Waking up to slim, hairless arms wrapped around Bill's torso should've been a good thing, considering last night's shenanigans. It was . In a very annoying ( Clingy . Clingy, and too hot for those blankets ) way. The closeness was cozy, despite one's lack of independence in it; Bill's initial shifting on the bed meant alerting his cuddly, should-be-little-spoon-but-not partner, who woke immediately after he did. Smearing his face into Bill's back, yawning and pulling the blond a bit closer. Not letting go, much to the ' little spoon's ' dismay, when he tried sitting up in bed, only for those greedy kuala arms to wrap around him more firmly.

"Miss me already?" Bill teased with a bite, groggy and grumpy and needing to use the bathroom, which he wasn't used to in the slightest. Dipper hummed with his nose still buried between Bill's shoulder blades, trying- and failing- to will his eyelids open.

" Time? " He muffled drouselly, hardly half awake.

"2077, June 18th. You missed much; Lesbian pirates rule the seven seas, and our 61st president's an ostrich." It tricked a lazy snort out of his friend, still tucked against his back. With Bill's head resting against his own pillow, Dipper found the will-power to shuffle up from his ducked posture, so his nose tickled the tufts of his partner's hair. He raised his head, eyes still closed, to lay it awkwardly atop Bill's cheek.

" Male or female ostrich? " Dipper asked, chin brushing the other's ear as he spoke.

"Male." Bill replied simply; a bit playful. Dipper hummed once more, placing a sloth kiss to the side of Bill's eyebrow.

" Typical ." He noted, cracking an eyelid; decided consciousness was still very, very annoying. Dipper closed it once more.

"He's doing a pretty bang-up job with the economy, actually-." The arms around Bill's front tightened; Dipper groaned, trailing one of his hands up Bill's chest to lay flimsily over his mouth. Dipper's lips pursed, effectively shushing his partner in the whiniest, most patronized tone possible.

" Quiet..." Dipper sighed, sliding his head away so they were no longer cheek-to-cheek, and recollected himself against the sturdy wall of Bill's spine.

"This feels very hostage-y, you know that?" His partner joked, tilting his head sideways to get a glimpse of brown hair nuzzled behind him. "Ever plan on letting me go, or have I already seen too much?" Dipper said nothing on it. By ways he let out a breath, ghosting along the back of Bill's night shirt, and kissed the space between shoulders, his response was made silently clear.

"Hope you don't mind wet bed sheets." Bill added, not the least bit joking. Contemplative silence, followed by a lowly grunt and Dipper's arms untwining themselves from around Bill was almost sad. Obviously not, when the blond man found he'd successfully escaped his partner's caging grip. It was freeing; the spots Dipper had pressed into weren't nearly as steamy, with his long, drawn breaths no longer a sauna on his skin. Bill sat up, popping his back with a sigh that alerted himself how his bones were settling, and they shouldn't be.

Time to start the day.

Or, maybe not.

Drawing the curtains back, there wasn't so much a light in the distance. A still twinkle of the sky from burnt stars, though dulled in complexion and glow; the sun would rise soon enough to wash them away. An hour or two. Maybe three. Bill didn't honestly care to check his watch and give a definite answer.

He was restless. Already up and at it, despite the slight pain in his side from where Dipper had woven an arm between Bill's elbow and rib cage. He felt the odd desire to do something, with that buzzing beat roaring behind his eye. He blinked, but the sensation refused to fade.

"Breakfast?" Bill offered cheekily, gesturing towards Dipper and the thick layer of covers currently engulfing him. His body looked puffy under the illusion of wide, airy comforters, with nothing more than the small poof of brown hair poking from beneath. The blanket pulled taut around his curled posture, bunching his shoulders, wrinkling his nose, and moaning in irritation. Dipper's head shook, his tangled mop of hair rolling this way and that.

Again, Bill snorted, moving from his tall position by the bedroom window. He placed a knee on the bed, feeling the subtle dip of his mattress, and stalked towards Dipper in playful, primal mannerisms, with a slow, drawn tilt of his hips. The brunette groaned, yanking his blanket more firming around himself, even as Bill settled atop, as though he were no more than a misshapen extension of the bed. Groin against the side of Dipper's hip, chin to shoulder, and a grin like spikes. He snickered, pressing his nose into the edge of his partner's shielded face.

