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"Jeez, Mabel, I can't believe how much stuff you brought," said Dipper, eyeing the two large suitcases his twin sister dragged behind her as they made their way out of the baggage claim area of Victoria International Airport. "You do realize the space on Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford's boat is limited, right?"
Mabel Pines dismissed her brother's concerns with a wave of her hand. "I know, but we're only going to be with them for a week," she replied cheerfully. "It's okay if things are a little cramped. That just means more opportunities for snuggling! Besides," she added as they squeezed themselves through the automatic sliding doors and onto the cold sidewalk, "I wanted to be prepared for every sartorial contingency. Whether the grunkles decide to take us rock climbing or to the symphony, I'll be ready!"
Without even looking, she could almost feel Dipper's eyes roll in his head. "They're not going to take us to the symphony," he said flatly. "Most of the time, Stan doesn't even bother to put on pants."
Mabel just shrugged her shoulders. The fact was, nothing could dampen her spirits today. She was in a new place, with her favorite person in the world, and she was going to spend Christmas with her great-uncles on their super-sophisticated, science-y boat. She still couldn't believe that her parents had allowed her and Dipper to fly to Canada on their own, especially after everything that happened just a few months ago, but she wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Huh, that was a funny saying. Horses' mouths were funny.
She couldn't wait to see Stan again. She hadn't remembered much about him when she and her brother first came to stay with him over the summer, but she quickly grew to love him. He smelled kind of weird and was grumpy most of the time, but he was also a wise-cracking goofball, and she could strongly relate to that. And he was soft and squishy, which meant he gave really great hugs. By the time she and Dipper had to go back home, she didn't want to let him go.
If she was being honest with herself, she was just a tiny bit apprehensive about seeing Stan's twin brother Ford again. She only got to spend a couple of weeks with him, and during most of that time, he was downstairs in his basement laboratory, trying to stop the world from ending. And then it almost ended anyway, and she was trapped in a bubble, and he was taken captive by a demonic triangle. Needless to say, she didn't get to spend a whole lot of time with him.
He seemed like a lovely person, and she was glad that he and Stan were getting along so well now. But there was a part of her that was a little intimidated by him. He was so smart, and mysterious, and kept so much of himself locked away behind a shield of secrecy. Plus he walked around with a laser gun strapped to his side, which was sort of scary.
Dipper suddenly nudged her, jolting her out of her reminiscences. She looked up to see an unfamiliar red SUV pull into the loading zone in front of them. The passenger door opened, and sure enough, it was her great-uncle Ford, bundled up against the Canadian winter in a puffy jacket and a scarf she almost forgot she knitted for him. As he caught sight of her and her brother, his craggy face lit up in a grin.
"Kids!" he exclaimed, rushing toward them. They met him halfway, and Mabel felt her stomach give a leap as he swept them up into his arms, lifting them both off the ground with ease. After a moment, he set them on their feet again. "Come on, let's get your things in the car. Mabel, did you bring your entire wardrobe?"
"Maybe," she said with a nervous laugh. But he simply loaded the heavy luggage in the trunk of the rental car without further comment, while the teenagers climbed into the back seat. Behind the wheel, Stan twisted around to greet them.
"Hey, how are my favorite little gremlins?" he asked as Mabel sat forward in her seat to throw her arms around his neck. "Whoa, Mabel, what happened to your hair? You get in a fight with the Kool-Aid guy?"
She laughed, twirling a lock of her red-and-green streaked hair in her fingers. "No, silly! It's just temporary hair dye. It's festive!"
"I like it," said Ford as he slid into the passenger seat, shooting her a smile over his shoulder. "It reminds me of that old-fashioned ribbon candy our grandmother used to send us every year. It always stuck to our teeth like cement."
"Thanks, Grunkle Ford," she replied, feeling herself blush.
As Stan pulled out of the loading zone and into traffic, cutting off several cars, Ford turned to Dipper. "So," he continued with visible enthusiasm, "how's my favorite long-distance apprentice? Have you encountered any interesting anomalies down in California?"
"Mm, not as many as I'd like," the boy said, a little regretfully. Then he brightened. "But a couple of kids from school swear they saw a three-headed raccoon rummaging in the garbage cans next to their house. I'm going over there after winter break to investigate."
