The Social Network - "Pangaea" - Mark/Eduardo 2/3
Title: Pangaea (Jurassic Park AU)
Fandom: The Social Network (Mark Zuckerberg/Eduardo Saverin)
25,000 words | NC-17 |
Eduardo sleeps like the dead the first few nights. His quarters aren’t exactly spacious but they are certainly state of the art. It isn’t dissimilar to staying in a hotel room or even an incredibly clean, new version of the Kirkland dorm suites.
The one godsend is the air conditioning unit. Eduardo is theoretically used to the tropical heat of Brazil and Florida, but it seems like his sojourn in Harvard has taken the edge off his tolerance for temperate climes. Unfortunately the remote for said air conditioning is like something out of Mark’s Star Trek collection. There are so many buttons and all the little indicative pictures pretty much look like blobs or illustrations of arrows doing creepy things to boxes and circles and other arrows.
In the end Eduardo has to call Dustin -
(on his cell, because he doesn’t totally get how the internal phone system works yet. This is something he is going to have to quietly quiz his intern on...when he figures out who his intern is. And stops said intern from taking all the files out of his inbox and completing them before Eduardo even manages to get into his office in the morning.
Apparently Mark has set up twenty-four hour shift rotations for admin as well as scientists, an accomplishment so ludicrous he could only believe it of Mark. This level of persuasion or dedication - or fear - is something unprecedented. If word gets out, Mark will probably start getting some pretty hefty HR management offers.
Eduardo is a little uncomfortable about not being able to find his name on any roster or timesheet in admin, or the labs, so he tries to keep to the twelve hour, seven til seven working day he had (allegedly, but not actually) adhered to back in Cambridge.)
- anyhow, he has to call Dustin and trade him a case of beer written off on the accounts in exchange for him having a permanent marker colouring-in session with the buttons essential to not actually melting in the excessive humidity.
Eduardo isn’t sure how Mark is managing to wear hoodies without suffering heatstroke. Eduardo has already reverted to linen and silk despite Dustin’s taunts.
Chris is borrowing shirts by day four, but Eduardo has already put in an order with Hugo Boss for a shipment in Chris and Dustin’s sizes. Dustin is cheap and as much as he loves t-shirts with sloths on the front (which may actually be Mark’s t-shirts sometimes, and Eduardo isn’t sure how that makes him feel), the combined pressures of heat, free clothes and Chris leading by example are totally going to drive him into the arms of breathable fabrics.
Plus Eduardo can’t bear to see any more of his shirts getting stretched out, best friends or not.
Sean, on the other hand, needs no such fashion help. Eduardo knows exactly where Sean Parker’s Prada comes from. Winklevoss bribes and Mark’s success. Which translates somewhat directly to Eduardo’s pockets.
So he tries not to even look at Sean’s shiny Hermes Oxfords. Which is somewhat difficult in the lobby-slash-cafeteria when Sean insists on standing beside him as he methodically chews through cold luncheon meat, a couple of regrettably dry samosas (Dustin proposes, after trying the coleslaw, that eating at the park is like eating at a family member’s birthday party in some respects. There is always that one dish you can’t help but reach for, and subsequently can’t help but regret consuming) and a bowl of canjica. When he sees the serving bowl on the table he immediately thinks of Mark. It is silly. Perhaps someone in catering considered it a necessity at breakfast (Eduardo has certainly missed it since leaving his parent’s home). No one else touches the canjica though, and the next day there is another steaming tureen on the table.
Eduardo takes to grabbing a bowl at meals when the finances are frustrating, when his intern keeps deferring to Mark,
(“Mr. Zuckerberg instructed me to order another bank of servers for the pterosaur programming.”
“But, I never signed off on that. That’s another twenty thousand plus. I told him he would have to slow down and wait for the space to open up on the servers we already have!”
“But, Mr. Zuckerberg already had it shipped-”
“....Excuse me.”)
- and now when Sean Parker stalks him.
“I’m just saying, I could hook you guys up with some Prada. Wouldn’t that be great? Actually, it would look amazing in the next shoot I have lined up with Popular Science. They want to do a feature on how I defected back to you guys, with Mark stealing me with his helicopter and you throwing suitcases at me. They said they’d love to publish a picture of any scars.”
Sean shows the nearest intern the almost invisible puncture scars on his finger.
“I think their angle is to portray me as the new Jeff Goldblum. But way cooler, obviously. And the pay is great. More than enough to get that new Louis Voitton satchel that Peter just emailed me. Except they’re just going to give it to me as a gift, as long as I mention them in the interview. Do you think Mark wants anything? I’ll ask if they have hoodies.”
Eduardo spoons more canjica into his mouth, and chews it careful and slow. He thinks of how many dinosaur embryos Parker could smuggle into the fabulous new Louis Voitton satchel. He thinks about how many of Sean’s severed body parts could be fit into the fabulous new Loius Voitton satchel.
Sean eventually gives up on the chatting and sits down opposite Eduardo.
“The canjica is nice, huh,” he says, tearing open a soft wholemeal roll.
“Excuse me?” Eduardo says, pounding himself on the chest as the porridge slips down his windpipe.
“Did I say it wrong? Shit. Can-JAYY-ica? CanjiKAH?” He amends, gesturing at Eduardo’s bowl with an incline of his head.
“Just...say it like before,” Eduardo says, grimacing. “Do you make a habit of eating Brazilian cuisine?”
“Nope. But the caterers wouldn’t let me try any when I dropped in for breakfast this morning. Said it was ordered especially for you. They make fantastic French toast if you’re up early enough, by the way. Gabriella is a fine woman, she’ll set you up with a stool in the kitchens, just mention my name. Not that you’d need to, sounds like you already have them all wrapped around your little finger in there.”
Eduardo frowns, confused.
He makes a point of poking his head into the kitchens the following morning, which are buzzing with cooks and kitchen hands. A tiny Latina woman bustles over and shakes his hand fiercely, to his surprise.
“Ms. Gabriella?” He guesses slowly, smiling when she nods so hard that her dark bun of hair bounces.
“Mr. Saverin,” she says in accented English.
A tall boy clutching a massive mixing bowl approaches her nervously, and she peers into it and nods imperiously to him to continue stirring whatever it is.
“Habla Espanol, Mr. Saverin?” she asks, hopeful.
“Uh - a little. Hablo Español mal. Muy mal. Terrible. ” Eduardo smiles. “Por favor, llámeme Eduardo.”
She cackles, and slaps her hands on her apron.
“You are very sweet,” she says, in Spanish. “Your young man said as much. Now sit down. I will have that stupid boy Benjamin prepare your canjica and you will tell me how to feed your Mr. Zuckerberg.”
Eduardo tries to act like the professional financier and accountant that his Masters degree insists that he is. This means of a lot of early starts. He stops by the kitchens most mornings around six to pick up something to tide him over. Gabriella isn’t always free to harangue him about his early starts, her hands coated with flour, or swatting poor Benjamin as he burns a grill full of eggs. She manages to sniff at him just as disapprovingly from across the kitchen as he takes satsumas and bread from the baskets and trays on their way into the lobby cafeteria.
He has a feeling that if she had her way, he’d be relegated to bed until mid morning, and then presented with a hearty breakfast in bed. It is an uncomfortable thought.
Despite his best efforts, work is slow. It seems that Mark now tends to simply tell whichever intern is closest what he wants ordered or purchased. By the time Eduardo sifts through his inbox in the morning, interns from the night shift with Mark have already processed most accounts, and written them up just as well could be expected from any finance or economics major.
By lunch, Eduardo is reduced to checking his email
(
+ Christy and the chemists are starting a dinner club;
+ Dustin wants to know who took the Allosaurus figurine from his desk - Miss Tyrannosaurus is lonely!!;
+ Chris wants the staff to stop feeding the herbivores meat for kicks as it is not beneficial to their digestive health;
+ Sean has forwarded scans of his interview in Popular Science to the entire mailing list;
+ An anonymous employee has forwarded a scathing parody of the interview which almost borders on vindictive.
Eduardo has his own suspicions as to who the perpetrator of the latter is, and his money is not on Dustin - despite hearing that the pot resulting from bets on it being him is currently valued in the high hundreds)
- and reorganising his stationery.
Around two in the afternoon at the end of the first fortnight Eduardo knocks over his carefully constructed paperclip and business card skyscraper in a fit of guilty embarrassment, and ventures into the hatching lab.
The doors are still set to open to his touch, something Eduardo is relieved about. He suspects Mark takes some delight in occasionally revoking the access privileges of his less favoured fellow scientists just to see them humiliated in front of their peers. Sean still hasn’t managed to set foot in the chemistry department, despite the siren call that is Christy.
Mark is in an office chair that has been pulled up to the hatching table. His head is pillowed on his arms, almost invisible in the springy straw. The lab is buzzing quietly, a skeleton shift at this hour of the afternoon. Most of the staff shifts are scheduled around the hottest hours of the day that are locally recognised as sleep hours. Trust Mark to spend even those in the middle of his work.
“Hey,” Chris nods to him, bags under his eyes heavy enough to sink a boat. “I’ve got to hit the hay. Are you free?”
Eduardo nods, guilt creeping into his stomach as he watches Chris have to lean against a nearby bench to stay upright. “Are you okay?” he asks uselessly.
“Great.” Chis says, scrubbing his eyes. “Can you just watch the eggs? We need to watch them twenty-four hours a day at this point. If you notice anything - and I mean anything - grab a senior scientist. Or wake Mark.”
Chris looks at Mark and grimaces. “Actually, just wake Mark. He’ll kill me if he misses something, and the interns are too frightened to touch him.”
“You can count on me.” Eduardo promises.
He drags a lab stool over and sets it next to Mark’s.
“Yeah, I think we can, Wardo.” Chris says, giving Eduardo a weak salute on his way out.
It turns out that egg watching is just as boring with live dinosaurs as it is when it concerns merely a couple of chicken eggs in a pot back at Harvard. When he first sits down Eduardo swears he sees a stirring in the straw. He holds his breath for a couple of seconds but eventually has to pass it off as a result of his shaking the table. Mark, on the other hand, is perfectly still. If Eduardo wasn’t familiar with the deep way Mark tends to sleep, he’d be concerned by his silent face-down slumber of the dead.
It’s hard not to want to watch Mark just as carefully as he is the eggs. The pale skin of his neck is just as fragile, and faintly blue-veined, like the eggshells. Just trying to keep his eyes on the nest rather than constantly checking that Mark’s back is still rising in slow breaths is exhausting.
