[fanfiction] never a breath you can afford to waste [1/2]

[kisforkurama]

never a breath you can afford to waste

Friday, 7PM. Harvard Campus.
Eduardo is still annoyed at Mark, who seems to think that this whole axe murderer (a voice that sounds suspiciously like Mark informs him that the guy is not an axe murderer) thing is a total joke. Eduardo doesn't know the details of the incident, but he thinks that it must not have made that much of an impact on Mark, because he doesn't seem to care about it at all.

Still, no matter how mad Eduardo is at Mark, he knows that Mark probably didn't mean it and he should definitely head over there with food so that Mark actually eats something. It'll make his mind rest easy, and it'll be a good peace offering-not that Eduardo should be making peace offerings, but he knows that the situation is more complicated than it looks so maybe Mark is handling it in his own way and Eduardo just doesn't understand. Whatever, he'll get food and take it to Kirkland. Maybe watch a movie with Chris and Dustin if they're doing that, because Mark won't. Mark's absorbed in his new project, thefacebook, and Eduardo only understands the very basics of what it's going to be, but he know it'll be big.

With a sigh, Eduardo grabs his wallet, keys, and phone as he heads out the door. It's a quick walk to one of the cafeterias and he'll just grab something small and try to lure Mark out to go get something larger. He thinks about texting Mark, but figures that Mark won't respond (he never does) so it's a pointless effort.

Sometimes, Eduardo wishes that he wasn't halfway in love with Mark. It makes it hard every once in a while, because he knows that there's something Mark isn't telling him. It's some heavy secret that Mark carries around with him, something that's always just below the surface. It bubbles up most frequently when he's worried or stressed and usually coincides with him deciding that sleep is an optional activity. Eduardo wishes he knew what it was, why Mark sometimes looked haunted. He wishes that Mark considered him enough of a friend to open up about it, and seeing Mark interact with the FBI or CIA or what-the-fuck-ever those guys were the other day just makes Eduardo sad.

They obviously know what the secret Mark carries around is, if they way they interact with him is any indication. Neither one touches Mark unexpectedly, although they're physical with him. They always make sure Mark can see what they're doing, and Eduardo wants to know why they do it, what made Mark startle when people touch him unexpectedly-especially from behind.

He knows why he doesn't touch Mark: it's a learned behavior. Eduardo did it once, a fairly innocent tap on Mark's shoulder to get his attention, but the look of pure and undisguised terror on Mark's face when he did it was enough for Eduardo to note that he should never do it again. The way the FBI agents treat Mark isn't learned in the same way. Eduardo sometimes treats Mark like he's fragile; those guys treat Mark like he's just idiosyncratic, like it's not that hard to believe he could look so haunted.

Mark is like a puzzle that Eduardo can't get a grasp on, and it's infuriating. He just wants Mark to acknowledge him somehow, make it clear that he knows Eduardo is there, even if it's just once. He wants Mark to notice him, to pay attention long enough for Eduardo to say hey, I like you. Eduardo's fairly sure that Mark likes guys (or maybe just doesn't care either way) because Eduardo pays attention and Mark doesn't just check out girls. He dated Erica Albright and gotten head from Alice-what's-her-face, sure, but Eduardo's almost certain that was mostly about convenience. The girls were there, they were interested, and Eduardo assumes Mark is as horny as every other college kid so he took the opportunity. Eduardo doesn't know what Mark would do if a guy showed interest in him, and he spends most of his time trying not to imagine it.

The campus is dim, like it always is after dark, and Eduardo is so lost in his thoughts that he never sees the shadows creeping closer.

Thursday, 9AM. Mark's Room.
Mark jerks awake.

His phone is ringing oh god why is it ringing when did he even fall asleep how can a phone even be this loud and where the fuck is it anyway? Mark gropes around for the offending noise, eventually curling his fingers around his phone and answering, a little terse.

"What."
"I'm going to guess I just woke you up, kiddo," Morgan sounds fond, but not overtly happy, "Sorry about that, but Hotch told me to inform you that Reid and I will be flying out to your location in a couple hours to make sure everything is safe. There's no real evidence that he'll come after you-"
"But," Mark snorts, "I punched him in the face."
Morgan laughs and it only sounds a little forced, "More like you're the only one of his targets that got away, but that too. I'll see you soon. Later, kiddo."
"Bye, Morgan."

The line goes dead and Mark stretches, trying to work the tension out of his shoulders. He fell asleep on his desk, which always has terrible consequences and is never a good idea. Eduardo would chastise him if he knew and will most likely do so later when his sixth sense about Mark's less than stellar life choices alerts him. Whatever, Mark's awake now and Eduardo won't be by for a while. Setting his fingers back on the keyboard, Mark lets the rest of the world fall away.

It never occurs to him that two FBI agents showing up to his dorm room might be a little freaky. Reid and Morgan have been popping in and out of his life at random for the last three years, so there's nothing odd about it from Mark's perspective. He doesn't even think to tell Dustin and Chris about it, let alone Eduardo.

Three Years Ago. Mark's Home.
Mark comes home to his mom serving cookies to a tall, thin guy in slightly rumpled clothing with a messenger bag slung low on his hip and another guy, built and athletic. They don't look particularly enthused, but they both look up when the door clicks behind Mark. The athletic one takes a step forward.

"Mark Zuckerberg?"
Mark grips the strap of his backpack tighter, "Yes. Why do you want to know?"
"You broke into our resident tech geek's security system," the messenger bag one says, "She's not happy, but you didn't bother to cover your tracks, which led us to believing you had a reason to hack our systems. We need you to come with us."
"I have a math test tomorrow," Mark says, apropos of nothing, "I can't miss it."
"This is more important, kiddo."

