A/N: A quick heads up: I got my Journal 3 by the time I was nearly finished with this (thanks, Barnes and Noble for screwing that pre-order up and getting me stuck waiting for them to be back in stock… *cough*SoNotBitter*cough*) so everything I wrote up until the last chapter is based on observation, speculation, headcanon, and wishful thinking (every fan/author's recipe for disaster! Mwahaha).

On the bright side, I did get to go to Reedsport and got to check out the port/docks, so being able to actually visualize some of what I wrote was really nice! I may never get on a boat (deathly afraid of going into the ocean y'see) but I will say one thing: They and their little docks are so *clenches fist* beautiful and aesthetically pleasing.

Words Unheard For Thoughts Unsaid

"So, you ever gonna answer my question, or are we just avoiding all Portal stuff forever?"

Stan knew there were better ways he could have, and possibly should have, worded his question, but his frustration had finally gotten the better of him and the man couldn't stop himself. It didn't prevent him from feeling the slightest bit guilty when he saw the way Ford stiffened and tightened the grip on his pen, of course, but it did keep him from immediately retracting the inquiry. Perhaps he was being pushy, even inconsiderate, but Stan felt he deserved an answer to the one thing he'd asked his brother periodically over the last couple of months.

He'd never tell Ford, but the fact that his brother still didn't trust him enough to share even the smallest amount of information hurt more than a lot of things that had happened to Stan since before Weirdmageddon. And maybe it was ridiculous and selfish, but he had almost been hoping he wouldn't have to tell Ford, because Ford would just know.

Sure, Ford kept in mind plenty of things that left Stan feeling enthusiastic about the progression of their relationship, like when he could tell Stan was upset over something, or when he just knew Stan was having a hard time with his memory without the man having to say anything.

Small things like that at least encouraged Stan and let him know they were getting there, even if it was taking longer than he'd hoped… even if he didn't know where "there" was. Unfortunately there were plenty of times, more often than not, that Ford was completely oblivious or just ignored him in hopes that he'd drop the topic or something equally as unlikely.

Stan still held out hope, though, that one of these days he'd get through to Ford and they'd be able to get some of the things that were obviously bothering the other out in the air.

Today wasn't turning out to be one of those days.

"Stanley," Ford sighed, obviously trying to sound exasperated, but it did nothing to help with the tightness in his voice, "We just managed to stave off a group of Fiji Monkeys, can we just focus on that?"

No, Stan wanted to say, No, we can focus on what you are clearly avoiding- I mean come on, Sixer, you're not even being subtle about subject change anymore! But the words caught in his throat before Ford could tell they were forming in the first place.

No matter how badly he wanted to say those things to his brother, ultimately, Stan knew he wouldn't. At least not today. The last time he'd asked and pushed the issue Ford had avoided him like the plague for two days before Stan had confronted him and gotten the man to tell him what was wrong. That… had not been pleasant.

This time though, at least Ford hadn't scooped up his research notes and gone to their quarters. At least this time he was giving Stan a chance to leave it be. Baby steps, Stan reminded himself. He did not want to screw up any of the progress they'd made so far. He couldn't. Not only did he love Ford too much to ever want to run the risk of losing him in any way, but he relied on him to keep him grounded when he had his lapses in memory and needed help finding his way back to reality.

Stan hated that- hated being a burden to his brother just like he was everyone else. No matter how many times Ford assured him there was no place he would rather be Stan found it hard to believe him. There was no way Ford didn't resent him, even a little bit. There was no way he didn't look at Stan every day and wonder why he'd bothered sticking around, because Stan was less than useless- less than worthless with his dumb, screwed up brain- and all he did was keep Ford from doing what he really wanted to do.

Ford could tell him a million and one times he truly wanted to be there, helping Stan whenever his memory decided to quit on him and send him freaking out at the sight of a face that looked like his, but Stan didn't think he'd ever buy it. And if one day he miraculously did, it wouldn't be any time soon.

Yet he never told Ford to leave him, to go off and be who he really wanted to be, because he needed his brother more than he could put into words, and losing him again wasn't an option. He'd lost him more times than he was comfortable.

