Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The last day of Hanukkah

“Check it out. Pretty cool, huh?”

Dipper holds up his brand new telescope to his laptop’s camera, trying to fit it in the frame so Pacifica can see the whole thing.

“Wow, your nerdiness knows no bounds,” the blonde deadpans in return from her window on his computer screen.

“Bah,” Dipper says, grinning at his new toy—no, no: his new tool. “You’re just jealous that I got a super cool Hanukkah gift and you don’t get to celebrate at all.”

Pacifica scoffs. “Hardly, I still have Christmas presents coming after all. I just feel bad for you that your holiday is all over.”

“Oh no our family celebrates Christmas too” Dipper says, looking back up at the screen and cocking a smile at her.

“What!?” Pacifica pouts. “No fair!”

“Oh yeah, cause in the cosmic balance of the planet the Jewish people have really traditionally been the beneficiaries of fair treatment,” he says, rolling his eyes.

Pacifica purses her lips. “Okay, fine,” she relents, sitting back in her desk chair. “You win this time, Pines.”

“Wow, wait can you repeat that? I didn’t have my recorder ready.”

“Pfft, yeah right. So you can torment me with my own words?”

Dipper smiles and leans back in his own chair.

“What are you guys doing for the holidays anyway?” he asks. He returns his attention to his telescope, fiddling with the lens.

“Mom and Dad always have a big party on the 25th— with the regional ‘who’s who’ and all that. Christmas Eve is pretty quiet usually. We have a nice early dinner, exchange presents and stuff. But the big thing for me is going to be my show. Closing night is this Saturday.”

“Oh right, how’s that going?”

“Great! I mean, I am the prima ballerina this year. So of course it’s going great.”

“So that’s a big deal then huh?”

Dipper knows full well that it’s a big deal. But he also knows that Pacifica likes it when he gives her opportunities to brag.

“It’s a huge deal,” she says, lighting up. “Especially for The Nutcracker. It’s like the biggest revenue generator for most ballet companies. And it means I get to dance the pas de deux.”

“Paw duh-duh?”

“Pas de deux,” she repeats, and it sounds exactly like it did the first time. “It’s french. The ‘step of two.’ It means a dance between a male and female dancer. It’s usually a big highlight of the show.”

Dipper tilts his head.

“Wait, there are guys in your ballet company?”

“Duh.”

“Oh, I guess I… just… didn’t know?”

“Don’t be sexist, Dipper. Lots of guys do ballet.”

“I’m not being sexist. I just didn’t know.”

“Well why does it matter?”

“It doesn’t. I just didn’t know.”

“You keep saying that like it’s a reason. There’s lots of stuff you don’t know, but you don’t make a thing out of it all.”

“I’m not making it a thing.”

He’s totally making it a thing.

“Whatever,” she says, followed by a small, smug smirk. “I think you’re just jealous they get to hang around pretty girls all day.”

Dipper decides not to respond to that, mostly because for some, strange, extremely confusing reason, it doesn’t feel exactly untrue.

Weird. Whatever. He shakes it off.

“Anyway,” he says instead. “So you excited for Saturday then?”

“Relieved is more like it.” Pacifica sighs and rests her chin on her palm. “It’s a great show, but I’ve been doing it since I was like four. I think I’ve had like every role—even the big ugly Mouse King. Mom nearly sued the company director that year.” Dipper doesn’t understand the reference but she doesn’t give him the opportunity to ask. “Since it’s my senior year this is the last one ever for me. So yeah, it will still be a special night.”

“Wish I could be there,” Dipper says, a little surprised with how the words just slip out, and how true they feel.

“Yeah,” Pacifica says, shrugging. “Well, we’ll just have to go see it together next year. When you’re up here for your gap year.”

“Won’t really be the same without Oregon’s best ballerina starring, of course,” he quips.

He means it to be teasing, sarcastic even, but as soon as the words are out of his mouth he realizes how sincere they sounded. And almost… flirty. Where did that come from? He feels his cheek heat a little as he watches her reaction closely.

She just grins.

“That’s a good point. I’m glad to see you’re learning.”

Dipper rolls his eyes but lets one corner of his mouth tug into a crooked smile. Before he can think too hard on what’s gotten into him, a loud knocking comes from his closed bedroom door. He spins in his computer chair to see Mabel barging right in, not even waiting for his invitation.

“Dip, dad wants us downstairs to— oh hi, Pazzy!”

“Hey, girl,” Pacifica says, smiling up from Dipper’s laptop.

“I wasn’t interrupting, was I?” Mabel sneaks her brother a strange look. He starts to say that, as of matter of fact she quite literally was acting out the very definition of interrupting, but she just pushes him on the shoulder, rolling him in his desk chair to the side, and kneels down in front of the computer herself instead. “What were you guys talking about?”

“Just my show,” Paz says, waving a hand. “Dipper was telling me that he was sure I was the best, most talented, prettiest ballerina on the whole West Coast, which is true, of course.”

Mabel grins and gives Dipper that same strange look.

“I’m sure he was,” his sister says. She turns back to Pacifica. “That’s almost all done, right? Don’t you guys wrap up before Christmas?”

Dipper watches from the sidelines, arms crossed, as Mabel fully takes over his video call and the two girls chat animatedly about their holiday plans. Mabel shows Pacifica the needlepoint kit she got from their parents earlier in the evening, and Pacifica talks about the expensive imported salt lick she got as a gift for her one remaining pony, Duchess.

After about ten minutes of this, Dipper and Mabel both startle when they hear a knock on Dipper’s door frame. Their mother stands in the doorway. “Mabel,” she begins, keeping her voice warm but stern in that way only moms seem to be able to do, “Dad told you to come get your brother, not start getting up to your own—“ She stops short when she sees the computer screen. “Oh! Pacifica! It’s so nice to see you, honey.”

“Hi, Mrs. Pines,” Pacifica’s voice responds politely from the laptop speakers. “It’s nice to see you too.”

The twins’ mom turns back to Mabel. “Mabel, come downstairs and leave your brother alone. Mason, you can stay to say goodnight but we want you downstairs in two minutes to help clean. There’s a pile of dishes with your name on them.”

Dipper nods and scoots his chair back in place as his mother gently tugs Mabel to her feet and leads her from the room.

“I guess I gotta go,” he says to Pacifica, pulling a face. “I do want to hear more about your show though. I’m sorry Mabel sort of took over.” His eyes glance at the doorway she just left through, and he’s a little surprised at how irritated he feels about her crashing their call.

“It’s fine,” Pacifica replies. “I mean, I get it. Who wouldn’t want to talk to me?” She shoots him a cocky grin, but it gives way quickly to a softer, more sincere smile. “We can talk again tomorrow, maybe?”

“Yeah, definitely.” Dipper says, wondering why she phrased it as a question, why she seems so almost shy about it. They video chat almost every day, after all. She’s one of his best friends.

“Night, Dip.”

“Night, Cif.”

The chat window closes as Pacifica presumably ends the call, and Dipper rises and stretches before heading downstairs to the kitchen. He’s vaguely aware of a strange, warm feeling in his chest, but chalks it up to the festivities and food. It’s the holidays after all, why shouldn’t he feel warm and happy and sort of giddy?

Mabel tosses a dishrag at his face as soon as he approaches her and the sink, and the two get to work on the sudsy dishes.

“So,” Mabel says after a minute. “I was thinking.”

“‘Bout?” Dipper asks, scrubbing at a particularly tough bit of grime.

“We should go to Paz’s last show.”

Dipper looks up at his sister.

“Are you forgetting the part where she lives six hours away and neither of us have a car?”

“No, I didn’t forget,” Mabel says, sticking out her tongue at him. “I think we should ask mom and dad to spend Christmas in Gravity Falls. Like all of us. The Stans will be back, and it could be fun to have a white Christmas. Seeing Paz’s show would just be a bonus.”

Dipper ponders this for a second, and it doesn’t take long for his heart to start beating a little harder as he feels himself get his hopes up about Mabel’s suggestion. Christmas in Gravity Falls. They’d be able to see the place in a brand new season, not to mention spend time with their family and friends a full six months earlier than they had been expecting.

“Do you think they’d go for it?” Dipper asks, letting his hope creep through in his tone.

“Psh, Mabel Pines can be very persuasive,” she says, leaning in conspiratorially and waggling her eyebrows.

Mabel spends the next half hour plotting out elaborate schemes, all of which turns out to be for naught, because both their mother and father are immediately enthralled with the idea.

“I haven’t see Stanford in ages” says their dad. “Wait, I mean, Stanley. Well, Stanford too, technically.” He rubs at his face. “That’s going to take some getting used to.”

“And I’d love to meet all your new friends in person,” their mother says.

“Ah, yes!” Says their dad, lighting up. “And we can meet Mason's little girlfriend!”

“Dad, we’re just friends,” Dipper says, ignoring the sudden twist in his stomach.

“Yes, yes, of course you are,” his dad says, waving him off. “I’m going to go call my uncles.”

Their parents make their way into the study, and Dipper turns to Mabel. “I should go call Cif back, let her know we’re going to be able to make it to her show after all.”

“What?!” Mabel gasps. “No way! We gotta keep it a surprise!”

“What? Why?”

“Because she’ll love it! And it’ll be way more romantic that way.”

“Mabel, I’ve told you a billion times. We don’t see each other like that.”

“Please.”

“I’m serious.”

“Dipper, look, I believe that you believe that, and I learned my lesson about meddling.” She pauses, thinking. “…too much,” she whispers under her breath. “But trust your sister on this one. You guys are in love with one another, you just don’t know it. But it’s only a matter of time before you catch up with the rest of us.”

Dipper rolls his eyes, and decides arguing is pointless. He knows what everyone thinks of his and Pacifica’s friendship. And sure, maybe when they were first becoming friends, back after that very first summer— sure, maybe at that point he thought there could have been something. A flicker of a vibe. But then they became friends. And now she’s just Pacifica.

Pacifica who kicks his butt in video games almost every weekend, Pacifica who steals sips of his hot chocolate before handing it to him when he orders it at the diner, Pacifica who seems to think that fashion “advice” (read: criticism) is adequate compensation for him helping her with her physics homework each Tuesday night.

Pacifica who saves all her best smiles for him.

But no, he quickly corrects in his brain, they’re friends. That’s all. Dipper shakes his head. He’s just letting his sister get under his skin.

But maybe he will keep the trip a surprise.

Six days until Christmas

Dipper shifts in the soft velvet of the theater seat, tugging at the uncomfortable slacks his mother insisted he wear despite this being a community theater production in the middle of the Nowhere, Oregon (“It’s still a ballet, Mason.”). His parents sit to his left, chatting about whether or not they should have rented a house for the week. Soos, Melody and Abuelita insisted that the Piedmont Pines and Grunkles all stay with them at the Shack, but between the seven adults, two teenagers and two Ramirez newborns, it’s turning out to be a bit more crowded than anticipated.

To his right, Mabel pouts about Grunkle Stan’s refusal to come to the show.

“Who doesn’t like Christmas?” she cries. “I mean I knew he was a bit miserly about it all, but I can’t believe he said he actually dislikes it. It’s an affront to my religion!”

“You’re not a Christian, Mabel,” Dipper says.

“I mean my religion of cheer! Of celebrations! Of presents and singing and fun!” Mabel throws up her hands, exasperated. “It’s clear what I have to do,” she says a moment later, serious.

“Which is?”

“Obviously he’s just never had a good Christmas. I have to show him what he’s been missing. Force the cheer on him until he learns he likes it.”

“I dunno, Mabel, some people just aren’t the ‘cheer’ types.”

“Bah,” Mabel says. “Nonsense. He will be as jolly as old Saint Nick himself before this week is up.”

“You know Santa’s a real guy, right? I read about him in one of the journals. For all we know he could be a real jerk.”

“I refuse to believe that, I have it on good authority that—“ She cuts herself off as the lights in the theater begin to dim. “Ooh never mind, it’s starting!”

Dipper settles back into his chair, still fussing momentarily with his uncomfortable pants, as the theater’s house descends into near darkness and the lights on the stage brighten. The orchestra begins playing light, delicate music as the curtains part a half a dozen elementary-school aged kids dance on stage. They’re all wearing clothes that look like they belong in a Dickens novel, and for the first time Dipper realizes that agreeing to go to the ballet meant agreeing to go to the ballet. 

It’s not like he’s a total cultural troglodyte. He appreciates some art, and music (the type you hear on the radio anyway… you know, like, normal stuff), and good movies and even some important bits of literature. But as he watches some ten-year-old leap across the stage in tights and a goofy nightgown, he realizes that this might not end up being his cup of tea.

Man. He searches the stage for the reason he’s here in the first place, but doesn’t see her.

He leans across to whisper to his sister. “Hey, where’s Pacifica?”

“She’s not in it until the second act,” Mabel whispers back. “This is the party scene. She doesn’t come in until Clara goes to sleep and her dream starts.”

Dipper’s face twists and he thinks that maybe he should have done a little reading up on this story. He’s already lost, and apparently could have just snuck in for the second half anyway.

He scoots lower in his chair and decides he might as well make the most of it. Now that he knows he doesn’t have to be watching out for her until after the intermission, he lets his mind wander as he watches the children, now joined by older pre-teens and teenagers who are apparently playing the parents of the kids, jump and spin around on stage.

Mabel said this was a party scene, and it sure seems like it’s supposed to be a fancy one. The dancers on stage are all dressed to the nines in frilly Victorian dresses and tuxedos with tails. The backdrop is painted to resemble an ornate mansion, and two butlers and two maids weave through the party guests performing their own small displays of talent. Dipper wonders if the Northwests annual Christmas party is anything like this. Probably in appearance, at least. But there’s a warmth and joy on stage in this fictional party that Dipper doubts has ever been present in Northwest Manor, save perhaps the night he and Pacifica first became friends. His eyes wander to the small girl playing who appears to be the main kid— Clara, Mabel had said. She stands in a corner of the stage by herself, spinning alone with a large nutcracker doll. Dipper’s heart tugs. He wonders if Pacifica ever had to entertain herself like this when she was little. Probably all the time, now that he really thinks about it.

But “Clara’s” parents, actually two teenagers who can’t be more than fifteen, eventually float her way and usher her to her bed. One confusing dance later—Dipper still isn’t sure if it’s supposed to mean that the girl is dreaming, like Mabel said, or if actual magic is happening—and then the curtain is being drawn and the house lights are coming back up for intermission.

Mabel excuses herself to go check out the snack bar, and Dipper is left with his thoughts.

He supposes it wasn’t so bad so far. The music was pretty and it was kind of fun to watch the dancers spin around on their tip toes. He’s really not sure how those maids managed to keep their balance or their bodies moving when they were doing all those pirouettes. At least, he thinks that’s what Pacifica had called them.

And now she’ll be on next. And that’ll be cool to see, right? She’s talked about her dancing for ages, and while yes he’s searched for a few videos online of her performances (What? That’s what friends do. Take interest in one another.), he’s never been able to see her live. He wonder what she’s doing right now. Probably stretching, or fixing her costume, or maybe just waiting in the wings. Wait, what if she can actually see him right now? Maybe she’s already figured out that they’re here. For some reason his heart begins to pound a little faster, and he wishes that the lights would go down again and plunge them back into anonymity.

Is it weird that they’re here? Should he have told her they were coming? He suddenly feels like a bit of a creep, quite literally planning on sitting and watching her while she has no idea. But, no. It’s a performance, that’s what she’s doing it for, to be watched. Right? Yeah, yeah, this is normal. And it’s just a surprise. Friends surprise each other all the time. It’s not creepy, no, not at all.

“Mason? Are you okay, honey?” he hears his mother ask from beside him. “Your leg is shaking so much I can feel it in my seat.”

“Oh, sorry,” he says, glancing down to where his right leg is indeed bouncing in place. “Maybe just need a little air. I’m going to go walk around.”

And then he’s racing to the bathroom. He bypasses the line of men waiting to actually use it and heads right for the sinks. Gripping the counter for a moment, he then flips on the faucet and quickly splashes cold water on his face, the cool sensation grounding him as he looks up in the mirror at his flushed cheeks.

What is going on, man? Get a grip.

Dipper takes in two deep breaths, splashes his face again, and then grabs some paper towels to dry off before making his way back to his family. Mabel’s returned by the time he makes it back and is finishing off a box of caramel corn. She gives him a quizzical look as he sits back down.

“You okay, broseph?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he says, trying to keep his voice level. Truly, he has no idea what’s going on; why his face feels so hot or why his heart rate won’t slow down.

Mabel looks skeptical, but lets it go as the house lights once again, blessedly, begin to lower and the stage again lights up.

The little girl playing Clara and the boy who Dipper thinks is supposed to be the nutcracker doll come to life (he’s still having a little trouble following) come back on stage, but the procession of dances to come do little to calm his nerves. It seems to be one showcase after another. A pair of kids dressed up in chocolates do something faintly resembling a fandango. A trio of teens dressed in a way that Dipper can only identify as dimly Russian leap and kick with more energy than Dipper ever thinks he’s had in his life. It’s all vaguely candy-themed, he can tell, and each time one dance ends and the dancers float off stage, he wonders if Pacifica will be the next to take it. So far she hasn’t, and for some reason it’s causing his leg to start bouncing again.

But then the group of teens dressed as flowers that he’d half been paying attention to finish up their lively dance with a dramatic trill from the strings section, and as they leave the stage, Dipper notices that the applause wraps up quickly and a pointed hush falls over the audience. It’s as if everyone but him knows what comes next.

And then he just knows somehow. She’s next.

Almost of their own accord, Dipper feels his lungs take in a deep breath as the soft sounds of the harp suddenly fill the auditorium. It’s a slow, slightly mesmerizing pattern of notes, played over and over, and if his heart wasn’t beating so fast it could quite possibly lull him to sleep, but then from the corner of the stage enters a young man dressed in a regal-looking top and tights, and he’s holding his hand out to someone behind him, welcoming her to follow him, and then…

And then she’s there. It’s Pacifica. But not. It’s her, he knows that, but no, no this Pacifica isn’t his Pacifica. This is an angel.

