Sparkler
By Ang D.

A/N: Thanks and blame ... let's see. Probably to Sparky for sitting there and telling me my spastic flashback style actually is good. I was afraid it'd be weird. ... And of course, to all of you reading this and telling me to write more. I'd actually wanted to do something about Norman and Harry and Emily for a few days, now, but a little incident in LJ made me add the flashback. Oh yes, and Happy Fourth of July.

They're not so spectacular
They don't burn up in the sky
But they can dazzle or delight
Or bring a tear
When the smoke gets in your eyes
~ Elvis Costello, "Indoor Fireworks"

It was almost 100 degrees out. Almost too hot to handle. The type of day when people should have been inside, quietly minding their own business, sitting in front of the television or at a desk or behind a book, swathed in the graceful breeze of a fan, or the luxury of central air conditioning.

At least, that was how it seemed to Norman Osborn.

But no - on this day when he'd rather be working, rather be hunched over his desk with his paperwork, or his stock portfolio, or standing in the lab, surveying the new experimental compounds - nobody at Oscorp was working.

Not a single soul.

A perfectly good day's work wasted ... on a holiday.

Oh well, at least it was an excusable holiday, this time. Not like Labor Day. Labor Day! Just the very name suggested that people should be working.

The Fourth of July, however, Independance Day. That was a passable holiday, and therefore Norman decided to try and quell his workaholic nature for at least twelve hours.

Of course, it didn't work. By the time he and Harry arrived at the employee picnic - seven a.m, two hours ahead of everyone else - he had already placed three calls: one to a chemical supplier, one to Sergeant Dunwich about the progress of the chemical enhancer idea, and one to the caterer, to make sure that they had the right kind of hot dogs at the party - just in case the coordinator had forgotten to order the Hummels from Connecticut. ... Those people knew how to make a damn good hot dog.

"Dad?"

He sighed, putting the mobile phone back in its charger and setting it under the seat of the Bentley so that it wouldn't fry in the sun. "What, Harry..."

His ten-year-old son tugged at his father's pantsleeve hopefully. "Are there gonna be fireworks?"

"Of course," Norman said absently, making his way over to the picnic tables so that he could find a spot in the shade.

"Dad?"

"..... Yes, Harry."

"Can I stay here with you?"

Dear Lord, he's been doing that more and more lately. Norman rolled his eyes. "Harry, why can't you just play with the other children when they get here?"

"Dad, they don't like me, they aren't nice to me. And besides, I have my new book from the library. I wanted to read you my favorite part."

"What book?" The elder Osborn flipped open his briefcase as his son, ever trying to look the spitting image, flipped his backpack up onto the picnic table and unzipped it.

"It's one of the Boxcar Children books." Harry grinned. "This time they have to go and find this missing artifact, and the whole family gets into it. It's great."

Damn supportive of them, Norman thought sardonically, trying not to roll his eyes. "Harry ..." he paused, looking down at his son. "Do you know why I don't have to work today?"

".... It's the fourth of July," Harry nodded.

"Yes, but do you know what it stands for?"

He climbed up onto the picnic bench, holding his book in his lap. "It's America's birthday. We were talking about it in school... about Benjamin Frankin and Thomas Jefferson and the Declaration of Independance." He paused. "I like history."

"Do you." Norman raised an eyebrow. "Did they tell you what the Declaration of Independance was?"

"Um. Yeah. Something about all men being created equal ... how America didn't want to have to do what the King said."

"Right." Norman smiled, startled to find a certain sense of pride beginning to manifest itself. "And we still don't have to do what anyone tells us."

Harry scrunched up his face at that. "I brush my teeth and go to bed when you tell me. And I do my homework like Ms. Edelson says."

"....Well yes, but that's different. What I mean is, America is a free country. We can do a lot of things that people in other countries can't. And we're free to be the people we choose to be."

"Oh." Harry nodded, digesting this as much as he could. "So if I lived in China I couldn't be an astronaut?"

"Depending on where in China you came from, or how much money you made, maybe not." Norman shrugged. "It's more about decision-making. We choose our leader, we vote for our President and the people who control the country. We delegate leaders to go and make our decisions for us, trusting that they'll be able to do the best thing in our best interest. Now, other countries have dictators, and dictators do whatever they want, and they only think about themselves... they don't really care what the people want. That's why you have so many wars in other countries, Harry ... " He looked down to see that his son was blinking a bit more than he ought to have. "I'm confusing you aren't I?"

