Chapter: (I Gotta Give It To You) You Give Me Problems
Pairing: Dipper Pines/Pacifica Northwest
Word Count: +5,000 words
Disclaimer: All properties belong to their rightful owners.

(Your Heart And My Heart Are) Very Old Friends

Chapter I

It's sophomore year when sixteen year-old Dipper Pines actually starts paying attention to Pacifica Northwest.

And even after all this time, it's not because she's the most popular girl in their entire school, or because a Rolls Royce drives her home every day, or even because almost every guy on the football team tends to ogle her during cheerleading practice.

It's simply because she's in his AP Physics.

He's so used to being the only sophomore in the honors class that he thinks maybe she's lost for a second. It takes him a good five minutes to stop gaping in the doorway at the sight of her sitting in the back corner of the room, listening to music with her perfectly curled golden blonde hair and hot pink eye shadow standing out like a sore thumb amidst horn-rimmed glasses perched atop noses buried in text books and busy hands hurrying to scribble down pages and pages of notes.

Once he finds the function in his brain that closes his mouth, he cautiously slides over next to her, because this is the table where he usually sits. Alone.

He waits a few moments before clearing his throat.

She doesn't take out her ear buds but she does arch a perfectly tailored eyebrow at him, at least, even though her eyes stay fixed on her iPod. "Do you need something?" She sounds bored.

"Um," he puts his things on the table, pushing some of her pens and notebooks over to her side (Wait, no, that's not right. She doesn't have a side to his table) and he hesitates, "Don't take this the wrong way, but...you do know that this is honor roll physics, right?"

She seems unimpressed. "Yeah, so?"

"Soooo..." He can feel the heat spread to his face as he rubs the back of his neck. He's not quite sure why he's nervous as he asks, "Are you…lost...or something?"

Her shoulders tense suddenly, and Dipper can tell in an instant he's said the wrong thing.

She flashes him a wolfish smile that makes his skin tingle. "Oh, really? Wow, I didn't notice that. You think I would, seeing as, you know," a laugh escapes her lips then, but she looks anything but amused right now. "I do know how to read."

He clicks his tongue at that, wincing. "Nope, not lost, my bad. But still as charming as ever, I see."

"Oh, please," the girl narrows her icy blue eyes at him. "If you're going to be a sexist, condescending egomaniac, come up with something a little more original and maybe - just maybe - you might actually hurt my ego next time you - "

Dipper sighs under his breath, "Alright, I get it - "

Pacifica leans in and pulls him by the collar with startling strength. "In case no one ever gave you the memo, lips moving means I'm still talking."

He squints at her in turn. "Say, that eye shadow really brings out the dark roots in your fake blonde hair."

"God, you think you're real slick, aren't you? I call out your chauvinism and your best respond is a low blow about my hair?"

Bright patches of red form on his cheeks, flushed, "At least my sister and her pig are far more civilized company than you seem to be."

"And what of your cheapskate old man, eh? Or your little manchild friend?"

"Well, I suppose that compared to your stuck-up, snobbish parents they—"

"You've got some nerve bringing my parents into this, how dare you—"

"How dare !? Wow, that's rich coming from the girl who insulted my family fir—"

"Well, if you hadn't opened that ginormous mouth of yours and then maybe—"

"What, Pacifica?" Dipper throws his arms up in exasperation. "What horrible, unspeakable thing are you so pissed off about? I'm sorry if I -"

"You can't talk about apologies to me anymore," She slams her book down and stands up from the table. "You asked me if I was lost!"

"Because I actually thought that you were!" He's standing up now, too.

Dipper is only acutely aware of how they must look to other people, standing and screaming at the back of the room, wounded pride and fired arrows and wild hand gestures and all, and how everyone else must be staring at them. Honestly, he's too angry to care right now.

The girl gives a sarcastic laugh. "Oh, of course you would. Because it's absolute bullcrap that some dumb blonde bimbo like me could ever even be in the same league, let alone the same class, as a genius like you, huh, Pines?"

