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Harley was four when his dad left.
He doesn’t really remember much about the old man, and most of the time, he is grateful for that. The look his mom gets when she sits at the kitchen table, staring off to the empty seat next to her, lets him know that he is probably better off without the guy in his life.
What he can remember is a scratchy chin and the low buzzing of the TV late at night when Harley would find his dad slumped on the couch. Now that he’s older, he can place the bottles that were once tucked into his dad’s side as half-gone beer brews that stained the carpet and made his mom cry.
Fitting, really, that that's the memory Harley has of his dad.
But the old man’s been gone for years. Harley is the man of the house now, causing a certain brand of mayhem that only ten year olds are capable of making, and his mom takes double shifts at the diner to keep her pockets lined and their stomachs full. His sister can't do much beyond color and sing along with Dora whenever they decide to go exploring, so he keeps one eye on her and his other on the potato gun he’s been tweaking for the past forever.
He’s a smart kid, Harley knows. He brags about it -- as he should -- and beams when his mom ruffles his hair and lets him know how proud she is of her little boy.
(Alright, so he’s a tiny bit annoyed that she calls him that, but it’s his mom, so it’s cool. You know, since he loves her and all. But anybody else would get a potato to the face if they ever tried to call him that.)
It’s late one night when Harley finds himself thumbing away at his gameboy, shaking the stupid thing as if the pokeball might capture this pokemon if he wills it to, when a soft snore from the couch makes him pause. He looks up, and sure enough, his sister is asleep on the couch with a doll pressed against her chest. The DVD menu for the show she’d been watching is on repeat along with some horrifically chipper music, and Harley rolls his eyes because how did he not hear that earlier?
He shuts his game and moves to the couch. His sister is getting bigger, but he’s still got some height on her, so Harley bends down and shuffles her into his arms before taking her to bed. She doesn’t even budge as he edges her under the covers, and Harley crosses his arms.
“Night,” he calls to her softly before backing out of the room, stopping only at the door to switch on her nightlight as Harley knows she would want it on.
When he gets back to the living room, he turns off the DVD before plunking down on the couch with a thud. Harley crosses his legs over the couch and lazily presses at the remote to turn on the TV.
What he sees makes his eyes pop.
TONY STARK PRESUMED DEAD AFTER MANDARIN ATTACK.
There are words filtering across the screen, all bolded and capitalized and screaming for attention, while news reporters comment over one another to discuss the superhero’s death. Pictures flash from time to time, showing the aftermath of the attack, and Harley feels his stomach twist when they play a video of the bombs and explosions and violence.
A picture follows it, showing Pepper Potts holding a cracked Iron Man mask to her forehead, and Harley turns off the TV.
He doesn’t know much about Tony Stark beyond what the media says. His mom always talked about how much the guy changed after becoming Iron Man, and Harley would just nod in return because he knew that his mom harbored a serious crush on the goateed billionaire and yuck. Harley only knows the highlights of Tony's life because of Iron Man, but the pull at his gut aches for just one reason.
It was a year to the day that his dad had split when Harley had watched Tony Stark announce to the world that he was Iron Man. Sitting in his mom’s lap, curled into her arm with his head on her chest, they watched the news reels with wide eyes. The commentators kept calling the whole thing a new era for superheroes. Some called it vigilante justice.
Harley called it what it was: Something really, really cool.
Because Harley wasn’t born into a rich family or blessed with a scary-high IQ or even old enough to grow a beard like Tony Stark.
He was, however, a little boy without a father who liked to tinker around in the garage when his mom let him. To someone like Harley, sitting on the couch at five years old, Tony Stark -- against all odds and with all sorts of irony -- became a genuine role model.
A role model, now, who is supposedly dead and buried at sea.
Harley sits on the couch, minutes passing, when a noise outside that pulls him from his thoughts. He stills and strains his ears until there is another rattle outside from the garage -- his own little sanctuary of nuts and bolts -- and pushes himself off the couch with a jackhammering heart.
He thinks of his sister, face lit only by her nightlight, and how her hands had curled around his neck when he took her to bed. His mom flickers in next with her soft hands and curled hair that she pins back at the diner. Even Iron Man comes to mind, repulsers bright in his memory as the suit banks across the Manhattan skyline to take out a horde of aliens.
His dad stays put in the corners of his mind. Harley doesn’t bother to think about him even on the best of days.
When he sees a light turn on in the garage, he moves to the front door and stops before heading outside. Reaching blindly towards the kitchen table, Harley’s fingers grip the hard plastic of his potato gun and tugs the weapon to his side.
He’s no Iron Man, but Harley can protect those he loves.
He is his own superhero like that.
