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It started as just an ordinary saturday night. Fiddleford had managed to talk Ford into taking a break from studying and go outside for some stargazing. It was a clear night without a single cloud. And there was this big field near Backupsmore that was the perfect spot. Plus Stanford could justify the break by claiming he was actually getting a headstart praticing for his astronomy class next semester.
Packing his telescope, some blankets and a few snacks, the pair made their way across the campus and out into the fields. And while Ford got to work setting up his telescope, Fiddleford unfurled their blankets and laid back.
At first, Stanford stuck to his telescope. Looking at each star and planet within the visible range of his little telescope. And giving Fiddleford a short lecture on each one as he went. And Fiddleford would just hum in reply. Eventually though, Ford ran out of things to say and decided to join Fiddleford down on the blankets. Just taking in the massive, infinite cosmos above them.
"Beautiful, ain't it?" Fiddleford breathed, eyes glancing between the stars and the man laying next to him.
Ford nodded. "Yes... Looking up at the stars like this. It always makes me wonder what else is out there..."
"Yeah," Fiddleford agreed. "Like aliens and all that?"
"Something like that." Ford sighed.
Raising one hand he held it up towards the skies. From his veiw on the ground, his hand seemed to eclipse the stars shining above him. He wondered if there was a place out there where he could fit in...
"There could be anything out there." Ford continued.
He felt Fiddleford shudder next to him. "Ain't that a terrifying thought."
"Actually, I think the contrary." Ford said. "So many worlds out there. There has to be a place for people like us, right?"
"I bet." Fiddleford reasoned. "And I bet there's a whole world where everyone has six-fingers. Then I'd be the odd-man out."
That made Ford chuckle. And as he did he felt Fiddleford's fingers slot into his own. And with gentle movements, he brought Ford's hand towards his face, giving it a quick kiss.
Ford didn't know how to describe their relationship. He'd never really had a true friend before, let alone a partner of a more romantic nature. This was all entirely new territory for him. But luckily Fiddleford didn't seem too keen on putting a label on themselves either. Whatever they were, Ford was certainly glad to have it.
Though he couldn't help but frown when he heard his partner begin to ramble,
"Now if man had been born with six fingers on each hand,
He'd also have twelve toes or so the theory goes..."
"You're not making fun of me, are you?"
Fiddleford was quick to shake his head. "Oh no, Ford. I'd never dream of it. In fact, I find your hands awfully facinating. Makes me wonder about mathmatics and all."
"Mathmatics?"
Fiddleford grinned, continuing to recite.
"He probably would've invented two more digits when he invented his number system. Then, if he saved the zero for the end, he could count and multiply by twelve just as easily as you and I do by tens."
"Oh, really?" Ford asked, a grin comming to his own face.
"You know it." Fiddleford replied. "Now if men had been born with six fingers on each hand, he'd probably count: One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, dek, el, doh."
"Dek, el, doh?"
"Dek and el being two entirely new signs. Meaning ten and eleven. And his twelve, doh, would be written 1-0. Get it?"
"I get it." Ford chuckled again. "And I get that you are a certifiable goofball, Fiddleford Hadron McGucket!"
"Well, I think it'd be swell, multiplying by 12!"
Rolling over, he went to jostle Fiddleford, and the other man just laughed right back. And cuddling closer together, trying to fend off the cool night breeze, he heard Fiddleford softly start to sing.
"Hey Little Twelvetoes, I hope you're well...
Must be some far-flung planet where you dwell..."
It was many, many years later when Stanford heard that same soft melody again.
Looking to his side, he heard Fiddleford quietly humming under his breath.
The pair were going on a roadtrip to San Fransico, for a science symposium and convention. Where Fiddleford had been invited to give a presentation on his many "larger than life" inventions. The rest of the Pine's family, plus Tate, were fast asleep in the back of the RV. And right now only Stanford and Fiddleford were awake. With Stanford behind the wheel and Fiddleford tinkering away at the circuit board for his latest invention.
Ford took a silent glee seeing the way Fiddleford's engagement ring sparked as the passing street lights shined onto it. Years ago he would have never dreamed they'd be able to do this. When he was younger the thought would have terrified him. But now he was elated to call Fiddleford his partner, his fiance, and soon... his husband.
"I remember that one." Stanford said, breaking the sleepy silence of the RV.
Fiddleford looked up rather suddenly from his circuit board turning to face Stanford.
"You do? That damn song's been stuck in my head all night! Don't quite recall all the words though. Or where it came from."
"It's an educational song." Ford explained. "One you often associated with myself, when we were younger. Something about me having twelve digits?"
All at once it came back to Fiddleford, with an exclamation he slapped knee. "Aw yes! That's it! Little Twelvetoes!"
He quickly slapped his own hand over his mouth when they heard some murmurs and shifting blankets from the back of the RV. But thankfully no one else woke up.
"Close call. I still got trouble with that darn volume-control." Fiddleford said, now barely speaking above a whisper.
"To be fair, I think you've always had a bit of trouble with volume. Though I don't think there's anything wrong with that." Ford said. "You've been working so hard to regain your memories, you have every right to be excited when you make progress."
"Even if it wakes up the rest of the car?"
"I'm sure they'd understand." Stanford said. Looking back to focus on the road.
They still had two more hours to go until they made it to San Fran. They were nearly there now. This late at night they were one of the only vehicals on the road for miles around. The rolling fields had turned to endless neighborhoods and highways. But above them there was still an endless sky of stars.
While keeping his eyes on the road, Ford spoke up again.
"You should keep singing that song."
"You sure about that? It's been a couple years. I'm afraid I don't sing nearly as sweet as the songbirds no-more." Fiddleford said, picking fun at himself.
"I would be honored to hear my fiance sing." Stanford said. "And besides, singing that song might help with your recollection and memory-retention."
"Alright, alright. If you really want to hear me crowin' that badly." Fiddleford chuckled.
He needed a moment, to remember the words. But soon enough they came back to him, and he began to quietly sing,
"Hey Little Twelvetoes, I hope you're thriving,
Some of us ten-toed folks are still surviving."
Without looking, Ford let one hand slip away for the wheel. Letting his fingers intertwine with Fiddlefords. And he felt the other man pause to kiss his knuckles lightly, before continuing the song.
"If you help me with my twelves, I'll help you with your tens,
And we could all be friends,
Little Twelvetoessssss-ah! Please come back home!"