Chapter Text
“What are you doing here?”
Tony cracked open his beer and sunk down onto the recently installed sofa. Oh fuck yes did he have good taste. The sofa he'd picked out for the kid had just the right support and spring to it. Only the best. He put his feet up, his dirty sneakers leaving a scuff on the edge of the spotless coffee table. “What? Can't a guy come for a visit and see the new digs?”
Harley made a disapproving face at him as Tony slugged his beer. “You look horrible.”
Tony leveled him a firm don't start with me frown over the rim of his beer. “Where's the thank you? Where's the 'Oh Iron Man you saved the world and got me a killer muscle car. Thank you!'” He threw his voice into a higher, mocking tone. Ungrateful little bastard. Why does he always have to be just like me.
Harley breached the distance between them in a move too quick for Tony's alcohol addled brain to register in time. He snatched the beer away from him and turned on his heels, crossing his garage with the beer held out at arms length. “You shouldn't drink so much.”
“What are you my mother?” Tony snapped as he watched with an equally disgusted look as Harley poured the beer down the nearby sink. He grunted back a choice word and shifted on the sofa, sliding a flask of scotch out of his pocket.
“No but you drink as much as my mom,” Harley grumbled with the hint of hurt in his voice.
Tony paused mid-drink and cast a look at the kid. Oh fuck it. He pulled the flask back and capped it. “You're really too fucking good at the whole guilt trip thing, twerp.”
Harley crossed back to sit on the coffee table beside Tony's still perched feet, looking over at the red faced and exhausted man on his new couch. Somehow he looked even worse than the first time he met him. Harley asked again, “What are you doing here?”
There was a mumbled answer Harley couldn't hear. Tony kept his head down and played fingers over the twist off cap of the flask. He itched to open it again. It was easier to drown everything out... make it fade away... as far away as it would go... if only it would go away forever...
Harley's voice pierced his falling thoughts. “What's wrong? Is the suit busted again? Are the aliens back? I can't help if you don't tell me!”
He couldn't control the involuntary twitch of his body at the kid mentioning the aliens. A cold spike of panic burst through his drunken stupor in the most gut-wrenching way. No. No they're gone. It's fine. Everything's fine. He closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. “What did I tell you about pushing my buttons, kid.”
“Okay so it's not any of that,” Harley brushed aside, though his voice was a little contrite. “But then why-”
“Because I've bothered Bruce and I've slept on Cap's really damn uncomfortable couch and I even went out for drinks with Natasha and Clint, which is it's own fucking saga let me tell you, but none of them can fix it and I don't know how to fix it and she won't talk to me and there's no one else to talk to and I'm not talking to him so I just... I just...” Tony opened his eyes after the rush of words. “Can I sleep on your couch?”
“She? She who?”
“I promise not to touch anything.” Tony cast a casual look behind him at the projects half completed. “Unless I can fix it...”
Harley stood up to his full - er - height and commanded, “Don't you touch anything.”
“Hey science is all about collaboration, short stuff.”
“Stop trying to change the subject.”
“Who's changing the subject? I'm bunking over. We'll bond over explosives. It'll be fun.”
“I'm not making bombs.”
Tony shrugged and unconsciously uncapped the flask as he commented without looking back at the lab, “Well you're not trying to but that gadget on the far counter is pretty good for an amateur.”
Harley's eyes went wide. He rushed off behind the sofa to the furthest project while Tony took another swig from the flask.
“Be careful you don't tip anything over.”
Metal clanked as something dropped and a small explosion not unlike a firecracker sounded in the garage.
“You okay back there sport?”
Harley squeaked but it wasn't pained so Tony shifted on the sofa, pulling his legs up to curl into a ball at one end. He capped and pocketed the flask. He was asleep before Harley finished cleaning up.