foolishmortals

[Fiddleford joins him soon enough, holding the keyboard that Julia so graciously gave him to tear apart. He sets it down sans-stand and sets about finding the most efficient way to tear it to pieces.]

Sorry I couldn't get you the still to use as well, but it'll need until Tuesday or so to finish brewin' that last batch and I figure if we're going to -- to Hell -- we might need it.

[Ford glances up and gives Fiddleford a wide grin. He's sort of in his element already, and Fiddleford showing up is just the icing on the cake.]

That's alright. The still can wait. And you're damn right about that. We're going to need all the help we can get.

[He shoves aside a pile of rubbish to give Fiddleford a space to work that also happens to be conveniently next to him. As if he doesn't get his fill of closeness now that they're sleeping in the same bed every night.]

[Well, if Ford insists on them sitting next to each other, who is he to say no? They're going to have to share the tools anyway, even if Fiddleford's brought along the knife he uses for his face because frankly whatever screwdriver Ford found probably will not work on the little screws in this keyboard.]

You really think --

I mean it's not like we have too many other options. Just worries me is all that we're plannin' to try and get down into the dang underworld.

I know. It's not ideal. Not by a long shot. But the way I see it... [Ford sighs.] We don't have much of a choice.

[He pauses, and sets down the tools he's been fiddling with for the last few minutes.]

Y'know, I've actually got something to show you.

[He'd been planning on waiting, but...well, that fruit isn't going to keep all that long, not sliced open the way it is.]

Oh?

[Fiddleford pauses in the middle of flipping the top panel up off the keyboard to reveal the sweet keyboard meats within. As he hoped, there's quite a few circuitboards and several look like they have parts he might be able to take off and jury-rig into WALL-E's brain. He doesn't entirely look up, mainly because he's already cataloging potential pieces and slotting them into new arrangements in his head.]

What is it?

[Those sweet, sweet whisked keyboard meats.

Ford pauses, glances around them, listening for the sound of anyone approaching. It seems that, for the moment, they're alone in this part of the house. Which is good.]

Well, Naminé came to me earlier...And it seems she's much more perceptive than I anticipated.

[He pulls out a little bundle, wrapped in a handkerchief, which seems to be slowly soaking through with something sticky. He doesn't open it yet, just holds it in his hands for the moment.]

She told me of a legend where she comes from. This fruit which, when shared by two people, intertwines their destinies together...forever. And it seems Wander pulled one out of the slot machine, and gave it to her, and she gave half of it to me.

[Ford clears his throat, his glance darting up to Fiddleford's face quickly, and then back down to the little bundle in his hands.]

To share with you.

[Fiddleford sets the top of the keyboard down on the floor so both halves are open to look at, but now his eyes are no longer darting around and taking stock of the available parts. Naminé knows? How did she find out? They were so careful, and he's sure Lefou wouldn't have told -- but he supposes if anyone else has to know he doesn't mind it being her.

What's more troublesome to him is what, exactly, this whole thing sounds like.]

So it's... somethin' like a marriage fruit?

[Just. To be sure he has this right.]

[Truth be told, Ford is just as baffled as Fiddleford is as to how Naminé figured it out. Sure, there have been times where perhaps he was a little more touchy-feely than is strictly friendly, but then again, Naminé isn't exactly...worldly. and he's certain it didn't come from Lefou. But his best guess is that she's got a good intuition about people. That's the nearest he can figure, anyway.

He can feel red creeping up his neck, his stomach doing a queasy flip, and Ford lets out a nervous laugh.]

Something like that. It's...silly, right?

[Almost as silly as the fact that thinking about marrying Fiddleford in any capacity makes him feel all twitterpated. He probably ought to have known better than to bring it up.]

I wouldn't say silly, exactly.

[He bites at the inside of his cheek. It's not the thing itself, exactly, that has him feeling so uncertain. It's all the baggage he has, enough to make a whole matched luggage set. That duffel over there is all the complicated feelings he still has in regards to Ford Pines. That rolling suitcase is the hurt that still hasn't fully healed from the messy divorce he only just finalized about three months ago. The rest of it's the cultural expectations that go along with something as serious as marriage, which he is pretty sure isn't a thing two men can even do, destiny fruit or no destiny fruit.

It's just... he takes the things that make up a Normal Life very seriously, because he's always tried so hard to have one. So, no, it isn't silly. It is very, very serious.]

So she thinks we should -- she thinks it's somethin' we could use. And you agree?

[Ford gets it, he really does. He understands. The thing is, well...he really didn't think this through very much. He didn't think about the implications. The potential repercussions. He leapt first and thought second, which is just about par for the course. His throat is impossibly dry, suddenly, and he wishes he had a rewind button. He should get to work on making one. God knows he could use it.]

Well—it doesn't have to be quite so serious. I know that's not something you're likely to be interested in. If nothing else, it ought to make for a good snack. After all, it's just a piece of fruit. Half a piece of fruit! It's not as if it's a—a ring or something.

