Author's note: we've finally reached the big night! The party will probably take a few chapters to unspool, so get comfortable - hope you don't mind a leisurely climax. Thanks again to all my readers and reviewers, you are all awesome!

July 14th, 2018

6:55 pm

Wendy had to admit that if nothing else, the Northwests could throw a party. When she and Graham arrived, just before the party formally opened, the wait staff and caterers were putting their finishing touches on the entrance - a large champagne fountain had been installed in the center of the room, with large red-white-and-blue crepe streamers hanging from the rafters and a navy blue banner with the Northwest family seal embossed in gold. There were seemingly dozens of servants bustling about, providing last-minute touches to the walls and shelves and everywhere there might be a speck of dust or hint or dirt. A security guard dressed in black stood watching everyone enter, and an older man with wavy gray hair acted as host.

"Let's see...Graham Maxwell Rafferty and Gwendolyn Blerbe Corduroy from Gravity Falls Student Inquirer," the host said, consulting a large guestbook. "You are indeed both on the list. Pierre will show you in."

Sure enough, an improbably tall giraffe of a butler with a faint French accent escorted them into the foyer.

"Mr. Northwest will see you both as soon as the party officially opens and gives his formal greeting," the butler said. "There will be a reception in the ballroom to begin, a three-course dinner in the dining room and then a party with light music until 11. You may stay as long as you wish."

"Wow! This is a lot for two student reporters, huh Wen?" Graham said, fingering his notepad. He sported a brown-and-yellow flannel shirt and a red tie which even Wendy thought looked hideous.

"I guess so," Wendy muttered, tugging at the camera strap caught in the neck of her coal-gray blazer. "Do you want me to start taking pictures now?" she asked Graham.

Pierre placed a hand on her camera. "Um, Mr. Northwest would prefer no pictures until the event begins," he instructed. "You will be allowed no more than ten pictures of the party and three with Mr. Northwest. Your interview will of course be restricted to twenty minutes with the question Mr. Rafferty and Mr. Northwest agreed to beforehand. "

"Wait, you're restricting our number of pictures?" Wendy asked. "I mean, I understand the time limit, but what's the harm of taking some snaps?"

"These are our limits to all interviewers," Pierre insisted with cold cordiality. "I will trust you will follow these instructions, or we will revoke your access. Provided that, enjoy the party! Now if you will excuse me, I must check on the kitchen staff." And away he came off, dodging a cart full of hors d'oeuvres being wheeled out to the ballroom.

"Yeah, I'm sorry I didn't mention the picture limit," Graham apologized. "That and the time restrictions were the only way he'd give us any access. Still, it's pretty cool that a political candidate would let some college kids interview him."

"I mean, it's good press," Wendy said, watching two members of the band walk past. "His poll numbers have been lowest among the 18-30 crowd, so why not let us talk to him?"

Graham stared at her incredulously. She scowled, angry that he was already slipping back into condescension mode.

"What? I looked it up," she said, shrugging. Then with increased annoyance: "There's a thing called the Internet, you know."

Wendy, of course, hadn't told Graham that she had an interest beyond lobbing a few softball questions Preston's way and snapping some fluffy pictures. She would have to see how much freedom of action she would have - if she could slip away while Graham interviewed the big cheese himself. Or at least take a look around the study, in case his study contained something incriminating.

For now, though, her eyes cased out as much of the mansion as she could see - the balcony, the paintings and streamers, the rooms all appearing where Soos indicated they would be. This was going to be a long, difficult night; she thought all the things that could go wrong, .

She texted Dipper: WE'RE IN. WILL TEXT YOU WHEN DONE

"I'm so glad you could be here with me," Graham said, pulling her close. Wendy violently shrugged him off.

"Dude, what part of 'we're not dating anymore' don't you get?" she growled. Already she was regretting this whole arrangement, wishing the evening would end.

"You say that Wen, but look where we are," he insisted. "What could be more awesome than this? A night at a fancy party...all this food and rich people and atmosphere...It's going to be an amazing night. Who knows what will happen?"

Wendy's face crinkled in annoyance. "If you think this night is going to end with us back together, I know that won't happen," she insisted. "We're here to do a job - we're helping each other out, that's it. God, at least try to be cool for one night! If you can."

