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Multiversity	By : GeorgeGlass Category: +G through L > Gravity Falls Views: 31382 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: The authors of this story do not own Gravity Falls, its characters, or its giant lumberjack statue. We made no money from writing this story.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
Chapter 10: We Have Separation
The next day was Saturday, so Dipper didn’t have his science program. Eating pancakes with his parents in the kitchen, Dipper found it more difficult to hold up his end of breakfast-table conversation when Mabel wasn’t there to tag-team with.
This was the longest the twins had ever been apart. The separation had its pluses, of course; Dipper had been able to go see Captain USA II with Nat last weekend, whereas if Mabel had been around, Dipper almost certainly would have been dragged to Pony Heist or something instead. But he couldn’t deny that he missed her. She was his confidante, and she was probably the only person to whom he could have confessed his mixed feelings about Tiffany wanting to change his nickname.
After breakfast, while his dad mowed the lawn. Dipper and his mom weeded the garden, chatting as they worked. She asked how “science camp” was going, and Dipper tried to explain Brewster’s angle to her, but she clearly wasn’t getting it. Dipper again found himself missing Mabel, as a participant in family conversation and as a weed puller; the task would have been finished by now if she had been there.
Thinking about Mabel got Dipper thinking about Gravity Falls and all his friends there. But in this universe, they weren’t his friends. His alter barely knew Grunkle Stan, and he had never even met Soos, or Wendy, or…
Suddenly, for the first time since his universe-hopping adventure began, Dipper found himself missing Pacifica. Although he hadn’t been dating her in any of the universes he’d visited, she at least had been around somewhere. Even after Legmaggedon, Dipper had been certain that Pacifica and her family were alive in a fancy underground fallout shelter or something. But in this universe, she literally didn’t even know he existed. Dipper didn’t like that feeling.
On the other hand, in this universe, Dipper was dating a girl he had considered unattainable in his own, and he was best friends with a boy he had never even met. He was beginning to see why Aphrodite had told him that in some ways, this universe would be stranger than all the others.
When the weeding was finished, Dipper glanced at his watch. He was to meet the guys at eleven o’clock to launch model rockets—a favorite hobby of his and Nat’s. So he showered, dressed, grabbed a backpack with a few supplies, and headed down to the school football field.
When he got there, Nat was planting the launch rod for his rocket—a tall two-stager, spray-painted black and decorated with flame decals—and Jude and Clay were wiring up the battery-powered launch controller. Dipper helpfully pulled a wire igniter and a circular piece of tape out of his bag, then knelt next to Nat to stick the igniter into the rocket’s solid-fuel engine and fix it there with the tape.
“So how was your ‘mall date’ last night?” Clay asked.
“Actually, it was…good,” Dipper said. “We had fun.”
“Riiiiiiiight,” Nat replied. “‘cause clothes shopping has always been your thing.”
“Dude, you are so whipped,” Jude said.
“Totally,” Clay added.
“Oh yeah?” Dipper replied. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew what we did in the park afterward.”
“OoooOOOOooooh,” all three boys said in unison.
“How ‘bout some deets, bro?” said Clay.
“A gentleman never tells,” Dipper replied coyly. “Let’s just say I’m pretty sure I went where no man has gone before.”
“All right!” Nat said, clapping Dipper on the shoulder. “Man,” he confessed, “I wish I could find a fine girl like that.”
“Hey, Marissa’s party’s tonight,” Dipper replied. “Magic could happen, dude.”
“I heard the last one got pretty out of hand,” Jude added.
“Speaking of out of hand,” Dipper said, turning back to the rocket, “you guys remember what happened the last time we launched a two-stager, right?”
“Yeah,” Clay said. “We never saw the second stage again.” He turned to Nat and pointed to the rocket. “Hope you’re not too attached to this thing.”
“Not gonna be a problem,” Nat replied confidently. “I mixed up some potassium perchlorate with lactose and red dye, wrapped it up in thick paper, and glued it inside the tube between the second-stage engine and the wadding. When the parachute deploys, the stuff will start smoking red, and we can follow the smoke trail all the way down.”
“Nice,” Dipper said. “Then I guess we should light this candle.”
Jude handed Nat the launch controller, and they all backed up about twenty feet from the rocket. Then Nat flipped the toggle switch on the controller to arm it.
“Five,” he said, and the other boys joined in. “Four, three, two, one, IGNITION!”
Nat hit the launch button, and with an ear-splitting hiss, the rocket shot into the sky.
