#manly dan

˗ˏˋ▽△𓆩⌣𓆪△▽ˎˊ˗

𓊈 0705|1982 𓊉

Ford trudged heavily, still in flannel pajamas, up to his front porch. He passed the mailbox on the way and saw it was full. He had a bad habit of putting off collecting the mail. He glared at the mailbox like it was the one at fault. He hated how his hands felt like lead when he tried to will himself to open it. Eventually, he tucked his journal under his arm and flipped open the metal casket with a creak. It looked like mostly junk. One envelope from the MBU grants department stood out as particularly concerning. He knew he was late submitting his expenditure reports. No doubt they were getting antsy to see the financials.

“This is going to be fun.”

He went straight for his study once he made it through the door. He’d rather go over the paperwork in a room with a window. Some sunlight would be nice after the night he had.

Ford had spent the night at the old Corduroy family home. He'd been at his wit's end with his research. Even his Muse's puzzles had turned up nothing but dead ends. They were fascinating discoveries, and Bill seemed to genuinely enjoy engaging his mind, but such curiosities didn't bring him any closer to the bigger picture. The cabin had become suffocating. Ford had felt the need for a change of scenery to clear his head. He knew "Boyish Dan", as the town called him, had an old family home in the mountains he wasn't using. It was a beautiful locale, generally untouched. Dan's ominous warnings about the place were far from a deterrent.

The ghosts hadn't been Ford's explicit motivation, but he wasn't going to complain about having been handed more journal fodder. He did manage to observe and catalog a wide array of ghosts, so that was a plus. Unfortunately, he failed at actually resting his mind, and his observations of the undead provided no leads to unlocking the secret to Weirdness Magnetism.

Ford didn't scare easily, but every man had limits. By the time Death himself showed up to the party, he realized he was in over his head. A strategic retreat had been in order.

He was at an impasse. It felt like he was running in circles. Discovering new anomalies was all well and good, but if he couldn’t prove where they were coming from or why they all congregated in this one town, his theory was a bust. There had to be some reason Gravity Falls was so weird. It couldn’t possibly have been a coincidence.

˗ˏˋ▽△𓆩👁𓆪△▽ˎˊ˗

Ford sat down with a heavy sigh, tossed his journal on the desk, and pulled out a letter opener. He tossed the junk mail straight into his waste bin and opened up the envelope from BMU.

“You run into Death while you were out?” A tangy metallic voice rang off the walls of Ford’s study.

Ford looked around, still holding the folded papers in his hands. “Bill?” He tried to spot his Muse. He always did. It was a game of eye-spy he could never properly win. Bill revealed himself when he wanted, and he always loved to make an entrance.

“Over here," the voice chimed from every direction at once.

Ford swiveled his head to try to identify the source of the sound, only to have his nose bump into something.

“Boop!” Bill cheered as Ford ran straight into Bill's cane. The little yellow triangle’s gleeful smiling eye came into focus just inches from Ford’s face.

Ford jerked his head back, disoriented by the closeness. He might have been startled more if he hadn't already been desensitized to Bill's antics by this point. Even the brief flinch was more exhaustion than anything.

He tossed his papers down on the desk and reached up his hands to rub his eyes, pushing his glasses up his face. “Yeah, I saw him." Honestly, meeting the Grim Reaper in the not-flesh probably should have felt like a more momentous occasion. Not many people would have lived to tell the tale. Somehow, it didn't feel like that much of an accomplishment. He pulled his hands away and readjusted his glasses, narrowing his eyes at Bill as he came properly into focus. “You know him?”

Bill dropped his feet down on Ford’s desk. He leaned lazily against his cane next to the paper. “He owes me fifty bucks,” he replied glibly.

“Ah,” Ford nodded. Bill had an odd way of making conversations about the paranormal seem downright mundane. 

Bill looked down at the folded papers with passive curiosity. “So what’s all this about? That loser school sending you love letters?” 

“Hardly.” Ford snatched up the papers. He rolled his eyes as he unfolded them. He did his best to brace himself for the contents of the letter.

“Well, they better be. You’re the only graduate they have who’s worth a danm.” Bill started pacing Ford’s desk like a little sergeant. “Those maggots better appreciate genius while they’ve got it.” His irritable expression and the faint hint of red on his face as he huffed and puffed alleviated some of the tension in Ford’s chest.

