Archive of Our Own

"I will ask you one more time, Pines," a sharp tip of the knife touches Ford's throat. Enough to hurt and enough to create a tiny bloody cut. "Where is it?" Ford felt way more intensity beginning to be pressed on the knife.

The voice was smooth and calm. Almost soothing. But Stanford knew better. He knew that they were doing nothing but mocking him right now. And this knowledge was enough to make his blood boil.

"I don't know," Ford simply answers through gritted teeth, really hoping his voice wouldn't shake.

The room was completely covered in the darkness. The only contrasting light was a single standard incandescent bulb, which made Ford squint his eyes because those stupid bastards decided to point it directly at his poor, full of bruises and cuts face. And even there, his tortures didn't end. Even with this sort of lightning he was practically forced to look at this disgusting, gross face of the man standing right in front of the chair he was tied to, dangerously grinning and still holding the knife near his throat way to close to Ford's comfort.

"Right," Ivan, whose real name probably isn't even Ivan, answers, humorlessly chuckling. "You don't know." He repeats. "Maybe you just forgot, Mr. Pines?" Ivan sighs, shaking his head. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. What a shame. Perhaps we should just help you remembering. What do ya think, detective?" 

And without any next warning, he feels a strong fist hitting against his cheek, making his head snap towards the left direction. Ford grunts and yelps in pain, spitting out some mix of blood and saliva. He fervently hoped his teeth were still in their places.

If only his body wouldn't be fully tied to this stupid attempt of a chair, Ivan's face would've been already broken. A big bloody mess that what it would be. He would've still keep him alive, sure. He needed to get him behind the bars; this guy is not getting out of this so easy. But for now, all Ford can do is... literally nothing. Not with his legs tightly tied to the chair legs like this and his hands strongly chained up together behind the chair in a very weird and uncomfortable angle.

"How about now, detective?" 

Ford slowly turns his head towards the bastard－ Sweet Moses, his neck hurts－ and stares at him with blurry vision he was now getting used to have since his glasses were long broken, laying somewhere on the cement floor. 

"I still don't fucking know." He spits, his voice hoarse and rasping. His lips are red as a line of blood drips down them, heading towards the chin and then his neck. "We're not even connected!"

He hears a sigh, and awaits for another punch that infact never happens.

"Ya know what, Pines? Fine. Ya want it the hard way you'll get it the hard way."

Ivan takes a big step back, his face disappearing from Ford's view (not that he saw it too good with that shitty eyesight of his) leaving Ford completely oblivious to what is about to happen. But he's guessing it ain't something good, that's for sure.

"Bring in the Big Shot," he hears Ivan's voice echoing through out the room.

After few moments, the steel door opens, allowing small amount of light lluminate the third of the room. The next thing Ford hears are footsteps followed by angry muffled sounds. Clear signs of struggle. The door shuts once again, as the darkness comes back.

Ford suddenly feels his chair moving backwards and he lets out a confusing "what the" even sounding somewhat panicked. But before his mind can fill with bunch of not-so-happy scenarios, the moving stops. Ford's chair was only, for the reason he obviously isn't aware of, moved few feet back. 

He squints his eyes, as he sees something suddenly being put infront of him. He recognizes by the familiar color and construction of the mysterious item, that it's nothing but another chair. Well. Now he's confused. (And a bit very fucking terrified, but it's not like he's going to admit it.)

He then hears another wave of aggressive muffles, recognizing the obvious tussle. 

What comes next almost makes his heart stop.

No. They wouldn't－ They couldn't!

The world stops around him as soon as he sees THE Bill Cipher in flesh, sitting infront of him. His mouth is bandaged with the same looking rag that was on Ford's mouth himself literally thirty minutes ago; his body fully tied to the chair. And he looks completely furious.

But as soon as he sees Ford his struggles suddenly slow down. Unspoken "what the fuck is HE doing here" can be read on this face expression Bill is making. 

Ford stares back with shock? Anger? Concern?? 

He doesn't know how to feel towards his greatest enemy being treated like that. No. That was wrong. That felt wrong. The Bill Cipher, The Nighmare Demon (stupid nickname people made for him) was the most powerful person throughout the whole West's territory. The most feared one. The most annoying, irritating and yet uncatchable one. Ford, unfortunately learned that from his own experience. Stanford Filbrick Pines was the only person to get having Bill like this. To actually catch him like this one beautiful day. Not stupid Ivan and his idiotic goons. He felt a weird wave of possessiveness cursing through his veins at this thought. How dare they. 

Ford squints his eyes, his gaze quickly roams over his form, trying to find any obvious signs of injury. Six-fingered detective happy to find nothing but just a bit torned and dirty clothes. A bit contrast from what Cipher is usually wearing (even now he somehow managed to look pretty hot, Ford hopes his cheeks stay the same color as they were before.)

"Not so strong without your 'henchmaniacs' or whatever you call 'em, are you now, Cipher?" Ivan mocks with a stupid grin, appearing from the darkness, to step in-between of them both. 

Bill's gaze snaps, angrily glaring at him, which is only making Ivan's grin wider.

"Now that I've figured this guy over here is useless to tell me shit," he points at Ford with his thumb. "I'll try with you. Maybe the famous Cipher is easier to break from what everyone else are saying."

Ford sees Bill's eye narrow.

"Untie his mouth," Ivan commands and all of the sudden there are sudden movements Ford sees behind Bill's chair (if he squints his eyes enough.) Immediately after the command was given, the rag falls down on Bill's knees.

***

"Oh you're dead. You're so dead!" Bill immediately spits, there's few sparkles of bitterness in his tone. "Do you know what you just got yourself into, you fuckin' moron??!" he laughs hoarsely at Ivan's face, spitting a bit. "As soon as I'm outta here- I, I'll make sure you suffer and ask me to kill you when I'll--"

"Now, now, Mr.Cipher," Ivan cuts him off. "You don't want me to put a muzzle on you, do you?" He smiles. Bill wants to punch this smile off his face. "So be a good boy and shut yer trap."

Bill has to bite his tongue hard to prevent himself from telling him his exact, step by step plan on how he definitely will be torturing this blonde freak the second he gets out of this ridiculous situation.

His gaze leaves Ivan's face for few moments, to look at Stanford Pines tied to a chair in front of him. All beaten up. All vulnerable and angry. Bill frowns, as his eye roams on Ford's glasses-less face, taking in his every cut and bruise. His Fordsy was discovered. Of course he was! This loud, six-fingered detective-freak had a tendency to yell at every corner how much he hated Bill and how close he was to getting him behind the bars. He knew his Fordsy was the way he is and Bill still let it happen. Stupid stupidstupidSTUPID. He should have been more careful. He should have covered up all traces of their intimate connection. He should have send someone from his henchmaniacs to look after Ford, force them to pretend that they were police officers or something and work side by side with his Sixer, so that this would never happen. But now there was Ford. Tied to the chair with a tired expression and a face, full of bruises, cuts and probably much worse things Bill didn't discover about his Fordsy having yet.

And the worst part is that he doesn't even know what Ivan is planning to do. 

For the first time in his, life Bill Cipher is completely terrified. 

But even now, he can't show it. Especially now. He should stay calm. Stay calm. Stay calm.

"Who the hell is this?!" He spits out, trying to act nonchalant as he glares at even more confused looking Fordsy.

