Warning: Contains slash of the rather angsty variety
Pairing: Ford/Arthur, Zaphod/Trillian
Disclaimer: Not mine, unfortunately.
Words: 1732
Part Two
In the morning, Trillian found Zaphod passed out in the galley. He looked well and truly out of it and somewhat comfortable on the floor, so she left him there and went to the bridge.
There she found Ford, looking decidedly less comfortable curled into an awkward ball on one of the chairs. Most of his layers of clothing were gone, including his tie, and he wasn't wearing shoes. Mildly concerned – if perhaps only because if the missing articles were going to turn up in random places (in the toaster for instance, or knotted tightly around the temperature controls) she wanted fair warning first – she put a hand on his shoulder and shook him awake.
As soon as he was roused, he gave a surprised shout that sent her jumping back, and promptly fell out of his chair.
He hit the floor, and when he groaned and curled up again instead of bouncing back up she started to really worry.
"How drunk did you get last night?"
Ford opened one eye and gazed up at her wearily. "Don't know. Lots." He paused. "Arthur hates me."
She blinked. "Why?"
"I kissed him. It made him cry."
"…Why?"
The eye closed again and he pressed his forehead against his knees. "Don't know. Thought he wanted me to… My head is killing me."
Trillian's hand went up to pinch the bridge of her nose automatically, because even if she wasn't already getting a headache of her own this was rapidly turning into one of those days where it would probably creep up on her soon anyway. There was enough animosity on the ship between Arthur and Zaphod, and Marvin and – well, anyone who had to spend more that sixty seconds within earshot of Marvin. The last thing any of the occupants of the Heart of Gold needed was a falling out.
There was always the hope that Ford had been so drunk he'd hallucinated it, but for some reason that didn't seem too promising.
"I thought," she said slowly, "that Arthur liked girls. I thought that you liked girls."
"Nothing wrong with girls," Ford said in a muffled voice.
"So why did you kiss Arthur?"
"Nothing wrong with Arthur, either."
"…And he didn't like it?"
"Don't know. I thought he did, but… crying." He looked up her, this time with both bleary eyes broadcasting his confusion. "He kissed back. He didn't do anything to stop me. He may have said it a few times, but…"
"Ford," she groaned.
"It's not my fault," he protested. "It's Arthur, he… I've seen him looking at me when he thinks I'm not paying attention to him. And he's always trailing after me and letting me talk him into things he obviously doesn't really want to do. And sometimes he looks just like he's about to say something important, but then he opens his mouth and something about the weather comes out. And he kissed back…"
Ford's forehead scrunched up, and Trillian was reminded of small children trying to work out something quite a bit more complex than the things they usually thought about, like what to build next with their wooden blocks.
"But I can't figure out if he wants me or not," he finished, sounding disappointed by this conclusion.
Trillian sighed. "Okay. First of all, sit in the chair like a normal person." She watched him do so – suspecting, from his slightly wobbling movements that he was still feeling some of last night's drinks – and sat in one of the chairs next to him. "Second, it sounds like you're taking this personally. In an ego way. Don't. If Arthur doesn't like men that way, it's nothing to do with you, all right?"
Ford nodded reluctantly.
"Good. Now, what exactly happened? Please tell me you didn't try to jump him."
"Well…" Ford fidgeted.
She stared at him for a moment, then dropped her head into her hands. "Oh my god. It must run in the family."
"What?"
Her head snapped up. "You can't just surprise people with wanting to have sex all the time! Not when they're not expecting it, anyway," she amended, feeling a little bad when she saw Ford's startled expression. That part of the conversation was something she might have to repeat with Zaphod sometime, though. "I'm just saying, Arthur really doesn't seem like the kind of person who would expect it. But… as long as you didn't try to rape him or anything, I don't think it could have been bad enough to make him actually hate you."
Ford stared blankly at her. "What's rape?"
Yes, she definitely had a headache now.
Arthur was awake, but didn't stop staring at the ceiling when the door opened with a whispered "Thank you" – whoever it coming in must have asked it to be quiet in the hopes of not bothering him if he was asleep.
Maybe it's Ford, come to get his clothes back and ask me to leave, he thought dully.
"Arthur? Are you awake?"
Not Ford – Trillian. Arthur lifted his head from the pillow in muted surprise.
