Quincey only regretted a little bit to help cooking. The fact that she couldn't even cook might have been a problem. Also the fact that Ford didn't know crap about cooking was a problem as well. He spent a while flipping through an old cook book full of recipes that Ford would never be able to complete. The both of them decided to settle on pizza since it seemed to be the easiest food that they could create. They gathered up what they thought would be necessary for the food, and some of the ingredients they had to just live without since it wasn't already supplied in the pantry.

"Why can't we just buy the pizza from a deliverer or something?" Quincey asked as she began to try and roll out the dough, but failing miserably since a certain ingredient was missing.

Ford looked at her, shocked that such a question could even be asked. "Do you know what they could put in those pizzas?! That's right, you don't. It's too risky."

Quincey laughed, shaking her head amused. She attempted to roll out the dough again, but it kept sticking to the rolling pin. "Ugh, Ford, the dough keeps sticking to pin!"

He chuckled. "Don't ask me, I don't know how food stuff works."

The brunette huffed and thought to herself for a moment. Flour, she concluded. It needed flour. She searched around the kitchen for a while, searching for the white bag and finally her eyes landed upon a high shelf just above the stove. Sighing heavily, she marched over and stood on her tip-toes, reaching up for it. Being short wasn't fun. Her fingers managed to grasp at the edges and she yanked it forward, in doing so, about a fist full of flour poured onto her face and she brought the bag down, coughing unwillingly. "Aw, crap," she hissed.

Ford glanced over at her, making the tomato sauce, and broke out laughing. "Nice face you got there, Quince," he joked.

Quincey scrunched up her face and snatched up some of the flour and flung it at Ford, exploding on his nose. "Haha, very funny."

The boy tried to wipe it off his face and laughed, managing to sneak his hand into the bag and pelting a hand full of flour at Quincey, hitting her square in the chest. Both of them were laughing as a flour-war errupted and the contents were being flung across the kitchen at each other. They were hit in the face down to their feet, coated with flour.

"I thought you were supposed to be the nerdy guy, not the athletic one?!" Quincey exclaimed, giggling all the way.

Ford shrugged, dusting his hands together threateningly. His once yellow polo was stark white, except for a couple of yellow patches that were showing through. Since Quincey was wearing a while t-shirt, it was hard to tell how bombarded she was with flour. "Hm, I guess football practice with my brother actually did help eventually."

"Well, you think I'm giving up yet?" she questioned, smirking slightly.

He was at first suprised before an even more playful light ignited in his eyes. Ford wiped his glasses off a little more so he could see better. "Nope." Quincey was caught completly off guard when Ford hopped straight over the table, swinging himself to the other side and was in front of her in two seconds. She didn't really see Ford being that type of guy to leap over a table like such a badass. Ford smirked, seeing the shock blatantly painted.across her face. "Boo," he whispered and shoved Quincey back and she slipped, letting out a small gasp, and she crashed into the wooden floor. "Oh my God, are you ok?!" he asked, starting to panic.

Quincey was stunned before she started laughing. "I'm fine!"

Ford exhaled and dropped down onto his knees when he saw Quincey reaching for the flour and held her down. "I'm gonna win this round!"

Her wrists pinned to the ground, she was unable to grab any flour-amo. "You're not...." she growled, not knowing what to say to be intimidating.

He smiled and leaned over, nudging the flour bag away from her and his glasses fell off his face in the process. He squinted, now not being able to see as well. The glasses landed right in front of her head. "Oh, damn, I cannot see at all now," he started, laughing awkwardly.

Quincey was silently glad since she was just becoming aware of how awkward the position was. Her face turned a shade of red, but she plastered on a pretend smile that Ford wouldn't be able to notice was faked. She was having too good a time to complain. "Do you need your glasses?"

"To see, yes, but not right now," he said amused.

Quincey laughed. "Well," she wriggled a hand free and grabbed the glasses and tried to set them on his nose. They sat loosley on the bridge of it. "That's better, right?"

