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Summary
Stanford has always been in the habit of turning things he doesn’t understand into the one thing he does: science. It’s no surprise, then, when faced with your admission, that his reaction is not an emotional one but an academic one. There’s no room to feel flattered or cautiously optimistic, to wonder about the ‘what’ that could follow. There’s only the ‘why’ and ‘how’ - data to gather and a pattern to extrapolate. Your willingness to cooperate, ironically, has thrown a wrench in the works already; the only way the suggestion came so easily was through him believing it would be shot down. Having to actually follow through with it now is both unexpected and nerve-wracking.
But what are nerves to a scientist?
(or: You take an immediate, unwholesome liking to Ford’s hands. When he finally wrangles that information out of you, he doesn’t really believe it. He hooks you up to a Truth Teeth powered lie detector and does science on you about it. Sexy science.)