Chapter Text
“So, I talked with my mother yesterday.”
At those words, dread began to sink into Harley’s stomach. Whenever his mom talked with her mom, the conversation didn’t usually include anything good about him.
“What about?” he asked, even though he already had an inkling of an idea.
His mom let out a rattling sigh, and Harley could practically see her rub a hand across her forehead. “She…doesn’t wanna see you for Christmas. My dad, well. You know how he is. He didn’t argue.”
“Oh.” The dread in his stomach settled in its place, unmovable. “I guess I kinda saw that comin’.”
Before he left Tennessee, Harley had told his grandparents that he was gay. He’d felt that he needed to tell them, that he needed to be honest with his family. They’d been badgering him about a girlfriend for years, and honestly, constantly acting like there was a chance that he’d ever date a girl was exhausting. So, he came out.
“I’m really sorry, baby,” Faye murmured. “I tried to get her to change her mind, but then she brought up James, n’ I just couldn’t—”
They didn't take it well.
“Mom, it’s okay,” Harley reassured. Any time that his grandmother brought up his father, it was usually to lay blame on Faye. In this case, he knew that his grandmother’s argument would be, Without a solid father figure, Harley resorted to believin’ that datin’ men would bring him that stability. You shoulda kept James around, Faye, he woulda fixed Harley. A slur would’ve probably been thrown in as well. “I get it, it’s fine.”
"It's not fine, Harley, I should be able to stand up to her."
“It’s not your fault. She’s always been like this, and I didn’t help the situation any.”
“Then it’s not your fault either,” she concluded, and Harley hummed noncommittally. “You can still come down for Christmas, baby. You just…might not see me a lot. Or Ellie, really, but she’d rather see you than my mother, so she might skip out on some festivities.”
“Then she’ll just get into trouble with Eleanor. I can't let that happen, Mom.” His mom let out another sigh, so resigned, and Harley bit his lip harshly. “I’m sorry.”
“Nothin’ to be sorry for, baby. I’ll just miss you, is all.”
“I’ll miss you too,” he returned, probably sounding just as dejected as her.
“You’ll come right after Christmas, right? Maybe for New Years?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Harley assured.
“Hey, and maybe you can bring Peter too, hm?” she suggested, her voice taking on a teasing lilt as she changed the subject. “Then we could finally meet him, and understand what all your li’l rants are about.”
Harley shoved a hand in his hair, hiding his face in the process, even though he was well aware that she couldn’t see him. “Mom. Seriously?”
“Hey, I wanna meet him! You can’t blame me, he’s more than half of your talkin’ points.”
“I’ll have to talk to him ‘bout it,” he conceded. “But if you n’ Ellie really wanna see him, then I’m okay with it.”
“Thanks, Harley. I’ve gotta go now, it’s gettin’ late. Goodnight, baby.”
“Love you, Mom. Talk to you tomorrow.”
“Love you too.”
Harley hung up, and let his phone fall onto his chest.
He and his grandmother had never been close, but they had at least gotten along if no politics were mentioned. He even used to call her Nana. They would see each other a few times a year, just for the basic holidays, elementary school graduation, the works. She’d bake cookies, she’d send cards, she’d tell stories about her walk to school as a child. She’d do all the basic grandmother things.
Eleanor would also have strained arguments with her daughter. She’d insist on Ellie wearing skirts and dresses, when all Harley’s sister really wanted to do was pull on a pair of jeans and cut her hair a bit shorter. She’d give dirty looks to the Black family that had moved down the road from her, and say something nasty about the Hispanic child she’d seen at Harley’s middle school band concert. She’d silence her husband if he ever brought something up that didn’t concur with her opinion.
She had essentially disowned Harley when he came out.
She was no longer Nana. To Harley, she was Eleanor. To Faye, she was her mother. To Ellie, she was a stale, unseasoned nugget in human form, and really, Mom, why do I still have to visit her, anyway?