Ivan huffs. "Ya're not foolin' anyone today, Cipher. I know you know 'im. Probably more than that even."

"I-" Ford tries to chime in, but Bill cuts him off.

"How the fuck am I supposed to know him?" Bill rolls his eyes, then glares at Ivan. "Seriously. You're bringing civilians in our affairs now, Ivan? How noble of you," he laughs. 

He sends Ford a quick gaze, seeing his eyes narrow. He quickly realizes looking at Ford for just a second was a big mistake. Because everytime he looks at him and sees this expression of a beaten puppy, his heart clenches but his mind races and almost on autopilot comes up with different kind of scenarios of how exactly he is going to slowly and painfully kill Ivan. 

Ivan looks at him coldly, simply ignoring his question. "Where is the briefcase, William." 

Bill tenses as his gaze shifts back at Ivan. He feels Ford tensing up too; he doesn't even has to look to know that.

"What briefcase?" Bill plays dumb.

Two eyes of Ivan's meet Bill's one. They stare at each other.

"Cipher. I'll be askin' nicely for the very last time. Where. Is the briefcase." His voice is still.

Bill rolls his eye almost playfully. With a bored expression on his face. "You have to be more specific, ya rat. I'm a mafioso. I've seen tons of briefcases in my life and I…" 

His voice suddenly dies down in his throat as soon as he hears this terrible sound of a gun reloading. He heard that bunch if times before. Most of the times, he himself was the one who got to reload gun like that, standing near his soon-to-be-dead victims.

His gaze follows the sound, his eye meets it. The gun in Ivan's hands. Bill mindlessly gulps.

No. He wasn't scared. He wasn't afraid of death. He's The Bill Cipher. That's just ridiculous. Some pathetic asshole like Ivan who unironically says "no more mister nice guy" is no threat for him. Ivan is not a reason to be afraid. 

But then--

The next thing he knows is that the gun in Ivan's hand is suddenly raised up and is not pointed at him but at his detective's temple.

His eye locks on Ford. His mind is slowly beginning to race. He can see the way Ford's breathing slowed down a little, as he was probably shitting his pants too right now (because Bill definitely was.) Ford's face grimaced the second cold barrel of the gun touched his skin, his six-fingered hands gripped into the chair's wood. Ford makes an attempt to move his head away, but all of the sudden, Ivan's second hand goes up to grip into his hair. Which has only made Ford grimace even more. Oh you bastard.

Ivan carefully watches Bill, consuming every little emotion his face is currently making.

"Where is the briefcase, Cipher." He tries again. Slowly. "I'm giving you exactly 10 seconds for an answer before I blow out his brain. Starting from... now." He smiles, his hand grips the hair harder as Ford grunts. 

Oh you fucking theater kid, Bill bites his tongue, (as if he wasn't one too.)

"One."

Bill is silent. 

"Two."

...

"Three."

"Goddamit, I don't know!"

"Four."

"I don't even know this freak! Yeah! Kill him for all I care!" 

"Five."

"Are you seriously going to kill a guy just because you suspect we're connected? Wow."

"Six."

Bill sweats. He sweats a lot. And that terrified look on Ford's face isn't making any of this better.

"Seven."

"I don't know!" Bill says, his voice desperate.

"Eeeiiighhhtt." Finger twitches on the trigger dangerously.

"He's not even connected to any of it!"

"Niiineee…"

Ford gulps.

Fuckfuckfuck

"OKAY! I'll tell you! I'll tell you!" Bill barks out, his heart almost stops at how close it got to 10. "Just stop pointing this thing at him!" 

Bill feels sense of relief washing over him as soon as the gun gets pointed away from his Ford's head. Bill lets out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. His tension in shoulders loosens up a bit. He notices Ford's tension leaving his own body too. He tries to lock eyes with him, wanting to somehow reassure him- to tell him it's all going to be alright. That Bill is not letting anyone but him doing that kind of shit to his Sixer. If someone actually ends up messing with Fordsy it's him. If someone ends up pointing a gun at him it's him. And he's going to kill anyone who tries otherwise.

Ivan impatiently stares at Bill, his hand still grips the gun. The thought of it is enough to make Bill sweat.

He lets out a sigh. "I have your stupid briefcase," Bill muttered under his breath, pouting like a child. "If you let me and my--" He cuts himself off, eyeing Ford. "And detective over here go, I will immediately connect my people and tell them to bring it here. It's a promise from the Nighmare Demon himself. I think I'm known around here to always keep my promises, am I not?" He holds back a gulp. His voice is still and careful. Somewhat uncharacteristic from his usual mocking tone; Bill really tries his best to choose the words leaving his mouth wisely.

"Hm," Ivan hums thoughtfully, tapping his chin with the gun as if it was his finger. 

Bill felt few beads of sweat beginning to form on his forehead.

Eventually, Ivan lets out a long siiighh. "Oh, Mr. Cipher, Mr. Cipher." The gun barrel rests against Ivan's chin, supporting his head upright. "What should I dooo. Obviously I should just trust a wanted mafioso whose people stole my fuckin' money," he basically spits out the last part. "And let him go just because he promised he's goin' to give it back! After he also vowed to kill me. Good idea! Smart me."

Oh God how much I hate you, Bill doesn't say.

Please die slowly in suffering while I watch, Bill also doesn't say.

"What do you want me to do then??" Bill spits out, losing his temper. What could this prick possibly suggest if he didn't feel like trusting him?

Ivan face fully turned to Bill, facing him with a gross, creepy looking grin. "Well, for starters..."

Something behind that creep caught Bill's attention. A movement. His eye quickly darted towards Ford, who tried to point at something with his head and those facial expressions he was making. Bill looked back at Ivan, trying not to give away whatever his Fordsy is planning. Bill didn't know what kind of plan was playing in Ford's head right now but what he knew for certain was that he must keep Ivan's gaze away from him. He needs to be able to distract him long enough. 

Bill also realized that he wasn't listening to whatever this asshole been telling him all along and now Ivan was staring at him, most likely waiting for an answer. 

"Iiii- uh. Yeah. Totally. Sure. I can do that," Bill stumbles on his own words (which was a rare sight to capture), realy really oping this shitty answer would do. He can feel a drop of sweat running down the back of his head.

Ivan narrows his eyes, tilting his head. "You can?" 

Uh. What did he just agree to? Not that it matters, he wouldn't do it anyways but it's always good to know... what you're agreeing to.

"Yeah. Bet." He nods, trying to act nonchalant.

He tried to keep his eye locked on Ivan but it was hard to focus when he noticed more movements, that were way more interesting right behind Ivan's back.

His Ford's six-fingered hands that Bill adored so much somehow, magically got free (probably not so magically, considering the fact that Ford got out of chains bunch of times before so his hands are pretty damn skilled.) He lifted them, crouching up just a little to get his ass off the chair's seat, his fingers gripping into it's wooden back post. 

"Would never think you'd actually agree to this, Cipher. Well. I guess I underestimated you then." Ivan says, his voice somewhere in-between of suprise and genuine happiness.

Ford's hands abruptly throw the chair over himself, the grip never loosens. 

Bill almost frantically nods－ just few more seconds, Bill. Just few more seconds. "Yeah. That's just the way I am. So awesome and uhm, very--"

Whatever Bill was about to say next, doesn't really matter because the chair hits directly at the back of Ivan's thick head, making him collapse on floor unconscious with a loud thud.

