giving up the gun (3/3)
To: christi.hughes@harvard.edu
From: dmosk@facebook.com
Subject: celebrate good times, come on!
I feel like it's time for a viewing of When Harry Met Sally. Yes/yes?
To: dmosk@facebook.com
From: christi.hughes@harvard.edu
Subject: you are a strange person
And why will we be watching your happy place movie?
To: christi.hughes@harvard.edu
From: dmosk@facebook.com
Subject: he's her *lobster*
I don't know what happened yesterday between Mark and Wardo but clearly it was something good, because 1., you were able to come over to my place last night, 2., there's nothing troublesome on the internet so far, and 3., Mark is behaving like a normal person and hasn't used her emotionally disturbed robot face or creepy-ass stare at all this morning even though I accidentally dropped a cheeto or five on her head.
I mean, it isn't noon yet, but I have high hopes.
To: dmosk@facebook.com
From: christi.hughes@harvard.edu
Subject: please stop with the pop culture references
I would have been able to find out what happened between them if you hadn't dragged me away to your man-cave for ravishing.
To: christi.hughes@harvard.edu
From: dmosk@facebook.com
Subject: neverrrrrrr
Yeah, and you minded that so much.
To: dmosk@facebook.com
From: christi.hughes@harvard.edu
Subject: I am just saying
If I didn't actually love you, I would be calling your mother to tell her about your four-foot-tall pile of laundry and the phallic structure composed entirely of duct tape and beer cans.
To: dmosk@facebook.com
From: christi.hughes@harvard.edu
Subject: offense!
It's a good thing you love me then ;)
xoxo
PS: and that statue will never not be awesome, just saying.
To: christi.hughes@harvard.edu
From: mark@facebook.com
Subject: [blank]
I don't know what's going on in your and Dustin's emails that's making him look so gleefully smug, but it's both distracting me and terrifying the interns.
To: mark@facebook.com
From: christi.hughes@harvard.edu
Subject: Re: [blank]
He signed his last email with a winking emoticon and an xoxo. I don't even know.
-
It's kind of an old joke that Mark can only comprehend things if they're written out in code. It's an old joke, starting from when she was in high school, and it's one that fucking gets on her nerves. She might not be good with emotions, but she does know that they exist. It's just that with code, everything is defined. If you don't define a variable, there's an error. It's as simple as that.
Eduardo understands numbers; Eduardo understands the weather. Chris understands old books and old English. Dustin understands people so intrinsically that in another life, he would have been a damn good therapist. And yet they all turn to things that they don't understand when things get going. Eduardo turns to words to help him express what he feels.
Mark can't do that.
She opens up CodeBlocks and begins to type:
#include
using namespace std;
int main()
{
int mark, wardo;
int result;
wardo = 2;
mark = 1;
mark = mark+1;
result = mark - wardo;
}
And there, on the page, that's something that makes sense to her. If she is this one thing, and Eduardo is this other thing, if they are defined as such, then when she hits F9 and the program runs, the result of mark - wardo is zero.
Dustin said he dreamed in code once and it terrified him. Mark said she thought it sounded peaceful. Dustin had called her disturbed.
If she were to send to Eduardo, she doubts he would understand.
It's sad. Look how simple it is, look how beautiful.
-
Dustin takes Eduardo out for a beer, because man does he look like he needs one. They're both underage but it's okay, there are places that will let them in even though Dustin's pretty sure that both their faces have been plastered across, like, Forbes or Gawker or maybe even the New York Times, something awful like that that shows how ridiculous this all is.
"So, Wardo," Dustin says, after he's ordered for both of them. "How're you?"
Eduardo fixes him with a glare. "Like shit," he says hoarsely. "What did you think?"
"I thought you and Mark were talking," Dustin says. "If not, you can talk to me. Man to man, because we are men and that is what we do in times of distress."
Eduardo looks skeptical, like a I thought men went to strip clubs and watched other men chase around a ball on a field when they are in a period of distress kind of skepticism.
"I can prove it!" Dustin insists. He takes a sip of his drink. "Okay, so I was spying on Mark earlier today, and she was writing code with your name in it."
"And you know this how?"
"Stole her laptop when she went to the bathroom to throw up," Dustin responds easily. "She's having problems putting everything into terms that she can understand."
"She wasn't earlier."
