Author's note: Another short-ish fic as a bridge/intermission between two big ones, focusing on Mabel's feelings towards an original character in this story arc. Hope you enjoy!

July 27th, 2018

Mabel Pines loved Charlie Huston. That much she knew.

Maybe she didn't know why, exactly. She turned that question over in her mind every spare minute she had. She wondered why this person, who was so unlike her usual crushes, made her feel more deeply than boys she had known and dated and thought she'd loved in the past.

He was a dork. He was a loser. He was more socially awkward than Dipper. He loved history and old movies and Philip Roth novels and all kinds of nerdy stuff. He dreamed of being a writer, which was fine...but a writer about history, which was...a bit iffier.

He wasn't exactly bad looking, but he was decidedly unremarakble in appearance. He cut his hair as short as possible without actually being bald, in a severe crewcut that seemed militaristic. She usually liked her boyfriends to have longer, curlier hair. He was thin but with a slight paunch and muscles like string beans. He struggled to shave and invariably had razor nicks on his face when they went on dates. Though she didn't notice it until the second time they slept together, he had a large, inoperable cyst on the side of his nose that drove her crazy when she stared at it too long (fortunately, his glasses usually hid it enough that Mabel could avoid madness most of the time).

And yet, over the past month, he'd won Mabel's heart more than anyone she'd ever met. She already knew that she wanted to be his girlfriend for the long-term, that he wasn't just some passing fancy. She thought, constantly, about how they'd maintain their relationship when the summer ended and they went off to separate schools. She thought, fleetingly, about marrying him and having kids and what they would do together. Though she was obviously getting ahead of herself.

Usually, when Mabel fell for someone, it was an instant smack of hormones and attraction that she couldn't resist. She obsessed over her latest crush, couldn't stop thinking about him, couldn't stand not to be around him (yet often found being around him intolerable, as well). The crush would be everything, her entire life and consuming every waking moment.

And then, after the initial flush of excitement wore off, she invariably lost interest and moved on to the next target.

Why? Mostly because she had an eye for the worst kinds of guys. Sometimes they were werewolves or vampires or mermen or pony-tailed puppet fetishes. Sometimes they were Alexander Hamilton, who looked cute on the $10 bill (and even cuter as Lin-Manuel Miranda) but obviously wasn't a viable option, having been dead for two centuries. More often they were commonplace jerks, who may or may not reciprocate her feelings. Guys like Harry Brubaker, who stole Mabel's heart and owned it for weeks, only to stomp on it in the most humiliating, public fashion imaginable.

All because she wasn't his ideal girlfriend. She hoped he was happy with the Queen Bee, though she wagered he'd forgotten about her, too, after he'd gotten what he wanted.

Maybe Wendy was right. Maybe guys were assholes. Certainly Mabel would agree that most of the guys she'd dated, or tried to date, or at least pined over, fit that description.

But Charlie wasn't.

Maybe it was that simple.

She liked that he was awkward and insecure. Because it meant that he held the door open for her, that he always (or almost always) asked before holding her hand or kissing her or doing anything unduly physical, anything that might embarrass her in public (at least, when she didn't do it first!). It meant that he wouldn't do anything that she didn't want to do, wouldn't pressure her into acting against her wishes. And she really appreciated that.

She liked that he was a nerd. Ordinarily a history lesson or a lecture on politics would have put her to sleep. But look how passionate he was! He could make the verities of Watergate, the infighting among the Founding Fathers, even the dullest intricacies of labor movements - things she wouldn't have cared less about back in Piedmont - fascinating through his sheer conviction that it was worth talking about. She really wondered why he wasn't training to be a teacher, and thought she might, once they were together longer, try and push him in that direction. The world was missing out!

And in any case, what was wrong with being a nerd? So was she, in her own weird, silly way. They were nerdy together, about many things. They loved bad pop music and showtunes. They enjoyed singing karaoke, whether in the car or among friends.

And now that she'd had a taste of governing, albeit forty years in the past, or maybe just because of him, she was even coming around on history. She'd started reading Ron Chernow's Hamilton book, something she'd put off for years, and while she'd only made it through about 100 pages in a week, she wasn't regretting it at all. She just wished that she could read as fast as he did - he usually managed three or four books a week.

She even didn't mind that he wasn't exactly an Adonis. Maybe it helped that she was insecure about her looks, too, and dating someone who looked like Charlie seemed...right. But he loved to hug and cuddle and be physical, as reluctant as he was to display affection public. He was a bit awkward about kissing, but he could do that if he had to. And he had a nice smile and broad shoulders and...all the component parts were there, Mabel thought. She just needed to bring them out.