“Go, baby, go!” Nat shouted.
The tall rocket flew higher and higher. Then, with a pop and a hiss, the first stage—basically a six-inch tube with a trio of fins and a solid-fuel engine inside—fell away from the bottom of the rocket, and the second-stage engine ignited.
“We have separation!” Dipper cried excitedly.
The rocket shot higher still, its black paint and orange rocket-flame growing smaller and smaller until they could barely be seen.
“Oh, man, we’re gonna lose it,” Clay said.
“Come on, smoke,” Nat muttered, eyes locked on the rocket.
Suddenly, the black speck in the sky bloomed into a red fireball, followed a split second later by a boom.
“Dude,” Jude said, looking wide-eyed into the sky, “it blew up!”
“Holy crap,” Dipper breathed.
Nat, still looking vacantly skyward, said, “Mayyyyybe I went a little heavy on the potassium perchlorate.”
Clay lowered his gaze to his three compatriots.
“Um,” he said, “are we, like, domestic terrorists now?”
“Maybe we should…go,” Dipper said.
“Yeah, definitely,” Nat replied.
They gathered up their stuff, leaped onto their bikes, and fled.
* * *
Dipper and the guys split up and went home, saying that they would meet up at the party that night, if they weren’t in jail by then. Dipper then spent the next hour compulsively cleaning his room in the hope that staying busy would keep his mind off his fear that the police or maybe Homeland Security might come knocking.
The house phone rang, making Dipper jump. Then he ran to get it before either of his parents could.
“Hello?” he said rapidly.
“Hey,” Tiffany said. “When are you going to get a cell phone like a normal person? It’s so weird to have to talk to your mom half the times I call you.”
“It’s…not in the budget,” Dipper replied lamely.
“Anyway,” Tiffany said, “I was calling about the party tonight. You don’t need to pick me up; let’s just meet at Marissa’s.”
“Um, sure, okay,” Dipper replied.
“Is that a problem?”
“No, no. It’s just that, you know, I kind of thought this was going to be a, a party date.”
“You’re so sweet. It’s totally going to be a party date. It’s just that if things get out of hand—you know, because Marissa—I don’t want you to get in trouble with my parents for taking me there.”
“Oh,” Dipper said. “Uh, thanks.”
“Sure. See you tonight…Mace.”
Dipper felt a twinge of anticipation as he replied, “See you tonight.”
* * *
When Dipper arrived at Marissa’s house—wearing a simple white T-shirt and jeans, per the fashion-conscious Tiffany’s instructions—he followed his alter’s instincts and simply let himself in rather than ringing the bell. This appeared to be the right course of action, because Marissa, an outgoing cheerleader who was a year ahead of Dipper in school, was having a high-volume conversation with a dozen of her closest friends and probably wouldn’t have even heard the bell.
The house seemed as though it had been built for parties; it had an open floor plan, with just a counter between the kitchen and the spacious living and dining areas. The living area was furnished with a modern-looking modular sofa that looked nice yet very comfortable, a love seat and easy chairs that matched the sofa, and a glass-topped coffee table. Opposite the kitchen area was a bar whose green-granite surface was laden with snacks and drinks. So far, the only available beverages were sodas; there was no sign yet of the keg of beer that, it was rumored, would be making an appearance some time this evening.
Nat, Jude, and Clay all arrived minutes after Dipper did. Tiffany and her coterie of friends, on the other hand, had yet to show up. This didn’t really surprise Dipper; Tiffany was always fashionably late.
The number of attendees rose steadily over the next hour. Soon, the living room was full of kids Dipper knew or at least recognized from school, as well as a few he’d never seen before. Dipper, standing next to Nat near the drinks table, noticed a particularly attractive girl with brown hair that spilled over her shoulders in ringlets. She was sipping soda and chatting with another girl.
“Nice,” Nat murmured.
Nat took Dipper by the elbow and moved a few steps farther away from the girl until they were just out of earshot.
“Who do you think she is?” Nat asked quietly. “I’ve never seen her before.”
“Word is,” Dipper said, “Marissa used to go to a fancy prep school in Oakland before she got kicked out for violating the honor code or something. Maybe this girl goes there.”
“Huh.”
Neither of them said anything for a few seconds. Then a sly smile appeared on Dipper’s face as a thought came to him.
“You know,” Dipper said, “I’m pretty sure I owe you a dare.”
“Um, really?” Nat replied, eyes darting evasively.