_______
Tony Stark isn’t dead.
Far from it actually.
And, apparently, he thinks he can demand a tuna sandwich at will.
Harley doesn’t make him any food, thank you very much. Well, he eventually caves and brings Tony some snacks to munch on because it looks like he’s had a long day. Given the bruises under his eyes and cuts on his forehead, Harley can pity the guy.
(So, he’s never been hurt that bad. Worst he’s ever had was a broken wrist at seven when fell off his backyard fence in pursuit of ball that had gone over the other side. Not even the bullies at school with their grabby hands and tight fists have left that kind of lasting damage. But the cut over Tony’s eyes makes Harley wince when he notices it.)
Tony works. Harley sits in the back, with his potato gun propped beside him, and watches. The only sound between the two is the humming of power tools and the crackling of the garage light when it dims and flickers back to light.
“...to bed, kid.”
Harley snorts and kicks his feet against the floor. “No way. Leave you alone in my garage? You must be crazy.”
There is an amused tip to Tony’s voice when he replies. “Been called worse, kid, but seriously. Bed. Go on. I got it from here.”
“But I don’t want to go to bed,” Harley whines, and he smiles to himself when he hears Tony’s low grumbles from across the room. “Besides, what’s going to stop my mom from freaking if she finds you in here, huh? I’ll tell her your an axe murderer. You won’t like what will happen after that.”
“Kid-”
“Harley,” he interrupts abruptly, and it makes Tony look over his shoulder through a welding mask. “My name is Harley.”
“Alright, Harley, I thought you told me that your mom doesn’t check back here. Since your dad shook a foot and left or whatever,” Tony says after a minute, and there is not bite to his words. It’s refreshing, Harley finds, because no one ever just comes out and talks about his dad. It’s not something that keep him up at night, and it definitely doesn’t make him cry.
Harley leans his head against the wall behind him. “She won’t, but I figured it was worth a try. She’ll be at work ‘til late, so I’ll keep you company for now. Don’t want you raiding our fridge later if you get hungry. You eat it, you buy it.”
Tony laughs, and from where he is sitting, Harley can see sparks flying from the metal under Tony’s care.
“You’re a brat. I don’t know if I like that or not.”
He shrugs.
“Most people think that way about me. You ain’t the first. Hopefully won’t be the last.”
“Hopefully?”
“Well,” Harley grins, “I like to keep people on their toes. People need to look at me and not be able to see what they’re getting themselves into. It’s fun that way.”
It takes a moment for Tony to answer, but when he does, he is standing from his seat. He flips up his mask and rifles through his pocket to pull out a crumpled $50 bill that makes Harley’s eyes go wide. He reaches for it when Tony pushes the money towards him, but he grabs air when Tony jerks his hand back with a narrowed look.
“I expect change back and a tuna sandwich. It’s this, or I hold the fridge hostage. Don’t think that I can't,” Tony quips, and Harley feels his lips tug into a tired smile. He grabs at the money in Tony’s hand.
“Who’s the brat now, huh?”
Tony tips his head. “Me. Don’t you ever forget it,” he says before turning back to his work. Harley drops his shoulders and heads towards the door to get Tony his food because a hungry mechanic is evidently as sassy and cranky one as well.
He leaves his potato gun where he left it by the wall. There’s really no need for it anymore.
_______
When Tony has a panic attack later, Harley starts spitting out words before realizing that maybe shutting up is what he should be doing.
But he’s never been good at filtering his words and now isn’t the time to learn.
Crouched at a street corner, hands clutching at the light beneath his shirt, Tony’s face flushes as he gasps for breath. Harley stands there for all of two seconds before he starts talking, rambling about his life in this backwards place of a town, and he sees the tense lines of Tony’s shoulders ease as he speaks.
He comes out of it a moment later, waving Harley away with glassy eyes, and pulls himself to unsteady feet. Harley trots beside him, hating his big, fat mouth and being thankful for it all at the same time, and he answers the questions Tony asks him.
Shoved into his pockets, Harley’s hands shake despite the gloves he had pulled on before leaving the house with Tony a couple hours ago.
He knows it's not because of the cold.
_______
Tony leaves after a firefight -- literally -- and it hurts a fraction more than Harley had expected.
Left on the street, watching the taillights of the car Tony had stolen disappear beyond a corner, Harley drags his shoes into the pavement before turning around.
Connected, huh?
The thought makes Harley laugh.
_______
It’s not even a few days later when the news catches Harley’s eye again. His mom is cooking in the kitchen, stirring at a pot of pasta that makes his stomach rumble in anticipation, and his sister is laying on the floor with a book.