The weird thing is that Mark's mother doesn't even seem to mind. She just hands him a duffle bag that's apparently already been packed with clothing and kisses his forehead, telling him not to push himself too hard. Then he's being whisked away somewhere and, for the first time in his life, he's really, truly scared.

Thursday, 6PM. Common Room of Mark's Suite.
There's a knock at the door. Mark gets up, because Eduardo is already in the room which means that it's probably Reid and Morgan and he figures letting someone else get it would worry them unduly. It is them, of course, so Mark lets them in and starts answering their routine check-in questions when Dustin looks up from the round of Mario Kart he and Chris are playing and blinks.

"Who the hell are they?"
"This is," Mark gestures uselessly to the team, "They're."

He looks over to Reid and Morgan, silently pleading them to fix the situation because he doesn't even know anymore. This is just normal. They check up on him whenever they're in town, usually off-campus in approved transportation, and periodically tell him to be safe when there's a scare nearby. They've never checked up on him in his own dorm room, though, so Mark's never had to do this in front of Chris and Dustin before. His mother already knew who Reid and Morgan were, and his family are really the only people who know about this part of his life-Mark's never had to explain it to anyone. He doesn't know where to start.

Reid clears his throat, "We're from the BAU."
"That," Mark says, relieved, "There was a . . . thing . . . when I was in high school that I helped them out on."
"According to Garcia," Morgan laughs, and this time is genuine, "all you did was bug her."
Mark huffs, "Garcia is just mad that I managed to infiltrate her systems!"

Completely ignoring the way Dustin and Chris are staring, Mark starts bickering with Morgan about his exact involvement in the case and whether or not Garcia was just jealous that he was better than her and continues to be better than her-she tried to hack CourseMatch and totally failed so whatever. Mark's so engrossed that he doesn't notice when Eduardo comes back from the bathroom and asks, much as Dustin had, who exactly Reid and Morgan are.

"They're FBI or something," Dustin fake-whispers, "Mark apparently works for them."
"Ah, that's not technically correct," Reid says, looking away from Mark and Morgan, "Mark has done some consulting for us in the past and is protected as a potential target of a recently escaped serial killer. We're just here to make sure you'll all be okay."
"And to make sure I won't get bored and hack into the government databases again."

Mark says it matter-of-factly, like it's no big deal, and Eduardo stares at him blankly. Dustin and Chris have (wisely) resumed playing Mario Kart and are pretending not to pay attention to Eduardo and Mark's newest hissyfit. The silence stretches out.

"I am so confused," Eduardo flops down onto the couch, "There are FBI agents in your dorm room and you're acting like your mom just came to visit."
"Garcia isn't here though," Mark shrugs, "So really it's more like older brothers."

Eduardo stares at Mark, because Mark really doesn't get it. He doesn't even seem to be registering the severity of the situation, which is a trait Eduardo has gotten used to in a vague sort of way, but he didn't really think it would extend to something this insanely important. If he understands the basics of what the FBI agent's told him, this is pretty huge and Eduardo occasionally likes to have a misplaced faith in Mark's ability to be an actual human being.

"That wasn't my point, Mark," Eduardo covers his face with a hand, sighing, "My point is that there are FBI agents in the room and I want to know why."
"Our boss, Agent Hotchner, sent us because Mark helped us out on a case roughly three years ago involving a serial killer who," here Reid looks at Mark, who narrows his eyes, "wasn't particularly pleased with the fact that Mark pretty much caught him. That serial killer has recently escaped from jail and while there's no real reason to suspect that he'll come after Mark, we like to play it safe in situations like this."
"We're here to make sure that Mark and the people associated with Mark are safe," Morgan says smoothly, "and that no one gets hurt."

There's some kind of silent bickering between Reid and Mark, conveyed mostly through eyebrows and frustrated, aborted hand motions on Mark's part. Eduardo gets the feeling that there's something going on that they're not saying, at Mark's request, and he has a feeling it's important. Actually, no. He knows that there's something incredibly important to the situation that isn't being said because Mark doesn't think it's necessary information. It seems like the only things Mark ever hides are the important ones.

"I understand that," Eduardo sighs, "but why, exactly, is a axe murderer after Mark? And why the hell was Mark consulting for the government at sixteen anyway?"
"He's not an axe murderer," Reid says automatically, "and it's actually kind of a funny story. Mark hacked into Garcia's systems looking for information on this guy who had been loitering near where he lived, and it turned out he was a serial killer."
Eduardo stares blankly at Reid, "There is nothing funny about that story. I am still very confused, and I need someone to explain what is going in very small words, starting from the beginning."

Three Years Ago. Mark's Room.
There is a seriously creepy guy that's been hanging around the house for the past week or so. It's usually kind of late at night when the guy appears, and the only reason Mark notices the first time is because he can see the shadows that the guy casts and his desk is near his window. He works with the lights off a lot of the time, and that's probably why the guy doesn't notice him. It doesn't even register that the guy could be something potentially dangerous until he continues coming back.

The guy steps into the light of the streetlamp, careless, and Mark mentally jots down pertinent information about him. He turns back toward his computer and cracks his knuckles. Normal people would call the police, but Mark is not normal people. He doesn't particularly trust the police in things like this. Also he's always wanted an excuse to hack the government.

It's not as hard as he thought it would be, because there's a personal laptop hooked into the system (foolish) and its systems are not bad, but not government strength. The sun is tinting Mark's room when he's deep into looking for something something something-

He gets kicked from the system.

Three Years Ago. BAU Offices
Mark thinks Garcia is terrifying.

She's like his mother, only her hair is done differently and she keeps switching between threatening to eviscerate him with a ball point pen if he touches anything he's not supposed to and asking about his specific technique and why he's not a registered threat to the government (or maybe why he doesn't work there, Mark is a little unclear given how fast Garcia is talking and how sudden the whole situation is).