After thirty minutes of observation, Eduardo finds himself imitating Mark’s posture, chin resting on his hands in the nest, chest crushed against the sharp lip of the table. His elbow brushes Mark’s softly.
The table is warm, he notes, shifting on his seat, gazing lazily through the straw, straight into the mass of eggs. Mark has picked a good spot, he thinks approvingly, counting eggs absently. Their egg - that tiny one Mark had insisted he hold - is still nestled in the midst of the others, like a little brother to a whole clutch of big siblings.
He’s just about to drift off himself, cheek pressed into his palms when a warm arm creeps over his back. He jerks guiltily, glancing at the eggs and then at Mark.
“You’re watching the eggs.” Mark says, staring at him with sleep glazed eyes. Eduardo feels Mark’s fingers curl against his back, stroking hot through his shirt.
Eduardo swallows and nods. His mouth is dry, like Mark’s touch has superheated his body to the point where all moisture has evaporated. Eduardo swallows again, unable to open his mouth, unwilling to jolt Mark out of this gentle, half-asleep reverie.
Mark studies him a little longer, eyelids slipping shut occasionally. He rolls slightly to the right, presses his mouth and cheek against Eduardo’s cheek, more of a nuzzle than anything else. He falls asleep again almost immediately.
Natalie comes in an hour or two later to take over Eduardo’s post. She shakes his shoulder softly, though he doesn’t need the rousing. They let Mark lie, and Eduardo can see that she understands like he does that here is where Mark wants to be. He heads back to his quarters, passing out almost as soon as he crawls between the thin sheets.
Eduardo is woken by a terrifying ringtone. He sits bolt upright and it takes him a couple of seconds to realise exactly why that is, and a good ten seconds more to wake up enough for the co-ordinated movement required to reach for his cell.
“I’m going to kill you for making the satellite phone from Jurassic Park my ringtone.” He accuses, assuming correctly that only Dustin or a terrible emergency could make anyone in this place wake him up at two in the morning.
“Save your murderous talk,” Dustin says. Eduardo can hear the grin in his voice. “You better haul ass down to the hatchery, Mark’s super special magic egg is hatching and he is threatening to have it put into suspended animation if you don’t turn up soon.”
Eduardo tucks the phone into his neck and rolls out of bed with a groan.
“Fine. Let me get my pants on.”
“Please don’t talk to me about your lack of clothes over the phone, Wardo. I’m pretty sure Mark has the lines bugged, and I like my balls attached, thank you.”
Eduardo rolls his eyes and hangs up, tossing the phone into his sheets. He fishes an old t-shirt out of his drawer. He’s not sure exactly how messy hatching is supposed to be. His memories of birthing scenes in Jurassic Park mostly revive memories of wrinkly foetuses in green fish tanks and raptors sneaking around - he really hopes Mark hasn’t got him hatching raptors. Probably not. They’re pretty much exclusively Mark and Dustin’s area, just like he assumes the T-rex’s will be (Sean’s objections be damned).
The labs are on the other side of the compound to the sleeping quarters, something everyone had agreed was sensible in the planning stages, but kind of regret now that they have to walk through a kilometre of halls to get to their workstations every day.
Anyone who is anyone seems to have assembled in the hatchery - or at least it seems that way. Realistically, the crowd is probably almost solely night shift science staff, plus Mark, Dustin and Chris. Sean is hovering around, setting up a long line of tanks on his work bench that Eduardo marks as becoming potentially worrisome in the near future.
The egg doesn’t look much different to when he left it with Natalie and Mark. At least until he gets close enough to the table for Mark and Chris to part for his access.
“Finally,” says Mark, seizing Eduardo’s wrist and pressing his fingers gently against the shell of the baby blue egg.
Eduardo looks up at Mark with a start. The egg is vibrating rapidly. He can feel the tapping on the inside. Tiny little teeth and claws. It’s kind of amazing. Mark is grinning at him.
Together the four of them clear space in the downy nest so that the hatchling has as little to fight against as possible.
“This is a pretty crucial time for a hatchling,” Dustin tells Eduardo, unusually serious in tone. He redistributes straw and down around the other incubating eggs. “If it gets too tired to escape the egg, it will starve or freeze. So let it do its thing, but don’t be afraid to help it out.”
Eduardo nods.
Mark leans in. “You’ve got to touch it first, Wardo.”
The first cracks are already spreading across the surface of the egg.
“When it’s free, you just have to take it in your hand.” Chris adds helpfully. “Just pick it up, like you would any other small animal.”
A tiny snout pokes out from under a section of shell, pinhole nostrils flaring delicately at the end.
Eduardo can’t help but smile at the dinosaur, shell comically balanced on its head like a smooth hat. He reaches out and plucks it away automatically. Soon enough the baby lizard is tussling with the constricting sides of the egg, and then rolling clumsily out of its damp prison.
Eduardo watches it trip over one of his own claws and his heart melts, as much as one can melt at the sight of miniature carnivorous predators. He scoops the baby up before Dustin or Chris can even prompt him. The room erupts in smitten admiration. Even Sean is cooing.
The baby squawks pitchily and clutches weakly at Eduardo’s palms, damp muzzle snuffling at the gaps between his fingers. It only seems to calm when Eduardo wraps his fingers around it loosely, shutting out the bright overhead lighting and the noise of the congratulatory party around them.
Dustin touches him on the arm, “Nice work. Now let us check it over, ‘kay?”
Eduardo looks up from his clasped hands, unable to control the goofy grin that has seized control of his face. “Sure, uhm.”
He unfolds his hands slowly and lets Dustin take the hatching, wincing at the distressed chirps it makes as Dustin deftly flips it over.
“Well,” Dustin says, “congratulations on your son, Wardo. Mark.” He shoots Mark a sneaky eyebrow lift and wink combo.
Chris hands over an eyedropper of fluid that Dustin squeezes down its throat.
“Right, he should be okay for an while now,” Chris says, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Now, if you don’t mind, Mark, check your experiment over so some of us can get some rest.”
Dustin snorts as he hands the dinosaur over. “I think you mean partaaaay.”
“Yeah, no.” Chris says. “He’s all yours, Wardo. Hey.”
Chris reaches over and touches him on the back of his hand, more to reassure himself than Eduardo really, he thinks dryly.
Eduardo is busy watching Mark turning the hatchling in his hands, gently flexing his delicate hind legs and counting his claws. He pinches his snout so to make him open his mouth, and runs a fingertip around the tiny pinhead teeth. Eduardo can’t decide whether he is more charmed by Mark’s satisfied half smile as the hatchling whips his tail solidly against his palm - or by the way he rubs its belly softly to distract him whilst checking that his ears and eyes are clear.
Mark catches him looking, and makes a show of finishing off his assessment of the hatchling with a cold clinical touch. He double checks Dustin’s gender declaration, because, well, Dustin. He has a strange sense of humour.
Mark has no choice but to fulfil his original intentions for the hatchling. He doesn’t want a repeat of their first hatching, but that’s impossible. Eduardo is here now, and the code is technically perfect.
It had been perfect the whole time, just badly timed, he decides with finality.
“He’ll die without you.” Mark says finally, cradling the baby in his palm. He flicks his eyes up at Eduardo, and holds his gaze. “Right now, he’s dying a little for want of your touch.” This is the closest Mark is going to get to begging.
The tiny Procompsognathus coos mournfully, and contorts painfully in Mark’s hand. Eduardo’s face twists like he’s about to cry. He rubs his forearm over his face swiftly and holds out his hands.
“Give him to me.”
Mark steps into Eduardo’s personal space, pressing their hands together and cupping them so the baby can stumble weakly back into Eduardo’s warm palms.
“Just keep him warm,” Mark tells him softly, “we’ll help you feed him. He loves you, Wardo.”
Eduardo looks up from the nestling compy. “What?”
Mark has his eyes fixed on Eduardo’s gentle hands. “He knows you. I made him for you. He loves you more than anyone or anything he will ever know, and I can guarantee that affection will never waver.”
Chris swallows hard and glances at Dustin.
Eduardo opens his mouth, but he just wets his lips and stares at Mark.
“Will you take care of him, Wardo?” Mark is speaking quietly, and so quickly he is almost tripping over his words.
“See the way he’s gone to sleep? They all need you, Wardo, but this one most of all. We all need you, Wardo-” Mark flushes almost imperceptibly. “Also, I’m not sorry.”
“You are such a fucking dick.” Eduardo tells him honestly, after a pause that has everyone in the room holding their breath. “I kind of don’t want to see your face for a couple of days.”
Mark shrugs, and his lips quirk up for a second, “Okay,” before he pads out of the laboratory, flip flops slapping all the way.
“Oh my god.” Dustin says. “Mark just totally gave Eduardo a baby.”
“Technically” Chris says faintly, “he already gave Wardo all the babies. Ever. In the entire park.”
“Yeah, but this is different.”
“Totally.” Sean interrupts. “Also, you guys are blocking the coffee, so if you could kindly gawk at the sibling you are going to have to compete with for the next twenty years from five steps to the left, that would be really great.”
---
Most of the staff clear out a couple of minutes after Mark departs, shifts over or more urgent chores calling. Eduardo realises as the room empties that Mark has pulled out all the stops for a single hatching. Only last week a trio of stegosaurus had hatched and barely a third as many staff had been on emergency detail.
Eduardo sits in the lab until it empties; vaguely hoping that someone will take this responsibility out of his hands.
Sean is the only scientist left in the end, a fact that surprises Eduardo. Sean is still setting up his tyrannosaurus tanks, tight-lipped and utterly focused. This deep in his work he actually looks an awful lot like Mark.
Sean staggers past Eduardo’s stool with a sheet of Perspex in his arms, Prada shirt rolled up to his elbows.
He gives Eduardo a nod in passing. Eduardo is embarrassed to note that there is no malice in his face, no cruel smirk. There’s just the strain of a guy doing his best work for Mark, just like everyone else here.
Eduardo respects that.
The little guy in his palm kicks gently, reminding him that he has no idea how to care for a baby, let alone a baby lizard.
He drops by his quarters for a moment before he heads to Dustin’s.
Chris opens the door at his knock, raising his eyebrows when he sees the bundle Eduardo is clutching. He has a fan of cards in the hand that isn’t pressed to the door panel. He is also clearly buzzed, judging from the exaggerated care he takes in stepping aside for Eduardo to pass.
Dustin is predictably sprawled out on the couch in front of GTA VI.
“Dustin Moscowitz is about to break Liberty City’s all time pedestrian wipe out record,” he informs them, making a violent swerve across six lanes in pursuit of a lone NPC.
