Ford sluggishly made rounds through his house, repeatedly glancing out windows and checking outside the front door. He'd cautiously listen from beside the door then open it and look outside before closing it with all the locks latched. It was something to do and the blast of cold air kept him awake. He'd already checked the bunker today, but all the supplies had been long since stored and organized. Although worrisome, he made a point each time to count the filled barrels off in the distance. He had rolled them far off and wrapped them in barb wire to keep the fuel as far away as possible without losing sight of them. It'd be easier to just dump them, but he couldn't do that without hazardous effects from the radiation. There was only a few of them left now, forebodingly resting in the snow.

The rest had been emptied without his memory on the 'trip' days ago, similar to the times he found yet more new eerie notes written in his journal. However, the instance when he had found the door to downstairs wide open and the fuel gauge no longer empty a sharp panic had struck him square in the chest. Just another hour asleep and the machine would have been fueled and only a few switch flips and a lever pull away from disaster.

That was when he had made it a point to find industrial strength coffee. His usual supply evidently hadn't been doing enough. Since the event at the diner though he hadn't been able to get it anymore. No way he was going back inside that building again. He could feel his body struggle to stay awake with the cut back on caffeine though, now more so than usual.

Ford went back into the dining room and towards the table, heavily dropping into a chair beside it. Something… He needed to do… something…

He didn't know how much time had passed with him absently staring into the calming grain of the wood paneling, but eventually there was a knock on the door jerking him up in his seat. He hadn't even heard someone walk up to the door. Maybe the snowfall had muffled the sound of footsteps. He needed to be careful though, no telling who it would be. Quietly, he hurried towards the front door. He grabbed the crossbow by the door before pulling back the greased locks that slid open without a sound. He curled one hand around the door knob, figuring out how to efficiently switch his hand from the door to the crossbow without compromising himself when an electrifying thought sparked in the air. What if it's Stan?

He could already feel a fresh hope at the idea, but kept it in check. Even still, he opened the door a bit eagerly with the possibility at the front of his mind. It was only one possibility, though, and an unlikely one at that. He poked his head around the door, securely holding onto it with a hand. "Who is it?" He asked roughly, prepared to bring out the crossbow. There was no need though. It was him. It was actually him!

"Stanley!" He opened the door further and set the crossbow down against the interior wall of the house. He was immediately overcome with relief. He was practically home bound now, all he had to do was get Stanley to take the journal and well- the rest he'd figure out. He wasn't going to let this moment get squashed down dwelling on everything else. Very little had turned out well since all of this had started. He was going to cling onto his renewed hope and focus on this moment for as long as it lasted.

Stan smiled, easygoing and confident like he used to remember, back when they were teenagers. Stan smiling as he'd assure him to ignore Crampelter. 'Jerk couldn't tell the difference between a screwdriver and a pen so don't bother listenin' to him, Sixer.'

Ford allowed himself a slight smile, ignoring the slight edge of bitterness that came with nearly any memory of his twin. After what the other did... but he pushed it aside. He could let himself have this small comfort, just for now. When was the last time he had had positive human interaction, after all. Enjoy the moment and proceed handing over the journal so he could work on what he needed to afterwards.

He fully opened the door to Stan and he didn't know what exactly he was expecting, but Stan smiled wider and took a step forward. A warning alarm was blearily going off in the back of his head, as if he was under water. Utter nonsensical nerves that-

Suddenly, Stan grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him off balance. Grinning, as Ford lost his footing, the tips of his boots scuffling on the ground behind him as Stan held him up in the air. Not high enough where he could get his feet underneath him, but not so low as for him to be completely on his knees where he'd be able to get up. He was forced to look up at the face merely a foot above his own, his own arms splayed out uselessly at his sides. The grin was still there, oh yes, and now he could see it. The slit eyed pupils bearing down on him with malicious excitement.

"Hey, Sixer!"

"Bill!" Ford gasped, blaming the strangled surprise in his voice on the hand choking him by his shirt.

He remained in the unstable position held aloft in the air, helpless to really get himself free. Too frightened to even think of how to go about it, and how could he with all these alarms. Muddled thoughts now uselessly running around his mind. All of these alarms nagging at him. Alarms that were too busy screaming at him in urgency through the thick water for him to actually know what they warned of. Bill, he was sure. He should have seen this coming, he should have been prepared. He hadn't been careful enough.

