Black Light

It wasn't difficult to get into Harry Osborn's penthouse apartment. A.I.M. had given you the information you needed in order to get in unnoticed—all of the security was centered around indoor entrances, and the alarm system on the windows was easy to disable, at least it was for you. Breaking in through the terrace was a piece of cake.

The inside of the penthouse was not quite what you'd pictured for a rich young business inheritor. It looked like a real home, albeit a luxurious one, and not a showy bachelor pad. The couches and chairs were charcoal gray, decorated with colorful throw pillows, which contrasted with the snow-white walls and rich brown wooden floors. The surfaces were minimalist, sleek and unpresumptuous, and he even had a few fairly interesting art pieces on the larger wall spaces. Of course, there were elements that pointed to the resident being a rich young man in his twenties, like the gargantuan television and gaming apparatus tucked away in the media center.

According to the schedule you'd been sent, he wouldn't be home for at least forty-five minutes. So you poked around a bit. After scanning over and poking around the living room, you went to check out the other rooms. There were two bedrooms, one matching the general appearance of the house, though with more personal touches, the other obviously a guest room. The bathroom was almost half as big as the bedroom you had at your apartment with Stacy, and you found the size of the shower almost abhorrent, though you couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to use it. The kitchen was an open space attached onto the living room. Marble counters, state of the art kitchen appliances, huge shiny steel refrigerator. On the fridge were various simple black magnets holding up pictures that Harry apparently liked enough to put on display. You looked over them, noting a theme. They were all of him and his friends or his father. Harry with Peter and a pretty big-eyed blonde girl at highschool graduation, smiling at the camera, another of the three of them laughing at graduation, clearly at something Peter said. Harry and Peter and the same girl ice-skating—Peter with his arm around her. One of Harry on vacation with his father, Norman. Harry in a suit standing proudly while Norman shook a woman's hand, her beaming with teeth as white as her labcoat. Harry with Peter at a funeral, solemn, an arm around Peter who had clearly been crying. A yearbook photo of the blonde girl, which turned out to be on a pamphlet—you took it down and opened it, curious.

It was a memorial pamphlet. You saw the words “In memory of Gwen Stacy” and couldn't look further. This wasn't just Harry's business, it was Peter's, and he would tell you about her when he wanted you to know. You swallowed the lump in your throat as you looked at the picture of Peter at what must have been her funeral.

There was another picture of a funeral, though this was along with an article about Norman Osborn's tragic death. You turned away from the refrigerator and sat on one of the couches, facing the entrance to the penthouse, waiting for Harry Osborn to come home.

You didn't have to wait long, having spent quite a bit of time looking around the apartment when you had arrived. Harry came home only seven minutes after you'd taken your seat on his couch.

The front door was around a short corner, hiding the living room from view. Harry's arrival was announced by the sound of keys turning in the lock, and the door swung open.

“-know, babe, it's okay. Nah, I'll just go with Peter, he's finally seeing someone again and I want to meet whoever it is.” A pause, as the front door closed and you heard his footsteps approach. “Yeah, I understand. I'll see you when you get back. I miss you too.” There was the soft click of a light switch and all of the lights came on in the kitchen and living room. Harry rounded the corner, pocketing his phone, and froze as he saw you, legs crossed and seated on his couch, one arm across the back, the other casually examining one of the pillows on his couch. You glanced up at him.

“I love your furniture, Mr. Osborn.”

“You're Black Light. I saw you on the security footage fighting Spider-Man last night.”

You smiled, showing your teeth.

He looked at you, walking past you into the kitchen on your left. “What are you doing here? I should be calling the police, considering you stole from my company's labs.”

“Do your security cameras have audio?”

Harry paused leaned forward casually, two hands on the edge of the kitchen island, facing you, the fridge behind him. “Yes.”

“So can you guess why I'm here, Mr. Osborn?”

“I'm guessing you're not the biggest fan of Spider-Man, either.”

“You'd be guessing correctly.”

He paused, looking at you. “I've had a long day and I need a drink. Whiskey?”

