Smooth Sailing By Queen Elizardbeth

Chapter 1: A Night to Remember

A Brief Note:

This is my first Dipifica story (first story in general, in fact), so constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.

None of the characters from the show are mine, they are the property of Disney.

Pacifica Northwest checked her phone for a fourth time that evening, desperate to see some form of communication with her soon-to-be guest. The black screen yielded nothing, letting her only to sigh in frustration and set it back down on her vanity in a less-than-gentle manner.

This. Was. Pathetic.

Why was she so nervous about having this friend over? Tiffany and Audra came over all the time (or used to, before Pacifica began to mingle with the "lower class"), and Dipper and she were far closer than she had been with anyone. She took him shopping, he invited her over to watch movies, what about that made him appealing?!

Pacifica's phone buzzed and made a small 'ding' that was unique to the bookish-brunette's texts. She broke out of her trance, and brought the phone to her face to see what the source of her internal turmoil had to say.

'Hey Paz, just now leaving the Shack :( . Ford got another satyr horn lodged in his neck and needed a quick hand with the Stxy water. I'll be there soon! -Dip'

Pacifica hastily put the phone down and began to inspect her make-up, her heart rate quickening. She grabbed a hairbrush and began to tug at her thick, golden locks as she continued to tackle the issue before her. Why was Dipper coming over filling her with joy while also sending her into a fearful spiral? It wasn't like he was particularly charming or charismatic, nor was he really famous. If anything, he was near infamous at Gravity Falls High. After every weekend out with his great-uncle, he would walk into the school, sporting some new scar or an excess of bandages over a cursed bite. His arms were almost entirely covered in tattoos of strange symbols, some of which, with the right combination of Latin and elvish, gave him the power to set any object ablaze or give kittens fish tails (a Friday she was desperate to forget).

He was the antisocial freak who always had his nose in a book. He was the idiot whose idea of fun was trying to coax a cockatrice into looking in a mirror. He was the guy who allowed her to drag him to the mall, and stay up all night holding her after her mother overdosed-.

Pacifica froze, her hands aching from her overly-tight grip on the hair brush. She slowly set the brush down and turned to look at her vanity's mirror, her ice-blue eyes staring back at her.

He actually cared.

Dipper Pines actually cared about her.

Everyone she had known before meeting Dipper only cared about what they could get from her. Tiffany and Audra wanted social status. Gregory McLean wanted Pacifica's inheritance and something else that earned him a strong slap across the face at last year's summer gala. Preston and Pricilla wanted a daughter who was trained to perfection, and, unlike everyone else in Pacifica's life, they had the power to not take no for an answer.

Dipper actually listened to her. Though he made it clear that he didn't not understand nor relate to several of the problems of the upper-class, he never wrote her problems off as "basic rich girl problems". He had stayed up all night on several occasions talking with her, listening and whispering support to her. He was the first one she called when she found her mother dead at her desk, cocaine coating her nose.

Pacifica had very mixed feeling about that very fresh memory. Pricilla had only been dead one week, and already her daughter was enjoying her new found freedom. Pacifica was relieved to finally be free of the bell, but she couldn't get over the guilt of her happiness. Was she supposed to be so overjoyed that her mother died?

Dipper was there for her immediately. He had shown up less than twenty minutes after she had sobbed the news to him over the phone at three in the morning. She remembered him holding her as she balled into his chest, him rapping his arms around her and whispering to her that everything was going to be alright as she shook while wrapped in their blanket. She remembered waking up the next morning to find that their bodies had shifted in the night, resulting in her lying right on top of the seventeen year old.

Pacifica blushed as she recalled that part of the memory. The adolescent man had not needed the persuasion of a wad of cash to pretend it never happened, but that memory was all she could think of every time she though of him. Deny it all you want, she thought, addressing her reflection, You're crazy about him and you know it.

A knock came from the double doors that marked the exit from the heiress's suite. "Miss Northwest," the stiff, elderly voice of Franklin called from behind the ornate cedar, "Mr. Dipper Pines has arrived."

Pacifica nearly fell out of her seat at her vanity, hastening to answer the door. How did Dipper get her so quickly?!

