never let eduardo go 2a/3
together (tuh-ge-ther)
1.into or in one gathering, company, mass , place, or body: tocall the people together.2.into or in union, proximity, contact, or collision, as two ormore things: to sew things together.3.into or in relationship, association, business , or agreement,etc., as two or more persons: to bring strangers together
Eduardo becomes Mark’s Wardo. Two syllables, one simple word that makes Eduard’s stomach turn inside out. At the care center, he’s sometimes called Ed, or Eddy, usually in a mocking way by Cameron or Tyler. But Wardo is different. Wardo is something he wants to be.
Dustin as usual can tell something is up right away, and Eduardo can’t hide anything from him. So he tells him. He tells him everything. He even gushes, like he’s thirteen years old, and a girl and has forgotten how to form proper sentences. For once, Dustin listens, lets Eduardo gush and squeal and finally talk all about Mark, and it’s not until now that Eduardo really realizes how much he likes him. How much there is to say about him, because Mark is more or less perfect.
Dustin lets him because he remembers how it was with Stephanie. He remembers that feeling, and if Eduardo’s lover is an original… well, maybe it’s not that bad.
But it’s spread around the care center pretty quick that Eduardo has been consorting with an original. Tyler and Cameron look at him like he’s vermin; others look at him suspiciously, like he could be damning all of them. Whatever their feelings towards him, he’s pretty quickly known as the one with the original. It’s just another reason to get away from the care center and into the safe company of Mark’s arms.
//
Mark traces the scar with his finger. Eduardo can’t feel it, nerve damage, but he watches the path Mark’s hand follows, over his side, around his ribcage. Mark’s repeats the motion again and again, as if he could heal Eduardo with just the touch of a finger.
“We’re… were taught about it, you know,” Mark murmurs, “It’s just one of those things you know is there, as you get older. But you’re not supposed to talk about it, you’re not supposed to think about it. If you bring it up, people glare at you. You’re just expected to accept it without any questions, even though you know it’s… disgusting.”
“Funny, that’s a bit what it was like at Hailsham,” Eduardo laughs ironically. “When we first were told when we were twelve or so. We’d sort of always known it before then, or at least the things the Guardians had told us about needing to keep the inside of our bodies healthy. How we were special. It wasn’t a big shock when we found out, but you were expected not to speak of it. Even now, we don’t really talk about the donations. It’s just. Something that happens.”
“But-“ Mark frowns, propping himself up on his elbow. “Why don’t you talk about it? You don’t… see anything wrong with it?”
Eduardo shrugs, looking at the ceiling. “It’s not so bad. We live to save people. We save four people, each of us.”
“But… you don’t get to have a life.”
“Sure we do. We live for a couple decades. We’re educated, and cultured, Hailsham makes sure of that. We’re able to do just about anything we like, and we’re able to save people that might do great things for the world. Each of us can give life to four people, and that’s better than just one. It’s the best way to go, knowing you’re saving someone. I’ve done most of what I want to, anyway… at least now, I have.”
//
So, sure. The whole clone thing is weird. And the whole… having organs forcibly removed thing. But that’s so easy to forget because Eduardo’s everything Mark’s ever wanted. He just doesn’t think about the fact that he’s going to lose Eduardo, inevitably, just like everything else.
He doesn’t understand how Eduardo can be perfectly happy with having two thirds of his life shaved off, just to give someone else his vital organs. Mark, if the need arose, wouldn’t even want to take a heart from a donor. He couldn’t live with himself knowing that he’d taken someone else’s life. Mark knows he’s going to need a transplant. He knows the medicines and treatments are failing. He knows he doesn’t have a lot of time left. Even with the donor system in place, it could take him years to get a transplant, and he doesn’t have years.
They’re similar in that sense.
Maybe they’re the perfect match, then. Because when Mark’s with Eduardo, he can forget about that. He can even forget about coding, because Eduardo makes him feel alive, for the first time.
*
“Are you feeling alright, Mark?”
“Chris - I thought we weren’t going to go through this.”