He's close to ripping his hair out now. "God, Pacifica! Don't be such a drama queen! You're — "

Their physics teacher, Mr. Wilkinson, who neither of them had noticed enter, slams his fist against his table. The two teenagers snap their heads to face him.

"Mister Pines, Miss Northwest," he calls them out sternly, making it absolutely clear by the tone of his voice that there's something else he'd like to call them, too. "Since the two of you seem to enjoy chatting with each other in class so much, why don't you pair up as tutor buddies?"

Both of them clamor towards their teacher in unison.

"What? No! There is no freaking way—"

"Sure, maybe when hell freezes over—"

"I'd rather shove an ice pick in my eye than have to spend two more minutes with that-that-that dork—"

"Sir, if you have any mercy whatsoever inside of you, I'm begging you, please don't sentence me with her—"

"Jump off a cliff, why don't you, Pines?"

"Ladies first, Northwest. I—"

Mr. Wilkinson slams his fist again, this time much more vehemently. "That is ENOUGH! You two, sit down!"

Begrudgingly, Dipper and Pacifica slump back down into their seats, ducking their heads and mumbling "Sorry, Mr. Wilkinson," and "Won't happen again, sir."

The greying forty-year-old man smooths his checkered necktie and gathers his composure. "Okay class, courtesy of these two chatty Cathy's over here, pop quiz next meeting covering the entire chapter two, from pages 10 to 28."

Everyone in class groans in unison, sending daggers at the pair seated in the back. Mr. Wilkinson quirks his eyebrow up at them. "Planning on any more raucous outbursts, children? Because I've been itching to grade ten-page essays lately."

"No, Mr. Wilkinson," the girl grumbles.

"Sorry, sir," her seatmate replies, though it's clear he doesn't mean it.

They go back to discussing the new topic after that, and the pair pointedly ignores each other all throughout the entire period.

He looks for her in the hallways, once he has a free period.

It's not that hard, all things considered. After all, she likes to be the center of attention. She's flashy like that.

Today she's dressed in a loose maroon halter top and a blue denim button up skirt paired with black high-heeled ankle boots. He can see what all the fuss in the boy's locker room is about, he supposes; admittedly, it's easier to swallow Pacifica's bratty ways when she looks the way she does.

At the back of his mind, Dipper wonders for a moment how someone so girly and sweet-looking could turn out to be the devil incarnate herself.

Determined, he storms over to where she's stacking her books, hunched over her locker. He calls out her name and when she pretends not to hear him, he slams her locker shut, right in her face.

She shoots him a deadly glare for an entire ten seconds before she takes out her hand mirror and re-touches. "What do you want, Pines?"

Dipper frowns, shoves his hands into his pockets. "I would've thought ruining my favorite class for me would've given you sympathy enough to at least acknowledge my presence now."

"Sorry, no can do," she smiles at the mirror, blows a kiss before closing it shut. "One of the perks of being in the popular clique is that I don't have to mingle with losers like you."

He bites the inside of his cheeks to keep from frowning any deeper. "Look, if you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly thrilled that I ended up with you as a tutoring partner, either. But if we want to survive Mr. Wilkinson's class, we need to study. Both of us."

Pacifica sighs in defeat, and some small ounce of pride wells up inside Dipper as he dances on his toes slightly. "Although I am repulsed by the mere thought of breathing the same air as people of the nerd species, I do see your point."

"Glad to know you have some wits to you, at least." He adjusts the straps on his backpack uncomfortably, suddenly shy. "So, um...?"

"My place, after school, around six."

His eyebrows furrow. "Six seems pretty late. We've got a lot to cover for next meeting's quiz," he counts off on his fingers. "There's the review of the basic fundamental equations of physics like Nowak, Schrödinger —"

"Did you just sneeze?"

"And not to mention all the other variables and statistics involved in them. This is complicated stuff, Pacifica. Are you sure you can learn this all in one night?"

"Look here, geek," she says coolly. She punctuates every word with a jab of her matte black-painted finger at his chest. "I don't need some dopey, khaki-wearing, manic-obsessive prick like you to question my intellectual capability."