"Oh, come on, Fordsy," the fake Stan said with a roll of his not his not his not his eyes, not quite in sync, "you didn't honestly think calling your dear old brother who hates your guts was going to actually work in your favor, did you?"

Ford struggled uselessly in the grasp, panic making it impossible for him to move his feet in any coordinated fashion that would actually get his balance back under his own control again.

Last hope. That's what this had been. His last hope, the only thing he had had left and of course it failed him. He was somehow worse off than before, and out of any options now. Out of options and time and reality was blending together at the corners of his vision. His hands pricked painfully, needles in the palms of his hand.

"You're not activating the portal!" Ford spat at him fiercely, voice full and hearty even as he was being choked. Another alarm. Why were there so many alarms, why. Why were so many of them muffled? Bill was here and Stan was decisively not. He was easily overpowered, and Bill had every advantage over him. What else was even left over to worry about outside of this?

"Oh, yeah, smart guy? You gonna stop me?" Bill taunted, laughing in his usual high pitched voice.

Even his feeling of helplessness was starting to get distracted by all the muted warnings from his mind. "You have to do more than just push a button, Bill!" He fired back, determined. Even if the other was undoubtedly stronger, he was still going to fight him every inch of the way. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he gave up, even now. Ultimately, he knew that he could be tied up or otherwise effortlessly dealt out of the way, but...

St- Bill seemed to smile just a bit more and it twisted his stomach to see the knowing tilt of that grin. He finally looked away from him, the imagery itself already was close to paralyzing, making his blood run cold. Of course, though, he was outside in the… and… wait, no. No, it wasn't cold. Why wasn't it cold?!

Ford scrambled back from the other, roughly pushing against his chest and ripping himself out of Bill's grasp. He threw himself back onto the floor, wide-eyed. A vulnerable position, yes, but no longer important. His mind was now barraging him with a whole stream of inconsistencies, ones he instantly chastised himself for not catching as they were happening. Bill's voice remaining the same even in Stan's body. His blurry mind with so many warnings purposefully smudged out and turned unintelligible. The bone deep exhaustion he had had for weeks straight, now missing.

"Figured it out finally, huh?" Bill teased, standing over him, still in that body. "It's funny how much you've got riding on this. Pathetic, really! He's not coming to help you. Even if he DOES show up it'll just be to see how far you fell without him and laugh."

Ford wanted to argue back, say Stanley was coming to help with unwavering certainty.

He couldn't do that.

Bill was right.

He was holding onto a thinly worn shred of hope that Stanley would come, but that's all it was. He didn't have any viable reasoning to assure himself Stan would actually show. When ever he actually thought about it it became more and more apparent that he wouldn't come. That he had just said he'd come over to get back at Ford for letting him get kicked out years ago. For expecting help when he wouldn't have anything to do with him for over a decade. Empty thoughts pulled vacantly on his mind though, urging him again with soundless voices. Wordless warnings which he could now recognize as calls to wake up.

He closed his eyes and focused, trying to bring solid sensations back in and pull himself out of the floating blur of sleep. There was that pain in his hands again as well as the ache in his body slowly returning and he latched onto the feelings, dredging himself awake again, and opened his eyes. He was warm and Ford winced as he flexed his hands, it helped jar him further awake though. He looked down to see his palms covered in bleeding red marks, small holes covering it. Nothing on the back of his hands though. He then realized rather gratefully that he was still in the middle of his house. Unlike the cool damp air of the basement, it was warm and… and there was an icy breeze.

He turned slowly, following the draft to find the front door thrown carelessly open, snowflakes flying in and melting as they hit the floor of the house. He walked towards the door, but paused before the threshold to listen for anybody or anything. Considering what had just happened though he actually felt a slight comfort in that whatever Bill had tried there was nothing to do about it now and thus no lingering danger. He probably expected him to stay asleep for longer. Or maybe it was just a nightmare. There had been times like that before, where he had woken up and Bill had ultimately did nothing. Just a nightmare and his body had been left alone. Or so he thought. The times he had woken up seemingly in the same place, he'd originally thought just that. Then he started to find those notes... it made him doubt every instance that seemed like just an innocuous visit in the mindscape.

He hoped that was the case though. However, he couldn't quite identify the puncture marks in his hand. They seemed like they had been made with small needles, but the uncertainty was unnerving him.