(Ellie still had to visit Eleanor for appearances’ sake. Faye had been under her mother’s strict control for all her life, and though she hated her for what she did to Harley, it was hard to pull herself from the grip of a manipulative parent. Ellie still had to visit Eleanor because both she and Faye would get into trouble otherwise. Besides, if Ellie didn’t travel with her mom, then Faye would be alone with Eleanor without support.)
Even though he was glad to have her toxic presence out of his life, it still hurt that he wouldn’t be able to be with his family for the holidays.
At least he had his New York family. It would be his first winter with them, that would be fun. It would. It would be fun.
Knowing that it would be fun didn’t stop him from missing his biological family.
Harley twisted his body to look at the framed photo of his mom and his sister that resided on his nightstand. With his head still smushed into one of his pillows, half of the picture was out of sight, and he couldn’t see the thumbs-up that Ellie was giving the camera. Still, the sentiment was there, and he blew out a slow breath.
“Alright,” he muttered, and hefted himself up from his bed. He padded down the hallway to Peter’s room, since he knew that the boy hadn’t yet left for patrol. He knocked lightly on the door, calling out, “Pete? Can I come in?”
“Yep,” came Peter’s soft voice, and Harley pushed the door open. Peter was sitting on the floor, a book in hand. It was another one of Harley’s annotated ones, Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children. Stellina had chosen the bed, but she was curled up right behind Peter’s head. “You okay?”
Harley noticed that Peter had his hearing aids in, which meant that the odds of him overhearing the entire call were low. “Guess so,” Harley hummed, settling onto the floor next to Peter. “Just got off a hard phone call.”
“With your mom?” Peter asked, setting the book to the side.
“Yeah. Turns out I can't go down for Christmas.”
“Oh, shit.” Peter pulled Harley closer to him, and Harley went willingly. “I'm sorry. Is it…because of Eleanor?”
Harley gave a short sigh as Peter’s fingers reached up to twist in Harley’s hair. Harley leaned his head on his partner’s shoulder. “‘Course it is. It’s always her.”
“The absolute bastard,” Peter agreed. “That sucks, Harls. I know how hard…well, y’know. I get it.”
Harley did know. Peter spent last Christmas alone, spending the entire holiday patrolling the streets. According to him, holidays usually came with increased crime. He had just told Harley about that experience to set up a story about this guy who went around stabbing random civilians with sharpened candy canes, and sure, while the crime was insane, Harley was a bit more focused on the devastating aspects of the tale. At least Harley could spend Christmas with the Avengers. Peter used to not have anyone.
“But it’s not awful, honestly. I mean, the team isn’t that bad,” Harley joked, a small smile fighting its way to his face.
“Deflecting is my thing,” Peter said, his voice incredulous. “You’re allowed to miss your family. It fucking sucks, man.”
“Man?” Harley repeated, unable to resist a slight chuckle.
“Y’know, like romantically. Whatever. Point is, it’s unfair that you can’t be down in Tennessee for the holidays. It’s okay to be upset.”
Harley didn’t say anything in return, letting Peter continue to card through his hair. His fingernails would occasionally lightly scratch against Harley’s scalp, and no move was made to get a response out of him. Instead, Peter pressed a kiss to the top of Harley’s head, and reached for the book once more.
Harley closed his eyes as Peter began to read aloud, letting the familiar story of children with peculiar powers wash over him.
-
Harley had fallen asleep on Peter’s shoulder. Sure, it was only half past 10 p.m., and Harley would usually stay up a bit later than that, but he was surely emotionally drained.
Peter didn’t blame him.
Eleanor Keener was one true son of a bitch. Then again, most abusive family members were. Scratch that, all of them were.
Peter quietly sighed and set Harley’s book off to the side. He knew that his shoulder probably wasn’t the most comfortable place to sleep, and some maneuvering was required to get Harley into his bed and to allow Peter to patrol. Luckily, they’d ended up in this position several times in the past, so Peter knew how to gather his partner into his arms without waking him. He carried Harley back to his own room, got him under the covers, and plugged his phone in.
Peter set a note on top of Harley’s phone; it read, If you wake up before I’m back, I’m on patrol—don’t worry. They’d reused the same sticky note many times before, since each time Harley fell asleep in Peter’s presence, only to wake up and find himself alone, he freaked out a bit.
