Chapter Text
“This is a bad idea.”
Peter swivels in his chair, feet skimming the floor, and looks up at Tony exasperatedly. “Since when do you care if something is a bad idea?” he asks. “Don’t tell me the mid-life crisis is starting already. Being a buzzkill isn’t a good look.”
“It’s not about being a buzzkill,” Tony says defensively. “I’m just slightly unconvinced that you need the ability to knock out the entire city’s power grid in your suit.”
Peter rolls his eyes. “Why are you always so dramatic? It’s a simple EMP.”
“Simple to you,” Tony points out. “Even simpler to me. But one of the most powerful pieces of weaponry in the eyes of the government.”
“Well maybe the government should…get smarter,” Peter says dully. “It’s not my fault their infrastructure sucks.”
“Kid…” Tony warns, but it’s clearly in jest.
“Look, I just think that if I’m fighting someone who relies on technology, having a way to cut their power isn’t such a bad idea!” he says innocently.
Tony raises an eyebrow. “And when it inevitably goes wrong and suddenly millions of New Yorkers are without electricity? It’s your head they’ll put on a spike.”
“You have so little faith in us,” Peter mumbles. “Fine, we can lower the electric field strength to five kilovolts per meter and the energy output to five-hundred megawatts. Raise the pulse duration to ten nanoseconds, concentrated conically instead of spherically. A baby EMP.”
“Your definition of ‘baby’ is questionable at best,” Tony says, snorting. He leans over Peter’s shoulder and begins tweaking the system though, inputting the new values. It processes for a minute. Once it’s finished, Peter removes his webshooters from the diagnostic machine, slings them over his wrists, and curiously eyes the new button.
Just as Tony starts to say, “Perhaps we shouldn’t test that in here—”, Peter presses it. A powerful stream of energy bursts out of the mechanism, rapidly pulsing about 5 times. With it, the entire lab goes dark. The lights, the computers, the holoscreens—all of it fails.
Wincing, Peter chances a look at Tony. His eyes are closed, and he’s pinching his nose like he’s trying to hold back some sort of disappointed amusement. “Baby EMP, hm?” is all he says.
Peter scratches the back of his neck and says nothing. He hadn’t quite expected it to work that well on the first try. Maybe he was the one with too little faith.
“FRIDAY, let’s go ahead and do a full reboot please,” Tony says, heaving a sigh. “Start restoring the EMP defenses, since we probably just fried those completely.”
“Indeed you did, boss. Rebooting now. Unfortunately, I will have to rebuild the defenses from scratch,” FRIDAY replies.
“Actually, you know what? Hold off on that,” Tony says, a devious expression crossing his face. Peter’s stomach drops. “Let’s leave that for the kid to take care of. He broke it, he can fix it.”
Peter bows his head and groans. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
The lights flicker back on, and the lab gradually returns to normal. The tower's EMP defense system worked, but it was designed as a sacrificial measure. It shunts the energy into the ground to protect any sensitive electronics, but the system itself gets destroyed in the process since the energy flux is too overwhelming for it to handle. Maybe that’s something Peter will investigate. Surely there’s a way to make it more resilient.
“Well,” Peter says, “look on the bright side. It worked!”
“It worked too well,” Tony says pointedly. He pulls up the diagnostics again. “We’re going to drop the voltage to zero-point-five kilovolts per meter and the output to two-hundred megawatts. That’s a baby EMP.”
“That isn’t a baby EMP. That’s an infant EMP.”
“Yup. An infant EMP for an infant superhero.”
Peter crosses his arms, pouting. “That’s not nice.”
“You wanna know what’s not nice? Someone EMP’ing my tower.”
Peter throws his hands up. “Okay, fine! I get it. No more EMPs in the lab.”
“How about no more EMPs ever?” Tony proposes.
“How about if you want to keep being my favorite mentor, then you let me have my fun?”
Tony gives him a sideways glance. “You have multiple mentors?”
“I could,” he says mysteriously.
