As they head towards the door, Ford finds himself staring out into the rapidly darkening sky rather than at Stan. He's just - you know, he's just calculating the speed at which the sun's setting so he knows how much daylight they have before they get stranded in the dark. He's not just avoiding looking at his brother while he speaks, of course not. Perish the thought.

"After the, ah...experiences I've had, Stan, I'm not really fond of being smothered."

He doesn't mean to, but he can't help but reach up and touch the back of his head, his fingers brushing against the angry red line burned into his skin. Once he realizes what he's doing he quickly pulls his hand away, only to move it back and pretend like he was just trying to fix his hair again.