“Dustin Moscowitz is so drunk he has gotten shot to death by the cops four times in the last ten minutes,” Chris reminds him smarmily.
Dustin sits up with a start when Eduardo sits down beside him, dropping the Playstation controller onto his chest.
“Here-” Chris starts. He goes to hand Eduardo a beer, only to have Dustin thwart him mid pass, suddenly agile for a guy on the verge of coma-ing out only minutes prior.
“Wardo’s a mommy now, Uncle Chris. We can’t lose him to the bottle! He has a family to think of!”
Eduardo just about brains him with the beer himself. “Shut. Up.”
He checks on his charge. “Shi-” he stops mid-word, “-shipping and exports...” he finishes awkwardly, glancing at Chris guiltily. “He’s waking up.”
“Oh wooow,” Dustin coos, hooking his chin over Eduardo’s chin for a better vantage point. “Uncle Chris, get the baby food.”
“Stop calling me that, you asshole.” Chris says, good natured, heading to Dustin’s mini fridge.
He comes back with a sealed jar. “Worms and stuff,” he tells Eduardo, “We end up looking after the runty ones after hours a lot. Not that I’m ruling out the possibility that Dustin has developed a taste for chilled insects.”
“Yum yum, I love grubs.” Dustin sings, reaching over Eduardo’s shoulder to rub the baby’s snout gently.
“He’s so pretty,” Dustin says, “just like his mom.” Eduardo is pretty sure Dustin is so drunk that he’s drooling on his shirt a little.
Chris pops open the jar. Eduardo wrinkles his nose at the smell.
"Yeah, I know." Chris grimaces, dipping his fingers in and fishing around. He pulls out a couple of worms and soft curled grubs. All of them are glistening with preservative. Chris drops them onto the coaster closest to Eduardo with a splat.
The baby starts to wriggle in its wool wrapping. Eduardo slips his left hand into the blankets absently, reaching for a grub with the other. The little lizard calms immediately with his touch, and when they pull back the wool, it is flicking its tongue against Eduardo’s fingertips peacefully, tiny claws and tail hooked around his knuckles.
Chris gives Eduardo a measuring look. “You’re a natural,” he remarks, not sounding surprised at all. He scoops up a handful of grubs and heads back to the kitchenette.
Dustin slides over the top of the sofa and leans into Eduardo’s side. “So, what are you gonna name him?”
Chris finishes pressing setting buttons on the microwave and hurries back, perches on the top of the sofa above Dustin.
Eduardo picks up the least slimy worm on the coffee table and offers the compy the plump end. He takes a bite before turning his snout up at the chilled bug. “Sorry,” Eduardo apologises, putting it down and rubbing the baby’s belly the way Mark had when he’d placated him earlier.
“Can they get indigestion?” Eduardo worries aloud, turning to Chris, who, despite not being an experienced animal and reptile handler, is definitely the least drunk of his current advisory choices.
“He’s fine, Wardo.” Chris says. “He’s probably just a fussy hatchling. Mark’s ones usually are.”
Eduardo twists around and frowns at Chris’s back as he walks over to get the warmed grubs. “What exactly is the difference between - this one - and the other compy in the park? What do you mean ‘Mark’s ones’? Aren’t they all his?”
Chris comes back slowly, and sets the mug of insects down in front of Eduardo.
“This one, your one - he’s just programmed with Mark’s original source code. That’s all.” Chris shrugs and sits down, pushing the mug closer to Eduardo. “Here, they’re lukewarm now.”
Eduardo fishes a grub out of the mass, grimacing absently at the texture. The compy takes it in his jaws delicately and flops onto his back in Eduardo’s lap, chewing experimentally at first, and then wolfing it down as fast as he can tear it apart.
Dustin rubs his cheek against Eduardo’s shoulder, having reached the sleepy-affectionate stage of his drunkenness, and waits for him to finish feeding the compy before he reaches into Eduardo’s lap to tap the tip of the baby’s tail.
“He’s so happy,” he says to Chris, deliriously, “no crying like the others. And he eats!”
Eduardo frowns at Chris, fixing him with his patented we-are-going-to-talk-about-this-at-a-time-convenient-to-me-that-does-not-involve-Mark-or-Dustin glare, and pinches another plump grub.
“I’m going to call him Diego.” he says instead.
Dustin giggles. “You can be Baby Jaguar and Mark is obviously Alicia.”
Chris smiles. “Freeze, Bobos!” He chants, grinning at Dustin.
“I can’t believe you losers watch Nick Jr.” Eduardo says, but he’s laughing. Diego is trying to snuggle against his bare stomach under the hem of his t-shirt and it tickles like crazy.
Chris offers to take Diego back to the lab for a couple of hours and tuck him into the incubator with the last rags of Eduardo’s shirt. However, as soon as Diego leaves Eduardo’s lap he starts crying so plaintively that Eduardo practically snatches him back.
“Whoa, okay.” Chris says, holding his hands up where Eduardo can see them.
“Sorry, I just...” he shrugs, embarrassed, tucking Diego into the crook of his neck with one hand, and lets the compy nuzzle him until he starts crooning again. “I need to look after him.”
Chris nods and let him leave with Diego pressed close with one hand and a mug full of grubs for later in the other, wool sweater thrown over his shoulder like a dishrag.
His quarters seem too cold for a dinosaur with the air con on, so he disables all of Dustin’s hard work and switches it off, instead deciding to risk cracking the window for circulation. Then he lays down on top of the covers and let Diego burrow around inside his t-shirt until dawn finally breaks.
---
He doesn’t manage to get a wink of sleep during their lie-down, thanks to being so utterly paranoid that he might roll over and crush Diego in his sleep, or miss him waking up for feeding and accidentally starve him.
He has reached that point of exhaustion where sitting in the middle of the cafeteria at the crack of dawn seems completely normal. He’s wondering whether he should take some scones and try to catch Myrtle so she can teach him how to mother right.
He looks up when he hears footfalls on the tiled floor, but when he sees it is only Mark, his face twists up, part desperate and part mad.
“Is he hungry?” Eduardo says in greeting, forehead so creased with concern that Mark wavers as he reaches out his hand, fingers almost going to Eduardo’s face.
Mark pulls back the folds of the bundle instead and peers down at the compy in Eduardo’s hands. It is wrapped in soft wool - Eduardo has sacrificed his white merino sweater, the purchase of which Mark distinctly remembers coinciding with Dustin just about losing all lab-visiting privileges last winter for splashing Eduardo with a couple of drops of coffee.
“He’s asleep.” Mark tells Eduardo, smoothing the wool down again. “You know, generally mothers try to synch their sleeping cycles with their young. You’ll be stuck feeding him constantly in an hour or two.”
Eduardo’s shoulders drop, and he gathers the reptile closer, as if Mark might take it away because of his shoddy parenting.
Mark takes a seat next to Eduardo on the bench, casually sitting too close, as he always does. Eduardo’s thigh is warm through his jeans. He’s wearing the same shirt he wore to the hatching. Mark breathes in the scent of his sweat. It is with a gratifying thrill that he realizes he can pick up the dry scaly scent of reptiles on him as well.
“Why did you do this?” Eduardo asks quietly, after a minute or two.
Mark scratches the back of his head, silent.
“This isn’t my - How am I supposed to do my job, Mark? Someone has to deal with the money and I’m not - you of all people know I’m not qualified,” Eduardo lets go of his charge with one hand to make half of a sarcastic quotation mark, “to handle the ani - the dinosaurs.”
“This isn’t a zoo.” Mark reminds him.
“A zoo would be cheaper.” Eduardo grumbles.
Mark rolls his eyes. “You have interns, Wardo.”
Eduardo frowns.
“You have interns and clerks and chartered accountants and business and finance majors. We hired them for this. I never asked you to be my accountant.”
Eduardo lets go of a breath slowly, hissing like the old stovetop kettle they used to keep on the hotplate in Kirkland, simmering himself into a rage, cheeks flushing with frustration the longer Mark goes on.
“You’re not here to count the pennies, Wardo.”
“We haven’t even begun to turn a profit, Mark. We’re going to run at a loss for years. Because you won’t let us monetise-” Eduardo whispers at Mark balefully.
Mark bites back his oft rehearsed explanation of why they have to do this his way, the right way, not necessarily the profitable way - but the way that will have them boasting the best, biggest, and most brilliant creatures in the long run. They’re going to be the brightest beacon in genetic science, if they aren’t already.
Not some shoddy profiteering Winklevoss outfit.
Wardo has heard this spiel enough, even if he apparently never listens to it properly. Mark decides to cut to the chase.
“I asked you to be my partner in this because I wanted you with me. I thought you’d be a good mom.”
Eduardo snaps his mouth shut with an audible click.
“To the dinosaurs.” Mark finishes.
Eduardo is clenching his jaw hard, Mark can tell from the twitching muscle on the side of his face. He tries to press closer, communicate exactly how much he wants Eduardo with him. He is fairly certain that Eduardo won’t dare lose it whilst holding their baby. What they’ve made together means that much to him. Which was why he’d known Eduardo would come. He can’t do it without Eduardo, and Eduardo can’t run away from this, especially now.
“I can’t do this without you.” He says, trying to pin Eduardo in place with his words, trying to push the meaning into his head. Eduardo had always got him before. He’d understood.
“Excuse me.” Eduardo says evenly, tucking the sleeping compy into the crook of his arm, pushing himself off the bench. “I have to go play mom,” he reminds Mark scathingly.
Mark heads to the kitchens, figuring a couple of days of coding will give Eduardo enough of a head start to cool down again.
---
Dustin is the only upper level staff member in the labs this morning, and he is holding a Perspex wall aloft as Sean does some sort of fiddly glue-gun business on the underside. He is swaying slightly and looking appropriately green when Eduardo considers how many beers had littered his coffee table mere hours ago.
When the door slides open, Dustin drops the pane (Sean swears distractedly and trails hot glue all over the floor) and rushes him, cooing.
“Chris has a hangover so I have to help Sean put together his terrarium instead, and apparently I don’t know a right angle from my own elbow, so pleaseee let me look after Diego today, please, Wardo.”
“For the love of god, get him out of my lab.” Sean yells from under another sheet of Perspex.
Seeing as Dustin has already kidnapped the lump of woolly dinosaur without a peep from the bundle, Eduardo shrugs.
“Okay, but I’m going to talk to Chris, and don’t you dare leave that dinosaur on the floor somewhere after he’s scored you a date.”
