Work Text:
Stanford groaned deeply as the warm water crashed onto his back. He could feel all the tension trapped in his shoulders ebbing away.
The past few days had been utterly exhausting, he and Fiddleford finally found a vital piece for their project embedded within the walls of that colossal space craft. The only problem was as soon as they disconnected it from the ship, they'd only have roughly 50 hours to place it in a fully functioning replica of it's holding chamber from the ship before it would start shutting down, deteriorating and become functionless. So not only did they have to figure out how to rebuild its holding chamber back in their basement, but it would have to be built in a way that it could still be functional for the portal. And so far in their investigation of the ship, there were no other versions of that machine piece that they could find or reach...
It was no understatement that those 50 hours had been a stressful hell for him and Fiddleford, but somehow they managed to build that chamber and secure the piece before it began its shutting down sequence, with only half an hour to spare.
That was yet another item on their checklist done and taken care of. Stanford had no doubt there would be more extremely intense, irritating missions to come in the near future but for now he let himself relax and accept this tiny break from his rigorous work schedule and let the warm water draw his mind blank.
It was kinda weird actually, between his own exhaustion and blissful stream of water on his neck Stanford couldn't quite remember actually stepping into the shower. Once the half-built portal was restabilized things had become a blur. He remembered having to lean heavily on nearly every wall he walked by to keep standing straight and painfully forcing his eyes to stay open. But he also remember feeling how gross his hair and face had felt after two days of crawling through mechanical guts of his project. So Stanford could only assume that the past him rationalized taking a quick shower before passing out despite how tired he had felt.
Granted though, the present Stanford certainly wasn't one to complain. He knew that a person his age living in the middle of nowhere like he was should better know and remember to take care of himself, he sincerely knew that. But at the same time he'd find himself so caught up in his work that he'd just end up forgetting that he needed things like food and sunlight and daily care. It had always been a bad habit of his, all the way from his childhood into his collage studies and now here. He muled over the thought sluggishly as he poured some shampoo into his hand.
The burning sensation was immediate. He couldn't stop the hiss from escaping his mouth as he hurried to wash the stuff off his hands. Had he accidentally switched out his soaps for acid in his exhaustion? Looking down he saw the there were angry red cuts and bite marks all over his fingers, especially his second pinky finger on his right hand. Oh yeah, before he and Fiddleford went back into the ship he had spotted a sleeping gnome and couldn't resist trying for the umpteenth time to see what was underneath a its cap. How could he of forgotten? That attempt had come with painful consequences but they were on such a tight schedule he only had time to wrap his hands up in gauze, put on thick gloves and worry about it later.
Later had come and gone and Stanford was still at a loss what to do. The marks didn't look infected which was good, but still anything stronger then light water made his hands feel like they were on fire and he could only image much it was gonna hurt to try scrubbing his hands through his hair. All those thin stands rubbing into his cuts possibly even sticking to them. Stanford braced himself as he squirted more shampoo onto his hand, wincing when the stuff sank into his cuts and irritated them again.
"You're hands still hurtin' from those gnomes?"
Stanford pretty much had a heart attack when he heard the voice come from behind him. He turned around and Fiddleford, his partner, was there. When the hell did Fiddleford get in here? While he tried to regain control of his rapid heartbeat Fiddleford laughed lightly.
"Sorry, I thought you knew I was in here." As he talked it was apparent that he was probably just as exhausted as Stanford was feeling, his accent only came out that strongly only if he was absolutely furious, absolutely excited, inebriated or extremely tired.
But why was he here? Stanford could only assume that while past him had rationalized taking a shower before collapsing on the ground he had somehow managed to persuade his partner into sharing a shower with him? Had he not been so overtired and had his hands not been throbbing from the untreated gnome bites he might of been elated at the idea. But right now all he wanted to do was finish this shower, get some ointment on his hands, then curl up in his bed, possibly even go into hibernation for how tired he felt.
"C'mere, I'll get your hair for ya." Gently, Fiddleford ushered Stanford out from under the water stream and the two switched places. Fiddleford heaved a sigh of relief and tilted his head back towards the water, relishing in the warmth, before scraping the shampoo out of Stanford's hands and lathering it into his own.
