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"Where's Arthur?" Ford Prefect wondered absently. He wasn't really worried about the earthman Arthur Dent wandering around the Heart of Gold alone, but in the hours since they'd been picked up by Zaphod Beeblebrox, Ford's semi-cousin, and Trillian, earthwoman, it was quickly becoming habit to wonder where Arthur had gotten himself to and with which appliance he was arguing now.
"Off looking for tea," Zaphod answered, also absently. "Why'd you bring him along, anyway?" Zaphod asked as he experimentally pressed a few buttons on a console, provoking a momentary blinking from said console and a lingering look of disapproval from Trillian. Grinning at Trillian, and receiving a grudging smile in response, Zaphod turned to look at Ford.
Ford shrugged.
Zaphod shrugged. Which was difficult with an extra arm and not quite three shoulders. The gesture didn't look natural, and not just because of the extra arm. Ford realized that was because Zaphod was mimicking him, and shrugging was something Ford had picked up from Arthur.
One of the many things he'd picked up from Arthur. Not the least of which was pubic lice. Ford shifted in his seat and resisted the urge to scratch his crotch, remembering the horrid smell of that shampoo and the tickling feel of the little comb. Arthur had said the comb wasn't strictly necessary, but Ford hadn't liked the idea of that many Earth residents being so close to his joy department. Arthur alone was bad enough.
Arthur wandered onto the bridge at that moment carrying a tray of beverages in clear cups. They were all various shades of brown. "Trillian, tell me how this tastes."
Trillian rolled her eyes, but at least she attempted to humor him.
Ford looked Arthur's bathrobe up and down. "Arthur, you know we could come up with something else for you to wear?"
"Hmm?" Arthur replied without looking up from Trillian and his "tea."
Ford sighed and looked back at Zaphod.
Who was smirking. At Ford. Smirking was something Zaphod did all on his own; Zaphod was famous for his smirking.
"I understand," Zaphod smirked. He didn't state it; he smirked it. If anyone in the universe could be said to smirk a statement, that smirker would be Zaphod Beeblebrox.
"What, precisely, is it that you understand, Zaphod?" Ford tried not to sound upset. If he sounded upset, that would be tantamount to admitting there was something to be upset about. And Ford didn't get upset. Well, not that often, and usually whiskey, pretty girls, and a lethal feeling of homesickness were involved.
"That you and Arthur--"
"Escaped on a Vogon ship, yes," Ford finished for him a little too loudly. Arthur briefly looked up from his important tea experiment to furrow his brow crossly at Ford.
Zaphod looked at Ford, looked at Arthur, and looked back to Ford. "Ooookay, if you say so, Ford," Zaphod said carelessly, probably because he didn't really care.
"Yeah, I do say so." Now Ford did sound upset, and he knew it. Worst of all, he knew Zaphod knew it.
"Look, baby, it's okay. Really, it's terrific." Zaphod's right head was obviously trying to at least appear sincere, but his left head was quietly chuckling.
"I'm going to lie down," Ford said, and left the room.
Arthur looked up from his tea again, and this time his attention really was on Ford. He knew Trillian didn't actually care about his tea, so he gave Ford a few minutes and then followed him. He didn't notice Zaphod's smirk as he left.
"I don't like that Zaphod," Arthur stated as he walked into the little kitchenette.
"Arthur, he's family," Ford sighed.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Arthur apologized, stammering. "I didn't think--"
"I don't like him, either."
"Um, oh?" Arthur was taken aback, something that seemed to keep happening to him today.
"Yeah. He's family." At Arthur's continued look of confusion, Ford added, "I can't bloody stand him."
"Oh, ah," Arthur said. He'd always rather liked his family. You know, when they had been alive, of course. Arthur looked up and finally seemed to notice that Ford was attempting to curl up on a pink tiled counter with painted daisy accents. He was clutching a bottle. "What are you doing?"
"I wanted to lie down."
"So why not find a bed?"
"I tried."
"You could have asked Marvin, or one of the doors."
Ford's only answer was a roll of his eyes.
Arthur pulled himself up onto the edge of the sink. It was pink, too. "You never blink much. Did you know that?"
"Yeah, I know. It's a Betelgeusian thing."
"Oh. And your clothes never match." Now that Arthur knew Ford was an alien, he felt he could tell him all those little things he couldn't say when he thought Ford was from Guildford.
"Yes, they do."
"No, they don't."
Ford sighed. He'd been doing a lot of sighing today. "Arthur, I am not restrained by your ideas of Earth fashion. Anyway, you're wearing a bathrobe."
"An Earth bathrobe," Arthur said quietly, and Ford suddenly felt seriously and importantly stupid.
"I know."
Arthur took a breath, gaining confidence as he warmed to his subject. "And you're really good at drinking games. Is that an alien thing, too?"
"No. It may be a hitchhiker thing, though," Ford said, smiling.
"Really?"
"Yeah. You ever heard of that Old Janx Spirit?"
"No. Is that another alien thing?"
"No, well, yes. Strictly speaking, yes, it is. It's a bit like gin."
"Oh?"
"Not really."
"Oh. Is it anything like tea?"
Ford chuckled. "No."
"Too bad."
"Yeah. Want to try it?"
"Alright." Arthur held up his teacup. "Any lemon?"
"Not that I've found."
"Too bad. We could ask Marvin?" Arthur ventured.
The only response Arthur received was a withering look from Ford and a refilled teacup.
After a few minutes, Ford uncurled on the counter and looked at Arthur. "Do you miss it?"
"Miss what?"
"The Earth."
"It's only been a few hours. There hasn't been time to miss it. But. Yeah."
"Are you glad I brought you along?" Ford asked. He wasn't sure what the answer would be, and he really wanted to know.
Arthur paused to think about it, longer than Ford would have liked, but at last the answer came. "Yes. Yes, I am. Thanks, Ford."
"Yeah, you're welcome."