He decided to give the inside of his house a look over first to assure everything was secure. As he went to shut the door a looming dark shape caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. He stopped, not having even grabbed the door handle yet. Sitting innocently on the porch were the three metal barrels, barb wire still coiled around them and bright red tips standing out on a few of the sharp spikes. He swallowed unevenly.

Close. That was close. They weren't inside the house though.

He walked out, pushing the door open further with his hand, immediately regretting doing so. He'd have to disinfect and bandage the wounds as soon as he put the barrels back out. He carefully grabbed the lid of the first barrel to pull it onto its side. Rolling them through the snow would take less energy than carrying them. He hooked his fingertips over the metal edge, prepared for the immense weight as he started to pull. However, with almost no effort, the barrel tipped towards him and Ford let go of it in alarm. It clattered back onto the porch, a distinct metallic hollow sound reverberating out of the open canister. Ford leaned forward with a deep sinking feeling in his gut, looking inside to find it completely empty. Quickly checking the others as well, he found them empty as well. All empty…. which meant-

Ford didn't even bother to close the door behind him as he bolted back inside, hastening through the security measure of the basement door and downstairs. He felt a pang of relief as he saw the machine was still turned off, large room dim, though he was still far from eased. He checked the fuel gauge first, completely full, foreboding, but a good sign. If it had been activated, it would have been empty. He turned on the electronic panel to scan the activity log. Nothing today.

He finally let out a shaky breath as his hand fumbled in turning the simple circuit board off again. Ford double checked everything in the portal room as quickly as he could. As he made his way back upstairs everything locked automatically behind him. The air was colder than before, growing predictably more so as he went back towards the open door. He bitterly looked over the barrels, pulling all of the barb wire off of each of them to toss the curling metal rings into the snow. They disappeared from sight under the powdery white, as useless a precaution down there as they had been on the barrels.

Ford didn't close the door as he went back inside. The house wasn't entirely cold yet, a fading warmth seeping into his skin the further inside he went.

A luxury he couldn't afford anymore, he concluded.

After turning the heating off entirely, he opened the kitchen window as far as the small window could. He spent an hour, opening different windows and doors in the house, assuring nothing came inside as he turned every room of the house as frigid as the outside.

Driving in the snow and ice already wasn't that easy, but with the amount of driving Stan had done he really didn't think about it. Not really. Not until he had been driving for over three hours. Save for a few instances, he never drove this far in one sitting. Not during the Winter at least. This was somehow worse than his last cross country drive, and that was saying something.

He pushed every hour, every minute, to fight off sleep and kept driving. It was just like that last drive, except nerve-wracking in a wholly different and frustrating way. He felt like he was fighting against the clock, but with no way to tell just how much danger there actually was. At least last time he could count on himself to be able to make it. Besides this, it was the first time he'd been in any sort of rush. Sure, he pushed himself to keep going because he was scared of getting recognized when he passed through familiar states. Better to keep up the pace rather than get recognized and have to hightail it out of there before someone came for him. Cops, old angry customers, those that he had, ahem, ''''borrowed'''' funds from.

Oddly enough, he wasn't really worried about that now. Sure someone might recognize him, but he was barely stopping to rest and eat as it was. Definitely less than any of his old trips backtracking through states, and he hadn't gotten recognized then!

Well, for the most part.

Okay, well maybe a couple times. But it had just been angry customers so that hadn't been bad, almost fun really. 'Ya can't blame me for you being a sucker! ' He'd told a particularly angry man as he ran out to his car. The look on his face was priceless. Good times.

Well… for the most part.

You don't exactly cross back into states you've been banned from because of good times. 'Banned states' should already have been enough of a hint to imply some bad times. He had almost ran out of states to get banned from though.

There were a few states scattered here and there, and he could still have gone to any of them. But hey! It'd been over ten years since he'd been in New Jersey so it'd be the best place to retrace back to, right? Even go to a different town. A city with POTENTIAL, too. Yeah, see? It was a great plan. Besides, it's not like he'd been technically 'BANNED' from the state per se. Sure, run outta town by an angry mob, but you know, no official banishment as far as he could remember.

Well… you know.

But the state itself was a different story...! He'd go somewhere new and fresh. Who wanted to go back to some dingy beach town anyways…

Not Stan Pines…
That's for sure…

Err- anyways, right, icy roads. Complete Bogus. God, see this is why driving for forty something hours with only hour naps was a bad idea, completely derails your train of thought.