“Yeah, and I could have a fucking pony in my backyard.”
Nodding enthusiastically, Peter agrees, “You could.”
Tony’s phone ringing cuts off their laughter. Peter shakes his head, smiling, as Tony backs away and gets to his feet. The man walks over to where the device has been smothered by blueprints and technology, then picks up the call and says, “Hello?”
Usually, Peter doesn’t listen in on Tony’s phone calls. Or anybody’s, for that matter. While he can hear things miles away if he wants, he tries not to make it a habit to invade other people’s privacy unless he’s truly bored, or concerned the conversation is important for him to know about. In this case he’s neither, so he turns back to the computers, trying to figure out how the fuck to build an EMP defense system.
That is, until Tony’s demeanor changes completely. “Who is this?” he asks, his voice edged with suspicion. Peter looks up, tilting his head. Hardly anyone has Tony’s personal number, so a call from a stranger is unusual. But as the voice on the other end responds, Peter catches Tony’s reaction—this isn’t a stranger at all.
“Shit,” Tony mutters. He begins moving, and Peter immediately knows he’s searching for the nanotech housing unit for his suit. It’s just to Peter’s left, so he picks it up and tosses it to Tony, who gives him a grateful nod.
“Hey, listen,” Tony says into the phone placatingly. He situates the housing unit on his chest. “You’re okay. Take a breath. Can you tell me where you’re at? Are you still in Tennessee?”
At this point, Peter can’t help himself. He allows himself to eavesdrop. Whatever is happening, it sounds serious, and he’s beginning to wonder whether he should be suiting up too. Just in case, he grabs his webshooters from the table.
The person on the phone sounds young. Definitely not an adult. His voice is airy, panicked, and words rush out of his mouth in a disjointed stream of consciousness. “I don’t—I don’t fucking know, I—I don’t think so, I’m in the middle of the woods and there’s nothing here, I—sorry, I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be sorry,” Tony cuts in. He marches toward his computer, wiping away everything he and Peter were just working on. “FRIDAY, begin trace.”
A command screen flickers to life, code streaming rapidly as FRIDAY works to triangulate the call's location. Peter rises to his feet, eyes fixed on the screen as the lines of data race by. After about thirty seconds, the program halts abruptly, and a map appears. A pin marks the exact coordinates, pointing to a remote spot in the middle of nowhere, Pennsylvania.
“Trace complete,” FRIDAY informs them.
“Alright, I’ve got your location, Harley,” Tony says into the phone. He begins heading for the tower’s balcony, Peter following close behind. “I’ll be there in 20 minutes tops. Just sit tight and keep me on the line, okay?”
“Okay, okay,” answers the kid on the phone, Harley.
“Mr. Stark, is everything okay?” Peter finally jumps in, worried. He’s not sure who Harley is, but it’s clear they’re in desperate need of help.
Tony pauses for a moment. “I’m not sure,” he admits. He taps the housing unit twice and the Iron Man suit begins unfolding around him.
“Is there anything I can do? Do you want me to come with?”
“No,” Tony says immediately. “I don’t know what’s happening and I don’t want you in the crossfire.”
Peter isn’t satisfied. “If you don’t know what’s happening, isn’t that more of a reason I should go? What if it’s a trap?”
“It’s not a—” Tony begins to say, but stops short. Correcting himself, he continues, “I don’t think this is a trap. It’s just… It’s better if I’m the only one there. He knows me, and I don’t want to spook him more than he already is.”
Peter searches deep into Tony’s eyes. “Okay,” he relents, deciding to be trusting. After all they’ve been through, he would hope Tony is being honest about that. “I’m staying on comms until you get back though. Dial in if shit goes wrong and you need backup.”
“I’d expect nothing less, kid,” Tony says endearingly, patting him on the shoulder. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
With that, Tony’s mask clangs shut. Then he turns and blasts off into the night sky, leaving Peter standing there completely alone, unable to do anything but watch him go. Sighing, he makes a silent wish that everything will be okay, and then heads back inside. When he sits back down at the computer, he tells FRIDAY, “Connect me to channel one.”