PRESIDENT SAVED BY TONY STARK’S IRON MAN.
VICE PRESIDENT RODRIGUEZ INDICTED IN PLOT TO ASSASSINATE PRESIDENT.
TONY STARK: A MODERN-DAY MIRACLE?
Harley lets out a breath, and pauses his game -- because he did finally catch that pokemon he’d been searching for -- before standing. He makes his way to the side door and is about to head outside when his mom stops him.
“Dinners almost ready, Harley.”
“I know, mom.”
“Just don’t start working on something until we’ve eaten. I expect you to be back here in a few minutes with washed hands,” she says, “because that garage is filthy.”
“Roger that,” he answers, and his hand is turning the knob when she continues.
“Also, have you seen your sister’s watch? She can’t find it, and I’ve had no luck with it either,” his mom asks in a voice that lets him know he’s her number one suspect regarding its disappearance.
Harley swallows.
“Nope, sorry! I’ve got no idea, mom. I’ll look around later,” he answers -- too quickly to save his innocence -- and shoots out of the house before his mom can say another word.
When he gets to the garage, he fiddles with the door before he nudges it open with his shoulder. He flips the light on slowly, and he comes to such a fast stop that it makes his sneakers squeak against the floor.
There are new tools and toys everywhere he looks. Harley takes a careful step forward and looks around, noting each tool box and robotics kit he sees. There is even a car in the back of the garage, shining with fresh paint and detailed with polished chrome that glares under the garage light. His mouth is dry when he reaches his workbench, and the grunt he gives when he sees the card that Tony left him clears his throat.
He holds the note between his fingers before putting it aside and sitting at his bench. There is a potato gun waiting for him -- all green plastic, clear tubing, and fancy triggers that make Harley grin widely -- and laughs when he sees the side
Potato Gun: Mark II.
“Harley! You’ve got ten seconds to get back into this house! Ten, nine, eight...”
At his mom’s voice, Harley groans and lets his fingers drop from his new toy slowly. He then flies from his seat and out the door, feet flapping against the soft ground. He thinks of the new inventory he’s now got back in the garage, and that makes him move even faster as he slides into the house and washes his hands under his mom’s careful stare.
Harley wonders if his mom will even notice what’s been going on.
(She does, and so he tells her his story.)
_______
The next year passes in flashes.
His mom gets a new job, which is great, but then she gets a new boyfriend. That part is not-so-great.
He turns 11 and begins sixth grade in a new school, three-ring binders inside his backpack and fingers fumbling with his locker combination.
Harley makes some friends who invite him to their weekend nerf wars, and when a couple of new bullies try to take his Iron Man notebook, he uses Tony’s gift on them after school that very same day.
They don’t bother him again.
His sister starts gymnastics, and even under pain of death, he will never admit that he likes helping her practice her ribbon work when the two of them are alone at home.
Potato Gun: Mark III planning gets underway. Harley hopes it will be better than Tony’s.
He “finds” his sister’s Dora watch and gives it back to her, reveling in the smile she gives him when he clasps the thing back on her wrist. When she runs away, hands spread out to her side, Harley gives Tony a quiet thanks even if the older man is a couple thousand miles away in New York.
Bigger things happen in the world as well. The world nearly ends after another alien invasion of sorts, and when the news covers the destruction in D.C. and the fall of SHIELD, Harley lets his mom hold his hand. She squeezes it tight to reassure him, but one look at her face tells him that she’s the one who really needs comforting instead.
They watch the news coverage until it goes to a live feed of a press conference in New York. Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries, stands behind a podium and answers questions about any leaked SI schematics from the SHIELD fallout. Harley stands as she address the reporters and tells his mom that he’s going to grab a snack.
He stops in the kitchen for a moment before reaching into a cupboard and grabbing some tortilla chips.
Things have changed, and begrudgingly, so has Harley.
And he’s not seen or heard from Tony Stark in over a year.
_______
Harley is 12 and in Manhattan for a Science Olympiad meet when a HYDRA sect attacks the subway line that ferries him and his team between their hotel and the competition. There is smoke filling the car, and his ears are ringing from the initial blast. He turns his head to find that he’s on the floor, and the breaths that start pushing through his lungs make his chest shudder.
Oh god, this is it.
There are people screaming and moaning around him, and Harley forces himself to sit up and avoid the empty eyes of the man slumped over across from him. He can feel blood trickle down his chin, and when he brings a hand to his mouth, Harley winces when he feels his split lip.
“Andrew? Emily? Mr. Lee!”
No one answers him, and Harley hopes that they’ve all just been separated.
