Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“It appears to be a Class M planet, Captain.”

Jim nodded at Spock’s words, staring at the image of the planet hovering before them in space. It bore all the signs of a Class M planet, blue and green and with continents that brought to mind those of Earth, if continental drift had taken a slightly different turn than it had back home.

“Any signs of attempted contact, Lieutenant Uhura?”

Lieutenant Uhura looked up from her station. “None, Captain. There are a few radio waves, but nothing more advanced than that.”

Jim looked towards Spock. “Anything to add?”

Spock turned to face him. “Scans reveal an abundance of Earth-like plant and animal life, and some evidence of a native population, presumably also Earth-like.”

Jim nodded again. “Take a landing party down, see if there’s anything to write home, or should I say Starfleet, about.”

“The presence of this planet alone would be enough to warrant a report to Starfleet, Captain.”

Jim smiled. “It’s what you call a ‘turn of phrase,’ Mr. Spock.”

“I was also aware of that, Captain.”

They looked at each other for a moment longer, amusement rippling across the bridge, before Jim commed Scotty and had him prepare the transporter room for a team of four.

Feeling was running high on the Enterprise. It had been quite a restful few days; their last hostile encounter had been defused quite handily with Jim’s signature blend of charm and tactics, and Spock’s impeccable logic. Even Bones had, at least to Jim, seemed almost tranquil that day, if that was possible.

Yes, things had been going very well indeed on the Enterprise, and as Jim watched Spock exit the bridge to collect a landing party, he hoped that nothing would disturb this recent bout of tranquility. Things always seemed to go sideways when they went down to a planet, especially a previously uncharted one.

Jim turned back to the screen and mentally chided himself for his gloom and doom attitude. Things didn’t always go wrong when they went planet-side, in fact most of the time - well, some of the time - things went quite smoothly and well. The party would collect a few samples, observe, maybe speak with a few natives if they felt so inclined, and then beam back to the ship. Nothing untoward would happen, and everyone could go on with their day.

But then sometimes the landing party would bring back an alien virus, or be infiltrated by a shapeshifter, or get captured by hostile alien peoples intent on torture and murder. But, Jim resolutely reminded himself, that wasn’t all the time.

Even though it seemed like it happened a lot.

But today it wouldn’t happen, Jim told himself. No, today it was going to be a routine visit, nothing untoward would happen, maybe Spock would come and tell him about some interesting life-form later, or Sulu would gain a new plant, and everything would be fine.

Much, much later, when Jim found himself being pulled from smoking, mechanical wreckage by (to him but to no one else) a frantic Spock he reflected, for a brief moment, that if he had known then what he knew now, he would have ordered Chekov to set a course far away from that planet as soon as it had come in sight, and that warp factor 10 was the minimum amount of speed needed.

But that was all to come in the future, and Jim thought no more doom and gloom thoughts after Spock left the bridge.

***

Stanford Pines was beyond excited that he had been selected by Commander Spock to be a member of the landing party. Of course he had known that the commander had approved of his work, but since his transfer to the Enterprise he hadn’t had the opportunity to go planet side yet.

Not that this had anything to do with him, Ford knew that, it was simply circumstances, but a small part of him still thought, in the back of his mind, that he was going to be passed up again. And with this in mind, he had worked harder. And harder. So hard, in fact, that twice during the last week alone, Commander Spock had looked over his work and pronounced it “Fascinating, Lieutenant Pines.”

Ford had barely contained his excitement. It didn’t matter that no one in the science department spoke to him anymore, not since that horribly embarrassing incident in the cafeteria, when he had mistaken the replicator pie for actual pie (Ford’s palate was not the most sophisticated in the world) and the subsequent floor-wide laughter that had resulted from that social blunder. People were still talking about it, Ford bet, behind his back. Everyone always looked at him strange, sneering, jealous… and mocking.

He thought he had left that behind when he joined Starfleet. Surely among the alien races nobody would care about his…differences. But Ford had quickly learned that a human who deviated from the norm stood out just as much, possibly even more, in a backdrop of diverse alien races.

