Once again, I have to give my thanks to EZB for the help he gave me with writing out Dipper and Wendy's date. If you haven't already, you have to check out his story "The Return to Gravity Falls". It is getting CRAY-CRAY!


Wendy tossed aside the dress she had lifted up from her closet. Hell no. Not that one.

She lifted a skirt. Even worse.

She lifted a pair of nice jeans... okay, maybe those.

Wendy growled, throwing them against the couch in her studio. She was running around, only in her underwear as she struggled to come to terms with that she should wear. The advantages of being a daredevil was that you knew you would be wearing protective, full body leather with flames sewn into the sides.

That wouldn't work. Not this time.

If she went to this date looking like this, she would draw attention to herself. She already thought that having that talk with Dipper was enough, but then not to show up to their own date with anything nice? She might as well go for round two back in the stadium earlier today.

As she decided, she paced nervously in front of her antique mirror mounted above the bathroom sink, practicing.

"Dipper, that day, the day I left. . . well, the rea son I did that-and I felt bad, horrible about it-but the reason was ..." she hesitated, working up the nerve to say the actual words. "This is bad. This is going to be a disaster."

For a moment, she was half-tempted to call the whole thing off. If she had actually known Dipper's cell phone number, she might have called to cancel. Maybe.

"No, no. Don't go there." She steeled herself to try again. "That's too negative. Gotta be positive. Power of positive thinking." God knows she'd read enough self-help books and spiritual guides on the subject. "I'm okay, you're okay. It's all going to be okay."

She stopped pacing and looked herself squarely in the mirror. Her reflection showed her - Wendy Corduroy, stunt cyclist extraordinaire. Not a victim doomed to perpetual unhappiness because of a stupid mistake she made as a kid.

"You made that jump," she reminded herself. "No body else made that jump. You're the best rider and you deserve a second chance." She groaned aloud.

"C'mon Corduroy!" Wendy told herself, inspecting herself in the mirror. Freckles and a toned body gazed back at her. "What do you wear that's you, and nice?" she asked.

Something that was you, and looked nice? Was there such a thing?

"Shit," she groaned, and leaned back, falling back onto the couch to lay upside down. On the table before her she saw the upside down copies of many an occult study. They didn't scare her. Nothing in those books seemed to put fear into the girl now dangling her feet over the back of her sofa like the prospect of not having something nice to wear to this dinner with an old friend.

An old, young friend. An old, young friend who grew up into a hottie.

"God damn it," Wendy sighed, and pushed herself back over the edge, straining as she did. Her feet landed on the floor.

"Ow!" she yelped

The floor had been burning hot. Yet as she looked to the concrete floor below her, she saw no sign of heat, and felt no more burning. She even inspected the bottom of her feet, expecting a spider bite or needle to be wedged in her feet.

Nothing.

"Huh... nerves. It's gotta be nerves," Wendy mumbled as she stepped back to the mirror. Looking over the sink that she used as a reference, she leaned forward, breathing heavily.

What was it she told Tambry earlier today?

"You can't live in fear," she told herself, staring into her bright green eyes. She closed them and sighed again. "You can't live in fear. You can't life in... in..." her nose felt steam pass by her face.

Her eyes darted open, and shot downwards. Rising from the edge of the sink, Wendy saw a trail of steam jutting out from under her fingers. She yelled and pulled back, afraid she might burn herself. But, like before, there was no direct source of heat, and no sign of damage on her hands.

"What the hell?" she demanded.

A hallucination? Now, of all times? Was she really that stressed out about this that she was not only have hallucinations, but two of the same kind; one rapidly after another? She shook her head frantically, trying to push away the thoughts. She reached over a dresser and grabbed a small pack of cigarillos. She almost never smoked, but it was stressful times like this when she had just one. Besides, in her line of work, crash landings were more dangerous than nicotine.

Or maybe she just had a death wish.

To her surprise, the flame from her lighter bent toward her. Wendy snapped the lighter shut and stared at it in bewilderment. She lifted a finger, but didn't detect any sort of draft that might explain the flame's odd behavior. The air was perfectly still.

That was... weird.

