Chapter Text
- Bai Hua, "Summer Is Still Very Far Away" - - - - -
The problem is that it’s been down for hours and no one can figure out why. The servers are running fine. The code is unchanged. Mark has been plugged in since Time Of Death 6:23 last night, and it's going on 7 am now. Twelve hours haven't brought him a single step closer to solving the problem. There hasn't been an attack on the main servers, no attempt at forced entry to steal stored data. There's no motive. Twice, people have dared to enter his office. Mark thinks he'll have to apologize to the boy he called a waste of space; he shouldn't have said that. He takes off his earphones, rubs the bridge of his nose and wonders if he'll be voted facebook's biggest asshole of the year again. He's about to ask the guy who's just wandered in what he wants, without any accompanying insults, when he realizes it's Dustin, coffee in one hand, croissant in the other. "Hey," Mark says, his face blank. "You remember you don't work here anymore, right? What are you doing here?" "I, dear, am bringing you breakfast," Dustin says. He puts the coffee and croissant down in front of Mark, wearing a vaguely guilty expression. Mark's eyebrows go up. "We have a gaping hole in our security," he says, "which you already know." And there's no way this is an outside job, so Mark is starting to get a nagging suspicion. "Any ideas what's going on?" And he's right of course. Mark tends to be right a lot, it's not news. Dustin's crosses his arms behind his head. "You might want to check your private mail," he suggests. Mark throws him a doubtful look, but opens his program. As usual, there are about two hundred new emails, most of which his assistant forwarded from his work adress and then filtered and filed into the appropriate folders. There is only one that was sent directly to his private adress. [email protected] is not anyone he recognizes, which doesn't mean much. He knows a lot of people in the way dolphins at OceanWorld know a lot of people. It's when he opens the email that the surprise hits: the same second he clicks, Facebook's back up and running like nothing was ever wrong. Mark clears his throat. "He - that's. All right. He connected a return notification with the controls that kept the site down." He stares at the email for a little longer, ideas running wild, then glances up at Dustin. "How did you know?" "Ah... long story?" Dustin says. It's a good thing he doesn't delve into the story right there, because Mark is already distracted by the content of the email he's received, which reads, 'Do I have your attention, Mr. Zuckerberg?' It could be a line out of any old thriller, so Mark is suitably creeped out and grudgingly impressed. He checks his back-ups, goes through a few of his status alarms, sets up another one, runs diagnostics. No one but Mark himself should have this kind of access to the mainframe. He eats the croissant without noticing, and burns his tongue on the coffee (as he always does). When he finally looks up, Dustin is still standing by his desk. He's going through his phone, patiently tapping his foot. "Dustin?" Mark asks. Dustin glances over. "What?" "You have access to the mainframe," Mark says slowly. Dustin's shoulders do that funny thing they do when he's not comfortable with the direction in which a conversation is going. "Did I mention that I dropped in to tell you to go home?" he asks Mark in a very unsubtle attempt at misdirection. "I'm even offering to drive in case you forgot your car somewhere between here and your house." Mark snorts. That happened once. The ping of his inbox keeps him from making a good comeback. He opens the email and reads, 'You took your time with that, Mr. Zuckerberg. Btw, there's a package at your house. You might want to pick that up. No explosives. Promise :)' Mark opens his mouth, then closes it again. As he gets up, he nails Dustin with a look. "You win. I'm going home. But you've got some explaining to do." Dustin pockets his phone. "Let's get you home first. You know, Mark, I honestly thought you might be glued to that chair."