"Uhhhh huh."

"Well, then, ah." Norman frowned, trying to break things down a bit more. Unfortunately, he could find no real way to simplify the picture any more than he already had. Fortunately, though, his train of thought was cut off as car doors began opening and closing, and the sound of other children's voices filled the air. He looked up as Vargas arrived with his wife, sister, and their children, not noticing that his own son had retreated to the other side of the picnic bench and sat himself down on the ground. "Harry, the Vargases are here."

"I know."

"Why don't you go play with them?"

"I told you, Dad. They don't LIKE me!" Harry whined.

"Stop whining, it's not befitting of an Osborn to whine like that," Norman snapped crossly, stuffing the book back in Harry's bag and handing it to him. "Now get up and go play, I have to talk to Mr. Vargas."

"I'm an American," Harry asserted, snatching his bookbag and throwing it on the floor. "I don't have to do what you tell me. I want to elect a new dad, you're just a dictator!" With that, he stomped off, away from his father and the approaching Vargas family.

Well, Norman blinked, biting his lip. I guess he did understand some of it. But .... a dictator? .... I would have never thought .... Slumping back down on the picnic bench, looking very much like a chagrined version of Rodin's Thinker, he began to think back, back to when the 4th of July's meaning had truly sunk in.

College had let out for the summer. While others were dreading their final exams, Norman was relishing them, clinging to every last class session and moment on campus with an iron grip. He would rather stay in his dorm room, by himself, all summer, with the chemistry books and the solace of the science building, than be where he was heading at the moment, in his old yet respectably well-kept Oldsmobile.

Home.

Norman snorted at the thought of everything the word implied.

Homemade apple pie? No, just ice cubes in washcloths, and no, here Mom, let me make you some soup.... Sorry, Mom, I know I didn't put enough water in it this time .... Dad, wait, no, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I'll make it the right way next time, Dad. No, Dad, I'm not going to cry.

Dinner at the table? Dinner sliding lower and lower in your chair, staring at the food, and no, Mom, it's perfect. No, Dad, I'm not disagreeing with you sir but I'm just hungry and maybe it isn't that bad.... That's all I'm saying ....

Family outings? .... Sure, Dr. Chapman, I'll wait out here in the waiting room. I'm 18 now, I'll sign for her.... yes, I know we should tell someone. Yes, I know, back in a week to get the stitches out. ... No, I'm fine, it'll go away in a day or two.

Sure ... Home.

He was the only person his age he knew that drive ten miles under the speed limit coming home.

But he did eventually get there, inevitably, and while his mother was prouder than a peacock about his making the Dean's List with a 3.9, there was his father...

His father.

No, Dad, I know it isn't a 4.0, but why do you care anyway?... Yes, Dad, I'll try harder next time, sir.

Needless to say, he'd already arranged for a summer job over spring break, and it was the sort of thing where you spent as much time there as possible. It wasn't too much of a thing, working in the library at Columbia, but at least there was the science building on lunch breaks and the books he loved to be around.

It had been, of course, July the fourth that day when he'd gotten out of work. Pulling into the driveway, he'd heard it from half a block down the street.... oh yes, fireworks.

"Fourth of fucking July and you can't make your own SON stay home with us. What the FUCK is wrong with you..."

Smack, a firecracker in his ear, the car in the driveway, brakes sounding like pinwheel fireworks and bam into the kitchen through the screen door, and there was his mother, patriotic, red white and blue.

Snap of a firecracker, I'm sick of this.

"Dad, STOP...... I wanted to work. .... Leave her alone." Did I just say that? Of course you did, and it's about time. Thanks .... where have YOU been? Waiting for you.

"Excuse me? WHAT did you just say, you little --"

"Go ahead, call me a fuck if you want to, it seems to be the only word you know... Mom, don't get up ... it's okay ..."

"Oh, and you're much smarter than I am, is that it, Mr. Dean's List?"

"Yeah, that's part of it."

"Working on god-damned Independance Day, what kind of a man are you?"

"One who apparently makes money.... which is more than you can say." He's got that look. Here it comes. Duck.... now, hit back. And he does, his fist connecting with the elder Osborn's gut with more force than he'd thought he could ever muster. And he's kneeling on the floor beside his mother, cleaning her up, helping her to her feet.... And then .... for some reason, words that aren't quite his pass his lips, quietly.

