mothmansplaining: (love and kindness)
Stanford Pines ([personal profile] mothmansplaining) wrote 2019-06-18 04:06 am (UTC)

He hesitates a fraction of a second.

Ford never really forgot that his birthdays were also Stan's birthdays. There were just periods when he had more things to distract him from that fact, like the fact that he was at Backupsmore, or that he didn't know what date it was because he'd finally shaken the twenty-four-to-thirty-hour-day planet jetlag and there wasn't time to calculate how much time had passed. He hasn't had a birthday with Stan in over forty years, and Stan and the kids are somewhere out there on another Barge (hopefully, if they haven't disappeared).

It's another year away from Stan Pines. Another year they're out of sync. Another year Ford has been changing, and he doesn't know if Stan's been changing, too, or how.

"I was thinking of finally getting rid of that couch," he says thoughtfully. "The gravity anomalies caused by the Puncture Cannon broke it pretty badly, and none of the patch jobs have lasted more than a few days. Want to help me throw it overboard?" He flashes a smile, and the mischief in it makes it genuine.

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