"Sorry," Graham simpered. Then he murmured, more to himself than her: "Who knows though, anything is possible!"

Wendy couldn't gainsay him that - though not what he seemed to imply. Right now, she mostly thought about how much she'd rather be here with her favorite twins...

"All right, Wendy's in," Dipper said, reading his phone. He turned down the mouthpiece on his headset. "Mabel, are you guys ready?"

"Ready for a party? Always!" came the response.

"Okay Mabel," Ford interjected. "You can hear us okay?"

"Crystal clear!"

"Okay, could you try your ring for us?" Mabel obliged, and a video of Charlie fidgeting with his tie flashed onto their screen.

"How's that?" she asked. "Can you see Charlie's shaving cuts or smell his cheap cologne?"

"Geez Mabel," Charlie complained. "I told you it's aftershave..."

"The picture quality isn't that good," Dipper joked. "But it's clear enough for our purposes."

Mabel turned the ring towards her face, smiling and waving. "Hey there, Van Team! Are you guys ready to be jealous?"

"We're ready to get underway," Ford said impatiently. "The gates will be opening to guests in two minutes. See if you can find a way upstairs and we'll try and see if there's a lock or something we can get open without making a scene. Hopefully it will be something easy that you can jimmy open yourself, but I'm not counting on it."

"Remember what I said, kids," Stan interjected. "Don't do anything stupid. If you get into trouble, text or signal code red like we told you. If you need to tap Morse into the receiver, just do that. Don't bother with SOS, just S!"

"Dot-dot-dot," Mabel imitated. "Got it."

"Okay, remember everything we went over guys," Dipper said. "I have faith in you, sis."

"Thanks, Dip!" Mabel said, mimicking a smooch.

"Charlie, take care of my sister, okay?" Dipper asked her date.

"You got it, man," Charlie gave a thumbs up.

"All right, good luck everyone," Stan said. "And Mabel?"

"Yeah, Grunkle Stan?"

"You look beautiful."

"Thanks!" she gushed. "And why can't you say nice things like that to me?" she demanded, presumably to Charlie. His response was garbled, and Mabel laughed over him anyway.

"Okay, Mystery Sis out!" And they went silent.

Dipper felt a stab of fear, worrying about all the things that could go wrong in the Mansion. Now, at the last moment, he started regretting that he wouldn't be joining her inside. But he looked at his Grunkles, and realized that they could still help her. If she needed it. And Dipper wasn't sure that she would.

At that moment, Soos opened the door to the van. "Dudes, guess who brought everyone subs from Fat Pete's? This guy! Which one of you likes the turkey with onions and vinaigrette again?"

Ford facepalmed and Stan sighed audibly. Dipper just glared at the handyman, who shrugged.

"Sorry, I figured it would be a long night and that you'd want something to eat."

"Shut the door, Soos," Stan said, slipping off his headset and reaching for a sandwich. "So much for stealth."

Wendy and Graham sat on a small bench watching as the guests arrived. Wendy strained her head to see if she recognized anyone, but she didn't - mostly older and middle-aged folks in their finest outfits, instantly drawn into themselves and not taking any notice of the two impatient young adults nearby. She thought she spotted Pacifica in a lavender dress, with a red-haired boy on her arm, but she was swept away.

Then she saw a couple that she recognized very well, and a smile hit her face instantly.

Mabel looked beautiful as she always did, her hair up slightly, wearing the same pink dress she'd shown off the night before, along with her shooting star pin and ring and a pearl necklace. Charlie looked surprisingly handsome, hair freshly cut, wearing a dark-blue sport coat rather than the awkward tuxedo from the Shack party, though Wendy couldn't help noticing little nicks from his razor blade on his chin and neck.

Wendy stood up and walked over to them. Mabel was chuckling at an older woman's joke, then spotted Wendy and instantly pulled herself away.

"Wendy, you're here!" Mabel yelped. "You look very professional."

"Of course I'm here!" Wendy laughed. "And thanks, I guess. You look amazing, though!"

"Oh, this old thing!" Mabel said. "You saw it last night!"

"Yeah, but now you're all gussied up and...wow! You're a very beautiful young woman, you know!"

"Hey, I'm not as beautiful as you, Wen-Wen," she said, ribbing her friend. She turned to Charlie again, who stood by smiling awkwardly.

