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There are hundreds of moments in his life Mark wishes he could just forget, some significant, some your run of the mill scar earned in the general course of living, and others that ran deeper than he'd initially realized until years later when the truth hits him square in the face and he discovers their lasting affect hurts more in the present than it ever did in the past.
There's the first time he was called asshole back in high school by some no-name jock twice his size just because Mark deemed himself worthy to look at his girlfriend, the ugly slur tossed out right before being shoved into a locker and laughed at by the guy and all his friend (and the girl). He ended up skipping the rest of school that day, getting in trouble when he finally turned up at home, and went to bed without dinner (by choice), wishing for some understanding, and to this day refusing to admit shedding any tears over the whole not so significant ordeal.
Also, the night Erica Albright dumped him out of the blue in a dingy university bar, that in hindsight he realizes she had every right, not understanding how they even started dating in the first place, and he regrets the strike back attack made via the Internet and still looks for some kind of acknowledged forgiveness he's yet to receive no matter how many attempts he's made at extending the olive branch.
You'd think a young, university student would never wish to forget a no strings attached blowjob received in an equally dingy men's room stall (barely a foot or two away from the stall his best friend was receiving the same special favor) from a girl that years later he can't seem to recall her name but he's never forgotten the name of the girl in the other stall with Eduardo, but he does. He tries not to admit that he'd wished it was someone else on their knees at the time, and still to this day dreams of wide, brown, soulful eyes staring up at him and his fingers entangled in a wild mop of hair, his best friend's name on the tip of his tongue.
Mark would give a million dollars to erase the memory of a dim and stuffy hallway argument, and the look in Eduardo's eyes when he mentioned something about being left behind, unable to make his best friend understand what he really means, what he's really concerned about, what he's really asking for. He remembers wanting to wrap his arms around Eduardo never wanting to let go, but maintaining his distance, scared that he'd gone too far, afraid that the end of whatever was near, and after finally getting to sleep that night, back to back on a single mattress on the floor of Mark's Palo Alto bedroom, Mark remembers simply praying for Eduardo to still be there in the morning when he wakes, but late in the afternoon the following day, when Mark did finally open his eyes, Eduardo was gone.
Being called asshole by the last person he ever expected (definitely not the last time in his life though) and yet again, with hindsight and a bit of humility, Mark knows he deserved it nonetheless, friend to friend, he deserved that and more, but accepting that doesn't make it hurt any less years later. To this day he can still feel the sinking realization that his actions changed everything between him and Eduardo, and the helpless feeling of not being able to fix this, them, rendering him speechless and incapable of movement as he watched his best friend walk away. He could really do without that one, but every once in a while he finds it stuck on replay, mostly when he and Eduardo attend the same business function but don't speak a single word to each other.
Each and every day of the depositions, seeing the look in Eduardo's eyes, despondent and broken, not that Eduardo was anywhere near losing the case filed against Mark (there was no way Mark was letting Eduardo leave empty-handed), but he was losing something more important than money, and notoriety, and prestige, something Mark didn't fully grasp at the time, thinking in time all would settle, that this really was just all business. Mark truly believed even this would get put behind them and life would resume, and given time (maybe a little groveling too), much to the truth of reality and Mark's still general naivety in people relations and life, that eventually they would make their way back to each other. It was this memory, while he wished he could be without, that fed his hope of reconciliation.
The final moment, the one that will be playing in his head until the day he... Well, most recently, it's the moment he learned of Eduardo Saverin's death and all hope of reconciliation he's ever held since the day the settlement papers were signed vanished quicker than the actual moment itself passed, as if there had never really been any hope at all, only an impossible dream, much to the tight grip Mark had held onto said hope in the years past that always kept him going yet continually let him down each time they'd crossed paths. It's this last moment that keeps replaying in his head now as if trying to ingrain in his consciousness the reality of the present.
It is the height of summer, and while the general temperature year round doesn't really run to extremes, the building's air conditioning keeps each floor at a constant 72 degrees due to the number of employees (especially on the programming floor) and Mark always in a hoodie while in the office. He's just arrived, a bit later than usual due to a moment's weakness the night before where the need to work through an idea before allowing sleep in fear of losing the moment of inspiration, but he's the boss so no one bats an eye at his comings and goings. It was three o'clock in the morning before he closed his laptop the night before (a phantom voice of worry in his head, always in his head), which is why he'd slept through his normal alarm. Mark shrugs on the hoodie kept on the chair in his office and plugs in his laptop, entering his login codes one-handed while he slips his other arm through its hoodie sleeve. When Mark looks up and catches sight of a familiar face that hasn't been a constant in the Facebook offices in over a year, and the pinched look on Chris Hughes' face, everything between Mark and his former PR man slow to barely moving. Sound is no longer audible, everything in his peripheral vision blackens out narrowing his sight to his blonde friend, a set frown and eyes that look red and puffy sending a sickening feeling to the pit of his stomach, causing Mark to take a heavy seat as Chris reaches his office, shutting the door and hesitating before turning to face Mark.