"Come on ; I'll whip you up something hardy." Dipper pawed sleepily beneath his blankets, trying to push the other off. If anything, it was less a fight, and more a struggle. With his eyes shut under those covers, brain slow and half-gone, the warm body pressed against him- not demanding; simply present- his protest was half-hearted at best, and after a hand-full of failed pushes, Dipper simply sighed, turning his back opposite the man on top.

" Mmm... " He hummed through the lazy bubble of a laugh in his throat. " Can't cook ." His body, originally braced against the casual weight of his lover, softened, allowing the light pressure above him to sink into his bones. Bill scoffed at the smaller with a slick grin weaving across his lips; he placed a hand at the edge of Dipper's fortress, and got as far as tearing the fabric down to his jaw before the other's arm shot up to stop his assault. Dipper ducked his head into the blanket, nose dipped, eyes closed, and brows pinched, despite the twinning smirk of his cheeks.

"I'll have you know I'm a fantastic cook, and you're lucky if I don't charge you for it." Bill lowered himself, allowing his nose to trace the shell of Dipper's ear, which slowly bloomed into a faint peck behind the thin cartilage. Dipper bunched his shoulders against the ticklish sensation, leaning away, though catering a smile much wider now.

" Can't ." He repeated more firmly this time. Bill huffed, raising himself only an inch to wage the man below.

"' Can't this . Can't that .' Where's all this negative talk coming from?" Bill flicked a tangle of strands from the boy's forehead, a bit of nail purposely scraping his pale skin. Dipper, ever satisfied with the small fire he'd set this early in the morning, manifested a chuckle that didn't quite leave his throat. He shrugged up at the other man, this time lifting an elbow with the intent of prying Bill off.

" Go to the bathroom ." Dipper mused fondly, despite his body's demand for yet another four hours of sleep. At least. Bill was persistent of course, and nothing short of striking him with a flaming iron would deter his agitating intentions. Which Dipper knew.

It was hardly a bother, these days.

"Give me your order." Bill's arms went to encase the other as a large, fluffy burrito. It felt much more fitting to have his arms around Dipper, and not vice versa. Embarrassing- really- that his body had melted so naturally into that frail embrace, even unconsciously. Here, though- much better on top, feeling the least bit large, daunting, formidable.

In control.

Folded neatly; packaging what he could carry, within the enveloping cocoon of his presence.

Bill preferred this much, much more.

" Sleep , with a side of quiet ." Dipper sassed, moving onto his stomach with a pair of arms folded atop his head. He palmed blindly at the covers right of him before his fingers found themselves brushing the cotton thread of a pillow. He secured it firmly atop his head, pressing either side of his face in hopes of muffling Bill and his poking tone. No such luck.

"A bit snippy this morning, are we?" Bill drawled, planting himself more tightly against Dipper's shrunken form. A chuckle buzzed the hollow of Dipper's neck where Bill rested his mouth, separated by fabric and feathers and stitch upon treacherous stitch. He shuffled in. "Do you need me to loosen you up again ?" Bill's tone was near-sultry; sweet as honeysuckle, with a low arch that usually made Dipper's stomach swoop.

If not for the obvious smile in his tone, as well as Dipper's stubborn placement beneath the sheets, perhaps he would have fallen for Bill's alluring bait.

" Go.. ." Dipper drew out like a small calf, stretching the ' o' as far as it would without snapping in half. He nudged Bill again, with an added lift of his knee intended to tilt the intrusive figure off; away. It was playful- all of it- though with a genuine objective he'd fight for.

And, while poking the bear was undoubtedly checking off numerous boxes for Bill, he really did need to pee.

"This isn't over yet, Mason Moses Pines." The blond slid away, taking what felt like a furnace-worth of body heat with him. Dipper's face pinched, a bit colder, a bit more awake; he hid his regretful expression behind thin, sturdy shoulders.

" Fuuuck ." The hissing sting of his tone was less an attack on Bill, and more a slap to his own wrist. Dipper pressed his face into the mattress. " Why did I tell you that ?"

