Chapter Text
Stanford had just barely stepped onto campus, and she was already itching to get out of there.
Backupsmore wasn’t anyone's first choice, let alone hers, not when she was destined for West Coast Tech. Yet here she is, at an improperly funded, run down college with little more to its name than being the safety net school.
She trudges through the worn halls with her suitcase and duffle bag before barging into her room, not even bothering to look at the nameplate next to her door. Throwing her stuff on the ground, she immediately turns to the old spring bed and face plants into it. She expected some kind of resistance, but she immediately sinks deeper, being developed in its (probably moldy) embrace.
She lays there for a few minutes, contemplating what cosmic misdeed she must have committed to end up here of all places, before she gets back up and grabs her backpack.
She doesn’t have the energy to decorate, and she knows that this place will never truly feel like home. She decides to get an extra early start on her studying, intending to get as much time in at the library as possible. That was her real home, after all, no matter what this dingy, stale room tried to claim otherwise.
Hours later, she’s back in that unfamiliar hallway fumbling with her keys to open her partially rusted door. It’s a struggle to push open, something she dreads having to deal with for the next 9 months, but once she does, she’s not greeted with the sterile blank room she left.
She is instead greeted by a room half decorated, with a poster or two on the walls, a banjo and spitoon by the desk, and a stranger on a thin bedspread reading a book, all of which is cloaked in a warm lamp light.
Ford isn’t sure what exactly is going on, because this is a really weird prank to pull on someone on day one. She stands there, backpack in hand, staring dumbly at the woman lounging on her bed as if she owns the place. The trespasser is a slightly muscular woman with a farmers tan, long dirty blonde hair parted down the middle framing a round face, long nose, and piercing blue eyes.
The same blue eyes that were currently looking at her with an expression so soft it made all of Ford’s defenses drop immediately. The stranger wasn’t looking at her frightened, she didn’t seem confused, there wasn’t anything in her expression but downright… joy. Like she had been waiting for Ford to return the whole night, as if she was the only person in the world who truly mattered.
That made Ford’s heart skip a beat, because no one had ever looked at her like that before.
“Stanferd!”
Her jaw drops even further, brows knitting even tighter, because not only does this stranger know her name, she is acting as if they have known each other their whole lives.
“Oh! You were out studying!” The woman says, looking down at the bag in Ford’s hand. “Well come on in and close the door, you're letting all the warm air out!”
For some reason, she does as she’s told, kicking the door closed and dropping her bag to the ground, yet she can’t seem to stop staring. A million questions race through her mind, but she can’t get a single coherent sentence out.
“Wha- … I uh-…” She can’t take this anymore, she realizes she must have burned her last brain cell whilst studying, and that this is her life now.
After what feels like an eternity she’s able to spit out an inelegant “Who?”
“Oh right! I forgot to introduce myself, my name is Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, and I’m your roommate!” It takes Ford less time to process this, and she is able to quickly counter with a simple and resounding, “No.”
‘Fiddleford’ (an admittedly strange name that somehow matches her southern drawl) tilts her head to the side like a confused puppy, before replying with an equally determined “Yes”. This halts the scientist once again, not expecting her bluntness to be matched.
She stands there, staring at the other woman, not sure what to do next. Does she scream? Does she call someone? Does she continue standing there looking like an idiot in front of one of the most gorgeous women she's ever seen? She's not even given the chance to consider any of these options before she is pulled out of her thoughts by a slightly concerned yet gentle voice.
“-ferd? Stanferd hon, are you alright?”
Oh god. She chose option three, and now said woman is staring back at her, but with confusion in her eyes instead of fear.
“I- sorry, this is just.. a lot to take in.” She tucks her hands behind her back, fiddling with her thumbs mindlessly. “You’re my roommate? How? I specifically asked for a single dorm and they acknowledged it, I’m not supposed to have a roommate. You’re not supposed to be here, or maybe I’m in the wrong room? No, no that can’t be, my key worked just fine and I see my duffle bag over there on the floor, so this is definitely my room.”
A warm hand on her shoulder abruptly stops the pacing she didn’t even realize had begun, and she squeaks in surprise, nearly jumping ten feet in the air. Normally, this kind of touch out of the blue would send her spiraling even more, but for some reason, it grounds her back to reality, and back to the woman now at her side.
“Please don’t, uh… please don’t touch me out of nowhere like that” she states simply, tensing up and closing her eyes, ready for the push back.