The blonde teen pull d herself up, and cracked open the door, looking up at the aged butler "G-great! Uh, Show him to the parlor and tell him I'll be down in a minute."

"Very good, miss"

Pacifica turn from the doors and inspected herself in the large mirror that stood next to her four post bed. She had adorned herself in a basic pair of jeans and a pink v-neck t-shirt with an unzipped purple hoodie. She would have preferred to have the sentimental hoodie zipped up, but unfortunately puberty had different plans, and she now had to deal with the consequences. Her golden hair draped down her back and over her shoulders, while her bangs barely covered her eyebrows. She no longer wore the large hoop earrings or that awful purple eye shadow, but red lipstick, a touch of blush, and some mascara were still required by the current society...

Taking a deep breath, the Northwest set out on the long walk from her room, in the western wing of the manor, to the parlor, which sat in the center of the house. Why did the house have to be so ridiculously large? Well when you're "town founder", you can convince an army of lumberjacks that nearly a quarter of a mile in length is reasonable.

Soon enough, Pacifica found herself at her at the old parlor. It still smelled vaguely of the tobacco from the Cuban cigars her grandfather smoked in the seventies, but that was another of their 'little secrets'. Pacifica opened the old mahogany doors, and there he was, sitting in the old leather sofa, flipping through a blue journal of his own creation. How that old hat hat survived how many encounters with death Pacifica had no clue, but there it was, stuck to his head like Waddles stuck to Gompers.

Besides the hat, his wardrobe had completely changed from when he was twelve. He was about six feet tall, but his steel toed boots put his height at nearly 6'3. His jeans, though freshly cleaned, still had stains of various goos, plasmas, and blood. He wore a hand-knitted black wool sweater with a large white bear on the front; birthday gift from Mabel if she recalled correctly. The collar of a grey t-shirt stuck up around his neck, and his old tan trench coat hung on the hat stand in the corner. His face had changed a good deal over the past five years. His face was no longer round but bore the square shape that was common to most Pines men. His left cheek still had a large, shiny burn his encounter with that young Valaraukar, and a large white scar curved around his right eye and across his lips.

Dipper's head turned when he heard the doors open, and his face broke into a smile that reached his eyes. His big... Brown... Kind eyes...

Pacifica mentally snapped herself out her forming trance and returned the smile from her best friend. "About time you showed up," the heiress smirked, taking a seat on the couch next to scarred adventurer. "That's the fourth satyr this week, isn't it? How does Ford even capture those things?"

Dipper stowed his journal in a pocket and let out an exasperated sigh. "It's the sixth one this week, and this time we needed an extra fire extinguisher to put him out." He rubbed his eyes, wincing slightly as he grazed the old burn. "Mabel and Stan actually figured out how to lure them out. Apparently they really like old meat cans and Sev'ral Timez CD's. Ford thought it was unconventional at first but.." He trailed off as he saw the look on Pacifica's face, her eyebrows raised in amusement. "Oh come on Paz, they're harder to capture than it sounds."

"Well, I think I've heard enough about satyrs and your uncle's inability to comprehend modern music. You wanna watch some Ductective?"

Dipper shrugged, widely flopping his left arm across the blonde's shoulders. "Sounds good to me, just not the one with the ostrich murders. I feel like it has less plot and more 'clawing-to-death'."

Pacifica had a hard time processing Dipper's lack of giant bird slaughter through the blush that spread across her face as soon as his arm rested upon her shoulders. This was not a normal reaction for her, even though this was the norm for their movie nights. She took a short breath and tried to steady herself, pointing the remote at the giant flat screen with a shaking hand. Just stay calm she though this'll pass soon enough.

Unfortunately for Pacifica, the feeling did not pass. Not a word was exchanged between the two for a whole forty-five minutes as the Ductective attempted to find a flamingo's stolen pearls, but the tension between the two was growing at alarming rates. Dipper was unsure how to react when Pacifica hesitantly rested her head on her shoulder, and no amounts of fowl puns could distract him from his own thoughts on one of his oldest friends.