When they arrive at Mark's house, a package has indeed arrived and been brought in by housekeeping, sitting on the hallway organizer. "Are you sure about the explosives?" Mark asks as he heads for it. Dustin rolls his eyes. "Just open it. I'm curious what the brat sent you myself." "You're being intentionally obtuse, and I don't like it," Mark tells him. He takes the package, shakes it lightly. It's not very heavy. The postage stamp, which reads Singapore, makes him hesitate as the pieces start to fall together. Except the brat part. "All right, I'll bite," he says and heads to the kitchen, grabs a knife and cuts the tape, then tears the top off. The first thing he finds is an old, folded sweater. Mark recognizes it; it's over ten years old. His mother bought it for him before freshman year. Eduardo borrowed it one evening when he slept over and Mark never got it back. It smells of laundry detergent and has been washed so often the material has thinned out in places. There's an old hard drive of Mark's and an old notepad with his scribbles, writings from calc class, cartoon character drawings of Eduardo and Dustin and Chris and himself as superheroes. "Wow, are those - is that what Project Cape from freshman year was all about? You never said! These are really good, Mark." Mark closes the notebook quickly. "This is stuff Eduardo kept," he says, keeping his voice intentionally bland. There's a picture frame with a photograph of Eduardo and himself, Eduardo in that stupid straw hat of his. This is Eduardo's; Mark has never owned a picture frame in his life. The photograph, he vaguely remembers. "What is this?" he turns to Dustin. "Are you fucking with me?" "What? No, man, relax, this is not me. I told you, the only thing I have to do with this is occasional email contact with the culprit. And for the record, I'm not the only one. Chris does, too, so if you wanna be mad, be mad at both of us." Mark ignores all but the vital information. "Wardo didn't send me this stuff. We haven't talked in almost a decade. And if it wasn't him…" He trails off. He's not an idiot, he knows where this is going, but he cannot quite yet believe it, so he chooses to believe there is another explanation. He glares at Dustin. Dustin shrugs like he's not scared, which is frustrating. Mark is used to people cowering when he glares at them. "Well," Dustin says, "it looks like that’s about to change, at least." He grins and twirls around Mark in a half-circle, making a grab for the notebook. "Apparently, Eduardo's kid discovered daddy's past and has decided to do something about it."
Six hours later, he's woken by the buzz of his phone. It's his private phone, but the text message is not from any of the usual suspects like his family or Dustin, or Sean, or even that girl from his arts class he's given his number. It's an unknown number. It says, 'Dustin's a traitor. he will pay.' And then, after a second buzz, 'we're flying into the US tomorrow. thought u might wanna know.' Mark wants to reply, but he has no idea what to say. In his head, there's an image of Eduardo as he might have looked when he was- Jesus, how old could the child possibly be? Last time he checked, Wardo didn't have a kid when he graduated from Harvard. Even if he got a girl pregnant in senior year – and the thought makes something in Mark churn like ice – it would make the kid no older than nine years old. Probably younger. The pause draws out as he hovers over the Reply button. The third buzz comes almost expected. 'sorry for being forward, mr. Zuckerberg. u should pick us up if u want. SJC, landing 5pm.' It explains the formal address, at least. Of course, Eduardo would have taught the kid manners. The content of the message is straightforward enough, however. Mark's mind wanders to the sweater and the picture frame and for a second, he wonders if he wants to see Eduardo. He finds he doesn't have the energy to lie to himself; the thought of seeing Eduardo makes his stomach flip, familiar and welcome.
He walks through the halls of the Facebook offices, watching people mull over problems, typing at their computers, lines of code on the walls that transform into ideas in his head as he reads them. Back when he started Facebook, Mark had imagined it would make him one of the cool kids; he thought that it would get him on the inside, his very own special club he could be a part of. But walking through the halls, proud as he is of the accomplishment, he knows that's not what he achieved. He can never be on the inside because the owner only ever gets to watch. He thinks of Eduardo, and his kid, maybe his lovely wife, whoever it is, a Harvard girl or a woman from Singapore who smiled at him on the street. He wonders if that's why people have families. To belong to something. When Mark arrives at his desk, he puts on his headphones and cracks his knuckles. He'll find out how the kid did it today. And if Eduardo still hates him, after all these years, maybe Mark can report the breach to the police. It's the asshole thing to do, but it might make Eduardo look at him again, if only with that disappointed, betrayed look he had throughout the whole deposition process. He wonders if it would be worth it anyway.