Chris is leaning against Mark’s desk, here for his daily check-in. The truth is, Mark doesn’t feel alright. In fact, he feels particularly shitty today; he knows the doctor’s latest combination of medications is failing yet again. His ribs ache; he keeps thinking if he could just get a little more air, but no matter how much he inhales, he still feels out of breath. It’s torture and he’s sore from breathing so deeply. He wonders if this is what Eduardo goes through, with his single lung. He should probably call the doctor. But.
But he never talks about that. He doesn’t even show it, really. Mark Zuckerberg will never reveal his weaknesses, and, never, ever, will he ask for help. He manages his medication, he eats the lunches Chris lovingly packs for him, he manages to pull himself away from the office long enough to do a lap around the block for exercise, what more can you expect from him?
Chris knows he’s fibbing, but he kindly lets the subject drop. “So,” he says, grinning as Mark gives him an annoyed glance, “when do we get to meet your boyfriend?”
Mark hasn’t even told him that he and Eduardo have officially begun dating, but, well, he doesn’t hide it very well. Eduardo doesn’t have a phone, so they can’t keep in touch much during the day while Mark’s at work, but even sometimes when he’s coding, Eduardo is a lingering thought passing through the back of his mind every so often. And Chris figures there’s no explanation for Mark actually leaving the almost office every day other than having a boyfriend. Mark doesn’t want to explain anything, mostly because he doesn’t understand any of this, and that in itself is terrifying. He doesn’t want to explain how Eduardo’s a donor, for fuck’s sake, just his luck. He doesn’t want to explain how Eduardo makes him feel… fluttery and weird and like there actually might be some hope left in the world.
“For God’s sake, Chris.”
“Is it Coffee Shop Boy? Did you win him over with your charm and wit?”
Not exactly, Mark remembers. “Alright, Chris, let’s make a deal,” he sighs, knowing there’s only one way to satisfy him, “yes, I have a boyfriend, okay? If you’re so curious, you can ask me one question a day, and I’ll answer it, but just one.”
Chris is a smart man, and the look on his face immediately tells Mark he’s made a mistake; that Chris is, being Chris, going to only ask the awkward, most embarrassing questions, which Mark will have to answer. One a day will be enough for him. But he has mercy on him for today. “What’s his name?”
Mark gives a deep, heavy sigh of already accepted defeat; “Eduardo.”
//
Eduardo doesn’t know what he was expecting with the sex, but it turns out even better than he imagined. The most sexual experience he’s ever had before is a clumsy blowjob when he was thirteen and some painfully awkward kisses, but that was when he’d already realized he was ‘umbrella’, plus, Christy wasn’t very experienced.
Mark’s gentle with him, letting Eduardo see a softer, affectionate side to him. Affectionate Mark is, like, an endangered species.
They take their time, and it hurts some but it’s the best thing Eduardo’s ever felt. Not just the sex, but Mark, Mark, Mark over him, Mark holding him, Mark whispering in his ear, and biting him and kissing him and everything he never thought he’d have.
When they’re done, groaning and limp with Mark slumped on top of him, Mark falls asleep almost right away. Eduardo nudges him onto the bed beside him and Mark grumbles, moving closer to him again, clutching Eduardo’s arm like some kind of lifeline.
“Goodnight, Mark,” Eduardo whispers, and they sleep.
//
“What does he look like? And I want details.”
Mark huffs, but this question seems pretty safe, and, he agreed. “He’s… he’s tall. Well, taller than me, at least. He has this crazy hair, dark brown, big eyebrows and … these brown woodland-creature eyes…”
//
“Tell me about Mark,” Dustin whispers. It’s past the time they should be asleep, but it’s not like they’ve got much to do the next day. They’re in bed, back at the care center, and Eduardo feels naked without Mark’s arms around him. Mark’s bed isn’t as comfortable as the beds here, but Mark’s bed feels like home, it feels like it’s there for a purpose and it’s theirs. But he and Dustin are lying here in the dark. They haven’t been speaking for a while, but Eduardo’s known Dustin hasn’t been asleep because Dustin snores (it’s a quiet snore, nothing unpleasant, and even helps Eduardo sleep), and he’s just been watching the streaking lights of the cars outside, on that distant road.