Ford let out a sincere chuckle, watching the little man wave his cane about.

Bill looked back up at Ford and directed his cane-waving at him. “Well, don’t just leave me hanging, IQ. What’s it say?” 

“Ok, yes, one moment.” Ford leaned back in his chair and began combing over the letter. The brief, fleeting joy slowly drained from his face as he read. 

“Oh…”

Ford sighed softly. “I guess I knew this was coming.” He couldn’t hide the soul-crushing weight in his voice.

“What?” Bill hopped up into the air and swirled around to perch on Ford’s shoulder to read the letter for himself. He leaned over his cane where he stood. He squinted harshly when he read, a bit of a slow reader. Ford had noticed this once before. He wondered if his Muse might have needed corrective lenses. Rather ironic for a creature that was mostly eyeball. 

“They’re threatening to cut my funding,” Ford summarized before Bill could finish reading.

“Well, obviously.” Bill shoved Ford’s face away. He had caught that Ford noticed him struggling and was clearly indignant about the observation. He paused a moment, though, as the statement seemed to click. “Wait a minute, why?”

Ford tossed the papers back on the desk and hung back in his chair. He let his head dangle over the back, rocking himself softly with his foot. Bill remained glued to his shoulder all the while. 

“I haven’t published anything. They would have expected something by now, but I’ve been putting it off. I want to prove my theory. That’s what I came here to do.” He felt his chest tighten and tried to swallow his frustration. Bill was constantly reassuring him to be patient. All good things come in time, so he said. No puzzle worth solving was ever easy. “I could tide them over with reports about leprecorns and ghosts, but submitting proof of the paranormal presence in Gravity Falls will only attract more researchers.”

“Potential competition.” Bill understood without it needing to be said. Ford didn’t have to explain his concerns. Bill was a creature of pride and a lover of ambition. The two were alike in this regard. Bill crossed his arms and sat down on Ford’s shoulder. He rubbed the space under his eye, above his bowtie, thoughtfully. 

“Did someone ask for a Ghost?” 

Oh, sweet Moses, that voice. God, that grating nails on a chalkboard-

Ford spun around in his chair and chucked the nearest heavy object he could find in its direction. As it turned out, that was an empty mug he had left on his desk. It flew right through the childlike body of the category one that had manifested in his study. The damned thing had followed him home, apparently. Ford’s mug smashed against the wall with a loud shatter that barely made it flinch.

“Leave me alone!” Ford barked.

“But I-” the ghost started to protest. Not hurt, unfortunately. The stupid thing was too unabashedly cheery to be upset or scared, only optimistically confused. Ford would strangle the thing if it had a neck.

“No one asked for you. Now get out of my house!” Ford pointed aggressively at the door.

Bill cackled wildly. He’d left Ford’s shoulder and was floating behind him now. “Wow, easy, Fordsy, don’t pop a blood vessel.”

“Annoying little-” Ford grumbled under his breath as the ghost kept trying to talk to him. He turned back around in his chair to give it the silent treatment, crossing his arms and waiting for it to get the hint.

“Why so worked up, buddy?” Bill questioned playfully. 

Ford waved his arms about in exasperation. “I’m about to lose my funding, Bill! That’s why! I have a year to publish something, or I lose everything!”

Bill floated lower. He seemed to ease off sympathetically. He patted a hand on Ford’s knee. “Right, you humans need money. Like, to eat or whatever you people do with it.”

“I need it to afford food, Bill,” Ford clarified. Despite his frustration, he couldn’t help but relax a little under his Muse’s touch. He placed his fingers over the tiny gloved hand on his knee. He savored the warmth of another soul. It was like the tiny paw of a cat. The gesture reminded him of his mother’s cat. Lucky Nine would paw at his leg when she wanted something from him. It was comforting even if Bill didn’t fully appreciate the consequences of Ford’s situation. 

“If I lose my funding, everyone will think I’m a fraud. I’d be very unlikely to get funding elsewhere. I’ll have to find some alternative source of income just to support myself, never mind continuing my research.” 

“You could always rob a bank.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Ooh, I wanna rob a bank!” That fucking voice again! The category one flew loop-de-loops excitedly in Ford’s peripheral vision. “I can get us bad guy costumes and everything-”

“No one is robbing a bank,” Ford stated firmly.