You nodded once, shrugging a shoulder.

He turned around, getting out two short cups from a cabinet and retrieving a bottle of what looked like very expensive whiskey. You approached the kitchen island, standing on the other side from Harry, as he poured two glasses, hand shaking ever so slightly. He pushed one glass towards you, and you lifted it in a slight toasting gesture before taking a small drink. He downed the whole glass in one go, and went to refill his immediately.

“I know you want to take Spider-Man down, Mr. Osborn. I'd like to help with that.”

Harry put the bottle down onto the counter with a heavy hand, and looked up at you. “How do you intend to do that?”

“I'd venture a guess I run into him a bit more than you do. And I'm sure you're too busy with running your newly acquired company to have time running around at night looking for a man in a costume.”

“You want to make a deal?”

“Yes. No strings attached, just two people helping each other to put away an obnoxious vigilante.”

Harry scoffed, walking around the kitchen island into the living room to stand at the broad windows, looking out over the city. “You mean to tell me you don't want any money? A part in the company? None of that?”

“I wouldn't say no to money, Mr. Osborn, but I don't exactly need any. I make good money doing what I do.”

You followed him, standing behind him in the center of the room. You could see your reflection in the windows, and once again you were surprised with just how tough and mysterious you looked. The only part of yourself you recognized was your mouth, the only part of your body not covered with shiny black fabric.

You could also see Harry's face reflected in the windows. He was holding the glass of whiskey in one hand, his other in the pocket of his suit pants. His tie was loosened, the first button of his shirt undone, his hair just slightly ruffled. His face serious, brows furrowed over eyes glaring at the city lights. You felt a pang of sympathy for the young man in front of you; clearly the pressure of running a company at such a young age while also grieving was beginning to get to him. The sympathy didn't show in your reflection.

“I don't want to just put Spider-Man away. I want him to suffer.”

“I can make that happen.”

“I want him to feel pain. I want him to lose. I want him to hurt to his core.”

“I take it you don't just mean physically.”

“Can you do that?”

“I'm sure I can figure something out. I've been told I'm very creative.”

“Good.”

Silence for a few moments.

“I want him dead.”

“Dead.” You replied, toneless.

“Dead,” he repeated, turning around to look at you. “Is that a problem?”

“...No.”

“I don't care how it's done, as long as he suffers first. I want him in pain, I want him unmasked, and then I want him dead, and I want to see him.”

“After?”

“During, after, whatever.”

You stood, silent, thinking about what this deal would mean. You would have to kill someone, you knew A.I.M. wouldn't disapprove, that they would in fact encourage you kill Spider-Man, just as they'd encouraged you to kill Daredevil if you had an opening. Were you willing to kill for an organization you didn't know much about outside of how they personally affected you?

Harry watched you as you put your own morality under a microscope.

“If I'm going to kill someone for you, how are you going to help me get this done?”

“You know the circumstances of my father's death.”

“I know that he was the Green Goblin and that Spider-Man killed him.”

“I have my father's Goblin equipment. I can help.”

“I don't want an amateur in the way.”

“Amateur? What does that make you? You've barely been on the scene for a week.”

“I've had practice with this my whole life.”

Harry was glaring at you.

“I'm not useless. I might not have practice with fighting heroes but I know how to handle myself.”

“So we team up and kill Spider-Man.”

“That's the idea. We fight him, we make him suffer, and then we kill him.”

“Whoever gets the opportunity first will do it?”

He nodded and then paused. “Actually, no. I want to be the one to kill him. You can catch him, take him down, make him suffer, anything you want. Just make him hurt, show me his face, and then let me kill him.”

“It might be a long time before we get an opportunity.”

“I don't care, as long as it happens.”

“You'd better start practicing being the Goblin, then. It'll go better if you know what you're doing.”

“I want Spider-Man dead to avenge my father, but I don't want to become a villain like he did just to take him down.”

“Then it won't get done. You don't have to become your father, but you do have to become the Green Goblin.”