Mabel didn't even bother hiding her smile. Ever since they got back from Gravity Falls, her brother had a newfound confidence, and it was showing in the way he interacted with their classmates. It wasn't that he was cocky or superior; he just didn't worry so much about what the other students thought of him. His belief in himself and his abilities made others curious to know more about him, and as a result he'd begun making friends more easily. Of course, Mabel would always be his best friend, but she was still happy for him.
"It sounds like your school year has been a bit humdrum," said Ford, rubbing his chin with a six-fingered hand. Mabel would never get over how cool that was. "Fortunately, that can be easily remedied. How would you kids like to go monster-hunting tomorrow?"
"Yeah!" Mabel and Dipper cheered in unison. They began chanting: "Monster hunt! Monster hunt!"
Stan gave an exaggerated sniff and wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. "I missed you two so much."
As they drove through downtown Victoria, B.C., Mabel couldn't tear her eyes away from all the lights and decorations. It was late afternoon, and the growing twilight made everything seem somehow surreal. There were ribbons and garlands wrapped around lamp posts, wreaths hanging on doors. There was a light dusting of snow, coating everything like powdered sugar. They even stopped to let a horse-drawn carriage go by, its hooves clip-clopping on the pavement. Growing up on the central coast of California, Mabel had only seen snow once in person, and that was only when her parents had taken them to Tahoe. Even though there had been more snow on the mountain, it hadn't felt this... magical. This place was like the real-life version of Santa's workshop, without the elves. Although if they were anything like the gnomes in Gravity Falls, maybe that was for the best.
Before long they arrived at a marina, just across the street from the Empress Hotel, an enormous, extravagant château-style building bedecked with lights and featuring a towering Christmas tree and an outdoor ice skating rink. In the marina, the collection of boats that bobbed up and down in their slips were decorated, as well, lights wound around their gunwales and cascading down their masts like a shower of sparks. As Mabel got out of the rental car and her gaze landed on her great-uncles' vessel, the Stan O' War II, she nearly let out a squeal of glee. Its bow was festooned with a long string of red, yellow, and green chili pepper lights.
As Ford heaved their luggage onto the modestly-sized craft, Stan helped the younger twins aboard, who immediately began investigating their new surroundings. Dipper was fascinated by all the scientific equipment and apparatus — the microscope and the centrifuge and that dealie that rocked the bio-samples back and forth — but Mabel was more interested in the little personal touches that made the boat a home. There was a dented kettle on the tiny stove, an unfinished game of travel chess on the table, a few trinkets from the gift shop of the Mystery Shack, an assortment of framed pictures of herself and Dipper, their parents, their grandpa Shermie, Soos, and Wendy. It was an odd space, filled with oddly disparate objects, but it was cozy.
"Looking for something, pumpkin?" Stan asked Mabel as she pulled open the door of the small refrigerator.
"Nope, just snooping," she said blithely. Suddenly she gasped. "Dipper, look! The legends were true! Milk does come in bags here!"
Stan pulled her out of the cramped galley. "All right, all right, get out of there. You rugrats are in the fore cabin. Me and Sixer — I mean, Sixer and I," he added, rolling his eyes at Ford, "can take the bed in here. The dinette converts into a pretty big berth." He leveled a pointed glance at his brother. "Just don't accidentally shoot me in your sleep."
Ford cast him a smirk in return. "Don't slice me open with those scimitars you call toenails, and you've got a deal."
Giggling, Mabel grabbed her luggage and followed Dipper forward into the sleeping compartment. It was a low-ceilinged room with two narrow bunks, one built into each wall, with several storage cupboards overhead. Dipper automatically took the left-bunk, while Mabel claimed the right. As she shucked off her coat and threw it on the narrow mattress, she caught sight of another photo of herself and Dipper, wedged into the frame of the porthole window.
"Aww, look, Dip," she said, pointing to the picture, "they love us."
Dipper smiled at the sight. "Well, yeah," he replied, setting his own backpack on the other bed. "They wouldn't have invited us to spend Christmas with them if they didn't."