The category one let out a disappointed whine. Ford ignored him. Bill shrugged and backed up for a moment, considering alternatives.

Bill's advice, concerning human problems, could be... Questionable, to say the least. He usually netted favorable results, but the process of achieving said results was not always pleasant or entirely ethical.

Ford still felt bad about the kid they baited into losing his job at the grocery store. Though not so bad as to say he regretted it. It did make his life much easier.

“Alright, alright, we’ll save that for plan B,” Bill conceded. “In lieu of the easy option, it sounds like you need a little push.”

Ford raised a brow at Bill. “A push.”

Bill grinned up at him with his single wide eye.

The realization of what Bill was offering dawned on him slowly. He felt lighter than air. It wouldn’t be the first time Bill gave him clues that furthered his research. He was a Muse after all. Inspiration was his forte. The tone in his voice suggested more than the stimulating detours he usually offered. Ford always knew Bill had more to provide.

“Well, you need to turn that hypothesis of yours into a theory in the next year, and I think I might have an idea of how to get you there.”

Ford leaned forward and gripped the edge of the desk, practically pressing his nose to it as he brought himself to eye level with Bill. He tried not to get too excited as he braced himself to ask. Bill rarely gave straight answers. The possibility was tantalizing. For once, it sounded like he held the key to real progress.

“You know the source of Gravity Falls's weirdness, don’t you?”

Bill chuckled. He patted the top of Ford’s head, ruffling his hair. He tucked his cane under his other arm. “Oh, Fordsy, I think you're ready. Buckle up, kid, 'cause I’m gonna put that big brain of yours through the wringer.” 

˗ˏˋ▽△𓆩⌣𓆪△▽ˎˊ˗

𓊈 0706|1982 𓊉

Thunk, thunk, thunk.

Ford shot up at his desk. He'd passed out in his study. The notice from BMU had glued itself to his cheek with drool. That wasn't his biggest concern right now. It wasn't a concern at all. Nothing could possibly be more important than the substance of the greatest dream of his life. He rushed to snatch up his journal and began sketching away in a frenzy. He flushed the page with sun rays and inky mountains. His Muse had finally broken the dawn of his research, his life's work. He had given him divine inspiration. 

Ford was giddy, positively giddy!

All this time, he had been seeking commonality among the anomalies he studied. The one grand commonality he had failed to consider was-

Thunk, thunk, thunk.

Ford stopped. That sounded like...

He looked around for a clock. It was 6:53 in the afternoon. Bill had pulled Ford into a deep sleep to explain his machinations. He'd been asleep for nearly fourteen hours. He appeared to have been drawing in his sleep again. Scrawled out across his desk on sheets of plotter paper were early designs for a-

Thunk, thunk, thunk.

The sound that woke him was a knock on the door. Right, other people still existed. Not that many people would knock on Ford's door. 

"I'm coming!"

Ford hurried to the front door. The knock was loud and aggressive, familiar enough that Ford wasn't surprised by what he found.

"Dan!" 

Dan stared at Ford from the front porch with a scruffy furrowed brow. It only just then occurred to Ford that he was still in his pajamas. Also, there was a notice from the grants department stuck to the drool on his cheek. 

Ford swiftly ripped the paper off and tossed it aside. He wiped the drool from his face on his sleeve and hugged his journal to his chest. "To what do I owe the pleasure this very fine morning?"

"It's almost dinner time," Dan corrected gruffly. He looked Ford over with concern. "Did you lose your soul at the old house? 'Cause if you lost your soul, I'll have to beat the demons out of ya." He emphasized his point with a firm fist to his palm.

"Oh, what? Demons? No," Ford dismissed. "I'm fine. Great, even! Never better, actually!" 

"Riiiight..."

Ford couldn't blame him. He was a superstitious and simple-minded man. Of course, he wouldn't recognize the glow of utter genius when it stood right in front of him. Ford smiled to himself and drummed his fingers along his journal. If only his acquaintance understood the secrets it held, or would hold, rather, once he finished his journal entry.

Actually... Ford pulled his pen back out and resumed his drawing. 

Dan cleared his throat. "Can I have my keys back? I told you you could borrow them for three days, then you never brought them back."