"M-Mark," Chris stutters, voice raw and a bit choked, leaving Mark only thinking one thing.
Fuck.
In the present, Mark is in a hotel room, alone, and no matter how cranked he has the air conditioning, it doesn't feel cool enough, sweat making his T-shirt and dress shirt stick to him and perspiration clinging to his neck at his hairline. His chest feels tight, his breathing coming in short, shallow pulls that no matter how many he takes it doesn't feel like enough, leaving his head feeling foggy and his hands shaking. It's a miracle he'd been able to dress, a suit being quite the obstacle on a normal business day let alone today, but the tie is all but a lost cause as he's found himself choked by it three times so far this morning, and each time he thinks he's gotten it right it's only to discover the ends not evened out, the smaller side hanging lower than the other.
This is how Dustin finds him an hour later. No, actually, an hour later, after thirty minutes of knocking and pounding and shouting through the locked door, when Dustin finally manages to get inside Mark's room with the help of hotel management, he finds Mark huddled in a corner of the hotel room, eyes wide and pleading, gasping for breath, his entire body shaking because this is just not happening. They are not doing this. They are not saying goodbye…
"Hey, hey," Dustin soothes, or at least attempts to, crouching down in front of Mark, taking hold of his hands twisting and wringing the tie wrapped around them. "Breathe, Mark. Mark, hey, Mark, look at me. Mark, please, take a deep breath for me. It's okay. You're going to be okay..."
"Not… okay," Mark whispers, eyes trained on his twisting fists, shaking his head, because no matter what anyone says it is never going to be okay.
Dustin's face falls, not that the other man was smiling all that brightly to begin with, not his normal Dustin-carefree-one-hundred-ten-percent-optimism, but whatever encouragement Dustin had been able to muster that morning deflates, as if Mark popped Dustin's denial bubble, and he takes a cross-legged seat in front of Mark. Thankfully Dustin has the grace to at least be honest with Mark in that moment, giving up on the fake assurances that the world is still spinning, that the sun will rise again tomorrow and keep rising each day after despite the fact one of their friends is now dead.
"No, I suppose it's not," Dustin admits, hands running through his short, fuzzy hair, not messing it up in the slightest. "Mark, this fucking sucks, really and truly sucks, but..."
And even Dustin can't seem to say it, to admit that life goes on, that life must go on, whether they're ready and willing to go along with it. They are burying a friend today. No matter the past, no matter the resent present, no matter the fact Mark hasn't spoken to Eduardo as a friend since before the depositions, Mark has and always will consider Eduardo as one of his closest friends, and the idea that today will close not just a chapter but the entire book on his friendship with Eduardo is more than just a little unsettling. The fact he's having the first panic attack in years is more than a little telling about the impact Eduardo has made on his life.
"Hey," Dustin begins, untwisting the now sorry excuse for a tie out of Mark's grip, offering Mark a weak but supportive smile. "I'm sure Wardo would understand if you didn't wear one today."
"No," Mark insists, grabbing for the tie again, a lifeline of sorts. "I need... Wardo... He deserves... For Wardo..." Mark ends his start-stop sentences, not sounding like he's making any sense to himself, and looks up at Dustin pleading for him to understand, for there to be at least someone else who knows, and gets, and understands him, and relief floods his chest when Dustin nods at him sadly.
"Yeah, yeah, okay."
They stand up then, and without asking, Dustin slips the tie from Mark's hands and flips up Mark's shirt collar to wrap the blue silk tie around his neck. Dustin works quietly, if not a bit slower than required, but Mark isn't about to complain. He stares at Dustin's face, the furrow of his friend's brow, the slight frown and the utter sadness in eyes that are usually so full of life and merriment, and Mark wonders for a moment if they will ever fully recover from this, especially Dustin and Chris who have been friends with Eduardo, who never stopped being friends. Mark can't even fathom what they must be feeling, but he knows if it's even a fraction of the ache he feels in his chest, it will be many years before anything will ever really feel alright again.
"There," Dustin proclaims, fingers attempting to smooth out the wrinkles of Mark's tie, their trembling hard not to notice in the futile task. "Eduardo... Wardo would be..."