Someone bumps into Mark and he has to shuffle a step to the side, and that's the moment the boy looks up and catches Mark's gaze. His eyes widen, disbelief visible for a split second before the corners of his lips turn up in a smirk. Mark's gaze jumps to Eduardo, who hasn't noticed anything yet. He's busy searching his jacket pockets and then there's only a few feet separating them, and the boy says in a surprisingly high voice, "Dad." Eduardo's chin rocks up at the word, search forgotten. He follows Jay's line of vision to find Mark. Mark feels his stomach drop, a feeling similar to when he'd first held a presentation before thousands of unfamiliar faces. This should be easier, but it really isn't. He fights not to let any of it show on his face, stuffs his hands into his jeans, and says, "Hey," in the calmest voice he can manage. Eduardo just stares for a while. His face hasn't lost any of its expressiveness, and Mark can see him run through a roller coaster of emotions before he settles on a mix of curiosity and surprise and asks, "Mark. What are you doing here?" He doesn't sound accusatory. Maybe he thinks Mark's here to catch a flight to some lonely island nation where he'll never have to be in a similarly awkward situation ever again. Mark would like that, if he had the choice. But the problem is that he has no idea how not to be here. He can't say that,, so he tells the other truth. "Your kid hacked into the Facebook mainframe." Eduardo whips around to Jay so fast Mark has trouble following, furious. "You did what?" he asks, and Jay shrinks, his eyes widening to an impossible size. Mark can suddenly see the resemblance. "I didn't mess anything up," Jay protests. "And I didn't leave any traces, so there'll be no trouble." "Wouldn't be too sure about that," Mark quips. Jay turns to him, eyebrows high. "What?" Before they can get into it, Eduardo steps forward. His face is red and he looks like he'd rather be anywhere but here, but to his credit, he looks Mark in the eye when he says, "I am so sorry about this. I have no idea how big the damage is, but -" "Dad, I didn't do -" "Don't even," Eduardo warns. "Jesus, Jay, you are in so much trouble." They're making quite a scene in the middle of the airport, which wasn't Mark's plan. "Look, maybe we should move this somewhere else, get out of the airport," he says. "People are starting to stare." Eduardo glances around and when he realizes Mark's right, he agrees quickly and waves in the direction of the exit out front. When they start to walk towards it, he says, "Look, Mark -" "It's actually fine," Mark interrupts him. "I didn't mean to imply anything." Eduardo gives him an unsure look. "I'm serious, it's fine. Well, Facebook was down for a few hours, but one could argue that was my own fault. And I did find some possible traces, incidentally, but that's not how I found out who was responsible." "How'd you find out?" "Dustin." Eduardo swears and flicks a glare back at Jay. "Dustin's in on this?" "And he sent me a text," Mark adds. "Who, Dustin?" "No. Your - he did." Mark nods his head towards Jay. "I did," Jay agrees from somewhere behind them, trailing them sullenly. "See, it's not at all like that time with the CIA. Also, for your information, Mr. Zuckerberg, I'm a girl." Mark blinks and turns his head. He's not sure how old the kid - she is, but probably not old enough for boobs... and he has a feeling Eduardo would castrate him if he looked there, anyway, so he doesn't. Mostly, he has trouble wrapping his head around the fact that a little girl got past all his security. When Eduardo snorts, half-grin spreading across his face, almost like he's reading Mark's mind, Mark finds that he cannot stop staring, warmth blossoming in his chest.
