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“Hey, Ford?”
Ford’s hand stills on his pencil. “Yes?”
“I’m kinda tired, think I’m gonna go make some coffee.”
“Ah, alright,” Ford says, staring to rise from his chair. “Coffee sounds wonderful, actually."
“You can stay there, keep workin’,” Stan says, easing Ford back down to his chair. He squeezes his shoulder gently. “I’ll be right back. Cream and sugar, right?”
“Er, yes, but…” He trails off.
“But…?” Stan’s eyebrows raise.
Something aches in Ford’s chest, though he can’t quite place it. It’s an odd sort of uncomfortability that pulls him toward his brother. He just knows he’d rather go with Stanley to make the coffee. He needs to be near him. But… something else in Ford tells him not to suffocate Stanley, not to be attached at the hip to him. It only tends to overwhelm Stan. When he was first starting to get his memories back, Ford’s hovering nearly caused him to have a lapse once. After that, Ford was never sure how close to be.
“Ford?”
Ford blinks. Was Stan talking? “I… yes?”
“You okay?”
“Yes. Yes, of course.” Ford shakes his head. Can’t suffocate him. “I just… yes. I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
Ford nods.
Stan looks far from convinced, but, to his credit, he doesn’t push. “Okay, well. Guess I’ll go make the coffee, then.” He squeezes Ford’s shoulder one more time, letting his hand linger slightly longer than needed, before turning on his heel and heading up the stairs to the kitchen.
The ache in Ford’s chest grows. He stares at the space where Stan just stood and drums his fingers anxiously on his thigh. He’s being ridiculous, he knows that. Stan can handle himself in all sorts of dangerous situations, and making coffee is hardly a dangerous situation. They’ve fought demons, monsters, cryptids, for god’s sake! Why should Stan going to make coffee make him so… stupid?!
Well.
He’s not a complete idiot, he knows why.
He’s been… like this ever since Stanley was kidnapped– ever since Ford let him be kidnapped. Stan keeps telling him that everything is okay, and that they’re alright, they’re both safe, but– but they’re not! Stan hasn’t told him everything about his past, but Ford knows that he had to get involved with some dangerous paper while he was on his own. While Ford let his horrible pride– he let Stanley be on his own, alone to face everything–
They’re not safe. What happened nearly a week ago now is proof of that. And Ford let Stan be unsafe and defenseless for far too long. Now that he’s back, Ford has to make up for all of his mistakes, he just has to. Even if it takes him the rest of his life, he has to– he will protect his family. He will protect Stanley.
Who has been gone for far too long. The coffee machine brews in three minutes, and Stan has been gone for at least five. Ford’s chest tightens painfully. He can’t suffocate Stan. But he can’t let Stan get hurt, he just– he can’t.
He’ll just go check. Stan won’t even have to see him, he’ll just sneak upstairs and peek his head into the kitchen, make sure everything is alright, then head back down to the lab. No harm done. He stands to go and ensure his brother’s safety when there’s a bump! The boat lurches and Ford stumbles on his feet. He shoots an arm out to brace himself against the desk, narrowly avoiding falling.
What was that? Is something attacking the boat? Oh god– did Stan get hurt?
“Stanley?” He calls, anxious. “Is everything alright?!”
No response.
Oh god.
“Stanley!!” He calls again. “STAN!!”
Still no response.
Something must’ve happened. Something hit the ship, some sort of anomaly or– oh god, didn’t Stan once say he ran with a gang of pirates? Maybe they found the boat!! Maybe–
Wait, wait, what is he doing just standing here?! He hurries out of the lab and up the stairs, beginning to pant.