"I brought you some breakfast. Thought you could use some… And I bullied the Nutri-matic into making something that doesn't taste all that different from tea."
He dropped his head again. "What did Ford tell you?" he asked hoarsely.
"Things," she replied matter-of-factly. "I tried to get him to come in here and talk to you, but he honestly believes that you probably hate him now."
"…What?"
"Yeah, that's what I said."
She sat on the edge of the bed and all but dropped the tray on him. Arthur sat up reluctantly, if only because he didn't want to accidentally spill something hot all over himself.
"So." Trillian looked at him steadily. "Do you?"
Arthur stared down at the tray. "Do I what?"
"Hate him. For whatever happened last night."
He picked up a fork and began to prod the eggs and pancakes on his plate. "I…" Deep freeze. His insides felt rock-solid. "Don't… Don't tell him?"
"I solemnly swear," she promised, holding up one hand and putting the other on an imaginary Bible. "Honestly, I don't want to be passing notes back and forth between the two of you forever. You're both adults… even if you are also men."
Arthur stabbed a bit of egg with his fork. He brought it up to his mouth and sniffed it cautiously, then put the fork down without eating. His hands wrapped around the glass of not-tea, which, even if it wasn't quite right, was at least warm and felt good against his palms.
"I don't hate him," he said quietly, not looking at Trillian.
"Oh good, that's a relief."
"But I can't talk to him."
If there had been a desk handy, Trillian would have executed an expression of extreme exasperation known to certain segments of the (former) Earth's young-adult population as headdesk. Since the closest thing to a desk was a bedside table on the other side of the bed which was only a foot tall, she opted for the similar but not quite as satisfying facepalm.
"Why not?" she asked, somehow managing to sound patient.
"Because I… It's… I don't know, it's too…" Arthur clutched the warm cup to his chest, trying desperately to thaw the tight feeling out of it. "Look, I don't even know what to think! How am I supposed to tell him that maybe I… maybe I… when I really have no idea what I'm talking about?"
Trillian held up a hand, staring quizzically at him. "Hold on a minute, Arthur. Are you saying that you didn't mind the kissing and so on, or that this has been on your mind for a while?"
Arthur stared back at her helplessly, then took a tentative sip of his drink. "You know, this isn't half bad…"
"Oh no you don't. Answer the question."
"You don't understand! I've been trying, but I have no idea where to begin!"
She shrugged. "Well, they say that when you can't go forward it's because you're moving in the wrong direction and something has to change. From what I hear, last night something changed in a big way. So try again. And if that's not enough…" She paused grimly. "If you don't agree to talk with him by the time I leave this room, I'm going to go tell him that you said you'll hate him forever and want him to come in here immediately so you can tell him exactly why."
Arthur paled. "You wouldn't."
"I'm getting to the point where I would," she assured him. "Come on. What are you afraid of?"
Meanwhile, Ford had relocated Zaphod and the alcohol, and they were having a go at getting terrifically drunk again.
"You should jus' do 'im," Zaphod was saying confidently as he tipped some purple liquid into his glass and stirred it in with the rather runny blue that was already there. By the violence of the reaction that ensued in the glass it could be concluded that these were not supposed to be mixed, but he didn't seem to mind. "Get the semi 'volved whatsit outta your system."
"Maybe I would," replied Ford gloomily, "if he'd let me."
"I thought y'said he was going for it."
"He was, but…"
Zaphod shook his heads emphatically, which would have been less sloppy if one of them hadn't been in the middle of taking a drink at the same time. "S'what if his eyes were leaking? That happens with monkeys. Happens wi' Trillian sometimes. Sometimes's good and sometimes's bad… never makes any sense to me, so probably doesn't mean anything."
"Well, that's you." Ford contemplated his own questionably mixed drink, took a big swig of it, and coughed. "I lived on tha' planet for years, y'know. I'mma human on experts…" He shoved his glass in Zaphod's general direction for another round, his expression wavering between drunkenly indignant and drunkenly wistful as he remembered the look on Arthur's damp face and sighed. "He di'n' want to. I could tell."
His semi-cousin sloshed him another drink – which, because he was not paying attention, was very like an individual snowflake in that it was entirely unique and could never again be duplicated – and gave him a look that clearly said, Why not?
Ford, because he didn't have an answer, ignored it in favor of showing his general disregard for the uniqueness of snowflakes.