"I have to leave." But the next, the next are so much his own that it hurts. "I'm sorry."

And he walks out the door ... independent, free, the car tires squealing and the engine thrumming, drumrolls and fire sirens and a parade, as the fireworks on the other side of Queens start up in earnest, the real ones.

He stops just outside of the neighborhood and climbs up on the hood of the car to watch, catching the summer air in his nostrils, breathing in bittersweet freedom.

And he understands.

Casualties get made ... but freedom is worth the price, and why not celebrate it ...

God Bless America?

The fireworks explode over his head. The green ones, particularly, are radiant.

"Dad."

He blinked, shaking his head, clearing the soot of fallen fireworks from his mind. "....Harry. I thought you were mad at me."

His son sniffled a bit. "Candice ripped my library book.... can you fix it?" He held it up: Boxcar Children #35, one dogeared page dangling from the spine like a falling leaf.

Norman raised his eyebrows, trying not to make blinking into a habit. "You aren't mad at me?"

"No. We were talking about how Candice's mom makes her take dance lessons.... and I think that she's more of a dictator. Don't make me take dance lessons, Dad."

He smiled, taking the book from his son's hands and inspecting the tear. "Well, I don't think I can tape it, Harry, it's too close to the spine. But we'll get a brand new one at Barnes and Noble's, and you can bring it in to the library and get one for yourself."

Harry grinned. "Really?"

"Yes. And no dance lessons." He peered at the ripped page. "....Your favorite part?"

"Yeah." Harry sighed, sitting up on the bench. "You ok Dad?"

"I'm fine. Let's go get hot dogs, Harry."

The executives of Oscorp and their families saw something extremely rare that day. Norman and Harry Osborn left the picnic around noon, and came back with enough sparklers to outfit every person there with a handful. That wasn't quite what surprised them. It was the thought that Norman Osborn was capable of wearing casual attire, and spending a day with his son.

Most of the board members, of course, thought it a foolish frivolity. It was, naturally, a little awkward, but Norman eased himself into it, and by the end of the day, he barely even flinched when Harry went to give him a hug and accidentally smeared mustard on his polo shirt.

As the sun set on the picnic, several of the children ran begging for their parents to light their sparklers. Norman gladly lit a yellow one for Harry, then leant back on a picnic table and watched as his son waved it around, a magic wand in the twilight. However, as sparklers do, the first came quickly to an end, and Harry came running back with the burnt-out metal twig, frowning.

"Dad, c'n I have another one?"

"Sure, Harry."

And then, suddenly, the younger Osborn did what he usually did to his father, those days: he blindsided him. "Dad," he asked, as Norman fished another sparkler from the box, "did Mom like sparklers?"

Norman froze. "Well ... yes, yes she did." Lighting the second sparkler and handing it carefully to Harry, he couldn't help but think of Emily as his son waved it around. Occasionally a spark from the minute firework would land on his hand, a slight prickle more than anything else, and then it would wink and fizzle.

She winked, and she smiled, and then she was gone. Norman managed a slight chuckle at his own analogy, then, before he could wonder why, he lit a sparkler of his own, holding it steady and watching it burn.

"No, no, Dad," Harry chided him, grinning. "S'no fun if you don't wave it around. You can't just hold still. You gotta move with it, before it burns out! Do something cool."

Norman made a face, feeling a little foolish at the thought of waving sparklers around in the dark with a bunch of children, in front of his associates. Nevertheless, he gave it a little wave, and was rewarded with a small, short-lived stream of light. Despite himself, he felt a smile spread across his face and waved it a little more.

"There ya go." Harry grinned, then held his own sparkler out like a fencing sabre. "On guard, dad."

"En garde," Norman replied, giving Harry's sparkler a tap. Before he realized it, all self-consciousness had flown out the window and he was fencing sparklers with his son, both of them laughing, and grinning. By the time the sparklers died out, they flopped down to sit on the cool grass, beaming.

"Who won?" Harry asked.

"You did," Norman said, by default.

"Yay!"

He smiled, a bit wearily, as his son gave him a quick hug and went off to get one more sparkler. "You want another one, Dad?"

Norman paused. Wink and smile and sparkle. "No, Harry," he said, a bit more content than he'd thought it would sound. "One's quite enough."