"Hm? Oh, yes, keys." Ford paused and tried to remember where he put them. Did he have them with him when he left the old property? Yes, he was fairly sure he had them in the breast pocket of his pajamas. He'd needed them to solve a puzzle to escape the mansion before the reaper got to him. 

Ford patted his breast pocket. Nothing.

"One second, I know they're around here somewhere." He turned and resumed drawing on the way to check his study, paused, then took a few steps back and addressed Dan again. "Oh, come in, sit. I'll only be a minute." 

Dan looked skeptical. Reluctantly, he passed the threshold of the house they had built together and closed the door. It was the very same front door Dan had been forced to replace when a bit of overambitious woodwork on Ford's end had punched a hole through the first one. 

"You would not believe the night I've had!" 

"No, but you're going to tell me about it, aren't you?"

Ford buried his face in his drawing again. He had the layout of his home memorized and autopiloted to his study with ease. 

Relative ease.

He missed the open doorway by two inches the first time.

Thunk.

Ford looked up and course-corrected. He turned his attention to his desk and began skimming it for the borrowed keys. After a bit of searching, he found the keys on the floor under his chair. He scurried back to his guest.

"The ghosts at the estate were fantastic specimens, but I've made an utterly ingenious breakthrough that blows all of that out of the water," Ford gushed as he reached the foyer. 

"So there were ghosts." Dan slammed his fists into his palms again. This time, in a vertical motion rather than a horizontal one, implying conviction rather than a threat. "I told you that place was cursed. Cursed, I say!" 

"Yes, yes, curses of the undead are all good and well," Ford patted his neighbor's shoulder. "But that's all in the past, Daniel. This is the future we're talking about!" 

Dan furrowed his thick, dark unibrow at Ford again. "What were we talking about?" 

"Inspiration!" Ford waved his journal emphatically. "Keep up." He snapped his fingers and made way for the kitchen. He tucked his journal under his arm and put on a pot of coffee.

Dan followed slowly to the kitchen. He stopped in the doorway and cleared his throat. "My keys?" 

"Hm?" Ford paused and stared back at him for a few seconds before he remembered. "Oh, yes, right." He pulled the keys from his breast pocket and twirled them around his finger as he spoke. "So, the Grand Unified Theory of Weirdness Magnetism," he prefaced. 

Dan stared flatly at Ford. "Yeah.... What about it?" 

Ford's smile widened till his cheeks hurt. "I finally cracked it, Dan! I know the source of Gravity Falls' weirdness, and I know how to prove it!" 

"Good for you?" Dan took a few steps closer. He reached for the keys.

Ford suddenly remembered his still unfinished journal entry. He flicked the keys onto his extra pinky to free up his hand to write and opened up the page to add the title of his new entry in bold letters.

"All this time, I've been trying to find the commonality among these anomalies when the obvious answer was right under my nose."

A sudden touch made Ford jump. He jerked back and bumped into the kitchen counter. It was a soft brush of warm leather against his bare skin, which he hadn't been expecting.

It was just Dan. He had touched his hand. 

Ford stared at Dan's leather woodworking glove. The keys to the old Corduroy house still hung from his sixth finger. 

Ford held up the keys with a smile. "Care to stay for coffee and the answer to the secrets of the universe?" 

Dan's heavy unibrow formed a hard line. "You're going to keep talking whether I say yes or not, aren't you?" 

Ford considered the question for a moment. "Probably." 

Dan walked over to the table, sighed, and dropped down in one of the chairs. 

Ford nearly squealed in delight. He tossed the keys on the table and resumed his journaling while he talked.

"So as I was saying, the commonality-" Ford stopped for a second and looked up. "Oh, how well do you understand multiversal paradigm theory?"

Dan stared blankly back at Ford from the kitchen table.

Ford launched into a quite simplified but comprehensive explanation of parallel dimensions. To properly explain the blueprints his Muse had shown him, he must provide his layman acquaintance with the foundational scientific concepts upon which his theory was built.

"So how does this pertain to The Grand Unified Theory of Weirdness, you ask?" At some point, the coffee had finished. Ford let it sit until he finished his present drawing, pausing occasionally to gesticulate with his pen. When he finally poured their mugs, the coffee was lukewarm. He didn't care. He sat down and dumped sugar into his mug without measuring, stirring with the but of his pen. "It explains everything! These anomalies are wildly diverse and operate on physical principles utterly alien to our own, but an alternate plane of existence may be bound to entirely different laws. Could you imagine?"

