Warning: Contains slash

Pairing: Ford/Arthur

Words: 847

Disclaimer: I am still not Douglas Adams.

Actual words are so overrated.

It's strange to look through what I've written so far, over the course of days and days, and realize how quickly the story is moving along. Surprises me every time… Ha, if hypospace exists I am probably in it. All writers probably are.

Zen & the Art

Of Realizing the Aforementioned Kidnapping

"So, would either of you like anything to drink?"

"Of course," Ford replied immediately.

Arthur shot him a look that said, What, now? Ford met his eyes and winked, and it was at that moment that Arthur remembered exactly what had been going on in that bathroom before talk of whales had sprung into the conversation. He flushed bright red from the neck up and quickly looked away.

"Great," the alien said eagerly, stopping whatever else it was doing and pulling a small packet from one of its apron pockets. "I can't reach that far, you'll have to stand up and come over here – each of you take one of these, concentrate on how what whatever you want to drink tastes like, and put it on your tongue."

Ford stood and walked over to the counter, pulling a paper strip out of the proffered packet and inspecting it. "I've never seen these before…"

Arthur trailed a few steps behind, looking uncomfortable. He wanted to ask Ford about the kiss (kisses, rather), but he wasn't sure what, and he definitely didn't feel like bringing it up in front of a complete stranger.

"They're my own invention, if not a completely original idea. I have to keep Bert fed and he's happiest when he gets what he likes, you see, but I haven't been able to work out how to speak whale. Getting him trained to respond to whistles was hard enough… I have to use the bigger ones for him, of course, but it's all the same idea. Oh, what are your names by the way?"

"Ford Prefect," Ford said around the paper strip, "and this is my colleague, Arthur Dent."

Arthur murmured a hello, glancing at Ford again as he took a strip of his own. This time Ford was busy selecting his beverage, so Arthur sighed, thought hopefully about tea, and popped the slip of paper in his mouth. It fizzed a little on his tongue, but otherwise didn't seem to do much.

"Nice to meet you. My nickname is Melee Smiles Jent."

"That's your nickname?" Ford handed his paper strip back. Colorful little spots and bands had developed on its previously white surface, but they didn't seem to make any sense.

"Yeah. The boss usually just calls me You Girl or Hey You – great zarking jerk, he is – but my real name…" The alien, apparently a she, wrinkled her nose. "Well, there are a lot of them and they take longer to say than to explain, so I took the first three letters from each and made an anagram."

Arthur blinked. "Oh, so that was you, then. I remember someone dragging us into the ship… er, whale…" He frowned. "Wait… Were we…"

"Kidnapped," Melee filled in apologetically. "And you're both chained by the ankle to that wall over there. I'd give you a hand but I've kind of got the same problem, only with this wall over here. And I've been here much longer, of course." She reached across the counter and plucked Arthur's strip from his fingers. "Oooh," she gasped, inspecting it, "that's a good one! Tricky, but interesting."

"Kidnapped?" Arthur turned to Ford, who was frowning and rubbing the back of his head thoughtfully. "This is your fault, you know! While you were… were… distracting me, some things with squeaky voices snuck up on us and…" He trailed off yet again, paling. "Oh god, it's the mice, isn't it? The mice have come back to cut out my brain so they can have their blasted Answer…"

Ford caught him as he began to slump towards the floor. "No, Arthur, you can't panic. That would be counterproductive."

"Counterpro— I don't see any small rodents lining up to chop your brain to tiny bits, but I wish I could, if only to see how you'd react to hearing about it!"

Despite Ford's best efforts Arthur sunk stubbornly to the floor, though he hadn't exactly intended for the annoyingly unworried Betelgeusian to come with him. The chains that neither of them had noticed before rustled quietly between the wall and the actually quite comfortable ankle shackles. On the other side of the counter Melee took a few steps back, presumably to give them a moment to themselves, or to begin preparing their drinks, or both.

Well, thought Ford, as long as there's a moment… He leaned in closer to Arthur, holding tightly to his elbow while shifting his legs into a more comfortable position.

"Oh no," Arthur said nervously. The food-poisoning feeling was returning and his knees were starting to go wibbly again for the second time in an alarmingly short period, and the peculiar thing about the latter was he wasn't even standing anymore so it shouldn't have even been a problem. "Not again. This is hardly the time or place, and I don't know—"

"Arthur," Ford interrupted, "remember before, when all you could say was 'Guh'?"

All Arthur was able to say this time was, "Mmmph!" But, to be fair, Ford was kind of in the way of his mouth's forming actual words.