“Lee?!” Stan’s not in the kitchen. He glances out the window and sees nothing. Maybe whatever hit the ship already took him? He bolts into the bedroom. Stan’s bed is still unmade, like someone rolled out of it. Just as it’s been since this morning. Where is he?! Ford doesn’t know. He barrels through the cabin, panicked, but Stanley isn't here. He’s not here. He’s not here, he’s not here, he’s not here not here not here–
This is your fault!! You let him go, you knew something was wrong, you knew– you let him get hurt again, you let him get taken again, oh god–
Ford feels like he can’t breathe, stumble-running around the cabin. His lungs are locked. He needs air. He needs air, he needs air, and he needs to find Stanley. He needs to figure out where he is, what took him, how to get him back!!
He throws open the door to the deck, gasping desperately for air.
“Lee?!” He calls again. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. His eyes trace the entire horizon, searching, but finding nothing. “LEE–”
“Ford?”
Ford whips his head around.
And there’s Stan. He’s by the door, standing just– just out of range of where someone would be able to see from the window. Safe. Unharmed.
For a moment, Ford can only stare at him, struggling to get in air. He thinks his hand might be clutching at his chest. He isn’t sure. He only knows that Stan is here, he’s here, he’s here he’s here he’s here.
“Ford, buddy? Everythin’ okay?”
Ford lunges at his brother, hands immediately patting along Stan’s chest and arms, searching for any sign of injury. He grabs Stan’s face and turns it to both sides. He finds nothing. He’s not hurt. He’s alright. He’s here. Ford buries his head in Stan’s chest and presses his ear against it, listening intently for his heartbeat. His arms wrap tightly around him, squeezing, keeping him here and safe where Ford can protect him and never let him out of his sight again. He lets out a high-pitched whine and presses in as tight as humanly possible. He squeezes his eyes shut, focusing only on Stan’s heartbeat.
“Hey, hey,” Stan murmurs, maneuvering his arms to wrap around Ford as much as they can with how they’re squeezed to his own sides in Ford’s hold. “What’s goin’ on? Somethin’ happen?”
Ford can’t speak. He just nods furiously and makes a pitiful keening noise, nails digging into his twin’s t-shirt.
“Whatever happened, it’s gonna be okay,” Stan assures. “It’s okay. We’re alright.” A small pause. “You wanna get inside?”
Ford nods. Safer inside. Stan pulls away slightly, and suddenly, Ford panics, yelping and grabbing Stan back. It didn’t occur to him he’d have to let go to walk back into the cabin. He can’t let Stan out of his sight, he can’t let him– can’t let him get hurt again–
“Woah, woah, hey, s’ okay. It’s okay. I’m not goin’ anywhere, just tryin’ to get us back inside. You can hold onto me if you need.” Stan pulls away again, and though panic grips at Ford, he listens and grabs hold of Stan’s arm with both hands, squeezing it tightly. He lets Stan lead him back into the cabin and into the bedroom, sitting them both down on the bed, backs against the side wall.
Ford immediately pulls Stan close again, but finds himself relaxing in his brother’s arms. Stan doesn’t rush him, just holds him, somehow both gentle and strong. And Ford realizes that it should be the other way around– Ford should be holding Stanley, protecting him, keeping him safe, but– but Ford is so tired. And Stanley is here, and he’s alive and he’s warm and he’s here. So he slumps into his twin’s arms, hands still gripping tight fists in his shirt. Here. Alive.
He can feel worry radiating off of Stan, the way his eyes keep flickering down, the way his fingers keep twitching against Ford’s skin. You’re worrying him. Ford doesn’t feel ready to speak, not in the least, but he has to apologize, to assure Stan that he’s fine.
He clears his throat. “Lee?” His voice is rusty, like it hasn’t been used in ages.
Stan perks up slightly, but doesn’t pull away. “You with me now, bud?”
“Yes. I-I’m… yes.” Ford sniffles. “You’re a-alright? You’re not hurt?”
“No, I’m just fine. More worried about you, right now, to be honest.” A pause. “What happened, Six?”
“I…” He adjusts himself so that he’s able to look in his brother’s eyes without straining his neck. It hurts to pull away, even the slightest bit, but he needs to see Stan. He grabs his twin’s hands to ease the ache. “I thought… maybe you were… I-I don’t know.”