"That's true." Still, she privately assumed that she must have taken Stan's bunk. Ford didn't really seem like the type to keep photos around him for sentimental reasons.
"I hope they like the presents I made for them," she went on, unpacking her toiletry bag and setting it aside. "I know Stan will like the slippers, but... I'm not so sure about Ford's gift."
Her brother shrugged, unconcerned. "Don't worry. I'm sure he'll like anything you give him."
Mabel wasn't so sure. "I don't know," she said, sinking down onto the edge of the bed. "He's kind of hard to read. He's so... mysterious."
Noticing the change in her mood, Dipper crossed the small space and sat beside her. "I used to think that, too," he told her. "Remember how nervous I was when we first met him?"
She snickered in amusement. "Yeah, you almost barfed all over the basement."
"Yeah," he said with a humorless laugh, "...yeah." He cleared his throat. "Well, that was because I'd built him up in my head as this larger-than-life figure. But when I stopped thinking of him as the Author of the journals and started thinking of him as our great-uncle, I realized that he's a really nice guy, and that we actually have a lot in common."
Right. Dipper and Ford did have a lot in common. That was why they got along so well, and Mabel always felt a bit like a third wheel when she was with them. She wasn't used to feeling that way; usually, she was proficient at getting along with everyone. But where Ford was concerned, she just never knew what to say. Why would a man who had been in countless dimensions and had a thousand amazing adventures ever want to hang out with a thirteen-year-old girl who was crazy about fashion and boys and knitting?
Thankfully, she had Stan, who never made her feel unwanted or unloved. And she loved him with every fibre of her being. For that matter, she loved Ford, as well. She just... wanted both of her grunkles to love her.
Unaware of her gloomy thoughts, Dipper continued talking, practically vibrating with excitement. If he had a pen, he would be chewing on it. "That's why I got him the new Dungeons, Dungeons, & More Dungeons expansion that came out last month," he said with a grin. "He is going to lose his mind!" He snapped his fingers. "Oh, that reminds me. I have to talk to him about our next campaign."
He stood up, turning to her. "Did you want to join us?"
Mabel blinked in surprise. "Oh, umm... Nah." She forced herself to smile. "That's your special nerd thing you have together. You go on ahead."
Dipper stepped out into the main cabin, and Mabel watched as he went over to Ford, who warmly clapped a hand on his shoulder. As they began to discuss what he had planned as dungeonmaster in excruciating, enthusiastic detail, saying things like "feats" and "saving throws" and "rolling for initiative", she eventually tuned them out and went back to her unpacking.
Slowly, she lifted her gift to Ford out of her suitcase, wrapped in shiny gold paper. After learning what Dipper had gotten him, her own present suddenly seemed rather inadequate.
"Whatchya got there?"
Mabel jumped in surprise at the sound of Stan's voice behind her, nearly hitting her head on the overhead cupboard. "Nothing!" she said quickly, trying to sound casual. "Just... You know. Christmas-y stuff."
He leaned over her, attempting to peer into her open suitcase before she could zip it shut again. "Anything in there for your favorite grunkle?" he asked, wiggling his bushy gray eyebrows.
"Oh, you'll see." She shoved him playfully aside, and he gave one of his gravelly chuckles. As he lowered himself onto the opposite bunk, joints creaking and popping as he did so, she forced herself to speak again: "Grunkle Stan?"
"Yeah, sweetie?"
Mabel smiled at the nickname. He was such an old softie. "Did it ever make you... nervous that your brother was so smart?"
Stan frowned as he considered her question. "Nervous?" Slowly, he shook his head. "No, not really. He made me feel like an idiot sometimes, with his straight-A report cards and crazy inventions. I know he didn't mean to make me feel that way, but... when your parents treat your brother like the friggin' Messiah and then send you to the corner with a coloring book, it isn't exactly great for your self-esteem." He snorted. "When nothin' you do is ever good enough, why bother trying?"
At Mabel's wide-eyed expression, he seemed to realize what he'd just said. "That's... that's terrible advice, don't listen to that," he added, making her laugh. "But to answer your question, no, I was never nervous around Ford. He was just... my dorky, awkward twin brother. He was my best friend."
