Tea and Caring - a Ford/Arthur fic
Hello, people of the Guideslash community. I'm aware this place hasn't been very active at all lately, but I'm here to post an Arthur/Ford fic I wrote because I thought this might be a good place to post it and have people see it and yeah. Some information about it:
Title: Tea and Caring
Pairing: Arthur/Ford
'Verse: It could be any, really; as I wrote this, I envisioned Arthur and Ford looking as I headcanoned them when reading the book, but I see no reason why this fic shouldn't work with any version of Hitchhiker's Guide.
Rating: G
Word count: 2,820
Warnings: There are themes of loss here, especially towards the end, and I'm aware some people find this triggering. Other than that, no warnings whatsoever. It's really just amusing fluff (and an exploration of a headcanon I have regarding Ford and the fact that, even though he doesn't seem to care much for anyone, he maintained his relationship with Arthur for so long).
Other notes: I attempted to sound as much like Douglas Adams as was possible while writing this.
“I’ve got something to tell you, Arthur.”
“What, that we’re headed to another bloody planet without tea?”
The two sat side-by-side on a bench-like seat built into the wall of this particular part of the Heart of Gold. They’d been traveling from random place to random place for a while now, and while Arthur had grown semi-accustomed to this lifestyle now, he still longed for a real cup of tea.
“Well, no,” said Ford. “This one might have tea. The Guide says that this planet, Gazigabart III, has developed something very much like tea. They call it hyper-steamed ultra-leaf juice, though.”
“That - that sounds terrible.”
“Isn’t that basically what tea on Earth was, though?”
“Well, yes, I suppose so. But it’s got ‘hyper’ and ‘ultra’ in its name, and that just ruins the entire effect.”
“What was that thing one of your Earth poets said, ‘A tea by any other name would taste just as sweet?’ It was Mark Twain who said that, I think?”
“Shakespeare. ‘A rose by any other name would smell just as sweet’.”
“Tea, rose. It’s the same in this situation.”
“If it’s not tea, then it doesn’t matter.”
“Well…” Ford hadn’t initiated this whole conversation simply to have Arthur complain about tea. There was, in fact, an entirely different matter that had motivated the talk, and the prospect of Arthur hijacking it and turning it into a discussion about tea felt much like the prospect of going into a pet store to buy a dog and hearing the shopkeeper eulogize about their recently-deceased hamster.
“If it doesn’t matter,” Ford said, “can I tell you something?”
“Is it important?”
“Yeah, I’d say so.”
“Does it concern tea?”
“Tea? Uh, no, not particularly. But it’s important.”
“If it doesn’t concern tea, I don’t want to hear about it.”
Arthur’s refusal to hear about anything not regarding tea was shocking and a bit hurtful to Ford. All he had wanted to do was explain a very serious and relevant issue that he thought Arthur should know, and his friend of over half a decade just wanted to complain about tea.
“Arthur, is there something I ought to know about your current feelings towards tea, other than that you have a one-track mind regarding it right now?”
“I’ve been so long without a proper cup of tea, Ford, you can’t possibly begin to imagine the stress it gives me.”
“Well, actually, I can.”
“No. There’s no way you could possibly even begin. What you don’t understand about humans is that they need tea. Well, perhaps it’s not humans in general. Perhaps it’s just the English. Or perhaps it’s just me. But I have a deep physical need for tea and I’m going through terrible withdrawal right now.”
This was a very difficult place for Ford to find himself. On one hand, he was going through his own personal stress in trying to make the point he wanted to make, but on the other hand, if he tried to make it now, it would just upset his friend, and this deliberate upsettling would conflict with what he intended to say.
“Well, Arthur, if you want to ramble about tea, uh…go ahead. If there’s something you need to talk to me about, I’m listening. Just, uh, just don’t make it too long.”
“Oh?” This surprised Arthur Dent. He wasn’t expecting Ford, usually too cool and admittedly self-absorbed to actually consider people other than himself, to say anything like this. This was the kind of thing actual friends said to each other, the kind who had some sort of real concern for each other and who didn’t see each other merely as fixtures of each other’s lives (which was an accurate description of the relationship Arthur and Ford shared).
“Yeah,” said Ford. “Go on. Tell me about…tea.”
“Well.” Arthur began to make awkward hand gestures as though to facilitate his discussion. He stopped when he realized they were useless. “The lovely thing about tea is…it’s got this taste to it, no matter what kind of tea it is - Earl Gray, English Breakfast, Chamomile, anything you’d care to name - it’s got this taste that makes you feel as though everything is right with the world.”
“When you say the world,” said Ford, “do you mean the Earth specifically? Because that’s not there anymore so you obviously can’t have everything being ‘right’ with it. Hang on, that comment was probably very insensitive wasn’t it?”
“Somewhat.”
“I ought to apologize for it. I apologize.”
“That - that was a very nice apology.”
“Now, continue about tea. What did you want to say about it?”
“Oh. Right. Well, it has this taste, you see -”
“We’ve gone over that, yes.”
“And the way it steams up as you’re making it, that also contributes to a sense of universal stability.”
“Oh, so when you say the world, you mean the universe.”
“I suppose. I was just using the world universally where it means all-encompassing but I suppose references to the actual universe would make sense as well, especially in light of all the madness I’ve gotten myself caught up in lately.”
“You mean, eh, you mean all the madness I’ve dragged you into,” Ford said apologetically.
“I suppose. Well, anyway, everything has been going so insane and I wish I had some tea. That’s the only thing I really want out of life anymore, Ford. All I want is a cup of tea.”
“That’s all you want. Well. That’s -” Ford shrugged and reached for Arthur’s hand, taking it in his and patting it in the way a particularly touchy-feely friend might if the other participant in the interaction was just as touchy-feely and was expecting such a response. Arthur became dimly aware that Ford was performing this action, and he wondered why, but it wasn’t a particularly strong sense of wonderment, as the fact that Ford was displaying a friendly gesture commanded his wonderment even more.
“That’s - what is that, exactly?” Arthur said.
“That’s - too bad, I guess,” said Ford. “About the tea. That you haven’t got any. If I could, I’d get you tea.” This statement surprised him. He wasn’t entirely sure if he was willing to keep that promise - he imagined that, given the general nature of the things he and Arthur went through, acquiring tea would result in a lot of strange, improbable situations that would almost certainly be more dangerous than was worth it - but saying it was a start at appearing to be a friendlier, more-concerned person, which was what he wanted.
“This is an unusually friendly and concerned statement coming from you,” said Arthur, as though reading Ford’s mind. It was at this moment that he really noticed the hand-holding. He contemplated asking Ford what the reason for this was, but he decided against it, because it wasn’t a problem and he somewhat liked it.
“Now, um, if we could talk about something other than tea for a bit,” said Ford. “You know, just a bit. There’s something I’d like to explain to you.”
“What is it?”
“Well, if I asked you to describe me,” said Ford, “how would you?”
Arthur considered the question for a bit. “Well, I suppose I’d start by saying some words that came to mind when I thought of you, maybe give some anecdotes to explain what you acted like -”
“No, I mean, if you tried to describe me, what are the things you would say?”
