Gravity Falls, OR
June 14, 1978

Carla stares at the results, mind not quite willing to process what it is her eyes are seeing.

It had been two months. She'd realized that on Monday. She'd ignored that little fact all of Tuesday. Today, Wednesday, she'd forced herself to acknowledge the truth of it.

It had been two months. Not since she last saw Stanley, but since her last cycle.

She'd dismissed the first month as stress. Missing a period due to stress wasn't too uncommon. It had seemed a likely enough diagnosis. She'd nearly done the same the second time - because, if anything, she'd been more stressed this past month than she'd been the month before - except... Except skipping twice in a row wasn't something to be brushed off. It could be something serious.

Well, she hadn't been wrong.

The two lines marring the small pregnancy test in her hands stare back at the woman and Carla struggles to remember how to breathe.

Ford wavers in the hallway outside of the closed bathroom door. He can hear Carla crying on the other side of it. More concerning, he has no idea how long it's been going on. He'd just been heading from his office in the attic to the kitchen on the ground floor when he'd heard her.

Normally, by this time in the afternoon, Carla shows up to drag him down for lunch so he won't 'starve' himself. He'd worried when she'd failed to make her usual bid to force him to eat, so he'd decided to look for her. Now that he's found her, however...

Ford fidgets with his fingers, twisting one absently as he ponders over his latest dilemma.

Women don't cry in bathrooms for no reason, do they? More importantly, when women do cry in bathrooms - whatever the cause or reason - what is he supposed to do? Quietly walking away is tempting. He isn't good at social niceties, or anything to do with dealing with other people's emotions, really. And a bathroom is typically a place where some measure of privacy is expected to be allowed the occupant. On the other hand, Carla's put up with him this long. She's well aware of his clumsy handling of all things social. And, unlike him, Carla is very much so a social person. She may appreciate having someone nearby, even if that someone is as inept as himself.

Decision made, Ford straightens his spine and stands a little taller. He takes a breath and tentatively knocks on the door. It starts to swing inward and Ford jerks forward to catch the knob and hold it still. He hadn't noticed, but the door apparently hadn't been properly latched.

The crying cuts off.

"C-Carla?" he calls.

A hiccup. "S-sorry," the woman calls back, "I'll be right out. I didn't mean to hog the bathroom."

"That's not - It's okay. I just -" the scientist flounders, "Are you alright?"

Silence from Carla is rarely a good sign.

"Carla? Can I -" Ford hesitates for a brief moment, "Can I come in?"

"Yeah, th-that's fine." A pitiful sniffle follows the words.

Ford swallows nervously and pushes the door open. Carla sits teary-eyed, but thankfully unharmed and fully-dressed, on the closed lid of the toilet. "Hey."

"H-hey," Carla says as she wipes her eyes and Ford continues to hover uncertainly in the doorway.

The man considers his options now that he has put himself completely outside of any of his areas of expertise and directly in front of a crying female. In the end, he can only think of one viable action: asking bluntly. "What's wrong?"

"I -" Carla looks lost for a moment before she waves the little, plastic device in her right hand and finishes the thought, "I'm pregnant." She laughs, the sound one part incredulous and three parts barely contained hysteria. "And I have no clue where my husband is."

"O-oh."

"Yeah." Carla brushes more tears from her cheeks.

Stanford twists his fingers as he processes what he's been told. Nearly a full minute passes before he breaks the uncomfortable silence, "I could - We could go to a clinic."

The woman takes a deep breath. "You're right," Carla says, "I should, I should see a doctor. Find out if I'm actually pregnant to begin with. These things aren't foolproof, after all." She drops the plastic stick into the wastebasket and stares at it for a moment.

"I think the nearest one is just over a half-hour away," he offers.

Carla looks at him with a confused frown before asking, "What's wrong with the one in town?"

Ford blinks. "I was talking about a Prepared Parenting clinic. I'm not sure if the clinic in town does abortions."

The change is nearly instantaneous. He hadn't even known Carla's face could make that expression, but if looks could kill, he'd be a dead man. The man shudders and holds up his hands in supplication. "If you want one! It only makes sense to go to the clinic that offers the most services!"