Dustin claps his free hand to his heart, affronted.
“Don’t bullshit me,” Eduardo says sternly, “Also, babies are the lowest form of pick up line, and you should be ashamed.”
“Dinosaurs,” Dustin says righteously, “are the best pick up line in the universe, you can’t deny that, seeing as Mark used it on you and now you’re raising his kids.”
Eduardo crosses his arms and glares.
“Not taking it back.” Dustin says, rocking Diego gently. “Nope. I just can’t keep the truth inside, Wardo.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Eduardo says.
Dustin bites his lip a little, bouncing the dinosaur in his arms. “Okay, Wardo.”
---
Sweet, precious water is Chris’ best friend right now, and he is determined to drink until his tap runs dry, or his cells bloat and explode. Whichever comes first. Opening his door is way down the list of priorities, after the temptation of turning on the shower and curling up under the spray, and making history as the island’s first drug overdose (he thinks, meanly, that maybe he should try to achieve that before Parker inevitably claims the title).
Sadly, he has forgotten that Mark is disgustingly in love with Eduardo and has secretly given him palm-print override access to almost every door panel in the complex.
“Are you okay?”
Chris is torn between slamming his bathroom door in Eduardo’s face, and giving into that warm lilt of concern in his voice that pretty much demands that he give in to warm Wardo-hugs.
Okay, so Mark is clearly more perceptive than Chris has given him credit for. That tinge of a Portuguese accent that Eduardo slips into when he’s angry or worried is one hundred percent soaked with maternal pheromones.
“I’m fine, Wardo.” Chris gives in, wiping his chin and shutting off the tap reluctantly. “Just...really, really hung-over.”
Eduardo hovers for a moment and then grabs at Chris gently, slinging his arm over his shoulder and walking him into the bedroom, which is...not a great idea given that he knows Mark seems to have some way of keeping tabs on Eduardo’s whereabouts that go beyond even creepy stalker levels.
He is grateful when his forehead hits the clean cool sheets though, and though it’s super weird when Eduardo pulls off his shoes and pulls the sheet over him, it’s also nice. He wonders if this is what it was like to be Mark back at Harvard. Eduardo says something about getting him a glass of water and Chris has to turn over to make sure he doesn’t take his immersion in the Mark experience to the inevitable point of borderline sexual harassment.
Eduardo is back quickly with not only water but aspirin and a pot of steaming two minute noodles, and a glass of ice cubes from the freezer. Chris lets Eduardo prop him up with some pillows, thinking that if Mark doesn’t propose soon, he wouldn’t mind a shot at it.
Even after he swallows the aspirin and pulls the sheet back over his face, Eduardo doesn’t leave. He fusses with the blankets and then the A/C remote, and even refolds some of Chris’s clothes. Chris listens to him shuffling around restlessly for a quarter of an hour before he throws the sheet off and fixes Eduardo with a squint.
“Spit it out.”
Eduardo bites his lip, “Do you need a Powerade?” he asks lamely.
“No. I know how to feed myself, unlike the rest of our band of domesticated idiots. As such, I have enough brain power to surmise that you have something to ask me. Though why you thought you needed to prevent Diego from hearing it, I do not understand. You do realise that he is a dinosaur, right? He’s never going to speak English.” Chris flops back exhaustedly and waves at the end of his bed.
Eduardo sits obediently, folding his arms nervously. “You said that Diego was special because he is programmed with Mark’s source code, right?”
“Yes.”
“Dustin said there were others, and...it didn’t sound like they were well. I thought we were hatching mostly bigger herbivores right now. There aren’t any compy in artificial production right now.” Eduardo continues hesitantly.
“You’re right again,” Chris sighs.
“Myrtle?”
“No.” Chris shakes his head. “She’s second generation code.”
“I wasn’t aware that there was a first and second generation to differentiate between.” Eduardo says, narrowing his eyes. “I’m fairly sure something as major as a programming rewrite would have come up in the numbers. And if there were problems with the first generation, are there problems now? Should I be adjusting for extra veterinary costs?”
Chris can practically see the numbers adding up behind Eduardo’s furrowed brow. At least he doesn’t look mad, just resigned.
“No, you don’t have to worry about that.” Chris assures him. “There are no first generation dinosaurs on the island. Except Diego, of course.”
Eduardo stares at Chris. “Are you running a temperature? You aren’t making any sense. I’m just saying - If there was something wrong with the code, then why did he use it on Diego?”
Chris closes his eyes for a second and promises himself that he will figure out a cruel and unusual punishment for Mark later.
“Wardo,” he says gently. “There were first gen dinosaurs. They all died.”
“What? You never-” Eduardo leaps off of the foot of the bed and paces to the window and back. “What the hell is Mark doing, Chris?”
“This is awkward.” Chris mumbles into his hands, rubbing at his own temples, “Okay, shut up. Stand still, please, you’re making me nauseous. Long story short: Mark is obsessed with you-”
“What-”
“Shut up. You know perfectly well that he wants you. You’re just playing coy, or you’re stuck in denial, or something equally stupid, whatever.” Chris says firmly. “He is unfortunately just as pathetic as you, so naturally he dealt with his feelings by coding dinosaurs who are equally as obsessed with you, because god forbid he actually fucking tells you how he feels.”
Eduardo’s mouth is hanging open at this point, but Chris carries on, determined not to let Eduardo interrupt until he is good and ready. His headache actually feels better the longer he shouts, which is a welcome surprise. He needs to shout at people more often.
“We had to bury them all, Wardo. Mark’s dinosaurs. He wrote them to be so in love with you that they died from wanting you before they had a chance to even see you, and then we had to bury them. Dustin had nightmares, not even about the dinosaurs, but about Mark - because if that’s how Mark feels standing next to you, what will he do when you leave?”
Chris has to stop for a moment to swallow convulsively, his voice tinny with emotion.
“I’m sorry that Mark did this to you. It wasn’t fair to force this kind of responsibility on you. I’d tell you leave, but the thing is that I know you, Eduardo. You’ve always wanted Mark. He’s done this really badly, Wardo, but if you would just commit.”
Chris sucks in a deep breath before he can finish. “Please, could you just kiss him already? He’s been waiting years for you.”
“Um.” Eduardo says, looking slightly frightened.
“Sorry, Wardo.” Chris apologises, reaching for the noodles Eduardo left on the table next to him. He scarfs them in thirty seconds flat, surprised by how much yelling at one of your best friends can scare up an appetite.
“No,” Eduardo says, equally apologetic. “I think that...you’re probably right. Even though this is seriously none of your business, and you definitely should have told me about the rewrite because I’m pretty sure that this means you guys have fiddled the books somehow and I am now really not looking forward to filing our taxes next year.”
“Mark hired an accountant.”
“That’s not an excuse.” Eduardo says, exasperated. “Mark keeps saying that too, as if it’s going to change the fact that I work here and have a serious vested interest in precisely where my money is going.”
“He wants you with him, you idiot.” Chris says, disbelieving. “Please do not tell me you’ve been thinking that he hired all these accounting and econ graduates because he thinks you’re not capable of handling the finances.”
Eduardo’s lips twist a little.
“You have got to be kidding.”
“He told me he brought me because he thought I’d be a good mom, Chris.”
“Okay, wow, perfect example of misogynist Mark rearing his head. Sorry. If it makes you feel any better, I’d say that the truth is probably something more like ‘I brought you here because I want to marry you and raise dinosaurs with you in egalitarian bliss’. I promise he’s not actually planning to enslave you as a nanny because he thinks that’s all you’re good for, okay?”
“Strangely, you aren’t making me feel any better.”
Chris smirks a little, swallowing the salty broth in the bottom of the noodle bowl with the relish of someone with a true hangover. “That’s because I’m not Mark.”
Eduardo stuffs his hands in his pockets, silent for a minute. “...Will you be okay if I leave now?”
“Only if you’re going to Mark’s quarters.”
“Don’t. I left Diego with Dustin.”
Chris raises his eyebrows in mock horror. “Then by all means, go.”
---
It takes Eduardo a couple of days to think about Chris's telling off before he gives in to the inevitable and tracks Mark down.
Mark is cross-legged on his bed, laptop settled in his lap. He looks up for a moment when Eduardo slides the door shut again, and then flicks back down to his screen without a pause in his typing.
"You don't have to carry him around all the time," Mark says, hitting the enter key a couple of times to separate something he wants to rework later from the rest of the code. "It's actually developmentally detrimental to keep him from walking at this crucial stage."
Eduardo looks at Diego, trying to discern whether he is wearing what Dustin has dubbed his "sad baby" face. Apparently he puts it on when he gets hungry or cold, or missing Eduardo. Eduardo isn't sure about the whole reptiles having expressions thing, but Dustin is the bio and animal expert. Then again, it's Dustin. He can kind of see it, though. The blinking and crooning is more than Eduardo can ignore.
Diego doesn't seem to be doing much beyond trying to scratch his snout with one of his fragile clawed arms. Eduardo rubs it for him, smiling as Diego presses his head hard into his hand and rolls in his warm nest.
"Alright," Eduardo says decisively. He turns away from Mark and crouches down. The floor seems clear enough of cables and hazards.
(He vividly remembers his mother insisting they survey their house every time her sisters were allowed to stay with them in Miami. Pai would leave for his rounds of meetings, and for a week every year the house would fill with laughter and screeching and babies and small crawling children that his Mae spent the entirety of the stay jealously coddling. Eduardo remembers being coerced into posing for photographs. He remembers that he'd always been trusted to hold the littlest of his cousins. Mae had told him he was a natural, smiling wide at her sister, winking hopefully.
Pai had wanted a son, not children. One son. And he'd gotten Eduardo.
She'd wanted netos, grandchildren. He knew that now, felt guilty about it sometimes. The cousins were all grown up now, and probably barely remembered him or his mother beyond their names in birthday cards once a year. Brazil was too far to keep up appearances.)
Eduardo lays the sweater out, waits for Diego to orient himself to his new surroundings. Realistically, he knows that Diego can walk around perfectly competently. He could probably hunt his own prey given half the chance and a predator-free enclosure. Diego is confident enough. He springs over the sleeve of the sweater, landing with a flourish. He seems a little disappointed that there is nothing there, and darts under Mark's bed in search of adventure.
Eduardo can't help but laugh, lying flat on the floor to peer after him. He lies still, watching Diego charging through dust bunnies and tackling lint. He encounters one of Mark's socks and lays into it ruthlessly, biting and shaking it around. Eduardo's still laughing quietly when Mark blocks his view by way of setting his bare feet on the floor.
