It was meant as a joke, but it gets Ford thinking regardless. It came up earlier, and he didn't know what to say, didn't know how he felt. But now, after everything that just happened, after they've cleared the air and bared their souls and made complete embarrassments of themselves, Ford feels a little more sure of how he feels now.
"Alright, alright, I trust you."
He waves his hand, trying to make that statement seem less significant than it really is, before turning on his side so that his back is to his brother, because if he keeps facing him they're going to have another Moment and God, is he too tired to deal with another one of those just yet.
"Just try not to burn the house down if you decide to try your hand at cooking, okay? I'm still paying off this mortgage."
His eyes are already closed as he speaks, and if Stan has anything to say in response, he doesn't hear it. Sleep rises up like a monster from the deep and grabs hold of him before he can even think to tell his brother goodnight.
-------
Stan never gets the chance to keep his promise. Not through any fault of his own, no, he can't be blamed for what happens. Neither of them expected Ford to wake up on his own, an oversight which Ford will be kicking himself over for the rest of the week, assuming he doesn't have a heart-attack before then and put himself out of both their misery.
It starts off innocently enough, at first. There's some tossing and turning, typical movements one might make in their sleep, nothing worrisome there. But then his breathing shifts, hitches, turns labored. Everything comes to a terrible, pained crescendo when a scream finally tears its way through his throat and he awakens with a jolt, bolting upright in bed as he hurriedly looks around in the darkened room with wild, red-rimmed eyes.
His breathing is worse now, his chest heaving like his lungs are starved for air as a cold sweat soaks his clothes and makes them cling uncomfortably to his skin. So much for that shower.
Re: thank
"Alright, alright, I trust you."
He waves his hand, trying to make that statement seem less significant than it really is, before turning on his side so that his back is to his brother, because if he keeps facing him they're going to have another Moment and God, is he too tired to deal with another one of those just yet.
"Just try not to burn the house down if you decide to try your hand at cooking, okay? I'm still paying off this mortgage."
His eyes are already closed as he speaks, and if Stan has anything to say in response, he doesn't hear it. Sleep rises up like a monster from the deep and grabs hold of him before he can even think to tell his brother goodnight.
-------
Stan never gets the chance to keep his promise. Not through any fault of his own, no, he can't be blamed for what happens. Neither of them expected Ford to wake up on his own, an oversight which Ford will be kicking himself over for the rest of the week, assuming he doesn't have a heart-attack before then and put himself out of both their misery.
It starts off innocently enough, at first. There's some tossing and turning, typical movements one might make in their sleep, nothing worrisome there. But then his breathing shifts, hitches, turns labored. Everything comes to a terrible, pained crescendo when a scream finally tears its way through his throat and he awakens with a jolt, bolting upright in bed as he hurriedly looks around in the darkened room with wild, red-rimmed eyes.
His breathing is worse now, his chest heaving like his lungs are starved for air as a cold sweat soaks his clothes and makes them cling uncomfortably to his skin. So much for that shower.