The only word that comes to Dipper’s mind as a description is magical. She’s dressed in a glittering, gold, intricately embellished leotard, and the tulle tutu that circles her waist sticks straight out, threads of gold catching the light. Her legs look impossibly long which doesn’t make any sense because Dipper knows full well that the top of her head barely reaches his chin, and her hands are held aloft so delicately that they don’t look anything like the ones that he knows, the one that push him lightly when he’s being annoying, or ruffle through his hair when he’s neglected to comb it that day. Her hair is twisted up into a tight bun of the likes he’s never seen on her, and he’s a little concerned because honestly it looks painful. There’s a gleaming crown atop her head that he knows she probably loves.

Her face is her own, as perfect and beautiful as ever.

But no, this isn’t his Pacifica. Because his Pacifica doesn’t make breath catch like this, or cause his heart to swell the way it is right now. 

He thinks back. His eyebrows furrow.

Right?

“That’s Mason’s girlfriend?” Dipper hears his father say from his left, beyond his mother, much too loud to be considered polite.

His mother shushes him, but then adds in a whisper, “That’s her, but they’re just friends.”

Dipper feels a pang low in his stomach.

“Wait, really?” his father replies, sounding incredulous and just as embarrassingly loud as before. “I thought he was just being shy about it.”

“Yes,” hisses his mother. “They’re really just friends. Now hush.”

Dipper hears his dad harumph. “Do we need to get his eyes checked or something?”

“Honey. Seriously, quiet.”

Dipper re-focuses on the stage, watches Pacifica stretch her limbs in ways he didn’t know she could. Yes, they’re just friends. Of course they’re just friends. She’s his best friend. She’s the one who he wants to call every time something crazy happens at school. He’s the one she calls whenever she gets in a fight with her parents. She’s always at the top of his messages list in his phone, and he knows that he doesn’t need to worry about staying on top of the drama in Gravity Falls because she’ll always tell him what’s going on before even some of the residents know.

He watches as she gracefully dances around the young man whose hand she now holds. Dipper’s not sure how she manages to stay on the tip of her toes like that, but he’s more distracted by the expression on her face than anything else. She looks so serene, but focused. So confident and calm. Has he ever seen her so at peace before? So beautiful?

Well of course he’s seen her look so beautiful, his mind supplies unhelpfully. She’s gorgeous.

The young man she dances with lifts her in the air, seemingly effortlessly, and Dipper feels his breath catch in this throat again as his eyes focus on in where the boy’s hands grip her waist. It’s not that he’s jealous, of course not, that’s crazy. He just doesn’t want the boy to drop her.

She’s his best friend.

She’s funnier, quicker, smarter, than ninety-percent of the people he knows.

The music shifts in tone, becomes marginally darker, the horns taking over for the strings as the pair’s dance intensifies alongside Dipper’s thoughts.

It reaches a floor, the bass rumbling throughout the theater, and then the strings are back, pulling up his thoughts into a sudden epiphany.

Oh my god.

No.

The young man spins Pacifica on stage again, her back arched and one arm held out dramatically behind her.

His heartbeat matches the music.

No, he doesn’t like her.

The strings once again swell.

No.

Pacifica dances from her partner, then races back across the stage and leaps into his arms, rising above his shoulder.

The horns again fill the theater.

He loves her.

Dipper watches helplessly from his seat as the violins repeat their refrain and Pacifica’s dance partner spins her again and again and again, keeping in time with the revelations blooming in Dipper’s mind.

They reach their crescendo.

He’s in love with her.

His mind races through hundreds of memories, of warm feelings, of late nights on video chat and early mornings walking through the woods.

He has always been in love with her.

Her partner hold hers waist lightly as she spins on point, her face held aloft.

She’s so pretty.

She shifts her weight, hopping from one leg to the other.

And smart.

Her back leg rises sky-high as her partner kneels in front of her.

And confident.

Her partner rises again, and she twirls once more in place and before Dipper can even follow what’s happening, she’s in her partner’s arms in a dramatic forward-facing hold, face and arms held regally toward the sky.

And so… her.

And she makes him feel so good.

All he can manage to do at this point is watch her, in awe, as she finishes her set and is led off-stage, broad smile on her radiant face.

How did he not see it?

She’s his girl.

He knows it.

He’s not aware of when his jaw dropped, but it must have at some point because Mabel reaches over and gently pushes it back up in place, closing his mouth.

“So…” she begins. “You finally all caught up?”

“Yeah...”

She pats his knee affectionately. “Glad to hear it.”

The rest of the show might not have even happened. He watches mesmerized when Pacifica takes the stage again performs a solo act so delicate and precise that he wonders where on earth she keeps all the strength in her petite frame. But then she’s gone and the other dancers are back, and yes, sorry children, but he’s spacing out again and wondering what on earth he is supposed to do now. Now that he knows that the girl of his dreams has been right there in front of him this whole time. Now that he knows he’ll never, ever, be able to look at her the same way. Now that he understands why the stars were put in the sky and why the sun rises each morning.

Okay, so he’s getting a little hyperbolic.

But still.

What does one do with the knowledge that you’re in love? Real, true love. When you’re seventeen and only been aware the feeling’s existence for twenty minutes?

And it’s been right there.

The show ends and the dancers come on stage one by one, taking their bows. Dipper knows enough about theater to know that the bigger roles, the more seniored cast members, will be last, and he feels his knee once again begin to bounce as he awaits Pacifica’s return.

And then she’s there. Last, of course. She did say she was the prima ballerina.

She skips out on stage, led by her dance partner. The boy take his bow first and then gestures widely to Pacifica. She prances up, smile bright and open, and waves to the crowd, blowing kisses in various directions.

Dipper suddenly feels once again self-conscious. They’re seated pretty near the front and basically dead-center. If the overhead lights aren’t too blinding, she might be able to see him from the stage.

And then, of course, she does.

He knows it, too, because her eyes lock in directly on his. And then they’re widening in surprise and her smile broadens into a dazzling grin. And then, then she focuses in, raises her hand to her perfect lips, and blows a kiss that is unmistakably for him.

He feels his face flush and his stomach drop and his heart swell, and all the feelings that he’s been denying for the last three, four, five years come rushing in to hit him like Santa's goddamn sleigh.

He’s so screwed.

Chapter Text

The curtain falls and the audience slowly moves from the auditorium to the foyer of the theater.  Dipper, still a bit in a daze, follows his family to the small entry and watches as his parents begin making small talk with the variety of residents that Mabel introduces them to. Dipper’s not sure what to do with himself, so he fidgets with the tie around his neck, which suddenly feels far too tight, as his eyes take in the crowd.

Lazy Susan is there, of course, which makes sense as Pacifica has been her best (according to her) employee for the last four years straight. Wendy isn’t home from college yet, but he notes that Manly Dan has taken his boys to see the show, a fact that Mabel deems “so sweet.” Mayor Cutebiker stands in a corner, shaking hands with constituents and thanking them for coming out to support the arts. Really, it seems like nearly the whole town has shown up, and the room is buzzing with a cozy energy. Someone sells hot cider from a small cart, a vendor with an armful of red roses passes them out to parents purchasing them for their children, and beyond the entry, outside in the chilly night air, a group of carolers begin an only slightly off-key rendition of “Deck the Halls.”

One-by-one the young dancers start entering from side entrances, mostly little kids who run up to their parents still in full costume to pose for pictures and hug extended family members. Dipper’s heart rate escalates again, but it’s less of of the self-conscious, anxiety-ridden feelings he had in the auditorium. He’s just… excited. He wants to see her, to tell her how great she was.

His eyes scan the crowd for the familiar shade of platinum blonde. He thanks his lucky stars for the growth spurt he experienced this past fall, for the fact he doesn’t haven’t stand on his tip-toes to see over the heads of most of the townsfolk.

His search is interrupted by his dad, who taps him on the shoulder and gestures for him to follow him off the side. Confused, Dipper follows and then watches as he pulls out his money clip and extracts a twenty dollar bill. He slips it in Dipper’s hand discretely and nods toward the vendor selling the bouquets of red roses. “Go on then.”

Dipper’s eyebrows furrow. “Oh, I don't know, Dad. Roses? Isn’t that a little much?” he asks. “I don’t want to, like, freak her out.”

“Pfft!” Mabel says, jumping up behind Dipper and startling him as she wraps her arms around his shoulders from behind. “Please, ’too much’ isn’t in Pacifica’s vocabulary. ‘Sides, it’s tradition to give a ballerina roses.”

Dipper begins to protest but then both Mabel and his dad are nudging him along in the direction of the vendor, and, well, the flowers are pretty. Mabel’s probably right. She would like them…

Before he can lose his nerve, he thrusts the bill in the hands of the salesman and picks out the bouquet he deems to be the brightest and fullest.

No sooner has he turned around, roses in hand, than he spots her entering from across the room, still in her costume as well.

Pacifica’s eyes are scanning the crowd, flitting from face to face—and he smiles when she sees that she is on her tip-toes—until they finally land on him. He sees her light up, just like she did on stage, and then she’s running toward him, pushing past other patrons, giant tutu almost knocking over at least three people, and then finally, finally barreling into his chest. She flings her arms over his shoulders and tucks her face into the crook of his neck as she holds him tight.

She’s so, so close. So close he can smell the hairspray she’s doused in, the perfume she must have put on earlier, and beneath it all, just… her.

“I can’t believe you came!” she cries out, muffled by his neck. His shivers at the way her warm breath tickles his skin.

Dipper’s heart is beating far too fast, and it’s a little embarrassing how long it take him to will his own arms to respond, to wrap around her back and return her embrace, careful not to crush the bouquet still clutched in his right hand.

“Yeah,” he says, eventually, laughing a little as she finally pulls away to look at him. She keeps her arms around his neck, and he decides to keep his own around the small of her back too. “We, uh, wanted to surprise you.”

Pacifica is still beaming up at him, until she apparently becomes conscious of the flowers behind her, glancing over her shoulder briefly. She looks back up at him. “Are these…?” she begins, pointing back.

“Oh!” Dipper startles, but then releases her from his grip and holds them out to her sheepishly. “Yeah.” He clears his throat. “I mean, yes, these are for you. You, uh, looked really good up there.”

Her cheeks look a little flushed as she takes them from him, but it could just be the makeup. “Thank you, Dipper,” she says, smiling down at the roses for a moment.

Then she looks up, takes in his outfit.

“You look good tonight yourself, actually.” She tugs on his tie. “Did you wear this just for me?” 

Dipper feels his cheeks heat, and he internally thanks his mother for forcing him into the uncomfortable clothes.

“Pazzy!” squeals Mabel, running up with their mom in tow and wrapping her arms around Pacifica’s middle in a long, firm embrace. “You were so good. How did you learn to do that? Can you teach me? I’m really into the tutu, by the way. Were you able to buy that somewhere or did you have to make—“

“Mabel,” her mother interrupts, gently pulling her off the other girl. “Give her room to breathe.” She turns to Pacifica. “It’s so lovely to meet you in person finally, dear. You looked beautiful tonight.”

Pacifica preens under the praise, and Dipper feels a warm sensation fill his stomach as she gives his mother a sweet smile and politely replies, “it’s nice to meet you officially too, Mrs. Pines. Thank you so much for coming. It means a lot.”

Dipper feels a firm hand clap on his shoulder and turns slightly to see that his dad has entered their small circle as well.

“Pacifica! The kids have told us so much about you. It’s a shame we’ve never met before. You’re practically an honorary Pines from what I’ve heard.”

“Dad!” Dipper hisses under his breath while Mabel snickers.

“Well, thank you, Mr. Pines,” Pacifica says, flushing a little.

“Where are your parents, dear?” asks the twins' mother. “We’d love to meet them too.”

“Oh they’re not here tonight,” Pacifica replies simply, without a hint of bitterness. Just a fact.

“Not here for closing night?” Dipper’s dad says, surprised and apparently not aware that he’s putting his foot in his mouth.

“There was, um, a party they had to go to,” Pacifica explains. “They came to opening night. It’s okay.”

Dipper feels his fist clench involuntarily.

Apparently his mother is quicker on the uptake than his dad, because she swoops in to salvage the moment. “Well that’s a shame, sweetheart,” she says, putting a light hand on Pacifica’s shoulder. “You were so beautiful, I’m sure they wish they could have seen you. You know, unless you have other plans, the kids were going to show us around the town a little. Maybe go get some hot chocolate. Would you like to join us?”

Dipper’s stomach drops. He isn’t sure how he feels about this suggestion. On one hand yes yes yes absolutely he would love to spend as much time with her a possible. On the other, he’s only just realized his feelings for her, what was it, about forty-five minutes ago? And while he’s not worried about his mom embarrassing him, his dad… well, let’s just say Dipper doesn’t get his awkwardness from nowhere. And, yeah, he’d appreciate a little more space to figure out all these new feelings and how he’s supposed to be with them before having to factor his parents of all things into the equation.

No such luck though.

“I’d love to!” Pacifica beams. “Let me just go change and try to brush some of this hairspray out real quick.” Pacifica turns and begins to run backstage, but before she can Mabel is grabbing her wrist and spinning her back.

“Wait! Pictures first! Before you change out of your costume.” She grins in her brother's direction.

“Oh great idea, honey!” their mother agrees, clapping her hands together. “Perfect for the holiday section of the scrapbook.”

Dipper may not have fallen far from the tree when it comes to his awkwardness, but neither did Mabel when it comes to her love of capturing memories.

The kids’ mom fishes out her phone and arranges Dipper and Mabel on either side Pacifica. The three smile awkwardly as the camera snaps a photo. Dipper has no idea what to do with his hands. At least it’s over fast.

“Okay now just me!” Mabel shoves Dipper out frame and wraps both arms around Pacifica, and the two girls once again smile for his mother.

Alright, now they’re all done—

“Now Dip and Paz!”

What.

Mabel grabs Dipper by both shoulders roughly and situates him back right next to Pacifica, who is still poised and smiling like the pageant queen that she is.

Well now he really doesn’t know what to do with his hands. At least Pacifica has her bouquet to hold on to. What’s he supposed to do, just stand here?

“Stop being so stiff, Dipper!” Mabel moans.

“Mabel’s right, honey, you do look a little odd. Maybe relax a little?” suggests his mom.

“Just put your arm around her, son. Go on,” supplies his dad.

Dipper could kill them all.

Pacifica glances up at him and shuffles a bit closer, leaning in to him slightly, encouragingly. Taking a breath he hope she doesn’t notice, he wills his arm to raise behind her and wrap around her upper back, cupping her shoulder with his hand. She shifts again, relaxing into him, and the two smile for the camera one last time.

Then Pacifica is promising to be back in ten minutes and trotting off to the dressing rooms, clutching her roses to her chest.

Dipper spins to Mabel, glaring, but she just rolls her eyes and waves him off before he can even say a word.

“What I do, I do for love. Don’t worry, you’ll thank me—that picture will be framed on your guys’ fireplace mantle some day.”

Half an hour later, Dipper, Mabel, their parents and Pacifica are strolling the town square with hot chocolates each, taking in the lights and decorations as Pacifica explains the town history to the twin’s parents— the actual town history, Dipper notes proudly.

“And you kids met this President Trembly?” their mother asks, raising an eyebrow. Mr. and Mrs. Pines have been remarkably open-minded when it comes to most of the strange happenings and experiences Dipper and Mabel regaled them with when they returned after that first summer— sort of hard to argue with the existence of at least some bizarre phenomenon when someone you thought was dead for thirty years is miraculously back in your lives— but there’s still a healthy bit of skepticism that shines through here and there. Probably for the best, Dipper thinks. He doesn’t really need his parents thinking the town is another giant apocalypse waiting to happen.

“Sure did!” Mabel quips, then interjects to share her own experiences with the 8th-and-a-half president.

Dipper pulls back from the group a bit and Pacifica follows, sidling up next to him. She’d changed into her standard outfit of a dress, tights and fur-lined boots, but the ensemble is also topped off with a giant, puffy white coat and matching fuzzy beanie. Between that, the lingering bits of shimmering stage makeup on her cheeks, and the redness the chill brings to her nose, Dipper thinks she looks like nothing short of a snow princess. Whatever they look like, anyway.

“I’m really glad you guys are here,” she says to Dipper, nudging him with her shoulder.

“Yeah, me too.” He nudges her back.

When they first left the theater and started their journey to the town center, Dipper spent a good couple minutes worrying about how things might be different. Would he know what to say around her? Would his words get caught up in his throat like they did when he was younger and had a crush? Would he suddenly forget entirely how to make a joke, or make her smile, or tell a good story?

But it turns out, he’s relived to discover, that being in love with Pacifica and knowing it and being in love with her and not knowing it really aren’t all that different from one another.

Maybe it’s her. Maybe it’s the way she’s always had of putting him at ease. Of just making him happy. But aside from the elevated heart rate, flushed cheeks and acute awareness of just how freaking pretty she looks, it doesn’t take long for him to get his bearings and start talking to her like he always has.

Well, for the most part. He’s allowed some nerves, right? He’s only human.

Really though, the main question circling his brain is: what is he going to do about all this?

Does he just tell her, outright? He tries to imagine how that might go down. Oh! Hi! Cif. By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask you, but have you ever noticed how we’re absolutely perfect for one another and definitely destined to grow up and get married and have a whole bunch of adorable babies?

Does he just not tell her at all? His stomach churns at the thought. For one, that just feels like personal torture, and he’s been there before. No thanks. But more importantly, it doesn’t feel honest. No, he couldn’t keep this from her. He respects her too much. And even if she doesn’t feel the same way, she deserves to know the truth of how he does…

So does he just let things run their natural course? But then, things don’t really happen unless you take some initiative, do they? It’s not like the Love God is going to come back to town and wave his wand and everything will just magically fall into place. Unless… no. No that guy is jerk. Not even going there.

No, he knows he has to tell her. That he wants to tell her. He just has to find the right time.