Bill chuckles. A smirk appears on his face and his giggling and huffs quickly turn into a way stronger cackle. "Good hit, detective!" He says in-between of laughs, as he eyes his Sixer who was now standing right infront of him.

Stanford towers over him, looking all disheveled and even somewhat bored (or maybe just tired; Bill couldn't tell. He just knew he looked pretty hot.) His left hand goes up to his face, rubbing the previous places he was punched, grimacing a little. 

"Thank you," Ford answers, his voice hoarse. He then spits out some mixed with saliva blood, wiping the blood off his lips with his wrist. 

He stretches out his limbs, cracks his six fingers and moves his head around, trying to make blood circling through his body the way it was before he was forced to sit in this stupid chair for 9 hours straight. Ford gaze falls down eventually, as if almost forgetting about the fact that Bill still sat there, tied up and unable to make proper moves. Their eyes meet, as they stare at each other in silence for few moments. 

Not that it was an uncomfortable silence though...

(Bill believes it's sexual tension.)

"You look like shit." Bill breaks the silence, smirking, as he eyes his Sixer up and down.

Ford huffs, skeptically lifting his eyebrow. "You know, I can still just leave you here. Tied up and pathetic." He says, his arms crossing. 

"Wowza Fordsy! Kinky," Bill giggled. "But come on, I know you know you won't! I saved your ass back there and you're too noble to leave me behind after all that." He smiles innocently. 

Ford's eyebrows furrow, he stares at Bill for few moments. Bill takes in his detective's complicated expression, devouring it like a dessert. 

"Sweet Moses," Ford mutters under his breath few moments later, clearly not happy with this whole situation. Or maybe just with the fact that Bill is right. He circles Bill and crouches down behind the chair Bill is forcefully 'glued' to, as his fingers begin to skillfully untie Bill's hands.

"Crap. I see absolutely nothin' without my glasses..." Ford mumbles through gritted teeth, as he tries to unknot the tight ropes.

When Bill's body is finally free from those filthy, brownish snakes, he quickly jumps up from the chair with a wide grin on his face. "Thank you, Sixie!" His right hand rubs bruises on his left wrist, caused from the stiff ropes. "Or should I rather say Sexy?" Bill chuckles at his very funny joke.

"That a terrible wordplay, Bill." Ford lets out a sigh, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

Bill watches him, chuckling quietly. God, he loved their moments like this. He suddenly remembers something as he takes a step closer to his Sixer, reaching out to move Ford's own hand away from his eyes and face in general. His other hand goes up to grab Ford's jaw firmly, moving his head a little to a side, in attempt to check his bruises. He leans closer, letting out a hum. "They really did a number on ya, huh." He mutters quietly, inspecting his face, as his thumb gently ran over his a bit bristly cheek.

Ford surprisingly doesn't resist. He even melts in Bill's touch pretty quickly, deciding that today he'll let it slide. Just for today. Just for Bill. Not The Bill Cipher.

"You're hurt somewhere else?" 

"I've been through worse," Ford shrugs Cipher's concerns(?) off. And in addition to that, those show-offs can't even land a normal punch." His eyes study Bill for few moments. "You?" 

"You said it yourself, Sixie. They can't even land a punch," Bill smirks.

He finally lets go of his face, taking a step back before glancing down at Ivan's unconscious body, that still laid on a cold cement floor. Where it belongs. Bill's eyelid narrows, as he looks at Ivan with complete disgust. His eye quickly darts over the floor, finding the gun laying near Bill's chair few feet away. One-eyed man moves forward, crouching down to pick it up. He plays with it in his hands, humming thoughtfully.

Should he make it slow? For example go for his leg first, then his arm or something. Shooting limb by limb. That would work. Or maybe wait till he wakes up to show him what Bill is doing with him? To make him feel it. Keeping him alive and conscious the whole time. That would do too.

"There's no time for games, Bill," Ford's voice snaps him out of his thoughts. "We need to get out of here as quick as possible before his gang notices it got too quiet."

Bill's gaze never left the gun, his hand grips it tightly. "Five more minutes, ma," he says it in a fake-whiny tone. "I just need to finish some business first." 

He points the gun straight at Ivan's head and before Ford could shout out a 'wait,' he shoots. There's a bloody mess on the floor now that makes Ford let out an irritated groan. 

"Why did you do it?!" Ford scolds. "My team and I tried to catch him for months and now you- he- ughh!" Ford groans, his fingers rubs his temples.

"Hey! I have my offenses against him too, you know!" Or begun to have since today specifically, he doesn't say. "So you can't really blame a guy for letting off some steam." Bill shrugs. "Besides, I couldn't let this low-life think he can get away from me just because he's unconscious. That piece of shit had it commin'. And it's completely deserved." He looks down at now dead body, effortlessly hitting it with his leg. 

"Wanted to make it slower though." Bill clicks his tongue, shaking his head, disappointed. "Well. I guess it's too late for that now, huh."

Ford rubs the bridge of his nose, letting out a heavy sigh. "Let's just... get out of here. There's supposed to be a sewer hatch in this room somewhere, leading straight to the underground evacuation routes." He tips his chin with index finger thoughtfully.

"Evacuation routes?" Bill repeats as his brow raises. "And remind me how exactly are you aware of that?"

"That's how I ended up here in the first place," Ford shrugs and wants to reach out to adjust his glasses on autopilot, but ends up frowning slightly as his fingers find nothing. "Those uneducated..." he coughs. "Gentlemen thought that if they put a bag on my head to cover my eyes, I wouldn't recognize that they're leading me through the sewerage," he rolls his eyes. "How stupid are they? First of all it's a well known to humanity fact, that in any underground premises the temperature is almost impossible to confuse! I do hate to shutter their delusions of thinking they are being intelligent enough to hide something from me, but this is just simply.."

"Fordsy. The hatch."

"Oh. Right," Ford blinks.

Ford squints his eyes, turning his head around, in an effort to find some kind of unevenness in the floor. He quickly realized it was useless since it was way too dark and the absence of his glasses was a heavy hit on his eyesight. 

Ford lets out an irritated sigh.

"Shit. Where is it.." Ford mumbles under his breath, his eyes narrow more. And after few more seconds of trying to find it (and failing), he turns around to face Bill, who stood there looking all bored as he watched Ford with a weird leer. 

"Well? Don't just stand there. Help me finding it," Ford grumbles, side-eyeing him.

"Under the chair. Dumbass." Bill rolls his eye mostly in a playful manner than anything. 

Ford frowns, turning his head to look back at an overturned chair with a metalic hatch underneath. Oh. 

"Oh," he also says out loud.

Bill enjoys embarrassed face his Fordsy is making, with pleasure noticing his reddened ears. "Yeah. Oh."

He eyes Ivan's dead body for the very last time, spitting on it before he takes a step forward to Fordsy, his hand lifts to pet and ruffle his hair like he's a dog (and also trying to ignore the fact he has to stand on his tiptoes to do so.) "Awe. Like a blind bat, aren't ya?" 

Ford huffs but does not shoves Bill's hand away.

"Let's just go already." He grumbled, taking a step forward to the sewer hatch. 

