting to face him a little. “You have a good day?”

“Mhm,” Harley muttered. “We went to a gallery. Lots of paintings. Lots of… stuff. The Williamses are leaving the day after tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah?” Tony asked.

“Yeah. And uh…” Harley scratched the back of his neck, still not looking at him just watching the sheriff pull his kid out of the water. “Remember when you said, like, if I wanted… maybe you’d have time this weekend?”

“I remember,” Tony said slowly. He didn’t look surprised. But he didn’t look completely comfortable either.

“So… I was thinking maybe tomorrow? If you don’t have plans. Or you’re not… you know.”

“Done,” Tony cut in.

“Wait, really?” Harley blinked at him, lips parted like he didn’t totally trust what he’d just heard.

“What do you want? Guided tour? Suit demo? Quick lecture on repulsor tech?” Tony leaned back casually like he did this sort of thing all the time.

“I mean, honestly, it’d be kinda cool if Gene could see a real suit. Like, the real thing. If that’s okay.”

He didn’t say it, but just hanging out, just being around, would’ve been cool too.

Tony grinned wide. Not the smirky, photo-op grin from magazines. A real one. Warmer.

“I’ll show him everything. Lab. Garage. Coffee machine, if he’s into that.”

“He’s… weirdly into coffee machines,” Harley said, narrowing his eyes like he was double-checking that Tony hadn’t somehow read his mind.

“Well then, that’s what’ll bond us.”

“Thanks,” Harley said after a moment, looking right at him and holding his gaze for a few long seconds.

“Anytime, kid. Always,” Tony said, nodding.

And something warm spilled into Harley’s chest, this weird, unfamiliar kind of hope. Tony meant it. He meant to keep that promise.

Maybe this whole New York thing wasn’t the stupidest idea after all.

Harley smiled again, just a little, and stood to head for the door.
He already knew how Jaws ended anyway.

“Hey, about Midtown,” he said, pausing in the doorway. “Maybe it’s not the worst idea. In the world. Maybe.”

Tony looked vaguely stunned. “Should I get that printed on a bumper sticker?”

“Don’t push it,” Harley said with an eye-roll. “Night, Dad.”

Gene showed up early the next day. Like, really early.
And for Gene, that basically meant sunrise.

“Dude. This place is absurd,” he announced instead of saying hello, walking straight into Harley’s room without knocking.

“You were here two nights ago,” Harley muttered, sitting up in bed and rubbing his face. “Calm down.”

“Yeah, and I still can’t get over the fact this building has weird zen gardens and a freaking glass piano. I’ve been in fancy places, man, but none of them had whatever that is in the hallway.”

“It’s not a hallway, it’s a mezzanine,” Harley corrected automatically, because Pepper had some weird obsession with making sure people got that right.

Gene blinked at him. “You got real proper real fast.”
Then he turned from the window, stepped onto Harley’s skateboard lying on the floor, and started gently rocking back and forth on it like it was a balance board.

“You don’t have like, I don’t know, staff or something?”

“JARVIS is my staff.”

Gene nodded solemnly. “Yeah, that’s... a little terrifying.”

“Should be,” Harley replied, chucking a PS4 controller at him. “Come on. I’m about to destroy you.”

“Oh, don’t get cocky,” Gene laughed, still on the board. “I had a pre-game smoothie. I’m totally locked in.”

Harley rolled his eyes and plopped onto the floor, leaning against the bed and firing up NBA 2K14. Thankfully, this time Gene didn’t insist on endlessly customizing the players’ outfits, so they actually got to play like normal people.

They yelled at each other, they cracked up laughing. They kept changing the rules-from best of five to best of nine-because neither of them could accept losing.

Their fingers got covered in chip crumbs, and Harley had to run to the kitchen twice to grab more snacks from the stash Pepper had left out for them.

“Hey, that’s cheating-” Gene started, but then went for a full-on lunge at Harley and totally underestimated his own momentum.

The skateboard shot out from under him, he hit the floor with a loud thud, and the controller snapped clean in two.

“You absolute idiot,” Harley groaned, half-laughing, half-mortified.

“I think I have a concussion,” Gene croaked dramatically, flopping onto his back. “Tell Pepper her evil hardwood floors murdered me.”

“She’d probably just send your dad a fruit basket.”

They both cracked up, and Harley, just for a second, really, really didn’t want Gene to go back to D.C. Or school. Not without him.

“Nervous about Midtown?” Gene asked, still lying on the floor, looking at Harley sideways like he could read his thoughts.

“A little,” Harley admitted with a shrug.

“It’s gonna be fine,” Gene said. “You’re cool. Or at least, like, rich.”

“Wow,” Harley grinned, stretching out next to him. “That really boosts my self-esteem.”

“I am a very supportive friend.”

For a while, they just lay there next to each other, watching the light shift on the ceiling.

“Wanna go see if Tony’s free?” Harley asked eventually.

“You think he actually is?” Gene replied, turning his head toward him.

“He said he would be. Promised. Yesterday,” Harley said.

Gene didn’t comment on that. But the look he gave Harley, yeah, that was familiar. Not pitying, not sad exactly. Just familiar. Like he’d seen this play out before.

“Yeah, sure,” Gene said, sitting up.

Harley dragged Gene through every place he could think of, because JARVIS had his stupid protocol that made Tony’s location a confidential matter. He wasn’t passed out in his bedroom, wasn’t tinkering in the lab, wasn’t in the garage, and wasn’t lurking on the rooftop. Happy said he hadn’t seen him in a couple days. So Harley went for the last resort.

Pepper was pacing her office, gesturing like mad, talking on the phone with her brows drawn tight. But the moment she saw them, she smiled and reached a hand out toward them.

“Need something, boys?” she asked, muting her call.

“Nah, nothing,” Harley said, trying to sound chill. “We’re just looking for my dad.”

Pepper tilted her head and rubbed her thumb into her palm, and Harley felt a sting behind his eyes. She was stressed.

“Oh, sweetheart,” her voice turned soft. “Tony had to leave super early this morning. Around five. Steve sent a message. Avengers stuff.”

Harley smiled, barely, and tried to even out his breathing even though it didn’t feel like he could actually breathe at all. He didn’t even know why he was surprised.

“He said he…” Pepper looked unsure now. “I know you guys had plans. I thought he’d called you.”

“It’s fine, Pep,” Harley cut in, brushing it off and already walking toward the door, pushing past Gene, who was leaning against the wall trying to be invisible. “Whatever. We’re going out.”

Gene didn’t say anything until they were back in the elevator.

“Same old Tony?”

“Yeah. Fuck it,” Harley laughed. “We’ll go do something else.”

“Lead the way, Mr. Stark,” Gene said with a mock bow as the elevator doors opened into the lobby. Harley didn’t have it in him to tell him not to call him that.

“Hey, your dad still paying off that AmEx?” Gene asked when they were sitting in a Starbucks basically right next to the Tower, sipping some truly awful frappuccinos. Harley pulled his wallet from his pocket and slid out the black card with Stark embossed in silver.

“Oh, that’s disgusting,” Gene whistled.

“You asked,” Harley shrugged.

“So let’s use it.”

They didn’t. Not really, anyway.

They didn’t have a plan. They just started walking. Toward the city center, into the swarm of tourists, blending into the mass of people.

Harley dared Gene to slap the hood of every cab parked along the curb waiting for fares. Gene went at it like he was playing a busted xylophone. One of the drivers yelled something after them in Spanish that Harley didn’t understand even a little. They ran like hell anyway, because that red face didn’t seem like a good sign.

They wandered around Times Square for a while, where the pavement felt stickier, the lights flashed like they were glitching out, and everything smelled like fryer grease and old sugar. Some guy tried to pickpocket them, but he was clearly new at it because they clocked him immediately.

They bought funnel cake from a cart that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since the Bush administration. It was both burnt and soggy. They ate it anyway. Gene got powdered sugar all over his shirt.

Around four, they ended up on some pedestrian bridge nobody seemed to use, even though there were people all around. It was gross. The puddle in the middle was probably pee.

They stood at the railing counting how many cars of a certain color passed underneath. Gene spat on one and landed it right on the roof.

“Two points for the windshield?” Harley added. “Three if it’s a Tesla?”

Gene nailed the windshield of a brand-new silver Tesla S.

“Compliments of Tony Stark!”

Harley got a black Escalade and a Rolls Royce, but Gene still won. Even if Harley refused to count that one hit on the blue Subaru.

They rode the subway for a bit. Even though they could easily buy tickets, they jumped the turnstiles anyway. Harley nearly snapped his leg doing it, but no one seemed to care. They rode all the way out to the Brooklyn Bridge, switching cars every few stops, trying to stand without holding onto anything, which ended with Harley getting this gross, sticky, weirdly black smudge on his back from hitting the wall, and Gene smacking his face on one of the poles so hard he was convinced he’d have a bruise tomorrow.

They didn’t even go look at the bridge up close. Just stared at it from a distance and headed back.

Dinner was bacon-wrapped hotdogs that looked bad, smelled worse, and tasted like they were cursed.

Harley threw up five minutes after finishing his.