Pacifica gasps, breaking him from his thoughts, and grasps his arm and points across the town square at something on the other side.

“Oh! Oh, Dipper! It’s Lady Butterscotch!”

“Lady who now?”

Dipper glances over across the square, but all he sees is a small crowd of people and a couple of horse-drawn sleighs. And, well, the horses.

“My pony!” Pacifica squeals. “She’s one of the ponies that my parents sold when we lost our fortune. Oh Dipper come on! I want you to meet her!”

And then she’s grabbing his mittened hand in her own, holding firm as she leads him across the snow-covered lawn. Dipper waves to get his family’s attention and sends them a quick shrug and look of “what can you do” as he nods his head in Pacifica’s direction. All three Pineses smile and slowly turn to follow, keeping a distance of a good couple yards.

Pacifica marches right up to the soft cream-colored pony apparently called Lady Butterscotch, wrapping her arms around her thick neck and closing her eyes with a happy hum. Lady Butterscotch, whose head jumped up the second Pacifica was within sniffing distance, nuzzles her snout into the girls hair affectionately, letting out a soft huff. The pony’s owner apparently notices, and turns to approach the strange girl hugging his animal, but is stopped by Dipper’s palm flat on his chest. “Give her a second, please” he whispers to the man, who takes another look at the pair and softens, apparently taking note of the familiarity between girl and pony.

Pacifica releases her hold on the pony’s neck and brings her forehead to its nose, letting her eyes close again just briefly before pulling back and looking over her shoulder for Dipper. She waves him over.

“Dipper, I would like you to meet Lady Butterscotch. Lady Butterscotch is a purebred Shetland Pony, direct from Scotland. She’s a six-time blue ribbon winner, descended from Lord Honeycomb himself, and was featured in not less than three issues of Pony Fancy. Lady Butterscotch, this is Dipper Pines. Dipper is, well--Dipper is a boy.”

“Hey,” Dipper says, clutching his chest in mock offense. “I’ll have you know I’m only eight months away from eighteen.” He turns to the pony. “I’m basically a man, Lady Butterscotch. Don’t listen to her.”

The pony lets out another soft snort, and both teens laugh, shoulders bumping up against one another.

“You must be the little Northwest girl,” says the pony’s new owner, approaching again. “I remember you. When you were about yay high.” He motions somewhere near his waist. “I remember the day I came to pick this girl up here. You cried and cried and cried. I felt just terrible taking her from you.”

Pacifica blushes, looking at the ground, and Dipper has the sudden urge to wrap her up in his arms, or at the very least rub her back. Anything to soothe her.

“I never thought I’d see her again,” Pacifica says, sounding sheepish.

“Well, here she is, isn’t she?” says the man, smiling. “Fine little pony you raised here too, aren’t ya girl?” He pats the pony behind her ear, and she leans into his touch. “Oh she’s a favorite on the farm.” He winks at Pacifica, whose face is pulling into a relieved grin. “I got a big place two towns north of here. Now don’t you worry about her, okay? Lady spends her days in the lap of luxury. Lots of friends, warm barn, plenty of apple snacks. And then on the weekends we travel around doing things like this.” He gestures behind him to the ornate white sleigh, and to the pair of large, furry Clydesdales that lead it. “Course little Lady here’s too small to pull a sleigh. No, she mostly just takes little kids for rides and poses for pictures. Don’t ya, girl?” The pony whinnies and shakes out her head excitedly, causing the jingle bells affixed to her bridle to ring.

Pacifica startles a little, just like she always does at the sound of bells, and now Dipper really can’t stop the instinct. He puts his hand on the small of her back, not rubbing, not holding, just gently reminding her of his presence. She relaxes into his touch, and then her smile is right back.

“I’m just glad to know she’s happy.”

“Well heck, you and your boyfriend here should come by some time! Come say hello!"

“That sounds great,” she says, simply, still grinning.

Dipper’s heart shoots right to his throat.

“Hey,” says the man, gesturing to the rest of the Pines, who stand on the outskirts of the conversation. “You all want to go for a sleigh ride? Business has been a little slow tonight. My treat for Miss Northwest raising such a sweet little mare here.”

And that’s how Dipper finds himself being shoved by his sister up and into a large, white, vaguely Victorian sleigh. His parents take the front seat, facing back, which leaves Pacifica, Mabel and Dipper to squeeze into the rear. Dipper doesn’t miss that Mabel forces him up first, then Pacifica, before clambering in herself once the two have settled in. But he’s also not complaining.

The seats of the sleigh are the type of worn velvet that actually remind him a lot of the seats back in the theater—definitely comfortable but having seen better days. But the proprietor has made up for their age by loading up the seating area with piles of plush blankets and pillows. Pacifica grabs a soft wool one and drapes it across the three of them. Of course, all this coziness leaves very little room for, well, people, and the three teens' arms end up somewhat uncomfortably squished against one another. Dipper tries to move to the right to give Pacifica more space, but it’s really no good because as soon as the horses begin trotting and the sleigh is off, the further to the right he leans, the further out of the carriage he is, and he realizes that leaning outside the sleigh also means getting a face full of kicked-up snow.

“Here,” Pacifica says, leaning forward slightly before twisting around to her right.

Dipper’s about to tell her that she doesn’t need to do that, she doesn’t need to make herself uncomfortable on his account, but then she keeps twisting.

And oh.

Oh.

Next thing he knows, she’s grabbing his left arm with hers, and confidently lifting it up above their heads, pulling it over and behind her own, and resting it snugly around her shoulders. With his arm out of the way, she tucks close into his side, her body resting just slightly in front of and against his. It’s innocent, could easily be interpreted as born from necessity, but feels so right and good and perfect that it makes his breath catch nevertheless.

“Better?” she asks, looking up to meet his eyes.

“Yeah, much,” he returns, swallowing lightly.

She hums contentedly and settles back in against him, and as he feels her soft breathing against his chest, catches a whiff of the perfume in her hair, and looks around at the equally contented faces of his family, he thinks yeah, yeah he could get used to this.

Chapter Text

Five days til Christmas

“You think I should go more How the Grinch Stole Christmas or Christmas Carol on Grunkle Stan?”

“What are you talking about, Mabel?”

“To get him in the holiday spirit,” Mabel explains, jumping up to bat at some garland hanging from one of the shops on Main Street, where she and Dipper are spending their afternoon getting reacquainted with the town. “Should it be more subtle, like showing him slowly but surely all the ways the holidays bring people together, or should I go right for the nuclear option and try staging a haunting to scare him out of his curmudgeonly ways?”

Dipper reaches up to bat at the garland too. A bit of snow flutters off. “I mean, it’s Gravity Falls, you might not need to stage a haunting.” He looks over at Mabel, tries to sound casual. “I think the ghost of Archibald Corduroy still visits Pacifica from time to time— I could ask her to talk to him?” Dipper hopes mentioning Pacifica will cause Mabel to bring up the prior night. He’s desperate to talk about it, but has absolutely no idea how to go about initiating the conversation. It’s no good though.

“Eh, no offense to him, but I don’t know if I really trust a giant lumberjack ghost to have the acting chops necessary to pull this off.” Mabel skips around him to walk on his other side for no apparently reason at all. “I think I’ll just make ‘Plan A’ introducing Stan to all the great things the holidays have to offer— Ooh!” Mabel’s eyes go wide as she grabs Dipper’s elbow and tugs him across the street to a gift shop. “Starting with presents!”

The two enter the small shop. It’s the type of place that most tourist towns have. Cute little arts and crafts—mostly local—litter the walls, mixed in with antiques and random “gourmet” food items. Dipper picks up a can of overpriced mixed nuts, examines it as he tries again to think of a way to bring up the topic of Pacifica.

Ugh, screw it.

“So, uh, I decided I’m gonna tell Cif how I feel about her.”

Mabel’s head pops up from where she’s riffling through a stack of vintage post cards of the area. “What, seriously?” she asks. “You only had your little epiphany moment like two days ago.”

Dipper twists his mouth. “Well yeah, but, so? Wait, do you think it’s a bad idea?” His heartbeat picks up. He wants to tell her. He really wants to tell her. It feels impossible not to tell her, but if Mabel is sitting here doubting if it’s the right thing to do then surely—

“Oh no, absolutely not!” Mabel says, waving her hands quickly in front of her. “I think it’s great! I think you should’ve had your little ah-ha moment and told her like four years ago.” Dipper feels his heartbeat even out a little. “I’m just surprised is all. It’s so un-Dipper-like.” She rolls her hand in front of her. “I would’ve expected you to come up with some sort of elaborate plan and then spend another four years trying to execute it.”

Dipper winces. “Yeah, that’s fair.” He runs his hand along a shelf of guide books in front of them. “I just, I don’t know. I want her to know. It feels right. Like…” He pauses, decides to just let the words come out. It’s Mabel, after all. “…Meant to be?” he finishes, cringing. “I know it sounds cheesy.”

“Dipper.” Mabel says, coming up to him and planting a hand on each shoulder. “I love cheesy. I’m all for cheesy. I am the Queen of Cheese Town.”

“Gross.”

“Don’t be a hater. My point is that I think it’s great that you want to go for it. High time, says me.” She smiles, pokes him on the shoulder. “So how are you gonna do it?”

Ugh, and isn’t that the question? “Well, I mean, I don’t really know yet,” he says, averting his eyes. “That’s the part I haven’t figured out.  I’m thinking maybe I ask her to hang out, something a bit… more date-y than usual. Then try to bring it up during a good moment. But like, before Christmas, for sure.  We’re leaving the day after. And like, best case scenario she’s receptive and… well it’d be nice to have the time with her.” He blushes, turns away to try to hide it from Mabel. “And worst case scenario she isn’t, but like I don’t wanna just like drop a bomb and then head back down to California and leave her to feeling bad about turning me down. If there’s any follow-up conversations—like friendship-salvaging stuff—that need to happen, it’d be nice to have them while we’re here...” He trails off. It’s hard to think about that possibility.

“Oh Dipper,” Mabel says, tilting her head and putting one hand back on his shoulder, turning him back to her. “You’re sweet to think about that, but I promise you there’s no way this doesn’t result in you two making out like animals.”

Dipper scrunches up his face. “I don’t think animals make out.”

“Some do, probably.”

He rolls his eyes but chuckles as he pushes Mabel off lightly. “Yeah, well, we’ll see.”

Mabel smirks and her gaze wanders to their right, to a display case containing rows of various trinkets, charms, bracelets and necklaces.

“Ooh! Dipper, look!” She says, pointing in the display case at a particular charm.

Dipper leans over, looking closer. It’s a small silver outline of a pine tree. It’s nestled between charms of a candy cane and a snowman, so Dipper assumes its meant to be a Christmas tree, but its simple enough that it passes easily as just a standard pine—and it looks strikingly similar to the one on his old cap. Or the zodiac. He assumes this is why Mabel is pointing it out.

“Cool,” he declares, approvingly.

“It’s a pine tree,” Mabel says.

“Yes I see that,” Dipper replies, eyeing his sister.

“Our last name is Pines.”

“It is… so, what? Are you gonna get it or something?”

Mabel blinks. “No dummy, you should get it.”

“What would I do with a charm bracelet?”

“Give it to Pacifica obviously.”

“Why would she want a pine tree bracelet?”

“Because, like I said, our last name is Pines. Duh.”

“Yeah, but she’s not a Pines.”

Mabel just stares at him, and it’s the same look she gives him when he doesn’t understand the plot or motivations of the characters on those made-for-television holiday movies she devours each year. She closes her eyes and squeezes the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger.

“Okay,” she says eventually, slowly, like she’s talking to a toddler. She opens her eyes, holds up a hand. “A) not yet she isn’t. B) That’s not the point, numbnut. You should give it to her when you tell her how you feel. You know, like how girls will sometimes wear their boyfriend’s class ring, or their varsity letterman jackets or whatever. You’re not in any sports so this is like your nerd version of that.”

“Hey, I could letter in the cryptology club if the school board wasn’t so traditionalist.”

“Missing the point, brother.”

Dipper looks down again and tentatively slides open the display’s glass door, picks up the charm and turns it over in his hand. It is pretty, and is uncannily similar the symbol he sort of assumes as his own.

He imagines it on a gleaming chain, clasped around Pacifica’s wrist. A warm feeling swells in his chest. Dipper does like the idea of her wearing something representative of him after he’s gone home. It’s an image that stokes some deep part of him that’s probably a little embarrassingly primal, and it’s pleasant, yes, but it’s also all so new, so early, that he chooses not to indulge the feeling too much. After all, he doesn’t even know how she feels yet. And he’s getting way ahead of himself here.

“You don’t think it’s a little too forward?” he asks, turning to his sister. “I mean, this is all assuming the conversation goes the way I want it to anyway. And even if it does” —he looks back down at the outline of the pine— “it might come off a little strong.”

Mabel shrugs. “Look Dip, worst case scenario you just keep it. And if you feel like you can give it to her this week— great. If not, you just hang onto it for when the time is right. No big loss, but you’ll have it just in case.”

He studies the charm for a few minutes more, then shakes his head abruptly and puts it back in its display case. There’s no telling she’d even like it. She’s probably used to way nicer stuff than this anyway.

He and Mabel continue exploring the shop for another ten minutes or so, but his eyes keep darting back to the jewelry case. Mabel suggests that they move on to another shop, and Dipper agrees with a nod. They head for the exit, but there’s this feeling tugging in Dipper’s gut that he can’t shake. He grimaces, stopping short.

“Wait.”

Abruptly he turns from Mabel, marches up to the display, snatches the pine tree charm and a matching chain, and places both in front of the cashier. He can feel his face burn as he hands over the cash and the employee graciously affixes the charm to the chain and wraps both up in delicate tissue paper.

Once the bracelet is in its small gift bag and safely tucked into his coat pocket, he braces himself and turns back to Mabel, who stares at him, proud, shit-eating grin plastered on her delighted face.

“It’s like you said,” Dipper says, avoiding her eyes as he pushes open the door for them both. “Just in case.”

Four days til Christmas

Wendy arrives home from college the next day, and the first order of business—according to Mabel‘s new “Operation: Holiday Cheer” list—is to go hunting for a Christmas tree. The twins’ parents decided to sit this one out in favor of spending time getting to know Soos and Melody—though Dipper secretly thinks that they really want to spend time fussing over the newborn. Regardless, it means that it’s only Dipper, Mabel and their Grunkles who pile into Wendy’s jeep that crisp, clear morning to head out in search of Mabel’s perfect tree.

“Why do we need a tree in the first place?” groans Stan from the passenger seat, his fist ground into his cheek with his elbow propped on the windowsill as he glares at the passing view. “Plenty of trees in the backyard. We can just throw some glitter on those and call it a day.”

“We need a special tree from the special part of the forest,” explains Mabel.

“What’s so special about it?”

“It’s the magical Christmas forest! Said to bring holiday joy to all those who bring a tree home from it!”

“It’s also—completely coincidentally, I’m sure—the only grove permitted for chopping trees for personal use,” says Wendy, looking over her shoulder at the rest of the crew. “Where the city has a cashier set up to charge. But yes, according to City Hall, it’s also magic,” she adds, sending Mabel an indulgent look.

Mabel smiles and settles back in her seat, looking satisfied.

They’re about to turn left up the hill where Dipper knows they’ll find the designated grove when Wendy abruptly turns off to the right instead, directing her truck into a nearby neighborhood.

“Where are we going?” Dipper asks, eyeing the large houses they pass by.

“We gotta pick up Paz first,” says Wendy.

“Wait, Pacifica is coming?” he asks, feeling his chest constrict just a little.

“Yeah, man,” says Wendy. “Your sister invited her this morning.”

Dipper turns to Mabel, who just smiles. “What? She’s my friend,” she says innocently.

“Mabel,” Dipper says. “You promised you wouldn’t meddle.”

“Okay I did no such thing,” Mabel says, looking affronted. “But also, this isn’t meddling. I’m not forcing anything, just encouraging… opportunities. Come on, Dip-dop. A pretty hike in the woods? This is the perfect place for you to give her your special little gift.”

“Okay, first of all,” he starts, counting off on his fingers. “I’m not even sure I’m giving it to her yet. Second of all, even if I were I’m not doing it with all of you guys lurking around. And third of all, I didn’t bring my ‘special little gift’ because I didn’t know she was coming!”

“Well, that was stupid,” says Mabel. “You of all people should know to be more prepared than that.”

Dipper crosses his arms and pushes back in his seat with a huff.

“What special little gift is this, my boy?” asks Grunkle Ford.

“It’s nothing,” says Dipper, feeling his face heat.

“Oh dude!” says Wendy, lighting up as she looks at Dipper through her rear view mirror. “Back up. Are you gonna make it offish?”

“A fish?” asks Ford.

“Offish, like official,” says Wendy to Ford, before directing her attention back to Dipper. “Are you gonna finally lock that down?”

Stanford turns to his brother. “Stanley, is it just traveling the multiverse for thirty years that has me lost in this conversation or are you also confused?”

“No, I know what they’re talking about,” Stan grumbles. “Unfortunately. When you employ teenagers for half a decade you pick up on some of their bogus lingo. Wendy’s giving Dipper grief because he’s never asked out Pacifica.”

Wait, how does Grunkle Stan of all people know about this? He the most romantically obtuse person Dipper knows.

“His girlfriend, Pacifica?” asks Ford, sounding puzzled.

“Not my girlfriend,” corrects Dipper.

“I’m confused,” Ford continues. “The little Northwest girl? The one who’s always hanging around the Shack every summer? You’re not courting her?”

“Grunkle Ford, nobody says ‘court’ anymore,” says Mabel, kindly.

“They didn’t say it in our day either, pumpkin,” says Stan. “Poindexter here’s just a weirdo.”

Ford rolls his eyes and Stan ignores it to continue talking. “Anyway, no, they’re not dating.”  He tosses a hand dismissively and shrugs. “Kid’s been too much of a weenie about it.”

