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“I don’t think your little friend is helping the cause very much, Sixer,” Bill swirls his tea with a contemplative expression on his face or side or whatever it’s called for a triangle, “I mean, look at him, he’s an anxious wreck after one serious mission. It’s only a matter of time before he turns on us. On you.”
Ford scratches his arm, unsure. He knows Fiddleford has an anxiety problem, but that’s not a sign of disloyalty, is it?
“I’m sure Fiddleford needs a little more time adjusting, that’s all,” Ford tries, but Bill flies over to his shoulder just to tsk at him disapprovingly, “I’m serious. I’ve dealt with anxiety before, I’m sure he could do it too if I just help him learn to do it how I can.”
Bill rolls his eye dismissively.
“You know, I wonder if your heart is really in the right place sometimes,” Bill says offhandedly, the words scalding Ford where it hurts, “Don’t you think our plan is more important? We’re changing the world you know. If he can’t handle this greatness of ours, don’t you think it’s time to… let him go?”
Ford can’t believe the audacity of his muse right now, though he can’t forget the way Fiddleford’s been looking at him lately. There’s a… strange feeling that he’s missing something here too, a disquieting notion. Maybe Bill has some points here, but he’s not ready to let his friend go just yet.
“I admit he’s looking at me a little oddly lately but I don’t think it’s a good idea to just drop him right now,” Ford feels shame in the words as he concedes the point, a sick feeling he tries to push down in the knowledge that Bill only wants what’s best for his goals and the world he’s working to help, “He’s the one with the mechanical knowledge. I can’t put our plans together nearly as well as he can. We’re almost done and then he can… go home with a big paycheck to his family. Isn’t that okay?”
Bill looks at him for a moment and Ford can’t help but wonder what he’s said that was so offensive. Maybe it’s just a little culture divide, Bill comes from a whole entirely different species that probably has different feelings about this kind of… dynamic… between him and Fiddleford.
“Go against my advice if you want, but I wouldn’t trust Specs as far as you can throw him,” Bill advises, a little sharply, “Just don’t be surprised if there are consequences to letting him influence you.”
Ford feels small, which is normal for being visited by a higher being from his limited experiences, but this time it feels different. Like he’s being told off by a parent that’s disappointed in him. But this is his partner in his dreams, both literally and figuratively, with all the knowledge in the universe, he’s probably got some future sight to know how bad things go with Fiddleford.
But it’s tough to imagine Fiddleford being anything but a little nervous and otherwise harmless. That’s his friend from college, isn’t it?
Ford can’t ignore the strange looks he gives him though, unsettling as they are. It’s like his friend knows something he doesn’t and just doesn’t want to tell him for some reason. He can’t shake the feeling that he’s forgetting something too, something that only gives more credence to Bill’s concerns.
Perhaps it is wise to limit his influence from Fiddleford. Maybe give him more breaks or don’t take his words so seriously. Bill is a higher being, of course he can see where the problems lie in Fiddleford. Ford just needs to trust that his muse knows what he’s doing.
“Alright…” Ford sighs, conceding completely to his muse, “I trust your judgment.”
Bill nods and sends him back to his conscious self.
Ford hopes it’s really for the best.
Of course it is. Bill knows all, doesn’t he?
It’s like Bill’s still in his consciousness, rationalizing for him. But he’s not doing that, Ford’s certain.
It is just his mind doing its thing.
“Bill, we need to talk about last night…” Ford feels uncomfortable even bringing it up, clasping his elbow with a hand as if to stop his arm from doing something rash, “About that drink… and… other stuff.”
“Wasn’t that night so great? We had loads of fun!” Bill laughs in his ear as Ford suffers through the mental hangover of the weird ‘tonic-clonic’ drink he’d talked him into having last night, “You’re not telling me I went too far, are you?”
“No, no, I’m not saying that, just…” Ford looks to the side and hopes he won’t mind-throw-up or whatever he feels like doing right now, “I don’t think it’s very productive to… have it… like that.”
“Hey, we only had it once the project was completed for a reason, silly!” Bill throws his arms up and around Ford’s shoulder like nothing happened, “Aw, you’re such a party pooper! And I thought you were great at parties!”
Ford laughs half-heartedly, before retching in his mind-form with a wince.
“And there was this… tattoo I got… around my neck?” Ford tries to bring up, but Bill shushes him with a finger, “But I just—“
“I don’t think you realize how little I care that you’re disliking that thing already,” Bill tuts, “You were the one who went and got it! I just suggested it!”
“I was drunk!” Ford protests, “I don’t know if you realize this but alcohol disrupts human judgment on things like that. But I bet you knew, didn’t you? Is that why you wanted me to drink?”
“Hey, none of that talk, I thought you wanted it and I helped you get it. I did you a favor,” Bill states sternly, poking Ford on the nose, “You know I don’t have to stay and assist your path to greatness anymore, right? I’m not obligated to stay if my little genius gets all huffy with me. You want that? You want me to leave?”
Ford blanches, feeling his heart race as he tries to backpedal. He can’t just lose his one way ticket to proving himself over such a silly thing, can he? A hangover’s nothing, really, he just hasn’t really had them before, that’s all. Bill’s an alien, he probably just overestimated how well humans would take his special drink or something. It’s just a simple error of calculation.
And the tattoo… Ford assumes plenty of drunk people get them and have regrets all the time, he’s nothing special for feeling that way about his. It’s not a big deal that Bill suggested it, he’s just trying to be his friend, but he didn’t know how much he would regret such a tattoo once he sobered up. Maybe he got caught up in the ‘I want that tattoo’ and forgot that his mind was all messed up.
“No, no, don’t leave. I’ll stop complaining. It’s fine… I’ll… get used to the tattoo,” Ford holds his hands up, trying to seem genuine as Bill squints suspiciously, “Really, just please stay… I can’t do anything with my genius without your help.”
“Aw, thanks for the compliment, but I really think I could use a break,” Bill waves him off, his expression visibly hurt in a way that makes Ford feel terrible, “You do too, if that drink I gave you really affected you that bad.”
Ford reaches out but Bill is gone before he gets close to touching him.
He’s gone.
Ford wakes up and sits in his meditation corner, feeling more alone than ever without Bill in his mind. Standing up with a little sway from the remaining hangover, he tries to think up a solution to his problem.
What can he do to make this all up to Bill so he’ll come back faster and stop leaving him alone?
Make sure the portal test goes smoothly next week. Then he’ll come racing back.
Ford can’t imagine how numb he feels right now, even as he plans for the test to work out great.
He feels so numb he’ll cry.
So he cries.
The tattoo healing on his neck still stings.
This is all wrong, but… I can’t go back now. They’re all waiting for me to produce something great.
Bill is the only way I can do that.
Without him I am nothing.
And I can’t be nothing.
So I have to win back his favor.
No matter what it takes.