Chapter Text
Ford straightened his bow tie, more out of nervousness than an actual need to adjust. The look he sported - yellow triangle shaped glasses with a black trenchcoat and triangle patterned yellow shirt - was most definitely overkill in his opinion, but apparently overkill was expected at an interdimensional gala. Especially one held by Bill Cipher himself.
“Fidds!” Ford knocked on the door to Fiddleford’s inventing lab. “You done yet? We’re going to be late, Stan and Shermie are already there!”
“Important correction;” a slightly muffled voice responded, “we’re going to be fashionably late. I’m almost done, I swear, just hold your horses.”
Ford rolled his eyes and glanced at the hallway clock. The second hand’s jerking, even movements seemed to be mocking him. “You started ‘getting dressed’ almost two hours ago,” he said, folding his arms. “What could you possibly-”
The door opened and Fiddleford threw his hands to the side, a grin on his face. “Ta da!”
A brief assessment of the outfit had Ford frowning. “That took two hours?”
“Well yeah, I had to do a little tinkerin’ on my new antique pocket watch.” Fiddleford patted the watch in question and set off down the hall to grab his coat, his initial exuberance somewhat snuffed.
“Isn’t ‘new antique’ an oxymoron?”
Ford received a suffering look over the shoulder in response. “It needed a new chain, so I made my own with some extra gears I had lyin’ around. I think it looks rather snazzy.”
It did. Fiddleford wore a tailored yellow vest over a white shirt with bell bottomed slacks and shiny black shoes, a look that Ford had to admit was particularly successful at capturing the essence of Fiddleford McGucket. The chain of gears for the pocket watch was a particularly nice touch; maybe even worth being late for.
Fiddleford continued while slipping on the thin grey overcoat: “Honestly, I spend two hours fixing up this gorgeous timepiece and order this suit special for tonight and all you can say is- mm!” He was cut off by a kiss. Hopefully that was a good enough apology.
“You look wonderful ,” Ford said.
“Ah. You don’t look half bad yourself.” Fiddleford’s smile couldn’t hide a blush. “You got the invitations?”
“So I do.”
***
Upon entering the fearamid, Ford’s worries about having too fancy an outfit were quelled. Some of the aliens at the gala wore outfits so outlandish that they couldn’t have been anything other than the highest fashion. There must have been hundreds of attendees, chatting in groups small and large around tables while music echoed in the background. He and Fiddleford were much smaller than the average creature there, but he did catch a glimpse of smaller beings on occasion. Cipher’s guests represented all manner of interdimensional creatures and Ford had to resist the urge to take his current journal from his pocket and start sketching while walking over to the table Stan and Shermie had snagged near the front of the stage.
“Finally! Sherm and I were half worried you weren’t comin’. What took ya so long, Poindexter?” Stan was leaning back casually in his chair, a mostly-empty snack plate on the black table in front of him. While Ford had gone for a more refined look for the gala, Stan - rather characteristically - had managed to make a more relaxed style fit right in amongst the other attendees. The first few buttons on his yellow shirt had been undone to expose some of his chest hair and he wore a gold chain and an eye-catching wrist watch. Same face or not, Ford knew he could never pull off the same look.
“Fidds got caught up working on a project,” Ford explained, taking a seat between Fiddleford and Stan. “In his defense, the pocket watch did turn out quite well.”
“Yessiree! Made the chain myself!”
“Woah.” Shermie lit up at the sight of the refurbished timepiece that Fiddleford proudly displayed. “You fixed it! That’s been sitting in the spare parts bin for ages.”
“Yup! Figured it was about time it got some lovin’. Tell ya what Sherm, you can have it if ya want. Bet you could find a way to make it even cooler.”
“Really? Awesome! I think I have… Oh! Ford, can I have some paper to write down my ideas?”
Ford frowned and instinctively laid a protective hand against the journal in his pocket, reluctant to rip out a page for his little brother. “I’d rather not-”
The lights dimmed.
“Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone in between, please welcome the king of nightmares himself, Biiiiiiiill Cipher!”
