Work Text:
On the last day of the depositions, Eduardo had thrown the small, worn-looking velvet box at her. Mark caught it on instinct, and once she realized what it was, Eduardo could see her eyes widen.
"This has been in my pocket all week. To remind me."
Mark stared at the pale blue box in her hands, but didn't open it. She didn't need to.
"I can't keep it. I can't throw it away. I'm obviously not selling it." He paused. "You can do whatever you want with it. I just needed you to see it. Just once."
They looked at each other in silence for a moment, and then Eduardo slowly walked out of the room, leaving Mark behind.
:::
Eduardo doesn't know what compels him to watch her on 60 Minutes. His deep-rooted masochism, probably. He doesn't know this woman. She looks vaguely like the girl he used to love, but she isn't, hasn't been for years, not since that summer in Palo Alto, maybe since that dinner in New York, even.
He wonders bitterly if she really owns that tabby twirling around her ankles or if it's a prop, fake and rehearsed and product of demographic analysis, like all the other bullshit she's been spouting during the interview.
And then, as she bends over to pick up the cat, a thin silver necklace slips from under the collar of her shirt and... it can't be.
No. It can't be.
:::
The next morning, Eduardo wakes up with a killer headache and barely any recollection of the night before. Then he remembers Mark and that stupid interview and the... no, that part was probably a drunken hallucination.
He reaches out a clumsy hand towards the nightstand and fumbles for his Blackberry to check the time. Almost eleven. He really must've drunk more than he thought. He has 28 new work-related emails and one text message from a number that looks all too familiar and Eduardo hates himself a little for recognizing.
02:48 am
what does it matter now anyway?
He stares at it, dumbfounded. He goes to his sent messages folder and feels his blood freeze in his veins when he reads the first one.
02:36 am
would you have said yws?
:::
Eduardo tries not to think about it. He really does. He calls the office and spins some vague story about stomach flu for his assistant's benefit, telling her he'll work from home. That's his first mistake. Going through spreadsheets means using his laptop. Using his laptop means having his browser open. Before it can register what he's doing, he's obsessively checking every picture of Mark available online. What he needs to see isn't openly visible, possibly only there if you know what you're looking for, the shape barely discernible in public appearances, only over her shirt in a couple of candids documenting Marcia Zuckerberg's riveting adventures in Starbucks visits and errand-running. A few of those make it very hard for Eduardo to dismiss what he's terrified to admit.
It doesn't mean anything. It could be a different necklace. A different pendant. A different... he used to be better than this at lying to himself. Mark never wore any jewelry, the ring had been an incredibly stupid gesture in the first place, but Eduardo wanted to do things properly, even if Mark wasn't the traditional type.
A week goes by and Eduardo tries so hard to avoid thinking about it that he barely thinks of anything else. The following Saturday he drags himself to a party at the MET, mostly to avoid his apartment, and one of his old Phoenix friends introduces him to a gallerist - blonde, tall, curvy and clingy - and he ends up going back to her place and fucking her on the couch. He doesn't kiss her because he's too busy biting his lip to avoid saying the wrong name. He's pretty sure she wouldn't have cared less, but he does.
He knows things have gotten out of hand when in the middle of a business lunch the guy at the next table goes down on one knee, right there for God and all Le Cirque to see. His girlfriend starts nodding and crying at the same time, and Eduardo has to excuse himself because the sight made him nauseated.
That afternoon he emails Mark.
I'll be in town next week. I'd like to talk. Lunch on Tuesday or Wednesday?
The reply takes barely two minutes.
Tuesday's fine. Evvia, 12:30?
Eduardo exhales. This will be the first time in almost six years that they face each other alone. There had been a couple of excruciatingly awkward elevator rides, and one time they'd had to stand next to each other on the sidewalk outside a party for five never-ending minutes while the valets brought around their respective cars, but those had been coincidences, awkward moments without the forced civility brought by an audience of gossip-hungry vultures watching their every move.
This time, though... this won't be anything like any interaction they've shared since before the lawsuit. This isn't a short 'I'm glad your mother's surgery went well' or 'I'm planning on investing in Dustin's side project and I thought you should hear it from me' email. This is uncharted territory. This time, they will be willingly sharing a meal. Alone. And Mark, despite obviously knowing what he must want to discuss, has agreed.
Eduardo is tired and hung over and man enough to admit the pressure in his chest is more than half trepidation.
