Gravity Falls, OR
January 17, 1979

Carla stirs from her slumber and wakes. Somewhat. She is both groggy and still half-asleep as she squints at the alarm clock on the nightstand. Its alarm going off had not been the thing to disturb her rest; in fact, the alarm won't be going off for another five hours. Carla's eyebrows furrow as she tries to pinpoint what could have roused her when the sky is still dark and the house is quiet.

"It's too early for this," she complains softly. And then she hears it: quiet fussing from beyond the edge of the bed's mattress. "Jason. Right."

The new mother moans quietly as she leans over the side of the bed and pulls the infant from his makeshift crib. "Hey there, Baby," she mumbles, carefully cradling her son in one arm as she pushes herself into a sitting position with the other. The action is made a bit more difficult due to the arms wrapped snugly around her waist, but it isn't long before the sleeping man behind her shifts to accommodate her movements, his head coming to rest on top of her leg as he curls loosely around her. Carla pays him little mind. "I bet you're hungry, huh?" she asks the infant as she fumbles with the buttons of her shirt.

"Carla?" the man asks in a sleepy half-mumble, "Why are we up?"

Having successfully settled her son to nurse, Carla uses her free hand to run soothing fingers through the man's hair. "Jason was just hungry. Everything's fine," she reassures, "Go back to sleep, Ford."

"Mm," he hums, tilting his head toward the fingers playing with his hair, "I don't think I want to. How is he? Jason?"

"Even less awake than you are right now," she says in mild exasperation before demanding, "Spill, Poindexter. Why don't you want to go back to sleep?"

Ford fidgets for a brief moment then admits, "The dreams." Carla sighs heavily, prompting the scientist to add, "These ones aren't from Cipher. They're mine. Just mine. ...I think."

"Are you sure?" she asks softly.

"Yes... No?" He presses more of his face against her leg, as if he thinks doing so will hide him from all scrutiny. "I don't know. Can't be sure."

"Ford?"

He hesitates for a long moment, and then, "Carla? Do you... Do you think I'm a bad person?"

The woman blinks at the unexpected inquiry. "W-what?"

"Am I a bad person?" Ford repeats, more sure of voicing the words now that he's said them once already, "I can't trust myself anymore, but I trust you. So? Am I?"

"No, Ford, you aren't a bad person!" she exclaims, struggling to keep her voice quiet so as not to fully rouse Jason, "You're one of the very best people I've ever known! What even - Why did you ask?"

The response is said too lowly for Carla to understand. "C'mon, Poindexter," Carla pesters, poking his ribs with a finger, "I didn't catch a word of that."

Ford tries to twist away from the prodding appendage but finds he is unable to do so successfully without releasing his hold on Carla. Allowing himself a small groan, he looks up miserably at her and admits, "I stole you from Stan."

The woman freezes like a deer caught in headlights. A hysterical bout of laughter tears itself from her throat only to be abruptly cut off when it begins to upset Jason. "Shhh, Baby, it's okay," the mother says, desperately trying to mask distress with shaky singsong tones, "Everything's alright." Still focussing on Jason, she addresses Ford with a forced smile, "Now I know you're out of it; you never talk about Stanley. You probably won't even remember any of this in the morning."

"Carla, I'm serious," the man insists, "You'd, you'd be with him right now, if it wasn't for me! A-and, and happier, if he were here. I know you miss him. And I'm, I'm a poor substitute for Stan. I know I am. But I just - I -"

Carla presses her hand over his mouth. "Enough," she commands firmly before removing her hand. The woman lightly brushes her fingers over his cheek before using them to comb back his hair.

Ford's eyes to slip closed as he allows himself to be soothed by the feeling of her nails scratching lightly over his scalp. He reopens his eyes when Carla uses that same hand to cup the back of his neck, brushing her thumb back and forth over the skin just behind his ear.

"You, Stanford Pines," she says clearly, "are my best friend. You needed me, so I came. That was my decision, and I don't regret it. I -" she licks her lips nervously, the confidence in her features waning slightly, "I do regret how I left, though. Looking back, I, I didn't explain it very well to Ley. At all." Carla releases Ford to swipe at the tears gathering in her eyes. "The way he reacted when I told him I was leaving. It didn't even dawn on me that he might think - God! He probably hates me now!" She claps her hand over her own mouth in an attempt to muffle her sobs.

Ford bristles at the idea and curls himself tighter around Carla, his own fraying nerves and guilt forgotten upon seeing her heartbreak. "If he hates you, then he's an even stupider idiot than I've ever given him credit for being," he growls.

Something between a sob and a laugh escapes her at Ford's statement. Carla forces herself to breathe deeply for a few moments, calming her tears and regaining something of her composure. "Every-ryone looks like an idiot when they're put in the sa-ame room as you, Poindexter." Ford fails to stifle his startled yelp when she flicks his ear. "And Ley isn't stupid. You know that as we-ell as I do, Ford."

"Maybe," he grumbles.

Carla sighs, her breath hitching slightly due to her earlier crying, but knows better than to push. In her experience, Stanford can be far more stubborn than even Stanley. She turns her attention to Jason instead, gently teasing the babe from her breast and positioning him against her shoulder. Carla feels Ford move while she's busy adjusting her shirt, but she's still a bit surprised when she looks up to see him retrieving the hand towel that's been resting over the headboard.

Stanford flushes under her stare. "I've been paying attention," he says as he sits up, flipping the folded cloth over his shoulder, "I can do this part."

Carla tilts her head as she considers the man beside her with narrowed eyes. "I never have and never will ask you to be a 'substitute' for my husband. You know that, don't you? You and Ley are too different for it to work, anyway. Don't try to be anyone other than yourself, Ford." The man nods a bit sheepishly and she drops the serious tone to smile at him sunnily. "On the other hand, as my friend and Jason's uncle, you are one-hundred percent obligated to help me take care of your nephew!" Carla places her son in his arms and a quick kiss on his cheek. "Thanks, Stanford," she whispers before drawing back.

Ford shakes his head in bemusement before positioning the infant against his shoulder the same way Carla had less than a minute ago. "You've been here for months now, and I'm still not used to the emotional whiplash."

Carla presses both hands over her mouth to quiet her giggles. "Just admit you love me already, and stop trying to make sense of things," she advises.

Ford spares her a glance but continues to pat his nephew's back. "Why bother?" he asks, "It's obvious you've already decided what my opinion is for me."

The woman's face stretches into a wider grin. "That's alright. I've also decided that I love you, too!"

Stanford chuckles softly before returning the earlier cheek kiss. "I doubt I'm the only one 'out of it,' if you're acting this silly."

"I..." the woman blinks and then admits, "Am extremely tired." Carla snatches up the lone pillow and tosses back her half of the three blankets they have piled on the bed. Stanford gives a rather (un)manly squeak at the sudden intrusion of frigid night air. "Sorry." He watches for a few seconds as she places the pillow at the edge of the bed and then throws the covers over half of it. "That should work," she says around a yawn.

"Work for what?" he asks, passing Jason back to her when she holds her arms out for the child.

"Making sure Jason doesn't fall out of the bed," Carla replies as she settles her son before wiggling further under the blankets herself, "It's cold in the house; I think that's why he's fussing so much tonight."

"Hmm, it makes sense. I'll take a look at the heater tomorrow. See if I can figure out what broke," he promises as he spoons protectively around her, his arms wrapping themselves about her waist once more.

"G'night, Poindexter," Carla mumbles sleepily.

Ford responds softly, "Good night, Hotpants."

An hour and forty-three minutes later, Jason stirs and wakes his mother again.

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