Gold Dust Woman (Stanford Pines x OC)

5.) A Part of That

and i'm a part of that, aren't i?

Two years later, 1977

  After combining houses, Celia's two bedrooms become extra rooms in the shack, it's easier to connect. Her socked feet pad across the kitchen floor to the fridge for some eggs. Breakfast has become their main time together because Ford is off exploring during the day and sometimes at night. But that's fine by Celia because she's just happy to have someone wanting to spend more than an hour with her.

  Ford sits at the table, completely engrossed in his journal. He's sketching and writing whatever he had found the night before. Celia watches him for a moment, her heart swelling with a mix of affection and something more complicated that she can't quite put into words. She's learned to appreciate these mornings, these moments when they are both present in the same space, even if Ford's mind is miles away.

  It's in these quiet, domestic moments that she feels most connected to him, even as she's aware of the growing distance that comes with his obsession with the unknown. She cracks the eggs into a pan, the sizzle breaking the silence between them. Ford doesn't look up, his brow furrowed in concentration. Celia turns back to the stove, stirring the eggs absentmindedly.

  It's been two years since they first started seeing each other, and so much has changed. They've grown closer, shared their lives, and even merged their homes. And yet, there's a part of her that feels like she's still on the outside, looking in. But that's just how he is with his work. He needs his space and maybe she needs hers to write sometimes. When she does write, that is.

  "Cel?" He calls from the table.

  "Yeah?" She turns to look at him.

  "My pen just ran out of ink, is there another one over there?" He asks and she silently sighs.

  "Yeah, in the drawer." She says before walking over to grab the pack of pens, removing one from it. She walks it over to him and places it beside him.

  "Thanks, love." He smiles.

  "No problem," She replies softly, watching as Ford immediately dives back into his journal. Celia returns his smile, though it doesn't quite reach her eyes.

  His focus is intense, as always, and she can't help but feel a pang of envy at how easily he becomes absorbed in his work. She walks back to the stove, resuming her task of making breakfast. As she scrambles the eggs, her mind drifts to the songs she's been struggling to write. The words and melodies used to flow so easily, but lately, they've been harder to pin down.

  She shakes her head slightly, trying to push away the creeping doubts. It's just a phase, she tells herself. Every artist goes through dry spells. She should just make do with the songs she does have.

  Celia places the finished breakfast on the table, sitting across from Ford as they eat in silence. She can't help but notice how his mind is already drifting back to whatever mystery he's unraveling in his head, even as he absently thanks her for the food.

  "Do you have any plans for the day?" She asks, trying to pull him back into the moment, even if just for a little while.
Ford glances up, as if suddenly remembering she's there.

  "Yeah, I was thinking of heading out to the northwest side of the forest. There's a cave I've been meaning to explore. I've heard rumors about some unusual markings inside that could be linked to the ancient civilizations that used to inhabit this area." He tells her.

  "Sounds interesting," She hums. "Be careful, okay?"

  "Always," Ford assures her, leaning over to kiss her forehead before he quickly finishes his breakfast and heads out the door, journal in hand.