Who: Norman & Harry Osborn What: Talking. When: Before plotness, and before Harry & Gwen had their fight. Warnings: None.
Some people might have referred to the recent shift in Norman Osborn as the start of a downward spiral. Perhaps, if he’d cared to investigate his comic book self beyond the deadly dance of obsession with Spider-Man, he would have seen the truth in that, but Norman always had been and always would be his own Achilles’ heel. Thus, instead of concerning him, his acceptance of the voice now fully acknowledged as Green Goblin (or just Goblin, as he was coming to prefer, thank you very much) was merely the beginning of something wonderful. A new chapter, one in which he became more than just a man. Oh, the ugly bile of interfering goop had really pissed him off, but whatever it was, it would be dealt with. Yes, it would be, and then he’d have Spider-Man all to himself, to torment to his heart’s content. There was dear little Gwen and that redhead, Mary something, to be used as bargaining chips, pieces in his little game, but Harry... not Harry. His son and the spider might have been friends, but he was not so much a monster that he would harm his own flesh and blood.
Harry. Harry was still missing. Or was he back? So caught up in Spider-Man, setting up the little meeting in the woods, and licking his wounds afterward, and he was still unaware of his son’s status. Love was not something Norman felt on a regular basis, and while he was rarely home these days--Oscorp might as well have become his true residence--he felt the absence of the only child he had. He was his heir, after all, and not entirely without hope. What if he never returned? What then? It wasn’t something he particularly wanted to dedicate any significant amount of thought to, so he didn’t. He went to work, and he ran his company... but recently, he had begun to return to the overlarge Osborn mansion every evening.
Tonight was the same as any other. Norman expected to find nothing but emptiness and silence, save for the hired help who knew better than to draw attention to themselves. He did, admittedly, often run his home as he ran Oscorp; efficient, effective, and smooth.
Harry had never considered his life or his home to be any sort of sanctuary. Especially in recent years. The Osborn mansion, despite the house staff, always felt empty. Maybe it was the lack of a mother he'd never known, but whose captivating portraits hung on so many walls. Large paintings that captured soft beauty and a warm smile that Harry could never quite envision alongside his father's stony and stern expressions. In recent years, Harry's father had begun to spend more and more time at Oscorp late into the nights, and it was these nights when the mansion felt nothing even close to resembling family warmth. Just a museum of drafty opulence, priceless antiques, and mountainous libraries. This house was not a home, it was haunted with echoes. But after finding himself in the chaotic whirlwind of the German woman's mind -- she thought in snapshots, profane beauty coated with foreign curses -- the Osborn mansion felt like something safe and familiar.
The Christmas headtrip that the hotel took him on hadn't been much of a picnic either. It was like wherever Harry turned, he couldn't escape the depressing reality of Las Vegas or the depressing illusions of the hotel. Somehow home felt like the only optimistic place to be. Even if it was quiet, even if it was empty. Harry knew that he should contact Gwen so that they could talk about what had happened in the woods that night, but.. he was kind of waiting for her to say something about it first. It was a chickenshit way to go about things, but avoiding the awkward conversation as a whole took the least amount of effort, and until Harry was certain of what he was supposed to say, that was just going to have to do.
Still on break from school and effectively friendless after his last conversation with Peter, Harry had nowhere to go. Nowhere he really desired to go as the house felt comfortable and safe for once, empty but not lonely. He'd taken a nap earlier this evening and awoken to a missed call and a blinking voicemail on his cell phone. The voice was familiar, although the concerned tone was admittedly surprising. He knew that it was his father's secretary at Oscorp even though she did not leave her name, and her voice was hushed in a whisper during the brief duration of the message. Harry Osborn? I'm worried about your father, please do keep an eye on him.. he hasn't seemed like himself these past few weeks.. There was a hesitation in her voice, like she wanted to say something more, but then the phone clicked and the message came to an end.
Frowning and rubbing a hand over his eyes, Harry tucked his phone into his pocket and rose from where he'd fallen asleep at his desk chair while finishing up school applications. A noise came from downstairs, and it sounded like the front door. It was late enough that most of the staff had left for the day, but it was still early enough that Harry didn't expect his father to be home. The man had been working later and later in recent weeks. Harry moved to investigate, calling out on his way to the foyer, "Dad?" Because although unlikely, who else could it be?
Not even in his wildest, most nonsensical dreams would Norman ever have imagined that anyone would have noticed the changes in his behavior, never mind become concerned enough to alert his son. Some employers might have valued the fact that their employees cared, but he valued discretion, one’s ability to keep their mouth shut, which apparently his secretary lacked. A pity, really, because good help was so hard to find.
