Chapter Text
Thanksgiving was coming up fast, and Harley had no idea how to feel about it or what the hell he was supposed to do with himself. Which, honestly, was frustrating. Because he knew Thanksgiving was a thing. It came every year. It wasn’t a surprise.
He was trying not to panic.
But the closer it got, the tighter something twisted in his chest.
Pepper had asked him at least three times what he wanted for dinner. Tony had been double-checking the date practically once a day, like Harley might forget or like he was proving he really would be home this time.
Harley smiled, nodded, went back to whatever he was doing.
This was going to be their first real Thanksgiving together since he was…what, eight? No, seven. And then, he’d been a scrawny little kid. The Malibu house had paper turkeys in the windows, JARVIS had streamed Planes, Trains and Automobiles, and Harley had passed out on Tony’s chest like it was no big deal.
But a lot had changed since then.
Thanksgiving had turned into just another Thursday.
Pepper usually stopped by the weekend before. Sometimes with Happy, sometimes solo. Rhodey and Obie would swing through around the same time, usually with snacks or movies they never finished and little gifts in their jacket pockets. One year, Happy brought him a pie. Probably when Harley had that sprained wrist.
Gene’s parents invited him more than once. He always said no. Said he’d stay in the dorms. Said he didn’t mind.
He liked listening to teachers trying to make kids feel better about being left behind.
Tony never came. Not once.
There was always a reason. Press stuff, board meetings, overseas trips, or some save-the-world mission. Harley always shrugged, said it didn’t bother him. And most of the time, it didn’t. Or he pretended well enough that it didn’t.
But now they lived together.
This year, they were supposed to be a family.
Just the three of them. Pepper, Tony, and Harley.
His dad would probably sit at the head of the table, throwing out jokes. There’d be candles. A turkey. Happy and Rhodey were dropping by later for dessert or maybe a drink. Nothing huge. No guest list, no matching napkins. Still, it felt kind of official.
And Harley had no idea what to do with that.
He tried not to overthink it. Tried to make sure everything was just right.
He kept quiet about the holiday at school. Didn’t say a word to Jason or Tyler. Not even MJ. Even though they definitely noticed something was off. He was fidgety, clicking his pen too much, tripping over jokes at lunch, walking too fast between classes. Spending more time in the pool than his coach asked him to.
MJ gave him a look like she knew, but he didn’t explain.
He didn’t know how to talk about it without sounding stupid.
Didn’t know how to describe that weird hollow-sick feeling that sat behind his ribs.
All he knew was that he wanted it to go okay.
He didn’t want to screw it up.
He wanted to be good. Helpful. Chill. Wanted to belong.
So he was extra careful.
More focused.
Trying not to slide back into his usual raccoon-goblin self.
He said please and thank you more than usual. Didn’t roll his eyes when Tony made corny jokes. Helped clean the kitchen. Even offered to run to the store for last-minute groceries-despite having no clue what a butternut squash looked like in the wild.
Pepper gave him a too-knowing smile, but she didn’t ask if he was okay, so that was technically a win.
Harley skipped the whole holiday greetings thing.
Just shot Gene a quick text.
Harley: Happy Turkey Day! Tell your folks thanks again. Hope everything goes smooth this year.
Gene: Mom says you’re still invited. Bring cranberry sauce and some of that Harley charm.
Harley laughed.
There was a year he almost said yes.
And after spending spring break with them, he kind of regretted not going.
But next year? He still turned them down.
Maybe some part of him was still clinging to the idea that Tony might show up.
But now he had shown up.
Now Harley was in New York. In the penthouse. With a dad who, for better or worse, had made him pancakes last week and was supposed to carve a turkey tomorrow.
And Harley didn’t know what that meant.
He just knew he really didn’t want to ruin it.
So when MJ asked if he wanted to hang out Wednesday night, he said he was busy.
Dodged Jason’s plan to go people-watch at JFK.
Left Tyler on read.
He was scared that if he spent too much time with them, he’d let something slip. Something soft and cracked and real, like how much it mattered that Tony was actually here.
Thanksgiving morning was suspiciously quiet.