"You trusted me, which- mind you- bad idea ." His lover poked with a wag of his finger. The grumble of Dipper's lips was equivalent to a chipper song-bird's melody in Bill's ears. He hummed in agreeable taste to the tune, even as his hands folded behind his back, and he leaned against the wall, cheeky. Always cheeky. "Thanks anyway, though. It's cute how terrible it sounds: Mason-Moses. Mason-Moses . I'm getting tongue-tied just pronouncing it."

" GO ." Dipper's fingers flexed, the pillow covering his head yanked low like a snow-cap catching January winds.

"Alright, alright. Don't get your PJs in a twist."

Bill placed a hand atop his pillow and-.

Contemplated smothering him.

Dipper's body would surely be easy to dispose of, what with that thick blanket distorting his figure, not to mention it was late. Late and asleep, with the brunette's wired brain docile- guards lowered- before him. It'd be rather simple, Bill mused, to press his face down- playful at first, then firmly, with a grip on his neck, the other guiding his cheeks, the wide expanse of his chest keeping him pinned, and the haunting ring of a chuckle through his ear. So, so simple.

Another time , he assured himself, drawing his hand back; Hesitant. Reprimanding. Encouraged, but refused. Bill's sigh sounded like no more than plain, ticking irritation. His footsteps to the bathroom were the simple weight of sleep, and not a slight stomp that snarled- raged- at Bill on either side.

How could you?

How could you not ?

" Mmm. " Dipper tacked his response drowsily, which carried across the hallway, into the open threshold of Bill's bathroom. Still alive. Half-snoozing, half-attuned to the mute flick of a light. The creak of a lifting lid. The steady stream of Bill's faucet. Weirdly coddled by these domestic noises. He rolled onto Bill's side of the bed, quick to discern each striking indent of the mattress that was- quite frankly- too deep to be Dipper's own figure. It was nice, though; cuddled him in intimate ways his lover could never bring himself to. When he pressed his nose into the used, frayed sheets of Bill's bed, it only carved a line down his throat, through his nostrils.

His muscles eased with a hum, shoulders slumping. Dipper fell back asleep.

It might explain why he didn't so much as stir to the subtle squeak of bedroom floorboards- The drop of Bill's knee, easing in to pick up his clothes from the night before- A swift swapping of nightclothes for day clothes- The snatching of his car keys; his cigarettes- Slipping on a pair of neat dress shoes, before inevitably making a bee line for the door.

A few hours.

He had a few hours at best.

Bill's late-night mosey was only intercepted once, by which the front desk receptionist had waved, smiled, and given a coy nod that said hardly anything at the time, but- looking back on it- surely meant he knew who was currently occupying Bill's suite; with that pestering glint that raked the blond male's body, and guaranteed- yes- he'd seen the young brunette enter. No, he hadn't seen him leave. Bill's tie was a different shade from the one he'd worn several hours prior, and hadn't this been Agent Pines' fourth visit this week? Oh , Bill thought flippantly, he knows . And oh, the blond rearranged the bow around his neck, he's definitely not keeping his mouth shut about it.

Hardly mattered now. Hardly mattered at all. Bill made his way to the car. In his pocket, clutched possessively between aching, strained knuckles, was the cardboard packaging of some cheap hotel toiletry; a shampoo bottle- of course. That's so very like him - titled boldly with the tacky curl of blue calligraphy, and the same fat, freckled kumquat posing in-frame. Finger-to-cheek, scrunched in a nasty wink with that dirty grin of his that had Bill's human stomach doing all kinds of flips.

Gideon.

Gideon-goddamn-Gleeful is selling goddamn toiletries to goddamn hotels now.

The thought made him laugh . He couldn't not laugh. Not until he unlocked his car, sat down, and really looked at the packaging. Bill took a breath, sobering himself with something near-frustration.

"Fall on some hard times, lil' guy?" He lamented, flattening the cardboard out to get a better look at it. "Couldn't just do a little jig on stage and get your rent paid this month? Did my least-favorite puppet have to get a god-forsaken job? A real, actual job? " Bill tried to snicker at the seeming misfortune of Gideon's plastered on grin, and artificial lighting, and his poorly fitted suit, and photoshopped tan, and the little lines that road along the cardboard; had his face sinking in, his legs looking stubbier and inverted, his tall hair split in half.

