My head was groggy; swamped as I rolled onto my side, working pitifully to bang my fist against the snooze button. Eyes shut, my hand roamed along the warn surface of my wooden nightstand, searching out the rhythmic chirp of my alarm. An empty cup. My reading glasses. The sixth installation of The Sibling Brothers. An orange pill bottle. A notepad with creased, torn pages. My cell phone. I finally felt along the plastic buttons of my clock, too far gone to remember which one turned it off and which one blasted the radio. Hand sliding, I lazily opted for knocking it to the floor and letting my alarm clock smack to the ground, going silent finally as it pulled out its own cord.

' No more drinking with Paz...'

I rolled over in my bed and fell off the side onto the floor with a 'thunk', crashing face-first into a beige rug, gasping as the wind was consequently knocked out of me. But, it was necessary. I wasn't getting up otherwise. Groaning uselessly, I laid on the ground for what I wished was forever, only to prop myself up on my elbows. Time to start the day.

The pounding in my skull was more than enough to remind me exactly why I hated drinking. Or, loved. It really depended. It could be amazingly fun at times, letting your inhibitions blow in the wind. Dance on the floor. Talk to strangers. Loosen up as much as a responsible adult could without losing their job. A seriously good idea before the inevitable crash: The upset stomach. The head ache. The putrid stench of spilled liquor on your shirt collar.

The nasty look your sibling gave you in the morning when she knew you'd been out drinking.

"...' Morning." Mabel squinted, addressing me like someone who'd done her wrong. I only grunted, staring blankly into my black cup as the caffeine worked to counteract last night's mistakes. "I said 'Good Morning.' " She tested, poking my cheek as she did so. I swatted her hand away, sighing before sliding a coffee mug her way.

" Hey." I lifted my cup as a cheer, not meeting her gaze as I guzzled half my cup in one go. She didn't seem too pleased as how efficient I was at it.

"What time did you get back at?" Mabel took her drink, dipping her pinky finger in before bringing the digit to her lips. A bitter slice met her tongue, causing a soft grimace to bloom along her features. She moved to the cabinet, fetching the sugar.

"Who's to say I even left ?"

" Paz ." Mabel shot. "She texted me to drive your intoxicated butt home at, like, two in the morning."

"No way I was drunk enough to let you behind the wheel." I snorted lightly, once again avoiding her gaze. I was sure she was glaring at me.

"Good, 'cause you walked home, in case you forgot."

"I did, actually." I shrugged. Tilting my head back, I finished my drink, finally looking her in the eye. "A ride would've been nice, though."

"Not waking up to you ringing the doorbell at four would've been nice, too." Mabel fired. She'd gotten good at this; arguing. About me. About how stupid I got when I was drunk. How irresponsible. Troublesome. Obnoxious. Absolutely ridiculous to deal with, and almost impossible to handle. She'd witnessed it only three of a million times, and was near killing me in each instance. Not that she'd ever understand the appeal. Mabel's tummy couldn't handle the hard brew of alcoholic beverages, and the smell alone warded her away. Not to mention the taste pretty much knocked her out cold. In retrospect, that was probably a god sent. What would become of a world that harbored a drunk Mabel?

"Okay, so you already knew what time I got home at? Great, thanks. Mystery solved." I put my hands on the counter, sliding from the isle's stool with a slight wince as I sensed a pain in my lower back. Whatever it was, it was probably bruised by now.

"Mystery not solved, Dipper." Mabel pinched the base of my shirt, keeping me captive for her bitching. "What's gotten into you, for real? Do you have to go drinking every night?"

"It's not every night. " I rolled my eyes at her dramatic exaggeration. This was the one thing Mabel felt she could take the high ground over me on, and she always loved milking it. And milk it, she did.

"Fine. Every week. It's not good for you, man." Her hand left my shirt finally, instead planting itself on her hip as she continued her rant.

"I'm not a baby, Mabel. I don't need you telling me when too much is too much."

"But, it is too much!" I shot her a look, and her tone instantly softened. "Come on, dude. Let's be honest here. You're not exactly... smart when you're like that. Who knows..? You might do something kind of-."

"Dumb?" I offered. Mabel flinched before nodding vigorously, fingers knitting together.