“Walk me through it,” Stan says gently. “I mean, you don’t have to, we can talk about it later if you want. But… you know. I’m worried.”
Ford can’t have his brother worrying. He clears his throat again. “I was… the boat lurched, and I heard some sort of noise, a-and I just… I don’t know. I don’t… I thought maybe you were hurt, o-or something attacked you, or maybe… maybe–” he cuts himself off, voice breaking.
“Maybe…?” Ford can tell from Stan’s voice that he knows exactly what Ford is talking about. Exactly what he’s afraid of.
“I thought it might happen again,” Ford admits miserably. He pulls his hands away and runs them through his hair, shielding himself. “I just… I can’t get it out of my head, I can’t–“ His breathing begins to speed up again, and he fights to get the words out between gasps. “And it’s ridiculous, because you’re more than capable of handling yourself, I know that, but I just feel like– i-if I’m not with you, if–” His voice breaks again. “I can’t– lose you, alright?!” He sobs miserably, fighting the urge to curl up in a ball under his desk and never speak again.
Stan’s eyes are wide in shock. But they soften almost immediately. “Hey, look, you’re not losin’ me, okay? I’m right here. Not goin’ anywhere.”
Another sob. “But if–”
“Look, I-I know what happened was… I mean, it really scared me, scared both of us.” Stan gently takes Ford’s hands from his hair and places them in Ford’s lap. “But even if it were to happen again–”
“Which it won’t–”
“Which it won’t,” Stan takes Ford’s interruption in stride, “but if it were to, I know I can handle myself, sure, but– I know you’d do just about anything to save me. You’ll save me, Ford, you always do. Just like you did. And I can promise you, you’re not gonna lose me. Ever.”
“I really thought that you– w-what did happen? Why did the boat lurch?”
“I know. Was just a particularly big, dumb shark bumpin’ into the ship was all, though. I’m not hurt. We’re okay.”
Oh. Ford feels his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. A shark. That’s all it was. He’s a complete idiot, isn’t he? He’s silent for a moment, eyes stinging. He sniffles and glances away, trying to blink back the tears.
“I’m sorry,” he finally mutters after (somewhat) composing himself. “I… overreacted.”
Stan gently tips Ford’s chin up and cups his face with one hand. “No, you didn’t. You just got a little freaked out, ‘s all. Understandable, given… what happened.”
“I– still. I’m sorry. You’re the one who deserves to be affected by it, not me.”
“Hey, that’s not true. It was hard for you too, and it was scary for you too. You’re allowed to be afraid, you know.” Stan pulls Ford in tighter and lets Ford bury his head back in his chest. “And… I’m sorry I scared you.”
“Wha– Stanley, you have nothing to apologize for. Nothing. Just– I…” His vocal chords are failing him, and he concludes with a hefty sigh.
“If I got nothin’ to apologize for, then you got nothin’ to apologize for,” Stan says lightly, tussling Ford’s gray curls. “But, Six, really, I’m not going anywhere, okay? We’ll be okay.”
“I know,” Ford murmurs, sniffling. He wipes away a few remaining tears. “I just get all…” he gestures vaguely. “But I know. I do.”
“And I’m here to remind you when you do get all…” Stan makes the same vague gesture. “And, look, if you wanna… come with me the next time I make coffee, I won’t stop you, okay? No harm in bein’ a little attached at the hip.”
“I-I don’t want you to feel like you–”
“Don’t start with that. I don’t feel like I have to. You’re my brother, ‘n I like bein’ around you, okay?”
Ford nods, a lump in his throat. “I like being around you too.”
Stan sighs, content. He grabs Ford’s hands and squeezes them. “Now, you wanna actually go get some of that coffee I brewed?”
“That… sounds wonderful.”
Stan rises and holds a hand out to Ford, who takes it gratefully. He lets Stan lead him into the kitchen, content in being here, and safe, and alive.