Harry just stared at you. After a long minute he downed his drink, not breaking eye contact with your mask. “Fine. If that's what I have to do then I'll do it.”

“Then we have a deal,” you stuck out your hand to shake. He looked at it, then at your mask, and shook.

“Looks like we do.”

“I'll be in touch, Mr. Osborn.” You let go of Harry's hand and made your way outside to the balcony, taking out your grappling hook gun and jumping off the edge.

The next morning you woke up around ten. It was raining again, the water falling in sheets against your bedroom window. You yawned, snuggling deeper into your pillow as if looking for a few more minutes of sleep inside the fabric.

On your bedside table your phone went off, and hmm-ing softly you reached for it, to see that Peter was calling. You rubbed your face and cleared your throat before answering, hoping you didn't sound like you'd just woken up.

“Hey, Peter. What's up?”

“Hey Y/n. Did I wake you up?”

You yawned again. “Nah, I woke up a little bit ago.”

“Oh okay, cool,” a pause. “Do you remember my friend Harry I was telling you about?”

You were slapped out of any remaining sleepiness and swallowed. “Harry Osborn, yeah?”

“Yeah. So turns out he was invited to the Stark thing tonight too, but this girl he was sort of dating is out of the country right now? I dunno. I know it's probably weird since we've only been dating for a week or two or whatever, but would you mind if he came with us? I figured since I met your friend Stacy already—sort of—it would only be fair for you to meet Harry-”

You laughed. “Yeah, that sounds fun. He's probably having a rough time right now because of what happened to his dad.”

Peter sounded relieved. “Good! I think you two will get along great, he's a smart guy. We've been friends forever, so you were bound to meet him sooner rather than later.”

“Yeah. I'm excited about tonight, I've never been to something like this. And I can't wait to see you in your suit, that'll be interesting,” you teased.

“Hey! I clean up pretty nicely, I'll have you know. Get ready to be swept off your feet.”

“I can't wait,” you smiled, rolling back into your pillow. “What time are we going again?”

“It's at seven-thirty, so I'll probably be there to pick you up at six-forty-five-ish. I don't know if Harry is meeting us there or if he wants to ride there with us yet.”

“That's fine. I should go, but I'll see you tonight?”

You could almost hear the smile in his voice. “Okay. Bye, Y/n.”

“Bye, Peter.” You were sure he could hear the smile in your voice too, before you hung up. Dropping your phone onto your comforter, you stretched and started thinking about Peter, and the night before when you'd seen all of the pictures of him and his friends on Harry's fridge. And specifically the blonde girl in the photos who's memorial pamphlet had been pinned to the the shiny steel surface of the doors. You sighed.

“Fuck.”

Your day went by quickly, filled with chores and homework while Stacy was gone. By the time six-thirty had come around, you were already dressed and ready to go, a long black coat over your black dress, black suede heels on your feet, crimson red scarf around your neck. Stacy had insisted you borrow a clutch bag to “make you look classier,” and now it rested on your bathroom counter as you touched on the last piece of your makeup, a classic red lipstick Stacy demanded you wear.

Your phone went off in the clutch, and you put the cap back on the lipstick, putting it into the bag and trading it for your phone. Peter was calling.

“Hello?”

“Hey, I'm outside with Harry. Are you ready to go?”

“I'll be right down, just a second.”

“Okay. See you in a second, then.”

You hung up, tossed your phone into the clutch, made sure you had your keys, and went outside to find Peter waiting on the steps, a limousine parked on the curb. He turned around when he heard the front door closing, and his face split into a broad grin.

“You look like a movie star,” he said, looking you up and down, his eyes resting on your face. He almost looked hypnotized.

You blushed lightly and smiled back at him. “You clean up pretty nicely too.” You went down the steps and he kissed your cheek.

“Hey, lovebirds, we're gonna be late.”

You and Peter both laughed as you pulled away, you slipping your hand into his. You both looked towards the limo, where one of the windows was rolled down to reveal the one and only Harry Osborn.

Peter pulled you to the limo, opening the door so you could slip in. The inside of the limousine was one long bench running around the side and curving around the front and back, with a space for what looked like a small bar. The seats were black, and the lights inside were a soft amber.