Arthur considered this question for a bit, too. He ended up taking longer than a bit. He ended up taking even longer than longer than a bit.
“Well…I’d say that you’re a bit eccentric, you’re rather impulsive, you definitely don’t like sitting around and quietly doing nothing.”
“Would you say I’m a man of great emotional capacity and caring?”
“Well, assuming the word ‘man’ is applicable to…whatever sort of alien species you actually are…I wouldn’t describe you as such.”
“Would you say it’s because my incessant pleasure-seeking and desire for bigger and weirder experiences get in the way of my forming real committed relationships of any kind?”
“Yes, I’d say that. Is that something someone told you, or did you make that analysis yourself?”
“No, I made it entirely on my own.”
“Hmm. Very self-aware.”
“Now, would you think there’s anything odd about it?”
“Odd?” Arthur took another bit to think it over. “I can’t see anything odd about outright stating the truth.”
“Well, um…” Ford cleared his throat as though this would help him say anything. “My relationship with you doesn’t entirely fit in with how you’ve described me.”
“What are you trying to say, exactly?”
“Well, I’ve stuck with you for, what, over half a decade, saved your life, been your oldest friend even though I’m not always good at showing it,” Ford said. “And someone whose main interesting in life was just going through the universe trying to do as many weird and exciting things as possible probably wouldn’t care about someone as much as I care about you.”
“You…you care about me.” Arthur couldn’t remember the last time Ford had admitted to caring about anyone. He had to repeat the statement to fully comprehend it.
“Well, yes, I care about you. Why do you think you’re still in my life? Why do you think you’re even here in this improbable ship instead of floating about space as little particles of the wreckage the Vogons made to build that bypass? I care about you.”
“You…care about me,” Arthur repeated, very slightly nervously as Ford took his free hand, the one that wasn’t holding Arthur’s, and wrapped it around his friend’s body.
“It’s a problem I have,” Ford said, “where I try so hard to look cool and unattached and wild and carefree to everyone and I’m working so hard to maintain an image that, well, I don’t realize that it gets in the way of my relationships with the people I care about.”
“And I’m to understand that I’m one of those people.”
“Well…yes.”
Arthur wasn’t entirely sure how to react to that. He knew he should react positively, given that he held such a distinction in his friend’s life. He was also a bit curious as to Ford’s exact feelings towards him (that is, he wasn’t certain if the caring was solely out of friendship or perhaps connected to stronger, non-platonic feelings). But he knew that the information he had unexpectedly received was very good indeed, like finding a five-pound-note on the ground when you weren’t expecting it or getting a letter stating that your house was in fact not going to be bulldozed to make room for a bypass when you didn’t know that there had ever been such plans in the first place. Well, perhaps that latter comparison is a bit inaccurate; there was something curiously relieving about this revelation (Arthur had not-entirely-consciously wondered where he truly fit in in the grand scheme of Ford’s life, and having a clear affirmation did cause a sense of relief, although, given the subconscious nature of the worry, he didn’t know why). But it wasn’t such a blatant, obvious relief as might be felt in the event of getting a letter stating that your house was in fact not going to be bulldozed to make room for a bypass, regardless of whether or not you were aware of such plans. It was a far more subtle relief than that.
“I’m sorry for not indicating this sooner,” said Ford. “It’s because I thought caring was uncool, and I was until very recently too prideful to be uncool.”
“What changed your mind?”
“Well…” He removed his hands from Arthur, shrugged, and then restored his hands to their previous places. “I suppose I just realized that the relationships in my life take precedence over how I’d like people to see me. Better appreciate things while you’ve still got them, wouldn’t you agree? Like people in your life - you may lose them, especially if your situations keep getting wilder and more improbable, so you may as well let them know you care.”
“Does this - uh, does this have anything to do with what happened recently? You know, with the Earth getting blown up…”
Ford paused for a moment, then nodded. “Yes. I suppose it does.”
“Yes. Yes, that makes sense,” Arthur said, a hint of dark melancholy tainting his voice like a hint of salt taints a food that shouldn’t have salt in it. “That…makes quite a bit of sense.”
The dark melancholy was growing. Even though Arthur was no longer saying anything, the melancholy was there, like salt somehow spreading past the piece of food it was in and now tainting the whole meal. Ford didn’t like that. Arthur was many things - irritable, dense, pretty much unfazeable - but melancholy wasn’t one of them, and it made Ford a bit melancholy himself to see Arthur slipping into that direction. No, it didn’t make him melancholy quite so much as it made him - sad? Sympathetic? (When was the last time he had knowingly felt sympathy? He couldn’t remember.) Whatever it was, it corresponded directly to Arthur’s feelings and he didn’t like it.
“Ford?” Arthur looked around him suddenly. “Ford, what are you doing?”
The motivation for Ford’s current behavior was that he knew Arthur was growing sad, he didn’t like seeing Arthur sad, he wanted to comfort him, and that it wasn’t unusual for him to engage in touchy-feely behaviors when he wanted to. The exact behavior, then, that Ford was engaging in was this - he had removed his hands from their previous places again and was now hugging Arthur, tighter than before, drawing the human closer to him like one might draw a scarf tighter around one’s neck on a particularly cold day when one has a particular desire not to have a cold neck. If cold were analogous to sadness and Arthur was analogous to a neck, then Ford was doing what he could to keep the neck that was Arthur as warm as possible. At first, Arthur found it strange that Ford was pulling his body closer to his own, now putting a hand on Arthur’s back and stroking it gently, in a “shh everything’s going to be alright don’t be sad I’m here for you” sort of way (even though Arthur would have understood the gesture better had it been put in those or similar words). The hand that wasn’t stroking Arthur’s back now met the back of Arthur’s head, ruffling his hair slowly in what was also intended to be a reassuring gesture. At this point, Arthur stopped wondering what was going on and just accepted it, much like he accepted everything else that had happened to him since that fateful Thursday. At least this was an unambiguously pleasant thing. His discovery that he liked his friend touching him was like going to a favorite restaurant when you’re in a bad mood and accidentally ordering a dish you’ve never tried but that you turn out to enjoy quite a lot - that is, unexpectedly wonderful and quite possibly exactly what you needed to repair your day even though you didn’t know it. This was what Arthur needed to repair his day even though he didn’t know it.
They sat like that for a while. They sat like that for a longer while. They sat like that for an even longer while. Presently, Ford loosened his hold on Arthur; it went from a tight embrace to a soft hug. With a last long touch that ran from the back of Arthur’s head to that spot on his back at which Ford’s embrace had started, the Betelgeusian placed his hands gently on Arthur’s arms, running them down slowly so they now rested on the Earthman’s own hands. Ford looked around awkwardly, anxious that someone had seen them. No one was at all present. He therefore assumed that no one had witnessed this.