Movement which, mere months ago, would have been too low for him to hear now reached his ears quite well, and Norman paused. He waited. Maybe it was the hired help, but this late, few roamed about. Then the voice called his name, one so familiar he would know it anywhere, even if it was not one he always wanted to hear. “Harry?” There was a moment, albeit brief, of lucidity, when the voice which had become a separate entity itself was gone, leaving his mind as his own, beginning to ascend the steps up to where his name had come from. “Harry, is that you?” As though there was any doubt, but he wanted verification from the boy himself.
For a moment, Harry thought that it might have been Gwen who stopped by to visit. Although after the incident in the woods, he couldn't imagine that she'd want to stop by anytime soon. But when it turned out to be his father, that was equally as surprising. Harry hadn't seen his father in some time, and he was forced to recall that tonight's voicemail wasn't the first time somebody had expressed concern about his father's state of mind. Moving out to the hallway, he peered down the stairwell with a resounding blink at the sight of his father.
"Oh, hey.." Taking a step back, Harry sighed with a slight smile. He seemed momentarily disappointed, although it was unintentional. Screwing his mouth to one side, Harry was suddenly aware of just how long it had been since he'd been home. Not that it was any fault of his own, but he still couldn't shake the guilt. He lamented Gwen and subsequently Peter for another moment before arriving back at the moment of acknowledging his father's return. Immediately, any worry over the message from his father's secretary was eradicated. The man seemed perfectly fine, or at least as normal as Harry could remember.
Straightening the slouch in his spine and fastening a second, more genuine smile into place, Harry nodded. "Yeah, its me." It felt strange to verify, but his smile widened. Finally, it felt good to be home.
Norman hardly expected a dramatic, emotional sort of reunion with his son, nor would he have wanted one, yet that momentary disappointment seemed crystal-clear through newly cleared eyes, and the voice in his head hissed about pretty blondes and secrets kept behind his back. But he wasn’t angry, not like some fathers would have been, or hurt, as others would be. He simply acknowledged what was before him, took note, and moved on, never one to dwell or linger on that which was deemed unimportant.
“You were gone for a while,” he remarked unnecessarily. He paused mid-stair, regarded Harry’s smile, and returned it with one of his own before continuing his descent. “It’s good to have you back, son.” Moments like these were rare, but they did occur every now and then.
There had been a time when Harry recognized that his father was different from so many others. With the naivete of childhood, it actually took years for Harry to process the ways that his upbringing were different from that of everyone else. It couldn't have that much to do with affluence(although that was surely part of the diet for notorious Osborn eccentricity), and it wasn't necessarily due to patriarchs working long hours. If that was the case, the Stacy home life would somehow resemble his in more than just platinum dinner settings.
"Its good to be back," Harry assured. He wanted his father to know that it was through no choice of his own that he was gone for so long. While the FBI agent had been willful, this new photographer he was dealing with would rarely be convinced to leave her apartment. Elise didn't have an interest in anything that was less than 99% selfish, so getting to the hotel on a regular itinerary was looking impossible. Still, he couldn't exactly fault her for it, recent events were leading Harry to believe that he was the most selfish person he knew. Pushing fingers into the back of his hair, he tried not to think about that too much.
"Did anything important happen while I was gone?" He was pretty sure that Gwen would have said something if anything significant had happened at Oscorp.
Oh, of course it was. Norman sensed honesty in his son’s words, and his enduring loyalty pleased him. There might come a time, after all, when some (like Peter Parker and his little gang) would turn against him, and he needed Harry to remain at his side no matter what happened. If that required feigning more affection than usual and playing the role of the remorseful father vowing to change his ways, then so be it. Now hugging, that was a stretch, and he wanted to keep this natural as opposed to giving his son reason for suspicion. Thus, he went for middle ground; a hand on the boy’s shoulder, sure and firm for a moment before it was dropped.
Anything important? Well, son, in addition to scientifically engineered superpowers, my alter ego has fully manifested and I’ve crossed the line into what a normal, rational person would call insanity. Ha-ha. It was entertaining to think about, but nowhere near a possibility in the real world. “No, nothing important,” he shrugged. “Aside from Dr. Connors unexpectedly returning, but he’s been no trouble so far.”
"Doctor Connors?" With all of Harry's vanishing acts over the last couple of months, he felt as if this was something that he'd missed. Naturally he'd witnessed the whole nightmare with the doctor losing his mind, turning into a dinosaur, and tearing up the city. Harry reluctantly recalled that that was how Gwen had lost her dad. Although the last Harry had heard on the subject, Dr. Connors was taking a long vacation in a padded cell. The fact that he had returned, presumably straightjacket-free was only a little surprising. People had a tendency to come and go on strange timelines, Harry included.