:::
Mark is wearing a black turtle neck, not tight enough to guess the shape of a pendant underneath. It's driving Eduardo insane. He wonders if she did it on purpose.
"So. Aren't you going to ask?"
No, she hasn't changed at all.
"I was working up the courage," he answers and takes another sip of wine.
"The Dutch kind?" She points at his glass.
He smiles. "At this point I'd take any nationality, really."
A pause.
"You gave it to me," Mark says and raises her chin.
Eduardo stares. "What does that..."
"You can't tell me not to wear it."
He barks out a bitter laugh. "As if I'd try. I could never get you to do anything even when w—" he cuts himself off. "You've always done as you please, Mark. But someday someone's gonna give you a real ring, and you'll have to throw it away or give it to charity or whatever."
"Real? I didn't know that Tiffany's sold costume jewelry."
Eduardo honestly can't read her.
"Nineteen thousand dollars." He's not sure why he said that.
She looks taken aback. "What?"
"I specifically requested the carats in order to... that's how much I paid for it." He shakes his head. "For some stupid reason I thought it'd be romantic, a symbolic gesture, you know?"
Mark keeps running her index finger over the rim of her turtleneck.
"I'm sorry. This was a bad idea. I should never have suggested..." he says and throws his napkin on the table, pushing his chair back as he gestures to the waiter.
"Wardo. Stay. I... I'd like to explain."
Eduardo knows he should leave with the same certainty he knows he won't. The waiter he flagged down before arrives at their table and Mark says smoothly, "I'll have my usual," and turns an expectant look at Eduardo.
He musters a fake smile and says, "Same for me."
Once they're alone again, he asks, "So. Explain."
"You said... that day, you said you'd been carrying it with you to..."
"To remind me."
"Yes."
"So?"
"That's why I..." She stops, takes a deep breath, starts again. "I kept it in the bottom of a drawer, for a long time, because I couldn't..." she trails off. "And then, three years ago, we had this huge party when we hit fifty million members. I came home and all I could think about was the algorithm. And I wanted to call you and ask you about it, ask you if you remembered writing it on the Kirkland window."
Eduardo is regretting having this conversation. He wishes someone, anyone would interrupt them, that he couldn't hear Mark over the buzz of the restaurant, anything. But they're in a secluded corner table, safe from curious looks and disruptions.
"That's all I wanted. To call you. But I couldn't."
"You never tried."
"Would you have picked up?"
He smiles ruefully. "Probably not."
"No, probably not."
"I still don't see what this has to do with..."
"It's a reminder. Of the things... of everything I've given up along the way. For Facebook. Some days I'm so tired of politics and PR and interviews and all that bullshit I almost can't handle it. Some days all I want to do is call Bill and tell him he can buy the whole thing, that all I want is to code all day in peace. And then I..." she trails off and pulls down the black rim of her turtleneck to retrieve the necklace. The diamond is smaller than Eduardo remembered. Any of his recent girlfriends, not that he'd considered marrying any of them, would probably have expected something bigger, flashier, simply because he can afford it. He has the weird thought that this is still the ring he would pick for Mark, five years and one billion dollars later. "To remind me," she says softly. He can't believe she remembered that.
"I can't believe you remembered that."
"I remember a lot of things."
"Like when I thought you were a lesbian?"
She laughs. It's unexpected. He can't recall the last time he heard her laugh.
"Oh, God. Do you still assume every ugly girl you meet is a le—"
Before he can think better of it, he reaches out to grab her wrist. "Mark. Don't ever say that. Ever."
"Don't worry about me, Wardo. You'd be surprised how little people care about looks when you're the youngest billionaire alive."
She tries to pull away but Eduardo strengthens his grip. "No."
"What does it matter anyway," she says with a shrug.
He wants to tell her that she's wrong. That she's beautiful and should always have someone there to remind her, especially when she doesn't want to hear it. That even when he hated her, he would still be mesmerized by the line of her neck, or the way she brushed an errant curl behind her ear, or the way she bit her lower lip. That even during the depositions, all he wanted was to kiss her. That it was like going back to her freshman year, when all he could think of was kissing her, and he had to constantly remind himself that he wasn't allowed, that he would never be allowed.
Mark is staring at him wide-eyed and open-mouthed and he realizes with horror that he must have said part or all of that out loud.
Showing perfect timing, the waiter arrives with their food. They eat in silence for a long while, until Mark suddenly says, "To be honest, I don't think I'll seriously consider getting married ever again."
"Sean decided he wasn't the marrying kind at the last minute?" He can practically taste the bile it cost him to ask that.