But it never comes, just the removal of warmth and a quick, “Sorry, hon, I just thought it’d help.”
Stanford slowly uncurls and continues her what seems to be new favorite hobby of staring at Fiddleford. The other woman (who is apparently much taller than she looked sitting down), stares back at her with a soft, kind smile on her face. Ford’s not sure how long they stay like this, or how long they could continue, but before she can even comment on it, Fiddleford speaks up.
“Well… are you a morning or night shower kinda gal? Because that dictates who sleeps where.”
Oh right. The bed situation. Ford is used to falling asleep at her desk, so she thinks the floor won’t be too much worse. Besides, she would feel bad forcing this stranger to sleep on the ground, even though she never expected to have a stranger in her room this late at night to begin with. She wonders who she should call-
“Stanford.”
She snaps back to attention, forgetting she was supposed to answer a question. She responds with a quick “Night”, which earns a smile that has somehow grown even wider from Fiddleford.
“Good, cause I wake up nice and early, so I’ll sleep on the outside of the bed” She giggles a bit, bringing the back of her hand to cover her mouth slightly. “Now go on and get clean, it’s already far too late and I’m sure you have classes bright and early.”
Stanford nods, and gathers up her shower supplies and pajamas, not dwelling too much on what was said at the moment, because the opportunity to run away and hide for a bit has presented itself, and she is more than happy to take it.
She takes her keys with her, looking back once more to Fiddleford giving her another nod, before rushing out and into the hallway.
Standing under the stream of lukewarm water, Stanford replays the events of the day over and over again in her mind. She moved to an entirely new state and left her family behind, studied for hours on end until she could feel her brain physically lagging, and then came home to a beautiful stranger sitting on her bed like she owns the place. And apparently she does, or at least half the room.
She knows she should call someone, there was obviously a mistake on someone's end, and as nice as Fiddleford seems, Ford is not meant to have a roommate.
But something is holding her back, and she’s not quite sure what. She tries to mull it over in her head, think back to all the papers she signed and letters she received, but there's nothing. No mention of another person joining her anywhere, so it must have been a last minute thing. It makes sense, since they weren’t even able to get another bed in the room in time, so she decides that that must be what happened.
She finishes up her shower before resolving that she will need to tell Fiddleford that, whilst she appreciated her kindness, she can’t stay past tonight, and the other woman must take all of her stuff and leave as soon as classes are over with tomorrow. She’s got the whole conversation laid out perfectly in her head, and knows she knows exactly what she’s going to say.
…
…
…
… Stanford doesn’t know what to say.
At least not at the moment, because she just walked into her dorm with her new ‘roommate’ in nothing but a wife beater and green underwear.
She knows something is being said to her, but she currently can’t seem to physically lifte her gaze from the floor. As she shimmies over to her duffle bag to put her stuff away, she is given a very clear sign that her roommate is not happy about the lack of attention being given to her.
“Stanferd, did ya even hear a word I said?” Fiddleford stands only a couple feet away from her, hip popped out and arms crossed in front of her, looking at her like she’s waiting for an answer.
But Ford can’t give her one, not verbally at least, and just shakes her head no, looking down once again.
(What she doesn’t see, however, is how Fiddleford looks at her like she’s a sad puppy and chuckles slightly to herself. She doesn’t think she could ever be mad at a face like that.)
“Alright, well thanks for being honest at least. I was just saying that I wake up at 5:00 am every single mornin’, so I apologize if you hear me shuffling around, but I’ll make sure not to disturb you as much as I can.” Another nod, a staple of good listening and a complete lack of verbal ability on Stanford's end.
“Now, get on into bed, I need to get to sleep sooner rather than later, if ya don’t mind.”
Ford isn’t quite sure why her being in bed will make it easier for Fiddleford to fall asleep, but she does as she’s told, climbing into bed and getting situated towards the wall, before she hears another sound of disapproval.
She looks over her shoulder, unsure what the problem is, before she sees the other woman in a familiar position, staring down at her expectantly.
“Goodnight?” she mutters out, not knowing what else could possibly be wrong, before Fiddleford makes a notion to scoot over.
She lays there, looking up at the taller woman, at a loss for words for the fourth time that night, waiting for any kind of explanation. Thankfully, Fiddleford is willing to give it to her, because otherwise they would continue to stare at each other like this all night.
“Move over, Stanferd. I can’t rightly sleep if you’re in the middle of the bed.” The scientist blinks, still not quite understanding what is happening. “You need to move over so we can sleep together, hon. Otherwise none of this is gonna work.”
