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Ford Prefect had been stuck on Earth for 10 years.
10 unfathomably dull years.
Sure, he liked Earth and Earthlings well enough. Their short lifespans and lack of knowledge about- well,
anything
didn't make them particularly interesting conversationalists and made it difficult for him to stay in one place very long. But, there was something endearing about it all. Humans always stated the obvious, or asked stupid questions, and Ford couldn't help finding it charming. Humans also brewed a diverse selection of alcohol and produced a variety of interesting media, including some of the best music Ford had ever heard.
No, it wasn't that Ford
hated
Earth- he would just rather be anywhere else at the moment. Staying on one planet didn't suit him, never did. He was only at home travelling between the stars.
"Between the stars," he mumbled to himself, staring up at the selfsame dots in the sky from his spot lying flat on his back on a country hill.
Only a little ways away, looking down at him in confusion, stood an Earthman- one he had met just under a year prior, whose name was Arthur Dent. Arthur was proving to be a valuable asset to Ford. More accurately, Arthur's pocketbook, sofa, and willingness to go along with things without questioning them were proving to be valuable assets to Ford's ability to have a good time. He was, however, still an Earthman, and thus was prone to stating the obvious and asking stupid questions.
"Ford, you're very drunk. Shouldn't you be heading home?"
"I'm tryin', baby, I'm tryin'."
Ford stuck a thumb straight up in the air, towards the sky.
Arthur crouched down beside him. Considering Arthur was himself
also
very drunk, the fact he managed to remain largely upright was a considerable feat. "Why don't you get up and I'll call you a cab home?"
Ford waved him off. "I'll be fine, I'll be
fine
. Don'worry."
Arthur frowned down at him.
Ford didn't move.
Whatever arguments Arthur was preparing to make failed to materialise. He sighed. "...Promise me you'll at least call when you make it home?"
"I promise. G'night, Arthur."
"Goodnight, Ford."
Arthur shakily got to his feet and, after one last look back, wandered off to make his own way home.
Ford stayed alone on the hill.
Some time passed - he wasn't sure how long. It could just as easily have been 5 minutes as it was 50 minutes or even 5 hours. All he knew was that he closed his eyes and when he opened them, time had passed.
More importantly, when he opened his eyes, he saw a familiar-enough array of lights descending upon a nearby field from out of the sky. A beeping from his satchel- the thing that woke him up to begin with- confirmed what he hoped to be true.
"Teasers!"
Ford jumped up, at the same time digging in his satchel for his Electronic Thumb. He had one shot- 10 years, and this was his first and only chance so far to get off this planet. He was absolutely
determined
not to fuck this up for himself.
He ran towards the lights, thumb high in the air.
As soon as Arthur made it home, he got in his pyjamas and crawled straight into bed. He fell out like a light as soon as his head hit the pillow. He wasn't sure how long he stayed asleep- it could just as easily have been 5 minutes as it was 50 minutes or even 5 hours. All he knew was it felt like only 5 minutes had passed at most when he was rudely awakened by a terrifying crash outside of his house.
Arthur quickly donned his dressing gown, grabbed a torch, and ran outside.
When he crested the hill and saw the source of the noise beyond it, he at first wasn't entirely sure what he was looking at. The bulk of it was a largely disc-shaped
something
- or rather, it
used
to be. Currently it was half buried in the ground, twisted hunks of silvery metal jutting up about it. Something that looked not unlike a door hung limply off the side.
Arthur couldn't help sneaking closer.
He shone his torch into the doorway. The interior was a mess. Broken furniture and machines were strewn about, sliding down the slight angle the floor now had. Green splatters of liquid decorated most surfaces.
Carefully, very carefully, he stepped inside.
It somewhat resembled the bridge of spaceships Arthur remembered from the telly, only a bit more ransacked and terribly more smelly than imagined. Keeping his balance was hard enough in his current state on solid ground; in this angled environment with its mystery grime, Arthur had trouble standing, much less walking. Nevertheless, he soldiered on until he could finally shine his torch into the space within the central console.