“Oh, this is pretty nice,” you said, settling into the curve of the seat between Peter and Harry.

“I had to convince Peter that a limo with a lava lamp ceiling would be tacky,” Harry joked.

“Y/n, this is Harry. Harry, this is Y/n.”

Harry smiled at you. “It's nice to finally meet you, Y/n. I've been hearing lots about you.”

You smiled back at him. “Oh have you? All good things, I hope,” you looked at Peter.

“I only have good things to say,” Peter smiled at you, squeezing your hand.

You grinned.

“Who wants a drink?”

Peter laughed. “Harry, it's not even seven yet!”

Harry was already pouring out three drinks. “Oh, come on, Peter, don't be a square.”

“Okay, fine, but only one right now. I'm technically working tonight.”

“Fine, but we're getting you destroyed at the after party,” Harry said, passing you and then Peter a pair of drinks. You noted that he looked far more put together than he had the night before, his hair neat and combed out of his face, his shirt buttoned all of the way and his tie tight against the collar.

“Oh, drunk Peter? I'd like to see that,” you said, looking away from Harry and towards Peter.

“I'll toast to that. It's been too long since you've let loose, man,” Harry said, leaning forward to clink his glass against yours.

Peter chuckled. “Okay, okay. Just promise me you two won't get drunk without me.”

“Promise,” you said, clinking your glass against Peter's, and you all took a drink.

It turned out Harry was a lot of fun when he wasn't talking about his dead father and plotting to torture and murder somebody. When Peter had to run off and start taking pictures immediately upon stepping out of the limo and arriving at the hotel's extravagant ballroom, Harry suggested the two of you do a lap around the room and see how many people looked like they had a stick up their ass. You'd laughed and agreed, trailing along with him, the both of you with a drink in hand. Harry introduced you to the people you stopped to talk to as “Y/n, my friend Peter's very talented and intelligent engineer girlfriend.” After a few rounds of small talk, you and Harry stopped off to the side of the room to watch Peter taking photos and making conversation with various guests.

“Did Peter say I was his girlfriend?” You asked, looking at Harry over the edge of your glass as you took a sip.

He looked at you, pausing, as if picking his words.

“He said he'd like for you to be, but he knows it's soon and you haven't been going out long and he doesn't want to rush it.”

You smiled. “Hm.”

“Don't tell him I said anything. He doesn't date a lot, he's married to school I think.”

“I understand that. I don't date usually, I've been focusing on my career too.”

“Peter said you already have a job at some science company, but didn't say where.”

“A.I.M. Industries, they said they want me to start working with them as soon as I finish school.” A half lie.

“Ah, I know them. Good company.”

You nodded, feeling Harry's eyes on your face out of the corner of your eye.

Peter appeared in front of the two of you. “You guys having fun?”

You smiled at him. “Yeah, Harry's been introducing me to people. We've been trying to figure out who has sticks up their asses and who doesn't.”

Peter laughed, Harry smiled as he sipped his drink.

“Can I get a picture of the two of you?”

You and Harry looked at each other and then both nodded at Peter, who lifted up his camera.

“Smile!”

You smiled and the camera flashed. Peter stole a quick kiss from you, and Harry took another sip of his drink.

“Here comes Tony,” Harry said, lowering his drink.

You followed his gaze, and there indeed was Tony Stark himself, walking towards the three of you. “Oh my god,” you said under your breath.

“Harry Osborn, the one and only! Are you and your friends coming to the after party at the tower?”

“Oh, absolutely Tony, wouldn't miss it for the world,” Harry said with a bright smile, shaking Tony's hand firmly. Tony shook Peter's too, before turning to you.

“And who might this gorgeous young lady be? Harry, don't tell me you've started dating models,” he teased.

“Actually, this is my friend Peter's date. Tony, meet Y/n Y/l/n. She's graduating this year to become an engineer much like yourself.”