The first time, watching those curtains close from his place on the sidewalk, had been like having a part of his soul halved. The second, watching Ford disappear, maybe forever because of something he'd done, felt like that halved part had been ripped away completely, leaving a bloody, desperate husk in its wake. Losing Ford the third time had actually felt like a part of his soul had been mended, because at least as his memory was burned away there was no great feeling of real loss. But when that memory came back again days later, that mended area felt more like a scab; something that itched and hurt but you could never decide whether it was good or bad.

He'd lost Ford too many times already and there was no way he could lose him again- he couldn't have Ford leave now, it'd shatter whatever shred of sanity he had left. So whatever he did, Stan knew he couldn't upset his brother so soon after their last argument over the same question. Baby steps.

"'We'? C'mon, Poindexter, you and I both know I did the staving. You just stood there yelling at me to do… whatever it was you were yellin' at me to do."

Ford's entire being seemed to heave a giant sigh of relief as soon as Stan scoffed and the younger twin tried not to feel a stab of pain as his brother's hold on the pen relaxed and he turned to show off his indignant but amused expression.

"As I recall, that yelling saved you from losing a hand."

Even if it wasn't the discussion he wanted to be having, Stan found himself slipping easily into the light banter, pushing his earlier question back into the box he kept all persistent thoughts in before countering Ford's argument with a wave of the hand that had indeed narrowly missed becoming a fish monkey's lunch.

"Whatever, I saw it coming."

"I'm sure," Ford intoned, coming to stand beside Stan to show him what he'd been doing whilst the other had been cleaning Fiji scales, hair, and blood off the rails, scraping the latter thing into one of the glass vials he must have taken when Ford wasn't looking.

Stan perked up immediately as he read what his brother had already managed to write up for the little demon fish, chuckling under his breath whenever he caught a dry comment Ford had put down without thinking (and contrary to his twin's beliefs, he did that frequently). If there was one thing he'd always secretly, and sometimes not-so-secretly, admired about his brother, it was his ability to observe so much in a small amount of time and be able to jot it all down in the space of a few minutes.

To give life to words even though they were typically seemingly boring accounts of encounters with the unknown, and to keep his audience enthralled... It was something he'd good-naturedly teased Ford about when they were young, but even then, he'd thought it amazing.

"What?"

Stan jolted out of his sentimental thoughts to realize he was wearing an almost fond smile that had Ford giving him a curious look. "S'nothing," Stan easily slid his expression to something more "him" and rolled his eyes, "Just can't believe one of my stupid taxidermy creations turned out to be a real thing."

That got a genuine smile from Ford and Stan felt his mood improved drastically in spite of his disappointment with the other's avoidance. It seemed so hard to get Ford truly happy as of late -what with him being in a constant state of paranoid hyper-awareness- so when he actually managed it Stan felt like he could take down every creature in the ocean.

"I told you it was." Ford shook his head, smile still in place as he took the vial that Stan had filled a quarter of the way with Fiji Monkey blood when he'd realized Ford would likely want to study it. Of course the collecting had been an afterthought Stan had when cleaning, so sadly he had not grabbed any other pieces of the creatures.

That didn't seem to bother Ford though, who was holding the glass to the sunlight and swirling the contents carefully. Stan was less focused on the blood, though, and more on the distant look in his brother's eyes, like he was looking at the vial but his mind was a thousand miles away. He wondered what Ford was thinking about and then whether or not he should ask, but didn't get the chance to really do either because his twin seemed to sense his stare and a moment later Ford was frowning at him.

"What is it?"

"Huh? Oh, nothing."

Stan tried to keep his nervous shifting at minimum when Ford didn't immediately give a reaction, but wasn't sure he managed it, seeing as how Ford eyed him carefully, as if unsure what he expected Stan to say or do next. It frustrated the man to no end when he couldn't figure out what was running through Ford's brain, because it meant his brother's thoughts were either going too fast for even him to comprehend or he was thinking about things he'd yet to bring into the light… or Stan was starting to lose it again and the once easy to read micro expressions of his brother's face were becoming foreign concepts.

Stan didn't think that last one was it though, because the memory lapses usually felt different; one minute things were there and the next they weren't because everything became a jumbled mess. It wasn't progressive, it was sudden and terrifying.

