May 19th, 1891

Ford had told his family over breakfast that he would probably be back late again tonight (thinly veiled code for not until the morning; although he kept telling himself he wasn't planning to stay the night after seeing Macnair it was impossible to ignore that this was what usually happened and it would have been irresponsible not to plan for it), and he knew that in light of that announcement he was returning almost suspiciously early — it was only a quarter to nine when he stepped through the floo and into the parlor. He’d known that there was a fairly large risk he’d run into one or more of his family members between the fireplace and his bedroom, but that didn’t mean he was any more prepared to see Noble in the room when he stepped out. Conversation was the last thing he wanted, and conversation seemed almost inevitable if he lingered here too long. Offering nothing more than “Hey,” then, he headed towards the center of the house to head up the stairs.

As he drew near the doorway, however, he could hear voices from the upstairs landing — Mama and Verity. If they were talking about something on the landing they were directly in front of his room, meaning that he’d have to walk through the middle of their conversation to escape. Ford didn’t really want to talk to anybody, but if his choices were either Noble or Verity and Mama, his brother was by far the lesser of two evils. Maybe Noble would be gracious enough not to say anything, even though Ford was home too early and he probably looked a mess — he hadn’t even touched his hair since he’d crawled out of Macnair’s bed, and his clothes were probably all rumpled, and his cheeks were still flushed with residual embarrassment, but — maybe Noble wouldn’t say anything. (What were the chances that Noble wouldn’t say anything? It wasn’t as though Ford had been enjoying a run of good luck tonight).

Swallowing hard to try and clear the lump in his throat, Ford crossed to the nearest chair and dropped down into it unceremoniously — and noticed as he did that something was off. The way his pants moved when he bent his knees to sit was strange, and — for fuck’s sake. For fuck’s sake. He was wearing Macnair’s pants.

With any luck, Noble wouldn’t say anything; or if he did, Ford could maybe manage to die before he had to think up a response.

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Noble Greengrass

  

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Set by Lady!

Noble was reading the Prophet in an armchair when the floo lit up green, and he glanced over it and noted with surprise that Ford was back. (Technically this was less surprising than it would have been if it was anyone else, but — still surprising.) "Hey," Noble replied, and returned to the paper when it seemed that Ford was leaving. Alright, fine. If Ford didn't want to chat that was — fine.

Something was weird with Ford, and Noble had noticed. Obviously he had noticed. It would have been impossible for him not to, as more of Ford's late nights happened — he hadn't said anything about it yet, but he was — aware of it. Noble probably would have just sunk into more of the Prophet, except that Ford had turned back around and sunk into a chair. Noble folded up the newspaper and actually looked at his brother.

Ford's clothes were all rumpled and his hair was all askew, and the first thing Noble wanted to say was you look a mess. He swallowed that back, at least for now, and instead said neutrally: "You're home early."

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set by Bee

On the surface of it, this was a perfectly neutral thing to say, except that it really wasn't. A perfectly neutral thing to say would have been to say nothing at all, and Ford was already so sensitive to embarrassment at the moment that even this remark felt inflammatory, less because of the content than because it had been said at all.

"Not that early," he said a little defensively, but who was he kidding? They both knew what Noble meant. Ford was home early because he'd said he would be home late, and quarter to nine was not late by any stretch of the imagination. Feeling restless, Ford propped both his feet up on the nearby ottoman and ran the fingertips of one hand over the top of his pocket — then was immediately seized by the conviction that this would look ridiculous and make it obvious he was wearing the wrong pants, because Macnair was just slightly shorter than him and they might ride up around his ankles funny if he had his feet up. If Noble had noticed the pants he at least hadn't said anything about it yet, and Ford was eager to keep that up. He moved his feet back to the floor, too hastily, and sort of wriggled in his chair slightly to try and get the pants to slide back down, all the while trying not to be particularly obvious about what he was doing if Noble happened to be watching.

His face, obviously, was getting redder by the minute. He wondered if the anti-apparition charm on the house would prevent him from apparating from here into his bedroom, if things really got desperate. Splinching himself might be preferable to having to explain the pants, though, if it came down to it.

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Set by Lady!

Ford’s weirdness radiated outwards, and Noble frowned softly at him. He had — a lot of questions. He wasn’t entirely sure what they were, but he did have them, and Ford’s face was red and Noble was starting to feel like he ought to be embarrassed to, in some sort of brotherly solidarity. He glanced at the folded newspaper and then back at Ford, and then back at the newspaper. Was there something wrong with Ford’s pants, and that was why he was wriggling so weirdly?

Noble took a sip of his drink.