"Like I said," Dustin shrugs, "you're both fucking idiots. God, Wardo-- stop thinking about this in terms of the company, in terms of the dilution, or lawsuit, or even in terms of Mark. Maybe think about it, like, you're going to be having a baby together. Maybe it doesn't feel real to you yet, cause you haven't really been here, you've been lawsuiting up, but it's definitely real to Mark. She's been puking and going to doctor's appointments and seeing her body warp freakishly for weeks now, like, I wasn't actively trying to stare at her chest but there's definitely action happening there. And she's totally going to deny it, but she has a scan of the ultrasound saved to her computer desktop."
Eduardo blinks. Dustin feels like he's done his job.
"You're both so dumb," he sighs, "and dancing around each other like wounded animals-- I get that you're hurt and angry, but you both keep doing it to each other. Stop going in circles."
Eduardo's eyes are large and limpid, dark and injured-looking, but he doesn't say no.
They both get really, really drunk.
-
Eduardo (22:38) ii dont ahte yuo
Mark (22:43) what
Eduardo (22:45) i thout you shldd knwo that i doknt hate u
Mark (22:46) are you drunk eduardo?
Eduardo (22:47) yessssss
Eduardo (22:47) dustin fownd me
Eduardo (22:47) does foiund have a w in it?????
Mark (22:50) so youre not mad at me anymore?
Eduardo (22:52) no i jsut dont hate u bit i m still verry veryy mad
Mark (22:54) okay.
-
Eduardo has a very bad hangover the next morning.
-
Sy calls Mark at ten in the morning.
"I'm glad I caught you before you left," he says. "I tried your assistant, but she told me you were busy."
Mark blinks at the screen and hits Control+S. "I was. I mean, I am. Why are you calling?"
"There's no hearing today."
"What?"
Sy clears his throat. "Yeah, it's been changed. Gretchen told me that Eduardo's asked for it to be delayed for, let's see, delayed for eight days." There's rustling as he presumably checks the date; Sy likes having things in front of him, on paper and printed with ink. "Eight days, that's right."
Eight days, Mark thinks. That's after the doctor's appointment. That gives her some time.
"That's fine with me," she says. "Thank you for calling. I need to get back to work now."
"Of course, of course. We'll adjust our meetings accordingly; don't worry. I'll email you with the relevant details."
"Thanks, okay. Bye." She hangs up.
So that's interesting.
-
To: esaverin@gmail.com
From: dmosk@facebook.com
Subject: i have heard interesting things
You delayed more hearings IS IT TRUE LOVE
To: dmosk@facebook.com
From: esaverin@gmail.com
Subject: are you high?
I know we got drunk last night but I thought even you knew better than to smoke pot at work.
To: esaverin@gmail.com
From: dmosk@facebook.com
Subject: i am not high
I am EXCITED
To: dmosk@facebook.com
From: esaverin@gmail.com
Subject: um
Dustin, you know this doesn't mean anything except that I am concerned for the health of my unborn child.
To: esaverin@gmail.com
From: dmosk@facebook.com
Subject: i do not care
I am EXCITED
TRUE LOVE
To: dmosk@facebook.com
From: esaverin@gmail.com
Subject: you
I'm beating a dead horse with this, am I not.
To: esaverin@gmail.com
From: dmosk@facebook.com
Subject: me
Yup!
-
Mark's doctor is a nice woman. Her mother found her the practice originally, using contacts she has from med school. Doctor Cohen has a bachelors of science and a degree in the classics from Wellesley, and then went on to become an OB/GYN. She speaks Latin and Greek and also knows the name of every bone in the human foot; she'd said it could be useful some time. So Mark appreciates that.
When Mark shows up in her office trailing Eduardo, a half-eaten box of Frosted Flakes, and several laptop wires, she doesn't even blink.
"Mr. Saverin, I presume?" Doctor Cohen holds out her hand for Eduardo to shake. He looks kind of flustered but takes it anyways, trying not to drop anything.
"Uh, yeah, nice to meet-- er, is there somewhere I can put all this?" She nods her head at an empty chair and Eduardo looks a little relieved. "Thanks. So I guess Mark's told you about me?" He places everything down carefully and the doctor responds.
"We require a medical history, Mr. Saverin. When Ms. Zuckerberg told me she was pregnant, I asked for the name of the father and she told me. She was able to provide some of the necessary information but there's more I'll need from you, just to be thorough."
"Right." Eduardo's hand goes to his hair. "I'll be happy to fill out anything you need."
She smiles. "Excellent, much appreciated. Okay, I'll just leave the room while you change and get on the table, Mark. Be back in a minute."