Jay huffs. "I have no idea how you could think I wouldn't find out what happened with Facebook a few years ago. I asked around, I looked up things. It wasn't hard." Mark sneaks a glance at Eduardo's face. There's something achingly soft about his gaze suddenly, something like regret. It makes Mark's chest feel tight, so he looks away. When Eduardo says, "Can we talk about this later?" his face has already shuttered close again, expression cool. "Mark - I'm sorry Jay dragged you out here, but you shouldn't have come. And if you're not going to share any details about what you want, we've got to get going. I have a business meeting in the morning and we're both tired from the flight." He does look tired. He always did after flying out to California, too, back when he was still CFO. Mark bites his lip. "I drove here. I could drop you off." Eduardo looks surprised at the offer. "Why?" Mark shrugs. "Right." Eduardo swallows. "Right. Well, if it's all the same to you." He awkwardly grabs for the handle of his suitcase. "Then the offer is appreciated. Thank you." He's trying to be an adult about this, Mark realizes. Wardo's not all right, and he hasn't forgotten what happened, otherwise he wouldn't be so dismissive; but being a good role model to the kid is more important than having a fit about something they did when they were teenagers. It's both disheartening and a relief at the same time. Mark pulls himself together and takes out his car keys. "Over there," he points out, and starts off towards the parking lot. Halfway to the car he remembers how in movies, people always offer to take other people's things, but neither of them looks like they'd appreciate it if he took their suitcases off them, so he keeps quiet. The silence is stilted and uncomfortable by the time they're getting themselves into their seats. Jay's in the back, playing around with her phone, and Eduardo's staring straight ahead. Mark turns on the engine wordlessly and starts driving. "Which hotel?" he asks once they're out of the airport traffic and heading towards Palo Alto. "Harbor Court, downtown San Francisco," Eduardo says. "It's pretty far out of your way. Are you sure you want to drive there?" "It's fine," Mark says. Eduardo closes his mouth and leans back into the seat. In the back, Jay makes a noise of protest. When no one asks what's going on, she says, in a tone of voice Mark typically associates with bratty children all over the world, "I really hate hotels." It makes Eduardo wince guiltily and Mark can feel the triumph radiate from Jay at the movement. Suddenly he gets what's going on. In general, Mark is fairly ambivalent regarding children. He gets that they like it when he talks to them like they're adults, and most kids are fun to be around when they're not being needy or whiny; they have all these ideas and opinions they are unabashedly honest about. But he has difficulty reading them when they look at him expectantly, and he gets frustrated when they do get needy or whiny. This deal, though, he knows. This deal he used enough times on his own parents to get what he wanted when he was a kid. "Sweetheart," Eduardo starts. "It's just a few days." "They never have enough bandwidth at these places, so I won't be able to do my homework." "I'll ask the manager if they can do something about it. C'mon, don't be like that." Jay leans forward, putting her chin on Eduardo's seat cushion. Her lower lip's jutted out. "I'll be bored to death. They never have any good video games. I'm not six, I don't want to play Disney Princess games." "Jay, you're not playing Halo again until you're fourteen." And now the ace up her sleeve, Mark thinks. "I'm missing fencing class tonight!" Eduardo winces again, this time for another reason entirely. Mark turns his head to give him a look, and earns himself a sharp, "Eyes on the road, Mark." "Fencing class?" Mark asks. "It's a popular activity for kids in Singapore." "It's really not. But we were talking about how much hotels suck," Jay reminds them, eyes dancing. Mark bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling. "I have really good bandwidth," he says nonchalantly, as if it just occurred to him. "No," Eduardo says. "And a lot of video games -" "You can't -" "- that are age-appropriate, but still cool." "Mark." "I wrote a fencing program for my Kinnect." "Ward - Dad. Please? That sounds way better than the hotel. Can we please go? I promise I won't try to get the latest NASA space rocket to launch early if we stay at Mr. Zuckerberg's place." "Oh, well, if you promise," Eduardo deadpans. Mark smirks. "Stop smirking, you bastard," Eduardo orders him, but the sharpness is gone from his voice. "You can call me Mark, Jay," Mark says magnanimously. Eduardo lets his head fall back into the cushion with an exasperated, "Fuck." Jay gasps. Mark hides his smirk better this time, because getting an elbow to the side while driving is dangerous, and also, it hurts. He takes the next exit off the 101, heading home.