“I have not been a weenie, I just didn’t realize I liked her like that!” Dipper says, feeling agitated. Mabel rolls her eyes. “Besides, I’m working on it now.  And wait, why is everyone acting as though this is something you all already knew about?”

“Because we all already knew about it,” Wendy, Mabel, and Stan say in unison.

Dipper groans and turns to look out the window. The houses are getting bigger and he begins to recognize the neighborhood. They’re getting close.

“Well, I think it’s great dude,” says Wendy. “Word of advice, though, don’t ask her out with these two geezers hanging around. They kind of kill the mood if you know what I mean.”

“Hey,” says Stan. “I resent that. I’ll have you know that I was quite the ladies man in my day— which is now, since it still is my day.”

“All right, all right,” says Wendy. “Change the subject. We’re here.”

Wendy pulls her truck up long drive to the Northwests’ new home. No sooner has it stopped in front of the grand entry than Stan is reaching back and shoving Dipper out of the car with an instruction to go meet Pacifica at the door and help her down the steps.

“Trust your uncle on this kid. The ladies love a gentleman.”

“That’s actually very good advice, Stanley,” says Ford, sounding a little bit surprised.

“You gotta be gentlemanly in the beginning,” Stan continues. “‘specially for a high-class girl like Blondie. That’s how you get them hooked. Then once they’re in love, that’s when you can really start letting your gut hang out.”

“Ignore that, Dipper,” says Ford.

Dipper tries to ignore them both as he exits the jeep and makes his way up the frosty steps. The door flings opens almost immediately, and Pacifica pauses a moment in the doorway, smiling like she’s modeling her outfit. He shakes his head, but smiles too.

She is actually surprisingly appropriately dressed for a hike in the snow, Dipper thinks as he lends her his arm to help her down the icy steps. She wears a lavender puffer jacket, a different matching fuzzy beanie, and sensible brown snow boots.

“I did grow up here, dummy” she quips after he comments on it. But she still takes his arm and smiles at him as she lets him guide her down and into the truck.

One tight drive later— Dipper is all too aware of just how close her body is pressed in against his—and they’re at the government-sanctioned—ahem, sorry—magical tree grove.

The hunt for the perfect tree ends up being an easy success, interrupted only briefly by an impromptu snowball fight that leaves all four teenagers looking slightly frosted while the old men bear only the faintest marks of having participated in the fight at all, thanks to Ford’s hydro-repellent shield, which he surprised everyone by pulling from one of the seemingly endless number of pockets in his oversized trench coat.

Dipper is laughing, on his back in the snow and attempting to get up when he’s hit with one more large clump of snow, but this one isn’t coming from the direction where he knows his uncles hide. He looks over to his right, and ducking behind a large tree is, of course, Pacifica, brushing the snow off her gloves and sending him a mischievous smirk.

“I’ve been double-crossed!” He says, gasping and laughing as he clambers to his feet and makes his way toward her hiding place. “You know traitors get the worst punishments, don’t you?”

“Oh yeah?” she asks, peeking out from her tree. She gives him a long, slow look up and down, making a pleasurable shiver run up his spine, and then gives him a grin. “I think I can handle what you got.”

Oh that’s it. Dipper grins too and takes off, sprinting towards the tree and, upon reaching it, circling around to her. He grasps her around the middle before she can flee, and in an instant has pulled her down into a snowbank. He makes sure that he’s the one that lands on the ground, positioning her so that he softens her fall, but as soon as they’re on the frosty forest floor, he flips their positions so he’s hovering over her, grabs both her hands with one of his, lifts them above her head, and then scoops up a large handful of snow in his other. He holds it above her face threateningly, confident smirk plastered on his face.

“You wouldn’t,” she says, narrowing her eyes.

He cocks an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t I?”

“If you shove that snow in my face I’m going to have mascara running down my cheeks all afternoon and you’re going to have tears running down yours from how badly I will beat your butt.”

“Hm, those are some pretty big words. Maybe I should make you prove it.”

He doesn’t drop the snowball in her face entirely, but he does wiggle his fingers so that a few flakes and small clumps drift down, landing on her cheeks and nose.

Pacifica squirms and squeals at the cold contact, but her laughter breaks through also, and then she’s twisting and rolling so that she’s on top again, and he’s letting her of course because come on he can’t pretend he hates it, and then she’s scooping up her own new snowball in a mimicry of his former position. She holds it aloft above him like a vengeful goddess about to strike. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes sparkle, and Dipper wonders for half a second if maybe the forest grove is magical after all.

“Nature’s fiercest warrior,” she grins out. “And don’t you forget it, Pines.”

As if he could forget. She’s so stunning, straddled on top of him like that with her wide grin, and he’s struck with the crazy thought of wanting to reach up, pull her down and kiss her right here in the middle of the snow. But he’s also aware that there are spectators to their antics, and he would really prefer that their first kiss not have an audience. Assuming she kisses him back at all. So instead he raises his hands to the sides of his face, palms to the sky.

“Okay, okay,” he laughs out. “Truce?”

“Please, I’ve got you pinned,” says Pacifica. “No truce.” She leans in a little, and he can make out the snowflakes that still cling to her eyelashes. “Only surrender.”

“Okay,” he laughs again, hoping she assumes the blush on his cheeks is from cold. “You win. You are the snowball fight champion.”

Pacifica smiles smugly and leans back, rolling off him. The loss of contact sort of makes him wish he hadn’t given up so easily.

“All right, you two,” calls out Stan, jabbing his thumb in the direction of Mabel’s chosen tree. “Wrap it up. You kids are the ones who wanted to hike out here to get the darn thing in the first place. And I ain’t choppin’ it down on my own.”

Dipper scrambles to his feet quickly before extending a hand to Pacifica, grasping her mittened hand in his own and pulling her up too. She brushes some of the snow off her coat sleeves before turning her face up to his. Dipper holds his breath as he watches her reach up to his face and gently brush some lingering flakes from his brow.

She smiles at him, and it’s that same sweet, almost-shy one from their video call last week. It’s a little unlike her, but as he watches her turn and make her way back to the rest of the group, the butterflies in his stomach tell him that he likes it just as much as the confident, sassy smirks she usually sends his way.

Well, today might not be the day he gets to tell her everything that’s on his mind, but he’s got time, right?

Chapter Text

Three days til Christmas

Dipper’s fingers grip the windowsill as he gazes, grim reality setting in, at… nothing. At white. During the night a storm of epic proportions hit the valley, leading to the present view of nothing but bleak, bitter snow as far as the eye can see.

From his position at the window in the entry he can hear the news on the television, which his dad, in true dad fashion, had flipped on the minute the family woke up and found that they couldn’t open the front door without facing a thigh-high wall of snow. The familiar voice of Shandra Jimenez breaks through his thoughts.

“A historic storm the likes of which hasn’t been seen in our town for fifty years!” Dipper scowls. “Truly the odds of this happening here rival those of the events of the summer of 2012— of which there were none of course!” Dipper glares harder at the snow. “Hopefully no young lovers out there were planning to make any grand gestures today because they are not going anywhere!” Oh come on, seriously?

Dipper feels a warm hand on his shoulder, and turns to see his mother smiling at him sympathetically. “Want to come help decorate the tree? Might help you feel less worried about…” She pauses, searches for the words. “About being stuck inside today.”

Dipper briefly puzzles at his mother’s apparent awareness of his stress, but quickly figures that Mabel must have filled his parents in on his recent revelations.

He sighs, shoulders sagging. “Sure.”

All in all it’s a good day though, to be honest.

The family—Pines and Ramirezes combined—spend most of the morning stringing lights on the tree and bickering over which ornaments should be given places of honor and which can be tucked in the back or near the bottom. Mabel wins every argument of course, if nothing else than by pure enthusiasm, so by lunch time the tree is a rainbow and tinsel covered mess, but Dipper secretly thinks it looks pretty good.

He’s presently laying on his stomach on the floor of the den, stringing popcorn onto a long piece of fishing twine with a sewing needle, trying to stop Waddles from eating the makeshift garland. He glances up as the swine makes another covert attempt at a snack.

“Mabel! Come get your pig. He’s going to make this take twice as long if he keeps trying to eat the decorations.”

“Sorry, bro-bro!” calls back his sister from somewhere near the entry. “Little busy!”

He leans to his left, trying to get a better look at her. She’s balanced on one of the kitchen chairs, hammering something above the door frame—and is that, yes of course it is— she’s hammering a giant arrangement of very conspicuously placed mistletoe above the front door.

“I know what you’re doing!” Dipper calls out.

Mabel turns and sticks her tongue out at him. “It’s for your own good! And mine.” She turns back to her task, but calls over her shoulder. “Never know what cuties might come a-caroling!”

She hops down from her chair and Dipper notices she has at least five other bunches of mistletoe tied to her waist. She pauses and strokes her chin, eyes searching the space as she apparently strategizing her next placement, before disappearing deeper into the heart of the home. Dipper rolls his eyes but smiles. He briefly considers texting Pacifica to warn her about the threat of mistletoe, wonders how he can twist it into a flirty banter, but then Waddles makes another attempt on the popcorn and his thoughts become otherwise occupied.

Dinner ends up consisting of frozen pizza that might age back to the early ‘00s. Abuelita fusses and shoves everyone out of the kitchen when Stan plops the bent cardboard boxes on the kitchen counter, but she works wonders and somehow manages to get rid of most, if not all, of the flavor of freezer burn. Dipper is just grateful for warm food by the time he takes his slice and plops himself on the floor again to eat. The adults have taken up all the spots at the table.

“Aw man,” Soos moans out of nowhere midway through the meal. One of his babies is strapped to his chest, reaching lazily for the pizza her father currently holds just out of reach. Soos holds his phone up for everyone to see. “The Christmas Day Market has to be cancelled. Zombie reindeer broke into the community center and trashed the place.”

Mabel is immediately distraught, despite having no idea the Christmas Day Market exited until this very moment.

“We have to do something!” she says, rising to her knees from next to Dipper and slamming both fists on the carpeted floor.

“Nothing to do, hambone,” Soos says, taking a bite of pizza. “Where else would the city be able to host this beloved tradition, free of charge, that has both outdoor and indoor areas as well as working facilities and space enough to filter through possibly hundreds of citizens?”

Mabel spins to Grunkle Stan, who blinks.

She stares at him.

He stares back.

She tilts her head.

He tilts his.

She leans forward.

He leans back, eyes widening.

“Oh, no. No way, kid,” he says, standing up from his chair and brushing his hands on his trousers. “No, no, no. Look I like this town as much as the next guy but I’m not opening up the Shack for hundreds of townsfolk to wander around freeload. Especially not for a Christmas event. And free of charge? Please. ”

“Even if we did host the market,” begins Dipper’s dad, reasonably, “that’s in just a few days. Are we sure the roads will be clear by then?”

That trips a wire in Dipper’s brain. Is Christmas really only a few days away?

“Oh yeah for sure!” responds Soos confidently. “The mayor bought a brand new snowplow this year with all the revenue generated by fees collected by the ‘Never Mind All That’ Act. Turns out people here are really not good at never-minding all that.” He chuckles. “I bet the roads are clear tomorrow or the day after.”

Okay, that’s good, right? A few days til Christmas but the roads will be clear soon.

“Wait a minute,” Mabel says, rising to her feet. “Soos, you run the Mystery Shack now. It really should be your decision as to whether or not we open it up for the Christmas Market.”

Soos waves his hands in front of him frantically. “Oh no way, kiddo. I run the place but it still belongs to Mr. Pines.” He nods at Stan, who crosses his arms from the doorway, smirking.

Ford chimes in. “Well, yes, technically. Because I’m still the real owner, legally speaking.”

“Bah,” Stan says, waving off Ford and turning to make his leave. “Adverse possession, smarty-pants. I’ve lived here for nearly three decades. Mine now.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s rendered void by all the fraud involved.”

“Tell it to the judge!” Stan calls over this shoulder as he exits the room.

Later, after the plates have been cleared and everyone begins moving toward the living room, Dipper seats himself on the floor near their shimmering, iridescent Christmas tree. Stan enters also and complains about the pine needles on the floor, but thankfully everyone ignores him.

Dipper glances at his phone and tries to still his disappointment at the lack of text messages. Maybe the cell towers are out? Mabel enters too and plops herself next to him.

“So what’s the plan, dear brother?” she chirps.

“Hm?” he responds, eyes still on his phone.

“With Paz.”

“Oh.” He looks up. “Um, no plan, I’m just gonna tell her. I just want it to be during the right moment.”

“All right, shape shifter, time to stop impersonating my brother.”

“I’m serious, Mabel. The right words will come at the right moment.”

“Sure,” says Mabel, rolling her eyes. “Well I think you’re just turning chicken.”

“I’m not!” he says, getting defensive. “The right moment will come.”

Mabel lets it go and the family settles into easy conversation. Dipper tries to stay engaged, but he can’t help the way his eyes keep moving to his phone. He hasn’t gotten a text from Pacifica all day, which is weird. Normally they text all day long. Like, not the whole day, but there would have been texts interspersed here and there by now. Granted, normally he would have texted her by now too. But she initiates just as much as he does. Did he freak her out with his playfulness in the forest yesterday during the snowball fight? Was she thinking about how strange it was that he showed up in Gravity Falls for the holidays at all? Was she sitting in her mansion on a hill wondering why he was so obsessed with her and when he would get over it and realize that she would never, ever, ever—

BUZZ!

Dipper startles at the vibration from his phone, sitting face-up down next to him on the floor.

He snatches at it and his breath catches when he sees the name. The worries in his brain evaporate and he feels his face pull into a smile.

Princess Northwest 💎💖

She had changed her contacts name herself, editing the boring but practical Pacifica Northwest that had preceded it. At the time he had moaned about how putting a nickname in his phone would mess up the organization of his contacts, but in the end he made no effort to change it. Didn’t even think about it.

Princess Northwest 💎💖: I need your help.

Dipper Pines: Heard that before. Another haunting?

Princess Northwest 💎💖: I wish. I need to pick out a dress for Christmas.

Princess Northwest 💎💖: Help me choose?

Dipper begins to write a reply— something about how he doesn’t really know much about fashion and it might be better to ask Mabel, but then a picture pops up in their chat, and he’s suddenly not sure he’s capable of thought at all.

It’s her, posed in front of a floor-to-ceiling mirror in her bedroom. The lighting is soft and she’s wearing a gown that makes his eyes bug out just a little. Instinctively he holds his phone a little closer to his face, hiding it from his family’s view.

It’s a muted gold color, and the fabric shimmers and hugs all her curves so that his pulse beings throbbing in a way that he’s not sure what to do with. Thin straps hold it in place on her shoulders, and she has all her long blonde hair flung over one shoulder, revealing the entire long length of the other. The neckline is high and fairly modest, but the way the fabric hangs so tight has his imagination spinning.

He swallows.

No respite is given, however, because another photo comes in hot on the tails of the first.

This one is a floor-length emerald green number. It once again hugs her waist and curved hips, before flaring out at the bottom. The most notable thing about this one though is the fact that the back is entirely open and bare, so generously evidenced by fact that this photo is taken from over her shoulder. She has her back turned to the mirror, face peeking over her shoulder, eyes heavily lidded but focused on the camera. His eyes travel down the expanse of her bare back to… well, he holds his phone just a bit closer to his face as he further examines the photo.

By the time the third and final picture comes in Dipper is sure he must have died and ascended to heaven because there is no way she is sending these to him right now.

It’s framed head-on. Pacifica holds her phone off to her side, and her other arm is tucked behind her back. She arches her chest and torso out forward ever so slightly, which subtly accentuates the deep-cut sweetheart-style neckline of the maroon-colored dress. The skirt is far more conservative— a big, poofy thing that reminds him of a fairy tale princess— but Dipper hardly notices it. He’s focused on her expression— the way her chin is tucked in, how her hair is loose and falls in her face slightly, the way her eyes smolder in a look that can only be described as “come hither.” In fact, Dipper isn’t sure he’s ever known what that even meant until this moment.

His hands tighten on his phone.

His heartbeat doubles up.

He wants to come hither. He wants to push through the snow and run over to her house and—

“Dipper!”

His head snaps up and he immediately pushes the button on the side of his phone that will darken the screen, hoping his cheeks aren’t as red as they feel.

“Dude,” Soos chuckles from his spot on the couch. “You were, like, totally in la-la land there. Everything okay in cyber space?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dipper says quickly. “Just, uh, distracted— sorry.”

He’s totally missed whatever it was his family was talking about, so he doesn’t make much of an effort to find the thread of conversation. Instead he refocuses on his texts. Pushing the button that will light up his phone, and making sure his back is to the tree and no once can look over his shoulder, he once again begins studying the three photos. He’s struck by a sudden instict to go find somewhere more private to look at them closer— but for what? They’re just pictures of her dresses… asking a friend for help picking out an outfit is a normal thing to do, he thinks, right? Nothing to hide there…

His eyes focus on on his favorite, the one of her in the gold. He’s not sure why, but something about the simplicity of it all— the way it accents her beauty but doesn’t overpower it— really appeals to him. Not to mention the way he can trace the outline of her hips with his eyes.

His fingers itch to save the photos to an album. But no, that’s a bridge too far, right? It feels like crossing a line, anyway. If he wants to return to the photos— not that he would!— he can always find them in his messages… but what if he he accidentally “hearts” it days or even weeks after it was sent? That would be a disaster. But is it worse than being a creep and saving a photo sent to you for purely innocent, practical purposes? His mind spins with the dilemma, and he jumps when he feels his phone vibrate once more in his palm.

Princess Northwest 💎💖: Hello?

Dipper Pines: Sorry, I was thinking.

Princess Northwest 💎💖: Left you speechless then?

He gulps. Honestly?

Dipper Pines: Kind of, yeah.

Princess Northwest 💎💖: Does that mean you have a favorite?

Dipper Pines: I might. But I want to know more about which you like.

Princess Northwest 💎💖: I bought them all, so I like them all.

Princess Northwest 💎💖: But I want to know which is the hottest.