Part 1 || Part 3
Fandom: The Social Network (Mark Zuckerberg/Eduardo Saverin)
25,000 words | NC-17 |
Eduardo sleeps like the dead the first few nights. His quarters aren’t exactly spacious but they are certainly state of the art. It isn’t dissimilar to staying in a hotel room or even an incredibly clean, new version of the Kirkland dorm suites.
The one godsend is the air conditioning unit. Eduardo is theoretically used to the tropical heat of Brazil and Florida, but it seems like his sojourn in Harvard has taken the edge off his tolerance for temperate climes. Unfortunately the remote for said air conditioning is like something out of Mark’s Star Trek collection. There are so many buttons and all the little indicative pictures pretty much look like blobs or illustrations of arrows doing creepy things to boxes and circles and other arrows.
In the end Eduardo has to call Dustin -
(on his cell, because he doesn’t totally get how the internal phone system works yet. This is something he is going to have to quietly quiz his intern on...when he figures out who his intern is. And stops said intern from taking all the files out of his inbox and completing them before Eduardo even manages to get into his office in the morning.
Apparently Mark has set up twenty-four hour shift rotations for admin as well as scientists, an accomplishment so ludicrous he could only believe it of Mark. This level of persuasion or dedication - or fear - is something unprecedented. If word gets out, Mark will probably start getting some pretty hefty HR management offers.
Eduardo is a little uncomfortable about not being able to find his name on any roster or timesheet in admin, or the labs, so he tries to keep to the twelve hour, seven til seven working day he had (allegedly, but not actually) adhered to back in Cambridge.)
- anyhow, he has to call Dustin and trade him a case of beer written off on the accounts in exchange for him having a permanent marker colouring-in session with the buttons essential to not actually melting in the excessive humidity.
Eduardo isn’t sure how Mark is managing to wear hoodies without suffering heatstroke. Eduardo has already reverted to linen and silk despite Dustin’s taunts.
Chris is borrowing shirts by day four, but Eduardo has already put in an order with Hugo Boss for a shipment in Chris and Dustin’s sizes. Dustin is cheap and as much as he loves t-shirts with sloths on the front (which may actually be Mark’s t-shirts sometimes, and Eduardo isn’t sure how that makes him feel), the combined pressures of heat, free clothes and Chris leading by example are totally going to drive him into the arms of breathable fabrics.
Plus Eduardo can’t bear to see any more of his shirts getting stretched out, best friends or not.
Sean, on the other hand, needs no such fashion help. Eduardo knows exactly where Sean Parker’s Prada comes from. Winklevoss bribes and Mark’s success. Which translates somewhat directly to Eduardo’s pockets.
So he tries not to even look at Sean’s shiny Hermes Oxfords. Which is somewhat difficult in the lobby-slash-cafeteria when Sean insists on standing beside him as he methodically chews through cold luncheon meat, a couple of regrettably dry samosas (Dustin proposes, after trying the coleslaw, that eating at the park is like eating at a family member’s birthday party in some respects. There is always that one dish you can’t help but reach for, and subsequently can’t help but regret consuming) and a bowl of canjica. When he sees the serving bowl on the table he immediately thinks of Mark. It is silly. Perhaps someone in catering considered it a necessity at breakfast (Eduardo has certainly missed it since leaving his parent’s home). No one else touches the canjica though, and the next day there is another steaming tureen on the table.
Eduardo takes to grabbing a bowl at meals when the finances are frustrating, when his intern keeps deferring to Mark,
(“Mr. Zuckerberg instructed me to order another bank of servers for the pterosaur programming.”
“But, I never signed off on that. That’s another twenty thousand plus. I told him he would have to slow down and wait for the space to open up on the servers we already have!”
“But, Mr. Zuckerberg already had it shipped-”
“....Excuse me.”)
- and now when Sean Parker stalks him.
“I’m just saying, I could hook you guys up with some Prada. Wouldn’t that be great? Actually, it would look amazing in the next shoot I have lined up with Popular Science. They want to do a feature on how I defected back to you guys, with Mark stealing me with his helicopter and you throwing suitcases at me. They said they’d love to publish a picture of any scars.”
Sean shows the nearest intern the almost invisible puncture scars on his finger.
“I think their angle is to portray me as the new Jeff Goldblum. But way cooler, obviously. And the pay is great. More than enough to get that new Louis Voitton satchel that Peter just emailed me. Except they’re just going to give it to me as a gift, as long as I mention them in the interview. Do you think Mark wants anything? I’ll ask if they have hoodies.”
Eduardo spoons more canjica into his mouth, and chews it careful and slow. He thinks of how many dinosaur embryos Parker could smuggle into the fabulous new Louis Voitton satchel. He thinks about how many of Sean’s severed body parts could be fit into the fabulous new Loius Voitton satchel.
Sean eventually gives up on the chatting and sits down opposite Eduardo.
“The canjica is nice, huh,” he says, tearing open a soft wholemeal roll.
“Excuse me?” Eduardo says, pounding himself on the chest as the porridge slips down his windpipe.
“Did I say it wrong? Shit. Can-JAYY-ica? CanjiKAH?” He amends, gesturing at Eduardo’s bowl with an incline of his head.
“Just...say it like before,” Eduardo says, grimacing. “Do you make a habit of eating Brazilian cuisine?”
“Nope. But the caterers wouldn’t let me try any when I dropped in for breakfast this morning. Said it was ordered especially for you. They make fantastic French toast if you’re up early enough, by the way. Gabriella is a fine woman, she’ll set you up with a stool in the kitchens, just mention my name. Not that you’d need to, sounds like you already have them all wrapped around your little finger in there.”
Eduardo frowns, confused.
He makes a point of poking his head into the kitchens the following morning, which are buzzing with cooks and kitchen hands. A tiny Latina woman bustles over and shakes his hand fiercely, to his surprise.
“Ms. Gabriella?” He guesses slowly, smiling when she nods so hard that her dark bun of hair bounces.
“Mr. Saverin,” she says in accented English.
A tall boy clutching a massive mixing bowl approaches her nervously, and she peers into it and nods imperiously to him to continue stirring whatever it is.
“Habla Espanol, Mr. Saverin?” she asks, hopeful.
“Uh - a little. Hablo Español mal. Muy mal. Terrible. ” Eduardo smiles. “Por favor, llámeme Eduardo.”
She cackles, and slaps her hands on her apron.
“You are very sweet,” she says, in Spanish. “Your young man said as much. Now sit down. I will have that stupid boy Benjamin prepare your canjica and you will tell me how to feed your Mr. Zuckerberg.”
Eduardo tries to act like the professional financier and accountant that his Masters degree insists that he is. This means of a lot of early starts. He stops by the kitchens most mornings around six to pick up something to tide him over. Gabriella isn’t always free to harangue him about his early starts, her hands coated with flour, or swatting poor Benjamin as he burns a grill full of eggs. She manages to sniff at him just as disapprovingly from across the kitchen as he takes satsumas and bread from the baskets and trays on their way into the lobby cafeteria.
He has a feeling that if she had her way, he’d be relegated to bed until mid morning, and then presented with a hearty breakfast in bed. It is an uncomfortable thought.
Despite his best efforts, work is slow. It seems that Mark now tends to simply tell whichever intern is closest what he wants ordered or purchased. By the time Eduardo sifts through his inbox in the morning, interns from the night shift with Mark have already processed most accounts, and written them up just as well could be expected from any finance or economics major.
By lunch, Eduardo is reduced to checking his email
(
+ Christy and the chemists are starting a dinner club;
+ Dustin wants to know who took the Allosaurus figurine from his desk - Miss Tyrannosaurus is lonely!!;
+ Chris wants the staff to stop feeding the herbivores meat for kicks as it is not beneficial to their digestive health;
+ Sean has forwarded scans of his interview in Popular Science to the entire mailing list;
+ An anonymous employee has forwarded a scathing parody of the interview which almost borders on vindictive.
Eduardo has his own suspicions as to who the perpetrator of the latter is, and his money is not on Dustin - despite hearing that the pot resulting from bets on it being him is currently valued in the high hundreds)
- and reorganising his stationery.
Around two in the afternoon at the end of the first fortnight Eduardo knocks over his carefully constructed paperclip and business card skyscraper in a fit of guilty embarrassment, and ventures into the hatching lab.
The doors are still set to open to his touch, something Eduardo is relieved about. He suspects Mark takes some delight in occasionally revoking the access privileges of his less favoured fellow scientists just to see them humiliated in front of their peers. Sean still hasn’t managed to set foot in the chemistry department, despite the siren call that is Christy.
Mark is in an office chair that has been pulled up to the hatching table. His head is pillowed on his arms, almost invisible in the springy straw. The lab is buzzing quietly, a skeleton shift at this hour of the afternoon. Most of the staff shifts are scheduled around the hottest hours of the day that are locally recognised as sleep hours. Trust Mark to spend even those in the middle of his work.
“Hey,” Chris nods to him, bags under his eyes heavy enough to sink a boat. “I’ve got to hit the hay. Are you free?”
Eduardo nods, guilt creeping into his stomach as he watches Chris have to lean against a nearby bench to stay upright. “Are you okay?” he asks uselessly.
“Great.” Chis says, scrubbing his eyes. “Can you just watch the eggs? We need to watch them twenty-four hours a day at this point. If you notice anything - and I mean anything - grab a senior scientist. Or wake Mark.”
Chris looks at Mark and grimaces. “Actually, just wake Mark. He’ll kill me if he misses something, and the interns are too frightened to touch him.”
“You can count on me.” Eduardo promises.
He drags a lab stool over and sets it next to Mark’s.
“Yeah, I think we can, Wardo.” Chris says, giving Eduardo a weak salute on his way out.
It turns out that egg watching is just as boring with live dinosaurs as it is when it concerns merely a couple of chicken eggs in a pot back at Harvard. When he first sits down Eduardo swears he sees a stirring in the straw. He holds his breath for a couple of seconds but eventually has to pass it off as a result of his shaking the table. Mark, on the other hand, is perfectly still. If Eduardo wasn’t familiar with the deep way Mark tends to sleep, he’d be concerned by his silent face-down slumber of the dead.
It’s hard not to want to watch Mark just as carefully as he is the eggs. The pale skin of his neck is just as fragile, and faintly blue-veined, like the eggshells. Just trying to keep his eyes on the nest rather than constantly checking that Mark’s back is still rising in slow breaths is exhausting.