It was moments like these that left Stan wishing he knew even a fraction of what life had been like for his brother over the past 40 years. All he had to go off of were his experiences from their youth and small snippets Ford had shared about his time in Gravity Falls, which wasn't helpful when everything Ford did and said now had a weight to it that Stan always didn't recognize or understand in the way he knew he should.

Whatever had happened to his brother in the time they'd spent apart had turned him into the person he was today as much as his own experiences had molded him, which was disconcerting at times when Ford reacted strangely (badly) to certain things and Stan had no clue how to help him. Sure, he could draw on his own experiences and what he'd wished people had done for him, but it was difficult, bordering on impossible, to help Ford when he knew none of the important aspects about his life that would help all the puzzle pieces click into place.

It was frustrating and alarming and disheartening all at the same time.

"Are you feeling alright?"

Stan jumped a little when Ford's voice cut through his thoughts and he leaned against the nearby railing quickly in an attempt to hide the movement. Yeah, he'd meant to do that.

The man looked away from his brother and focused on the endless expanse of ocean instead, doing his best to avoid what he was sure would be Ford's scrutinizing gaze. He didn't want to tell Ford there was anything wrong, because while there was something his twin could do to fix it, he wouldn't, and Stan knew that so there was no point in saying anything. Instead he answered his brother's inquiry without thinking, his mind falling back on his prepared answers for that line of questioning and his mouth following.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Ford's skeptical tone let Stan know he wasn't buying the lie for a second and he tried not to groan at what that could mean for him. Stan didn't want to talk to his brother about what was bothering him because he didn't want Ford getting upset with him, how hard was it to just accept that?

"Yeah Sixer, I'm positive."

"Stanley."

He rolled his eyes at the stern tone Ford took, as if Stan was still a child who could be made to speak the truth just because someone said his name with a hint of prodding exasperation in their tone. The fact that Ford actually thought that was going to work had an irritated huff coming from Stan, and before he could think about it his mouth was running ahead of him. "If you answered maybe once when I asked about the Portal, that'd be great."

As soon as the words left him Stan regretted them. He could see Ford's walls go back up almost instantaneously as a deep frown marred his face, shoulders tensing almost imperceptibly. Stan winced internally and wanted to smack himself. He hadn't meant to say that- had been determined to leave it be. He didn't need to upset his brother now! He had to take it back, make a joke of it before Ford could take him seriously. The man was about to do that when Ford cut his smart remark short.

"Why do you want to know so badly?"

Just leave it! Stan's mind screamed. Leave it, don't start an argument. LeaveitleaveitLEAVE IT!

"'Cuz I kinda wanna know about that part of your life? 'Cuz I care?"

SHUT UP!

Ford scoffed, the sound carrying his obvious disbelief well enough and leaving Stan wishing they would just stop talking about this and go to a different topic. Now. Anything would have been better than this, and even though the man knew there was no backing out of it, Stan still kept looking for some kind of exit, some sort of backspace button that could stop the fight threatening to erupt with each word passed between them.

"You really want to know something about it, fine. One time I found myself in a dimension where memories were given as currency, the older and more personal, the higher their worth. I didn't attempt to purchase anything and left as soon as I was able, and do you know why? Because I hold the belief that someone's memories belong to them and nobody else, and they shouldn't be forced into sharing those for any reason that isn't their choosing."

Ford's clipped speech and glare left Stan with the knowledge that he really needed to leave it be then, that his brother felt the same discomfort and was trying to give him another out, a chance to drop it. And Stan wanted to, he really did, but Ford's hostile tone had sent his own defensive wall up, and if there was one thing Stan knew about himself even when he couldn't remember all, it was that when it came to fight or flight instincts, he only truly had "fight".

Even while his brain screamed at him to not say a word, to just take Ford's thinly veiled message and leave him be for the rest of the day because his twin had not been trying to start anything, the rest of Stan couldn't stop from jumping to his own defense.

"Well jeez, Sixer, I'm sorry for trying understand you! I'm sorry I'm not a certain yellow triangular mind reader who automatically knows what's wrong with you and why!"

Ford looked absolutely appalled by the mention of Bill and he faltered when he threw his weak rebuttal at Stan.

"Nothing is wrong with me."