“Uh, well, then.” He laughed and rose from his seat, Arthur’s hands still in his. The two stood in the hall of the spaceship, facing each other in such a position as though it were the start of some odd game, which it wasn’t and which they wouldn’t have known the rules to even if it was. “Let’s be off, perhaps? Come along; I’ll see if I can convince that Nutrimatic device or whatever it is to make something that tastes like tea. I think you deserve some.”
Ford gave Arthur one of his typical smiles, only with the odd twist that, instead of making Arthur feel as though Ford was about to go for his neck, made him feel something that he couldn’t quite put a description to but that was covered with the adjective of “nice”. Ford let one hand drop from Arthur’s as he led his friend down the hall by the other, in search of something that hopefully tasted almost entirely like tea. “I’ve got something to tell you, Arthur.”
“What, that we’re headed to another bloody planet without tea?”
The two sat side-by-side on a bench-like seat built into the wall of this particular part of the Heart of Gold. They’d been traveling from random place to random place for a while now, and while Arthur had grown semi-accustomed to this lifestyle now, he still longed for a real cup of tea.
“Well, no,” said Ford. “This one might have tea. The Guide says that this planet, Gazigabart III, has developed something very much like tea. They call it hyper-steamed ultra-leaf juice, though.”
“That - that sounds terrible.”
“Isn’t that basically what tea on Earth was, though?”
“Well, yes, I suppose so. But it’s got ‘hyper’ and ‘ultra’ in its name, and that just ruins the entire effect.”
“What was that thing one of your Earth poets said, ‘A tea by any other name would taste just as sweet?’ It was Mark Twain who said that, I think?”
“Shakespeare. ‘A rose by any other name would smell just as sweet’.”
“Tea, rose. It’s the same in this situation.”
“If it’s not tea, then it doesn’t matter.”
“Well…” Ford hadn’t initiated this whole conversation simply to have Arthur complain about tea. There was, in fact, an entirely different matter that had motivated the talk, and the prospect of Arthur hijacking it and turning it into a discussion about tea felt much like the prospect of going into a pet store to buy a dog and hearing the shopkeeper eulogize about their recently-deceased hamster.
“If it doesn’t matter,” Ford said, “can I tell you something?”
“Is it important?”
“Yeah, I’d say so.”
“Does it concern tea?”
“Tea? Uh, no, not particularly. But it’s important.”
“If it doesn’t concern tea, I don’t want to hear about it.”
Arthur’s refusal to hear about anything not regarding tea was shocking and a bit hurtful to Ford. All he had wanted to do was explain a very serious and relevant issue that he thought Arthur should know, and his friend of over half a decade just wanted to complain about tea.
“Arthur, is there something I ought to know about your current feelings towards tea, other than that you have a one-track mind regarding it right now?”
“I’ve been so long without a proper cup of tea, Ford, you can’t possibly begin to imagine the stress it gives me.”
“Well, actually, I can.”
“No. There’s no way you could possibly even begin. What you don’t understand about humans is that they need tea. Well, perhaps it’s not humans in general. Perhaps it’s just the English. Or perhaps it’s just me. But I have a deep physical need for tea and I’m going through terrible withdrawal right now.”
This was a very difficult place for Ford to find himself. On one hand, he was going through his own personal stress in trying to make the point he wanted to make, but on the other hand, if he tried to make it now, it would just upset his friend, and this deliberate upsettling would conflict with what he intended to say.
“Well, Arthur, if you want to ramble about tea, uh…go ahead. If there’s something you need to talk to me about, I’m listening. Just, uh, just don’t make it too long.”
“Oh?” This surprised Arthur Dent. He wasn’t expecting Ford, usually too cool and admittedly self-absorbed to actually consider people other than himself, to say anything like this. This was the kind of thing actual friends said to each other, the kind who had some sort of real concern for each other and who didn’t see each other merely as fixtures of each other’s lives (which was an accurate description of the relationship Arthur and Ford shared).
“Yeah,” said Ford. “Go on. Tell me about…tea.”
“Well.” Arthur began to make awkward hand gestures as though to facilitate his discussion. He stopped when he realized they were useless. “The lovely thing about tea is…it’s got this taste to it, no matter what kind of tea it is - Earl Gray, English Breakfast, Chamomile, anything you’d care to name - it’s got this taste that makes you feel as though everything is right with the world.”
“When you say the world,” said Ford, “do you mean the Earth specifically? Because that’s not there anymore so you obviously can’t have everything being ‘right’ with it. Hang on, that comment was probably very insensitive wasn’t it?”
“Somewhat.”
“I ought to apologize for it. I apologize.”
“That - that was a very nice apology.”
“Now, continue about tea. What did you want to say about it?”
“Oh. Right. Well, it has this taste, you see -”
“We’ve gone over that, yes.”
“And the way it steams up as you’re making it, that also contributes to a sense of universal stability.”
“Oh, so when you say the world, you mean the universe.”
“I suppose. I was just using the world universally where it means all-encompassing but I suppose references to the actual universe would make sense as well, especially in light of all the madness I’ve gotten myself caught up in lately.”
“You mean, eh, you mean all the madness I’ve dragged you into,” Ford said apologetically.
“I suppose. Well, anyway, everything has been going so insane and I wish I had some tea. That’s the only thing I really want out of life anymore, Ford. All I want is a cup of tea.”
“That’s all you want. Well. That’s -” Ford shrugged and reached for Arthur’s hand, taking it in his and patting it in the way a particularly touchy-feely friend might if the other participant in the interaction was just as touchy-feely and was expecting such a response. Arthur became dimly aware that Ford was performing this action, and he wondered why, but it wasn’t a particularly strong sense of wonderment, as the fact that Ford was displaying a friendly gesture commanded his wonderment even more.
“That’s - what is that, exactly?” Arthur said.
“That’s - too bad, I guess,” said Ford. “About the tea. That you haven’t got any. If I could, I’d get you tea.” This statement surprised him. He wasn’t entirely sure if he was willing to keep that promise - he imagined that, given the general nature of the things he and Arthur went through, acquiring tea would result in a lot of strange, improbable situations that would almost certainly be more dangerous than was worth it - but saying it was a start at appearing to be a friendlier, more-concerned person, which was what he wanted.
“This is an unusually friendly and concerned statement coming from you,” said Arthur, as though reading Ford’s mind. It was at this moment that he really noticed the hand-holding. He contemplated asking Ford what the reason for this was, but he decided against it, because it wasn’t a problem and he somewhat liked it.
“Now, um, if we could talk about something other than tea for a bit,” said Ford. “You know, just a bit. There’s something I’d like to explain to you.”
“What is it?”
“Well, if I asked you to describe me,” said Ford, “how would you?”
Arthur considered the question for a bit. “Well, I suppose I’d start by saying some words that came to mind when I thought of you, maybe give some anecdotes to explain what you acted like -”
“No, I mean, if you tried to describe me, what are the things you would say?”
Arthur considered this question for a bit, too. He ended up taking longer than a bit. He ended up taking even longer than longer than a bit.
“Well…I’d say that you’re a bit eccentric, you’re rather impulsive, you definitely don’t like sitting around and quietly doing nothing.”
“Would you say I’m a man of great emotional capacity and caring?”
