Chapter 2
It was hard to roam around the workshop of the great Tony Stark and act nonchalant. The place was so grand that even for someone with as much practice as Harley, it was nearly impossible to feign boredom.
The man specialized in mechanics, Harley’s prime interest, and the endless amount of million dollar equipment was impressive, his fingers itching to grab as many materials as he could and start tinkering. He refrained, however. Coming to the lab hadn’t been his idea, it had been Tony’s. Infact, he probably would have denied the offer all together if it weren’t for the opportunity to get his mind off of recent events and learn from, undeniably, one of the best mechanics in the country.
The process of getting Harley here had been quite easy, due both to the fact that Tony was a Stark, and therefore a billionaire, and that the orphanage has pre printed paperwork for daily visits and temporary guardianship.
Temporary guardianship.
It wasn’t like Tony was adopting him, or even fostering him for that matter. The man had simply invited him over for the afternoon, to tinker and bounce ideas off of each other, Harley presumed. Still, he couldn't help the small spike of fear that ran through him at the thought of being adopted. That couldn’t happen without-
“So kid, what'd ya think?” Asked Tony, arms spread wide and smiling at his great achievements.
“Flashy.” Harley says, eyeing an automated and self functioning coffee machine. “Functional, though.” He nodded to a pulley system. “So you what, built machines to build you more machines?” He asks.
“Saves me time.” Tony nods. “Allows me to focus on the things that need more focusing on. Gives me time to improve the things my machines can’t.”
“Like your suits.” Harley supplies. He was familiar with them, living in New York and seeing them zip around on the news channels. But he was well versed in their design as well, on their inner workings just as much as their paint job. Afterall, he knew someone very interested in their tech. In all Stark tech for that matter, them and their maker. He had learned about them himself to teach the one interested.
“Yeah, kid. Like those.” Tony says. “So, you wanna give any of this a go?”
“I don’t let machines do my work for me.” Harley says, nearly offended just at the mere idea of it. He has a problem with people taking credit for things not theirs, call it a pet peeve.
“No need to, I’ve got plenty of tools, materials, pretty much everything you’ll need. I can order in anything if something you need isn't here.” Tony says.
“You can’t buy me, Stark.” Harley’s eyes are still cold, feet firmly planted. He’s been in this situation before, or at least something like it. He knows how it works, the bait on a fish hook as they try to lure you in. The food looks good, like a treat you haven’t been offered in such a long time. Bait catches fish, it’s a well known fact, but no one ever talks about how much it hurts the fish when they finally give in and bite the hook. Harley has first hand experience with pain like that, as do most foster kids.
“What?” Stark sputters, and Harley can’t tell if its feigned innocence or sincere.
“All of this!” Harley exasperates, throwing his arms up. “The offers, the sudden interest. What is it you want?” He’s frustrated, sick and tired of people tricking him, taking advantage of him and then recently; taking the only thing he ever cared about.
There’s that question again. What is it you want. Tony still doesn’t really know how to answer it, doesn’t really know the answer himself, actually. He supposes it's because of his dream, how the difference between his nightly visions and reality spiked his curiosity. But even if he knew for sure that was the reason he invited this kid to his personal labs, he knew better than to admit that out loud. Children have fragile feelings and all that.
“Look, kid.” He sighed. “How old are you?
“Thirteen.”
“Then think about it like this: I want to do what my father never did for me, teach you all there is to know about the subjects that interest you the most.” Tony begins, breaking through his walls a little. “I want to give you a stepping stone to wherever you want to go. A little boost. Being an orphan ain’t fun kid.”
“So you wanna be like, my mentor?” Harley asked, his eyes are still cold and untrusting, but his voice betrayed him. It is hopeful.
“Yeah, yeah like your mentor.” Tony agrees. He rubs his hands together. “I’m giving you free range kid, show me what you can do.” And then as an afterthought: “Just keep your paws off of the coffee machine.”
***
It starts that way. Harley going over to Tony’s lab Wednesday and Friday evenings. He’s hesitant at first, still not fully convinced of Tony’s seemingly innocent and selfless intentions. He’s met a lot of creeps in his life, dealt with just as many.
Still, nearly two months pass and there’s nothing. No raising of voices, no inappropriate comments or gestures, nothing that screams danger. Not even when Harley knocks over a whole two trays of tools or accidentally connects the wrong wires and causes a mini explosion. Tony had just laughed.
