Work Text:
"How do you celebrate Christmas?" Harley asked absently, flipping through the magazine Abby had left sitting on their coffee table. His legs hung over the end of the couch, a shag blanket left by their mother draped over only the bottoms of his legs, and head resting rather comfortably in Peter's lap. Sometimes he really allowed himself to think of how lucky he was that his stalking - so to put it - had ended, for the most part, peacefully. He had to remind himself that he was lucky that the biggest problem he had were nightmares sometimes instead of no longer being alive.
This would be a good year to celebrate that, he thought. After everything that had happened.
"I don't." Peter said matter-of-factly, turning a page in whatever paperwork he was currently flipping through. Harley wasn't sure if it was paperwork for OSCORP or for the trial but whatever it was was painting a crease across Peter's forehead as he frowned.
Harley shuffled into a seated position, running a hand through his hair - Peter's fingers trailing from his chest, to his shoulder, to the back of his neck, down his spine - and turned to look at him. Comparatively, Peter was smaller than Harley was in everything but muscle mass and sheer personality. Sure, there was a big portion of Peter's personality that was mostly Spider-Man. Or, perhaps there was less Spider-Man in Peter and more Peter in Spider-Man. Or perhaps Harley was thinking too hard on something that didn't actually matter much. After all, they were the same person and Harley trying to find the ways they differentiated had been part of the disaster that had been the beginning of their relationship. "What are you doing?" Harley asked softly.
Peter hadn't promised not to do work when Harley had suggested he come over to his apartment on his way home. He had even walked in the door with his red silk tie hastily undone and hanging off of his shoulders, cheek pressed into his phone while he argued with someone over the correct placement of… something. Harley understood Peter's job in theory but there were plenty of times where Peter would go from talking like a normal person to showing exactly how smart he was in a manner of milliseconds. But OSCORP was nearing the end of the year, which meant a lot of paperwork and even more budget planning for the first quarter. And, not that Harley was one to judge, but it seemed as though their CEO was taking too much to working from home.
But if he said that Peter might just glare him into submission.
"Matt faxed over some files for the meeting we have Monday that he wanted me to go over." Peter supplied absently and flipped a page.
He had lost both his wool coat - which was deceptively light and warm, Harley had stolen it once and been sweating within five minutes - and his suit jacket, rolled up the sleeves of his navy blue dress shirt and left it untucked from his pressed pants and unbuttoned. Harley had been slightly overjoyed to see that he was wearing a t-shirt with a gingerbread man on it, as well as matching socks. Which, Harley supposed, was why Peter's answer to his original question had thrown him off so much.
Harley had met plenty of people in his time - both religious and not. Most of them still celebrated Christmas.
Never let it be said that there still weren't things Harley was learning about Peter Parker. Previous research be damned. He planted his palm gently on the papers Peter was reading, granting himself a moment of wide, confused brown eyes before Peter was rolling them at Harley's smirk. "Sorry," he didn't sound sorry at all. It was fine, Harley was well aware of his own workaholic attitude. The off season just meant that Peter hadn't really gotten to see it yet (and then he winced, because Peter had seen it. Peter had been on the other side of it. And Peter hadn't much appreciated it.). "Am I not giving you enough attention?"
"You're not giving me any attention."
"Bullshit." Peter glanced at the magazine Harley had haphazardly thrown over the side of the couch when he sat up. "Were you seriously reading Teen Vogue?"
Harley shrugged uselessly. "I got published in it once."
"Really?"
"Really," Harley waved away the question. "What do you mean you don't celebrate Christmas?"
"What did you write about?"
"Peter," Harley groaned and dropped his head to Peter's shoulder, purposely dramatic if only for the way Peter's fingers dug into his skull and pulled at his hair. "Please, answer the question."
Peter hummed. "Why do you assume celebrating Christmas is a default?"
This close, with his chin digging into Peter's shoulder and Peter's face turned towards his own, Harley could count the different colors in his eyes. He had really long eyelashes, a bump to his nose from the amount of times it had been broken, light scars smattering his skin from battles that could have killed him. From a battle that could have killed him. Harley brushed his fingers over one; sometimes it shocked him still to think that this was something that he was allowed to do. "You're wearing a Christmas shirt, babe." He said softly.