After thirty minutes of observation, Eduardo finds himself imitating Mark’s posture, chin resting on his hands in the nest, chest crushed against the sharp lip of the table. His elbow brushes Mark’s softly.
The table is warm, he notes, shifting on his seat, gazing lazily through the straw, straight into the mass of eggs. Mark has picked a good spot, he thinks approvingly, counting eggs absently. Their egg - that tiny one Mark had insisted he hold - is still nestled in the midst of the others, like a little brother to a whole clutch of big siblings.
He’s just about to drift off himself, cheek pressed into his palms when a warm arm creeps over his back. He jerks guiltily, glancing at the eggs and then at Mark.
“You’re watching the eggs.” Mark says, staring at him with sleep glazed eyes. Eduardo feels Mark’s fingers curl against his back, stroking hot through his shirt.
Eduardo swallows and nods. His mouth is dry, like Mark’s touch has superheated his body to the point where all moisture has evaporated. Eduardo swallows again, unable to open his mouth, unwilling to jolt Mark out of this gentle, half-asleep reverie.
Mark studies him a little longer, eyelids slipping shut occasionally. He rolls slightly to the right, presses his mouth and cheek against Eduardo’s cheek, more of a nuzzle than anything else. He falls asleep again almost immediately.
Natalie comes in an hour or two later to take over Eduardo’s post. She shakes his shoulder softly, though he doesn’t need the rousing. They let Mark lie, and Eduardo can see that she understands like he does that here is where Mark wants to be. He heads back to his quarters, passing out almost as soon as he crawls between the thin sheets.
Eduardo is woken by a terrifying ringtone. He sits bolt upright and it takes him a couple of seconds to realise exactly why that is, and a good ten seconds more to wake up enough for the co-ordinated movement required to reach for his cell.
“I’m going to kill you for making the satellite phone from Jurassic Park my ringtone.” He accuses, assuming correctly that only Dustin or a terrible emergency could make anyone in this place wake him up at two in the morning.
“Save your murderous talk,” Dustin says. Eduardo can hear the grin in his voice. “You better haul ass down to the hatchery, Mark’s super special magic egg is hatching and he is threatening to have it put into suspended animation if you don’t turn up soon.”
Eduardo tucks the phone into his neck and rolls out of bed with a groan.
“Fine. Let me get my pants on.”
“Please don’t talk to me about your lack of clothes over the phone, Wardo. I’m pretty sure Mark has the lines bugged, and I like my balls attached, thank you.”
Eduardo rolls his eyes and hangs up, tossing the phone into his sheets. He fishes an old t-shirt out of his drawer. He’s not sure exactly how messy hatching is supposed to be. His memories of birthing scenes in Jurassic Park mostly revive memories of wrinkly foetuses in green fish tanks and raptors sneaking around - he really hopes Mark hasn’t got him hatching raptors. Probably not. They’re pretty much exclusively Mark and Dustin’s area, just like he assumes the T-rex’s will be (Sean’s objections be damned).
The labs are on the other side of the compound to the sleeping quarters, something everyone had agreed was sensible in the planning stages, but kind of regret now that they have to walk through a kilometre of halls to get to their workstations every day.
Anyone who is anyone seems to have assembled in the hatchery - or at least it seems that way. Realistically, the crowd is probably almost solely night shift science staff, plus Mark, Dustin and Chris. Sean is hovering around, setting up a long line of tanks on his work bench that Eduardo marks as becoming potentially worrisome in the near future.
The egg doesn’t look much different to when he left it with Natalie and Mark. At least until he gets close enough to the table for Mark and Chris to part for his access.
“Finally,” says Mark, seizing Eduardo’s wrist and pressing his fingers gently against the shell of the baby blue egg.
Eduardo looks up at Mark with a start. The egg is vibrating rapidly. He can feel the tapping on the inside. Tiny little teeth and claws. It’s kind of amazing. Mark is grinning at him.
Together the four of them clear space in the downy nest so that the hatchling has as little to fight against as possible.
“This is a pretty crucial time for a hatchling,” Dustin tells Eduardo, unusually serious in tone. He redistributes straw and down around the other incubating eggs. “If it gets too tired to escape the egg, it will starve or freeze. So let it do its thing, but don’t be afraid to help it out.”
Eduardo nods.
Mark leans in. “You’ve got to touch it first, Wardo.”
The first cracks are already spreading across the surface of the egg.
“When it’s free, you just have to take it in your hand.” Chris adds helpfully. “Just pick it up, like you would any other small animal.”
A tiny snout pokes out from under a section of shell, pinhole nostrils flaring delicately at the end.
Eduardo can’t help but smile at the dinosaur, shell comically balanced on its head like a smooth hat. He reaches out and plucks it away automatically. Soon enough the baby lizard is tussling with the constricting sides of the egg, and then rolling clumsily out of its damp prison.
Eduardo watches it trip over one of his own claws and his heart melts, as much as one can melt at the sight of miniature carnivorous predators. He scoops the baby up before Dustin or Chris can even prompt him. The room erupts in smitten admiration. Even Sean is cooing.
The baby squawks pitchily and clutches weakly at Eduardo’s palms, damp muzzle snuffling at the gaps between his fingers. It only seems to calm when Eduardo wraps his fingers around it loosely, shutting out the bright overhead lighting and the noise of the congratulatory party around them.
Dustin touches him on the arm, “Nice work. Now let us check it over, ‘kay?”
Eduardo looks up from his clasped hands, unable to control the goofy grin that has seized control of his face. “Sure, uhm.”
He unfolds his hands slowly and lets Dustin take the hatching, wincing at the distressed chirps it makes as Dustin deftly flips it over.
“Well,” Dustin says, “congratulations on your son, Wardo. Mark.” He shoots Mark a sneaky eyebrow lift and wink combo.
Chris hands over an eyedropper of fluid that Dustin squeezes down its throat.
“Right, he should be okay for an while now,” Chris says, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Now, if you don’t mind, Mark, check your experiment over so some of us can get some rest.”
Dustin snorts as he hands the dinosaur over. “I think you mean partaaaay.”
“Yeah, no.” Chris says. “He’s all yours, Wardo. Hey.”
Chris reaches over and touches him on the back of his hand, more to reassure himself than Eduardo really, he thinks dryly.
Eduardo is busy watching Mark turning the hatchling in his hands, gently flexing his delicate hind legs and counting his claws. He pinches his snout so to make him open his mouth, and runs a fingertip around the tiny pinhead teeth. Eduardo can’t decide whether he is more charmed by Mark’s satisfied half smile as the hatchling whips his tail solidly against his palm - or by the way he rubs its belly softly to distract him whilst checking that his ears and eyes are clear.
Mark catches him looking, and makes a show of finishing off his assessment of the hatchling with a cold clinical touch. He double checks Dustin’s gender declaration, because, well, Dustin. He has a strange sense of humour.
Mark has no choice but to fulfil his original intentions for the hatchling. He doesn’t want a repeat of their first hatching, but that’s impossible. Eduardo is here now, and the code is technically perfect.
It had been perfect the whole time, just badly timed, he decides with finality.
“He’ll die without you.” Mark says finally, cradling the baby in his palm. He flicks his eyes up at Eduardo, and holds his gaze. “Right now, he’s dying a little for want of your touch.” This is the closest Mark is going to get to begging.
The tiny Procompsognathus coos mournfully, and contorts painfully in Mark’s hand. Eduardo’s face twists like he’s about to cry. He rubs his forearm over his face swiftly and holds out his hands.
“Give him to me.”
Mark steps into Eduardo’s personal space, pressing their hands together and cupping them so the baby can stumble weakly back into Eduardo’s warm palms.
“Just keep him warm,” Mark tells him softly, “we’ll help you feed him. He loves you, Wardo.”
Eduardo looks up from the nestling compy. “What?”
Mark has his eyes fixed on Eduardo’s gentle hands. “He knows you. I made him for you. He loves you more than anyone or anything he will ever know, and I can guarantee that affection will never waver.”
Chris swallows hard and glances at Dustin.
Eduardo opens his mouth, but he just wets his lips and stares at Mark.
“Will you take care of him, Wardo?” Mark is speaking quietly, and so quickly he is almost tripping over his words.
“See the way he’s gone to sleep? They all need you, Wardo, but this one most of all. We all need you, Wardo-” Mark flushes almost imperceptibly. “Also, I’m not sorry.”
“You are such a fucking dick.” Eduardo tells him honestly, after a pause that has everyone in the room holding their breath. “I kind of don’t want to see your face for a couple of days.”
Mark shrugs, and his lips quirk up for a second, “Okay,” before he pads out of the laboratory, flip flops slapping all the way.
“Oh my god.” Dustin says. “Mark just totally gave Eduardo a baby.”
“Technically” Chris says faintly, “he already gave Wardo all the babies. Ever. In the entire park.”
“Yeah, but this is different.”
“Totally.” Sean interrupts. “Also, you guys are blocking the coffee, so if you could kindly gawk at the sibling you are going to have to compete with for the next twenty years from five steps to the left, that would be really great.”
---
Most of the staff clear out a couple of minutes after Mark departs, shifts over or more urgent chores calling. Eduardo realises as the room empties that Mark has pulled out all the stops for a single hatching. Only last week a trio of stegosaurus had hatched and barely a third as many staff had been on emergency detail.
Eduardo sits in the lab until it empties; vaguely hoping that someone will take this responsibility out of his hands.
Sean is the only scientist left in the end, a fact that surprises Eduardo. Sean is still setting up his tyrannosaurus tanks, tight-lipped and utterly focused. This deep in his work he actually looks an awful lot like Mark.
Sean staggers past Eduardo’s stool with a sheet of Perspex in his arms, Prada shirt rolled up to his elbows.
He gives Eduardo a nod in passing. Eduardo is embarrassed to note that there is no malice in his face, no cruel smirk. There’s just the strain of a guy doing his best work for Mark, just like everyone else here.
Eduardo respects that.
The little guy in his palm kicks gently, reminding him that he has no idea how to care for a baby, let alone a baby lizard.
He drops by his quarters for a moment before he heads to Dustin’s.
Chris opens the door at his knock, raising his eyebrows when he sees the bundle Eduardo is clutching. He has a fan of cards in the hand that isn’t pressed to the door panel. He is also clearly buzzed, judging from the exaggerated care he takes in stepping aside for Eduardo to pass.
Dustin is predictably sprawled out on the couch in front of GTA VI.
“Dustin Moscowitz is about to break Liberty City’s all time pedestrian wipe out record,” he informs them, making a violent swerve across six lanes in pursuit of a lone NPC.