But none of that mattered. Starfleet, despite it’s drawbacks, had proven to be as near to heaven as Ford was going to get while still breathing.

It still made him giddy to think of the vast amounts of knowledge that were at his fingertips now, and the copious amounts of weirdness that he could see and discover. As the Enterprise’s only resident “Unusualoligist,” Ford found many things to study and note, and had already filled two journals worth with his research.

He didn’t know what exactly all the weirdness was leading to, but he had a theory. For now he simply called it the Grand Unified Theory of Weirdness, and, at its simplest, it boiled down to this:

1. All the weirdness in the universe was interconnected, somehow, and
2. It all came from somewhere, and it was trying to go back to somewhere.

This new planet would be the perfect way to begin his third journal, Ford mused, as he stepped into the transporter room. He ignored the sneers of the other members of the landing party (excluding Commander Spock, of course, who was above such emotional things as sneers) at the sight of his journal on a strap like a tricorder. He knew it was primitive and probably, at the end of the day, impractical, but there was just something soothing about writing flowing cursive on it’s crinkley pages. It also helped him think.

The ensign at the control board beamed them down, and they appeared on the planet’s surface.

Ford blinked and adjusted his glasses. They had materialized in the middle of some woods, and the trees stretched above their heads in a manner that was almost eerily Earth-like, though very unfamiliar from the parts of Earth that Ford had known. Glass Shard Beach hadn’t exactly been known for it’s greenery. Or it’s scenery for that matter. The only thing it had been known for was it’s taffy, which Ford and (don’t think about him) …someone else had thought was awful.

As Ford wandered off into the woods, responding vaguely to Commander Spock’s orders to be cautious, he wondered why (don’t think about him) had come into his mind. But he didn’t think about him.

He was too busy with this planet.

It really was truly remarkable how like Earth it was. It even smelled the way Ford had always imagined a pine forest would smell, sharp and fresh and, for lack of a better, word, green.

Ford examined a tree and found it was nearly a text book copy of a Ponderosa Pine, right down to the butterscotch scent of the bark. Fascinating.

Ford wandered further, stopping to examine and sketch a very interesting moth, black and with a pattern of skulls and, oddly enough, crosses? Ford finished his sketch and labeled it “Goth Moth?” Hopefully someone besides himself would be amused by the joke.

He had been dimly aware of being followed, at some distance of course, by another member of the landing party, some young man whose name he didn’t know (and didn’t really care to know), but as he straightened up from lying on the ground, where he had been laying as he sketched the moth, he came to realization that he was alone.

Ford looked around. There was no one. He was alone. He thought that maybe he should return to where the rest of the landing party no doubt was, but this world was just so interesting, and the wind was blowing through the trees and making a sound not unlike the ocean, and the sun was shining so bright, and it was almost like being back on Earth again, that he decided to keep exploring. That was what they were there to do, wasn’t it? Explore strange new worlds? Though this world didn’t seem that strange, really.

But Ford had a hunch. A weird feeling, not really in the back of his mind, more like the back of his head, like something was pushing him, guiding him, told him to go up that hill and see what he found.

Ford turned and looked around. But the feeling was so insistent, the feeling that if he just went up that hill, and looked around, he’d find something so weird, so strange, so utterly and completely fascinating that everything would be worth it. He’d find the answer to his theory, he’d be famous, he’d be respected, and then everyone would see, everyone would know, everyone would be forced to acknowledge that he was better than they were, had always been better, and…

Ford cut that train of thought off before it went any further, and dismissed the disturbed sensation. For just a moment there…but that was silly. Ford began to walk up the hill.

For just a moment there…it had felt like his mind had been invaded.

***

It took Ford a while to get up to the top of the hill, and at the top he had found, strangely enough, a cave.

After checking his comm to make sure no one had tried to contact him, Ford took one last look around and then plunged into the cave.

It was dark, as caves generally were (it would have been quite concerning if it hadn’t been dark) and water dripped from the stalactites and fell to the floor with soft pings.

