Ford had to stop and actually consider that. It was a natural enough question, but not one he'd thought through. If they were reaching all the way back to when he had been through this, with Macnair dropping the news of his engagement in the paper, Ford didn't know that he was really the best example to look towards. His coping mechanisms at the time hadn't exactly been healthy — he still had those letters squirreled away somewhere, which also probably wasn't healthy — and he'd just ended up back with him in the end, which he still felt guilty and conflicted about. The better analogy was probably in the autumn, before they'd broken things off for good.

Ford let out a scoff of a laugh, without any real mirth, as he realized the answer. "Cash, probably," he admitted. "But that doesn't help you much." Since he'd first suspected what Gallivan meant by better that we're not, Ford had grown more sure of his assessment — friends were not likely to crumple to the floor because of an argument — but even if they were still leaning on the pretense, Gallivan had been pretty clear that he didn't think they'd be speaking to each other any time soon. Ford looked at Gallivan a moment, considering, but really what he said next was a foregone conclusion; Ford had never been the sort that could walk away from an unsolved problem.

"We could talk about it, if you want. We could get drinks sometime and talk," he offered. After a beat, he added (as though this needed to be said), "Somewhere private."

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