Chapter Text
The apartment is barren. Not really- Bill has his furniture, the glow stars that cover the ceiling in his room twinkle in the fading light, reflecting old dead constellations only two souls alive could name. His couch still smells like mildew (purchased from the redneck equivalent of Goodwill, despite the smell, it’s comfortable and plush- it was affordable). Bill has dirty laundry piled up in the corner of his bedroom, a pair of animal print boxers lying on top. Gross. He needs to get to that.
But no, the house isn’t barren, but it’s missing alcohol.
It being New Year’s Eve has nothing to do with Bill’s temptation for alcohol, namely for cheap beer. Champagne is great- white wine in general amazing, but New Years is for crappy beer. He’s feeling Budweiser tonight, despite his normal yearning for a PBR, he’s feeling spicy. Saucy if you will. Resolute to spend his evening right, Bill throws on a sweater and some sweats, and marches to the corner store. Before he knows it, he’s thumbing the handle of his cane staring at the rows and rows of alcohol behind glass. His thumb digs into the foam as he weighs his choices, eye flitting between the Budweiser and PBR with a ferocity.
“Oh. Greetings.” A baritone voice breaks Bill out of his mental debate, head turning to face it. Ford looks windswept, a few curly locks out of place and a flush on his cheeks from the outside chill. He looks cozy- decked in a new maroon knit scarf and a fuzzy taupe jacket.
Bill hums in greeting, and returns his gaze to the beers. The only available case of Budweiser is a 12 pack, which is far too much Budweiser for one evening. He rarely feels the call to that brand, so it would just go to waste. However the PBR has a 6 pack available, much more manageable, but he isn’t drawn to it. Taking a peek at Ford, the author is also in his own mental battle. Quietly mouthing words to himself and tapping his chin. Bill catches Ford sneaking a look back at him, and smiles hesitantly at Bill. “Your scars are healing nicely.” Bill feels the man’s gaze trail down his jaw, down his neck. Bill shudders- creep.
“No thanks to you.” He bites back. Ford twinges, but is quiet. “What’re you doing here anyway? Aren’t you the town hermit?”
It’s not wrong of Bill to say, Ford leaving the shack outside of field trips into the forest is rare. He’s usually accompanied by the younger twins or Stan when he does venture to town. Solo trips into the town proper are a rarity for the old man.
“Supposedly, I’m to obtain beer.” Ford replies, grabbing a can and examining the ingredients before returning it to the fridge and shutting the door. “Stanley requested I pick up something- in his words, I’m picky.”
“You are picky.” Bill agrees. Stan- ever the wiser twin- is absolutely right. If you were to hand Ford a can of Folgers coffee, he would turn his nose to it- hand him a can of Maxwell House, and he’s content.
Bristling, Ford clearly disagrees. Leveling Bill with an exasperated look, clearly he and Stan were bickering about it before he left the house. “I have preferences, this does not make me picky.” Oh, yep. Tone alone tells Bill that’s exactly what happened.
“Okay!” Bill laughs, shaking his head and twirling his cane. “Your preferences, princess, are slim pickings.”
Ford grumbles, waving a hand dismissively at Bill and grabbing another pack from the refrigerator unit with a haste. Clearly, the man is floundering. It’s been years since Ford’s return to this dimension, but he knows the man has a hard time remembering the small things he enjoyed before entering the vortex. It’s natural. Three years back home, when he’s spent longer in certain worlds. Bill takes a few steps into Ford’s space, plucking the pack from his hands- Ford makes a sound of protest- and Bill replaces it with a different brand from a lower shelf.
Patting himself on the back, Bill retreats from the space he occupied. “You liked those before, if your tastes changed that’s not on me.”
“I did?” Ford squints at the pack in his hands, turning the case here and there. Recognition lights up his eyes, and he smiles fondly. “I’d forgotten about these.” In celebration due to significant developments with the portal, he and Fiddleford would grab a couple bottles and take the evenings off. It’s a detail Ford’s shocked Bill remembers, given Bill never cared for the celebrations. Always insistent they were a waste of time, that they needed to get back to work. It’s a bittersweet memory, but he’s glad he remembers it.
“Thank you.” Ford doesn’t mean for it to sound like a curse, like a vexed maiden, but it certainly sounds that way to Bill. Nothing like the meaningful thank you he’d given Bill on the boat. This, it’s new.
Bill feels a vein in his forehead twitch. He categorizes the inflection for later analysis. Ever the puzzling one, that’s Ford. “How’re the kids?” He turns back to the units, back to weighing the pros and cons of his two choices.
“Back home now.” Ford replies easily. He should leave, pay for his things and head home, but it’s polite to keep a conversation going. Right? He was told to be cordial. “They had a pleasant time. Mabel asked about you- she was too busy to visit you in person.” Partially that was Ford’s own fault, intentionally or not. Despite the boat trip, Ford still has plenty of reservations in regards to his family being around Bill Cipher- even if he admits the demon is changed. It’s complicated. When has Bill not been complicated?
Not sensing Ford’s internal plight, Bill grins. His cheeks stretch, the crows feet by his eye crinkling. “I got a sweater from her.” His hands twitch, fighting the urge to shove Ford playfully.
