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It wasn’t the first time this summer you’d declined an invitation to the pool. With how hot the weather had gotten, Stan and the kids had been going down once or twice a week to enjoy the day without sweating through their clothes. They’d even managed to drag their Grunkle Ford down a few times, though he was less hesitant about the water and more worried about missing out on his research. So far every time they’s invited you you’d managed to come up with an excuse to skip (you don’t have a swim suit, you don’t know how to swim, oh no the gnomes are in the trash again well gotta go). It was only a matter of time, however, before they realised that you were just trying to avoid the pool. Hell, maybe they already knew, you weren’t the most convincing liar. Stan had been giving you the side eye for a week but you don’t think he cared enough about your weirdness to call you out on it.
Ford, however, is a different kettle of worms. Where Stan was content to stay out of it, Ford’s curiosity was tenacious. Once he had his mind set on finding something out, nothing could stop him. You hated lying to him, and not just because he was so persistent. After months of just enjoying spending time with him, you’d grown incredibly fond of him. Listening to him talking about his most recent findings, many nights spent with a hand on his shoulder as he tries to compose himself after another nightmare. He would make you coffee when he made his own, and you would bring snacks down to him in the basement on your lunch breaks. His genuine earnestness to understand had wormed its way into your heart and part of you wanted to spill your guts to him about anything, everything. But somethings, you knew, were better kept secret.
Right now, he’s sitting in front of you on the floor packing a cooler full of Pitt cola and frozen treats, oblivious to your internal struggle. One of his large hands rubs at the back of his neck and he shoots you a shy smile.
“I’m going to visit the multibear today. He’s not usually a fan of answering my questions but I figured he might be more amenable if I brought something to keep him cool in today’s weather. I know Stanley invited you to go to the public pool with him and and children, so if you’d rather go with them I understand.”
You smile sadly, and kneel down to rearrange the cans so they fit more neatly.
“Normally I’d love to go, but if I don’t do this laundry not even the gnomes will want to come round here.”
You can physically hear the gears in his brain turning as he looks at you. His hand twitches towards his coat where he keeps his journal before he forces it to rest casually on the cooler’s open lid. He’s regarding you like a mystery to solve, and it makes you feel uneasy.
He gives a small smile instead and hands you an ice pop from the cooler before shutting it. Then with pat on your shoulder he’s out the door, his coat swishing behind him. And seriously, how is he still wearing that coat? Is he not dying of heatstroke like the rest of you? It’s got to be made of some sci-fi cooling fabric, because you are sweating through your jeans and lightweight sweater.
Once you’re sure Ford is gone (and you’ve put your ice pop back in the regular freezer), you drag your hand down your face, accidentally wiping condensation all over yourself. You would’ve loved to go to see the Multibear, Dipper introduced you guys because you both love BABBA and you’d heard they were talking about releasing new music. But you had told the kids you needed to do laundry today and you’ve got to stay consistent. Plus, you weren’t exactly lying. That laundry was getting disgusting in the summer heat and it needed to be done.
You figured you’d get yours and Mabel’s done first. Mabel’s knitted sweaters especially needed special attention, and you could throw yours in with them. The boys would probably wear their dirty clothes even if they were growing mold, so theirs could wait.
While you’re in your room, you pause. The sweater your wearing isn’t exactly fresh, this is it’s second outing without being washed. Same with the jeans. And you know the rest of the house is going to be out for a while. You hesitate for a moment. Being uncovered is an...uncomfortable feeling, but the heat is worse. Nervously, you slide your sweater over your head and dump it in the basket, and head to your dresser to find the one long forgotten pair of shorts you owned. As your swap your jeans for the shorts, you can’t help but run your thumb across the cuts on your thighs. It pain is secondary to the anxiety about being exposed. But it’s okay, you reason, you just need to get your jeans washed and dried and you’ll be covered up again before anyone gets home.
The laundry gets thrown into the machine, detergent added, correct settings on, and then it’s ready to go. You pick up the basket and mentally prepare yourself for the horror that is preteen and old man laundry. On your way back to the laundry room, the universe decides to screw you over last time as the shack door opens. In the doorway stands Ford. He strides into the house with purpose and straight into the living room.