It had been almost two years for him since his feelings for the heiress had grown past the boundaries of traditional friendship. Mabel certainly didn't help by threatening to tell Pacifica about the entirety of the Lamby Dance if Dipper didn't talk to Pacifica before the twins left for college next year. Dipper's hands began to sweat as the third act of the children's mystery show began to come to a close. Either he spoke to her immediately after the flamingo finished confronting her husband's mistress, or he went back to the Mystery Shack and watch Stan and Mabel exchange however much they bet on the night's outcome.

Confidence, he thought, Just have confidence, tell her how you feel, and go back home and prove Stan, Mabel, and hopefully not also Wendy wrong.

The Ductective was standing between between Mrs. Pinkfeather and Madam Cockatoo, quacking a plea for the former to drop the revolver.

Dipper's heartbeat increase, having nothing to do with the fowl murder.

Mrs. Pinkfeather held the gun in shaky feathers, her front feathers curling around the trigger.

Dipper turned his eyes to the blonde next to him, struggling to get over the fear that was coating his heart.

Madam Cockatoo screamed out as the flamingo pulled the trigge-

*Bloop*

The flatscreen went black just before the episode came to a dreadful end. Dipper turned to look at Pacifica, whose forefinger rested on the remote's power button. What was the cause of that? She and Dipper had seen far worse shows before (both in quality and amount of drama) and he recalled them watching it with her just last week, during which he listened to her critique of their poor portrayal of the upper class. The heiress slowly sat up and faced her adventurous companion, and to Dipper she looked like she was going to be sick. Her lips, though bearing a light coating of deep red lipstick looked dry. Despite the blush on her cheeks, her skin looked as white as Gideon Gleeful's hair, and her eyes were wide with anguish. Her chest was rising and falling at an alarming rate, and Dipper wondered if he should offer medical treatment.

"Paz," he asked tentatively, "Are you ok?"

The blonde opened her mouth to respond, but her tongue had gone dry and her throat betrayed her. "I-I'm…" was all she could stutter out, those damned brown eyes wide concern holding her voice back.

"Pacifica you look sick," Dipper said gently, "Is it about your mom? You know you weren't responsible for tha-"

"Why do you care?"

Dipper was taken aback by this. What the hell was that supposed to mean? He opened his mouth to ask what on earth she meant, but Pacifica cut across him.

"Why do you care about me, Dipper Pines? Everyone I've known, my parents, my friends, my family physicians, even my therapist haven't given a damn about me. Why are you always there for me? Why did you come over earlier this week at three in the freaking morning? Why did you comfort me back in that room five years ago? Why?!"

Tears were forming over Pacifica's fury-red face, and her balled fists were shaking. Despite looking like she could punch Dipper (an action Dipper had seen kill gnomes), she immediately went slack and fell into Dipper's chest, sobbing into his shoulder.

"What did I do to deserve a friend like you?"

Dipper's face had gone white with shock from the past few minute's change in mood. The seventeen-year-old gingerly wrapped his arms around the girl crying into his shirt. "Paz…" Dipper muttered into her ear. "Y-you are a human being. You don't need to earn people caring about you, you should have them no matter who you are or what you do. And also," Dipper held her tighter, and he felt her arms slowly snake over his shoulders and behind his neck. "You're my friend. I will always care about you no matter what happens."

After a few minutes passed, Pacifica pulled herself off of Dipper's shoulder, but she left her arms around his neck. This resulted in their noses being only about four inches apart, but Dipper didn't care for the awkwardness for the moment and stared into those spectacular blue eyes. He didn't care that her mascara was leaking down her cheeks, making black streaks similar to the red ones that covered Dipper's flesh. He only looked into her eyes, that seemed to stare fondly into his soul. Pacifica sighed and squeezed her eyelids, pressing out more black-stained tears. "Well," she sniffed, giving him a small smile, "I guess there's no better time to do this."

"What do yo-" Dipper's question was silenced by a pair of lips pressing against his own. His mind raced for second, trying to comprehend this new sensation. Dipper's brain attempted to understand what was happening, but within a millisecond of endeavoring to clarify the new pressure on his lips, his brain cut out like Old Goldie. As he started to become fully aware of what was happening, Dipper felt Pacifica pull away quickly.