"Sean?" Mark tilts her head at him, uncomprehending.
"That's surprising. I mean, why settle for 6% when he could lay claim to half of your shares, right?"
"I don't..."
"The thing that I still don't get is how you, you of all people, put up with him sleeping around. Not to mention the underage girls. As if you weren't young enough for him or something."
"Wh— oh. He owned me."
"Yes." Eduardo practically hisses the word.
"When you said... I thought you meant he owned me intellectually, not..."
"Mark, I'm sorry but I'd really rather not tal—"
"We were never together, Wardo, how could you think that?"
"What?"
"Sean and I- how could you think that?"
"The way you looked at him was..." He drops his eyes. "It was the way I wanted you to look at me."
"But you were the... there was never anyone else." She looks as if she was debating whether to add something more, but nothing comes.
"I don't know if that makes it better or worse."
Mark nods thoughtfully. Eduardo doesn't know what she's supposed to be agreeing with. They fall back into silence for the rest of the meal. The ring keeps catching his eye. The way it reflects the lights in the restaurant, the way Mark absently holds it while perusing the dessert menu...
"It's funny, because when I bought it I assumed I'd never see you with it, even if you agreed."
"Hmn?" She seems to be only half-listening as she checks her emails.
Eduardo points. "I figured you'd say you couldn't code with it or something."
"Oh, I would've worn it as a pendant," she answers distractedly, then freezes.
"Mark..."
"I... I should probably get back to the office."
"Mark. Wait, wait..."
"Please don't. Don't." She motions to stand up but Eduardo stops her.
"Please tell me I'm not reading this wrong."
"There is nothing to read. Let me go, Eduardo. Please." Mark breaks free from his grasp and storms out of the restaurant. Eduardo notices absently how the staff barely glances her way, as if Mark Zuckerberg running out without paying was a common occurrence. It probably is.
He sits there for a long time, staring at the empty chair across the table.
:::
Eduardo can tell the sun will soon be setting because the shadows across the ceiling are steadily becoming longer and fainter. He's been in the same position on his bed since he got back from the restaurant. Not that he remembers how he managed to drive back to his hotel without ending up in a ditch or against a tree.
He closes his eyes for a minute and when he opens them again, the room is almost completely plunged in darkness. He sighs and stretches towards the nightstand, switching on the tiny reading lamp.
Because he spent such a long time comparing himself to Mark, Eduardo tends to view himself as overly emotional, but the truth is that his approach to his own feelings had always been quite pragmatic. He never deluded himself into thinking Mark wasn't the love of his life. It wasn't dramatic. It just was. Mark was the one and he would never have her again. These two facts go hand in hand and Eduardo made his peace with them long ago, locking that knowledge in a dark corner of his mind for five years, a radioactive Pandora's box he knew was there but never dared to open. And now, without warning, Mark has blown up all his careful compartmentalization and he's at a loss.
He shouldn't have come to Palo Alto. He shouldn't have met Mark for lunch, or demanded an explanation, or listened to anything she had to say. He rubs a weary hand over his eyes. No point in regretting it now. He knows the road that train of thought leads down to and there's a reason why he hasn't revisited Cambridge in a long time.
Some people might think living with the certainty that he would never recover the thing he craved most was... tough, to say the least. But the truth was that there is a strange peace of mind in the absence of hope. It's the uncertainty that is hard to live with.
A lifetime ago, Mark and Eduardo were in the middle of a stupid fight that had lasted two excruciatingly long days, and Chris had asked him, "Don't you ever wish for an easier relationship?". Eduardo just stared at him.
"Easier?" he'd asked.
"Dating anyone else would be easier, Wardo."
"I don't... I don't think I'd want easy, or difficult, with anyone else."
Chris's look had been dangerously close to pity, and at the time Eduardo couldn't understand why.
That infamous summer when everything fell apart, Eduardo had thought he'd been building a future for the two of them, but it turned out Mark had been building a future for everyone. When you're changing the world, when you're reinventing human interaction, any relationship is doomed to lose in the comparison.