Gene laughed so hard he almost threw up too.

Around nine, they tried racing a bus. Not like… racing racing, just keeping up with it. Pushing through crowds, dodging newsstands and carts. Harley wanted to puke again, and Gene ripped a hole in his jeans tripping on a lamppost. Some woman cursed them out, and some guy cheered like they were running a marathon. They actually made it to the next crosswalk before the bus.

Eventually they ended up sprawled out on the grass in Madison Square Park, staring up at the sky through the holes in the trees. Harley could still taste the hotdog in the back of his throat.

“My dad wants me to head back,” Gene said finally, looking at his phone.

“Is he pissed?”

“Nah,” Gene smiled. “We’ve got an early flight tomorrow, and I haven’t packed yet.”

“Tell him I said hey, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Hey, Gene?”

“Yeah?”

“You think these are the kind of days people remember when they’re like… thirty?” Harley asked, kinda hoping the answer was no.

“Mhm, probably” Gene nodded, getting to his feet and offering a hand to pull Harley up. “Text me if you ever need something.”

“Always.”

When Harley stepped into the penthouse, it was as dark as it could possibly be in a building that was basically made of glass. What he didn’t expect was Pepper, still in the exact same clothes she’d been wearing the last time he saw her, sitting in the corner of the couch.

“Didn’t think you’d still be up,” he said, trying to sound casual, like he hadn’t been counting on her being asleep when he got back.

“I’ve been trying to call you for the last two hours,” Pepper said, getting up slowly.

“Don’t start,” he muttered, rolling his eyes harder than he meant to. Even he didn’t like the way it came out.

“Where were you?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” he said, peeking into the fridge and finally just grabbing a bottle of water. “Seriously, we have nothing to eat?”

“Where were you?” she repeated, calm, stepping up to the kitchen island.

“I was with Gene,” he shrugged, twisting the cap off the bottle a little too aggressively. “I said we were gonna find something to do.”

“You didn’t say you’d be out until two in the morning.”

Harley licked his teeth and looked away.

“Didn’t realize I had to ask your permission.”

“That’s not what this is about,” she said, still calm. “I was worried. I didn’t know where you were.”

“You always know where I am,” he muttered, slamming the bottle down hard enough that water splashed out. “What, you think I don’t know there’s a tracker in my phone? Or, I don’t know…my spine?”

Pepper didn’t deny it. Which just made Harley shake his head.

“I was worried.”

“Yeah?” he said, feeling that spark light up in his chest. “’Cause it kinda sounds like you’re pissed I didn’t come home on time like a good little kid when Tony ghosts and reappears like Houdini and no one bats an eye.”

“That’s different,” Pepper’s expression sharpened.

“Oh yeah? Why? Because he’s a genius? Because he almost died saving the world? Because he’s an adult? Because he’s got a rocket-powered tin can?” Harley could feel his breath shortening. He was too tired for this.

“Harle-”

“You know what? Forget it,” he said, shaking his head and heading down the hallway. “I’m taking a shower.”

“Did you drink?” she asked softly.

That stopped him in his tracks. He turned back slowly, eyebrows raised, mouth half open.

“What?”

“You just… look like something happened.”

“Because I went out once and had a good time?” he snapped. “Because I laughed and did something stupid? Or is it just that you didn’t know if I was gonna end up on the news?”

“I just care,” Pepper said, not moving.

“Maybe you should’ve been worried when I was eight and crying for weeks because I wanted to go home. Or when I had a panic attack after finding out on CNN that my dad got kidnapped. Or when some kid showed me footage in the hallway of my dad crashing an F1 car in Monaco!” Harley’s voice was loud now. If they’d had neighbors, he was sure they’d be awake.

“I just want you to be safe.”

“I didn’t ask to be part of this circus!” he exploded. “I didn’t ask to be the kid of some guy who knocked up my mom and forgot about it! Who couldn’t show up to one damn parent-teacher night but managed to build like fifteen suits of armor in the meantime.”

“I know it’s not fair,” Pepper said gently.

“Nothing is fair!” Harley threw up his arms. “Tony acts like a selfish jackass and everyone calls it ‘being quirky.’ He disappears for a week, builds killer robots, crashes through roofs-and people applaud him.”

“I’m not-”

“I’m not stupid,” Harley cut her off. “I know you’re just waiting for me to turn into him. You think I don’t see that? You think I don’t notice how tense you get when I shut down or stop talking or don’t answer my phone? Like those are some early warning signs or something.”

“That’s not what I think,” her voice shook a little.

“Then what is it?” he snapped. “You literally just asked me if I’d been drinking. But maybe it’d be easier if I was like him. Everybody loves Tony, right? Even if he shows up for five seconds and vanishes again. Avengers business, wormholes, exploding Malibu. Whatever. Take your pick.”

“I know you’re angry,” she said softly, stepping a little closer. “I know you want a fight. But I’m not going to yell at you, Harley. I’m not going to punish you for hurting, even though I know that’s what you’re trying to get. Because it’d be easier than this.”

“Oh, right, because you’re so fucking perfect,” Harley barked, really losing it now. “Your whole life is just cleaning up his mess. Assistant, CEO, therapist, and now also a sex partner. Maybe you can add ‘caretaker of someone else’s kid’ to your damn résumé too.”

That hit. Pepper looked like he’d slapped her. And Harley smiled at that, even though something twisted in his chest.

“Oh, and while we’re at it,” he added, quieter now, but sharp as ever, “shoutout to the brilliant little committee who decided I should live here now. Guess they’re still going strong. Don’t worry. I’ll be a great little Stark heir at Midtown. I’ll take Advanced Physics, smile for the press, grow up into a genius nobody ever asked if he wanted this.”

“We just wanted to do what was best for you.”

Harley looked at her, at the crease near her mouth, her glassy eyes, how her thumb rubbed her palm, the way her nostrils were trembling. For a second, he wanted to hug her. Apologize. He almost did.

But he needed to be cruel. He needed to prove that she didn’t really care either.

“Wow. That’s a reach,” he laughed bitterly. “I’ve been raising myself for years.”

He threw her one last crooked smile and headed toward his room.

“Tell your boyfriend thanks for nothing!” he shouted, slamming the door behind him hard enough to shake the walls.

He didn’t really sleep that night.

A couple times he drifted off, maybe, but it was the kind of sleep that didn’t fix anything. The kind that left his heart pounding harder, his back sweaty. His stomach had been tied in a knot all night, and not because of the hot dog he’d eaten earlier. His eyes stung from staring too long at the flickering lights outside his window. The room was silent. So silent it made everything feel worse, heavier than it probably was.

He was still in the same clothes from the day before, curled under a single blanket, his face buried in the crook of his arm. He hadn’t even bothered to plug in his phone-he wasn’t sure where he’d thrown it. The sky outside had gone a pale gray-pink. It looked like it was going to be a nice day. But everything still seemed cold, even if it technically wasn’t.

The knock on the door was soft, like whoever was knocking didn’t want to risk waking him.

“Harley? Can I come in?”

Her voice was a whisper-gentle, warm.

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t bring himself to. But the door creaked open anyway. Slowly. Carefully.

Pepper stepped in, already dressed for work; skirt suit, hair pinned back neatly, light makeup. But her face looked tired. Not angry, just worn out. She walked barefoot, like she didn’t want her heels to make noise in case he was asleep.

Harley sat up, preparing for a lecture. One he definitely deserved.

But Pepper just gave him a small, soft smile and sat in his desk chair. Like she wasn’t sure if it was okay to come closer. Her gaze was calm, patient.

“I didn’t mean to make you sad,” Harley said quietly. His voice was rough and dry. “Last night.”

“I know,” Pepper said, shaking her head gently.

“I just... I didn’t want it to come out like that. I was so mad. But not at you. Not really,” he said, rubbing his eyes a little harder than necessary. “I was mad at him. But I-I took it out on you.”

“I know,” she said again. “And it’s okay.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

“Maybe not,” she replied with a soft smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “But it’s still true.”

Harley stared down at his hands, ran his tongue along the back of his teeth.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I…I was just... so pissed, and you were there. Like always. And maybe that’s kind of the problem?”

Pepper didn’t answer, but Harley could feel her eyes on him, waiting.

“I mean, like… You’re the one holding all of this together, right? Making sure he functions. Making sure this-” Harley gestured vaguely at the room, the tower, the whole damn mess “-doesn’t fall apart. And I think sometimes I forget that you’re not actually…invincible.”

That made her smile. Smaller this time. But it was real.

“Well,” she said, “don’t let word of that get out.”

“I didn’t sleep,” he said after a beat of silence, looking her in the eyes. He didn’t know why he told her that, but maybe it was just to show her that he really cared about what he said last night.

“I didn’t think you would.”

“I just…” he swallowed hard. “You looked sad. And I really didn’t want you to be sad.”

“I wasn’t sad because of you,” she said gently. “I was sad for you. Because you had to feel that way, go through all of it.”

“I don’t wanna be, like… some kind of burden,” Harley said quickly, his voice tight, throat closing.

“You’re not.”