Pepper had been in the kitchen since sunrise, humming something Harley definitely recognized but couldn’t name. Tony was knocked out on the couch, either asleep or pretending, probably recharging for the evening or catching up after another sleepless night.
There wasn’t much left to do. The apartment smelled like cinnamon and roasted vegetables.
Harley didn’t want to get in the way.
Which left him alone with his thoughts.
Statistically, not ideal.
Without really deciding to, he ended up staring at a contact in his phone.
One he thought he’d only ever use if things went really sideways.
And even then, probably not.
Carson (do not pick up)
The phone rang.
And then it rang again.
“Stark,” came Mr. Carson’s voice. Dry and just a little concerned, though it was half-covered with an attempt at sounding amused. “To what do I owe this honor? Don’t tell me you finally read The Tempest and just had to share your insights?”
“I read it like three years ago,” Harley snorted.
“You skimmed it. Barely. Don’t lie to me,” Carson replied. “You called Prospero a weird cross between Batman and Merlin.”
“And I stand by that take,” Harley said without missing a beat.
“God help me,” Carson muttered. Then, a little more gently, “Happy Thanksgiving, kid. Big day. What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Harley said way too quickly. “Just figured I’d check in. See how you’re doing.”
Carson let the silence sit for a second.
“Right,” he said at last. “Because you’re known for your spontaneous check-ins.”
Harley stifled a laugh and glanced out the window. New York was gray, cold, and already familiar.
“I just wanted to say hey,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“Mhm,” Carson replied calmly. “And that has nothing to do with you spending your first Thanksgiving with your dad since… what, Obama’s first term?”
“Oh no, Bush still had a year left when it last happened,” Harley shot back dryly.
“Ah. Right.”
“It’s weird, but I’m not like, freaking out,” Harley added, trying to sound chill.
“Of course not.”
“I don’t know,” he admitted eventually. “Last year I ate mashed potatoes out of a cardboard container and told Jamie about a fight I had with Olivia. Now I live here. And everyone’s acting like this is normal. Like we’re some big happy family…”
“You’re not great with normal,” Carson said easily.
“I can do normal,” Harley argued.
“You can fake normal. You’d ace it if it were a test. But that’s not the same thing,” Carson replied gently, but firmly. “So now you’re sitting there pretending everything’s fine because it’s easier than asking yourself what you actually want from all this.”
“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to feel,” Harley admitted. “I’m not mad. I mean, yeah...but also I kind of just feel empty? And I keep thinking I’m gonna say something dumb or act weird and blow it all up before dessert. I don’t wanna mess this up. But I also don’t wanna expect anything. I don’t want it to be awkward.”
“Kid, you are awkward,” Carson said. “And that’s your charm. Trust me, if anyone makes it weird, it’ll be your dad. You don’t have enough firepower to ruin a Stark family holiday. That probably takes precedent.”
Harley let out a quiet laugh-but then his smile faded, guilt creeping in.
“I feel like I’m supposed to feel something else. Like I should hate him more. Or be more excited. Or... something. But mostly it just feels like I don’t know the rules. Or which version of myself I’m supposed to be today.”
“Kid,” Carson said, even softer, “you don’t have to know. And you don’t have to turn today into some big symbolic event. You don’t need to prove anything. Just... be there. You’re allowed to feel weird and happy and unsure and all of it at the same time.”
“Thanks,” Harley said quietly, eyes drifting shut for a second.
“I’ve seen you write essays on books you never opened using only your charm and half-baked secondhand summaries. You can handle a turkey.”
“That’s so not the same and you know it,” Harley muttered.
“No,” Carson agreed. “But you know what is the same? You get scared, and then you start performing. You put up this buffer of charm and sarcasm so no one sees the soft parts. You’ve done it since the day you walked into my classroom. Probably before that.”
He paused, then added, “Sometimes you don’t have to perform. Or win the room. Sometimes it’s enough just to show up.”
Harley didn’t answer right away. The silence started stretching.
“Don’t tell anyone I called you on Thanksgiving and got all emotionally vulnerable.”