Dan grunted and stared at his coffee. He rested his cheek in his hand while waiting for Ford to finish his pitch. 

Ford looked back at his journal and scrawled out his thoughts around his drawings. He praised his Muse. If only he could give Bill the credit he was due, but Dan, a simple man, wouldn't understand the nature of such a creature.

"There could be worlds where sentient life forms exist in two-dimensional space, where gravitational time dilates in reverse, where quantum particles-" 

"I don't know what these words mean!" Dan grunted in pained frustration.

Ford looked up from his journal, really looked. He saw Dan's brow knit as if the mental strain had given him a headache. The poor man was hopelessly lost. It dawned on Ford who he was talking to. "Right, my apologies." He closed his journal and took a sip of his coffee.

Ford liked Dan. Or rather... he really wanted to like Dan. Not very many people tolerated Ford's presence.

When Ford first sought a contractor to build his base of operations in Gravity Falls, he was surprised to find the lumber and construction business recommended by the locals was run by a teenage boy at the time. Dan had lost his parents in a logging accident that left him to inherit the business at seventeen. It had crossed Ford's mind that hiring a teenager to build his house was perhaps unwise, but then he thought of Stanley, and he couldn't help feeling sympathy for someone so young making ends meet on their own. Ford hired him and paid more than he was charged. With little else to do while under construction, Ford had insisted on helping. Occasionally, he would get sidetracked with some local wonder, but he always returned to the construction site to tell Dan about his latest discovery while hammering nails or sawing planks. 

Dan never pushed Ford away. He never told him to shut up. He listened, and he occasionally corrected Ford's woodworking. Dan was a loud, brash man when he spoke, but concise in his thoughts. Or rather, he didn't seem to have many. What he did have was a great many useful skills for living in the woods. When construction on the cabin was done, Ford was more than willing to pay him for lessons. It gave him more opportunities to talk to someone besides himself and the fungus in his yard.

Ford wasn't sure he could really call them friends. These days anyone willing to tolerate his presence was close enough to one. At least, they would have to suffice.

Ford drummed his fingers on his mug. "It's getting late. I'm sorry for keeping you."

Dan grunted in agreement and stood up with his keys. "Good luck on your portal... Uh, thingy." 

"Good luck in your endeavors, as well," Ford sighed. He watched Dan leave and heard the loud thud of the door. Dan wasn't angry, just loud. 

Ford stared at the untouched mug of coffee on the table across from him. It brought back memories of late-night runs to the donut shop with his old college roommate, discussing fantastical inventions they would never have the time, money, or resources to build. His chest ached. He took another sip of his coffee and chuckled at the memory of the anxious Mormon boy he coaxed into trying it.

Ford was fine. So what if Dan didn't understand? Ford had his Muse. Bill was all he needed. He told him this was how genius was made, 'with a little help from a friend'. Ford couldn't have hoped for a better friend.

˗ˏˋ▽△𓆩⌣𓆪△▽ˎˊ˗

𓊈 0718|1982 𓊉

Ford's friend was nowhere to be found.

In the weeks that followed, Ford was left deciphering fuzzy blueprints he'd drawn in a state of partial consciousness. He was trying to calculate the material needs and plot out construction. The scale of the project was utterly overwhelming. He kept struggling to remember the sheer volume of information Bill had dropped on him in one day. He desperately needed his Muse's assistance in breaking the project down into manageable steps, but Bill wasn't answering. Ford tried every incantation he knew. Nothing worked. He tried meditating in the shrine he'd gradually constructed over the last year. He even made offerings. Nothing.

This wasn't a new occurrence. Bill was a fickle creature. It wasn't unlike him to disappear for long stretches. There was never any forewarning. Ford reluctantly had to accept at some point that his Muse would turn up when he felt like it. Ultimately, the pre-planning stage was supposed to be the easy part. He shouldn't have required divine intervention just for that.

Maybe that was why Bill was ignoring him. Ford was wasting his time...