"And everyone is complementing me tonight except you! What is wrong with you?"

"Mabel, I told you in the car you're a very pretty girl..." He looked pitiful.

"Pssh, everyone knows that!" she said, grabbing his hand when she caught his forlorn expression. "I'm just teasing, Charlie. Sorry."

"You don't look so bad either, dude," Wendy offered him a lifeline. "You clean up nicely."

"That what I've been saying," Mabel said, stroking her beau's shoulder. Charlie just nodded appreciatively and put his arm around Mabel.

"Well, good luck with everything tonight Wendy," he said. "If anyone can handle a situation like this, it's you."

"Thanks, man," she said. "But I've seen the two of you do some badass stuff, too. I mean, a couple weeks ago you were being electrocuted by a bald bastard and here you are."

"Don't forget who's wearing the wire!" Mabel chimed in.

"Yeah, maybe you want to be a little discreet about that?" Charlie said anxiously.

"Sorry, discreet is my middle name," Mabel said, zipping her lips. Then her head swiveled around.

"Ooh, mini quiches! Talk later!" She rushed off, and Charlie followed after.

Wendy shook her head, smiling. Good luck Charlie, she thought.

"Those your friends," Graham said into her ear.

"Ahh! Dude, don't do that!"

"Sorry, you could have at least introduced me."

Wendy just shot him a glare. Charlie backed off, then bristled with surprise as they saw Preston Northwest himself standing before them.

"Ah, and these are the student journalists!" he said, offering them his hand. He looked a lot like Wendy remembered - his hair and mustache a little grayer, but the same smug bastard she knew and loathed. Still, his handshake was firm.

"Mr. Northwest, it's a pleasure," Graham toadied.

"Delighted, I'm sure," Preston agreed. "And Ms. Corduroy, I believe we've met."

"Yep," she said, reluctantly accepting a handshake.

"Well, we're both from Gravity Falls of course." A brief pause; Wendy noticed him wiping his hand off in his coat pocket. "Now, excuse me but I need to start things off. Pierre will show you to my study when I'm ready. It should just be a moment or two."

The foyer was now filled with at least a hundred swells, talking excitedly among themselves. Then a loud clapping sound, and everyone turned to see Pierre.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Northwest!" And they applauded as Preston walked to the front of the room with Priscilla on his arm.

"Welcome everyone, to my home!" he said. "Delighted that you could all join us for this festive occasion. Now, the main purpose of tonight is fundraising, but that doesn't mean we can't have fun, too. All work and no play, as they say."

Wendy spotted the girl in the lavender dress again - it was definitely Pacifica, standing at the front of the crowd with the boy on her arm, leading the applause for her father.

"Thank you for your friendship and support," Preston continued with as much benevolence as he could muster. "This night, indeed my campaign, wouldn't be possible without all of you. And it's for you, and all the good people of Oregon, for whom I'm running. Why would I need to run for Congress when I already have everything?"

Canned, forced laughter - the kind only bad jokes could produce and only money could buy. Preston, Wendy thought, looked like every other pompous, rich blowhard who'd ever run for political office, 200 pounds of ego and swagger bounding out of an overpriced suit - so much for change. And Priscilla, made-up and Botoxed to oblivion, looked like a melting wax doll propping herself up against her husband's chest.

Wendy just crossed her arms and leaned back, waiting for the windbag to finish. As she scowled, she saw someone in the crowd she recognized, but couldn't place. It was a blip in her peripheral vision, enough to make her pulse quicken, but by the time she looked back they were gone.

"Anyway, you've heard enough from me. Thanks again, and Pierre will show you into the ballroom for our reception."

Polite applause. Preston and Priscilla went forward and received a hug from their daughter, whom he kissed on the cheek. Then the couple went upstairs, with Pierre and other wait staff directing the crowd into the ballroom. After watching everyone file past, Wendy saw the butler again come up to them.

"Sir and Madame, Mr. Northwest will receive you upstairs in a moment. Come right this way."

"Oh my God, this is it," Graham burbled. Wendy rolled her eyes and followed dutifully, taking note of everything upstairs. She pulled away for just a minute at the top of the stairs, thought she heard angry whispers. Then she crept down the hallway, seeing that the Northwests' bedroom door was just cracked open.

