MARCH

Phillip Pink didn't particularly like living in Gravity Falls. Being stuck in a different time could be difficult for anyone, but he was a man from a society thousands of years ahead of the people around him, and was used to protecting the timeline from what would be the largest city on Earth, capital city of the planet. Now, despite standing in that same spot, he was living in a small town surrounded by forest, and unable to leave its woodland borders for at least the next nine years. He'd also somehow gone from dispensing justice and saving lives, to working for one of the biggest scumbags he'd ever had the misfortune of knowing.

He tried to tell himself it could be worse: the twenty-tens were still a lot better than some other decades. At least he wasn't living in the dark ages of the seventies.

The very thought made him shudder.

Of course another issue Philip Pink faced living in Gravity Falls was that he didn't particularly like the people living here. Which wasn't that big a deal to him because he generally didn't like people, if he were honest.

Which he was.

Offensively so.

Hence why his presence could sometimes cause problems for everyone around him too.

Because being stuck in a small town, in a backwards age, inhabited by literally the dumbest people he'd ever met across multiple millennia, certainly didn't help his mood at times.

However, there were those rare few who made it a much better place to live than it would be otherwise. Pacifica, Candy, Grenda, and Gloria were at the top of that list, but there were the odd few who'd also wormed their way into his heart.

"Good morning, Susan," he greeted pleasantly, sliding into a booth. "How are you today?"

"Why, top o' the mornin' to ye!" she cried in a broken accent. "I'm just grand!"

"Right," he said, looking at her sideways. "Nice to hear. What's with the green?" he asked, gesturing to the banners, tablecloths, napkins, and giant images of clovers. Even the staff's normal rose dresses had been replaced for something closer to fern.

"As if you didn't know!" she laughed. "Oh, speaking of - pinch!" she declared happily, squeezing his cheek. "I'll get your tea while you decide if you want to try your usual or something a bit more traditional."

"Thanks," he said, frowning. He looked around, taking in the shamrocks, the consistent green decorations and attire, and grew uneasy. He noticed the menu had also been changed and looked it over, considering the new offers for the special occasion. "What the hell is this?" he asked out loud, before someone else pinched him. "Ow! Beat it!

"Can't believe you of all people forgot to wear green," Pacifica sighed, slipping into the seat opposite. "Did you forget the date?"

"Is that why everyone keeps pinching me?" he demanded. "That's stupid!"

"They don't have that rule in Ireland?" she asked, surprised.

"I don't even know what this holiday's about, but I can guarantee you, we never pinched each other" he snapped. "What's this got to do with Ireland, anyway?"

"Wait, you don't celebrate Saint Patrick's in the future?"

"Oh, it's a religious holiday. Then leave me out of it, I'm happy as I am."

"It's not a religious holiday. Or, not really," she said, frowning. "It's a celebration of Saint Patrick, the Patron Saint of Ireland. You really don't have this in the future?"

Phil shrugged. "Maybe? There's too many faiths to count in the future. A lot more than now. The only holidays celebrated Earth-wide are Time Baby's birthday, the anniversary of his awakening, his conquest of Earth, and of his victory over the Plutonians."

"There's aliens on Pluto?"

"Not in my time," Phil answered, smugly.

Pacifica rolled her eyes. "Anyway, this is supposed to celebrate Saint Patrick's accomplishments, and Irishness in general."

"Huh. What did he do?"

"Drove the snakes out of Ireland."

Phil raised an eyebrow. "Snakes. In Ireland?"

"I'm sure it's a metaphor for something," she said dismissively. "But it's also a day to celebrate being Irish, so I thought you'd be happy about that."

"Depends on what they mean by 'being Irish,'" he grunted, looking around. "So, what? People just go about wearing green and mimicking my accent? You know I hate that."

"Aw, is the lad feelin' a wee bit down at the yanks copyin' his dialect?" Pacifica asked, offering her own attempt at an Irish accent.