“I forgot my cellular phone. I think the kids would kill me if I left it behind again.” His voice booms from the other room, and he walks back into the gift shop with a grin on his face. A grin that slides off when he finally notices you.
You’re shaking, you notice distantly. The pounding of your heart seems to be making your whole body pulse. You want to run and hide more than anything but you can’t seem to move your feet. Ford whispers your name like you’re a skittish animal and a jolt of adrenaline forces you to flinch away. The laundry basket falls to the floor between you two with a thud.
You take a step back and your feet tangle in a pair of pants that spilled from the basket. As you stumble back you let out a breath that you didn’t realise you were holding and your arms out to catch something.
Ford reaches out and grabs your hand to keep you on your feet. It’s as he pulls your arm that he seems to really notice the state you’re in. He turns your arm over, taking in the dozens of cuts covering your forearm.
“This is why you’ve been avoiding the spending time with the others.”
You yank your arm back, holding it close to your chest and blink away tears. Letting out a deep breath, he forces a smile onto his face. It’s wobbly, but seeing it eases something inside you just a bit.
“Let’s go sit in the kitchen. I’m certain you would benefit from a glass of water, and I could do with one myself.”
You follow him meekly, sliding into a chair in the corner of the room. He fills up two glasses and places one in front of you, taking a seat opposite you. The silence stretches on too long. Ford opens his mouth to speak, and shuts it again quickly. He takes a sip of his water. You rub your thumbs over the glass, gathering up the water droplets running. Ford lets out another quiet sigh.
“I’m sorry you had to see me like this. I...I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want you to see me like this.” His gaze is intense and you can’t bring yourself to look him in the eye.
He says your name softly, but you continue to stare at the glass in front of you.
“You’ve seen my scars.” You tense at the words, but he continues gently. “You’ve seen me when I’m...” He waves his hands as if he could catch the right word out of the air, “...vulnerable. You’ve always been understanding and compassionate towards me. Isn’t this the same? Why wouldn’t I extend that same kindness to you?”
You pull your feet to rest on the edge of the seat, holding your knees close to your body as if it could protect you from Ford’s gaze. Instead Ford’s eyes fix onto the mess of lines on your thighs. There’s a long pause before he turns his head away.
“It’s different for you, Ford.” You rest your head on your knees and look down at the floor, “What happened to you wasn’t your fault. You didn’t choose to get attacked in the multiverse. You didn’t do that to yourself.”
He frowns, and for a moment it seems like he’s going to say something.
“I’m not saying you had it easier. You went through hell, Ford, and you didn’t deserve any of it. I-“ A sob bubbles out of your chest, “I did deserve it. Do deserve it, I guess.”
The world is getting fuzzy and you can feel tears threatening to spill over, so you bury your face in your knees instead. Don’t cry, you think, not here now now. The words from that self help book you read years ago flash in your head like a neon sign. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in-
A hand comes down gently on the top of your back and your breath hitches on the inhale. When you peak up Ford is standing next to you, his hand on your back rubbing small circles.
“You don’t deserve this. I’m no stranger to low self-esteem and self blame.” He laughs humourlessly, “But I know that whatever monster your brain is making you out to be? You’re not that monster. You keep me on track and you help me escape my own head. The children love you, Stan cares about you and I-“ His face reddens a little bit, but he still smiles, “I care about you too. So much.”
Screw the self help book, screw your pride. What you want right now is to wrap your arms around this wonderful man and never let go. When you push yourself out of the chair he seems to understand, and let’s you tuck your face into his chest. You can feel his chest rumble as he continues talking.
“I’m sorry you’re hurting. I’m here if you want to talk, no matter what hour of the day.”
His head dips down and he kisses you on the top of your head. You know that this conversation isn’t going to be the end of this, there are good days and there are bad days. But at least now you’re not going to be dealing with them alone. And some part of you feels like it’s all going to turn out okay.