As Ford crept further into the cave, he reached for the flashlight he always carried and flicked it on. The walls presented no unusual characteristics, appearing as cave walls were generally expected to appear, at least when on Earth, so they followed through with the Class M properties of the planet.

Ford was just beginning to think that the cave was a lost cause, and that he should leave and search for something else, when the beam of his flashlight caught something off to the side. Ford turned back, and saw a mural.

The mural was huge, taking up nearly the whole cave wall, and by style alone Ford mentally dated it to this planet’s Stone Age. It depicted a massive yellow triangle, with what appeared to be a single eye emblazoned upon it. It was surrounded by crouched figures, presumably worshipers. Next to this mural was another, smaller mural. Ford sat down, propped up his flashlight so that it faced both of the murals, took out his journal, and began to draw. He didn’t bother sketching the first mural, but this one…this one was important. The wheel with the arcane symbols, the strange glyphs, and again the single eyes triangle emblazoned in the center. It all felt extremely important to Ford, not to mention weird, and so it must be noted. It would be a fine addition to the ship’s science archives.

As he sketched Ford noticed that the glyphs, while at first nonsensical, began to make more and more sense the more he looked at them. In fact, they began to look less like symbols and more like words…words that could be understood if he just…looked at them…a little…longer…

In a burst of lightning their meaning became clear to Ford. They spoke…they spoke, to him and only him, of a being…a being of pure knowledge, a being that could be summoned if one simply spoke a few simple, really quite small words, so easily summoned, so quickly and easily summoned. It would be so easy, to say those words, and gain that knowledge.

Ford started. That thought had really come out of nowhere. He shook his head and returned to his sketching.

But it would be so easy just to say those words. There weren’t even that many of them.

Ford resolutely kept drawing. He was not going to let some mere passing fancy interrupt his scientific research.

But this was scientific research, the thoughts insisted. Just say the words out loud and think of all the knowledge that could be his!

Ford did something he would later come to regret and answered back to the thoughts with he was absolutely FINE pursuing knowledge on his own, thank you very much. He didn’t need to piggy-back off someone else’s work.

But this wasn’t piggy-backing, nothing of the sort. This was just looking for advice. There was nothing wrong with that. Besides, if he didn’t look for advice, what would become of his research?

Ford started at that. What? He thought.

Your research, Ford. The thought said. The were feeling less and less like something that he was thinking, and more like something someone was thinking at him. You haven’t really come very far with it, have you? You’re thirty years old and all you have to show for your life is two archaic journals filled with insects and plants. Hardly the stuff that will make it into the history books.

My research is sound. Ford thought angrily.

Never said it wasn’t, it just lacks…direction. It needs a bigger picture.

It has a bigger picture. The Grand Unified Theory of Weirdness. Ford shifted and wondered if the cave had always been this cold.

Not big enough. Thinking small never got anyone into the history books, Fordsy.

Ford jolted upright at the jarring nickname. How could these be just his own thoughts? But they had to be. It’s not like they could be anyone else’s.

But…the thoughts, his thoughts, he was right. He didn’t really have much to show. His research wasn’t really going anywhere, and it was time he stopped denying it. Time was running out. Time was always running out and he hadn’t done anything and what if he never did anything then he’d be forgotten then he’d be nothing then he’d be just like (don’t think about him) then everyone would be right and they would all be right and he was just a nothing a waste of space and…and…

He needed advice. He needed guidance. And this really couldn’t hurt.

Ford picked up his flashlight and shone it full upon the mural. He ignored the ancient warning about curses and other such nonsense scrawled upon the wall, above the mural. He took a deep breath, looked around one last time, and read the words out loud.

Nothing happened. Of course nothing happened. Ford lowered the flashlight and let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

He picked up his journal and began to walk out of the cave, but before he left he looked back.

Funny…he could have sworn he heard the sound of someone laughing…

But it was probably just the wind.

Chapter Text

Ensign Elizabeth Taylor grumbled as she forged through the undergrowth. Of course that weirdo Pines would have to wander off, and of course she would be the one tasked to go find him. Not that it was really hard, the location on his comm said that he was a few dozen feet ahead, but still. Why had he gone all the way up here? It’s not like there was anything interesting on this planet anyway. It was just like the woods back on Earth, where she had grown up. She could have told Commander Spock that, but did anyone listen to her? No. Of course not.