So Eduardo closes his eyes and tells him, tells him everything. He tells Dustin about Mark’s beauty and intelligence, his feather-soft touches. About his smile, his long lashes and his cheekbones. He tells Dustin about Mark’s jokes, his website (as best he can), how whenever Mark is next to him he feels like he could sing and dance and hold up the whole world (he doesn’t mention the disease that is slowly working its toll on Mark’s heart, and his life).
“Originals aren’t anything like we think,” Eduardo whispers, lifting himself up on his elbow. He can talk about things with Dustin, things he can’t discuss with anyone else, ever. Secrets that if he doesn’t share will, after Dustin’s completed, forever remains secrets. “We’re not that different. Mark is… Mark is the best, Dustin. But I almost feel bad.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because,” Eduardo sighs. “I don’t know, maybe it’s just some part of me that feels like I don’t deserve this, that thought I would never get this. Or that feels like Mark shouldn’t be with… a donor. He should have someone he can…” Eduardo trails off, but what he was going to say is clear; someone he can spend the rest of his life with.
“Eduardo,” Dustin says, so quietly that Eduardo listens. His voice sounds so close, and yet so far away in the darkness of the room. Every night, he fades away a little more, and even though Dustin’s always smiling, they all know he’s just waiting until his next donation, waiting for it to be his last, even though it’s only his second. “If Mark hadn’t considered that, do you think he would still be with you? If he’s as wonderful as you say, he wouldn’t settle for something he doesn’t want.”
Eduardo closes his eyes, sighs, and wonders if Dustin’s words are true. “He’s sick,” he whispers.
“Oh…?”
“Yeah… heart disease,” Eduardo sighs. “He said he’s most probably going to need a transplant.”
“Wonder if it’ll be anyone we know, hm?” Dustin murmurs, echoing some of Eduardo’s own thoughts. He’s glad Dustin doesn’t try to comfort him, because the words would be lost.
“Yeah,” he says, chuckling a little morbidly, but at this point it’s not unusual to talk about the donations in such away. Not thinking of them as what they really are, just a thing in the future, makes it easier to cope. He closes his eyes and hugs the pillow, snuggling into it. “He’s beautiful, Dustin. He’s beautiful in every way a person can be beautiful and he’s saved me in every way a person can be saved.”
Dustin smiles, closing his eyes, sighing. “Yeah,” he whispers, “I know he is. Take care of him, Eduardo. You take care of him. Don’t let anything happen to him.”
*
Mark figures that the most important things to know about Eduardo are the first things he learns about him (aside from the whole donor thing, but Mark, to be honest, sees that as rather irrelevant).
One; Eduardo likes to dance! Mark learns this when he finds him in the kitchen, swishing his hips to a song on the radio; something with fast, plucky guitars. He doesn’t see Mark until a few verses into the song, but when he does, he flounces over and takes Mark’s hands, pulling him into the center of the kitchen.
“Eduardo, what-“ Mark doesn’t know what’s happening. “What, why are you-“
“I’m dancing, Mark!” he laughs, letting go of one of
Mark’s hands and lifting the other to twirl underneath it. “Join me, come on, it’s fun!”
“I don’t know how to dance.”
“Sure you do - there’s no how to dance. It’s how you dance. Just move,” he laughs, doing a spin across the floor of the kitchen with his arms over his head, a sliver of skin showing beneath the short shirt. Then he’s back in front of Mark, taking his hands and pulling them back and forth and shaking his hips. Mark gives his hips a tentative little jiggle and Eduardo grins like he’s just won the lottery.
He pulls Mark through the kitchen, hopping and twirling as the songs change on the radio in the background and Mark finds himself laughing, until, holy shit, he’s dancing, this is some kind of historic moment for real, and Eduardo pulls him into his chest to kiss him and it feels like it’s going to be this way forever.