Anyways, anyways. All the cold weather had made the drive absolutely suck, and it didn't really help that he was half expecting to arrive to a literal crime scene. Then it really didn't help when he actually made it to the town. It was a small town and while the highway was at least salted the further he went into town the more it came to a barely plowed single lane path. A snowy road with only one clear line running through it. He was willing to bet a single person was paid to plow the entire town. The plowing stopped entirely once he got on the icy dirt path into the woods.

The El Diablo turned slowly onto the path barely marked free of trees, the small curving line into the forest a better indicator than the snowed over road sign. He'd had to step out into the snow and wipe an arm over it to actually check the street name. Snow crunched under the wheels as he slowly went along, careful not to get stuck in any valleys as he was almost immediately surrounded by towering trees. He parked the car when he saw the house.

The wooden house sat silently, muted in the snow, mysterious barrels set out on the porch. A satellite that was covered in snow, and Stan couldn't help picking out small foreboding details.
The way that the mailbox looked frozen shut with uninterrupted ice like the snow over it had melted and refroze many times over without being opened once.
The distinct lack of any tracks. Although there WAS an ice encased squirrel somehow hanging on the cable. That was almost comforting.
…. The…..
That….

That fucking barbed wireperimeter.

"Oh, yeah, no," Stan scoffed to himself, gesturing with an arm at the house, "this isn't worrisome at all."

He got out of the car, shutting the door and crunching his way through the surprisingly shallow snow to the porch. He couldn't help feeling on edge, like any second some monster or goon was going to pop out at him from nowhere. The way Ford had been acting…

He couldn't help feeling there was something nearby just waiting for him to make a new step, get into just the right position. That was ridiculous though, there wasn't anything here… probably. He looked around behind him, you know, just… checking out the scenery.

Yup, snow… Great trees, too... Real uh... beautiful or whatever.

...Mmm, wow... Nature... and uh, you know, stuff.

Alright, that was enough of that.

He stepped up to the wooden porch to knock on the door, expecting the wood to creak underneath his foot, but no sound came.

There had barely been enough time for him to step back before the door swung open and almost immediately a crossbow was shoved out of the door, pointed at him. "Who is it?! Have you come to-!"

Stan grabbed the weapon and pulled it down and away from himself with a muttered curse. The weapon, surprisingly, was rather than met with resistance to hold on was pushed down and into his gut taking Stan by surprise, lowering him to the ground slightly. He let out a huff of air and dropped the crossbow, the weapon thudding onto the wooden paneling. He looked up and was faced with his brother holding onto a baseball bat raised and pulled back, poised to swing, he stopped though, having to actually pause the swing that had already started by a few inches.

The two froze for a moment, looking at each other, Ford still holding the bat in the air as he quickly scanned over Stan. Weirdly focused on staring into the depths of his soul. Well, that was what it felt with the way the other was intensely looking into his eyes like that.

Oh, jeez, he needed to say something or do something. Anything.

Stan rubbed the back of his head and stood up fully, and in response Ford went to set down his bat. Good start, this was good. Take the situation down a notch from crossbow in the face and jerking said crossbow out of hands.

"Stanley, did anybody follow you? Did anybody in town see you?" He asked, glancing out past Stan into the snow storm.

"Uh, no, I'm gonna go with 'no,'" he said, glancing back behind him. Before he could fully look back Ford had suddenly pulled him forward by his hoodie and a bright light was shined into his eyes. "Agh-! What is this?!" He grabbed the hand holding the offending flashlight and pulled it down first before pushing them both away. The other let him do so, even taking a few steps back past what was necessary for ordinary personal space. Stan rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles, blinking away dark spots making it hard to see now.

"I'm sorry, I had to be sure you weren't-" Stanley began to actually see his brother by this point, vision returning gradually, enough to realize he was casting a suspicious glance around the room, "-ah,it's nothing. Come in, come in." Ford urged him.

Stan complied, taking a few steps in and turned as Ford arced around him, purposefully avoiding sweeping past him too closely as he went back towards the door, closing it and- jesus. Stan's vision was back, and he watched as his brother slid back and turned not one lock but several of them. It was easy enough to tell which ones were originally part of the house, they were the ones actually on the door itself after all. Meanwhile, the new ones were screwed securely into the wall itself. There were five locks total, including a very sturdy deadbolt and all of them almost looked-

Ford began to turn back around and Stan quickly looked back up to his brother's face, not wanting to be caught staring. However, Ford didn't even look at him as he walked back around again, eyes on the floor. He swept past him, holding his coat closed with both of his hands up to his chest. "I wasn't sure you were actually- I didn't know if you were going to come or not." He admitted.