After banging his head against the wall and realizing just how behind his engineering skills were for a project like this, Ford opted to shift gears. He took to clearing out a large unfinished space in his basement for construction. He cannibalized some old pet projects that went nowhere to build a blast shield between the lab and what would be his future portal room. Was this the most efficient use of his time at the moment? Probably not. Ford wasn't sure. He wasn't sure of anything. He'd been lost in a sea of logistics for weeks, running on caffeine and obsession. That excitement was burning out. He needed a real plan.

At least constructing a construction space felt like he was doing something. It needed doing eventually. It might as well get done now.

Ford dropped a box while moving some of his things from the basement to the attic. That damn category one had startled him again with its incessant chirping. He had gotten fairly good at ignoring it for the most part. The box wasn't anything valuable, just some old keepsakes from college he never touched. An old Polaroid skidded across the floor among the clutter.

Ford went to collect it.

Shermie took this picture for him. He'd gotten time off to visit Ford at the start of the new school year and help him settle in. He arrived late but tried to make it up to Ford by taking him and his roommate out to eat. Shermie had been surprised to find that Ford had managed to make a friend on his first day, maybe a little too surprised. Ford would have felt offended had he not been so ecstatic at the time.

That was the last time Ford saw his older brother in person. 

Ma gave him updates when she called. Ford and his brothers didn't talk. The beanpole of a man standing next to him in the picture was perhaps the closest friend Ford ever had. He was certainly the closest outside his own family.

Fiddleford was brilliant, a bit mad in his own way, but brilliant. He'd grown up an anxious, sheltered, nerdy child. It made him a target of bullies. That was something the two of them could commiserate over. Unlike Ford, however, Fiddleford's charisma and southern charm helped make up for it with age. Ford had watched Fiddleford question his faith and break rule after rule. He watched his friend learn how to be free. He watched him grow from a boy to a man...

Then he watched him give his life away to someone else.

Fiddleford graduated before Ford. He had his degree, and a girl waiting for him back home. Ford lingered a while longer, collecting accolades. He achieved every degree and certification at an accelerated rate. Truthfully, he'd been hesitant to leave academia. School felt safe, predictable. The outside world was full of uncertainty. He stayed in touch with Fiddleford for a while, then Fiddleford married his childhood friend. They had a kid. At some point, he realized his friend had grown up. Ford had fallen behind. Ready or not, he had to grow up, so he came to Gravity Falls.

Ford still received calls from Fiddleford from time to time. They grew scarcer over the years. His friend would extend invitations. Ford always felt like an imposition. He was an outsider with no real place in Fiddleford's family. Eventually, the calls grew fewer and farther between. Ford wanted to reach out. He never felt he had a reason to. He didn't have anything to offer Fiddleford to justify requesting his time. He had a wife and son after all, and more important things to do than talk to the freak living in the woods, his estranged college roommate.

Ford stared long and listless at the picture.

A thought occurred to him.

Ford was a mediocre engineer, but Fiddleford was a brilliant one.

˗ˏˋ▽△𓆩👁𓆪△▽ˎˊ˗

𓊈 0720|1982 𓊉

“What ya got there, Sixer?”

Ford jumped at the sudden intrusion upon his trailing thoughts. He'd been holed up in the lab this time, declining sunlight for god only knows how long. At least that obnoxious ghost had finally stopped interrupting him. Ford thoughtlessly brushed a wet ink splatter off the notepad in front of him.

“Bill, there you are. I was wondering when you’d turn up again.” 

Ford looked back down at the new stain on his hand and the ugly black smear on his notes. He’d been working on drafting his pitch before calling up his old friend for assistance. He needed help on his latest project, and Bill's assistance was... Unreliable, to say the least.

Bill’s proposal was a groundbreaking one, spectacular and fascinating, too much for one man. Unless, perhaps, that man was Fiddelford. He was an engineering prodigy. Ford was sure he’d make easy work of it. Even still, he was going to be asking a lot of him.

Ford’s Muse floated around and plopped down on the desk. He seated himself on the shelf just above Ford's writing space. Bill hung one leg over the other and twirled his cane in his hand.

“Aw, what's a matter, Fordsy? Miss me?” Bill cooed playfully as if he hadn't just dropped the grandest revelation of Ford's life in his lap, then promptly abandoned him for weeks.