Bill chuckles one more time before he eventually follows after. Ford sends Bill a glance and just this short gaze it was enough to understand only by the way Bill was standing that he will not be participating in the action of doing any hard, dirty work. Okay asshole.

Ford inhales and exhales, stooping to struggle with grabbing the edge of the hatch. His arms increased tension in them, finally managing to open it and to toss the manhole cover to his right. He lets out a tired sigh, looking inside of it. 

There was not too much to see, but there definitely was an unstable-looking ladder that was leading into the darkness of the sewer routes. Bill, behind him hums, also inspecting the insides of the sewerage. 

"Wowie. Looks very safe!" Bill chirps sarcastically. "I totally trust that!" His thin index finger with sharp nails points at a rusty ladder that looked like it was ready to detach from the dirty sewer wall, falling and crushing any moment.

"Oh excuse me. I forgot we're having Doljabi ceremony," Ford rolls his eyes. "Please, pick whatever you want from the table!"

"Sorry, I don't speak French." Bill giggles, while being fully aware of what Doljanchi and Doljabi is, yet still just wanting to piss off his Fordsy.

Ford inhales, slowly exhaling. "We don't have many options, Bill. So you're either coming with or--" he frowns, stopping himself. He didn't want to suggest Bill to stay here because he knew that this idiot could actually end up staying. Just for the risk of the game. Just for the gamble. Ford bites his lip while thinks of that. "So you're coming with." He finally says, his voice coming out firm and confident.

Bill lets out a noise that could mean many things, shrugging. "Euuugh. But there are rats down there! And cockroaches! Probably…" he whines, adding the last part unsurely.

"Bill, how can you think about this when we-"

He was rudely interrupted by the sudden footsteps, heard on the other side of the door.

Ford and Bill both exchanged the same panicked expressions, gazing at eachother silently.

Bill doesn't even gets much time to react, before Ford suddenly grips into his upper arm, frantically shoving him closer to the sewer hatch.

"Get in!" He says, alarmed. 

"But the rats-" 

"Get! In!" Ford hisses through gritted teeth, holding himself to loudly shout it out.

Bill spends no more time on thinking twice (or well, thrice), convinced by intensity in Ford's the voice, as he quickly begins to climb down the ladder. Into the creepy darkness.

He watches his every step, he doesn't want to admit it but his hand are trembling. He feels like he's about to slip down. The ladder was way too wet! Way too old! He was going to slip down. Shit. The famous Bill Cipher dies like this. In the sewerage filled with shit and urine, his organs eaten by gross cockroaches and filthy, infected with rabies rats. He was so much better than this. Bill doesn't want to look down, but in the same time he can't look away. He has to know where he steps or he will die and rot here. And the darkness around him does not help him to calm down. Not one a bit. Dear God, what would happen to his Fordsy if he dies?? What if his Fordsy dies with him!?

He distantly hears someone descending above him, he suspects that it's Ford, but he's not completely sure since he refuses to look up. The only light that came through the hatch passage from the room above dissapears completely. Bill guesses that Fordsy(?) has also closed the manhole cover to deter any potential pursuers. If Bill was scared (he's not scared, he's just responding to shock!) before then that scares the fuck out of him.  

"Bill??" He hears a voice above. Fuck yes. He guessed it right; it was Ford! God how he adores to hear this voice. That's exactly what he needed. Especially now. 

"Bill, are you okay down there?!" Bill hears Ford ask. He doesn't really know what to answer. No. He doesn't really know how to answer. His tongue feels like a cotton wool in his mouth and he has no idea why. All he can do is to gulp and let out a weird whimper-like noise.

"Hey, hey, breath," Ford tells him, probably noticing that something feels off about Bill. "We're almost there. How about we count every step we make? Hm?" His voice sounds both calm and concerned.

Bill hates it. He hates that he was pathetic enough for someone (even Ford) to feel concerned emotions towards him. But not that he can argue against it right now. So he just lets out another noise, hoping that Ford will interpret it as a yes. 

Ford above him grunts, probably also having his own struggles with getting down. Yet, Bill keeps on hearing his somewhat soothing tone. "Alright. Try counting with me. I'll start," he suggests slowly, taking a quick breath before beginning to count. "Step one, step two..." 

Slowly the counting turns into a rhythm. A rhythm that is pretty damn easy to follow when you try.

Each step they make, Ford's voice helps him. Leads him and makes him join the counting. Bill quietly repeats after Ford with his own rather shaky voice. "Step eight.." Bill repeats, gulping. 

"Step...auhggh!" Bill suddenly yelps. He tried to step down, but his feet suddenly met something solid, making his hands loose their tight grip and fall down with horror. He's dead. He's dead. He's going to die. He's going to die!--

He panics just for his ass to meet cold floor after 2 seconds of falling.

"Bill?!" he hears Ford panicked voice. "Are you-- oh."

Bill hears him also making a step on the firm ground. He doesn't see him yet; there's complete darkness surrounding him and his eye is not yet used to it. But he does hear and feels him getting closer.  

"Crap," Bill lets out a ragged breath, his hand grips his own pretty long, blondish locks. "Fuck." He laughs nervously. 

He hears Ford clap his hand for some reason and- the light turns on. Oh wow. When did his Fordsy become a magician? His eye squints from the sudden light, but it also calms him down a little, since he's once again aware of what is around him. Not that he really likes it... because when he looks around, he realizes that he is surrounded by dirty walls covered with mold and dirt. And before he can't take any further attempt to capture all the "beauty" of being down there, in a sewerage, his eye meets Ford's, who crouched down to his level. Who looked at him with such affection and concern that hid in his two hazel eyes. 

Bill's eyes are still wide open, he still feels like he's on the edge after being few meters above the ground for so long. When his instincts are screaming with "this is your lifeline grip on it or you'll drown" he does as they tell him. He grips Ford's six-fingered hand in his, basically forcing him closer. 

Ford lets him, probably understanding that it was his new the most normal human need from now on. Like all the others human needs. Like food or water. Like sleeping or breathing in the oxygen. It doesn't matter if Ford understands it or no. Bill does what he must anyway. His right hand interlinks their fingers (five against wonderful number of 6), he stares at them and silently counts. His left hand goes up behind Ford's head, to grip into Sixer's brown hair now, deciding to show his own hair some mercy and leave them alone for some time. They both sit in this position on the ground for some time. Ford patiently awaits when Bill's himself again. 

Few moments later Bill lifts his head to look at Ford. "Aren't they... still, like, after us?" He asks weakly. 

Ford blinks, shaking his head as he gives his hand a light, reassuring squeeze. "I'm pretty sure they're not. I've closed the hatch cover as soon as we got inside," he says. "They weren't fast enough to see us. But they're probably still trying to find us."

Bill slowly nods, his mind still a bit fuzzy. 

"How are there lights here..?" He asks, still a bit confused. "And how the hell did you- what did you do.. How'd you turn them on.." He swears, he saw magic happening.

"Well. It is an evacuation route. Even if it's.. in such a place like a sewerage. Would be dumb not having lights in here," Ford hums. "And those lights are automatic. They respond to a sound. I never got to see those in real life before, but I did read quite a lot. And considering the fact that Ivan had bunch of newest technology here (mostly stolen,)" he coughs the last part. "I considered the fact that he also might have the automatic bulbs too. More of a lucky guess. Not that I actually expected my applauses to work. But guess it worked."

