Lost in Translation

AO3

Rating: T

Summary: Adapting to this dimension has turned out to be more difficult than Ford expected. With Bill defeated and his family back everything should fall into place.

So why wasn’t it? And how did he explain to Stan?

AN: Commission for @garrulousgibberish 8D Thanks hun ♥

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“Hey, Sixer…you OK over there?”

Ford didn’t know what he’d expected.

But he hadn’t expected this.

It had been his choice, his idea, his goal once Stan had regained his memories to take him on the Stan’O’War like they’d always dreamed and go searching. Go explore the big wide open world for treasure and adventure and just see where it took them. They’d missed out on so much time but they had years ahead of them to bring it all round. To make amends and enjoy life like they had always thought they would.

No more drifting along. No more fighting alone.

They always had each other’s backs through thick and thin.

And he’d wanted it. God he had wanted his brother back so badly when he had been a stranger, when he’d lost the part of him that made him Stan. Had thought of nothing else while his memories started to come back slowly but surely.

He would get him back. He had to get him back. Then they could be brothers again.

That’s all he had wanted.

But wanting it and having it were two vastly different beasts.

Ford glanced up, his thoughts coming back into focus as a shadow draped over him, cutting off the blinding summer sun that was inescapable on their small ship. Stan stared down at him, a look of concern marring his face as he checked up on him. He hadn’t even noticed that he’d been zoning out, that he’d stopped scribbling in his journal and just sat poised, as if the word he wanted to write next was on the tip of his pen when in actual fact his thoughts had slid completely away from the task at hand. He smiled reassuringly before going back to his book, an obvious sign that he was busy. “I’m fine.”

“…If you say so, daydreamer.”

Ford winced as a hand came clapping down hard on to his shoulder, almost dislodging him from his perched position against the railing before his brother left him to it with an endearing chuckle. A bone weary sigh left him when he was sure Stan had gone, his journal yet again forgotten as he stared at the bright waves.

It wasn’t that he didn’t love his brother. It wasn’t that he didn’t want him around.

It was just so difficult to be around anyone for these spans of time.

He’d spent so long- so long, looking after himself, protecting himself. There had been a bounty on his head and a list of enemies long enough to fill a journal all because of Bill. He spread lies, rumours, framed him in more than one case. Made him out to be this hideous monster that needed to be stopped. Let his cronies have fun with him, chasing him through dimension after dimension. Put a reward so big on his head that ordinary citizens stopped to question whether it was worth it so that not only bounty hunters were after him.

In the end, as much as he’d never admit it to anyone, not even Stan, he’d had to become the monster they expected him to be.

He’d survived. Survived everything they threw at him and defended himself on more than one occasion that ended in tragedy.

In the end he’d had to make the choice, one that he had made years before in front of the portal but became clearer and clearer with every passing day in the multiverse.

Trust no one.

There was always an angle, always something that someone was after more than companionship. Money, power, knowledge. The ones that were honest about it and the ones that were not. The ones that were forced, threatened not to help him until Bill had somehow made entire dimensions locked off to him before he’d even entered.

Those that would have helped him couldn’t. Those that tried were scars burned into his mind’s eye, torn out of his very soul.

It was safer alone. Safer for everyone.

Trust no one.

He couldn’t get it out of his head. So long alone, so much travelling. Walking, running, portal hopping from dimension to dimension, never staying in one place long. He’d gone so far just striving to come home without someone reactivating the portal. Had been desperate to return.

Yet now he was here. Ford glanced up at the blue sky, the sun beating down on him warm and unwinding as the waves sloshed a steady beat to relax his aches and pains of 30 years running. Bill was dead, the bounty on his head was gone.

He was home.

He had someone he could trust standing by his side.

So why did he want to be alone so much?

Why did the small boat feel that much smaller than it actually was? He’d been in smaller living conditions, been in worse ones that had left him itching and tense, ready to fight in case anyone recognised him. But that wasn’t the case here.

It was just him and his brother.

And that somehow made it worse.

He couldn’t pretend Stan was a stranger. That set his stomach roiling nauseously at the thought. He’d almost lost him once, he couldn’t- wouldn’t do that willingly ever again. But that left him in the predicament that he was always being watched, there was always someone with him who knew him inside and out.

There was no privacy.

There was no space to breathe.

And the thing that was so great about being swept away to anywhere in the world with just his brother by his side was somehow a curse as well.