"You're not working with that guy, are you?" It wasn't quite an accusation, but it was definitely a scowl. "He killed Gwen's dad, why isn't he in jail?" This was assuming that Dr. Connors was no longer genetically bonded with Godzilla, as there weren't many jail cells that could hold a massive lizard.
Oh, right. Dr Connors had been the one responsible for poor Captain Stacy's death, despite having been rather reptilian at the time and not entirely himself. Norman really needed to keep better track of such things, however much he didn't care. "I'm not sure," he said, first tackling the issue of the good doctor not being imprisoned as he should have been. "But if I had to guess, Harry, I would say different timelines are the reason. I've spoken to Connors. He doesn't recall anything he's done, or the damage he's caused. There is no indication of his genetic mutation either." Clearly, Connors might be an issue. Hm. While he would have liked a pet lizard, the reptilian scientist wasn't absolutely necessary; besides, there was always Octavius to fall back on.
"I'm keeping an eye on him," he reassured the boy, once again placing a hand on his shoulder. "Better to monitor him than leave him to his own devices. I would prefer to avoid repeating the past." Oh, he was good.
"But.." He frowned, finding a nebulous, gemini kind of conflict in what his father was saying and what he knew to be true about the danger that Dr. Connors posed. While it might have been true that Dr. Connors wasn't a threat yet, that didn't mean that he wouldn't be. Harry momentarily wondered if Gwen knew about Dr. Connors' return, and he prompted lamented the fact that he hadn't been in regular contact with her. Sometimes he just didn't know what to say to her, and he could swear that their friendship hadn't been quite so complicated when they were little kids. Not that this was an excuse for dodging so many of her invitations to hang out. It was belittling to think about how ridiculously reclusive he could be. Such a self-deprecating cycle where he did not hang out because he did not feel like he was part of the group, and he did not feel like he was part of the group because he did not hang out with Flash and MJ and Peter lately. Well, not Peter. Not anymore. Peter was gone, and just like so many recent events, Harry couldn't keep from feeling guilty about that. Their final conversation had been more of an argument than anything that came before it. That thought was just another unhappy umbrage to join the others on late nights when he contemplated just how alone he'd truly become.
Realizing that he'd trailed off without really cementing a conclusion on how he felt about Dr. Connors, Harry just made a face. A crooked brow and a sideways mouth. Reluctantly he realized that if his father thought that there was nothing to worry about with the scientist, maybe there wasn't. "Oscorp suffered enough bad publicity because of him."
Norman was patient. It was a cold, calculating sort of serenity, frightening in its wrongness, but he hid it behind a mask of calm. Harry would see reason. Whatever else he might have been, he was still his son, and there was time for him to be molded into the sort of man one day capable of taking over Oscorp. The problem was those friends of his, meddling little things, but they could be taken care of. One day all ties would be severed, and in the end Harry would have no one but his father. He would turn to him, rely entirely on him... all in good time. And it might be difficult at first, but he would adjust. Like father, like son; Norman was a solitary creature, after all, and he was fine with that. Feigned social niceties and the facade of humanity were more than enough. And so, while part of him wanted to snap at his son to finish his goddamn sentences properly, he kept his tongue, and he gave a sort of empathetic nod, as though understanding where Harry was coming from with his reluctance and suspicion.
Which, in fact, he did. Oscorp was as near and dear to Norman as anything could be, and he didn’t want his company suffering the same bad publicity as it had in the wake of Captain Stacy’s death, and Connors’ arrest. But keeping him there, in his labs, under his watchful eye, was a precaution; that much was true. Tossing an unstable man with an unfortunate lizardy side out onto the streets was practically inviting trouble on himself. No, this time he knew what Connors was capable of, and he intended to keep the man on a very tight leash. “I know,” he agreed, grim and utmost seriousness. “I want to make sure that doesn’t happen again, Harry. Not just for the sake of my company, but for the sake of innocent people who might get caught in the crossfire, like Captain Stacy.” In reality, he hadn’t cared about the man either way; he had been generally apathetic towards him. But his son didn’t need to know that.
“Don’t worry,” he said after a moment, and smiled. If there was something unsettling there, beneath the surface, it was fleeting. “I have it under control.” He gestured towards the stairs, where the boy had come from. “For now, I believe we have some more catching up to do.”
Like a charm. Harry smiled. Bought and paid for, that kind of barely there affection worked on him every time. "Yeah.." Then, a little more solid, this time the word came with a nod. "Yeah." They did have a lot to catch up on. It felt good to be back, it felt good to have his Dad back. There was a sense of normalcy pervading everything that Harry couldn't quite describe, but he knew that it was good. He was going to stop fucking around, he was going to do even better with school. This was life and he was finally signing on. Those couple of years he spent fooling around with no direction? A dream of the past.. college was coming, and somehow the academic blended with life because everything before didn't have to matter.