Peter glanced down and blushed - whether it was at the shirt or at the term of endearment. Babe . It was new for them, something that they had only been using as of a few weeks ago. "Well…" he clicked his tongue. He brushed his knuckles over Harley’s cheek, catching the boxy frame of his glasses and then rubbing his soft - always soft, how was his skin always soft - thumb over the corner of Harley's smile. "I'm Jewish."
Harley's brain righted. Corrected itself. Added something in a column he had stuffed everything he had been told about Peter Parker compared to everything he had dug up and discovered himself. It placed itself in line with orphaned at seven and graduated at twenty-two with a doctorate . Another fact. Another part of the puzzle. “Okay,” Harley pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth - and Peter’s lips tasted like the ice cream they had eaten earlier that night, strawberry and lime and chocolate chips - and brushed a curl behind his ear. “So what do you do to celebrate Hanukkah ?” He asked it with raised brows and a teasing smile, even as his heart sped up - like it always did - when Peter kissed him back.
Peter smiled, slow and bright, and eyes twinkling in the low light of the living room. “We don’t really do anything super special. The shelter takes in more people during the winter than they do in the summer and I always swing by to help out there.”
“A pun?” Harley scoffed even if it felt more like a laugh. “Really?”
Peter winked but leaned back against the couch’s arm - stretching his arms high above his head and spine curving over the fabric until he could trail his fingertips over the carpet on Harley’s floor, a strip of skin and abs staring Harley in the face until he righted himself. “May and I haven’t gone to temple since Ben died. We usually just light the menorah at home, watch our favorite movies, and go see holiday lights through the city.”
Harley hummed and licked a slow line over his lips. “No dreidel?”
“I can totally spin a dreidel just for you.” Peter reassured but Harley, really, wasn’t paying the dreidel more than a passing thought.
Peter Parker was unfairly attractive , even before the whole Spider-Man identity was added into the equation. He straightened and Harley pulled him closer by the lapels of his shirt. He went easily enough, even though Harley knew he could have put up a fight that Harley could never dream of stopping if he really wanted to, until Harley was laying back against the cushions, Peter hovering a breath away. “The dreidel really does it for you, huh?” He joked against Harley’s lips.
“Shut up ,” Harley admonished softly and pulled him closer, closing the distance between them with the huff of a laugh and a hand sliding up the skin of Peter’s hip.
--
Peter had been helping out at FEAST for the majority of his childhood. Between summers and school breaks Peter could even consider himself senior management. He wasn’t on the payroll - probably never would be - but people listened to him a lot better than they usually listened to any sort of management. The shelter really filled up come holiday season, both in volunteers and those who needed housing. It was for a combination of reasons - there were statistically more foreclosures and evictions come December, temperatures were dropping to dangerous levels as it got closer to winter, and soon only benches would be the safest spots to catch some sleep without being covered in snow. They tended to get more volunteers for close to the same reason - holiday season meant more people trying to stuff in their charitable contributions before the year ended. Come January the majority of them would be gone and Peter would probably not see them again until the next holiday season. He’d hate them for it but they really did need all of the volunteers they could get.
Which was why Peter didn’t bother to blink an eye when Gwen Stacey showed up, big black knit cap pulled down over her blonde hair, the pom-pom on the end the same size as her entire face, hands stuffed low in her pockets and Eddie Brock following her only steps away. Of course, with Eddie Brock came Venom . Ven? Ven Brock? Peter didn’t really know what to call them, he would have to ask, but he was entirely too busy to do much more than blink at them and shove Gwen towards the children’s play area to help entertain the masses, Eddie towards the kitchen to help the chef’s unpack the grocery delivery, and Ven towards the medical area to help distribute cold medicine and blankets.
He was happy to see them, really he was. He had his problems with Ven and Eddie but those had mostly dissipated with time (and with Ven’s appetite for human brains) and he didn’t care if it was Kingpin himself that walked through the door so long as they were there to help rather than hinder (but that was a lie, that would always be a lie, Fisk was one of the worst people that Peter had ever confronted and he had confronted his fair share of bad people over the years). “Blanket delivery.” Peter looked up from where he was bent over the serving counter, the budget for the month floating in his mind, and blinked at Harry’s head popping up - in all it’s orange haired glory - over an overstuffed box.