“Your secret’s safe with me, Stark,” Carson laughed. “Always here if you need. Now go. Be weird. Eat too much. Have fun. It’s gonna be fine. It always is, eventually.”
Harley ended the call and sat there a second, just breathing. It’s not like he suddenly felt fixed, but... he did feel a little better.
Dinner itself was completely different than he’d imagined-and somehow exactly like he remembered it could be. The apartment looked like a page out of a lifestyle magazine. Mason jars with candles, mismatched mugs, colorful napkins. Nothing fancy. No catering, no showboating.
When Harley wandered into the kitchen at the agreed time, Pepper was deep in prep mode, wearing an oversized sweater and laughing as Tony refused to move out of her way, complaining that cranberry sauce shouldn’t hold the shape of the can.
“Tony,” Pepper warned as he stole another roasted carrot off the tray, kissing her cheek at the same time. She didn’t seem mad, though.
“Mhm,” Tony mumbled, now sticking a finger into the stuffing and licking it with exaggerated flair. “Just making sure nothing’s poisonous. Head of the household duties.”
Harley smiled quietly to himself.
“Touch that stuffing again,” Pepper warned, brandishing a fork, “and you won’t live to see the turkey.”
“This is that warm holiday spirit everyone keeps raving about?” Tony winked at Harley, who smiled again but didn’t answer-just shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned against the doorway.
It wasn’t that their dynamic bothered him. Over the past few months, he’d gotten used to seeing them as a real couple, not some abstract idea, and he’d adjusted to the rhythm they had together. But watching them now, circling each other in their kitchen, joking, bumping elbows, stealing kisses while setting the table in their home... Harley felt both a little more like an outsider and a little more... warm inside.
“Sweet or dry cider, honey?” Pepper asked, holding up two bottles. “ Or are you planning to sneak some wine from the decanter and pretend we didn’t notice half a glass missing?”
Harley rolled his eyes. “Dry,” he said. “I’ll skip the wine.”
“What a grown man,” Tony declared, looping an arm around Pepper from behind and absolutely getting in her way. “Dry cider, shirt with buttons…”
For a second, Harley thought Tony was about to say something else. But he just sighed and went back to bugging Pepper.
“Smells amazing,” Harley said finally, deciding to act like a semi-normal person. “Are we eating?”
“Yeah, kid,” Tony replied, giving him a mock-serious look. “Unless you wanna say grace or something-in which case, I can try to pretend I know what I’m doing.”
“Yeah, no, I’ll pass,” Harley mumbled, sliding into what had unofficially become his usual seat-though calling it usual felt weird, since they almost never used the actual table.
Still, tonight, they did.
The first few minutes were a little quiet. But then things eased up.
Harley complimented everything. Twice. Tony told some ridiculous story about how he’d tried to deep-fry a turkey during college and nearly burned down half of MIT. Pepper rolled her eyes so hard Harley actually laughed out loud. And somewhere between the gravy and the second round of mashed potatoes, Harley realized something strange:
He felt safe.
The way Pepper and Tony looked at each other too long, or held hands without even noticing, was… steadying. Like gravity. Like something solid in a world that mostly spun too fast.
After everyone had gone back for seconds, Harley started clearing the plates without being asked. He helped pack up the leftovers, put things away, wiped down the counter.
“You good, sweetheart?” Pepper asked softly, bumping her hip into his while they stood at the counter.
“You’ve been pretty quiet tonight.”
“I was eating,” Harley said, rolling his eyes. “And trying to be helpful.”
Pepper gave him one of her long, knowing looks. The kind that said I know that’s a lie, but I’ll let it slide. Then she reached up, gave the back of his neck a gentle squeeze, and kissed him on the temple.
“Happy and Rhodey should be here in about twenty minutes,” Tony called out, walking into the kitchen and hopping up onto the island like it was perfectly normal. “Fair warning, Happy’s bringing a pie he’s been bragging about like he baked it himself…”
“We’ll act appropriately impressed,” Pepper said, leaning her forehead against Harley’s head for a second.
“Speak for yourself,” Harley said, stepping away from her dramatically.