She held her head in the hands and groaned. "Shit, is just what I needed right now," she growled. She looked up and her eyes darted to the clock. It was 7:50. "DOUBLE SHIT!" she roared, and raced over for those jeans. "I'll be late!" she shouted as she desperately began to snake those denim trousers up her legs. Wendy struggled and fell forward with a desperate yell, knocking over a pile of books in the process. "Gah! Shiiiit! Ow!"

She'd be late all right. Late even if she sped.


7:55 P.M.

It had been barely five minutes since he was seated, and already he was nervous. He checked the watch again. Nope, still the exact same time it had been two seconds before. He looked to the table before him. White table cloth lined the edges, informing him of the formal dining experience he had signed himself up for.

Dipper turned in his seat, looking towards the door. No sign of her yet.

"Can I help you with anything to drink?" the waitress asked as Dipper turned back, and he yelped. "Oh! Sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"It's okay. I'm okay," Dipper reiterated, "Uh... what was the question?"

"Drinks?" the blonde with a pixie cut asked. Dipper puffed out air, entirely uncertain what to get. Should he pay for some nice wine for Wendy and himself? It only seemed fair that he would get her something nice. Then again, she was probably used to the life of luxury, and whatever he could afford would be trash. She offered a suggestion, "maybe you'd like to try some of our wines?"

"Uh... sure. What's your most... best... cheapest best-est wine you have?" Dipper tried asking, having no experience with real wine tasting, save fore a few drinks here and there in college. The waitress eyed him with a humorous stare.

"Big date night?" she asked.

"Yes," he sighed and leaned forward a little, "I have no idea what I'm doing."

"Wait until she, or he," she added, "shows. Then I'll ask again. I'll bring you some water," the waitress kindly said, and Dipper thank her as she left. He pulled down his sleeve, and checked his watch.

7:58 P.M.

"God," Dipper groaned.

This was almost the kind of situation he wanted advice on. But as far as he knew, the best, and worst person to tell about this was Mabel. They hadn't had a chance to talk in the past few weeks due to Dipper's growing job requirements and Mabel's ever-going job artist for hire. Fortunately for her, she had been recently discovered and had gotten many a commission, but that meant no time to chat with her twin brother.

Dipper flipped open his cell phone, and stared at it. Should he let her know? She was horrible with trying to get him dates. She had incorrectly guessed two sexual identities of ladies Dipper had been friends with in college, and had both times tried to pair Dipper with them. But she did have a tendency to know the order of things like this.

He punched up a text message. Something simple. Telling her Hi, how are you? And that he found Wendy alive and well, and now she's on a date. Dipper read his own message and cringed. It sounded desperate, entirely how he was. He didn't even try to make it sound urgent and he thought it was easily the most urgent thing he had ever heard. With a trembling finger, he hit the send button.

Maybe she wouldn't get back to him- she was busy after all.

Dipper groaned, wondering if he had just sent himself down the river, and so he cupped his face into his hands. Anxiety was winning this battle for him.

His hand checked the watch.

8:01 P.M.

A whole whopping minute past the scheduled time. Dipper sighed sadly. He was still alone.

A roar of an expensive motorcycle engine called his attention behind him. Raised, worried voices from outside also shot at him as the screeching of tire thundered from outside. Dipper tried craning his head past the doors, seeing out into the hotel lobby. Many others were doing the same without hesitation.

His heart raced when he saw her striding towards him, a bag in her hands and facing the entrance. As she pushed open the door behind her, Dipper caught some of Wendy's last conversation. "...yeah, I'll totally pay for it. It's really replaceable. Yeah, don't worry, I'm trust worthy. Just let me get my date- yeah! Don't worry!"

Dipper's mouth fell open as she turned in and spotted him. She had run into a parked car when she got here.

"Hey," she waved her hand, plopping down a bag of brightly colored jelly beans next to her napkin, "how you doing, bud?"

"Wendy... did you hit someone when you got here?" Dipper asked quietly.