Because after 30 years alone, he just didn’t know how to cope with living with someone again.

And not just living with someone but living in such close quarters.

“Hey Ford, how about another portal story?”

Ford stuttered out of his train of thought. He’d been rambling to Stan about a creature they’d encountered the day before, explaining it in minute detail until it became fairly obvious even to him that Stan was zoning out. His brain had ground to a halt, wondering where to go next, even as his body laughed it off and apologised and his brother’s endearing grin and snarky comments let him know everything was ok.

But it didn’t feel ok.

He just didn’t know what else to do.

The silence ate away at him, reminded him that he only had so much going for him in the way of conversations. Stan was the glib talker, not him. He could keep a bar alive for hours when they made port, could keep the fishermen on the edge of their seats with tales of their exploits and wrap them all round his little finger with his charm.

Ford couldn’t do that.

He couldn’t even keep up a conversation with his brother.

Or that’s what it felt like.

There were times when they could talk for hours and hours, ramble on about every little thing.

And then there were other times where he just didn’t know what to say.

The times when the tension would brew back up, awkward and restless. When it felt like he should say something, anything but nothing sprang to mind and he sat there irritated and lost and wanted to bolt because Stan must be judging me.

Which had led to this moment, Ford’s mind fumbling for something to talk about and Stan deciding to coax him out himself, trying to bring the conversation back around. It was obvious that he thought it was a good starting point, something they had fallen back on many times.

Only he’d chosen the one thing that Ford had now exhausted.

Well not exhausted, but he’d traced his way back through the good times already. All that was left were the nightmare worlds, the ones he’d never bring up if he could help it. The ones that were not good bedtime stories or even over dinner jokes.

They were stories of another time, another place when his life was awful and every time he moved his world would be turned upside down again until he was in a constant spiral of dread that he couldn’t escape from. Even thinking about those times made him ashamed of feeling like his skin itched and his head pulsed whenever his personal space was invaded now.

He’d been in a lot of worse scenarios, and this was by no means even a bad situation yet somehow he couldn’t get his brain to stop the anxiety riddling through his body at the cramped quarters.

“I-I think you’ve heard all my stories.”

“Oh.”

The conversation fell flat again, a buzzing white noise filling his ears as Stan went back to his card game without a second thought. But Ford knew better or so he thought. His mind kicked into overdrive, telling him that Stan was pretending for his benefit, that he was admitting defeat and he could feel this awkward tension too but was ignoring it.

The quiet plagued him with every passing second.

“I’m going to go check we’re still on track.” Ford jumped up from his seat like it had burned him, not noticing the shocked flinch Stan gave at the sudden movement as he vanished out on to the deck.

“Ford, don’t you think you should get some rest?”

A small tingle of shame shuddered up his spine and turned his face red though luckily it was too dark for his twin to see. “Actually, I was thinking of doing some star gazing, it’s a nice night for it.” He hoped that was enough, hoped that Stan thought this was a one time event and couldn’t even begin to fathom that this was a habit of his. That his sleep was taking a beating most nights so he could slip away unseen and drink in the world outside.

His skin crawled as the stillness dragged on. He could feel Stan’s eyes boring into the back of his head as he continued to set up the telescope they had and didn’t even deign to look over at him.

He knew it was probably rude of him but he really wanted Stan to get the hint and leave him to it.

And just that notion sent more guilt to crush against his lungs.

But he needed it. He needed these few hours when the world was dark and quiet. He needed this time to himself when Stan was asleep and everything was peaceful and there was nothing holding him, nothing keeping him on edge because he was being watched at all times.

He didn’t need to be on his best behaviour when he was alone with the stars.

You don’t need to be on your best behaviour with Stan, he’s not Pa.

He bit down on his lip at the sharp vicious voice. It was true. He didn’t need to but somehow he felt he did. He had to be strong and he had to always be doing things and he had to be sociable because they’d lost so much time. There had been so much between them for so many years he didn’t want to waste a moment of this and the burden was slowly driving him insane.

He didn’t have it in him to be sociable 24/7, he wasn’t his twin. He couldn’t make friends at every possible turn. He was much happier with his space and his books and the occasional conversation.

But his brother wasn’t like that, so he had to make the effort and keep him entertained.

“You want someone to teach the constellations to?”