“You dared me to ask out Tiffany, and I did. So now it’s your turn. I dare you to go introduce yourself to that girl.”
“Uh, well…okay. I can do that.”
“…using your full name,” Dipper added.
Nat eyed him. “You’re gonna do me like that, huh?”
Dipper’s sly smile expanded into a full grin. “That’s exactly how I’m going to do you.”
Nat took a deep breath and let it out. “All right. Here we go.”
Dipper watched Nat approach the girl as cautiously as a bomb technician might approach a suspicious metal suitcase. Dipper mentally encouraged Nat to hurry up, as the other girl had just broken off their conversation and wandered off, leaving Nat a window of opportunity that could close at any moment.
“Hi,” Nat said.
“Hi,” the girl replied.
“I’m…” the boy began, “Nathaniel Cleophus Washington…the Third.”
“Wow,” the girl replied, clearly amused. “Well, I’m Zinnia Ludmilla Vandekamp—the First.”
“Zinnia…that’s a flower, right?”
“Yeah. My mom’s crazy into gardening.”
Confident that Nat had the situation in hand, Dipper chatted with for a few minutes with Jude, Clay, and a few other boys from their class. Then the front door opened, and in streamed their class’ clique of cool girls, Tiffany among them.
She looked stunning. Tiffany wore a white spaghetti-strap top that left about an inch of midriff exposed between its hem and the waistband of Tiffany’s pale-pink, pleated, above-the-knee skirt. Her open-toed wedges were white with natural-leather straps and showed off her perfect toenails, which were painted pearlescent blue.
“Hey, ladies!” Marissa shouted in greeting. “Now it’s a party!”
It seemed like barely a minute later that a dull-metal keg, sitting in a plastic tub, appeared next to the bar. The cool kids coalesced around the keg, and one of them, a lacrosse player named Brian, took it upon himself to begin pumping the liquid within into red plastic cups and handing them to everyone within reach.
“Come on, Mace,” Tiffany said, taking Dipper by the hand and leading him into the group.
Before Dipper could get his bearings, Brian thrust red plastic cups into his and Tiffany’s hands, and suddenly it seemed like everyone else in the group was holding them, too.
“Wow, Marissa,” one of Tiffany’s girlfriends said. “How did you even pull this off?”
“Fake ID,” the girl replied casually. “And with heels and the right makeup, I can pretty much look twenty-five.”
Dipper knew that some of his classmates envied Marissa, whose rich parents seemed to be cool with letting her do whatever she wanted. But Dipper wondered whether it was less that they were cool and more that they didn’t care.
As Dipper and Tiffany chatted about nothing with Tiffany’s friends, the girl took a sip of her beer, and Dipper saw her grimace before she quickly covered it with a smile. Dipper, knowing how important it was to Tiffany that he try to fit in with her crowd, took a sip himself and made what he was pretty sure was the same expression Tiffany had. The stuff was bitter, kind of like walnuts that had gone bad. But, like Tiffany, Dipper quickly hid his disgust and dutifully continued sipping the foul beverage as often as he could stand it while he tried to make conversation.
After half an hour of this, Dipper felt that he had listened to quite enough talk about lacrosse, summer fashions, and recent pair-ups and breakups. He was also feeling a bit light-headed, despite having only drunk about half of what was in his red plastic cup.
Perhaps the alcohol was enhancing his nerve, because as soon as there was a lull in the conversation, he pulled Tiffany aside.
“So…” Dipper said, doing his best not to sound as tipsy as he felt, “Marissa’s got a pretty nice house. Let’s go check out the upstairs.”
Even if he were feeling bold, Dipper Prime would have made it a question, not an imperative. But this universe’s Dipper knew the rules—not only of society at large, but also of the unspoken agreement between Tiffany and himself. She held the reins of their social life, and he had the lead when it came to the physical aspect of their relationship. As was made clear when Tiffany responded, “Okay.”
From the living room, they went up the wide staircase to the second floor. Several partyers were hanging out up here, looking down over the railing at the crowd on the first floor.
Holding Tiffany’s hand, Dipper turned left and headed toward an open door that was near the end of the railinged hallway. It did indeed appear to be a guest room—a rather opulent one, judging from the private bath and the king-size, oak-framed bed. Dipper guessed that Marissa’s parents had split between them the tasks of decorating the house’s first and second floors.
“Nice,” Tiffany said.
Dipper didn’t read this comment as praise of the room’s interior design. Coming from money herself, Tiffany wasn’t easily impressed by such things. Instead, judging from the girl’s tone of voice, Dipper’s interpretation of her single word was rather more exciting: that she thought this would be a good room to make out in.