And Tony let out a soft laugh, the kind with actual crinkles around his eyes, the kind that sparkled a little. Real.
By the time Rhodey and Happy showed up, the kitchen was basically spotless and Harley was so full and sleepy he didn’t want to move.
“Smells like someone actually cooked in here,” Rhodey called out with a grin, setting a six-pack of Pepsi Twist on the counter along with something that might’ve been a pecan pie.
“The turkey turned out pretty good this year,” Pepper smiled, hugging one guest, then the other.
“Probably because Tony didn’t help,” Happy muttered, and Harley grinned.
“Excuse me,” Tony mumbled, taking the pumpkin pie from Happy and eyeing it suspiciously. “If I do cook, JARVIS handles all the calculations and logistics.”
“And yet you nearly knocked the turkey off the table trying to show off with the carving knife,” Harley added, giving Tony a fake-apologetic look while setting out dessert plates on the coffee table. He was one bite away from food coma.
“Okay, mutiny,” Tony said, pointing dramatically. “The three of you? Out of the will.”
Harley smiled and passed Pepper the wine glass she’d left on the table just as she sank down beside Tony on the couch.
She took it with a grateful little nod.
The evening was honestly pretty great.
Harley had claimed a spot on the couch early on and hadn’t moved since. He didn’t talk much, just sat back and let everything happen around him. Happy was ranking pies. His own, the one Rhodey brought, and whatever Pepper had made. The lights were dim, the TV was playing The Addams Family on low volume, and Rhodey and Tony were off in a corner swapping updates like middle school gossipers. Pepper kept giving them that look whenever their ideas got too ridiculous gently steering them away from chaos before it fully formed.
At some point, Tony got it into his head that trying to inhale an entire turkey sandwich was a fun post-dessert challenge, and somehow that led to Harley asking for one, too.
A decision he regretted approximately four bites later.
He was a breath away from dying of overstuffing. It wasn’t even eight yet, and he felt like he could pass out mid-sentence.
He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, trying to breathe easier.
Tony had ended up sitting right next to him. Pepper and Rhodey had gotten into some Serious Adult Conversation. Taxes. Geopolitics. Retirement accounts. Who knows.
Anyway, Tony had moved over to pester Happy about whether he’d bribed some poor bakery kid into making that suspiciously perfect pumpkin pie and just slapped his name on it. Harley half-listened to the movie with one ear and let the rest of the noise drift in like background static.
“-off. Quieter lately,” Rhodey said. Harley caught the tail end of it. “He doing okay?”
They didn’t say his name, but honestly, they might as well have lit it up in neon over his head.
Harley didn’t open his eyes. Just sharpened his focus.
“He’s been kind of like that ever since...” Pepper replied, her voice just as quiet. “Well. Since he and Tony started really trying. I think it’s just... a lot for him.”
“That why he got detention?” Rhodey asked-louder than Harley expected. And okay, what was with everyone knowing everything so fast?
“That, and apparently he couldn’t keep his mouth shut in physics,” Pepper said with a dry little laugh.
The background noise shifted. Happy and Tony had gone quiet. Harley could feel Tony staring at him now, like an invisible flashlight aimed at his forehead. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know all the attention had suddenly swung his way.
“So what’s this Happy told me about some girl?” Rhodey asked, and Harley had to physically stop himself from groaning.
“MJ,” Pepper said, definitely amused now. They were talking louder-probably encouraged by Harley’s lack of reaction. “He met her in detention. Very on-brand.”
“Obviously,” Rhodey chuckled.
“Moody, mouthy, mysterious girlfriend, sneaking into parties without adult supervision…” Happy added from across the room, like he’d been waiting for the right moment to jump in.
“Multitasking king,” said Tony over Harley’s head, and there was a warmth in it that hit somewhere behind Harley’s ribs. “ Chip off the old block.”
“You know I can hear you guys, right?” Harley said finally, cracking one eye open.
Sure enough, every single one of them was looking straight at him.
“You were sleeping,” Tony said, like Harley had violated some unspoken agreement.
“I was lying down with my eyes closed. Not the same.”
