Ford felt a surge of panic as Macnair stepped between him and the door. It wasn't that he was afraid of what Macnair would do, necessarily, only that anything he was going to say or do meant a further delay in when Ford was able to be alone next so that he could try and process this whole mess. And then Macnair was touching him again, which was even worse than blocking him. Ford let Macnair take his hand, feeling a little like he was having an out-of-body experience. He could feel Macnair's fingers in his, but he couldn't really spare the brain power to think about that, and all that meant. Because that was a gesture that meant something, and this was becoming a whole thing whether Ford thought about it or not, this lump in his throat and this feeling in his chest, and — Ford couldn't deal with this. Not while he was trying to wrap his mind around what to do with a ghost who'd seen him naked and still recovering from the embarrassment of that whole ordeal.

I guess this means he wanted me to hold his hand a minute ago, Ford thought, but it occurred to him only distantly, disconnected from everything else he was trying to struggle through. Disconnected, certainly, from any of the implications of that notion. Oh.

"Y-yeah," he agreed, and it was strange — he felt so dissociated from his body that it was like there were two versions of himself in the room, and he wasn't sure which one of them his voice was coming from. "Tomorrow?"

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