The sheared car groans around him, and a few thuds from outside make Harley take a sharp breath because he’s smart. He knows this, and so he also knows that the creaking tunnel around them is threatening to collapse after the explosion.
Harley pushes himself to his knees and bites his lip when his ankle rolls beneath him as he stands. There are people flooding into the tunnel to escape, and he wants to scream.
(Some of them will die, he knows. A lot of people are probably already dead. It was rush hour and even getting his Metro card swiped had taken almost half an hour. The lines were filled with people of all walks of life, and now, this one is filled with bodies and charred metal.)
Another rumble echoes from the tunnel, and Harley can see bricks and dust drift down from the ceiling. There is no time for him to run, not anymore. He stands just at the lip of the car door and whips his head because there has got to be something he can use here.
His eyes swivel back and forth until they land on a nook just a few feet away. It is thin but deep, and there is enough room inside for someone as small as him.
With a deep breath, Harley jumps out of the car and dodges concrete and cement as it rains down from the collapsing tunnel. He blocks out the noise around him until he’s wedged into the nook, and all he can hear then if his rattling breath. People run past him still, faces shadowed in soot and slick with blood, and Harley closes his eyes at it all.
He just wants to go home.
“Mama? Mama!”
Harley’s eyes open at the voice as it sounds so much like his sister’s. He sees a little girl just outside of his nook, hair pulled from its ponytail with her pink dress torn, and takes a deep breath. She is crying on her knees, reaching out at each person that passes her, and Harley doesn’t even think when he reaches out to her as she drifts too close to the live rails of the subway.
She sniffles against his chest and grips his shirt, sobbing for her mama as he pulls them deeper into the nook. His eyes are wide against the dirty black air, and he knows what is about to happen when another loud explosion echoes from further down the line. The roof of the tunnel wobbles like rubber until it starts to rain down on whatever is in its path.
Curling his body over the little girl in his arms, Harley covers his face with his shirt and closes his eyes as the noise around him grows with the collapsing tunnel.
The silence that follows makes him want to throw up.
_______
“Jesus. What a mess.”
Harley wiggles against the wall of the nook, careful of the girl in his arm, and pulls out his phone. The charge is nearly dead, and it’s got no service, but the light it puts out is enough for his to see what’s around him.
He doesn’t know how long it has been since the collapse -- Harley thinks he might have passed out at some point -- but he knows a voice when he hears one.
Shining the light around the nook, Harley coughs when he sees the entrance to the nook is blocked by debris.
“I heard something.”
Harley’s chest seizes, but he manages to get out words between his coughs. “Over here! We’re over here.”
The little girl on his chest shifts, clearly awake but unwilling to speak, and he can see enough to her face to see the tears on her cheek. He reaches down to brush them away, and after a moment, he combs his hand through her matted hair.
“This sucks. I know. I really, really know. But someone is coming to help us, alright? It’ll be okay.”
There is a nod against his chest, and then there light peeking through the cracks of the debris blocking the nook.
“Hello?”
Harley’s voice cracks. “We’re here. It’s just me and a little girl. I-I think we’re okay.”
The voices on the other end of the wall volley back and forth until the louder of the two breaks through.
“Okay, that’s good. We’re going to move this debris in a sec, so just hang tight.”
“Move the stuff? Wait, wait, wait. Won’t that just make things worse,” Harley calls after a second, images of the debris tumbling in on him flashing through his head.
The other guy’s voice -- deeper and clearer than his friend’s -- answers. “This area is a clean break. We sent some scans to our friend. He’s told us how to move it without it collapsing. We just need you to stay very still. Can you do that?”
Harley nods to himself. “Yes, but-”
“How old are you?”
Not even caring which person is talking to him now, Harley hangs his head low to his chest. “Twelve.”
“Twelve, huh? You’ve been pretty brave today, kid.”
Harley rolls his eyes at that. “Harley.”
“Okay, Harley. Can you keep still? You and your friend both now, and close your eyes. This won’t take long.”
Doing as he’s told, Harley covers the girl in his arms with his body and screws his eyes shut. “You don’t have to lie to me, you know? That’s a lot of stuff right there. It’s not going to go anywhere fast.”
A laugh comes through the other side of the debris, and Harley can hear rocks and rubble shifting from the end of nook.
“Just give us a minute, kid.”
“Harley! The name is Harley!”
There is no answer to his outburst, and Harley honestly wasn’t expecting there to be. He sits quietly, balled on his heels and breathes through the cotton of his shirt. There are careful sounds coming from just outside the nook, and Harley evens out his breathing.