He stifles a grin. Mabel looks at him funnily.

Dipper Pines: Looking to impress someone?

Princess Northwest 💎💖: Wouldn’t you like to know.

Dipper Pines: I’m a naturally curious person.

Princess Northwest 💎💖: Well, if you must know, yes.

Princess Northwest 💎💖: But he won’t be at the party, so it doesn’t really matter all that much honestly.

Oh right, the party. Dipper had totally forgotten about the Northwests’ annual Christmas Day Party. He kicks himself internally. Of course she wasn’t picking out a gown for some small family thing. But wait— he does the math. He leaves the day after Christmas. He’d prefer to talk to her about his feelings before then, but she’ll be tied up on Christmas, and likely Christmas Eve too, which means… he only has tomorrow.

His heartbeat quickens as panic begins to seep into his system.

No, no, stay focused man. You’ve got a pretty girl sending you pictures of her in pretty dresses. Focus on that. 

He rereads their messages, especially the bit leading up to her admitting she wants to impress someone. He thinks she’s flirting with him, he prays she is, but she could be talking about someone else too. That would be soul-crushing, but better to know now than not at all. He decides to be bold, to push a little further.

Dipper Pines: Then why go through with the exercise at all?

Princess Northwest 💎💖: Well I might not end up actually wearing one to the party, but there are still ways I can still use them all to get his attention.

Dipper Pines: Like?

Princess Northwest 💎💖: Like by sending him photos of me in them while he’s snowed in with his family.

Dipper’s head feels light.

He rolls over on his stomach, holding the phone right in from of his face. He steels himself as he types out his response, thankful that the screen separating them aids in his boldness.

Dipper Pines: Well they got my attention.

Princess Northwest 💎💖: Mission accomplished then.

His mouth stretches into a stupid, silly grin, and this time Mabel doesn’t ignore it.

“Alright I don’t know what you two are texting about but you are way too excited about it and it’s weirding me out.”

“Kid,” grumbles Stan. “If you’re going to be all goo-goo with Blondie take it in another room. There are babies present.”

“Actually Melody put the kids to bed, Mr. Pines,” chimes in Soos cheerfully.

“Well then there are old men present who don’t want to be exposed to teenage hormones.”

Dipper tries to sink into the floor beneath him as his entire traitorous family laughs at his embarrassment, but that doesn’t stop him from continuing his texting with Pacifica. The conversation turns more innocent, less loaded (thank god, he’s not sure his heart could take any more), but he still has to suppress the silly smiles that betray his pleasure. Around him his family laughs and chats easily, the glow of the gleaming Christmas tree and the flickering flames of the fireplace lighting the small room.

By the time the family begins winding down for bed, Pacifica’s texts have slowed down as well and he assumes that she’s getting ready for sleep too. Sure enough, as he climbs into his bed, still holding his phone tight to his chest, she sends him a text letting him know she’s turning in.

Princess Northwest 💎💖: Talk tomorrow though?

Dipper snuggles deeper under his covers and lets the warm feeling the words give him wash over his body.

Dipper Pines: Definitely. Night, Cif.

Princess Northwest 💎💖: Night, Dip.

He’s about to turn off his bedside lamp and close his eyes when another thought comes to him. He pulls his phone back to him from the nightstand where he had placed it.

Dipper Pines: Btw, you look beautiful in anything, but, the gold for sure.

He holds his breath as he watches the three little dots that pop up only briefly.

Princess Northwest 💎💖: Duly noted. 😘

The warm feeling washes over once more, starting at the crown of his head and working its way down his whole body. He puts his phone back in position on his nightstand, but keeps his eyes on it at he drifts off to sleep, imagining it was her he was looking at instead.

Chapter Text

Two days til Christmas

Dipper wakes the next morning to the smell of cinnamon rolls, bacon and fresh coffee. He glances over to Mabel’s bed only to find it empty. Mabel has always been an earlier riser than him, so he assumes she must have gone down to the kitchen to help his dad cook breakfast. Dipper’s a night owl which means he usually sleeps late, but not today. Oh no, not today. Because Today. Is. The. Day.

He throws off the covers to his bed, stretches his arms toward the ceiling, and marches over to the small mirror Stan hung on the wall for them a few summers earlier. He focuses his eyes on his own. “You got this, man! She is totally into you and you are going to make this happen,” he says with emphasis, poking at his own reflection.

He’s feeling pretty darn good about how his texts with Pacifica went last night. Sure, there’s that lingering bit of doubt— that maybe she was just being flirty for the fun of it— but he’s more sure that those are just his remaining insecurities rearing their ugly heads. No, no. Occam’s razor: the simplest explanation is usually the right one. Pretty girl spends her night flirting with you and showing herself off? She’s probably into you.

Then again, in Gravity Falls, it’s usually the strangest explanation that is the correct one.

Hm. Pacifica Northwest, heiress to the remaining Northwest fortune, multi-time pageant winner, best in basically anything and everything that she puts her mind to, somehow, impossibly, inexplicably being into him?

Pretty strange, he muses. Guess that version works too.

His phone buzzes from its spot on the nightstand, and he smiles when he sees her text.

Princess Northwest 💎💖: I’m free!

Below her text is a picture of a freshly plowed driveway and beyond it, a clear street. Evidently the snowplow visited her neighborhood in the early hours of the morning. He grins. Halfway there.

He bounds down the stairs, bee-lining for the front door and swinging it open to reveal… snow. Still.

Less snow though, he notes optimistically. And beyond the driveway of the Shack he can see that Gopher Road has been cleared, at least.

“Ready to get started, son?” His dad wanders up from behind him, a snow shovel in each hand.

Dipper eyes the shovels skeptically. “Pacifica’s neighborhood had their driveways cleared for them. Why wasn’t ours?”

“Pacifica lives in a nice neighborhood.” His dad shrugs. “They probably have an HOA that pays the city. Us common folk? We do our own dirty work!” He pound his chest once in a way that makes Dipper cringe.

“Uh, yeah, great.”

But the promise of maybe getting to see her today keeps him motivated, and as he runs back upstairs to grab his snow boots and a heavy jacket, he realizes he never actually did ask her to do something today. He snatches his phone from his nightstand, eager to remedy this, and quickly types out a message asking if she has plans.

Princess Northwest💎💖: Well that depends, are you making an offer?

Dipper smiles down at his phone, a little goofily.

Dipper Pines: I might have something in mind.

Princess Northwest💎💖: Color me intrigued. Alright, I’ll bite. What are we getting up to?

Dipper freezes. He, uh, hasn’t really figured that part out yet, huh?

Dipper Pines: It’s a surprise.

To you and me both, he thinks. And then, before he can lose his nerve, he adds:

Dipper Pines: But there’s something I wanna talk to you about.

Hitting send on that text feels like jumping out of an airplane, but he enjoys the rush of adrenaline it gives him, and he tells his future self he will thank him for committing to bringing it all up. No backing out now, Future Dipper.

Princess Northwest💎💖: Well now I’m really curious. Gotta go practice my fencing though, text me details later XO~

Dipper stares at those last two little letters for longer than he would like to admit, so long in fact that he’s still standing there with a stupid grin on his face when his dad knocks on the attic bedroom’s doorframe.

“Let’s go, son! Time to free our kinfolk!”

Dipper side eyes his dad for his bizarre phrasing but pulls on his snow boots and follows him out to begin the long work of clearing the driveway.

Piedmont’s elevation is too low to get snow so he isn’t really sure what he’s doing, and despite his dad’s confidence he quickly realizes that he isn’t either, so it’s taking longer than it really should. And honestly, it’s harder work than he thought it would be too. Dipper leans forward on his shovel, catching his breath. His dad follows suit.

“Whew,” his dad breathes out. “How do you think the midwesterners do it?”

Dipper shakes his head in response, still wheezing a little.

“So,” continues his dad. “Mabel mentioned you might have some pretty big plans for today.”

Dipper blushes and vows to have a serious talk with his sister about privacy.

“Uh, what do you mean?”

“Well she mentioned something about maybe asking a certain ‘friend’ a certain question.”

“Oh, well I don’t know…”

“Mason, I know it’s awkward to talk about the fairer sex with your old man, but just know that if you ever need advice, I was your age once too.”

Dipper wants to dive head-first into the snow and never return.

“Dad,” he groans. “No one says ‘the fairer sex’ anymore.”

“Well that aside, it wasn’t that long ago that I was a young man, making my way in the world, trying to navigate what to do with all these feelings and urges.”

“Dad! Please stop talking.”

“Okay, okay,” says his father. “Well if you ever need to talk.” He trails off, waving his hand.

Dipper moans and returns to his shoveling. After a few more minutes of waging war against the piles of snow, he feels a small twinge of guilt. He knows his dad is trying to help…

“Okay,” he begins, bracing himself. “So let’s say, hypothetically, I was going to tell someone that I have more-than-friendly feelings for her… what would you do?”

Dipper’s dad immediately lights up and puts his own shovel to rest as well.

“Well that’s easy, son. Just tell her!”

“But how?”

“You just do it. If she’s the right one, everything will work out.”

Internally, Dipper thinks it’s a miracle that he and Mabel were ever conceived at all.

But then again, isn’t that almost exactly what he had told Mabel his plan was? Just wait for the right moment and see what came to mind?

“And between you and me, kid,” his dad continues. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I saw the way she looked at you the other night. I don’t think your feelings are unreciprocated.”

“Thanks, Dad,” he says, working through his embarrassment to send him a grateful smile.

Dipper turns to the snow and resumes his work, feeling a little better at least. But then his dad keeps talking.

“Just make sure you make the night special. Put a little thought into it.”

Dipper freezes.

“Well how am I supposed to do that?”

“Well goodness, Mason, I don’t know what you kids like to do these days. I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”

“Thanks, Dad…”

Once a good path is cleared from the front door to the vehicles, and one deemed “good enough” from the vehicles to the road, Dipper and his dad head indoors to clean up and see what the rest of the family is up to. Dipper finds his mother in the kitchen helping Melody bake large sheets of gingerbread, presumably for constructing into a house later. He decides his might as well seek out her advice too.

“Why don’t you invite her over to help us decorate cookies?” she suggests, beaming. “Oh that would be so sweet, Mason! You could spell something out with frosting! And I would love to get to know her better.”

“Uh, yeah, maybe.” He doesn’t have the heart to tell his mother that bringing his family into this hopefully-a-date is kind of the last thing he wants, and that while she and Mabel might appreciate the sentimentality of spelling out their feelings via cookie, he doesn’t think that’s quite Pacifica’s love language.

He helps his mom and Melody peel a few sheets of gingerbread from the parchment paper and set them aside to cool before retreating into the den. It’s nearly noon and he still hasn’t come up with anything.

He finds Mabel watching one of those made-for-TV holiday movies she loves. Her eyes are glued to the screen as he approaches her apprehensively, shoving his hands in his pockets and wondering how he should bring up that he has no idea what he is going to do today.

“Ah!” Mabel hushes him, holding up a hand and maintaining her focus on the screen. “This is the second-to-best part. The part where you think everything is about to work out and fall in place, but then something goes wrong, but it perfectly sets up the best part.”

“Which is?”

“When it does work out and fall into place, obviously.”

Dipper plops himself on the couch and watches the television over Mabel’s shoulder. The two actors, both far too tan and conventionally attractive to actually be from whatever small mountain town the movie is set in, are skating around an ice rink that is probably in reality plastic and on a soundstage in Burbank. But it is cute, Dipper has to admit. He notices how the woman leans on the man, clutching his arm in an attempt to support herself. The man and woman banter some nonsense, and then the woman reaches down and laces her fingers with the man’s.

Dipper tilts his head. There was an ice rink in the center of town the other day, he recalls.

As the woman and man on the screen continue their skating and bantering, Dipper’s imagination offers up an image of him and Pacifica in their place— skating in slow circles, her leaning on him for support, him gallantly providing it until she gets her bearings and, sweetly, shyly, traces her hand down his arm to grasp his fingers instead.

Yeah.

Yeah.

That could work.

“Mabel you’re a genius!”

Dipper jumps up from the couch and grabs his sister in a quick squeeze, before running back up the stairs taking the steps two at a time.

“I know?” she calls after him.

Dipper grabs his phone again and quickly types out a text proposing “ice skating, 4pm, town center.” Pacifica responds enthusiastically, and he plops backwards on his bed, grinning and satisfied.

Now how do you ice skate?

Dipper had assumed it would be easy. There’s nothing you can’t learn with an Internet connection and a couple free hours, right?

Turns out, no.

His ankles wobble and his knees are shakier than he’s ever felt them, and he’s cursing his legs for betraying him as he clutches the side of the rink and watches hopelessly as Pacifica skates in front of him, backwards, sending him small words of encouragement and teasing in equal measure.

It’s not fair that she’s so good at everything, Dipper thinks bitterly as she floats in front of him.

Pacifica does a little spin and he groans.

“Oh come on, now you’re just showing off!”

“Maybe a little,” she says, resuming her backwards skating and sending him a sweet smirk. “This was your idea though.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says. “Remind me never to try something new ever again.”

“Oh come on, you’re not doing so bad. Here, hold on to my arm.”

And as if fate were playing a cruel joke on him, she holds her arm out to him, almost in an exact impression of the way the man from Mabel’s movie did, and exactly in the way Dipper had hoped he would be doing for her. He’s not about to be accused of being old-fashioned though, so he swallows his pride and, slowly, tentatively, pulls one hand from the rink’s railing to grasp her arm.

He finds it to be surprisingly steady, and this brings him some strange comfort.

“Good job!” Pacifica says, cajoling. “Okay now straighten up a little, and try not to put so much weight on the railing. Come on, just a little.”

He cuts his eyes at her. “You’re babying me.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Well if the shoe fits.”

That gets him going, and so begrudgingly he follows her advice, trying to even out his weight and focus on standing a little taller.

Surprisingly, it works, and before long he’s pushing along, slowly, yes, but barely holding on to the railing at all. Feeling a little more confident, he lets go of the railing entirely, still letting his hand hover above it, just in case, but focusing on finding his own balance. They’re able to do a few rounds like this, and though it’s not exactly as he had imagined the moment in his mind’s eye earlier in the day, it’s a close enough approximation that he begins thinking the whole venture might not be as much of a wash as he had earlier feared.

“Looks like you might not be so hopeless after all,” Pacifica says, grinning, and he smiles back because how could he not when she’s looking at him like that?

One more round around the rink and he thinks this is the moment. The perfect opportunity. He’s feeling stable enough that he thinks he can let go of her arm, pull it down to their sides and intertwine their fingers. He starts doing as much, gently loosing his grip on her forearm and tugging it downward. She eyes him questioningly, and he give her his best, most confident smile. She sends him a flirty smirk in response, and that’s all the encouragement he needs. He squares his shoulders, forces his knees to steady by sheer force of will, and grasps her hand in his own. She squeezes it in return, smiling up at him, and his heart feels like it’s expanded threefold in his chest.

He’s doing it. In more ways than one.

But then.

“WATCH OUT!”

Instinctively Dipper turns behind him to see a small child, probably no older than six, skating toward them at an uncontrollable speed, his poor father chasing after him helplessly.

The kid collides into the back of Dipper’s knees but somehow manages to stay upright and keep on with his path of terror, but Dipper is not so lucky.

Next thing he knows he’s flat on his back on the ice. Thankfully with the way he fell his rear took the blunt of the impact, saving the back of his head, but that’s (literally) cold comfort given how badly it’s beginning to throb with pain.

His eyes apparently closed when he started going down, so he opens them now and is greeted with the sight of Pacifica’s concerned face swimming into focus.

“Dipper?” she asks, voice worried. “Are you okay?”

He groans. Seriously? He was just getting some traction on making a move and he gets taken down by a grade school kid?

“Yes,” he says, closing his eyes again. “But just leave me here to die please.”

Pacifica laughs lightly. “No, I don’t think we’ll be doing any dying today, sorry. Come up, I’ll help you up.”

Dipper does not want to get up, does not want to face her pity, but he knows he’s currently a quite literal obstacle to the other skaters, so begrudgingly he opens his eyes and offers her his hand and lets her pull him upright and off to the side of the rink. She guides him toward the exit and sits him down on one of the temporary benches set up for the attraction.

“Come on,” she says from beside him, her voice unusually tender. “Let me see the damage.”

He forces himself to look at her, but doesn’t force himself to smile.

She removes her gloves and takes his face in her hands, stroking this way and that, inspecting for injury with a fond smile on her face. After she’s satisfied with her examination she brushes his curls from his forehead and lets the backs of her fingers trail down the side of his face.

“What’s the prognosis, doc?” he manages to mutter.

“You’ll live, but you’re in dire need to hot chocolate, stat. Wanna go back to the Shack and warm up?”

And with the way she’s looking at him, all adoring and tender, he realizes he would follow her anywhere.

Mabel is far too happy with their return to the house, and of course denies them entry until they appropriately acknowledge the mistletoe she so intentionally placed above the door. Pacifica humors her, standing on her tip-toes and pulling Dipper down by the collar to place a firm kiss on his forehead that has Dipper feeling a little lightheaded.

Dipper’s mother is almost as bad as Mabel, running from the kitchen to tug them both further into the home as they shed their outer layers. It’s only then that Dipper is fully able to appreciate the outfit that Pacifica has chosen for the night. An enticingly soft-looking cream sweater dress that hugs her curves perfectly, and patterned socks that are revealed only after she kicks off her boots.

Pacifica seems to notice Dipper’s attention to her choice of clothing, and she sends him a coy smirk as she flips her hair over her shoulder and follows his mother into the kitchen.

He clenches his fists. God help him.

Looking back on the morning, Dipper should have anticipated what the evening’s activities would have be. The entire kitchen has been set up as a gingerbread house construction site, with various sizes of gingerbread walls and roof lined up on one counter, and an assortment of candies and frosting on the other. The whole family is in attendance, and each has their own opinion on the proper methods of engineering, of course.