“It’s just… you already have a full-time job keeping him from blowing himself up, and now I’m-”

“Hey.” She cut him off-not sharp, but firm. “You are not a job. And you’re not something I have to survive. You’re someone I love.”

Harley didn’t say anything. Just pressed his palms into his eyes so hard he saw stars.

“Do you want me to sit with you for a bit?” she asked, already making her way over to the bed.

He nodded and shifted to make room, and she sat down beside him. He leaned his head on her shoulder and curled into her side, the way he hadn’t let himself do in years.

“Can we… not tell him?” he asked after a long stretch of quiet.

“Tony?”

“Yeah. Just… don’t tell him about the yelling.”

“I won’t,” she promised, brushing the hair off his forehead.

“He’ll either turn it into some big lesson, or he’ll freak out that he’s becoming his own dad. And I don’t want either of those things.”

“Got it.”

They sat in silence again. Harley’s eyes were closed. Her arm was wrapped around him.

“I’ve gotta go to work,” she said eventually. He nodded.

“You’ll come back later?” he asked, not looking up.

“Of course I will.”

“And… maybe we could get Thai or something?”

“You’re reading my mind,” she said with a warm smile, kissing the top of his head.

She stood slowly, gave his arm one last squeeze.

“I’m sorry again,” Harley mumbled just as she was almost out the door.

“I know,” she said, smiling as she closed it gently behind her. “Get some sleep.”

And Harley actually could.

Chapter Text

Harley was technically grounded.

Pepper hadn’t given him a long speech or anything - just told him she appreciated the apology, but actions had consequences. That she wasn’t punishing him for showing emotions, but for how he did it - and, mostly, for disappearing into New York for half the night without so much as a text.

Since Gene was out of town and Harley didn’t really have anyone else to hang out with in the city, the grounding wasn’t social - it was digital. No console, no TV, and a strict limit on phone and computer usage: one hour a day, tops.

Harley had a feeling Pepper already regretted it.

Mostly because he’d taken to showing up at her office more often than usual, just to prove their relationship was fine - that she wasn’t still mad. He didn’t say that, obviously. But he figured she knew. Or at least suspected.

That day, he’d been hanging around for hours.

Partly because Happy had warned him, in no uncertain terms, that if anyone in the building so much as mentioned skaters again - even if it wasn’t Harley - he’d lose his skateboard permanently. So Harley was laying low. Pepper’s office was neutral territory.

She was typing furiously, the way people did when they were trying to finish three things at once and couldn’t focus on any of them. Her eyes kept darting between two monitors and a notebook full of notes and tabs and stress.

Harley was draped across the couch she kept in the corner - one half of his face mashed into a throw pillow, one arm stretched toward the floor, and both legs thrown up over the backrest like gravity didn’t apply.

He sighed. Loudly.

Pepper didn’t look up, but she did roll her shoulders and shift in her seat, then went right back to typing.

Harley sighed again. Louder.

“You do realize increasing the volume of your sighs doesn’t actually make time move faster,” she said, distracted.

“Are you sure?” he mumbled into the pillow. “It might.”

“Still doesn’t.”

She clicked something with her brow furrowed like the software had just personally insulted her.

Harley groaned and rolled dramatically onto his back, making sure to add an extra grunt for flair.

“I think my cactus might be dead,” he announced solemnly.

“The new one?” Pepper asked, barely flicking her eyes away from the screen.

“No, one of the originals,” he sighed again, this time for the cactus. “It was part of the founding trio.”

“So that’s what - the third this month?”

“Technically the fourth,” Harley said. “If you count the succulent that died the day I opened the box. Which is kind of on me, I guess. I thought the package was a blanket so I didn’t open it right away.”

Pepper gave him a long-suffering glance over the top of her screen. “Do you want another one?”

“I dunno,” Harley flopped one hand over his eyes. “Maybe I just wasn’t meant to care for living things.”

“You’re fifteen,” Pepper said, leaning back in her chair. “And it’s a cactus.”

“Exactly,” Harley pointed. “My frontal lobe isn’t even fully developed yet.”

Pepper just shook her head and turned back to her work.

Harley watched her a second longer, then rolled onto his side again, blowing his cheeks out and letting the air puff out of his mouth in slow, ridiculous bursts.

“You got any snacks?” he asked, a little more animated.

“No.”

“Liar.”

“Second drawer,” she muttered. “There’s probably a granola bar.”

Harley slid off the couch like gravity had suddenly remembered him, dragging his feet and waving his arms dramatically as he made his way to her desk. The second drawer was a strange mix of things - folders, mints, backup charger, and…

“Ugh. Raisins?”

“You’re welcome,” Pepper said, deleting something aggressively.

Harley picked up the granola bar, turned it over in his hands a couple of times, then set it gently beside her laptop.

“A sacrifice,” he said solemnly. “In honor of your patience.”

“How generous,” she said dryly, not looking up.

Harley wandered back to the couch and flopped down again - this time curling up on his side, facing her. Watching her work.

He didn’t mind being here.

“Do you think Happy mentioned the skateboard thing to you?”

“I think Happy mentions a lot of things to me,” Pepper said without looking up.

“Okay, yeah, but like-was he mad-mad? Or was he more like... proud-mad?”

Pepper raised an eyebrow, as if weighing the phrase, but her eyes stayed on the screen.

“Is ‘proud-mad’ even a real thing?”

“Obviously,” Harley said, mildly offended. “It’s when someone thinks something was reckless, but also kinda awesome. But, y’know, they’re not supposed to say it out loud because they’re the adult.”

Pepper paused her typing for half a second, then nodded slowly, like the logic had somehow convinced her.

“In that case, yes. Probably proud-mad.”

Harley grinned, satisfied, and turned his attention to the sky outside the window, where a plane was crawling across the clouds.

“I think William’s still in my room,” he sighed.

“William?”

“The cactus. May he rest in peace,” Harley said solemnly.

Pepper made a noise - half a breath, half a laugh - like she was trying not to actually laugh. Harley took that as a win. Getting her to laugh when he wasn’t even really trying was better than getting her to laugh on purpose.

“Want me to send someone to take care of him?”

“What? No,” Harley said, scandalized. “I’ll give him a proper funeral. Someday. A real respectful one. Toilet flush and everything.”

“Touching,” she said dryly.

For a while, Harley let her work in peace.

She typed. He just… existed nearby. It was kind of nice. Kind of grounding. Good to know Pepper was still Pepper.

“It’s cold in here,” he said after a few minutes.

“You could always go outside, you know,” Pepper replied, still not looking away from her phone now.

“It’s hot and crowded out there,” he groaned.

“You just said you were cold,” she pointed out, rolling her eyes.

There was a beat of silence.

“There should be a blanket behind the chair,” she added finally, giving him a quick glance filled with mock pity.

“Too far,” Harley said without moving.

Pepper rolled her eyes again, but didn’t move either.

“You don’t wanna ditch your next meeting and, I don’t know, not work?” Harley yawned dramatically, curling into himself like he was his own human burrito.

“No,” she said. “But thanks for the offer.”

Harley grinned at her, warm and lopsided.

“Speaking of meetings,” Pepper said, stretching slightly in her chair and grabbing her phone. “I’ll be right back.”

She did not come back in five minutes. Or ten. Or fifteen. Which meant Harley was already mentally prepared for her to be gone for like, two hours. Statistically, that’s how it usually played out. Either she gave someone a swift pep talk, warning, or compliment and was back in a flash, or she ended up trapped in a meeting that lasted forever. There was no in-between.

Harley didn’t move from the couch. He did change positions, like, five different times. He found a pen someone had probably dropped under the couch six months ago, but that was about the extent of his productivity.

He briefly considered asking JARVIS to fake-alert Happy, like Hey, there's a situation in Pepper’s office just to get him to show up - but he didn’t have the guts. Not really. Especially since Happy was exactly the person he was sort of laying low from.

The door opened without warning. Not rudely or anything. Just… not like Pepper would’ve opened it.

Harley still didn’t sit up. People walked into Pepper’s office all the time. That one intern who always brought her green juice. That one assistant who always bowed to him too, which was weird. Random people whose world needed saving by Pepper Potts.

But the footsteps - those were different. Not heels, not dress shoes. Heavy, steady, confident. Not stompy, but not quiet either.

For a second, Harley thought maybe it was Rhodey. Rhodey did walk like that. But Rhodey would’ve said hi.

Harley turned just enough to see the door. And in walked a guy. Tall. Like, really tall. Perfect blonde hair. Broad shoulders. And that whole vibe - serious but somehow still warm. Like a guy who could either give you a hug or a lecture on civic responsibility, depending on the mood. He wore normal clothes. Like, really normal. Almost aggressively neutral. The kind of outfit that screamed I have no idea what I’m doing, so I chose the safest possible option.

Harley sank deeper into the couch cushions.

Captain freaking America.

Steve actual freaking Rogers.

Harley stared at him again, just to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

So this was his first real Avenger encounter. And they were starting strong, apparently.

Well - not counting his dad. And Rhodey. If Rhodey counted. Which… maybe he didn’t?