Mabel's smile faded. Of course. Stan and Ford were twins, like her and Dipper. He'd known Ford since the day he was born. Why would he ever be nervous around him? She was just being stupid and insecure.
"Why do you ask?" Stan inquired, fixing her with a shrewd look. "Does he make you nervous?"
She didn't answer, but her silence was a response in itself.
He exhaled softly through his nose. For a few seconds he didn't speak. "Hey, come here," he said at last. "I didn't get a proper Mabel hug earlier. It doesn't count if I don't walk away with a few bruised ribs."
He held out his big, beefy arms, and Mabel came to sit beside him, allowing him to wrap her in a crushing hug, which she reciprocated just as fiercely. She found herself blinking back tears as she leaned against him. Until now, she hadn't realized quite how much she had missed him — and how close she had come to losing him forever.
"You don't need to be nervous around Ford," he told her, his gruff tone at odds with his affectionate manner. "He may not be all charismatic and people-savvy like we are, but he's a good guy." Pulling away, he reached down and messed up her hair, knocking her headband askew. "Now come on, let's round up our nerdy bros and go get some chow. There's a pub on the other side of the marina that makes the best poutine. It's basically a heart attack on a plate, but it's worth it."
She stood quickly, grabbing his hands and helping him up. "And Mabel? Ignore that crack I made about your hair. I think it's pretty boss."
Mabel laughed. "'Boss'," she repeated in amusement. "You're so old."
Her spirits were temporarily lifted as they walked along the waterfront together, talking and laughing in the growing dark. But as they sat down to dinner, and Ford and Dipper resumed chatting about their favorite game, Mabel's mood swiftly plummeted again. When their conversation turned toward science and history and cryptozoology and other subjects she couldn't follow, Stan tried to distract her by attempting to throw sugar packets into her hair, but it was no use. Despite her best efforts, she found herself growing resentful.
She hated feeling this way, but she couldn't help it. Why didn't Ford ever want to talk to her about any of her interests? Why didn't he ask her about her time at school, or her favorite subjects? Her drama teacher told her that she showed such potential, she was considering casting her as the lead in the school's production of The Secret Garden. But he didn't seem to care about any of the things that mattered to her. He didn't seem to care about her at all.
After dinner, they took a walk around the Empress Hotel, ooh-ing and ahh-ing at the spectacular lights, before returning to the boat. Stan and Ford converted the dinette booth into a bed, and both sets of twins crowded together on it while they watched a movie on Dipper's tablet. But Mabel couldn't pay attention, and after a while she proclaimed that she was tired and went to bed early. When Dipper came in later, she feigned sleep until he crawled into his bunk and turned out the lights.
Some Christmas this was shaping up to be.
Mabel didn't remember falling asleep, but she must have, because the next thing she knew, Ford was knocking on the flimsy door connecting the two compartments. "Rise and shine!" he called in his booming voice. "Come on, kids, up, up, up! We've got places to be, and new species to discover!"
"Oh, man," Dipper mumbled into his pillow. "I forgot he doesn't sleep, like... ever."
Sitting up in bed, Mabel peered out the little porthole window. It looked cold out there. Maybe, she thought to herself, now would be a good time to give Ford his present. Technically it wasn't Christmas yet, but she knew he would appreciate it, and it would definitely come in handy today. Handy, she thought, chuckling under her breath. Good one, Mabel.
Over a breakfast of Stan-cakes, eggs, and Canadian bacon, Ford informed them that they would be driving up to Thetis Lake, just northwest of Victoria. There had been stories in the 1970s, he said, accounts from fishermen of something lurking beneath the surface of the water, some kind of amphibious creature with clawed hands and razor-sharp fins. If it was alive in the seventies, Mabel thought privately, it was probably really old by now and just wanted to be left alone. But she wasn't about to say that out loud.
After breakfast, she bundled up in her warmest clothes, her coat, hat, and mittens, then grabbed the wrapped gift and tucked it under her arm. She caught Ford just as he was preparing to go out onto the deck, carrying a pair of binoculars and something that looked like a weird camera. "Hey, Grunkle Ford?"
He turned to her. "Yes, Mabel?"