Dustin can't finish his thought because grief takes over and the tears begin to spill, and before Mark fully realizes what's happening he's trapped in a Dustin bear hug and the man breaks down and cries tears that Mark feels incapable of. They stay like that for a while, Dustin clinging to the only human being in the room, and Mark standing ramrod straight, arms hanging at his sides unable to offer comfort because if he can't believe the lies he needs to tell Dustin to make everything alright again, what's the point. Thankfully, Dustin really didn't expect much from Mark except the shoulder, because when he pulls away, eyes red and face blotchy, he apologizes and thanks Mark for basically doing nothing all the same.
"We should probably go," Mark says, voice dull and matter-of-fact, he's in no hurry, hoping that if he ignores the day, it's not really happening, but also knowing that Eduardo deserves better than that mentality.
The walk from his hotel room to the elevator and the subsequent ride down to the lobby pass in relative silence, save for the ding marking each floor in their descent, and the sharp breathing coming from them both, their attempts at attaining some form of calm obviously useless. When the doors slide open, it takes a second or two before either of them move to exit, the doors sliding shut before springing back open after bumping into Mark's shoulders. Chris is already there, his fiancé Sean at his side, a solid rock in an otherwise turbulent sea. Chris smiles wanly at them, eyes just as red as Dustin's and skin even more blotchy due to Chris' fairer complexion. Mark's stomach lurches at the sight, and he takes gulps of air in hopes that he doesn't begin dry-heaving all over again. Dustin's hand on his back, and Chris' voice are probably the only things that are going to get him through the day. They are moving again before he has a chance to change his mind.
Sean drives them all to the services in the rental car, he being the most stable of the four of them and thus the one least likely to crash the car or force a U-turn to avoid the day's proceedings entirely. Unfortunately their hotel isn't far from the funeral home, and Sean is parking the car before Mark is ready to face the parent's of the best friend he ever had yet still (in terms of friendship) screwed over without a second thought. It will be by sheer miracle they even let him into the services, which Mark is prepared for such a reaction, and perhaps maybe hoping for if it will keep him from facing reality and let him pretend a little while longer that nothing has changed, that he and Eduardo are still simply not speaking, and still there is every chance in the world to turn it all around...
"Mark?"
Mark startles at the hand on his shoulder, turning to look at Chris who's obviously been trying to get his attention for a bit if the worry in his eyes says nothing else. Mark clears his throat, the tight fists on his knees flexing out and clenching again before he makes a move to climb out of the car. They are all looking at him like he's a time bomb waiting to go off, and they truly have every right. Even he can feel the foreboding tick-tick of each passing second, incapably of stopping time to prolong the inevitable, and the silent ripple of anger and fear, sadness and mourning he's been able to hold at bay to an extent, but he's waiting for the carefully constructed damn that's been shifting and weakening all morning to break, letting it all loose, finally allowing the pain to take over.
"What if they don't..."
"Mark, it will be fine. They don't hate you," Chris assures, sounding more confident than Mark expects. "They hardly know you."
Mark snorts derisively. "And by what they do know, what Wardo's told them, they should."
"Mark, listen, it doesn't matter what they think now. You being here, despite all that's happened, will tell them all they really need to know."
"Yeah? And what exactly do you think they need to know?"
Chris huffs and shakes his head before pulling Mark into a hug Mark hadn't realized he needed, whispering into his ear, "That you care."
Dustin, not one to be left out if there are hugs being offered (especially group hugs), is at Mark's back, arms wrapping around him and Chris both, and Mark can't help the bubble of (yes he will admit just this once) giddy laughter that escapes. Leave it to Dustin to lift the mood, even if unintentionally. Mark though, being Mark per Dustin, and Chris, and just about everyone that really knows him, bristles signaling the end of their group hug time and distances himself from his friends.
"Aw, look, Mark's blushing," Dustin points out, wiping at watery eyes.
"Come on, Dustin, now's not the time," Chris admonishes, though he can't hide the smile quirking the corners of his mouth, and that makes Mark almost (barely) smile too.
They sober quickly after that and make their way into the funeral home, everything becoming all a bit too real with the amount of black being worn by the people within (Mark, himself, having chosen blue for the occasion remembering a comment Eduardo had once made about a particular blue hoodie and the color of his eyes...) and the oppressing sadness in every look, every sob, and every time someone asks, how are you doing? Their group of four take a seat at the back of the room, steering clear of the Saverin's for the time being and before Mark is even aware, the twenty or so minute service is over and they are up and moving again, leaving to go back to their rental car because of course Chris wants to follow the procession to the gravesite. Mark follows along, even though he could easily walk back to the hotel, a million thoughts all jumbled in his head: thankful it was a closed casket but wishing to have just one more look at his friend; wondering if there was something he could have done, anything, that could have prevented all of this but knowing there really isn't anything he could have done in the face of cancer; wishing he had all these years past back to live again, live better, but knowing if he had it to do all over again he probably wouldn't have really changed a single decision, but maybe the approach. Caught up in his thoughts, Mark doesn't realize the casket's already been lowered into the ground until there is a gentle had on his arm and when he looks up he's shocked to see the even gentler eyes looking up at him with motherly concern.