"No!" Wendy waved at him, adjusting her dress shirt and removing her leather jacket from her shoulders as she sat down, draping the jacket on the back behind her. "Well, I hit his car. But it won't cost that much. Side view mirrors are an easy fix. Heck, I could just duct tape it for the guy if he had some. SO!" She scoot her chair with a few loud thumps, dusting her shoulders off, and then looking into his eyes. She laughed suddenly. "Ah... I forgot what I was going to say."

"Uh..." Dipper stared back, not breaking eye contact with her. Neither of them spoke, just looking into the other's large, wondering eyes. "I did too," Dipper admitted, and also laughed quickly, licking his chaps. That gave him an idea. "Oh! Drinks! You want something to drink?"

"Water," Wendy told him as she pointed to the glass before her, which she took and performed and mighty chug.

"Oh, well, you don't want, uh, wine? Or... vodka? Wait, no, sake?" Dipper looked at the short menu on the table showing the alcoholic drinks.

"No thanks man," Wendy clarified as she poured her jelly beans into an empty glass next to her. "Alcohol gives me nightmares."

"Oh... okay," Dipper nodded, and spotted the coming waitress, "hey. We'll pass on the wine."

"Oh, that's okay," the blond woman turned to Wendy. "Good even...ing... I've seen you on television, havn't I?" she asked, leaning up.

"Mmm?" Wendy asked as she took a sip from her wine glass filled with apple-tini jelly beans.

"Yeah! You're one of those famous bike riders!" she nodded, "wow! It's great to see you outside the bike helmet and into... normal clothes," the woman added, eyeing Wendy, "can I start you two with something?"

"What's the closest thing to a dumpling you have?" Wendy asked quickly, chewing on a few remaining candies.

"Our potstickers are pretty good," the waitress suggested.

"Them. I'll have those!" Wendy declared, looking to Dipper with excitement and leaning closer to him, "pot-stickers dude."

"And you, sir?" the waitress asked Dipper. He was so stunned that all he could manage was to nod.

"Yes. Those," he added, his eyes stuck on Wendy.

"Alright. Two potstickers coming up, and then we can get your some entrees," she nodded and turned from them, bouncing away happily.

"Nice. Potstickers. They're not actually filled with pot, are they?" Wendy asked Dipper, leaning closer in worry.

"What? No! They're basically Japanese dumplings," Dipper told her.

"Ohhhh, cool," she nodded, picking up another candy and popping into her mouth. Dipper was watching her, and she caught on. "Uh, you want one?"

"They're apple flavored?" Dipper double checked.

"Apple-tini dude," she told him with a satisfied grin while chewing one down to its surgery constructs. "C'mon, you once trusted me to give you stuff."

"I... yeah, It was a long time ago," Dipper added, a red tint growing in his cheeks as he remembered what their last encounter was like, "and a lot has changed-"

She silenced with him as she laid a jelly bean on the table, and with a firm push, threw it towards him. His hands scrambled to nab it, and he did so. Without much to regret, he popped it into his mouth and smiled. It was as tart as he had hoped it to be, and grinned despite himself.

"That was good," he told her.

"It better be. It's my drinking alternative," she informed him as she leaned back.

They smiled at one another over the table. So much had changed, and yet nothing had changed at all. To Dipper, Wendy Corduroy was exactly the same person he had remembered her to be, plus or minus a bit of money and status behind her. Being a professional daredevil was enough for her to hit cars and wave it off like it was nothing. Yet here she was, at a fancy dinner place, throwing Dipper candy's. She was exactly the same.

The mirror did not go both ways, however. Wendy stared at Dipper Pines, and absentmindedly chewed on the piece of candy. He had changed. Changed a whole heck of a lot. She reveled in how his shoulders had grow wider since their last meeting, and clearly he had put some muscle on his body. Not enough for her to really wonder if he had been pumping metal or anything ridiculous like that, but she could really see the man he was now, not the boy he used to be.

"So," Wendy started, feeling a heat rising in her face as she realized she had been staring at him a tad bit too long.

"So," he mimed her back.

"I'm so bad at this," Wendy admitted, ashamed at her performance as a date partner.

"Me too."