She silently cursed as she felt a branch brush against her hair, and then held perfectly still. Well maybe she would get lucky and that wouldn’t make…

And…her hair fell down.

She wound her hair into a bun and tied it off. When she found Pines he was going to get it. It took her forever to do her hair. Hours of her life sacrificed every day so that it could look halfway decent. She didn’t know how the officers did it every day. Maybe she should just cut it, like Mary kept suggesting.

But she liked her hair, even though it was troublesome sometimes.

After another minute of making sure that her hair was secure she forged on again.

Eventually she had to stop and get her bearings. She looked around. Trees. Trees everywhere. If she closed her eyes it would be like she was back in Oregon again, and not on some distant planet beyond the farthest known reaches of the galaxy…

She actually had closed her eyes for a moment, and let herself relax into the breeze. It was a very nice breeze, soothing, calming, neither warm nor cold but just perfect for a summer day in the woods…

She opened her eyes, took a deep breath, and scratched her hand. Then she scratched it again. And again. Why was it so itchy?

She looked down, and was too confused to scream.

Her hand was covered in mosquito bites. So, so many mosquito bites. And before she could start to worry about what kind of horrifying diseases she would catch from alien mosquito bites she realized that the bites on her arms were arranged in a pattern…and not just any pattern, but words…

Words in English.

Elizabeth held her arm closer to her face.

“Batch. Out. For. Will,” she muttered. She blinked. “ ‘Batch out for Will’?” She stretched out her hand and looked at it again, head tilted. “Am I reading this right?”

“Ugh.” She put her hand down. She was done. “Lieutenant Pines!” She yelled. No answer except for a startled flock of birds to explode out of a nearby tree. “Lieutenant Pines!” She yelled again. “I know you’re out here! Come on! We’re leaving now!” She waited. No answer.

Elizabeth began to walk forward, hands cupped around her mouth. “If I can’t find you in thirty seconds I’m telling Commander Spock you were eaten by a plant!”

As Elizabeth kept walking, she considered, very seriously, just turning around and doing just that. She knew exactly what would happen. Commander Spock would sigh and look exasperated, or the nearest he could come to it anyway, then they’d beam back up to the ship, everyone would observe a moment of silence for the tragic loss of life, and then they’d be gone. She’d never have to worry about standing next to Pines in line ever again, or being across the lab from him when he exploded something (which happened more often then not). He’d probably be happy to be left on this planet, anyway, she told herself.

But of course she couldn’t actually leave him here, so she pressed forward, checked her comm for his signal and geez, according to the darn thing Pines was right in front of her but she couldn’t see him and her weird bites were itching SO BAD and…

And the tree line abruptly ended, and Elizabeth stumbled out into a clearing. There was an aspen tree in the middle, or whatever this planet’s version of an aspen tree was, and underneath it was none other than Lieutenant Stanford Pines. Asleep.
He was ASLEEP.

Elizabeth was mad. Really mad. She had spent who knows how long crawling through the undergrowth, her hair had gotten messed up, she had been bitten by alien mosquitos who couldn’t spell so she was probably going to die now or whatever and all this time Pines had been ASLEEP?!?! He could have at least had a little common courtesy and been in deadly peril or, maybe if today had actually been a good day, dead!

She marched over where he lay, propped against the tree trunk, head sunk down on his chest, dumb archaic pretentious journal clasped in his arms. She grabbed his shoulder and shook it vigorously.

“Pines!” She snapped. He didn’t respond. “PINES!” She yelled, before she remembered that he was a lieutenant and she could get in trouble for addressing him so disrespectfully. “Lieutenant Pines!” She said again, slightly more respectful.

He still didn’t respond. Elizabeth began to get worried. What if he was actually dead? Oh no, if he was actually dead there would be so much paperwork for her to fill out!

“Lieutenant Pines!” She tried again. Just as she was about to signal for help on her comm he gasped awake.

