Chapter Text
Harley Keener is not Iron Man, and he's not Spider-Man.
People know that he's not Iron Man. Of course they know that. Everyone knows that Tony Stark is Iron Man, so Harley Keener can't be Iron Man. Besides, Harley Keener is the "mysterious Stark protege," according to tabloids, is "the young genius that Tony Stark somehow found and plucked from the backwoods of Tennessee." Harley Keener isn't a superhero, he's the unofficial heir to Stark Industries, the public face of the future, the "son that Tony Stark has secretly always wanted and never had."
There are a few things wrong with the tabloid articles, which Harley picks up because they amuse the holy hell out of him sometimes. One, he comes from a small town in Tennessee, yes, but they do have such things there like running water and Wi-Fi, so he really thinks that "backwoods" might be a little bit of an exaggeration. Two, Harley Keener isn't the "mysterious Stark protege," because he's too busy being the actual, not-that-interesting Stark protege, which means that he's mostly just trying to keep from blowing shit up in Tony's lab while working on some projects during his gap year before he actually goes to MIT. And third, Harley Keener can't be the "son that Tony Stark has secretly always wanted" because Tony Stark has a son, even though the tabloids don't know it.
His name is Peter Parker, and Harley is stupidly attracted to him. Peter Parker is also Spider-Man, but the tabloids don't know that either. Peter Parker is probably Tony Stark's best kept secret, and that includes the whole thing he's got going on with Strange that he's trying to hide from literally everyone. As far as the world is concerned, Peter Parker is Tony's personal assistant, now that Pepper's running the company.
If Harley's being honest, he'd also like to hide Peter Parker away from the world for awhile. His reasons are far more scandalous, though, involving a lot of athleticism and a lot less clothing. He's got this whole flirty thing going on with Peter right now, and he's not quite sure where it's going so far but he has high hopes, okay, even if it never seems to really get past the two of them just revving their engines at each other provocatively. It's fine, because he knows that Peter's stretched a little thin right now, so he can wait. As of right now, Harley's plans are centered around New York.
But that's beside the point, which is that Harley Keener literally isn't Iron Man or Spider-Man.
No, actually, wait. That's not the point.
The point is that Harley Keener also isn't Iron Man figuratively, meaning that he's not the hero, he's not the flashy guy out there shooting wannabe-world-dominating assholes with repulsors or saving people from aliens, all while wearing hot rod red and flashy gold. He's also not Spider-Man, out there doing good things under the cover of night for nothing more than a "thank you." He's a little selfish like that, if he's being honest. Self-aware in that he likes the reward that comes with recognition.
It's not that Harley is like a total jerk who doesn't want to help people. He's just not a superhero, he's not the person who naturally goes running towards the alien invasion instead of away. He can even be an average, everyday kind of hero, like helping a little old lady cross the street or a lost child or something like that. He's just not able to go put on a suit and step in front of a bullet or a speeding train without having a full-blown panic attack.
Harley is brave, to a point, when he needs to be. And then he's not, and he's fine with that.
He still helps. He helps by throwing in his two cents about the Iron Man suit and working on improvements when Tony opens up the floor to him. He helps by working on the Spider-Man suit, which he's done a lot lately, while Peter's passed out asleep on the couch in the workshop because he's exhausted from balancing Spider-Man and college and everything else involved in being a functioning young adult. Harley knows his strengths and his weaknesses, knows where he can be the most effective.
He can't exactly help with Dr. Strange's whole get-up, considering pretty much everything there is magical, but he would if he could, just because he knows Tony cares about Dr. Strange a lot. Not that Harley's supposed to know about Tony and Strange, even though they're pretty obvious about how much they're trying to act like there's nothing going on. Harley doesn't know if Peter knows though, because Harley's not quite sure how to bring it up and Peter hasn't brought it up, and it feels like just outright saying, "Hey, do you think your dad and Dr. Strange are banging?" wouldn't be the most tactful way to go about it.
Anyway. Harley Keener isn't a superhero, he's a mechanic - just like he reminded Tony of all those years ago in Tennessee. And he's fine with that, he really is.
What he's not fine with is this asshole journalist who is currently shoving a microphone into his face. It's the Winter Gala for the Maria Stark Foundation, and he's here because he feels like he has to be. Back when he'd agreed to this in the summer, it had sounded exciting - glitz and glamour in the original Stark Mansion, surrounded by actual celebrities, even a charity celebrity date auction. Most of the time, the Mansion functions as the headquarters of the Maria Stark Foundation. Tonight, it's decorated in tasteful silver and blue and lit up with fairy lights, camera flashes, and sheer star-power.