“Oh,” the man said, stopping mid-step. He looked kind of thrown off. “Sorry. I’m… looking for Pepper Potts?”

Harley blinked, still mentally catching up to the fact that Captain America was standing in front of him.

“She stepped out for a bit. Want me to tell her you dropped by?” he said, not moving from his sprawl on the couch.

Steve hesitated.

“Are you… uh, even supposed to be in here?” he asked, gesturing vaguely around the office.

“Nope,” Harley replied, completely deadpan.

Steve blinked. Harley felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward.

“I mean,” Harley added, lacing his fingers behind his head, “not officially. But she hasn’t kicked me out yet, if that helps.”

Steve looked around like he expected someone to come explain the situation to him. Like there were rules and someone had forgotten to enforce them.

“Right. Okay. I’ll just… wait for her, then. I can wait,” he said, though he made no move toward any of the chairs.

“You can,” Harley said, rolling to his side, “but if it’s, like, some end-of-the-world business, you might wanna send a follow-up email or something.”

“I don’t think I need your advice,” Steve said slowly.

“Sure. But I don’t think you don’t need it,” Harley shot back.

Steve gave him a look. Harley grinned. Teasing Captain America was, shockingly, a pretty effective cure for extreme boredom.

“So… do you work here?” Steve asked, arms folding across his chest.

“God, no.”

“Intern?”

“Do I look like an intern?” Harley laughed.

“You look like someone who shouldn’t be in Pepper Potts’ office surrounded by classified materials,” Steve said, visibly tensing.

“Ohhh,” Harley sat up a little and looked around the room dramatically. “Is this a secret meeting? You got a badge or something? Maybe, like, a little SHIELD pin?”

Steve exhaled through his nose slowly, like he was trying to summon a monk’s patience from deep within his soul.

“Listen, kid-”

“Okay, no. Don’t call me ‘kid,’” Harley said, offended. “That is so condescending. Just because you’ve been alive since the dinosaur age doesn’t mean you get to dad everyone.”

Steve squinted at him.

“You’re… definitely someone’s problem.”

“Thank you,” Harley beamed. “I work on that.”

For a second, Harley could practically hear Pepper’s voice in his head saying Don’t poke the bear. But Pepper wasn’t here, was she?

“So, what’s it like being the hero of your coworkers’ parents?” he added, like he wasn’t asking for a death wish.

Steve didn’t answer. First, he glanced toward the hallway like he was praying someone-anyone-would come rescue him. Then he looked up, like he was consulting with God directly.

Then he gave up.

He walked over to the window and stared out at the skyline.

Harley didn’t move.

The silence that followed was… uncomfortably loaded. Harley was ninety-nine percent sure Cap was watching him through the reflection in the glass, or at least side-eyeing him hard.

Pepper walked into the office mid-sentence, tapping something on her phone while issuing instructions to someone just outside the door.

“Sorry about that,” she said, still moving. “I had to step out for a qua-”

She stopped short when she saw Steve. Her face lit up politely.

“Hey,” Steve straightened up like he’d just been summoned to attention. “Didn’t mean to intrude, I just- Who’s the kid?”

Harley shifted on the couch sitting and crossed one leg over the other. He caught Pepper’s eye for half a second and gave a subtle shake of his head. A quiet no.

Pepper’s nostrils flared slightly, and she rolled her eyes so subtly it was practically telepathic.

“A friend,” she said smoothly. “He hangs around sometimes.”

“You let random teenagers into your office?” Steve frowned.

“He’s not random.”

Harley beamed at him with his most charming, most intentionally annoying smile.

“Did you need something, Steve?” Pepper sat behind her desk, clearly refusing to pick up the glove Harley had thrown.

“Right,” Steve said, still looking at Harley for a beat before turning his full attention to Pepper. “Tony’s not coming back for a few days. Something came up. He wanted me to let you know he’s fine, just has to sort out some logistics.”

“ Of course. Thank you,” Pepper said, not missing a beat.

“He sent Captain America instead of, like, texting?” Harley nodded like he was impressed.  “Very on-brand.”

Pepper gave him a look. Harley had no idea what it meant, but it felt like a warning.

“Tony thinks Avenger-related updates should come from the top,” she explained, pointedly looking at Harley.

“Because phones are hard,” Harley added. “So advanced. Real cutting-edge stuff.”

“Does he always hang around like this?” Steve asked, glancing between them.

“You seem very stressed about my existence,” Harley said, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, chin in his hands. “You sure this isn’t some secret side mission? Save the mysterious boy from the CEO’s office?”

“I just wanted to know who you are?” Steve said, visibly off-balance again.

“Same,” Harley replied, pointing back and forth between them. “You and me both, buddy.”

Pepper raised her eyebrows and gave Harley a long, pointed look.

“Behave.”

“I am behaving,” Harley said, eyes going wide with mock innocence. “This is me on my best behavior. Ask literally anyone.”

Steve gave Pepper a look like he’d reached the end of his rope.

“Do you want me to call security?”

“He’s fine, Steve.”

“You sure?”

“Very sure.”

Harley flashed another grin and pointed lazily at Pepper.
“ She’s legally obligated to say that.”

“You’re pushing it,” Pepper said sing-song.

“And yet you adore me.”

Pepper didn’t answer, but her mouth twitched. Harley took it as an another win.

“Okay. I wasn’t trying to be rude,” Steve said, holding his hands up. “I just…”

“I’m a secret government experiment,” Harley offered cheerfully.

Steve’s expression didn’t change. Harley shrugged.

“Alright, fine. Cover story. Cloning. Time travel. Pick your flavor.”

“Seriously?” Steve turned to Pepper like a kid looking to the teacher for backup.

Pepper exhaled through her nose and finally looked Steve directly in the eye.

“He’s Tony’s son.”

Silence.

“I… Tony has a son?” Steve blinked like he was glitching.

Harley flashed his biggest grin yet and made jazz hands near his face like he was on a game show.

“Surprise!”

Steve looked like Harley had sprouted two heads or maybe five eyes.

“You don’t look-he doesn’t-Tony never mentioned…”

“Yeah, well, that’s kind of his thing,” Harley said brightly. “Big on secrets. Huge fan of compartmentalizing.”

Steve still looked like he was trying to force-reboot his brain. Harley could almost see the gears turning and jamming.

“Wait. How old are you?”

“Fifteen.”

Steve opened his mouth. Closed it again.

“And how… I mean… for how long… you…?”

Harley leaned back and folded his hands like he was about to give a TED Talk.

“You know, most people usually start with ‘Nice to meet you’ or something.”

“Right,” Steve mumbled. “Sorry. I just… wow. You’re definitely a Stark.”

“Ugh, don’t say that,” Harley groaned. “People keep saying it like it’s a compliment.”

Pepper raised her eyebrows.

“Okay, some people,” Harley amended, rolling his eyes.

“And you… let him hang out in your office?” Steve asked Pepper, still trying to find his footing.

“He’s grounded,” Pepper said smoothly. “This is his version of sulking.”

“I’m not sulking,” Harley protested. “I’m dramatically embodying my two-TWO-week grounding.”

“You left without notice and didn’t respond,” she reminded him.

“It was, like, two hours!” Harley winced.

“Ten.”

Steve glanced between them again, completely lost.

“This is… normal?”

“Welcome to Stark Tower,” Harley said, grinning even wider.

“Mhm…” Steve murmured. “ Well. See you around, Stark. Pepper.”

Harley watched him as he nodded and left the room.

“He looked taller on the posters,” Harley said when the door clicked shut.

“I told you not to trust propaganda,” Pepper replied, already back to work.

Harley gave her a crooked smile and returned to doing absolutely nothing.

A few days later, Harley found a new pastime. Or really-Happy found one for him. He’d dug through some stuff someone left behind on-site and decided it was worth giving to Harley. Harley seriously doubted Happy even opened the thing. He probably just read the blurb on the back and remembered that Harley liked horror.
But House of Leaves wasn’t really a horror novel. Or, it was, but it also looked like someone had formatted it drunk in Word ‘97. Still, Harley was reading it like it owed him money.

He was sprawled across the couch in the living area, letting JARVIS play whatever "forest ambience" or "brown noise" or whatever the hell he called it. Harley was halfway through trying to decode why page 328 had maybe three words on it when the elevator dinged, announcing someone’s arrival. He didn’t move.

“You look like a bridge troll,” Rhodey said instead of hello. Harley peeked over the back of the couch with a scowl, watching him approach. “Except without the bridge. Or the riddles. You just look grumpy.”

“I feel like a bridge troll,” Harley muttered, dropping back into his original position.

“Perfect,” Rhodey said cheerfully, looking at him like he was a pile of laundry someone forgot to fold. “Let’s drag you into the sunlight before you turn to stone.”

Harley grimaced and rolled his eyes. Trolls did turn to stone in sunlight.

“No way,” he said, flipping a page dramatically, then having to flip it back immediately because he had no idea what just happened. “I’m grounded.”

“Nice try,” Rhodey said, dropping into the chair closest to the couch. “You’re grounded from electronics, not movement. I cleared this with Pepper myself. I’m authorized.”

