The rain wore itself out sometime in the middle of the afternoon, leaving the sky perfectly clear for the night's fireworks. Even the mugginess and heat had dissipated in preparation for the show. Somehow, Mabel's optimism had been right. At least that had remained the same.

Mabel, of course, had changed since high school. A bit browner, a bit blonder, even a bit broader than she once was (Dipper was fairly certain that she could carry Grunkle Stan around the same way he used to carry her). He'd never noticed Weirdmageddon seeping into her psyche the way it had his, but something had gotten into her head right before graduation.

"Are you sure you want to go?"

"I don't know what else to do. I don't know who I am anymore. I just want to make people happy."

"It's just…"

"I know. But I think I should go. You can come, too, you know, bro-bro."

"I don't think I want to. I'm excited to go to school in the fall."

"But?"

"…Two years is a long time, Mabel. And Cambodia is so far away."

"Yeah…but…we can still talk and stuff! Grunkle Ford made some major upgrades to my phone—check it out! He wanted to make sure Grunkle Stan could still check up on me all the time."

"Heh. Remember when you considered going to Colombia…?"

For all her differences, though, Mabel came back the way Dipper had always imagined her: vibrant, imaginative, adventurous. If Gravity Falls had done anything to her, the Peace Corps had undone it.

Her natural exuberance was infectious. It had even managed to convince him to return to Gravity Falls, against all the logic and fear screaming from the depths of his mind not to. Everyone had promised to be there and, while Dipper had seen many of them in the past two years, Mable hadn't. She refused to let that continue, and she refused just as adamantly to return without her brother.

"It's not a reunion if everyone isn't here! Duh!"

Not everyone had returned yet. While most everyone remained scattered to the winds, due in the town within the week, some were still around. Soos and Melody, of course, stayed at the Mystery Shack, Old Man McGucket had overtaken the former Northwest Mansion, and, apparently, Pacifica had built her own summer home somewhere amongst the trees. The latter had insisted that they join her for the fireworks that night.

Mabel, naturally, agreed for the both of them, and dragged Dipper along with her as soon as the sun went down. She ignored his misgivings.

It was fully dark by the time they reached the misplaced art deco manor and met with Pacifica. Down a well-walked pathway, deep into the woods, she led them to a cozy clearing. Fallen trees and wanton moss growth provided the illusion of a space under nature's control; as the twins situated themselves, they noticed how every sitting place faced Pacifica's stump throne. Her reign extended upward to the very canopy of the forest, forbidding any branches from interfering with their view of the starry heavens and the pops of bright colors in the distance.

The longer Dipper watched, the less he found himself fond of the colors tearing holes in the inky sky. He said nothing, instead choosing to watch the wisps of smoke dance from the glowing end of Pacifica's drag.

Dipper hadn't expected her to smoke. He hadn't expected her to have such an inviting, approachable air to her, either. The last few years had changed her more than either of the twins, as far as he could tell. Apparently, Pacifica had become an actress, though that hardly seemed an apt description. She had completely drowned in the limelight, surfacing in enough glamour to shame any other starlet who might dare to step under the spot. Not that it was malicious or targeted fabulousness; Pacifica had simply absorbed all the idolatry of Old Hollywood and draped herself in its splendor. It wasn't inherently different from the brattiness she'd shown as a child, he mused, watching her overdramatically stretch from her perch on her throne to a nearby box he hadn't noticed before.

She withdrew a small rocket, planted it into the ground, and lit the fuse with her cigarette. It flew easily above the trees and burst into gold.

Enchanted, Mabel cooed. "Our own personal fireworks show!"

"Doesn't that seem a little dangerous?" Dipper asked, as if this was the most trouble committed in these woods.

"Don't worry about it, Dip-Dop," Mabel answered easily. An airy motion brushed away her brother's concerns.

Dipper frowned. He had always thought that his sister was so easy. Easy to understand, easy to get along with, easy to like, easy to please. He wasn't sure how he could have leapt to such a conclusion, compared to the way she now draped over the natural furniture of the clearing—one arm hanging over the back of a log, the other teetering over another, her head tilted back from little more than gravity's natural pull to let her see the fireworks pop, one leg perched on a slightly elevated rock, the other splayed across the mossy ground, and the rest of her body simply there between all her limbs—the extent of her natural contentment, some weird exuded sense of oneness with the world, it was all just so easy. As if she never had or needed to exert effort into anything. She just was and the universe completely agreed with the idea.

For her part, Mabel seemed not to notice her state of nirvana at all. She simply beamed, then flew to her feet, and fluttered across the clearing. Her hands immediately dipped into the mystery box, pulling out a couple of unmarked rockets.

"It rained earlier, anyway," Pacifica added, passively glancing around the ground beneath them. As if to make the point, she propped the fireworks in the mud with a soft thump. She finally brought her eyes up, her hand lazing over the edge of the hollowed stump that served as her throne; the burning end of the drag hung precariously near to the fuse. "I see you're still a worrier."