"Really, really dumb! Like, ruin-your-whole-life dumb. Lose-your-job dumb. Get-someone-pregnant dumb." I choked on my coffee, black drink shooting through my throat and almost exiting out my nose. Coughing once, twice, thrice, I wiped my lip before looking at her with the most repremending expression I could muster. Where did she get off suggesting something like that? As far as she knew, I hadn't even touched a woman, let alone been inside one. Mabel's theory was flawed in several departments, and yet I couldn't find the right words to counter her.

"What the-? What? Mabel, what? " I almost laughed, crossing my arms as I leaned against the kitchen counter. She couldn't be serious. "Where the hell did that come from?"

"Oh, don't play dumb, dude. You know where it came from." I just stood there, waiting for her to elaborate, but she thought me wiser than that. It took her a moment before realizing I was completely lost by her. Sighing, Mabel rubbed her temple, mumbling a low complaint just short of insulting.

" Dipper. " Mabel addressed. "You go out every week with the richest girl in Gravity Falls, order half a dozen drinks, and sometimes don't even come home. It's a little suspicious."

" Suspicious?" I scoffed. Mabel nodded her head nonetheless.

"Suspicious." She confirmed.

"Oh my god, Mabel. Are you kidding me? We've known Paz since we were little kids! She's like-. Like, family. Okay? I'd like to spend some quality time with my family. "

"Wendy's family, too."

"I hang with her almost every weekend." I retorted. "And, we're doing really well."

"I'm just saying-. " Mabel's sing-song tone trailed off, eyes shifting away as she made a suggestive look towards the door. "One too many drinks, Pacifica could start looking pretty good to you."

" Gross, Mabel."

"Don't say it like it's impossible. It's definitely possible. You are a guy after all."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"I didn't say anything." Mabel waved the comment away like a puff of smoke. She turned from me, approaching the soft teal jacket slung forgotten over the kitchen chair. Keeping her eyes trained out the window, she worked passionately to slip her arms into either sleeve. "It's just-. Ya' know. Natural, right? Guys like girls, and-... Boobs and stuff." She shrugged her shoulders, turning to face me with a guarded look.

"So, what? I'm supposed to turn ape at every blond that shows her ankles?"

"It could happen."

" Could. Not will." I shot coldly. "And, even if it did, that's none of your business. It's not like I need you chaperoning us every time Paz and I decide on a few drinks." Bomber jacket slipped on, I guided Mabel to the door, making a show of holding it open for her with a snarky kind of boldness. ' Lady's first.'

"I'm just warning you. I'm not the only one who's noticed it."

"Who cares who's noticed? It's not like anything's actually happening."

" And? You think that's gonna stop anyone from talking?" We made our way down the apartment's hall, aiming for the long spiral steps going downwards. "People see a boy and a girl starting within thirty feet of each other in this town-." She cut herself off, slicing her thumb across her throat for emphasis. "It's all over."

"When did you start caring about that kind of thing? I thought you were all about gossip these days." My shoulders bounced as we made our way down, two steps at a time, hoping to keep our conversation light and without serious pointing. There wasn't much to be done about staying clear of major pitfalls, however.

"I'm all about it 'til you get involved. You think I wanna read up on how you nailed your childhood friend behind Wendy's back ?"

"I'm not going to! Christ, have a little faith in me, will you?" We were in the lobby now. A grey splotch of cement walling us in on all four sides. A wooden desk, empty of seated security man and stained with black circles where he'd lay his coffee mug. There was a plastic potted plant just left of the apartment's double doors, shining cheaply against rays of sunlight. Again, I held the door for her.

"Alright, alright. Fine. But, I'm telling you now: People are noticing."

"Not my problem."

"Not yet." Mabel corrected me. We made it to the car without breaking into a nasty fist fight.

"Again, Mabel: I'm not going to. Could you stop with it? For like, two seconds? I don't even look at other girls!" I put the key into the ignition, snapping it sideways. The car came to life with a burst of fumes, the vibrations riding within the engine, into the dash, and through my steering wheel. Our seatbelts were snapped on simultaneously, a kind of coincidence that nerved me endlessly.

"It's not about looking. It's just-... Maybe it's not the most appropriate thing, hanging with Pacifica right now."
"What do you mean, ' right now? '" I pulled out of the parking lot, a seeded land of broken concrete and freelance dandelions. Mabel seemed to trip over her own voice, uncharacteristically nervous all of a sudden.
" Nothing! I just-. You know. I'm looking out for your best interest. I want you and Wendy to be happy together."

