Sorry about being a little late; I decided to push the update time back due to my fathers birthday. If there is ever a reason I don't make an update when I say I will I'll try and post it on my tumblr. Anyway, enjoy!

Disclaimer:
I do not own The Amazing Spider-Man, nor any other Marvel movies or Marvel owned stuff in this story. I am making no money from this.

Chapter 16:
You Could Stay Here

"Do you want me to leave you and your date alone?" Tracey asks as she watches Reagan rush around the apartment, cleaning.

"It's not a date and yes I want you to leave," Reagan says as she kicks up some dirty clothes into her arms.

Tracey hums knowingly, "If it's not a date why do you want me to leave?"

"Not. A. Date."

"Yeah, sure – what bra are you wearing?"

"WHAT?!" Reagan stops what she's doing to stare at her best friend in horror

Tracey innocently shrugs, "Are you wearing your fancy bra?"

Reagan doesn't answer her friend; she only lets out a small shriek of shock.

Tracey gets off the couch and walks over to the coffee machine, a fresh pot is boiled. Tracey pours one cup and brings it over to Reagan who is busy throwing the clean silverware into the drawer. "Stop messing up our silverware drawer and drink your stupid coffee." Reagan snatches the mug from Tracey's hands and starts guzzling it. "Everything will be fine. Okay? Normally I'd tell you to not do anything remotely like yourself, but honestly I think he is super into how disturbingly awkward you are."

"You think so - I mean…shut up, you bitch," Reagan half-heatedly insults.

DING-DONG.

Both girls freeze then whisper "He's here."

Reagan puts her mug down and tries not to walk too quickly to the door. She counts to three then opens the door.

Harry Osborn is standing in the doorway with a smug yet nervous smile and a metal box in his hands. Neither Reagan nor Harry say anything, that is until Harry realizes how awkward standing silently in Reagan's doorway is. "This is exciting," he lamely exclaims. "Third time standing outside your home; first time actually going in."

"Right," Reagan snaps out of her daze. "Well, come on in."

"Thanks."

"Hello, Harry," Tracey greets.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the lovely and helpful Tracey MacTaggert!" He says as he strides over to Tracey and pulls her into a hug. "Did it work?" He whispers into her ear.

"Look for yourself," she whispers back.

Harry moves away from the hug and casually turns towards Reagan. She's gripping the open door.

"Aren't you leaving, Trace?" Reagan says through her teeth.

Tracey lumbers to the door. "You two have a good night," before existing the apartment she stops and cheekily teases, "If you guys get up to anything worn me; send a text or put a tie on the door."

"Leave!" Reagan yells as she slams the door behind her maybe (the jury still out) ex-roommate.

In a huff Reagan turns to Harry who is right behind her holding out the metal box to her. She takes it and nods to the couch. As Harry walks to the couch he teases, "I've known girls with kinks but blood? I did not expect that from you, Reagan."

"Shut up and take your coat off."

Harry discards his jacket on the couch. "My shirt too?" Before Reagan can answer he's already in the process of pulling his shirt off by the hem. "Nonono," she tosses the metal box on the couch and grabs his arms so she can pull his shirt back down. As she does her hand brushes his stomach; she's not really sure where exactly all the air she usual stores in her lungs went. "Slow down there, speed racer. It's your blood I want not your body."

"You sure," he mutters lowly.

"Yes," she bites.

"Then you should probably let go of me, you're starting to leave marks.

Oh shit, she is. She's holding onto him like a vice grip and her nails are digging into his arm. If Harry is bothered by this he doesn't show it.

Without a word Reagan forcefully pushes Harry onto the couch, sits down beside him, and opens the metal box. Inside are two needles, a needle injector, two vials with unmarked labels, medical gloves, cotton swabs, and disinfectant.

Harry snaps the gloves on and wastes no time in cleaning her arm with disinfectant. "Have you ever taking blood before?" Harry asks as he loads the needle into the injector.

Reagan shakes her head, "Never."