“That smells like lies,” Harley muttered, pulling the book closer to his face.

“She told me to troll you out of here,” Rhodey explained.

“She said troll?”

“No, but it was the emotional undercurrent.”

Harley didn’t respond. He just groaned quietly and kept reading.

“Come on. Let’s just go check out Midtown High. Walk around. Maybe make fun of the guidance counselor’s posters.”

“Why would I wanna look at a school I’m not going to?” Harley grumbled behind the book.

“You are going.”

“That’s a bold assumption.”

“It’s not an assumption when Pepper’s been looking at brochures about after-school activities.”

Harley dropped the book onto his face and let one arm hang off the couch like he was mourning something deeply personal. Rhodey gave him a beat.

“Also, I’m getting you boba afterward. So stop acting like this is some Greek tragedy.”

“Bribery is a sign of weakness,” Harley mumbled into the book.

“Yeah, well. I’m weak for you, kid.”

Harley sighed and turned his head so the book slid off his face and hit the floor with a dull thud.

“You’re lucky I like boba,” he said, standing up.

“I’m lucky you like me,” Rhodey said smugly. “Admit it.”

“Never.”

Rhodey followed him toward the elevator.

“Fine, have it your way,” Rhodey said, “but you do know your name is saved in my phone as ‘favorite but rude nephew,’ right?”

Harley rolled his eyes. He was Rhodey’s only nephew.

“You ever even been there?” Harley asked while they waited for the elevator.

“Nope. Never set foot inside. But I’ve been to a few schools in my day,” Rhodey shrugged.

“So you’re dragging me on a tour of a school you don’t know?” Harley blinked at him.

“Exactly. It’s an adventure. For both of us.”

“It’s gonna be terrible.”

“Almost definitely. But the boba will be good,” Rhodey nodded, steering him into the elevator when it finally arrived.

“You’re the only person in this building who’s both annoying and tolerable,” Harley muttered, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“That’s ‘cause I’m funny.”

Harley smirked slightly, then immediately turned his head away so Rhodey wouldn’t catch it. Judging by the smug look on Rhodey’s face, he’d caught it anyway.

“Also,” Rhodey added as the elevator doors opened on the ground floor, “I made a playlist. Half decent music, half songs specifically chosen to make you extremely uncomfortable.”

“You’re the worst,” Harley groaned.

“Yup. And yet, here you are. In an elevator. With me.”

“Shut up.”

“Just making sure that’s on record,” Harley muttered as they pulled up outside a building way bigger than he’d pictured. Midtown School of Science and Technology blocked out like… half the sky. “You do realize dragging a teenager to a school in the middle of summer should probably count as psychological warfare?”

Rhodey didn’t even look at him, just walked straight to the guest log on the little table by the front doors.

“Only if it’s before noon,” he shrugged. “It’s 1:40. Geneva Convention doesn’t apply.”

Harley let his head flop back dramatically and dragged his feet toward the overly cheerful receptionist behind the front desk.

“Hi there! Visiting the school today?”

“Yep,” Rhodey said, nodding toward Harley. “Got ourselves a future sophomore here.”

She smiled at Rhodey first, then at Harley-and Harley immediately clocked the slight pause in her gaze, the flicker like something just clicked. Like someone had maybe given her a heads-up about someone, and she just now realized who.
So Harley gave her one of his good smiles.

“He’s the adult,” Harley said, jerking a thumb at Rhodey. “I’m just here for the AC and the drama.”

“You are the drama,” Rhodey muttered under his breath, still flashing the receptionist his polite grown-up face.

They didn’t have to wait long. A woman in her forties stepped out of one of the offices in the back-dressed in a blazer and shoes that were clearly trying to balance elegance and comfort, which only made them look weird and probably painful as hell.

“Colonel James Rhodes, right? I’m Millie Castillo, the director’s assistant,” she greeted them with a professional smile. “Glad you scheduled this visit.”

“No problem at all,” Rhodey said with a polite nod.

“And you must be Mr. Stark,” she added, giving Harley a look like she was waiting to see how he’d react.

Harley straightened a little and nodded once. He didn’t pretend she had the wrong guy, didn’t play dumb or act like she hadn’t just called him out directly. If she knew he was a Stark and was expecting a Stark, then fine-he could be a Stark.

“That’s me,” he confirmed, slipping into his go-to mode for dealing with strangers: relaxed shoulders, alert eyes, and a facial expression just this side of cocky. “Appreciate the tour.”

Ms. Castillo smiled politely-thankfully steering clear of the minefield that was asking about his dad.

“We’re happy to have you,” she said, gesturing down the hallway to get things started. “I’ll keep it short since it’s summer, but come fall, you’ll get the full Midtown experience.”

“You ever get a private tour when you picked your high school?” Harley asked quietly, glancing over at Rhodey.

“I went to the one closest to my house.”

“Yikes. Harsh.”

They started the tour, walking through sunlit halls. It was mostly quiet, aside from a couple of guys doing maintenance work-sanding floors here, repainting walls there-and a few kids from summer programs down at the end of the corridor.

Ms. Castillo pointed out classrooms, labs, and some student club posters that looked like they’d been taped up since spring-or maybe even the fall before.

Harley asked questions. Not many. Just one here, one there. Mostly to show that he did know some things. Which electives were open to sophomores? How many APs could he realistically stack? How big was the student council?

“I don’t have your full file yet,” Ms. Castillo said as they passed a wall of tutoring resources, “but I noticed you’ve studied advanced lit and physics. And you logged quite a few hours tutoring, correct?”

“Yeah,” Harley nodded. “Math and sciences, mostly. Some bio for the younger grades. Algebra. Sometimes English. Depends how desperate someone was. I like helping.”

Rhodey turned his head slightly, eyebrows climbing.

“You like helping?” he muttered.

“Is that really so hard to believe?” Harley replied with a barely-there shrug.

“You literally told Pepper once that tutoring was ‘academic babysitting for kids who peaked in middle school.’”

“I contain multitudes,” Harley mumbled.

Ms. Castillo laughed quietly and immediately seemed a little embarrassed, covering her mouth with one hand. Rhodey gave Harley a look like he was suddenly re-evaluating everything he thought he knew about him.

“Midtown’s one of the most competitive STEM-focused schools in the region,” Ms. Castillo went on after a moment. “You’ll be surrounded by high-achieving, curious students, and we encourage collaboration and pushing yourself academically. Besides tutoring, were you involved in anything else?”

“Did a bunch of independent stuff last year. Some comparative lit,” he said, trying to make it sound more interesting than it probably was. “Shakespeare and Marlowe, a little Plath. My advisor kinda let me wander. Also fenced for a bit, did swimming, and joined the debate club.”

“That’s quite impressive,” she said with a note of genuine approval in her voice.

Harley flashed a disarming smile and matched Rhodey’s pace. As they rounded a corner, a massive mural came into view, stretching across the stairwell wall and spilling onto part of the hallway. Rockets, explosions, chemical symbols. The great inventors. A collage of brilliant minds-Einstein, Turing, Curie, Tesla-and just slightly left of center, looming large: Howard Stark.

Harley stopped. His eyes locked on that familiar face buried deep in the scene, something in the expression just a little too close to his dad’s.

“That was part of an interdisciplinary art project a few years back,” Ms. Castillo explained, clearly noticing what had caught his attention. “The students picked inventors who inspired them.”

“Very original,” Harley said, tilting his head and squinting at it.

“Your… ahem-he showed up often. Bit of a local underdog story, I guess.”

“Local and generational trauma,” Harley offered, aiming for humor and missing the mark just enough to make it awkward.

Ms. Castillo gave him a small, polite nod, the kind you give when you’re not quite sure what to do with a comment but you want to move past it gracefully. She did. They saw the robotics lab, the student newspaper office. Harley even perked up at the radio booth. He’d spent some time hanging out in one back at his old school-not hosting shows or anything, just suggesting music for the DJs to use as filler. Mostly because Olivia had practically lived in that room.

The tour wrapped with a few thank-yous and a printed information packet Harley fully intended to forget in someone’s backseat. He shook Ms. Castillo’s hand again, politely, and forced a goodbye smile that sounded something like see you in September.

“So, Uncle Jimmy,” Harley said as they stepped outside, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck, turning his face toward the sun. “What’d you think?”

“Did you just-?” Rhodey tripped slightly on the stairs.

“It was contextual,” Harley grinned. “Deal with it.”

“What happened to the grumpy little troll I had to drag off the couch an hour ago?” Rhodey narrowed his eyes at him.

“He’s grounded,” Harley said matter-of-factly, already heading toward the car.

“You are you,” Rhodey replied.

“If everyone’s expecting a Stark,” Harley shrugged, “might as well give them a Stark. Boba?”

Rhodey sighed deeply as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

“Yeah, yeah. You’ve definitely earned one.”

The boba place was half pink neon, half industrial-strength air conditioning. A massive screen played what Harley was pretty sure were K-pop music videos, though he couldn’t swear to it. Rhodey was studying the laminated menu like it was an ancient manuscript written in code.

“So this is what you teens are into,” Rhodey muttered, squinting at a combo description like it might bite. “You can have pudding and jelly and beans in the same cup?”