And suddenly, everything clicks. All of the small comments, the looks, the expectations, all of it. It all finally makes sense in Stanford’s brain. Fiddleford intends to share the bed with her, and has probably been expecting to do so ever since she stepped foot into this godforsaken dorm room. She’s not sure how to feel about that, that someone was so open and willing to curl up next to her for the next few hours and sleep, not even thinking of the option of either of them sleeping anywhere else.
“Stanford, honey, I need you to move before I pass out from exhaustion, it’s been an awfully long day and I-”
“You can’t.” She cuts her off as swiftly as her mouth will let her, sitting there slightly panting at the effort it took her to get the words out.
“Why not?” The blonde asks, seeming genuinely confused. Did she not notice? Was she playing a trick on her? Was this the real joke after all? To lure her into a false sense of confidence and then rip the rug out from under her as soon as she felt comfortable enough?
Once again, she can’t find the words, but this time she simply lifts up both of her hands. Fiddleford furrows her brow in confusion, but steps forward and takes the six fingered hand into her own.
She doesn’t notice at first, until Ford prompts her with a simple, “Count them. That’s why”. And she does. One, two, three, four, five… six. Fiddlefords pupils dilate, and suddenly all of her exhaustion has been seemingly wiped from her body.
“Wow! I ain’t ever seen anything like this before! Is your other hand like this too? Is it fully functional? Can you do any neat tricks with it?”
“I… yes, yes, and kind of? I like to roll the dice between all my fingers when I play Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons but that’s not really-”
“You play DD&MD too? That’s so cool, I thought I was the only one! Oh! We should start our own campaign, see if anyone else likes it, get a whole group goin and everything. This is gonna be great!” The woman claps her hands together in joy, but Stanford can't help but question why.
“That sounds nice and everything but aren’t you, well, freaked out? By me?”
Fiddleford looks confused again, not really understanding what Ford is trying to get at, because she just thinks she met her best friend for life.
“Why would I be freaked out? Because of yer hands? Or because yer an ultra nerd like me? Stanferd, none of that puts me off none, in fact I think all that makes you even cooler.”
“Seriously? You’re still willing to be my roommate and sleep next to me even despite all of this? I.. I’m not sure what to say. I guess a thank you will have to suffice.”
“You’re welcome, Stanferd. Now please, scoot on over because it’s late and I’m tired. Go on, get moving.” As she finishes up her sentence, she crawls in besides Ford, both having a large grin plastered across their faces, staring at the ceiling.
Ford assumes that this is what other girls felt like at sleepovers, giddy as can be and excited for the future of her friendship to evolve.
Strange. She never thought she’d make a friend, at least not here at Backupsmore. Yet here she is, trapped between a wall and a woman she met an hour ago. She’s drifting peacefully off to sleep, feeling secure in something for the first time in a long time.
Stanford wakes up to the sound of muffled, barely suppressed sobs coming from the corner of her room. She attempts to find the source of the sound, but it’s so dark that she can only see the faint outline of the muscular woman she now calls her roommate.
If this were anyone else, she would try to ignore their tears and attempt to fall back asleep, but something about Fiddleford compels her to try and help. She has never been good at comforting others, let alone through words, but she stands up to do what she thinks might work.
She walks over to the crying woman, crouches down, and places a soft six fingered hand on her shoulder. This causes Fiddleford to gasp, turning her head from its place between her hands to stare at Ford with wide eyes full of tears. This is an expression Ford has never seen on the woman, and her heart breaks at the sight of it. She makes a silent vow to herself to never be the reason her friends' eyes fill with such sadness, and does the one thing she knows will help.
She nods at the other woman, keeping her hand on her shoulder and albeit reluctantly, opens up her arms to her. Suddenly, she is jolted backwards slightly, before she feels warmth on her neck and a solid weight on her chest. She isn’t sure what to do just yet, but she resolves to let the woman sit there sniffling for as long as she needs. They sit together on the floor for what feels like hours, just basking in the feeling of being in such close proximity to each other.
Fiddleford finally breaks the silence, “Sorry Stanferd, I guess I’m just a bit homesick already. I suppose the sounds of the city aren’t particularly comforting to me yet.”
“... That’s quite alright. I assume that this is quite a big change of scenery for you.” Stanford replies in a whisper, not wanting to disturb the peace the two have created in their tiny room.