"I told you I don't want that man anywhere near here!" Priscilla hissed. "You keep your minions and your goons far away from my home and especially my daughter!"

"That's no way to talk about one of my most trusted employees," Preston said. "Besides, we may need him tonight. It sounds like we have some unexpected visitors here, and we need all the help we can get."

"Preston, you told me if you ran for office, no more lies, no more secrets. Well then, what do we need people causing trouble for? I know you think the world is populated with lowing idiots, but when you act so reckless someone's going to notice."

"I don't think people are stupid, Priscilla, amazing as that might seem to you. I just don't think they care about this kind of thing longer than your average Twitter status..."

Wendy was so engrossed in this conversation that she almost screamed when Pierre soundlessly touched her shoulder, guiding her down the hallway towards Preston's study. He led her to a couch beside Graham, who crossed his legs finicky-like and scribbled some notes. They took in the room, a cavernous library with paintings of all the Northwests around the walls, a fireplace in the middle.

"We'll see how he wants to handle the pictures first," Graham assured her. "Maybe we can take a few basic portrait photographs - of course, I expect you to make them more than basic. Do you have any ideas?"

"Well, only a couple of obvious ones," Wendy said. "Maybe a low angle shot of him with Nathaniel Northwest in the background." A fraud begetting a fraud, she thought. "I don't know about the lighting in here, but I guess we can always try to fix something in PhotoShop later."

After a minute, the door swung open. They both stood up as Preston entered.

"Sorry to keep you both waiting," he said. "My wife isn't feeling well, so she's going to lay down and join us for the reception later. Now, we have twenty minutes worth of question, you two, and I'm sure you have some snappers. Fire away."

Mabel, naturally, was torn. On the one hand, she loved a big party, especially one as swank as this. She loved flitting about engaging random people in conversations about fashion or cars or the opera or whatever things rich people talked about. On the other hand, her mission was always in her mind, and she feared that she couldn't enjoy herself too much. Which was better than Charlie, who didn't seem to be enjoying himself at all.

"Charlie, while we're here we might as well try to have fun," she chided him as he sipped at a glass of punch.

"I told you, I'm not great at these sort of social situations," Charlie murmured into his punch.

"Oh fooey," Mabel said. "Everybody can have fun anywhere if they only put their mind to it."

Charlie wanted to argue, but he saw Mabel's eyes lit up with anticipation and a hint of disappointment.

"Besides, we're going to spend most of tonight doing mystery stuff," she pleaded. "At least give me one dance first."

Charlie nodded, then looked around. No one else seemed to be dancing, and the band was playing a very mellow Cole Porter tune.

"But...we'd be the only ones dancing," he muttered.

"Well, maybe we can start something then!" Mabel said. "Like, I'm not expecting you to be Kevin Bacon in Footloose or anything. Just hold me close and let's have fun together."

She thrust out her hand dramatically, and Charlie sighed and grabbed it. They started swaying back and forth together as the music played on, gently rocking on the floor. Both of them noticed others in the audience were watching them dance, with varying degrees of interest and amusement. This made Mabel excited, and Charlie testy.

"There, this isn't so hard," Mabel cooed in his ear, holding him close.

"It's...not unpleasant," Charlie admitted. "Better than I thought it would be."

Mabel suddenly grew upset. "What does that mean?" she demanded.

Charlie's face grew beat red. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that," he assured her, suddenly flustered. Mabel put her hands around his hips and guided him in a slow step.

"You're so awkward, you just need to relax," Mabel told him. "You wouldn't ever know that you studied theater."

"Acting in plays doesn't mean you have to dance," Charlie said.

"Right, right, you were Sir Thomas More," Mabel laughed. "I assume he would have burned people at the stake for dancing too hard."

"Well, that and..." He struggled to spit out the words. Then he whispered: "This is the first time I've ever danced with a girl."

Mabel's face lit up at this revelation, feeling her heart flutter. Somehow, as much as she liked Charlie, as awkward and lonely as he sometimes it seen, she hadn't until now fully grasped what she might mean to him. That this night, if nothing else, could be as special to him as it would be for her.

"You wouldn't ever know it," she assured him, stroking his brow gently. They slowed to a crawl as the music dropped out.

They kissed, for the second time, and it was just as thrilling and magical as the first. Several onlookers applauded and cheered, but no one and nothing mattered right then except each other.