“Dustin Moscowitz is so drunk he has gotten shot to death by the cops four times in the last ten minutes,” Chris reminds him smarmily.
Dustin sits up with a start when Eduardo sits down beside him, dropping the Playstation controller onto his chest.
“Here-” Chris starts. He goes to hand Eduardo a beer, only to have Dustin thwart him mid pass, suddenly agile for a guy on the verge of coma-ing out only minutes prior.
“Wardo’s a mommy now, Uncle Chris. We can’t lose him to the bottle! He has a family to think of!”
Eduardo just about brains him with the beer himself. “Shut. Up.”
He checks on his charge. “Shi-” he stops mid-word, “-shipping and exports...” he finishes awkwardly, glancing at Chris guiltily. “He’s waking up.”
“Oh wooow,” Dustin coos, hooking his chin over Eduardo’s chin for a better vantage point. “Uncle Chris, get the baby food.”
“Stop calling me that, you asshole.” Chris says, good natured, heading to Dustin’s mini fridge.
He comes back with a sealed jar. “Worms and stuff,” he tells Eduardo, “We end up looking after the runty ones after hours a lot. Not that I’m ruling out the possibility that Dustin has developed a taste for chilled insects.”
“Yum yum, I love grubs.” Dustin sings, reaching over Eduardo’s shoulder to rub the baby’s snout gently.
“He’s so pretty,” Dustin says, “just like his mom.” Eduardo is pretty sure Dustin is so drunk that he’s drooling on his shirt a little.
Chris pops open the jar. Eduardo wrinkles his nose at the smell.
"Yeah, I know." Chris grimaces, dipping his fingers in and fishing around. He pulls out a couple of worms and soft curled grubs. All of them are glistening with preservative. Chris drops them onto the coaster closest to Eduardo with a splat.
The baby starts to wriggle in its wool wrapping. Eduardo slips his left hand into the blankets absently, reaching for a grub with the other. The little lizard calms immediately with his touch, and when they pull back the wool, it is flicking its tongue against Eduardo’s fingertips peacefully, tiny claws and tail hooked around his knuckles.
Chris gives Eduardo a measuring look. “You’re a natural,” he remarks, not sounding surprised at all. He scoops up a handful of grubs and heads back to the kitchenette.
Dustin slides over the top of the sofa and leans into Eduardo’s side. “So, what are you gonna name him?”
Chris finishes pressing setting buttons on the microwave and hurries back, perches on the top of the sofa above Dustin.
Eduardo picks up the least slimy worm on the coffee table and offers the compy the plump end. He takes a bite before turning his snout up at the chilled bug. “Sorry,” Eduardo apologises, putting it down and rubbing the baby’s belly the way Mark had when he’d placated him earlier.
“Can they get indigestion?” Eduardo worries aloud, turning to Chris, who, despite not being an experienced animal and reptile handler, is definitely the least drunk of his current advisory choices.
“He’s fine, Wardo.” Chris says. “He’s probably just a fussy hatchling. Mark’s ones usually are.”
Eduardo twists around and frowns at Chris’s back as he walks over to get the warmed grubs. “What exactly is the difference between - this one - and the other compy in the park? What do you mean ‘Mark’s ones’? Aren’t they all his?”
Chris comes back slowly, and sets the mug of insects down in front of Eduardo.
“This one, your one - he’s just programmed with Mark’s original source code. That’s all.” Chris shrugs and sits down, pushing the mug closer to Eduardo. “Here, they’re lukewarm now.”
Eduardo fishes a grub out of the mass, grimacing absently at the texture. The compy takes it in his jaws delicately and flops onto his back in Eduardo’s lap, chewing experimentally at first, and then wolfing it down as fast as he can tear it apart.
Dustin rubs his cheek against Eduardo’s shoulder, having reached the sleepy-affectionate stage of his drunkenness, and waits for him to finish feeding the compy before he reaches into Eduardo’s lap to tap the tip of the baby’s tail.
“He’s so happy,” he says to Chris, deliriously, “no crying like the others. And he eats!”
Eduardo frowns at Chris, fixing him with his patented we-are-going-to-talk-about-this-at-a-time-convenient-to-me-that-does-not-involve-Mark-or-Dustin glare, and pinches another plump grub.
“I’m going to call him Diego.” he says instead.
Dustin giggles. “You can be Baby Jaguar and Mark is obviously Alicia.”
Chris smiles. “Freeze, Bobos!” He chants, grinning at Dustin.
“I can’t believe you losers watch Nick Jr.” Eduardo says, but he’s laughing. Diego is trying to snuggle against his bare stomach under the hem of his t-shirt and it tickles like crazy.
Chris offers to take Diego back to the lab for a couple of hours and tuck him into the incubator with the last rags of Eduardo’s shirt. However, as soon as Diego leaves Eduardo’s lap he starts crying so plaintively that Eduardo practically snatches him back.
“Whoa, okay.” Chris says, holding his hands up where Eduardo can see them.
“Sorry, I just...” he shrugs, embarrassed, tucking Diego into the crook of his neck with one hand, and lets the compy nuzzle him until he starts crooning again. “I need to look after him.”
Chris nods and let him leave with Diego pressed close with one hand and a mug full of grubs for later in the other, wool sweater thrown over his shoulder like a dishrag.
His quarters seem too cold for a dinosaur with the air con on, so he disables all of Dustin’s hard work and switches it off, instead deciding to risk cracking the window for circulation. Then he lays down on top of the covers and let Diego burrow around inside his t-shirt until dawn finally breaks.
---
He doesn’t manage to get a wink of sleep during their lie-down, thanks to being so utterly paranoid that he might roll over and crush Diego in his sleep, or miss him waking up for feeding and accidentally starve him.
He has reached that point of exhaustion where sitting in the middle of the cafeteria at the crack of dawn seems completely normal. He’s wondering whether he should take some scones and try to catch Myrtle so she can teach him how to mother right.
He looks up when he hears footfalls on the tiled floor, but when he sees it is only Mark, his face twists up, part desperate and part mad.
“Is he hungry?” Eduardo says in greeting, forehead so creased with concern that Mark wavers as he reaches out his hand, fingers almost going to Eduardo’s face.
Mark pulls back the folds of the bundle instead and peers down at the compy in Eduardo’s hands. It is wrapped in soft wool - Eduardo has sacrificed his white merino sweater, the purchase of which Mark distinctly remembers coinciding with Dustin just about losing all lab-visiting privileges last winter for splashing Eduardo with a couple of drops of coffee.
“He’s asleep.” Mark tells Eduardo, smoothing the wool down again. “You know, generally mothers try to synch their sleeping cycles with their young. You’ll be stuck feeding him constantly in an hour or two.”
Eduardo’s shoulders drop, and he gathers the reptile closer, as if Mark might take it away because of his shoddy parenting.
Mark takes a seat next to Eduardo on the bench, casually sitting too close, as he always does. Eduardo’s thigh is warm through his jeans. He’s wearing the same shirt he wore to the hatching. Mark breathes in the scent of his sweat. It is with a gratifying thrill that he realizes he can pick up the dry scaly scent of reptiles on him as well.
“Why did you do this?” Eduardo asks quietly, after a minute or two.
Mark scratches the back of his head, silent.
“This isn’t my - How am I supposed to do my job, Mark? Someone has to deal with the money and I’m not - you of all people know I’m not qualified,” Eduardo lets go of his charge with one hand to make half of a sarcastic quotation mark, “to handle the ani - the dinosaurs.”
“This isn’t a zoo.” Mark reminds him.
“A zoo would be cheaper.” Eduardo grumbles.
Mark rolls his eyes. “You have interns, Wardo.”
Eduardo frowns.
“You have interns and clerks and chartered accountants and business and finance majors. We hired them for this. I never asked you to be my accountant.”
Eduardo lets go of a breath slowly, hissing like the old stovetop kettle they used to keep on the hotplate in Kirkland, simmering himself into a rage, cheeks flushing with frustration the longer Mark goes on.
“You’re not here to count the pennies, Wardo.”
“We haven’t even begun to turn a profit, Mark. We’re going to run at a loss for years. Because you won’t let us monetise-” Eduardo whispers at Mark balefully.
Mark bites back his oft rehearsed explanation of why they have to do this his way, the right way, not necessarily the profitable way - but the way that will have them boasting the best, biggest, and most brilliant creatures in the long run. They’re going to be the brightest beacon in genetic science, if they aren’t already.
Not some shoddy profiteering Winklevoss outfit.
Wardo has heard this spiel enough, even if he apparently never listens to it properly. Mark decides to cut to the chase.
“I asked you to be my partner in this because I wanted you with me. I thought you’d be a good mom.”
Eduardo snaps his mouth shut with an audible click.
“To the dinosaurs.” Mark finishes.
Eduardo is clenching his jaw hard, Mark can tell from the twitching muscle on the side of his face. He tries to press closer, communicate exactly how much he wants Eduardo with him. He is fairly certain that Eduardo won’t dare lose it whilst holding their baby. What they’ve made together means that much to him. Which was why he’d known Eduardo would come. He can’t do it without Eduardo, and Eduardo can’t run away from this, especially now.
“I can’t do this without you.” He says, trying to pin Eduardo in place with his words, trying to push the meaning into his head. Eduardo had always got him before. He’d understood.
“Excuse me.” Eduardo says evenly, tucking the sleeping compy into the crook of his arm, pushing himself off the bench. “I have to go play mom,” he reminds Mark scathingly.
Mark heads to the kitchens, figuring a couple of days of coding will give Eduardo enough of a head start to cool down again.
---
Dustin is the only upper level staff member in the labs this morning, and he is holding a Perspex wall aloft as Sean does some sort of fiddly glue-gun business on the underside. He is swaying slightly and looking appropriately green when Eduardo considers how many beers had littered his coffee table mere hours ago.
When the door slides open, Dustin drops the pane (Sean swears distractedly and trails hot glue all over the floor) and rushes him, cooing.
“Chris has a hangover so I have to help Sean put together his terrarium instead, and apparently I don’t know a right angle from my own elbow, so pleaseee let me look after Diego today, please, Wardo.”
“For the love of god, get him out of my lab.” Sean yells from under another sheet of Perspex.
Seeing as Dustin has already kidnapped the lump of woolly dinosaur without a peep from the bundle, Eduardo shrugs.
“Okay, but I’m going to talk to Chris, and don’t you dare leave that dinosaur on the floor somewhere after he’s scored you a date.”
Dustin claps his free hand to his heart, affronted.