Pepper gave him a long look, like she was trying to figure out how long he’d been listening-or how much he’d heard. In response, Harley reached over and snatched the last bit of pie off Tony’s plate and popped it in his mouth like a challenge.
“What?” he said, mouth full, when Tony raised his eyebrows at him. “You weren’t gonna eat it.”
Pepper snorted and turned back to Rhodey, who luckily moved on to a different topic. Happy ruffled Harley’s hair -unprovoked, rude- on his way to the kitchen, probably in search of something else to graze on.
“You’re a rude little punk,” Tony said with a dramatic pout, bumping Harley’s shoulder and stretching out beside him in perfect imitation.
Harley turned his head and looked at his profile.
“Everyone says I get it from my dad,” he said, but this time it didn’t come out bitter. No edge. Just a quiet fact.
Tony’s mouth twitched into the ghost of a smile.
“Sir,” JARVIS said, polite as ever. “Captain Rogers is currently in the elevator. Shall I send him up?”
The entire room stiffened. Like, sitcom-level frozen in place. Heads mid-turn, snacks halfway to mouths. Pepper glanced at Tony. Rhodey raised his eyebrows. Harley blinked, looking at his dad. Tony had the expression of someone who’d just remembered a really unfortunate dream, and the slow realization started crawling across his face.
“He appears to be carrying pie,” JARVIS added helpfully.
“Oh. Right. That,” Tony muttered, rubbing a hand over his face and taking a sip of wine. “That might be on me.”
“That?” Pepper asked, her voice just slightly too calm. “You invited him?”
“Well, I may have kind of... issued an open invitation. A while ago. In passing,” Tony said, shrugging and looking like he regretted every decision that had ever led him to this moment. Which wasn’t a common occurrence. “Said something like, drop by whenever. You know. Since we’re coworkers now. It was, like, one of those performative social contracts-”
“And you forgot to mention that?” Harley asked, sitting up on one elbow, grinning. “Cool. Maybe next time I’ll invite Beyoncé.”
“It wasn’t real,” Tony muttered, scowling at him. “It’s like when you say ‘we should hang out sometime’ and both people know it’s never gonna happen.”
“Well, it’s happening,” Rhodey said, laughing under his breath.
“You’re fine with this?” Tony asked Pepper, turning to her like he was looking for a lifeline. “I can have JARVIS sabotage the elevator. We’ll say we ran out of turkey. Or fake a gas leak.”
“It’s fine,” Pepper said with her smooth, diplomatic smile-the kind that meant she did have an opinion, but she had the situation under control. “He’s a guest.”
“Sure,” Tony muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “A guest.”
The elevator dinged. Everyone immediately tried to look natural, which obviously made things worse. The air was heavy-not exactly tense, but definitely full. Like everyone was braced, just a little.
“So this the part where we all pretend we’re not collectively losing our shit?” Harley whispered to Happy.
“Don’t curse in front of the Captain,” Happy said, snorting. Which wasn't exactly a denial. Tony muttered something under his breath that definitely didn’t belong in a Thanksgiving special.
And then the elevator doors opened, and there he was: Steve Rogers, in all his glory. Wearing a ridiculously fitted sweater, holding a pie from some artisanal bakery that probably had a three-month waitlist. He looked... hesitant. Like someone not quite used to being the embodiment of national symbolism at casual get-togethers.
“Good evening,” Steve said as he stepped in. Pepper was already there, shaking his hand and taking the pie from him.
“Happy Thanksgiving. I hope I’m not too late.”
“Oh no,” Tony said, standing up a little too quickly. “We were just... being thankful. You’re just in time for round three of dessert, where we all pretend we can still eat.”
There was a quick shuffle of slightly awkward hellos.
“We saved you a spot,” Harley offered, pointing to the space next to him-Tony’s former seat. “Didn’t know we were doing that, but hey, turns out we did.”
Steve smiled and sat down. “Thanks. It’s good to see you again.”
“Oh, can we pretend this is the first time?” Harley grinned. “Last time I was like seventy percent boredom and thirty percent bad attitude.”
“You weren’t that bad,” Steve said, all polite and diplomatic.
