Pairing: Ford/Arthur

Words: 507

Disclaimer: Do not own. Wish I did, but don't.

Won't Make It Through the High Noon Sun

In the newly illuminated room of the Vogon constructor ship, Ford turned to Arthur and examined him for overt signs of panicking. There weren't any, which was probably an even worse sign.

The human asked if this was really the interior of a flying saucer, and Ford replied with vague trepidation that it was.

"And you... you're really an alien," Arthur said slowly. "From... Betelgeuse."

"Betelgeuse Five," Ford confirmed. "Though my father was from Betelgeuse Seven."

Arthur wobbled to his feet, admirably not going the way of a military cadet-in-training. "And we're... in a spaceship several million miles above the surface of the planet."

"Well, actually..." Ford explained to the Earthman what exactly had just happened to his planet, and watched cautiously for his reaction.

For a moment, Arthur just stared at him blankly.

"I... I don't believe you."

"At this point," asked Ford reasonably, "what other alternatives are there? We're here, Arthur. You saw a fleet of flying saucers with your own eyes. Surely it must all make some kind of sense, if you stop to think about it."

A panicked look began to creep onto Arthur's face. "N-no, that's… that's just not possible, it couldn't be… gone. Not all of it. There must be some mistake…" Ford reached out to pat the human reassuringly on the shoulder, but he stumbled back to avoid it. "Don't touch me," Arthur said frantically. "You're mad! Or an alien… or both! And either way I don't want anything to do with it. I want to go home! Home, do you hear me? To a rather plain looking house with white paint and brown trim and a lot of unpleasingly proportioned windows and a gate with flowers growing up the side and nothing yellow or even vaguely bulldozer-like anywhere near it, and certainly not having anything to do with alcoholic aliens or squalid flying saucers or… or…"

Ford dropped his arm. "But you can't," he pointed out. "And, well, I did save you and everything…"

Arthur stared at him, his eyes wide, bewildered, and incredulous. "Is that supposed to make me feel better? Is that supposed to make you… some kind of hero or something?"

No, thought Ford, it just means I like you a lot.

But really, he decided upon further reflection, he should have known better. Should've known better than to try and drag a member of the human species – who on average were generally pretty dull and small-minded, and Arthur had always struck him as the most average of the lot – off into the vast and wild greater Universe. Should've known better than to grow so fond of someone who would never be able to bring himself to accept that for what it meant. Should've known better (though he was not quite consciously aware that he had) than to fall in love with Arthur Dent.

So Ford shrugged and carried on as if it wasn't terribly important. He quashed his shame at not knowing better and, without realizing quite what it was, he felt his heart break.