Bill managed a tired, loathsome huff, giving the shampoo package a tight ' wack.'

"Yeah. You and me both, Honey Boo Boo." He maneuvered his keys into the ignition- hummed, feeling a bit too soothed by the car's vibrations- and pet the top of his steering wheel before tossing Gideon's poorly-shot photo in the seat beside him. " That's why you're gonna help me out of this pickle ." Bill pulled out of the parking lot onto fifth, where he couldn't help but cackle to himself and switch on the radio.

Nerves, his brain echoed. Bill ignored its suggestion and doubled the speed limit.

Taking in the scene of Gravity Falls and all its late-night stillness had the man feeling antsy; antsy, like those rural sons looking for something more, outside of Sundays at LifePoint church, and working weekdays at their uncle's place for pocket change. Bill felt uncontrollably trapped. And, for a moment, it was less his body, and more the town itself that had him pegged. Surrounded on all four walls; no escape. Not that it made him scared . Not at all. Antsy. Again, antsy.

He wanted out. Out of that body. Out of that town. Because something- someone- was making it devastatingly hard to leave behind, the more his flesh developed a craving for feel.

No, Bill promised himself. I won't let it go that far.

There was something inappropriate about making his way downtown, onto the cozy little road that led into mock-suburban life. With that painted-navy roof, and a visible chimney built into the side of some creamy-white home. A pretty bird-bath in the law; a gazebo for dining alfresco, when the weather was just right. The slim metal fence out front, disguised in vinery, patches of delphinium, and curls of Bengal clock vine.

It was inappropriate, with his sleek-black 1969 lincoln continental making its slow, stockish journey along trimmed paves. The cigarette between Bill's polished tips, pressed a bit too tight, arguably on edge. Not , of course. Of course. Of course. Of course. He had a more rugged look about him, with his hair slightly tousled, though the tie around his neck was straight and promising.

Comfy, Bill thought, pulling up to the house. He rubbed his cigarette out on the dash as some unspoken hand of comradery, though he could've just as easily snuffed it out on Gideon's front lawn. A bit more professional that way. It satisfied Bill to know he could easily vandalize the fat, pasty man's property without so much as a flick of the wrist, but didn't simply out of courtesy. Arguably too much.

And, it was obviously Gideon's home, what with the ' Home of lil Big Gideon' billboard posted out front. Tacky, Bill tsked. Very tacky, with that pudgy, perfect smile. Then again, something he might want for himself , once he was finally ruler of this Earth. For Gideon, it was just plain, flat-out narcissism, against Bill's own charismatic smirk that easily swooned trillions. Hardly a comparison. The world deserved better.

He made his way to the door (What time was it? Two? Three AM? Oh god.) with his hands in his pockets. Then out. In again. He placed them under either pit, before deciding on pockets once more. He rang the doorbell, smoothed his hair back, and- Oh, shit. His hands were out again. Bill folded them over his chest, which is where he noted the thousand drum-strokes of his heart beat. Fuck. He took a breath- two- and let it out in one big gust. Which, whether he'd admit it or not, felt amazing. Bill's back muscles eased, jaw unclenching.

He heard footsteps on the other side of the door. Creeks of wood, the strain of weight, and a slight huff. Something tired in the tone of voice. There may have been genuine contemplation on the other side of that door, between answering the bell, and getting a midnight snack. A moment's pause, before Bill heard a light flick on with golden streams of warmth, followed by an older, much wider man opening the door.

Fat.

Gideon Gleeful had gotten so, so fat.

He wore a night shirt that fit more like a crop top, and shorts that couldn't cage the mounds of excess-skin dripping between his thighs. He was a big, blobbed-up mess of sweat, just from his short walk downstairs. It was a real wonder how the flimsy floorboards below hadn't snapped under a good 400 pounds of pressure. Even still, he looked strangely friendly in comparison to Bill's last encounter with the little devil. 'Little' in loose terms; Gideon was fantastically big, even without his gut. Tall. A solid 6'5 or so, though the weight of his neck surely bent his posture out of favor.