Honestly, Harley is still looking forward to it. He's just got to get through the gauntlet that is the red carpet.
"Harley Keener!" the journalist shouts, shrill and overly-friendly.
It's Bella Silver, whom Harley is beyond just starting to dislike and well into actively avoiding. That's turning out to be difficult, as she seems to have a knack for always showing up just in time to catch Harley at these things. He used to like the attention, but Bella's ability to grate on his nerves is quickly souring his feelings toward events. He knows, though, that if he walks the stupid carpet, Tony doesn't deal with as much because some of the focus moves to Harley. Besides, as the public face of Stark Industries' future, he's got a certain obligation here, in his opinion. Bella's just an unfortunate annoyance, but he can handle it.
"Harley," Bella says. Her microphone is covered in rhinestones, and her formal dress has snowflakes made out of silver glitter and sequins all over it. She's catching the flash of every camera aimed their way, and not in a good way. Harley thinks that she has to be freezing, even with the tall patio heaters they've set up on the walk, because he's cold just looking at her. If he were a better person, he'd offer her his jacket, but she really doesn't need any encouragement. "It is so good to see you attending the Maria Stark Foundation's Winter Charity Auction and Gala. Wow, that's a mouthful, huh?"
Mysterious Stark protege, Harley thinks, and pastes on what he's taken to calling his public smile, puts on a little of the Tennessee drawl that he's heard he's used in some interviews without meaning to. Now it's a weapon in his media arsenal. "I've told you, Ms. Silver, keep it professional when we're on the clock. I'm gonna need you to stick to Mr. Keener." She laughs like he's just told a joke. "Yeah, the Winter Charity Auction is a huge event, I'm happy to have been able to make it this year."
She smiles, simpering, and flips her long dark hair over her shoulder. Bella Silver would be attractive if Harley weren't hopelessly gay, and she weren't such a thorn in his side. Not that she knows that Harley's gay, of course. She probably doesn't even realize he finds her annoying. "Well, then, Harley," she kind of purrs, and she leans in even though she's got the microphone now. "Since we're sticking to a professional relationship here, why don't we take this opportunity to talk a little bit more what you do for Stark Industries?"
"It's less about what I do for Stark Industries and more about what I do for Tony," Harley says as the mic is shoved back into his face. It's both true and diplomatic, just like Pepper has trained him. "I'm not currently working on anything with Stark Industries, but Tony and I do have quite a few personal projects."
"Oh, now that is interesting," Bella says, and there's a flash somewhere of a camera. "We all know how protective Tony Stark is of his designs. Are you one of the lucky few that has been allowed to touch the Iron Man suit?"
He has. Some of the redesign of the actual armor is Harley's work. "Of course not," he says with a laugh. "No, even I'm not that lucky." She waits expectantly, though, a beat passing without her moving the microphone away. "It's pretty common knowledge that I've done some other things for the superheroes around New York, but Iron Man is a little too important to let the Tennessee hick take a look at the details."
Finally, the microphone is pulled back. "By mentioning the other superheroes, are you referring to Spider-Man?"
That's been thrown around a few times. Harley has permission to confirm, since Spider-Man is known to be an associate of Iron Man. Still, he's itchy about bringing anything up at all about Peter, so he goes for short and simple. "I am, yes. I've had input on a few aspects of Spider-Man Suit recently." Another flash. Harley's been done with this interview since before it ever started.
Bella's dress catches the flash of another camera. Harley can't help the grimace that escapes him at the sudden bright glare. "Any specifics you can let us in on?" she asks, and if Harley could see anything amidst all the bright lights, they'd probably be glinting.
"No." It comes out much more terse than Harley intended. He should know better, of course, Bella's a vulture, and by the look on her face, she's zeroed in on his apparent sore spot. She opens her mouth, and Harley quickly leans in to chase the microphone before she can pull it away. "There's a lot of security around it, you understand. But none of that is the point of tonight. The Winter Charity Gala isn't about superheroes, it's about what we can do for the various facets under the Maria Stark Foundation's umbrella." He smiles again, tries his best to work the dimple.
"You're absolutely right, Harley," Bella says, as crisp and bubbly as ever. Harley wants to snatch his name out of her mouth. "So with the new format of the Winter Charity Gala, the celebrity auction is now on the second night. The word is that one of the charity auction prizes is a date night with you."