She forced down her nerves and smiled. "Merry Christmas!" she exclaimed, holding the present out to him.
He returned her smile, though his brow was furrowed in bemusement. "What's this?" he asked, taking it from her.
"It's your Christmas present!" she explained. "I thought you might want to open it early."
He gave a chuckle. "Unless Christmas traditions have changed over the years since I've been away, I imagine it's still customary to exchange Christmas presents on Christmas Day."
"Well... yeah, that's still the custom," Mabel replied slowly. "But maybe this time you could make an exception."
"Oh, but that wouldn't really reflect the spirit of the holiday, would it?" She watched as Ford set the wrapped package aside on the table. Then, to her utter horror, he bent down and patted her head as if she were a small child. "It's all right. I can wait until Christmas, like everybody else."
Her cheeks burned with embarrassment as he turned again and bounded up the steps to the deck. "Now come along! Scientific discovery waits for no one!"
Mabel was silent during the drive up to the lake, glaring out the window at the passing scenery. The trees were beautiful, all enrobed in white, sparkling snow, but she barely noticed. She couldn't believe it. How could her own uncle dismiss her like that? He treated her like she was a little kid. She was a teenager, for crying out loud. If she didn't know better, she might write it off as the behavior of a man who was out of touch with other people, who had forgotten what it was like to be young. But he didn't treat Dipper that way.
It was almost like he thought she was stupid.
Fighting tears, she clenched her fists in her hands. When Dipper asked her if something was wrong, she shook her head stubbornly and continued to look out the window.
At length they arrived at Thetis Lake, a long, narrow, boomerang-shaped body of water surrounded by forest, with a peninsula of land which nearly bifurcated it in half. As Stan parked at the trailhead, they piled out of the car and began their hike along the lake's edge. As they walked, they stopped periodically for Ford to consult the device in his hand, which he described as a compact thermal imaging camera. He explained that it read heat sources, and if there was a sizable creature lurking below the water, the device would be able to detect it.
"What if the creature is ectothermic?" asked Dipper, pulling his fur-lined hat down tighter over his ears.
"Then I spent entirely too much money on a very sophisticated thermometer," Ford replied with a wry smile.
He blew on his chilled hands and rubbed them together in an attempt to warm them. Mabel scowled to herself and turned away with a huff.
As they continued along the trail, she tried not to notice as Ford kept struggling visibly to use his binoculars and thermal camera in the biting cold. Eventually she just shoved her own hands in her coat pockets and trudged on, her gaze fixed firmly on her feet as they picked a path among the rocks and roots.
She nearly leapt out of her skin when she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder. "Mabel," Ford said, his voice loud in her ear, "your eyes are much better than mine. Look over there across the water. Does that look like a kingfisher to you?"
Mabel frowned, confused and caught off guard. "Umm..."
"Here, take my binoculars." She almost dropped the delicate piece of equipment that was shoved unceremoniously into her hands. "Stanley, Dipper, why don't you take the thermal reader and go on ahead? We'll catch up."
The girl watched with trepidation as the other half of their party kept hiking until they disappeared out of sight. Seemingly unbothered, Ford knelt beside her on the path, pointing out across the lake. "Now then, do you see that partially-submerged tree there, near the edge of the far shore? Take a look at its uppermost branch."
Dutifully, she held the binoculars up to her eyes and peered through them out at the lake. Sure enough, there was a medium-sized gray and white bird perched on the highest branch of the sunken tree, its feathers puffed up to ward off the cold. It had a large head with a long bill and a shaggy crest, and there was a dusky orange stripe across its chest. She had to admit, it was pretty cute.
"That's a belted kingfisher," Ford explained to her as she watched it preen itself. "I haven't seen one in a very long time. That's a female; you can tell by the horizontal band on its breast. Its species shows a rare example of reverse dimorphism, which means—"
"It means the females are more brightly colored than the males," Mabel finished.
"Oh." He sounded surprised. "Yes. Precisely."
Of course he was surprised that she knew that. He thought she was a moron. He had no idea that, even though she wasn't all that well-informed in some areas of science, like physics or chemistry, she loved the natural world and the plants and animals that lived in it. Biology was one of her best subjects.