It takes exactly one minute for the first light to shine through the wall of debris, and Harley forces himself to keep his eyes shut against it. As the spotlight grows wider, he cracks an eye open to see that the wall is nearly halfway down and that there are people rushing about the tunnel. Emergency responders -- police officers and firefighters and military -- are sorting through rubble, and Harley’s jaw loosens once he spots survivors emerging from the toppled wreckage.
He tightens his grip around the girl huddled against his chest when a shadow comes against the light.
“We got you, Harley. You can come out now.”
Rolling to his feet, feeling his knees pop underneath him, Harley takes careful steps towards the cleared entrance.
“Ellen.”
Harley blinks before looking down at the voice. “Huh?”
“That’s me,” the girl answers into his throat, and Harley smiles.
“Nice to meet you, Ellen. Wish it was for better reasons.” She doesn’t say anything else, and when he reaches the end of the nook, hands reach out to take her from his arms. He lets go willingly, watching at medics carry her off and dab at the scrapes on her knees. Harley sags at the loss of weight and suddenly feels it move to his chest.
“...good job. Are you okay?”
It takes Harley a second to catch up with the voice as his head is swimming, and the ringing in his ears has ramped up to a pitched level that makes his teeth cringe. Feeling hot, Harley turns his focus to the voice and stops when he sees who is speaking to him.
Standing straight with broad shoulders, Captain America is nothing but recognizable even with his singed uniform and greasy blonde hair. Beside him is a shorter, stockier man with an archer’s brace on his forearm and a quiver of arrows at his back, staring at him with crooked eyes that makes Harley’s brain short out.
Avengers. These are some of the Avengers. Really, this shouldn’t freak him out like it is. After all, he’s already met one of them before.
But between them and the day he has had, Harley gives in when his vision starts to grey out and feet fall from out under him. Hands grab at him, and Harley hears voices calling to him before he finally passes out.
_______
When Harley wakes up, he is not in a hospital.
That, however, doesn’t confuse him nearly as much as waking up in the Avengers Tower does.
Tucked into a bed with a patchwork quilt draped on top of him, Harley slides back into the real world with a throbbing headache and two of his fingers in a split. He can feel bandages against the edge of his lips and cheek, and when Harley sits up, all of his joints ache in protest.
“Mr. Keener, I have notified the team of your condition. Mr. Stark shall be here momentarily.”
Harley jerks at the voice before recognizing it as JARVIS, the AI that Tony had talked about years ago, before processing what exactly the he had said.
Tony Stark is coming to see him. Oh crap.
Looking around the room, Harley wiggles out of the bed and flounders when he can’t find his clothes. There is, however, a set of clean clothes waiting on a chair across the room, and Harley pulls them on while ignoring the burn in his arms. He’s shrugging on a jacket, complete with Iron Man’s face on the back, when a voice from the door makes him spin around.
“Cute, kid. That you think you’re leaving so soon. I think I’m hurt.”
When Harley turns, he comes face-to-face with Tony Stark for the first time in years. The man looks older, and Harley can see it in every wrinkle and grey hair he spots on Tony’s face. There is no longer a muted blue glow coming from underneath Tony’s shirt, which Harley already knew about because Tony’s surgery had been all over the news, but the sunken eyes and scruffy jawline that Tony’s sporting tells Harley that he really hasn't given up the life of a superhero.
He doesn’t even have to see the bruises to know that Iron Man must have shown up at the fight...today? Yesterday? How long has he been out?
“It’s been a day. We got you looked at, and your fine.”
Realizing he must have said that aloud, Harley looks Tony straight in the eyes. “And my friends? My teacher? Are they okay? Do you know?”
Tony’s face shutters, and for a second, Harley thinks he might cry until Tony answers. “They were all accounted for topside before the tunnel collapsed. All of them were on the other half of the car when HYDRA let loose. So sit down and take a breath.”
But Harley couldn’t sit down or take a breath. “What about my mom? Does she know I’m okay? Oh my god, she’s going to ground me. It’s wasn’t even my fault, and she’s totally still going to ground me. And my sister. She had a recital yesterday, and I was supposed to call her for good luck, and she probably hates me now. And I am still going to be grounded. Oh no, this is bad. This is-”
There are hands at his shoulder, guiding him to seat on the edge of the bed, and Harley gasps for air between his teeth.
“Hey, seriously, you need to breathe.”
“Breathe? I am. I am breathing. It’s easier to do up here and not down there. It was all dusty, and man, you couldn’t see anything. I think the last thing I saw was a body? No, it was some lady running in heels. I don’t even know. What just happened? Ho-How did I even live through that? The odds were not in my favor, like not at all. Oh my god-”
“Harley!”
At his name, Harley freezes and looks through his limp bangs to see Tony staring at him with frown.
“Harley?”