“I’m from a small town in Tennessee. I can tell ya about it, if ya want. But I would like to get back in bed first, if that’s alright with you.” Fiddleford uncurls herself from Stanford's embrace, slowly rising to her full height before offering a hand for her friend to take. Ford looks up at her with a soft smile, taking her hand and responding with a simple, “I’d like that.”
She hoists herself back onto the mattress, settling her back against the wall so she can face her companion who gets in immediately after her. They stare at each other for a moment, and Ford swears she can see her future in the other woman's eyes. “What was it like where you grew up?”.
“It was nice, I grew up on a hog farm with my seven brothers and sisters, so it was quite noisy during the day. We’d wake up nice and early, work on the farm until the early afternoon, and then help my ma out around the house after we were done. Sometimes, we even went into town, and my older sister and I would walk around the fancy shops, lookin’ at all the pretty dresses. We’d come home to a big dinner ma made while we were all out, then it was off to bed. We didn't have a lotta space on the farm, so all the girls had to sleep in one room and all the boys had to sleep in another.”
“Is that why you were so open to sleeping next to me, despite the fact we barely even know each other?” Ford asks, not wanting to seem ungrateful for the offer but not being able to let her curiosity go unsated.
“I guess so,” Fiddleford responds, chuckling softly as she says it. “I must’ve missed the feeling of another warm body next to me. I don’t reckon I ever slept alone on the farm, so the thought of doing it in some unknown place scared me more than I realized.” Her gaze looked distant during the last sentence, almost as if she was coming to terms with what she was saying while she was saying it.
“Enough about me, what’s your home life like? I can hear some kinda accent, but I ain’t gotta clue as to where yer from, I’m afraid.”
Stanford isn’t sure what to say. She’s not sure she’s ready to disclose as much information as Fiddleford has, not out of a lack of trust, but because she’s not sure she can keep it together while she explains it all. Would she be surprised to hear that Ford does not want to be around her family? That this was the best way for her to get out of her suffocating household and away from the painful memories? Would she still respect her for knowing what she did to her own sister? Or would she immediately up and leave? Not even caring to say goodbye? What if-
“It’s okay if you don’t wanna talk about it, ya know. I get that not everyone has a happy home life, and I never wanna push you to talk about something you don’t wanna discuss.” Fiddleford moves a stray hair out of Ford's eyes, and Ford can feel the tears begin to well up in her eyes, All she can do is nod silently, hoping that her friend can feel the relief pour out of her.
“We can talk about something else, if you’d like, or we can go back to sleep and pretend like that last bit never happened.”
“No, no, I… I would like to talk with you a bit longer, if that’s alright. I’m not sure what exactly to talk about, however.” Ford looks down and Fiddleford nods, before taking a moment to ponder any possible questions she might have for her new best friend.
“Well, why don’t you tell me about yer major? I’m sure a girl like you who went out studying before classes even started is interested in something mighty complex, so I’d love to hear all about it.” Ford smiles, nodding her head as much as she can against the mattress, before diving in. She goes on about her plan to achieve as many PHDs as she possibly can, and how she wants to be a scientist the likes of which the world has never seen. How she wants to prove to everyone who ever doubted her just how smart and capable she truly is. She starts going into depth about her main subject of interest, a field of study she’s creating called unusualology, but halfway through her speech she hears her friends breathing even out, indicating her descent into slumber.
She can’t help but smile at the gorgeous woman in front of her, and she slowly starts to feel her eyes grow heavier and heavier with sleep.
Fiddleford wakes up slowly, allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness and the warmth spread out on her chest. She looks down at her new roommate and sees that she's been trapped in a hug, arms encircling her waist and head nuzzled into her chest. She smiles and starts mindlessly playing with the others curls, listening to the breath come in and out of her body in a steady stream air. She knows that she should start to move, but something about this moment feels almost sacred, even more so than any time she went to church. She’s not sure why it makes her feel this way, but she can’t help but enjoy it.
The shorter woman slowly stirs, nuzzling even closer to the warmth than before, before shooting her eyes open and sitting up to look her friend in the eyes, unable to make a sound. Fiddleford chuckles at the reaction, before continuing to play with the others' hair and begins humming a soft tune, a lullaby her mother used to always sing to her. Stanford slowly starts to relax, allowing herself to be reintroduced to the other woman’s embrace.
Fiddleford would do just about anything to wake up like this every morning, and she knows that Ford is thinking the exact same thing.