Elizabeth sprang back. She got…she got this undeniable sense that something was very, very wrong, but she couldn’t say what. Maybe it was the way Pines looked wildly around, like he expected to be somewhere entirely different, or the way he didn’t even SEE her for the first few seconds, and looked through her face into something beyond. Maybe it was the way that he was breathing hard and fast, almost panicked sounding. But mostly it was the way that his eyes seemed to flash briefly yellow, before going glazed.

Elizabeth told herself it was just his glasses. It was just the flash of his glasses. That was all. There was nothing wrong.

Finally he seemed to come back to himself, and looked at her in surprise. “Who are you?” He asked. He sounded genuinely curious.

“It’s Ensign Taylor, Lieutenant Pines.”

He blinked at her. No sign of recognition.

“…Our work stations are across from each other?”

He blinked again and a light of remembrance came back to his face. “Oh! Yes. Of course.”

He stood up. “Why…are you here?”

Elizabeth sighed. “It’s time to go back to the ship. You didn’t answer when we called your comm, so Commander Spock sent me to go get you.” She straightened the hem of her uniform. “You do remember Commander Spock, I hope?” She added sarcastically. She was going to get back at him somehow for this, respect be darned.

He blinked and looked around the meadow. “Yes, of course.” Her sarcasm was completely lost on him, and Elizabeth supposed she should be grateful, since she wouldn’t get in trouble because of that. But she was not.

“We should…get going then.” Pines abruptly wheeled away from her and began to walk out of the field, and Elizabeth followed.

As she stepped across the tree line she stopped and a chill went down her spine. She whipped around to face the field again. It was empty, perfectly empty.

She shivered. She thought…she could have sworn she heard laughter. High, loud, disturbing, echoey laughter.

“Did you hear anything, Lieutenant Pines?” She asked, turning her head to look at him, or the back of him, since he was already in the woods.

He stiffened. He didn’t turn his head to reply to her. “Absolutely not, Ensign. We should hurry. Don’t want to keep anyone waiting.”

With that he practically ran through the trees. Elizabeth took off after him, feeling another chill.

She had definitely heard something. And so had Pines. And he had lied about it.

And now every knot in the tree looked like an eye. A single eye. Watching.

Waiting.

Planning.

For the first time since she had signed up for Starfleet, Elizabeth wished she had stayed in Oregon.

***

“But Commander, you don’t understand! We HAVE to go up that hill, we HAVE to! There’s something important up there! Something that needs us! We have to go, just for a look! Just for five minutes that’s all I need you have got to give me five minutes please, I beg of you, if you have one decent bone in your body you have got to let me up that hill!”

Lieutenant Daniels was in tears by now, groveling in the dirt at Spock’s feet. He had begun this curious display of uncharacteristic emotion approximately three point one four minutes after they had beamed down, and with an increase in intensity and frequency of requests of thirty four percent a minute.

Fascinating. But inconvenient.

“Please…” Daniels sobbed. He was clawing at the dirt now, as the other members of the landing party watched in shock. “You’ve got to let me…”

Extremely inconvenient.

“Lieutenant, if you cannot control yourself you are going to be placed under physical restraint until such time as you can control yourself.”

Lieutenant Daniels stood up immediately, and even though he was still quietly sobbing, he did not make any other untoward moves.

Spock made a mental note to have Daniels placed under observation. And the rest of the landing party as well, to prevent any similar outbursts.

His comm buzzed, interrupting his thoughts. It was Ensign Taylor.

“Sir? I found Lieutenant Pines. We’re heading back now.”

“Affirmative.” Spock commed the transporter room. “Lieutenant? Prepare to beam the landing party aboard in five minutes.”

Spock heard the sound of Ensign Taylor’s grumbling before he saw her, and soon enough she emerged from the trees, hair array and wearing a very open and obvious expression of chagrin.

Lieutenant Pines appeared directly behind her, and hung back for three quarters of a second longer then was necessary. He appeared to be listening to something.

Ensign Taylor spared Lieutenant Pines not a single look as she marched up to the rest of the landing party. She shot Daniels a dirty look and he immediately ceased sobbing. Ensign Taylor had a distinct…aura when she was irritated.