After wishing Wanda a goodnight, he stripped down his clothes to replace them with his suit. Usually, he wore his suit beneath his civilian clothing, but Lauren was on a therapist-mission to get him to see his home as a comfortable place. She’d told him to pick a day of the week that he knew he wouldn’t be leaving the Tower. On that day, he should get ready without putting on his suit. Just one day a week. A day that, if the occasion arose, he’d be able to run to his room to put on his suit.
“Can I still wear my web shooters?” Peter had hesitantly asked, already immensely uncomfortable at the thought of taking them off.
“Of course, Peter,” Lauren had assured, holding their hands out in a placating manner. Peter relaxed. “The goal is to make you realize that you’re safe in the Tower, and, should anyone be put in danger, you’ll still have easy access to your suit. Your web shooters? Those make you feel safe, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Then by all means, keep them. My job isn’t to make you feel unsafe.”
Today was Peter’s first attempt at the assignment. It was going well, he thought, because he’d only had one moment of panic when he remembered he was without his suit. But the moment had faded relatively quickly, and he’d jumped right into the Avengers workout session without a hitch.
But he had his suit on now, and it felt right, it felt normal.
Patrol went smoothly, with only a few incidents to deal with. Peter was back by two in the morning, after the city that never slept had eventually fallen more or less drowsy.
Peter’s mind had not yet fallen quiet, though, so he distracted himself from winding thoughts by continuing to read Harley’s book, quietly chuckling each time he came across a notated reaction from Harley. But after a short while, the book’s distraction dimmed, and Peter groaned when he realized that he’d have to think about his thoughts.
“Lauren’s gonna be so proud,” he mumbled to himself as he pulled out a journal he’d been keeping for specific times like these. Sometimes he would bring it to sessions and read from it in order to update Lauren on some entries. Sometimes he didn’t. She didn’t mind either way, and Peter liked that they never forced him to talk.
At the top of the next clean page, using a pen he’d bought for this specific practice, Peter wrote Christmas.
Yeah. That was what had him going.
He’d already been slightly worried about it before Harley had brought it up, but the news that his boyfriend wasn’t able to see his family for the holidays certainly hadn’t helped his worries.
Peter had never been a religious person. To his knowledge, his parents hadn’t taught him about religion, but May and Ben had. They had been agnostic, and they wanted to give Peter the option to form his own ideas on religion. They’d educated him on the several different concepts of higher beings, as well as presenting scientific theories on human existence. Ultimately, however, the only gods that Peter was sure of were Thor and Loki.
As far as he knew, the rest of the Avengers weren’t religious either, except for Wanda, who had already celebrated Hanukkah earlier that month. (The team had joined her in the traditions, gathering around as she lit the menorah’s candles each night and prepared fried food. She kicked all of their asses at Dreidel. It was amazing.)
So clearly, the team didn’t celebrate Christmas for any religious purpose. They celebrated it because it was fun. Because they cared about each other, and Christmas was about family. Peter had also always participated in a bit of family-related holiday fun.
He paused in his writing, tapping his pen against the page as he thought about how to transfer his mental predicament onto paper.
How about rambling? Rambling would work.
He loved the holiday season when it was spent with his friends and family. His family was now dead, MJ was also dead, Ned was in another state, and Matt usually spent Christmas with Foggy and Karen and some of the Defenders—Peter wasn’t about to intrude on those festivities. Peter had spent last Christmas alone, and it fucking sucked. Obviously Christmas with the Avengers would be better than last year.
But that doesn’t mean I’m not still worried about it, he carefully wrote, his strokes slow and purposeful.
What was there to even worry about?
Well, Peter made a list: buying gifts, receiving gifts, having a feast, inserting himself into well-established traditions, being around men who were bound to become drunk on eggnog, and meeting Colonel Rhodes.