In retrospect, the ring had possibly been a desperate gesture. It wasn't the right time, he can see that now. But timing didn't really matter because he'd been sure that he wanted to marry her with the certainty only being twenty and in love can bring. The realization had hit him one day, a lifetime ago, when Dustin was sharing the horrifying experience of overhearing a senior girl discussing the merits of booking Memorial Church for the following year even though her boyfriend hadn't proposed yet. And it was probably a weird moment for an epiphany, at dinner in the Kirkland dining hall with a chicken making clucking noises at his feet, but Eduardo knew then that it wouldn't sound as ridiculous if it was for Mark and him, because he would marry her, because there was no one else he'd ever consider marrying, as if it was an inevitability, a foregone conclusion. So, while the ring might have been a ridiculous attempt to stake his claim, for Eduardo it had always been merely a matter of time, of when, never of if.
Five years is a long time, of course there have been others. He fancied himself in love twice, even, but after a while he started to accept the fact that he'd never feel that certainty again, and tried really hard to avoid thinking whether it was because he'd lost his naïveté or because he'd lost her, because it didn't matter anyway - he wouldn't be recovering either.
Eduardo gets up from the bed, opens the minibar, contemplates opening one or all the tiny bottles, then sighs and closes it again.
He could catch the next flight back to New York, leave, forget this ever happened and get on with his life. Except there are two small flaws in that plan: he knows he won't ever forget about it and, to be honest, he doesn't have much of a life to get back to.
Well. Desperate times and all that.
Dustin picks up on the first ring. "So I take it lunch didn't go too well."
"Regardless of what the socially inept surrounding you on a daily basis may tell you, normal conversation openers are not a waste of time, Dustin."
"Hi, how are you, how are things in New York, so nice of you to take Mark out for lunch, lovely weather we're having, now tell me who fucked up or whether it was a joint effort."
"I... how do you even know..."
"I have an in with Mark's assistant."
"By which you mean you hacked her computer."
"No."
A doubtful silence on Eduardo's end.
"I didn't, I swear! I just... peeked at her planner while she was getting coffee."
Eduardo lets out a tired chuckle. Then, "Was the reason I wanted to talk to her also in that planner?"
"Regrettably, no. Otherwise I would've prepared flashcards. Or, you know, had Chris do it."
"Her..." Eduardo can't bring himself to use the word 'ring', he doesn't even really know why. "Her necklace."
"Ah."
"Yeah."
"And what did she tell you?"
"That she started wearing it three years ago."
"Very true. But don't worry, Wardo. I haven't once caught her calling it my precious or anything equally revolting. And I've been on the look-out."
"I bet you have."
"She just fiddles with it when she's bored and distracted. Like in shareholder meetings. Or PR strategy meetings. Or... well, she keeps fiddling with it most of the time, to be honest."
"I see."
"And it's not just because she's bored, Wardo," he adds in a soft voice.
"Right."
"So, my friend, please do us all a favor and throw that goddamned ring into Mount Doom once and for all."
Eduardo is speechless.
"That was a metaphor."
"Thanks for clearing that up, Dustin."
Dustin stays silent for a moment and when he speaks again, it's in the most un-Dustin-like tone Eduardo has heard from him since the first time they talked after the settlement. "Judging from the way you're both acting, you really do need me to spell it out for you."
Eduardo doesn't know how to answer that, so instead he asks, "Has she ever told you why?"
"Why?"
"Why she wears it."
"Other than to rule them all?" Dustin snorts at his own joke before sighing. Eduardo can picture him in his mind, making those muppet-like faces that mean he's wondering how to approach a subject. "She... I only asked her once. We were both quite drunk, I don't know if... but perhaps a more pertinent question is what you want it to mean."
"I... I don't know."
"Don't you."
"It's been such a long time, Dustin, I don't even know what..."
"I don't care if you lie to me, Wardo, but please don't lie to yourself."
Eduardo breathes deeply and runs a hand though his hair.
"I should talk to her again."
"Well. You know where to find her."
:::
Eduardo is a little surprised by the fact that he apparently still has full security clearance and only needs to show his ID to get past the front desk.
It's past dinner time and the main floor isn't bustling with activity as it has always been the few times Eduardo visited the new headquarters. He strides towards Mark's office, knowing she'll be there because burying herself in code is her standard response to being upset, with a strange sense of déjà vu.
Sure enough, Mark is typing furiously at her laptop, headphones on. He closes the door behind him, and walks up to her desk. She doesn't notice him. Eduardo allows himself a half-smile. A parade of dancing elephants could stomp around the office and she wouldn't notice if she's wired in. He leans over and tries his old method of snapping his fingers in front of her face three times in quick succession (for some reason, one or two wasn't enough). Apparently it still works, because she stands up and takes off her headphones with one hand while blindly pushing her laptop towards the opposite end of the table with the other. Eduardo isn't the only one experiencing déjà vu, it seems.
