Chapter Text
Ford’s always loved looking at the sky.
Nights when everything was just too much, when Pa was angry and the kids at school were mean and the thoughts in his head just wouldn’t shut up he would run outside or climb up to the roof and just sit and look up, away from everything.
He likes the sun and moon and clouds, but he really likes the stars.
There’s so many of them, but they don’t overwhelm him. They make patterns and shapes that he can pick out and name. He knows all of them like old friends, what they look like and when they appear. He eagerly awaits the return of favorites with the change of the seasons.
Stan comes with him, sometimes, to avoid Pa or boredom or just to spend time with him, but Ford knows his brother doesn’t really care so much about the unknown. He tries to explain it once, when they’re small and hopeful and too young to know any better.
“See, Stanley? There’s all kinds of stars and constellations, and most of them have never been visited before! Who knows what kind of aliens and creatures live there?”
Stan grins. “Ya think they got alien treasure up there?”
Ford laughs. His brother doesn’t see the universe the way he does, but that’s okay. That just makes them both special. “Probably! Special star treasure."
“Sounds awesome,” Stan says, slinging an arm around Ford’s shoulders. “Maybe you can put a rocket on our boat.”
“We could find a whole new constellation!” Ford’s practically giddy with the thought.
“Yeah!” Stan punches the air with his free hand. “Constellation Stan!” The arm around Ford’s shoulders turns into a headlock, and their friendly embrace into a protracted tussle.
Those are some of the best days of Ford’s life, with his dreams and his brother and the stars.
He tries to explain it once more, when they’re older and a little more jaded and not quite as hopeful.
“The universe is so big, Stan. We can’t possibly be the only species; there’s bound to be thousands more, and scarcely anyone’s studied it! An entire field of research, barely touched!” He should reign himself in, but he’s too caught up in his excitement. “There’s bound to be all kinds of anomalous places and things out there.” And he does pull himself back from adding there’s bound to be a place where I fit in.
Stan smiles, lopsided. “You’re such a nerd, Poindexter. D’you want another soda?”
Ford bites his lip. “No, thank you.”
Stan leaves, and Ford thinks. He’s known for a long time that Stan’s interests in adventure are more… practical, than his own. His brother isn’t as prone to humor his long-winded spiels on weirdness as he was when they were children, and that’s okay. They’re growing up, growing apart, and that’s what people do, right?
He wishes that he could, just for a moment, see the world the way his brother does, just to understand. How can anyone look at the sky and simply think that it’s pretty? Space is marvelous, incredible, breathtaking.
Terrifying. Welcoming.
Ford takes a breath, feeling the chill October air burn his lungs. He tips his head back, eyes automatically picking out Andromeda, Pegasus, Pisces. Formations he’s known since he was a child, carefully searching for them with a stained and battered guide to the stars that he pulled out of the bargain bin at the used bookstore. By now it’s muscle memory, meditative, soothing him the same way it always has to find patterns in the vastness of the sky and focus on them and their histories.
A push to his shoulder brings him back from his thoughts.
“Hey, earth to Ford. You’re not up in space yet; quit actin’ like it.” Stan smiles and takes a drink from his soda.
Ford smiles back, instant, automatic.
“Okay.”