"We should be talking about how we've been and stuff, and I'm just throwing jelly beans at you," she scolded herself, rubbing her forehead. "God, I'm dumb."

"You're not dumb," Dipper assured her, "reckless, yeah. Dumb? Nah. And besides," he added quietly, "I like the jelly beans."

Wendy blushed, straight up went red in the face, and she tossed him another one, which accidentally smacked him in the eye.

"Ow!"

"Oh! Dang it! Sorry dude!" Wendy apologized as she reached across the table, trying to will her energy to help with his hurt eye.

"It's okay, I'm good," Dipper rubbed his eye, looking at Wendy with a crooked smile, "when did you get so... uh... like this at dinner dates?" he asked her as he stretched his face with a silent yawn.

"When did you get so handsome?" she replied. The tables turned, Dipper went a shade of pink.

"College didn't exactly tell me that," Dipper told her with a nearly closed mouth. His jaw seemed to have tightened to her words.

"Ha! Yeah right. I bet the girls were fawning over you left and right!" Wendy pointed a finger at him. He laughed and shook his head. "What? What kind of dumb women did you go to school with!?"

"The kinds that were more into studying and their career than dating a guy like me," Dipper shrugged.

"Man. Posers," Wendy snorted and leant back, "well, we can make up for lost time. Date with me, right dude?" she proposed, a thumbs up in the air.

"And already it's a resounding success once you get past the fact that neither of us clearly know how to actually go on a date," Dipper mentioned, poking at his water glass.

"Nothing?" Wendy demanded, mocking outrage," Dipper!"

"Okay, like a tiny idea," Dipper corrected his statement. "But just barely something."

"Something is better than nothing, dude," Wendy grinned at him. He laughed with her, feeling a true moment of ease and comfort. It gave Wendy a chance to speak her mind. "You remember, all those years ago, when we would run through those woods? Like that one time we found the society of the blind eye?"

"Ha, found, more like totally ruined," Dipper nodded as he chuckled darkly, "I remember when we went down into that bunker."

"Oh, dude," Wendy leaned forward, remembering instantly, "that was freaky!"

"Yeah it was," Dipper sighed slightly, "I thought you died."

"Well, death is one thing dude. Try having a copy of you get up and fight you for a journal," she told him as she juggled a few beans into the air, popping them into her mouth one after another. Dipper smiled and nodded.

"I know what you mean," Dipper admitted.

"Uh... you do?" she asked after a moment, "I mean... what did I miss when I left?"

"No, it was before... you see, I may or may not have made an army of clones at one point, and we eventually had a disagreement to our plans," the well dressed man explained, adjusting some of his curly hair from his face off his forehead.

"Wait, what?" Wendy spluttered.

"Yeah, it was during Grunkle Stan's disco party," Dipper elaborated, "I found a strange copy machine, and it made copies of me. I, well, we wanted to find a way to get a dance with you," Dipper rolled his eyes at the end of his explanation, "and we still couldn't do it. Pretty dumb, huh?"

Wendy couldn't help but laugh. It was adorable. She had no idea about that. Knowing the weird things that had happened in her once home town, she didn't put it past Dipper finding a way to clone himself, and the younger boy she remembered always had a bad time when it came to over thinking himself.

Wendy made to speak again, but saw a sadder looking man sitting across her from, his hands at his sides as he stared into the water glass before him.

"Dipper?" she asked, and he jolted to life again.

"Hey! What?" he sniffled and looked to her.

"You looked deep in thought," Wendy pointed out.

"Uh... yeah," he nodded, "you could say that."

"It's about that last thing that happened, wasn't it?" Wendy asked him with a sad grin. Dipper merely nodded, and she sighed. "Dude, it's the past. Yeah, it happened, and you know what, it was bad. I was hurt, but Dipper, we can't just keep looking back, you know?" she asked, feeling a bead of sweat falling down her neck. It felt hot in here.

"I know," Dipper nodded, leaning forward, "but it was my fault. How do I just walk away from that?" he asked of her. Wendy opened her mouth, but the look on Dipper's face cut her short. He was staring at her.

"What?"

"You look really, uh, warm. Hot?" Dipper asked her.