Dipper made an “after you” gesture, then followed Tiffany into the room and shut the door behind them.
On the dark-wood dresser near the door was a thick candle in a glass globe, as well as a book of matches. Tiffany lit the candle while Dipper locked the door and then sat down on the edge of the bed.
“C’mere,” he said, patting a spot on the bed next to him.
She sat down next to him, and he pulled her into a kiss. She was wearing peach-flavored lip gloss, which, combined with her natural feminine taste, made her delicious. He kissed her again and again, savoring her.
Of course, he couldn’t ignore the warm scent of her, which made him think about how close her body was to his. And then he found himself putting his arms around her and pulling her down with him onto their sides. Tiffany didn’t seem to mind, given the way she wrapped one leg around his hip as they continued to make out.
Further emboldened, Dipper slid his hands up the back of Tiffany’s top and found the clasp of her bra, with which his fingers fumbled.
Well, that figures, Dipper thought. Even in this universe, I can figure out Brewster’s angle, but bras remain a mystery.
He struggled with the clasp for half a minute before Tiffany had mercy on him and reached behind her to undo it herself. Then she sat up and pulled off her top, giving Dipper his first good look at her bare breasts. They were just lovely: small, perky, and pale, with rosy nipples that were stiff with anticipation.
Now seriously aroused, Dipper pulled his own shirt off and pulled Tiffany to him, kissing her and savoring the sensation of her bare skin against his. Then he pushed Tiffany down onto her back and began kissing, licking, and sucking her little breasts, pleasuring her with every technique he could remember from his time with his other selves.
“Oh, Mace…” Tiffany moaned.
He kept this up until Tiffany was making little high-pitched pleasure sounds. He took these as his cue to slide his hand under the waistband of her skirt—and then into her panties. Tiffany gasped and took hold of Dipper’s wrist.
“We…” the girl gasped. “I don’t know if…if we should…”
Dipper smiled at her. With the fingers of his free hand, he teased one of Tiffany’s erect nipples as he said, “C’mon. You know you’re ready for this.”
Tiffany looked up at him with unmistakable desire. “Oooh, Mace,” she purred, “you’re so pushy.”
She didn’t say it like a criticism; on the contrary, she said it as though pushiness was the sexiest characteristic a boy could have.
She let go of his wrist, and his hand went fully into her panties. His fingers explored the so-very-wet place between her lips, then found her entrance. The girl was panting and whimpering with pleasure now, so Dipper didn’t hesitate to push his index finger into her and slowly finger-fuck her.
“Oh, God,” Tiffany gasped.
With one hand, Dipper clumsily unfastened his belt and pushed his jeans down to his knees. Underneath, he was wearing dark-blue boxer-briefs, which felt modest when he wore them but which actually showed off his package in considerable detail. (He’d discovered this first thing one morning when he schlepped groggily from his bedroom to the bathroom, feeling as though he were wearing regular shorts on until Mabel came out of her room, saw him coming down the hall, and pointed a finger at him while shouting, “Aaaaagh! Too much Dipper! Too much Dipper!” Of course, Dipper now wondered why Mabel hadn’t looked away or covered her eyes instead of pointing, and whether she had fantasized about it later. Thanks for that, Aphrodite.)
These thoughts caused him to look away from Tiffany for a moment, and that was when he saw something he hadn’t noticed before. On the side table was a ceramic bowl that he’d assumed was purely decorative, but now he noticed a dozen little square packets of shiny plastic inside it.
Condoms, he thought. Marissa really does throw a wild party.
But it was his next thought that hit him hard enough to send his mind reeling. Given Tiffany’s positive reaction to their sexual activities the previous night, Dipper had expected things to go a bit further tonight, perhaps to full third base, where they were now. But as he looked at that bowl of condoms, which was clearly meant for Marissa’s party guests, Dipper realized that sex—actual sexual intercourse—was now on the table. He could actually have sex with Tiffany Litz, the object of his fantasies for years, right here, tonight.
But that was crazy, right? This universe wasn’t like the others he’d visited, where the rules of society made it okay for 12-year-olds to have sex, or where he had a girlfriend so eager to please him that she’d happily break the rules to do it, or where the world had ended and there were no longer any rules at all. This world was very much like his own, with most of the same social mores—including the taboo against preteens having sex.