“Well, assuming the word ‘man’ is applicable to…whatever sort of alien species you actually are…I wouldn’t describe you as such.”
“Would you say it’s because my incessant pleasure-seeking and desire for bigger and weirder experiences get in the way of my forming real committed relationships of any kind?”
“Yes, I’d say that. Is that something someone told you, or did you make that analysis yourself?”
“No, I made it entirely on my own.”
“Hmm. Very self-aware.”
“Now, would you think there’s anything odd about it?”
“Odd?” Arthur took another bit to think it over. “I can’t see anything odd about outright stating the truth.”
“Well, um…” Ford cleared his throat as though this would help him say anything. “My relationship with you doesn’t entirely fit in with how you’ve described me.”
“What are you trying to say, exactly?”
“Well, I’ve stuck with you for, what, over half a decade, saved your life, been your oldest friend even though I’m not always good at showing it,” Ford said. “And someone whose main interesting in life was just going through the universe trying to do as many weird and exciting things as possible probably wouldn’t care about someone as much as I care about you.”
“You…you care about me.” Arthur couldn’t remember the last time Ford had admitted to caring about anyone. He had to repeat the statement to fully comprehend it.
“Well, yes, I care about you. Why do you think you’re still in my life? Why do you think you’re even here in this improbable ship instead of floating about space as little particles of the wreckage the Vogons made to build that bypass? I care about you.”
“You…care about me,” Arthur repeated, very slightly nervously as Ford took his free hand, the one that wasn’t holding Arthur’s, and wrapped it around his friend’s body.
“It’s a problem I have,” Ford said, “where I try so hard to look cool and unattached and wild and carefree to everyone and I’m working so hard to maintain an image that, well, I don’t realize that it gets in the way of my relationships with the people I care about.”
“And I’m to understand that I’m one of those people.”
“Well…yes.”
Arthur wasn’t entirely sure how to react to that. He knew he should react positively, given that he held such a distinction in his friend’s life. He was also a bit curious as to Ford’s exact feelings towards him (that is, he wasn’t certain if the caring was solely out of friendship or perhaps connected to stronger, non-platonic feelings). But he knew that the information he had unexpectedly received was very good indeed, like finding a five-pound-note on the ground when you weren’t expecting it or getting a letter stating that your house was in fact not going to be bulldozed to make room for a bypass when you didn’t know that there had ever been such plans in the first place. Well, perhaps that latter comparison is a bit inaccurate; there was something curiously relieving about this revelation (Arthur had not-entirely-consciously wondered where he truly fit in in the grand scheme of Ford’s life, and having a clear affirmation did cause a sense of relief, although, given the subconscious nature of the worry, he didn’t know why). But it wasn’t such a blatant, obvious relief as might be felt in the event of getting a letter stating that your house was in fact not going to be bulldozed to make room for a bypass, regardless of whether or not you were aware of such plans. It was a far more subtle relief than that.
“I’m sorry for not indicating this sooner,” said Ford. “It’s because I thought caring was uncool, and I was until very recently too prideful to be uncool.”
“What changed your mind?”
“Well…” He removed his hands from Arthur, shrugged, and then restored his hands to their previous places. “I suppose I just realized that the relationships in my life take precedence over how I’d like people to see me. Better appreciate things while you’ve still got them, wouldn’t you agree? Like people in your life - you may lose them, especially if your situations keep getting wilder and more improbable, so you may as well let them know you care.”
“Does this - uh, does this have anything to do with what happened recently? You know, with the Earth getting blown up…”
Ford paused for a moment, then nodded. “Yes. I suppose it does.”
“Yes. Yes, that makes sense,” Arthur said, a hint of dark melancholy tainting his voice like a hint of salt taints a food that shouldn’t have salt in it. “That…makes quite a bit of sense.”
The dark melancholy was growing. Even though Arthur was no longer saying anything, the melancholy was there, like salt somehow spreading past the piece of food it was in and now tainting the whole meal. Ford didn’t like that. Arthur was many things - irritable, dense, pretty much unfazeable - but melancholy wasn’t one of them, and it made Ford a bit melancholy himself to see Arthur slipping into that direction. No, it didn’t make him melancholy quite so much as it made him - sad? Sympathetic? (When was the last time he had knowingly felt sympathy? He couldn’t remember.) Whatever it was, it corresponded directly to Arthur’s feelings and he didn’t like it.
“Ford?” Arthur looked around him suddenly. “Ford, what are you doing?”
The motivation for Ford’s current behavior was that he knew Arthur was growing sad, he didn’t like seeing Arthur sad, he wanted to comfort him, and that it wasn’t unusual for him to engage in touchy-feely behaviors when he wanted to. The exact behavior, then, that Ford was engaging in was this - he had removed his hands from their previous places again and was now hugging Arthur, tighter than before, drawing the human closer to him like one might draw a scarf tighter around one’s neck on a particularly cold day when one has a particular desire not to have a cold neck. If cold were analogous to sadness and Arthur was analogous to a neck, then Ford was doing what he could to keep the neck that was Arthur as warm as possible. At first, Arthur found it strange that Ford was pulling his body closer to his own, now putting a hand on Arthur’s back and stroking it gently, in a “shh everything’s going to be alright don’t be sad I’m here for you” sort of way (even though Arthur would have understood the gesture better had it been put in those or similar words). The hand that wasn’t stroking Arthur’s back now met the back of Arthur’s head, ruffling his hair slowly in what was also intended to be a reassuring gesture. At this point, Arthur stopped wondering what was going on and just accepted it, much like he accepted everything else that had happened to him since that fateful Thursday. At least this was an unambiguously pleasant thing. His discovery that he liked his friend touching him was like going to a favorite restaurant when you’re in a bad mood and accidentally ordering a dish you’ve never tried but that you turn out to enjoy quite a lot - that is, unexpectedly wonderful and quite possibly exactly what you needed to repair your day even though you didn’t know it. This was what Arthur needed to repair his day even though he didn’t know it.
They sat like that for a while. They sat like that for a longer while. They sat like that for an even longer while. Presently, Ford loosened his hold on Arthur; it went from a tight embrace to a soft hug. With a last long touch that ran from the back of Arthur’s head to that spot on his back at which Ford’s embrace had started, the Betelgeusian placed his hands gently on Arthur’s arms, running them down slowly so they now rested on the Earthman’s own hands. Ford looked around awkwardly, anxious that someone had seen them. No one was at all present. He therefore assumed that no one had witnessed this.
“Uh, well, then.” He laughed and rose from his seat, Arthur’s hands still in his. The two stood in the hall of the spaceship, facing each other in such a position as though it were the start of some odd game, which it wasn’t and which they wouldn’t have known the rules to even if it was. “Let’s be off, perhaps? Come along; I’ll see if I can convince that Nutrimatic device or whatever it is to make something that tastes like tea. I think you deserve some.”
Ford gave Arthur one of his typical smiles, only with the odd twist that, instead of making Arthur feel as though Ford was about to go for his neck, made him feel something that he couldn’t quite put a description to but that was covered with the adjective of “nice”. Ford let one hand drop from Arthur’s as he led his friend down the hall by the other, in search of something that hopefully tasted almost entirely like tea.