Sighing, she handed the binoculars back to her uncle. "It's pretty," she said grudgingly.
"Agreed." She thought he would stand and resume walking, but he didn't. Instead he cleared his throat. "Mabel... I'll be the first to acknowledge that my ability to pick up on social cues is substandard, at best, but it seems to me that you're upset about something. You've barely spoken a word since we left this morning. I can't help thinking that... you're upset with me."
Mabel felt her face grow warm despite the cold. She refused to look at him, because she knew what she would see if she did. Disappointment.
Taking her by the shoulders, Ford turned her gently to face him, and then she had no choice but to meet his eyes. What she saw there was not what she was expecting. The only expression on his weathered, earnest face was that of concern.
"Mabel, please tell me what's wrong," he said quietly. "What did I do to cause you such distress?"
To her shame, her eyes welled with tears, and she blinked them away. "Do you... like me, Grunkle Ford?"
"What?" He appeared dumbfounded. "What kind of question is that? Of course I like you!"
"Then why wouldn't you open my Christmas present?" she blurted.
Ford's eyebrows climbed toward his hairline at her sudden outburst. "Is that why you're upset?" he asked, nonplussed. "Well, goodness, if I'd known it meant that much to you..." He shook his head, plastering on a smile. "I'll open it when we get back to the boat. I promise."
She blew out a frustrated breath, and it rose in the air as a vaporous cloud. "It doesn't matter," she muttered, turning away from him. "It's too late now."
"Why?" he pressed, with annoying persistence. "Why was it so important that I open your gift early?"
Mabel rounded on him abruptly. "Because they're gloves!" she shouted in his surprised face, her voice echoing across the lake like a shot. "I thought you probably had a hard time finding gloves that fit you, so I made you, like, six pairs."
Ford stared at her with wide eyes. "You... made gloves for me?" he asked in a small voice.
She swallowed hard. "I had to invent my own pattern, because I couldn't find any patterns for six-fingered gloves on Ravelry or Redheart or any of the knitting websites. I just... wanted you to have a nice Christmas, because this is the first time in a long time that you've actually been home for Christmas, and..." She trailed off with a sigh, deflated.
"Mabel..." Ford's voice shook slightly when he spoke. "That may be the sweetest, most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me."
She shrugged. "It's not a big deal. I'm just being stupid, as usual."
"You are not stupid," he said firmly, reaching up and tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. "You just told me you had to invent a pattern for six-fingered gloves. That shows real creativity and ingenuity. I don't ever want to hear you say that again, understand? There are no stupid people in this family."
Mabel nodded, sniffling a little.
"Now what is all this about me not liking you?" Ford asked.
The confusion and worry in his voice was too much for her to bear. "It's just..." Her lip began to wobble. "You never talk to me. You never ask me about anything that's going on in my life. You only hang out with Dipper, because he's smart like you, and you have more in common with him. And because you're serious, and I'm just... silly."
She watched as Ford's eyes slipped shut. He passed a hand over his unshaven face. To her surprise, he said a bad word under his breath; one of the words she was not allowed to say unless she'd dropped something heavy on her foot. "Oh, Mabel," he said, sounding pained. "Mabel, I am so sorry. I had no idea you felt that way. It may be true that Dipper and I have a bit more in common, but that doesn't mean that I am in any way less fond of you. The truth is, I'm... I'm rather in awe of you."
Mabel was shocked. "Really?"
"Yes. Mabel, you are an anomaly in a class by yourself. No matter what's happening, you can make the best of any situation. You always see the bright side of things. And your ability to cheer people up and put them at ease is nothing short of astounding." He suddenly appeared sheepish. "I confess I'm somewhat envious of your talent for making friends. Even from a young age, I always found it difficult to connect with people. I'm... awkward and intense, and it tends to put others off. Frankly, I wish I could be more like you."
Almost against her will, Mabel found herself smiling. "You're just saying that," she mumbled, blushing.
"I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true," he insisted. "You know I'm a terrible liar." He took her mittened hands in his cold ones and squeezed them. "You have every right to be upset with me. I have been spending too much time with Dipper, and I should have realized that I was neglecting you. Because I know exactly what it's like to feel left out. I'm so very sorry, Mabel. I hope you can forgive me."