He swallows thickly. “Yes?”
Tony moves a hand from Harley’s shoulder to his back. “You okay? I know a panic attack when I see one.”
“A panic attack? You're crazy.”
A humph breezes through Tony’s nose. “I’m an expert on those, and trust me, that is what just happened.”
Harley doesn’t say anything. He just sits and breathes, thinking of home and all the spaces in-between of his life that almost flashed before his eyes today.
He could have died. There were people who really did. Some people still might.
That doesn’t hit him though. Not yet at least. It’s all still too soon.
“...your mom, and she knows. Traffic is screwy with the attacks, so no flights into or out of the city just yet. I can’t do much about your sister, but it’ll be fine. Just give her something. Actually, I’ll just give you something to give her. That’ll be easier. Call it being charitable.”
Following along, Harley eventually shrugs and stretches his neck. “You’re being too generous. It can make someone like me suspicious.”
There is a breath between his words and Tony’s. “Eh, it’s not that much. I could do more. I should.”
He thinks of something to say -- anything -- even if it is about why Tony never bothered to stay in touch or what he’s been up to or just about even why Harley is in Tony’s home, but he stops when Tony’s hand drifts up towards his hair. Fingers comb through his tousled hair, scraping away grime and sweat, and the fingers are rougher than his mom’s, but they’re familiar enough to make Harley’s eyes sting.
“Glad you’re okay, kid,” Tony says after a moment, and Harley's eyes drift shut. He lists sideways into Tony’s shoulder and rests his cheek against the tough bone there.
He’s asleep before he gets the chance to tell Tony his name still isn't kid.
_______
Flights will resume at the end of the week, so until then, Harley is held up at the Avengers Tower with a gaggle of superheroes who all have empty stomachs, light feet, and impossible personalities.
Careful to avoid the news, because for once, Harley isn’t interested in what it has to say, he shadows Tony around the tower like a duckling with no place else to go. When he gets bored of Tony’s snark, he usually finds himself trailing after Hawkeye to the range to watch some trick shots, and Harley has even managed to make pop tarts for Thor to the god’s great enthusiasm.
He meets Pepper on that Thursday after ditching Tony with Bruce in the lab when they had started talking years over his head about combustion reactions that made Harley’s brain itch. He is heading for the fruit basket in the living room when he turns a corner and knocks into her.
“Oh!”
“Oof!”
Harley is sent sprawling on the floor while Pepper stands over him, a folder in one hand and her other outstretched to him. “Sorry! I didn’t see you there, Harley.”
“No biggie,” he tells her as he hefts himself up and stops. “You called me by my name.”
Pepper nods with a quirked brow. “Yes. Was I not supposed to?”
“No, it’s just that Tony never does. I think sometimes it is because he actually has forgotten I have one.”
She laughs and readjusts the folder so it is tucked underneath her arm. “That’s Tony for you. He doesn’t like being handed thing or remembering peoples’ names. Half of this building’s staff goes by Jane or John. He’s hopeless.”
“Tell me something I don’t already know.”
Pepper brings a finger to her chin and taps against it. “I would try, but from what Tony has told me, you’re a pretty smart guy. I don’t know what I might know that you don’t.”
A laugh surges through his chest, but Harley smothers it out of surprise. “He said that? He’s talked about me to you?”
“Is that so shocking? Of course he’s talked about you. He still does.”
“Really?”
“He asked me once if he could have you or something along those lines. I had to politely remind him that you already had a mom. He didn’t seem too phased by that fact.”
Taking a step back, Harley works words in this mouth until the right ones come out. “If he likes me so much, why didn’t he keep in touch? You know about what happened a couple years ago,” Harley asks, and Pepper nods.
“Tony, well, he’s not the type of guy who’s good at this. He is used to throwing money at things to make them work in his favor.”
“Again, tell me something I don’t know. He bought me a car when I was ten. I still can’t even drive the thing.”
Pepper laughs and looks as if she is about to say something else damaging to Tony’s reputation, but then she crouches down to look Harley in the eye.
“Tony likes you, Harley. If it helps, I do too. You helped him when he couldn’t help himself...when I couldn’t help him either. You did a good job.”
Harley flushes. “Yeah, people keep telling me that lately for some reason.”
“You have a trust fund set up with Tony. I guess you didn’t know that.”
When he doesn’t answer, Pepper notes his dropped jaw and smiles. “It’s something he did as soon as we got back to New York after what happened back then. He did a lot of things, and yes, I told him how ridiculous it was that he was buying you a car. Tony is Tony though. You have seen how that suggestion went over.”
