Chapter 5
It takes Tony a total of five seconds to comprehend what the fuck is happening.
One second he’s screeching random ranting shit which, okay, is a little melodramatic, but he’s pissed off and his foot hurts from having kicked that stupid bright yellow beer sign, so when something basically attaches itself to his lips it takes these five, very confusing seconds to realise that it’s Harry.
Harry. Is kissing. Him.
Oh my God.
He doesn’t know how to process this moment, because what is going on? Did he miss something? How drunk is she? Is he drunk? Can you somehow get drunk from being around a drunk person? Well theoretically speaking the biology doesn’t add up as toxins being a form of contagio- what is this digression? The point is, is that she must be wasted to the point of having hallucinated him. He really shouldn’t be surprised that she’s gone that far enough off the rails to throw her face at him, but here he is, and there she is.
It’s nice though.
Although the first five seconds had him just plastered in shock, the next five he, through no fault of his own whatsoever, accidentally he also might add, melts into it. No tongue obviously, because hello? Self-restraint anyone? But he breathes Harry heavily in through his nose (Christ this is happening this is actually happening this is Harry this is insane) and he feels his stomach start producing butterflies which are just flying the fuck around in his chest when Harry pleasantly sighs, her hands moving to smooth themselves into his hair. She smiles against his lips and begins to part her lips open- woah. He opens his eyes wide at that- when had they shut? Crap.
“Wha- what?” Is all he can say, his voice going back to those prepubescent years, not knowing what tone to pitch itself at, and he sharply pulls away. Harry blinks widely at him and stumbles forward when he forcefully backs up from her, which means that Tony being a gentleman, gently holds her hips in his hands. He’s surprised his hands have actually come through for him, his body feels like he’s numb with all these thoughts. He is 50% stressed out by Drunk Harry and 50%...something else. Fuck his head can’t understand what’s going on, which is ironic since Harry’s the one who drank all the alcohol she could find and then went to every liquor store with a weapon. Okay, he’s being a bit harsh, but like he said, he’s stressed out right now.
“What- you- what happened there Harry?” Jesus, he sounds like his old school principal when he was sent to his office for the pranks he pulled: part hesitation to ask, part admiration and majority bemusement, of course. (He pulled some iconic shit in his time, it was awesome, he’ll tell Harry all about it tomorrow. Wait, no he will not, he’ll most likely die from shock before they actually manage to leave this festival which went south due to one asshole and a few words and Harry having this senior moment when she decided to try and…kill him, with her really, really soft, lips.)
Harry looks put out, pouting and everything. Tony’s jaw has dropped to the ground and he’s pretty sure he’s swallowed flies, but Harry looks like a minor inconvenience just occurred with him stopping the kiss. Which is- she just- what just-
“I was kissing you. And you loved it, I know you did, but you pulled back. What gives?”
What gives?
What gives.
What.
Gives.
He finds himself getting worked up, like he was before the…interruption? Like there was pure venomous rage (thinking about it can probably bring him back to his rampage of a heated emotion, fucking trash when he thinks of that pervert) and then boom, nap time, anger goes away for a few seconds. And then Little Miss What Gives over here opens her mouth and what does she say? Have a guess.
“What give- what? You can’t just- attack me with your mouth!”
“Attack? Unbelievable, Rhodey never taught you about what soldiers get up to in war, did he?” Harry scoffs defensively, though she’s still in his arms so he reckons she’s not that offended.
“Well that’s- shame on you! I was having a rant and you just- are you wearing lip gloss? I taste bubble-gum, or maybe cherry- I just- you!”
Harry gives him a look that screams ‘fucking duh.’ “Well yes you were having a rant. That’s why I kissed you.”
Oh, well then.
“You kissed me to get me to shut up.” He says it more like a statement, and he shouldn’t be surprised really, cause even drunk that’s the only way he’ll ever get Harr- it doesn’t matter. Until Harry says her next words, then he’s just baffled.
“Well, that was only part of my reasoning.”
He’s many things, but a poet isn’t one of them. How the fuck does she expect him to interpret her words? He settles at a conclusion that makes sense.
