Pacifica was almost asleep when the commotion started. It was late, and her evening had already been interrupted by the supernatural creatures coming to wreak havoc on the guards around the Museum. Pacifica had listened to the fighting, secretly rooting for the supernatural creatures and trying to deny it to herself. Lincoln had gone out to watch and had returned with a report: No one seemed badly hurt, and the supernatural creatures had won. They were the ones guarding the Museum now.

Pacifica had forced down a relieved smile.

Things were so confusing. It'd only gotten worse since Thursday, when Ford had talked to her about joining the Cipher Wheel. Shadow Pacifica stayed by Pacifica at all times, trying to convince her to change sides. Her tone and words had gotten considerably kinder, because Pacifica was actually listening to her now.

That scared her. She didn't want to listen to Shadow Pacifica. But slowly, the shade's logic started to make sense. Pacifica was a bad person, but there was hope for her if she joined the Cipher Wheel. If she helped save the town — the whole multiverse, even — she could get a second chance.

She hadn't yet admitted to anyone that she was — probably — ready to join them. Her stubbornness still had a hold on her. But she had helped Lincoln by telling Ford and the others what he was saying. She'd acted as interpreter for conversations between Lincoln and Gregory Corduroy, who agreed yesterday to act as a vessel for Lincoln — if Gideon could help them. Lincoln had already tried possessing Greg on his own, but it hadn't worked. Even though Greg was willing, his spirit had an understandably firm hold on his body.

The point was, even if Pacifica refused to form the Cipher Wheel, she was already helping with it in another way. Why not go all in? The end result of the Cipher Wheel — going back to earth, staying with Lincoln — was a lot better than the end result of Bill's plan. Even if Pacifica didn't think she would die at Bill's command — and she could no longer deny that — she'd realized she didn't really want to live in another dimension in the first place. Especially if it was anything like Fiddleford described.

As the sound outside grew, Pacifica rolled over and put her pillow over her head. Not again. It was almost midnight; couldn't a girl get some sleep around here?

Waddles snuffled as Pacifica shifted. The pig had taken to sleeping on the air mattress with Pacifica. It was annoying — the air mattress deflated overnight with him there, given the added weight — but it was also. . . comforting. Pacifica had so far resisted patting him on the head or anything affectionate like that, but she'd given up trying to chase him away. So here he was.

"Hey, listen to that," Shadow Pacifica said. She'd been quiet since the earlier battle, and Pacifica groaned at the sound of her voice. "No, Pacifica, really, listen. It sounds like cheering." She gasped. "Is Mabel back?"

Pacifica sat bolt upright. Oh, no.

Lincoln floated through the wall, his spirit glowing softly in the darkness. "Mabel's back," he told Pacifica carefully. "And Gideon."

Pacifica's heart thumped in her chest. "No," she whispered. "No, no, no."

"You don't have to go to her right away," Shadow Pacifica assured her. "You can wait until tomorrow. But you'd better start thinking about how you're going to apologize."

Lincoln came closer to Pacifica. "What's wrong?" he asked. He sounded confused, but he kept his voice mild.

"I—" How to explain to Lincoln? Did she want to?

"You can tell me," Lincoln said.

If she could talk to anyone, it was Lincoln. She'd already told him about Shadow Pacifica and how she had masqueraded as Spirit Mabel. She'd told him some of the things Shadow Pacifica said: how Pacifica was a bad person, and how Mabel was never evil to begin with, and all that. Lincoln had listened and been kind to her.

"I don't know," Pacifica finally said. "I. . . I'm glad she's back." The words sounded strange coming from her mouth, but she pressed on. "I'm glad she's not dead, because then it would've been my fault, and. . ." And she would've become a murderer. She shivered. "But — I can't talk to her. I can't—" Her voice cut off, and she didn't continue.

"You can't talk to her because you're afraid she'll hate you?" asked Lincoln.

Pacifica lay back down and buried her face in her pillow. "No," she said, her voice muffled. Mabel absolutely deserved to hate her.

"Then what is it?"

She turned her head to look at him. He floated nearby, his ghostly face soft.

She took a deep breath. "I can't talk to her, because what if I hurt her again?"

There. She said it. Pacifica had been terrible to Mabel and Dipper, and she didn't deserve to talk to them. Not only because they didn't want her around, but also because she was afraid she would hurt them. Afraid she would lose control of herself and start believing paranoid things again and hurt them.

"Oh," Lincoln said.

Pacifica rolled over so her back was facing him. There were tears on her face again. She'd been so emotional the last few days.