That's only after Hotch and Gideon grill him, though, asking him why he'd hacked them and a seemingly endless string of other questions. When Mark had mentioned the guy on his street, they both rushed out of the room and left Mark blinking at the space where they had been. Reid comes in later, maybe a few minutes or something, and escorts him to Garcia. Then he leaves to do other, more important, FBI work and Garcia starts bossing him around and telling him what they need to find (they need it quick) and then there it is.

"I got it," Mark says (Garcia will tell you he cheered, that's a lie), "How do I send this to someone?"

Leaning over, Garcia hits some keys to send it to the appropriate people. Then, a pretty blond comes in and asks Mark to follow her. She gets onto a plane with him, letting him fall back asleep and driving him to school. He gets there with two minutes to spare, taking the extra time to just slump against a wall and breathe before he goes back to real life, where he's not helping to catch bad guys. Mark takes his math test and thinks he did pretty decently for someone who only slept a couple of hours. It's very anti-climactic and it feels a little like a dream, he thinks as he's walking home, and he doesn't even know what the FBI are doing now.

Mark's so caught up in his own thoughts that he doesn't notice the van creeping up next to him. He fights when they grab him, but then someone's holding a cloth to his mouth and everything goes black.

Monday, 2PM. Mark's History Class.
Sometimes, in moments of extreme weakness, Mark will text Reid with frantic questions about some obscure thing that he needs for a school assignment and usually Reid will get back to him within an hour or so. They've kept in touch with him, largely because they have to watch him and make sure no one comes after him as revenge, but partially because they seem to have taken a liking to him. Or rather, Garcia decided that she needed to take him on as her protege, even though Mark has definitely outstripped her, and attempt to convince him that he should come work for the FBI. By virtue of that choice, Mark also frequently talks to Reid and Morgan who are in some kind of strange not-quite-sexual romantic entanglement.

He comes to expect semi-regular communication or requests for updates on his life from them. Links from Garcia and facts of interest from Reid are a welcome reminder that there are, in fact, people that understand. Morgan rarely sends him anything, although he does manage the occasional strange photo of Reid. These are all things Mark has come to expect. What he's not expecting is the text from Reid saying careful, he just got out of jail followed by the email from Garcia with appropriate news links followed by the curt, professional voicemail from Hotchner.

The first thing Mark thinks is: fuck I have thefacebook I do not have time for this.

The second thing Mark thinks is: he better not come after Wardo, or I will end him.

Which, weird on several levels. Mark doesn't have time to analyze these new and squishy feelings he apparently has for Eduardo, though, instead replying to Reid's text with please keep an eye on eduardo saverin. He gets back an almost immediate okay followed by boyfriend? which, no. Unfortunately, Reid's job is is picking apart people and he knows Mark well enough that even when Mark says no, Reid will know it's probably a lie.

Being the strange, adopted baby in a family of profilers sucks.

Friday, 8PM. Mark's Suite.
Something feels wrong.

Mark has learned that the ability to tell when things were wrong sometimes comes with near-death experiences, and he generally doesn't question his instincts.

Looking up from his computer, Mark glances at the clock and frowns. He checks his phone, frowns some more when it tells him that no one has contacted him, and then goes out into the common area where Dustin and Chris are watching something on the TV. Eduardo is nowhere to be seen. Mark searches his brain to try and figure out if Eduardo had said he wouldn't come over or if he was doing something, but there isn't anything in Mark's mental calendar.

Contrary to what people believe, Mark does pay attention to people and he always knows when they're doing things. If he likes them, that is-which means that Mark knows where Dustin, Chris, and Eduardo are at any given moment and when, roughly, they should be back. He knows their habits, their sounds, and their schedules, but telling them that would have made him sound like a stalker and he doesn't want to explain what almost dying does to you and why he needs to know so he can sleep at night. That's behind him.

Eduardo usually comes by to hang out for a few hours, or at least sends a message telling Mark that he needs to eat. The only times he didn't were when he was sick (and he definitely isn't sick, although he's maybe a little mad at Mark) or when they were on break. This is wrong.

"Did Eduardo come by?"
"No," Dustin looks up at Mark, "Was he supposed to?"
"He's always supposed to," Mark mumbles.

Dustin says something else, but Mark is already going back to his room and grabbing his phone again. He hits 4 (2 and 3 are his mom and his dad, respectively) and holds, bringing the phone to his ear to hear it ring. He waits until he gets the voicemail and then hangs up because that's not right either. Eduardo always picks up his phone, unless he has class. He doesn't have class right now, this Mark knows for certain. He takes a deep breath, and dials a number he has had drilled into him repeatedly, raising the phone to his ear.

"Doctor Spencer Reid speaking. May I ask who's calling?"
"Eduardo," Mark says, trying to make his tongue work, "I can't. He's not. Please."
"Hey," Reid says, calm and professional, "Calm down, Mark, and tell me what happened."
"It's a Friday," Mark starts, as if that explains anything, "and Eduardo always comes by our room or texts me to remind me to eat. He hasn't contacted me since yesterday and I just called-he always picks up his phone unless he's in class but he's not because it's a Friday and his classes end at 3-and he didn't pick up."
"We can't-"
"Reid," Mark whispers, voice cracking, "Something's wrong."

There's soft breathing on the other end of the line, and Mark knows Reid knows what it's like. He knows that Mark doesn't worry unless he has reason to, has tried to stay as untouched and unaffected by what happened as possible. He also knows that Mark has never called, because he was told to only call in an emergency. This is an emergency, and Mark's not afraid to admit that.

"We're coming," Reid says, and Mark relaxes a little, "We'll find him."