"The injector I've put the needle in will take the actually blood. All you have to do is line up the blue line on it with one of my veins," Harry explains while lining up the injector with one of her veins. "Pull the trigger, keep a steady hand, and wait."

Reagan watches as her blood fills the needle; the sight makes her a little woozy but Harry's presents is a comfort.

Once the needle is full the injector draws the needle back and Harry is quick to place a cotton swab on her arm. "Hold that," he says.

Harry then places one of the vials into a compartment of the injector and she watches the blood drain form the needle and rush into the vial. Once all her blood is in the vial Harry swaps out the needle while Reagan pulls the gloves on and rubs some disinfectant on the inside of Harry's elbow.

Harry holds out the injector for her to take but she hesitates. "Sorry, Harry. I just don't want to stab you wrong."

"I'll walk you through it," He comforts.

Reagan nods and tentatively takes the injector from him.

"Now line up the blue line with my vein. Good and breathe. Keep a steady hand. And pull the trigger. Good, good. You're doing very well, Reagan. There, all done."

Harry grabs one of the cotton swabs to hold against his arm while Reagan catches her breath. She didn't even notice Harry had taken the injector from her until he is putting everything back in the box and handing her the vials to put into the fridge.

"Why did you need your blood as well?"

Reagan's glad her back is to him as she puts the vials in the fridge. "I don't know." Yes I do. "I just thought my friend may need a sample of normal blood." Mutant blood. "Plus I thought I'd be kind of cool to get my blood tested." Because it's definitely not normal and I'd like to know what's happening inside my body." Reagan is still standing with her back to Harry.

"Who is this friend of yours anyway?" Harry's voice is much closer then Reagan expected it to be. She expected it to be over on the couch where she left Harry, not right behind her. Because of this Reagan jumps and shrieks.

"Don't do that," she says as she turns around to face him. She goes to hit him but Harry catches her hand in his.

"Can we trust your friend?" Harry asks, ignoring her little outburst.

Reagan, still fluster from Harry materializing right behind her, lets slip her 'friends' name as she insists they can trust him.

Upon hearing the name Harry's grip on Reagan's hand tightens, "James – as in your ex-boyfriend James?"

Reagan's not sure if it's from accidentally saying James' name or if it's the way Harry's hand is making hers tingle, but she cannot for the life of her make actually words come from her mouth. It feels like it's been minutes of her rambling and stumbling through words when it's actually only been a couple seconds. A couple very awkward seconds for Harry. Thankful the oven beeps, interrupting her. "Dinners ready!" She says awkwardly. Or at least she thinks that's what she says. It's not though. What actually happens is she mutters a couple of indiscernible 'words' and one that almost sounds like dinner.

Harry sighs, "Reagan you can't honestly think that going to your ex-boyfriend is a good idea."

"Why not, Harry? James and I are…good. He's getting married and crap, and I'm-"

"You're what, Reagan?"

"Not in love with him."

"Is that it?" Harry is suddenly very interested in his shoes.

"Yeah."

Reagan tries to convince herself that she's not lying; what she said was absolutely the truth. She has to be telling the truth because it can't go any other way. There is no other way because death is pretty finale. She is not lying.

It's funny though; how quickly she'll forget that little fact every time he smiles or calls her Reagan...especially when he calls her Reagan. The way he says her name is like how pizza tastes. She also forgets she's not lying every time his hands brush her. He's hands brush her a lot, making it really hard to think because they leave a trail of fire along her.

No. No they don't. They can't. Harry Osborn cannot have any sort of effect on me. That's not how it's supposed to be. I'm not supposed to fall – that's not how it's supposed to be.

"Voilà!" Reagan cheers as she sets down two plates in front of her and Harry.

The dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets are a little lacklustre for Harry. Sardonically, Harry picks up one of the T-Rex nuggets. "You are the only person in the world who would try to feed a CEO of a billion dollar corporation dinosaur chicken nuggets."

Reagan grabs the Dino from Harry, "But it's a T-Rex. Rawr."

A blank stare is all Reagan receives from Harry.