Wendy put a hand to her face. She could of sworn she felt a sizzle of evaporating sweat off her face. Rather than reply, she took the rest of her water and drowned it. It didn't come close to helping. So she motioned for Dipper's water, which her quickly gave to her. Another chug.

Nothing was helping. She was burning up.

"Must be... uh... clothing. Maybe I'm having a- reaction, yeah," Wendy nodded as she suddenly jolted up from her seat, "I should go check. Bathrooms are?" Dipper pointed behind himself, and she rushed away, panting.

"You need any... help," Dipper ended up grumbling, and as she ran away he added, "that was stupid. She's going to the bathroom, you idiot."

Wendy slammed open the door in the ladies room. The stalls were all empty, thank god. Looking to the mirror, she looked like she had seen one too many hours in the sun. Her hands were slowly growing that color of pink too. Agitated and fearful, Wendy bent forward and started sloshing water over her face, unafraid to get her dress shirt and jeans soaked. She needed to feel cool.

The water striking her skin wasn't doing its job. Her burning temperature only seemed to rise with the water hitting her arms and face. Even her eyes seemed to burn and ache with a heat that shouldn't be natural. Steam was actually rising off of her as she stared into the mirror.

"Holy shit," Wendy muttered, looking to her hands, releasing the same kind of steam. "What the hell are in those apple-tinis!?"

Wendy spun away from the mirror and headed out through the door. She couldn't just go back to her seat, or at least back to the normal date. There was already something very strange going on. Dipper had spotted her, so she made a mad dash for her leather jacket.

"Gotta go," she said hurriedly and as apologetic as she could, "we can do this again! Was fun!" she shouted as she spun around in mid air, whipping the jacket onto her arms as best she could, running into an arriving crowd of guests. "Sorry!" she added as she ran out the doors.

Dipper had started to stand, but was watching her go. Sadness overtook him and he plopped back down. Resting his hand under his chin, he blew out his lips. "Of course my first date with her goes this badly. I just... ugh."

"Here you go," the waitress came back, dropping off two plates of warm and wonderful smelling potstickers. She looked to the empty seat and lack of a jacket, "um... did she go outside for a smoke, or something?"

Her inquiry only drove Dipper more into sadness. He groaned, and cupped his hands over his face. With one hand still over his head, he reached over and slowly dragged the other plate towards him.

"I'll have a beer," Dipper told her as he slammed an entire potsticker into his mouth, "actually, two beers. Just bring me the bar, okay?"


Wendy's face flushed and she felt hot, feverish. Turning on the tap the instant she got the bathroom in her home, she splashed cold water over her face, but the water did nothing to relieve the sudden increase in her temperature.

Wendy went to dry her hands on a towel, only to see the water instantly evaporate off her flesh, turning to steam right before her eyes. Heat radiated from her hand, causing the air around them to ripple like it did above hot asphalt on a particularly scorching day. What the hell is happening to me?

A motorcycle engine revved outside the building. Wendy stiffened in shock. Even though she hadn't heard it in years, she'd recognize that distinctive rumble anywhere. She spun around and looked out the bath room door at the cycle-crowded living quarters. Her eyes zeroed in on one particular corner of the loft, al ready guessing what she would find there. Stacks of esoteric paperbacks and hardcovers had tumbled over onto a conspicuously empty stretch of floor space.

Her mother's bike was missing was missing.

Zipping up her jacket, Wendy hurried down the steps leading to the back exit. The familiar reverberation grew louder by the moment, drawing her out into the dimly lit alley behind the converted warehouse. Steel drums and wooden pallets were piled up against the outer wall. A dumpster was filled to overflowing with worn-out tires. Potholes defaced the pavement. She burst from the doorway, then froze in disbelief.

Her mother's motorcycle sat alone in the alley, looking as good as new for the first time in over a decade. The chopper's brilliant black skin, and polished chrome, gleamed beneath the light from a street lamp outside the alley. The wheels were fully inflated once more. Every nick and scratch, every last bit of rust and corrosion, was gone. The Big Twin engines purred like a lion.

Even stranger, the bike was running by itself.