Bill watches Ford for few moments. "Do you think it responds to hand clapping only? Or just, like, clapping in general."

Ford frowns. "How else would you clap."

"I have few suggestions," Bill smiles.

Ford blinks, his cheeks suddenly reddened.

"Pervert," he frowns, rolling his eyes but with no real anger in his tone.

"Whaat? I'm just asking questions!" Bill laughs quietly, this conversation already makes his previous nervousness slowly die down inside of him. 

Ford lets go of his hand, sighing as he gets up from the dirty floor. He then reaches out with it again for Bill to grab, wanting to help him get up too.

Bill grips Sixer's hand, letting Ford help to lift him up. "So? Will my question ever be answered, smart guy?" He has a sly smirk on his face, enjoying to make fun of his Fordsy.

Ford looks at him, annoyed, with red ears. "How- how do you expect me to know??"

Bill giggles, rolling his eyes playfully. "I don't know! You read 'bout it!" Bill grins. "Perhaps I could offer my help in finding out. You know. For scientific reasons. You wanted to be a scientist, didn't ya?" His thin five fingers tap Ford's shoulder. 

Bill is happy to find that Sixer's neck is also turning into red colors.

"Besides, we never did it in places like... this." His index finger makes a circle motion in air, meaning the sewerage. "Bet it gives good portion of adrenaline doin' it down there. Always on alert, questionin' if a cockroache will or will not crawl up your ass. Would it count as a threesome if it does?" Bill hums, having this stupid grin on his face. (He watches Ford grimace at that comment.) "It's almost like havin' sex in public. Sweet!" One-eyed man exclaimes, then adding thoughtfully, tapping his chin. "By the way we didn't try this out too yet.."

"Holy Moses, we- wha- what? Here? In sewerage-- why would you want to do it here?? It's unsanitary!" Ford sounds confused and lost.

"Oh? That's the only thing that is botherin' you?" Bill scoffs.

"It's not- No! Stop it!" Ford groans, feeling trapped. "This conversation is doomed so I'm ending it. We're not having sex in sewerage." Ford says firmly. "Now let's go before Ivan's goons get smart and try opening the sewer hatch."

Bill sighs dramatically. "Party pooper. Loosing so much potential fun because of your stupid morals," he shakes his head.

Ford clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes and turning around to look at the long hall of the sewerage systems, but Bill can still his ears being the very e reddish color his cheeks were and it's enough for him to feed his starving ego. Six-fingered detective then begins to walk forward, not even waiting for the mafioso. "Let's go." He calls out for him, there was still heard a hint of annoyance in his voice.

Bill chuckles before rushing to catch up with him. They walk side by side; Bill's eye darts here and there, taking in the surroundings. Yeah. He's still against the idea of going down there, but he'd lie if he'd say that it wasn't a little fun being here. They walk as their footsteps echo throughout the sewerage.

"How are we even going to find our way out?" Bill finally breaks the silence. "There's more ladders and hatches than I can count."

Ford turns his head to skeptically gaze at Bill. His hand lifts up a bit, he silently points with his index finger at one of the dirty signs with a name of a direction to where exactly a particular ladder leads. The one that Bill for some reason had not noticed before. 

"And then I'm the blind bat?" Ford grumbles. "It's time for someone to see an eye doctor."

"Pfft. I was just testing you. I saw it," Bill dissmisingly waves his hand at Fordsy, deciding that he would rather die than embarrass himself in front of his Fordy again. Not after that... episode he just had a few minutes ago.

"Right."

They walk in silence for the next few minutes before Bill suggests "to cure their boredom" by playing Word Chain. Stanford, being an intellectual, well-spoken gentleman he is, who also has a rich vocabulary due to his erudition, naturally agrees. They (obviously) end up getting into an argument 30 seconds later about whether names are or are not allowed to be used in this game. Ford talks confidently, puts big effort into each word that comes out of his mouth, describes and explains why exactly they are not allowed for about 5 minutes straight. With no break to catch a breath or whatsoever, only for Bill to say 'nah' and then tell him that he had never heard a thing about it (he had.) Bill swears on his life that he never played by those "discriminating rules" (once again, he did) which makes Ford want to rip his hair out. 

They shout at each other and end up not talking for the next few moments.

Aaand that did not last long. They very quickly forget it, as if nothin happened, finding another interesting topic to discuss. 

Ford rolls his eyes at another mocking comment.

"Yeah yeah. Laugh at me when you ended up being exactly like me. But you're supposed to be, as you like to express it, the "experienced" one. With that "business," of yours and all." Mafia, Ford doesn't say it out loud. "How did someone like Ivan even managed on getting to you?" 

Bill bites his tongue, for God knows what time, feeling embarrassment. Crap. Fordsy really knew how to get not just under his clothes, but skin too. And he did not know whether he's supposed to love or hate it. Bill huffs, rolling his eyes.

"Come on. He did not 'managed on getting to me.' I let him get me! Like if I'd let someone to actualy," he grits his teeth. "Kidnap me, Bill spits. "Pfft. Did you forget I'm an expert? Of course I'm not shocked they got you, but with me it's a totally different story. Trust me, Sixie." 

"Uhh-huhh," Ford eyes him.

Bill's eye narrow. "What? I'm telling the truth."  

"I didn't say you weren't. It was a hum of agreement with your statement," Ford had a smug look on his face.

"It was a sarcastic hum of 'agreement.'" 

"It was not."

Oh fuck him. Well, not physically yet. But fuck him.

"So you're agreeing with the fact that I'm more of an expert than you are then?" 

"I did not say that."

"Right. Because you hummed. Hummed in agreement to my statement," Bill smirks.

"It was an agreement hum to your another statement."

Bill rolls his eye. "Uh-huh."

Ford sends him a glare, but Bill continues. "You just envy the fact that Ivan managed to get me and you didn't."

"Ha! So he did kidnap you!" Ford exclaims.

Bill realizes his mistake far too late. He curses under his breath. "He- i- He didn't. I didn't say that," he stumbles.

"You just did. And in the most literal way too," Ford grins with an expression of a winner.

"It's a wordplay!" Bill snaps, defensive. "And-and don't change the subject! You think I didn't notice the way you just ignored my comment about you being envy??" Please, please change the subject, he prays.

"I'm not envy," Ford furrows his eyebrows. "I almost arrested you right at the crime scenes more than a dozen times. It's my team who always screws it all up!" 

"Yeah. Exactly. Almost," Bill mocks. "You've never actually managed to catch me. It's always 'close' or 'almost.' Always you making those stupid, little excuses why didn't you catch me this time. Always your team and other officers screwing things up and making things difficult, blah blah blah."

"What are you implying?" Ford frowns.

Their conversation got so intense, to the point where they both had to stop their walk and their attempts to try finding an exit out of this hellhole. Ford turned around to fully face Bill, raising his eyebrow. His face giving baffled, mixed expression of being offended and confused in the same time.

"I'm implying that I find it kind of weird that someone as skilled as you, with the past of solving almost every single one of your cases, seriously still can't catch me. I mean, sure. Don't get me wrong. As I said, I am an expert. But come on... you have had a lot and I repeat, a lot of chances to arrest me and yet, here I am," he laughs. "Hell! You can arrest me even now! You just don't feel like it. You saw me killing Ivan. And many people before."