Three Years Ago. Unspecified Warehouse.
When Mark wakes up, everything hurts.

There's voices coming from somewhere, and Mark slowly pulls himself from the haziness of something heavy in his veins and tries to focus. The voices narrow down to one voice, someone talking on the phone, and Mark can't quite make out every word but he hears stupid idea and don't you think they'll look for him? before the voices suddenly stop and Mark pretends to be unconscious again.

Someone crouches down in front of him, breathing heavily, before getting up and walking away again. When they're gone, Mark takes a more careful survey of his situation. He's been restrained with duct tape and he can't move much. He doesn't want to move much, either. He's also bleeding, but he can't tell exactly where. It feels like everywhere. Squeezing his eyes shut, Mark prays. He doesn't want to die like this, although he supposes no one does, but that's not the first thing on his mind.

Please, God. I don't ask for much, so please just hear me out this once: let them find me. Let my mother have closure, whether I am alive or dead.

Time stretches out and Mark loses all track of it in the monotony of pain, so he has no idea how long he's been tied up for when they storm the old warehouse. He knows that he's barely alive when they find him, bleeding out and cut up. They don't think he'll make it, but Mark knows differently. He mumbles a prayer when they're rushing him into medical care, and hopes God hears him.

Last Saturday, Midnight. Mark's Suite.
Eduardo sits down next to Mark, looking straight at him. Mark stares back.

"If there's something wrong," Eduardo says, "if there's ever anything wrong, you can tell me. I'm the guy who wants to help. This is our thing."

There's a pause.

"Is there anything you need to tell me?"

Mark parts his lips as if he's going to say something, then presses his lips together in a thin line. He stares Eduardo down, unblinking.

"No."

Something about Eduardo screams that he doesn't believe that, but he's going to let it slide. One day, Mark thinks, he'll tell Eduardo about what happened.

Friday, 8:30PM. Mark's Suite.
Mark is pacing back and forth by the time Reid knocks on the door. He yanks it open and starts talking at approximately a million words per minute while still pacing nervously, speaking faster and faster until the words are tripping over themselves and barely discernible. Dustin and Chris are growing increasingly worried, and finally Reid grabs Mark by the shoulders and holds him in place while Mark flinches away.

"It doesn't help anyone if you start losing it right now, Mark, least of all Eduardo. Breathe. Morgan and I going to question your suitemates, okay?"

Taking a deep breath, Mark breathes back out and then nods. Reid gives him a small smile and then goes over to question Dustin while Morgan question Chris. It's pointless, Mark knows, but he understands that it's standard procedure. Mark breathes, listening to Reid and Morgan talk while he sorts through everything in his head and smooths out everything he wants to say into a coherent string of words. When Reid walks over to him, Mark looks at him grimly.

"I need to talk to Garcia."
"You know she's always willing to help," Reid nods, "Good luck."
"I'm going to find him," Mark says, more to himself than anyone, "I am."

Eduardo is always looking after Mark, so Mark figures that even if he didn't want to find Eduardo with every bit of himself, he would owe it to him anyway. Rubbing at the tension in his neck, Mark settles at his desk and calls Garcia. He'll need her help if he wants to get Eduardo back.

One Year Ago. Mark's Room.
When Eduardo wanders into Mark's room, Mark's on the phone with someone. It's an unusual occurrence because as far as Eduardo knows, Mark never uses his phone except in dire situations. He wonders who Mark could possibly be talking to, but his question is answer fairly quickly when Mark starts speaking again.

"Yes, mom. I have friends. Actually, one of them is standing right next to me. What? You want to talk to him? No. No, mom. I'm not-ugh, hold on."

Obviously irritated, Mark looks up at Eduardo, and Eduardo smiles. He holds out his hand for the phone and Mark places it in his palm after a couple seconds of confused staring. Eduardo lifts it to his ear.

"Hello, Mrs. Zuckerberg?"
There's a delighted laugh on the end end of the line, "Why, aren't you charming. What's your name? How did you meet my Mark? He's not too mean to you, is he?"
"Mark's not mean at all, just a little hard to understand sometimes. My name is Eduardo Saverin, Mrs. Zuckerberg, and I'm sorry to say that I met your son at a party."

Her reaction is not what Eduardo expected. Most parents weren't intensely curious about the fact that their child had probably been at a party where there was alcohol and potentially sex. Then again, Eduardo supposed that Mark couldn't have really turned out the way he was if he had been raised by a normal family. So Eduardo answered her questions, carefully skirting around the fact that Mark had been drinking, and watched Mark as he went back to coding. After a fair amount of time, Mrs. Zuckerberg let him go and Eduardo handed the phone back to Mark. He tucked it in between his shoulder and his ear, still typing.

"Yes, mom," Mark sighs, "Eduardo is a very polite and upstanding citizen. I will be sure to try and not alienate him. Bye."

Hanging up, Mark sets the phone on his desk. Eduardo perches on Mark's desk, waiting for him to start coding again before he says anything. Mark multitasks well, and Eduardo finds he's easier to talk to when he's coding.

"Your mom seems nice," he says.
"She is," Mark shrugs, "Even when she's too invested in my life. Sorry about that, by the way."
"It's fine," Eduardo laughs, "I'm here for you whenever you need to prove you have friends."

Eduardo thinks it might be imagined, but he sees Mark smile and he smiles back, like a hardwired response sunk into his muscles.

Thursday, 10PM. Mark's Room
Eduardo is pacing behind Mark, who's typing out code and generally ignoring Eduardo while he has his little mental breakdown or whatever. He'll get over it, Mark's sure. It'll be fine, the bastard's probably not going to come for Mark anyway.