“I didn’t ask for boba as a bribe,” Harley said, arms crossed on a slightly sticky table, glancing around with a mild grimace. “You picked this place.”

“I Googled ‘sugar-packed chaos teen-friendly hangouts’ and this had the fewest health code violations,” Rhodey explained.

“You’re trying way too hard, Uncle Jimmy.”

“Call me that again, and the only place I’m taking you next is the laundromat,” Rhodey said without even looking up.

“Sorry. Colonel Uncle Jimmy,” Harley snorted.

“Absolutely not.”

They both ordered mango. Rhodey went plain. Harley went for double boba-because if you’re doing something, you might as well commit, or at least that’s what his swim coach used to say.

“Back in my day, drinks didn’t fight you on the way down,” Rhodey said, stirring his like it might detonate.

“That’s because your day was full of grainy VHS tapes and state-owned milk,” Harley replied.

“Watch it,” Rhodey shot him a look. “Top Gun is a classic even now.”

“Sure it is, Uncle Jimmy.”

Rhodey sighed like a man regretting every decision that led to this exact moment. Harley loved it.

“So,” Rhodey said after a beat of silence, “what’d you think of the school?”

“It’s a school,” Harley said, taking a long sip to buy himself time. “A little sad, a little decent. Has labs. Whatever.”

“You didn’t hate it,” Rhodey noted, raising an eyebrow.

“‘A little decent’ is probably the most positive thing I’m emotionally capable of saying,” Harley offered, flashing a fake smile.

Rhodey raised that same eyebrow like he wasn’t letting it go. Harley rolled his eyes.

“They were nice,” he admitted, slouching over his cup, straw in his teeth. “Like... trying-not-to-scare-the-unicorn nice.”

“You’re some weird breed of unicorn.”

Harley didn’t respond. Just poked at the boba in his cup with intense focus. The silence stretched out. And that’s when he realized-it was a loaded silence. He looked up fast, eyes narrowing.

“You’re not about to, I don’t know, ambush me with some giant feelings talk, right?”

“You think I dragged you all the way to Queens just to stage an emotional trap?” Rhodey said calmly, sipping like his mango drink was punishment.

“Yes,” Harley said, squinting harder.

“Well, I didn’t.”

Harley didn’t move. Rhodey took another sip.

“But since we’re alrea-”

“Seriously?” Harley groaned, tipping back in his chair.

“Relax,” Rhodey said lightly. “I just wanted to ask what got you grounded.”

“Why do you care?” Harley lifted his head.

“Were you not trying to use it as an excuse to not hang out with me?” Rhodey asked.

“… Yeah.”

“I’m just curious,” Rhodey said, taking another sip. “Pepper wouldn’t tell me anything-said it wasn’t her place. But she did say you’ve been acting kinda weird, that she’s worried about you, and maybe it wouldn’t hurt for someone to check in. Man to man.”

“Oh my God, she actually said that?” Harley groaned, slumping in his seat.

“It’s dumb,” he muttered, jabbing at his boba with his straw. “We talked. I apologized. She grounded me. That’s it.”

“Yeah, it probably was dumb,” Rhodey agreed. “It usually is. I think she’s more worried about you than about whatever you did.”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“I always look like this.”

“That’s not comforting.”

“My dad picked that school,” Harley said, folding his arms. “Didn’t ask. Just signed the forms and sent me off. I only found out because Gene’s parents brought it up in passing.”

Rhodey’s eyebrows pulled together-barely, but Harley definitely caught it. He glanced down at the floor for a second, then back at him. And Harley knew that look. That was disappointment. The kind someone tries really hard not to show.

“He said he’d stay. That we’d hang out, make plans, whatever. Said the usual stuff. And I believed him,” Harley said, spinning his cup slowly, watching the liquid shift. “Then Avenger stuff happened, I guess, and not even a full day later, he bailed. So I snapped. But not at him. Because, you know, he wasn’t there. I snapped at her. She was the one waiting for me after I’d wandered around the city for hours.”

Rhodey’s jaw did this subtle thing-like it clenched, but gently. His eyes shut for just a second too long. They sat in silence for a while.

“I was a jerk,” Harley said finally. “I said awful stuff. Stuff I didn’t even mean. She didn’t yell…”

He paused, frowning, his leg starting to bounce under the table.

“But I think she cried later.”

Rhodey gave a single, slow nod. Harley couldn’t read his expression. But maybe that was because he wasn’t looking directly at him.

“The next day I apologized. She hugged me. Said it was okay,” Harley said with a slight shrug. “Let me sleep in. That night she told me I was grounded. And everything kind of... went back to normal.”

“And you think maybe it shouldn’t have?” Rhodey asked after a pause.

“I don’t know. She didn’t show me how upset she really was. So now I don’t know if I’m supposed to keep showing her I’m sorry,” Harley said, dropping his head back. “She made it too easy.”

“Pepper’s not the type to hold that kind of thing over your head,” Rhodey said, a little more firmly. “But that doesn’t mean she isn’t holding it in if it helps her kid not feel worse.”

“I’m not-” Harley started, but Rhodey gave him a look sharp enough to shut him up immediately. He shifted in his seat and tried again.

“I just… I know I’m not really her kid. Or my dad’s priority,” Harley said, voice lower now. “And she already does a lot. And she’s not... obligated.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Rhodey said gently. “You feel like crap. You said things. You owned up to it. That already makes you better than most grown men I know.”

“Still doesn’t make me feel better,” Harley muttered, eyes staring blankly ahead.

“That’s how it goes sometimes,” Rhodey nodded. “But just for the record? The fact that you care means I’m proud of you. Even if you’re kind of a little punk sometimes.”

“Thanks, Uncle Jimmy,” Harley said, rolling his eyes, though a tiny smile tugged at his mouth.

“Please don’t make that a thing.”

Harley smiled wider and rested his cheek on his hand.

“So, you really picked this place just to earn some cool-uncle points?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It was this or the long walk along the river.”

“God, Uncle Jimmy…” Harley grinned around his straw. “You could’ve just given me the talk.”

“I could have,” Rhodey said, knocking his cup lightly against Harley’s. “But I figured boba would go down smoother.”

Harley didn’t say anything, but he didn’t stop smiling either.

When Harley stepped into the apartment, he expected the echo-this weirdly hollow kind that he’d sort of started associating with home, whether he wanted to or not. Rhodey was a step behind him, still chuckling under his breath at the last joke Harley had thrown out.

But Harley felt it the second Rhodey’s posture shifted-then stopped entirely.

Tony was home.

He was on the couch, half-sitting, half-sprawled, wearing a shirt from some aggressively weird robotics startup, munching on what looked like chocolate-covered nuts. The TV flashed with a million colors a second. It was such a familiar image and yet so unexpected that Harley forgot to breathe for a full second.

“You’re home?” Harley asked, voice too flat to cover the surprise.

“You thought your old man got himself taken out? ” Tony glanced at him, flashing that smug, trademark smile. “You gotta stop assuming that. It’s doing terrible things to my self-esteem.”

Harley just stood there, taking it in.

He hadn’t even realized how ready he’d been to believe Tony had actually gotten himself killed. Or come back injured. Or not come back at all for another week.

Near his elbow, Rhodey tensed even more. Harley didn’t look at him-just shifted his weight so he could bump his arm lightly. Don’t. Don’t say anything. Don’t bring up what they’d talked about earlier. Let it go.

Tony didn’t notice. He grabbed the remote and patted the couch cushion next to him.

“I was gonna check out this supposedly terrible new sci-fi movie,” he said with a grin. “Inflatable aliens and everything. Figured I’d give it ten minutes. You in?”

Harley dragged his feet over and dropped into the seat beside his dad, very aware of Rhodey’s gaze practically burning a hole through the side of his head.

“I’m grounded from screens,” he muttered, trying to sit in a way that didn’t lean into Tony, but also didn’t scream I’m avoiding you. “Blanket ban.”

“Then consider you un-grounded,” Tony said with a casual wave of his hand.

Harley didn’t move. But he was almost certain Rhodey had just clenched his jaw again. Harley didn’t look over, his eyes were fixed on the barely-there cut above Tony’s eyebrow.

“That’s not how grounding works,” he said quietly.

“It is when I’m the dad.” Tony winked at him and ruffled his hair.

Harley didn’t react.

Tony acted like this was all normal. Like this was what they did. So Harley let himself lean back slightly, let Tony’s arm settle around his shoulders, and stared at the screen. At some point, Rhodey left, either giving them space or avoiding an aneurysm. Either way, Harley could feel his disapproval through the walls. Disapproval for pretending everything was fine.

“Rhodey took me to check out Midtown today,” he said after a moment.

“Yeah?” Tony turned his head toward him, blinking.

“Needed to scout it out,” Harley shrugged, letting himself sink a little deeper into the warm weight of Tony’s arm.

“Huh...” Tony tilted his head, sounding genuinely surprised. “Thought you’d wait till fall. Show up on day one like a king, make the school your bitch.”

Harley just shrugged again, eyes flicking back to the screen.

