Gravity Rises (S1)

PF: Part Three

Mabel stepped off the last stair down to the bunker. Dipper was behind her. As they moved through the metal door, it slid shut, and they left the outside world behind them. Mabel missed the fresh air already.

"Grunkle Ford? Grunkle Ford, we're back!"

Ford's head poked out from behind a shelf. "Oh, good," he said. "I was starting to worry you wouldn't make it back."

"We just went to the store, Grunkle Ford," Dipper said, dropping his grocery bags on the ground. "We're fine."

"Good, good. So, what did you get that's supposedly better than what I have to offer?" His voice was conversational; Mabel couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

"Goldfish!" Dipper said happily, pulling the box out of one of the grocery bags. "I could live off of these."

"And since you actually couldn't live off of baked cheese crackers," Mabel continued, "we also got canned fruit, cereal, and Pop-Tarts."

Dipper took out another small box. "Do you have a toaster down here, Grunkle Ford? You have to toast Pop-Tarts."

Mabel rolled her eyes. "Yeah, or else the world will explode."

Ford turned sharply. "What's this about an explosion?"

Mabel bit back an exasperated sigh. He hadn't even been listening? Sure, it was just grocery supplies, but she still couldn't help a stab of annoyance at her great uncle. "Nothing," she said.

As she started putting groceries on the shelves (most of which were already occupied by boxes of Ford's questionable food storage), she heard him come up behind her. "So, you didn't run into anyone?" he asked. "The Pleasure girl, anyone suspicious?"

Mabel cringed a little. She had been hoping that he wouldn't ask — she didn't want to tell him about Melody, but she couldn't outright lie to him.

Neither could Dipper. "We ran into Melody," he admitted.

Mabel kept her eyes on the food she was organizing and said nothing.

"You did? Did you tell her anything?"

"We told her what happened, and that we were safe with you. And that we couldn't tell her where."

A beat of silence.

"She said to tell you that you're an idiot," Dipper finished.

Mabel smiled to herself, despite the tension she was feeling.

"I'm sure she did," Ford said, sounding unamused. "But that was very irresponsible of you. I should never have let you leave the bunker."

Mabel felt her expression harden, and she set down the box of Goldfish harder than she needed to, but she didn't talk back. She wouldn't know what to say. All she knew was that the tension — the tension that she had fought so hard to escape — was back. It settled over her like a heavy woolen blanket.

"But Grunkle Ford, it's Melody," said Dipper. "Doesn't she deserve to—"

"You could have very well put her in danger," Ford snapped, "and if you can't see that, then—"

Mabel slammed down a can of fruit with a reverberating thud and stood up straight, turning to Ford. Now she had something to say. "You didn't see the tears in her eyes," she countered. "You didn't see how worried she was about us! She deserves to know where we are, but we could only tell her we were safe — which I'm starting to doubt!"

Her heart rate sped up; her insides buzzed with confrontational nervousness. Lesson learned: Talking back to Ford had not gotten any easier.

Ford's eyes hardened. "This bunker is reinforced with—"

"And we're just going to hide in here while Pacifica does whatever she wants with the Museum?" demanded Mabel. "We need to do something, Grunkle Ford! Pacifica might find us even if we're cautious, but we need to go out and find her! We need to take your property back!"

"Yeah!" Dipper jumped in. "We need to fight her!"

"If we don't go after her," Mabel added, "she'll only come after us. You don't know what she can—"

The words cut off in her throat. Oh, no. Her hand flew to her mouth as her eyes flicked to Ford's swollen eye and lacerated cheek: healing, but still visible.

"Oh," said Ford, "I don't know what she can do?"

Mabel took a small step back.

"I see." Ford's voice was dangerously low. "I apparently don't know what I'm doing. I don't have experience with these things; I haven't been hurt at this Pleasure girl's hand. Is that it."

"N-no—"

"So, what's the plan, then? Run back to the Museum and demand she leave? Take weapons you don't even know how to hold and try to intimidate her? Tell me, Mabel, what grand plan you have to defeat Miss Pleasure — please, let me know. I'll just sit back and remember that, clearly, my years of knowledge and experience are inapplicable in this situation."

Mabel fought to hold back tears at his cold, callous voice: Something told her that crying in front of Ford would just make the situation worse. But what could she say to that? Anything clever, or even logical, fled her mind. "We h–have to do something." Her voice came out strained.

"Well, then, my thoughts must be worth something," Ford replied. "I hold the same sentiment. Any specific details, or are you ready to admit that you have no idea what you're doing?"

Before Mabel could respond, a shield in the form of Dipper appeared between her and Ford. "Hey," her twin snapped, "don't you talk to my sister that way!"

Ford loomed over them. A wave of the tension rolled over them and broke, raining cold confrontation on their heads. "You are not to talk to me that way," Ford said firmly. "Don't let your sister hide behind you, Dipper Pines. She needs to face her own problems."

Mabel's face was hot; her fingers trembled. She stepped forward, pushing Dipper gently but firmly out of the way. "Fine," she said. She tried to push past the quiver in her voice. She looked Ford straight in the eyes. "Don't talk to me that way."

It was all she had the strength for. In the moment that Ford was silent, Mabel tore from the spot she had been rooted on and ran around the shelf to her and Dipper's sleeping bags, where she could no longer see Ford. She managed to stay on her feet for a moment before she sank to her knees, crawled into her sleeping bag, and pulled it over her head. She didn't sob, but a few hot tears leaked from her eyes onto her pillow as she curled up in her sanctuary. They were tears of pain, but also of anger. Helpless anger.

There was a heavy silence in which Mabel wondered what was happening outside her sleeping bag. She hoped Dipper wouldn't yell. She hoped he wouldn't come over to her. She hoped he wouldn't try to talk to her. Yet she hoped he would do any of those things.

After a few minutes — or maybe a few hours — had passed, Mabel felt the footfalls of her brother on the bunker floor. Fabric crinkled as he stepped onto his own sleeping bag and crouched next to her. Mabel didn't move.

"Wanna talk about it?" he asked softly.

Mabel shook her head, stirring the cloth of her sleeping bag with the movement.

"Okay."

After a minute or so of rustling, Mabel felt Dipper lie down near her — not quite touching her, but close. "You tired?" he asked. His voice was muffled through the layers of cloth that separated them.

She hadn't changed out of her clothes; she hadn't brushed her teeth; she hadn't done anything to get ready for bed. But now that she was curled up in her sleeping bag, she couldn't imagine ever getting out of it. She made a little grunt that meant yes. She thought she heard Dipper give a little laugh in response, but he didn't say anything.

So, with her brother next to her and her great uncle on the other side of the bunker (hopefully feeling bad for how he treated her), Mabel took a deep breath, straightened out a little, and settled down to sleep.