Phil stared at her. "That was very good! Have you been practising?"

"A little," she admitted, shyly. "You're not just saying that?"

"No! I am honestly impressed! Normally when people copy us, it makes me want to-"

"And 'ere's yer tea, laddy!" Susan cried, placing it in front of him. "Was gonna offer you some Irish Coffee but 'fraid we're all out of the hard stuff!"

"I hate coffee," Phil responded blankly. "I don't care where it's from."

"She means she was going to slip some alcohol in it," Pacifca explained.

"I don't drink, either! And isn't it illegal to put something in my drink without permission?"

"Yes, which I'll have to discuss with the staff," Pacifca sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Geez, Mabel wasn't enough, now I have to tell the adults too? It's fine, Susan, I'll get the rest of his order."

"Right you are, Dearie!" Susan cried, thankfully dropping the terrible accent as she turned her attention to the new customers coming in.

"You know ever since I started living here, I've discovered several stereotypes about my people that don't exist in my time," Phil grunted. "As someone who's teetotal, I don't appreciate the implication that the Irish tend to be alcoholics. It's almost as annoying as believing we're obsessed with potatoes."

Pacifica scoffed. "Honestly, Phil, I don't think we're that bad."

"Oh, Phil, I forgot to say, we're doing special offers on fries, wedges, and anything else that comes from potatoes," Susan added as she passed. "I know how much you people love your wee spuds! Pinch!"

"You're lucky I like you," Phil told her as she squeezed his shoulder.

"Aw!" Susan said, flashing him a warm smile. "Just for that, you get an extra wee coffee!"

Phil watched her go before turning his gaze on Pacifica, who gave a nervous chuckle. "I'll, er, change that to tea. And make sure no one else pinches you."

"And drop their accents," he growled.

"And drop their accents," she hurriedly agreed. "Look, you just sit here and - don't talk to anyone. Just glare at them like that and they'll leave you alone, okay?"

Phil grunted but followed her advice. And, for the most part, it worked. Some people tried to talk to him about the holiday, or attempted to pinch him when they noticed his attire but a look or warning growl was usually enough to make them retreat. Apart from that, the only times he interacted with anyone was when the Corduroys came in and he exchanged dirty looks and rude gestures with Wendy, and then later, when Gloria Mendez saw he wasn't wearing green and attempted to grab him several times during their usual conversation. He was grateful when her radio buzzed and she had to drag herself away, because by that point he was getting so fed up with slapping her hands away that he was in danger of giving up.

He kept himself busy by looking into the history of what was turning out to be an especially annoying holiday, shaking his head at most of it. His mood continued to sour, however.

Despite Pacifca's best efforts, some people still attempted the accent, much to his chagrin, even when they weren't talking to or about him. He also overheard several jokes he didn't find amusing, stories a quick check on his tablet told him were incredibly inaccurate, and they kept playing the same bloody song in the background! He couldn't understand why the locals seemed so obsessed with it when he didn't like it any more on the fifth time than the first.

Thankfully, after what felt like the longest shift he'd ever stayed for, it came time for Pacifca to hang up her apron. So he finished his drink, gave Susan her tip for the teas, and was getting up when-

"Great news, folks!" Fiddleford McGucket cried as he entered the diner with his son, two men wheeling in a tall machine behind them and placing it against the wall. "Finally fixed that darn-tootin Manliness Tester! Bit late in the day, but what do y'all say? Wanna try it out and get some free pancakes like the good ol' days?"

A cheer went up from the patrons and staff alike. Several seemed eager to try it. Daniel Corduroy - the reigning champion of manliness - looked at his boys and daughter as if considering which one would be the best to win the food without breaking the machine. The patrons were looking forward to the free food and the staff at the spectacle and -

"A WHAT?" Phil roared, getting to his feet.

"Oh, God," Pacifica groaned, hitting her head against the wall, wishing she could have left five minutes early.