Immediately, he wished he didn't.
The bodies of two- well, they must be aliens- lay in heaps on the floor. They were grey beings in strange clothing, and the green liquid that covered the room seemed to be coming from them.
And then his torchlight caught on a third figure.
This third individual had escaped his notice initially, as they had slid into a gap between pieces of alien equipment. All Arthur could really see from this angle was a shock of orange hair sticking out.
A pit formed in Arthur's stomach.
Shakily, he crept forward.
A jacket came into view just behind the ginger hair. A familiar one, in army green. He didn't need to see the patches now to know they were there. He'd seen them earlier.
Arthur dropped to his knees by the gap. With his free hand, he reached through to check for any signs of life.
To his shock, he felt a heartbeat- strange, disjointed, like two beats in quickstep and a pause between the next- but it was a heartbeat. Holding the torch temporarily between his teeth, he gently navigated the small form out of the gap. Ford's satchel hung stubbornly for a moment, but Arthur managed to free it separately and slung it across his own shoulder.
"Oh Ford, why must you always get yourself in these situations? Why must you always get
me
in these situations?"
Arthur's adrenaline had kicked in by this point and whatever drunkenness lingered from the night before had long gone. He gently picked up his friend and carried him slowly, but carefully, out of the wreckage. Ford's head lolled against him pitifully.
As Arthur trudged back through his back garden, he heard sirens in the distance.
When Ford awoke again, it was with a blistering headache. He knew he was somehow moving, but beyond that he was clueless.
He felt hesitant to open his eyes, so he didn't. Not yet.
He struggled to remember what had happened. He had gotten nicely drunk, sat on a hill, and…
The ship. There was a ship. He was finally going home. Wasn't he? Then where was he now?
He heard a door open. Footsteps were more audible now, and more audibly falling on wood.
No, something happened. The guy piloting the saucer had been drinking, hadn't he? He had tried pulling off some stupid stunt.
The footsteps stopped. Ford felt himself being lowered gently onto a soft surface. A blanket was draped over him.
They had crashed.
A sigh came from somewhere nearby, accompanied by pacing steps.
"What am I going to do with you, Ford...?"
Ford's one shot at going home, and it crashed right back on Earth. He was
still on Earth
.
Dizzily, he opened his eyes. The ceiling above him was one he was well acquainted with from waking up hungover in Arthur's living room.
"Urgh," he groaned.
"Ford?" Arthur paused mid-pace to rush over to his side. "Ford? Can you hear me? Are you alright?"
"...Satchel," Ford gritted out.
Wordlessly, Arthur gave him his bag.
From it, Ford produced a pocket medi-scan. It was an invaluable piece of technology to any hitchhiker, as it saved one the trouble of finding a doctor that knew one's physiognomy, making appointments, and exorbitant medical fees. It wasn't particularly helpful past the point of telling you what was wrong with you, though seeing as that was more than even some doctors can manage, it's hardly considered a drawback.
In this case, it told Ford much of what he already expected.
"Urgh. I've got… several broken ribs, and… a broken leg, and a concussion," Ford groaned. "What happened to the other guys on the ship? I wasn't flung out, was I?"
A terribly sad look passed over Arthur's face, though Ford hardly took notice. "The, er,
aliens?"
Ford turned his head towards Arthur as best as he could. "Sure. The aliens."
"They, er, well… didn't… seem like they were… alive. I'm sorry."
Ford's gaze dropped down to the floor. "Damn. They were probably only 100, too."
"100? They were that old?"
"No, that young. Kids. Teenagers. Out joyriding in the backwaters of the galaxy. Who wants to crash and die somewhere like Earth?"
Ford didn't realise he was shaking until Arthur put his hand on his shoulder.
