Yeeeeah, so this happened because I am shipper trash and there is something wrong with me. Take that as you will. Fiddauthor but also not. Enjoy!

Fiddleford wakes up early and treks downstairs to the kitchen. He makes coffee for both himself and Ford, wherever he is. It is done deftly, with the perfection only possible from countless tries multiple times a day, every day. He curls his hands around his mug, lifting it close to his face and inhaling deeply. The scent sets his senses abuzz and wakes him up without even having to take a single sip as well as brings a smile to his face. Now, to find Ford. He turns to head down to the basement – Ford's perpetual place of residence nowadays.

Ford appears in the doorway in the next instant. "Well, if it isn't Fiddlesticks." A grin twists his lips, his teeth gleaming unsettlingly.

Fiddleford sighs and he rolls his eyes. "Bill," He says the word like a curse. His brows furrow and his smile falls into a deep frown. "I don't wanna talk to ya." He turns his back to Bill.

"Aw, come on now, Fiddlesticks. Don't be so boring." He creeps across the room, coming up on Fiddleford without a sound. He wraps his arms around Fiddleford's middle, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

Fiddleford yelps and jumps in his skin. The mug in his hands goes flying and shatters as it hits the floor. Brown liquid splatters across the floor and his shoes, but he doesn't care. He tears out of Ford's hold and spins around, pressing himself hard against the counter. His eyes are wide and dilated, his hands tremble noticeably, and he can't keep his breaths from shuddering in and out. Control. Keep control. Bill thrives on chaos – his emotional struggle. Still his heart beats rampant in his chest and in his ears.

Ford throws his head back and cackles. "You should see the look on your face." He points.

Fiddleford's face flushes. "I-It's not funny." He does his best to glare at Bill, but he knows with crippling certainty it is nowhere near enough.

"Sure it is." Ford grins from ear to ear. "You humans are so delightfully pathetic. So many fears, insecurities."

Fiddleford uses all his effort to get his breathing under control. "Go away."

"Go away?" Ford's brows knit together and he frowns. "But Fidds, don't you want me around? I thought we were friends?"

Fiddleford gasps and a shudder rips through him as Ford's nickname for him passes that demon's lips. A voice so like Ford's yet unmistakably wrong. "Don't-Don't call me that." He clenches his hands into fists. "You're not my friend. You're not Ford."

Ford smirks. "Oh, but aren't I?" He slinks closer. "All your weaknesses, all your secrets, everything you've ever told him." He slides a finger along Fiddleford's cheek. "I know them all."

Fiddleford twists his head away. He whines. "Leave me alone." His voice cracks, a desperate edge evident.

"Why are you doing this?" Ford's voice trembles. He leans forward, his lips lingering an inch from Fiddleford's. "Don't you love me?" He closes the distance and captures a kiss.

Fiddleford jerks his fist up and smashes it into Ford's jaw. Ford's teeth catch on his lip and tear it – painfully – but it is so much more than worth it as he watches Ford hit the ground hard. "No…" He heaves. His eyes are wild and his breathing ragged as he stares down at Ford. "No!" His fists tremble terribly. "I don't love you. Because you aren't Ford."

Ford sits up and wipes a hand across his mouth. As he looks down he sees red staring back at him. He glowers at the sight, but when he returns his gaze to Fiddleford the sentiment has completely vanished. Only hurt shines there. "You…hit me."

Fiddleford bites his lip hard, trying to force back the guilt and tears. It isn't Ford. It isn't Ford. It isn't! "Stop it." It sounds so much like him though it is painful. That monster is trying harder than usual to mimic Ford's tone, almost none of his strange voice filtering through. The only sign otherwise is the tint of yellow in his eyes.

"I love you Fidds." Ford pleads.

Fiddleford grips his head and curls in on himself. "Stop it." His legs wobble beneath him. "Stop it." A tiny sob leaps from his throat and tears prick at his eyes. "You're not him, you're not him, you're not him." He sinks to his knees.

Ford crawls over to him. A grin curls his lips. "Sure I am." He traces a finger along Fiddleford's jaw. He leans in close, his mouth an inch from Fiddleford's ear. "Tell me you love me."

Fiddleford whimpers. Ford's breath is hot against his skin and it makes him shudder, but it is not the way he wants. "N-No." He grips his head with more intensity, as if trying to will it all away. "I-I don't." He sobs.

"Say it," Ford hisses. "And I'll leave you alone."

Fiddleford shakes his head with the slightest of movements.

"Fine, Fiddlesticks." He dips down and kisses Fiddleford's neck.

Fiddleford gasps. It is a familiar touch and sensation, but it is altogether different and unwanted. "Stooop." Fiddleford tries to push Ford away.