Dipper's face flushes, indignant. "Hey, if anyone's being a prick it's—"

She holds up her hand. "Just show up when I ask you to, kapeesh?" It's a question but she doesn't even wait for an answer.

With a flip of her blonde hair, Pacifica's gone.

Dipper grinds his teeth and slams his head against the lockers in hopes of waking up from this catastrophic nightmare. The bell rings and he's still standing there.

Oh, God lend him strength.

As soon as Dipper finishes all his extra-curriculars, he packs his things hastily and goes straight over to the Northwest Mansion. The gates open as soon as he introduces himself as Pacifica's (unwilling) study buddy and a butler escorts him to the veranda.

"Huh," Pacifica greets him with a smirk, leaning against a marble column, barefoot. "You're twenty minutes early. A little excited, aren't we, Pines?"

She's still wearing the same clothes she wore to school today, but her hair is in a messy high ponytail now and all that's left of her make-up is the faint trace of shimmering pink framing her eyes. He almost tells her she looks nice before he remembers that's not really something he does, and so he settles for clearing his throat instead.

"D-Don't flatter yourself, Pacifica," Dipper scoffs, lifting up his chin. It's funny that he's never really noticed how small she was before, without heels. "I just want to get this over with as soon as possible, that's all."

"Sure, okay," The other corner of Pacifica's mouth twitches upward, and she's smiling now, if only a little bit. And Dipper can't help the way he's transfixed by the rare sight that he barely even notices as she swings the door wide open and walks inside, snickering under her breath, "Abandon all hope, all ye who enter here."

(And did Pacifica just make a joke? Boy, he must've hit his head against that locker way too hard.)

Dipper grabs his backpack and shuffles right after her.

They're sitting in the living room. Dipper has his textbook open to explain:

"So these equations describe all the known relationships between electricity and magnetism and how both of these behave in a way that is entirely exclu—"

"Hey, are you hungry?"

Dipper blinks. "What?"

Pacifica bites her lip to keep from laughing and nudges his foot with hers, "Just being a good host and making conversation, is all."

"Pacifica," he groans. "You don't need to make conversation, really. We have dozens more equations to go over and—"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Failed pop quiz in physics equates the end of your nerdy little life and all that. But frankly, Dipper," she gestures to him with her Hershey's bar, chewing nonchalantly. "If I have to listen to you recite another stupid equation at me again, I will like, literally slip into a coma or something."

"You used literally wrong."

"Shut up," her mouth scoffs, but here eyes are sparkling. "It's a habit. And you're avoiding my question."

"I'm not hungry," he waves off. He tries to flip through the next pages, but she closes it shut. He opens it again and gives her a pointed look.

"Cheater, cheater, compulsive eater," she singsongs. "You're going to swallow that pen if you don't eat something soon."

He sighs and rubs his forehead. At the pained look Pacifica shoots his way when he glances at his notes again, Dipper caves. "Fine, I could use a little break, too, I guess. But only for a little while, okay? And then it's back to studying."

"Mmhkay, be right back," Pacifica smiles and walks towards her kitchen

Was Pacifica just nice? Dipper wonders in astonishment. Huh. Today must be the day hell freezes over. Just when I thought this town couldn't get any weirder.

(And did she just call him Dipper?)

He's still chewing on his pen when she comes back later.

She whistles at him, "Hey, Pines! Catch!"

Dipper catches the object thrown at him with ease (Louis Vutton chopsticks? Is that even a thing?). He examines it warily as she throws herself back into her bean bag chair next to him, handing him a bowl of ramen.

"Violá!" She beams, flourishing her hands. "Dinner is served."

"Thanks," he almost laughs at her playfulness. This is still Pacifica, right? "Nice throw, by the way."

"Hey, I'm in the school fencing team. Of course I've got a good wrist."

He means to shake his head, but he can't help the smile that tugs at his lips. Because he's pretty sure that that's the first Pacifica-esque thing she's said all day that didn't come across as mean or necessary bad and...is he going crazy or is she actually tolerable, or heaven forbid — likable like this?

