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“Have you ever been in love, Stanley?”
It was an innocent question.
They’d been doing a lot of this lately. Sitting under the stars when the sea was quiet. They would talk about their lives apart, but there were certain things they didn’t talk about. Stan wouldn’t talk much about those first ten years, and Ford was reluctant to share too much about the last thirty. It was nice though, learning about each other. Trying to find a way back to what they were when they were kids.
The topic of love though (love love, not the family kind) wasn’t something Stan expected. Not from Ford. Stan turned to look at his brother, but Ford’s eyes were fixed on the sky.
He shrugged. “‘f course.”
Ford didn’t say anything, so Stan continued. “I mean, not after you were gone. Gravity Falls ain’t exactly Caesar’s Palace, but a few times. Definitely. I mean, I was married once, though I don’t know if I’d call that love. Those warm and fuzzies might’ve been from the obscene amount of booze I’d—” Stan stopped for a moment in realization before angrily grumbling: “Or whatever that Elvis guy sold me.”
Ford only hummed. “What about Carla?”
Stan laughed, the memory of his first crush turned girlfriend rearing its head. His memories would come and go sometimes, but lately, it just took a few words before the important ones came back.
“Yeah, ‘spose so. I mean, we were kids. I don’t know if it was real love. But I guess I did.” Stan wasn’t actually sure anymore. Sure, it hurt like hell when she dumped him, especially when the rest of his life fell apart right after. But he would rather think of that as what love was than any of the shitshows that came after. He didn’t remember much about Jimmy, but the road rash scar on his lower back was enough to assume it didn’t end nicely.
But that wasn’t the real issue.
“Why d’you want to know?”
“Just curious.”
Ford still wasn’t looking at him. Probably naming constellations in his head or something. The camp chairs were a bit unforgiving for their age, and Stan wasn’t looking forward to hearing Ford complain about his neck in the morning. He rolled his eyes.
“Yep, classic Sixer. Always askin’ about people’s personal lives. That’s what Ford loves to hear about. Personal problems.”
Ford huffed a laugh. “Alright. Sorry for asking. Thought that’s what we ‘did now.’”
“Oh, come on,” Stan said. “Why’d you bring this up?”
Ford sighed. “Just forget I said anything. No point in dwelling on more of our past mistakes. I’ve certainly had my fill for the foreseeable future.”
The word must’ve caught both of their attention because Stan’s eyebrows flew up the same moment Ford cringed. “Our past mistakes, eh?”
Ford pinched the bridge of his nose, knocking his glasses. “I only meant that we’ve made many mistakes—”
“In the love department? Eh, Poindexter?” Stan slapped Ford’s back. Ford was pointedly keeping his eyes closed, but the sight made Stan cackle. “What was it? Some snake-person from dimension XZ-17 or something? Or-or a scorpion king from a—” Stan paused in thought before waving his hand dismissively, “Nah, I lost that one, but it was gonna be good.”
Ford lifted his head to glare at Stan. “Why does it have to be some hybrid creature?”
The look Stan gave him was as unimpressed as he could manage. “Do you even have to ask? I mean, the last ex of yours we ran into was a freakin’ triangle—”
“Bill was not—”
“And the only human person you ever talk about from before the portal is that raccoon marryin—” Stan froze. Ford was still glaring, but there was something different about the anger behind it. Stan didn’t take time to process that look. All he could do was stare at Ford in shock. “You’re kidding me.”
His brother huffed and crossed his arms, looking a lot like a teenager for a man in his sixties. Especially with the way his cheeks colored.
Ford didn’t deny it, though.
“McGuckett? That old coot?” Stan asked. It made more sense than Stan would care to admit, but he was having trouble wrapping his head around it. Even before McGuckett shrunk into the small crazy old man who Stan chased away with a broom on multiple occasions, he was never what Stan would have called “well-adjusted.”
But then again, neither was Ford.
Speaking of, Ford still hadn’t said anything. In fact, he was looking pretty uncomfortable with the topic in question, shifting in his seat. And he had gone back to avoiding Stan’s eyes. It made Stan feel a little ashamed of his own reaction.
“Okay, okay,” Stan said, he held up his hands placatingly. “I mean, he’s not all bad—I guess he did help save you. Even when I was being an ass ‘bout it.”
At least that made Ford look at him again. “We’ve been over that, Stanley. You know I don’t blame you for your hesitance. Especially after the way I treated—”
“Nope. Not going down this road again,” Stan said. Ford’s mouth snapped shut, twisting in a sheepish sort of smile, but there was something off about his expression. “I was just trying to say sorry for being so surprised about it all.”
Ford chuckled humorlessly. “I would be surprised if you weren’t.” He took off his glasses and began cleaning them with the end of his sweater, obviously needing something to do with his hands. Stan felt he had the right idea but didn’t want to seem too weird by copying him. “I mean, it’s not every day you find out your brother is,” Ford cleared his throat, “gay.”
While Stan could tell that this was supposed to be one of those serious, emotional moments that Mabel had been training him for, he couldn’t stop his bark of laughter.
Ford jumped, dropping his glasses. And Stan covered his mouth with the back of his hand, trying to stifle the sound.
“Sorry, sorry,” Stan said, still chortling. “Just really wasn’t expecting this.”
His brother looked at him with blind hurt (since he still hadn’t put his glasses back on), and Stan almost wanted to smack him upside the head, though that might send the wrong message at this moment.
“Well, I’m glad you find this all so amusing,” Ford said, shoving his glasses back on his nose. “Though I can’t say I was expecting this either—not from you, at least.”
Stan knew what he meant, having grown up with Pa, but he figured he better stop Ford before he went off the rails. “You seriously think I didn’t know?”