Dipper notices that whenever he disagrees with any member of his family, especially his mother or father, Pacifica is the first to come their defense, expertly laying out why they are in fact correct and he is not. She always gives him a secret, playful grin however, and he knows instinctively that it’s all part of a game— and maybe her winning favor with his family.

“Excellent point, Pacifica!” his father exclaims more than once, and she smiles innocently while bumping up against Dipper in a way that feels far from innocent.

Feeling bold from their flirtations, he makes a point of hovering behind her, placing a hand lightly on her hip as he leans over her shoulder and points out places where the gingerbread house could use structural improvements, trying to keep his face neutral when she pushes backward into his touch.

Once the gingerbread house has been assembled, reinforced, and decorated, the family retires to the den where once again the more senior members take the couches and chairs, leaving Dipper, Pacifica and Mabel to form makeshift seats on the floor. Dipper brings down a decent supply of pillows and comforters from the attic, and the girls get to work creating a nest for the three of them to cuddle into.

Before they can, an argument of epic proportions breaks out over what movie to watch.

“We have to watch a Christmas movie, Grunkle Stan,” Mabel insists, pounding a fist into he floor. “It’s in two days! Either Affection, In Fact or The Vacation. They’re classic holiday rom-coms.”

“I keep telling you, kid. Decease Firmly is a Christmas movie,” Grunkle Stan argues back.

“It’s not a Christmas movie just because it takes place during a Christmas party!”

“Look this is as good you’re going to get from me. My TV, my rules. Take it or leave it.”

Mabel relents and the family settles in to watch Joe McRain fight terrorists and save Los Angeles.

Dipper makes sure to take one edge of the makeshift blanket nest, allowing Pacifica to nestle in between him and his sister. She settles down to his left, pulling a quilt up to cover them both, and turns slightly away from him, leaning her back in his direction just so. He wants, so desperately, to wrap his arms around her middle and pull her flush against him, but knows that would be inappropriate and horribly awkward with literally his entire family circled around them.

So instead, he makes moves minutely.

When the hero arrives to the party, Dipper scoots in closer. Imperceptible to everyone else, but enough that he knows she will notice.

When McRain discovers the terrorists’ schemes and throws an explosive down an elevator shaft, Dipper inches his fingers up and on to her hip, under the quilt, letting them rest gently until she shifts just so to the right, causing them to slip a little bit further onto her stomach.

When the villain holds the hero’s wife hostage on the roof of the Century City high-rise, Pacifica brings her left hand up onto her belly as well, letting the tips of her fingers brush against his own.

And by the time the weary hero reunites with this estranged love, Dipper feels brave enough to push his hand forward, intertwining their fingers against her center and, by force of sheer proximity, nestling his face in the crook of her neck.

The feeling of her wiggling backwards against him and sighing contentedly as he breaths in her scent, credits rolling on the dim screen, is the last thing he is aware of before he drifts off to sleep.

Chapter Text

Christmas Eve

When Dipper wakes, the room is dark. The television and Christmas tree lights have both been switched off, and the fireplace extinguished. He’s vaguely aware of a warm presence next to him on the floor, and then the memories of his and Pacifica’s covert hand-holding and semi-cuddling come rushing back to him. His first instinct is to be embarrassed that he fell asleep like that in front of his family—surely they noticed when they got up to go to bed—but he decides quickly it doesn’t really matter, and that he might as well make the most of the situation.

He’d flipped over on his back at some point, so he’s not cuddling her anymore, a fact which he’s eager to correct.

He rolls back to his left, reaching over to wrap his arm around her middle. His arm reaches toward the warmth next to him, and he wonders if she shifted around in her sleep too because she feels a little different. A little… wider. And… fuzzier? Then he feels something wet touch his face and instinctively he jumps back. His eyes are just beginning to adjust to the darkness and now he can make out…

“Waddles!”

The pig snorts from his position on the floor next to Dipper and makes a move to press his wet snout against Dipper’s cheek again.

“Eugh, get off!”

Dipper pushes the pig away and climbs to his feet, taking in the room. He’s the only one in it. What time is it?

Still bleary-eyed, he makes his way into the kitchen and flips on a light, squinting as his eyes try to read the time on the microwave.

5:13 AM

He groans and curses himself for sleeping so long on the floor. But wait, then where did Pacifica go? Maybe she’s upstairs with Mabel? He searches the living room nest for his phone and then, quietly as he can, makes his way upstairs to the attic bedroom, taking care to avoid the steps he knows creak. Using his phone as a flashlight, he searches his room for any sign of life. Mabel is fast asleep in her bed, but his is empty. No Pacifica.

Shit.

He jostles his sleeping sister.

“Mabel!”

“Mhuh?” Mabel mumbles, still asleep.

“Mabel wake up!”

“Santa?”

“Mabel!”

Mabel finally opens her eyes, rubbing them and squinting up at her brother. “Wha’ you doing? Wha’ time issit?”

“Mabel, where is Pacifica?”

“Her house?”

“She left?!”

“Of course she left, you think she was gonna move in just ‘cause you two got all snuggly?”

Mabel rolls over and faces the wall, trying to go back to sleep, but Dipper isn’t having any of that.

“Mabel!” he groans. “Why’d you let her leave? I was gonna tell her how I felt tonight.”

“Dipper. Pretty sure she knows.”

“But I wanted to talk to her, to ask her out, to maybe give her the bracelet.” Dipper begins pacing the room. “I don’t think I’m gonna have another opportunity. And now we’re going to have to leave without figuring it out and it’ll all fizzle and be like the last few days never even happened.” He spins back around to his sister, who has apparently given up on sleep and rolls back over to face him. “Why didn’t you wake me up?!”

“Dipper,” she begins, the sleep leaving her voice. “Calm down, dude. It’s not going to fizzle.”

Dipper searches his sister’s eyes, looking for reassurance. How can she be so sure?

“You’ll get an opportunity,” she continues. “You just gotta make it happen.” She sits upright in her bed, reaching over to flip on the lamp on her nightstand. “Besides, Pacifica was the one who told me not to wake you up. She thought you looked peaceful; it was sweet.” Mabel reaches for her phone, taps the screen and swipes through something. “And check it out— I got some blackmail.” She smiles at her phone. “Cute blackmail though.”

She hands the phone to Dipper, who looks down at the screen. It’s a picture of him and Pacifica from earlier in the night, each asleep and snuggled on the floor, his arm wrapped around her stomach, their fingers intertwined. The quilt they had been sharing and using to hide their touching, albeit half-heartedly, has been pulled away. Dipper imagines that was Mabel’s doing. Despite his anxiety, Dipper smiles when he sees the tranquil expression on Pacifica’s face, how relaxed her features appear, and the way her left hand loosely grasps his right. They look… happy. Right.

Mabel plucks her phone back from him. “Get some more sleep, Dip. We’ve both got missions for tomorrow. You with Paz, and me with convincing Grunkle Stan to love Christmas and host the market. And between the two of us I think I’ve got the tougher task.”

Dipper sits down on the edge of his bed with a sigh. “Okay, you’re right. I’m not going to figure anything out unless I get some rest.” He kicks his legs under the covers and pulls them up to his chin. He stares at the ceiling for a moment, uncomfortable with the feeling of guilt that is rising up in the back of his mind. “I’m, uh, sorry I got mad at you for not waking me up… and for waking you up now.”

“S’alright, Dip,” Mabel yawns, reaching to turn off her lamp. “I forgive you. I’m mature like that.”

“EAT IT! EAT THE COOKIE, GRUNKLE STAN! TASTE THE MERRINESS!”

“Never!” The twins’ grunkle insists, turning his face away from the snowman shaped sugar cookie Mabel shoves toward his mouth.

Mabel shrieks and throws the cookie on the kitchen floor, where it is quickly snatched by Waddles.

“Why can’t you just accept that Christmas is fun?!”

“Why does it matter to you so much that I don’t?!”

“Because Christmas is joy! Christmas is family and generosity being happy!”

“Maybe I don’t want to be forced to be happy when I don’t wanna!”

“Ugh!” Mabel cries, storming from the room in a huff, her red and green sweater disappearing around the corner. Dipper can hear her stomp up the old wooden staircase a few seconds later.

It’s been like this all day. Mabel trying this and that to show their grunkle just how great the day can be, but she’s not getting anywhere in her efforts and if anything, she’s just working herself into a bad mood instead. Dipper does think Mabel is trying to force things a little too much, but he understands where she’s coming from. To her, the holidays are all about love, gratitude, fun, merriment… all the things that make Mabel who she is.

“Grunkle Stan,” he begins carefully. “Can’t you just humor her a little? This holiday means a lot to her.”

“I don’t get why. Buncha commercialized hooey if you ask me.”

“Maybe to some people… but Mabel likes the sentimentality of it all. And all the cheer and stuff— I mean, that’s kind of Mabel’s baseline personality. And I dunno, man. I think by rejecting it, she might feel like you’re sort of rejecting her.”

Grunkle Stan blinks once, and Dipper can sense that he said something that hit home. He lets the silence sit between them.

“Fine, I’ll think about it, okay? But that’s all I’m promising.” Stan makes his way out of the kitchen. “And I ain’t wearing no sweaters,” he adds, spinning and pointing a finger in Dipper’s direction. "Not for this!”

By early afternoon the family has finished off the tamales that Abuelita had prepared for their big meal, opened up a few presents and retired to the den once more to chat and take turns passing around and cuddling with the Ramirez babies.

Dipper has exchanged a few texts with Pacifica already today--one from him asking her if she got home okay, another from her letting him know she had and that she had a nice time last night. She makes a joke about next time she falls asleep there it better be in a more comfortable location, and he tries so hard to fight the images that pop up in his brain at that. (Okay, not that hard.) And he teases her about the way she jumped and hid under the covers during the more intense scenes of the movie. She asks him how he knows she wasn’t faking it so that he would comfort her and… yeah, Dipper’s pretty pleased with how their conversations have been going so far.

He still hasn’t figured out how he is going to bring up getting together again though. He’s hoping she’ll be able to slip away sometime later today, but he knows the Northwests are pretty big on formality and propriety, and he thinks that perhaps they would turn their noses up at the idea of their only daughter being away from the family on Christmas Eve. He supposes he could just call her, but definitely lacks the romance he was hoping the situation would—

BUZZ!

He looks down.

Princess💎💖

She’d snuck his phone from him at some point the night before and changed it, insisting that "there could only be one, so no last name necessary.”

He swipes open his phone, eager to read her message.

You wanna break some rules tonight?

He grins.

Pacifica instructs him to meet her at the back gate of her home. The new Northwest grounds are definitely smaller than their previous sprawling estate, but are still large enough to hold a pool, rose garden, tennis court, Duchess’ stable, and—obviously—a private mini-golf course. His dad’s respectable but modest sedan still sticks out like a sore thumb in this neighborhood, so he made sure to park it a few houses down.

(“Excuse me, where do you think you’re going?” his father had asked from his spot on the living room couch, raising an eyebrow at his son as he tried to sneak out the front door and hide the pilfered keys behind his back.

“Uh,” Dipper had said, cursing under his breath.

“Oh, go on,” his dad replied, chuckling and returning to his book. “Your lady awaits.”)

From the back gate Dipper can see that the Northwests’ grounds have been done up to the nines in holiday splendor. Every manicured hedge is covered in twinkling white lights, and giant swaths of green garland tied together with red bows hang from the large stone wall circling the boundary of the property line. The home itself, an imposing structure made from the same grey stones stands in the near distance, looms over the entire scene. Dipper can see that there’s a candle lit and placed on every windowsill, and a huge wreath hangs above the massive oak back door. The yard is littered with spruces that Dipper doesn’t ever remember being there before, so they must have been brought in exclusively for the holiday. It’s all a lot, especially for a party that will presumably be held indoors, but he knows that even in their reduced financial state the senior Northwests (and to an extent, Pacifica too, she’s still her after all) pride themselves on presentation, so he can’t say he’s shocked at the winter wonderland that lay before him.

He glances down at his phone. Pacifica had said she would be able to slip away for about half an hour, during the time her mother went to change from her Christmas dinner gown to her Christmas dessert gown, and her father disappeared into his study to drink a brandy, glare into the fire, and think about all the ways he’s better than their new neighbors. Was it a little silly for Dipper to drive forty minutes round-trip to spend only thirty with a girl? Maybe. But who cares.

He looks up as he hears the soft crunching of snow and is met with the sight of Pacifica, once against bundled up, making her way down the grand back lawn. She flashes him a broad grin as she waves excitedly, and for the hundredth time this week he’s a little floored by just how stinking pretty she is. It’s unfair, really. Did he ever stand a chance?

“Have you come to rescue the princess from her tower?” she asks, unlocking and swinging open the gate.

He tries his best to look cool, like he’s not desperate to wrap her in his arms.

“One knight in shining armor, at your service,” he says, jabbing his thumb at his chest gracelessly.

He fails.

She still laughs though; whether at him or with him he’s not sure, and he doesn’t care.

“Come on, Sir Pines, let me show you the way.” She takes him by the hand, pulling him in through and into the grounds.

Dipper follows her in and off to one side of the vast yard, near where a dozen or so Christmas trees have been set up in a facsimile of a grove. As they approach closer, Dipper notices that in addition to the actual snow that dusts their branches, they’ve also been adorned with hundreds of crystal snowflake ornaments. The ornaments catch the moonlight and bounce it off in this direction and that in a way that makes the small grove feel enchanted.

“So what kind of rebellion do you have planned for us tonight, princess?” he asks.

It’s the first time he’s called her the nickname out loud, and while yes it’s really just part of the little bit they’re putting on, he finds that the word feels natural on his lips. He likes it. Something to file away for future use, hopefully.

She leads him to the center of the gathering of trees, obscured from the house, and turns around to face him. Letting go of his hand, she steps closer and brings both of hers up to his chest and lets her gloved finger tips smooth down it.

“Well,” she begins, keeping her eyes on her hands. “You know, growing up as a Northwest, there were certain standards I had to adhere to.”

He nods. “Strict parents.”

“Mhm.” She bring her hands up a bit, tracing the lapels of his coat. “Certain things I was allowed to do, but a lot more that I wasn’t.”

“I can imagine,” Dipper responds, and he can’t help the way he holds his breath.

She grabs onto the lapels. “But there was one thing that I always—“ She brings her eyes up to his. “—desperately—“ She take a step forward. “—wanted to do.”

He swallows as she tilts her face up toward his, their lips only a few inches away from one another.

“Which is?” he chokes out.

She smirks.

And then she’s releasing her grasp on his coat and turning away, and completely on their own accord Dipper’s hands reach out to pull her back, but it’s too late, and she just sends him one last flirty look over her shoulder. She crouches down in the snow and begins gathering it in her hands, pushing it into a small pile. He wonders if she’s about to suggest another snowball fight, which he would be a-okay with if it means he gets to be as close to her as he did during their last one, but then she looks up at him and her expression is different— a little beseeching, almost bashful. Sweet.

“Build a snowman,” she says, giving him a little half-smile.

And it’s so earnest, so vulnerable the way she says it that he think she could have suggested they rob the bank and he probably would have done it.

“Really?” he asks, smiling at her and bending down to help her collect the snow. “What do your folks have against snowmen?”

She shrugs. “Nothing really. Just said it was an activity unbecoming of a young lady. Peasant pastimes. And since you’re my favorite peasant, I thought you could show me how.”

Dipper tilts his head. “Hey now, I thought I was your knight in shining armor tonight?”

“Help me build this and maybe I’ll give you your title back.”

He tsks and shakes his head, still smiling. “So fickle.”

“Mhm, so you better keep me happy.”

He looks at her, makes sure to wait until she brings her eyes up to his too. “I think I can do that,” he says, trying to lace as much sincerity into his voice as possible.

Her cheeks flush, and he delights in the way she seems to struggle for what to say. It’s not often that he gets to see her flustered, and he’s proud of the fact that he was the one to do it to her.

Instead of responding, she just reaches up and bops him on the nose with her forefinger.

“Hey! That’s cold,” he says, laughing.

“Deal with it, peasant.”

They work together on their snowman and before long they have, well, something resembling a snowman. Dipper didn’t grow up in a snowy environment so truthfully he’s not exactly an expert. But it works.

“Well,” he says, brushing off the snow from his gloves and stepping back to admire their work. “What do you think of Frosty?”

“Frosty?” She says, scoffing. “Oh no, that’s way too common of a name. This is Parson Brown.”

“Hm?” Dipper tilts his head.

“You know, like from the song.” She adds, singing: “In the meadow we can build a snowman, and pretend that he is Parson Brown.” She hums the next line.

Dipper blushes when his brain fills in the remainder of the lyrics. He’ll say are you married? We’ll say no man, but you can do the job when you’re in town.

This is his moment. Between their banter, the successful shared project, the glittering trees, the moonlight… it’s perfect. He clears his throat.

“Pacifica,” he starts, taking a step toward her. “I never did talk to you about what I wanted to the other day.”

She looks up at him, an easy smile on her lips. “No, you didn’t,” she agrees.

He looks down at her hands, reaches out to grasp them with both of his before raising his eyes back to her. He takes a breath.

“The truth is,” he begins. “I—.”

A light flips on at the back of the house. He still can’t see the house itself, but he can see the way the shadows shift in the yard.

“PACIFICA!” her mother’s voice calls out.

“Shit!” Pacifica says, wincing and pulling back. “I lost track of time.”

“Wait, are you sure she knows—“

“She would have seen my tracks. I’m sorry, Dipper, I gotta run. If she catches you she’ll kill you. Well not literally, but trust me she’ll try.”

“I don’t care, just—,”

“Please just trust me, Dipper.”

“But I—“

And then she’s reaching up, grabbing him by the collar and pulling his face toward toward hers. He thinks she’s about to kiss him, and in a way she does, but instead of planting her lips directly on his they land just barely to the right. On his cheek, but so close it’s actually painful. He considers just wrapping his arms around her middle and holding her to him and shifting them so that he can kiss her the way he wants to, but she’s slipping away before he has the chance.

