Work Text:
Fiddleford frowned, glancing at the clock in the kitchen. He knew it was a Saturday, but Ford almost never slept in this late even then. It was almost eleven; Fiddleford was used to seeing his boyfriend across the table from him, nursing a cup of coffee by now. He remembered calling up for breakfast a little over an hour ago, and he remembered hearing a grunt in reply…maybe Ford had just nodded off again.
Fiddleford finished the last of his tea and padded up the steps to their room.
“Stanford, darlin’, you awake?” He called gently through the door. He heard fabric shifting, but after a few moments of that all he got was a groan in response.
“Ford, babe–” he cut off when he realized he couldn’t get the door open. It was locked. “Babe? Are you okay in there?”
“’M fine.” Came the grunt. Fiddleford frowned.
“You locked the door.”
“Your point?” Ford growled.
“Well, I can’t get in. Are you sure you’re okay? You haven’t done this since–oh.” Fiddleford’s eyes widened in realization. He quickly counted back the weeks, frowned, and counted again.
“That’s odd. You’re early. Usually you don’t get your period until a week after mine.” He said.
“I adjusted to yours.” Every word dripped with irritation. Fiddleford’s head tilted with sympathy.
“Aw, babe…” He knew Ford scheduled around his menstrual cycles quite meticulously, so having a wrench thrown in said schedule tended to put his boyfriend badly out of sorts. “Are you crampin’ bad? Did you take any painkillers?”
“We’re out. And I used the last pad.” Ford answered.
“Oh really? I’ll go run out and get some more right now then.” Fiddleford turned to leave, then paused and turned back.
“Ford…when you’re comfortable, could you unlock the door? That way I can get your meds to ya?” He asked. No verbal response. He tried not to worry too much. “I love you, Ford. I’ll be back in no time.”
He really did try to be as quick as possible. Truth be told, he hated leaving Ford alone when he was feeling like this. On top of that, he got plenty of odd looks from the other townspeople of Gravity Falls shopping for items like these. His and Ford’s (although more his, since Ford hardly went into town to begin with once Fiddleford moved in) working excuse whenever anyone got too nosy was that good ol’ Mrs. McGucket was planning to come into town for a couple days to take a break from the world and relax. Since she’d be taking the vacation to hike around and enjoy nature, she wouldn’t be seen in town (avoiding the problem wherein she was never in the state at all, let alone town). As a nice plus people would compliment Fiddleford on being such a considerate husband. Granted, he arguably was…just not for any Mrs. McGucket.
“That excuse is going to wear thin once Tate’s old enough to come up an’ visit.” Fiddleford told himself as he slid into the front seat of the car, grocery bag in hand. But he shook away the thought; they’d burn that bridge when they got to it. For now, Ford was just the reclusive scientist who lived in the woods, and Fiddleford was his assistant who had moved up for the job opportunity.
“Ford? I’m home, darling!” Fiddleford called when he entered the house. He didn’t hear any response–he wasn’t really sure he was expecting one. He went upstairs; the bedroom door was still closed. Fiddleford sighed and moved on rather than try and see if the door was unlocked, placing the items he had bought in their proper places. He did stop by the door again once he was done.
“Ford, hun, I put the pads in the bathroom and the ibuprofen in the medicine cabinet. I’ll be back up in a little bit, okay?”
He thought he heard something akin to a grunt, so he shrugged and went downstairs. He’d let Ford open up in his own time.
He set the kettle on the stove and prepared a mug of hot chocolate. He was surprised Ford hadn’t made one for himself, it was usually his go to to help make him feel better, but then again, it appeared the man was insistent on holing up in bed for the day. Fiddleford hated days like this, the truly bad days, but then again–both of them coped with any kind of bodily discomfort in different ways. While Ford tended to shut everything away, Fiddleford threw himself into working and building. He…usually did that whenever he was incredibly stressed to begin with, and–his mind flitted to the pterodactyl incident briefly–truly it wasn’t the best habit. But it helped.
Ford had a rougher time dealing with dysphoria–Fiddleford attributed it to coming from a rougher household. As tight-lipped as Ford was about his home and childhood, Fiddleford had managed to gather that it hadn’t been the best (and that in itself was an understatement). On days like this–brought on by menstruation or anything else–Ford would usually hide away, then come back to the world once he was feeling better. It never lasted long, to Fiddleford’s knowledge, but that didn’t mean he didn’t worry about his boyfriend.
At some point he thought he heard shuffling noises upstairs, but he didn’t pursue them. He didn’t even leave the kitchen until he had a mug of hot chocolate and, after realizing Ford probably hadn’t eaten (and that he hadn’t eaten either…in an hour, hadn’t eaten in an hour, but still, he hadn’t eaten, it counted), a box of cookies.
He knocked on the door gently.
“Ford–”
“You can come in.” Ford said quietly.
Fiddleford edged his way in. The curtains were open, but the light was off, the sun warming everything naturally. Not that Ford needs any more warming, Fiddleford thought, eyeing the blanket-wrapped lump on the bed. He really did feel for the poor man. Fiddleford counted himself lucky he never got cramps as bad as this. He set the mug and cookies on the bedside table, next to Ford’s glass of water (good, he’s keeping himself hydrated).
“I made hot chocolate.”
The lump slowly rose, and after a moment a fluffy head popped out the top of it. Ford looked completely haggard and bleary-eyed (and a little sweaty), and he had terrible bedhead on top of that.
“Really?” His eyes widened, and Fiddleford couldn’t help but find it adorable.
“Of course I did!” Fiddleford said, climbing onto the bed to sit next to Ford. “I brought some cookies, too.”
The beginnings of a smile crept onto Ford’s face.