No! Ford’s mind snapped and he hated himself for the fervour it screamed at him with as his hands shook and he wondered how to get himself out of the situation and acquire the space he needed. He shook his head with a smile, rotating just enough to turn the look to him before getting back to work. “As much as I’m grateful for your pretence to be interested, you and I both know this would send you to sleep. You should just go to bed so you don’t complain about your back in the morning.”

“Oh OK…Goodnight, bro.”

Ford grit his teeth at the disappointed voice, the shuffling feet as Stan left. He didn’t really know but he thought he could feel Stan’s eyes piercing into him again. Thought he heard him turn as if to say something before giving up and leaving him to it, his feet dragging and despondent as he went to bed without another word.

Ford looked upwards, breathing in deeply as he sat next to the telescope and felt completely lost, torn between heady relief and terrible self-loathing.

The quiet lull of the night sky didn’t seem all that welcoming anymore.

Things only seemed to get worse the more he tried to ignore them.

Stan just didn’t seem to know what boundaries were.

Maybe they’d spent too long apart but his brother just didn’t seem to register his body language anymore.

Or perhaps he was ignoring it, overcompensating.

Maybe he thought that doing so would help and Ford would come out of his shell a bit more.

Suffice to say, it was having the opposite effect.

Ford sat down for dinner, humming happily at the smell coming from whatever Stan had prepared that day. He had been pleasantly surprised to find out Stan was quite the cook after 30 years and it was always a welcome part of his day when they could sit together and he had something to praise his brother for.

It gave him something to talk about, innocuous and mind numbing that could occupy his mouth while he wasn’t eating and would hopefully see him through the exchange.

Depending on the day these sit downs were either very easy or very difficult to navigate through.

Sometimes they were both exhausted, eating only because they needed to before promptly falling asleep. Those days were usually quite frequent, full of monster hunts and explorations that left them bone weary but satisfied and usually meant he could get away without much hassle.

There were other days when Stan could take over, would have heard something on the radio or the kids had made a video call and talking to his brother was as easy as breathing and the time fell away around them until they both realised that their dinners had gone cold and the light outside had faded to moonlight.

Those were his favourite days.

And then there were the problematic days.

Like today.

When the seas had been quiet for almost a week.

When the kids had called a few nights before and chatting about them would make them both wistful about the next call which could be a week away and remind them that they wouldn’t be able to see them in person for quite a long time.

Ford grit his teeth as Stan hummed to himself, adding the last finishing touches to their meals. He just didn’t know what to say! He didn’t want to just blurt something out at random, didn’t want Stan to give him that look that said he had no idea what he was talking about. Knew that he’d get tongue tied as soon as he started trying or that it would sound mechanical and odd for him to ask questions that they both already knew the answer to.

Small talk was not his forte and frankly even thinking about trying it with Stan felt like a disgrace.

He wasn’t a stranger he was trying to get to know, after all.

So why couldn’t he think of any topics that they both could discuss and enjoy?

Why was it Stan that always had to come up with the prompt?

“Poindexter, you’ve got that look on your face again.”

Ford blinked, shaking his head as Stan stood over him, grinning. He hadn’t even noticed him walk over. He frowned, sitting up straight as he turned to him properly. “What look?”

“The overthinking look. You need to get out of your head more.”

Ford relaxed as Stan chuckled, no bite to his words.

He froze a few seconds later at his next actions, his brain short circuiting and screaming a warning that he couldn’t actually voice.

Stan dropped his plate in front of him as usual but just as Ford was about to remark on the food, he did the unexpected. Instead of taking his usual seat across from him, he sat down on the bench beside him.

Ford’s personal bubble popped, his skin crawling at the sudden proximity.

He was stuck.

He couldn’t escape if he wanted to. If things got too awkward and he couldn’t stand the tension he had no way to quietly make an exit, had no excuse to leave that wouldn’t disrupt Stan from his seat.

The change was disconcerting. He felt like Stan was trying to make a point, or trying to test something but he wasn’t sure what.

All he knew was that his heart was pounding and his breaths were becoming shallower even though he was trying his best not to let it show outwardly that he was feeling cramped and claustrophobic.

He felt slightly hysterical, his brain coming up with roundabout logic to try and calm him down as he tried to eat with shaking hands.

They were on a boat in the middle of nowhere, they had all the freedom of the open water around them. One person, especially his twin, should not be able to upset that notion of needed isolation.

They had their own personal island of solitude, there was no one around for miles.

Stan moved beside him, his elbow almost knocking into his. The logical voice broke down rapidly to let the swarm of panic back in as he pushed himself further into the corner.