"Dammit, Mark," Eduardo says, "I asked you. I asked you if there was anything you needed to tell me, and you said no."
Mark shrugs, still typing, "There wasn't anything I needed to tell you. This doesn't concern you at all, Wardo."
"You don't think the fact that you punched a serial killer in the face concerns me? What kind of fucked-up definition of friend do you have, Mark? Of course it concerns me! I need to know these things."

Annoyed, Mark stands. Turning to face Eduardo, he narrows his eyes.

"It has no direct relevance to thefacebook or you, Eduardo. Why would I bring it up? You'd only worry, and it's not a big deal. It's in the past, let it go."
Eduardo throws his hands up in the air, "Of course I worry, Mark! That's what sane people do when they find out that their best friend could potentially be kidnapped by a serial killer at any moment. That's what sane people do about most potential life threats, actually. I don't think I'm being unreasonable here, I think it's perfectly reasonable to worry about it."

And that's the problem. Eduardo's waving his hands around and ranting about how many different ways Mark could be killed and he's looking at Mark with that particular kind of sadness Mark hates. Logically, Mark knows that Eduardo is only trying to help, but he's really not. Mark closes his eyes and breathes in, then out.

"Wardo," he says quietly, "stop."

Maybe it's Mark's tone, or maybe it's the fact the Mark's hands are gripping at the edge of his desk so tightly his fingers are going to cramp, but Eduardo stops and really looks at Mark for the first time since he started ranting at him. He starts to take a step forward, then hesitates like he's unsure. Mark opens his eyes again and pulls himself back together.

"Don't worry," Mark says, forcing nonchalance, "It'll blow over in a day or two, the team will take care of it. There's nothing to worry about."

There's a pause where Eduardo opens his mouth like he's going to say something and then doesn't, closing his mouth and pressing his lips into a thin line. Without saying anything more, Eduardo leaves. Mark waits until he hears Eduardo talking to Dustin and Chris before he slowly sinks to the floor.

The world is beautiful because the sun rose. The world is beautiful because people care about you. The world is beautiful because roses are in bloom. The world is beautiful because people are willing to fight evil. The world is beautiful because you're alive. The world is beautiful because someone loves you. The world is beautiful because of Eduardo.

The world is beautiful.

Three Years Ago. Therapy.
Mark is required to go to therapy for a year to help him get over trauma and something something victim. To be honest, it seemed more like the BAU was apologizing for getting him mixed up in something than an actual requirement. He spends the first three sessions staring blankly at his therapist, who is a perky young woman by the name of Dr. Jackson. She wants him to call her Mallory and says they don't have to talk unless he wants to. He doesn't want to.

The sessions drag on, and Mark has no intention of being the first to break. He's going to wait her out, it's not like he hasn't had practice with that, but then the days get darker and darker until Mark is surrounded by an oppressive bleakness that makes it hard to do anything, to get up in the morning. He dreams nightmares of monsters and running, of bleeding out and breathing small. The already small amount of sleep Mark generally got is compressed into almost nothing-he stays awake to fight off monsters for as long as his body will let him, and barely sleeps at all before nightmares take hold.

In his fourth weekly session Mark says, abruptly: "Does it ever get better?"
Dr. Jackson looks at him, head tilted at a carefully calculated forty-five degree angle. "Does what ever get better?"
"The nightmares," Mark says, "the way people touching me makes my skin crawl, the way that everyone just going on with their lives makes me want to scream, the way that it feels like I've had my life ripped from me. Does any of it ever get better?"
"Not," Dr. Jackson says calmly, voice smooth and soothing, "if you don't let it."

It's about the answer Mark expected, and he doesn't say anything for the rest of the session.

Three Years Ago. Mark's Room.
how do you live knowing how awful the world is

Mark sends the text message four months after it happens, after he wakes up gasping for air and shaking one too many times. There's no reply for almost a day and Mark wonders if Reid has changed his number or doesn't know who Mark is anymore. He contemplates doing a little searching and trying to locate an email address, but instead he waits.

Finally: you make everyone around you remind you how beautiful the world can be

Running his fingers over the tiny, pixellated message, Mark breathes in and then out. He opens a new document on his computer and writes WHY THE WORLD IS BEAUTIFUL. Then, Mark begins to list all the reasons he can think of. The list is very short, and he resolves to ask his sisters and family for their input. If he's going to get through this, he's going to need all the help he can get.

Friday, 9PM. Unspecified Warehouse.

The low, smug chuckle in Eduardo's ear is the first thing he's aware of. The fact that he has definitely been drugged is the second. He wishes he could say that he doesn't know what that feels like, but he's definitely been almost-kidnapped before (and how funny was it that moving to the United States got him kidnapped for real?) and the sudden, overwhelming urge to puke up everything he's ever eaten isn't really something that's forgettable. Eduardo isn't that great with anesthetics, seeing as they mostly make him nauseous. He groans.

"You're awake," a voice says, "good. It's so much better if you scream."

Eduardo tries to focus, but only sees the dark outline of someone against sickly yellow halogen. He wants to say something, ask why maybe, but he can't make his tongue work. It takes energy that Eduardo doesn't want to waste, gathers and uses up trying to get away when the darkness reaches for him and starts cutting away his shirt. There's a glint, steely bright, and Eduardo can tell that something horrible is going to happen before the first slice of the blade into his skin.

He feels the scream rip out of him, pulled out by the pain, and wishes he were anywhere else. No, that's not quite true: he wishes he were with Mark.

7 Months Ago. Mark's Room.
Eduardo is sitting on the bed, watching Mark code while he half-studies econ, and it suddenly hits him how much he loves Mark. It's not the kind of love where he wants to fuck Mark, but the quiet kind where the thing he wants the most is for Mark to be okay enough with him to tell him his secrets. Not all of them, maybe, but the one that looms over Mark like a shadow waiting to strike.