"That's such bullshit, Sixer-"

"Stop calling me that!" Ford roared and Stan took an involuntary step back, his hands instinctively going up to to protect himself. Ford didn't notice as he continued, his momentary hesitation forgotten in his anger.

"Maybe I don't want you in my head like a "certain yellow triangular mind reader", did that ever occur to you? Maybe I don't want anyone in my head! Maybe I don't want to tell you anything and you are going to have to accept that."

"Right," Stan rolled his eyes, heart thudding loudly in his chest as he realized the negative affect his next words would have even as he couldn't stop himself saying them, "I forgot only he was ever allowed to know what was going on with you."

That was it. Of all the horrible things he could've said, Stan knew that was the worst. Bringing Cipher into this, so soon after Ford had opened up and shared nearly every detail of how the two had come to know each other, had disaster written all over it.

Stan watched Ford's eyes grow impossibly wide as he sputtered, his hands clenching and relaxing before finally settling into tight fists, his expression darkening as rage and hurt pooled into a venomous hiss.

"Fuck you."

Ford was gone before Stan could fully process what had happened, disappearing into the cabin with the Fiji Monkey blood to no doubt bury himself in research as he was wont to do.

Stan wasn't sure how long he stood there, replaying the exchange over and over, but when he came back to himself, the sun was starting to set and the weight of everything that had been said hit him hard. Bile rose in his throat and he swallowed it quickly in order to let his thoughts escape in a strangled question addressed to himself. "What the hell was that?!"

He could have said plenty of other things in reply that could have gotten the point across equally as well and not sent Ford spiraling into the place of bitter shame he always went when his affiliations with Bill were brought up in a harsh manner, but of course, like the screw-up he was, he hadn't.

He could have just asked why Ford didn't trust him enough to let him in. That would have made Ford stop and think, maybe even realize what his silence was doing to Stan and try to come up with a solution they could both be happy with. Ford had a reputation of making things better for everyone after all. In fact, nowadays he always put others first… well, almost always… he tried to, anyway. Stan shook his head, the physical motion helping to dispel old memories trying to pop up; now was not the time to think about Ford's past mistakes. The point still stood: Ford rarely put himself before anyone else when he cared about them.

Yet Stan couldn't bring himself to do the same when it mattered. He never liked letting Ford keep things to himself, not even when it was for his own good, not even when Ford assured him it was best he didn't know; Stan had an innate need to know everything about the people he cared for. It had always been a source of anxiety for him even in his youth, and after living on his own for so many years, the need to find out everything about everyone he came into contact with had only gotten worse, to the point where when he didn't he found it hard to sleep.

He often wondered if that had only been amplified when he'd gotten his memories back, because he needed to know what was going on and understand it, just to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything.

That's no excuse though, He reminded himself harshly. You shouldn't have brought the demon into this.

"Idiot!" Stan slammed his fist into the wood beneath his hands and grit his teeth when the contact jarred all the way up to his elbow. Ford had trusted him, he reminded himself too late. His brother had trusted him enough to divulge one of his closest secrets with the knowledge that Stan could have ridiculed or rejected him afterward, and he'd still done it. And how had he repaid Ford's small sliver of trust? He'd used it against him.

"Dammit," Stan hissed between clenched teeth.

The man could still vividly remember the night Ford had come clean about his past with Bill. It had been a few nights before they'd headed out to sea and Stan had re-remembered the triangular demon and asked how he'd even known Ford in the first place. Stan recalled how Ford had sat as far away from him as possible while recounting how they'd first met, how Ford had kept an eye on his reactions the entire time, fidgeting and expecting to be interrupted at every turn.

But Stan had stayed quiet through the whole ordeal, which hadn't been easy, as he'd been buzzing with questions. He'd known, though, that if he stopped his brother, Ford might not have made it through the entire story.

Even when Ford began diving into things that made his relationship with the dream demon sound more like a one-sided adoration than a friendship. And when he'd started stuttering through the part where the deal had been made to let Bill take control of his body whenever he pleased, Stan had found himself shifting in his seat, uncomfortable with how easy it had been for his brother to give himself up to someone like that when he had been able to hear the lies in Cipher's words when Ford repeated them. It only served to hammer home how much Ford had cared for and trusted the demon, and it hurt to hear.