She leaves the room, closing the door noiselessly, and Eduardo spins to look at Mark. "Change?"
"Yeah, I need to put on the paper gown and get in the stirrups and everything so she can examine me-- haven't you ever watched any medically-themed porn, Wardo? We spent most of our free time with Dustin in college, it would be impossible for you to have not."
"Mark." He pinches the bridge of his nose.
Her response is quiet. "It's the doctor's office. What did you think was going to happen? Besides, you've seen me naked before, that was kind of a prerequisite to the pregnancy. Unless we were orthodox Jews, which I'm pretty sure we aren't, okay."
"It's awkward."
"So turn around. And once I'm done you can stay near my head and away from my genitalia. It's honestly not that difficult."
He does and after a few moments, Mark is on the exam table and Doctor Cohen is knocking on the door.
"Now," she says briskly, pulling on clean gloves. "As this is Mr. Saverin's first time here, I was wondering if he would like to hear the fetal heartbeat before we do your internal exam?"
Mark nods. "Go ahead."
Eduardo puts up a hand. "I don't need to--"
Mark grabs it and forces it down. "No, seriously Wardo, you're going to want to hear this."
It shouldn't be anything really, it's just a fast-running thump and a blurry image on the screen, something he's seen in dozens of episodes of TV shows, but he hears the heartbeat, healthy, and Eduardo remembers what Mark said only a week ago, I have this constant reminder of you with me, all the time and it hits him hard, hits him upside the head that this is real, and just-- "oh," he breathes out, shocked and absolutely, wonderfully, totally thrown.
"I'll just give you two a moment alone," the doctor says, excusing herself. The door clicks shut.
"I-- yeah. It would be really hard not to fall in love with her, I've found." Mark's voice is tentative, a little questioning, and Eduardo smiles.
"I know what you mean," he says and slowly, carefully, he presses a kiss to the top of her head.
-
Eduardo drives Mark back to her house. It's late enough in the afternoon that she can reason herself away from work and his innate chivalry won't let him abandon her at a bus stop.
"You're not going to want to," Mark says, once they've parked and he's walked her up the path to the door, "but if you'd like, you're welcome to come in."
Eduardo puts his hands in his pockets. He steels himself. But he doesn't do it well enough because it only takes a step forward, half a second and a heartbeat, until Mark is so close that their noses would be touching if it weren't for the height difference.
Her voice is small. "Wardo," she says, and she reaches out a hand to touch his wrist.
He splays his hand over her shoulder, feels the warmth of her skin underneath the coarse fabric of her shirt, lets it seep into him. Her body has never been cold, he remembers from nights spent in Kirkland, seeping up her warmth. "Mark," he says, and it's just their names, it's nothing more, but it only takes another instant before they are kissing, before he is taking that warmth and making it his.
"Okay," Mark breathes out, "so I think you should definitely come inside."
Eduardo laughs and she opens the door, fumbling slightly with the keys, and then they're inside and her back is to the wall, Eduardo is kissing her like he hasn't ever done it before, like he didn't do it a million times at Harvard, and she drops her bag to the floor. It hits the ground with a sharp thunk.
"I'm still suing you," he manages to gasp out, but Mark is busy untucking his dress shirt and his hands are sliding up her back, fiddling with her bra strap until it finally unhooks, and once she's gotten his shirt untucked she moves onto his belt, deftly working it out, and it's like nothing matters, like nothing has even changed.
"Good," Mark says, and pulls him toward the bedroom. "That's fine with me."
And then they're up the stairs and on the bed, she shimmies out of her underwear, and she's whispering that he needs to touch her again, that she wants him, that she needs him now, right now, and there's absolutely no way that Eduardo can resist that. He cups her breast and kisses a wet line down over the convex curve of her stomach, tasting the salt on her skin, Mark's hand twists in his hair and pulls, and it's exactly the same and different from what he remembers, but it means what it always did. Always will, something inside of him says, but then Mark's hand finds its way to a very interesting place and Eduardo ceases to think at all.
-
Dustin stops by with dinner. Mark's pretty sure that he's appointed himself her personal chef, and she knows for a fact that he's read several articles on the internet about nutrition during pregnancy because she has had kale three times in the past seven days, and that is three times too many.
Mark answers the door, delightfully rumpled and in Eduardo's button-down and cotton drawstring shorts, the only pair she has left that fit easily over her belly. She should probably go clothes shopping before she's forced to wear a dress to work.