Harley takes a deep breath and kicks his shoe against the floor in an old, bad habit sort of way that clues in anyone around him to how awkward he feels. “Still, a phone call would have been nice.”
Pepper tilts her head and watches him for a moment. “Then tell him that. He’s softer than you might think. You just got to be straight with him. Tony Stark has never been one for subtleties, but let me guess. You already knew that?”
A laugh finally does rut through his chest at that, and after a second, Pepper joins along before standing up straight. She pulls Harley into a loose hug, and even if none of it is the way he is used to, it reminds Harley of his mom and the hugs she would give him at home.
“Now, what is this we have here?”
At Tony’s voice, Pepper and Harley pull away to see the man leaning against the wall down the hallway with a gyro in his hand.
“Nothing much. Just whispering behind your back. The usual,” Pepper answers, and Tony takes a bite of his food before waving wildly at the two of them.
“Conspirers, the lot of you. You can’t go against me in my own house. That’s not allowed. If it was before, it’s definitely not now. JARVIS, make note of that. No one other than me is allowed to gang up on me here anymore. It is law.”
Pepper walks over to Tony before kissing him on the cheek and patting his arm as if he were a small child. “So you say, Tony. So you say,” she says before turning a corner, and Tony is left sputtering in her wake.
Harley just laughs, and that catches Tony’s attention.
“You,” Tony says before crooking a finger at Harley, “need to stop running away. I keep you around as a minion for a reason, Harley. You make me look bad when you wander off. Bruce thinks you’re bored with me. Is that it? Am I not exciting enough for you anymore? Has the star-spangled captain or the scary russian lured you away from me already?”
Harley shakes his head, and carefully flits his mouth into a smirk around his healing lip. “I’m glad I didn’t forget this side of you,” he says after a moment. Tony stills, and Harley can practically see his thoughts bouncing around as Tony mulls over those words.
In an act of mercy, Harley gives him a bone and moves to stand beside Tony. He looks at his feet before pulling the best doe-eyed look he can that he’s cultivated over the years, and Harley even makes his lips wobble.
“I thought we were connected, Tony. You really must be a brat if you can’t even remember the time we spent together.”
Tony laughs, long and hard, and Harley ignores the sting of his lip when the smile on his faces grows too large for comfort. A hand passes over his head and messes at his hair, and Harley flattens it back as Tony heads down the hallway with a swagger in each step.
“Come on, Harley! We’ve got a busy day of blowing things up today. You might say that the clock is ticking on us,” Tony calls.
Harley rolls his eyes.
He follows along anyway.
_______
The morning he is set to fly back home, courtesy of a private Stark jet, Harley sits in the kitchen for breakfast and wonders how this is even his life.
And then he is getting up and saying goodbye to everyone before being hurried into a car outside. He’s got a bag of things that he didn’t bring with him into the city thanks to Pepper’s insistence on replacing his clothes. A larger man sits at the steering wheel and drives them across the city to a small airport that houses all of Stark’s personal toys. He’s a cheerful sort of guy, and when Harley finds out that his name is, in fact, Happy at the end of their trip, Harley can’t help but smile.
Pepper is supposed to be waiting for him on the airstrip, but when Happy takes him to the plane, there is no one there. That is until Tony comes out of the airplane, dressed in tattered jeans and a cut-off AC/DC shirt, and looks out from his sunglasses to see Harley waiting on the tarmac.
“Harley, my boy! Come and give me a hug.”
He shakes his head. “I think I’ll pass on that.” However, Tony just walks forward until he is able to pull Harley into a tight hold, and Harley doesn’t even try to move away.
He’s always been a lot of talk. Harley gets his kick out of being an annoying punk with a loud mouth that uses even louder sarcasm, but he’s softer on the inside than most people expect.
According to Pepper, it’s yet another way that he’s like Tony.
When Tony finally takes a step back, Harley looks around to find Happy heading into the plane with his bags in hand.
If he’s going to do it, it’s got to be now before there’s witnesses. Chickening out, though, that’s his biggest concern right now. So Harley spits out the words before he can stop himself.
“Can I come and visit again? Like when I’m not about to die and all? I think I would like that.”
Tony pauses for a second before sticking a hand in his pocket.
“You don’t even got to ask, kid.”
“H-A-R-L-E-Y. My name is-”
“Harley. I know. You never let me forget.”
He nods before holding his hand out towards Tony. “We’re making a deal, so I’m laying out the terms. We’re going to keep in touch. We get along for some reason, and I think Pepper is pretty cool, so yeah. Just don’t be a stranger again, alright?”
“I wasn’t that bad, Harley. Stranger is stretching it a bit.”
Harley raises an eyebrow. “Tony.”