After an apology like that, how could she not? "I forgive you, Grunkle Ford," she told him sincerely. "And for what it's worth, I think anyone would be lucky to be friends with you."
He smiled, obviously moved. "For what it's worth, I love your silliness."
He held out his arms, and Mabel stepped into his embrace. It wasn't like hugging Stan, who was soft and pillowy like a big teddy bear. In contrast, Ford was lean and wiry, all hard muscle and sharp angles. But he was warm and strong, and his hands were extra wide. As she rested her chin on his shoulder, she felt safe, protected. Like nothing could hurt her, as long as he was around.
"What do you say we do something together tomorrow?" he asked. "Just the two of us?"
Mabel felt an odd warmth in her chest. "Like what?"
"Anything you want, my dear."
She pulled away, meeting his eyes with a grin. "You're on."
Still kneeling beside her on the hard ground, he picked up a flat, smooth stone and handed it to her. "Did anyone ever teach you how to skip rocks?"
Mabel shook her head, still grinning. For the next few minutes, Ford demonstrated the correct technique, and she was quick to catch on. Soon they were both flinging stone after stone out over the lake, watching them skip across the surface of the water a few times before disappearing out of sight.
Suddenly there was a disturbance on the lake's glassy, mirror-like surface near the shoreline. Mabel froze in place as a head emerged slowly out of the water, followed by a neck and shoulders. The thing was covered in scales, and a row of spiky fins ran down its spine. At the end of each webbed hand were long, dagger-like claws. One of its hands was rubbing its head, and it did not look happy.
As it waded toward them, its posture threatening, Ford quickly scrambled to his feet. "So sorry!" he called to the creature with an awkward laugh. "We, uhh... didn't see you there..." He turned to Mabel. "We should probably run."
They tore off down the trail, their boots crunching in the snow and gravel, until they eventually caught up with Dipper and Stan. When instructed to head back to the car with all possible haste, they didn't argue, although Stan did mutter something like "Sixer's gone and pissed off the local wildlife again."
Just another typical day for the Pines family, really.
Mabel felt like royalty as she stepped into the Lobby Lounge of the Empress Hotel. It was an extravagant space, with parquet floors, marble columns, and an array of potted palms. In one corner was a decorated Christmas tree, so tall that the star at its top nearly brushed the ceiling. There were tables and chairs scattered about, and the room was filled with the clink of silverware and the murmur of conversation.
She was dressed to the nines in her Christmas gift from Ford: a gold brocade tea dress with a full, puffy skirt and a sequined bodice, complete with gold ballet flats and a pair of satin gloves. Half of her red-and-green striped hair was tied back with a gold ribbon, the rest cascading down her back. The whole effect was ridiculously fancy and over-the-top, and she loved it. She had no idea how the dress would fit in her suitcase, but at the moment she didn't care. That was a problem for future Mabel.
Maybe, she thought, her uncle knew her better than she'd realized.
Ford stood beside her, looking sharp in the dark suit which he borrowed from Stan. At first she had been worried that wearing his brother's suit again would bring back bad memories, but he had insisted. He had, however, refused to wear Stan's cheesy ribbon bowtie, and had compromised on a more subtle maroon necktie, knotted in a half-Windsor. As she watched, he made a great show of tugging off the knitted gloves she'd made for him and tucking them into his pocket.
He caught her watching him and mustered a nervous smile. "This place is certainly impressive," he observed. "Are you sure you won't be embarrassed to be seen with your socially inept uncle?"
Mabel smiled and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. "Not at all," she assured him. "I'm honored to be in the company of such a renowned inter-dimensional traveler such as yourself."
He barked a laugh. "Yes, well, let's just keep that bit of information under wraps."
A hostess approached them, wearing a crisp uniform and tie. "Good afternoon and welcome to the Empress Hotel Lounge and Tea Room," she greeted them with a practiced smile. "May I take your names?"
"I'm afraid we don't have a reservation," Ford replied. "This was rather a last-minute decision, you see. We were hoping a table for two would open up."
