The calls started out as every so often, at random times of the day. Some early in the morning, a few just before dinner and but mainly the mysterious caller rang at the prime moment of when Fiddleford and Stanford settled into bed. Fidd was usually the one to answer the phone picking it up and answering in the most professional manner.
"Hello, Stanford pines' assistant speaking" his words would either be met with eerie silence following by heavy breathing just before hanging up or rarely the mystery caller would speak in a deep gruff voice, it sounded slightly fake but he would always ask for Stanford. Every time Stanford got to the phone the man would hang up. After about the sixth time Stanford began to grow rather annoyed with this nonsense and the fact that Fiddleford was getting rather distressed about it. Who was this man? How did he get the phone number? How did he know who Stanford was? In retrospect it's rather terrifying.

One night Stanford had enough. It was nearing the end of the day and Fiddleford had convinced Ford to come to bed rather than working another night down in the lab. Stanford buttoned up the last button on his flannel pyjama shirt before slipping under the covers. Fiddleford purred slightly with joy as he reviled in the feeling of Stanford laying beside him. He had forgotten how warm and comfortable Stanford was. Ford had also forgotten the joyous feeling of laying with Fidd. The feeling of Fidd's head resting on his chest, feeling him contently breathing and the warmth of Fidd's hands incased in his was delightful. They both sighed contently as they relaxed into the bed.
"Goodnight darlin'," Fiddleford whispered.
"Goodnight dear" Stanford smiled, craning his neck down to reach Fiddleford's lips. The kiss was quick and sweet. The perfect thing to fall asleep with in mind. Stanford then squeezed Fiddleford closer and closed his eyes prepared to fall into his first deep sleep in weeks.

Then suddenly the loud incessant ring of the telephone came from down the hall. Stanford groaned in frustration as his eyes opened wide.
"Leave it" Fiddleford yawned as he nuzzled deeper into Ford's. "S'probably that prank caller again"
Stanford mulled the thought over in his head, Fiddleford was probably right so it's not even worth thinking about let alone getting out of bed to answer. He rested his head back on the pillow and attempted to fall asleep for a second time. The ring of the telephone fading out of earshot.

Suddenly the phone went off a second time. Ford growled angrily as he sat up, disrupting Fiddleford's position.
"Ford please just leave it" Fidd begged and rubbed his head.
"If this guy has the nerve to call twice it must be important" Stanford stated as he pulled the covers off of him and treaded heavily on the wooden floor boards. Fiddleford sighed heavily before following after him.

The phones ring was louder as he entered the kitchen. Vibrating in equal timings in its holder. Ford marched up to it and picked it up with such force it made him seem furious. Maybe he was. He held the phone in his hand for a second calming himself before answering.
"Hello this is Stanford pines" he stated calmly like he had done many times before. Silence came from the receiver.
"Look I don't know who you are but answer me now or this little game of yours is over!" Stanford demanded, his grip on the phone increasing. Fiddleford walked into the room and stood beside ford trying his best to hear the man on the other.
"I'm sorry to waste your time" a gruff low voice with a fake accent came from the other end and a slight shuffling sound indicating he was about to hang up.
"Stanley?" Ford asked sounding hopeful in his question. No he was mad at Stanley, he wanted nothing to do with him.
"Hey..." Stan's voice replied. Fords anger swelled in his stomach and in his rage he slammed down the telephone. Fiddleford took a step back, he had never seen Stanford so red with anger.
"Who was it?" He asked putting a hand on his shoulder to try and calm him.
"No one!" He snapped before storming out of the room, down the hall and back to bed. Fiddleford was astonished as his change in temper. He looked down at the phone before sighing and walking back down the hall.

Stanford was lying in the bed, back towards Fiddleford. The taller man furrowed his brow in frustration before folding his arms.
"Ya didn't have ta get mad at me" he stated in an agitated tone.
"I'm not mad at you" Ford groaned refusing to roll over. Fiddleford knew Stanford was stubborn but so was he.
"Then who was on the phone?" he questioned further. Stanford sighed  deeply but still kept on with his hardheadedness.
"I told you, no one" he groaned. Fiddleford made a face of anger before relaxing his expression and strolling over to the bed. Stanford felt the bed dip inward as Fidd sat down.
"You wanna talk about it?" Fidd cooed, his hand gently stroking his shoulder. The tenderness in his voice was enough to melt through to his stubborn exterior.
"Come on darlin' something's troubling ya 'n' I wanna help" he stated in his sweet southern accent. That was the clincher.

Ford rolled on to his back and looked Fidd in the eyes. He gave a deep sigh before speaking.
"I...Its just..." he paused and looked into Fiddleford's soft, kind eyes "it was Stanley" he confessed in a small voice. Fidd's eyes widened in understanding, he hadn't been given the pleasure of meeting Stanford's twin but from what he's been told Stanley is a selfish and stubborn character. Huh, that trait must run in the family. As much as he trusted Ford, sometimes he could stretch the truth to try and make it sound a lot worse than it seems.
"Really?...would you maybe think about talking to him?" He suggested with a small smile. Stanford's eyes narrowed at the mere thought of it.
"Never!" He yelled before turning back onto his side and huffing aloud. Fiddleford sighed deeply before climbing back into bed.

-----

Stanford awoke the next morning to an empty bed. It was cold without Fidd in it with him, he knew Fidd grew up on a farm but he hadn't voluntarily woken up early in ages. As he sat up the realisation of last nights events came flooding back to him. He pinched the bridge of his nose, gave a deep sigh before standing up and walking out into the hall toward the sound of Fiddleford's voice in the kitchen.

Stanford walked in to see Fiddleford on the phone, having a rather odd conversation. Fidd beckoned him over with a wave of his hand. Stanford warily walked toward his partner, unsure of why Fidd seemed so giddy. They did have a fight last night, didn't they? As soon as Ford became close enough Fiddleford handed the phone to him.
"Please, talk to him" Fidd pleaded and pushed the phone closer to Ford. The six-fingered mans face contorted into a mix of pure disgust and horror at the thought.
"Stanford please just wish him happy holidays" the look of kindness in Fiddleford's eyes made his conscious heavy. Just a wishing him a good holiday wouldn't  be so bad would it? And this still definitely means he's angry at him.

Ford finally grasped hold of the phone and held it to his ear. Fiddleford's face lifted into a smile as he did so.
"Happy holidays stan" he droned in to the telephone, Fidd's grin widened with joy. Stanford was about to hang up, sure Stan was probably long gone.
"You to sixer" a small voice came from the other end, it sounded like he was crying slightly or maybe just cold. The sound of his old nickname brought back memories that still hurt. In a fit of fury he slammed the phone down.
"Happy now?" Ford questioned his lover in a rather mean tone. Fiddleford frowned slightly before turning away.
"I will be after you apologise to me for being such an ass last night" he stated with a stubborn disposition. Ford sighed deeply and reached out for Fiddleford's hand. Interlacing their fingers and planting a number of small kisses in his neck, making Fiddleford giggle.
"I'm sorry" Ford stated between kisses. Fidd tried to remain angry but how could he, Stanford was never really this affectionate.
"Thank you, for talking to your brother as well as the apology" he hummed while turning to face Stanford, smiling softly.
"Happy holidays my dear" Stanford whispered, stroking Fidd's face with his other hand.
"Happy holidays darlin'," Fiddleford replied before his lips were pressing against Stanford's. The kiss was short and sweet but that's just how Fidd liked it