“Connected,” she says.
Peter rests his chin on his hand and stares at Tony’s vitals. Something tells him that this will be a long night.
A long night it is indeed. Peter sits in the empty lab for a good five hours, ready in case his presence is needed, but Tony never reaches out, and his health screenings remain steady the entire time he’s away. Still though, it’s painstakingly slow-going, and each time Peter watches the clock tick past the turn of the hour, he wonders if this is how Tony feels whenever Peter is out patrolling.
It’s odd, being forced to sit in a chair and let someone else ride head-first into what could be a dangerous situation. He’s usually on the other end of that. Staying behind while someone else is in need of help has never been his forte, because goddamn does it make him feel useless. His fingertips itch to jump in and assist, and Peter has to curl them into fists and remind himself to relax. If Tony needs him, he’ll call. He has to believe that.
It’s around four in the morning when his hearing finally picks up the sound of the Iron Man suit. Although his eyelids have slipped shut a few times from exhaustion, Peter has kept his senses alert, constantly searching for the sound of his mentor’s safe return. The consequence of this has been a pounding headache, spawned from the cascade of noise he’s opened himself up to, but it was worth it.
He dashes out to the balcony, looking up at the clouds. Like a shooting star, Tony Stark comes speeding through—and interestingly enough, he isn’t alone.
Someone dangles from his grip, reminiscent of the many times Peter has (often unwillingly) been carried by Tony. The suit comes to a slow stall in front of Peter, floating mid-air for a second, before landing softly on the ground below. The stranger immediately detaches from Tony’s grasp, stumbling forward with untamed hair blocking his eyes and a dazed expression on his face. It seems he did not appreciate his method of transport.
He's young. Without a doubt, this is the boy from the phone call. There’s an open gash above his right eye, but it’s no longer bleeding freely. Dirt mars most of his face, and there are scratches all over his body. The tee shirt he’s wearing is torn in various places, and his jeans are just as threadbare. A voice in the back of Peter’s head questions how the fuck a kid has ended up in such a terrible state, but then he realizes that Harley is probably the same age, if not a little older than him, and Peter’s seen far worse days than this.
Tony steps out of the suit. Harley bends over to catch his breath, with one hand on his knee, and the other outstretched in Tony’s direction. “Jesus fuck,” he says. “I never want to do that again.”
“Sorry,” Tony says, but he doesn’t actually seem sorry at all. “It was the quickest way to get you back here.”
“We shouldn’t even be back here!” Harley retaliates, borderline shouting. “We should still be there looking for them, not—not in New York City of all goddamn places—”
“They weren’t there,” Tony responds, and the way he says it makes it clear that it’s not the first time they’re having this discussion. “Our best chance of finding them is going to be with the tech I have here at the tower. Not to mention, it looks like you’ve gone ten rounds with a meat grinder, kid. We need to get you patched up.”
“Every second we spend here is a second they could be getting further away,” Harley persists. “I’m fine, I don’t need—”
“Don’t try that argument with him,” Peter advises. “It’s a dead-end road. You’re going to medbay whether you like it or not.”
Tony and Harley turn toward Peter, as if realizing his presence for the first time. Tony gives him a curt nod, but Harley only squints his eyes and straightens. His posture tenses, distrust radiating from him in waves.
“And who are you?” Harley asks impatiently.
“Uh, well—that’s a long story,” Peter says.
“One that will have to wait,” Tony steps in, taking control of the conversation once more. “Harley, let’s go. Medbay now. Peter, come with us. I’m going to need a second set of eyes.”
Peter immediately sobers at that. While he and Tony have become close partners this past year, it’s not often the man asks him for outright help. Besides, he’s the smartest person on the planet, meaning there’s not much Peter can help with regardless. So this must mean something genuinely serious is happening.
“Got it,” Peter says as they make their way inside.