Ford blinked a couple times and smiled. "Yeah, I g—"

The glasses fell off again, this time onto Quincey's face. They both started laughing again even though in actuality the moment was quite stupid.

"Jesus, your eyesight sucks, I can't even see through these," she hissed but smiled.

Ford squinted at her. "Really? I haven't noticed," he chuckled. "Can you see right now?"

Quincey shook her head. "Not a thing. Do you need your glasses to see far away or up close?"

He shrugged and snatched her other hand once he saw it sneaking to the flour bag. "Mostly far away, but up close too."

"Ford?"

Quincey and Ford both jumped as a third voice entered the coversation. Ford twisted around and looked over his shoulder to find his twin, Stan, standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

"Y-yeah?" Ford stammered nervously.

Stan narrowed his eyes, frowning deeply. "What are you doing?"

Ford tried to smile. "Um....nothing..." he whispered.

A sudden horrified look shot across the other twin's face. "Is there someone underneath you?!" he exclaimed, going white.

Ford sat up all the way. "Stan! We were just messing around with the flour and-and..."

Stan raised an eyebrow angriy.

"I know what you're thinking and it's not that, for Christ's sake." It was Ford's turn to blush like mad. At least Quincey wasn't as naive as before, so she understood perfectly what was going on and what they were talking about.

Quincey propped herself up with her arms. "Stan, just relax, we were playing a game."

"What is she wearing?" Stan asked, crossing his arms.

Ford hung his head in defeat. "Their my clothes, but only because I am washing her clothes."

Stan brought his hands out in a confused manor. "What about the boxers? And your glasses?"

Quincey shoved Ford to the side, seeing the poor man was slowly crumbling, and got to her feet. "It doesn't matter, ok? We're making dinner, so you can go."

He growled, crossing his arms furiously, and stormed back to his room.

Ford was silent and still for a moment before he rose to his feet and brushed himself off and a sudden serious look shaded his face. "This was stupid, we shouldn't have been fooling around."

Quincey frowned, observing Ford worriedly. "But we were having fun!" she protested.

Ford snatched his glasses off her face, causing her to flinch, and cleaned the lenses. "I mean, look how much flour we waisted."

"Ford," the girl whined, somewhat confused, "we had a good time!"

He shrugged, frowning angrily. "I can't be doing this, ok?" Ford tried to shake his shirt so the flour could rain down. "I have too much to focus on to play games."

Quincey stepped back, feeling hurt. "But.... I don't..." her voice trailed off.

"Listen, you're just a little girl and I have work to do and a house to maintain. I think you can understand that, kay?" His eyes were no longer lit with playful flame that they were before. They were cold and walled off, as if he had locked a part of himself away to be this stone-like person.

She swallowed, the pain inside increasing. How could Ford just switch so quickly? "Do you still need help cooking...?" she asked warily while feeling completely baffled.

"No, I'm fine right now." he murmured.

"Ford, what's going on? Why are you all of a sudden being such a big jerk?!" Quincey cried angrily.

He clenched his jaw and his fists. "It's complicated, Quincey," he said quietly.

"Just tell me, ok?" Her voice now held a more stern tone.

Ford turned around, still frowning. "I don't have the time to goof off," he sighed. "I need to focus on the number one priority."

"But you don't need to be heartless to do so," Quincey reasoned.

He shrugged again. "I can't get sidetracked, ok? I need to finish dinner so we can eat and I can return to my research and then we can go to bed."

Fury was being kindled inside of Quincey. It was as if Ford was a robot running on a written out schedule that he couldn't break out of. "What if I don't go to bed on time?" she asked just to be obnoxious.

"Well, I hope you do so you don't bother me," he replied coldly.

Quincey glared at the boy. "We'll see about that..." she grumbled.

"I have to finish dinner, you can wait at the table," Ford exhaled glumly.

"You don't have to shut yourself down and everyone out to get through life, you know?" Quincey asked as Ford turned away.

He sighed. "I know, but I need to."

Quincey crossed her arms and muttered under her breath, "No you don't."