And there it is, an armor-piercing question if he ever heard one. Immediately, Ford wants to protest. He wants to push Stan in righteous indignation and ask him how he could even ask such a thing, but he doesn't because he realizes with no small amount of dawning horror that he's not so sure of the answer himself.

He feels sick, suddenly, like there's a ball of ice twisting around inside his gut. Of course he trusts Stan, of course he does - that's his brother, the person he's known all his life, the person he came into the world with. Of course he - how could he not trust him? What a stupid question, god, why would--

Ford realizes, absently, that he still hasn't answered his brother's question. He's just standing there like an idiot, struck dumb by the realization of just how fucking far he's sunk. He's standing there meeting the eyes that are an exact copy of his own and trying not to let his heart escape as it leaps into his throat because fuck, fuck fuck--

"I..." Alright, there's a word. He can do this. Just a few more and he'll have a full sentence. "I don't know who I can trust anymore, Stan."

Funny, how those words sound like an apology.