Fiddauthor Oneshots

Classic, Both In Trope And In Context

       This was the most fun Ford Pines had had in years, he was with his best friend, Fiddleford McGucket, at the nation's biggest scientific convention that was only held once every ten years! Well, the duo wasn't there yet, right now they were in an RV on the way to the event, but were as excited as could be none-the-less.

    For both of them, it was a break, for Stanford Pines it was a break from the currently mind-numbing research that he conducted in a small town in Oregon. And for Fiddleford it was a break from his family and failing business that refused to gain traction no matter how hard he tried.

     Ford was still on business though, he was just waiting for the moment to ask his former "roommate" to join him in Oregon to build something not even fathomed by NASA yet! And if all went as planned, Fiddleford would come and they would build the portal and gain fame and fortune by doing so. But Ford was still waiting, they had seldom spoken of work and business and instead, hyper fixated on everything but, including the best route to travel on, the best restaurants that they had to stop at, how much they did not want to spend at stupid hotels.

   Fiddleford knew he had gotten himself in too deep when he saw his best friend for the first time in almost six years, Ford had politely turned down invites for all but their wedding always insisting that he was on the verge of something great. They spoke on the phone almost every month and Fiddleford wasn't afraid to admit that he looked forward to the calls, but not to the degree that he actually enjoyed them.

    Ford seemed to grow taller over the past few years, he was already over six feet how much taller could he get? Plus he got had gotten, for like of a better word, hot. Broad shoulders, big arms, slightly dark stubble, the whole sha-bang. The worst part was how He. Hadn't. Changed. Ford was still the nervous, compassionate, insomnia-ridden nerd that Fiddleford loved, the only stigma was that the latter was married, with a child.

   The six-fingered man had noticed his friend spacing out with a small but noticeable smile playing on his lips, hand under his chin while his sandy blond hair moved in the wind, "Hey Fiddleford?"

"Hm?"

"What are you thinking about?" Fiddleford snapped out of his seemingly pleasant trance with slight a jolt and his glasses going askew,

"Oh, it was," You, how much I love you, how much I  want to go back with you, how great you look, "nothing," Although Ford wasn't convinced, he let it slide.

"How much farther until the next town?" Fiddleford asked stiffly,

"Um, I believe the sign said fifty miles, that was about thirty minutes ago... So that would be twenty minutes until our next stop!" Fords smile grew wide and childish with excitement, and in turn, Fidds grinned as well.

...

    The hotel was, well, nice for being out in the middle of the Nevada desert. It was freshly painted and the sign worked, so the two headed in for a room without hesitation. The front desk was wood paneling that looked like oak but was painfully obvious as fake, the whole room seemed like that as if the owner was told the decorator, "Make it look materialistic, first glance as nice but then, boom! Fake! Fake! Fake!"

     Ford was, surprisingly, was the one to arrange the room at the front desk. He did it quickly and without stuttering or just, doing the thing, ("the thing" being him giving one or two-word answers, refusing to make eye contact, and bringing his shoulders up to his ears). Ford rendezvous back to Fiddleford jingling the keys and with a wide smile.

     Well, for starters, Ford hadn't visited for a reason, the two were in an elevator and it was deathly silent, Ford had no idea what to say. Ford had never visited because he wasn't over Fiddleford and he couldn't stand the pain of seeing him, he loved him so much it still hurt, after over five years, it still hurt. At least he knew Fiddleford was happy, he boasted on the phone about his computer business and Tate. The little boy had always sounded so precious, so kind, so much like his father, Ford almost wanted to meet the tyke. But he knew it would yet another reminder that Fidds wasn't his, that he had moved on and was happy.

"Well, this our room," Ford announced with fake confidence, he opened the door to see, not the room he was promised. Instead of two queen-sized beds, there was only one. Ford felt his stomach drop through the floor, "Oh no, no no no no NO NO NO NO NONONONONO, the CANNOT be the case," he thought. Ford rubbed his eyes just to make sure wasn't seeing single, did that happen? The lone bed stayed in its spot at the center of the room.

     Fidds couldn't help but swallow, to remind himself that he needed to suppress his feelings. "Well, ain't that funny?" His voice cracked as he made the observation.

"I'll take the couch," Ford blurted, he looked panicked and he started doing the thing, wringing his hands and sinking into his shoulders.

"No, I will, I'm smaller." Fidds spat in response, and in protest to his friend's sputtering argument, went to fold out said couch. That didn't work, so he flopped on the stiff cushions and crossed his arms.

"You see what I mean Fidds? That couch, if they dare call it that, is not meant for sitting on! Let alone sleeping on it!" Ford ran a hand through his brown curls and sighed, an act of resetting himself. He stood tall once again and put his hands behind his back.

"Well, then where am I-"

"You mean me." 

"No me! You take the bed!"

"No, you! I insist!" They went one like that for what seemed like hours, then silly little things like rock-paper-scissors, or trivia, or plain old wrestling matches (which Ford always won.)

     By 11:00 at night the two were tired and too tired to care about sleeping in the same bed. Ford settled on the left side of the bed and stared at the wall for what seemed like hours, while Fiddleford fell asleep rather quickly despite his rabbit in his chest.

At midnight Ford stared at the specs of filth on the ceiling that he hadn't noticed before.

At one o'clock he was resisting touching his "best friend" with his entire existence. Fidds does not love you and hasn't in years, get over it. 

At two-thirty the six-fingered scientist couldn't fight sleep anymore, he knew what his dreams would be of, who they would be of.

     When morning finally came, Fiddleford woke up first to see his friend still had his glasses on. Instinctively he took them off and placed them on the bedside table when he realized what he had done he couldn't help but get flustered.

   Ford awoke to a sudden absence of warmth, he was sat up and rubbed his eyes. He heard the bathroom door click shut and assumed Fidds went to change. Ford threw his legs over the side of the bed and began the search for his glasses and suitcase...

   What Fiddleford was really doing was panicking. Ford was just so, adorable with his bedhead and the sleepy face and- no. No Fiddleford Hadron McGucket was not thinking about this, no Fiddleford was not thinking about Ford like this. He was going to face it like a man and pretend nothing was wrong, because nothing was!

   Fidds opened the door and nearly died with embarrassment at what he saw. Ford was in the middle of getting dressed, everything was on except a half-buttoned-up yellow shirt. He started stuttering out apologizes before Ford made his way over to Fidds shrugged his shoulders as an acceptance. But, he kept his six-fingered hand there and Fidds couldn't take it anymore, he laced his five in between Fords' six and leaned into his chest. He heard Ford swallow before and arm wrapped around his waist.

   They stayed like that for who knows how long, having silent conservation and affirming each other's hopes. Ford gently pulled away and pressed an even more gentle kiss to his more than a friend's lips, who wrapped his thin arms around the neck of the former. This was the vacation neither had been expecting but both were hoping for.