"What? Are you too good for dinosaur chicken nuggets? You think you're hot shit, don't ya?" Reagan takes a step forwards as she taunts. She's definitely crossed the line into Harry's personal space (which is always awkward given how short she is).

Holy macaroni he smells amazing. Why didn't I let him take his shirt off – nope! Step away.

Her feet betray her though. They won't move no matter how much she wills them to. Unfortunately, between the betrayal of her feet and the growing awareness to how close proximity to Harry makes her feel she is not at all prepared for Harry grabbing wrist.

Reagan jumps at the sudden contact, and at the same time the microwave blows up.

Both heads snap around to look at the dead microwave. Without a second thought Reagan pulls her wrist from Harry's grasp and throws the T-Rex nugget at him (which he catches). "Shit! Not again!" Reagan yells at the microwave while fanning away the smoke with a tea towel.

"Does this happen often?" Harry asks through a mouthful of T-Rex.

Harry Osborn is definitely the kind of person to snoop, and yes that is considered rude in most circles, but it's not like he's trying to hide it from Reagan; he's actually being painfully obvious about it.

"Hey, Reagan?" he shouts while shuffling through a huge pile of post cards from Reagan's parents.

Reagan comes to stand beside him as she asks what's up.

"It's just the post cards," he holds one out to show her. "They're all addressed to you, Reagan Knox, but your parents sometimes call you Sophie?"

Reagan's face pales at Harry's hidden question. She brings her fist to rest on her mouth and murmurs "it's my middle name."

"Your parents call you by your middle name?"

"No, they call me by my birth name."

Harry's eyebrows furrow together, "Your parents named you Sophie Sophie?"

"No," Reagan groans. "They named me Sophie Reagan. I had them legally switched."

"Why?"

"What?"

"You heard me perfectly well."

With her face still hiding behind her fist Reagan starts squirming. Harry notes that he's never made her this uncomfortable before.

Reagan mumbles something unintelligible. Harry's only response is to raise an eyebrow and give her a very pointed stare.

Reagan groans as she throws her hands up in frustration. "I said it's too pretty. I never felt like it belonged to me; I'm too awkward to be a Sophie," Reagan shifts uncomfortably on her feet. "My parents are the only people I'll allow to call me that; luckily they don't do it much anymore. Can we stop talking about this now?"

Harry has to agree with Reagan; Sophie just doesn't suit her, he imagines it would feel a little like acid on the tongue to call her that. She's not too pretty for it though; that he disagrees with (although, Harry may be a little bias).

Harry pats Reagan on the arm, "Course, Reagan." He means to start up a different conversation but her skin touching his hand is so warm and smooth that it takes all his focus not to run his hand down her arm. His need to touch and be near her scares him. It's not like he means to touch her so much; it not like he's doing it deliberately. They're just innocent touches between friends: a quick brush when they hand each other things or a gentile hand on her back to guild her. He's aware of when he touches her, he's not always aware when his hands move to her, but, oh, is he aware when his hands meet her. She doesn't burn him, no, she sets him on fire. And every time he touches her he's brought back to that day in his office when they said to hell with it and he held her in his arms for the first time. For the only time, he reminds himself. He longs to hold her again and given the chance he wouldn't do something stupid like let go of her like he did last time. Harry Osborn has never felt this way before; not about anyone, and that scares him.

He can see Reagan tensing under his touch. He pulls his hand away. She's uncomfortable. "I should go," he hates the words as they come out of his mouth, but he hates himself more for making her uncomfortable.

"What are you going to do," Reagan flinches at her own words, as if they surprised her.

Harry wishes he could lie to her and tell her he's going to work or get some sleep, but looking at her now; feeling what he feels, he can't lie to her. "I'm gonna go and drink," he says candidly, rushing to her door. He can't stay in her apartment; he has to get out of here and away from her.

He's just grabbed the door handle when her voice, barely above a whisper says "You could stay here and drink."

If his need to hold her scares him, then her hold over him petrifies him. Harry's not exactly sure when he gave up his freewill to this pintsized creature, but he did and now it's hers forever.

We've got a little role reversal going on here.

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