*** Author's Note ***
Towel Dsy prompt: "Funny, how just when you think life can't possibly get any worse it suddenly does." ― Douglas Adams
I don't think too much will leave you with questions, but please ask if you do have any.
*Through the new strangeness of noise and light he could just make out the shape of Ford Prefect sitting back and laughing wildly.
A tremendous feeling of peace came over him. He knew that at last, for once and forever, it was now all, finally, over.*
Arthur Dent spent more years than he'd ever care to admit working at the BBC.
No, not in telly. That's what people always asked. But radio. No, nothing anyone would recognize. The guy who edits the edits of the breakfast cereal advert copy tends to remain rather anonymous. And that always suited Arthur just fine.
But then he'd met the madman in the greatcoat. The madman who wasn't a man at all, but an alien. An alien who saved his life and nearly got him killed all in one day. Who introduced him to The Guide and a disgraced Galactic President. Who co-founded civilization on a prehistoric Earth with him. Taught him the importance of a towel and the basics of flight. They'd faced danger, fought enemies (and each other), been separated and found one another all over again.
They'd been to the far end of the furthest side of the universe and back. Saw the end of it while waiting on appetizers.
Arthur Dent had lived more lifetimes than any man should be expected to bear. But he'd done it with the knowledge that even if he wasn't always physically at his side, Ford Prefect would always be there, somehow knowing the exact right (or exact wrong, depending on the situation) moment to turn up.
And when they'd faced the end, the actual really for real end, they'd done it together and in usual form. Ford inappropriately optimistic and Arthur British and resigned.
There are some things you are never prepared for. No matter how hard you try. No matter where life takes you. You like to think absolutely nothing can surprise you anymore.
Then you get yourself vaporized in an attempt by a disgruntled and displaced alien race to use a space time anomaly to eradicate every universe in every potential dimension of every version of Earth… And wake up on the other side.
Arthur probably would have thought that, were he a different sort of man. A contemplative sort of man. He might have pondered the improbability. Definitely questioned the implications. At the very least, noticed the desperation of the very human battle being waged in the middle of a very Earthbound desert.
But Arthur wasn't of the immediately rational sort at all. Instead, his first thought was something far more self-indulgent. "My leg."
As the offending appendage gave out from under him, his second thought was a bit more abstract as his mind finally started catching up. Looking at the mangled mess of his right leg reminded him of the ridiculous shoes Ford had purchased. Blue suede. Blue. He'd declared them, "froody, baby," and strutted like a peacock, despite impending doom.
Arthur's next thought was of all the times he'd believed The Guide. It told him not to panic so he hadn't. He thought of all the times he should have cried, but his bloody stoicism wouldn't let him. He decided fuck all, and with a heartbroken scream he let his tears fall.
He didn't notice the man pulling him to shelter. Checking his wound. Searching for identification. Shielding him from gunfire. Falling at his side.
*** A/N ***
*from "Mostly Harmless" the last book in the HGTTG series by Douglas Adams.
