Chapter Text
Stanford knew.
Bill had already known this, of course, but there was a difference between sensing it through their shared mental link and seeing it with his own eye. He had hoped he was wrong. If Ford still trusted him, all of this would be so much easier. If Ford still trusted him, he might have had a chance. But, alas, Bill was not so lucky.
Bill appeared in the first level of the basement underneath Ford's house, where he knew the man liked to spend most of his time. Bill wanted to get this over with quickly, but the moment he saw the scientist, he couldn't move. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but this wasn't it.
Ford sat hunched over at his desk, which in itself wasn't the most unusual thing to happen. Many a time had the man become so consumed with his work that he hadn't left his desk, fallen asleep over it, even. But now he was muttering incoherently, scribbling frantically in his journal. Ink splattered papers and research documents were strewn everywhere, as if Ford hadn't bothered to clear the space in a very long time. The single dim lightbulb flickered every so often. And what Ford was writing…
Silently, cautiously, Bill floated closer to look over his shoulder. The man didn't notice. Ford had taken a black pen to the pages of his beloved, orderly journal, the color covering nearly the entirety of it in what must have been a manic frenzy. Were those…eyes? And what he'd written over that was, to put it lightly, disturbing.
In red, Ford had written sentences in both English and codes. Gone was the elegant curve of his cursive that had taken Bill so long to figure out, but in its place was jarring, jagged, terrified text. The first thing Bill could make out were the words, “My muse was a MONSTER”. Bill felt his once-dead heart splinter. Maybe before, but now…
Now, things were different. Bill was different, in unprecedented and unimaginable ways. Life-changing matters were at stake here, and Bill couldn't understand half of them. So he was just—
Confused.
Apprehensive.
Excited?
Scared.
“Stanford,” Bill said quietly, trying not to startle the man.
It had the opposite effect. Ford freaked out, stumbling to his feet and whirling around, his chair falling over in his haste and his journal forgotten. At the sight of Bill, his breathing quickened and his eyes went wide in fear, before hardening. “You,” he spat, his voice thick with hatred.
Something inside Bill that he'd buried and pushed down for so long was falling apart. This sort of pain wasn't funny; no, it burned him. Ford was looking at him like he was disgusting, not even worthy of a title to address him with. Call me your muse again. Call me by my name. Just don't call me that. Please, anything but that. But he couldn't put any of those thoughts to words, could he? Not without angering Ford further. So he did the only thing he knew how to do. And put on a show.
Bill spread his arms wide in presentation, eye crinkling in something akin to a grin. “Me!”
“Why are you here?” Ford asked, his tone laced with venom.
“Just thought I'd pop by,” Bill shrugged, floating closer. Ford nearly ran into his desk in his attempts to put distance between them.
“You aren't welcome,” was the reply.
Bill huffed, throwing on a pout. “How come? Is this because of the whole take-over-your-world thingy? It's fine, Fordsy! I changed my mind! You don't gotta worry your clever little head about that anymore.”
“Liar,” Ford shouted, picking up his chair without warning and swinging it at Bill like a weapon in a deranged manner, violent and furious with the intention to kill.
“Whoa! Whoa!” Bill flew out of the way just in time, avoiding getting hit by mere inches. He laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Easy there, pal! You wouldn't hurt someone in my condition, would you?”
Ford laughed bitterly, in a craze, his bloodshot eyes fixed on Bill's own. “And what condition is that?” he hissed, the chair still held high.
Bill faltered at the question posed to him, unsure. Then he sighed, dropping his hands and dropping the act. There was no reason to put this off for any longer. No getting around it. He closed his eye, mentally readying himself. Just pull the bandaid off. “I'm pregnant, Ford.”
The chair clattered to the ground. “What?”
“It's yours.”
“What?” Ford nearly fell backward in shock, grabbing onto the desk for balance. “H-how–when–”
Bill snapped his fingers, and the chair appeared upright behind Ford. The man sank into it almost unconsciously, so struggling to process what Bill had just told him. “Do you remember that night after your birthday, about two months ago?”