It’s nice for Peter to, for once, not be the one being poked and prodded in the medbay. Tony leads a reluctant Harley to one of the beds and then begins taking out packs of gauze. “Superficial,” Tony says evenly, inspecting each of Harley’s injuries. “You’re unbelievably lucky.”
“It doesn’t feel like it,” Harley says quietly, all of his previous anger disappearing. It’s with this that Peter once again begins to question how Harley has ended up in this position in the first place. There’s the shadow of something darker behind the kid’s eyes.
“We’ll find them,” Tony says confidently, taping up the cut above Harley’s eye. “Right now, I want you take a breath and relax. Try and think back to what happened. I need descriptions—hair color, height, clothes, anything about the people that took you guys.”
“Took?” Peter queries.
Tony waves a hand in his direction, dismissive. Apparently now isn’t the time to help Peter play catchup, so he keeps his mouth shut and tries to piece things together with the little information he has.
“I don’t know,” Harley says, a tremor in his voice. “I just—I came home, and my mom and sister were gone. Then they—they came out of the shadows, cornering me. They were all wearing black. They had masks.”
“Ski masks? Bandanas?” Tony asks.
“No, like—a full face mask. Plastic maybe? I don’t know. They brought me to a van—”
“What color was the van?”
“Grey,” Harley says.
“Was it a soccer mom kinda van? Or stereotypical kidnapper kinda van?”
“Definitely kidnapper style.” Harley closes his eyes. “They… They said they had them. Mom and Ava. So I should behave. But after a while, the guy watching me fell asleep, and I knew—I knew I had to get help. Otherwise nobody would find us. So I just… I ran for the door and jumped. Hid in the forest until I could use my phone.”
“You jumped out of a moving car?” Peter says, eyebrows raised.
“I didn’t have a choice,” he says, looking Peter dead in the eyes. “Was I supposed to do something different?”
Hastily, Peter corrects, “No, no—that’s not what I meant. You’re just…”
The word lucky hung heavily in the air again. For having escaped the way he did, Harley was remarkably well off. It’s impressive that he didn’t manage to break any bones, or even outright kill himself in the process. Desperate situations make people do desperate things though, and if Peter were in his place, he’s sure he would’ve done the same thing.
Keeping the discussion on topic, Tony continues pressuring Harley. “And they didn’t say anything about why they took you guys? Nothing about ransom? Money? Nothing?”
“Nothing,” Harley confirms. “I tried asking, but they didn’t like that.”
Tony rubs a hand on his chin, clearly deep in thought. “And you haven’t pissed anybody off recently?”
“Pissed people off? Definitely. But to the point of kidnapping me and my family?” Harley asks, scoffing. “Absolutely not.”
Peter stays silent and tries to work through everything he’s learned so far. Somehow, Tony and Harley know each other. For whatever reason, there are people who want Harley and his family. Harley managed to escape, call for Tony’s help, and now they’re here. He assumes they took a few hours to return because they were searching the area for the kidnappers, but evidently, that was a fruitless effort.
There are way too many unknowns. Nothing about this makes sense. He needs to talk to Tony, preferably out of Harley’s earshot, and get some background information. There has to be more to the story.
Thankfully, Tony seems to be on a similar line of thinking. After a few moments of consideration, he looks at Harley, then says, “Look. I know this isn’t going to be what you want to hear, but I think you should try and get some sleep. It’s been a long night, you’ve been through a lot, and some rest might do you some good.”
Harley opens his mouth to interject, but Tony keeps talking over him. “I’m going to start looking for your family right now. I’m going to put feelers out there, run facial recognition programs at full capacity, and do all the research possible to try and find out who these people are. But…that’s all I can do, Harley, and I probably won’t have an answer for at least a few hours.”
A minute passes where Harley doesn’t say anything. He seems to be weighing the pros and cons of this proposal. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to sleep,” he finally replies, pained.
“I know,” Tony says sympathetically. “But you should at least try. It might even help jog your memory. I promise you, I’ll wake you up if I make even the slightest bit of progress.”