“Harry, what are you doing here?” He asked with a wrinkled brow, but moved hastily out of the way for Harry to drop the box on the counter before he dropped it to the floor. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the office?”
Peter knew how stressful the year end was for Harry, and yet here he stood, waving off Peter’s concern in a jacket that Peter knew was new and lightly covered with snow. “Chelle mentioned something about you working yourself to death and, really, Pete, the company wouldn’t survive without you. And you wouldn’t survive without people checking on your health so…” He shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets, blue eyes sparkling at Peter’s slow growing smile.
“So you decided to drop off blankets?” He pulled down the corner of the box and peered inside. “Are these the prototype temperature blankets?”
They were meant to go on the market come the new year - a fabric designed to keep your body temperature at its most comfortable in both hot and cold weather. Peter had developed it the year before, sent it through testing, and they had just gotten the patent fully gifted to them a week previous. Peter had handed a few out during the spring for testing with the public but Harry hadn’t been able to provide more than what Peter had already made. “It’s going to be a cold winter this year.” Harry blushed at Peter’s look and scuffed his boot against the floor. “Think of it as OSCORP’s tax write off this year.” He flushed even farther at Peter’s other look. “Okay,” He tossed his hands in the air with a shrug. “So I had a bunch made last month to hand out regardless of if the patent went through. It seemed like the right thing to do.” He muttered into the collar of his jacket with a roll of his eyes.
“And people say you’re not a nice person.” Peter teased but he meant it. He could count too easily the amount of people that had said that Harry Osborn was a terrible person and yet, seemingly without trying too hard, he kept proving them wrong. “Thank you.” Peter said enthusiastically. “May’s going to be over the moon.”
“Do you want me to bring these to her?” He peered over Peter’s shoulder as he asked but Peter waved him away.
“Do you want me to put you to work or do you have other things to do?”
“Give me the budget.”
Peter handed it over with a beaming smile. Out of the two of them, Harry had more experience creating and looking over a budget for flaws than Peter could ever pretend to. As it was, he usually handed over his OSCORP budget with more errors than he had ever handed in a test. “Did MJ come with you?” He asked softly.
Harry shook his head, flakes of snow melting on his cheeks. “She’s got rehearsal all this week.”
For her show. Right. Peter couldn’t believe he had forgotten when they were meant to all go to support her on opening night in a few weeks.
The door opened and shut and Peter couldn’t say why it had pulled his attention until it already had. He saw him out of the corner of his eye - tall, blonde, skin that always seemed to steam a little in the cold.
He hadn’t seen Johnny Storm in six years.
Peter straightened from where he had been slouching next to Harry and, whatever it was (and Harry picked up on non-verbal cues too well unless it was for something good) that Peter had done (perhaps he had stiffened, or tensed, or forgotten to breathe) had Harry looking up too and clenching his jaw tightly shut.
Two superheroes in the Queen’s FEAST shelter.
It was going to be all over the news.
Peter wondered how many people that weren’t homeless would try to get a room just for the chance that they may see them? He winced - that was going to produce a problem for the shetler, wasn’t it (Peter was still finding new ways that everyone knowing his identity was screwing up his life)? “I’ve got this.” Peter reassured Harry even though he very much felt that he did not have this.
Every footstep across the room felt like it was stepping in quickly hardening cement. Peter rushed forward, even if it felt like a snail’s pace, and clamped his hand around Johnny’s arm before he could get farther than the middle of the entryway. Harshly, perhaps too harshly (but Johnny could handle it), Peter pulled him outside into the cold, realizing a moment too late that he hadn’t thought to bring a jacket with him when the air bit at the bare skin of his neck and cheeks. Johnny stumbled, his fingertips blazed for a moment, and then he blinked and righted himself, staring into Peter’s face as though shocked to see him. “Uh…” He started and then stopped, his eyes catching on something peeking out of Peter’s collar.
“What the hell .” Peter shook Johnny’s arm in emphasis.
Johnny swallowed audibly. “Hi, Peter.”
“What the hell , Johnny.” Peter shook him again and then abruptly realized that he was holding onto his arm for the warmth that was spreading from Johnny’s arm to Peter’s much too cold skin. He dropped it with a glower and stuffed his rapidly cooling hands in his armpits with a glare at the snow gently falling from the sky. “Why are you here?”