Ford winced. He reached for some tissues on the desk to wipe off his hand. He could feel the heat rise to his cheeks. It was embarrassing being read so easily. “You could say that.” He was trying his best not to take Bill’s disappearance personally. “You caught me in the middle of something. That's all.”

Bill looked down at Ford’s notepad and hopped onto the lower level of the desk. He walked in little circles around the paper, reading all the things Ford had written and scratched out. He was squinting again. Taking his time. “Workin’ on an elevator pitch?”

“In essence, yes.” Ford looked back down at his notes, then to the phone beside him. “I was just about to call.” 

“This is our project,” Bill observed in a flat monotone.

“It is." Ford was a bit unsure what Bill was getting at. “I was going to ask an old friend of mine to assist. I assure you, Fiddleford McGucket is a brilliant man. With him on board, I’m sure I could build the portal in half the time.” He couldn't help but beam a little with pride. He knew how talented Fidds was. He couldn’t wait to share Bill’s knowledge with him.

Bill narrowed his eye and stepped on the paper. It crinkled under his feet as he walked. “I never said you could bring in an assistant.” Bill looked up at Ford, clearly irritated. 

Ford hadn’t been expecting this response. “You didn’t say I couldn’t.”

“Hey!” Bill pointed his cane accusatorially at Ford. “I don’t go around sharing my divine wisdom with just anyone. If I wanted someone else to take credit for my inspiration, I’d have picked someone else. I wouldn’t have proposed it if I didn’t think you could hack it on your own.”

Ford struggled not to laugh. Bill was adorable like this, so small and angry. He did feel a little guilty, knowing how much faith Bill was placing in his abilities, how blessed he was to be bestowed with his insights. He reached out a finger and gently stroked the side of the tiny triangle near the top of his head. “I know, and I’m sure with enough time I could do it by myself, but I only have a year. I can’t afford to take my time on this.”

Ford prayed his beloved Muse would heed his gentle pleading.

Bill continued to fume. He felt delightfully warm against Ford's skin. He grumbled and looked away, though he never rejected Ford's touch.

“If you don’t think you can manage it in three hundred and sixty-five days, then maybe I should have picked someone else.” He crossed his arms indignantly. 

“Oh no, My Muse, don’t talk like that.” Ford pulled his hand away, stung by his words. “I’m doing my best, but this could make or break my whole career. I don’t want to waste this opportunity. If I don’t make the deadline, I won’t have the resources to complete the project at all. You want to see this through together, don’t you?”

Bill seemed to mull over his words for a moment before he looked back up at Ford. A piercing gaze and quirked brow told Ford to go on.

So he did. Ford held his hands to his chest as he smiled down at his Muse. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you wanted this to be just the two of us. If you want to do this, just us, I don’t have to call Fiddleford. As long as you promise to stay and help me.” He leaned down to Bill’s eye level. “I certainly wouldn’t mind having you here more often. You know I love having you around, My Muse~”

Bill’s eye curled into a coy smile before he burst into a fit of laughter. “Aw, that’s adorable.” He hopped up and tapped Ford between his eyes. “You’re adorable,” he teased. “Alright, fine. I’ve got better things to do than hang out here all day, so if you want help so bad, go ahead. We’ll see how your fleshbag does.” 

Ford made a light-hearted attempt to snatch Bill up in his hands. He clapped them both around the little golden creature like a child attempting to catch a butterfly. Alas, his hands were empty when he opened them. Unsurprising. When Ford looked around, he heard laughter above his head.

“You know, the sooner I make this call, the sooner I can get back to building the portal,” Ford reminded Bill with a wry smile.

A slight weight landed on the top of Ford’s head. It was the faintest whisper of a touch, like the hand of a ghost settling in his hair. “We’ve got time. Tell me about this buddy of yours.” 

“Oh, Fidds and I go way back.” Ford looked back over his notes while Bill got comfortable, grinning ear to ear. “We were dormmates back in college, best friends. It’s been so long since we talked. It’ll be nice to see him again. If anyone could keep up with us, it’s him. You should see what Fiddelford is capable of when he puts his mind to something. He’s an amazing engineer. If a bit short-sighted. Wasting his time on unambitious pet projects. This'll really put his talents to use.”