There’s no air to breathe.

I can’t move. I can’t talk.

I can’t do this. I need to leave. I need to move now!

It’s suffocating.

“Ford?”

He locked up at the thought, not even hearing Stan as the air left him in a gasp and he stared out into the middle distance. It felt like he’d been kicked in the stomach, winded by his own mind that was usually the only thing he could truly trust.

Loathing bubbled up to the surface, wiping away the fear and the anxiety. He hated himself all the way to his core for that treacherous thought.

It wasn’t Stan’s fault.

It’s yours. Your fault, don’t take it out on him. Don’t blame him.

Stan shifted beside him again, calling him back to the problem at hand. He had to leave, quickly, before Stan noticed anything was wrong. He couldn’t burden him with any of this. He knew how he’d take it, knew that he’d blame himself and pull away entirely.

He didn’t know what he said or did but Stan was moving out of the way and he didn’t think about it he just went. Left the cabin without a backwards glance, too busy wanting to make sure that Stan didn’t ask him any questions or keep him there any longer.

He left so fast he didn’t notice Stan sit back down, food forgotten. Didn’t notice him put his head in his hands or hear the growling curses and the vicious punishing whispers that did exactly what Ford was afraid of and echoed sadly around the now empty room.

“Idiot, what were you thinking? You’re too much. Always too much, can’t you just get the hint and leave him alone? You never think.”

“You’re just pushing him away again.”

It all came to a head one fateful afternoon.

A dejected voice from behind him drove the knife deep between his ribs and left him floundering for reassuring words.

“Ford, have I done something wrong?”

He hadn’t meant to be so forceful.

Stan had only gone in for a victory hug. They’d successful shaken off a kraken trying to crush their small ship apart, the creaking groans a panicked warning sign that if they weren’t careful their little boat would be nothing but wreck in a few short seconds.

His brother had been overjoyed at the small victory. With a bright whoop of joy he had clasped Ford’s shoulder, pulling him into a side hug and opening his mouth for some well-meant banter.

It was like something snapped in him, the confined living conditions finally getting to him enough that he couldn’t hide it as he yanked himself out of the grasp and stumbled away.

Ford had halted a few steps away as his mind came back to him, as the panic deserted him and left him just as confused as he assumed Stan was.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like the contact. He liked being affectionate, it had been great to have family to be affectionate with once he returned, the kids wrapping him round their little finger without any trouble at all.

But sometimes it all got just a bit too much.

There was never a choice in the matter.

Stan was- well, Stan. He had watched him pick the kids up without a second thought, hell he had grabbed him and pulled him into a tree with a grappling hook not long after his memories returned – because why not? He seemed as overjoyed as Ford did to have people to irritate, to have people to care about and he just had to show it all the time.

And yet not even a week before, when Weirdmageddon was a fearful nightmare that he hoped to put a stop to, he and Stan had been at the opposite end of the spectrum. Every civil conversation devolved into vicious barbed words. Every argument turned into a fist fight or insults that cut deep and left jagged scars.

Too much between them, too big a grudge to stem the flow of resentment and get them to act like adults in front of the kids.

Frankly Ford was getting whiplash.

They’d had The Conversation. The one they should have had when he first came back into this dimension. The one where they laid everything bare and apologised. It didn’t matter how much they actually spoke, just that they had, that they had decided to finally put the past to rest and go back to enjoying life one day at a time. Because more than once in their long, long lives they had lived to regret the broken bridge that lay between them.

Now it was time to mend the bridge and start anew. Not forgetting the past but not letting it stop their future either.

But whilst Ford had assumed the adjustment in their relationship would take some time, Stan had jumped wholeheartedly into their rekindling friendship, not wanting to waste even a day on awkward halfway houses. He didn’t even wait until the end of their talk to throw a feeble punch to his shoulder with a soft smile on his face that he was allowed to do so. From then on it seemed like he had too much time to make up for, with claps to the shoulder and affectionate surprise noogies whenever he felt the moment warranted one or that Ford had grown too complacent. Hugs when the kids left for home and they both felt the loss of the summer. High sixes for every tiny achievement.

And it was just so Stan to flick a switch and everything be right as rain again that Ford wanted to laugh and cry at the familiarity it brought with the notion even as he found himself shying away from the affectionate and usually unanticipated contact.

Honestly though, when he thought logically about it- he didn’t know what else he had been expecting.