"I am not." Pouting, Dipper folded his arms. "I can't be the only one who thinks that fireworks and forests might not mix. Don't you think it sounds like a bad idea?"

Mabel made a dismissive noise. "All ideas are good ideas."

"That's ridiculous!"

Neither girl paid his outburst any mind, both again focused on their pyrotechnic tasks. Mabel withdrew variously sized and colored rockets and brightly lined them in the mud for lighting. Between languid drags from her ever-diminishing smoke and igniting the fireworks, Pacifica sifted through the box; the longer she searched, the more strained her placid façade became.

When finally she found what she sought and retrieved it from its carboard prison, Pacifica mindlessly handed a cigar to Mabel, who took it with equally little care. She borrowed the end of Pacifica's glowing cigarette instead of finding a lighter. As the paper caught, Mabel puffed on the cigar to draw the embers to the tobacco. She had prepared for a thick burning to cloud her lungs. Instead, a familiar, plasticky vapor greeted her insides.

Metallic smoke soon followed. It was like smoking one of her glitter bombs (which she definitely didn't do on a dare in high school, and which definitely didn't land her in the hospital for a night with ten dollars). At least it was smoother this time.

She and Dipper oohed, impressed, when the cigar's end began to glister. Bits of glitter sputtered from the end, crackling like a lit sparkler.

"There were some left over when we wrapped production," Pacifica told them. Her eyes never left the flashes of colored light in the sky; some of her acquired natural ease slipped away in the struggle not to watch the twins' reactions. "Of course, there's no one else in the world who would want to smoke a sparkler cigar, so I immediately thought of you, Mabel. And when you said you'd finally be back in Gravity Falls, I thought I'd bring one for you."

An offended squawk ripped from Mabel's throat. "How could anyone not want one?! They're so cool!"

"How is it, after all this time, you're still so silly?" Pacifica's was a warm laugh, stained with old condescension. The sound wasn't derisive, the way it once was, but instead tumbled with a fond, teasing nostalgia. Sometime in her giggles, Pacifica's cigarette met the fuse on the nearby ground, igniting another rocket. It screamed into the sky and exploded in blue. She paid no mind to it, instead eyeing Mabel's giddy excitement with a soft impression of curiosity. "You haven't changed at all."

Mabel shrugged. "Because I'm so awesome, obviously."

"Hm." Taking a long drag from her cigarette, she returned her attention to Dipper. "And you were afraid that she might not return as our beloved Mabel. Such little faith."

Dipper's face flushed the same color as the fireworks now crackling in the sky. "Well—you know—anything could have happened!"

Another small rocket streamed toward the sky, erupting in purple and green. Mabel squealed with delight, ecstatic that she could now ignite them on her own. A red and blue one followed, and an orange and gold one after that. Their personal light show continued, as did the public one somewhere in the distance, with only the pops in the air and the crackles of Mabel's cigar to fill the void of conversation. Slowly, the supply of rockets diminished; when the box seemed only half-filled, Pacifica rose from her throne.

She glided to the edge of the clearing, moving with a centuries-outmoded noblesse that lent her an unmistakable grace. None of that ease left her as she rummaged through the foliage and pulled something polished and heavy from the trees.

While Mabel didn't seem to notice at all, still enraptured with her sparkler and the fireworks above, Dipper balked, too taken aback to wonder exactly how she had managed to move it. "What is that?"

"Oh, this?" Pacifica waved away the question, her cigarette leaving a languid smoke trail in its wake. "It's just a cannon. An antique, at that."

Dipper eyed it, wary. The comically long fuse did nothing to comfort him. "I can see that, Pacifica. I mean, what's it doing here?"

Pacifica laughed, buoyant and airy. "Nothing, at the moment."

"But when it goes off…?"

She beamed. "It'll be a real showstopper."

"I don't know—"

"So, what exactly is it that you've been doing, Dipper?" She cascaded into her throne and focused all her attention on the younger twin. "Schooling, of some sort or other? Berkley, yes?"

Though initially confused, Dipper eventually nodded. "Yeah. Their science programs are great—especially physics. It's such a great department. And, uh, the computer science stuff is pretty good. I did chemistry and zoology for a while—those were cool, too."

"All that, and you somehow don't already have a degree?" Her innocuous comment held a slight edge to it, perhaps concern. Dipper couldn't tell for sure, between the lethargic quality of her voice and her physical repose.

"If you arrange your classes correctly, maybe overload your semesters with a couple of extra classes apiece, took full loads during the summer, I'm sure you could have your undergraduate degree easily completed within two years. After that, your Master's should only be another year, and you'll be well on your way to your first doctorate."

"That's…a lot of work, Great Uncle Ford."

