Deep in thought, Harry stood outside leaning against the railing of his balcony. Sometimes the noise outside helped him drown out his undesirable thoughts. Tonight not even the noise of constant passing cars and bustling people could get his mind off what he had done almost a year ago. He never wanted to let himself dwell on the thought that he killed someone.

Frustrated and ashamed, he threw the glass of scotch in his hand on the floor of the balcony. It shattered into a few large pieces and many smaller ones. The ice blended in with the glass shards. Amber liquid lay in a puddle. Once again he used destruction as an outlet.

He sighed and sat down in a chair. Breaking the glass left him without any alcohol to put his thoughts to rest. Feeling a headache coming on, he began to rub his temples. A flash of red and blue landed with a thud in front of him.

"What the hell do you want?" Harry asked Spider-Man, letting his hands fall to the chair's armrests and glaring at the masked vigilante.

"I want to talk to you," Spider-Man replied. "Inside would be better."

Harry scoffed at Spider-Man's suggestion. He knew Peter wanted to talk face to face without his hero get-up. Although he too would have preferred that, Harry wouldn't dare let Peter get his way with anything.

"I'm not moving," Harry protested, leaning back in his chair.

"Do you have to be such an ass all the time?" Spider-Man asked, gesturing towards Harry.

Harry mocked, "You came all the way over here just to tell me what an ass I am? I already pay people to do that so don't waste my time."

"So you're admitting that you're an ass?" Spider-Man asked with a rather happy tone.

"Tell me what you really want or I'm leaving," Harry growled, starting to stand.

"Okay, okay," Spider-Man replied, gaining a more serious tone. "I want to talk to you about Gwen."

The urge for a drink only grew. Harry's gaze fell down to the table. Every other time they tried to talk about Gwen it always ended with Peter unbelievably furious and Harry beat to a pulp.

"What do you want me to say?" Harry asked, trying his best to sound cold and not let his voice crack.

"I want to know why you took her from me."

Harry felt his stomach drop. He couldn't let his guilt get the best of him. Peter wanted to force him into a corner.

"Like I said a thousand times before, it was an accident," Harry stated bluntly.

"You still killed her," Spider-Man shot, his fists balling up.

"I'm only partially responsible," Harry mumbled.

"Partially?!" Spider-Man shouted, seizing the collar of Harry's shirt. "You little shit, don't try to pin this on me again. You killed her. How is that my fault?"

Harry gave him a venomous look. Pissed off, he pulled his shirt out of Spider-Man's grip.

Harry pointed to himself and stated, "I'm not the one who couldn't catch her."

"YOU FUCKING PRICK!" Spider-Man yelled at Harry, followed by punching him in the side of his face.

Harry fell onto his back. He felt some shards from the glass he threw earlier bury themselves in his back. As he tried to sit himself up, more ended up in his palms. He swore under his breath from the stinging feeling they caused. His cheek began to swell slightly from the punch.

"How can you just blame me?" Spider-Man shot again but with less ferocity. "You know, I didn't even want her to be there."

"And you think I did? I had no idea you were Spider-Man at the time and I didn't expect Gwen to be there, too," Harry answered, clearly sick of the argument.

Spider-Man looked in Harry's direction but refused to look at him directly. Harry bit his lip as he pulled a shard of glass out of his left palm. He held in a need to yell from the pain. Noticing blood, he squeezed his palm into his shirt.

"Um, I'm sorry about the glass," Spider-Man apologized with a sigh. "I wouldn't have punched you in that direction if I knew it was there."

Harry glared up at him. He couldn't believe Peter had given up so easily. No, he just wanted a break. They both did.

"You still would have punched me," Harry groaned, standing up.

Each shard in his back felt like a needle moving under his skin. This is what he imagined acupuncture was like. Spider-Man still lingered away from Harry, a hero refusing to help.

Harry stretched uncomfortably and added, "If we're done here, I need to go have all of these stupid glass shards plucked out of my back."

"You say it like I enjoy seeing you this way," Spider-Man commented grimly, looking over at Harry.

Harry shot, "Don't you? Isn't that why you drop by every time you happen to be in the area? Every time you 'just want to talk.' Sometimes I think you just want revenge. Either that or a punching bag."

Harry half expected him to laugh after the last line. Instead Spider-Man looked away distantly. His hands balled up into fists.

"You killed my girlfriend. What did you expect me to do?" he asked.

The pain in Harry's back only grew worse every time he moved or shifted. He didn't want to focus on Peter's question so he focused on his physical pain instead.

"I would love to give several counterarguments but I need medical attention and have a meeting tomorrow. If it's all the same to you, could we please continue this later?" Harry complained as he walked over to the door.

Usually he feared being at the mercy of Spider-Man, but tonight Peter seemed to have lost his edge.

"Ugh," Spider-Man moaned, pinching the bridge of his nose under his mask. "Fine. But only because I just came back from a pretty tiring battle."

Harry let himself grin as he turned his back to Spider-Man.

"Great," he said somewhat sarcastically.

"Wonderful," Spider-Man replied in an annoyed manner.

He left with a thwip and a swish. Harry let out a huge sigh. He'd escaped Spider-Man, but for how long? Peter always came when it suited him. At least he never interrupted the stupid Oscorp meetings and such.

As he opened the door, his guilt began to settle. He could never let Peter know how guilty he really felt, especially not if he remained in his irrational mood. Maybe he deserved what Peter kept doing to him. That didn't mean he had to let it happen.

Slowly, he edged over to the nearest couch. He leaned his side against the back of it. Blood from his hands smeared on the probably expensive fabric.

He remembered past fights he and Peter had. After he had been cured the physical fighting became one sided. How could Harry defend himself from spider strength? Maybe if he had a gun… No, he didn't desire to kill Peter. At least he didn't anymore. If only he could get Peter to see reason or forgive him or something.

That first fight was such a blur. Everything happened so fast and he felt like he wasn't 'all there' at the time. He didn't even know Gwen was dead until days after. Peter never visited or talked to him for several months afterwards.

The stupid Green Goblin in him at the time decided to once again try for revenge. He remembered having the Sinister Six assembled. All those psychos he barely knew fighting Spider-Man for such petty reasons. He was one of them.

Peter still hated Harry, but he cured him in the end. After he was deemed sane and Menken had been found out for the fraud he was, Harry got the company he never wanted in the first place back. Good old Oscorp had been through a lot. He had been through a lot.

Remembering his injuries, Harry began to walk towards the hallway. The shards only stung if they were disturbed. He tried his best not to move too quickly. Soon enough, one of his butlers noticed him limping around the mansion and quickly took him to the nearest hospital.

He felt as though his injuries were hardly worthy of being treated at a hospital, but his butler and chauffeur persuaded him to think otherwise. When they asked him what had happened Harry brushed it off, but when he got to the hospital he finally had to give some sort of reason. He claimed that he dropped his glass of Scotch, slipped, and fell onto the broken glass. Whether anyone believed him or not he didn't know. He just wanted to leave as soon as possible.

Once every last shard had been removed and the cuts disinfected, he was finally taken back home. He changed into night clothes, pressed an icepack to his swollen cheek, and poured himself another glass or two of scotch. The buzz from the alcohol helped dull the pain. It also shut-out his thoughts. He fell asleep on his side, trying not to cause his cut-up back to sting again.