[Please make him stop talking before he implodes. Please.]

[It really is just like Ford Pines to leap before he looks. His clear agitation is starting to agitate Fiddleford a little, though, which isn't helping matters much. If there's one thing about the two of them that makes their relationship a little more difficult to navigate it's how prone they are to hitting up against each others' issues.]

Well -- well I never said I wasn't interested, it's just that it's an awful big step to take, so soon, and here, and -- and all. Even if it's not proper marriage it's very... I mean you can say it doesn't have to be serious but lookin' at it objectively it's hard to imagine how it wouldn't be.

[Ford takes a big, deep breath, his chest puffing up, and sets the fruit down off to his side so he can draw his knees up to his chest and rest his elbows on them. It's a defensive posture, even if he's not doing it consciously.]

Yes, I know. I know. It's just—I know it seems soon for you, and it is, but thing is, it doesn't feel that soon on my end of things. And I suppose I forget that it's not like that for you.

[He presses his fingers into his eyes, wishing he wasn't such a damn thoughtless fool sometimes. For a genius, he really does have the worst knack for running his mouth when he shouldn't.]

I shouldn't have said anything. It was thoughtless of me.

Oh for goodness' sake.

[Fiddleford reaches over and puts a hand on one of Ford's broad shoulders. One of his ears is very open for the sound of footsteps but the rest of him is focused on Ford and what a disaster this conversation has been thus-far. That's a problem. He should probably try to fix it.]

It wasn't thoughtless. It was just sudden, is all. It's somethin' I'd want time to think on and here...

[Here they never know how much more time they'll have. And even if they make it out, will they be able to stay together? Thirty years separate them on the timeline. There's no good workaround for that -- he knows, he's given it thought.]

[Ford makes himself take another deep breath, letting a little bit of the tension leave his shoulder so Fiddleford can't tell how uptight he's getting. It's stupid; he's a grown man. He can make his feelings known without expecting one hundred percent agreement. That's what adults do, right?]

All right, all right. I know what you mean.

[He shakes his head, glancing over at Fiddleford with a self-deprecating sort of smile.]

I'm just...very determined not to ruin a good thing.

[Before it has to be ruined, he means, but doesn't say. Because he's all too aware of how this will end. And maybe this whole fruit thing was just his way of securing a happy ending before everything goes pear-shaped.]

Well -- well the way I see it --

[It's not that the feelings aren't there. It's that it's hard to make them come out of his mouth as words. He's not like Ford that way; there are things he can and will rush blindly into, but this sort of thing isn't one of them. He only does that when he feels sure, when he's full of righteous energy, when he thinks he's fixing a problem. When it comes to being emotionally vulnerable he has a much more difficult time, particularly because he makes it a habit to never say things he doesn't mean.]

If everythin' that's happened between us, and everythin' that will happen between us in my future, has shown me anythin'... it's that you and I are already stuck on each other. [His mouth twitches in a small, hesitant smile.] No matter what happens we wind up back together.

[Ford lets himself look, finally, turn and look Fiddleford right in the face, because that's his favorite face in the whole multiverse, and damn it, he deserves that much. His expression fades slowly from melancholy to worried to something soft and warm and hopeful around the edges.

It's not exactly straightforward, but Ford catches the meaning just fine, and he leans in a little closer, still keeping one ear tuned toward the door, to bump his forehead against Fiddleford's for a second.]

It's true. One way or another, we end up in the same place. And I...

[He takes a deep, steadying breath.]

I will still love you just the same when you're as old as I am. That's the easiest thing I'll ever do.

[He lets their noses bump together, just briefly, the closest thing to kissing outside of their shared room that he's comfortable with. Though at this point they probably ought to give up trying to be discreet if even a little girl could tell, huh?

Even though I live in a shack in the dump? Even though I'm barely sane? Even though I look like a fright? He could ask. He doesn't. He still hates thinking about the future he knows he's resigning himself to, no matter how much Ford tries to soften the blow. He'd rather concentrate on how nice it feels to hear Ford say he loves him. It's hard to trust Ford Pines, it will always in some way be hard to trust Ford Pines, but right now it's a lot easier than it is normally.]

Well the fruit's not goin' to keep that long, is it.

Edited 2017-07-25 04:57 (UTC)

[Even if Fiddleford had voiced those questions, the answer would still be the same. Of course he'll still love him. Ford's waited a long damn time for Fiddleford McGucket to love him back. There's very little that could deter him after nearly fifty years.

He squeezes his eyes shut, just for a moment, relishing this rare moment of closeness outside of their locked door, and when he pulls back, it's with an expression that's almost starry-eyed in its eagerness.]

You—you want to—?

[Of course, he's already fumbling at his side for the Paopu fruit, still wrapped in his handkerchief, not wanting to look away unless he absolutely has to. Somehow, that expression on his face manages to take a couple of decades off.]

[Well, it's like Ford said, it's not like it's a ring. It's a metaphor.]

If we're already bound to wind up together then I figure it's not like it could hurt, could it?