"What does Wendy have to do with this? You've brought her up like eight times already." I kept my eyes on the road, pulling us onto the main street jerkily. Mabel leaned as I made my first turn, sucking in a heavy breath as she worked to keep her gaze from my eyes. Out the window. Humming. Hoping to sound unbiased and clean.

"Well, she is your girlfriend. She'd be hurt if you cheated on her."

"Which I won't."

"I know. I know. It's just-..." Mabel sighed, turning to face me. My eyes were snapped ahead, holding a steady stair void of any real focus. My senses were tuned to hear her, and only her. She sighed defeatedly. "Look, I'm gonna be frank with you... Wendy talked to me about the date." I almost had a heart attack, hands catching on the wheel, snapping the car to the right before correcting. There wasn't much more embarrassing than that. I thought we'd discussed keeping that night between the two of us. Maybe ' the two of us' was different for girls. Maybe ' the two of us' meant- you know- the two of us, plus anyone willing to listen. Had Wendy told anyone else? Had Mabel told anyone else? Oh, god.

I said nothing, hoping to let her words die without acknowledgement. Like a beetle caught under a cup, surely to die of hunger if left unattended to. But, Mabel fed him. Right in front of me, she fed him, and I wanted nothing more than to take the bug under my thumb and just crush it. That was impossible now.

"... When did she tell you?" We caught a red light, pulling up to the poorly painted white line like a racer preparing for a match. We were at a stand still, frozen in time within the confinement of our vehicle, watching on as everything outside continually sped along, grew, and eventually dissolved into nothing. Mabel shifted in her seat.

"A little while after the you-know-who incident." I groaned at her confirmation, hands sliding over my face as she kept piling on the details. "She was stressed, Dipper. It's not like she meant to say it, but... She had too much on her shoulders. Would you be able to hold something like that in after finding out about Bill?"

"I did hold it in." I sneered through my fingers. Mabel never gave me half the credit I deserved for doing that kind of thing.

"Well, you shouldn't have..." Mabel soothed meekly, giving me a pathetic look. I almost grimaced, noting the genuine pity behind her eyes. ' Don't give me that look,' I wanted to scream. I didn't. Instead, I forced my gaze up, watching the traffic light: Red. "Listen, the point is-. She's scared."

" Scared?" I scoffed. The regret was instantaneous. Unretractable by the way Mabel looked at me in response. Of course she was scared. We all were. But, was it still justifiable to argue that never in my life had I really seen Wendy scared? That it was so unlike her to be so? It became an obscure theory lost to my preconception of her, suggesting she be anything but brave. That only seemed to strip her of her humanity.

"Yeah, scared. As crazy as it sounds, she thinks you're losing interest in her." A slight grin passed her lips, as though the idea itself was a quirky joke. I kept quiet, staring ahead. "You really dorked up this time, bro-bro." Mabel nudged me with her elbow, a symbol of good humor on her part, but the blatant annoyance I felt kept her advances from hitting.

"Ah-ha-ha. Yeah, okay . Whatever." I waved her off, brows furrowing as my eyes continually darkened. She really was looking out for my best interest, but Jesus. Did she have to stick her nose into everything? I looked up at the traffic light again: Green.

"You should talk to her, Dipper... I don't want you two growing apart." Her hand reached for my shoulder, only to think better of it and simply lie at my arm rest. She gave it a tight squeeze in proxy, a silent plea to get my shit together and fix things. If only she knew how little there was to be done. Still, Mabel smiled, holding her gaze to the side of my cheek, waiting for some kind of confirmation. What could I do at this point? I sighed heavily, slowly giving in to her poor fantasy.

"I'll look into it." That seemed to quiet her. My foot inched down on the gas, intent on moving beyond this intersection placed under a green traffic light, wanting nothing more than to kill the conversation. Stay quiet. Keep the car quiet.