"Ford- what were you doing on that ship? Weren't you abducted?"
"Abducted? No, I was hitching a ride."
"You mean to tell me you stuck out your thumb and a
flying saucer
picked you up before crashing in my back garden?"
"Well, the thumb's an electronic subetha device, but you're more or less spot on."
"...Why?"
Ford looked up at Arthur's face again. He wasn't sure how much of the blurriness was from the concussion or the hangover or the tears, but he could hardly make out Arthur as more than a blob. "What if I were to tell you I'm not really from Guildford, but from a small planet somewhere in the vicinity of Betelgeuse?"
Arthur blinked at him. He visibly attempted to process this. "The star?"
"There's little else a planet can orbit, none of which would be very conducive to life on that planet."
Arthur opened his mouth as if to say something, but stopped. Slowly, he turned to sit properly on the floor, back against the sofa.
"If I hadn't just witnessed what I did, I would've thought you were having me on," he said. Quickly, he glanced back at Ford. "You aren't, are you? This isn't some elaborate prank at my expense?"
"What would I have to gain from that?"
"You do terribly many things that you don't seem to gain anything from."
"Fair enough," Ford said, and stared back at the ceiling. "I'm telling the truth, though."
"Why are you on Earth, then?"
Before Ford could answer, a heavy knock sounded at the door.
Arthur stood hurriedly, readjusting his dressing gown as he went. He answered the door just after the second round of knocking.
"Hello?"
Two men in 007-style suits and sunglasses stood on his doorstep.
"Hello, Mr. Dent," one said. "Did you hear anything unusual?"
Arthur didn't trust strange men in suits knowing his name.
"I heard a crash, but I thought it was my- er- my
friend
stumbling around downstairs. We're a bit drunk, you see."
He felt like both were staring right through him. He'd never been a particularly adept liar.
"Your
friend
, hm?"
It was the other one that spoke this time. He sounded American, which only put Arthur more ill at ease.
"He's a clumsy drunk. Er, did something happen?"
Even with the sunglasses in the way, Arthur felt their eyes burning into him.
"Arthur…" Ford suddenly called out from the sofa.
Arthur startled around to look at him, flashing his best
be quiet
look.
"Will you please get back here?" Ford moaned.
Arthur, flustered and confused, turned back to the men in suits. "Er, sorry. I'm sorry. He's, er…"
The men looked at each other.
Some understanding seemed to pass between them, though of what Arthur hadn't the slightest idea.
"Right, sorry to bother you, Mr. Dent," the English one said with a cough.
The American nodded. "If you see anything unusual around, contact authorities and… um. Don't mess with it."
"I understand," said Arthur, who certainly did not understand.
As the men left he awkwardly shut the door behind them.
"Ford," Arthur said, "what the hell was that about? I told you to be quiet!"
"It got them to go away, didn't it?"
Arthur sighed and sat by the sofa again. "Ford…"
"Arthur!"
"Who are you, Ford?" Arthur asked, finally. "What are you?"
Ford met his eyes. Arthur had noticed before that he didn't seem to blink enough, but there was something now that really looked distinctly alien.
"I… I didn't mean to be here this long, you know. Meant to stay for a week, got stuck for ten years. Zarquon, it's hard to talk or breathe."
"Didn't that device… thingy, say that you had broken ribs?"
"So it did," Ford mused. "That's probably why."
Arthur stood and smoothed the blankets back over Ford. "Just get some rest, Ford. We can talk this out later."
When Ford woke again, it was to the sounds of Arthur milling about in the kitchen. This wasn't out of the ordinary for times when Ford slept on Arthur's sofa after a night of drinking; however, Ford found the full body ache a helpful reminder that last night played out very differently.
Arthur popped his head round the corner, having presumably heard Ford's groaning and complaining. "Ford! Good morning. Tea?"
Ford rubbed his forehead. "Do you have anything for a headache?"