Harley looks away from them, staring at the neighboring wall. It’s obvious he’s trying to hide some sort of emotion, and Peter does his best not to stare. It feels like he’s intruding on something completely private. In this moment, he determines that he’ll do whatever it takes to reunite Harley with his mom and sister.
“I’m sorry,” Harley whispers. “I’m really sorry.”
“For what?” Tony asks.
Harley shrugs, and gestures his arms in a manner that seems to say, “For everything.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for, kid. I’ll find them, okay? I swear to you, if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll find them.”
Peter glances at Tony and catches a fleeting glimpse of true passion in his eyes. It’s the kind of look that’s easy to miss, but Peter’s learned to recognize it. It’s the same determination Tony shows whenever he makes a promise to him.
Peter has no idea how deep Tony’s relationship with Harley runs or how long they’ve known each other. But as he stands between them now, he realizes that maybe it’s time to share a bit of the Tony Stark he’s kept to himself like a secret all year. The Tony Stark that is loyal, and honest, and fiercely protective of his loved ones.
And honestly? That doesn’t sound so bad.
Eventually, Tony shows Harley to one of the spare guest rooms in the tower. It leaves Tony and Peter finally alone once more in the lab, echoes of their previous endeavor overshadowed by a new task.
“So,” Peter begins, trying to figure out how to breach the topic of this whole situation. “I didn’t know you had a secret love-child other than me.”
Tony chuckles dryly. “You wish you were my secret love-child.”
“Kind of. It would’ve been nice to grow up rich,” Peter says wistfully. There’s a beat of indecision, before he reluctantly adds on, “Seriously though.”
“Seriously what?” Tony says. He starts to turn on all of the computer displays, clearly getting ready to do some hardcore sleuthing.
“Is he?” Peter prompts.
“Is he—what, my secret love-child?” Tony asks. He lifts an eyebrow at Peter, seeming aggrieved by the question. “For his sake, thankfully not. I met him a decade ago. He kinda saved my life. We kept in touch here and there, but we haven’t spoken in a few years. Nothing more to it than that.”
Peter digests this. “So you picked up another stray,” he concludes, doing his best to lighten the mood. “Careful now, you might end up like one of those crazy cat ladies. The mid-life crisis is looking more and more probable as the day goes on.”
“I am going to pretend you did not just refer to yourself as a stray,” Tony decides. “You were not a stray. More like a mini science project.”
“A mini—” Peter repeats in disbelief. “You recruited me to fight in a war!”
“If it makes you feel better, you were a very invaluable mini science project.”
Peter shakes his head. “You know, I’m not so sure it does.”
They lapse into a comfortable quiet. Tony begins pulling up program after program on the computers, preparing for what’s probably going to be a maddening task. Peter rolls a chair close to him and sinks into it, trying to stave off the fatigue. As perceptive as always though, Tony notices.
“You been up all night, kid?’
Peter exhales slowly and lays his head down on the table. The clock to his right tells him that it’s quickly approaching seven in the morning. As much as he wants to put up an untouchable façade that he’s not tired, it’s too much effort. “I told you I would stay on comms until you got back,” he says in lieu of an answer. “Needed to make sure you got back okay.”
“I hope you know you just forfeited every right to complain about me backseating your patrols.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Peter says disinterestedly. He’d already figured that out.
Tony studies him, then tells him gently, “You should get some sleep too. You can help me later this afternoon.”
“Isn’t time of the essence though?” Peter asks. “The chance of finding a missing person after 72 hours dwindles significantly, or something like that. If this was May that was kidnapped, I don’t think you’d ever get me to sleep.”
“Then I’ll tell you the same thing I told Harley. If I find anything, I’ll let you know immediately. We don’t need to both suffer.”
Peter groans and pulls himself back up to a sitting position, cracking his back in the process. “You should know by now that’s not going to work on me. I’m just going to get a coffee. Like you said earlier, a second set of eyes and all that.”