I caught a glimpse of spoiled blue just out of the corner of my eye, racing in front of the car. A tall, lanky figure making its way from the edge of the sidewalk to the middle of the street, lacking previous warning as they did so, confident and purposeful in their stride. Their path crossed with the car's. Without thinking, my foot slammed on the breaks, a stream of curses instinctively slipping my lips. My hands braced against the steering wheel, fists tightening as my body lurched forward against the interference, sucking in a breath as I looked ahead of me. I'd hit the breaks just in time.

A woman, mid to late thirties, stood pressed against the hood of my car, having just barely avoided a head on collision. Her arms were stretched out, catching herself on the hood, a look of absolute terror puncturing her features as she stared down at the vehicle's old paint job, silently processing her survival. She was pale in the moment. Thin; caked in purple eyeshadow. Decked out in some scankish two piece that hitched up around the waist and just barely covered anything underneath. Fishnet leggings and a hack job pixie cut, dyed an ugly shade of blue that only worked to mortify her features.

Shocked by the instantaneous collision, it hadn't even crossed my mind to get out and ask if she was alright. But, by the way she flipped me off, something told me she didn't want my concern.

" You fucking psycho! You almost killed me!" The mystery girl screamed through the glass, still draped over the hood of the car as she went. Her face was wiped of all paleness, now flush and streaked at the cheeks, bare aggression radiating from her features. Nostrils flared, teeth grinding, she kicked the car's left headlight with her open toed heel, only to let out a strangled hiss. She'd hurt her foot.

" Ow! Fuckin' hell! Fuck you, man! Fuck you!" The girl looked as though she'd advance on us. Rip the car door open and try crawling in to do lord knows what. She didn't, simply flipping us off again. She made her pathetic, now stumbling jog to the other end of the street, turning the corner and disappearing from our line of sight. But, not before I got a few words in. Rolling down my window, I made sure to lean out far enough to throw my voice.

"The light was green, you fucking moron!" I was sure to match her hand gesture with one of my own.

By the time I reached the GFPD, it was already packed. I squeezed my way through finely tailored suits, neatly kept hair buns, and the occasional pair of bodies, conversing endlessly at what seemed to be every doorway and bathroom entrance and stairway, ordering wordlessly to go around them. The hangover tapped at my temple as I stepped into the elevator; knocking the inside of my skull, squishing my brain, chewing on bits of bone marrow. My eyes squinted against the harsh yellow burn of thin, long bulbs placed overhead.

They'd blink, sputter, almost explode as they tinked tiny flies and ladybugs bumping along the surface, and repeat the cycle eternally. It was an irritating peeve that prodded the backs of either of my eyeballs, ripping into their veins and burning through layer upon layer of flesh, bumping my frontal lobe for entrance. I contemplated stopping by the gas station during my lunch hour and buying some darkly tinted shades. (A cheap pair couldn't cost more than eight dollars) But, the hangover would subside by then, and they weren't worth the trouble if Bill picked on me for wearing them. In the end, I only sighed, rolled my head back, sucked in a breath and managed the pain in silence.

The elevator doors split in two, exposing the laboratory as a screen of burnt tobacco quickly enveloped me. I no longer coughed at the stinging intrusion of smoke, nor did I wave my hand to ward off the stench. We'd worked with each other for four weeks now, and I'd learned the hard way that Bill was far worse than his simple habits. No. He was a massive asshole, and the sooner he died of lung cancer or tuberculosis or heart disease or a stroke, the better.

"'Morning, sapling!" Bill was as perky and annoying as ever, feet kicked up on the edge of a small metal waste bin turned on its face. He sat in the corner, seated casually in my red swivel chair, tampering with the flint roller of his lighter, watching the flame burn and die and burn again, all the while puffing out grey smog from the corner of his lips and nostrils. I cringed slightly, imagining the severe burn of skin and lungs.

" Morning ." I groaned, moving towards the window as I'd been doing for the last couple of days. With a practiced hand, I flicked at the pane's latch, hoisting it up and letting the clouds escape, as though from a burning building. "Didn't we talk about airing out the place when you planned on lighting one? You're getting soot all over the floor." I grumbled more to myself than to him, knowing good and well the complaint fell on deaf ears.

It was irritating as all hell, picking up test tubes, looking over files, sitting at my desk, and smelling nothing but the deeply set foot print of Bill's cancer sticks. The scent clung to everything. My chair. The tables. The walls. Me. Bill smirked, watching as I stretched to prop the high window in place.