"Thank you for that very nice compliment, Dipper," he imitates her valley girl accent. "Of which I am perfectly capable of accepting without a snide remark whatsoever like a normal person."

She snorts. "Okay, you asked for it, Pines! En garde!"

"Wha—?" Before Dipper can even comprehend her words, Pacifica swiftly plunges herself into his study space and clashes her chopsticks with his.

One chopstick flies out of his hand, but luckily, he has good reflexes. Dipper parries instinctively and fends her off. It turns into this match, corps-á-corps, this elegant dance of glisé and flèche, forward and back, woosh and thwack. They meet each other blow for blow.

In a game-changing last move, Pacifica effectively uses her other chopstick to knock Dipper's last chopstick out of his hand. It flies into midair and she catches it.

Smiling breathlessly, she pokes the chopstick at him. "Jeu terminé," she says in perfect French with that goddamn tilting smirk of hers. Her blue eyes are sparkling even more now and he finds himself counting the flecks of green in them. "Game over."

"Gah! I've been stabbed!" Dipper clutches at his chest dramatically and pretends to be in excruciating pain. "Oh, the agony! The agony!"

She laughs — really laughs this time, not like a polite laugh or a snooty one or a small, quiet 'ha'. It's genuine happiness seeping into her voice and dripping with every shuddering giggle. And honestly?

The sound of it amazes him.

He chimes in with her and they both laugh until they have tears in their eyes, clutching at their stomachs. And then they laugh some more.

Still chuckling under her breath, Pacifica offers Dipper some of her soda. He thanks her and pours a little bit of it for himself, only filling a quarter of his glass. He thinks it's strange that she chooses to share her food with him when he's sure they have more than enough to give him, but he appreciates her all the more for that small gesture.

"I didn't know you liked Japanese food," he says as he douses soy sauce into his bowl. "But hey, shows what I know, right?"

"Well, I don't really like it in particular, but it was the only thing in my fridge that I could just reheat," She says sheepishly.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Ms. Pacifica Elise Northwest, culinary arts extraordinaire."

"Hey! Winners eat and losers shut their trap!" She sticks her tongue out and digs in happily. "Besides, it's not like I know you that well, either. I mean, we're practically strangers."

Dipper shakes his head, slurping some of his soup. "What? No, you know plenty about me. You know my name, and my address, and who my family is, and who my friends are, and my school reputation, and—"

"I don't even know what your favorite color is," She says seriously. "I mean, yeah, I do know all that other stuff, but those things don't matter. Anyone can find that out with just one look at your records or by asking around. It's nothing to write home about, Dipper."

He sips his Coke, smiles. "Then let's play twenty-one questions."

A puzzled look decorates her face. "What's twenty-one questions?"

"It's a game where we take turns asking questions," he shrugs, going back to chewing some more noodles. "And we both answer them. Game?"

"Game. You first."

"Favorite animal?"

"Easy. Turtles," she shrugs. "They're gentle, free-spirited souls. They can go anywhere they want and still be home."

He looks at her out of the corner of his eye. "I see the appeal."

"What about you?"

"Athena's symbol: owls. They're intelligent and quiet, and I like the peculiar way they look." He wipes his mouth with a napkin. "Your turn."

"Favorite color?" she looks proud of herself for that.

"Violet. I love purple sunsets."

"Same."

He raises his eyebrows at her, "Not pink?"

"Sorry to disappoint," she rolls her eyes, "But I'm not actually Barbie, you know."

"Well, there goes my entire belief system. Favorite Disney movie?"

She flushes, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "Lilo and Stitch, because it's the first one that ever made me cry."

He laughs quietly at her new found shyness. "Mine is Meet the Robinsons. It's warmhearted, witty, and inspiring. I recognize the same awkwardness and innovation Lewis has with me, and I guess I like that the most."

"Keep moving forward," Pacifica quotes happily. "Favorite song?"