“Yep, you’re wasted. Maybe you have a temperature too, it’s likely, I mean I can’t tell if you’re paler than usual since you look like you’re on the set of a Tim Burton film. Wow that’s actually really accurate, I’m surprised you haven’t been discovered yet.”
“I am not wasted.” She declares hotly, bringing her finger and jabbing him in the chest. “I can prove it. I’ll sing the alphabet backwards, I can. My cousin threw a fit when he found that out since he couldn’t, so I would hum the tune all the time. My own form of rebellion in that damned household.” He doesn’t want her speaking about her past, because Normal (not that she’s ever been normal, but in comparison it’s stark, mind the pun), Harry is many things, but an open book isn’t one of them. Even though his interest is piqued and he is so very curious about her.
Before he can place his hand over her mouth, she begins to breathe heavily. He smells her breath- man he may as well have kissed vomit personified, how did he not notice that? Oral hygiene is essential, he wonders how that slipped his mind- her face goes considerably paler than her normal pale face, he’d call Tim Burton now more than ever. Even though it’s kind of terrifying, seeing her lose all her colour that quickly.
She then bends down and throws up on his shoes, which yeah. Vile.
Surprisingly, he’s not angry at that. And they were nice shoes.
Alright. Maybe a little…miffed. God, miffed, he’s becoming British.
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She ends up slung over his shoulder in attempts for him to control himself properly and focus on the situation at hand rather than have Harry in close proximity with his neck and therefore his face and therefore his lips. It doesn’t work too well.
“Oh, Tony, you have a wonderful arse.”
“Yeah, I know, been there heard that.”
“Some would say it’s…spanking.” She cackles at that, sounding like a mad woman but a hot mad woman who has a great set of lips.
Wait what?
“Whatever you say, Crazy.”
He hears her huff behind him, her arms dangling down and swinging to occasionally hit the back of his legs as they walk back to the car.
“I reckon I have a nice arse too.”
“It’s ten out of ten, would recommend to a friend.”
She gasps. “You wouldn’t!”
“I’ll get Rhodey on the phone in five. Ooh, maybe Abby has a cute guy friend. Yeah, you can wait five minutes, right?”
“You bastard!”
“Okay, fine. Four minutes. Don’t wanna keep you on your toes, Haribo.”
“This is mutiny!”
“There’s nobody here to mutiny.” Amusement seeps into his tone, because she may have thrown up all over his shoes, but she’s so cute that he can’t help but give her the time of day. This girl has a way about her.
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The hotel is even shittier than the first one they went to, but no five-star vicinity’s going to let Harry anywhere near the premises. Unless he decides to announce that Tony Stark wants a hotel room, but it’s weird, because in all the weeks they’ve been here Tony hasn’t been recognised once. He wonders if he’s actually famous at all, really, but then he remembers the photographers outside his house the day after the Crash. So yeah, he’s pretty sure he’s too famous for his own good.
The receptionist hands the room key over to Tony like he sees this crap every day, which makes him want to be a receptionist for the duration of Tony’s time in his presence.
When they get to the room, Harry’s gone quiet. He thinks she’s asleep, until he strains his ears and hears her singing a soft little melody. She’s a good singer.
“Cute song.”
“Not really.” Harry slurs. “I used to hear my aunt sing it to my cousin before he went to bed every night. I’d sing it to myself when I learnt the lyrics, but I decided it was an ugly song after a while. Everything becomes ugly after a while.” He places her on the bed gently, smoothing the few strands on her face behind her ears. Tony doesn’t want her to keep talking, not because he wants her to shut up, but.
She’s revealing too much that she’ll regret tomorrow, and Tony would hate to see her regret any of her time with him.
He is curious though. Did her parents never sing her lullabies? Why didn’t her aunt sing to her? He remembers a radio playing in his childhood. He hopes she at least got a radio to send her to sleep.
He also remembers her talking about a damned household. He hopes the pieces he’s beginning to fit together actually don’t fit together at all.
“Someone’s decided to enter the philosophy game.” He notes, slowly taking off her shoes which are soaked in mud. Yeah, it’s definitely a good thing they didn’t go anywhere five star.
“And I disagree. I mean, sure people can become old and lose their looks, but other things remain beautiful.”
“Like what?” Harry asks curiously, looking at him with her bright green eyes, he’s entranced.