“To… volunteer?”
“Please, sound more unconvincing.”
Johnny winced and rubbed at the back of his neck.
He was still stupidly handsome - his face hadn’t changed much over the years, every conventionally attractive angle of it. He shifted as if he were uncomfortable under the scrutiny of Peter’s gaze and, nervously, sparks kept flying between his fingers, embers that turned to crystals in the chill of the air. “Shouldn’t you have a coat?” He asked pathetically.
Peter wasn’t impressed. “Johnny.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s been six years and multiple death threats.”
“Or has it been one really long death threat?”
“No,” Peter said dryly. “That’s discounting the multitude that have come out between my identity getting leaked and today.”
“You’ve been getting death threats?”
“You think that many people like Spider-Man?” Peter scoffed. “For every supporter you have one that hates you.”
“That’s a little…” Johnny searched for the words. “Extreme.”
Peter shrugged. It was reality. It was a reality he had expected when he had gone public - granted, there were more death threats because of his ongoing supreme court case than there were because he was Spider-Man but even one seemed excessive. A shiver wracked up his spine and Peter clamped his teeth together after trying, and failing, to suppress it. “Are you really here to volunteer?” He asked after a moment of squinting into the snow. From the parking lot Peter could see Harley’s headlights shut off, the taller man climbing out of the driver’s seat with an easy, relaxed set to his shoulders. Johnny followed his gaze and sighed, dropping his chin to his chest and shutting his eyes in what seemed like distress.
“I can be.” He said after a moment. “But that’s not why I came.”
“Ha,” Peter muttered. “Knew it.”
Harley looked warm - Harley was usually warm. Peter could slide his arms around his waist and Harley could wrap his over his shoulders and tuck him into some sort of familiar warmth with only minor complaints.
Johnny was warm too - Human Torch - but they didn’t get to have that anymore. If they had even ever been allowed it in the first place. Johnny’s cheeks flushed again and he brushed a gloved hand through his golden blonde hair. “I’m… I’m sorry.” He said after a moment of silence.
Peter tugged his gaze from Harley’s approaching figure and blinked at Johnny in disbelief. “You’re sorry ?”
“Yeah,” Johnny repeated. “I’m sorry.”
“For what part?” He stuffed his hands in the back pocket of his jeans and rocked on his heels. “For not believing me, for not helping me, for not talking to me for six years or for leaking my life on the podcast without checking first?”
“If I remember correctly, that last one worked out pretty well for you.” Johnny protested weakly. “I know I’ve been a shit friend.”
“You really have been.” But it was pointless, really. Peter couldn’t hold a grudge, not really, and he had understood where Johnny was coming from a long time ago.
That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt, though. Johnny Storm had been his closest friend for as long as Peter had been Spider-Man and then he had exited his life as quickly as he had acclimated to it. He had been a rock that Peter had expected to always have, not someone that he had ever imagined he would have to live without.
But that was Peter’s own fault, really.
Everyone left sometime - be it of their own accord or by the welcoming embrace of death.
Oh, he was getting mauldin.
He hadn’t done that in a while.
Peter huffed and grabbed the door handle, cold between his nearly frozen fingers, and yanked it open, the warm hair sending another shiver through his entire body and turning his skin into gooseflesh. Harley was rounding the corner, by that time, talking into his phone in that tone of voice that told Peter he was talking to his mother - this would be the first holiday that Abby and him spent in New York, the first winter in the city that they had experienced since maybe college). “Harry’ll give you something to do.” Peter told Johnny over his shoulder and Harry - ever one to have in a crisis - waved the other man over without looking up from the budget Peter had shoved at him earlier.
Peter grabbed the box of blankets from the table - lifting it as easily as one would a loaf of bread - and carrying it from the serving area to May’s office, nudging her door open with the toe of his shoe.
It was empty, but that wasn’t very shocking. She would notice him missing at some point and come looking.
The box of blankets dropped by the door with a dull bang, Peter pulled out the one on top - with gold stitching Parker Thermo-Shield etched onto the corner - and stuffed himself into May’s office chair, blanket draped over his shoulders.
From her seat he found her wedding picture of her and Ben staring at him, his uncle’s face happy and familiar. Peter found he was starting to look like him as time went on - but it wouldn’t be long now until he reached an age that Ben had never been allowed to reach himself and he would stop being able to find the ghost of his uncle in the mirror.