It was him that had trouble with people skills, not Stan. He didn’t know if it was reckless of him or hopeful, or maybe a bit of both but he wasn’t sure when the last time was that he’d seen his brother give anything less than his all.

And it wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the bridge being built between them so quickly, it wasn’t that he didn’t like the snarky banter they shared nor the sudden springing up of a long lost and harmless sibling rivalry.

He enjoyed the moments when he could watch the world go by with his brother or when they took on the world and came out victorious, alight with adrenaline and satisfaction.

When he could focus on living instead of surviving.

But then he’d come down from the rush, the happy moment would recede and the doubts and the self-conscious thoughts would sweep back in like a rising tide and remind him that this was not his world anymore and he had lived through so much that he was just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The bridge may have been mended between them without much strife but the fact that they were two completely different people than they had once been was another stumbling block that hadn’t been fully realised.

Ford walked a tightrope wobbling in the wind and was fast approaching the ground.

It was far too much far too fast.

But how could he voice that without pushing Stan away entirely?

“Well? Have I?”

He turned back to Stan, mouth open to apologise but the words lodged in his throat when he caught the lost and hopeless expression he held, the light dimming in his eyes as if he already knew the answer.

“Wha-” Ford tried to deny the conversation, lock it away and throw away the key before it got out of hand.

Stan didn’t let him, the words spilling out of him in a torrent of dejection as if the thread than held them all in had finally snapped after they had brewed behind his eyes for far too long.

“You can tell me, you know. I won’t be mad. I just- I need to know. I need to know before it all blows up in my face and I lose you again.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You’re not going to- I’m right here, Stan. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ford quickly jumped in, his fears confirmed but he couldn’t admit it, couldn’t let Stan accept that this was in any way his fault.

“Don’t lie to me!” Stan snapped, his fist coming down heavily on the wood beside him. “I can’t take it. I can’t have you on this trip with me because of some…some obligation, you know? If you’ve changed your mind, that’s fine. I know I’m hard to deal with, I’ve always been hard to deal with. But don’t just pretend to put up with me because we said we’d put the past behind us. Don’t keep up this-this act just for me if you can’t stand to be around me.”

“Stan, stop.” Ford ran a hand through his hair, gripping tight enough to hurt as his mind ran away with itself. It’s not you, it’s me, can’t you see? I’m having a great time and yet I’m still finding things wrong, can’t you see there’s something wrong with me?

His knees hitting the floor was the first indication that he wasn’t standing anymore. He just couldn’t get his head to work, couldn’t get it to figure out that everything was fine, he was fine. He wasn’t travelling the multiverse anymore, he didn’t have to deal with things alone. He just needed time to adjust. But he didn’t have any time. Everyone expected him to just be alright, to deal and move on.

“Sixer. Hey Sixer, speak to me. You’re scaring me.”

Or maybe it was his own expectations that led him to assume he should be alright with it all straight away. Maybe it was just him that didn’t know how to deal with the fact that life didn’t work like that.

He wanted so desperately to be able to put everything behind him, a green envious voice hissing through him that it wasn’t fair that Stan could roll with the punches like he did.

“Stanford, please.”

“I-I…” The word came out but no thoughts followed, only listening to the command to speak in the hopes the alarm that painted Stan’s tone would vanish with it.

Hands hovered over him, hesitant to touch and something broke inside him at the concept. That Stan was too afraid to comfort him, too worried that he’d do something wrong and force Ford away further.

He didn’t want Stan to act awkwardly around him. He wanted him to be himself, that’s what made him feel like the world was on track again after a week of a stranger wearing his twin’s face.

He wanted him around even though he wanted to be alone.

It was too hypocritical for him to even comprehend.

“You haven’t done anything wrong.”

The words came out without any thought and Stan froze in front of him, hands still poised even as his face closed off into a mask of disbelief. Ford gulped, licking his lips as he let his mouth run, and left overthinking at the wayside for once. “You haven’t. You haven’t done anything. It’s me, Stan. I just- it’s difficult. I’ve spent so long alone, I thought…I thought I’d have more time to get used to having people around me again. People that…well, cared.”

He took another shuddering breath, leaning back and slumping against the cabin wall as he ran a hand under his glasses. “It’s just so much to adapt to. This dimension, this family. And it’s not that it’s bad! I just, I feel like I’m being assaulted from all sides and I don’t know how I’m meant to respond to it all. I’m not sure what I’m meant to do.”