"What's the fun in that? You'd have nothing to complain about." He purred, chuckling lowly at my scowling expression as I turned to address him. It was like a game now. The two of us. A game. Tag, perhaps. He tagged me- infected me- and I was forced to catch up and tag him back. But, I was just a second too slow, and Bill a gram too agile to catch. One day, though. I'd corner him, and he'd have nowhere else to go. For the time being, I was still chasing.

"Oh, I'm just brimming with complaints today. Don't test me." I moved to the next window, set in the middle of the lab's left wall, unlocking it and sliding it up.

" Aw , did someone nip off your precious little D? What's got you in such a piss poor mood?" Bill's cigarette was a solid grey at the tip, only to be elegantly slid from his lips, tilted over the edge of my arm rest, and tapped against the base of my chair, where the ashes flaked away like snow, leaving the stick's crimson edge bare.

"Right now? You."

"Love you too, dolly." Bill leaned forward in his chair, feet sliding from the upside down waste bin, pulling a bright grin. "You might consider a few therapy sessions at my place. We can crack down on why you're such a little monster." Bill joked. I slid over one, coming up on the final window. This one's pane was a bit chipped, and the latch had rusty from prior disuse. It only took a few wiggles before the latch came undone, my arms working to budge the stiff wood up along its sliders. I got a third of the way before it jammed in place.

"Something tells me I'm not the one who needs therapy." I quipped.

"Then, let's go together! Might be a nice occasion: Waiting rooms. Candy bowls. Old guys with clipboards. If that doesn't scream 'romance,' I'm not sure what does!"

"Matching straightjackets." My arms pushed up on the stubborn frame. It remained unmovable. I huffed once, let go of it, rubbed my palms over my dress pants to remove stray splinters, and went right back to pushing.

" Now you're gettin' it! Let's do it: Partners in crime, you and I!"

"Bill, we're cops. " I attempted pulling the frame down a little, in case it'd gotten caught on something that needed to be loosened, but the second I inched it down, it wouldn't so much as budge from its spot. I would've just left it if Bill weren't so obviously waiting to see if I could do it. "We're not supposed to do crime. "

"Ugh, don't remind me." He went on, rolling his head back as he soothed the back of his neck with his palm, as though the very thought caused him physical pain. I turned around just a little, still gripping the stuck window frame as my eyes fell over his exhausted features. For an instance, he looked much older than he was. Tired. A bit fatigued, considering he hardly worked around this place. Small, almost baby-like bags started bruising along his lower lids, a seemingly trivial match when compared to mine, but still there. It seemed out of character for Bill to have anything but unlimited energy. Though, not so much so to stay up late.

"Should I be worried?" Laughing softly, I turned to sit against the ledge of the broken window, hoping to stall my next attempt at loosening it. Maybe some oil. Butter, even. The thing was rusted in place. Bill's face broke out in a grin, sly and witty as his eyes slanted with a glint.

" Very worried." His words rang with a cynical reveal not unlike a criminal's. "I'm always up to no good."

"Perfect. I'll be taking you in, then." A smirk of my own began to tug at my lips, calm and calculating along my features.

"I'd like to see you try." Bill mused. He stood from my chair, brushing his hands attentively over his ash-covered slacks, watching the white flakes dance from his pant cuffs and thighs. He looked as he had the day we first met: Dapper. Dressed neat, straight, and upright like a crime boss on Sunday. Hair, slicked golden. Eye patch snapped on tight. Tall, broad and sturdy, looming over me almost menacingly. Threateningly. His suit was on right, bow tie strangling his thin neck like a noose; just the way he liked it.

"Really?" I scoffed with a tease, eyeing him over without even noticing. Yup. Still dapper. Still a piece of shit. Some things never change. "If you say it like that, I might do it."

"You don't say." He stalked me slowly, as though loitering, waiting for an opening to strike. Bill's hands were out and bare, thumbs hooking the loops of his belt buckles as he hummed thoughtfully. "In that case, how about Friday?"

Bill stood before me, hands moving from his belt loops to place themselves on either side of my head, not touching, but close. His arms were stretched out, bracing themselves as his eyes bore into my skull. I crossed my arms.

"What about Friday?" I questioned, shifting subconsciously under his gaze. He leaned in a bit closer, a cold wave of frost seeming to radiate from where his palms were, pressing themselves against the spaces just left and right of me. Hair shot up along my arms, straight like needles and just as sharp.