At first, Gideon only blinked, squinting at the car parked on the curb, and the well-tailored gentleman standing before him. Bill felt he might have to persuade himself inside, only for the lumbering snow-capped male to make several wobbling steps back from the entrance.

"Y'all that Angle-guy everyone's been talkin' bout?" Gideon drawled sleepily, rubbing his eye and speaking like he had so much as a right to address the man as such. Bill braced his features; stoick, playful. Unreadable. He put his hands back into his pockets.

" Well , isn't that a nice way to answer the door."

"You work with Dipper, don'tcha?" Bill smirked, nodding his head. Gideon waited a beat. "Word on the street says you helped break Wendy's heart." Bill's smirk strengthened in some crippling, dark satisfaction. He freed one of his hands, offering it up to the wide goblin.

"' Home wrecker's ' more of a side-gig." Gideon took his hand, shaking it without a moment's hesitation. His gain in weight and size had made him a bit forthcoming; less apprehensive. A tad cautious in the way he handled things like hands and glass china and little combs, what with the added strength he'd always wanted, but never hoped to have. It was inconvenient. "' Detective's' the one on my pay-roll. May I come in?"

"You got a warrant on ya?"

"Nope; didn't plan on arresting anyone."

"What's your business here tonight, exactly?" It's a wonder Gideon managed to cross his arms, but he did. Peered down at the blond, and looked suspicious. He'd heard some not-so-fantastic things about Mr. Angle through the grapevine. He wasn't good company to keep. Still, Bill was a charmer, and amazing at first-impressions. It only took a soft eye, a grin, and some well-placed words.

"You see, I've actually been working on a case for the past couple of weeks with my partner- you know the one. We're in a bit of a stupor as of late; real confidential material, so we're not supposed to expose it to the public until it's been resolved. Keep the public calm and all."

"Yes, yes i' see." Gideon sighed; tired, bored, but polite to the man, even at this hour. He looked behind himself, checking the clock on his wall. "What's that gotta do with me?"

"We're looking for someone. You know the type; runaways. I hear he's dangerous. More than that, I hear you knew him."

"If he's an old cellmate, you won't get much outta me." Gideon sniffed, giving Bill a cautious glare. "I'm no snitch." Cipher held his hands up, deflecting the accusation.

"I'm just making my rounds. Touching base and such, right? I heard you could be trusted with confidential information."

"Meaning I ain't gonna tell ya anything. " Gideon leaned forward, like he might topple over if he went any farther. He laid a hand on the doorknob. "I'm sorry, but I can't help you with all that. G'night, sir." His hand inched the entrance shut, only for Bill's foot to catch in its crack.

"Would you happen to know anyone by the name of ' Bill Cipher?' "

Pale to paler, and eyes shot wide.

Gideon's door was once again creaking open, the man looking far smaller, and weak around the arms and legs. He seemingly hid behind the door frame, peeking out like a damaged child. The man, more a kid, wet his lips, gulping against the dryness of his throat, which only inflated Bill's ego in turn. He held onto the knob for stability.

" W-Who ?" Gideon asked against the cracks in his throat. He tried to relax the flexed muscles of his face, to no avail. Bill smiled, nodding his head and humming like he'd just diagnosed Gideon with something devastating. He took out his other hand, gesturing towards the living room behind them.

"May I come in?" He repeated. This time, Gideon stumbled out of the way, eagre to let him inside; hear the diagnosis. He guided the blond onto purple carpets, rosey pink pillows, under a well-painted portrait of a clown, who seemingly moderated the mood.

A replica of the first, obviously. The original painting had been stolen.

Bill sat, to which Gideon did the same, entranced and shell-shocked, and dead-tired, but oh god. Oh god. His hands shook in his lap.

"W-would you-?" Gideon cleared his throat. "I can put on a pot of tea? If you'd like?" He emphasized his point by waving towards the kitchen. It was only obvious he was trying to postpone terrible, awful news he'd have to hear. But, if he did, he'd at least like a moment to prepare for it. So, tea.

Bill wasn't in nearly that generous a mood.

"No, no. Don't trouble yourself."

"Or- or scones . I made a batch last night."

"I'm fine. Thank you." Like that, Gideon's features sank. He sucked in a breath, arms over his thick neck, tucking his head between his legs, as though bracing for impact.

