After the day they've had, it takes everything Ford has to resist the urge to drop face-down on his bed and sleep for two weeks. Instead, he simply sits on the edge of the bed then drops backwards, arms splayed out as he shuts his eyes and lets out the long, tired sigh of a man who hasn't been glad to be home in a long, long time.]

[He missed this, being able to come home and feel even a little at east.]

"Why do I have the feeling your idea of a "real party" involves the contents of my medicine cabinet?"

He grins as he says it, feeling the tired sort of happy where everything just seems funnier than it actually is.

"Not that anything in there can really be used recreationally. Well, except for the Quaalude. And the Secanol."

Look, insomnia medication is really easy to abuse, alright. And you know what, shut up, he actually has legitimate prescriptions for those.