//
“Have you fucked him yet?”
“Chris!”
“What?!”
“No!”
//
“How big is his dick?”
Mark coughs, spits out the drink in his mouth and sputters “Chris, I am not answering that.”
“You promised!” Chris accuses and Mark presses his face into his hand, mumbling a number and Chris goes ”oooooh” and then “damn, Mark can get some!” and he races off and Mark honestly wants to die.
//
The second is that Eduardo can be even more stubborn than Mark. When Eduardo wants to be left alone, to be quiet, Mark can’t pull words out of him. But Eduardo can get anything out of Mark and he doesn’t even have to try. There’s still so much about Eduardo that Mark doesn’t know, that he has to know, but there’s no way to find it unless Eduardo says it. Things have always come easy to him in the past; he’s never had to work too hard for something. Always gotten what he wanted, until now. He doesn’t know how he feels about it.
//
“Why do you like him?”
“He’s-“ Oh, fuck. “He’s brilliant. He’s not like… other people.” Well, that’s an understatement. “He’s intelligent, he knows about the world. He’s funny, he’s charming, he…”
“Does he fuck you senseless?”
Mark groans and presses his forehead into his hand, because he is not going to admit that, ever, he’ll always deny the sounds and words that Eduardo brings from his mouth.
“Do I ever get to meet him?”
“Fine. I’ll talk to him.”
//
Third, Eduardo loves to draw. Anything, even without pens. He runs his fingers over Mark’s body, under his shirt, over his hands. Tracing exquisite patterns and shapes on Mark’s pale canvas of skin.
He tells Mark stories about Hailsham. About the Exchanges, all the art that they used to make for one another. Jackie’s beautiful giraffes and Ronald’s sculptures of bottlecaps and wire. So many little things he finds he remembers from Hailsham; the smallest things that are his most cherished memories.
Wardo says, drawing a line straight up Mark’s leg, “It was weird, looking back, that we depended on eachother to provide our most prized possessions. But we learned to take care of things, we learned to put hard work and quality in, and we learned to trust eachother. We had so much fun making things for those Exchanges, collecting things. The Exchanges were like a party, like the best Christmas we ever had.”
Mark can’t help but think, in a morbid way, that the way they made their art for other people to cherish is almost like how they supply their organs for other people to live off of. But he destroys that thought as soon as it becomes a thought.
Wardo runs a black stub of charcoal over Mark’s thigh. Drawing in shapes, swirls and patterns going around and down his leg. Even his hands move gracefully with quick, gentle strokes. The crayon is cold, but becomes warm between Eduardo’s hand and Mark’s skin. Eduardo looks at everything as a piece of art, everything from the colors of the sunset to the labyrinth of veins in a leaf from a tree. He draws things that look like leaves on Mark’s leg; he’s squinting in concentration but making it look so easy. Mark’s not artistic, unless you consider coding art (Mark does), but Eduardo nudges the box over to him and Mark picks up one of the crayons.
Eventually, he can’t think of anything to do but writing his name on Eduardo’s body over and over, like a possession, and then fucking him into the couch with MARK’S scrawled across his chest, charcoal smearing between their wet skin.
When Mark comes to, Eduardo’s drawing pictures across his chest again, this time invisible ones with his finger. They look like random movements, but Mark knows they’re not, nothing Eduardo does is random; he’s calculating, spreading patterns over Mark’s chest that only he can see.
“So, I, um,” Mark mumbles, “I was at a bar with Chris a few weeks ago, and I saw this man. And he, uh. He looked just like you. Older, obviously, twice your age maybe but… he looked… just like you. I thought he might be, uh, your uh…” Mark doesn’t know the proper terminology. He’s not sure why he’s thinking about it now either.
“My original?” Eduardo perks up.
“Um, it’s possible. I only saw him for a second, but it was. Kind of scary.”