"Oh, god . Oh, dear . Oh, me ." He shook, racking his brain for some sort of explanation as to why it had to be him. Why he had to hear this news. "Don't say it. Don't say it, please. "

"I haven't said anything yet."

"You know, I've been havin' really bad nightmares lately." Gideon lifted his head a bit, combing hands through oiled down bed-head. " Real bad nightmares. L-like last night, I dreamt I was the leading role in an Adam Sandler film, and when I looked in the mirror, I was him." He paused, trying to ease the racing drum of his heart rate. A moment's breath that wouldn't leave his lungs, and he threw himself farther down the hole. Grabbing clumps of hair, the man started rocking, nursing his sunken feelings and whimpering like a dog.

" Don't say it. Don't. Please, don't. "

"You need a minute, Jumbo?" Bill warded off the snicker of his throat, instead smirking while Gideon's head was still bent this low.

" Yes, I- ." He gulped, letting out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding in. Try to stay calm. Try to stay calm. " I just didn't know we'd ever have to do this again."

"Hm. Yeah, it's kind of a midsummer dampener, isn't it?" Bill leaned into the cushions, fingering at the frayed edges of the sofa. He asked if it was alright to smoke inside. Gideon nodded his head. When he spoke again, it was through a line of tobacco.

"But, you see, it's not all over just yet, now is it?" The man before him didn't move. Bill continued. "I'm not so well acquainted with the town's folk's the thing. Which sucks, because I'm sure you're all a lovely bunch of roughians."

" What's your point? " Gideon's beaten tone only raised Bill's mood. He sighed, as though witnessing some childish little tantrum.

"I'm not the bearer of bad news, little fellow." Gideon's eyes raised from their pressed position against his palms. He willed a glare from the term ' little fellow,' even against the slight raise of his downcast features. He looked on hesitantly. "I'm a beacon of hope."

" Hope? " Gideon wheezed, choking on his own tongue. He resettled himself, cowardly as he was, to take what Bill was saying as- not a sword to defend one's self. Rather, a potential shield out of cardboard and stables. "What do you mean?"

"I can only tell you if you super-pinky-swear not to tell anyone about this. We wouldn't want our guy finding out you're onto him, would we?" Gideon quickly shook his head 'no' and leaned in on his elbows.

"No-. Of course not."

"That's good, 'cause I've got some news that I've been dying to tell someone about. It'll really knock your socks off, lemme tell you. " Bill took the cigarette from between his lips and flicked it onto the rug, rubbing it out on the brissally fabric. Gideon didn't so much as flinch at the smudged black stain. Only leaned in further.

"What is it?" His knee started to bounce, by which his entire leg jiggled, and his arms jiggled, and his chin jiggled, and he as a whole jiggled. The chair he was sitting in screamed in protest, though it was nothing in comparison to the look of distress in his eyes. Bill made himself comfy in Gideon's space, kicking his feet up on a maple coffee table framed in magazines.

Oh, yes.

The mood's just right.

"I've got him pegged, this ' Cipher' whoever. I'm really close to finding his hideout. But-." Bill sighed, tsking at himself. "I'm a little low of resources. Those GFPD snobs, they don't give us so much as a crumb to work off of. We'd have him in cuffs by now, if only we had a bit more..." He rolled his hand through the air, printing them out like a framed photo. " Style, if you catch my drift."

"And you need me?" The relief. The dread. He was animated like a cartoon.

"Well, ' need's' a strong word. A good word, but the wrong word. See, I need something from you, actually."

"Which would be?"

"Oh, pizazz! Charisma! You know the type. I'll need you to sweet-talk a little, if you don't mind. I heard you've got a solid history of getting people to give you what you want."

"Well, i-it's a specialty of mine." Gideon tried to puff his chest out. He really did, but his face only dropped in response to the obvious gut that just beat the rest of his body to the punch. He sighed. "I haven't done it in years, though. I-I'm more of a commercial face now."

"Oh, don't sell yourself short . I've heard what you can do!" Bill stood from his seated position and made his way over. Placing a hand to the other's pudgy shoulder, he forced Gideon to meet his gaze. "All I need is a little charm."

"I don't know-."

