#anamoly reader

Fumbling with the large band-aid was uncomfortable, even if it wasn’t that large to the human eye. It felt too big in your hand, and you almost asked Ford to help you put it on, but you managed. The sticky residue keeping the band-aid on your wrist felt uncomfortable, but it helped stifle the pain from your wrist. 

He had also done an exceptional job putting a splint on your ankle, and the small toothpick surprisingly kept your ankle straight. 

“...Thanks..” 

You spoke quietly as your shyness got the better of you. You’ve never really been the best at accepting gifts or favors. Your mother always said not to take handouts, but why did it feel so nice to receive this one? 

Fiddlefords' face softened, and he smiled. 

“It’s no problem, sweet pea, you shouldn’t have even gotten injured, to begin with..” 

His eyes flicked to Ford as he shot him a glare. It wasn’t his fault you got hurt, not really, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to defend him. He did put you in a jar earlier, and manhandled you, and… You cut yourself off mentally before you got pissed off again. 

Ford just rolled his eyes and packed up the first aid kit, but not before handing you a small saline wipe. You steeled yourself on the makeshift stool and gripped the glass before accepting it. The towel was cold in your hands, and you tilted your head at him. 

“For your shirt,” 

You blushed as he pointed his finger at his shirt, pointing to his chest, where a huge coffee stain remained on yours.  

“Ah, right. Thanks.” 

You spoke curtly as you wiped frantically at the stain on your clothing. You’d probably have to search for a few spare pieces of fabric and make a new one entirely. Not like there were any ‘borrower’ stores to buy clothing from, no matter how hard you dreamed of it. 

Ford did raise an eyebrow at your franticness and mentally noted just how frazzled you still were, making a point in his brain to file it away for later. 

…Despite his promises to keep his findings out of the journal, he never promised not to take notes. He was a researcher above all else. 

…But he was also a researcher with a heart, despite how much he wished he wasn’t. Oh, how he wished he could shove all his feelings aside and meticulously analyze every action you did.

Between McGucket's fondness and his feelings, though, he wouldn't get very far. He just hoped his Muse would be forgiving of how sidetracked he was about to become. 

You noticed Ford staring a bit too long for your liking, so you fidgeted with the band-aid on your wrist while still holding the saline wipe. The faintest movement behind you made you turn around, now looking back at Fiddleford. 

“I can take that for ya’, do you want any more water, hun?” 

You found yourself sheepishly agreeing. Fiddleford, being the sweetheart he was, just nodded and carefully removed the thimble from the table before holding his hand out for the wipe. He was not close enough for you to flinch away, but he was still close enough for you to lean forward and touch him. 

You could still see the faintest prick on his pointer finger where you stuck him with your needle. Wincing, you took the clean part of the saline wipe and leaned forward just a bit, purposefully setting the wipe on his scab, pressing down lightly with your hands for a moment before pulling away. 

“...Sorry for stabbing you, I got startled.” 

You could see his eyes widen a fraction of an inch before he shook his head and took the wipe. His mind was still reeling that you had initiated contact, and he didn’t even flinch away this time. Walking to the sink, he spoke kindly. 

“Oh, don't even apologize for that, didn’ even hurt.” 

You could feel Ford's eyes still on your back as he seemed to analyze the entire interaction. Fiddleford tried to ignore him and focus on the positives that you were growing more comfortable around the two scientists. 

Ford straightened his glasses and set the Medkit on the counter behind him, his brain still buzzing with questions and ideas as always. 

“It was quite remarkable just how fast you moved to stick him. Are you always that quick to react? A survival instinct, possibly?” 

Fiddleford was returning from the sink and set the small thimble back on the counter, his arms crossed, his chest, his eyebrows pinched together in annoyance. 

“M’sure they would rather not talk about that right now, Stanford, it’s late.” 

You were about to console Fiddleford that it was fine, but as you stood from the makeshift stool, your body seemed to move without your brain. Vertigo hit you like a truck as you realized just how tired you were. It had to be around three in the morning. If not later.

     Before your mind could catch up to what was happening, you felt your body land on something soft. As well as being much too warm. 

Your knees hit it first, and as you blinked your eyes, you saw Ford staring at you, stunned. He had instinctively reached out; he didn't know what to do now that he was actually touching you.

"Ford-.."

     Before the panic seeped into your bones, Ford had positioned you back upwards. No longer holding you in his palm as he pulled his other hand away. His free hand is hovering close by, making you anxious. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to control the vertigo, trying to take hold in your bones. You couldn't pass out now. You trusted Fiddleford, but Stanford not so much.

"...Where did you say you usually slept?"

      You rubbed your eyes and looked back up at Ford, who now had his eyebrows pinched together in what looked to be... Concern? 

"Uh... The.. My home is in the walls... I just need to get to the cabinets." 

     There was an easy way to get back to your little haven; all you needed was to get there. Easy. 

You moved to take a step and stumbled slightly. Adrenaline seems to have taken a toll on your body. Ford's hand moved closer as you flinched and reeled back. Expecting to be grabbed. 

     He didn't grab you, surprisingly. His hand was palm up, patiently waiting to help you if you needed it. 

"I don' think yer' in any shape to get there on yer' own... Want us to drop you off there?" 

     FiddleFord spoke nervously, watching you stumble; you looked horribly out of it. 

Ford seemed to have other plans as he moved his hand closer. You hesitantly rested a hand on one of his fingers to keep yourself steady. He seemed positively thrilled you initiated the contact first again. 

"You don't take up much room. Could set up a spot for you on a pillow," 

     You moved to pull your hand away. Nope. Absolutely not. 

"FiddleFord makes a very good breakfast as well! No more scavenging." 

     FiddleFord was about to cut him off and tell him to stop pressing, until he heard a meek voice speak up. Your voice.

"Sure." 

     You agreed. Even with the fear swimming in your gut, and the hesitancy still in the back of your mind. You said sure. 

You were exhausted, tired, and most importantly, the guarantee of food in the morning was just too good to pass up. 

     Even if it was just a bribe, it was a good bribe. 

"Excellent! I'll prepare my desk with a pillow and!-" 

     "But!" 

You cut through whatever ramble he was getting wound up in; you could feel a headache buzzing behind your eyes already. You pushed off his hand and took your own balance. 

"I'm not a pet. I'm not something for you to domesticate. I'm saying yes, because I want to be treated as a guest, alright?" 

     Ford wasn't surprised by your request and nodded eagerly. His hand is inching closer again to try to scoop you up. Eager to set up a spot for you to relax and see which blankets you enjoyed the most. He was a scientist at heart. He could experiment discreetly. 

Your body tensed, but you relented. Hesitantly hoisting yourself up into his palm. 

            He tried to be calm, but his excitement was bubbling as he walked to his room. Already brainstorming how he could make your stay the most comfortable while still gathering information for his journal. A heating lamp wasn't a bad idea to purchase; you felt awfully cold in his palm. 

The rocking of his palm as you sat on it made your vertigo reel once again, and you felt like you could have faintly heard Fiddleford calling after Stanford. 

         Your eyes were already shutting before he could make it to his room. The last thing your conscious mind felt was your gravity shifting before you were deposited on possibly the softest surface of your life.