"Yeah, that's correct." Safer territory here, the entire point of Harley coming to this. Back to work talk, instead of about Peter's suit. "As you mentioned, the Maria Stark Foundation has spread the Gala over three nights this year. Whoever is the highest bidder gets a date night on the third night with the celebrity." He wrinkles his nose a little, covers it with a smile. "I'm certainly not a celebrity, but I hear we got Ryan Reynolds in there."
There's another flash, and Harley looks over this time. What catches his eye, though, isn't the paparazzi's camera, but Peter, standing next to the network cameraman and tapping his wrist at Bella insistently. Harley grins, relieved.
Bella doesn't seem to get the hint, though, or maybe just doesn't care. "And are you hoping to find love at this event, Harley?"
"I'm sorry, Ms. Silver," Peter says suddenly. Bella's composure breaks, and she shoots him a glare. "Mr. Keener needs to head inside now."
"Oh, Harley, you can spare a few more minutes, can't you?" she simpers. "I'll be bidding on you at the auction, of course. The chemistry we have is undeniable, you have to admit it."
"Bella, the day I admit we have chemistry is the day I admit I'm Spider-Man," Harley says with a laugh, and shoulders past her to escape down the carpet with Peter. He doesn't even care if she takes it as a joke, he just wants to get away.
The rest of the carpet is a quick affair. Harley's more interesting than he used to be these days, but still not interesting enough to warrant a bunch of photos and interviews. He's not Tony Stark, after all, just Tony Stark-adjacent. It's only when they get up the stairs and into the foyer of the mansion that he breathes out a sigh of relief and starts to relax, even more so when Peter tugs at his sleeve and leads him to a quiet corner. The anxiety is better these days, but he appreciates the chance to take a moment and recover nonetheless.
"She's such a shark," Peter says, while Harley's tipping his head back against the cool wall for a brief moment. "It's like... blood in the water, and Bella's gonna frenzy."
Harley laughs quietly. He straightens up and opens his eyes again, opens his mouth to say something unkind about Bella Silver, and instead gets his first real look at Peter this evening. "You look good," he says, instead, completely without meaning to.
That's fine, because it's true - Peter's suit is a dark blue, with a matching bow-tie against a slightly lighter blue shirt. There's a blue handkerchief in his jacket pocket with snowflakes on it, and even with the obviously expensive suit, Peter's hair is still slightly messy, and his cheeks are pink from the chill of the winter air they just escaped from. Harley thinks he's riding the line between unfairly attractive and outright adorable very well.
"Oh. Thank you," Peter says, looking down at his own suit like he has no idea what he's wearing and is pleasantly surprised that it's not a disaster. He looks back up, eyes roving up Harley's suit as well - plain but expensive because Tony bought it, black on white with no tie. "You look... too." Peter clears his throat, and the pink of his cheeks goes from red. "I mean. You look good. Too. You always look good, though."
Harley grins. "Peter, usually when you see me, I'm covered in grease or motor oil, and I'm wearing a welding mask."
"That's not true," Peter replies, and he's grinning back at Harley now. "I also see you in the mornings when you've got the pillow marks on your face, and your hair's on one side of your head. And you stare at the milk in the fridge like it's going to just leap into your cereal bowl."
"Now that's not fair. You get up too early for me to see you like that very often." It's a crying shame, Harley thinks, because morning-Peter is adorable in a completely different way than woke-up-in-the-workshop-Peter is, and Harley's only seen it a couple of times.
"I get up at a normal, human time." Peter looks even better when he's smiling. "Nine is a normal, human time." He looks up at Harley again, and that couple of inches between them means that he can look up through his lashes. Which makes Harley's thoughts grind to a sudden halt, and he's starting to think Peter does that on purpose. "My point still stands. You always look good."
The thing about flirting with Peter Parker is that Peter always starts out a little awkward, tripping over his words like he's not sure of them. Once he gets going, though, Harley's hooked by Peter's wit and sincerity. He can't help it. He's probably very close to head over heels, if he's not already. Peter gets more confident the more they do this song and dance, and one of these days, Harley's just going to lose it and pin Peter against the nearest surface and kiss him senseless.
Right now, the wall in the foyer of the Stark Mansion is looking awfully good, and Peter is looking at Harley like he's waiting for him to do something about it.
There's laughter, suddenly, loud and too close for comfort. They both look away from each other, toward the source of where a woman and her entourage are just coming in, heading for the ballroom. The moment, Harley realizes, is broken.
Harley clears his throat. "What, uh," he starts, patting his pocket clumsily in an effort to find his phone. "What time is it?"
Peter looks down and takes a step back, fishing his own phone out before Harley can even get his hand in his pocket. He winces, looking up again guiltily. "We're late. Past fashionably and officially into just flaky."