He sometimes wonders if he's the only one that sees it, but he doesn't think he can be because Chris and Dustin have adopted some of the same methods for dealing with Mark. They don't sit too close, try not to touch him unexpectedly, and answer his occasional non sequitur questions about why the world is beautiful. At the same time, he doesn't think they see why they're doing it the way he does, and they just behave that way because it's easier to deal with Mark when they do.

Glancing at the clock, Eduardo sighs. It's late and he should probably be heading back to his dorm room to try and get some sleep. Shutting his econ textbook, Eduardo stretches, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders. Standing and smoothing out his pants, Eduardo walks over to Mark's desk. He snaps his fingers to get Mark's attention, repeating the motion when Mark doesn't respond. Mark looks up, not quite focused on Eduardo, and Eduardo gives him a little wave.

"Are you leaving?"
"Yeah," Eduardo smiles, "You should try and get some sleep too, okay?"

Mark snorts, but Eduardo knows that he'll sleep-even if it's only a little-if Eduardo tells him. He tries not to read into the action too much. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Eduardo gives Mark another little wave and Mark absently gives one back. It makes something in Eduardo flutter, and he smiles to himself.

Yeah. He's really far gone for Mark.

Friday, 9PM. Mark's Room.
Mark's trying to hold his cellphone between his shoulder and his ear, "Have you got a lock on his cellphone yet, Garcia?"
"Still working on it, hon. You know this technology isn't that great yet."
"I know," Mark shifts so he's holding the phone in his hand again and calls out, "Reid?"

Reid appears in the doorway, watching the way Mark's fingers are flying across the keyboard and waiting for him to say something more. Mark rolls his shoulders back, like he's trying to shake something off.

"You know more about this than I do," he sighs, "likely locations where he would be keeping Eduardo?"
"A warehouse within an hour or two, driving distance. I'd say somewhere around here," Reid points to the map pulled up on Mark's screen, marking a circle, "Look for something in that area?"

Mark nods, almost absently, typing something in and bringing up a bunch of little markers. He turns back to Reid, who's already leaning in closer and inspecting the list of locations with a quiet intensity. Garcia's saying something on the phone and Mark focuses his attention back to her.

"-last location was about thirty minutes west from where you are at around 7:30. Sending you the coordinates now."
Mark frowns, "Nothing since then?"
"No," Garcia says sadly, "Sorry, hon."

With a sigh, Mark inputs the coordinates Garcia sends him and brings up a little marker for it. There's two warehouses reasonably close to the location and Mark frowns. Reid's still analyzing the screen.

"Do you think he would have kept going in the same direction after he tossed the cellphone?"
"It's consistent with his profile. He likes things to go according to his plan and he tries to stick to it. Can you tell me what's near those two warehouses?"

Zooming in, it's pretty clear that one warehouse is close to a residential area and potentially still occupied or easily stumbled upon, so Mark nixes that one and zooms closer to the other one. It seems fairly abandoned and secluded, which seems like a safer bet. Something like triumph flutters in Mark, and he tamps it down until they actually find Eduardo.

"Well," Reid says, "it looks like we've found our location. Morgan and I will go check it out-I need you to alert the others and keep talking to Garcia."
"No," Mark shakes his head, "I'm coming with you."

There's a moment where Reid looks like he's going to protest, but then something in him seems to relent. He seems to understand why Mark wants to go, and Mark knows he technically isn't allowed to, but fuck that noise. He's going to face the monster and win this time.

Three Years Ago. A Prison.
"He wants to see you," the lawyer says, "You don't have to go-and in fact, I recommend against it-but he'll be restrained and it'll be perfectly safe."
"I'll go."

The words are out of his mouth almost immediately, because it's not really a decision that takes any time to make. Mark wants (needs?) some kind of closure and he's not yet scheduled as a witness in the case due to his somewhat spotty memory of being kidnapped making him largely unreliable, although he's supposed to be there as some kind of symbol of the whole debacle. It's stupid, all of it, and Mark just wants it to be over. It's going to be at least six months before that, though, and Mark just wants to face the monster he's been running away from.

The lawyer doesn't seem particularly happy with Mark's choice, but she lets him go anyway. He makes it through security check without any real problems, and then he's being escorted to a room where his nightmare is waiting for him. He sits down in the empty chair and folds his hands.

"You came."
"Why wouldn't I?"
The monster smiles, "Because you're afraid of me."

Mark's lip twitches up into a smile, and he can see how it confuses the monster. It surprises him a little too, but he doesn't let on to that. Instead, he carefully stands up again.

"Leaving already? A pity," the monster says, "I was hoping we could talk."
"You don't want to talk," Mark snorts, "You want to see that I'm broken. You've gotten what you wanted."
"Oh, but I could break you so much more without ever lifting a finger," he pauses, smirking, "Although, when I get out of here, I could destroy the thing you love best and see how broken you are after that. I could put them through what you went through, and then you'd have to live with knowing that it's your fault it happened. All of this is your fault, because I never would have taken you if you hadn't interfered, but you had to open your mouth-didn't you? Just had to save the day."

It's not really a conscious choice when it happens, all Mark knows is that he's moving forward and then his fist is connecting with the monster's face and a guard is pulling him away while the monster laughs and laughs.

Mark can hear that laugh in his dreams.

Two Months Ago. Mark's Room.
"Mark," Eduardo says, leaning against the door frame, "I brought food, come eat."
"I'm working on thefacebook," Mark replies absently, "do I have to?"
"Yes," Eduardo sighs, "Look, it's pizza. You can eat that with one hand and keep working, but you need to eat."

Mark frowns at his screen, though whether it's because of Eduardo or what he's doing is anyone's guess. From the way that he's furiously backspacing, Eduardo assumes that it's probably whatever he's doing. Holding out his hand, Eduardo snaps his fingers, and Mark finally looks up at him.