“Um, well. Like the inside of people? Take Rhodey for example, Rhodey has a shining soul, he’s one of the best people I know. And that won’t change, because he’s Rhodey.”
Harry takes this into consideration, and after a while, nods slowly, getting it. “Like you.”
“What?”
“You’ll never be ugly. Because your inside will always be beautiful.” She says it like it’s obvious. She’s way too drunk. And yet, something inside him swells, like seeds planted beginning to grow in the spring.
“You sound like a serial killer there, Harry Ba-Ba. Hold on, I’ll get you some water.”
When he comes back, she’s asleep, her mouth parted and the softest sound of air coming out. He quickly takes off her socks, because Harry gets uncomfortable sleeping in socks, and he gets a book out, sitting by her bed in case she decides to throw up again.
He looks at the words written in the book, but nothing goes through his mind except the phantom brush of lips against his own, and fingers lazily scratching through his hair.
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He sleeps a few hours (he doesn’t really need sleep, his mind tends to never want to just stop for a second) and when he comes back to the hotel with drinks and food after a coffee run, Harry’s awake. She doesn’t clock he’s even there until he purposefully coughs and waves the bag of donuts, but when she does, her cheeks go slightly red.
“I remember…throwing up on your shoes.”
He grins and comes over to plop himself on the bed, handing her the coffee which she takes with a sour face. She prefers tea, but coffee works wonders.
“It’s a side I thought I’d never see from you. Green face, gigantic glazed eyes, and who can forget the grand finale. My shoes smell awesome, thanks for asking.”
“Tony.” Harry says earnestly, looking so guilty, like she’s committed first degree murder, or tax evasion, or something. “I’m so sorry. I’ll buy you more shoes.”
“Nah, I don’t need new shoes, I’ve got a ton of them, seriously look at my suitcase, it seems light but the amount in there, it’s like a TARDIS.”
“Even so.” Harry continues. “Thank you for taking care of me last night, I know it wasn’t ideal. And after my shower, I would love to go shopping with you and buy you a new pair of shoes.”
“It’s fine, Harry, I really”-
“Think of it as being for my benefit.” Harry interrupts, a playful glare morphing on her visage. She gets up without hearing his answer, which is very cocky Potter, very cocky indeed.
“Wait.” Tony says. She stops and turns to him, waiting. He doesn’t know how to phrase this. “You, uh. Remember anything else from last night?”
Harry thinks for a while, body tense as if ready for something, he’s not sure what. “I remember holding my own against an unpleasant boy.” Reign it in, Tony, reign it in. “Apart from that…no. No I don’t. Why? Did I do something wrong?
He’s not sure why he feels disappointment, but there it is, entrapping and prominent. He has to cough to release the shaky exhale that threatens to break through, and he forces a smile, so she won’t worry.
“Nope. You cracked a few awful jokes, commented on my gorgeous ass, which, thank you very much. Apart from that, nope, nada, nothing at all.”
“Are you sure about that.” She presses, through slightly gritted teeth. It makes Tony raise an eyebrow.
“You alright?”
“On top of the world. Why would I pretend otherwise?” Harry snaps with bite. She goes to the bathroom swiftly with loud shut of the door, leaving Tony in a state of confusion.
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It’s him, Harry, and some woman in an elevator.
The shopping’s been unsuccessful. He can’t find any shoes that scream ‘Tony’ on them, he’s a picky shopper, what can he say. Harry’s even worse, she seems so out of her element in a store Tony’s convinced she’s never had a proper shopping spree. He feels like a Queen Bee in a soap opera: leading Harry around and claiming there’s so much to teach her in the ways of fashion. And yeah, he might be picky, but everything they’ve looked at Harry could ten out of ten pull off, so he’s surprised when she also comes out the trip empty handed. The woman in the elevator is a total one eighty, she’s brought so much (baby clothes he reckons, but he’s not about to call someone pregnant when they’re not, he learnt his lesson the hard way, he won’t go over it it was embarrassing) that Harry looks kind of shocked, like she’s not used to seeing someone with that many bags. Or maybe that a pregnant? Woman is carrying that many bags. Each to their own, he figures.