“No. Don’t give me that look. God, you look too much like Pepper when you do that. It’s creeping me out. Seriously, Harley.”
He raises the eyebrow higher.
“What did I ever do to deserve this?”
Harley shrugs loosely. “I don’t know. It must have been something good though to get me.”
“That much is true,” Tony says, and Harley looks at him closely when he realizes there isn’t the usual joke hidden behind his words. The look that Tony is giving him right now isn’t one that he’s received before, but he’s seen versions of it throughout his life at toy stores or when he's down at the park.
He’s even seen it when his mom looks at him and thinks he doesn’t notice, like when he’s wrapped in his blanket at home or working on his homework in the garage.
It’s the kind of look that a parent might give their child, and Harley doesn’t flinch as Tony directs such a look his way.
If anything, he’s surprised at how normal it feels.
“Everything is packed and ready to go. You ready to head out, Harley?”
He turns at Happy’s voice and nods once or twice in response. Tony is still standing across from him, but his expression loose with a relaxed smile. Harley lifts a hand to wave goodbye -- because he really has never done well with the whole “see you later thing” -- and feels his chest expand when Tony salutes Harley away with two fingers.
They don’t say anything else. Harley prefers it that way.
And as the plane finally kicks into gear and taxis down the tarmac, Harley curls into his plush leather seat and fiddles with the Starkphone in his pocket that Tony had given him earlier in the week before pulling it out.
He stares at it for a second and shoots a text message to his mom, and ignores the the warmth that lingers in his heart when he sees that Tony has put his and Pepper’s number in his contacts.
By the time his mom messages him back, Harley is fast asleep and dreaming of Southern snow and hard, green plastic.
_______
He’s been at home for three days, and it takes him until that third night to make his way to his garage.
His mom has kept him in her sight since picking him up at the airport, and Harley understands. He really does. But the lack of space has been enough to keep him on edge, so when he sneaks out of the house at night to toes into the garage, Harley feels himself breathing right for the first time since he got back home.
Everything is how he left it from before his trip. He’s got different projects littering the table space around the garage, and the fuzzy dice he hung on his car’s rearview mirror are still dangling as they were a week ago. Harley moves towards the back of the garage and settles himself onto his couch, thinking of when he and Iron Man -- or the suit at least -- sat in these very same seats and watched TV while Tony fiddled with circuits across the room.
There are no real traces of Tony having ever been in this garage aside from his gifts, and that has never quite set right with Harley.
He sits on the couch, nodding off and playing on his phone, until he can see the sun start to rise through the windows of the garage. The dark sky outside lightens into bursts of orange and tufts of pink that make Harley’s eyes squint. He gets up from the rickety couch and raises his arms to stretch his cramped shoulders when a glare across the room catches his eye.
Harley walks over and squats down to grab at the dusty metal before heaving the project from its box on the floor. When he realizes what he’s holding, Harley grins so widely that his face feels like it might split in two.
He brushes the dust of the metal plating and sets his project on the table and traces the lettering with his hands.
The Spud-n-Tater Gun: Mark VI
The gun sitting below him is scratched and dulled with age, but the weight feels solid under his hands. Harley brushes over the pieces of his gun and fingers the trigger with ease as the release mechanism shoots air with each pull.
Sucking in a breath, Harley pulls out his phone and snaps a picture of the gun before attaching it to a message.
To: Tony the Mechanic
From: Harley
Can u do better?
He sends the text with nimble fingers and holds his phone in the palm of his hand, wondering if Tony is even going to be awake this early in the morning. But the phone buzzes against his skin after a moment, and Harley pulls up Tony’s message with bright eyes.
From: Tony the Mechanic
To: Harley
Guess we’ll find out. Bring that with you next time. Promise to add lasers.
He rereads the message twice before pocketing his phone. Looking at his gun, Harley lets out a sigh before sitting at his workbench and starts looking over the worn pieces of his project. There are dents potting against the surface of the gun, and even just looking at it now, Harley can see all the places he wants to work on.
Reaching for a tool kit at the edge of the table, Harley plucks a plybar and screwdriver from the box and turns on an overhead light so he can see what he’s doing.
He bites at his lip when he starts unscrewing the plating of the gun, and with each twist of his wrist, Harley feels excitement pool in his gut.
This, he knows, is just what he’s made to do. To put things together and then take them apart. To understand how things tick -- and at worst -- know how to set them off when needed. At best, it’s to know how to diffuse a situation.
When the plating peels off, Harley looks down at the mess of wiring and tubing hidden in the heart of the gun. He cracks his knuckles before digging in with eager hands and rambling ideas.
After all, it’s about time he shows Tony just what he has really gotten himself into.