Ford flinched and cringed at the same time. “Yes, but…that was a dream. It couldn't possibly have had any consequences.”
“I dunno, I'd definitely count that hangover the morning after as a consequence. And anyway, I'm a dream demon, Stanford. In the mindscape is where I'm the most real.”
Ford held his head in utter confusion. “But–I didn't–you–no.” He looked up, his face set in desperate determination. “No, it's not true. I refuse to believe that. You're just lying to me like you always have because that's all you know how to do. You can try to get me to go along with your plan, but it WON'T WORK. I won't let you manipulate me anymore.”
Bill exhaled shakily, but didn't argue any further. “Fine,” he said dejectedly.
Ford froze, surprise flitting across his features. Bill had never backed down so easily before. “Fine?”
“Yeah, fine. If you won't believe me, I can't force you to. Anything I'd say would just push you farther away no matter what. I just…thought that you deserved to know. After everything I've done to you.” Bill hung in the air, like clothes in a hanger or a neck in a noose. Self-resentment and hatred clung to him, but he turned away, not letting Ford see that. “I'll…leave, now. Goodbye, Ford.”
“Wait!” Ford said, stopping Bill with a word. “What do you mean, you'll leave? To where?”
“I don't know. Anywhere!” Bill said in exasperation. Why was Ford dragging out Bill's pain and despair? To humiliate him? He supposed that it was barely the least of what he'd done to Ford. “I'm not about to destroy the home of my father's child. So I'll just go. You can move on with your life, Ford, and forget all about me. Become one of the greatest scientists that this world has ever seen. Isn't that exactly what you've always wanted?”
“Yes, but–you can't just drop this bombshell on me and then leave!” Ford burst out. “I need to think about this!”
“So you believe I'm telling the truth now?” Bill remarked skeptically.
“I'm considering it,” Ford muttered. “I mean, if you are, are you even sure that you'd want to—”
“Yes. I'm going to keep it.”
“But why?” Ford cried, not so much like he was angered by it but more that he couldn't wrap his head around Bill's actions. “You've never, not once, mentioned or acted like you've wanted to become a parent. And now you're willing to drop everything to be one? Why?”
There Ford went, cutting right to the chase. Why did Bill want to become a mother? Because…because he'd been entirely alone for so, so long. Maybe he just wanted someone to love him wholly and unconditionally the way only a child could, the way no one else would be able to. And maybe, if he brought new life into existence, it could make up for all the lives he'd ended, even minuscully. “Because I don't want to cheat this kid out of the chance to have a life of their own.”
“You were about to do that to my entire planet,” Ford accused.
“That was my mistake.”
Ford stared at him blankly. Bill understood why. He'd never stooped so low to openly admitting he'd made a mistake to Ford. Everything was either a “whoopsies!” or “your fault” or an “I meant to do that all along.” And that was wrong of him. Maybe it was too late to own up to his misdeeds, too late to change or apologize to Ford, but if he didn't try he wouldn't be able to live with himself.
“So what are you going to do?” Ford said quietly, still struggling over Bill's words. “Once you're gone? What then?”
“I don't know. Have a kid. Learn how to raise a child, I suppose.”
“Not in the Nightmare Dimension,” Ford said quickly, his tone strangely almost…worried, in a way. As if he now truly believed that Bill was carrying his child, and he cared what happened to it. Bill was tempted to peek into his thoughts just to know what was going on in his mind, but stopped himself. “That is no place to raise a child.”
“Well, of course not,” Bill said in exasperation. His henchmaniacs were awesome, but there was no way in fourteen billion years he would let them near any child of his. “Do you really take me to be that irresponsible? Don't answer that,” he added when Ford opened his mouth to reply.
Ford rolled his eyes. “Where will you go, then?”