“Do you need some help with those bags, Miss?” Harry asks the woman, causing Tony to feel kind of bad that that question didn’t cross his mind. And he doesn’t have a hangover. But his mind has been jumbled for a couple of hours now. Harry’s been silent and with her own thoughts. Tony would ask what’s wrong, but when he looks at her his thoughts immediately turn to last night. It’s not unpleasant, but it makes his cheeks redden.
“No.” The woman snaps, and Tony’s exasperated because this road trip has seen them meet so many assholes he’s surprised neither he nor Harry have become one. Well, mostly Harry. He hasn’t decided his personality quirks yet.
“She was being nice.” Tony’s reaction is immediate, and Harry glances at him with gratitude flashing across her eyes, though she shakes her head in a communication that is clearly telling him to leave it.
Whoops.
The woman rolls her eyes, they really should have taken the stairs. “I can do it myself. If you could just mind your own business.”
“Kind of your own fault here, Miss ‘I’ll Buy the Whole Floor and Reject Kind Peoples’ Help.’ Cute name by the way, what is it Spanish or something?”
“Tony,” Harry says next to him in a low voice, giving him some sort of beseeching look. But pride is something Tony won’t shake off and she was rude to Harry, so fuck this due dated ass.
The woman brings her finger and waves it at him, and it looks like she’s about to say something that she thinks will bite, but there’s a rumble in the elevator, the lights going off for a second. The elevator has stopped moving.
Oh, this is great.
“What happened?” Rude Woman asks, looking at both him and Harry with trepidation, not so tough now, huh? Harry shrugs, no attempts to give a shit in sight, and Tony groans aloud. “I think the elevator’s broken.”
“You can’t break an elevator!” Rude Woman snaps again. Before he speaks, Harry does.
“Well clearly you can. Please stop talking, my friend and I find you very unpleasant.”
Harry’s awesome.
Rude Woman looks like no one’s ever spoken to her like that before, and Tony thinks his day has officially been made. Harry presses the emergency button, they’ll probably have to wait around twenty minutes before help comes along, so Tony slides down the wall and sits down. It’s not too bad, Rude Woman’s stopped talking and is rubbing circles over her belly, so yay, he’s right, she’s pregnant, gold star for him and all that. Harry comes down to sit next to him and usually Tony hates the whole breaching personal space attitude, but he was going to move next to Harry if she sat far away from him, so she really just ends up saving him some time.
And then there’s a splash.
Harry and Tony both look at each other in confusion, before they look over to Rude Woman who’s still standing. Except she’s gone very pale, all heated anger removed from her cheeks, and she looks down to reveal there’s water on the floor right under her.
“Damned Potter luck,” Harry breathes out. Tony gets up and starts banging on the elevator.
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Twenty minutes have come and gone, and no help is in sight.
Rude Woman who’s apparently in labour, fuck, Christ, shit, damn it, is breathing heavily in and out while Harry rubs her hand up and down Rude Woman’s back. Tony’s on the phone.
“Yep, so if you could just bang the elevator wide open- well I don’t know, her water broke so I’m assuming the baby’s due today- uh, the contractions are erratic? I don’t have my watch with me! How long- twenty minutes? That’s ridiculous- hello?”
He’s panicked and stressed out now but having a panic attack next to a woman in labour would be so lame, so he begins to breathe the same way Rude Woman is to try and calm his nerves. Harry’s behind the woman, looking conflicted. What’s that look about? What’s she planning on doing, stealing the baby?
“What’s that look on your face?”
“I’m debating something with myself.” She replies, becoming increasingly tense.
It’s not Harry, he knows that, but he’s getting riled up now, he’s getting really riled. “Share with the class, Potter.”
“There’s something I could do.” Harry says as calmly as possible, but her voice is slightly strained, so Tony knows the peaceful mask is a load of crap.
“What? What could you possibly do?”
“There’s something I could do,” she repeats sharply. “But I’ve been sworn to secrecy not to fucking show it!”
Flabbergasted is a word. Flabbergasted is also Tony. “What are you gonna do, whip out your medical degree? There’s a woman over here giving birth right now and you’re scared of being outed for who the fuck knows and cares?! Or are you joking, for the love of God tell me you’re trying to diffuse the tension or something.”