"I don't think you've heard of it, it's really old, but it's called 'For the Longest Time' by Billy Joel."

"Actually," she smiles and pulls out her iPod. She offers him one of her ear buds and Dipper's favorite song starts playing. "I love old-timey music like this. Classics. It has a certain emotional depth to it that today's pop songs don't, you know?"

The teenage boy shakes his head. "You just keep surprising me today, Northwest. What's yours?"

"It's what I was listening to in AP Physics earlier." She scrolls through her playlist. "It's 'Kathleen' by Catfish and the Bottlemen."

"Punk rock? Huh. Always figured you'd be more into Taylor Swift than Panic! at the Disco."

"I like the message this song has, about loving someone even though you have no reason to. You love them even if they hurt you and you can't help it anymore, it's like a destructive impulse inside you."

"It's a nice song," He offers, bumping his shoulder with hers playfully. "Has a nice feel to it. Like one of those slow rock U2 songs my mom used to play every day, back when I was a kid."

She smiles that happy little smile again, the one that makes him look at her like she's hung the stars right before his eyes. He wonders if he's ever seen her this happy before. Wonders if she ever has been.

"What was she like, your mom?" Pacifica asks, in a tone he's never heard from her before. She fiddles with her fingers and peeks at him almost shyly, through the curtain of her fringe. He stares at her, all slewed eyes and wispy blonde hair falling over clear blue orbs, and he sees a different kind of storm in her gaze. He's so used to the sharpness and the ice that always glinted bright in her eyes; it takes him a second to adjust to the tenderness.

Hope and relief and blue skies as the clouds break up. Cool water lapping at the sand, waves tripping over each other to draw closer, to reach for land and the survivor that stands singular, waiting, shipwrecked in the aftermath of a hurricane that's finally beginning to pass.

It makes his breath catch, though he doesn't quite understand why.

He clears his throat.

"My mom?" Dipper asks, bewildered. She gives a little nod, so he answers.

"Uh...well, let's see...Her name's Cassidy and she's an English professor at UC Berkley. She was young when she had Mabel and me, so she's just barely over 30 now. She's written a few best-selling books, but she's very humble about it, and family is the most important thing in the world to her. She'd always tuck me in at night before, kissing my forehead, and whispering that I was her favorite." Here Dipper smiles. "Though I suspect she says that to Mabel, too. She's warm and chatty and sweet. Basically Mabel but not hyped up on sugar."

Stray locks of sunflower blonde hair fall over her face as she tucks her hand under her chin as she listens intently.

"She sounds great." The sentence is a compliment, but she doesn't say it like it is. She says it like it's something sad. "I wish I was as close to my mom as you seem to be. I mean, I don't even know anything about her."

"I'm sure that's not true. Hey, quid-pro-quo, why don't you tell me about your mom this time? Come on."

For the few moments that she stays doesn't say anything, Dipper is scared that he's ruined something. He almost apologizes for it, almost says 'You know what, forget I even said anything. Break's over, let's go back to reviewing'. But she sighs quietly, interrupting his train of thought, and he can picture the cogs turning in her head and so he waits.

"Okay," she says after a while.

At first, she only tells her about the fundraising and the charity galas and the social banquets, how she's always away on flights and never home for her only daughter's birthdays and never thinks Pacifica's grades are high enough and never speaks to her unless it's to tell her about proper decorum. But then she goes deeper; she tells him his parents didn't even want to get married, just that her father was wealthy and in love with her mother but she only married him for financial security. Now they hardly talk or show affection or god forbid — laugh.

As he listens, Dipper starts to understand. Pacifica is looking down, tracing patterns on the floorboard absently, like she wants to act nonchalant about it all. It doesn't work, not on him. Because he can see — clear as day — the anger and pain reflected in those big, blue eyes.

"Is she really all that bad?"

He's almost too afraid to ask, to pry, but he's Dipper and he can't help himself. He's just so intrigued by all of this, the mystery of her, this girl who, before today, he thought was just some vapid, narcissistic, prissy mean girl. From how small and fragile she looks right now, hunched into herself and smiling like it hurts, he starts to wonder if even half of the stories he's heard about her are true.