Ford couldn’t help letting the eager glee spill out. He was looking forward to seeing his friend again. When he reached for the phone to dial his number, a kind of giddy anxiety set in. He hoped Fiddleford said yes. He could use some company around the lab.

“Fidds, huh? Cute.” Bill was clearly unimpressed. 

“You don’t believe me? I promise you, Fiddleford will prove himself in no time. You’ll see. I can’t wait for him to meet you.” 

Bill laughed again, louder this time. He kicked his feet against Ford’s forehead, prompting him to reach up and swat at the little creature.

“Ow! Knock it off!”

Bill vanished and reappeared, leaning next to the phone. “You can tell him about me if you want, IQ, but don’t come crying to me if he thinks you’ve gone off the deep end.”

“I beg your pardon?” Ford held the handset. The phone buzzed near his skin while his other hand hovered over the buttons.

“I’m just sayin’ I don’t plan on talking to anyone else.” Bill propped up one of his sides in one hand, his elbow resting on the base of the phone. Reaching out, he walked tiny little fingers up the back of Ford’s hand. “I chose you for a reason, Sixer. Like I said. I don’t share my wisdom with just anyone. You’re the only mortal for me.” 

Bill looked back at Ford and flashed red for a brief moment. His eye blackened.

“D̸̺͈̰̋͋̚ŏ̴͙̘̅͛̎͂̃́ͅn̴̦̩̤͛̑͊͊̇͠’̸̛͈̯̙̣̽̑̈̍̍͝ͅt̵̖̤͙̭̦͍̉̌ͅ ̸̡͈̟̐͌͛̈́̃m̶͚̐͑̅̿̍̾̏ả̷̮̈́k̸̛̘̠̞̙̂̽ȇ̸̠̭̪̝̜̣͚͂̃̀ ̶̢̇̋̃̚͝͝m̸͔̹̾̈́̕͝ȩ̶͊̚ ̴̧͔̭̞̟͎̊̈̊͂͐̂͠r̶̠̅̒̑e̴͇̽̔͌̎̽̚p̷̮͒̈e̵̥̥͚͔̽̃̉ą̷̬̙̗̥̊̉͐̓̓̈́̿t̷̩͑̽̍̈́̿̓̚ ̶̹̰̱̎̐̚̚m̸̥̞͍̃̓̆̃̔̐͜y̴̡̯̙͓̫̙̌s̶̡̹͖̼̼̽̆͆̕e̸̙̠̪̪͇̎͐̃͂́̓l̷̛̪̠͌̈́͂f̵̡̺̬͌̀̀͑͂̈́.̷̘̯̜̈́́̀̊̎͆͘”

Ford felt that giddy excitement sink into the pit of his stomach. The joy drained out of him. He stared back at the phone again. Maybe… maybe Bill was right… What if Bill wasn’t even real? Just a figment of an overactive imagination. Fiddleford would think Ford had gone crazy. Maybe he had. He wanted to introduce his friends to one another. Perhaps it was more than that. He wanted to know for certain that Bill was real. He felt real, but only Ford ever saw him. He didn’t have the kind of concrete proof of his existence that he had for his other anomalies. When Bill disappeared, it was like he was never there.

All that remained in Bill's absence was the image of him. A thousand drawings, tapestries, recovered artifacts, a shrine... A tattoo in a language no one spoke...

Bill had kissed him. In the last year, he'd done more than that. He'd graced Ford's mind and body in so many ways. Ford wasn't confident Bill understood the meaning of such gestures, but he was so hungry for connection. He was never one to argue. He savored his Muse's touch while he had it. When in his presence, he felt like he belonged to someone.

Bill had to be real. He had to be. 

Ford looked back at Bill. If he didn’t want to talk to Fiddleford, then there was nothing to be done about it. Perhaps it would be for the better to take his Muse on faith and not worry about clinging to another human for validation. Bill was real. Ford didn’t have definitive proof of that. He could feel it in his gut. This creature was real and rare, and he’d chosen Stanford for a reason.

“Alright then.” Ford rubbed the little triangle with his pinky. “We’ll keep our little talks just between us.” That was a promise. He'd do anything for his Muse.

“That’s the spirit, Sixer.” Bill slapped Ford’s hand encouragingly and hopped up into the air, divorcing himself from gravity once again. “Go get 'em, tiger!"