#stanzest

I love the juxtaposition of these two together. Ford instinctively knowing Stan sleeps on the left side of the bed, that he prefers off brand drinks to name bc they taste like the good old days, and that he hates being cold. But then a complete stranger to sayings Stan uses, to the way he takes his coffee or his favorite sandwich. Doesn't even remember if he was nearsighted or farsighted.

And the same goes to Stan. Recovering his memories and instincts and realizing with joy he remembers things like Ford's tendency to hide his hands/fidget behind his back with them when he's nervous. Remembers his favorite flavor of ice cream was cotton candy flavored even if he lied and said it was chocolate chip. But just doesn't know so much about him. What his favorite color is. How he gets when he gets drunk, or the difference between a real laugh and a fake one.

And them taking time to rediscover each other slowly. Maybe they rush things and butt heads and they get into arguments that devolve into shouting and shoving and heat of the moment threats. But at the end of the day they curl up together and let the rocking of the waves remind them that they're finally living their dreams. Together, forever, adventure and love and inseparable. Unstoppable.

More to follow when it coalesces into something a little more solid lol

Like Stan having some vague spots in his head and maybe not fully there in terms of all memories and his personality has probably shifted too. And what he does remember is either hellish or painful and very occasionally good like the summer with the kids. But he does remember being into Ford. And this old man is also a fine piece of ass, and they could have a real good fucking time if he'd just relax.

And Ford wanting to make up for lost time and be everything he can for Stan and at first rolling with it because it caught him off guard, and then continuing for a lot of complicated reasons and trying to dredge up some version of the attraction Stan feels for him in return but he's not sure if he can.

And just jumping into the study and yelling or hollering at Ford hardly worked. No no. That was a shouting match waiting to happen. And probable chances of one or both going to bed pissed off and no action on informal date night.

But. Maybe...

Stan walks down to the study and announces he's coming. Ford doesn't like surprise touching or being "crept up on" so despite the purposely creaky wood they used for parts of the ship, Stan still says he's coming in case Ford is too far gone in his studying. He gets a general flap of Ford's hand and that's good enough.

He walks up a bit to the side of him, peaking over his shoulder at the object partially bagged, notes and equipment surrounding it. He reads over Ford's shoulder of what he's got so far, humming a bit as he has to search very deep for if he's ever known anything about what Ford is trying to find out from this.

Stan is also blocking Ford's light. He hears an annoyed noise and feels a pat to his gut in the way of a warning elbow from his brother.

"Stanley, please, I need space and light. I'll be done soon."

Stan shifts to the left, letting the light back in on Ford's experiment. "Sure thing, sure thing, but do you know what time it is, Ford?"

Ford doesn't even look up, poking the object and turning it a few degrees. "I don't know, around five or so?"

Stan sighs and places his hands on Ford's shoulders. He begins rubbing them, and he can feel the tension thst unintentionally spools in his brother as he works.

"Guess again, bro."

For a moment it felt like Ford was going to give in to the relaxing touch and magic of Stan's massage. He could feel the shoulders sink lower and Ford untensed from his hunched position. But then he gave another glance at his work and he shook Stan off.

"Sorry, Stan, I'll only be another few minutes. I just want to check out this--" Stan doesn't know what Ford said then. He'd already left the room.

It was worth a shot. If Ford had relaxed a little more, had actually looked up at him, maybe he could have at least made Ford feel good.

Stan sits down on the side of the bed, not scootching over to his side just yet. He lays back against the headboard, adjusting a pillow behind him, one leg up and resting, the other on the ground.

He slapped a hand down on his thigh, disappointed. It's not like he expected Ford to be at his beck-n-call 24/7. It's not even like he needed to be talked to most of the day. He knows they are both adults with their own interests and habits, and are both prone to their own erratic behaviors.

He just wished Ford would try to make himself a little more available or for once follow through on plans he makes with Stan. It sucks being blown off when you're the only two around in a few hundred miles.

Stan glances at the clock. Nearly 11. He ate dinner long ago, and only tried rousing Ford so late just in case Ford remembered they were supposed to have spent tonight together.

Anniversaries never meant much to Ford, he supposes. But they mean more to Stan than he's willing to let on or even really think too loud.

Ford probably doesn't remember in the first place. It was so long ago...