“You did?”
“Yep!” Preening under Ford’s surprised stare, Bill continues. “And a pillow from Fez.” Feeling rather smug, Bill twirls a lock of hair. “Guess you can call me popular.”
On the subject of gifts, Ford’s face sours. “I received your gift.” Mumbling under his breath, more of a sigh. “If you can call it a gift.”
Bill grins at the memory. The Gun Safety For Dummies magazine was certainly not planned- spotted at the last moment on the way out of the liquor store, but gods, what an amazing gift. If he weren’t so proud of what he got Mabel, he would say it was his favorite of the season. “Did you read those notes I left you? I even cited my sources, I know that gets your gears all oiled up and turning.”
Through clenched teeth, reminding himself to be nice , Ford takes a deep breath. “I appreciate the thought.” The words leave his tongue heavy in his mouth, he loathes speaking more on the topic.
Ford huffs through his nose, moving the carton of beer under his arm and balancing it on his hip. Bill senses the mood coming off Ford in waves, and shrugs. PBR it is, Bill loathes wasting his money on more than he needs. See you next time, Budweiser. “Whatever. Happy-” He thinks for a moment. “What do you celebrate?”
“Hanukkah, technically.” Ford makes a so-so motion with his free hand. “I haven’t practiced in a long time, however the niblings insist on celebrating.” His hand returns to the warmth of his pocket, Ford smiles fondly at the memories of the recent celebration. The memory of the latkes Dipper and Stan made the other day still present on his tongue. “I’m happy to oblige.”
Stan must be happy to celebrate something too, after all those years alone, working on the portal to get Ford back. Bill’s happy for the family- even lumping in Ford on that note of happiness. After everything, the guy deserves some peace, even if recent events make Bill feel otherwise. “And you?” Ford’s voice cuts through Bill’s musings.
“Me?” Bill repeats incredulously, blowing a raspberry. “I don’t celebrate anything Six.” Euclydia, as Bill recalls, didn’t have holidays like this dimension does. Granted, Euclydia is a hazy memory in his mind, and he could be wrong. “I just give out gifts to the good girls and boys- call me Santa, baby!”
As Bill laughs, Ford rolls his eyes. Fucker must get constant headaches from doing that so damn often. “I’m glad to have made the cut, St. Bill.”
“You should be happy you made the nice list- given you’re a know-it-all bastard.” Not to mention the kidnapping- but Bill certainly doesn’t mention the kidnapping, given the glare Ford’s giving him. Best to not push too many buttons in an uncrowded corner store. “Happy holidays, IQ.”
The look dissipates, leaving surprise on Ford’s face. His mouth parts in an o shape. Floundering for a moment, Ford collects himself, turning away from Bill and moving to the register. “Happy holidays, Bill.”
Despite not wanting to be around Bill anymore, they still end up one in front of the other at the checkout counter. Bill spends the time counting the gray hairs on the back of Ford’s head, then jabs a finger in the center of his back. Ford stiffens, and drops his change. Half turning to a smirking Bill, he kneels down with his receipt and collects the coins. Bill easily steps around him and pays for his alcohol, stepping on a quarter just to irritate Ford a bit more.
Bill finishes his purchase, moving his foot at just the right time to allow Ford to obtain his quarter (a hard fought battle, Bill’s sure). Then turns to leave. Ford’s fast on his tail, probably rushing to get home to Stan before he bombards the man with frantic calls asking where the devil he is. Stan always worries when Ford’s gone for too long when the task should be short.
“Ay-o!” The clerk calls out, calling the attention of Bill and Ford. He points above the pair, and both sets of eyes (or rather, one full set, then one extra lone eye) look up.
Mistletoe.
And they’re under the doorway together, Bill holding the door open and letting all the cold air in. He shivers, but not from the chill. Ford looks like a cat who just got dunked into water- suffice to say, he’s not thrilled about the tradition.
Bill on the other hand, after the momentary discomfort, finds he doesn’t actually care all that much and would like to return home as quickly as possible. “For the love of-” Bill grabs Ford’s chin, turns the man’s head, and kisses him on the cheek.
It’s brisk, chaste. Bill feels the stubble beneath his lips for just a moment before pulling away. He’s not so uncouth as to kiss the author on the lips- his efforts would be rewarded with a different kind of kiss in return. He would prefer not to taste blood on his teeth while drinking his beer.
Smirking at Ford, he releases the trapped chin and pats him on the opposite cheek. “Give Stan my regards.”
Ford, previously displaying shock on his face, feels it morph into disgust, lip curling. “Don’t.” A warning.
Bill merely shrugs and cackles, crossing the threshold into the cold night’s air. He turns his back to Ford and waves, whistling on his walk back to his apartment. Ford watches him go, the convenience store door shutting slowly behind him. He watches Bill’s retreating figure in a mix of anger and disbelief. Brandishing a soft smile, Ford shakes his head and huffs. The air leaves his nose in a frosty plume, dissipating soon after.
He turns on his heel and walks the opposite direction, back to the shack. He hopes Stan didn’t start lighting the fireworks without him.