All of these thoughts went through his head even as he continued pleasuring Tiffany, who now pulled her skirt off and her panties down to give him better access. And then she took hold of his bare, erect penis and began to rub it lightly and sensually.
All hesitation left him then. His experiences in the other universes he’d visited had relieved him of his ignorance about sex and much of his self-doubt, leaving him with considerably fewer inhibitions then he would otherwise have in this situation. And then there was the influence of his alter, who may not have known as much about sex as Dipper Prime but who was far more accustomed to pushing to get what he wanted.
There was no more question in his mind. He was going to have sex with Tiffany, right here and now.
He withdrew his finger from Tiffany’s entrance. Then he reached over and grabbed one of the condoms out of the bowl. Holding it up where Tiffany could see, he said, “Put this on me.”
Her eyes went wide. “Are you serious?”
“Yup,” Dipper replied simply.
“But,” she stammered, “we, we’re too-…We shouldn’t-…I’m not-…”
The feebleness of Tiffany’s resistance only confirmed for Dipper that she wanted this. Maybe she had even had this in mind all along when she had planned for them to attend this party. Or maybe she hadn’t planned or expected it at all, but now she was too horny to care. Lord knew Dipper was.
“Come on,” he said. “I need to be inside you.”
Dipper kissed her, hard and passionately. The moment he pulled his lips from hers, Tiffany ripped the condom open and, with minimal skill but considerable enthusiasm, unrolled it onto his erect member. Then she pulled him down on top of her, kissing him fiercely.
Dipper couldn’t wait another second. He positioned his hips between Tiffany’s open thighs, took hold of his cock to put its head against her entrance, and slowly pushed inside.
“Aaaaahhhhh…” Tiffany moaned.
Although Dipper had done this several times now, this was his first time using a condom. The layer of latex dulled the physical sensation somewhat, but nothing could dull the feeling of actually being inside Tiffany, the girl of his long-held fantasies.
He began slowly pushing in and out of her, and she moved with him, holding him tight.
“Oh, Mace…” she whispered in his ear, “don’t stop…”
She hadn’t needed to ask, because there was no way Dipper was going to stop. Her breath in his ear, her naked body pressed against his, and the clutch of her bare thighs around his waist were turning him on like crazy.
Her hands moved over his back, then went to his forearms, gripping them passionately.
“Oh, God, Tiffany,” he breathed.
He pushed into her a little harder, a little faster. Her grip on his forearms tightened.
“Yes, please, yes,” Tiffany moaned.
As turned on as Dipper was, the condom was keeping him from getting overstimulated and losing control. So he continued fucking Tiffany steadily for minute after minute as she moaned and gasped beneath him.
Finally, she whimpered, “Please…go faster…I need to…need to finish…”
Dipper was very happy to oblige. He pumped Tiffany faster and faster, and she thrust her hips against his with equal speed in force, until they were both panting and sweating from the effort and Tiffany was chanting “Oh God, oh God, oh God” with every stroke.
And then Dipper’s self- control finally left him, and he was fucking Tiffany as fast and as hard as he possibly could.
“Oh, God, Mace, YES!” Tiffany screamed, and then she was thrashing in ecstasy beneath him. Her screams of orgasmic joy and the pulsing clutch of her inner walls around his shaft drove Dipper straight over the edge, and then he was shouting “Ahhhh!” and clutching her to him as he came.
When their last spasms subsided, Dipper rolled off of Tiffany, and they lay there for minutes, just catching their breath.
“That was…amazing…” Tiffany finally managed.
“Definitely,” Dipper agreed.
There were several more seconds of silence, and then Tiffany spoke again.
“So…you wanna go back to the party?”
“Um, sure,” Dipper replied. “But I warn you: I’m not gonna be able to get this goofy smile off my face.”
“Me neither,” Tiffany said, giggling.
They cleaned themselves up, got dressed, and smoothed out the sheets on the bed. Then they headed back downstairs, Dipper leading the way.
Dipper was at the foot of the stairs when someone in a gray hoodie bumped into him and then shoved him backward, saying, “Watch it, loser.”
Like Dipper, Parker Bleffs was at best an associate member of the cool kids’ clique. But unlike Dipper, Parker was tall and played basketball.
“Yeah, uh, after you,” Dipper said, moving out of Parker’s way.
“Mace,” Tiffany barked from the stairs, “don’t take that from him!”
Dipper was suddenly afraid—not of Parker, but of blowing his image in the eyes of the girl with whom he had just taken things to the next level. And so he found himself fast-walking forward, planting both hands on Parker’s chest, and yelling “You watch it!” as he shoved the taller boy back as hard as he could.