"Oh, it's him," Tate sighed, seeing the large cyborg approaching them.

"So, you invented a machine to test masculinity?" Phil asked, the last word a sneer.

"Uh-huh," said McGucket, sagging a little. He'd really hoped the cyborg would be out of his life after he'd moved out. "Just a little bit of fun?"

"I reject your outdated concept of masculinity and femininity!" Phil barked. "Also, gender, sexuality, and multiple other things you haven't discovered or invented yet!"

Fiddleford looked back at his son, who shrugged. "Then…how can you judge us on them if we haven't-?"

"No excuses!" Phil snapped.

"Would you leave it alone, Phil?" Pacifica asked, appearing at his elbow and trying to drag him away. "It's just a toy, it's never harmed anyone!"

"Tell that to Dipper Pines!" Phil retorted, glaring at the machine.

Pacifica rolled her eyes. "I bet if I asked Dipper, he'd agree no one cares what some dumb attraction says - oh. Or, maybe not?" she guessed, catching Wendy's eye as the older teen shook her head and slicing motion with her hand in front of her throat.

"Hello, you vile object," Phil hissed, lowering his body along with his voice until he was level with its handle. "So, you think you have the right to judge others based on some vague terminology that supports binary gender-based stereotypes, is that it?"

"It can't hear you," Tate said as his father dragged a hand down his face and Pacifca continued failing to pull him away. "And you're one to talk, you judge everyone."

"Well I have news for you," Phil continued, ignoring them. "I come from a place where we've outgrown such antiquated concepts. A place of true equality, where, as long as no one is harmed, people are free to be who or what they wish without fear of judgement or persecution!"

"Who knew Ireland was so cultured?" the woman in the closest booth asked, her husband giving an impressed nod.

"Your ignorant labels are as laughable to us as the concepts of democracy or personal freedoms!"

"Never mind," the woman sighed, her husband shaking his head in dismay.

Phil rolled up his sleeve and slipped a coin into the machine. "Let's see how you deal with me." he growled, grabbing the handle tightly.

At first, nothing happened. Then the machine came to life, whirring and buzzing, the bulbs ascending and descending from Wimp to Manly Man, becoming a blur of light which brightened until everyone else had to raise their hands across their eyes.

Still, Phil held on, even when the machine let out a mechanical scream and started vibrating so hard it almost upturned itself. Finally, it gave one last, dying shriek before coming to a halt, dark smoke leaking from behind the glass.

The McGucketts shared a look before Fiddleford opened the panel at the side and peered inside. "Remarkable," he muttered. "Darn thing's melted." He scratched his head. "I don't know how I can fix this," he admitted.

"Ah-ha!" Phil cried, raising a victorious finger in the air. "Once again justice prevails over injustice!" He turned to the diner, his chest out. "You're welcome, people of Gravity Falls! No thanks are necessary."

He threw his hands over his face as a hail of objects were thrown at him.

"WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO FEED MY KIDS NOW?" Manly Dan thundered, throwing his drumsticks at the cyborg, his children doing the same, Wendy making sure she added plenty of condiments and grease first.

"Ow! Hey, quit it! Ignorant ingrates!" Phil shouted as he backed out of the diner, Pacifica following shortly behind him. "Aw, look at this! I'll need to get a new suit, there's no way all of this will come out."

"Good, it's what you deserve," Pacifica told him unsympathetically as they walked towards town. "I really don't get you, sometimes. Yay say you want to be left alone and then you'll cause a scene, you're somehow equal parts woke and fascist, you're offended by Irish stereotypes but you only drink tea and pick fights over stupid crap - on Saint Patrick's Day no less-!"

Phil only half-listened, letting her rant as he did what he could for his suit, throwing the blazer in the trash at the first opportunity but trying to wipe the worst from his trousers and shirt. She did seem genuinely angry at him this time, however, so maybe he had gone too far. It wasn't the first time he'd lost his temper at her work, but that was when someone else was rude to the staff or getting rowdy.