While not trying to be rude or invasive, Stanford couldn't help but steal a glance at the scars on Fiddleford's chest. Fiddleford could still be rather self-conscious about them, refusing to go anywhere outside the house shirtless unless they had the upmost privacy possible. Not that Stanford had any place to make judgement, while his six fingers had made his life rather difficult at times he had never truly experienced anything that Fiddleford had to deal with while pretty much fleeing from his hometown and family to go to college. But from what he could see, compared to all those fleeting moments in school and now, those scars had steadily faded more and more over time.
Stanford didn't get much time to look before his partner nudged his head back towards the shower wall and was brushing his hands through his hair. Stanford had to firmly press his lips shut before any awkward or embarrassing sounds left his mouth. He wasn't sure what exactly it was but having hands in his hair was one of the best feelings to Stanford. It could be so soothing and reassuring, he didn't even mind much that Fiddleford was hogging all the warm water and leaving him out in the cold.
"Thanks." He sighed, his voice barely raised over the crashing water.
"It's no problem Stanford." Fiddleford quietly replied back, pushing Stanford back under the water as he went take take care of his own hair off to the side. Stanford just let the water worm its way through his hair, taking all the grime of over two day's work with it. He could of sworn his head actually began to feel lighter.
Then before he could even retaliate Fiddleford was nudging him back to the side once again. He reached for some soap and scrubbed at his arms and legs. If he was too tired to argue with someone then he was getting way to tired. And the fact that a growing part of his mind was trying to rationalize sleeping on the shower floor wasn't sitting lightly with Stanford either. He really should hurry up and at least try making it to his bed before he collapsed somewhere.
Fiddleford must of picked up on Stanford's feelings, or at least felt himself growing dangerously tired too because soon after the two were making quick work of the soap, and before Stanford knew it that wonderfully warm water was shut off and the two were bundling up in towels, desperately trying to fend off the chill that permeated the rest of the house.
The coldness, as unbearable as it felt, was very much a blessing in disguise though since his and Fiddleford's sluggish movement was temporarily rejuvenated and the two made it to Stanford's bedroom without anyone tripping or giving-up and falling to the ground.
Sloppily, Stanford tore through his draws finding clothes for himself as well as trying to find something that would fit his partner's skinny frame. Once he was dressed, Stanford handed the clothes to Fiddleford before he ventured back to the bathroom to find some ointment and bandages for his hands. The process took longer then expected and Stanford found himself seeing double as he finished wrapping up his hands.
He really should think more about having less all nighters. As much as he didn't like admitting it, he wasn't in collage anymore and even with a diet made up primarily of caffeine he could feel his body resisting it's properties much more then when he was younger. It'd probably be better for his sanity too, seeing how his memory was shot from the time they finished working on the portal for the night to when he was already in the shower.
When he got back, to none of his surprise, he found Fiddleford completely unconscious on his bed. The old black shirt that had always felt so tight and form-fitting on himself was draped over Fiddleford, its neckline nearly falling off his shoulders as he slept on his side.
Breathing lightly, he was utterly, blissfully dead to the world. He didn't even move as Stanford finally let himself collapse onto the bed behind Fiddleford and hugged him close to his chest.
"We got a lot of work done in these past few days, I hope you know that." Stanford murmured into his partner's ear as he kissed his neck.
"H'mmm?" Fiddleford hummed, only half awake and too tired to open his mouth.
"But it's all going to be worth it, I promise you. Together we'll change the world. It's going to be amazing."
"I know darlin', just go to sleep." Fiddleford breathed, snuggling back into Stanford's embrace.
And Stanford complied, closing his eyes and holding his partner close.
~~~
Riding up the elevator, Fiddleford leaned heavily onto Stanford's shoulders. The two slumped out of the doors and began making their way up all the stairs at a dying snail's pace.
"You sure I shouldn't of done anymore work our machine?" Fiddleford asked in a slurred voice. "I reckon I should of done a few more tests just to be sure everything was stable or-"
Before he could finish, he began sliding off of Stanford's shoulders possibly toppling back down the stairs had it not been for Stanford's quick reflexes. Stanford grabbed his partner by the shoulders and carefully pushed him up the stairs from behind. "No, you did enough Fiddleford. I say we both deserve a break after this."
"Are you sure, cause there were a few more things I probably could of fixed up-"
"Nope! We're going up stairs now, and that's that." Stanford replied as solidly as he could despite his own exhaustion that rivaled his partner's. As he held Fiddleford and the two made it to the first floor of the house, he realized how grimy the bandages on his hands had become and how limp and dirty his partner's normally soft, fluffy blond hair was. "But we should probably take a shower before calling it a night."