"Right, I'll get some paracetamol. And tea," Arthur started rambling nervously as he popped back into the kitchen. Clinking dishes and clanking cupboards accompanied his voice. "We must have gotten more sozzled last night than I thought we did. You look awful. Er, rather, you look like you feel awful. You know, I had the strangest dream… ah!"
Arthur walked back into the living room with tea and a bottle of medicine in hand. When he got within a couple feet of the sofa, something about Ford seemed to set him on edge. He stopped with a frown.
"Ford?"
Ford's stare was once again unblinking.
"What was that dream you were talking about, Arthur?"
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
There were a few things to keep in mind when you learn that your good friend of the past year or so is actually an alien.
Step one: don't panic.
In fact, Arthur had already failed this step.
“When you say Betelgeuse, you mean the star? In Orion?”
“One and the same,” Ford said.
“An actual small planet actually orbiting an actual star?”
“Yes,” said Ford. “I fail to see what you're having trouble grasping.”
“But,” Arthur stumbled, “aliens aren't real, are they?”
Ford looked unamused. He was sat up on Arthur's reclining chair, stiff as a board and heavily swaddled in blankets. The dark circles that had manifested beneath his eyes didn't distract from his gaze's intensity.
“You know, from my perspective, you're an alien.”
“But I'm not, I'm from Earth, I…”
“And Earth is an alien planet to me.”
Arthur fidgeted where he was standing. “Would you like tea? I'll make tea.”
A pot of tea later, Arthur was no less fidgety and had taken to pacing a track through the rug. Ford had done quite a good job of staying still, if only because he had little choice.
“Okay,” said Arthur, “so that spaceship last night was real. But how- I mean- there's nothing out there today, just some dead grass.”
“I suspect that's what the gentlemen you met at the door were here for. I should like to lay low for a bit, I don't particularly want to be vivisected.”
“Vivisected?”
“Like dissection, but you're alive.”
Arthur shuddered at the thought and nearly dropped his empty cup. “Sounds ghastly.”
“Exactly. Which is why you're going to help me lay low. Alright?”
“Don't I get a say in the matter?” Arthur whined.
Ford stared intently into Arthur's eyes. The attempted psychic influence was quite heavily diminished by both Ford's lack of energy and the lenses of Arthur's glasses, but Arthur relented easily regardless. Ford looked even smaller than usual cocooned as he was, with little more than his face peeking out. He was completely and utterly pitiful.
Arthur rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Alright, Ford. Fine. I'll help you, I’ll bloody well help you. Why not? Why not harbour an extraterrestrial wanted by shady government agents? What can possibly go wrong?”
“Breathe, Arthur.”
Arthur stopped in his tracks, trying desperately to stop hyperventilating. When he finally managed a reasonable approximation of breathing, he spun around on Ford.
“In return, you're going to answer some questions for me. Alright?”
Ford looked up at him entirely unfazed. “What do you wanna know?”
Arthur had been prepared for more arguments. It took a moment to remember what he actually wanted to ask.
“Like… well, for starters, why are you here? On Earth? Are you some alien scientist studying humans?”
“Do I really seem like I would be a scientist?”
“Er, not as such- but- but I didn't think you seemed like an alien either!”
Ford hummed in understanding. “Well, you're part right. I'm a researcher, only it's for a book, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.”
The pride in his voice and air about him was palpable, even to Arthur, who usually passed by these things blissfully unaware.
“What's that about?”
“I'm glad you asked,” Ford said with the tone of a salesman. “It's about all the best marvels in the Universe, and all the things you need to know to see them on less than 30 Altairian dollars a day. Quite the handy little book to have for the penniless Galactic hitchhiker. My job is getting lifts on saucers and finding all the best places to eat, sleep, and get sozzled wherever I land. Fun, isn't it?”
“Sounds amazing,” Arthur said with the tone of someone who was utterly lost. “Do you usually stay a whole year wherever you go?”