He really didn't understand this era or its people. Even with all of the briefings he'd had when he was part of the TPAES, it was almost impossible to fully acclimatise to a different time. Too many things he'd taken for granted, too much these people didn't seem to consider, and vice-versa. But he was stuck here. He'd have to get used to it.

He glanced down at Pacifica. Her angry rant had now escalated into criticising him for stuff she'd clearly been thinking about for a while but hadn't mentioned till now. He smiled. At least it wasn't all bad.

"You're right, I'm sorry. You want something, so I can make it up to you?" he asked, pointing to a makeshift stall that had been thrown up in town square, where a crowd had gathered.

Pacifica frowned at being interrupted but considered the stall thoughtfully. "Fine. I'll take a Shamrock shake. And get one of those stupid hats too, the one with the four-leaf clover."

"Bit pricey, but guess I owe you that," he grunted, paying and half-turning to watch as Mayor Tyler Cutebiker walked onto a podium to give a speech.

"Oh, you owe me more than this," she said, sipping the drink. "Put it on."

"What?"

"You heard. It's the least you can do for me after that commotion."

Phil glared at her, to which she only smiled mischievously. "Fine," he muttered. "But don't expect to see me in anything like this again!"

"I won't," she answered, taking a sneaky pic when he was putting it on. "But maybe now you'll think of leaving tips."

"I always tip!"

"You never tip me!"

"Aye, 'cause your family pays my wages! What, you think driving you everywhere comes cheap?"

"Oh, you're such a -"

"And look what we have here, folks!" Tyler cried, gesturing towards the arguing pair. "Our very own Irishman! Someone's really getting into the Saint Paddy spirit!"

"What?" Phil looked around as the crowd turned and parted to see them better. "Oh, the hat. No, I don't-"

"If you're that invested in celebrating your ancestry, why don't you git…git on up here, say a few words to the town!"

"You don't want that," Phil told him.

"You really don't want that," Pacifica agreed, regretting forcing him to wear the hat.

"Oh, come on?" Tyler pressed, everyone murmuring words of encouragement. "You've lived in this town for almost a year now. Why not tell everyone how much you appreciate the day dedicated to our people?"

"I really don't - wait. Our people?"

"Yep!" Tyler grinned. "I'm Irish too!"

"What," said Phil, his voice deadpan.

"Oh, no," Pacifica whispered.

"Aye!" the mayor declared, not catching Pacifca's desperate gestures or the look in Phil's eye as he marched towards the stage. "Why, 'twas only a few centuries ago that ma great-great-great gran-mammy took her whole family from her homeland in the wee town of-"

"Give me that!" Phil snapped, pulling himself onto the podium and snatching the microphone out of Tyler's hand. "Alright, you lot!" he turned to the crowd, pointing at them accusingly. "I've had enough of this! As long as you kept me out of this, I didn't care what you eejits did! But I've reached my limit! Stop calling yourselves Irish! Unless you were born there, have citizenship, or have at least one parent from Ireland - you're not! Bloody! Irish! Or Welsh, or Scottish, or whatever else you think you are! Got it?"

The crowd murmured distastefully at the tone and words of the newcomer. Despite having lived in town for most of a year, he was still considered an out of towner by the townsfolk's standards. And at this rate, that wouldn't change any time soon.

"Quit shoving my heritage down my throat, you ignorant pissants!" he shouted at them, lowering his reputation even further. "Especially when you can't even get it right! I only heard about this bloody thing today and I already know more than the rest of you! You people can't even get it right! Those two eejits got the order wrong on the flag! That's-" he quickly took out his tablet, frowning at it a moment before looking back up "-The Ivory Coast? And I don't even want to know how this happened!" he added, gesturing to Durland.

"I'm a flag!" the deputy declared, too happy to realise he was being insulted for painting his face to resemble the Indian flag.