“Kid…” Tony says.
“Mr. Stark…” Peter fires back in the same tone. He smiles reassuringly. “I’m okay. Let me help. You know I won’t be able to sleep if someone is in danger.”
Tony sighs. “You take after me way too much,” he says, definitely not approving of Peter’s decision.
“Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Peter says. He shrugs. “It could be worse. I could’ve inherited your looks.
“Didn’t we just establish you aren’t my secret love-child?” Tony asks, glancing around as if seeking affirmation from a non-existent audience. “I could’ve sworn we just established that.”
“Or I could’ve inherited your horrible sense of humor.” Peter shudders. “Could you imagine?”
“Oh, I can imagine,” Tony grumbles. “I definitely can imagine.”
Peter chuckles, fully aware that he’s getting under Tony’s skin. It’s one of his favorite pastimes. They fall into an easy silence, and for a moment, the lighthearted banter helps Peter forget the tension looming over them. He gets to his feet, preparing to do what he said he was going to do to keep himself awake. Coffee. Caffeine. He needs it.
But then the weight of everything comes rushing back.
Peter pauses halfway to the door, his smile fading as something nags at the back of his mind. The fun, the jokes—none of it changes the situation they’re in. This thought has been bothering him ever since Harley showed up at the tower, and now it feels impossible to ignore. He hesitates, unsure if now is the right time to bring it up, but deep down, he knows he won’t be able to let it go.
He turns to Tony, who is already staring at him, probably sensing the shift in mood. “What is it, Pete?” he asks.
Peter bites his lip. Fuck it. “Harley’s from Tennessee, right? But you picked him up in Pennsylvania,” he says. “Weird, don’t you think? That the kidnappers were taking him in the direction of New York?”
Tony’s expression shifts to something more sympathetic. “You know, I actually don’t think it’s weird at all.”
Peter swallows, uncomfortable, and his stomach tightens with anxiety. It seems that Tony has already been down this thought process. If the kidnappers were taking Harley and his family to New York, and Harley and Tony have history together, then it’s entirely possible that the relationship between these two things is not a coincidence.
“And you aren’t worried that they’re using him against you?” Peter questions. “You still don’t think this is some kind of trap?”
Tony turns back to the screens, doing something so complicated and technical with the programs that even Peter can’t keep up. Finally, the man admits, “I definitely think it’s a trap. But I can’t let that stop me from trying to find the kid’s family. I can’t avoid helping just because I’m afraid. Harley’s been through too much already. He doesn’t deserve this.”
Peter lets that response sink in. They really are frighteningly similar. “As long as we’re on the same page,” he says, nodding.
Then, he turns and walks out the door, intending to return with two cups of black coffee and a newfound determination to save not only the lives of Harley and his family, but to protect Tony at all costs too.
Unfortunately, no leads turn up in the days that follow. Peter hangs around the tower, thankful it’s summer vacation and that May doesn’t mind him crashing there for several nights in a row. He, Tony, and Harley take shifts monitoring the facial recognition programs. When Peter goes out on patrol, he keeps an eye out for anything suspicious that might tie back to Harley’s situation, but nothing ever stands out.
Gradually, Peter notices Harley’s hope fading. Each day, he spends a little more time alone in his room and a little less time watching the programs. They haven’t talked much since Harley arrived, and honestly, Peter wouldn’t know what to say. “Sorry your whole family’s been kidnapped” doesn’t exactly make for the best icebreaker.
But one night, when Tony finally crashes for some much-needed rest, Peter and Harley find themselves in front of the screens together. The silence stretches on for a while, until Harley unexpectedly breaks it.
“So,” he says, his tone casual but curious. “You Tony’s kid or some shit?”
Peter lets out a small laugh at the irony. “Nah. Just a little too clingy of a protégé.”
“Oh,” Harley says, and it seems that he’s actually surprised by that response. It makes Peter feel like he just told Harley some sort of lie.
