toblameforit | God help them both

"You say the nicest things."

Obadiah does as he's told, pouring generously for both of them. He brings the drinks over to the couch and hands one of the glasses off to Tony as he sits.

"I tell it like I see it."

That habit is going to get him in trouble one day. So is his fondness for alcohol as a problem-solving strategy.

Obadiah snorts lightly into his glass before he takes a swallow.

"No, honesty was never one of your problems."

Tony grins behind his own glass, but by the time he lowers it his eyes are closed and the lines of his face drawn tight with pain.

"I really, really missed you," he says, entirely failing to keep his tone light, and takes another drink.

"I'm sorry he was such an idiot," Obadiah murmurs.

How difficult can it be to avoid getting sucked into hell? Whatever's happening to his double right now, he damn well deserves it for that kind of incompetence.

(He'll miss Tony.)

(There must be some way he can use this.)

Tony snorts. "I'll bet you are."

It's not like he has any evidence this Obie is less of an idiot. Tony would argue that killing your best friend over money and power is pretty fucking stupid.

As he said earlier: it depends on your priorities.

"Well, it is nice to know that all I have to do to get your attention again is die."

"Jesus Christ you're an asshole."

He drains his glass.

Yep, the drinking was a bad idea.

Obadiah is unperturbed; his tone is mild when he answers.

"If you have any better ideas, I'm listening."

"How about nobody dies? That's always a good place to start."

Obadiah takes a swallow of Scotch.

"That's my favorite option," he agrees. "Believe it or not, Tony, I would prefer that you live. I wish you'd make it a little easier for that to happen."

He sets his empty glass down on the table with a slight rattle.

"Do you actually not know how bullshit that is? Look, if you want me to live, don't kill me. The math is not hard here."

He sighs. The sound is tired and regretful.

"That's no longer an option."

That fucking clone. He should have had it killed as soon as he found out about it. Gotten Tony a dog instead. But Tony, it would seem, is his soft spot, and he unknowingly found the right way to play on that, and now they all get to pay the price.

Tony opens his mouth.

Tony closes his mouth.

With one of those leaps of intuition that has been happening more and more frequently since a certain influence entered his life: "What'd Sherry find out?"

"About your parents," Obadiah says. "I don't know what kind of proof he has, but -"

He shakes his head.

"A year ago, maybe I could have finessed this. But he's got you wrapped around his finger now. He won't even need proof."

He laughs, soft and sad, and shakes his head.

Obadiah looks at him.

"Give me a guaranteed out, Tony, and I'll use it."

"For Sherry? Say you're sorry, and mean it."

Tony has reason to know that Sherlock will forgive a lot for that and nothing more.

To say that Obadiah is skeptical of this would be putting it mildly.

Maybe his double got along better with the clone than he does. How else could Tony think that would work?

"Please, Tony, I could tell him the sun rises in the east and he wouldn't believe me."

"He hates you because you lie all the time and do awful shit," Tony points out. "I dunno about you, but I'm seeing a pretty easy way to get him to not hate you, there."

As an afterthought, he adds, "Actually thinking of him as a human being would probably also help."

"Mm."

Obadiah takes a longer drink of scotch.

"Let's assume I don't have enough time to perform miracles. Any other ideas?"

"Which part is a miracle? The part where Sherry believes you or the part where you're sorry?"

"I have an hour at most back home," Obadiah says. "That leaves me time for one phone call. I don't think wasting it on a heart-to-heart would be very productive."

He finishes his drink, takes Tony's glass, goes back to the liquor cabinet for refills.

"I miss your father," he says. "I put that off for years longer than I should have, looking for another way. Fact of life, Tony: there isn't always another way."

"Oh my God," he groans, burying his face in his hands and dropping back heavily against the back of the couch. "You don't think that because you don't know Sherry. I mean, in case you hadn't figured this out, I was basically the worst thing about his life until he was my age, and he let me off the hook for that because we talked about it."

The thing Tony is missing here is that he is, at heart, a good person. But he doesn't see why that should matter so much. Good people can still do bad things. It doesn't make the things less bad.

"Maybe I'll run into one here I can practice on," he says offhandedly.

As before, he brings well-filled glasses back with him, putting Tony's in his hand.

"But if I decide to take a risk, I think my effort is better spent on you. What should I say to you?"

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