And, though she hadn't said anything to him, nor to anyone but Wendy, she loved sleeping with him, even if they hadn't actually had sex yet (and probably wouldn't for awhile). She loved curling up in his arms before she fell asleep. She loved hearing his heart beat. She loved just feeling a warm body beside her as she slept, which made her feel secure, feel safe, feel like she wasn't alone, that there was someone there who cared about her and would always be there and always try to make her happy.

He cared about her. That's probably what it came down to, more than anything. He'd taken a cattle prod to the chest for her within a few days of their first meeting. He'd been shot and actually died for her (even if they'd fixed it later on, and she nearly returned the favor!). He wasn't the toughest or the strongest or the manliest guy around, but he was coming along okay. Clearly, being around awesome people like her and Dipper and Wendy was making an impact!

And he cared about her in many other ways. He always insisted on paying for anything, like a gentleman. He tried wearing her sweaters when they hung out together, even if they made him look ridiculous or feel sweaty. He bought her a million tiny trinkets and doo-dads that she wore or put on her shelf or always kept them in mind (she refused to go anywhere without her shooting star pin). He never told her she was silly or ridiculous, even when he didn't like something Mabel had done or said.

She remembered the first time she was sure of her feelings...when they were on their first date and he froze up in traffic and narrowly avoided an accident. And opened up to her about having anxiety and needing medication. Her first thought had been sadness and pity, maybe a little anger at herself for feeling angry at him...and then something warmer, like he'd flicked on a switch inside her.

While she didn't have an answer for his situation, couldn't offer him anything more than general support...it meant a lot to her that he could confide something like to her, rather than try to bluff his way through or pretend it was no big deal. That he would trust her with that, trust her not to judge him and to be honest with her. That he didn't mind appearing vulnerable in front of a woman.

Which was a very un-guy thing to do, as Wendy might say.

And he loved her. She could tell that, too.

He struggled to express it - Mabel's exact opposite, in that regard. Any time he tried to say "I love you," or anything like it, he choked on the words and teared up, frustrated, as if these were emotions he wasn't used to having.

Even so, it became more and more obvious whenever she thought about it. How a million gestures and actions and confidences expressed his affection in their own quiet way. How he might not be the most super-romantic person in the world, any more than he was the strongest or the sexiest or the most exciting guy on Earth.

But that was okay. Because he loved Mabel Pines.

And Mabel Pines loved him.

Charlie Huston loved Mabel Pines.

At least, he thought he did.

He always second-guessed himself. He needed to stop doing that. But he realized that telling himself to stop wouldn't help. Especially when confronted with Mabel Pines, who was so alien to his personality and experience with friends and what he usually felt comfortable with that he needed to be really, really sure that he liked what he was getting.

When he first met Mabel at the museum, he found her a bit odd. Just the fact of a moderately attractive girl flirting with him was strange enough...it wasn't a common occurrence. But her in-your-face, loud and screaming personality was something else entirely. And the sweaters! She was exactly the kind of person he would have given a wide berth if he'd known them in school or elsewhere. And he'd known plenty, especially during his time dabbling in theater.

The fact that she liked him enough to keep hanging around...well, at first he wrote it off as researching whatever was going on in with the break-in and the Corduroys and whatnot. And maybe it was, at first. But it was clear that, at the very least, she had a crush on him.

And for the life of him, Charlie couldn't figure out why.

He'd never been able to understand what people saw in him. It was beyond his ability to understand.

Sure, if he actually asked his friends they would tell him the same things. That he was nice and smart and all of those things, vague, general, generic praise that you could give anyone. But he was also insecure and introverted and only cared about weird things and was sure that no one valued that but him. He had no clue why he had so many friends, and why they thought so highly of him. He had no idea how girls, especially someone like Mabel, who was his perfect opposite, could find anything about him appealing or attractive.

It hurt, but he was resigned to it. He felt he was doomed to spend the rest of his life alone, puttering around dark libraries and dusty museums doing his work and indulging his harmless passions, only interacting with people when he had to. Always at the fringe of the crowd, politely acknowledged, perhaps even welcomed to join in, but always feeling out of place, uncomfortable. Always finding an excuse to be alone.

So what on Earth could he do with her?

Something changed with that night when they confronted Questadt. He had only dim memories - he didn't even remember being electrocuted, exactly, and very little of what came afterwards. Which was fine - it was a traumatic experience, and what little he could remember were mostly spasms and flashes of pain, when he lost control of his body and couldn't think or do anything but suffer.