"You can handle it, my boy, I believe in you. You're bright, diligent—you shouldn't have any problem."

"Right."

Dipper shrugged. "I haven't quite figured out what I wanted to study. If I hadn't gone through five majors, I probably could already have graduated."

Mabel groaned. "Bro, you're working too hard!"

"No, I'm not. Everything is fine. I'm just a little behind schedule, is all."

"Are you at least having fun?" Pacifica eyed him, aghast—the most direct emotion she had shown since their arrival.

"Fun?"

"Yes, fun. What's the point of doing anything if you aren't having fun?" She shook her head, habitually returning to her drag.

"Yeah!" Mabel gestured accusingly at her brother, waving the sparks from her cigar in his face. "When was the last time you even went to a party? Or played your nerd game with friends? Huh? Huh? Huh?"

"Do you even have friends?"

"I have friends!" Dipper clamped his mouth shut. Considering how to continue, he rubbed at the back of his neck. "I mean…There's, uh, like, you guys, and stuff…and uh…Leonard…um…that girl in my Organic Chemistry class that sometimes studies with me…and Jake, or maybe Jack or Mark or something, who lives on my floor and borrows my notes when he misses Calculus…and…uh…the girl I bumped into outside the student union that one time…"

Pacifica scoffed. "You cannot be serious."

"Funny, coming from someone who didn't know anything about fun until the world nearly ended." Though initially Dipper feared that he'd overstepped his boundaries, Pacifica's laugh calmed him.

"At least I've been making up for lost time," she teased. Reaching down, she nabbed the obtrusively long cannon fuse from the ground. "I think you need to lighten up a bit, Dipper."

"I just want Grunkle Ford to be proud of me."

"Look, kid, he is. Don't worry about that. Thing is, Ford forgets that he's the smartest guy in the universe. Nobody else can do the shit he did and, let's be honest, nobody wants to."

"I do…"

"Do you?"

"Uh…"

"You're not happy, Dipper, you've made that more than abundantly clear. My brother's smart, but he can also be wrong. This seems like it might be one of those times."

"But he's right! Physics could lead to a very lucrative career—"

"I think he said that about chemistry, biology, zoology, and astronomy, too. And I think he said the same thing when you talked about psychology, programming, software engineering, pre-law, pre-med, electrical engineering, chemical engineering, and architecture."

"Oh…I guess so…"

"What is it that you want to do, Dipper?"

"I…I was thinking about going into film. I think I want to work on documentaries. I wanted to do research like Grunkle Ford, but…"

"Yeah, I can get behind that. After all that shit…well, let's just say that what I don't remember can't hurt me, you know?"

"Grunkle Stan—"

"Don't make it a big deal, kid."

"But still."

"We're talking about you right now; we can talk about my old man memory later."

"I guess. I was just thinking that filming documentaries would be kind of like doing what you and Grunkle Ford do—research and stuff like that—but without all the…weirdness."

"So why don't you go for it?"

"Film isn't a real major."

"Hm. Ford tell that to you?"

"Well…no…not, uh, exactly…"

"Well, if you decide to go into film, I won't say anything to him. What you choose to do isn't going to change what he thinks of you, even if he acts like a judgmental jerk sometimes."

"Thanks, Grunkle Stan."

Dipper sighed. "Yeah, I know."

"Here." Pacifica held her drag out, stretching her arm out toward him. "Take this."

Cautiously, Dipper reached forward and took the barely burning cigarette.

"And this." She handed him the fuse.

Mabel lit the last of the tiny rockets before scrambling to her brother's side. "Do it, Dipper!"

Initially, Dipper hesitated. He glanced between the dying drag in one hand and the fuse begging for a light in the other. After a full minute of expectant silence, he sighed. The fuse stole the last bit of ember from Pacifica's cigarette and Mabel's fizzling cigar, but it caught.

Distant pops and crackles interrupted the anticipatory muteness that had overtaken the three. None spoke as the fuse burned ever closer to its explosive goal, their eyes only widening with burgeoning impatience.

Then the fuse disappeared into the cannon.

The delay that followed made the eventual, earth-shaking boom all the more startling. A tremendous explosion lit up the sky as if it were midday, scribbling it with glistering patterns of reds and blues and greens and golds. Whatever had been stuffed into that cannon certainly had some impressive pyrotechnic packing: numerous phases, patterns, and colors burst in the sky for minutes afterward—an impressive light show on its own, a show-stopping finale to the amateur fireworks throughout the rest of the evening. When the colors and sounds stopped, a fuller silence settled into the forest. The celebration had ended across the entirety of Gravity Falls.

Mabel squealed, drawing both Dipper and Pacifica into one-armed hugs. "Wow, Pacifica, you were right! That was a real show-stopper!"

A special thanks to Barbacar for the request and creative consultation. Your patience is greatly appreciated and your suggestion was just so much fun to write.