Title: Tea and Caring
Pairing: Arthur/Ford
'Verse: It could be any, really; as I wrote this, I envisioned Arthur and Ford looking as I headcanoned them when reading the book, but I see no reason why this fic shouldn't work with any version of Hitchhiker's Guide.
Rating: G
Word count: 2,820
Warnings: There are themes of loss here, especially towards the end, and I'm aware some people find this triggering. Other than that, no warnings whatsoever. It's really just amusing fluff (and an exploration of a headcanon I have regarding Ford and the fact that, even though he doesn't seem to care much for anyone, he maintained his relationship with Arthur for so long).
Other notes: I attempted to sound as much like Douglas Adams as was possible while writing this.
“I’ve got something to tell you, Arthur.”
“What, that we’re headed to another bloody planet without tea?”
The two sat side-by-side on a bench-like seat built into the wall of this particular part of the Heart of Gold. They’d been traveling from random place to random place for a while now, and while Arthur had grown semi-accustomed to this lifestyle now, he still longed for a real cup of tea.
“Well, no,” said Ford. “This one might have tea. The Guide says that this planet, Gazigabart III, has developed something very much like tea. They call it hyper-steamed ultra-leaf juice, though.”
“That - that sounds terrible.”
“Isn’t that basically what tea on Earth was, though?”
“Well, yes, I suppose so. But it’s got ‘hyper’ and ‘ultra’ in its name, and that just ruins the entire effect.”
“What was that thing one of your Earth poets said, ‘A tea by any other name would taste just as sweet?’ It was Mark Twain who said that, I think?”
“Shakespeare. ‘A rose by any other name would smell just as sweet’.”
“Tea, rose. It’s the same in this situation.”
“If it’s not tea, then it doesn’t matter.”
“Well…” Ford hadn’t initiated this whole conversation simply to have Arthur complain about tea. There was, in fact, an entirely different matter that had motivated the talk, and the prospect of Arthur hijacking it and turning it into a discussion about tea felt much like the prospect of going into a pet store to buy a dog and hearing the shopkeeper eulogize about their recently-deceased hamster.
“If it doesn’t matter,” Ford said, “can I tell you something?”
“Is it important?”
“Yeah, I’d say so.”
“Does it concern tea?”
“Tea? Uh, no, not particularly. But it’s important.”
“If it doesn’t concern tea, I don’t want to hear about it.”
Arthur’s refusal to hear about anything not regarding tea was shocking and a bit hurtful to Ford. All he had wanted to do was explain a very serious and relevant issue that he thought Arthur should know, and his friend of over half a decade just wanted to complain about tea.
“Arthur, is there something I ought to know about your current feelings towards tea, other than that you have a one-track mind regarding it right now?”
“I’ve been so long without a proper cup of tea, Ford, you can’t possibly begin to imagine the stress it gives me.”
“Well, actually, I can.”
“No. There’s no way you could possibly even begin. What you don’t understand about humans is that they need tea. Well, perhaps it’s not humans in general. Perhaps it’s just the English. Or perhaps it’s just me. But I have a deep physical need for tea and I’m going through terrible withdrawal right now.”
This was a very difficult place for Ford to find himself. On one hand, he was going through his own personal stress in trying to make the point he wanted to make, but on the other hand, if he tried to make it now, it would just upset his friend, and this deliberate upsettling would conflict with what he intended to say.
“Well, Arthur, if you want to ramble about tea, uh…go ahead. If there’s something you need to talk to me about, I’m listening. Just, uh, just don’t make it too long.”
“Oh?” This surprised Arthur Dent. He wasn’t expecting Ford, usually too cool and admittedly self-absorbed to actually consider people other than himself, to say anything like this. This was the kind of thing actual friends said to each other, the kind who had some sort of real concern for each other and who didn’t see each other merely as fixtures of each other’s lives (which was an accurate description of the relationship Arthur and Ford shared).
“Yeah,” said Ford. “Go on. Tell me about…tea.”
“Well.” Arthur began to make awkward hand gestures as though to facilitate his discussion. He stopped when he realized they were useless. “The lovely thing about tea is…it’s got this taste to it, no matter what kind of tea it is - Earl Gray, English Breakfast, Chamomile, anything you’d care to name - it’s got this taste that makes you feel as though everything is right with the world.”
“When you say the world,” said Ford, “do you mean the Earth specifically? Because that’s not there anymore so you obviously can’t have everything being ‘right’ with it. Hang on, that comment was probably very insensitive wasn’t it?”
“Somewhat.”
“I ought to apologize for it. I apologize.”
“That - that was a very nice apology.”
“Now, continue about tea. What did you want to say about it?”
“Oh. Right. Well, it has this taste, you see -”
“We’ve gone over that, yes.”
“And the way it steams up as you’re making it, that also contributes to a sense of universal stability.”
“Oh, so when you say the world, you mean the universe.”
“I suppose. I was just using the world universally where it means all-encompassing but I suppose references to the actual universe would make sense as well, especially in light of all the madness I’ve gotten myself caught up in lately.”
“You mean, eh, you mean all the madness I’ve dragged you into,” Ford said apologetically.
“I suppose. Well, anyway, everything has been going so insane and I wish I had some tea. That’s the only thing I really want out of life anymore, Ford. All I want is a cup of tea.”
“That’s all you want. Well. That’s -” Ford shrugged and reached for Arthur’s hand, taking it in his and patting it in the way a particularly touchy-feely friend might if the other participant in the interaction was just as touchy-feely and was expecting such a response. Arthur became dimly aware that Ford was performing this action, and he wondered why, but it wasn’t a particularly strong sense of wonderment, as the fact that Ford was displaying a friendly gesture commanded his wonderment even more.
“That’s - what is that, exactly?” Arthur said.
“That’s - too bad, I guess,” said Ford. “About the tea. That you haven’t got any. If I could, I’d get you tea.” This statement surprised him. He wasn’t entirely sure if he was willing to keep that promise - he imagined that, given the general nature of the things he and Arthur went through, acquiring tea would result in a lot of strange, improbable situations that would almost certainly be more dangerous than was worth it - but saying it was a start at appearing to be a friendlier, more-concerned person, which was what he wanted.
“This is an unusually friendly and concerned statement coming from you,” said Arthur, as though reading Ford’s mind. It was at this moment that he really noticed the hand-holding. He contemplated asking Ford what the reason for this was, but he decided against it, because it wasn’t a problem and he somewhat liked it.
“Now, um, if we could talk about something other than tea for a bit,” said Ford. “You know, just a bit. There’s something I’d like to explain to you.”
“What is it?”
“Well, if I asked you to describe me,” said Ford, “how would you?”
Arthur considered the question for a bit. “Well, I suppose I’d start by saying some words that came to mind when I thought of you, maybe give some anecdotes to explain what you acted like -”
“No, I mean, if you tried to describe me, what are the things you would say?”