Johnny showing up certainly had been unexpected.
Peter tipped his head over the back of May’s chair and spun it lazily.
Unexpected wasn’t always bad, Peter reminded himself.
Unexpected wasn’t always bad.
--
“Okay, because no ,” Abby said, nearly poking Harley in the eye with her wayward movements, determined to prove Tony Stark wrong as she was. “That’s not at all true. Back me up here, Harls.”
He startled.
Truthfully, Harley hadn’t been paying his surroundings much attention. He always found it harder to focus around the holidays and their mother was due to fly in just that evening. They were staying at Tony’s for the night, it was easier to get to and from the airport from Tony’s house than their apartment, and Morgan had been only too excited to have the two of them for the night. She had declared it a sleepover, set about making her best attempt at a blanket fort - which Tony had helped with, even as haphazardly as he could - and then promptly fallen asleep before they had managed to make it through the list of things she had painstakingly laid out for them over dinner.
“Uh,” he glanced between Abby’s pleading face, Tony’s growing smirk, and Morgan’s slowly rising belly as she slept in her mother’s lap and decided no answer was probably the best answer.
He looked back down at his phone and pursed his lips.
“Ha!” Tony pointed triumphantly.
“Why are you ha -ing?” Abby rolled her eyes and sat back in her seat with a huff. “He’s agreeing with me .”
“He’s agreeing with me .” Tony went as far as to poke himself in the chest as he said it.
“He’s agreeing with no one.” Pepper muttered but neither her husband nor his sister heard her. Harley shared a small smile with her and scrolled through the article he was reading instead of acknowledging it.
Where are they now? The header read and below it were a list of Avengers, retired and still in action, that the author was looking into.
It wasn’t the first, nor would it be the last, article like it that Harley would read. It also wasn’t the first, nor would it be the last, that seemed to enjoy doing the same thing that Harley did on the podcast - though they certainly didn’t do it as well. Not that Harley thought they did things well or good but… but….
But nothing.
Harley was allowed an ego when they were up for the People’s Choice Podcast Awards, right? For the third year in a row?
Black Widow - notorious for her ability to disappear and live in the shadows, not much is known about Natasha Romanov. She’s not an easy person to track down, but, thanks to some PR by Tony Stark’s Avengers account on Instagram and Twitter, we can see below that she’s arrived at the home of Clint Barton - formerly, Hawkeye - to celebrate the holidays. In the picture posted to the official Black Widow account, Miss Romanov is seen in riding boots, an oversized flannel, and a baby on her hip. Rumors are abound about whether the child is hers or Barton’s (or perhaps the child of both of them??) but neither have commented one way or another. As we know from the second season of the popular podcast Unmasked , Mister Barton is married, but who his spouse is remains to be seen. Fans of the WidowHawk ship are adamant and crossing their fingers for confirmation this holiday season .
Harley snorted despite himself.
Granted, he knew marginally more than whoever had written the article, but even he knew that neither Natasha Romanov nor Clint Barton had any romantic interest in one another. He wondered just how much flack the writer was going to get for implying such a thing, if any at all. The two spies, as far as Harley remembered, were notorious for letting rumors fly one way or another. It was easier to hide their real selves that way.
It seemed not everyone had gotten that memo from Barton’s season, though.
Captain America - of course, this shouldn't be too much of a surprise, whether you’re referring to Steven Grant Rogers or his new replacement, Samuel Wilson. Mister Rogers, Mister Wilson, and who some are hoping is James Buchanon Barnes were pictured out at the Louvre in Paris. They didn’t stick around long enough for authorities to do more than converge on the area, though, and just later that day Mister Wilson was posting a picture on his own Instagram account with his nephews and sister, stating that they were enjoying a day on the lake before setting up for the holidays.
Interesting, Harley would grant them that. If anyone wanted to actually capture Steve Rogers and James Barnes they would have to do more than call the authorities. After all, one had been the Winter Soldier and the other was Steve Rogers .
If Tony wasn’t looking then no one was, really.
And Tony had long ago stopped caring.
Or stopped openly caring.
Scarlet Witch - Wanda Maximoff hasn’t been sighted since the public death of Vision in London three years ago. Wherever she is, we sure hope she’s finding a happy way to celebrate!