Obligatory applause thundered in the main hall and Ford joined in, grateful for the convenient distraction. Being cut off halfway through a sentence was awkward, but trying to provide an explanation for the boy would have been even more awkward, so he offered an apologetic smile and turned his attention to the stage, offering up his own polite clapping in service of the demon who’d murdered every human on earth besides the three sitting at the table. (Ford wasn’t sure he counted anymore.) Applause was the exact opposite of what Cipher deserved, but being civil and cooperative was an unfortunate requisite for staying in the triangle’s good graces.
Bill appeared in a brilliant flash of blue fire, hovering above the stage and twirling his cane. “Good evening one and all!” The demon’s shrill voice echoed through the massive hall as if he was speaking through a microphone. “It’s a beautiful night here at the fearamid and I am just THRILLED to see all of you here! We’ve got folks here from every corner of the multiverse, but whether you were threatened or paid to be here or just plain curious, let me personally welcome you to the site of a victory thousands of lifetimes in the making!”
Applause erupted again and Bill beamed, taking off his top hat and giving a little bow.
“Of course it wouldn’t be fair,” he continued over the clapping, “to go the entire night without thanking my newest henchmaniac - and I know a good chunk of you came just to catch a glimpse of those freaky fingers of his - so here he is, Sixer himself!”
With a gesture from Bill, a spotlight found its way towards Ford and he had to keep himself from shrinking under the sudden scrutiny in addition to squinting due to the sudden onslaught of light. If the crowd had been excited before, now they were practically exuberant, cheers and whistles filling the hall. It felt uncomfortably similar to being made fun of.
But this is exactly what I asked for, isn’t it?
“Rumor has it he’s got twelve toes too! Give ‘em a wave, Sixer!”
Ford raised a hand obediently and forced a smile he didn’t feel, sweat beading on his brow despite gripping Fiddleford’s hand under the table with the hand he wasn’t waving.
It may have been what he asked for, but it certainly wasn’t what he’d wanted.
When the spotlight - both literal and metaphorical - dissolved, Ford felt relief replace it, squeezing Fiddleford’s hand gratefully.
“Alright, alright. You can get your autographs later, maybe he’ll sign your fingers for you if you have any. Gaining physical form was an essential step, but what I want - what really, really want, what I’ve been working towards all this time - is to usurp our common enemy. Time Baby knows I have everything I need to destroy everything he stands for, which is EXACTLY why he’s holed up right now, hiding like the COWARD he is!” There were shouts of assent from the audience. “But we are here tonight to celebrate because time is running out for him. Time Baby is too smart not to put up safeguards against me, but that barrier is coming down very soon and when it does, anyone who hasn’t sworn to the name Cipher is gonna have hell to pay, I can tell you that much.”
Shit , Ford swore. He must be closer to victory than we thought.
“So enjoy the party, have a drink or ten, and remember! There’s plenty more of this to come!”
Blue flames swallowed up Cipher’s image on stage and the background music turned to something more triumphant behind the crowd’s applause. Plenty more of this to come… There wouldn’t be if Ford had anything to say about it.
“Well, if that’s over, I think we should go see what kinda snacks they have.” Fiddleford got up from his chair and tugged at Ford’s hand to get him to stand as well. He hadn’t let go since Ford had waved and Ford wasn’t about to let go first. “Care to come with me?”
That wasn’t the simplest question to answer, but Ford glanced back at the table and preemptively mourned the social security it would have provided, because he knew he wouldn’t say no. That was just the way Fiddleford was. “Alright.” As he pushed in his chair, he eyed his twin. “Don’t do anything crazy, Stanley.”
“Aww, c’mon Sixer, when have you ever known me to do anything crazy? I’m probably the least crazy person here!” (Even as Ford rolled his eyes, he admitted that there might have been some truth to that.) “If you nerds are gonna try some of the food, I gotta recommend the eggroll lookin’ things. No idea what’s in ‘em, but they’re good.”
Shermie nodded emphatically. “They taste weird, but in a good way.”