Arthur considered this question for a bit, too. He ended up taking longer than a bit. He ended up taking even longer than longer than a bit.
“Well…I’d say that you’re a bit eccentric, you’re rather impulsive, you definitely don’t like sitting around and quietly doing nothing.”
“Would you say I’m a man of great emotional capacity and caring?”
“Well, assuming the word ‘man’ is applicable to…whatever sort of alien species you actually are…I wouldn’t describe you as such.”
“Would you say it’s because my incessant pleasure-seeking and desire for bigger and weirder experiences get in the way of my forming real committed relationships of any kind?”
“Yes, I’d say that. Is that something someone told you, or did you make that analysis yourself?”
“No, I made it entirely on my own.”
“Hmm. Very self-aware.”
“Now, would you think there’s anything odd about it?”
“Odd?” Arthur took another bit to think it over. “I can’t see anything odd about outright stating the truth.”
“Well, um…” Ford cleared his throat as though this would help him say anything. “My relationship with you doesn’t entirely fit in with how you’ve described me.”
“What are you trying to say, exactly?”
“Well, I’ve stuck with you for, what, over half a decade, saved your life, been your oldest friend even though I’m not always good at showing it,” Ford said. “And someone whose main interesting in life was just going through the universe trying to do as many weird and exciting things as possible probably wouldn’t care about someone as much as I care about you.”
“You…you care about me.” Arthur couldn’t remember the last time Ford had admitted to caring about anyone. He had to repeat the statement to fully comprehend it.
“Well, yes, I care about you. Why do you think you’re still in my life? Why do you think you’re even here in this improbable ship instead of floating about space as little particles of the wreckage the Vogons made to build that bypass? I care about you.”
“You…care about me,” Arthur repeated, very slightly nervously as Ford took his free hand, the one that wasn’t holding Arthur’s, and wrapped it around his friend’s body.
“It’s a problem I have,” Ford said, “where I try so hard to look cool and unattached and wild and carefree to everyone and I’m working so hard to maintain an image that, well, I don’t realize that it gets in the way of my relationships with the people I care about.”
“And I’m to understand that I’m one of those people.”
“Well…yes.”
Arthur wasn’t entirely sure how to react to that. He knew he should react positively, given that he held such a distinction in his friend’s life. He was also a bit curious as to Ford’s exact feelings towards him (that is, he wasn’t certain if the caring was solely out of friendship or perhaps connected to stronger, non-platonic feelings). But he knew that the information he had unexpectedly received was very good indeed, like finding a five-pound-note on the ground when you weren’t expecting it or getting a letter stating that your house was in fact not going to be bulldozed to make room for a bypass when you didn’t know that there had ever been such plans in the first place. Well, perhaps that latter comparison is a bit inaccurate; there was something curiously relieving about this revelation (Arthur had not-entirely-consciously wondered where he truly fit in in the grand scheme of Ford’s life, and having a clear affirmation did cause a sense of relief, although, given the subconscious nature of the worry, he didn’t know why). But it wasn’t such a blatant, obvious relief as might be felt in the event of getting a letter stating that your house was in fact not going to be bulldozed to make room for a bypass, regardless of whether or not you were aware of such plans. It was a far more subtle relief than that.
“I’m sorry for not indicating this sooner,” said Ford. “It’s because I thought caring was uncool, and I was until very recently too prideful to be uncool.”
“What changed your mind?”
“Well…” He removed his hands from Arthur, shrugged, and then restored his hands to their previous places. “I suppose I just realized that the relationships in my life take precedence over how I’d like people to see me. Better appreciate things while you’ve still got them, wouldn’t you agree? Like people in your life - you may lose them, especially if your situations keep getting wilder and more improbable, so you may as well let them know you care.”
“Does this - uh, does this have anything to do with what happened recently? You know, with the Earth getting blown up…”
Ford paused for a moment, then nodded. “Yes. I suppose it does.”
“Yes. Yes, that makes sense,” Arthur said, a hint of dark melancholy tainting his voice like a hint of salt taints a food that shouldn’t have salt in it. “That…makes quite a bit of sense.”
The dark melancholy was growing. Even though Arthur was no longer saying anything, the melancholy was there, like salt somehow spreading past the piece of food it was in and now tainting the whole meal. Ford didn’t like that. Arthur was many things - irritable, dense, pretty much unfazeable - but melancholy wasn’t one of them, and it made Ford a bit melancholy himself to see Arthur slipping into that direction. No, it didn’t make him melancholy quite so much as it made him - sad? Sympathetic? (When was the last time he had knowingly felt sympathy? He couldn’t remember.) Whatever it was, it corresponded directly to Arthur’s feelings and he didn’t like it.
“Ford?” Arthur looked around him suddenly. “Ford, what are you doing?”
The motivation for Ford’s current behavior was that he knew Arthur was growing sad, he didn’t like seeing Arthur sad, he wanted to comfort him, and that it wasn’t unusual for him to engage in touchy-feely behaviors when he wanted to. The exact behavior, then, that Ford was engaging in was this - he had removed his hands from their previous places again and was now hugging Arthur, tighter than before, drawing the human closer to him like one might draw a scarf tighter around one’s neck on a particularly cold day when one has a particular desire not to have a cold neck. If cold were analogous to sadness and Arthur was analogous to a neck, then Ford was doing what he could to keep the neck that was Arthur as warm as possible. At first, Arthur found it strange that Ford was pulling his body closer to his own, now putting a hand on Arthur’s back and stroking it gently, in a “shh everything’s going to be alright don’t be sad I’m here for you” sort of way (even though Arthur would have understood the gesture better had it been put in those or similar words). The hand that wasn’t stroking Arthur’s back now met the back of Arthur’s head, ruffling his hair slowly in what was also intended to be a reassuring gesture. At this point, Arthur stopped wondering what was going on and just accepted it, much like he accepted everything else that had happened to him since that fateful Thursday. At least this was an unambiguously pleasant thing. His discovery that he liked his friend touching him was like going to a favorite restaurant when you’re in a bad mood and accidentally ordering a dish you’ve never tried but that you turn out to enjoy quite a lot - that is, unexpectedly wonderful and quite possibly exactly what you needed to repair your day even though you didn’t know it. This was what Arthur needed to repair his day even though he didn’t know it.
They sat like that for a while. They sat like that for a longer while. They sat like that for an even longer while. Presently, Ford loosened his hold on Arthur; it went from a tight embrace to a soft hug. With a last long touch that ran from the back of Arthur’s head to that spot on his back at which Ford’s embrace had started, the Betelgeusian placed his hands gently on Arthur’s arms, running them down slowly so they now rested on the Earthman’s own hands. Ford looked around awkwardly, anxious that someone had seen them. No one was at all present. He therefore assumed that no one had witnessed this.
“Uh, well, then.” He laughed and rose from his seat, Arthur’s hands still in his. The two stood in the hall of the spaceship, facing each other in such a position as though it were the start of some odd game, which it wasn’t and which they wouldn’t have known the rules to even if it was. “Let’s be off, perhaps? Come along; I’ll see if I can convince that Nutrimatic device or whatever it is to make something that tastes like tea. I think you deserve some.”