Dustin eyes her suspiciously, not even greeting her before speaking. "You have sex hair."
Mark feels her curls. They're definitely more messy than usual. "No I don't."
"Please," Dustin snorts. "I have seen post-coital you and Wardo god knows how many times. You totally have sex hair."
"Fine, maybe I do. It's not really your business." She tries to peer into the bag he's carrying. "What's for dinner tonight? More things involving brown rice?"
Dustin stares at her. "Mark."
"What?" She tries to take the bag from him, but he refuses. "Do I have a hickey or something?"
"Yes, actually, you do, but Mark."
"What? Dustin, seriously."
He grins suddenly, and it's almost maniacal. "You and Wardo did it! This is-- it's huge!"
"I never knew you cared that much about size before, Moscovitz."
Dustin rolls his eyes. "Ha ha, cheap jokes, very funny, you know what I mean. How'd it happen? Did he say he loves you?"
Mark purses her lips. "Uh, no. He took off my bra, said he was still suing me, and then we fucked our way to the bedroom."
Dustin's eyebrows shoot up. "Wow. Romantic."
"Didn't affect the quality at all," Mark matches his eyebrow raise. "You should come into the kitchen, I'm starving."
Dustin follows her, shutting the door behind him. "I am not your personal chef, you know. I am a highly valued programmer and member of the operating team."
"Your actions tell a different story." She precedes him into the kitchen and slumps down into a chair. "What's up with you?"
"Well, I'm currently disappointed that your great love story totally, like, sucks balls."
Mark rumples his hair. "You're such a good friend, Dustin."
He puts water on to boil and begins dicing an onion. Mark watches the knife go up and down, oddly hypnotic and soothing. "I really am."
-
Mark wants something real. Mark wants something solid, something with a skeleton of steel and a cast-iron body, something built from the inside out and substantial.
What is going on now is so insubstantial it's barely worth mentioning. It's tentative, and maddening, and everything about it is reminiscent of the first few days after they hooked up at Harvard, unsure and hesitant but still wanting.
It's awkward. She's done with awkward, now. Her body is becoming awkward the more pregnant she gets; not that she's really showing the way her mom says she will in a month or two, but she's not the skinny, twitchy-limbed iteration of herself she's always been most comfortable with anymore. Eduardo doesn't mind the changes, but who really would disparage having bigger tits? But if her body is going to do that she doesn't want anything else to.
And then there's other things. There's the lawsuit. He hasn't dropped the case, and there's a pretty loud part of Mark that doesn't want him to. She wants Eduardo to get what he's due, if only because he's going to be stuck with her one way or another for the next eighteen years and this seems only fair. This seems like it's the only way to make it fair, legally and securely.
The deposition is moved back another four days, because both their lawyers are working on other cases, easier cases, but they take up time. Marylin Delpy is the one to email Mark about it, adds a hope you're all right with this at the bottom, but Mark knows that she's really asking if Mark herself is okay. So she emails back and writes yes, no problem, everything is good and hopes it will reassure.
In the mean time, she has sex. The universe keeps giving them time and Eduardo has a hotel room so they take advantage of it one night, make out sloppily in the elevator and then barely manage to get down the hallway to his door, spending unnecessary minutes fumbling with the key card like they're drunk (and they're not, of course, but it feels like they should be anyways) like this is all new, even though it really, really isn't. They have sex in her kitchen, over the nice wooden table that Mark's mom always comments on when she visits. They make up for months of lost time and misunderstanding.
The lawsuit better fucking settle, Mark thinks, as Eduardo grips her waist as he pushes into her, breathing harshly against her neck, nipping at her collarbone. She'll think of this at the deposition, ghost her finger over the marks he'll leave and see him blush, throw him off-track.
(They're probably both still a little angry. The peace they have is a cold war peace, one where both sides have nuclear weapons and trigger-happy hands.
Not that she isn't still sorry. You can forgive someone and still be utterly pissed at them, and Eduardo knows it too).
Dustin remarks on her sex hair and love bites and everything else enough that Mark has to remind him that hey, he hasn't gotten any in like a fortnight because his girlfriend is on another fucking coast. Not that she doesn't wish Chris was over here in California-- because she does, she needs to talk to her about Eduardo and pregnancy and awkwardness, she needs her best girl friend because her young female lawyer is in no way a replacement-- but it's a valid point, like, you're a newly registered monk and I'm getting the hot Jewish-Brazilian sex every night. And sometimes during the day.