”Are you good?” he asked finally, not sure where else to start but unable to contain himself to saying nothing.

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set by Bee

What a ridiculous question. Ford wanted to sink into the chair until he was invisible, and was sure that it was obvious. He wanted to be up in his bed, not wearing Macnair's pants. He wanted to bury his head in his pillow and breathe for a second and not think about a ghost having floated in on him or Macnair holding his hand afterwards or the fucking pants, what the hell was he supposed to do about the pants because he didn't have enough good suits to just take one out of rotation indefinitely but he also couldn't imagine how he was going to go about getting the pants back after tonight.

"I'm —" he glanced over at Noble and tried to lie, tried to just say good and hope that his brother didn't press him on it, but it was so obviously, stupidly false that he couldn't bring himself to say it. "— having sort of a time of it tonight," he said, trying to swallow back a lump in his throat.

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   Noble Greengrass

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Set by Lady!

Noble frowned again, a little deeper this time. ”Sorry,” he said, unsure whether he was apologizing because Ford was having a time of it or because he’d asked at all. If Ford wanted to tell him about it, he probably would have.

(It wasn’t until a few of the late nights had happened that Noble had realized it: he was lonely when Ford wasn’t home. It felt like he didn’t have anyone to talk to after dinner, which was maybe unfair to them, Mama and Grace and Verity, but — but it was still true, no matter how much he loved them.)

”Want a drink?” Noble asked, in lieu of better options.

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set by Bee

Ford exhaled, maybe the first time he had really, actually exhaled in any meaningful way since he'd first seen the ghost in Macnair's room. He wasn't even sure if he wanted a drink or if he was just relieved that Noble hadn't immediately asked him for more details about what a time of it he was having tonight, but either way his shoulders visibly relaxed.

"Yeah," he agreed, shifting his weight so that he could sink a little further into his chair. "Yeah, I would. Thanks."

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Set by Lady!

He was still uneasy, or maybe just concerned, but Noble got up from his seat and abandoned his paper to mix Ford a drink. (It was the same as what Noble was currently drinking, and he didn’t ask, because — well, he knew that Ford liked gin drinks.)

He brought it across the room to hand it off. Maybe there was something with Ford’s pants — there was something about them that seemed off, although Noble hadn’t figured it out yet, and tended not to spend much time looking at Ford’s pants anyways.

“Here,” he said, trying not to look curious and landing on — that same mixture of confused and concerned. ”Maybe this’ll help.”

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set by Bee

A drink wasn't going to solve the problem of what to do about the ghost in Macnair's house, but Ford wasn't actively trying to solve that problem right now. He was just trying to survive long enough to be alone again, and in that vein the drink was very helpful. Holding it gave him something to do with his hands, and drinking it gave him an excuse not to talk for a minute. If it could have also made him invisible, it really would have been perfect.

"Thanks," he said again. He would have liked to have said nothing more than that, except Noble had sort of a look that Ford wasn't sure he could ignore. But... what the hell was he supposed to say?

"It's nothing to be worried about," he said, and he was at least fairly confident that was true. "Just a... weird night, that's all."

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Set by Lady!

"Okay," Noble said, although he was not confident that he believed Ford, and it showed on his face. He crossed to the armchair and dropped back into it. He was still looking at Ford, though, and could not get all of the concern off of his face. Something was weird. The weird thing officially couldn't just be 'Ford staying out crazy late to avoid Noble,' which — Noble had considered an option, until tonight. (Was it bad that he was almost relieved?)

He couldn't quite stop poking at it, because he didn't believe that he didn't have to worry about it.

"You look —" a mess, like you've been rolled down a hill, like you're worried about it "— like it's been a weird night."

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set by Bee

That was code, Ford figured. A nice way to say he looked awful, and he knew it was probably true. Usually when he came home he wasn't leaving in such a rush. Usually no one was awake to see him come in anyway, so it wouldn't have mattered if he did look a mess. So he was sure it was true, and he had no more desire to argue it than he did to explain it.

"... Yeah, I know," he agreed. He had started to fidget again without thinking about it, his fingers finding and worrying at a loose thread on the seam on his left leg. "If you could... not mention this to Mama or the girls, that'd be great."

He realized then that he was staring at his leg and tugging at a loose thread, and maybe calling more attention than he would have liked to these damn pants. His cheeks colored and he dropped his hand as hastily as though he'd been caught trying to steal something, then immediately worried that that had been too sudden and suspicious and had called more attention to the pants than just fidgeting with them in the first place. Not that there was anything to be done about it now. Ford had the thought to take a drink so that if Noble gave him any significant looks about it he could pretend not to see, except that if he started taking a drink and Noble asked him something verbally he might end up choking on his drink and actually dying, which wouldn't be ideal. His glass was already halfway to his mouth by the time he had this thought, and rather than lower it he found himself biting the edge of it, eyes on his lap and cheeks bright red and just praying Noble wouldn't call him on how fucking bizarre he was acting right now.