Rhodey snorted like he definitely knew Harley had been that bad. Pepper just shook her head, amused.
After that, Harley tried to keep it a little lower-key. Mostly. He laughed at jokes, nodded at stories, and pretended not to notice Pepper shooting him those subtle mom-glances-the ones she also aimed at Tony, like she was babysitting them both equally.
Steve sat perfectly upright, participating in conversation like he’d done this a thousand times before. But there was something in the way he held himself, like he didn’t want to take up more space than he was allowed.
Happy and Rhodey drifted into some deep dive about weapons contracts. Why, Harley couldn’t imagine. Pepper was topping off drinks, keeping things moving, playing hostess like it was a skillset she had patented. Tony laughed a little late at jokes and talked a little less than usual.
And Harley noticed, quietly, subtly, that Tony was trying. That kind of trying people did when they didn’t want it to look like trying. Like how he didn’t stare at Steve too long, but also wasn’t not staring.
So Harley just watched out of the corner of his eye, pie on his plate, pretending not to notice anything at all.
“So,” Steve said at one point, turning toward him. “Harley, right? You into robotics?”
“Not really,” Harley said, straightening up a little without meaning to. “I mean, sometimes. My room’s a fire hazard, but not because of inventions.”
“Oh, so not exactly like your dad,” Steve said with a weird kind of smile. “Any clubs? Teams?”
“Just swim team right now,” Harley replied. “And I tutor sometimes. Y’know, when I’m not in trouble with the teachers.”
“Really?” Steve actually looked surprised. Happy shot Harley a quick look that definitely said please don’t give the guy a heart attack.
“Mostly backstroke,” Harley added with a shrug.
“I’m sorry,” Steve said, raising his hands like he needed a do-over.“Swimming’s a solid sport. I just didn’t expect it. You kind of strike me as the catapult-building type during lunch breaks. Most kids with your background don’t really invest in anything outside a lab.”
He gestured vaguely around them, and Harley wasn’t sure if he meant the tech, the apartment, or the family.
“You think I’m raising a whole litter of lab rats?” Tony laughed, but it was short and automatic.
“No,” Steve said quickly but Harley wasn’t totally buying it. “I didn’t mean that. I just think it’s good…being well-rounded. Y’know, considering…”
And Harley was pretty sure considering meant Tony. Everything Tony had done and everything he hadn’t.
“I put effort into literally everything except the lab,” Harley said with a crooked smile. Pepper laughed, Rhodey made an amused noise, and even Happy smirked.
The conversation moved on. School, music, weird trivia facts. Steve asked a lot of questions. The kind of questions that sounded like he’d read a parenting guide from 1954. But Harley didn’t really mind. It was kind of fascinating, watching Steve try to fit him into the mental puzzle labeled Tony Stark’s life. Like figuring out what kind of creature Harley was and how exactly he’d ended up here.
But Harley kept watching his dad. Tony wasn’t acting wildly different, but he was... off. Still had the quick comebacks, still smiled, but it was all a little too TV commercial. He hadn’t touched the wine Pepper poured for him. He let other people steer the conversation. And Harley noticed, because he was watching too closely, probably, how Tony glanced sideways at Steve, how his jaw tensed just before he plastered that signature Stark grin back on.
It reminded Harley of someone pressing on a bruise and pretending it didn’t hurt.
Nobody else seemed to notice. Maybe Harley was too tuned in. Or maybe Tony was just that good at faking it.
So Harley nodded in the right spots, smiled when needed, gave Tony space to breathe. Because he’d seen the scars, the flinches when no one was looking. And Harley really didn’t feel like pushing tonight.
Then it came completely out of nowhere.
“You know,” Steve said, smiling in that friendly Captain America way, like he was saying something sweet and wholesome. “You’re lucky, Harley. You should be grateful Tony’s giving fatherhood a real shot.”
Harley blinked, trying to sort through his thoughts fast enough not to react. And he definitely didn’t look at Tony, even though he felt his dad’s eyes on him. Not warning, more like… pleading. It lasted half a second. Then Tony smiled. Tony Stark’s signature smile, easy and perfect.