Carla's hand tightens its death grip on the rim of the trash can until the knuckles turn white. Her left arm curls protectively around her abdomen. "If you were any closer, Stanford Pines," she hisses, "I'd've slapped you."

"I didn't mean to imply you needed to have one," Ford tries, "just that it's an option!" Carla continues to glare at him but Ford isn't sure what else he can do to appease the angry woman. He fidgets self-consciously under her ire.

Finally, Carla closes her eyes for a moment, takes another deep breath, and releases the trash can. She tucks that arm close to her belly as well. "The clinic in town will be fine," she says, a tense edge in her voice. She looks away from him and states, "I'm not having an abortion."

He should leave it at that. He shouldn't - "Are you sure?" he asks tentatively, because he can't leave it at that, even as his better judgement screams at him to drop the conversation.

"Yes!" Carla snaps and glares at him again.

Ford's hands jump up to shoulder height, palms out and empty. "You were crying," he attempts to reason, "I thought -"

"I'm overwhelmed!" she answers, still agitated, "I have nine -" The woman closes her eyes again and draws in yet another deliberate breath. "I have probably seven months before the baby will be born. If there's a baby at all," she corrects herself, "That will be plenty of time to, to pull myself together and get ready for, for being a mother. W-with or without Stanley." Her voice cracks near the end and more tears slip down her face.

There's that familiar flash of irritation he experiences whenever he hears his twin's name. He hasn't seen his brother in eight years now, and the other man is still finding ways to complicate Ford's life. Worse, Stan's actions have pushed Carla to tears, and it could have been easily prevented if Stan had only stayed put instead of running off to wherever it is he's disappeared to.

Ford cautiously approaches the crying woman and takes one of her hands in his own as he crouches in front of her. Carla sniffles and bites her lip but doesn't resist him. "You're not alone." A watery laugh escapes her as he parrots her often-repeated words back to her. "I'm not Stanley, but... You're not alone."

Carla sighs and opens her eyes. She looks at him for several long seconds, searching for something and he doesn't know whether or not she finds whatever it is she's looking for, and then rests her forehead on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Ford," she says and wraps an arm around his shoulders in a weak hug, "I shouldn't have yelled at you. I just... I'm sorry."

"It's okay. You're... stressed. It's understandable." Ford runs his thumb over the knuckles of the hand still in his. "But, Carla, there are still... other reasons to consider terminating the pregnancy." She tenses and Ford counts seven seconds before she relaxes again.

"Ford," his name comes out as something between a groan and a sigh, "I know you're trying to help, but I'm not changing my mind about this."

"Gravity Falls isn't exactly a safe place, especially for an infant," he reminds her.

"So I should kill my baby before something else can? Is that your reasoning?" Carla huffs. "Everywhere is dangerous somehow, Stanford. Staying here just means exchanging riots for manotaurs and diseased rodents for gnomes."

"...And Bill?" Ford hates bringing the dream demon up, but Bill is not a concern they can afford to overlook, "We have no idea what his effect might be on a child. There's no telling what harm he could bring to a baby."

Carla is quiet for a long time. Ford can only be grateful that she's putting serious thought into the question. "It's hard to strike a deal without a common language," Carla says at last, "And by the time my baby's able to speak any language, I'll have taught them not to listen to insane triangles. Besides, I can't image Cipher would have much interest in children. Not ones so young they can't even walk on their own."

"Perhaps," Ford allows, "but I'm not certain it's wise to take that risk."

Carla is quiet for a moment and then, "...Are you going to kick me out?"

"What?" he's a little dumbfounded by the question (though maybe he should have expected it, given what happened to Stanl- No, he isn't going to think about that now.) but he rallies quickly enough, "No! Of course not! I wouldn't -"

"Would I be able to convince you to leave Gravity Falls?"

Ford frowns and thinks of the portal and potential doomsday device hidden in the third-level basement. "No. I... need to stay." He knows where this is going, now.

"Then I'm staying," Carla says, confirming his thoughts, "and I'll just have to accept that that decision comes with risks. I'm not leaving you alone, Ford."