“You actually thought I was his son?” Peter decides to ask, mostly because he’s curious of the answer.
“I mean, yeah,” says Harley. “You guys are basically identical. And Tony…he’s a lot different than I remember. He wasn’t exactly Mr. Responsible back then. But now he actually seems—I dunno, grounded.”
Peter raises an eyebrow. “Seriously? He was that different?”
Harley nods, his gaze drifting to the screens as he picks at a loose thread on his sleeve. “Yeah, I mean, he was always there for me and all. But he was… I guess more all over the place. It’s like he always had something else on his mind, something he couldn’t sit still from. But now he actually seems like he’s gotten his head on straight or something.”
This time it’s Peter’s turn to say, “Oh.”
Peter wonders if the change in Tony has something to do with him. Harley seems to be hinting at it, but Peter wouldn’t be able to tell. He hasn’t known Tony as long as Harley has, and part of him feels a little sad about that. He can’t help but wonder how different things might have been if he and Tony had met earlier.
Or maybe they wouldn’t be that different at all.
“You’re lucky, you know?” Harley says, pulling Peter from his thoughts.
Peter looks over at him, a little surprised. “Yeah?” he asks, because there are a lot of adjectives that can be used to describe Peter and his life, and in his opinion, ‘lucky’ is probably near the bottom of the list.
“Yeah,” Harley says. “It’s rare to have someone who actually sticks around. Someone you can rely on.”
Peter hesitates, catching a note of something unspoken in Harley’s words. “You’ve got people who stick around too, right? Your family?”
A shadow passes over Harley’s face, and he glances down. “I mean, yeah, I guess. It’s complicated. My mom and I don’t exactly see eye-to-eye. She’s, uh, not the most stable person to be around. But she’s still my mom. And my sister…”
Peter’s heart twists, and he nods, keeping his voice soft. “I’m really sorry, Harley. I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but I do know what it’s like to feel so helpless. Like there’s nothing you can do but wait and hope for the best. It’s the worst feeling in the world.”
Harley swallows, looking down. “Yeah.” There’s something tight in his voice, a barely-there tremor, as if he’s carrying the weight of a choice he doesn’t fully understand. “Ava…she’s only nine. I don’t know what anyone would want with her, or why they’d want to drag her into this mess.”
Peter’s throat tightens. “Nine? Jesus, Harley. I didn’t know she was that young.”
Harley gaze grows distant, fingers picking more urgently at his sleeve. “Yeah. She’s just a kid, you know? She doesn’t deserve any of this—any of the stuff my mom does, or… I just… I’d do anything to make sure she’s safe. You understand?”
“Of course,” Peter says. “And look, for what it’s worth, if there is anybody in the world who can get them back, it’s Tony. You can trust him on this. He’s saved me so many times, even in situations that seemed impossible to overcome. He’ll do the same for you. Okay?”
Peter pretends that he doesn’t see Harley wipe away a few tears. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah I know.”
They turn back to the screens, and Peter knows they’re both secretly hoping for some sort of alarm or popup or notification to spring to life. The waiting—it’s the worst part, because there really is only so much that can be done before it’s out of their hands. Every inkling of time that slips by is a possibility they’ve lost without knowing it. There is no telling what Harley’s family is going through right now.
This really makes Peter admire Harley’s strength. He would not be half as put-together if the situation were reversed and it was his loved ones who were suffering through unknown horrors. But still, Harley keeps his chin up, and Peter begins to recognize what Tony sees in the kid.
“I’m sorry,” Harley says all of the sudden. And then quickly, he adds on, “For making you do all of this for me. You don’t have to.”
“Yes I do,” Peter replies. Then, echoing Tony from before, he tells Harley, “There’s nothing to be sorry for. You would do the same thing for me, I’m sure.”
Harley breathes out shakily. “Of course.”
With that, the conversation comes to a close and the blanket of suffocating silence and apprehension returns. The waiting is the worst part, and yet, for some reason, Peter begins to wonder whether they’ll ever get any answers.