Harry’s glare is fierce, the literal embodiment of if looks could kill (he’d be turned on, he’s considered being turned on at this, but his survival instincts have kicked in, so.)
“We just need to wait for the ambulance to arrive. If they’re not here in less than ten minutes, I’ll resort to measures of my own.”
“Measures of your own?” Measures of her own?
“Will both of you shut the fuck up!” Rude Woman yells, and scratch that, if looks could kill this woman would have sacrificed them twice over in the name of her future child. “I am the one in labour here! Can’t believe I’m stuck in an elevator with damn kids.”
Harry immediately appears guilty. Tony doesn’t, but he’s sobered up from his haze of panic, so that’s reassuring.
“Start getting excited, think of the next eighteen years of your life being a metaphorical broken-down elevator.”
“Is there anything we can provide for you? Within the confines of an elevator of course.” Harry reiterates, ignoring Tony’s comment.
“I need a distraction. From the pain.” Rude Woman breathes out raggedly, glaring at Tony.
“Well you interrupted a solid gold argument to ask for a distraction, thought I’d let the irony not be lost on anyone.”
Harry puts a hand over her mouth, faking a cough to hide her sharp intake of laughter. Rude Woman has a slightly different reaction, bringing her volcanic eyes to survey both him and Harry.
“Shut. The fuck. Up.”
“How about we introduce ourselves.” Harry offers to the woman when she’s pulled herself together, providing Tony brilliant comedic material.
“Good idea. That’s plain old Harry, I’m Cuthbert.”
Harry rubs her hand over her eyes. He’s being a lot, he knows, but this is his own way of dealing.
Rude Woman eyes Tony with a speculative look. “You expect me to believe that crap?”
Tony levels her with a baffled look. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Your name’s Cuthbert.”
“You’re being kind of rude about my name, lady. Cuthbert’s original, you ever met another Cuthbert? Not to mention only the good looking can pull it off.”
Rude Woman’s face contorts in consideration and then in pain, Harry coming over and hushing her. She says something to the woman, and whatever she says works wonders, because the woman’s pain looks significantly eased. Before he can question it, he hears the familiar sound of an ambulance ringing.
“Thank fuck.”
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But of course, the day doesn’t end there.
“You’re seriously thinking about leaving me alone to give birth?” Rude Woman screeches at the top of her lungs as she’s put in the ambulance truck (she’s forgotten about her shopping bags, and Tony would be ecstatic about that but hello? Giving birth over here), and before Tony can say “yes”, Harry speaks for the both of them.
“Of course not! Come on Tony.” She gets inside the truck, and Tony thinks if his hair wanted to, it would go white this very second.
“There a father?” He asks once the ambulance is soaring ahead.
Rude Woman scoffs, but the pain in her eyes is unmistakeable. “Of course not.”
“You’re very brave.” Harry says honestly. “This looks rather painful. I don’t even want to imagine what you’re feeling.”
Rude Woman looks at the ceiling as if ignoring Harry. “Damn kids.” She mutters under her breath.
The rest of the drive to the hospital is in silence. Apart from the shrieks of pain obviously, but it’s so frequent Tony tunes out. He catches eye contact with Harry, who gives him a toothless smile, and he thinks that maybe if Harry gives the same look to Rude Woman, she wouldn’t be so miserable.
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“I’m sorry, family only are allowed to be with the patient.” The nurse hastily says with a sympathetic expression. Tony’s a brilliant liar though, so it’s not an issue.
“No worries. I’m the father.”
“You’re the father Aren't you a little young?”
“My child is about to be introduced to this world and you’re trying to get me to tell you my life story?!”
He’s given access to go in with Rude Woman (he should really find out her name, damn.) but he realises what he’s about to do before he enters, and now it’s time for the biggest freak out, the season finale, the ultimate finale of all finales. He can’t help someone give birth!
He’s about to be frantic and do something like scream, or God forbid, cry, when he feels a slight pressure on his shoulder. He turns to see Harry, peering at him through what could only be classified as concern.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
All he can do is nod his head vigorously.
Harry’s expression becomes that of determination. “I can come in with you.” He notices her reluctance very quickly though, which is understandable.
“But you don’t want to.”