Ford shakes his head. "I can't arrest you now. I lack any physical evidence of you doing anything illegal at all and-"

"It's bullshit and you know it, Fordsy," Bill smiles. "What about those photos you made of me shooting a guy few months ago?" Bill does not let Ford to chime in but lets his jaw open wide, while he himself smiles. "Yeah. I know about that. I know a lot of things, dear Fordsy. For example about those times when you took a dictaphone to our 'meetings'. And I told you a lot on them. I spilled almost everything to you. Perhaps, dare I say everything. To you only. More than half of this information is not legal and youre obviously aware of it. And where am I now? Surely not behind the bars." 

Ford is left to just silently stare at him.

"Admit it, Fordsy. You're able to catch me. You just don't want to."

Bill takes a step closer to his Sixer, his hands going up to adjust the collar of his torned coat with gentleness in his touch.

"You enjoy our little cat-and-mouse game. Just as much as you enjoy the way I make you feel. Special. Understood," he sighs. "But when it comes to actually act; to arrest me, you chicken out and retreat, blaming it on the foolishness of your colleagues. Blaming it on everything but yourself. But I know, that deep down you understand it. Yet, you're trying to block it from your mind. Hide those thoughts away. But that's the thing, Fordsy. You can't." 

His hands smoothly move to Ford's shoulders, squeezing them.

"Because you're not like them all. You're smart. And you can't just not think. So your own thoughts are slowly eating you alive." 

Thoughts about me, the phrase remains unsaid.

Bill lets silence fill the air to stare at his Fordsy for few moments, wanting to see every emotion this talk is making him feel. He observes his face carefully, the absence of his square glasses is still a bit unusual to him, but Bill is slowly getting used to it. (That's nothing. He'll get him new ones.) His left hand keeps resting on Ford's shoulder, but his right moves towards the back of his neck and then head, lightly and tenderly gripping Sixer's hair.

Eventually, Bill lets out a heavy, long sigh. "Well. I guess this is the curse that we share then. That little curse of ours. Of smart people," a weak smile appears on his face, he leans a bit closer to Ford's face, invading his personal space. "To always think."

They stare at each other. The only sound that is breaking the silence is their soft breathing and water running in canals and pipes. 

Bill's eye roams at Ford's face taking every sharp detail of his face, stopping at his bitten-looking and (too dry for Bill's taste; which can always be fixed though) lips. 

"I hate you," Ford mumbles, before his left six-fingered hand suddenly reaches out to grip Bill's cheeks and pull his face even closer, pressing his own lips against the other man's.

Bill quickly melts in it, kissing him back with all the passion he manages to bring in it. He bites and licks his lips (finally making them wet. Now that's better.) He moans a little into their wet kiss, his hand that is still on the back of Ford's head slightly tightens it's grip. His tongue makes it's away in Ford's mouth, exploring it like it had million times before, but each new time becomes the best time.

After what feels like forever they finally pull away, both of their breaths way more ragged than they were before. 

Ford's hold of both Bill's cheeks softens, his hand moving to gently grab only one half of his face. "I hate how good you can read me. I hate that you..." he grimaces. 

Yes, Fordsy, say it.

"I hate that you understand," Ford admits quietly, almost with a shame in his tone. 

Bill lets out a chuckle. "Love ya too, Sixer."

His hand moves up and down on the back of Ford's neck, caressing it.

"Hey, so are you still against trying out this clapping theory of mine..." a smirk appears on Bill's face.

Ford lets out a sigh, rolling his eyes with affection, as his grip on Bill's cheek hardens. "What's with you and this sewerage?" 

"Okay- okay. Wow. Stop kinkshaming me," Bill gasps theatrically. "It hurts my feelings," he adds and pretends to wipe a tear from under his eye. 

Bill hears Ford chuckle and so he chuckles with. They both laugh quietly for some time. Maybe because of the joke. Maybe because of the whole situation they're in. Maybe because of the talk they just had. Who knows.

Bill's eye unexpectedly catches something intriguing behind Ford's back. His laughs turns into a chuckle before it dissapears completely, but instead, a happy smile appears. 

"Lookie what's here!" His hand that touched Ford's neck loosens it's grip, pointing at white sign right behind Ford, that had words "St. Jinn Park 88" written on it. 

Ford turns his head, glancing at the inscription (he struggled in reading it without his glasses even if he was being so close to it.)

All the signs they passed before had indicated the rooms or places in the building itself. Insides of it.

But this was the first hatch that led to the outside of this damned place.

Ford lets Bill climb up first, climbing aftet, right below him for the backup and safety. The both of them were aware of Bill's fear of heights, but this fact was left unspoken. Bill didn't like the fact that Ford knew, but he could live with that. Not that Ford would ever tell anyone. Well. And atleats climbing up was actually way better than climbing down into the unknown darkness. When Bill climbed up, his hands still trembled and they were kind of sweaty, but he managed to stay calm. Besides, Fordsy is here to have your back if something, Bill kept on reminding himself. He didn't even need to look down, his eye locked on his target, which was a hatch leading to freedom. 

After around 8 minutes of climbing up the ladder (and, like, half of this time was spent on Bill panicking and struggling with opening the manhole) they finally managed to breath in their lungs some fresh air. A big contrast after having to breath sewer air for so long. 

They ended up, as it was written on the sign, in a park, specifically in Jinn Park, that could be find right into the middle of the town. The manhole they came out of was located somewhere on a dusty pedestrian path, in-between of other things like a fountain and a steel park fence. 

The cool breeze immediately hits their faces like an old friend the second they come out of the hatch. To their surprise they do not meet any kind of sun rays. There's no hint of it. At all. The sky was decorated with small fireflies-like-stars and large large, circled white moon. No presence of anyone's soul around but theirs (well, who would've want to take a walk in park at night?) Maybe it was for the best after all. Bill never was big fan of big crowds or just... people. Mostly the reason behind it was the fact that everybody else were nothing but stupid (expect maybe for his Fordsy.) Bill barely dealt with his own henchmaniacs and those unintelligent sponsors and all at his business meetings. And to leave his place to be surronded by other idiots just get some provided by sun vitamin D? No. Thank you very much. And well. There was this other tiny reason too... it was almost nothing (it was 95 percents of why it was the way it was.) The reason that might've involved the fact that he had too many enemies to daily go outside. And today's incident was all the evidence he needed.

"Well. We're out," Ford snaps him out of his thoughts. 

He looks around, observing their surroundings. The soft breeze blowing on their faces had a strange calming effect. 

"Hmph. So first we're having a romantic walk in the sewers and now we're walkin' under the full moon? We're so cute!" Bill steps closer to Fordsy, getting on his tiptoes a little to fully wrap his hand around Ford's shoulder. 

Ford chuckles, rolling his eyes. "When were you ever romantic?"

"Oh how dare you!" He gasps. "How about that one time I let you catch one of my henchmaniacs? One with the highest rank!" 

"I'm afraid that hardly counts as "romantic," Bill. And you also paid my boss to get her out the day after."

Bill lets go of Ford's shoulder, stretching his limbs with a bored yawn.

He huffs. "Duhh. Good stuff doesn't last forever, Fordsy. It's about time that you learn that." 

"Still. I hardly doubt that can count as what is considered 'romantic' to other people."

Bill hums, tapping his chin. "Oh! Oh!" he exclaimes. "What about that one time I bought this cute pet??"