“Ah, the friend you've told me about with all the ideas, I'm guessing. I'd love to talk shop with you sometime, miss Y/l/n, it's not often I get to meet someone almost as much of a genius as myself.”

“Genius, huh? Where'd you hear that?”

“Oh, just around,” he said vaguely, eyes sparkling, mischievous smile spreading above his trademark goatee. “Word travels fast when a good brain is about to come onto the market.”

“Y/n already has a job offer, actually,” Harry said.

Tony looked at you again. “A very good brain, apparently. Where at?”

“A.I.M. Industries, actually,” you said. “We already have a deal if I start working for them right after I graduate.”

Something very slight changed about Tony Stark's eyes. You weren't sure if you were imagining it. He was an Avenger after all, did he know something about A.I.M.?

“I guess I'd better talk to you sooner rather than later before they steal you off the job market completely,” he said. “Good ol' Peter here's been meeting with me for a while about working for me. There just might be room for you, too.”

You glanced at Peter, before looking back at Tony. “I'd love to talk about it sometime, Mr. Stark.”

“Please, a girl as smart and pretty as you can call me Tony,” he winked. “Alright kids, I should go do another round, see how much more money I can milk out of these old farts.”

“Mind if I take a picture before you run off?” Peter asked.

“Get one with me and your friends here,” Tony said, stepping in between you and Harry, putting his arm around both of you. Harry put an arm around the back of Tony, hand landing on his shoulder next to your head. The flash of the camera went off, and Tony let go of both of you. “See you at the after party!” And off he disappeared into the large room.

Peter stayed to chat for another few minutes before he had to go off and get more pictures.

And then it was ten, the guests were leaving, and servers were going around inviting specific people to the after party.

“Alright guys, I'm off the clock,” Peter reappeared, camera in hand. “I'm ready to get hammered.”

“Careful what you say, what if Thor's there?” Harry joked.

The three of you piled into the limo, taking you straight to the tower. Inside the front door a man checked your names on some kind of holographic Stark tech tablet, before sending you to an elevator that took you to the top floor.

The elevator opened into a large open space. In the center of the room was a group of couches around a part of the floor that was slightly sunken in, at the center of which was a large coffee table. To the right was a large bar, to the left some stairs and a lot of glass through which you could see the large terrace. Some of the doors were open, outside were more couches and a fire pit. You had a feeling those weren't normally there. Straight ahead past the couches and the coffee table were panes of glass from floor to ceiling through which you could see the sparkling cityscape.

“Oh, wow,” you said.

The music was loud, upbeat, intense. There was already quite the crowd, only some of which you recognized from the party. You had a feeling most of the people here hadn't been at the fundraiser.

Harry led the way to the bar, and the three of you ordered your drinks.

It wasn't difficult to get Peter drunk. And it wasn't difficult to convince him that you were drunk as well. Peter and Harry were drinking and playing ping-pong—what Tony Stark was doing with a ping-pong table at this party was beyond you.

“I'm going to the bathroom,” you announced, yelling over the thumping music, before slipping away from the party. It was time to go snooping.

You adjusted your dress as you sneaked down countless flights of stairs. You would have taken the elevator, but someone would have seen you entering it, and you didn't want to draw any attention.

You glanced at your phone, noting the time, before pushing through the doorway out of the stairwell and onto the floor that contained one of Tony Stark's many workshops. The whole floor was one open white space, machinery and gadgets and wires scattered about the place, unorganized with seemingly no rhyme or reason. On top of a desk there was one of his high-tech computers, one of the clear glass touch screens that looked as if it was from a sci-fi movie or belonged to a secret agency. You made a bee-line for it, after checking around for security cameras and finding none. Apparently Tony Stark didn't want anyone peeping in on his work.

You made several attempts to break into his computer files with no success. You were smart but apparently not quite as smart as him. Turning away from the screen, you began surveying the mess of half constructed tech throughout the lab, when something caught your eye. Small and glowing, you tucked it into your clutch, making a note of the larger pieces you would come back for later.

You slipped out of the room, locking the sliding door behind you, and you made your way back to the party.