It was great that Colonel Rhodes was coming home for the holidays; really, it was, the man deserved a break. But, knowing Tony, Peter figured that the Colonel probably hadn’t heard much about the Tower’s newest resident. Meeting new people was hard enough already. Meeting a longtime Avenger, and introducing yourself as the teenage vigilante-turned-Avenger that had been running from the very team that he was now a part of for a whole year before being inevitably kidnapped, was another beast altogether.
Tomorrow’s therapy session was going to be incredibly festive.
-
Lauren had the Scrabble set out, she had a few dog treats handy for Stellina, and she arranged the blanket over the chair in a way that made it look more readily available. Peter had started using the blanket a few sessions ago, enamored with its pale yellow tint and intensely soft fabric. He always asked to use it, though, and Lauren wanted to make sure that he knew he was welcome to anything in their office.
Peter would be down for his session in about five minutes, so Lauren took a seat out in the hall and pulled out their notebook.
Their last session had just been three days ago, so it wasn’t like Lauren had forgotten anything they’d talked about. They’d discussed the completion of the tell-Matt-about-Richard assignment, and how relieved Peter had felt once he was finally open with the man. Lauren was so proud of him.
She underlined the assignment they had given Peter the other day, the please-for-the-love-of-God-take-off-your-suit assignment. Of course, they hadn’t been that brash with him, but the prompt had been along those lines.
They really hoped that Peter had kept with his word to at least try going without his suit in the Tower. He probably did. Peter valued his word, and he also valued not being a disappointment to Lauren. (Not that he would ever disappoint her. Lauren was proud of him no matter what.)
She looked up as the elevator spit out Peter and Stellina, with the dog happily trotting ahead to greet Lauren. They laughed and engulfed Stellina with pets, discreetly slipping her a treat as they did so.
“I know you’re bribing my pet,” Peter said, and Lauren looked up to see him with a raised eyebrow and his journal in hand. “I swear, if she ends up liking you more than me…”
“What, you’ll beat me up?” she teased, righting herself and beckoning Peter into their office.
“I’ll cry at you,” he replied defiantly, and paused at the enterance to her office. "Can I please come in?"
"Yeah, come on in," Lauren assured, yet again reminding herself that they still needed to discuss Peter's incessant urge to ask for permission to enter a room. In the grand scheme of things, the questions didn't seem like a big deal, but Lauren knew that there was an underlying reason for it all that had to be unravelled. “Crying at me sounds like emotional vulnerability to me. I’ll call it progress.”
Peter entered the room with a smile, and Stellina immediately settled next to the chair she knew to be Peter’s, making her allegiance clear.
“Damn,” he swore, sarcastically snapping his fingers disappointedly as he sat down as well. “Bested by the local shrink once again.”
Lauren rolled their eyes as they took a seat, Peter following their lead. “Ah, well, you know me, always poking and prodding to psychoanalyze you.”
“It’s what you do best,” he acknowledged, gently running a finger across his journal, thumbing along its spine.
She hummed, opening her own journal, prepared to take notes that she would later pour over, trying to figure out what path to take to best help Peter. They had a lovely rollerball pen reserved for their therapy notes, nicely weighted and with regularly-replaced ink. She began doodling as she waited for Peter to spit out whatever it was he wanted to say.
“So…” he started, knowing that Lauren would wait him out. “I didn’t put on my suit yesterday. At least, not until I had to patrol.”
He was just filling the air, preparing himself for something that he actually wanted to talk about. They would entertain him, though, because she really did want to know how he’d handled the task.
They wrote Thursday close to the top of the page, the day marking Peter’s first scheduled day without his suit. She absentmindedly underlined it a few times as she jokingly asked, “And how does that make you feel?”
Peter laughed and began to detail his experience, only mentioning one moment of sudden panic as he realized that there was no suit beneath his clothes as he kicked off training with the Avengers.
“You’ve said that you’ve worked out with them without your suit on before,” Lauren pointed out, and flipped back a few pages in their notebook. “The day you and Harley started dating, according to this here note.”
“Yeah…” he hummed, eyebrows furrowed in thought. “That was when my suit got a bit fucked up during patrol.”
“Blood?”
“Nah. A kid’s vomit.”