Then Ford had described Bill's betrayal and a few puzzle pieces had slipped into place in Stan's mind as he became aware of just what had been going through his twin's head when he'd come to see him the night of the Portal Incident.

It had filled Stan with so much fury he'd wanted to bring the triangle back for the specific purpose of punching him again, and worse yet, it had struck a familiar chord in him, one he understood too well from his own experiences with betrayal, and when Ford had looked like he might cry -whether out of anger or pain Stan wasn't sure- he'd been quick to assure his brother that it was okay, he could stop.

Ford had taken the reprieve, his head dropping into his hands to avoid Stan's gaze as the man mulled over the information. It had explained most of Ford's paranoia and discomfort when people tried to get to know him better, true, but hadn't explained nearly enough, and it left Stan with more questions. It had been around that time when Stan started asking about what had gone on beyond the portal...

Ford had bared that part of himself to him, though, and… and…

And you used it against him. How could you? (See if he ever trusts you like that again)

"Shit," Stan muttered, already making his way towards the cabin before he even registered his feet were moving. He hadn't a clue what he was going to say to his brother, but he did know he'd better make it good, and that there had to be an apology thrown in there somewhere. A sincere one.

Well, of course it would be sincere, seeing as Stan was sorry, but he had to figure out how to word it in such a way that Ford would know he wasn't just trying to make things better because he felt guilty (he did) or because he wanted Ford to stop being mad at him (he did).

The man stopped in front of the door, his hand frozen over the latch, apprehension filling his veins with ice as he wondered how Ford might react to him coming in even though it was technically both of their space.

Would he tell Stan to get out the moment he stepped through the door? No, that wasn't really Ford's style (it was his). Would he pretend nothing had happened and let the unresolved anger fester? It was something he'd done in the past (it was a nasty habit they both couldn't shake). Or maybe he would give Stan the silent treatment… Yeah, that one seemed the most likely when the man thought about the fact that Ford tried his best to hurt him when he was pissed. Nothing did that quite as well as treating Stan like he didn't exist.

Before he could lose his nerve Stan opened the hatch and stepped inside, closing it behind him as quietly as possible. As suspected, Ford was at his desk scribbling furiously into his newest journal and glancing occasionally at some of the blood he had placed under a small microscope, back deliberately to stairs Stan was descending. This is gonna be harder than I thought.

Stan sighed, the tiny noise bouncing around the small interior and making the man wince.

"Hey," He tried, cursing inwardly at how strained the one word sounded and tried again. "Hey, are you okay?"

So… that was dumb. Really dumb. Stupid way to start. Nice going, Idiot.

Ford didn't move or even seem to register he'd said anything, though, and Stan rolled his eyes even as a cold stone of fear settled in his gut.

He knew he deserved to be ignored for how insensitive he'd been- knew bringing up Bill had probably felt like another little betrayal to Ford, but he also knew he couldn't do this. He couldn't have Ford not talking to him, he needed his brother talking to him; without Ford's words to ground him and let him know everything was real and all right and safe who knew how long it would be before he had another episode.

But what if Ford wasn't going to accept his apology and was planning on kicking him off at their next stop? What if-

"Did you get any blood on you?"

Stan's thoughts came crashing to a halt, his mind becoming a jumbled ball of confusion as he was thrown through a loop. His heart, however, was attempting to make him giggle the tense energy away when relief that Ford wasn't giving him the silent treatment after all swept through him. He was still having trouble figuring out what his brother meant by that, though, as the question didn't seem to make much sense to him, having been so out of the blue.

Ford didn't bother waiting for him to voice his uncertainty and elaborated further, keeping his tone level and cold, more like the person Stan remembered before Weirdmageddon. "The Fiji Monkey blood has high toxic chemical readings in its plasma. If it's on your skin it won't end well.

Stan checked himself over immediately without hesitation; even in a state where he was sure Ford would toss him into the sea given the chance, he still trusted his brother's intellect over all else, and if it said he could be harmed he wouldn't question it.

Once satisfied none of the bodily fluid was on his skin, Stan looked back at Ford, his answer frozen in his throat when he saw his twin staring back, eyes purposely closed off as he gave him a once-over, nodding to himself. "No. Good."