"Well, come on, let's sneak in the back, then," Harley says reluctantly. He doesn't really want to pull away from Peter, would much rather stay here in this little corner with him for the rest of the night. He wants to try and find that moment again. A thought occurs to him though, and curiosity overtakes everything else. He reaches out and snags Peter's arm as Peter starts to walk away from their corner, tugging him back gently. "Wait, you're running very late. You were supposed to go in with Tony, why were you still on the red carpet?"
Peter glances around quickly, and then leans in to speak low. "Remember the security stuff we set up at Aunt May's after last time? Something tripped the alarms."
If he's being honest, Harley will admit he'd been hoping for Peter to say something like 'I was waiting for you, Harley, and hoping that we could make out in one of the literal dozens of empty bedrooms in the mansion.' This takes precedence, though, and significantly so - Peter - or, more accurately, Spider-Man has been dealing with organized crime lately, the kind of stuff that he goes tight-lipped about most of the time because the less anyone else knows, the better.
"Last time was random," Harley says, just as quietly. "It was a run-of-the-mill break-in, it wasn't targeted. Can't this just be that? Unlucky?" The front door had been opened with a crowbar, the television and some halfway-valuable, easy-to-sell things stolen, timed so that no one was home. A routine smash-and-grab.
Peter chews on the corner of his lip, eyes scanning the foyer now. It's a nervous habit he has, Harley's noticed. The lip thing, and the looking for exits and possible threats. Tony does something similar, fidgeting with whatever's closest instead of chewing on his lip while he watches for exits and threats. Harley wonders if it's nature or nurture, considering Tony and Peter didn't know about their familial connection until a few years ago.
"I hope so," Peter finally says. The smile that stretches his mouth looks forced, the kind people wear when they're hoping to fake it until they make it. It's not reassuring in the slightest. "It's probably just bad luck."
"But?" Harley asks, even as they very slowly start to walk away from their corner.
"But," Peter admits, "she's staying at the Tower for the next few nights until I'm absolutely certain."
"I hope so," Peter finally says. The smile that stretches his mouth looks forced, the kind people wear when they're hoping to fake it until they make it. It's not reassuring in the slightest. "It's probably just bad luck."
"But?" Harley asks, even as they very slowly start to walk away from their corner.
"But," Peter admits, "she's staying at the Tower for the next few nights until I'm one hundred percent sure."
Harley can't help but smile, thinking of May. "You mean, until she has enough of our weird schedules and the superhero stuff and goes back in a week when you're only like eighty-five percent sure."
That gets a real smile out of Peter. "She does what she wants. Come on, Mr. Keener," he says. "I've distracted you from the Gala enough."
"You're my favorite distraction." It's an opening that Harley can't resist, so he adds, with a wink, "And, please. Call me Harley. No need to keep it professional." He enjoys the way that Peter's cheeks go red again, and lets himself be led into the shimmer and shine of the Winter Charity Gala.
The first night seems to go on for hours. Harley loses track of Peter, to his dismay. He makes his rounds to try and drum up business for the auction, turns down drinks he's not quite old enough for, and is introduced to people that he only hoped to meet one day. He sees a few of the other Avengers and SHIELD personnel that he knows from simply being around Tony, including the Black Widow in a devastating dress and up-do combination, and he's man enough to admit that he nearly passes out when she spots him and gives him what seems to be a genuine smile over her champagne glass.
Near the end of the night, as things are winding down, a hand slips through his arm to curl around the inside of his elbow. Harley turns, half-expecting to have to dissuade Bella Silver from ever touching him again, and finds Pepper at his side instead. It always strikes him how tall she is, especially now when she's in designer heels - he'd place money that, in heels, she's taller than he is.
"You need to come with me," she says. The thing about Pepper is that she's got an excellent poker face in public situations, so Harley had not been expecting that urgent of a tone. The other thing about Pepper is that you don't argue with Pepper Potts, so Harley goes quickly and quietly.
She leads him out of the ballroom and past security, up the stairs to the second floor. When Harley gets to one of the sitting rooms there, he finds everyone else in the superhero world and at the Gala already there, in various stages of work mode. Tony's standing behind the settee, the Black Widow's shoes are in her hand, and even Rhodey and Strange are there. Peter's on the settee, bow tie undone and hanging loose, glued to the television in front of him.
Tony gestures Harley over and points at the TV. Harley takes one look, and leans on the back of the settee hard as his knees go a little weak, with a quiet but emphatic, "Oh, holy shit."
There, on the eleven o'clock news, is the breaking story: "Stark protege Harley Keener confirmed as Spider-Man."