“Ah.” Lauren winced, but noted that the only time Peter hadn’t had his suit on in the Tower was because it was in need of a washing. “Well, okay. How did you handle the panic yesterday?”
Peter shrugged, running a hand through his hair. “Kinda just…took a sec to calm down and reminded myself that it was safe. Y’know, therapy shit. I don’t think the team noticed, and if one of them did, they didn’t say anything.”
“Therapy shit. Nice,” Lauren commented, nodding and tapping her pen against the page. “Very proud of you, Peter. Do you wanna try it again next Thursday?”
“If it’s a good day.”
“If it’s a good day,” they agreed, and wrote that Thursday might be the day for attempt number two. “Now, then. Where would you like to go from here?”
Peter still had his journal in hand, but he eyed the Scrabble instead. “How about a game?”
“I know what you’re doing,” Lauren said, squinting at him, “but I’ll let you do it anyway.”
Peter gave a shit-eating grin, and set up the Scrabble board. Lauren chuckled lightly, and set aside their notebook. They each only had four words on the board by the time she itched to reach for it once more as Peter started talking.
“So…” Peter started, setting down the last E in his word wheeze. “I just. Have a few thoughts.”
Lauren hummed as she tallied up his points. “Most people do. Do you have any specific thoughts?”
“How we feelin’ about a Christmas-themed episode of Therapy with Spider-Man?” he asked, grabbing hold of his journal once more.
They did the same, setting aside the scoreboard and clicking their tongue. “Well, I do love the holiday season. And it actually snows up here, so that’s sick.”
“Not if you have issues warming yourself back up,” he muttered, though Lauren didn’t exactly know what he was referring to. He gently tugged the pale yellow blanket towards him. “But, yeah, I like Christmas too. Not, like, religiously, y’know? But the vibes. It’s usually a good time, for me at least.”
“That it is,” she agreed, jotting down a few of his words. “Go on.”
Peter finally opened his journal, his eyes flying across the pages filled with scrawly handwriting. “So, just a few anxieties, I guess. Last Christmas wasn’t a good time, to use my own words against me. Homeless, alone, spent all day and night patrolling. Didn’t eat, of course, and didn't sleep. It…yeah.”
Lauren looked up from their notebook, frowning at Peter. “Certainly doesn't sound like the typical festivities. I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”
Peter shrugged, his gaze focused on Stellina instead of Lauren. “It’s over now. But spending Christmas with the team is also a bit stressful. Just in a different way.” Lauren nodded, encouraging him to continue. “I just…don’t want to intrude on any of their traditions. Like, I’ve only been here a little less than a month, and I’m only here because they kidnapped me in the first place. The Tower is my home, but I’m not family to the Avengers.”
This whole concept of family was something they’d talked about before, and it was one of the duo’s long term goals to get Peter accustomed and comfortable with the idea of a family. That was a beast for yet another session, though, and for the time being, holiday anxieties would be a good break.
“But they haven't shown any animosity towards you, right?” Peter slowly shook his head. “Then, seeing as they’re generally not rude people, I assume they’re genuinely accepting of you. You mostly feel comfortable around them, and that’s because they’ve worked to create a safe environment for you. Do you agree?”
“Yeah,” Peter replied. “They can even be a bit protective.”
“I’m sure,” Lauren said, smiling. “So I take all of that to mean that they want to include you in their traditions, since you’re on the team and you spend most of your time with them. You guys are friends, they want to have fun with you. And they want to give you gifts.”
“That’s what I was gonna say next,” Peter admitted, and Lauren smirked. “Caught me.”
“I know you feel guilty when you receive a gift—”
“And I’ve had more than my fair share of them since I’ve been here,” Peter interrupted.
They frowned at his wording. “And they were given to you out of friendship. It’s a natural part of a platonic friendship. Gift receiving is an even more natural part of Christmas. Most people give and receive gifts for the holidays. You ain’t special.”
“I know that, it’s just that I don’t deserve—” He cut off at the Disapproving Therapist Look that Lauren gave him, her eyebrows shooting upwards. Peter sighed.