"Come eat," Eduardo says again, "please?"
"Fine."

Rolling his eyes, Mark grabs his laptop and sullenly sinks on to one of the armchairs in the common room. He looks at the pizza for a moment, glancing over at Eduardo, and Eduardo doesn't know what he's thinking but it doesn't really matter because Mark grabs a slice and carefully balances it on his hand while he continues typing one-handed.

Eduardo gets roped into playing some video game with Dustin and Chris, so he doesn't watch Mark as closely as he could but he notices that Mark doesn't move from where he's sitting until his laptop is dying and he needs to plug it in. Mark eats four slices of pizza, which might be the most food Eduardo has ever seen him eat at once.

Friday, 9:30pm. Common Room of Mark's Suite.
They end up having to wait for backup because Morgan rolls his eyes and says that Mark can't use a gun, Reid is shit at shooting, and Morgan is not going out there without backup because that's going to end in everyone at the hospital and generally it's better to not get everyone shot if at all possible. He has a point, and even Mark isn't stupid enough to argue with Morgan when Morgan's worried. Still, Mark is antsy, unable to sit still and itching to go out and get Eduardo back. Reid sits next to him on the couch, slightly unexpected, and Mark freezes. He takes a deep breath, and relaxes.

"So," Reid says, once Mark's relaxed, "This Eduardo, I ran a background check on him."
"I hate you," Mark groans.

He doesn't, not really. In fact, the mundane conversation is probably exactly what he needs right then, and Mark knows that, somewhere in him. He's still not very fond of people he considers family, adoptive or not, butting into his business. Reid and Morgan usually stay out of it, and Mark has to say that he really prefers that. Reid continues, undeterred by Mark's fake hatred.

"Your taste in significant others is pretty dismal."
"He goes to Harvard," Mark huffs, "He can't be that bad. Also you can't talk, because you're into Morgan and Garcia."

There are so many things wrong with that argument, and Mark knows it's not even the best one he could make. He could say that Eduardo knows what to say and makes the shadows recede, that Eduardo has adjusted his actions to suit Mark without even understanding why. He could say that Eduardo is the thing that made him try to live again, made it easier to live again. It's just that Mark doesn't know how to articulate any of it. Reid raises an eyebrow, though whether at what Mark isn't saying or what he is Mark doesn't know.

"If Garcia heard you say that, she'd probably hurt you."
"You started it," Mark shrugs, "I'm sure Garcia will understand."
"She does have a soft spot for you."

Mark smiles, barely and a little strained, because sometimes he forgets that there are people who care about him, people that don't want to do anything but help him.

7 Months Ago. The Thirsty Scholar.
The fight that he and Erica have right before they break up is not their first one. Mark supposes that the problem is that Erica expects him to be a lot of things he can't be, because she expects him to be just like every other college boy she could have picked. He isn't, though, and Mark's been trying to accommodate her expectations with his own personal comfort level and he's just not. It's not something he's good at, because he's so used to people understanding that he doesn't really like to be touched without warning. He's so used to Eduardo, who assimilated that piece of information and is careful not to stop over Mark's boundaries.

Erica reminds him of all the people that he wanted to shake after the accident, all the people that just didn't seem to understand there was something subtly wrong with Mark. She thinks that Mark is as pure as her, which is maybe why hanging out with her sometimes feels like a hassle where hanging out with Eduardo is easy. She keeps asking why he won't sleep with her, if it's something about her, and Mark doesn't know how to tell her the reasons without explaining the whole situation. She won't understand it, because she's not smart enough to understand the darkness in the world-an idealist that will probably want to tell him he's beautiful and the scars don't meant anything or what the fuck ever. That's why he doesn't sleep with her.

So he avoids it, and Erica finally gets fed up and leaves. It shouldn't matter to Mark, because she never understood him anyway, but something about the inability to see what's written plain as day in everything he does claws at his old wounds until they're raw again. He wants to make her understand, wants to show her that the world isn't made of sunshine and rainbows.

So he gets drunk, stumbles home and gets drunker, and then starts to code.

7 Months Ago. Mark's Room.
Eduardo leans against the door frame, facing Mark and trying to sort out what the correct thing to say in this situation is. If it were anyone but Mark, this wouldn't be an issue, but Mark isn't anyone else. He doesn't need platitudes and cheap shots at Erica, but Eduardo isn't entirely sure what he does need.

He settles on: "Are you all right?"
"I need you."

The words make something flutter in Eduardo's chest, but he quelches most of it and sits on the edge of Mark's desk.

"I'm here for you."
"No," Mark says, "I need the algorithm you use to rank chess players."

Dustin's sprawled out on Mark's bed, snickering, and Eduardo eyes him. He looks very, very drunk which is not really his problem but it still concerns him. He worries too much, maybe, but he can't help it. His friends are sometimes stupid and frequently drunk.

"Are you okay?"

Mark glances at Dustin over his shoulder, slightly annoyed, and then turns back to Eduardo. He tips his head toward the screen.

"We're ranking girls."
Eduardo looks at the screen and then back at Mark, "You mean other students."
Mark doesn't roll his eyes, although Eduardo can tell he wants to, "Yeah."

Fixing Mark with a stare, searching for something he can't quite name, Eduardo sighs. He doesn't see it on Mark's face.

"You really think this is such a good idea?"
"I need the algorithm," Mark says, ignoring the question.
"Mark."
"I need the algorithm."

Eduardo looks at the screen again, just as Mark lifts his beer to his mouth and takes a sip. This project of Mark's is a really bad idea, but Eduardo meant it when he said he was here for Mark and he already knows he's going to give the stupid algorithm to Mark before the words are even out of his mouth.

