The Harley Keener Villain Complex

He's an 03 Baby so time to have a mental breakdown

"How was Stephen?" Harley asked, barely looking up from his book to confirm that it indeed was Peter. Out of habit, his right hand had already begun moving to his calf where he kept a knife and a modified Lifecard gun at almost all times. When he realised it was Peter he put his hand back on the book like he hadn't considered drawing a weapon on him. (again)

"You know how he is" Peter replied, frantically going through his bag, throwing books and loose papers all over the floor

"No I don't" Harley replied casually

"Oh, well, he's a cynical wizard. He's been teaching me a lot about magic and stuff- hey, can I borrow your finger?" the rummaging had ceased "I'm not authorized to access your cabinets through fingerprint ID" Peter asked and Harley quickly plucked the badge from around his throat in order to throw it to Peter who skilfully caught it. "It's fingerprint access though" he noted and Harley shrugged before briefly explaining

"I burned my fingerprints off so this opens everything" he had kept his Stark Industries ID card on a lanyard with rainbow stripes on it because he was very queer, and was undecided as to which label best fit, with the Stark Industries logo printed on it in black.

"That sounds perfectly not sketchy" Peter said dumbstruck "Thanks"

"No problem" Harley replied as he shifted his focus back onto the book on major economic catastrophes in the past century. It was incredibly boring but he needed to do it, it had been his choice after all. His decision to do all these things and he certainly would not complain about it. Whilst drawing in the wise words of George Frank Zerason he did not even notice Peter coming back into his lab where he sat, relaxed, feet kicked up on the table, book balanced in his lap, hand fidgeting with a hair tie.

He was in his own world when Peter cleared his throat

"You were born in 2003?"

"I know, had only I been blessed with better genetics and I would not look like either a stressed out 27 years old or a 13 years old anemic child- no inbetween" he muttered, Peter's question completely sailing over his head

"You look at least 16, cut yourself some slack" Peter joked tensely "You and Steve seemed to have made some sort of amends" Harley shrugged barely bothered by the harsh change of topic

"How'd you figure that out, genius," he smirked at Peter, "was it the fact we had dinner together or the fact that I stopped saying I want to beat his face in after complaining about the walking talking moral compass?" Peter leaned against one of the tables, smiling in Harley's direction. He would allow Harley to let the statement stand alone, but maybe- maybe he could tell him. Maybe it could work, Harley thought and breathed in carefully "Before the Sokovia accords he and I were really close, you know he was like family to me. Not like a dad or something, more like the step dad who is trying to be your dad but is more like the somewhat close uncle. But all that changed rather quickly. We got into a fight because of the accords, not because I disagreed with him but because of his conduct. I told him to rot in hell, that I never wanted to see him again. I had every right to, he made a promise he could not keep, betrayed me- I felt like he did anyway. Down the line I thought I could try trusting him again and he stabbed me in the back. Again. Things will never be like they were before but we've been getting better. No more jokes about the Rogers 3000 for one" the questioning look Peter sent him said enough "A device I suggested, severs your spinal cord as a fail safe if the mission goes wrong." Harley sighed, trying to not think about the encounter. "When I got my license I first saw him again, God it was awkward"

"Hey, Tin" Harley said with a shit eating grin as he leaned against the wooden doorframe, looking at Tony who was, peaceful as ever, reading a book on composting.