The hostess's smile fell slightly. "I'm sorry, sir, all of our tables are booked until well after Christmas. It's such a busy time of year. Would you like to make a reservation for next week, or the week after?"
"Regrettably, we won't be in town next week," said Ford, to Mabel's growing disappointment. She shouldn't have gotten her hopes up; she'd known it was a long shot.
She watched as Ford leaned in and lowered his voice. "I really shouldn't be saying this," he told the hostess in a confiding tone, "but you happen to be in the presence of royalty."
The woman's dark eyes widened. "I'm sorry?"
He nudged Mabel forward. "Allow me to introduce you. This is Princess Mabel, youngest daughter of Hans-Josef and Amelia, fourth in line for the throne of Beschtovia."
Startled, Mabel nonetheless did her best to play along. "How do you do?" she said politely, sweeping into a graceful curtsey.
"This is Her Highness's first time in Canada," Ford went on to explain to the hostess, who was looking more and more astonished. "As a matter of fact, this is her first time leaving her palatial home at the capital of Vilgrad. She'd heard marvelous things about the Empress Hotel's world-famous afternoon tea service, and it was her fondest wish to experience it for herself before going off to finishing school in Paris."
Mabel gave the hostess her best puppy-dog eyes as he lowered his voice further. "I realize it's short notice, but is there any way you could accommodate Her Highness, just this once? We would be immensely grateful, and naturally we would be sure to recommend your wonderful hotel to any future visiting royalty."
The hostess stared at the two of them, and especially at Mabel in her dazzling gold dress. "I think we can probably work something out," she said at last. "Please wait here a moment while I make some arrangements."
She wandered off, looking shell-shocked, and Mabel turned to her great-uncle. "Grunkle Ford!" she whispered. "You just straight-up lied to her!"
"I did, didn't I?" he replied, sounding downright proud of himself. "Stan is a much more proficient liar than I am, but I'll admit I can come up with a convincing fib once in a while, when the occasion calls for it." He smiled down at her. "It doesn't hurt that you look the part... Your Highness."
Mabel returned her smile. "Thank you, my faithful steward."
She did her best to appear as regal as possible, until the hostess returned and instructed the pair of them to follow her. They were seated at a little table near the Christmas tree which appeared to have been set up especially for them. Mabel tried not to blush as Ford pulled out her chair for her. This was normal, she told herself as she sat down. She was a princess, after all. She was used to being treated this way.
She sat demurely, folding her cloth napkin across her lap, as Ford ordered the full tea service, which consisted of an assortment of sweet and savory treats, along with a pot of the hotel's signature tea blend. As they sat together under the warm glow of the tree lights, sipping tea and nibbling at the array of delicate pastries, Mabel felt a bubble of joy welling up within her.
"I think this might be the best Christmas ever," she remarked into her teacup, swinging her legs contentedly underneath the table.
"Don't be ridiculous," said Ford, lifting his nose haughtily into the air. "Of course it's the best Christmas ever. This is the first time I've ever had tea with a member of the royal family of Beschtovia."
Mabel laughed. "You know something, Grunkle Ford? You're pretty silly."
He smiled warmly. "Why, thank you." He held out his cup toward her, his sixth finger raised. "Pinkies up."
She grinned and clinked her cup lightly against his. "Merry Christmas, Grunkle Ford."
"Merry Christmas, princess."
They made it about halfway through their tea service when the hostess approached their table, her arms crossed. "I'm terribly sorry to interrupt," she said dryly, not sounding very apologetic at all, "but I did a bit of Googling. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that there is no such country as Beschtovia, nor its capital... Vilgrad, was it?" She glared down at Ford. "Would you care to explain, sir?"
"Ah, yes." Ford cleared his throat, while simultaneously nudging Mabel under the table with his shoe. "You see, miss, there's a perfectly reasonable explanation, and that is— Run, Mabel!"
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out one of Stan's smoke bombs and hurled it to the ground. In the cloud of acrid smoke, Mabel felt him grab her by the hand. After tossing a handful of Canadian bills onto the table among the dishes and half-eaten pastries, he pulled his niece to her feet, and they ran out of the hotel laughing.