“You’re not meant to do anything, Sixer. You just have to be you.”

“I’m an interdimensional drifter who has spent 30 years on the run.” Ford sniped. “Just being me doesn’t cut it here.”

“Sure it does.”

“No, Stan, it doesn’t.” Ford groaned, rubbing at his eyes again. He felt so worn out, stretched thin and out of sorts. “I can’t keep going like this. I’m not ready to go back to where we left off 40 years ago like you are. And that’s not because of you!” He added the last sentence quickly, feeling Stan tense up again. He felt vulnerable, like a small child overwhelmed as he hoped his brother got what he was implying. “It’s everything. I’m struggling, Stan. I’m used to roaming alone. I’m used to dropping everything without a second thought because it’s life or death. I’m not used to being locked to one place, not used to being in such small quarters for long periods of time. And I want to- I want to get used to it. I don’t like that I feel the need to get away from you every once in a while when you’re just trying to involve me. I hate that I can’t sit and talk to you because every time I try I feel like I have nothing interesting to say. I just, I’m not ready-”

“It’s OK, Ford I get it.”

“Wait, really? You get it?” Ford’s jaw went slack with shock, the hypothetical situation where Stan had been so accepting not even making it into his list of possibilities.

He’d theorised the possibility of arguments. Harsh sceptical words and waspish distress.

He’d even agonisingly speculated that Stan would laugh it off, tell him it was nothing and he just had to get his head on straight before continuing as if they’d never spoken at all.

But he had never in any one of his hundreds of imaginings of this moment thought for a second that Stan would appreciate his dilemma and acknowledge every word. Not when he trouble articulating it even to himself.

His brother never did cease to amaze him or throw him for a loop.

“Well, no. I won’t lie. I don’t get it myself. But you know me, I’m a people person. I thrive off that.” Stan chuckled, moving to rest beside him instead of crouching in front of him now that Ford seemed less likely to panic. He shuffled away slightly, making sure they didn’t touch as he looked out over the waves. “You’ve seen me when we make port. I can’t help it.”

He turned his head towards Ford, going to give his shoulder a nudge but relenting just in time. “But you’re not like that, Poindexter. I got all the people skills, you got all the intelligence.” He did nudge him then when he seemed about to protest. “What, I’m saying nerd, is that I get it that you need time to yourself to recharge. You need to unwind every now and then with your books and your maps without me being my usual clumsy self around you and spoiling it. That’s not about adapting to this dimension or whatever, that’s about you needing to get away from me- well, everyone, for a while.”

“Stan, I’m not saying that-”

“Ford, I’m trying to agree with you here that I’ll give you some room to breathe, do not argue with me. All you need to say from now on is ‘Stan, I need some time to myself’ and I’ll leave you to it.”

Silence reigned after those words as Ford soaked in the reassurance like a sponge.

It wouldn’t be until much later that he realised that the silence wasn’t awkward at all. That it was calm and quiet and comforting, just the pair of them sat side by side without a care in the world.

“Hey, I know!” Stan shattered the moment, Ford jumping beside him at the sharp noise. A grin blossomed on his face. “How about we take some shore leave? We’ll find a place to crash for a few nights, separate rooms so you have some space, of course. I’ll go do what I do best and flirt my way through a vacation and you can go search for some local legends and find out some new interesting research to fill up pages and pages of your nerd diary.” Stan nodded, puffing out his chest, pleased with himself for his brilliant idea. “Then we’ll come back and set off again all the better from some time apart and with interesting stories to tell each other. How does that sound?”

Ford shook his head, pulling away from Stan as his intrusive thoughts returned, vicious and goading. He thinks you want him gone, out of your hair. After everything you’ve been through to get him back after he lost his memories you keep pushing him away. “Stan, don’t- that makes it sound like I don’t want you around. I like our adventures, I like exploring and seeking out anomalies with you. I like sailing with you, I just-”

Stan deflated, hands flopping down by his sides as he gave Ford a reproachful glare that made his mouth snap shut. “You just need some time to yourself. I’m trying to give you that, Sixer.”

“Oh.” Ford nodded, letting Stan push the thoughts away with his words. He could work with that. He’d try Stan’s idea. “That…that sounds great, Stan.”

Stan beamed brightly at him, relaxing him further. It was clear that Stan was comforted to know that Ford was willing, that he didn’t want to stop their trip entirely and just needed to be left to his own devices now and then. “Perfect.”