"Jay," Eduardo chastises. He glances at Mark, looking uncomfortable and possibly a little underwhelmed himself. Mark smirks. "It's bigger on the inside." Jay makes a choked-off sound that's half-laugh, half-groan and slips inside. When Mark turns to check on Eduardo, he meets a startled gaze. "What?" he asks defensively. "We watched that show ten years ago," Eduardo says. Mark shrugs. "I have a good memory." In college, he always pretended to disdain Doctor Who for its cheesy messages and incorrect science, no matter how much the other guys loved it (or maybe because of that). He doesn't say that he has all the DVDs now, just because he knows the British accents used to turn Eduardo on. There's a crash inside the house, then a muttered, "Whoops." Eduardo's face turns red and panicked. "Everything's fine!" Jay calls from the living room. "Sorry, Mark!" Mark snorts. "Don't worry about it. Here, this way." He leads the way to two adjoining rooms, one of which is a guest room, the other of which is a small office that holds a pull-out couch. "This really isn't necessary," Eduardo tells him. "It's fine," Mark says. "You've said that multiple times. Mark. Stop. Look at me." Mark stops and looks at him. It's not like he has much choice anyway, since they're inside the guest room and there's nowhere else for him to go. Eduardo looks serious, and kind of heart-broken. Mark wants to do something about that, but he doesn't know what. He doesn't know what Eduardo sees when he looks at Mark, but it makes him sad that he can still make Eduardo feel this upset. "Mark, why are you doing this?" Eduardo asks quietly. "You hate hotels," Mark reminds him. "Not anymore." "Right." Mark doesn't manage to suppress the disbelieving smirk, and he knows before Eduardo can say anything that he's managed to piss him off. "This was a bad idea," Eduardo says, as if on cue, and he sounds annoyed at himself. "We should go, the hotel's -" "Sorry," Mark apologizes quickly. "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to make you angry." "Why are you doing this, Mark? I really don't get you at all. We haven't seen each other in forever. And all of the sudden, we're just… here?" Mark has no idea what to say to that. He can't tell him that he'd have done this a lot sooner if he'd thought Eduardo would be receptive, that he all but jumped at the chance when it presented itself. He doesn't want Eduardo to tell him to fuck off, that there's no chance of this ever happening. Whatever this is. Thankfully, he's saved from replying by Jay, who comes running into the room, out of breath, holding up Mark's home-built laser gun. "Oh my god, Wardo, look what I found in Mark's living room!"
So Mark goes up to his room and codes for an hour. When his stomach starts rumbling, he realizes he hasn't eaten all day, so he gets up to go to the kitchen. Down the stairs, he hears hushed, agitated voices coming from Eduardo's room. He's tempted for a second to listen what that's about, but decides not to, and heads for the fridge instead, hoping there will be some eggs left. He doesn't want to hear Eduardo explaining to the kid what happened between them, if that's what they're talking about. It's not like he can go and say, 'That's not how it went!' whenever Eduardo gets facts wrong, or 'That's not what that was all about' whenever Eduardo doesn't understand. He also doesn't know what Eduardo can add that Jay hasn't already read on the internet. Or heard from other nosy, interfering people, for that matter, he realizes when his phone buzzes with a message from Dustin. The eggs are in the frying pan at that point, crackling quietly, so he reads, 'Everyone alive over there?' He types back, 'Who're you guessing is dead?' 'Chris's betting on you. 'm all Eduardo cuz I know you own a laser gun har har' Mark remembers Jay playing with her phone in the car. 'U texting with the kid?' he writes out, and then realizes his eggs are burning. At this point, he's used to it enough to almost like his food this way. Dustin replies within seconds. 'Be careful. she's too smart for her own good. don't let her push you around.' Mark doesn't reply to that one. He's not good at figuring out what people aren't saying, but even he can see the implications in this. He eats his eggs slowly and tries to decide if he even wants them to stay long enough to give her the opportunity to try. Dustin obviously expects this to end in a big group hug, but Mark's not the optimist Dustin is. And he can read Eduardo pretty well, even after all this time. He already knows Eduardo's not going to make this easy. |