Ford frowns, his face expression somewhat unsure. "Are we talking about that bat with rabies you left in a parrot cage near my apartment?…" 

"Awwhh! You remember! It reminded me of you! Blind and mad." 

Ford ignores the last comment; his short, bitten nails scratche his wrist. "It bit my neighbor's dog and I had to pay for it's funeral. Of course I remember," he answers both darkly and skeptically. "And that definitely was not romantic."

Bill shrugs. "Speak for yourself, Fordsy. I would be honored if you did this to me." 

Ford sighs and shakes his head. The weight of today's activities suddenly begins being way too heavy to hold on his shoulders. And as a reminder, his body still hurts (and probably even bleeds somewhere) because of the literal half-torture he went through; that actually never got worse than just eight lazy punches and few not so deep cuts from a knife on his body. Doesn't mean it didn't hurt though. And Ford slowly begun to realize that he will not be able to function for much longer if he's not getting back home anytime soon.

Ford exhales. "It's infuriating, not romantic."

Bill chuckles and and gently pulls him by the cheek, like a child. "Princess wants cozy sheets," he mocks, but then eyes Ford up and down. "Honestly, this is a good wish for you to have right now. You still look shitty," his fingers no longer dig into his skin, but instead his palm pats his cheek.

"Wonder why," Ford mutters under his breath with clear annoyance. "This is you fault I ended up where I did today, you know. I do not appreciate the fact that our..." he hesitates. "Works cross paths."

"Fordsy, obviously they'll cross paths," Bill clicks his tongue. "You're stuck deep in the same criminal shit as I am. Just on the opposite side." 

"Ivan wanted to have a 'chat' with me not because he had a grudge against me specifically," Ford frowns. "He wanted to know where your people got his stupid briefcase to. And you're smart enough to figure it out yourself, Cipher."

Bill lets an infuriating long siigh. "Yeaahh, yeahh, okay. It might be because of my greatness. My bad. But how was I supposed to know he'll get the puzzle and see that we're connected? If anything it's your fault to never shut your mouth about me at your work."

Ford's cheek flush slightly. "How d'you- I'm speaking of you only because I have your case, Cipher. Don't compliment yourself!" He huffs, rolling his eyes and crosses arms on his chest.

"Keep tellin' that to yourself, Sixie," he chuckles. "But I'm right though. You do look shitty and that meatsack lf yours most definitely needs a decent rest after today's beat up," he elbows him. "It's a hint that someone needs to take his ass back home."

"Oh? Trying to get rid of me all of the sudden?" Ford smiles weakly, chuckling.

"Just being good, caring," he thought for a moment. "Enemy to my dear rival," he smiles back with his teeth, winking － or well blinking. But Ford ends up catching what he tries to do anyway.

Ford looks at Bill for few moments before he kets out a sigh. "I guess you're right," he admits quietly. "I still have work to attend to tomorrow. And I needed to finish some reports today but.." he groans quietly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. His mind is spinning with annoying thoughts he does not wishes to have or think of right now. The stress, the factt that he will be able to tell his boss why exactly he didn't finihs his report, since it would mean he'd have to mention The Bill Cipher and he that would be the last thing to wish about. So all he does is deeply inhales and slowly exhales. "And I belive you have work tomorrow too," he says eventually, his voice stoic but tired. 

Detective feels his headache increasing for the reason of not wearing his glasses for so long. The constant trying to simply see things without them was draining.

"Very well then," Bill nods. His head turns to the direction of where the park's green (but currently dark green due to the darkness) gates were. "Guess it's goodbye then, dear detective."

Ford nods, his six-fingered hand reaches out to shake Bill's as a farewell. Bill looks at it for few moments, grinning slyly. He finally grips his hand back, his thumb caresses it gently. He lifts it a bit, leaning it to his face and kisses his Sixer's knuckles before also lick them with his tongue.

Ford watches with horror and realizes it's one of the sexiests moment in his life.

Ford gulps.

"Freak," he mumbles, his cheeks are reddish but it is not seen with the night's darkness.

"Thank you, Fordsy. So are you," Bill giggles. He squeezes Sixer's one last time before letting it go.

"Well. I hope you get home safely, Stanford. It was a nice date."

Ford chuckles slightly. "Goodbye, Bill," his eyes roam on his face, but pretty quickly he realizes that he can't capture his face features because of (again) this stupid blurriness.

Flrd nods mindlessly, not even really knowing for what reason (probably as the last 'goodbye' or something) and turns to walk away towards the park gates. He suddenly remembers something; something that makes him stop and turn around to face Bill once again, after stepping few feet away from him. "Oh, and Bill?" He asks innocently. "You kill anyone in front of me without my consent ever again and I swear to fucking God," his voice darkness. "I will find any evidence I need and get you in prison. Do you understand?"

Hah. Of course he will. Poor Fordsy did not learn a thing after their talk, did he? Or maybe he just decided to erase it from his memory? Maybe it's for the best. Maybe it's better for him go keep living by the roles they played. It was just funny. The fact of them playing those roles was funny.

But nonetheless, Bill smiles warmly. "I understand, Mr.Pines."

***

Bill stood in the telephone booth, his to death (okay, maybe he was a bit dramatic) frozen and slightly shaking hands pressed the buttons, dialing the phone number he needed.

There were beeps before the telephone was finally picked up. 

"How the fuck do you know this number?" A sharp, rough woman voice asked with immediate aggression.

Bill was silent for few moments. He wondered what his henchmaniacs thought of him suddenly dissapearing for the whole day without any trace. Did they figure it he was kidnapped? He hoped they didn't. But he knew that they probably did.

"Pyronica, if you're not getting your ass to the gas station near the Jinn Park in less than 5 minutes, I will make sure you don't see even a hint of any light for the next two months because there are icicles beginning to form on my fingers--"

"Boss!?" She exclaims. Her voice completely opposite of it was before. Not it was all shocked and surprised. "Where were you?! We've been looking for you the whole-"

"Pyronica. Tic tac," Bill holds back an irritated sigh.

"Oh! On it, Boss! Sorry, Boss!"

The call ends.

Bill Cipher is left to stand there in silence.

__

"But didn't you have an important meeting today?" Pyronica asks unsurely, glancing at the rear-view mirror, to inspect Boss, who sat in the back seat half-laying and manspreading. "I know you like this freak's company but... isn't the meetings a bit more," she hesitates. "Important?"

"Say, do you know how many days it takes for a meatsack to die from dehydration or hunger?" Bill asks coldly. Calmly.

Pyronica takes the hint immediately, tensing. "I'm sorry, Boss. I shouldn't have asked. It's not my business," she answers quietly, her fingers intensely grip into the steering wheel. She tries to look forward, at the road only, escaping Bill's gaze that not stared at her own eyes through the rear-view mirror.

"Do not question my ways," Bill spits. "Never."

They drove in silence after that. Pyronica didn't dare to say a thing.

Bill had to tell a bit of truth to make his lie believable. He had told her that he just simply shared a date with his Fordsy, which technically was somewhat true. He just didn't mention the fact where and how exactly was it happening. She didn't need to know. The problem (Ivan) was already eliminated, to put it mildly. So there was no reason to share with her the fact that The Bill Cipher was kidnapped. This day was embarrassing enough.

