It's almost a relief, once Stan realizes that he kinda' recognizes the look on Ford's face. A pain in the ass, because the idea of leaving Ford alone for that long makes him twitchy as a junkie goin' cold turkey, but familiar. He's missed that look. He's missed being with his brother.

Which shouldn't be a thought he's having just now, but he is. It should be a feeling he's had already, feeling like he's with his brother again. They've been under the same roof for, what, must be nearly a day.

But, yeah. Anyway. Recognizing that look means he remembers what always went with it, and Stanley wonders how far he can push his brother, here. Not far, he don't think. He hesitates anyway, shifting his weight from one foot to another and back again, looking torn.

"Look, just-" He backs up, opens the door, and stands there, gripping the doorframe. "Just yell if you need anything. There's nothin' wrong with it. Okay?" There ain't. There's nothin' wrong with it if Stanley says there ain't.

Then he turns, folds his arms, and leans against the wall outside the bathroom. Yeah, the door's still open. Gonna' make somethin' of it?