“Those are more for you than for me, though.”
“They’re for both of us.” Fiddleford corrected, with slight indignance…but he was already eating a cookie. He blushed and offered another one to Ford. The man did let out a weak laugh at that, but he shook his head no. Fiddleford shrugged and popped that one into his mouth.
Ford sighed and sank back down to the bed, but he didn’t hide away again.
“Did ya take anything?” Fiddleford asked, resting a hand on the indistinguishable blanket lump that was the rest of Ford’s body.
“Yeah.” Ford said. “Hasn’t kicked in yet.”
“Do you want the hot chocolate?”
“No, not yet. ‘M already too hot.” Ford sighed, rubbing his face. “I should take the blanket off, but…”
Ford didn’t need to answer for Fiddleford to know. He sighed and laid down alongside his boyfriend, hand moving up to stroke Ford’s hair.
“I wish I was better with this.” Ford mumbled. “I wish I didn’t do this so damn often.”
“Ford, it’s not wrong or bad that you do.” Fiddleford scooted in a little closer.
“But I should be more productive! I shouldn’t mope around so much! But everything hurts, and…I don’t feel right and…I don’t feel like moving.” Ford huffed. “Even though I know being active helps with the pain.”
“You do the best you can to handle it.” Fiddleford reassured him.
“I wish I handled it as good as you do.” Ford said, to Fiddleford’s immediate snort.
“Oh hun, if I handled it well I wouldn’t have a criminal record.” He said. “And if that be-damned electron carpet you made is anything to go by, if you tried handling your stress the same way I did we’d have an apocalypse on our hands.”
“Well at least I’d be doing something.” Ford retorted. “At least I wouldn’t be such a mess.”
“You’re not a mess. You’re not anymore a mess than I am.” Fiddleford said. Ford looked away, and seemed to be retreating into the blanket. “Ford, look at me.”
Ford did. Fiddleford propped himself up on his elbow.
“You are my big, strong, handsome boyfriend, and just because yer bleedin’ once a month doesn’t change that.” Fiddleford said firmly. Ford only looked away again.
“I know. You always say that.”
Fiddleford frowned, wishing he could do more–
“But it’s always nice to hear you say it.” Ford said softly, with a hint of a smile. Fiddleford laid back down, returning the smile. Ford unfolded from the blanket a little bit, freeing his arms so he could wrap them around Fiddleford and pull him close. Fiddleford smiled and returned the embrace, even when it grew a little too tight for him to breathe.
“I love you.” Ford murmured into his shoulder. “Thank you.”
“I love you too, Ford.” Fiddleford replied. “And you do the same for me.”
They cuddled like that for a little while, with Fiddleford stroking Ford’s hair as his boyfriend held him tight. It was soothing. Until a sudden thought occurred to Fiddleford.
“You adjusted to my cycle. You know what that means, right?” He asked, pulling away so they could see each other.
“What?” Ford asked, raising an eyebrow. Fiddleford edged away so he wouldn’t hit Ford in the face and raised his arms to flex his (minimal) arm muscles.
“Alpha male!” He hooted comically. Ford bursted out laughing, even though he rolled his eyes.
“Oh god, that again!?”
“Hey, my mama always said that when a bunch a–a–folk with uteruses lived together, everyone’s cycle was gonna match up to one person’s and they were the alpha. I used to not believe it too but then Mollivere got hers and we all just jumped on board. You have to face the facts, Ford: I’m the alpha now.”
Fiddleford’s mock seriousness only made Ford laugh harder.
“Dear god, you make us sound like wolves!”
“Well don’t expect me to start howlin’ at the moon, that’s your thing.” Fiddleford teased.
“That was one time, and you have to admit the fact I got that pack to howl with me was impressive!” Ford protested indignantly. Both were laughing now.
“True, true.” Fiddleford assented, shoulders shaking. When the laughter died down a bit, Ford sighed.
“I guess there could be worse things than not being the alpha of the house.” He said. “I don’t have to wear diapers like you do.”
“Below the belt, much?” Fiddleford slapped Ford stomach lightly, but the man only snickered. Unfortunately, as if on cue, Fiddleford sneezed.
“Ah fuck.” He cursed, shifting uncomfortably at the chain reaction between his legs. Ford just began laughing again.
“This ain’t funny, Ford, I’ll be lucky if I didn’t stain th–ah!” Fiddleford squawked as Ford seized his sides. He writhed but couldn’t escape.
“F-ford, ford–ah!–stop it!” He laughed helplessly. “You know that makes it worse–eep!–asshole!”
Ford seemed unwilling to end his ticklish assault–until Fiddleford accidentally clocked him with a bony elbow.
“Ow!”
“Oh shit, oh no, I’m so sorry.” Fiddleford immediately turned, worried hands flying to Ford’s face. Ford didn’t seem in too much pain, however. He was massaging his nose but otherwise still laughing.
“Ya really got me there.” He chuckled.
“Yeah, well, that’s what ya get.” Fiddleford huffed, still fussing over Ford’s face. “Are ya sure you’re okay?”
“Fidds, I’m fine, more than fine.” Ford pulled his hands away, dwarfing them in his own. His eyes were twinkling, although Fiddleford wasn’t sure if it was from happiness or tears of pain.
“You make it okay.” Ford said, pressing a quick kiss to Fiddleford’s forehead. Fiddleford blushed, smiling crookedly.
“Although,” Ford added, in a tone no less loving, “You could make it even moreokay by passing over a cookie.”
Fiddleford laughed, grabbing the whole box.
“We can split it.”
“Mmhmm. 90/10, as usual?”
“I was gonna say 50/50.”
“Ah, so 30/70, got it.”