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Set by Lady!

Noble shrugged his shoulders — he didn't feel like he needed to say anything about not saying this to their mother or sisters, because honestly, why would he? Verity would ask too many questions and Ford would, apparently, combust; Grace would be worried and that wouldn't do anyone any good; Mama would do her whole Mama thing. Noble didn't think any of them would be able to solve it if he wasn't — maybe Clementine, but Clem wasn't here.

He might have let the rest of this pass — okay, maybe, because it was very fucking weird — but Ford was still being so fidgety that he couldn't help it. "— Ford," Noble said; his eyebrows had drawn together and his expression was baffled, and his tone conveyed what he hadn't brought himself to say yet, which was you're being really fucking weird.

Ford was lucky he hadn't run into Mama or one of their sisters — in the scheme of things, Noble thought he was taking this whole weird thing pretty okay.

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"I'm sorry," Ford replied emphatically and immediately. He wasn't sure what else to say or do. He knew he was acting weird, and Noble had every right to be concerned about it. He knew he looked a mess. He felt a mess, too, which was worse, but — he could still hear Mama and Verity talking upstairs so it wasn't like he could leave yet, and he couldn't explain, and he didn't know what else to say.

And there was a ghost in Macnair's house who had seen the two of them in a compromising position, and Ford would eventually have to figure out what to do about it. And Macnair had held his hand afterwards, and Ford should probably figure out what to do about that, because Macnair was getting married to a woman he didn't love and Ford really, really had more important things to worry about than being Macnair's damn mistress, and fuck, if he couldn't even avoid being caught out at this after only a month when the only one on Macnair's side of things to notice or care was a ghost... they were playing with fire, this was a terrible idea, he could never keep this up without it all crashing and burning, and what business did Macnair have choosing a moment like this to hold his hand?

Noble's looks were getting oppressive; Ford felt he might crumble under the weight of them. Without really thinking about it he'd tugged his sleeves down onto his hands, resting his glass on his lap. Then he used those sleeves to cover as much of his face as possible, as though he could physically fend off the look. He took a breath and it was ragged and shuttering, like he was in the throes of a panic attack, which — he didn't think he was. Yet, anyway.

"I'm going to die," he complained miserably, into his sleeves.

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Set by Lady!

If he'd been concerned before, this really took it over the top — Noble leaned forward in his chair, eyes wide. There was something wrong with Ford and he didn't know what it was, and — and he wasn't sure how to keep this up if Ford was suddenly this much of a mess over some amorphous external thing Noble didn't know about.

(Oh, he realized. Oh. Was this how Ford had felt when Noble poisoned himself?)

"What?" Noble said, voice a little more sharp with concern than he would have liked, because — what was Ford getting into out there, when Noble was sitting around at home and wishing he hadn't burned bridges with the people he liked to talk to most?

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Ford didn't know what to say. He tried to slouch farther into the chair, forgetting that he had balanced his drink on his lap. It tipped slightly and sloshed just a tiny bit of his drink out, just enough for him to notice that his crotch was suddenly wet. He startled, pulled his hands away from his face, and grabbed the drink to prevent it from spilling any more. Fuck fuck fuck. Now Macnair's pants were going to smell like gin when he returned them. Although there was presumably no reason for Macnair to notice this — Ford wasn't in the habit of smelling his own clothing, particularly not after it had been worn all day — it was still freshly alarming. And Merlin, what if he stained Macnair's pants? He kept the glass in his right hand but used his left to cover part of his face with his sleeve again, wishing this whole night was some sort of nightmare and he could force himself to wake up from it.

Ford peeked over at Noble, with the one eye not covered by his sleeve, and immediately wished he hadn't. "Oh, don't," he begged miserably. "Don't look at me like that."

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Set by Lady!

Noble bit his lip. He was trying to stop himself from blurting anything out, which was — unlike him, but this was so weird. He also felt a flash of something like irritation and shoved it down — Ford didn't need him being irritated at him, because he was already having a time and already seemed on the verge of collapsing, and Noble didn't want to make it any worse. (He couldn't make it any better if Ford wasn't going to let him in, either, so — maybe that was why he was annoyed.) "You're being — really fucking weird, Ford," Noble said, because that was the most neutral thing he could think of.

He felt a little guilty about it all the same, but — at least Noble wasn't Verity, or their mother.

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set by Bee