“Merry Christmas, Dipper,” Pacifica says, stepping backward and shooting him one more grin.

“Merry Christmas,” he says, dazed and a little dizzy as she disappears around a tree and begins running back up the hill to her house.

Well, shit.

Chapter Text

Christmas Day

“Today is the day!!!”

Dipper blinks his eyes open and is met with the broad grin of his sister. Rubbing the sleep away from his eyes, smiles up at her.

“Merry Christmas, Mabel,” he laughs, half-yawning.

“Merry Christmas, Dipper!” she responds. “And you will not believe what a very merry Christmas it’s about to be.” She jumps up from his bed and bounds over to their bedroom window. “Look!” she says, pointing out the window and down. “It’s a miracle!”

Dipper slugs off the covers to his bed and lumbers over toward the window too. He leans on the sill and looks at the yard below them.

Just underneath their attic bedroom, he can see what appear to be small stands being set up in the snow. Various townsfolk from Pizza Guy to Mrs. Gleeful patter about shouting hellos at one another and waving their good mornings.

“What’s going on?” Dipper asks turning to his sister, his brain still foggy from sleep.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Mabel says. “Stan had a change of heart! My Christmas mission was a success! He’s letting them host the market here!”

Dipper takes a second glance out the window. It looks like she’s right. Truck after truck are pulling up to the shack’s driveway offloading decorations and what appear to be boxes of prepared goods for sale. How about that.

Dipper turns to his sister and pats her on the back affectionately. “You pulled it off, Mabes. I’m proud of you.”

“Never doubt a Pines with a plan,” she says, grinning as she grabs his elbow and pulls him toward the door. “Let’s go check it out!”

A Pines with a plan. It echoes in his brain, reminding him of his own intentions for the week. His eyes flit over to the nightstand, where his phone sits. Memories of last night—of how soft Pacifica’s lips felt on his cheek, of how the sweetly smell of her perfume had invaded his senses—rise up in his mind. The thought of her sends a comforting, warm sensation though his body, thinking of how much their relationship has begun to shift in the last week, but its followed but the light anxiety of the knowledge that he still hasn’t been able to properly make it happen.

“I’ll be down in a sec,” he responds, extracting his arm from her grip. “Go on, I just gotta...” He looks out the window, searching for an excuse.

“Oh, Dip-dop,” Mabel says smirking and positioning her hands on her hips. “You think I didn’t notice how you snuck in last night?” She gestures to the phone with a wave as she heads toward the door. “Well, hurry up, Romeo! But I expect you to tell me everything that happened pronto!”

Dipper smiles at his sister, but can’t help how his heart pangs a little more. Mabel obviously thinks more happened than really did. Oh well, he’ll explain later.

He knows he won’t be able to see Pacifica today. She’s going to be tied up with her parents’ party, and apparently he’ll be helping to run an impromptu Christmas market, but he’s pretty confident he’ll be able to talk to her tomorrow. She’d promised to come see he and his family off when they leave.

(“Right after breakfast, kids!” his dad had said to Mabel and Dipper’s groans of protest. “It’s a long drive and I’ve mapped out the exact places we will stop for bathroom breaks and lunch, but the plan only works if we leave at 8 o’clock on the dot!”)

It won’t be exactly as romantic as he had hoped. He imagines all the time they will have is a couple minutes pulled off to the side. Just enough for him to tell her he likes her, and would she maybe consider trying to meet up over spring break to discuss it more? He’s long since decided against giving her the pine tree bracelet. Far too presumptuous, his mind offers up sensibly, even as he heart yells its protests.

But still, they did almost kiss last night. He’s 98% sure of it, and there’s nothing wrong with a little flirtation, right?

He picks up his phone.

Dipper Pines: Good morning, princess. Santa bring you anything good in the night?

He bites his lip and hits send before he can lose his nerve.

Her response is nearly immediate.

Princess💎💖: Well I don’t know yet. You think I’ve been good enough for a present?

Dipper stares at his phone, trying to come up with a response that will strike the right balance of… something.

Dipper Pines: That depends. Do any sneaking out of your house to meet up with boys lately?

Princess💎💖: Uh-oh. Guilty. But I had a really good reason.

Dipper Pines: Oh yeah?

Princess💎💖: Yeah. He’s *really* cute.

Dipper feels his cheeks flush as his mouth tugs up into a smile.

Dipper Pines: Hmm that may be forgivable then. Hope it was worth the risk of the naughty list, either way.

Princess💎💖: Definitely worth it.

If anyone were present to witness the giddy laugh that escapes Dipper’s throat, he would be embarrassed, but instead he thanks his lucky stars he is alone.

He snaps a photo out his bedroom window and types out a quick explanation of the turn in the days events, wishing her luck with her own party prep and signing off with a promise to check in later. She responds with a simple “XO” and he skips downstairs to meet up with his family, this time fully aware of the source of the warm swelling in his chest.

The twins are charged with clearing away the snow from a large circle in the clearing to the rear of the Shack, and then gathering layers of twigs, dried leaves and firewood in preparation for the massive bonfire Melody suggested for the gathering. As they work, Dipper dodges his sister’s questions into his activities the night before the best he can, but eventually has to relent and explain that once again, he wasn’t able to tell her.

“Oh but, Dip!” Mabel says, looking over at him from behind the few large logs of firewood she cradles in her arms. “That’s still a super cute memory! And, like, she basically kissed you! At least now you know she feels the same way.”

Dipper musters up a smile for her, a mix of relief and resignation swimming in his mind. “Yeah, you’re right, Mabes.” He shrugs. Not the grand moment he wanted, but this is real life, not one of his sisters movies, after all.

By late morning the market is in full swing, and Dipper and Mabel have instead been given the esteemed task of taking turns watching over the Ramirez babies and making sure Waddles stays away from the panettone stall.

Mabel voices no protests when Dipper asks if he can head inside for a moment, saying just that he needs to use his phone but can’t really with his hands tucked in his gloves as they are. Once inside, he leans on the kitchen counter, briefly enjoying the quiet of the kitchen in contrast to cheery-but-loud festivities outside. He pulls his phone from an interior pocket of his coat and flips to his texts.

Dipper Pines: How’s it going up where the other half lives?

In response, Pacifica sends him a selfie. She’s sitting propped up in a chair and is wearing a puffy white robe with her hair done up in rollers, as at least three women fuss with her make up. From the screen, she sticks her tongue out at him. He smiles and saves the photo, and this time, for some reason, it doesn’t feel creepy at all.

He takes one last look at her picture before pocketing his phone and wandering back out to the market. A group of kids are engaged in an impromptu game of capture the flag where they substitute snowballs for tagging one another. Gabe, the weird puppet-obsessed kid performs an all-puppet version of the nativity story. Dipper gives this a wide berth and continues his exploration.

He finds Grunkle Stan off to a side, arms crossed but wearing a small, proud smile as he oversees the scene. Dipper steps up next to him.

“So, seen the light, have you?” he asks, elbowing Stan in his side. “Finally decided that you like all this Christmas stuff?”

Stan scoffs. “Hell no, kid! I still think it’s a bunch of hooey.”

Dipper shoot him an inquiring look.

“But,” Stan continues. “I was thinking ‘bout what you said yesterday. And I still might not like Christmas, but I love your sister. And, well, I guess that was enough to change my mind.”

“Wow, Stan,” Dipper grins up at his uncle. “I’m really proud of you.”

“Be proud of yourself, kiddo.” Stan pushes his shoulder. “Now don’t you go getting all sentimental on me. I can only handle one of you being all mushy at a time.”

Dipper laughs and doesn’t press it, and Stan wanders off with a grunt about making sure that the bonfire doesn’t go out.

Early afternoon rolls around, and the crowd thins out as a good number of people head towards their own cozy homes. The stragglers are composed mostly of single folks and families closer to the Pines, and the atmosphere shifts from community event to a more intimate, though still inclusive, gathering. McGucket starts passing out some sort of home-brewed alcoholic concoction that Dipper politely passes on, and Abuelita begins forcing pan dulce upon stranger and loved one alike. Everyone congregates near the bonfire, flames now roaring with warmth, and Dipper takes a moment to bask in the glow of it all.

Still, he can’t help but think that something, or rather someone, would need to be present in order to make it truly perfect. He slips his phone from his jacket and swipes through his messages, finding the photo of her in the gold dress from a few evenings prior.

In his peripheral vision, he sees Mabel wander up next to him. He doesn’t even both to put the picture away.

“Aw, Dip,” Mabel starts. “I bet she’s wishing she were here with you too.”

Dipper sighs.

“It is what it is. Maybe it’s just not meant to happen right now.”

Mabel tilts her head.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I tried everything, and it feels like fate kind of got in the way at every step. Maybe I should just take the hint.”

Mabel blinks, and he shifts uncomfortably under the way she seems to be studying him.

“What?” he asks, a little defensively.

Mabel’s brows furrow and her lips pull into a thin line.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, dude,” she begins. “But, like, you haven’t really tried much at all.”

Dipper reels back at the accusation. “What the hell, Mabel? Of course I have. What do you think I’ve been doing all week?”

“Look,” Mabel amends, raising her hands in supplication. “I don’t mean to say you’ve done nothing, but like, you’ve kind of just been letting things happen to you, not taking the reins yourself.”

Dipper begins to open his mouth in protest, but she keeps talking.

“Like, coming here in the first place was my idea— you’re welcome, by the way.” She looks at him pointedly and keeps ratting off, counting off on her mittened fingers. “And the roses at her ballet were dad’s. The bracelet mine— your double welcome. Inviting her to look for the tree was mine too—triple welcome. Ice skating you got from that movie. The gingerbread house thing was really all mom. And Pacifica was the one who made your little clandestine garden tête-à-tête happen. Like I’m not saying you haven’t tried, but you’ve mostly followed the lead of others.”

He doesn’t know what to say. Nothing she’s saying is untrue, factually speaking.

“So,” she finishes, opening up her palms and gesturing to him. “What would Dipper do to show her how he feels?”

He takes in her words. She sort of has a point. He wants to argue, but knows he can’t. So, what would Dipper do? He thinks back on previous experience.

“…Make a list?” he offers up weakly, and even as he says it knows it feels wrong.

Mabel closes her eyes and shakes her head resolutely.

“No, not old Dipper. Pacifica’s Dipper. You’re different when you’re with her. Braver, less…”

“Less me?”

“No!” Mabel nearly shouts, grabbing his hand. “No, Dipper. You’re more you with her.”

He takes in her words. He’s more himself with Pacifica. That does ring true. He doesn’t know what it is, but he’s never had trouble being his most authentic self around her. Even after he realized his feelings for her. Sure, he got nervous and worried about things to an extent, but that particular brand of genuineness that she seems to bring out in him never wavered. So that leaves the question: what would Pacifica’s Dipper do in this situation? He thinks back to he night they became friends, him in a borrowed suit, her in yet another extravagant gown, dancing and laughing after figuring out for the very first time that they make a pretty good team. And it all becomes clear.

He turns to Mabel, and judging by the awareness and pride in her eyes, he knows she can see the that the lightbulb has gone off in his mind.

He grins.

“Crash a fancy party, of course.”

Mabel beams.

“That’s my boy!” she whoops. “I’ll go get my grappling hook!” She turns and runs off toward the house.

Yeah. Yeah!

Wait.

He shouts after her.

“Mabel, why did you pack that?!”

She calls back over her shoulder before disappearing into the house.

“You never know!”

Dipper changes into the uncomfortable slacks from the ballet and the nicest sweater he can find. Based off the look of her gown in the photos, he assumes he’s still going to be underdressed, but he’ll be able to blend in a little bit better than he would in his jeans and hoodie at least.

His dad‘s sedan sticks out like a sore thumb in the company of all of the limousines and luxury cars he sees lined up in the Northwests’ expansive driveway, but he doesn’t bother to hide it all the way down the street this time. He’s not planning on staying very long—if his luck goes the way he’s hoping it will. After leaving his car out front, he again makes his way around to the rear of the property. The gate is locked as expected, and it is with firm resolve that he realizes that it is indeed grappling hook time.

Feeling just a little bit badass, he aims the gun at a sturdy-looking tree branch that hangs over the garden wall, closes one eye to focus his aim and pulls the trigger. The hook shoots off from the gun, sending him backward just a bit, but loops around the tree branch with a satisfying thud. Checking to make sure that the hold is secure, he reverses the lever and holds onto the gun tightly as the rope retracts. He’s a bit heavier than he was when he was 12 so it doesn’t work exactly as planned, but there’s enough tension for him to scale the tree and hop down the other side.

Not quite as cool as in the movies, he thinks as he loses his footing and lands bottom-first in the snow, but it’ll have to do. He scrambles to his feet and hides behind the first tree he can find.

The backyard is empty save a few employees running boxes of champagne in through the side door, but the house is lit up from within. Through the grand windows at the back he can see the silhouettes of party guests as they mix and mingle in their finery. The muted sounds of what sounds like a small orchestra filter out from inside.

So now, how to get in?

His eyes wander back to the staff entrance, where a large van is parked and the half dozen or so caterers move crates in and out. All the staff are wearing black tuxedos, which means the guests must match them in terms of dress code, at least. He grimaces down at his own simple brown slacks. Yeah, that’s not gonna work.

Someone drops a case of something heavy and swears, drawing Dipper’s attention back up. From his spot in the shadows, he can see a boy about this age hopping on one foot, apparently smarting from where the crate smashed into his toes. The boy is slim, about his height, and has pale skin and curly brown hair. He looks a lot like, well… Dipper.

Oh, right.

Shmipper.

He’s not sure if that’s actually the boy’s name, as a matter of fact, but it’s what he and Mabel have always called the male half of their doppelgänger set of twins since that very first summer.

“Hey!” Dipper says, pulling back his shoulders and adopting what he hopes looks like a friendly expression as he approaches the other boy.

Shmipper looks up, still wincing from his injury. “Yeah? Can I help you?”

“Can’t help but notice you’re not having a great time tonight.” Shmipper gives him a blank look. Tough crowd. Dipper tries again. “Look, I’m gonna be straight with you. I gotta get into that party, and it looks like you could use an excuse to leave. Swap clothes with me, let me take your place. You can take mine and still get paid, but head down the hill to the super awesome and way more fun party going on in town at the Mystery Shack.”

Shmipper looks at him skeptically. Okay, Dipper can’t blame him for that.

“Okay fine man, cards on the table. I’m in love with Pacifica Northwest and I only realized it, like, six days ago, and I’m pretty sure she feels the same way but something keeps getting in the way every single, goddam time I try to tell her and I’m basically at my wits ends and if I don’t tell her tonight I don’t know when I’ll get another chance and I just… I gotta get in that party, man.”

Shmipper blinks. “Yikes, dude,” he says after a beat. “You could have just offered me a twenty.”

“Oh, uh, yeah okay.” Dipper fishes out his wallet and hands over a bill.

“Thanks,” Shmipper says, pocketing the cash. “Maybe work on the oversharing.”

Dipper changes quickly into the borrowed tuxedo, double—no, triple checking to make sure that the bracelet, which he had grabbed from his bedroom before heading out this evening, is safely tucked in the vest’s interior pocket.

Well, here goes nothing.

He salutes his thanks to Shmipper who is already limping his way down the drive in Dipper’s clothes, and grabs a crate of wine, hoping that none of the catering managers will notice the swap in personnel.

Once in the vast kitchen he realizes he has no idea what his plan is. He eyes the tray of champagne flutes. A little liquid courage might help? He grabs a glass and takes a quick swig, but chokes on the bubbles, sputtering the liquid into a nearby sink. Okay, maybe not.

Still, the tray of flutes could provide good cover. He picks it up and heads toward the swinging kitchen doors, onward and forward into the intimidating party that lies beyond.

He works to steel himself, to build up his adrenaline. He’s on a mission after all.

Find the girl. Tell her how you feel. Kiss her as long she will allow. Run away together. Change names. Get married. Raise a family in Greenland or Iceland or literally anywhere else far, far away. Never have to see her parents again.

Okay maybe just the first two. Hopefully, three.

Emerging from the kitchen, silver tray of sparkling drinks in hand, he surveils the scene. The Northwests have spared no expense. Expansive tables of meats, cheeses and luxurious hors d'oeuvres line two of the four walls. A small army of waiters makes their rounds through the room, ensuring a full wine glass remains in the hands of each guest. Enormous, lavishly decorated Christmas trees frame nearly every doorway, and lush green garland lines the tall ceiling. He was right about the live music, too. A small ensemble of classical musicians have been set up on a low stage on the far side of the room, churning out mesmerizingly beautiful renditions of traditional holiday songs.

It’s all so impressive that he begins to wonder if he’s making a mistake by trying to pull Pacifica away from it. That is, until he spots her.

She’s near the center of the room, because of course she is, standing in the middle of a small entourage of boys about their age. The boys seem to be competing for her attention, each subtly elbowing their way in front of the other, gesticulating with their hands as they talk over one another. Pacifica isn’t looking at a single one of them. She examines her nails, looking bored, as they continue their fruitless battle.

She’s wearing the gold dress, the one that Dipper said was his favorite.

He smiles and moves in closer, ditching the tray of champagne flutes on a random table. As he does, fate finally cuts him some slack. He watches as she interrupts the boys and waves a lazy goodbye, extracting herself from the group and meandering over to one of the food tables, tiredly eyeing the options but lacking all interest.

Heartbeat pounding in his ears, Dipper slides up next to her, bumps his shoulder into her own, and musters up all the bravado he can as he tilts his head sideways towards her to whisper in her ear.

“Excuse me, miss. Couldn’t help but notice you’re looking in need of a little excitement.”

Pacifica inhales a shallow breath and spins to face him, eyes wide.

“Dip—!” She gasps, cutting herself off as she covers her mouth with her hands.

Dipper chuckles.

The surprise written on her features gives way quickly to pleasure, and she recovers quickly, lowering her hands from her mouth and adopting a familiar smirk that sends a bolt of electricity up Dipper’s spine. He feels his own smile form on his lips. He doesn’t dare take his eyes from hers.