"Okay, that's enough, thank you," Tyler said, catching Blubbs' bristling and trying to take the mic again, but Phil slapped his hand away.

"All day, I've been flooded with stereotypes and I've barely spoken to any of you!" Phil snapped, returning his tablet with one hand, the other a fist he shook at the seething crowd. "I don't drink, I don't give a damn about the 'homeland', or 'the Brits', I don't like wearing green, I've never wished anyone a 'top o' the morning', and Danny Boy is one of the most overrated songs I've ever heard!" he yelled, eliciting gasps from the audience. "And if one more person tries to pinch me, or copy my accent, they're going to get a FOOT! Up their-!"


"And that was the scene outside the Town Hall this afternoon," a green-suited Shaundra Jirmenez said a little later, the camera zooming out to capture the podium. "We've had to remove the rest of the man's speech because, as our editor described it, 'even censored, that man was pretty foul.' We'll now ask some of the bystanders for their opinions on this matter. Sir, can you please describe the scene that took place afterwards?"

"Oh, it was terrible!" a man with a green shirt for 'free beer' answered. "This guy comes up, and starts swearing at everyone and complaining about everything! Who does he think he is, coming here and insulting us? In front of kids, no less? Well we wouldn't stand for that, no siree! So a bunch of us rushed him! At least ten of us tried to drag him off!"

"I see. So your answer to his aggressive language was to engage in immediate and overwhelming violence?"

"That's right," he sniffed. "Seemed the moral thing to do."

"And how did that go?"

"Uh," said the man, sniffing and wiping at his swollen, bloody nose as he gleaned behind him, the camera following his gaze to a heap of people in different states of consciousness. "Not well."

"Thank you for your time." The camera pulled away from the man with the beaten face, returning full attention to the reporter. "Truly, a saint patrick's Day for the history books, though not for good reason. We're still gathering details, but apparently Mayor Cutebiker managed to convince this 'actual Irishman' - as he repeatedly called himself - to put his attackers down, and join the mayor in the Town Hall."

The camera panned to the left, showing the building, Shaundra gesturing to it for emphasis. "In an irony that is likely wasted on most of our town's residents, this one man, in his attempt to educate us on real Irish culture, may in fact have soured some people's opinions of it for decades to come. Leading most people we've spoken to so far to agree - that St Patrick's Day was a lot better without the Irish."

Tyler switched off the television. "Oh, and I was so looking forward to Saint Paddy's Day," he sighed, leaving the chair to look out the window where he could see the reporters and townsfolk milling about. He closed the blinds so the cameras wouldn't see him and turned towards the other two people in the room.

"Your own fault," Phil grunted. "Tried to tell you I wasn't interested-"

"Shut up, Phil." Pacifica told him, her face in her hands.

Phil shut up but continued to scowl, though that was practically his resting face.

"Perhaps I was a little enthusiastic about discussing our shared heritage," Tyler admitted, trying to be diplomatic. He was mayor, afterall. "So, now we're all here, why don't we discuss how to prevent anything like this from happening again?"

"Easy," Phil said. "Leave me out of it. Make sure everyone stays out of my way next year and I'll do the same."

"That might be easier said than done," Pacifica began. "You do live here, and we can't expect everyone to avoid you. Or for you to avoid them. Especially when you have such an important role in the town."

Phil grunted. There weren't many people outside of the zodiac and their direct allies or certain family members that knew he was from the future, or what his mission was. Tyler was one of them, along with Blubs, Durland, Gloria, and the Professor. Gloria he had told himself, the Professor had deduced it herself. He wasn't exactly fond of Professor Passuum - too volatile even by his standard - but she'd proven useful in explaining the situation to the mayor and sheriff, so he had to give her credit for that. Besides,the girls and Gloria praised her, so it might just have been his natural dislike of everyone talking.

"That is a bit of pickle," Tyler lamented.