It was only enough to push Parker back about three steps. But on the third step, Parker’s calf hit the edge of the coffee table, and the boy toppled backwards and fell through the table’s glass top with a deafening crash. Screams and shouts issued from everywhere.
“Oh my God!” Dipper cried. “Parker, I’m so sorry!”
He tried to run forward to help Parker, but two big boys grabbed him by the arms and hauled him back. And the next thing Dipper knew, they were chucking him out the front door.
He got up from the flagstones of the front walkway, moving his limbs to make sure he wasn’t hurt. He wanted to go back inside and apologize, both to Parker and to Marissa, but he wasn’t sure that wouldn’t lead to something worse than just being thrown out. He was still thinking about it when Tiffany came outside.
Before the girl could speak, Dipper asked, “How’s Parker?”
“He’s fine,” Tiffany replied. “There wasn’t too much blood. I think his skinny jeans mostly protected him.”
Dipper sighed with relief.
“I shouldn’t have done it,” he said. “I could have talked my way out of it.”
“But you have to stand up for yourself!” Tiffany exclaimed. “You can’t let guys like Parker push you around.”
“Look, Parker’s a jerk, but I should have handled him my way.”
“Your way?” Tiffany grated. “You mean Dipper’s way. Why can’t you be less Dipper and more Mace?”
“Because Mace isn’t a real person!” Dipper exclaimed.
Tiffany looked at him, stunned by the vehemence of Dipper’s words but unsure of their meaning.
“Oh my God,” Dipper breathed. “I…I did this all wrong. I put you on this pedestal, and I had all these fantasies about you, without knowing who you really were. And now, I realize…you did the same thing to me. Neither one of us is the person the other one actually wants to be dating!”
Tiffany was about to shout something back at him, but she stopped short. And then, after a few seconds, she spoke.
“You’re right.”
After a pause, she went on, “I mean, I’ve been into you for a while now—even before you asked me to the spring dance. But it’s like…the guy I was into was…sort of my own personal idea of you, and not…you you.”
She swallowed, then said, “This isn’t going to work, is it?”
Dipper shook his head. “No, I don’t think it is.”
Tiffany sighed.
“Good night…Dipper.”
“Good night, Tiffany.”
She went back inside just as Nat came out.
“You okay, dude?” he asked. “I was out back with Zinnia when I heard the glass break. Clay told me what happened.”
“Yeah, I’m okay,” Dipper replied. “But…I think I just broke up with Tiffany.”
Nat’s brow furrowed. “Oh, dude, that’s rough. You wanna talk about it?”
Dipper shook his head. “Right now, I just want to go home. But…can I call you tomorrow?”
“You don’t even have to ask, man.”
Suddenly, Dipper found himself seizing Nat in a big bro-hug. “Thanks, Nat.”
When Nat went back inside, Dipper went down to the end of the house’s front walk. Standing by the curb, he looked up at the sky.
“I think I’m done here.”
He was pulled out of his body and up into the sky, and then he was back in the clearing with Aphrodite.
“So,” she said, “how’d it go?”
“I think you know,” Dipper said.
“Yeah, but I don’t know what you learned from it.”
“I guess…that if you try to be a completely different person for someone…even for someone you really like…you’re never going to be happy.”
“Got it in one,” Aphrodite said. “But…”
Dipper waited with well-disguised impatience while Aphrodite took out a cigarette, lit it, took a long drag from it, and blew the smoke out in a long stream before she continued.
“I told you at the beginning that this was about helping you find your perfect girl. So, now that you’re done traveling, who do you think your perfect girl is?”
Dipper thought back over all of his experiences, even as he began to reply.
“She’s…who will, who will have my back…and who trusts me to have hers. Someone who likes me for who I am, and who doesn’t have to change herself for me.”
“But is there any girl like that in the world? Any girl that you wouldn’t have to compromise with on at least a few things?”
Dipper shook his head. “You’re right—there isn’t. I guess what I really want is, is a girl who will…meet me halfway, you know?”
Aphrodite smiled and nodded. “You bet I know.”
She took what appeared to be a triumphant puff of her cigarette and then said, “Now, it’s time for your reward. I think there’s a certain girl you’ve been thinking about—a little blond one who knows you exist?” She winked at him.
“A reward?” Dipper said. “That involves Pacifica?”
“You got it,” Aphrodite replied.
Dipper couldn’t help but shout, “Oh, boy!”
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