But the fact, the thoughs that his problems somehow affected his Fordsy couldn't leave him alone. They bite and chew on his mind the very moment Fordsy and he parted. This was irritating. It made him feel concerned. And he was rarely even getting this feeling! Oh, he absolutely hated it. His mind couldn't stop racing with questions like what if it happens again? What if someone way more intimidating gets to his Sixer next time? What if someone figures out what he actually  meant to Bill? God, how he hated when people knew what buttons to push. He was the one who knew how to push other people buttons. And that's why no one but his Fordsy really knew any of his secrets or his actual fears. Yet there still was a fear not even Ford was too familiar with. A fear, not even Bill himself understood completely. He didn't want to think of it. He didn't want to let this fear capture his brain. To eat him alive. But after today, it seemed that it slowly but confidently begun to do so.

What if Stanford gets killed because of me? Just like... No. He didn't want to think of it. 

Bill realizes after few moments that he's been biting on his cheek this whole time; his claws-like nails digging into his own wrist. He wanted to groan but he didn't have a wish of doing so in front of Pyronica.

His mind begun to come up with ideas of how he might prevent his Fordsy getting caught like that again. Better those ideas, that didn't involve Sixie knowing about it. 

"Hey, Py," Bill suddenly spoke up after 10 minutes of driving in total silence.

"Uh, yeah, Boss?"

"Tell 8-Ball he's gettin' new job tomorrow," he says thoughtfully, his hands go behind the back of his head as he leans more onto the  seat.

"Huh? What kind of job?" She asks unsurely.

"A spy job. We need some people on the opposite side," the police officers, it didn't need to be said. They both knew who he's talking of. "Tell him, since tomorrow it's his new mission. Spy. Take notes. Not screwing it all up. And…" he stops himself, thinking of how to phrase it. "Most important rule, keepin' eye on Pines."

She raises her eyebrow skeptically, Bill sees through the rear-mirror. 

Bill rolls his eye. "What?? I'm just trying to keep him in control here, okay? He's our leverage and bridge to inside information of the whole police station! Or did you forget that?!" He quickly tries to make an excuse, but he sounds confident enough (he hopes.)

Pyronica sighs quietly. "I, uh, am not sure 8-Ball is a fan of working as a--"

"Do I look like I care??" Bill cuts her off, frowning. "He's doin' the job or I make sure he suffers. Tell him that and get over with it as soon as we come back."

Pyronica bites her lip. "Yes, Boss."

They don't speak the whole ride after that.

Bill notices a pack of cigarettes under the armrest and grabs it with semi-aggressive movements. He lights it and slowly slowly inhales. He then opens the car window, exhaling.

Despite the chaos, he enjoyed the day. 

Because he loved chaos.

The curtains in his room weren't thick enough to keep the sunrays from invading the room. They were way too thin. His face grimaced when the rays begun to play on his face, waking him up.

Stanford groans quietly, his hand goes up to rub his eyes. He slowly gets up; his whole body feels like it died yesterday and then came back to live today. And by that, he meant that he felt terrible. He lets out a tired yawn. It felt like if having 3 hours of sleep last night was even worse than not sleeping at all. 

He lets out a sigh as he forces himself to lift his head up from his soft pillow, and get off his cozy bed. On autopilot, his hand goes to reach out for his square formed glasses on the bedside table. Yet it ends up finding nothing but an empty, tiny medication box. Ford huffs, furrowing his eyebrows as he remembers what kind of faith his glasses had to face just a day before. He slowly realizes he didn't have any kind of spare pair. Oh fuuck. He groans, but forces himself to sit upright and not fall on his pillow once again.

Ughh.

He'll have to walk without any glasses for the whole day. He won't be able to even read any kind of documents or reports given to him. What is he supposed to do?! His left hand rubs his eyes, heavily sighing.

Such a good start of such a wonderful day, he thought darkly.

The detective forced himself up, stretching our his limbs and scratching the back of his spine before heading out his room. He didn't need to end up coming late to his work on top of all shit that he's getting through right now.

He shuffles into the kitchen and turns on the coffee machine. While the coffee is making itself, he decides to go and brush his teeth. He didn't have time on making himself Amy breakfast. Coffee? Sure. It was just few minutes. But making breakfast was far too long for his busy self.

Ford enters his tiny bathroom, looking at his tired face through the dirty mirror. God his eyebags were seen. Or were those just black eyes? Could've been considering the fact he was punched hard few times just yesterday...

He turns on the water from the conch shell and takes the toothbrush in his left hand. The other hand takes the almost finished toothpaste (note: go shopping!) and pours the contents onto the brush. He stands there infront of the mirror, his hand moving in somewhat a rhythm as he brushes his teeth.

After he's done, he pours some water on his face and stares at himself. No. They weren't black eyes. They were natural bags under his eyes. Ughh. He observes his own face for few moments (God, it was blurry even in such closeness) debating whether he should or should not get rid of this slight bristle on his face. Eventually he decides he has no time to do so.

He leaves the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Ford limps back to the kitchen, noticing his coffee machine has stopped. He ignores a large pile of dirty dishes in the sink and opens the cabinet where he keeps his cups and plates. Fortunately, he hits jackpot and finds not just some web but also the last, almost clean cup! He grips on it, walking back to the coffee machine and pouring some coffee in it. In some moment, his blurry vision spots some kind of movement on his cup－ a spider! He accidentally flinches and drops the coffee machine along with his cup.

Both objects shatter into tiny pieces and their contents spill out onto his feet. 

He yelps.

＿＿

His day was just great. He was doing good! Very good even! Majestic! Great! Wonderful!

He woke up with a terrible headache and simple ache from all the bruises on his body. He didn't have his glasses with him and he wasn't done with any of his reports. He looked terrible and probably smelled terrible. he was probably going to be late to his work; and now, he was getting the shards of broken glass of the coffee machine and his cup from his poor feet, holding back a sob. 

He bit his tongue very hard each time he pulled a shard out.

After few minutes of finally finishing to pull (almost) every shard out of his feet, he lets out a final groan.

Now he quickly needs to take his bag, get into his clothes and leave as fast as he can. He's probably already late－ he's totally already late! And-

Someone suddenly rang his doorbell. 

Ford frowns. He didn't wait for any kind of postman or something. Was it his neighbor, wanting to yell at him for something he probably didn't even do again? It would just add some positivity to his already wonderful day! 

He ignores the burning pain in his feets as he takes quick steps towards the tiny apartment's corridor and then the door. He takes a deep sighs, preparing himself before yanking it open.

His eyes find no person in front of himself. He frowns in confusion. Uhm. Okay. Was he getting pranked by some stupid kids right now or something? (He tries to ignore the sudden memories of Stan and him doing the same when they were still young, innocent kids without any troubles.)

Ford turns his head left and right, finding, again, no one.

His eyes suddenly catch something underneath him, next to his feet on the threshold. He can't really see what it is, because of the blurriness, so he crouches down to take the obejct in his hand.

He blinks. He recognizes a new pair of square shaped glasses with a small note near it. 

He carefully wears the glasses, still kind of surprised and confused. His eyes squints as his vision finally fixes itself. Ford narrows his eyes as he reads the note.

For my Sixie.

Am I romantic enough now, Fordsy? ;)

Anonymous.

Ford smiles.

Maybe his day wasn't going to be that bad after all.