Spock noticed that there were red marks on Ensign Taylor's right hand, covering approximately seventy-three percent of the back of her hand.

She sighed and held up her hand. "Some type of...mosquito. Guess I'm going to have to go sick bay."

The marks did, indeed, appear to be of the same kind as those perpetuated by the aedes albopictus. The bites also arranged themselves in a pattern, a pattern in English. Spock leaned closer and read what they said. "Batch Out For Will."

Fascinating. This planet appeared to contain more than at first met the eye, for an otherwise standard Class M planet.

Spock glanced toward Lieutenant Pines, who was standing off to the side, looking at the ground. Nothing appeared to be wrong with him, but...

Something was wrong.

There was not anything physically wrong, that Spock could see. But there was just something...off. Something not quite right in the way he was standing, in the way he held himself and kept darting glances at the woods. It was almost how Lieutenant Daniels had been acting, before he collapsed.

Spock resolved to keep an eye on Lieutenant Pines for the next coming days. Just in case.

***

Ford could barely believe it. Even though it had happened only five or so minutes ago he could still hardly believe it. A higher being had picked…him! Ford! Stanford Filbrick Pines from Glass Shard Beach New Jersey! He was the one! The one genius in a millennium chosen!

Ford rubbed his arms, feeling cold. A genius. He was a GENIUS! It was him, it had always been him, and now everything that had happened, every hurt and pain and broken trust didn’t matter anymore, were even occasions for celebration, because they had all led him here, to Bill, to Bill who understood, who had looked at him with such understanding, Ford hadn’t even known something with only a single eye could just exude such commiseration, and he wasn’t just here to comfort Ford, as nice as that would have been, no, no, he was here to HELP, to make sure that Ford wasn’t forgotten and looked over and sneered at any longer.

“Ya see Fordsy,” Bill had said, moving a knight up a terrace. They were playing three-dimensional chess. He had even known that was Ford’s favorite (well, second favorite) game. “You’ve got something special, I can see that, anyone can see that, and you’re going to do great things! Heck, I’ve never even seen anyone with a mind as sharp as you, and I’ve been around the block! Tesla, Hawking, Jobs, Cochrane! And let me tell you, kid, all of them were like moths, killing themselves on the lightbulb that is your brilliance!”

Bill had laughed then, very loudly, and Ford had tried to hide the sudden blush that had risen to his face at the unusual compliment. Was it possible to blush in a dream? Bill didn’t seem to have noticed, and continued, wiping an overly large tear from his eye as Ford made his move.

“The point is, kid, you’re going places! You probably don’t even need my help! But here’s the kicker, Sixer…”

Ford didn’t flinch at the nickname. He didn’t, he truly didn’t.

Bill had suddenly grown serious. His single eye bored into Ford.

“Humans don’t live that long, kid, and at the rate you’re going…”

At those words, those simple words, Ford had felt a rush a panic. It was all coming back now, all those feelings of urgency, the feeling that time, precious irreplaceable time, was slipping through his fingers no matter how hard he tried to catch it. No one had ever understood, everyone had always wondered why he was in such a hurry.

Abruptly a memory appeared in front of them, obscuring the chess board, of Ford, eight or nine, running along the beach with (don’t think about him), trying to keep up and feeling that panic of being left behind for the first time. Of his mother’s face, asking him to take a little rest between study sessions, of all his professors at Starfleet, half-laughing, half-concerned, asking if all those extra classes were really necessary, and maybe he should slow down a bit and let others catch a breath?

And there it was, that old panic of being left behind, of running, running, running to keep up in the sinking sand, that old, ever present fear of being left behind, of, no matter how hard he tried, just not being enough…

“They were all so jealous of you, weren’t they, Fordsy?” Bill had interrupted.

Ford had blinked up at him, the memory dissolving. “Jealous?” He had asked.

“Jealous of your drive, Fordsy, your determination! They knew they could never come even close to you, and so they tried to bring you down in any way possible! Remember Crampelter?”