Ford’s hurt expression turned to one of shock. “What do you mean?”
Stan laughed again. “I mean, you weren’t waving any flags around, but there’s only so many times you can hear a guy mention Commander Spork without wondering.” That certainly brought color back to Ford’s cheeks, but Stan went on. “And you never talked about your crushes, even when you would come home blushin’ worse than you are now. And don’t think I don’t remember you bein’ paired with DeMayo in English junior year. Pa called the water company after he saw that bill—”
“That’s enough. Thank you, Stanley,” Ford said. He looked absolutely mortified, and in that moment, Stan couldn’t be happier to have his brother back.
“All I’m saying is you aren’t nearly as mysterious—or good at keepin’ secrets as you give yourself credit for.” Stan sighed. “Though I will say, McGuckett threw me for a loop. I mean I think I’ve pulled the guy out of my trashcans more times than I’ve talked to him.”
Ford scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yes, well. His behavior isn’t all his fault, I mean—”
“I know, I know. Memory gun, trauma, all that telenovela shit.” Stan shook his head, choosing not to think too hard about it all. “I get it, though. Crazy bastards crazy for each other.” Ford scoffed. “Mabel’s gonna love it.”
Ford startled fully upright. “You cannot tell Mabel about this.”
“Right, you’ll tell her. But let me know when so I can steer clear of the blast radius.”
Ford’s hand clamped down on Stan’s arm tightly. His eyes were in full panic. “The children can’t know about this, Stanley. It’s… personal business.”
Stan chuckled and gave Ford’s hand a half-hearted pat, enough to get his brother to release his grip, which Ford did sheepishly. “You’re not gonna do anything about it, are ya?”
It was odd, seeing Ford look so unsure of himself. Stan was a bit more used to it now Mabel had them talking about their ‘feelings’ or whatever. It still wasn’t a reassuring picture.
“Do what, Stanley?” Ford asked tiredly. “We’re far too old for things like romance. And I was never really the type for it anyway. Not to mention all the history Fiddleford and I have, it just…” He sighed. “I don’t even know why I brought it up. It’s ridiculous thinking about it, let alone talking about it.”
And feeling wiser than he had any right to be (maybe it was Mabel rubbing off on him or listening to Dipper analyze far too many character archetypes in classic 80s sci-fi), but Stan simply asked. “But do you want to do something?”
After that, a silence stretched on. Ford released a harsh breath and sat back, and looked at the stars again. His fingers drummed twitchily on the armrests. While it seemed like Ford was avoiding his question, Stan knew better. Mainly because Ford was usually very good, or at least much more obvious, at avoiding difficult questions (a family trait).
And so, the quiet stretched on just as the night started. The yawning absence of noise in the middle of the vastness of the sea was only interrupted by the light lapping of waves. The boat made a gentle sound as it rocked. The ocean was calm, possibly unnaturally so, but Stan wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Ford had said the creature that slept below them was harmless—Stan didn’t believe that, but he could pretend. At least until he needed to kill it with something.
He had more than enough practice at sitting in silence in his life (though in the last decades, there was at least a television), so Stan was tempted to wait Ford out. But Stan knew, probably more than just about anybody, what a stubborn bastard Ford was once he decided something for himself, and he couldn’t risk Ford being an idiot about it.
“Look,” Stan said. He leaned forward in his chair and braced his elbows on his knees. His back twinged, but he ignored it as he stared out at the ocean. “You don’t gotta do something tomorrow, seeing as we’re in the ocean. But sixty-plus years is a lot of time to spend alone. And for some people… well, that might be what’s best for ‘em.”
There, out on the horizon, was a small cluster of stars. The night was so black that the sky almost glowed with the light of the stars overhead. Stan kinda saw the appeal but kept his eyes trained on those out just above the sea. They hovered on the precipice of disappearing from his sight. Stan idly wondered whether he would ever see that constellation again in his life. Would he recognize it? Be able to remember it? He didn’t want to guess.
“All I’m saying is you have a chance at somethin’.” Stan turned to look at Ford, and Ford was still looking at the sky, but his brow was furrowed. Stan sighed. “Don’t know if it’ll be good. It could go horribly.” Ford scoffed. “But honestly, Poindexter, you’re not exactly getting any younger.”
And before Ford could make any other grumbles of protest, Stan plowed on:
“Just think about it. Because we’ve only got so much life left.” At this, Ford did look at him, but he looked thoughtful, and not… painfully so. Stan moved, leaning back in his chair again (his back thanking him). Now that he had Ford’s full attention, though, he wasn’t afraid to point a finger at him. “An’ I know that signal you rigged up works in Gravity Falls. So don’t try to argue. You know full well I have my call with Soos on Fridays.”
Ford shook his head, but his expression was bordering on fond. “I’ll think about it.” But Stan knew, by the ease of his expression, he was already convinced in whatever he was going to do. He gave Stan a small smile. “I’m off to bed,” Ford said, and he pushed himself up. Before turning to leave, he said, “Goodnight, Stanley. And… thank you.”
“Night.” Stan answered. He looked back at the water, hoping the wind would clear whatever just blew into his eye. Ford disappeared below deck, leaving just Stan, the ocean, the sky, and whatever was still sleeping beneath them.
Stan stayed there a while, staring out at the ocean, the stars. The ones he’d seen earlier had already disappeared.
Then a very distinctive and very excited shriek, even across Skype and many time zones, echoed from below deck.
Stan smiled. He let himself look at the stars a little longer. Snippets of excitable chatter and Ford’s dry, calming tone drifted out into the open air. Stan sat, and he committed this moment, this night, this sky, to memory.