She doesn't really want the depositions to start again. She doesn't want to see Eduardo sitting across from her like that ever again. Every time they fuck they make their situation a little more complicated, a little harder to unravel.
Mark can't wait to start things up with the Winkleveii again, though. That's one fight she's just itching to win.
-
To: christi.hughes@harvard.edu
From: dmosk@facebook.com
Subject: a whole new world
okay so it's not true love forever and ever just yet
but they're getting there
i think.
it's all about the journey
-
From: christi.hughes@harvard.edu
To: mark@facebook.com
Subject: you and Eduardo
Talk to him, Mark.
I sincerely cannot stress this enough.
-
Mark takes a deep breath.
She remembers when she was thirteen and pretty much just this concentrated ball of anger and hormones, all the time, pissed off at everyone except for her six year old brother, and that's only because it's hard to stay constantly mad at a chubby little kid with a lisp who looks at you with total adoration in his eyes. She remembers how her mom always told her, take a deep breath and take a moment before you say anything, just in case. Count to ten if you have to. Count to ten in Latin if it's really that bad. Don't say anything you know that you'll regret.
It's advice that's served her well over the past five or six years, when she was first talking to the Winklevoss twins and they were being condescending, sexist asshats, when she was confronted with dickish tenure-track professors at Harvard who didn't believe that yes, she had done all that work all on her own. Even when she was up against the Ad Board-- well, in essence, anyways.
And she's going to use it now.
"Eduardo," Mark says, like the mature, one-year-away-from-legal-adulthood grown-up she is. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"
There's something in Eduardo's face that never used to be there in this sort of situation, something that Mark's pretty sure she recognizes as hope.
"Yeah," he says, and makes room for her on the couch. "Okay, yeah, let's give it a try."
Mark breathes again, yoga breaths that Dustin taught her one day, on the advice of a Cosmo magazine he found in the common room some afternoon during finals week.
"I want to give you an explanation," she says, and sits next to him, resisting the urge to cuddle into his side.
"My lawyers are going to rake me over hot coals," Wardo murmurs, his voice reverberating, but it's definitely good-natured. So far everything is going well. Alright.
"Gretchen is kind of terrifying," Mark responds, "but, uh, that's something for a different time. Look, it's just, we could argue forever about who left who, and we can and could spend tens of thousands of dollars in legal fees trying to establish that. And I acted stupidly, and so did you-- we know each other too well, Wardo, it was dumb."
"Okay," Wardo says, cautious but not angry yet.
"And you have every right to be angry at me, not just for the dilution but also for not telling you about the baby until like ten days ago, though I hope I've made up for that recently, just a little, and I want you to be with me for the rest of it, I need you with me for the rest of it, actually, because there is no way I'm letting Dustin anywhere near a delivery room. But I can defend diluting your shares, and I do, to investors and to, uhm, to myself. I thought about it a lot after it happened. Except I can't win that argument with myself. I can win it when I pretend it's other people, or that it's in a textbook, like reading about the Sherman Antitrust Act or something, but it's not like that. It's you and me, and it was personal, and it was such a dick move. You, you're my best friend, you don't do that to your best friend. And I suck at being a friend, you're like a hundred times better at friendship than I am, but it's something even I should have known. So please be angry at me for that, you have every right, but I am just asking you, please don't hate me for it. And I'm talking about how you feel when you're sober. Please, Wardo." Mark exhales, shakily, and allows herself to relax into him, hoping that he won't push her away.
He doesn't. He smiles, and kisses her, and even if the wound isn't fully healed at least they're not spitefully picking off the scab before everything is ready to be exposed to air.
"The lawsuit--" Mark begins, but Eduardo shushes her.
"Later," he says, "we have time, later."
She goes for a different tack. "Okay, Dustin dropped off a baby name book earlier, and I know I said I wanted to name her Ada, after Ada Lovelace, but if you're opposed--"
"Ada's good," Eduardo says, "and a good role model for our daughter to look up too--" and somewhere, Mark just knows, Dustin is crowing 'I told you so', "but she's going to need a middle name."
"Zuckerberg-Saverin is the worst hyphenate ever," Mark grumbles, as Eduardo fishes out the book and begins flipping through the pages.
-
From: dmosk@facebook.com
To: mark@facebook.com
Subject: BABY NAMES!