"The sake of the world's hanging in the balance, and you're the only one who can save us. How about that? Is that doing the trick?"

"No, no. It's just-. I was kinda on a good streak- for the last couple a' years. I'm not sure I feel like messin' that up."

"For the good of mankind ? Can't get your hands a little dirty?" Bill pulled his hand back and, without Gideon's knowledge, wiped the limb off on his suit with a sneer. When the poor man looked up, it was to Bill's wide, aggressive grin.

" How dirty?" His eyes held a weight to them. Like he might have to do something awful. Or, more so, like he might have to do something again. To that, Bill couldn't help but break character and snort. He took a step back, hands up.

"Woah there, Lieutenant Dan. Don't go all Vietnam on me. Not asking for a vasectomy with a makeup kit." He clapped his back this time, only to grimace at just how much sweat he'd built up in seconds. God, this guy needed a shower. Bill wiped his hand again, this time on the furniture. "Sweet talking, buddy. Just a little sweet talking. I'll make you a list, if that helps. You might have to get a little creepy, though. Nothing you can't handle, I'm sure."

Bill dug into his pocket, pulling out a receipt and a pen. Like it hardly mattered either way, he flipped the paper over onto its blank side and quickly wrote down a session of names.

McGucket.

Ramirez.

Corduroy.

Northwest.

Valentino.

A few others, all of which Gideon new. When he took the page, heavy in his sweaty palms, he couldn't help the slight protest in his throat.

"What-... What do you want from them?"

"You pick." Bill remarked flippantly. "Hair. Spit. Tears. A well-worn shirt. Something that just screams them."

"But-."

"Trust me, I'd do it myself. It's just..." Bill leaned in, tapping down on ' Corduroy.' "I don't have the best relationship with many of the people on this list. You might have a better shot at it."

"Might." Gideon confirmed. He nodded once at the list, then twice. His brow furrowed, only exemplifying his pug-like features in the warmly lit room. "But, why ?"

"Confidential magic-stuff, super-size. Trust me, it's better if you don't know."

"And- and how can I be sure-?"

"You can't. I'm a cop. You're a citizen. We're basically different species." Bill shrugged, grinning ear to ear now. His options were either ' do something' or ' do nothing, ' one of which had a 99% percent chance of dying involved. "You're just gonna have to trust me."

Gideon paused.

He looked to Bill.

Looked at the list in his hands. They were shaking. Everything about him was shaking. He blinked away the threat of stress, a well of tears. Hair-pulling, teeth-grinding stress. A single white hair fell before his face before he decided ' damn it all.'

"When do you need all this... stuff?"

"I'm hoping for priority delivery, luxury shipping, if you know what I mean. It wouldn't kill me if you got it all by next week."

"Next week? "

"Can you manage?"

"Well, yeah, but-."

" Good. My money's on your customer service, then." Bill turned from him, making a bee-line for the door. "Just come by the GFPD whenever you want. Drop off what you can. Collect like Pokemon cards- Yu-Gi-O- whatever. Just get it all to me as fast as you can. This is a very time-sensitive case." He reached for the knob, and was only mildly grossed out when he felt Gideon's fat bellow press into his back.

" Wait! You- you've hardly explained anything yet."

"Do I need to?" Bill's smile dropping was enough for Gideon to give him space. Enough to straighten his suit jacket a bit too aggressively, much to the taller man's dismay. "In case you haven't already heard, I've got a hot young brunette waiting back at my hotel room, and- awooga- I'm not sure what had you going for his sister. " Gideon's face scrunched, but he made the smart judgement of not biting back. Instead, he slouched, tired again. Far, far too tired to sleep.

"I just wanna make sure everything's gonna be okay."

"As long as you cooperate ." Like old times, Bill resisted saying. He turned once more, poised for the door, when a thought struck him.

"Oh!" He smacked himself playfully upside the head, laughing like some teasing joke. "Almost forgot."

A swift turn had his hand reaching for the top of Gideon's trimmed bob of hair. He plucked away a finger's-worth of strands and pulled away before he could be batted away. The deathly stair shot at him was only a flicker against the flame of satisfaction he'd just rewarded himself with.

"Hope you don't mind I strike your name off the list first."