“Don’t bullshit me,” Eduardo says sternly, “Also, babies are the lowest form of pick up line, and you should be ashamed.”
“Dinosaurs,” Dustin says righteously, “are the best pick up line in the universe, you can’t deny that, seeing as Mark used it on you and now you’re raising his kids.”
Eduardo crosses his arms and glares.
“Not taking it back.” Dustin says, rocking Diego gently. “Nope. I just can’t keep the truth inside, Wardo.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Eduardo says.
Dustin bites his lip a little, bouncing the dinosaur in his arms. “Okay, Wardo.”
---
Sweet, precious water is Chris’ best friend right now, and he is determined to drink until his tap runs dry, or his cells bloat and explode. Whichever comes first. Opening his door is way down the list of priorities, after the temptation of turning on the shower and curling up under the spray, and making history as the island’s first drug overdose (he thinks, meanly, that maybe he should try to achieve that before Parker inevitably claims the title).
Sadly, he has forgotten that Mark is disgustingly in love with Eduardo and has secretly given him palm-print override access to almost every door panel in the complex.
“Are you okay?”
Chris is torn between slamming his bathroom door in Eduardo’s face, and giving into that warm lilt of concern in his voice that pretty much demands that he give in to warm Wardo-hugs.
Okay, so Mark is clearly more perceptive than Chris has given him credit for. That tinge of a Portuguese accent that Eduardo slips into when he’s angry or worried is one hundred percent soaked with maternal pheromones.
“I’m fine, Wardo.” Chris gives in, wiping his chin and shutting off the tap reluctantly. “Just...really, really hung-over.”
Eduardo hovers for a moment and then grabs at Chris gently, slinging his arm over his shoulder and walking him into the bedroom, which is...not a great idea given that he knows Mark seems to have some way of keeping tabs on Eduardo’s whereabouts that go beyond even creepy stalker levels.
He is grateful when his forehead hits the clean cool sheets though, and though it’s super weird when Eduardo pulls off his shoes and pulls the sheet over him, it’s also nice. He wonders if this is what it was like to be Mark back at Harvard. Eduardo says something about getting him a glass of water and Chris has to turn over to make sure he doesn’t take his immersion in the Mark experience to the inevitable point of borderline sexual harassment.
Eduardo is back quickly with not only water but aspirin and a pot of steaming two minute noodles, and a glass of ice cubes from the freezer. Chris lets Eduardo prop him up with some pillows, thinking that if Mark doesn’t propose soon, he wouldn’t mind a shot at it.
Even after he swallows the aspirin and pulls the sheet back over his face, Eduardo doesn’t leave. He fusses with the blankets and then the A/C remote, and even refolds some of Chris’s clothes. Chris listens to him shuffling around restlessly for a quarter of an hour before he throws the sheet off and fixes Eduardo with a squint.
“Spit it out.”
Eduardo bites his lip, “Do you need a Powerade?” he asks lamely.
“No. I know how to feed myself, unlike the rest of our band of domesticated idiots. As such, I have enough brain power to surmise that you have something to ask me. Though why you thought you needed to prevent Diego from hearing it, I do not understand. You do realise that he is a dinosaur, right? He’s never going to speak English.” Chris flops back exhaustedly and waves at the end of his bed.
Eduardo sits obediently, folding his arms nervously. “You said that Diego was special because he is programmed with Mark’s source code, right?”
“Yes.”
“Dustin said there were others, and...it didn’t sound like they were well. I thought we were hatching mostly bigger herbivores right now. There aren’t any compy in artificial production right now.” Eduardo continues hesitantly.
“You’re right again,” Chris sighs.
“Myrtle?”
“No.” Chris shakes his head. “She’s second generation code.”
“I wasn’t aware that there was a first and second generation to differentiate between.” Eduardo says, narrowing his eyes. “I’m fairly sure something as major as a programming rewrite would have come up in the numbers. And if there were problems with the first generation, are there problems now? Should I be adjusting for extra veterinary costs?”
Chris can practically see the numbers adding up behind Eduardo’s furrowed brow. At least he doesn’t look mad, just resigned.
“No, you don’t have to worry about that.” Chris assures him. “There are no first generation dinosaurs on the island. Except Diego, of course.”
Eduardo stares at Chris. “Are you running a temperature? You aren’t making any sense. I’m just saying - If there was something wrong with the code, then why did he use it on Diego?”
Chris closes his eyes for a second and promises himself that he will figure out a cruel and unusual punishment for Mark later.
“Wardo,” he says gently. “There were first gen dinosaurs. They all died.”
“What? You never-” Eduardo leaps off of the foot of the bed and paces to the window and back. “What the hell is Mark doing, Chris?”
“This is awkward.” Chris mumbles into his hands, rubbing at his own temples, “Okay, shut up. Stand still, please, you’re making me nauseous. Long story short: Mark is obsessed with you-”
“What-”
“Shut up. You know perfectly well that he wants you. You’re just playing coy, or you’re stuck in denial, or something equally stupid, whatever.” Chris says firmly. “He is unfortunately just as pathetic as you, so naturally he dealt with his feelings by coding dinosaurs who are equally as obsessed with you, because god forbid he actually fucking tells you how he feels.”
Eduardo’s mouth is hanging open at this point, but Chris carries on, determined not to let Eduardo interrupt until he is good and ready. His headache actually feels better the longer he shouts, which is a welcome surprise. He needs to shout at people more often.
“We had to bury them all, Wardo. Mark’s dinosaurs. He wrote them to be so in love with you that they died from wanting you before they had a chance to even see you, and then we had to bury them. Dustin had nightmares, not even about the dinosaurs, but about Mark - because if that’s how Mark feels standing next to you, what will he do when you leave?”
Chris has to stop for a moment to swallow convulsively, his voice tinny with emotion.
“I’m sorry that Mark did this to you. It wasn’t fair to force this kind of responsibility on you. I’d tell you leave, but the thing is that I know you, Eduardo. You’ve always wanted Mark. He’s done this really badly, Wardo, but if you would just commit.”
Chris sucks in a deep breath before he can finish. “Please, could you just kiss him already? He’s been waiting years for you.”
“Um.” Eduardo says, looking slightly frightened.
“Sorry, Wardo.” Chris apologises, reaching for the noodles Eduardo left on the table next to him. He scarfs them in thirty seconds flat, surprised by how much yelling at one of your best friends can scare up an appetite.
“No,” Eduardo says, equally apologetic. “I think that...you’re probably right. Even though this is seriously none of your business, and you definitely should have told me about the rewrite because I’m pretty sure that this means you guys have fiddled the books somehow and I am now really not looking forward to filing our taxes next year.”
“Mark hired an accountant.”
“That’s not an excuse.” Eduardo says, exasperated. “Mark keeps saying that too, as if it’s going to change the fact that I work here and have a serious vested interest in precisely where my money is going.”
“He wants you with him, you idiot.” Chris says, disbelieving. “Please do not tell me you’ve been thinking that he hired all these accounting and econ graduates because he thinks you’re not capable of handling the finances.”
Eduardo’s lips twist a little.
“You have got to be kidding.”
“He told me he brought me because he thought I’d be a good mom, Chris.”
“Okay, wow, perfect example of misogynist Mark rearing his head. Sorry. If it makes you feel any better, I’d say that the truth is probably something more like ‘I brought you here because I want to marry you and raise dinosaurs with you in egalitarian bliss’. I promise he’s not actually planning to enslave you as a nanny because he thinks that’s all you’re good for, okay?”
“Strangely, you aren’t making me feel any better.”
Chris smirks a little, swallowing the salty broth in the bottom of the noodle bowl with the relish of someone with a true hangover. “That’s because I’m not Mark.”
Eduardo stuffs his hands in his pockets, silent for a minute. “...Will you be okay if I leave now?”
“Only if you’re going to Mark’s quarters.”
“Don’t. I left Diego with Dustin.”
Chris raises his eyebrows in mock horror. “Then by all means, go.”
---
It takes Eduardo a couple of days to think about Chris's telling off before he gives in to the inevitable and tracks Mark down.
Mark is cross-legged on his bed, laptop settled in his lap. He looks up for a moment when Eduardo slides the door shut again, and then flicks back down to his screen without a pause in his typing.
"You don't have to carry him around all the time," Mark says, hitting the enter key a couple of times to separate something he wants to rework later from the rest of the code. "It's actually developmentally detrimental to keep him from walking at this crucial stage."
Eduardo looks at Diego, trying to discern whether he is wearing what Dustin has dubbed his "sad baby" face. Apparently he puts it on when he gets hungry or cold, or missing Eduardo. Eduardo isn't sure about the whole reptiles having expressions thing, but Dustin is the bio and animal expert. Then again, it's Dustin. He can kind of see it, though. The blinking and crooning is more than Eduardo can ignore.
Diego doesn't seem to be doing much beyond trying to scratch his snout with one of his fragile clawed arms. Eduardo rubs it for him, smiling as Diego presses his head hard into his hand and rolls in his warm nest.
"Alright," Eduardo says decisively. He turns away from Mark and crouches down. The floor seems clear enough of cables and hazards.
(He vividly remembers his mother insisting they survey their house every time her sisters were allowed to stay with them in Miami. Pai would leave for his rounds of meetings, and for a week every year the house would fill with laughter and screeching and babies and small crawling children that his Mae spent the entirety of the stay jealously coddling. Eduardo remembers being coerced into posing for photographs. He remembers that he'd always been trusted to hold the littlest of his cousins. Mae had told him he was a natural, smiling wide at her sister, winking hopefully.
Pai had wanted a son, not children. One son. And he'd gotten Eduardo.
She'd wanted netos, grandchildren. He knew that now, felt guilty about it sometimes. The cousins were all grown up now, and probably barely remembered him or his mother beyond their names in birthday cards once a year. Brazil was too far to keep up appearances.)
Eduardo lays the sweater out, waits for Diego to orient himself to his new surroundings. Realistically, he knows that Diego can walk around perfectly competently. He could probably hunt his own prey given half the chance and a predator-free enclosure. Diego is confident enough. He springs over the sleeve of the sweater, landing with a flourish. He seems a little disappointed that there is nothing there, and darts under Mark's bed in search of adventure.
Eduardo can't help but laugh, lying flat on the floor to peer after him. He lies still, watching Diego charging through dust bunnies and tackling lint. He encounters one of Mark's socks and lays into it ruthlessly, biting and shaking it around. Eduardo's still laughing quietly when Mark blocks his view by way of setting his bare feet on the floor.
Part 1 || Part 3