6 months ago. Entryway of the Porc.
"Well," Cameron says, "We've been working for a while on a idea-it's called HarvardConnection. You can create your own page, picture, bio, interests, friends."
Tyler cuts in, "People can see your bio and request to be your-"
Mark snorts, "How's this different from Myspace or Friendster?"

There's a moment where Tyler looks over at Cameron. They have some kind of complicated eyebrow conversation Tyler seems to win. Absently, Mark wonders what it's like to know someone so well that you don't need to talk to them. Would that be any easier than talking? Tyler turns back to Mark.

Tyler smiles, "Harvard dot edu."
"The most prestigious email address in the country," Cameron cuts in.
"The site would be based on the idea," Tyler says, "that girls want to meet guys who go to Harvard. The difference between what we're talking about and Myspace or Friendster is-"
Mark smirks, "-exclusivity. Right?"

It's a stupid idea. Well, the way they're going about it is stupid, because there's really no need for another dating site. There's something in the idea, though, something small and insignificant to them, maybe, but important to Mark. He says he'll do it, mostly to shut them up, but he has no intentions of keeping that promise.

No, Mark doesn't want to code Match.com for Harvard guys. He wants to do something bigger, better. He wants to make something that will encourage people to tell everyone where they are and what they're doing, something that will make it easy to see when something's wrong. He wants something that makes it easy to talk to people when you don't (or can't) do it face-to-face.

Tyler and Cameron wouldn't understand, but maybe Eduardo will.

One Year Ago. Common Room of Mark's Suite
There are good days and there are bad days.

Every time Mark wakes up, he does so not knowing whether or not the world will make him sick to his stomach this time or not. On good days, he's willing to sleep and face the potential nightmares. On bad days, Mark keeps going and going, hoping that the shadows chasing him don't catch up, until he slows from exhaustion and the shadows drag him down kicking and screaming. When he wakes up from bad days, Mark always takes a deep breath and recites some of the reasons why the world is beautiful to himself.

Once, though, the day is so bad that knowing the world is beautiful doesn't help Mark. It doesn't make it bearable, doesn't help him breathe easier. He spends the day constantly twisting away from shadows, and Eduardo seems increasingly concerned. He snaps his fingers, the gesture that stands in for the easy touches he shares with everyone else but doesn't force upon Mark. It's a tiny adjustment that Mark appreciates, and he looks over at Eduardo.

"You okay, Mark?"
"I'm fine, Wardo," Mark pauses, then says carefully: "Why is the world beautiful?"

Eduardo glances over at Mark, expression puzzled. Mark waits patiently for Eduardo to answer his question. This is the first time he's asked someone who doesn't know what happened to him, and Mark can hear his therapist saying it doesn't get better if you don't let it in his head. Absently, he thinks she would be pleased that he's made this step forward.

"The world is beautiful," Eduardo says, and there's a certain sadness to him, "because there's always someone who loves you."

Turning that over in his head, Mark decides that it's a good reason. He makes a mental note to add it to his list when he gets a chance. The shadows recede a little, and Mark feels like he can breathe. Eduardo snaps his fingers again, and Mark looks over at him.

"Why do you ask?"
Mark shrugs, "It's for a class."

Friday, 10:30PM. Unspecified Warehouse.
When the backup gets there, they head out to the location. Mark has to stay back, because he's not equipped, not supposed to be there in the first place, and a bulletproof vest only does so much to protect you. The takedown is quick, and Mark had thought maybe he'd try to punch the bastard in the face again, but then he spots Eduardo and nothing else matters. Kneeling down next to Eduardo, Mark can tell that he'll have the same sort of scar that's littered all over Mark's own stomach, purple and raised from the cigarette ash. Something in Mark tightens, and he can tell that if he let himself, he could cry right now. That wouldn't be good for him or Eduardo, though, so instead Mark takes a deep breath.

"Wardo," Mark says quietly, "Wardo, look at me."

Mark brushes Eduardo's hair back into place, forcing his breathing to stay even. Eduardo's eyes open, just barely, and Mark is so relieved.

"You can yell at me now," he laughs, a little wild, "I know you want to."
". . . said . . . nothing would . . . happen."

It doesn't sound like Eduardo. Well, it does sound like Eduardo, but only if Eduardo were barely audible and maybe underwater. Mark does not like it, would give anything to have Eduardo's easy smile back, and he tries to smile, but he's not very good at it when he's doing so naturally. He gives up and hopes that him being there is reassuring enough for Eduardo.

"I did," he says, "I was wrong and you were right, Wardo."
". . . said . . . I'd be . . . fine."
"You will be," Mark touches his fingers to Eduardo's face, apologetically, "Everything will be fine, Eduardo. An ambulance is coming and they'll fix you up so well it'll be like nothing ever happened."
"Promise."
"I promise, Wardo," Mark whispers, "Just stay with me."

Eduardo's eyes flutter shut and Mark shakes him very gently. He's afraid of hurting him, remembering with a visceral certainty how it felt when it was him. Closing his eyes, Mark hears a cruel laughing ringing, someone whispering I could destroy the thing you love best into his ear, and Mark prays that Eduardo will be okay. Time stops. He swallows, feels Morgan pulling him away as the medics get there, and wants to let himself cry now that they're loading Eduardo on the stretcher but he doesn't because Eduardo will be fine. Eduardo will be better in no time at all, and that's not a reason to shed tears.

"Don't worry," Morgan says, smiling, "He'll be fine. You were in much worse shape when we found you."
"Morgan," Mark breathes in, and then out, "Why is the world beautiful?"
"Because your boy is alive and you'll be there to help him deal with the aftermath."

It's a good answer. Mark thinks he'll keep it.

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