Ford turned away again to jot down more notes and Stan realized he might have spoken too soon. It was funny, but over the years Stan had noticed there were ways people could give silent treatment without being completely silent themselves; Stan remembered Mabel's instance easily, pretending he didn't exist while still replying to what he said to her, just in the form of speaking to someone else. Ford seemed to be trying out the one in which Stan would never be able to get a word in because his brother would continually find reasons to cut him off. Real mature.

However that knowledge didn't stop Stan from trying, aware that if and when Ford interrupted he could at least talk over him. Nobody could unhear things after all. His brother could cut him off and not speak to him to his heart's content, but he would still have to listen, no matter how much he didn't want to.

"Ford, I-"

"Next time try to capture one so I can-"

"I know you're not gonna want to hear this, but just-"

"I wasn't able to get a clean sketch done-"

"Just hear me ou-"

"You need to stop being so-"

Never mind, he couldn't ignore it.

"Dammit Sixer, listen to me!"

The small flinch Ford tried to hide made Stan wish he'd used a softer volume even as the voice in his head told him to keep going because he'd at least gotten his twin to shut up.

"Look, you and I both know I'm not good at this sorta thing, but I'm tryin'. So just… listen. Please." Stan hesitated adding the last part but knew he ought to show Ford he was being sincere, since his brother knew how much Stan abhorred that word, and even if he didn't turn his way Stan knew he'd gotten Ford's attention.

"I know I crossed the line, bringing him into it. I shouldn't have said anything. I-I am sorry, S- Ford. You probably don't believe me, but I am. I shouldn'ta said that when you trusted me… and I just want you to know that. Uh…" Stan shook his head, frustration towards himself building up when he saw his words didn't seem to have any effect on Ford. He hated how bad he was at this sometimes.

When it came to random tourists, or Soos and Wendy, or even the twins, Stan could talk his own ears off convincing them of anything; with a few well placed sentences he could help Mabel feel like the summer ending wasn't the end of the world and Dipper realize he wasn't a loser just because he couldn't get the girl. He could get the people of Gravity Falls to believe anything he said too, which wasn't always easy.

So why couldn't he stop talking in circles when he was with his own brother? Sure, they'd had their differences, and sure things between them weren't perfect, and he was nervous but… he thought he'd at least be able to do something like this. Lies and pretty words can only take you so far.

Stan knew that, of course he did, but as he'd really grown up and learned deceit kept you safe, telling the truth became more difficult than anything, even when it meant lying to those he loved the most. This time, even though he was being truthful, he was getting nowhere. He needed to give Ford more to work with, and he knew that, but he was desperately looking for a way out of it, even as he knew there would be none. There never usually was when it came to Ford. Damn.

"I don't know where that came from, okay? I was going for something to upset you, I guess." Stan looked down before he could see Ford turn his way.

"I s'pose that worked, heh. But no. I… Dammit, I'm an ass, right? That's what it comes down to, Ford. I was mad 'cuz you keep holding out on me and I said that 'cuz I'm an idiot and an asshole. You already knew that, but I'm just lettin' you know I know it too. But I didn't wanna hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you. I shouldn't have said any of those things. I'm sorry. I really am-"

"If you say you're an idiot one more time I will throw this blood on you."

The murmur might as well have been an echoing shout for the way it sent his heart slamming against his ribs, relief that Ford spoke to him and not his general direction without that stomach churning indifference making him release a shaky breath. Stan lifted his head in time to see Ford dropping his legs to the floor and stand up, taking his journal with him.

"You're not an idiot, Stan. You say stupid things, but you're not an idiot."

Stan moved to the side when Ford got close, giving him space to pass and head onto deck when his eyes flicked to the exit. The fact that his brother had been willing to give him a chance to speak and had then replied in his own Fordsy fashion made Stan relax enough to not fear repercussion when he decided to follow his twin out.

There wasn't much else he could say now at this point, but Stan wasn't about to let Ford be alone when he hadn't heard anything that could hint towards forgiveness, or at the very least, them being okay again. Stan knew it always took Ford a while to let things go, and he wasn't expecting the man to act as if nothing happened when the wounds weren't even a day old, but he did know if Ford thought things would eventually be fine again he would give Stan something more to work with.