""Yeah, but maybe we can learn something from this?" Pacifica offered. "A way to appease both sides."

"What are you suggesting?" Tyler asked, considering the young teen.

Pacifica glanced at her bodyguard before saying, "During Phil's, er, speech, he mentioned we don't quite have all the facts about this holiday."

Phil snorted. "That's putting it mildly."

"And that we may have had some, er, insensitivity to his people."

"You could say that."

"So, why not educate us?" Tyler offered, catching on as Pacifca nodded. "You teach us what it's truly like being Irish, and we'll try not to offend?"

"Truly like being Irish?" Phil repeated, raising an eyebrow. "You know we're not a collective, right? We're like everyone else - we've got a long history that sometimes divides, sometimes unites us. And that's only from what I can remember up to this timeline. I'm struggling to recall what gets worse and what gets better. But either way, I'll give you some ground rules since I'm the only real Irish person in town and I'll tell you what really makes me angry. First: we don't all like a drink. Despite the accent, I've lived in America most of my life and I haven't noticed a difference between our drinking rates, at least in the future. I'm teetotal like Granda. Which puts me above most of the townsfolk, from what I've seen."

"Okay," said Tyler, taking notes.

"Second, quit mimicking our accents and calling yourselves Irish when you're not. That really gets under my skin."

"Aw, but I love usin' the language of my homeland and my wee- okay, no, not acceptable." Tyler swallowed and took another note as Phil narrowed his eyes.

"I'm not even Irish and I wanted to hit him for that," Pacifica remarked to herself.

"And the next person who pinches me gets decked," Phil warned. "I don't care if I forget to wear green. And, in my timeline, it's okay to hit women and the elderly!"

"Why did you say that like it was a boast?" Tyler whispered in horror.

"He - he has equality issues," Pacifica said softly, almost apologetically.

"O-okay. I'll see what I can do." He made an urgent scribble, underlying the last note repeatedly. "This is, erm, interesting. Anything else?"

"Educating people on the real history of Ireland might be nice," Phil said after some thought. "As a time traveller, accurate history is very important to me. But it also means I'm less likely to scream at someone for being ignorant. Of course, most probably won't listen but I'll take what I can get."

"Alright. Always nice to educate the townsfolk. We can have presentations, maybe even a historical guide or something. What would you like discussed?"

"For one thing, Saint Patrick wasn't even Irish. Or named Patrick. He was a Welshman named Maewyn. Wasn't a real Saint either since he was never canonised. Oh, and the snakes weren't real either. That was a metaphor for pagans"

"Oh, that's what they were," Pacifica said, nodding.

"Huh." Tyler frowned, tapping his pen on his pad. "That's not as interesting. Or exciting for any puppet shows. But he brought Christianity to the Isles, so I suppose we can agree that's a good thing?"

"I'm an atheist."

"Oh." Tyler coughed, unsure if he should say anything further.

"Anyway, he didn't exactly chase the pagans out," Phil continued to explain, much to the mayor's relief. "He converted some and their cultures started to combine. Hence why we still have so much celtic imagery in our Christian churches, even in your time, and why the mythology is so prevalent."

"Now that's interesting," Tyler muttered, making several notes. "Irish mythology and folklore. We can work with that, maybe little puppet shows or theatre plays."

"He seems to like puppet shows," Pacifica noted in a side whisper, Phil nodding in agreement.

"So how did Saint Patrick's Day begin?" Tyler asked. "Was it something the church started, or was it a national holiday that expanded?"

"Nope. This is an American invention. Started in Boston, I think? Irish immigrants and their descendents. Eventually caught on back home."

"Wait, Saint Patrick's Day isn't even really Irish?" Tyler blinked at Phil.

"Nu-uh."

"Next you'll tell me potatoes aren't Irish either!"

"They're from Peru."

This time, Tyler was scowling. "Are you intentionally making things difficult for me?" Tyler demanded, almost losing his patience.

"No. It's naturally occurring."