Thor - It seems a certain God of Thunder has decided to visit Earth once more! He was pictured in a post from Doctor Bruce Banner, along with an unnamed gorgeous female friend. What do we think, ladies? Has Thor replaced Doctor Jane Foster with a new Asgardian partner?
Harley paused and skimmed the two sentences on Scarlet Witch once more, his brain prickling with some innate curiosity.
Huh.
He thumbed to his search engine.
“I know that face.” Abby poked his cheek and he swatted her away. “What could you possibly be working on?”
--
“Peter!” He caught Miles before he could fully crash into him, but sometimes Peter found he forgot that Miles had the same strength he did. He steadied both him and himself, nearly toppling them both over on a patch of ice that he hit to try and dodge a business man on a bike. Miles giggled and, over his shoulder, Jefferson Davis appeared from his police cruiser with a slowly shaking head. “I saw you and made dad pull over to say hi.”
In Peter’s hands he had bags laden down with May’s Hanukkah gifts, one hastily wrapped present for Harley, and another for his sister and mother. They were all pooling into May’s small apartment, but she had insisted and Peter wasn’t one to argue with May Parker once she insisted on anything . It was officially the third night of Hanukkah and, between work and volunteering, they hadn’t gotten much time to do the traditions they had carefully laid out across the years.
He had a present for Miles, too, although that one he was keeping closer to his chest. He wasn’t sure how well received it would be, at least by Miles’s parents who were still trying to get used to the idea that their son not only had superpowers but knew Spider-Man by his first name. “It’s always good to see you, Miles.” Peter reassured and hugged him back. Truthfully, as much as Miles existing worried him, Peter was also incredibly happy to have him around. Not only was Miles Morales a genuinely sweet young man, he was also a very bold reminder that Peter wasn’t alone .
That he would never be alone again.
Not in the way he always had been.
“Miles,” Jefferson called, hands planted on the top of his cruiser and smiling gently. “Your mother has dinner on the stove.”
“Can Peter come over for dinner?” Miles asked before Peter could stop him.
“I’m sure Mister Parker has better things to do.”
“I wouldn’t say better ,” Peter argued lamely.
“But -.”
“Miles. You’re already seeing him Friday after school.”
And it was true. Not only did it help Rio and Jefferson to have someone to pick up Miles from his art club on Fridays but it also gave Peter and him time to train without prying eyes. Not that Peter was training Miles in anything crazy. He was mostly teaching him how to use his powers without hurting himself or others. So far, Miles was a quick study, but he had a problem with the stickiness activating whenever he was mildly stressed out. “I don’t have your present anyway.” Peter reassured.
“Oh right!” Miles brightened. “It’s Hanukkah.” He blanched. “Sorry, Pete, I forgot. May must be waiting for you.”
Jefferson and Rio really were the world’s luckiest parents. Peter hoped they knew that. “I’ll see you Friday, okay?” He said instead of melting into a puddle on the sidewalk.
“Okay!” Miles hugged him once more, slipping something small from his pocket and dropping it into Peter’s almost without him noticing. Peter tilted his head but Miles only smiled innocently up at him in response. “Happy Hanukkah, Peter!”
“Happy Hanukkah, Miles.”
It was a carefully sketched picture on cardstock, folded once down the middle, of the two of them - Spider-Man and Miles with Santa hats dangling over their heads and a menorah between their feet. Peter felt warm down to his toes, smiled, and tucked it back into his pocket.
--
May Parker’s apartment was packed. Harley was pretty sure it was a fire hazard to have so many people packed into such a tiny living space and yet, still, they managed. It was full to the brim with people Harley knew mostly in passing - Matt Murdock, Foggy Nelson, their friend Karen Page, Deadpool - Wade Wilson, even though he was still in the Deadpool suit but with a big, bright blue Hanukkah sweater pulled over it -, Danny Rand, Luke Cage, Jessica Jones, the Fantastic Four, all of the heroes that Peter had missed but hadn’t been able to speak to for over five years. They all integrated together easily, making it obvious that the one left out of the flow was Tony Stark - Iron Man - and not any of them. There were May, of course, in a happy conversation with Harley’s mother and Pepper Potts (and bouncing Jessica Jones’ baby on her knee). Harry Osborn was flipping through a children’s book with Morgan and Ned Leeds (and Abby, perched on the edge of the couch a bit closer to Ned than Harley had expected her to be). Gwen was rolling her eyes at something Johnny Storm was saying, Eddie was playing poker with Flash Thompson (a friend from Peter’s high school years, or so he had been introduced) and Michelle Jones.