Ford gave Arthur one of his typical smiles, only with the odd twist that, instead of making Arthur feel as though Ford was about to go for his neck, made him feel something that he couldn’t quite put a description to but that was covered with the adjective of “nice”. Ford let one hand drop from Arthur’s as he led his friend down the hall by the other, in search of something that hopefully tasted almost entirely like tea. “I’ve got something to tell you, Arthur.”
“What, that we’re headed to another bloody planet without tea?”
The two sat side-by-side on a bench-like seat built into the wall of this particular part of the Heart of Gold. They’d been traveling from random place to random place for a while now, and while Arthur had grown semi-accustomed to this lifestyle now, he still longed for a real cup of tea.
“Well, no,” said Ford. “This one might have tea. The Guide says that this planet, Gazigabart III, has developed something very much like tea. They call it hyper-steamed ultra-leaf juice, though.”
“That - that sounds terrible.”
“Isn’t that basically what tea on Earth was, though?”
“Well, yes, I suppose so. But it’s got ‘hyper’ and ‘ultra’ in its name, and that just ruins the entire effect.”
“What was that thing one of your Earth poets said, ‘A tea by any other name would taste just as sweet?’ It was Mark Twain who said that, I think?”
“Shakespeare. ‘A rose by any other name would smell just as sweet’.”
“Tea, rose. It’s the same in this situation.”
“If it’s not tea, then it doesn’t matter.”
“Well…” Ford hadn’t initiated this whole conversation simply to have Arthur complain about tea. There was, in fact, an entirely different matter that had motivated the talk, and the prospect of Arthur hijacking it and turning it into a discussion about tea felt much like the prospect of going into a pet store to buy a dog and hearing the shopkeeper eulogize about their recently-deceased hamster.
“If it doesn’t matter,” Ford said, “can I tell you something?”
“Is it important?”
“Yeah, I’d say so.”
“Does it concern tea?”
“Tea? Uh, no, not particularly. But it’s important.”
“If it doesn’t concern tea, I don’t want to hear about it.”
Arthur’s refusal to hear about anything not regarding tea was shocking and a bit hurtful to Ford. All he had wanted to do was explain a very serious and relevant issue that he thought Arthur should know, and his friend of over half a decade just wanted to complain about tea.
“Arthur, is there something I ought to know about your current feelings towards tea, other than that you have a one-track mind regarding it right now?”
“I’ve been so long without a proper cup of tea, Ford, you can’t possibly begin to imagine the stress it gives me.”
“Well, actually, I can.”
“No. There’s no way you could possibly even begin. What you don’t understand about humans is that they need tea. Well, perhaps it’s not humans in general. Perhaps it’s just the English. Or perhaps it’s just me. But I have a deep physical need for tea and I’m going through terrible withdrawal right now.”
This was a very difficult place for Ford to find himself. On one hand, he was going through his own personal stress in trying to make the point he wanted to make, but on the other hand, if he tried to make it now, it would just upset his friend, and this deliberate upsettling would conflict with what he intended to say.
“Well, Arthur, if you want to ramble about tea, uh…go ahead. If there’s something you need to talk to me about, I’m listening. Just, uh, just don’t make it too long.”
“Oh?” This surprised Arthur Dent. He wasn’t expecting Ford, usually too cool and admittedly self-absorbed to actually consider people other than himself, to say anything like this. This was the kind of thing actual friends said to each other, the kind who had some sort of real concern for each other and who didn’t see each other merely as fixtures of each other’s lives (which was an accurate description of the relationship Arthur and Ford shared).
“Yeah,” said Ford. “Go on. Tell me about…tea.”
“Well.” Arthur began to make awkward hand gestures as though to facilitate his discussion. He stopped when he realized they were useless. “The lovely thing about tea is…it’s got this taste to it, no matter what kind of tea it is - Earl Gray, English Breakfast, Chamomile, anything you’d care to name - it’s got this taste that makes you feel as though everything is right with the world.”
“When you say the world,” said Ford, “do you mean the Earth specifically? Because that’s not there anymore so you obviously can’t have everything being ‘right’ with it. Hang on, that comment was probably very insensitive wasn’t it?”
“Somewhat.”
“I ought to apologize for it. I apologize.”
“That - that was a very nice apology.”
“Now, continue about tea. What did you want to say about it?”
“Oh. Right. Well, it has this taste, you see -”
“We’ve gone over that, yes.”
“And the way it steams up as you’re making it, that also contributes to a sense of universal stability.”
“Oh, so when you say the world, you mean the universe.”
“I suppose. I was just using the world universally where it means all-encompassing but I suppose references to the actual universe would make sense as well, especially in light of all the madness I’ve gotten myself caught up in lately.”
“You mean, eh, you mean all the madness I’ve dragged you into,” Ford said apologetically.
“I suppose. Well, anyway, everything has been going so insane and I wish I had some tea. That’s the only thing I really want out of life anymore, Ford. All I want is a cup of tea.”
“That’s all you want. Well. That’s -” Ford shrugged and reached for Arthur’s hand, taking it in his and patting it in the way a particularly touchy-feely friend might if the other participant in the interaction was just as touchy-feely and was expecting such a response. Arthur became dimly aware that Ford was performing this action, and he wondered why, but it wasn’t a particularly strong sense of wonderment, as the fact that Ford was displaying a friendly gesture commanded his wonderment even more.
“That’s - what is that, exactly?” Arthur said.
“That’s - too bad, I guess,” said Ford. “About the tea. That you haven’t got any. If I could, I’d get you tea.” This statement surprised him. He wasn’t entirely sure if he was willing to keep that promise - he imagined that, given the general nature of the things he and Arthur went through, acquiring tea would result in a lot of strange, improbable situations that would almost certainly be more dangerous than was worth it - but saying it was a start at appearing to be a friendlier, more-concerned person, which was what he wanted.
“This is an unusually friendly and concerned statement coming from you,” said Arthur, as though reading Ford’s mind. It was at this moment that he really noticed the hand-holding. He contemplated asking Ford what the reason for this was, but he decided against it, because it wasn’t a problem and he somewhat liked it.
“Now, um, if we could talk about something other than tea for a bit,” said Ford. “You know, just a bit. There’s something I’d like to explain to you.”
“What is it?”
“Well, if I asked you to describe me,” said Ford, “how would you?”
Arthur considered the question for a bit. “Well, I suppose I’d start by saying some words that came to mind when I thought of you, maybe give some anecdotes to explain what you acted like -”
“No, I mean, if you tried to describe me, what are the things you would say?”
Arthur considered this question for a bit, too. He ended up taking longer than a bit. He ended up taking even longer than longer than a bit.
“Well…I’d say that you’re a bit eccentric, you’re rather impulsive, you definitely don’t like sitting around and quietly doing nothing.”
“Would you say I’m a man of great emotional capacity and caring?”
“Well, assuming the word ‘man’ is applicable to…whatever sort of alien species you actually are…I wouldn’t describe you as such.”