Harley tries again and again to insist that he can just take the subway from the station just outside of the orphanage to the stop near the tower. His attempts are fruitless, though, and the man just waves the offers off again and again and tells Harley that it's not a big deal, that Happy, his personal driver, will pick him up at three next Wednesday.
And Happy always was there, always the right place and always on time. It was weird, Harley had to admit, to have something in his life that resembled a commitment, something besides tinkering to busy up his schedule. The most shocking of this new agreement was spending time with someone who seemed to actually tolerate his presence, seemed to like it even. He hadn’t had that since the orphanage kicked out one of its kids, two months prior.
It was nice. It made it almost easy to be happy again.
***
The noise was high pitched and screeching in a way that made your ears ache, similar to the terrified scream of a toddler. There was a thickness to the air, along with the scent of ash and burning wood.
It is the middle of the night, the last thing Harley remembers is dinner before being sent early to bed, he had stepped out of kind again. He had an early session with Tony tomorrow, an unusual treat for Saturday morning, but something that he was looking forward to and had set an alarm for. This blaring, high pitched frequency, was not the same alarm that he had set.
Harley and the other boys that share his room are sitting up, rubbing the sleep from their eyes and looking at each other like one of the four might know what is going on. Not even one of them does.
The only window in their room is open, allowing the fall breeze to come inside. Three out of the four prefer the window open, it was a majority rule, decided and agreed upon many months ago. Harley, always the one who wouldn’t easily trust others, had been the only of the four to not want it open. Now, Halrley was thankful for that decision, as the moonlight cast a shadow onto the substance clogging the air.
Smoke.
He could smell it now, and see it invading in giant wafts through the base of the door. Light, hues of yellow, red and orange, could be seen flickering on the other side of the thin wood.
“Fire!” One of the boys screamed, frantic and panicked as he started for the window. The boys name was Eric, twelve years old and fairly new to the orphanage. Harley knew him as timid but friendly and, as foster kids went, relatively normal and unscarred.
The heat from the fire was affecting the temperature in the room now, the sweltering flames causing small beads of sweat to form on the boys faces and backs of their necks- some of which were also anxiety induced.
Out of the four in the room, Harley was the oldest, the fact made him feel obligated to protect the others.
Escaping through the door was no longer an option, the fire, whatever it was, had spread too far through the hall and now blocked their once safest point of exit. They were on the third floor, the window would have to be good enough. Afterall, it was the only other way.
The flames were eating away at the door now, the snapping and crackling of the wood as it burned sounding along with the sounds of the roaring fire.
“Tear out the screen, we’re going to have to climb down!” Harley shouted to the others, quickly grappling for his backpack and swiping a few important items into the back. A teddy bear, a baby blanket, and an old pacifier- to which a hospital band was tied onto.
Once finishing, he hurried around the room, tearing the sheets from the bed and tying them together with the strongest knots he knew of. The door was moments from collapsing, the wood at the last of it integrity, the flames winning easily.
“Take this end.” He told one of the boys, Michael and newly thirteen (like himself), as he handed him one end of this makeshift rope.
There was a tree just outside their window, and a rather large one for being in central Queens. Many nights the boys had complained to each other about its branches, and how they would scratch against the glass of the window and keep the rooms occupants up at night, Now, however, Harley couldn’t be more thankful for that tree.
Making quick work of it, he moved to lean out of the window, the screen long since removed by the other boys, and secured one end of the length of sheets to the branch. He tied it three times, just to be sure.
“Roy, you first.” He said, motioning to the youngest of the room; eleven and just missing the cut off of the youngest boys’ room. “Grab the sheet between your hands and slide down. You’ll need to hold on very tightly. Once your at the bottom, run at least thirty feet away, don’t wait for us.” Harley instructed.
Roy nodded, his eyes wide with fear as he made to crawl out of the window. The door to the room moaning as he did so. Within seven seconds, Roy was sliding down and out of sight.
Eric was next. Then Michael, who had put up a small fuss and tried to insist Harley go before him. The slightly older of the two had refused.
Harley took one last look at their smoke filled, and now empty, room. He was barely able to see through the air now, the thickness of it making it difficult to take a proper breath. For the first time in two months, he was extremely thankful of the social workers decisions to send the twelfth boy of their home to foster care. After all, the room for the younger boys was all the way down the hall.
There was another groan from the wood behind him and a pop as one of the metal hinges bent from the heat. In the last few seconds possible, Harley took hold of the sheets and, just as the door exploded, he jumped.