Ford had clenched his hands. Bill was right. They had all been jealous, every last one of them, jealous that he was smart, that he actually did the work and made them look bad.

Bill understood. He was the only one who understood. Even though he had only known him for such a short time Ford already knew that Bill was someone he could give himself to, mind body and soul.

And when Bill had held out his hand and had asked for something so small as to be let into his mind, Ford had eagerly shaken it. It was so easy. So incredibly easy, and Ford only started a little when the hand caught aflame in blue fire that didn’t burn.

As Ford waited for the beam up, he was astounded at how…strange he felt. His mind felt roomier already, and it felt like…like he could see new colors!

Maybe he could. He would have to ask Bill (his Muse, part of him insisted) about that later, whenever he decided to bless Ford with his presence again. Ford hoped it would be soon. Soon, soon, soon, just so he could hear that strange, other-worldly voice again, bask in his presence, receive the light of his patronage, to be looked at and seen and acknowledged as worthy, as special…

As adequate. As enough.

Ford barely noticed the beam up, and blinked slowly, seeing the transporter room with new eyes. His eyes traveled around, noting the walls, swimming with new colors, his eyes traveling up the control booth to…to…

Ford could barely believe his eyes. In fact, he blinked, removed his glasses, rubbed his eyes, and put them back on. But he was still there. A man Ford hadn’t seen in years, not since he’d graduated from the Academy, a man who had been, and always would be, his dearest friend…

“Fiddleford?” He said. For a moment nobody else in the room moved.

Fiddleford (it was him! It was really him!) stood, one hand still resting on the controls, staring at him, looking as surprised as Ford felt.

“Stanford Pines?” He whispered.

Ford nodded, the biggest smile he had had in ages beginning to creep across his face. Ignoring regulations, proper rules of conduct, what others would think of him, ignoring everything because none of that mattered anymore because Fiddleford was here, he was HERE in front of him, Ford stepped off the transporter platform and ran across the short distance to Fiddleford.

And like two magnets clicking together at long last, they embraced.

They stood like that in silence for a moment, and Ford marveled at the fact that even though years had passed and so much had changed (mostly in this afternoon) it still felt the same, and Fiddleford was still ever-so-slightly taller than him and still, miraculously, managed to smell of hay and early mornings.

They pulled back and grinned at each other, and Ford was happy that his eyes were still the same shade of sky blue. Though that was silly. Why would they have changed? It still felt nice though.

“Stanford Pines as I live and breath!” Fiddleford (Fidds, his brain insisted. Or F or Fiddle or any of the other myriad of nicknames he had had for him in the past) said. “How long has it been? Don’t answer that, too long!”

He smiled, the same sweet, sincere smile that Ford remembered. “Gosh, it is good to see you again! How’ve you been? Living the dream?”

“It’s been great, Fidds, absolutely amazing, but what I want to know is how did you get here? When did you get here? Weren’t you working out at Palo Alto with that warp core innovations department? Please don’t tell me you’ve been here the whole time and I somehow missed you!”

Fidds chuckled. Ford had forgotten how much he missed that sound.

“I was in Palo, for a good many years! But recently I’ve been getting itchy feet, and I felt the call to see the stars! So, here I am! And here, by the merest coincidence, are you!”

Ford laughed. “So you finally felt the call of discovery, have you? I didn’t think anything would be enough to seduce you away from your workshop! So what do you think? Willing to admit that I was right all along?”

Ford let out a breath, not really a sigh - he was too happy for that - but, well, almost a sigh. “To think we could have been out here together from the very beginning! What changed?”

Fidds looked away, and his voice dropped to a near mutter. “Well, Ford, uh, the truth is…”

There was a very loud sound in the doorway, and Ford and Fiddleford both whipped their heads around.

Doctor McCoy was standing (really leaning) in the doorway, coughing into his fist. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

Ford became aware of two things. Item One: He was still standing practically in Fiddleford’s arms. Item Two: Everyone in the transporter room was staring at him and Fiddleford with the keenest of interest. Item Two Point One: Commander Spock was raising an eyebrow at the both of them.