Harry looks down at the floor, lips thinning in shame. “I- I don’t do well with blood.” She confesses. “But it’s not an issue. I don’t have to look”-
He doesn’t know what comes over him, but he places both his hands on her cheeks. She has nothing to be ashamed of, absolutely nothing. And although he has questions, because no seventeen-year-old should be terrified of blood as more than a shallow fear, he’s confident she’ll give him answers when she’s ready. He can wait.
“I’ll see you in a bit.”
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He’s- he sees way too much.
He wants Harry here.
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Getting out of the trauma that was his day is traumatic in itself. He’s swarmed by the hospital staff who congratulate him on being a father (it’s horrible since they all look at him like it’s some scandal: teenage boy impregnates significantly older woman. Maybe the real scandal is that the baby’s been called Cuthbert, but hey, no judgment, free room and all.)
So he leaves the pregnancy ward in a haze, because he just saw things that he really never considered seeing and he decides that if he sees another pregnant woman for the next twenty years he’ll run the other way with his hands flapping mid-air, because he’s developed a phobia that will most likely keep him up at night for next said twenty years.
There’s a chance he might be going off on a tangent. Don’t blame him, blame pregnant people just…unloading their babies into his life like a fucking gum ball machine.
Yet his thoughts calm down at a rapid speed when he gets to the waiting room and sees Harry. It’s been five hours and Harry- she’s still here. She must sense his presence, since her eyes shoot up to meet his and they melt in relief.
“Hey.” Harry stands up and walks over to greet him, a little smile on her face, and Tony doesn’t realise he needed to see her until her arms wind around him and he automatically buries his nose into her hair. She smells just as he remembers from the time of his nightmare, and that is so comforting he doesn’t think he can express it into words. He wraps his own arms round her waist and squeezes her, he thinks a little too tight, but she makes no sound of disapproval, so he can’t bring himself to stop. Her head snuggles into his chest and for the next few minutes? He thinks minutes, he’s not sure, time is way too irrelevant right now- they just stand there in the middle of the hospital. No one in the crowded waiting room says anything, but when they finally pull away from each other (only slightly, arms are both still wrapped like a freakingbirthday gift) he sees gazes directed their way. He makes awkward eye contact with an old man who has some sort of wise, knowing look in his eye. He can’t deal with that right now, so he turns all his attention to the only nice thing in this hospital.
“I’m so proud of you,” Harry says, head poking up to look at him, her once small smile now a full-grown beam. His chest makes an odd thrumming sound, like there’s a drummer there playing a different beat. Good thing they’re at a hospital, in case he’s displaying warning signs of a heart attack or something.
“You know what? I kinda kicked ass in there, Potter.” He says honestly, actually proud of himself too.
“Yeah?” Her dimples peak out. It’s lovely.
“Yep. It was disgusting, Harry. I’m in need of therapy, and I’ve never said that before. I’ve thought it, never said it. Damn, that was cathartic. We should go to Thailand, I considered the Buddhist life and had planned it over in my head with Rhodey, but I guess you’ll make an exception, sure, whatever, you’re okay I guess.”
“I’m glad I made the cut.”
“Well, I had considered Abby, you see, but”-
He’s expecting the smack in the arm. He lets it happen.
“Ow! My arm! I need to get a nurse, you’ve probably broken it, nurse! This savage”-
Harry places her hand over his mouth so gently that something inside him melts. He puts that thought at the back of his mind, he’s got all the time in the world to deduce shit. He just saw a human being squished out of a vagina. How can two beautiful things have such a horrific confrontation?
Yeah, he definitely needs therapy. He wonders if they’ll let Harry in the therapist sessions with him. What? She’s got a great presence, he’d dig it if she decided to go on stage.
“I’ll forgive you, since you’ve had a trying day. For now, let’s sit you down, your legs are beginning to look like the jelly the nurses are providing in the cafeteria.” She guides him with her hand pressed behind his back in silent protection, and he sits down shakily. He’s surprised the chair he sits on doesn’t wobble with him.
Sitting next to him, Harry begins to speak. “How is…what was her name?”
“No idea. After…it came out, she kicked me out. Found out the name of the baby though.”
“That’s exciting! What did she call the baby?”