“You deserve anything you want and need, Peter,” they said, reiterating the same sentiment that had been spoken several times before. “Unless you want, like, death. That’s something you don’t deserve.” Peter cleared his throat excessively at that, causing Lauren to raise a brow. “Peter.”
“Kidding,” he relented, though Lauren knew there was a part of him that wasn’t.
She sighed. “I’m just trying to tell you, gifts are a completely normal thing, and you don’t even need to deserve them. They’re gifts. An expression of kindness. People want to be kind to you, Peter, and that is what you deserve.”
Peter sighed a sigh heavier than Lauren’s but didn’t immediately refute her, which was a good sign. “What do I even say to that?”
“Say, ‘You’re right. I deserve the love of others, even if it comes in the form of gifts.’ Even if you don’t quite believe that yet, those kinds of affirmations will get you used to that ideology, and you’ll eventually start to believe it.”
“You’re right. I…deserve the love of others. Even if it comes in the forms of gifts.” Peter repeated the phrase very begrudgingly, but at least he didn’t look in pain while saying it.
“Good,” Lauren praised. “Remember that come Christmas. Now, what else you got for me?”
“We’ve talked about receiving gifts, but have you considered buying gifts?” Peter asked, his fingertips pressed together conspiratorially. “With another person’s money, to be clear.”
“Whose money, Tony Stark’s?” Peter nodded. Lauren scoffed, saying, “Peter, that man is a billionaire. All of the Avengers use his money, and he wants them to. All of the other team members are surely using his money to buy gifts, they don’t have paying jobs. Why would you be the exception?”
Peter opened his mouth, ready to spit out a response, before his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth closed again. He awkwardly adjusted his glasses.
Lauren couldn’t resist a grin. “You didn’t think about that, did you?”
“Um. Nope.”
Their smile became a bit more gleeful. “Well, that’s what I’m here for. Sometimes my only use is to make the obvious a bit more obvious.”
“Alright, well, riddle me this,” Peter countered. “Colonel Rhodes is coming home for Christmas. What do I do?”
Lauren nodded thoughtfully as she wrote War Machine in large letters across her page, underlining the name several times. They were a fan, sue them.
“Just be yourself,” they helpfully told him, then cringed at their own words. “What am I, an inspirational poster in a middle school guidance counselor’s office?”
“I’ve already told you that me and school counselors have beef,” Peter reminded, squinting his eyes. “If you turn out to be a poster in one of their offices, well. Color me betrayed.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not a laminated piece of shit barely clinging to the wall. But we’re off track, and I’ll stick to my original terminology. Be yourself.”
“And what if he doesn’t like whoever I am?”
“You’re Peter Parker, and everyone in this hell hole of a tower would kill for you and proceed to die for you.”
“But then I would feel guilty,” Peter whined.
“Then they would maim for you and proceed to brood instead of dying,” she corrected.
“You remind me of Matt,” Peter murmured, but he pulled himself back on track. “But, really. It’s impossible for everyone to like me, no matter what you seem to think. What happens if he doesn’t like me?”
“I’ll remind you, short of murdering one of the team members, there’s nothing that could get Colonel Rhodes to dislike you.” Lauren sighed at Peter’s persistent frown, and conceded. “But, on the off chance that he doesn’t like you, then he’ll still be very polite with you. No outward animosity. And he actually lives in D.C., so you won’t see much of him.”
“You don’t know him,” Peter pointed out. “How do you know he won’t be openly expressive of his distaste?”
“First of all, openly expressive of his distaste? Who are you, what have you done to Peter, and why do you talk like that?” Peter shrugged at the tease, and Lauren let it go. “He just has those vibes. It’ll be fine, Peter. You’re a very likable person, and Colonel Rhodes can put up with some bullshit. He’s friends with Mr. Stark, he’s gotta be able to handle everything.”
Peter sighed, sinking down a bit further in his chair. “If you’re wrong, I’m holding it against you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she dismissed. “What do I always tell you?”
“Nerves are to be expected,” Peter recited calmly. “I’ll get through it. Everything will be okay.”