Then he remembered waking up in the middle of the night, asleep on a strange couch in a building he didn't recognized, surrounded by weird taxidermy animals and garish clown paintings. His body still sizzling with pain and electricity, his mind still a blur. But he was conscious enough to see Mabel sleeping next to him on the couch, her sweater pulled up around her face, her light brown hair a frazzled mess.

Clutching his hand.

Even with her asleep, it was a death grip.

He didn't know what to think, at first. But his instant thought was that this was something special. Someone special. That she wasn't capable of creativity and weirdness and being loud and exuberant. That she had so much love in her, that it hurt.

That Mabel was Love.

That was how Charlie viewed her, from that moment on. Even if he couldn't express it. That she was fun and vibrant and beautiful and extremely cute and smelled like strawberries was just a sweetener.

It took him awhile to fill out the human contours to his vision, to find more of the kinks and flaws in her personality, the minor annoyances he'd have to deal with in a relationship (which with Mabel were often amplified like a stereo), the minor traits that he'd find endearing and that no one else could appreciate. He found the latter greatly outnumbering the former, the more he got to know her.

He liked her scrapbooks and her photo albums. He'd dabbled in the photographic arts himself, and while he wasn't any good at it, he kept pictures from his school days and activities, too. He even grew to appreciate her sweaters, over time. Especially the ones she made for him.

He found so much to like about her, too. The way she bounced when she walked - she could make a simple trip across the room seem like skipping. He loved her hair, so rich and full, and wished she would grow it out again. She loved her smile and the perpetual twinkle in her eye and especially her voice, which was shrill in the sweetest, most endearing way imaginable.

And he loved singing karaoke with her. She seemed perpetually tickled that a brainiac like him would enjoy &ndra so much and that he knew all the words. (Though he wondered what she expected him to like - Brahms and Beethoven?) That was one time when he could cut loose and be weird and wild just like her. It was a connection that he valued more than anything else about their relationship.

He loved that she brought him in contact with Dipper, whom he felt, after initial awkwardness, to be something of a kindred spirit. Someone as smart as him, maybe even smarter - possibly even more awkward. Definitely as determined and passionate in his interest. And Wendy Corduroy! What an amazing woman she was. How much he loved hanging out with her. And how much these friends had inspired him to be better.

He knew he'd never have even thought about taking a cattle prod to the chest for anyone before this summer. He knew he'd never travel back in time - he certainly didn't think he would be shot or have to outfight and outrun crazed cultists. He still had nothing on his friends, who managed to be nerds yet tough as nails at the same time, but he was getting better, getting stronger and braver and more self-confident. And he liked it.

He started eating better. More salads and sandwiches, less junk food. He tried to exercise, though he found his stamina disappointing whenever he'd try to run or do anything too intense. Still, he'd already lost four pounds over the past two weeks. He hoped Mabel would notice. Certainly his coworkers at the Museum did.

At the same time, he appreciated that his friends showed interest in him, too. He'd known Wendy already, and had imagined her as someone who would sleep through any history class, however entertaining she found it. Yet she was urging him to write a story about her ancestor Rick, sending him emails and articles and all manner of material to sift through for an article.

And Mabel! After they returned from 1974, she peppered him with endless questions about Watergate and Congress to help her get a better understanding of what she'd gone through. Now she was reading a Ron Chernow book. Mabel Pines.

And every time she finished a chapter, she would either call or email him for help discussing it. Charlie had to dig out his old beat-up paperback and catch up, to make sure they were on track. To his surprise, Mabel was both interested and a really quick study. Of course, knowing the Hamilton soundtrack frontwards and backwards certainly helped.

Maybe this was what friends are, what real friends do. They make you better. They rub off on you. They share their interests and want to know yours. They share their strengths while nourishing yours, they confide their weakness and help you confront your own. Certainly he was seeing it work both ways.

Maybe Charlie Huston finally understood friendship. If nothing else, he felt grateful to Mabel - and Dipper, and Wendy - for that.

But he still couldn't figure out Mabel, not exactly. And, if he were honest, he still wasn't one hundred percent sure how he felt about her. If she was just his own version of a Manic Pixie Dream Girl (though he knew Mabel enough to know that no, she had dreams and aspirations and fears and regrets of her own, and that was unfair to her, and to him). If he needed someone who was less into sweaters and show tunes and more into hardcore history. If she was The One.

Though if not her, than who?

Not that he doubted it, not really. He just wanted to be sure.

And so, that Thursday night, with a long and potentially boring weekend staring them in the face, he thought of a way to find out.