“Cuthbert. After me.”
Harry doesn’t respond, and when Tony looks at her, she’s shaking hysterically from laughter.
“It’s not funny. I just went through trauma. And then to top it off, I’m pretty sure my hand’s probably definitely broken by a lady whose name I’ve mentally been referring to as ‘Rude Woman’ squeezing my hand like she thought it was a lemon! The lemon was the cream of the cake, I saw things Harry! Horrible things!”
Surprisingly, that just makes Harry laugh harder, tears pooling at the tips of her eyes.
He huffs, crossing his shoulders. “You know what, Harriet? If you decide to ever do that to yourself, I’ll be outside with unlimited cigars.” Like his father did, he doesn’t add. “You could be there ninety hours, I’d still puff those cigars without a care in the world. I’m serious.” He says when she won’t stop laughing, what is wrong with this girl?
“I- I’m gonna pee myself,” she finally gets out, wiping the tears off her cheeks. That brings a smile to his face, and soon they’re both wheezing, Tony hunching over and clutching at his stomach in hysterics while Harry rests her head on his back. They probably look insane, having a fit in the waiting room of a hospital, but he doesn’t seem to be offending anyone. Actually, he looks over and sees an elderly couple exchanging a soft glance at them before turning to each other with the same expression. Thank God. He doesn’t think he’s in the right mental state to have to be apologising to anyone right this second.
They both calm down after a while, resuming their previous positions, and Tony’s mind feels like the skies cleared up after a thunderstorm or some shit. Time and time again he’s said he’s not good at English, but this metaphor fits, so he’s going with it.
“I did mean it though.” Harry tells him in a confident and pleasant tone. “I am proud of you. If that means anything. And I’m sorry I snapped at you. I was…embarrassed, and I lashed out. I’m sorry.”
“Nah, I snapped too. Women in labour does things to people, like if the ring created in Mordor was a person.”
“No.” Harry shakes her head, not speaking until their eyes reunite. “I’m sorry about this morning, when I stormed out.” She takes a deep inhalation, levelling Tony with a piercing stare.
“I remember last night, you see. And. And I was so humiliated by my actions, so I pretended I had no memory of it. Humiliation translated to anger, I suppose, and I’ve never met someone so undeserving of anyone’s anger. So, yes. I’m sorry.”
Tony doesn’t know what to say to that. No one has ever apologised with this level of sincerity. He feels like a computer that’s downloaded too much information. (Not any computer he would make, mathematically speaking his software would be superior to an average piece of the useless junk usually made, but his point’s been made so take it or leave it.) He’s probably openly gaping at her, she doesn’t even need to say sorry since he didn’t really clock her rage, and yet it means so much to him that she’s even thought about- about saying- wow.
“You didn’t have to say that.” Tony replies to her, and his voice couldn’t harden if he tried. Harry looks at him earnestly. Tony’s never felt so respected and appreciated in his life. He likes the sensation and wishes he could bottle the emotion up in his chest and save it for a rainy day when he needs it most. Or, he could make Harry feel the same way, because if anyone should feel how he’s feeling right now, it’s her.
Harry shrugs, oblivious to what she’s done to him. “Even so. And I have a present for you.”
“Hospital jello’s not my cup of tea. Actually, I prefer coffee. Not my cup of black, sugarless coffee.”
“Oh please.” She scoffs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in a careless gesture. “You enjoy coffee with milk and so much sugar I’m surprised the doctors here can’t hear your blood pressure. Besides, I’m not giving you jello.”
“Wanna tell me what I’m getting then? I’m on the edge of my seat, it’s excruciating, I’m so on edge I could fall and break an arm or something, and think about that Pot Scotch, the hero who just helped a woman give birth”, he doesn’t even want to throw up at that, success! “Brutally injures all his limbs while villain, the cause of said hero’s suffering, sits back and watches with vicious glee. I’m not saying you’ll be shunned by the nursing community, but let’s just say they won’t exactly be inviting you back to the hospital any time soon.”
“Nurses don’t invite people to the hospital, Tony.”
“Ah, so it’s happened to you before.”