“Would you say it’s because my incessant pleasure-seeking and desire for bigger and weirder experiences get in the way of my forming real committed relationships of any kind?”
“Yes, I’d say that. Is that something someone told you, or did you make that analysis yourself?”
“No, I made it entirely on my own.”
“Hmm. Very self-aware.”
“Now, would you think there’s anything odd about it?”
“Odd?” Arthur took another bit to think it over. “I can’t see anything odd about outright stating the truth.”
“Well, um…” Ford cleared his throat as though this would help him say anything. “My relationship with you doesn’t entirely fit in with how you’ve described me.”
“What are you trying to say, exactly?”
“Well, I’ve stuck with you for, what, over half a decade, saved your life, been your oldest friend even though I’m not always good at showing it,” Ford said. “And someone whose main interesting in life was just going through the universe trying to do as many weird and exciting things as possible probably wouldn’t care about someone as much as I care about you.”
“You…you care about me.” Arthur couldn’t remember the last time Ford had admitted to caring about anyone. He had to repeat the statement to fully comprehend it.
“Well, yes, I care about you. Why do you think you’re still in my life? Why do you think you’re even here in this improbable ship instead of floating about space as little particles of the wreckage the Vogons made to build that bypass? I care about you.”
“You…care about me,” Arthur repeated, very slightly nervously as Ford took his free hand, the one that wasn’t holding Arthur’s, and wrapped it around his friend’s body.
“It’s a problem I have,” Ford said, “where I try so hard to look cool and unattached and wild and carefree to everyone and I’m working so hard to maintain an image that, well, I don’t realize that it gets in the way of my relationships with the people I care about.”
“And I’m to understand that I’m one of those people.”
“Well…yes.”
Arthur wasn’t entirely sure how to react to that. He knew he should react positively, given that he held such a distinction in his friend’s life. He was also a bit curious as to Ford’s exact feelings towards him (that is, he wasn’t certain if the caring was solely out of friendship or perhaps connected to stronger, non-platonic feelings). But he knew that the information he had unexpectedly received was very good indeed, like finding a five-pound-note on the ground when you weren’t expecting it or getting a letter stating that your house was in fact not going to be bulldozed to make room for a bypass when you didn’t know that there had ever been such plans in the first place. Well, perhaps that latter comparison is a bit inaccurate; there was something curiously relieving about this revelation (Arthur had not-entirely-consciously wondered where he truly fit in in the grand scheme of Ford’s life, and having a clear affirmation did cause a sense of relief, although, given the subconscious nature of the worry, he didn’t know why). But it wasn’t such a blatant, obvious relief as might be felt in the event of getting a letter stating that your house was in fact not going to be bulldozed to make room for a bypass, regardless of whether or not you were aware of such plans. It was a far more subtle relief than that.
“I’m sorry for not indicating this sooner,” said Ford. “It’s because I thought caring was uncool, and I was until very recently too prideful to be uncool.”
“What changed your mind?”
“Well…” He removed his hands from Arthur, shrugged, and then restored his hands to their previous places. “I suppose I just realized that the relationships in my life take precedence over how I’d like people to see me. Better appreciate things while you’ve still got them, wouldn’t you agree? Like people in your life - you may lose them, especially if your situations keep getting wilder and more improbable, so you may as well let them know you care.”
“Does this - uh, does this have anything to do with what happened recently? You know, with the Earth getting blown up…”
Ford paused for a moment, then nodded. “Yes. I suppose it does.”
“Yes. Yes, that makes sense,” Arthur said, a hint of dark melancholy tainting his voice like a hint of salt taints a food that shouldn’t have salt in it. “That…makes quite a bit of sense.”
The dark melancholy was growing. Even though Arthur was no longer saying anything, the melancholy was there, like salt somehow spreading past the piece of food it was in and now tainting the whole meal. Ford didn’t like that. Arthur was many things - irritable, dense, pretty much unfazeable - but melancholy wasn’t one of them, and it made Ford a bit melancholy himself to see Arthur slipping into that direction. No, it didn’t make him melancholy quite so much as it made him - sad? Sympathetic? (When was the last time he had knowingly felt sympathy? He couldn’t remember.) Whatever it was, it corresponded directly to Arthur’s feelings and he didn’t like it.
“Ford?” Arthur looked around him suddenly. “Ford, what are you doing?”
The motivation for Ford’s current behavior was that he knew Arthur was growing sad, he didn’t like seeing Arthur sad, he wanted to comfort him, and that it wasn’t unusual for him to engage in touchy-feely behaviors when he wanted to. The exact behavior, then, that Ford was engaging in was this - he had removed his hands from their previous places again and was now hugging Arthur, tighter than before, drawing the human closer to him like one might draw a scarf tighter around one’s neck on a particularly cold day when one has a particular desire not to have a cold neck. If cold were analogous to sadness and Arthur was analogous to a neck, then Ford was doing what he could to keep the neck that was Arthur as warm as possible. At first, Arthur found it strange that Ford was pulling his body closer to his own, now putting a hand on Arthur’s back and stroking it gently, in a “shh everything’s going to be alright don’t be sad I’m here for you” sort of way (even though Arthur would have understood the gesture better had it been put in those or similar words). The hand that wasn’t stroking Arthur’s back now met the back of Arthur’s head, ruffling his hair slowly in what was also intended to be a reassuring gesture. At this point, Arthur stopped wondering what was going on and just accepted it, much like he accepted everything else that had happened to him since that fateful Thursday. At least this was an unambiguously pleasant thing. His discovery that he liked his friend touching him was like going to a favorite restaurant when you’re in a bad mood and accidentally ordering a dish you’ve never tried but that you turn out to enjoy quite a lot - that is, unexpectedly wonderful and quite possibly exactly what you needed to repair your day even though you didn’t know it. This was what Arthur needed to repair his day even though he didn’t know it.
They sat like that for a while. They sat like that for a longer while. They sat like that for an even longer while. Presently, Ford loosened his hold on Arthur; it went from a tight embrace to a soft hug. With a last long touch that ran from the back of Arthur’s head to that spot on his back at which Ford’s embrace had started, the Betelgeusian placed his hands gently on Arthur’s arms, running them down slowly so they now rested on the Earthman’s own hands. Ford looked around awkwardly, anxious that someone had seen them. No one was at all present. He therefore assumed that no one had witnessed this.
“Uh, well, then.” He laughed and rose from his seat, Arthur’s hands still in his. The two stood in the hall of the spaceship, facing each other in such a position as though it were the start of some odd game, which it wasn’t and which they wouldn’t have known the rules to even if it was. “Let’s be off, perhaps? Come along; I’ll see if I can convince that Nutrimatic device or whatever it is to make something that tastes like tea. I think you deserve some.”
Ford gave Arthur one of his typical smiles, only with the odd twist that, instead of making Arthur feel as though Ford was about to go for his neck, made him feel something that he couldn’t quite put a description to but that was covered with the adjective of “nice”. Ford let one hand drop from Arthur’s as he led his friend down the hall by the other, in search of something that hopefully tasted almost entirely like tea.