“You pick a locker yet?” Tony asked, too cheerfully. “You strike me as a bottom-row kind of guy. More chill. Keep expectations low.”

“Sure,” Harley said.

Tony shifted to get more comfortable, looking way too smug for someone who’d disappeared for nearly two weeks. Who hadn’t called. Not to him, anyway.

“I met Steve, by the way,” Harley added, watching the flickering images. “Earlier this week. He dropped by to see Pepper while I was there. Said I was definitely a Stark.”

“Told you. You’ve got the bone structure and the attitude,” Tony grinned.

He’d never actually said that.

Harley gave him a crooked smile but didn’t respond. He just let himself fall into that familiar chaos-Tony’s worn shirt sleeve brushing his neck, the warm weight of his hand dangling near Harley’s shoulder. He let it pull him in, like static. Let it crowd out the questions he wasn’t really expecting answers to anyway.

He knew he should say something. Push a little. Ask his dad why he hadn’t told him he was leaving. Why he stayed gone longer than the others. Why he was acting like they spent every other night watching movies together like this.

But he didn’t.

Because somewhere deep down, he knew if he did ask, Tony would either deflect with some dumb joke, or he’d go into overdrive-apologize too much, swear up and down he’d do better.

And then he wouldn’t.

And Harley would just end up taking it out on Pepper again.

So instead, he just breathed. Then again. And again. And even let himself smile a little.

Today had actually been kind of good. Maybe the evening could be, too.

Chapter Text

The rest of August kind of melted together into one long, blurry stretch.
Not the loud kind of blur, no chaos, no shouting, no explosions in the distance like the summers he half-remembered with his dad. That kind of blur was fast and wild and messy.
This was something else.

More like a paused game screen, stuck. Not broken, but definitely not moving.

Harley didn’t cause problems.

Or he tried not to. Which, most days, felt like the same thing.

He drifted through the days wrapped in this weird fog of intentional invisibility. Mostly he holed up in his room or found some random corner of the tower that wasn’t already occupied by an adult. The hour or two before lunch? Not bad. Late evenings? Better.
But the real sweet spot was between 3 and 5 a.m. Dead quiet, no one around. Just him and the glow of a screen.

He played a lot of games. Mostly mindless shooters, Call of Duty, Far Cry-stuff that didn’t ask for much brainpower. He played with Jamie and a couple of guys from school. Sometimes they stayed on party chat after, talking trash and switching games, or letting Gene convince them, for the hundredth time, that they could figure out NFL 2K if they just gave it one more shot.

Harley didn’t bring up New York.

They didn’t ask.

He ate, but mostly at weird hours, whenever the kitchen was empty.
He learned Pepper’s schedule, when she’d swing through for coffee or a granola bar. He knew where Happy hovered around dinner. So Harley timed things right. Ate like a raccoon: fast, silent, preferably unseen.

He was polite. Quiet. No trouble.

More or less part of the background now.

Furniture.

He answered texts. Just… not the ones from Rhodey.

Not that Rhodey was spamming him or anything.

Harley just figured he was disappointed. Not mad. Rhodey didn’t really do mad. But probably not thrilled that Harley hadn’t said anything to Tony when he had the chance. That he’d chickened out.

That he was pretending everything was fine.

That he was acting.

But guilt was hard to reach through all the static. Most days, Harley didn’t feel much of anything.
Though sometimes he stared at that last text from Rhodey for way too long, like it was going to change if he just looked hard enough.

Avoiding Happy had a more concrete reason.

He’d taken Harley’s skateboard, just like he said he would, and locked it up in some closet Harley couldn’t find if he had a week and a blueprint. Which he did have.
All because Harley accidentally skated through a hallway during a big fancy tour for some VIP guy checking out the new bionic arms. Harley might’ve clipped him a little. And the guy might’ve spilled espresso on his way-too-expensive shoes.
But the contract still got signed, so Harley really didn’t see what the big deal was.

Skateboarding had been his last real escape.

But whatever. He didn’t argue.

Happy took the board, muttered a bunch of stuff under his breath, and that was the end of it.

So Harley adjusted.

Tony was around.

Which was… weird. And honestly, kind of terrifying.

Some days, it even seemed like he was trying. Not in a forced, fake-smile kind of way, more like someone had nudged him and gone Hey, families are a thing you should maybe care about, and Tony had decided to give it a shot.

Harley was pretty sure that someone was either Pepper or Rhodey.

So now, Tony was experimenting with being a dad.

In these sudden, unpredictable bursts of energy, he’d show up asking what Harley was playing, even if the screen was just sitting on the game menu, or he’d bring in a box of weird tech and try to loop him into some half-finished gadget, like they were supposed to bond over coils and circuitry or whatever.

It wasn’t bad.

Actually, it was kind of nice.

But Harley couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t what he needed.
At least not right now.

Mostly, he just tried not to be around him.

Not because he was mad. Okay, maybe still a little. But because it was exhausting.
Tony didn’t operate on a normal schedule. He was like a raccoon too, but one that had chugged six espressos and stuck a fork in a socket. He popped in at random times, said weird things, did even weirder ones, and Harley never really knew if any of it meant something or if it was just… Tony being Tony.

Pepper was harder.

She was around a lot, like always. Asking why he’d stopped coming down for lunch, asking what time he was going to bed, what he’d eaten. Just… asking.
But usually, if she was home, Tony was with her. And Harley couldn’t explain why, but that felt off somehow.

Maybe it was because he couldn’t quite answer the question of what they were like when he wasn’t around.

Which, honestly, had been most of the time until now.
He’d always kind of pictured them like adult RAs in a dorm, keeping the chaos under control. Sure, he knew they were a couple, technically, but he’d never seen it.

Now he did.

All the time.

They finished each other’s sentences and moved through rooms like they were synced. Like they had this quiet rhythm going on that he wasn’t part of. And it wasn’t bad. They seemed… happy, together. Solid.

It just felt unfamiliar.

And Harley didn’t know where he was supposed to fit in.

Some nights, when all the lights were off and the only sound in the tower was some machine humming diagnostics a few floors down, Harley scrolled through old messages.
Sometimes Gene would send him dumb memes.
Sometimes they argued about game rules or whether House of Leaves was a brilliant book or complete trash, because Harley still hadn’t finished it.

When Pepper asked, he said he was savoring it, but the truth was it kind of overwhelmed him.

Some pages were upside down.

Some had holes punched through them.

One footnote went on forever, like it was trying to yank his brain out through his ear.

It made him think about the tower.

About hidden hallways and doors that used to open but didn’t anymore.
About things no one talked about.

Sometimes he’d sit by the window, just watching the city move around him.
And sometimes, he’d stare for hours at that ugly camel from his dad, sitting on his nightstand.

And the first day of school came way faster than Harley would’ve liked.

He didn’t feel ready.

Not for the building. Not for the people. Not for the part where he was supposed to be the new kid no one had ever seen before.

He was going to be the new kid.

And that just... wasn’t a thing that had ever really happened.
Or at least, not since he could remember. He barely recalled switching schools halfway through the year last time. He definitely didn’t remember what it felt like to walk into a classroom and have nobody know who he was or worse, know exactly who he was because they’d Googled his dad.

For the last seven years, he’d walked into the same building, seen the same people, talked to the same teachers. Everything was the same.

He hadn’t really slept. Not for real.

He got dressed before six. Not because he wanted to be early, but because lying in bed doing nothing had somehow started to feel worse.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood in front of the mirror trying to make his hoodie look... natural. He’d picked it because it was the most normal-looking thing he owned. But he knew that if anyone looked too closely at the tag they’d figure it out. That it was one of those hoodies. The kind that whispered money even if it didn’t scream it.

Honestly, everything he owned kind of did that.

Nice fabrics. Quiet logos. That was the problem, maybe.

He looked like someone trying not to look rich.

The hoodie, the shoes, the jeans,  technically normal.

Technically also more expensive than some people’s rent.

Even his beat-up Vans looked like a stylist had distressed them on purpose, even though it was just from skating them to death.

His hair stuck out in all directions, no matter how much water he wasted trying to fix it.
His eyes looked worse than usual.

The shadows under them made him look halfway haunted and halfway hungover.

Maybe he should’ve tried to sleep, instead of talking Gene into playing Mario Kart with him till two in the morning just for moral support.

Didn’t help that when he ran into his dad in the kitchen around midnight, Tony looked exactly the same.

Instead of matching friendship bracelets, they had matching eye bags.

When Harley finally dragged himself into the kitchen, he had to blink a few times.

Pepper was standing by the stove.

In heels.

Wearing a silky-looking blouse like she was about to host a shareholders’ meeting or deliver a keynote or something.

But no. She was flipping pancakes with one hand and scrolling through something on her phone with the other.

Propped up against the orange juice pitcher was a tablet blinking with what had to be a thousand calendar alerts.

Weird.

“Oh, you’re up,” she said with a smile when he walked in.
And Harley actually blinked again.

“You haven’t left yet?”

“It’s your first day,” she said with a shrug, pouring another scoop of batter onto the pan.