“Will do.” Fiddleford smiled. “I dunno when we’ll be back, but make sure you don’t come home too late. See ya!”
The two humans wove hand-in-hand through other mingling couples and Ford’s awe at the variety of aliens in attendance returned. Even the theme of yellow clothing didn’t suppress the sprawling variety of color among the glossy black bricks of the fearamid’s base, from the neon lighting shining from asymmetrical chandeliers affixed to the ceiling high above to the naturally fluorescent hues of the guests beneath them.
It took him a moment to notice Fiddleford staring at him. “What?”
“You’re makin’ that cute face you do when ya get excited about somethin’. Good to know you’re still you after everything that’s happened the last couple years. Makes me happy.”
Ford blinked at that and stopped in his tracks while Fiddleford grabbed a plate from the end of the snack table, not sure if he should be embarrassed. “I… was not aware I made a face,” he muttered.
“Sixer?”
The nickname snapped him out of his blushy reverie. This was what he had hoped to avoid tonight; talking to extra-dimensional beings would have been a lot more fun if he didn’t have the reputation of being a man who would sell out his entire planet for power. “Yes?”
Turning around revealed a blue-skinned creature about a foot shorter than him with spikes down its back and tail and black eyes. “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” it said, placing one of its claws on its chest in greeting. “My name is Sharix and I was hoping you could introduce me to your companion.”
“My-” Ford frowned. Usually he was the one people asked to meet, not Fidds. “Fiddleford?”
Sharix’s black tongue slapped against his left eyeball. “That is the inventor’s name, yes?”
“Yes, that’s- Uh. Come with me, I suppose.”
Fiddleford had made his way halfway down the snack table, his plate nearly overflowing with all kinds of foods. “I found the eggrolls!” he exclaimed.
“And I found someone who would like to meet you.” Ford nodded to the diminutive lizard creature. “This is Sharix.”
“I am an admirer of your work, Mr. McGucket. It is an honor.”
“An honor? Shoot, I dunno where you got an idea like that.”
“This is your design, yes?” Sharix produced a small hologram of… something. It looked vaguely familiar to Ford, something out of an old memory of Fiddleford’s inventing lab. “According to my sources, you were also a key contributor to Cipher’s interdimensional portal. Both are incredible feats of engineering for any mortal, let alone a human.”
Fiddleford adjusted his glasses, peering at the hologram. “Yeah, that’s mine,” he said. “I sold it at an auction a few months back.”
Ford remembered that auction. It had not been the success they’d been hoping for.
“Then I must reiterate what an honor it is to meet you. And ask a favor if I can. My sister Vari is an ambassador in the Kolira system. She would be very pleased to commission a piece from you.”
“A commission? I’d love to, but the Kolira system… Ain’t that…?”
“It is outside of Cipher’s sphere of influence, yes. I doubt you’d have trouble, but it is a possibility. The choice is yours, of course, but I’m sure she would reward you handsomely. If you choose to accept, this transporter should get you to her place of residence without much trouble.”
Fiddleford (rather tentatively) accepted a small device from Sharix’s palm and placed it in his coat pocket. “Well, thank you much. I’ll give it some thought, I appreciate the offer.”
With a nod and a “you’re welcome,” Sharix left the pair behind with quite a bit to think about. They were things to discuss later, however; talking treason in the king’s own throne room was unwise by any metric and they both knew it. They’d talk about it at home. And in the mean time…
“I hope you know,” Fiddleford said, “that once I’m done with this food, we’re going to dance.”
“Dance?” Even the word made Ford blanch. “I can’t-”
“Oh yes you can, Stanferd, and you’ll have a damn good time doin’ it. I know you could have sat all night, but I won’t let you.”
“But-” Fiddleford cut Ford off with a look.
For just a beat, Ford felt the strangest sense of deja vu. He was ten years younger, sour about being dragged out of his dorm for a party he didn’t care about. He didn’t know why he’d agreed to go or why he let Fiddleford pull him onto the dance floor, but he’d done both and tonight would be no different. He’d dance.
And he did have a damn good time doing it.