Fiddleford apparently became aware of both of those things as well, because he blushed a deep shade of red before hurriedly stepping back and putting his hands behind his back. He then stared at the ground as if it required his unswerving attention to continue existing.

“Now as much as I love a tender moment, Mr. Spock called me up here because it appears that the planet had an…” Doctor McCoy paused and looked pointedly at Lieutenant Daniels. Ford noticed just now that the man appeared to have been crying. That was strange. McCoy’s glance shifted to Ensign Taylors, who was scratching her hand.

Ford remembered there had been some kind of red marks on it, but he hadn’t really seen what they were.

“Adverse affect on some of you. Because of that, all of you are to be examined, and some of you placed under observation.”

He turned back towards Ford and Fiddleford. “That is, if you two are finished with your touching reunion.”

Ford felt his face flush. “Uh - yes, sorry.”

As they filed out, Ford turned back. “We can talk again later! At dinner! Or something! I’ll find you!”

The last thing Ford saw before the doors slid shut was Fiddleford’s smile.

All thought of Bill and what he had said was gone from his minds, replaced with plans of what, exactly he would say to Fiddleford. Everything, of course, but in what order?

Ford turned this problem over in his mind all through Doctor McCoy’s examination, and practically ran out of the sickbay when it was finished.

Engineering, he had to go down to engineering, Fidds had been wearing red, that’s where he would be, Ford had to find him they had so much to talk about!

***

Somewhere in another universe, in another dimension that tended to explode a human’s brain within five second, Bill tapped one finger on his throne as he watched Ford run through the halls of the Enterprise, banging into walls and, once, slamming into a door before it had the chance to fully open.

All had gone better than expected, which was great since the arrival of a genius with daddy issues and a crippling need for outside validation hadn’t been expected at all. In fact what Bill had expected to happen was having to seduce some dumb as bricks native of this miserable he was stuck on to build a portal out of weeds or something. And that had gone SO WELL last time.

That was sarcasm. He was being sarcastic.

But to have the multiverse basically vomit ol’ Fordsy into his lap? If he didn’t know better, he’d think the Axolotl owed him a favor or something.

In fact, everything had been just peachy until that…hayseed showed up.

Bill did not like what that hick had done, at all. In the, what, ten seconds they had talked to each other all thoughts of Bill and his greatness had fled Sixer’s mind. Poof! Gone. Well not really gone, obviously, but buried under such a giant, stinking mound of nostalgia and truly disgusting affection that they might as well be gone.

Bill’s tapping grew more insistent. What had even happened there? What did that guy have to gain from…whatever that interaction just was? There hadn’t been anything, no requests, no invocation of past favors owed, nothing! Yet Sixer was basically transformed into a puppy dog, all wagging tail and eagerness to please.

He had been like that with Bill a few minutes ago, but with a heavy dose of sycophancy added to the mix, which was to Bill’s liking.

The tapping got louder, and turned into pounding. The Henchmaniacs began to spread out.

Bill was getting too heated up over this. He calmed himself down by throwing a bolt of lightning at Keyhole. Man, watching that guy get fried was like therapy (WHICH HE DIDN’T NEED) to Bill.

After Keyhole dragged himself to some flea-infested corner of the Fearamid to lick his wounds, Bill felt calmer.

There was no need to overthink this. Fordsy was just riding the emotional high that was nostalgia, that was all. Soon he’d come back down to Earth and begin praying to see Bill again. And if Bill knew Ford, (he did, probably better than the sap knew himself), he’d be praying to see Bill again real soon. No one would be able to give Ford that validation he so desperately craved, especially not that hick.

All Bill would have to do was wait. Ford would be begging for inspiration soon enough. And Bill would give it to him.

Boy would Bill give it to him.

Bill laughed out loud at the thought. Everyone joined in, even though they didn’t know why in the heck he was laughing.

It was going to be HILARIOUS stringing Ford along. Bill could hardly wait. In the meantime, he’d think of all the ways he could manipulate the sucker into doing exactly what he wanted and more.

Bill deliberately did not think about the hayseed. He was not a problem.

He was not.