“Hm,” Eduardo sighs. He knows his friends at the Cottages always got excited at the prospects of finding their originals, but he never understood it. Why would you want to meet the person your DNA is taken from, and what would you say, anyway? Eduardo likes himself, he doesn’t need to meet who he was copied from.
“Yeah,” Mark says. “I don’t know.”
“It’s possible,” Eduardo agrees, resting his head on Mark’s chest, his hand travelling down to Mark’s stomach, rubbing the skin in circles and patterns. He’s still got the writing all over him, smeared but still in some parts legible. Mark traces an M going down his arm. He likes Eduardo like this; marked, claimed, well fucked. They’re quiet gain after that, until Mark speaks again, catching Eduardo’s wrist in his hand. “Um, I was thinking, you. Well, my friend, Chris, is kind of insisting on meeting you. So I thought, maybe, you could come to work with me tomorrow? If you’re not-”
Eduardo cuts him off with a light kiss, smiling, “I’m not busy. I’d love to do that, Mark.”
//
Fourth, maybe significant but less important, Eduardo’s very favorite snack foods are dark chocolate mint cookies. Mark’s favorite kisses are always the ones that taste of these cookies.
*
Mark doesn’t know how he’s going to explain it to Chris, the donor thing. He’s managed to pretty much forget about himself, even.
“So, this is where the magic happens,” says Mark as they step off the elevator, and he can’t help but smile, with that familiar rush of pride. These offices are his; he made this. Eduardo’s practically skipping beside him, eyes drinking in every detail, snapping back and forth.
“This is… incredible,” Eduardo says, and Mark chuckles because yeah, it really is, even if Eduardo has an endearingly exaggerated vocabulary. Mark worked his damn ass off for this, though, so it’s not some supernatural feat.
“I guess. You hungry, thirsty - we’ve got a cafeteria, with just about everything down there. And I’m going to have to be very busy with some work for a while; I’ll be wired in - which, uh, means basically I won’t be available, I won’t be able to hear you, I’ll be coding. But you’re welcome to go to the cafeteria, or to explore or pretty much just occupy yourself for a while. My assistant might need help with a few things-“
“Let you work, stay out of trouble. Got it,” Eduardo says, kissing Mark on the cheek and Mark blushes, but ducks away and prays no one sees, because Mark Zuckerberg does not blush at work.
Chris is at his desk, sifting through some papers and tapping at a couple of keys on the computer. He turns when he hears them approaching, recognizes Wardo as The Boyfriend and stands.
“What was that?”
“What?”
“You’re-“ Chris stops, laughing in disbelief, “you’re blushing, Mark.”
“Fuck off, Christopher,” Mark snaps, looking away, but the damage has already been done and his face flushes even darker.
Chris shakes his head, chuckling but wisely letting it drop. “I’m actually here before you,” Chris says, “I was getting worried there for a bit, Mark.”
If he’s joking or not it’s hard to tell. Maybe a mixture of both; Mark not coming in, especially in his condition, probably would be a reason for worry. But Mark brushes it off, placing a hand on Wardo’s shoulder. He’s ready to introduce them, but Wardo, without prompting, reaches his hand out, grinning at Chris in his usual overly-friendly way. “I’m Eduardo.” The way he says it almost sounds like there should be a “Do you want to be best friends?” attached to it.
“Chris, Chris Hughes,” Chris introduces himself, discreetly looking Eduardo over. Mark hooks his arm around Eduardo’s shoulders with a sudden possessive urge as Eduardo reaches out to shake his hand.
“Well,” Mark says, squeezing Eduardo’s shoulders and kissing his cheek, “I’ve got to go get to work Wardo, but I will see you at lunchtime.” Mark usually doesn’t eat; even though he’s supposed to maintain a healthy diet to help his condition, he doesn’t see that, at this level of decay, it matters what he does. But he’ll gladly take a snack break if he can eat with Wardo.