"I can confirm that," Pacifica grunted.

"Hmm," Tyler said, sounding sceptical. But they were definitely making some progress. "Alright. I'll look into this more, maybe talk with some people. If we make some changes, get our townsfolk to be a little sensitive, do you agree not to cause another incident like today?"

"Sounds fair," Phil reasoned.

Tyler let out a weary sigh. "Wonderful. You see what happens when we sit down and discuss things like adults?"

"Yeah, like this guy knows anything about being an adult," Pacifca muttered.

"You're just upset because this started when you made me buy and wear that stupid hat," Phil said simply.

Pacifica sat up straight and glared at him. "Oh, my God, Phil! You're impossible! You're making too big a deal about this! What's wrong with people celebrating your roots?"

"Because these are my roots, not yours, and I don't want people mocking me or expecting me to act a certain way!" he snapped. "You want to dress like eejits and paint the wrong flag on your face, go ahead! I was happy to be left out of it! But if someone's going to make a big deal and drag me in, you can bet I'll set them right!"

Pacifica rolled her eyes. "Oh please, this is you taking things too seriously again with your cultural sensitivity crap."

Phil crossed her arms, giving her a severe look. Then he turned to the Mayor. "When I was looking this up, I discovered another cultural festival sometimes celebrated in America. Oktoberfest. Heard of it?"

"Yes?" Tyler asked, both he and Pacifca looking puzzled by the subject change.

"Wonder what it would be like if we had something like that here?" Phil asked, cocking his head to the side theatrically before turning to Pacifca. "Hey, your Granda and great grandparents were from Munich, weren't they? Why don't we put you and your Ma up on stage, and have you discuss your German heritage?"

"Uh, no," Pacifica squeaked. "You're right, very rude of us to force that on you, we'll never do it to you or anyone else ever!"

"Glad to hear!" Phil beamed at her before offering his hand out to Tyler. "Mister Mayor."

"Mister Pink," Tyler responded resignedly as they shook. On one hand, he was glad to get the troublesome man out of his office after reaching a suitable conclusion. On the other hand, this now meant he'd have to deal with the press and angry townsfolk. Overall, he decided that was better than continuing to put up with the Irishman's presence.

"You didn't have to bring up my family history," Pacifica muttered as they left.

"Just because you're from somewhere, or have certain family connections, that doesn't mean you're like that or that's all you are." He looked at her, holding the door open. "You should know that better than anyone, Pacifica. You're better than either side."

She smiled a little at the compliment. "I suppose. And Mom's really improving too. She's much nicer than she used to be."

To you, maybe, he thought but stayed silent. For all his brutal honesty, he could keep his mouth shut to avoid harming some people. And he'd already caused her enough trouble for one day.

The press tried to swarm them as soon as they stepped out, but Phil simply swore at them until they had to turn the cameras off to limit the editing costs of censoring him. Then he took Pacifica home, where he was called into Preston's office and had to endure an angry rant from his boss about keeping up appearances and how this could reflect poorly on the Northwests.

Phil stood there for most of an hour, indifferent to the whines of a man he loathed, until Preston finally took a breath. Then Phil jumped on the chance to explain Pacifica had acted almost as a negotiator between himself and the mayor, even being the one to originally suggest the solution to the problem.

Knowing that his daughter had offered an idea taken up by the mayor was enough for Preston to stop his tirade, at least until tomorrow, so he could discuss this further with Pacifca.

I hope you tell her you're proud of her, Phil thought bitterly as he was dismissed. Even if it's not for the right reasons.

On his way home, he thought of his own daughter and how much he missed her. That was the worst thing about being in the past. Not seeing her was a pain worse than when the bomb had destroyed his limbs.

And he told her so in the letter he wrote that night, complaining about his day, the town, and its people. But even then, as he thought back to the day and his conversations with Pacifica, he made sure to remind her - and himself - that some people in town made it all worthwhile.