A/N: Prompt: "I'm a private detective hired to follow you, but you're endearingly boring and mostly I just like watching you and oops, I sort of find you adorable." Turned into a series. This fic is pretty far on Ao3 already.

Warnings are as follows: non/con + dub-con, references to child abuse and self-harm. PTSD. Alternate Universe shit.

He sits across from Bill, at the table densely engraved with every one of his failures. "Wanna hear a joke?" The demon laughs, tap tap tapping his bloodied-black fingers—Ford feels it inside his rib-cage. "Once upon a time, there was an old man who thought he could redefine the concept of Bill Cipher."

- Dinner with Bill Cipher, The End.

Stanford Pines was halfway through the sixtieth page of his book when a stranger, a young blonde impeccably dressed young man, seated himself across Ford with a loud "Hey, you're not gonna eat that, right? Let me take it off your hands."

In disbelief, Ford set his book down as he watched his scone travel from his plate into the young man's mouth before he could even formulate an argument.

It was chewed carelessly, swallowed and spat back out in crumbs with a crude, "Thanks Ford."

"How did you know—"

"I'm Bill. Bill Cipher and I know lots of things." Bill, as the boy called himself, took a napkin and with meticulous precision, began to wipe his mouth. The slow movement brought Ford's attention to his lips, and then to his face— a very attractive face. Tan skin with hazel, rather yellow eyes; they regarded Ford with curiosity and triumph, as if the attention was what Bill had sought all along.

Bill reached into his mustard trench coat, and produced a stack of post-card sized photos. He dropped them with a deliberate loud PLOP in front of Ford.

Photos. Of Ford. At work, in public places, in taxi cabs and various other public transport—in his house, in his home. Very intrusive photos; he could not spend even a fraction of a second looking at the ones taken of him coming out the shower. Somehow, he knew this was only a small portion of what the boy had taken, of what the boy had seen. He felt his cheeks burn up, his skin flushing with humiliation.

"What the hell is this?!" Ford fought to keep his voice low, lest he want to draw the attention of nosy bystanders. Disgust curled in his stomach and he suddenly felt nauseous. To be followed and observed like some kind of animal.

"Private investigator. Was hired to keep an eye on you." Bill pointed two fingers at his eyes and then at Ford.

"This is an invasion of privacy! A breach of my privacy!"

"Nah."

Shooting the messenger was not the correct choice—Ford knew this, but his anger wasn't rational; anger itself was never truly rational and he had to remind himself of that. He was a private person by nature. Knowing someone had been watching him like this...had documented it…had documented it with the intention of showing it to another person…who would most likely show it to others. He couldn't rule out that possibility.

"You okay there, kid? You shut down on me." Bill interrupted.

"Kid? I'm old enough to be your-"

"I don't care." Bill was now drinking his coffee as though it were his own. "In case you're thinking of legal ramifications…"

"I could sue you."

"I'm a detective. I'm above the law- and consequences, mind you- but nice try." Bill gestured Ford's mug back with a nod, "Want some?"

Ford shook his head, teeth still gritted.

"Ah well, suit yourself. I was lying. About it being a nice try, it was actually awful but you know what? You can make it up to me by buying me lunch."

"Are you insane?! Who hired you?"

"I don't kiss and tell. Pass the ketchup there, would you Fordsy?" When Ford didn't comply, Bill made a swift grab for it himself and began pouring ketchup onto Ford's plate, spelling 'F O R D' out in the red.

"What's wrong with you? Why are doing this? This—why are you here? Did you get what you wanted? Is that it? Your job's done and you've decided to taunt me? Harass me?"
Had the boy gotten the photo he needed? And now sought to mock Ford?

This was all too much. But they were in public, and Ford had to contain himself. The boy had chosen a wise time to approach Ford– it was a calculated, albeit basic, move.

Bill, seemingly unaffected by Ford's outburst, took another sip of the bitter coffee. The lack of reaction brought a jolt of powerlessness through Ford, but he would not and could not show weakness. Blackmail was a potential outcome as well, he could not rule that out, and should he falter here, he could be looking at a lifetime of being leeched off.

Trust no one. Especially those who held any sort of power over you.

"You're unbelievably boring, but you get this cute little scrunch-" before Ford could react, a hand was caressing the side of his nose. "Whenever you read something tantalizing, when you're in the zone. The Ford zone, I like to call it."

The hand left as quickly as it came, and Bill was now smiling peculiarly. Now that Ford thought about it, the boy had been smiling non-stop; the only changes were subtle contractions of his eyes.

"You seem confused by this. I guess you don't get hit on very often huh?"

"What?" Hit on? What was this boy playing at?

"Like, romance, people tryna get into your pants."

"You've got the wrong idea."

"Shut up. You like men, and I'm as good-looking as they come."

"What makes you assume that?" Ford had done nothing to give such an impression; he knew for a fact that his romantic life and interests were non-existent and he'd done nothing to hint at anything.

Bill did waves in the air with his hands. "I can sense it. I also noticed your pupils enlarge whenever you look at attractive males."