Kaylee
River
Inara
Saffron
Mal
Jayne
Zoe
Serenity
all brilliant, am I right
From: mark@facebook.com
To: dmosk@facebook.com
Subject: we discussed this already
Dustin, the show is barely off the air, okay. there could still be a movie.
besides, Jayne is a man's name. as is Mal. and Inara is a space hooker. and River's crazy. and Saffron's a space hooker and a criminal. and Serenity is the name of the SHIP.
Wardo would not agree that any of them are good role models for his daughter, plus we are not going to raise her to be a spaceship either, she is a living breathing human being.
From: dmosk@facebook.com
To: mark@facebook.com
Subject: my heart will go on
AHAHAHA that's how you got him to agree to naming the kid ada, bc she was the first computer programmer and a good role model!
omg you are an evil mastermind. and dustie is still a really good middle name for a girl. like dusty springfield, but hipper. ada dustie saverberg. zuckerin?
From: mark@facebook.com
To: dmosk@facebook.com
Subject: go code or something
I will never name my child after you.
-
The next thing to figure out is, of course, the lawsuit. They both have to explain the past fortnight to their lawyers, though Mark would wager that her conversation is a lot simpler to undertake. It's pretty easy to explain that while Eduardo is still suing her (and she wants him to get his fair share, because he deserves it), she isn't his number one enemy. And Sy is definitely relieved that there isn't going to be a messy custody suit, so that makes up for any other number of sins.
Marylin even gives her a hug. Mark stands stiff as a board; she can't allow herself to relax through it.
"Good for you," Marylin says, and even Mark can tell she means it.
-
From: dmosk@facebook.com
To: christi.hughes@harvard.edu
Subject: deep breaths
I think they're actually going to be okay.
From: christi.hughes@harvard.edu
To: dmosk@facebook.com
Subject: Re: deep breaths
Yes. I do too.
-
Mark doesn't really like being pregnant.
She discovers that she liked her body the way it was before, with pale skin and loose limbs and a flat stomach from lack of consistent eating habits rather than exercise. She liked the way it was at Harvard, stealing Eduardo's t-shirts and curling up against him with her laptop, nothing in her way and nothing stopping her.
She still steals his shirts, of course, but now they stretch and expand over her stomach. She practically ruins one of his AEPi shirts because of her chest (she has significant boobs now, which is just-- strange and offputting), but it was old and worn and comfortable and he tells her that he doesn't really mind.
"Aren't you supposed to be at school?" Mark asks, a week after the rescheduled deposition. "You've been out here for practically a month."
Eduardo takes a deep breath. "I had to take a semester off," he explains, "because of the lawsuit. I was going to do summer credits to make up for it so I could graduate on time, and I know it's not-- don't say anything, it was what my advisor told me that I had to do if I didn't want to fail out. And then the discovery for the lawsuit moved so much faster than I had thought it would."
She bites her lip, restrains the unsavory thoughts that jump into her mind. "Yeah, I know. But what about, you know, everything else?"
Wardo wraps an arm around her. There's still a little bit of Mark that wants to automatically stiffen her spine, like she did when they first started sleeping together and being affectionate where other people can see them. It's not an intentional response, but it happens.
His thumb starts stroking over her collarbone. "I don't know," he says. "There's Stanford out here, but--"
"But Harvard is Harvard. I know. If Facebook keeps growing, and it will, now that we have money and we keep getting more, then I probably can't go back, with or without a baby."
"But it's less important to you," Eduardo comments. Mark nods.
"And my family too, they understand. I think they understand." She shifts a little. "My hip is cramping up."
"We can talk about the future later," Eduardo says. "I don't have to make any decisions for another month or two."
"Okay." His other hands presses into her hip and begins massaging away the cramp. She missed him touching her. "That's fine with me."
He kisses her. She missed that too. "Good."
It's odd, how they fall back into their rhythms, even though everything is a little more hesitant than before. But it isn't bad. Not yet.
Maybe it won't ever turn sour. Maybe this time it'll all work out.
Maybe this time, it'll be better than it ever was before.
Mark really hopes so.
(you felt the coming wave-- told me we'd all be brave-- you said you wouldn't flinch.
but in the years that passed-- since I saw you last-- you haven't moved an inch.
your sword's grown old and rusty, burnt beneath the rising sun.
it's locked up like a trophy, forgetting all the things it's done.
and though it's been a long time, you're right back where you started from
I see it in your eyes, that now you're giving up the gun
I see you shining your way
go on, go on
go on
-vampire weekend.)