toblameforit | God help them both

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?"

Their fingers touch as his hand closes around his glass.

Quietly: "I already love you."

Obadiah looks up to meet his eyes.

He's actually been enjoying this, in a way - the freedom of honesty has a dangerous appeal - but he's still paying attention to what he says.

Tell me how to use that is not the best choice here.

"Time was," he says softly instead, "I came first with you."

"...Is that—?"

He shakes his head, sets his drink down untouched, leans across the short distance between them, and kisses Obie on the lips. Because sometimes words do not suffice.

(It's getting easier every time.)

"There's different kinds of first," he murmurs, and—suddenly aware of the context—pulls back a little. "I don't mean—I mean, I'll believe you're lying before I'll believe he is, because I know you lie sometimes and he never does. But I don't... you've been there for me all my life. That's something nobody else has."

Yes. The conversation they came up here to have.

He pushes back the urge to rush it. It can wait.

"Maybe the other one sees things a little differently, then," he murmurs, then sighs, a brief, quiet exhale through his nose.

"I don't know, Tony. If there's a way, I'll find it. I've got plenty of time to think here, at least."

On a slightly different but mostly similar impulse, Tony hugs him.

"I guess I always used to take you for granted," he says. "I'm sorry."

He's a little taken aback by the gesture, and by the accompanying sentiment. He wraps his free arm around Tony, smiling.

"Don't worry about that, Tony," he says. "God knows you weren't brought up any better."

He laughs, snuggling close now that he's here.

"Oh God, was there anything Dad didn't take for granted?"

He can just about reach to put his drink on the table. He does just that, so he can can have both arms around Tony.

"I believe I heard him express his thanks to whatever genius invented whiskey once or twice," he says lightly.

"Yeah, that sounds like Dad."

Tony kicks his shoes off, tucks his feet under him, and curls up—the same way he does with Sherry, come to think, and the next time Sherry comes here he'll probably see that, and you know what, Tony doesn't care. He's making his own rules right now. They can deal with how fucked up this is later.

"I miss him too," he whispers, resting his head on Obadiah's shoulder. Not that Obie doesn't know that. Obie maybe knows that better than anyone.

He leans his head briefly against Tony's.

"I know," he murmurs.

Obadiah closes his eyes, enjoying the warmth of Tony against him, and the promises of the kisses he's already received.

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