"You said you'd take me in. How about Friday ? Unless you're doing someone else." Okay, so I knew he was messing around now. No one could be that bold. At least, I didn't think so.

"I am: My girlfriend ." I played along, smiling smugly at his blatant teasing.

Bill had been doing it a bit more than usual: teasing. Ever since I blacked out that one time, he'd been nothing but jokes and poking and faking. Setting up times, dates; asking for my number, suggesting I come over. The whole thing was a big game to him, and he was severely obnoxious if I didn't play along. I suspected I'd get bored of it easily, but the constant banter was surprisingly interactive. Bill'd say something playful. I'd reflect it, and so the cycle went on.

And, for some weird reason, the game wasn't just bearable. It was fun. Very fun. Ever since the Shapeshifter incident, I found myself more at ease with him. Just a little, it wasn't as hard to manage his idiotic antics. Like some kind of unspoken tension had been relieved. A payment had been made, and it was just that much easier to handle him. Because, for once in my life, I didn't feel quite so frustrated around him...

"Drat, what a shame ! You don't know what you're missing~." Bill's sing song voice forced a defeated laugh from my throat, the first one I'd allowed in his presence. He seemed pleased by it.

"I'll take my chances." Bill chuckled at my remark, leaning in just a bit closer than last time. For some strange reason, I didn't mind the proximity. It didn't seem quite so alien. Comfortable, more like. The closeness was comfortable.

"You're hurting my feelings here." His tone dropped a bit, husky and playfully disappointed as he poked out his bottom lip to pout. "There's a heart in that chest of yours, isn't there?"

"Not since I last checked." Bill's smile only widened at my remark. There was a simultaneous switch in his stance, his arms now raising themselves above my head, the sound of wood sliding along rusted metal. I lifted my head in surprise as he raised the final window effortlessly, a soft click signalling his success.

"You're welcome." Bill taunted, willing a small frown over my lips. That was just demasculating.

"I'm not thankful." I huffed, turning away from him to look out the window. He didn't move from behind me, standing and waiting in the space behind me.

"Why? Did I make you look weak?" Bill joked.

"I could've done it myself." I trained my voice to seem indifferent, replying to his coy advance like a neglectful parent. In reality, he was slowly working his way back into the habit of getting on my nerves, and I quickly regained my will of eye rolling.

"Yeah?" Bill asked, leaning in on my back, chest pressing against my shoulder blades as he rested his chin on my shoulder. "I'm sure they're a lot of things you can't do without me."

I rolled my shoulder, nudging his face away from me, but he remained planted just behind, hands placed on either side of the windowsill, waiting for me to blow my top and make an ass of myself. Like a single drop of water tapping rhythmically across my forehead, suspended by a cave's one stalagmite, drizzling down on my head with no reserve or care of annoyance, Bill kept at it. Being close. Messing with me. But, I knew his tricks. I wasn't so vain to assume a lewd bastard like him was actually flirting with me. Rather, entertaining himself. He was all about the mind after all, and not many things came close to entertainment like making others question themselves. I would know. He told me himself.

The elevator doors slid open without warning, and to my absolute delight, Bill snapped away in genuine surprise. As he did, the back of his head banged against the base of the lifted window, making him hiss out in pain. I would have laughed if I weren't so busy standing up straight and acting like Bill hadn't had his crotch practically pressed against me. But, that didn't mean I was reserved enough to restrain myself from flashing him a taunting smile. When I looked him in the eye, he was already grinning.

I'd expected Blubs to come out as he always did: A wide smile, hands on his belly like a slightly slimmer Santa, asking how we were getting along, about the Bill Dilema. Like a busted meth addict, I would ramble nonsensically, arguing a lack of information, research, help, and funding, only for Bill to cut in with something reassuring. We're on the case, Chief!

That always seemed to work.

However, when the elevator doors opened, a slender body instantly strutter out, fueled by anger, determination, and the most pissed off expression anyone could manage. A woman, no more than 5'9, thin as a skeleton, dressed in a skimpy two piece and a poorly discolored hairdo, made her way to my desk. Trailing behind her was Chief Bulbs, looking frazzled as he tried to calm her.