"Say it." He clamps his hands around Fiddleford's arms and pins them to his side.

"I-I love you." Fiddleford breaks down into sobs and the tears finally break free, streaming down his face.

Ford jerks away. He throws his head back and laughs. "Too easy!" His eyes light up and a full toothed grin spreads across his face. "Humans, such sensitive creatures. Especially you Fiddlesticks. I mean – wow! – I even got you to cry." He cackles. "Priceless."

Fiddleford draws his knees to his chest and presses his face against them. "Leave me alone." His voice is soft and cracks terribly. He wraps his arms around his legs and holds on tight.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Ford stands. "A deal's a deal. And you did entertain me." He chuckles and taps Fiddleford lightly on the head. "See ya Fiddlesticks." He waves over his shoulder. "And thanks for the coffee." He swipes the second cup off the counter as he leaves.

Fiddleford doesn't know how long he sits there curled in on himself, it could be an hour or it could just be five minutes. He would have stayed much longer too, except he hears the distinct sound of footsteps approaching.

"Fiddleford?" Ford calls for him.

Fiddleford jerks to attention and wipes his arm over his eyes and face. It's Ford. The real Ford. He doesn't want him to see him like this. But he's not fast enough. He can't get to his feet before Ford is in the kitchen and sees him.

Ford frowns and his brows knit together. "Fiddleford? What are you doing on the floor?" He notices the broken glass and coffee staining the floor. "Are you hurt?" He hurries over and drops to the floor next to Fiddleford.

Fiddleford averts his eyes. Yes, in a sense. He is very hurt. But he can't say that. He can't tell Ford about the things Bill does. "M'fine." He mumbles. Ford wouldn't believe him anyway, he'd see it as an attack on his idol. And it would only make Bill that much more unbearable. He gets very angry when Fiddleford tries to talk to Ford about it.

Ford reaches out to hold Fiddleford's arm and examine it.

Fiddleford gasps. "Don't touch me." He smacks Ford's hand away and glowers at him. His chest heaves, each breath shuddering in and out. His hands tremble as they twitch into feeble fists.

Ford jumps. He snaps his hand back against his chest and just stares. His eyes are wide and his expression creases with concern. "F-Fidds?"

Fiddleford shivers and sneers at the affectionate term as it passes Ford's lips. "You said you'd leave me alone." He says through grit teeth, ever on the edge of breaking down again. "So just leave me alone."

Ford stares blankly. "What? When did I…?" A possibility comes to mind. "Oh, was it Bill?"

Fiddleford flinches at the very mention of the monster. He grips his arms so hard that his nails dig into skin.

Ford lets out a breath. "I don't know what he does, he's always such a gentleman. But maybe I should talk to him and-"

Fiddleford's heart plummets and terror seizes him in a stranglehold. "No."

Ford starts. He blinks at his friend.

Fiddleford sniffles and rubs at his eyes. "I'm just stressed. That's all."

"No it's not." Ford looks hard at Fiddleford. "You've been crying – and a lot." He wants to reach out and run a finger along the rims of Fiddleford's eyes, but he thinks better of it. "So come on," His expression softens in time with his tone. "Talk to me."

"No," Fiddleford's voice quivers. "Don't make me." His lip trembles and fresh tears rise in his eyes.

Ford shakes his head. "Easy, I won't make you. You don't have to do anything you don't want to. Not for me. You know that, right?" He moves to stand. "If you really want to be left alone, I'll-"

Fiddleford launches himself at Ford. He throws his arms around Ford, digging his fingers into Ford's shoulders and holding on for dear life. Then he buries his face in Ford's chest and just cries. By all logic he should be cried out by now, but the tears come just as easily as the sobs that choke him.

Ford freezes for a moment. Then, carefully, he wraps his arms around Fiddleford. "It's alright Fidds." He caresses Fiddleford's back. Honestly though he isn't sure it is. Fiddleford has been getting increasingly jumpy and emotional as of late. This though, this is the worst to date.

Fiddleford lets Ford's words wash over him – words that sound completely and irrevocably like him – and calm wraps itself around him. "No more meditating, no more Bill." He shakes his head. "Not today."

Ford frowns. "Fiddleford…"

"Please." Fiddleford tightens his hold on Ford. "Just one day."

Ford smiles painfully. "If it'll make you happy." He has been missing Fiddleford's smile and upbeat attitude as of late. If this will help even the smallest bit, then yes, of course he'll do it. "I love you Fidds."

Fiddleford grimaces. He makes a soft sound of acknowledgement, but he doesn't say it back. He can't. Not right now. Maybe not ever again.

So yeah, this happened. Someone take microsoft word away from me. Well, hopefully someone out there likes this. Tell me your thoughts whether you did or not. I'd love to hear it. Please review!