He followed after his brother, quickly glancing back at the locks on the door. Yup, new locks… "Look, are you gonna explain what's going on now that we're face to face?" He asked, looking around at the house as he went through the room. Scattered items, a practical mess, though at least it looked semi-organized. Could have been worse. Could have been blood-splattered with the door left open.

"Yes, yes, yes," the other answered distractedly, going towards a desk at the end of the room and fishing out a book and stack of papers, letting several papers fall to the ground carelessly. "I have to ensure that…" he paused and glanced, almost suspiciously, back at Stan, but it was only one glance and then he looked back down to the papers. He readjusted them with a journal in his grip as he turned back around, clutching them to his chest as he started walking back through the room and past Stan. "I've made huge mistakes and I don't know if anybody can be trusted."

Again, as Ford went to pass by Stan he arced around him slightly, but Stan went to catch him gently by his shoulder. "Hey-"

Before he could even touch Ford's shoulder though, Ford had whipped around and smacked his hand away from him. He still had his right hand clutched around the book and papers, arm curled up to hold it protectively against his chest. He eyed Stan for a moment, on edge, taking a couple of steps back to be out of reach. Then glanced down at the ground between them, the slight alarm diminishing.

"Hey…" again Stan tried to reach for Ford's shoulder, slower this time, but as he started to move his arm he could see Ford shifting backwards. He let his foot fall back to the ground and his hand to his own side. "Easy there. Why don't we talk this through," he suggested.

Ford brought his other hand up to the stack in his hand, holding the entirety of it securely in his grasp, looking to it. Then, determined, he looked back to Stan. "I have something to show you," he told him, "something you won't believe." He used one hand to brush aside his hand for effect.

"Look, alright, I've seen a lot. Whatever it is, it can't be much harder to understand than half the stuff going on in town." Stan replied with a smile, trying to ease him down.

Instead, Ford seemed to falter, seeming taken aback. "You- what's been going on in town? I thought you said nobody saw you." He said, almost accusingly.

"No, no, I didn't mean this town. Nobody here was even out to see me, besides they couldn't in the blizzard." He said, gesturing back. "I meant where I've been. Now that town, trust me, you wouldn't believe everything going on there."

Ford simply took just a half step backwards, seeming to go on guard, watching Stan carefully. "Like what?"

Suddenly, Stan regretted trying to play the joke, but he had already let that cat out of the bag now. "Well, there's a lot of wackos in town. Some of the stuff, they've been doing, yeesh." He laughed slightly, trying to ease Ford's obvious tension. Stan was only met with an unchanged Ford, still waiting for him to say more. "You know," he put his hands in his pockets, "some real nutcases, I don't even get this one guy, but I guess no one does. There's even some that go way overboard, like you wouldn't believe, just pulling out big stunts to steal some cash."

"I see." He replied simply, scanning over Stan.

It was silent for a little while, Stan giving Ford a rather long chance to say something or voice, you know, literally anything. Some effort would have been nice. Instead, all Ford did was pensively look at Stan, which he was actually pretty sure Ford was just staring into space if he was honest with himself. "Hey, so I did really think I was gonna come over here and find you dead or something. If you wanted to tell me what's going on or show me that thing…" He trailed off, expectantly.

"Right," Ford said absently. Then he actually seemed to focus on Stan. "Right, yes, this has been a highly precarious situation." He said, taking another step back. "One best handled carefully."

"Uh, okay?" Stan said, waiting. He looked back at his brother. He had almost seemed calm, even enough to do an unnecessary dramatic (c'mon who waves their hands like that, Sixer.) Now though? Now he looked just as cautious and on edge as he did opening the door. Then it hit Stan. "You're saying that I'm not careful?"

"This is a very important matter. I can't just let something happen."

Stan went to take a step forward, upset, and instantaneously Ford jumped back a foot, nearly out of the room by this point, hand going to the doorway. He watched Stan with a new sharp-eyed expectation, poised to bolt out of the room. It was oddly reminiscent of rabbits that had spotted you and went still, watching, ready for the next inch you moved.

"Christ, Ford. Calm down, okay?" Stan said, trying his best to ease him. He gestured slowly, as though a quick enough motion would be enough to set something off. "I'm not gonna bite your head off or anything, I just wanna know what the hell is going on. I mean, you did call me out to the middle of the goddamn woods talking about how I just 'had to' come right then and there."