Ford's sunny smile dropped immediately. “A year? I've been here for ten,” he gritted, “and I was only supposed to stay for a week.”
“Ten years?” Arthur boggled.
Ford pulled his blankets closer toward him, staying silent. Arthur recognised his expression as one Ford wore on his more mournful pub adventures. He kneeled on the edge of the chair cushion, closing most of their distance but careful to not overcrowd Ford. “Are you alright?”
Silence.
Arthur was beginning to wonder if Ford had even heard him before he suddenly found himself with an armful of alien.
“That was the only saucer I’ve seen this entire time,” Ford whispered, face half buried in Arthur’s shoulder. “I want to go home.”
Arthur steadied himself before wrapping his arms around Ford in turn, holding him close.
He only wished he could promise Ford another would come.
Arthur was positive that the television noise filtering through his door was doing so at an entirely unreasonable hour. Sure enough, when he got his wits about him enough to sit up and locate his glasses, his alarm clock cheerily read “3:28”.
He crept quietly downstairs, tying his dressing gown as he went. The quiet was a futile effort. Not only was the telly louder than his footsteps anyway, but he once again forgot about the overhang on the steps. It duly reminded him of its existence by slamming directly into his forehead.
"Ford," Arthur grumbled, "it's not that I don't enjoy Casablanca, but must you have the volume so-"
Arthur stopped dead in his tracks when he got around the corner enough to see his guest's face. The one-directional glow of the television put Ford's tired, sunken features in stark contrast. He sat upright on the sofa, but it was clear the blankets around him were doing much of the work of keeping him aloft.
The only indication he'd noticed Arthur's presence, or that he was even still alive, was his eyes following him.
Arthur took a moment to recalibrate.
First he turned the telly down to almost, but not quite, silence; this earned him a wordless whine from the sofa. Gently, he then sat down beside Ford.
"You really ought to be sleeping," Arthur stage-whispered. "So your body can heal, and all that."
Ford leaned his head onto Arthur's shoulder. "Can't."
Arthur, for the second time that day and possibly ever, wrapped his arms around Ford and pulled him close. "Do you need to talk about it?"
Ford hesitated. "It's all nonsense anyway. It's not like this was my first brush with death, and it certainly won't be my last."
"Is spacefaring really that dangerous?"
"If you know how to have fun it is," Ford said, wiggling to snuggle closer. "The galaxy is full of people who want to kill you, do you, rip you off- everything. As long as you keep your wits and your towel, though, you'll be fine mostly. It's an exciting lifestyle."
"You and I seem to have very different definitions of 'having fun'."
Ford tucked his head under the crook of Arthur's neck. "Arthur, you wouldn't know fun if it bit you on the arse."
"I have plenty of fun," Arthur protested. "Just last week my department at work had a very enjoyable Boggle tournament and I won. Actually, I still have the gift card I was given somewhere. Why are you laughing?"
"Nothing, nothing," Ford said finally between wheezing breaths. "I'm a bit sleepy. Will you stay here?"
"Alright," Arthur sighed. "You're at fault if my neck's all stiff in the morning."
When Arthur awoke, his neck was not stiff, but his back picked up the slack.
He looked up at the wall clock- half ten.
Between sleeping so late, having fallen asleep in his glasses and dressing gown, and Ford drooling into his shoulder, Arthur felt like a disoriented wreck.
Conscious thought caught up to him a moment later.
Right, so he was on the sofa, and Ford was currently moulded to his side because he couldn't sleep, and helping him get to sleep was the friendly thing to do. The new problem that arose was that Arthur was now effectively trapped on the sofa by a sleeping man. Alien. Person.
At least he didn't have work to be late to.
He nudged his shoulder. "Ford?"
"Ghrg," Ford groaned.
"Ford, may I have my arm back?"
"Too early," Ford grumbled, wriggling closer.
