"Over there it is," Eduardo agrees, starting in that direction, though it's more following Mark's lead than anything else. He's done a lot of that, over the two years they've known each other, and it shouldn't be second nature to do the same now, especially not in a place where he has the obvious upper hand, but old habits, he's realizing with increasing certainty, die hard. It was why storming out of the Facebook office was so satisfying, underneath all the hurt, because for once, he was taking a stand, not just sitting back and letting Mark dictate what happened next. (He'd hesitate to call himself a pushover, but there's no denying that he's been easily swayed in his best friend's favor, with the algorithm and the house in Palo Alto and any number of things before and in between.) This is something simple, irrelevant in comparison, but it's enough to make him wonder if he'll ever regain quite the same clarity he had in the moment he smashed Mark's laptop against the desk. There's a difference, after all, between intent and following through on something, and having Mark here is different than imagining what he'd do if he were here. Real versus hypothetical. Eduardo can't tell which he prefers.
Reaching the table, he stands behind the chair, hands resting against the back of it, as he waits for Mark to take a seat. There's a waitstaff, but he might as well get them drinks now; the Winchester's never close to empty, and it'll be quicker that way. "Alright," he says, "so I'll be right back." True to his word, it takes only a few moments to get to the bar and back, the return trip a little slower when he has a full glass in each hand. (He's reminded again how much he'll need this, what a good idea it was, if they were going to be spending any time together, to do so with alcohol.) Setting both down onto the table, he finally slides into a seat, and lets out a breath as he looks at Mark. This is either going to be too normal or too awkward, and he's in no rush to figure out which it is. He takes a drink instead of speaking right away, sipping off the top of his glass and swallowing hard, as casual as it's possible to be when there's still a slight tension he can't quite shake.
That's nothing new, though. It was always kind of the difference between them, what prevented Eduardo from joining Mark in Palo Alto. More a worrier than a partier, unable to let go of more serious subjects or problems, it wasn't a life he'd been cut out for. Now, he hopes, Mark will get that, will know that it isn't entirely personal, and again, he finds himself wondering why it matters so much. "Jesus, you know, I can't even remember the last time we did this."
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Date: 2011-05-20 08:13 pm (UTC)Reaching the table, he stands behind the chair, hands resting against the back of it, as he waits for Mark to take a seat. There's a waitstaff, but he might as well get them drinks now; the Winchester's never close to empty, and it'll be quicker that way. "Alright," he says, "so I'll be right back." True to his word, it takes only a few moments to get to the bar and back, the return trip a little slower when he has a full glass in each hand. (He's reminded again how much he'll need this, what a good idea it was, if they were going to be spending any time together, to do so with alcohol.) Setting both down onto the table, he finally slides into a seat, and lets out a breath as he looks at Mark. This is either going to be too normal or too awkward, and he's in no rush to figure out which it is. He takes a drink instead of speaking right away, sipping off the top of his glass and swallowing hard, as casual as it's possible to be when there's still a slight tension he can't quite shake.
That's nothing new, though. It was always kind of the difference between them, what prevented Eduardo from joining Mark in Palo Alto. More a worrier than a partier, unable to let go of more serious subjects or problems, it wasn't a life he'd been cut out for. Now, he hopes, Mark will get that, will know that it isn't entirely personal, and again, he finds himself wondering why it matters so much. "Jesus, you know, I can't even remember the last time we did this."