This is impossible, Wendy thought. Her body still felt like it was burning up, and she wondered briefly whether the inexplicable fever was causing her to hallucinate. She reached out experimentally and found the bike solid to the touch. This is no mirage, she realized. This is really happening.

The bike's bright silver tank reflected her puzzled expression. Wendy gazed at her mirror-image, then jumped back in surprise when a second face appeared right behind her. A face she knew all too well.

Wendy spun around to face her past with a finger raised in accusation. "You .. ."

"Hello, Wendy," the stranger said.

Ten years had passed, but the man had not changed a bit. Wendy recognized the same long black coat, swept-back blond hair, gold rings, and silver cane. She had just been a teenager when she last met the stranger at that lonely crossroads outside Gravity Falls, but the other man did not appear to have aged a day. The crystal skull grinned at Wendy from atop the stranger's cane, looking pleased to see her.

"Get away from me," Wendy warned.

"Oh, it's a little late for that," the stranger replied.

Wendy had been dreading this moment for almost her entire adult life. Now that it was here, she could only back away from the stranger, putting the black bike between them.

The two people circled the growling motorcycle in a kind of macabre dance. The stranger took his time, limping leisurely around the bike on his cane. He seemed to be enjoying the slow-motion chase.

"Nice bike," he commented.

Wendy was in no mood to talk shop. "Why are you here?" she asked fearfully.

"I've always been here, Wendy," the stranger answered. "All along. Phoenix. Denver. Houston. Seattle . . ."

A horrible thought occurred to Wendy. "Today. It was you. Keeping me alive." Maybe the success of her touchdown jump had nothing to do with her own talent as a rider. Maybe her entire career was a lie. "You're the reason I can-"

"Oh, no, Wendy." The stranger shook his head. "It's all you. You're the best. And me? Well, I'm your biggest fan. The posters. The video games. The crowds chant ing 'Corduroy! Corduroy! Corduroy!'" He beamed at the younger woman. "Makes me so proud. It's like watching an investment that keeps growing and growing . . . until the day you cash it in."

He regarded Wendy like a cat eying a tasty mouse. "That day is today, Wendy."

The bikes engines growled steadily louder. Heat waves radiated off its chassis and suspension.

"I want you to find the one known as Blackheart," the stranger said. "Bring him to me."

Blackheart? Who the hell is Blackheart?

"Do it yourself," she said defiantly.

"It doesn't work that way," the stranger answered. "You have the physical powers that I lack." Leaning upon his cane, he cast a rueful look at the heavens. "I am bound by the rules of the deal."

Wendy remembered the brown parchment scroll she had bled on so many years ago. "Another deal?" she said, the bitterness dripping from her voice.

The stranger smiled. "Always."

Well, I'm not playing by your rules anymore, Wendy thought. She swung her leg over the bike, preparing to ride off. "I won't do it."

Before she could even twist the throttle, the bike's rear tire started spinning furiously. A cloud of blue smoke, better suited to a rocket launch than a motorcycle, vented from the Harley's exhaust pipes. Wendy instinctively grabbed onto the handlebars.

"You don't have a choice," the stranger said. He tapped his skull-headed cane against the pavement. In visible bonds glued Wendy's hands to the handlebars. She tried to pull away, but it was like she was welded to the metal. Twisting the choke did nothing to quiet the Harley's revving engine.

VRRROOOOOMMM!

The bike rocketed out of the alley, taking Wendy with her. The jet-like thrust shoved her back in the saddle. She held onto the handlebars for dear life as the possessed chopper zoomed down the street.

... so fast that the asphalt was churned up in melted chunks.

... so fast that a fiery trail streaked the pavement behind her.

... so fast that her cheeks rippled from the g-forces she was pulling.

A helpless passenger on a breakneck ride across town, Wendy felt a scream tear itself from hisher lungs. The involuntary shriek was lost in the bike's deafening growl and the howl of the wind whipping past her ex posed face. No crash helmet or visor protected her fragile human features. Bare hands gripped the handlebars so hard that her knuckles turned white.

For the first time ever, Wendy Corduroy found her riding so fast it scared her.