He's grateful, but he doesn't know how to convey that in words when it feels so selfish to keep her with him - especially under these new circumstances. He squeezes her hand.

He has just one last fear to put to rest. "And what about if - What if the baby -" Ford licks his lips nervously and tries again, "What if the baby, the baby isn't... normal. What if they..."

Carla pulls away enough to look at him, her free hand coming to rest lightly on his shoulder. "Stanford?"

Ford lowers his eyes and looks at the hand still cradled in his. He brushes a thumb over Carla's slim, perfect fingers and doesn't dare look at her as he stutters and stammers his way through what he needs to say, "I - It's possible that Stan still carries the gene, even though he isn't a polydactyl himself. There's a chance the baby could be... different. And, if that's the case, there's no guarantee that a doctor could fix, could fix the anomaly. Are you sure that you would be, that you would be okay with that?"

A few seconds of continued silence prompt him to chance glancing up in order to gauge her reaction.

Fresh tears slip down Carla's face and it isn't until she reaches out to brush the water off of his cheeks that he realizes he's crying, too. "Ford, are we still talking about my baby, or are we talking about you?"

"...Both maybe?" he asks, unsure himself, but he plows on, "It's not, it's not easy, you know. Being different. There's a lot of staring. Some people avoid you, some say rude things, and you're almost always the first target of any bully that happens to be in the vicinity. And there isn't much you can do to hide polydactyly. It's just there, for everyone to see. And you're always the," Freak, "the oddit- odd man out. You just never fit the way everyone else does, no matter what you do."

"Oh, Stanford." Carla pulls him into a hug. She lets him bury his face in her shoulder and his hands in the curls at her back.

"I used to think about chopping them off," he confesses, "The little ones everyone says are extra. I never quite got up the nerve to attempt it but I thought about it. A lot." He'd had those thoughts right up until Bill.

Did you know some civilizations revered polydactyls? Some thought they were blessed by the gods, and showered them with gifts. Some thought they were their messengers, and obeyed their every word. Some even thought that they were the gods themselves, and offered sacrifices for their pleasure. All silly superstition, of course, but not you. No, Sixer, your contemporaries don't believe in things like divine digits, do they? That's alright. They may not see how amazing you are today, but one day soon you'll be a legend! Stanford Pines, the man who changed the world!

Ford shudders and pushes the memory away. He'd been such a fool to fall for Bill's flattery. The demon had barely needed to try at all; Ford had been so eager to believe everything he'd said. To feel validated. And look where that's landed him, with wards surgically implanted under his skin and a reality-ending bomb just waiting for a few finishing touches and someone to light off the fuse.

Stanford Pines, the man who almost destroyed the world and still might.

Ford takes a shaky breath and says, "Now I mostly wonder if I should have been born to begin with."

Carla's arms tighten around him. "Don't say that. Don't even think it. The world's better for having you in it," she asserts, fully confident and fully ignorant of just how wrong she is.

Ford bites back the hysterical laughter clawing at his throat. It reminds him too much of Bill. "It's really not," he croaks.

Carla pauses and he can tell she wants to argue. "My world is better with you in it. Can you at least believe that much?"

The only reason she's been separated from Stanley in the first place is because she'd been worried and came to check on him. Regardless of his own feelings about his twin, he knows Carla would be happier with Stanley than she is here without him.

"Not really," he answers honestly.

The woman sighs and begins petting his hair. "That's okay, Poindexter. I'll just have to convince you you're wrong," she states. There's a quiet moment before she says, "I bet Ma will be absolutely ecstatic if the baby is a polydactyl."

A surprised laugh escapes him. She's likely correct.

Read the entire Dimension 297 series on Archive of Our Own: archiveofourown dot org slash series slash 457846

I'll spare you my personal rant on abortion; but, IF YOU'D LIKE TO EDUCATE YOURSELF, I'd recommend looking up the following:

Dr. Anthony Levatino
Abby Johnson
Claire Culwell
Gianna Jessen
Feminists for Life
Ectopic Personhood