"You couldn't possibly have gotten a good look at my pupils from such a distance." The science was correct but it was absurd that the boy had managed to capture the exact moment Ford's pupils had enlarged, he couldn't even recall seeing an attractive male recently—beyond the boy, he supposed.

"High definition camera, kid. When they said high definition, boy, did they mean it!"

Ford looked away, frowning with lips tightly pursed. Something didn't add up…

"I was lying."

Ford's eyes returned to the boy.

"About the high definition camera nonsense. Figured I'd try and smoke you out, and hey, it worked. But you know, your pupils got pretty big when you were looking at me…"

"I'm old enough to be your—"

"Uncle. Uncle Ford. Is that your kink? Say no or I'm outta here, pal."

The tension briefly forgotten, Ford broke out into a chuckle. "No, god no, I assure you. You seem young."

"Actually a lot older than you'd think." Bill patted his cheek lightly. "Great genes. I thank my mom for that every day."

"I want to see some ID. Your business card, too. Prove to me you're an actual PI." Ford said. He would easily go off on a mental tangent if he didn't remind himself of current circumstances. It was not the time for laughter.

"Sure thing, Ford." With a careless flick, a wallet was on the table. "Just go on through that."

There was no reluctance from Bill when Ford took to inspecting the wallet and everything asked for was there. The wallet held quite a bit of money in it, alongside various cards, including business ones, and Bill's identification card. Bill Cipher, 31(Ford didn't expect that). The business card confirmed Bill's earlier claims; he was a Private Investigator whose business location was situated about twenty minutes from here. Ford recognized the area, but he'd never personally gone that route.

"So, if you're making contact with me, I assume you've given up on the job?" Ford said, as he handed the wallet back.

"Maybe. Maybe I want to get up close and personal. Maybe I want to get a very specific set of photos of you, Ford."

The flirtatious remark was delivered in such a way that Ford would've mistook it for a threat if he'd not considered the nuances of aggression and seduction—especially in this day and age.

"Six fingers. I like that—that weird deformity you have there. Imagine! Six fingers." Bill held his own darkly gloved hand up in front of him. He spread his fingers and contracted them to a steady rhythm. "If you were thinking whether I'm a toy guy or a finger guy, I bet you have your answer now, huh?"

Vulgar, Ford thought. Something was off; if this boy–no, man– had indeed been watching him for a long time, he would know, or at the very least have some idea, of what would and would not work when it came to interacting with Ford.

"Let's go alone somewhere." Bill suggested.

"I'd rather not." This was suspicious. An attempt at leading Ford away from a public space caused alarm bells to go off in Ford's mind.

"Are you scared?"

"…Terrified." There was sarcasm in there, somewhere.

Ford pulled his book into his lap. "I'm sorry but this—I'm not that kind of man. "

"Okay then. So what you're saying is, you wanna go for like, dinner and whatever and then we can—"

"No. Who do you work for, and are photos the only thing you were meant to take of me?"

"You think I'm an assassin huh? Sent to seduce you, lure you alone and then CLICK—" Bill made a noise with his tongue as he pantomimed having his throat cut with his hand.

"No. Mind my language if you please, but I think you're full of shit."

"I'd rather be full of something else."

Ford had to know who was paying Bill. Fiddleford? They'd had a falling out, but why now, of all times, to have someone tail him? A chance to get the information from Bill was there, Ford only had to take it.

"Do you think your vulgarity is attractive?" Ford asked.

"So what you're saying is…if I polish up my language a little bit—"

"No." Ford straightened his posture and attempted to soften his features, hoping he gave the impression of having calmed down. "I'm saying I'd like to get to know you."

"I hadn't intended on that, Fordsy. Was kinda hoping for a once off, maybe twice of trice– if I'm lucky—thing. Hence you know, me coming on to you really strongly and just laying my cards out of the table." Bill said.

"If that were true, Bill, you're a rather lousy detective." Ford pointed out. "You'd have known by now what type of man I am and that your methods would not work on me."

Bill gave a half shrug with one shoulder. "I thought I was cute enough for you to drop those rules of yours."

"Are you a pathological liar?"

"You're a smart guy, Ford. I like that."

"So it's a yes?"

"You come around quickly huh? Thinking of ways you and I can blow that anger of yours off?" Bill's eyes gestured to Ford's clenched fist hidden beneath the table. Such an observant nature made Ford even more cautious.

"Do you really want to get to know me?" With palms flat on the table, Bill leaned in closer towards Ford, his upper body casting shadow across the table ominously. "Or do you mean you want to get to know who hired me by getting to know me?"

Ford swallowed the jump in his throat, but did not recoil.

"You want to use me to find out who hired me?"

"I—"

"I don't mind. Use me as you see fit. If you play your cards right Fordsy, I might just end up telling you."

Bill Cipher stood up and with two fingers, blew a kiss that segued into a casual salute.

"I'll call you. Gotta say, you might just be my favourite Ford." As Bill left, his back growing smaller and smaller in Ford's vision, Ford realized Bill had given him the client's name.

My favourite Ford.

Fiddleford.