"Eduardo." Her tone is impressively level.
"Mark," is all Eduardo answers as he walks around the desk to stand directly in front of her.
And then he simply grabs her waist and kisses her without warning. He vaguely registers Mark's surprised huff as his other hand curls around the nape of her neck to hold her in place. It's a strange feeling, to have irrefutable proof that yes, this is still it for him. Not really surprise or even pain, more like the faint, weirdly satisfying ache one gets from pressing against a particularly resilient bruise.
Mark doesn't respond at first, but she doesn't push him away either, so Eduardo keeps kissing her until the hands pushing against his chest slowly wander upwards to rest against the back of his neck. It's almost muscle memory, to slip his thumb through a belt loop in her jeans and pull her closer, and he can hear that familiar little humming sound as she moves forward to stand on the tips of her toes and—
And suddenly she's shoving him away and it's all over.
"Wh— what the fuck?" Her breathing is fast and labored, and Eduardo feels a childish sense of satisfaction at that.
"I'm sorry, but I really wanted a last chance to do that in case all went to hell."
"You can't just barge in here and..."
"You left in the middle of our conversation. You knew I wouldn't leave it at that, Mark."
"So you decided it was a good idea to come into my office and assault me?"
"You didn't seem very resistant, for an assaultee."
"That's not even a word."
"Because that's the point here, clearly."
"Look, let's just—"
"Can I ask you just one question?"
"You just did," she says, because she can't ever stop being obnoxious.
"Would you have said yes?"
"I thought we'd established it didn't matter anymore."
"No. You said it didn't. I never agreed."
"I..."
"Would you?"
"Would I what?"
"Don't avoid the question. Would you have said yes?"
Mark shrugs, clearly stalling.
"Yes or no question. Yes or no answer."
The silence stretches and Eduardo is starting to think he won't be getting an answer, after all.
"Yes," she says finally, in a small voice.
Eduardo takes a deep breath, and the air burns his lungs in the same way it does after spending too long underwater.
"When you said today that you don't think you'll ever seriously consider getting married again, I assumed you meant Sean."
"Wardo."
"So did you?"
She frowns and presses her lips in a thin line, radiating stubbornness and general dislike for the conversation, but it's all right. Eduardo already has his answer.
Slowly, as if he was trying not to startle a skittish colt, he reaches out to touch the necklace. Mark's thrumming with nervous energy, the way she did when she was exhausted after coding for 36 hours straight. Eduardo lifts the chain from where it rests against Mark's neck and unclasps it. He tugs at one end and the ring slides smoothly into his open palm.
"I never got a chance to really do this."
"Don't. Don't."
"You told me you would've said yes."
She doesn't answer, just shakes her head.
"I can't really do this properly here," he says, gesturing to the main floor, where a handful of programmers are still working, "unless you want your employees making #saverinisanidiot trend on twitter, but..."
"Please don't do this."
"In Harvard, the night when we... that night. I thought... I thought I didn't deserve it. Being the f—"
"Oh, God, won't you shut up."
Eduardo exhales slowly. "I didn't. And I probably don't deserve being the last, either. But I want you to know that, whether you choose to wear that ring or not, I'll always think of you as my last. Five years haven't changed that, and I'm afraid another fifteen probably won't either, whether it's fair or not, whether it makes sense or not."
Mark suddenly bursts out laughing, and Eduardo recoils as if she had slapped him.
"You're such an idiot, Wardo. I can't choose to wear it. I've been wearing your ring for three years. Do you know how much shit Dustin's given me for that alone? Chris had to circulate some fake sob story about it being my late Nana's so people would stop asking questions."
She lets out a strangled sound, somewhere between a huff and a laugh, and extends her left hand towards Eduardo. "Let's do this properly this time."
His pulse is trembling so badly he can't get the ring on and she has to help him. "So much for doing things properly," he says self-deprecatingly.
"To be fair, proper was never very me."
"No, it wasn't."
Eduardo squeezes her left hand, running his thumb back and forth across the stone, and leans over. This time, Mark meets him halfway. When they part, she's smiling that half-smirk that's entirely Mark. Eduardo smiles back.
"Jesus, Dustin's Frodo jokes are gonna be out of contrmmmph—"
"Sorry. Sorry. I just had to."
"I thought the whole point of this was being allowed to kiss the other person whenever you felt like it."
Eduardo laughs. "That's good, because I definitely do."