[At the start of all this he wouldn't have believed in a magical fruit. He still kind of doesn't but he knows Ford is the kind of man who would without question. It's worth it to indulge him when he looks so gosh-darn happy.

He still thinks it's a big step even if all it is is a metaphor but, well. If not now, when? He's having the same sort of thoughts as Ford. They don't know how long they have. They can't stay together even if they survive. This might be the only chance they have. He can deal with being a little scared, a little unsure, especially just to reinforce something they already agree on anyway. No matter what happens they will find their way back to each other.

It couldn't hurt to have a good luck charm to make doubly sure of it.]

[Ford huffs out a pleased laugh, and nods, his fingers unwrapping the sticky handkerchief from around the fruit. He shows it to Fiddleford: a small, yellow fruit in the shape of a star—or at least, it was until it was cut in half.]

I couldn't agree more.

[And even if the legend is just that—just a legend—it will still give them both a little peace of mind. It will give Fiddleford peace of mind while he's still able to remember it, a thought Ford has to quell hastily because it's inexorably sad. This is a happy moment. He needs to focus on that.

Now all that's left to do is to eat it. Except Ford wouldn't feel right doing that without saying something, at least. He clears his throat and looks earnestly at Fiddleford, turning his whole body to face him.]

Fiddleford, will you...share this fruit, and your life, with me? I'm not a great man, possibly not even a good one, but I promise to do everything I can to make you happy. And you...you would make me the happiest old man in the multiverse.

[Jeez, Ford, he was trying to smooth over his anxiety about what a monumental thing this is by trying to not think of it like a wedding. There's just no denying exactly how much like a proposal that sounded, or the way it makes him feel like his stomach's gone off on an adventure somewhere without him and might probably never come back. It's not like he expected anything less, of course. Ford Pines has always had a flair for the dramatic, the theatrical. He would say this wasn't a big deal and then in the next breath make it a very big deal indeed.

That's part of his charm, admittedly. It makes Fiddleford's chest feel very warm to see him being so earnest, and it's that earnestness more than anything that calms him down about this instead of making him balk. It's just another thing on the long list of things that set this Ford apart from the one he tried to convince himself he didn't care about.

And anyway -- anyway it's still just fruit, and it's still just Ford, and it's fine. If anything it's a promise to himself that even with the future he has to live through, there will be something good waiting for him in thirty years. It's something to keep him optimistic, and he needs that.

So, with all that in mind, he says:]

Yes. Yes, Stanford, of course I will.

[Ford's fingers are just a little shaky as he waits for Fiddleford's answer, even though he already knows that this is what he wants, because, well, he did just sort of contradict himself and make it very much a big deal. But his smile only grows wider when the answer he'd been hoping for comes out, and even though someone could walk in any minute and see, he can't help but lean in for a kiss. He wants to remember this moment for a long time, in case something weird happens temporally-speaking and he ends up having to revisit a few decades, God forbid. Weirder things have happened.

When he pulls back, he holds up the fruit between them.]

Wonderful. Should we...take turns, or...?

[He could scold Ford for that kiss. He has half a mind to, honestly, but decides against it. People clearly already know. Maybe not everyone, but enough of them that maybe it's stupid to keep pretending they aren't anything more than friends. It might help to normalize the whole thing, and he would like to think of this as normal instead of something new and frightening. It's something he would, in all honesty, like to get used to.

Ford's question does give him pause, though.]

Oh, ah -- well I wouldn't know, it's not as though I'm familiar with -- she didn't say?

[Mmm boi. Falling apart in the home stretch huh.]

[Let's be honest. Scolding him wouldn't do much at this point. Ford's pretty sure that if Naminé of all people figured them out, that everybody else probably has an inkling, too. Mike, for sure. Maui probably knows. They might as well go public while they have the chance.

He huffs a laugh and shakes his head.]

No, she didn't. All she said was to share it.

[He holds it out for Fiddleford to take.]

After you, I suppose.

Right.

[Sure, Ford, make him go first. What if he fucks it up? He is absolutely capable of fucking up something as simple as eating fruit. Watch him. He's going to fuck it up. He's going to. Just watch --

He does not fuck it up. He manages to take a reasonably-sized bite and not get juice everywhere, even. He chews, swallows, and then holds the fruit back out to Ford.

All the time he thought about getting remarried, a scenario like this never crossed his mind. Mainly because all the times he thought about getting remarried prior to showing up in this house he immediately dismissed the idea. It felt disrespectful to how much he still cared for his wife, then. It doesn't now. Not because he doesn't care about her -- he will always love her, more than likely -- but because he's put that care in a little box and put that box on a shelf in his heart and it's fine. There's room for her and Ford both in there. He used to think there wasn't, but he's revised a lot of his views on interpersonal relationships recently. It's amazing the kind of perspective a place like this gives you.]

WEEK 7

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engage turbo gay

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that fucking icon is giving me life

him blush

what the fuck this is so gAY

idk what you mean it's very hetero

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REMARRIED FOR KEEPS end me

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