The sun was nearly swallowed by the horizon when Stan closed the hatch again and came to stand at his brother's side, glancing at Ford from the corner of his eye. The sea air ruffled his hair gently and Stan squashed the urge to reach over and muss it further, not sure Ford would appreciate the gesture just yet.

On the bright side, Ford wasn't making any attempt to shift away from his presence, even if he also didn't acknowledge Stan's being there. But that was typically normal for them so it wasn't alarming, and Stan was nothing if not an optimist.

Ford glanced down at the open journal in his hands, flipping lazily through the pages, proofreading no doubt, and Stan let him have a moment since he knew the man was thinking about more than just the possible errors in his studies. The silence was as uncomfortable for Stan as it was natural for Ford and the younger twin tried not to break it, reminding himself every time a word to say popped into his head that he had to give Ford some type of space.

As if hearing his inner turmoil, Ford closed the book and tilted his head so their eyes met. "Yes?"

"Sorry," Stan blurted out again, though what he was apologizing for that time he wasn't sure. It just felt appropriate. Ford got it at least and nodded slowly, looking back out at the calmly swirling sea.

"I know. I am too."

Stan opened his mouth to tell his brother he didn't have to be, that he hadn't mentioned Bill so he had nothing to be sorry for, but Ford cut him off before he could.

"I shouldn't have pushed you. I just got… worried. I thought you might have been experiencing another amnesic episode and I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I told you I was."

"I know, but you were lying."

"Wha- no I wasn't!"

"Stan."

Ford leveled a stare at him that dripped with unimpressed annoyance, and even if there was some hesitant worry behind the gesture Stan could tell Ford was making an effort to keep him away from whatever was bugging him even now. It hurt, but he wasn't about to let Ford know that, considering now his brother had reason to not want to share personal information with him.

Even so Stan knew he still needed to give Ford something.

"Fine, fine. As I said earlier, I was getting mad at you. You keep… ignoring me when I ask things you don't exactly like. And I get why you don't wanna talk about it," Stan added hastily when Ford looked about ready to jump to his own defense again, "which was why I didn't wanna get into it with you. I get you have secrets, same as me. But- wait, no. No, that's all." (But I wish you could just trust me already. Even if I don't deserve it now.)

Ford was frowning again and this time Stan knew he was contemplating whether or not he wanted to ask where he'd been going with the "but", and he didn't stop him. Cutting Ford off when he was thinking hadn't been a good idea when they were kids, and it certainly wasn't a now. He didn't want to push his luck; the fact that Ford was back to talking with him so easily already left him on edge. So unless those thoughts were leading him down a dangerous path, Stan felt it best he leave his brother to it.

"Stanley," Ford started slowly and Stan made sure to pay close attention, knowing the man never spoke at this pace unless he was mulling the words over as he said them, "I… I can't tell you what you want to know. Not now and… maybe not ever. You wouldn't like- you wouldn't look- augh, it doesn't matter anymore. It's in the past now, and it's not important."

Stan bit his tongue to keep from calling "bullshit" and instead nodded to make his twin aware he had been listening. He didn't bother feigning he was fine with the news because they both knew he wasn't, but no matter how upset he was, Stan knew he couldn't fault Ford for not wanting to tell him; he'd screwed up horribly today and it was going to take time for his twin to want to share anything now.

Besides, there were plenty of things in his own past he didn't wanted Ford to find out about and it would be hypocritical to expect his twin to not have moments like those in his own life too. The only difference is, if he ever asked, you'd probably tell him. Wouldn't you?

Stan ignored the voice, having grown used to the harsh truth it spilled a while ago. Yes, it was true he'd tell his brother about those less than unsavory things if Ford ever asked, but he knew that unless the situation warranted it, Ford never would. After that he'd insist on a mutual give. And since Ford made it clear he would probably never want to share any unpleasant parts of his life, Stan would never be expected to share any part of his.

He chose to ignore the disappointment that sprung up with the knowledge.

A/N: Could they have handled that better? Yes. Yes they could've.

Am I going to make it easy for them? No. Why... Why would I?

Hope you enjoyed! Chapter two should be up within a week at the latest. I'll just have to kick my beta in the butt. ;)