“Anyway,” Harry interrupts, shaking her head in amused exasperation. “I was waiting for you to…give birth,” she snickers, he glares, “when I saw some broachers stacked on the wall over there.” She takes out a leaflet from her pocket, looking smug when he looks excited. “Well, you’re always bitching about how I’ve never seen Star Wars, so when I saw the rerun was on tonight in a theatre twenty minutes from our hotel, I thought, why not? Tickets and popcorn are on me, of course. You’ve had a trying day and all.”
He must have been a saint in his past life.
----------------
The movie theatre is actually really busy, but it doesn’t seem to faze Harry. She queues patiently for the popcorn and the tickets, chatting with him amicably even when he starts to fiddle and drum his foot in anticipation. She also listens when he talks about the best Star Wars characters (Han Solo, duh) and the best movie out of the trilogy (Empire Strikes Back, double duh- his opinion is mainstream for a reason, get over it) and she even asks questions.
(“How would one even make a- what was it? Light ray?”
“Lightsaber, I’ll forgive you for that since you’re new to the fandom, it’s all good. And it’s powered by a kyber crystal, but strong Force users can power it at will, obviously.”
“Oh, yes, obviously. A stupid question really.”
“I reckon I could make one though, it’ll be easy enough if you use the right variables. You want one? I’ll make you one anytime, what colour- actually scratch that, I know what colour you want.”
“How do you know that?”
“The Force, Harry. Have you not been listening?”
“Was it the Force that helped you aid the woman in giving birth?”
“We’re not talking about that for another twenty years, Harriet.” )
---------------
The movie starts, and it’s amazing (but he knew that already, reminding himself he’s still a genius) but his gaze annoyingly often starts trying to stray to Harry. At first, he thinks it’s to see her reactions to the iconic masterpiece. She seems to be enjoying it, nudging him in victory to tell him she’s glad she brought her contact lenses on the trip in order to read the opening crawl, and looking outraged when the droids are kidnapped and sold. (“My friend would be raging at this moment. She campaigned heavily against slavery.”)
He realises, after a while, that even though Star Wars is like, the best thing ever, he’s seen it a thousand times, and he’s been travelling with her for a little over two weeks, so he’s seen her much less. If anything, it would be rude if he didn’t give her time of day. So his glances to her become slightly more frequent, and he might be projecting, but he thinks Harry’s doing the same thing.
Both their arms are comfortably placed on the arm rests by their seats, and Tony begins to fidget when the thought of holding her hand flashes through his mind like wind blowing a leaf away: quick and unnoticeable to others, but now the leaf isn’t in the comfortable position it used to be in and things are beginning to change; how can he pretend the spot the leaf was in is still in that spot? He can’t hide the spot’s current position, he’s only wind for fuck sake! He’s also making zero sense, which is alarming, and his thoughts are being loud and obnoxious but that can’t be helped. He then retreats from his mind only to notice his hand is no longer cold or fidgeting and he’s confused as to why. He finds out, however, when he sees his fingers intertwined with Harry’s, placed gently on one armchair as opposed to the previous two.
Harry’s hands are small and soft and practically mould into his like designed pottery. He looks at her in what can only be perceived as shock, which doesn’t recede even after Harry gives him a small wink his way when they cross gazes. He wonders if she’s feeling what he is right now: a frantically beating heart and nerves spilling all over his body like they want him to get up and dance, which right now he definitely could. He doesn’t want to ruin the film for Harry though, so he sits there in silence while his heart attempts to embarrass him by joining a fucking samba. This gets worse when Harry begins to stroke his hand with her thumb, back and forth to the beat of the music in the theatre. And there’s a lot of music in Star Wars to thumb stroke.
There’s so much in his mind that’s chaotically swirling away, but he thinks, why? He’s just a boy who’s watching Star Wars with the best girl he knows, and he’s pretty sure that might be every nerd’s wet dream, but this isn’t about anyone else. The kiss has been unspoken between them- even when they were basically talking about it- and it's an elephant in the room between them now but it's not an uncomfortable presence. He doesn’t know, doesn’t understand what goes through his mind when it comes to Harry, but their hands are intertwined, and the movie is amazing, so he lets all his problems go and his mind finally quietens as they watch the entertainment together.
When the movie ends, neither hand lets go of the other as they walk out the cinemas.