She meets his gaze for a long beat before stepping back slightly and taking in his outfit, letting her eyes drag slowly up his tight tux as her smirk turns more mischievous.

“Another rescue attempt for the princess, then?” She perches a hand on her hip. “And what kind of excitement could a boy like you offer me, hm?”

Dipper knows she’s trying to throw him off balance. To gain the upper hand in their flirtation. But he decided far earlier that he wants to be in control of this evening, and he’s not willing to give that up so easily. Mabel was right, he’s been following the lead of everyone else, and now it’s his turn to take charge. Plus he got a little taste of what it was like to see her flustered the night before—to see how pretty she is when her cheeks flush and her eyes betray the gears spinning in her mind—and he’d really like to see it again.

Feeling emboldened by her own teasing, he ducks in closer to her, bringing his mouth near her ear as he grasps one of her hands firmly in his own.

“C’mon, your highness. Why don’t you come with me and find out?”

Dipper guides Pacifica down a hallway he knows leads toward a back exit. He knows the basic layout of the new Northwest mansion— thanks to countless summer nights spent playing video games and gorging himself on gourmet pizza here (much to her parents chagrin), and he’s familiar enough with it to know that the door to their immediate right leads to a private library. Which, actually, that gives him an idea. He tightens the grip his left hand has on her right as he twists the room’s doorknob and throws it open, tugging her in. Behind him, Pacifica giggles and follows him through.

“You have no idea how mad my parents would be if they knew I was sneaking off with you right now,” she says, still laughing.

“Isn’t that part of the fun?”

She just giggles again as he releases her hand to firmly shut the door. The room is only dimly lit by a few lamps, and he decides to take advantage of the intimacy the atmosphere grants.

Turning from the door, he shifts to face her head on. She’s standing in the middle of the room, a large oak writing desk a few feet behind her. Now in closer proximity, he’s able to fully appreciate the dress she’s wearing. It was beautiful in the picture she sent him, but now, softly illuminated by the low lamplight of the room, she absolutely glows. The fabric hugs her figure and he finds himself mesmerized by the way it reflects the light at each soft curve. The laughter on her lips dies as she seems to become aware of the intensity of his study of her. She pulls back her shoulders and shifts her weight, bringing her eyes up his face. He pulls his gaze from the dress to meet her’s, and she smiles, almost challenging. She raises a hand out in front of her, beckoning him toward her.

Okay, yeah, she’s getting the upper hand a little, but even as Dipper moves toward her, trance-like, he’s finding his resolve to take it back.

So he ignores her hand, and instead puts both of his on the sides of her waist, lightly skimming the glittering fabric. She inhales sharply, then brings her hands up to trace down his chest. It makes his head dizzy in such a way that he knows he risks passing out any moment, which just won’t do, so he brings his hands down her to her hips and tightens his hold, then walks her backward a few steps until her backside hits the large glossy desk. He takes one more step, closing the gap between their bodies to a mere inch or so, but making sure to leave the slight distance— teasing, taunting. She’s been teasing him for days, after all— longer, really, now that he really looks back on things. And it’s his turn.

To that end, he lowers his gaze to her collarbone, drinking in the sight of her smooth shoulders, and then slowly brings his lips down to her neck. She closes her eyes and tilts her head to the side, giving him easier access, and he begins pressing featherlight kisses agains her throat. She sighs contentedly, and then gasps lightly when he gently nips under her chin. He moves his kisses to her face, beginning with her brow, moving up and over her forehead to the other side. He traces a path closer and closer to her lips, finally landing in the same place where she kissed him— just barely missing her lips.

He smiles into her cheek and pulls back, watching with pleasure at the way her eyes flutter open in confusion, and the way her lips were already slightly parted, anticipating his.

“You—” he begins, pulling her hips in to press against his, “—have been driving me crazy.”

She closes her eyes again, bringing her arms up circle his neck and lifting her face to his. “And I suppose you intend to repay the favor now?”

He chuckles and lowers his forehead to hers, gently rocking her from side to side as he wraps his arms around the small of her back.

“Maybe a little,” he says, ducking in to give her one more slow kiss on the cheek. “You wanna get out of here?”

She hums her assent, and Dipper thinks that he could get pretty used to this whole “taking charge” thing.

They could just leave through the back gate, or heck even just make a break for it down the driveway, but if Dipper insists on using the grappling hook again, and if this has anything to do with getting the opportunity to hold her close to him while he gets to feel like a little bit of a hero, well can you blame him?

Safely escaped, Dipper opens the passenger side door of his dad’s car and makes sure she is tucked in before slamming it shut and running around to the driver’s side.

“So where we headed, Sir Pines?” Pacifica says as he navigates them out of her neighborhood.

He grins goofily at the return of the nickname.

“Wherever the lady wishes.”

“Well I heard there’s a pretty good party going on down at the Shack.”

Dipper isn’t totally sure he wants to be around other people right now, if he’s honest, but he’s becoming increasingly aware of the fact that she has him totally whipped, and if it would make her happy, he’d do just about anything.

“Oh yeah? How’d you hear about that?” he asks, turning the steering wheel to take the car in the direction of Gopher Road.

“Your sister’s been posting about it online all day.” She twists toward him, reaching over and running her hand up the length of his arm to twist her fingers in his hair. “I need one of those hot chocolates with the giant marshmallows, like, yesterday.”

He presses a little harder on the accelerator, in part to get to the Shack quickly to get her as many freaking hot chocolates as she could ever possibly want, and in part because there is no way it is safe for him to drive long with what her tickling fingertips are presently doing to him.

Upon arriving to the Shack, Dipper makes sure to hop out of the car quickly and run around to her side, opening the door and pulling her out and toward him. He stops only a moment to tug her fully into his arms, once again tilting her head up and closing his eyes and lowering his forehead to hers, only to land his lips on the tip of her nose instead of her lips. She groans and pouts, but he just grins and then turns, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward the backyard where the bonfire apparently still blazes.

Upon seeing the pair approach the group, hands linked, Mabel runs up and throws her arms around the two in an overenthusiastic group hug.

“Mabel, I saw you like two nights ago,” Dipper hears Pacifica say, voice muffled by Mabel’s embrace, as he extracts himself from his sister and leaves the girls to go find the fabled hot chocolate.

Returning a few moments later, two steaming mugs in hand, he passes the one with a heart-shaped marshmallow to Pacifica (he knows it’s cheesy, but can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed) and then boldly slings his free arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close to him as they both watch the flickering flames. He notices that Mabel must have given Pacifica some more comfortable shoes to wear because her glossy heels have been swapped out in favor of fuzzy brown boots. It’s a funny look when paired with her evening gown, which she quickly decided there wasn’t time to change out of, and a large borrowed coat of Dipper’s that he found in the backseat of the car. Looking down at her, small frame practically swimming in his jacket, he decides he doesn’t hate it, though. Not at all. Around them, his family and friends chat happily, and he thinks that coming back here might have been the right call after all. It all just feels so… right.

“How long til your folks notice that you’re missing?” he asks after about half an hour of idle chit chat and sneaky nuzzles disguised as warmth-seeking cuddles.

“Oh, they won’t notice, but one of the dozen or so potential suitors that they have lined up for me probably will, and word will get around pretty quickly.”

Dipper feels an uncomfortable possessiveness rise up in back of his mind but he brushes it away quickly. Nope, she’s here with you, man, he says to himself. Still, his grip on her shoulder tightens just so.

But the reminder that while they managed to get away, there’s no telling how long it will be before the Northwests realize she’s flown the coop, or what they will do once they have, does send a little bubble of anxiety up in his stomach. Tonight is the night, and while he’s enjoyed teasing her—enjoyed it a lot— he does need to get a move on. He turns to her, bringing his arm down from around her shoulders to grasp at her hand.

“Pacifica, can we go somewhere to—“

A car door slams, loudly, and Dipper’s head snaps up. He squints into a pair of bright headlights, and can just make out the silhouette of a man making his way across toward the field.

“Miss Northwest!” calls out the familiar voice of the Northwests’ chauffeur. “Miss Northwest? I’m sorry, my dear, I’m sure you’re having fun, but I really must insist you return with me. Your parents—”

Dipper cannot believe his luck.

Are you freaking kidding me?!

But no. No. Not this time. Not tonight.

He turns to Pacifica, eyes wild.

“Run?”

She grins up at him. “Run.”

And then they’re off.

They head right for the woods. The moon is large and bright enough tonight that it illuminates the snowy path without too much issue, and Dipper leads her to a small clearing he knows to be safe from creatures and other paranormal bumps in the night. It’s lined tightly by tall evergreens, but there’s enough of a gap in the canopy to allow in the starlight. Dipper and Pacifica come to a stop near one edge, catching their breath through their laughter, and Pacifica moves to sit on a fallen tree log situated underneath a robust-looking oak.

Dipper takes a second to admire her, just appreciating her beauty—the way the light catches her hair, the pink flush of exertion on her cheeks—before approaching and sitting next to her on the log as well.

She leans in toward him immediately, resting her head on his shoulder and taking in the quiet winter landscape before them.

Dipper is suddenly extremely conscious of the bracelet, still tucked in his vest pocket, and decides that if following his gut instinct thus far got him here, there might be something to it. Working not to jostle her, he slips a hand into the pocket and gently pulls the small package from its confines. He’d done his best to wrap it as nicely as he could— found a small, thin box and some pretty wrapping paper, but he does have to admit that the bow he so carefully tied earlier is helplessly smashed. Oh well. It’s more true to him, anyway.

He clears his throat, working to keep his voice low and confident.

“So,” he begins. “I got you something, y’know, for Christmas.”

Pacifica opens her eyes, and he wonders when she had closed them, before tilting her face back up toward his and then down to the small package.

“Oh!” she says, surprised. “Oh, shoot. I got you something too, but I don’t have it on me. Do you want to wait for me to open this until I do?”

“No!” he says, a little too emphatically. “I, uh, I mean no. No, I want you to have this now. No more waiting.”

Pacifica’s eyes dance inquisitively, and she takes the box from where he offers it up to her. She begins tugging at the rumpled ribbon, an amused smile on her lips.

Dipper’s heartbeat pounds in his chest as she carefully removes the wrapping paper and lifts the lid. He watches, holding his breath, as the moonlight reflects off the small silver pine tree charm. His eyes seek out hers, but they are still trained on the bracelet, unrestrained delight written on her features.

“You don’t have to wear it if it’s too much,” Dipper can’t help himself from saying. “Like, my feelings won’t be hurt if—“

She silences him with two fingers on his lips. “Dipper,” she says, eyes dancing. “I love it. Here, help me put it on.” She holds out her wrist to him and he fumbles to clasp the bracelet around it. Once secured, she holds her arm out in front of her, admiring the way it looks on her. He does too.

He wraps his arm around her again and pulls her in to kiss her temple, before leaning his head back and taking in the sight of the stars above them. Then his eyes catch on the oak tree they sit below. The tree has lost mostly all it leaves, and yet a small bushel of… something, remains on one of the branches. Actually on a lot of the branches, now that he’s able to get a better look. The plant growing all over the oak tree bears small leaves and white bulbs of some type, and he grins as he recognizes it as mistletoe. His luck is certainly turning around.

“Look,” he says, nudging Pacifica’s focus upward. “You know what that is?”

Pacifica studies the plant for about three seconds, and then her face lights up in awe and recognition. She laughs. “Well how about that?”

“You think it counts if we stumble upon it in the wild? Tradition-wise?” He brings his face down to search hers, raises one hand to stroke a thumb down her cheek.

“Dipper Pines,” Pacifica says, lifting her face toward his. “Are you really asking me if I think you should kiss me right now?”

He brings his other hand to her cheek as well, cupping her face and tilting it up a little further. “Might be.”

Her own hands rise to skim his collar. “I think it counts.”

He smiles as he leans in, and his eyes close at the same time hers do. Gently he runs his lips across hers. “Me too,” he whispers against her lips, before sealing them fully with his own in a long, delicate, lingering first kiss.

She melts into his embrace, her hands gripping his collar, and he could get high off the sound of the faint whimper she breathes out when they eventually slowly, reluctantly pull apart.

Dipper opens his eyes and watches as hers do the same. But something odd is happening. The lighting around them is entirely different. Warm specks of light, much warmer than the stars above them, reflect in her dreamy gaze, and so he pulls his attention above them to inspect the change.

“Oh, whoa!” Dipper says, and her own gaze follows. Above them, the hundreds of mistletoe berries are positively glowing, pulsing with a pleasant light that seems to emit from within the plant itself.

“Dipper, what's happening?” Pacifica asks, gripping his coat. She looks mesmerized, but Dipper also notes the slight wariness in her voice. He wraps his arm around her reassuringly.

“There’s nothing to worry about, Cif.” He gestures to the plant above, recalling a section of his grunkle’s journals that he read through a few summers earlier. “This is mistle-glow. I read about it in one of Ford’s journals. I don’t remember the details exactly, but the luminescence has something to do with picking up on the heartbeats of the people nearby. It basically measures how excited you get, and then puts on a little show relative to that.”

Pacifica takes in the light. It’s fading slightly from the bright eruption a moment earlier, but the glimmer is still steady and strong.

“Oh, so that was…” she trails off.

“Pretty sure that was a lot of excitement.” Dipper laughs and brings her face to his again, leaning in close. “Is your little heart pitter-pattering away, princess?” he teases.

Pacifica scoffs and rolls her eyes at the implication, but gives him a playful grin nevertheless.

“Yeah right, it was probably your heartbeat it was picking up on,” she shoots back.

“Well with a sample size of just one, it’ll be hard to know for sure.” He brings one hand to the back of her neck, while the other wraps around her lower back and tugs her closer on the log.

“You think we should keep testing it out?” she whispers as her eyes close and her arms wrap around his neck. “See how bright we can make it?”

“Let’s give it a shot,” he says, once more leaning in and pressing his lips to her— deeper this time, more insistent—and she responds in kind. Above them, the mistletoe explodes in light.

New Year’s Eve

Dipper Pines has been aware of his feelings for Pacifica Northwest for precisely 13 days and 6 hours. It’s been 7 days and 4 hours since he managed to tell her, and found himself with a girlfriend prettier and smarter and funnier than he could have hoped for in his wildest dreams. Not a bad turnaround time, he thinks, silently thanking his lucky stars.

He examines those stars now, peering through the eyepiece of his new telescope, which he has set up atop a dark ridge a few miles outside of Piedmont. He settles in, sitting down on the closed lid of the fancy hard-sided carrying case, monogrammed with his initials, that Pacifica somehow had custom-made during the brief period of time between his obtaining the telescope and Christmas Day. She can be really thoughtful when she wants to be, he muses, smiling to himself.

He returns to his stargazing, adjusting the focus to bring his chosen nebula, situated at one end of the constellation Cassiopeia, into proper view.

Behind him, warm arms circle around his waist and a chin perches delicately on his shoulder.

“Find any aliens to kiss?” Pacifica murmurs, her breath tickling his neck.

“Don’t need ‘em anymore,” Dipper responds, turning and planting a quick peck on her cheek. “But I did want to show you something else. Look.” He pats his lap and she comes around to settle on it. His arms circle her waist instinctively. “Go on, take a look. What do you see?”

Pacifica peers in the eyepiece and gasps. “It’s a heart!”

This time it’s Dipper’s turn to rest his chin on her shoulder. “Yep,” he says, kissing the exposed skin where her neck meets her shoulder. “That’s what it’s called too. The Heart Nebula. Seventy-five hundred lightyears away but still helping hopeless romantics tell the objects of their affection how they feel about them.”

Pacifica pulls back from the telescope and sends Dipper teasing smirk.

“Oh please, Dipper, I’ve known how you felt about me for ages,” she says, twisting in his lap to wrap her arms around his neck.

“Oh yeah? Even before I did?”

“Mhm,” she confirms, nodding once solemnly.

“Well don’t keep me guessing. When did you put it all together, Little Miss Know-it-all?”

“Well,” she begins. “I figured out you liked me years ago. Like, when we were fourteen maybe? I figured out I liked you back maybe last year. And I knew you’d finally figured your own feelings out on the night of my ballet.”

“How’d you know?” he asks, a little impressed by her insight.

She shrugs. “Just a feeling. You were different. I’ve flirted with you for ages you know, waiting to see if you’d catch up. And I guess you finally did.”

Dipper chuckles but in the recesses of his brain he realizes there’s one bit of the timeline she’s omitted.

“Wait,” he says. “You said you figured out how you felt about a year ago. So when do you think you actually started having feelings?”

“Oh no, a girl has to keep some secrets.”

“Oh come on, I won’t tease you.”

“Okay. I’ve liked you for…” She pauses, tapping her chin. “However long you’ve like me, but a day less. You obviously liked me first. That’s just a given.” She leans in to kiss his forehead.

He smiles and closes his eyes, enjoying the feeling of her warm lips lingering on his skin, but then his watch beeps as the timer he set earlier in the evening goes off.

“Thirty seconds to midnight,” he says, showing her the time.

“Uh-oh, I better figure out real quick who my midnight kiss is going to be. Know any eligible bachelors?”

“Don’t even think about it,” he says, wrapping his arms tighter around her waist and pulling her in closer.

She giggles and takes his face in her hands.

“You know,” she says, “they say whoever you kiss on New Year’s Eve is the person you’re destined to spend the year kissing.” She leans in closer, closing her eyes and dropping her voice to a whisper as her lips brush up against his. “You prepared for that?”

“More than you could ever know.” He closes the gap between them just as his watch flips over to 12:00 AM, January 1st.

Beyond them in the city below, the distant sounds of cheering and fireworks being set off echo through the night. But Dipper isn’t paying attention to any of it. His focus is on the girl in his lap, the softness of her lips, and the pleasant certainty that while it might have taken him awhile to have all the epiphanies necessary to get here, now that he is, he doesn’t plan on ever leaving.

End.