"Well, I wouldn't have called you at all if I had known- I didn't even-" and then Ford put a hand up to his head, running it through his hair as he started talking almost to himself. "I didn't even ask you any questions. I just called. I didn't think-" he covered his mouth, seemingly appalled at himself.

Did he really think calling him was that big of a mistake…? "What?" Stan demanded, frustrated. "What's the problem?! You wanted to show me something and oh just because there's a bit of crime in my parts, SUDDENLY, you can't show me?! There's crime in every town, alright, pal. Besides, it's not like it means anything."

"It's obviously more dangerous where you are than most towns. For all I know there could be cultists there too!" He accused.

Stan crossed his arms, and looked aside. "Pshh, I don't know anything about any cults. D'ya hear yourself?"

There was at least one cult in Gotham, probably a few, in all honesty. However, there was no way in hell he was letting him know about that now. Well that, among a few other things.

"You don't understand, Stanley!" Ford immediately snapped back at him. "I only called you because I thought you'd be removed from dangerous people and apparently you're surrounded by them!"

Surrounded was definitely the right term considering all the criminals, but, again, Ford didn't know that. "You're just making assumptions, I never said there was a TON of them, just some, alright! Why does it even matter though? What did you call me over here for?!"

"I needed- I've been hiding my research. I was going to ask you to take the last piece and go far away to hide it, but that's out of the question now!"

"You just wanted me to come run an errand for you?!" Stan asked, almost sure he could physically feel some string of patience snapping inside of him.

"This isn't a shopping list, Stanley! It's extremely serious!"

"Well, you know, it sure sounds like it. Oh, WAIT! I wouldn't know about that because the only thing I know is that you're terrified of something happening and want to hide some kind of research!"

"I am- I am not 'terrified!'" Ford refuted. "I'm simply being careful"

"Oh, right." Stan replied, words dripping with sarcasm. "Because nothing says 'careful' like answering your front door with a fucking crossbow."

"I didn't know it was you!"

"Look, what's going on. Are you getting blackmailed, threatened, what's going on?!"

"That's not-"

"Is that why you didn't want to talk over the phone? Are you being watched?"

Ford froze at that, unable to keep his eyes from shifting around the room. Nail on the head.

Not that that wasn't already obvious, but he just wanted some kind of confirmation from Ford of what was going on. If he had to throw stuff at the wall until he could see what stuck then so be it. His brother had to have messed with something big or gotten bad attention... Or he had completely gone off the rails. Seeing the condition of the house and Ford himself he couldn't really rule out that option, but it wasn't one he was going to think about. Although… well he couldn't help really looking over his brother now that the thought had come up.

He was watching him, still paused in place, possibly holding his breath to keep himself from breathing. If he was actually breathing though, it had to be very slight. Clothes, a mess. Although, that coat looked like it hadn't been washed in months, so that was more of a long term lack of hygiene then really whatever had recently been happening. Hair, a mess. All over the place and he had stubble too. Face, a mess. That was putting it nicely too, his eyes had been near constantly shifting over anything and everything, like something was going to pop out at any moment. Not to mention the very obvious lack of sleep, bags under his eyes from who knows how long he'd gone without rest. Most of all though, the way he acted, the way he moved. He was like a cornered animal that seemed as likely to scrape something up as it was to run away and not stop until it was miles and miles away from anything dangerous.

Even now, Ford hadn't said anything back yet. Just stared back at Stanley with bright eyes full of something shiny and cold. As frozen as the shack itself they were in.

Stan took a deep breath, letting it back out slowly. "Alright," he said, with incredible bounds of patience, "you know, I came here to help you out of whatever mess you're in, so just tell me what I can do."

Ford blinked back at him, and looked aside, thinking, wheels in his head obviously turning over options. "You can…" he trailed off and it took another dozen seconds for him to continue, slowly, "You can't take the journal now…" and almost too quiet to hear, "unless maybe..."

He nodded his head to himself. "I need to think." He said slowly, still not looking at Stan as he walked off down the hall, hunched over with the book.

Stan simply stood there, taking in a slow deep breath as he heard the steps going off down the hallway. He let all his frustration out in a quiet and long stream of curses to the floor.

AUTHOR NOTES:

EDIT: If you're reading this - author's notes have indefinitely changed though I promise there have been no important in-story changes. The most I'm doing is fixing up grammar and spacing.