"I'm sorry."

Dipper slowly sat up, his lips now matching Pacifica's in gloss choice. The sixteen year old sitting next to him held her face in her hands, but her blush was spreading outward across her ears. Dipper pulled himself closer to her and wrapped his arms around her a second time.

"Paz.."

"I'm really sorry Dipper."

Pacifica sat up and looked Dipper in his eyes again that evening. "I-I just messed this up. I shouldn't have done that. I'm-" Dipper swooped in and silenced her just as she silenced him moments before, this time, however, Dipper was fully aware of what was happening.

He felt Pacifica's arms snake around him and pull him closer, and he ran a hand through her beautiful, sunlight-like hair. After nearly a minute of simply pressing their lips together, Dipper felt something poke through his lips and scrape his teeth. His mouth opened instinctively to welcome in Pacifica's tongue, and he gently moved a hand down towards Pacifica's lower back. Soon enough, they parted to take a breath, Dipper pulling Pacifica's lip with him, causing the heiress to let out a long moan. They fully separated and opened their eyes, staring at each other in wonder. This did not last long, for almost immediately Pacifica slammed back into Dipper, pushing him onto his back against the old, time worn leather sofa. Dipper responded to this third kiss by attempting to push his own tongue through Pacifica's lips, but it felt nothing but air, as Pacifica moved her head off of his mouth and latched onto his neck.

Dipper's gasp of pleasure was replied with Pacifica curling her mouth into a smile as she bit down on a spot just below his left ear. She felt him grip her tighter, trying to pull her closer to himself even there was no space between the two teens. She sucked on the spot for another few seconds before Dipper pushed his own head up, pressing his lips to a similar spot on her neck. Pacifica arched her back in pleasure, letting out a long moan as she felt Dipper detach from her neck and latch on again lower, just above her collar bone.

"D-Dipper," She gasped out, feeling him detach and latch on a second time just above the dip of her cleavage. "L-lets go somewhere else-ah!" The final part of her sentence was lost in a long moan, and Dipper looked up at her, a startled, goofy look on his face. "Y-you mean…" The Northwest smiled down at him and pressed her lips to his as an answer. "Yes," she hummed into him, gently removing her lips from his. "Let's go."

Franklin always prided himself in seeing the constant maintenance of the Northwest Manor clocks.

True, very few of them were actually used by the Northwest family to tell time, but they were antique, and required constant dusting and inspection. They were masterpieces in his own opinion, some being passed down through the family since the mansion was built. His particular favorites were the ones of Swiss origin, but they were few in number, and their exquisite engineering resulted in little need to heed them much.

Franklin was currently seeing to the cleanliness of the golden and copper gears within the large grandfather clock when he heard the opening and slamming of a door not far behind him. He poked his head out of the late Mr. Northwest's office to see Miss Pacifica pressed up against the outside of the parlor doors, her arms and one of her legs wrapped around the Pines boy. Franklin didn't need to see much to understand that the situation was entirely consensual: he had removed all alcohol from the parlor after Mrs. Northwest's death and the fact that Miss Pacifica seemed to be enjoying herself was an answer enough for him.

The old butler quickly retreated back to the grandfather clock, unsure if he should say anything. After all, though she was his new employer (a significantly kinder one than her parents for that matter), he was her legal guardian until she turned eighteen in a little less that two-years time. The gears in his head turned with great precision like the clock before him; quickly considering all options and what outcome would be best for the young woman over whom he had taken charge.

Unfortunately, like the clock, his gears turned a second too late. Just as he was about to break up the situation by reminding his mistress of her appointment with the family lawyer in the morning, something for which she would have to have plenty of rest the night before, the teens separated, and the heiress ran up the steps towards the western wing of the mansion, giggling as the young man scrambled after her.

Franklin sighed, and turned back to the great contraption of gears, rubies, and patience. "At least she chose the decent one," he muttered, making a mental note to wait on inspecting the western clocks.