Mrs. Saverin offers him a sad smile before handing over an envelope with familiar, perfect, handwriting, pressing it into his unwilling hands.
"He wanted you to have this," Mrs. Saverin begins, pausing to gather herself before continuing. "He was stubborn, and hurt, and angry, but in the end… I think… he couldn't just leave it, you know?"
Mark nods, feeling cold and numb and humble. She returns the gesture, accepting that she's fulfilled her son's final wish in regards to Mark and walks off towards Eduardo's father who looks, well, he looks like half the man Mark remembers, and while in the past Mark might have taken some pleasure in seeing Mr. Saverin beaten down a few levels, this, this is the last thing he would ever wish on another person. He waits until the Saverin's have disappeared into the black limousine and driven off before he looks down at the envelope in hand, thumb rubbing over the familiar strokes, wanting to rip it open and devour the last words Eduardo has for him and also wanting to wait, to prolong it because once he's seen them, read them, that will be it. There will be no more Wardo.
"We'll wait for you in the car," Chris quietly says, patting Mark's shoulder before turning with Sean and walking away.
Dustin lingers, hovering a moment, but when he walks off towards the car, he doesn't really retreat all that far, something Mark is grateful for in a moment of weakness. His hands tremble as he unseals the letter, slipping the single piece of paper out of the envelope with difficulty and when he finally has the sheet open in his hands, his eyes see and comprehend words he least expected. The air is sucked out of his lungs like taking a sucker punch to the gut as his mind flashes back to yet another memory he'd much rather forget.
He's at some forgotten business social or other, something only Chris was capable of making him attend almost willingly (anything for the good of Facebook was worth a few wasted hours rubbing elbows and insulting those deserving, especially in the early years of Facebook). Eduardo was the last person Mark ever expected to run into here, especially on the West Coast since in the year since the settlement, Eduardo hadn't attended one shareholder's meeting in person, but there he stood in the flesh, exuding a confidence Mark had never seen on his friend before, and a smile that was all business and nothing close to the ones Mark had caught on the rare occasion he actually paid attention to his friend. He missed that smile. He missed his friend, and it was with that thought Mark found himself in Eduardo's orbit as the other man turns from a conversation with some middle-aged business man he'd been placating in order to make his way to the bar, maybe the bathroom, or perhaps even to leave, but Mark ends up in Eduardo's way and for a split second, Mark thinks Eduardo might smile, but in the end all he receives is a frown and curt, "Mark."
And for as much as Mark's grown in the years since they first met, for as much as he's learned about leading a company (even though there is still much more for him to learn) and being a friend, all Mark can do in that moment is stare up at Eduardo in silence with an air of defensive indifference, hoping against all else that even now, even after the year or so lost between them, Eduardo still gets him and knows Mark just doesn't know what to say, or what's appropriate, but it's all really just wishful thinking. In the end, any hope of civility between them is lost and it's all downhill from there. Eduardo is still holding onto his hate and anger, the betrayal still a fresh scar that isn't near to being healed, and with each and every stinging word Eduardo throws Mark's way, Mark has an equally biting and cutting comeback, words decisive and chosen simply to egg Eduardo on even further.
"I should have known better," Eduardo says abruptly, interrupting his own tirade, looking at Mark as if he isn't even worth the effort of fighting with anymore. "Once an asshole, always an asshole."
It's the final straw for Mark too, a wound rubbed too many times with salt, and he throws back, "You know Wardo (because he has never been able to refer to his friend any other way), you're probably going to die a lonely and bitter old man, and when it happens, I'll be there just as old telling you I told you so."
Mark's knees buckle then, and he pays no mind to Dustin's presence and support as he gasps out in stunned shock, his sight blurred by tears the memory stirs up, (the final break in the damn letting loose all the pain he'd kept at bay) as he again reads over Eduardo's last words to him.
You were right…
Anyone else might perceive those short words as a dead man's final biting jab, the nail in the proverbial coffin (so to speak), but to Mark those three words were chosen to serve as a reminder of the friendship they both ruined, of the time they both wasted being bitter and angry at each other and just plain stubborn, but most importantly, even though it's too late for them, even though this pretty much fucking hurts like Hell, this Mark knows is Eduardo finally forgiving him.