Pepper and Rhodey laughed at something Happy said across the room. Harley smiled too, but not like Tony. His was lighter. Easier. Harmless.
“Yeah,” Harley said evenly. Light, but flat. And he knew Tony had clenched his jaw again. “Real lucky.”
Conversation moved on again. To jokes, to exaggerated hand gestures, to pretending they weren’t all way too full to move. Harley let himself relax back into it, maybe even cracked a couple jokes. But his gaze kept flicking to Tony, making sure nothing had shifted too far out of his usual weird baseline, making sure he wasn’t slipping deeper into whatever fog that comment had stirred up.
And Tony noticed. Of course he noticed. He shot Harley a look that said, What? Why are you staring at me? Harley just shrugged, but stayed seated where he could watch his dad from the corner of his eye.
Just in case.
Eventually, people started heading out. Rhodey was half-asleep in an armchair. Happy complained about the traffic, which was probably hell on Thanksgiving night. Steve was thanking Pepper near the kitchen.
Tony was packing up some leftover pie, probably for Happy, and Harley got up the second Steve turned toward the elevator.
“I’ll walk you down,” Harley said, hands in his pockets.
“No need,” Steve said politely.
“Yeah, it’s a long way down,” Harley replied with a shrug. “Consider it a Stark hospitality thing.”
Steve gave a half-smile and gestured toward the elevator. “Lead the way.”
They rode in silence for a bit. The sound of machinery humming, air moving through the shaft. Steve stood like a statue, hands behind his back, posture perfect. Harley slouched with his hands still buried in his pockets, watching Steve from under his bangs.
Around the 65th floor, he finally spoke.
“For someone who says a lot of nice things,” Harley said, lifting his head and locking eyes with Steve, “you’re really good at saying the not-so-nice ones.”
“I didn’t mean to-” Steve started, looking caught off guard.
“Look,” Harley cut in, calm but firm. “You don’t have to pretend to like him. I’m not asking you to like him. But you showed up here, smiled the whole time, and somehow still made him feel like crap without even raising your voice.”
“I wasn’t trying to-” Steve tried again, lifting his hands. Harley leaned his shoulder harder into the wall and tilted his head slightly.
“My dad’s not perfect. God, believe me, I know. I probably know better than anyone. He screws up. A lot. In impressive, fireworks-level ways. But you don’t get to come into his home, eat his food, and act like he’s still the same guy he was two decades ago.”
Steve shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
“It wasn’t personal,” he said eventually.
Harley gave him a crooked little smile.
“Yeah. It never is with you, is it?” he said, a little too quickly. “You're just that moral mountaintop, looking down and deciding who’s worth what.”
They were already at the twentieth floor. The elevator, fast as ever.
“Do you ever consider,” Harley asked, voice calm but clipped, “that maybe he knows he screwes up?”
Steve didn’t answer. Just looked away. Typical.
“I’m just saying,” Harley said, quieter now, like it mattered more, “if you really wanna be part of his life or whatever, maybe try getting off your high horse. We’re not your little war to win. Judging him…us…isn’t going to win you anything.”
The elevator dinged. Doors slid open. A few employees working the holiday shift glanced over-probably used to seeing Harley by now, but definitely not used to seeing Captain America riding the elevator.
Steve stepped out, paused for a beat or two, then turned around, holding the door with his foot.
“You really love him,” he said, like it honestly surprised him.
Harley furrowed his brow. Love was… complicated. Tangled. Full of sharp edges and half-buried stuff.
“He’s my dad,” he said with a shrug. No hesitation. That much was easy. That much was solid.
“He’s lucky to have you,” Steve added with a small nod.
“Have a good night,” Harley said, letting the smallest smile slip through. “And happy Thanksgiving, Captain.”
“You too, Harley. Thanks for the company.”
“Don’t mention it.” Harley pressed the button for his floor.
They didn’t shake hands. Steve gave him one last polite smile before heading toward the twinkling lights of New York.
“Fuck you, you sanctimonious asshole,” Harley said under his breath as the doors slid shut again.