"Isn't it a little early to be celebrating?" Ford asks, turning to face Bill, still looking away from the clock. "We've got a rough road ahead of us. Any number of things could go wrong!"
"Of course I am. If we miscalculated..." He huffs out a breath, looks away. They both know how close they're flying to total disaster. He doesn't want to have caused the deaths of everyone on board this ship.
Ford looks back at Bill. Turning his head to look at Bill necessitates turning his head towards Bill's hand. He is not deliberately brushing his face against Bill's hand; it's just sort of happening, unavoidably, a hard-to-detect leaning into the touch.
"Ah, not if you could help it. Not with what you're gambling on this."
His voice has a note of relief: he does feel a little better, thinking about it in those terms. He's still tense, but his brain is chewing on that worry-thread a little less insistently.
"I should look for a complementary way to reinforce the ship," Ford says, ignoring the way the hand on his face is creating a feedback loop with the champagne to make his face feel hot. Nope. Ignoring that. "Something that can operate as a backup if yours doesn't hold."
Almost as tough as believing that this is just Bill trying to calm him down and not Bill buttering him up for something. Ford is trying -- in his mind, he knows the logical conclusion is he's not being lied to, but the fear that he is is still there.
The chuckle Ford lets out is quiet and short, bubbling up like carbonation inside a pressure seal, rising to the top but not really letting off any of the stress. "You have no idea."
"YEAH, I DON'T KNOW HOW TO BE NICE! I JUST KNOW HOW TO GET PEOPLE TO DO STUFF."
Bill swings his feet, sips his drink. He was just using his 'get Ford to do things' tactics to get the thing he wants Ford to do to be to cheer up. When all you have is a hammer...
"Knowing how to make people feel better isn't a bad thing," Ford replies. "I wish I was better at it. Usually, I have no idea what to say, so I stand around feeling awkward until someone else steps in."
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"FOOORDSYYY, CHEER UP! WE DID IT!"
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The other day, when they held hands for a long time.
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He's really tense. Anxious. Wound up with nowhere to go, kind of like a doomsday clock.
"I feel like I can see that clock out of the back of my head," he grumbles.
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"COME ON, WE GOT SO FAR! THERE'S A LOT WE GOTTA DO, BUT RIGHT NOW WHAT WE'VE BEEN WORKING ON FOR AGES IS DONE!"
Bill's been into the champagne and he wants to celebrate, damn it.
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After that, the Barge can come apart if it wants to, Bill doesn't care.
He gently touches Ford's jaw.
"YOU HAVING SECOND THOUGHTS?"
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"No," he says. "I'm committed. There's too much riding on this to give up now."
Besides, if you think Ford Pines would give up on a plan just because it was dangerous, you haven't met him.
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Committed, not confident. Bill elbows him a little.
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This is pure manipulation, but he is justifying it as being for a good cause.
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"Ah, not if you could help it. Not with what you're gambling on this."
His voice has a note of relief: he does feel a little better, thinking about it in those terms. He's still tense, but his brain is chewing on that worry-thread a little less insistently.
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Nope, focus. We're cheering him up.
"YEAH, EXACTLY. AND YOU'RE NOT BAD YOURSELF, YOU KNOW."
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"I should look for a complementary way to reinforce the ship," Ford says, ignoring the way the hand on his face is creating a feedback loop with the champagne to make his face feel hot. Nope. Ignoring that. "Something that can operate as a backup if yours doesn't hold."
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Possibly more. Bill is very motivated by not-death.
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His heart rate is still up, higher than normal. When that clock hits zero, everything is going to change. Ford wishes it would hurry up.
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Bill pauses. The piano is still playing itself. This past week has been a lot of ...
Well, something. He's never had people around during this phase of a project before, never had to negotiate terms to get things done.
"I KNOW... I KNOW COMING THIS FAR WITH ME AND TRUSTING IT'S NOT ALL GONNA FALL OUT FROM UNDERNEATH YOU IS TOUGH, I.Q.. IT HAS TO BE."
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The chuckle Ford lets out is quiet and short, bubbling up like carbonation inside a pressure seal, rising to the top but not really letting off any of the stress. "You have no idea."
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"ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT, NO MANAGING. I'M JUST SICK OF BEING NERVOUS!"
Bill takes his hand away to sit on the end of the piano, drums his fingers.
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Bill is staring at the countdown now. Oh no. It's contagious.
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"YEAH, I DON'T KNOW HOW TO BE NICE! I JUST KNOW HOW TO GET PEOPLE TO DO STUFF."
Bill swings his feet, sips his drink. He was just using his 'get Ford to do things' tactics to get the thing he wants Ford to do to be to cheer up. When all you have is a hammer...
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"I KNOW! THERE'S NOTHING FAKE ABOUT YOU, SIXER. IT'S A NICE CHANGE OF PACE."
Ford's always had his heart on his sleeve as long as Bill has known him. He's almost a perfect target.
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consent issues warning probably
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whoops did i lose this one? 8/
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