“I don't know!” I don't know what I'm doing and I'm afraid I'll ruin everything again and I need your help, Ford, please. “Someplace…quiet. Two dimensional. Like home. But you don't have to worry, or–or care.” Bill let out a sigh. He wanted Ford to care. So badly, he did. But Bill had never deserved anything he wanted.
Silence stretched between them, in which the innocent was deep in thought and the demon was lamenting the loss of this man from his life. Then, ever so softly, Ford said, “Would–would you ever let me see them? The baby? Will I ever get to meet them?”
Bill blinked, not fully understanding. “Would you…want to?”
“I–” Ford broke off and threw up his hands. Then he stood and began to pace, as he usually did when he needed to make sense of the workings of his mind. “Why do you complicate things so much for me, Bill? I was about to be perfectly content with despising you for the rest of my life, and then you go and dump THIS on me and I don't–I don't know what to do! I don't know if I want this, but I can't just forget about it now, can I? I didn't want to hate you! You used to be my muse! I used to love you! And in some twisted, fucked-up way, I'm afraid I still do!”
Bill froze, stunned. “L-love?” He squeaked.
Ford practically collapsed back into his chair. “Love.” He spat the word out like it was a vile thing, but his face was so full of longing.
Bill floated closer carefully, knowing he was already on thin ice. When Ford didn't visibly react, he asked quietly, “And you…still love me?”
“As much as I would like to, I can't exactly turn it off,” Ford said dully. “Not that you would know. You're incapable of feeling this, aren't you?”
Bill drooped slightly, but still answered. “I think I can. At least, I could. I know I loved my mama, and my dad. Even after everything, I…I still loved them. I used to be able to love. I think I could again.”
Slowly, Ford sat up, adjusting his glasses. “You had parents? A family?”
“Most everything does.”
Ford frowned. “And were they…like you?”
“And by that you mean?” Bill prompted.
“Demons.”
“No,” Bill said automatically, fiercely, his eye widening. “No, they were good people. They weren't perfect, they made mistakes, but–they were kind. I didn't deserve them.” Bill trailed off, his gaze becoming clouded with sadness. “I am nothing like how they would want me to be.”
“Then what happened?” Ford asked, genuinely curious.
“I happened. I-I was born cursed.” Bill's focus blurred. “Nothing halfway decent has ever come from me.”
Ford didn't say it aloud, but his thoughts were so clear that Bill couldn't help but overhear. And what makes you think that this will be any different?
Bill didn't know.
He was starting to hate not knowing things.
“Do you think you could ever love me?” Ford asked instead.
Bill thought his answer through before responding. “I think I always have.” The weight of his words carried through in his tone. He had always loved Ford. Even before he knew it. Even before he met him. Bill was just…really bad at showing it. He'd have to try to be better.
At Bill's reply, Ford stared at him like he was seeing him in a new light, the first time he'd ever truly seen the being. Bill shifted anxiously under the attention, nervous. This was beginning to feel like a job interview more than anything, and Bill didn't even know what he was applying for. “Look, you don't have to believe me. You don't have to do a thing, really. I'll just–go—”
“Wait!” Ford cried, catching Bill's hand to stop him from leaving. “Don't.”
Bill froze, staring at the man in utter confusion and treacherous hope. “…what?”
“I–” Ford stopped and took a deep breath. “I believe you. I want you to stay…please don't leave. I want to help you raise this child, my child, if–if you'd let me. I don't think I could ever really hate you completely…and I-I missed you, Bill. I couldn't stop loving you if I tried, and I don't want to. I don't want to.”
Bill met Ford's warm, open gaze in shock. “Really?” he whispered.
“Really.” Ford smiled, his wide, trusting smile, and took the triangle into his six-fingered hands, slowly bringing him near. The other didn't resist. “We're going to be parents, Bill,” Ford said, laughing softly.
“Yeah,” Bill murmured, nestling closer into Ford's warm embrace. He closed his eye and, finally, let himself feel happy. “Yeah, we are.”