Arthur quietly attempted to disentangle himself. He managed, very carefully, to replace himself in Ford's arms with a throw pillow.
Arthur was halfway through his daily struggle with breakfast when he heard a
thump
from the living room. A quick investigation found the source to be Ford, lying on his back on the floor. Arthur rushed immediately to his side.
"My God! Are you alright?"
Ford waved him off. "Forgot my leg was broken."
Arthur set Ford back up on the sofa, propping his sides with blankets. "You really must be more careful. It wouldn't do for you to injure yourself further."
"Alright, alright. Can you bring me breakfast?" Ford yawned.
"Breakfast!" Arthur yelled, shooting upwards.
He ran to the kitchen, nearly slipping on the rug. It was very nearly too late.
"The eggs are a little well done," Arthur sighed as he gave Ford his plate.
Ford sniffed at it. "The toast as well."
"Well," Arthur prickled, "If you hadn't tried to get up I wouldn't have been distracted.
Ford grinned at him and took a bite of his blackened toast. "Thanks, Arthur."
Arthur rolled his eyes, but smiled. "Would you like coffee?"
They settled into a sort of routine. This routine was not terribly different from Arthur's previous routine, save for the addition of an extra plate at mealtimes and a bit more conversation, and perhaps a bit more friendly sleep-snuggling than Arthur was used to. Ford fit as neatly into Arthur's life as if he had always been there.
It was hard to believe he hadn't even always been on Earth.
Two weeks after the incident, Arthur and Ford sat together on the sofa with supper. It was there Arthur finally asked a question that had been bothering him.
"Ford?"
Ford paused shovelling spaghetti in his mouth to look up at Arthur. "Yeah?"
"How old are you?"
Ford slowly lowered his plate onto his lap, seeming thoughtful. "Well… how old do you think I am?"
"I thought you were 28," Arthur said. "But you've been here for 10 years. That would've made you 18. But the way you talk about all the travel you did makes it sound like you have a lot of experience out in the Galaxy."
Ford tapped his fork against the plate in a way that itched uncomfortably at Arthur's ears. "Well…"
"Ford…"
He quickly stopped his tapping. "My species is really long lived. At least, I think so. That- well, that's all a bit complicated. Story for another day. Anyway, I think I'm about… 190 Earth years old?"
Arthur's fork dropped out of his hand. "One
hundred
and
ninety
?
Years
?"
"28 is close enough to the human age equivalent."
"How long do your people usually live?"
"On average, er, probably 590 years? I don't know. Though my father only made it to 275, more or less. I'm not sure what my own lifespan will be."
Arthur shakily picked his fork back up. "Well, I don't suppose any of us know that."
"Not entirely true. There's species out there that live their lives backwards. And religious sects who use time travel to map out everyone's futures from the moment they're born."
"Sounds dreadful."
"I'm inclined to agree. A bit of surprise makes life fun," Ford hummed.
Arthur twirled a bit of pasta around his fork. "Would you have still came to Earth? If you
knew
, I mean."
Ford shrugged. "There's no point in what-ifs. Whatever happens happens, whatever's going to happen will happen. All I can do is roll with the punches."
A silence hung in the air. After a few moments, Arthur set aside his barely-touched plate.
"I'm not saying that I'm happy that…
that
happened. But, well. I would've missed you. If you just disappeared like that."
"I figured you would have been pretty happy not to have to babysit a drunk every weekend."
"But you're my
friend
. I might've thought something awful happened to you, after I left you sitting outside."
Ford lowered his gaze, setting his own finished plate on the coffee table. "I guess I didn't really think about it."
Arthur hummed quietly in agreement.
Ford leaned against Arthur's arm.
"For what it's worth," he said, "If I have to be stuck anywhere, I suppose I'm glad it's here."
"I'm glad you're here too, Ford," Arthur said. "Though I would rather like if you stayed out of trouble."
"You know I can't promise that," Ford said with a grin.