"No, sorry. Yeah, you're right. She isn't really that awful, when I think about it. I mean, I didn't know any other life, so I didn't miss anything," she raises her chin, bubbling up laughter that sounds broken to his ears. "The illustrious Priscilla Northwest. Everyone says she's very talented, very intelligent. And not to mention, very beautiful."

She bites her lip, and Dipper doesn't even understand why he thinks I can't imagine how she couldn't be.

Pacifica wrings her hands in her lap, shuffling her feet distractedly. "She could be kind sometimes, and she always gave me what I wanted. But she was sad, too. She was always so sad, when she didn't think I could see. I never understood why. I-I..."

That's when she starts crying.

And Dipper's not proud of it, but that's when he starts freaking out, too.

Because Pacifica Northwest, the most confident, assured and level headed girl he knew, was sitting here beside him, and she's shaking and sobbing and — and — and — what is he supposed to do? Is he even supposed to do something? They're not really friends, not since a few hours ago, but he can't just let her continue to feel horrible. Oh, it all makes his head spin.

Beyond the confusion of his shock is the perception of her heartbreak — a deep well of pent-up sorrow and hurt that he struggles to fathom. She's always been built like a ballerina; the idea of such a petite body holding so much grief. He can hardly comprehend the geometry of her sadness.

Cautiously, he rubs her shoulder in what he hopes is a comforting manner. "Hey, hey, it's alright. Pacifica," he coos. "What is it? What's the matter?"

"I just...I don't understand either, Dipper." She wipes her nose with the back of her hand and bites her lip to keep more tears from spilling out. "I...I think I make her sad, like, like..,It's me and I try and I'm always trying, so hard, but I'm never enough. And I want to be but...But it's hard because she's so amazing and accomplished and I feel like, when I'm talking to her, she doesn't really listen. I'm so invisible sometimes."

The confession startles the teenage boy. Pacifica feels invisible sometimes? But she's always been this hurricane of a girl. This whirlwind of long, blonde hair and short skirts and high heels, strutting through the halls like it's the Red Sea and she's some sort of high school Moses. Guys wanted her and girls wanted to be her. She was the popular head cheerleader, the trendsetter, the it girl. She had money and her family name and, honestly, Dipper would've thought that that would've been more than enough for her.

To him, it's like he's seeing an entirely different person here, sitting in her place. Because the girl he knew wasn't friendly with him. She didn't have impromptu fencing matches using chop sticks, or admit that she cried over Lilo and Stitch, or eat Hershey's and then lick the sticky chocolate remnants off of her fingers. She rolled her eyes or laughed haughtily or ignored him and that was all there was between them.

She was like marble: cut sharp and cold and smooth.

Now she's more like porcelain: delicate and fragile and precious.

A dainty, finely-manicured hand reaches out to touch his knee, snapping Dipper out of his thoughts. Pacifica manages a small smile, without the usual icy demeanor to it that's normally reserved for him and his sister. She pushes the hair away from her eyes, says, "So, back to the topic of Maxwell's equations, shall we?"

He laughs at that, the way she pulls off geeky just as effortlessly as chic. "Sure. But first we have to go over Gauss' law of magnetism first, and then cover the behavior of electricity and — oh, polarity, can't skip that one, and — hey!"

She pulls his hat down over his head, giggling. "Jeez, you're such a dork."

Hey guys! So as you can probably tell, I'm a new writer here and this marks my first official entry into the world of fanfiction writing! Hurrah! Anyway. These two have awakened my inner muse from deep slumber.

Hopefully, though, if you guys like this gimme a heads-up or sumtin so I can continue it. And you can send me prompts too, if you like, and I'll try my best. Follow and rate and review or whatever. Also! I wrote this at like, two in the morning so please forgive my mistakes. I keep editing this over and over again *le sigh*

Cookies will be cherished and flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Love you lots, guys. Thanks for reading. 'Till next time.

xoxo Amaya