If Ford has one weakness - aside from validation - it's hearing his brother say that one little word that he never says unless he means it. It makes Ford's stomach twist a little, hearing that, knowing even after everything his brother still wants so desperately to help him.

It makes Ford feel a little sick, actually. A little sick, and a little irrationally angry because his brother has no right to be so goddamn forgiving, so quick to push everything aside and ask how he can help, when Ford hasn't done the same for him in...in a while. In a long while.

Sighing roughly, Ford drops his hand from his neck and into his lap where it joins its twin. He plays absently with a lose thread on the end of his sleeve, rolling it into a little ball then unraveling it, just so he has something to look at other than Stan.

"It's not that I don't trust you, Stan. I'm not...this isn't me trying to shut you out, this is me trying to keep you safe."

The words sound hollow even to his own ears, and Ford shakes his head, a rueful smile tugging up the corner of his mouth.

"No, it's not even about that. Not entirely, anyway. I just. I don't -" He cuts himself off, shaking his head as he abandons that sentence and tries again.

"We're you ever afraid, on the way here? Afraid that I'd...that I'd look at you differently?" He gnaws at his lip, tugging a little harder on that thread to test its strength, see if it'll snap.

"Did you ever worry that I'd...I'd find out something about you, something you never wanted me to know, and that I'd think less of you for it?"