Ford smiled back at him before turning to glance upwards.

Somehow he felt that when they next went ashore, he’d be happy to share the adventure with his brother now that the dark cloud had lifted.

The boat didn’t feel as suffocating anymore.

“So, you wanna sit and fish with me for now?”

“W-what?” Ford blinked over at him, not expecting the sudden invitation or the squirming his brother was now doing under his gaze. It was obvious he wanted to say something but was hesitant, too nervous of Ford’s response to continue the train of thought. “Stan, you’ve just made me pour my heart out. Say what’s on your mind, don’t leave me hanging.”

“OK, look, I know you said you want some time alone but, have you thought that maybe…maybe you’re trying too hard?”

“Trying too hard? Stan, I don’t get what you’re saying.”

“What I’m saying is. Stop wondering what I want. And start thinking about what you want. I’m saying you don’t always have to have something to say or do. You can sit in your little nerd cabin reading your maps and your books for all I care some days. You can tell me that you need some space. Or you know, you can sit beside me and do your thing while I do mine and the silence won’t be awkward. We’re brothers and we have our own interests and that’s OK. And I’m pretty sure the less you worry about offending or annoying me or hell, even scaring me away by wanting space, the more enjoyable this trip will be.” Stan’s voice and smile faltered as he sat back. He shook his head, smiling sadly but determinedly. “Unless you’re lying or denying it even to yourself and then you just need to tell me. And it’ll be fine, we’ll go back to land indefinitely, you can do your trips and maybe I’ll just come every so often. You know, a compromise, doesn’t have to end entirely. Doesn’t have to be permanent this adventure-”

“No, god no, don’t say that. I do, I promise I do want this.” Ford reached up, grabbing his brother’s arm before he moved too far away. “I don’t need that much space, please. It’s not even a physical thing. I just need some things that are, well…mine, I guess?”

Stan grinned, his body relaxing as he nodded vigorously. “Right! That’s what I was hoping. So, what I’m saying is I’m going to go fish. We’ve got no plans for today and it’s what I feel like doing. I’m gonna find whatever radio station we can get out here and kick back and enjoy the sun before you drag us to some dreary part of the world.” He stood up, brushing off his knees and put out a hand to help Ford up. “You are welcome to join me and keep me company- no need for conversation, you can sit and read your book and mutter to yourself about equations for all I care. Or you can chat to me, it’s all up to you. I won’t be offended either way because I’ll be doing my own thing too.” He shrugged as Ford took his hand and he pulled him up. “Or you can go sit and read out of the sun so you don’t burn or something, or do some of your important research. I’m not fussed, there’s no obligation. Just don’t feel you have to take your precious moments alone when I’m asleep because that just means you feel like you can’t be yourself around me and that’s worse than you being brutally honest.”

Ford blinked at the overload of information. It wasn’t very often that Stan rambled at him, even if it was usual for him to get Ford out of his head and back into the world of the living.

Somehow with it all, the tension eased. He could feel the burden he had put on himself lifting.

He knew it would still take time, maybe it would never go away, the feeling that sometimes he just needed to be alone but now he knew that it was OK to feel that. He was allowed to want space even after years in solitude. Even though his brother had strived for 30 years to get him back, he realised belatedly, there was nothing wrong with needing privacy and that somewhere along the line Stan would probably hit a snag with their living conditions too.

It was human.

Everyone was unique and everyone has different needs.

And somehow that made it all the better, knowing they all had their differences.

“So…have you made a decision?”

“You know, fishing sounds like a great idea.” Ford smiled genuinely, giving his hand a squeeze before dropping it. A sign, he hoped, that would show that the contact was appreciated.

Watching Stan beam back at him was more than worth it.

“Oh yeah? I thought you’d say no…considering how terrible you are at it.”

Ford raised an eyebrow at the smirk, the mischievous spark back in Stan’s eyes. “Honestly, I’m surprised you’re good at it. I thought you had less patience than me and yet you can sit for hours with a fishing rod.” He grinned as Stan shrugged again, already going off to set up and humming all the while now that balance seemed to have been restored. “I’ll just grab a book and be out with you.”

“So you’re not fishing with me?”

“No. I’ll just sit beside you and laugh when one smacks you in the face.”

“Hey, that was one time!”

.

AN: 8D done! Btw, Still do think Ford is a big hugger but he’s spent a lot of time alone and I’m sure too much physical contact can be overwhelming ^^