//
Mark doesn’t know how Chris figures it out, though he’s always been observant. Maybe it was the way Eduardo leaned more to the right side and breathed a little deeper than maybe a normal person would. Maybe it was that it just seemed he was too cheerful or naive, maybe he and Chris had a conversation after Mark left to get to work that he doesn’t know about, but Chris’ confrontation is still a little unexpected.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Mark, he’s wonderful, but it feels like there’s something a little… off about him.” It’s lunch; Mark and the team have made significant progress with the new update, scheduled for a week from today, Tuesday, and have the very beginnings of a new game in development. Mark’s just pulled off the headphones, Eduardo is nowhere to be seen. Probably still down at the cafeteria, or wherever he wandered off to.
Mark decides to, for now, play dumb: “What do you mean?”
“Just… something that doesn’t fit, you know? Something that feels wrong, and I know you like him, Mark, but-“
“I know.”
“You know?”
Mark leans back in his desk chair, sighing, “I know, Chris. He is different.”
“What… do you mean? Is he a felon or something?”
“Chris, this is serious. I don’t want you to freak out.”
Chris’ brow creases and he walks over to Mark’s desk, standing beside him and peering down at him. Mark sighs, he’s always been the king of awkward conversations and this isn’t the kind of thing for someone as socially retarded as him to have much luck attempting. So he just decides to say it, right out, no sugar coating; “Eduardo is a donor.”
“A wh- A… a donor?”
You hear about donors often enough. Campaigns to Make Our Donor’s Lives Better that Mark, admittedly, never paid much attention to. You know they’re there but it’s like the starving kids in Africa; despite all the work that goes into getting them recognized, even with some of them assimilating into society with
real jobs, you don’t really notice them, or think about them. You’re not supposed to think about them.
Chris doesn’t look horrified, but… Mark can’t really pinpoint his expression. This is weird for Mark, because Mark, even if he doesn’t know how to talk to people, can always tell what people are at least feeling, even if he doesn’t know what to do with it. Chris creases his brow, studies Mark like he’s just said something in Bulgarian or some language he never studied. “A donor… Mark… you know what that means, don’t you?”
“Please don’t remind me.” Mark doesn’t even want to think about what’s going to happen to Eduardo over the course of his life. It sickens him - not Eduardo, but the doctors, the doctors that do this to him. “Chris, I don’t expect you to understand. But-“
“There’s nothing to understand,” Chris holds his hands up. “If you’re happy… okay. As long as you know… you, well. I don’t know how long-“
“Chris. Please.”
“How did you even meet him? I thought they… well, you know what I mean, I thought…”
“I told you before, at the coffee house. He was there, I was there, and it… wasn’t hard.” He sighs. “I too thought that they were locked away somewhere, or at least not so… reachable. But,” he shrugs helplessly; what can he do now?
“Why… him?” Chris looks at him deliberately.
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean, Mark, he’s…”
“Don’t say it.” Mark does not want to hear the C word. It doesn’t fucking matter to him; he got over it, why should anyone else care? “That’s not what he is to me, Chris. He’s … he’s b-beautiful-“
“He’s a clone, Mar-“
“Chris.” Mark white-knuckles the speaker around his neck, legitimately ready to throw it at him, “Christ, I thought you were educated on this shit. He’s not - he’s… he’s better than any people I know.”
“Mark, that’s not exactly what I meant. You just know that he’s…
“He’s going to… I know.”
Mark is desperate to end the conversation, and Wardo shows up right on cue with a paper bag, plopping it on Mark’s desk, “I grabbed you some lunch, you ought to eat.”
Mark smiles gratefully, sighing and taking the bag, “thank you, Wardo. What about you?”
“I ate downstairs; decided to let you finish your work. But I was ready to come and forcibly… wire you out. You’ve got your medications to take, too.”
Mark bristles some; he doesn’t like to be reminded of things, especially not medications, but it’s so much less condescending and annoying from Wardo than it is from Chris. “Thank you, Eduardo. I was just about to.”
Mark catches Chris looking Eduardo over with suspicion; if Eduardo notices, he doesn’t let on. All things considered though, it went much better than expected.
on to 2-b