It was packed. There were a lot of people.
Family , Peter had said as an explanation, his arm slung low over Harley’s waist and hand smoothing up and down his side. Now, though, Peter was nowhere to be seen, missing out on his own party (that May had insisted on throwing).
He found him easily enough, sitting in his old windowsill, legs kicking out against the chill of the air.
Harley softly closed the door behind him - May’s rules be damned, and shuffled over until he was leaning against the wall beside Peter, arms crossed from the way the cold seemed to want to fight its way into his skin. “Are you going to jump?” He asked lightly.
He wasn’t actually afraid. Peter wasn’t suicidal and Harley was pretty sure his enhancements wouldn’t let him do anything to harm himself unless he really tried.
Besides, if Peter really wanted to be left alone he would have left when he still could. “No,” Peter said and rubbed under his nose with the back of his hand. “Just needed a moment.”
He spoke it down to his dangling feet, and even though Harley knew he wasn’t trying to do anything, his heart still picked up when Peter leaned forward, breath curling out in front of him in a thin, white line. “Everything okay?” He asked softly and Harley wanted to touch him - both for his own reassurance and to lend some of his warmth (Peter was always so cold , he was starting to notice now that it wasn’t summer. His body didn’t hold heat as well as Harley would have liked).
Peter shrugged. “Would you believe me if I said yes?”
“No.”
Peter hummed. “That’s fair. I wouldn’t be very convincing.”
Harley doubted that was true. Peter was always more convincing than he thought he could be.
“Too many people?” He tried again but Peter only shook his head.
“I’m…” He tried and then stopped, curls falling onto his forehead as he looked down once more. “I’m happy they’re all here. I missed them a lot.” He admitted softly. “But it’s still…” He shrugged.
Oh.
“Where were they six years ago?”
“Where were they six years ago?” Peter agreed and when Harley moved behind him he gratefully leaned back, head under Harley’s chin and ice cold fingers steady where Harley slid his warm ones between. “This is the last night of Hanukkah,” Peter said after a moment, shivering under the combination of Harley’s body heat and the icy breeze. “We’ve always celebrated it like it’s meant to be for family more than anything else. It’s a time to reflect and… and I guess I’m reflecting too much.”
Harley knew Peter had moments where he remembered perhaps too well everything that had transpired six years ago, afterwards, and even before. He knew, but he didn’t know what to do with the knowledge. He pressed a kiss to the skin behind Peter’s ear. “They’re here now.”
“Yeah,” Peter agreed softly.
“That means something, right?”
“I don’t know.”
Harley kissed the spot again and nuzzled his nose into Peter’s neck, wrapping his arms tightly around his neck and offering the only comfort he could think of giving. He didn’t know how it must have felt to go through what Peter had, even if he knew logically what it was Peter had gone through on the surface. “May’s going to be looking for you.” He said after a moment. “I could head her off or we could let her find us.”
Peter groaned, but pulled his legs into the room, spinning around to wrap his arms around Harley’s waist, burying his cold nose in Harley’s stomach as he pulled the window shut. “I just need another minute.” He held on tight, and Harley let him, his own arms soft over his shoulders and twirling a curl between his fingers. “Talk about something, please.”
“So I think I know who we’re going to do our next season on.”
“Oh?” He could feel Peter’s raised brows against his shirt and Harley grimaced. That was something they had yet to talk about - whether the show would continue or whether Harley would end it.
“It’s not anyone under an actual mask,” Harley was quick to reassure. “Just… I think it’s someone that deserves to have their story told.”
Peter hummed. “That’s what you always base your stories on.”
“It is.” He hadn’t thought Peter had noticed.
“Who is it?”
“Scarlet Witch.”
“Scarlet Witch?” Peter pulled back to give him a look. Harley returned it with a helpless shrug. “Seriously?”
“What could go wrong this time?”
“Famous last words.” Peter muttered and returned his face to its previous position.
Harley laughed. “Famous last words.”