“I thought you had that ESG thing at, like, seven?” he mumbled, sliding onto a stool at the kitchen island.

“I did. I pushed it back forty minutes,” she replied like it was no big deal. But Harley knew it was a big deal.

“Zurich can wait,” she added. “Rough night?”

He shrugged.

Pepper raised one eyebrow, the way she always did when she already knew the answer but wanted him to say it anyway.

She slid a plate in front of him. Pancakes drizzled in chocolate. Strawberries-his favorite, even though she was allergic to them. Something aggressively healthy-looking in a smoothie glass.

Everything looked perfect. Too perfect.

It looked even better than perfect.

Harley’s stomach flipped.

He stared at the plate for a few seconds, picked up the fork, but didn’t actually bring it to his mouth.

“Thanks,” he muttered. “I’m just... not hungry.”

“Just a few bites,” she said gently, turning toward the espresso machine. “No pressure.”

Harley poked at the food a couple more times.

“Nervous?” she asked after a moment, leaning against the counter, her hands wrapped around her mug.

She wasn’t staring at him, exactly. Just watching. The way she did when she was trying to figure out how bad things actually were.

He didn’t answer right away. Rested his forehead on his fist and took a few slow breaths.

“It’s not that I- I just... I’ve never-”

He exhaled hard and closed his eyes.

“I’ve never been the new kid. I don’t wanna be the new kid.”

“You don’t have to be anything special,” Pepper said smoothly. “Just be yourself.”

Harley let out a dry little laugh and rolled his eyes.

Harley had just gotten a text from Happy, basically a polite get in the car already, when Tony stormed into the kitchen like a barefoot tornado. Hoodie with an oil stain on the shoulder, sweatpants that screamed not leaving the house today. He looked like someone had yanked him out of a very shallow and chaotic nap.

Harley stared at him. Tony stared back.

And for one dumb second, Harley thought, Huh. Okay. Yeah, we actually kind of look related.

“Well well well, look who’s up!” Tony announced, pouring himself some coffee. “First day of school! Big day! You feeling powerful? Terrified? Ready to destroy the cafeteria’s social hierarchy?”

Harley blinked and shot a confused glance at Pepper, hoping for some kind of translation.

“No? Nothing?” Tony continued, totally unfazed. “Okay, sure, cool. So here’s my pitch. How about a ride from your wildly famous father? I roll up in the Lambo five minutes after the bell, windows down, AC/DC blaring. Full throttle dad experience.”

“Tony…” Pepper sighed into her coffee cup.

“Please don’t,” Harley muttered, actually flinching a little.

“Don’t, like, the Lambo, or don’t me?” Tony tilted his head.

Harley’s fingers tightened on the fork he hadn’t even used.

“I’m good,” Harley said finally. “Happy’s taking me. I’m sticking with that.”

“I’m serious, H,” Tony said, too casually and Harley winced again. H. When was the last time his dad called him that?

“It’ll be epic. Sunglasses. Ice cream after. Peak suburban dad energy.”

“Dad…”

Tony’s face froze for a split second. But then he was back at it, shifting gears.

“Okay, okay. No dramatics. Totally fine,” he said, pausing mid-sentence like he was reworking his strategy. “I could go subtle. Background dad energy. Just present, you know?”

Pepper shot him a look but didn’t say anything.

“Come on, it’s the first day. There’s only one of those,” Tony added, quieter this time.

“Exactly,” Harley said, giving him a tight, fake smile.

Tony looked like he was trying to figure out if that was a jab. It probably was.

“I just want things to be normal today, alright?” Harley said, sitting up straighter.

Tony made a noise like the word physically pained him at the cellular level, but he didn’t argue.

“Alright. Normal it is,” he said, leaning against the counter next to Pepper. They looked weird standing side by side like that, like different species trying to co-parent.

Harley narrowed his eyes, but grabbed his backpack anyway.

“Text me when you get there?” Pepper asked, stepping closer to adjust his hood like he was nine again. “And at lunch, if you remember?”

“I’ll try.”

“Try really hard.”

At the elevator, Harley paused and looked back over his shoulder. Pepper was still standing there, watching him with quiet worry, like she wanted to fix something that wasn’t broken yet.

Tony had his phone out and was pretending to read something, his brow furrowed like maybe he had actually wanted to drop Harley off. Maybe just to make a point. Or maybe to prove he could still be the dad Harley used to think he was before everything got complicated.

“Have a good day,” Tony said eventually, looking up with a crooked little smile. “If anyone gives you crap, tell them you’ve got lawyers on speed dial. And don’t hit anyone. Unless they really deserve it.”

“Thanks… I guess,” Harley muttered, stepping into the elevator and letting his shoulders drop as the doors slid shut.

Harley’s first week of school went way better than he expected.
Like way better.

Suspiciously better.

No one shoved him into a locker.

No one grilled him about where he came from or who he even was.

Honestly, no one seemed all that interested in the fact that he’d just kind of… appeared.

Some kids acted like he’d been there forever.

A few even squinted at him, clearly trying to summon up a memory that didn’t exist. Some group project, maybe gym class.

One guy in physics swore they’d taken biology together last year.

Harley didn’t correct him.

Another asked if they’d been in the same Spanish group last semester.

Harley just nodded.

Sure. Why not.

It was easier to let them write their own version of him.

He didn’t really get friends, but he wasn’t exactly looking for any either.

The fact that no one was making his life miserable was enough.

Still, people seemed to kinda like him.

That quiet, sarcastic kid who pulled his weight in group work.

The one who always had a charger.

The one who clearly wasn’t trying to be the center of anything, which, apparently, earned him some quiet fans.

People talked to him.

Laughed at his dry jokes.

Asked him for help with math.

A junior from English gave him half a Pop-Tart on Wednesday.

So he wasn’t invisible.

Just sort of… orbiting gently outside the main crowd.

He usually had lunch outside.

Well, sat outside during lunch, anyway.

Most days he didn’t even eat anything.

There was something kinda nice about fresh air, earbuds in, hood up, watching pigeons fight over scraps of bread like it was a gladiator arena.

Sometimes, though, people asked. Of course they did.

They’d lean on the wall nearby or sit next to him after some class that had done roll call or grouped people by last name.

“Wait, Stark? Like Tony Stark Stark?”

And Harley would smile, roll his eyes, and say something dumb.

“Total coincidence. Distant cousin on my step-uncle’s mother’s dog’s side. Tragically, no McLaren for me.”

People always laughed.

Not awkwardly either. Actually laughed.

They figured he was joking.

Or that it was some random family connection so distant it didn’t really count.
Either way, they dropped it.

No one connected the dots.

Not yet.

And honestly? That was perfect.

He didn’t want to explain.

Didn’t want to talk about towers or last names.

But…yeah. It started small. Quiet. Just whispers in the hallway, a look held too long in the library. That weird kind of focused attention that didn’t have to mean anything. But Harley, of course, knew better than to assume it meant nothing.

At first, it was mostly just talk.

A couple of girls standing outside his Spanish classroom.

“Wait, no, seriously. Stark had a kid. And he’d be our age now, right? There was that article years ago?”

“Yeah, but I thought it was, like, adoption or something?”

“No, swear to God. My dad says they sent him to some super-private, super-secure school out of state. Something-something media blackout.”

A few guys in the bathroom line.

“C’mon, think about it. No one remembers seeing him here before. And now he’s suddenly in all our classes?”

“And he’s not even trying to flex. That’s the sketchy part.”

No one said his name out loud. But Harley heard it anyway.

Still, he pretended not to notice. Shrugged a little deeper into his hoodie. Kept his smile easy and his jokes fast. Played it cool.

But the air was shifting, getting heavier, more electric. Like everyone was holding their breath, waiting for something big to drop.

It finally did on  one Thursday.

He was in chemistry, half-listening to the teacher ramble about covalent bonds, when he noticed it, the way the class got weirdly quiet and then weirdly not quiet. People elbowing each other, glancing his way, pretending not to point. His phone buzzed once. Then again.

He waited until class ended.

Then ducked into an alcove by the lockers, back against the cold wall, and checked his messages. Gene had sent a link.

The headline made his stomach twist.

“Stark Legacy Continues: Tony Stark’s Son Enrolls at Midtown Tech.”

Below it, there was a slightly blurry photo of Harley walking next to Happy in front of the Stark Industries building. Backpack slung over one shoulder. Head tilted down. He was clearly listening to whatever Happy was saying.

Harley’s heart was pounding before he even read a word.

“An anonymous Midtown student reached out earlier this week, claiming they identified a new classmate via the school’s online database and a chance sighting outside the Avengers Tower, formerly Stark Tower. The source suggests Stark’s son-previously kept out of the public eye for privacy and safety reasons-may be stepping into the spotlight with his transfer to Midtown Tech for his sophomore year.

‘He seems like a chill guy,’ the student added. ‘But come on. It’s kinda obvious if you’re paying attention.’”

Harley’s throat tightened.

He should’ve known the silence wouldn’t last. That someone would figure it out eventually.

But maybe the worst part, the part that really got him, was that it was actually a good photo.

He looked… fine. Almost cool.

He looked like a Stark.