Something nudged her arm. Waddles. He was trying to get under her arm so he could curl up beside her. She didn't bother pushing him away; she lifted her arm and rested it on him as he settled by her chest.

"You don't have to talk to her right away," Lincoln said. "I don't know when she'll be ready to talk to you, either. It's okay to give each other a little space."

"You're talking like we had a simple disagreement," Pacifica muttered. "Not like I tried to kill her."

"So maybe it'll take longer," he said. "I don't know."

"You'll have to reconcile with her before activating the Cipher Wheel," Shadow Pacifica said. "At least, it seems a lot easier if nobody hates each other. But for now, focus on helping Lincoln possess Greg, and give Mabel time to recover. She's probably exhausted."

True, Mabel probably was exhausted. She'd almost died, after all. Pacifica hated to listen to Shadow Pacifica, but she had to admit that her suggestion was sensible.

"I'm going to sleep," Pacifica told Lincoln. "Good night."

"Good night," said Lincoln. He floated out of the room.

Sleeping sounded like a great idea, but Pacifica couldn't do it. She lay in bed, listening to Waddles' drowsy breaths. Her scattered thoughts bounced around her brain, and Shadow Pacifica spoke some of them aloud.

She'd almost murdered Mabel. She'd wanted Mabel dead. It was a relief that she was back, that Pacifica hadn't become a murderer, but — how could she ever face her again?

"Face her by joining the Cipher Wheel," Shadow Pacifica said. "Let her see that you've changed."

Pacifica wanted to. She hated that she wanted to, but she wanted to join the Cipher Wheel. She wanted to make things right with Mabel.

But it was too risky. Pacifica was just too dangerous.

Mabel would be better off if she never had to see Pacifica again.

~~~~~

Gideon sat alone in the gift shop, tucked between two shelves, hidden from view. He was really tired, and he'd seen on the clock that it was late; but he didn't know where to sleep, now that there were — he counted — sixteen people staying at the Mystery Museum (although Lincoln, as a spirit, didn't take up a bed).

Gideon's head rested on his knees, and his mind played today's mistakes over and over again in his head. He was such an idiot. Of course Mabel didn't want romance. Dipper had told Gideon as much. Gideon had seen as much with his own eyes as he watched her in her fake world. But he'd ignored that.

Idiot.

He heard footsteps and voices as the others came back into the Museum. The clink of dishes and sound of pouring water told him that Mabel was probably having a late-night meal. Then the twins went up the stairs, and the Corduroys and Valentinos came through the gift shop to get to the Hall of Mysteries. Gideon heard Fidds' voice in the group; Fidds must be staying in the Hall of Mysteries now, with Ford sleeping in his own bed.

The footsteps faded. Silence.

Then, "Where's Gideon?"

Gideon started. That was his mother's voice. In a flash, Gideon remembered that Geneva had come to the Museum with Ford and Dipper. He'd forgotten she was here. There weren't sixteen people here — there were seventeen.

He should go to her. If he were at the Manor, where Gaston could see him, he would've jumped to his feet and answered her immediately. But he wasn't at the Manor, and he was tired, so all he could manage was, "In here, Mother."

The Employees Only door opened. "Gideon?" Geneva called again. She came into the gift shop and soon found him. "What are you doing in here?"

He stood up, considering his answer. He'd never really been close with his mother. That was Gaston's fault more than Gideon's own, but still, he felt a bit awkward around her. Could he confide in her?

Well, he decided, he could at least answer her question truthfully. "I'm hiding," he admitted.

She looked at him empathetically, then opened her arms, offering for Gideon to come to her. He did. It felt both natural and unnatural, going to his mother for a hug. It was the second time he'd done it in a week, too, which was highly unusual.

Geneva was a good four inches shorter than he, so she rested her head on his shoulder as they hugged. "Welcome back," she said. "I'm glad you're safe."

"Thanks," he whispered. "Could you tell me what day it is?" He knew it was almost midnight, but he didn't know on what day.

"Sunday," she said. "I haven't seen you in four days. I've missed you."

He wanted to say the same thing, but he'd been so focused on helping Mabel that he'd honestly forgotten about Geneva. Shame arose in his chest.

Thankfully, Geneva didn't seem to mind that he didn't say anything. "Let's go sit on the couch and talk," she suggested.

She guided Gideon to the living room, where he spotted the suitcase that his butler, Marcus, had brought to the Museum two weeks ago. Had it really been so long? Seeing it reminded Gideon of how filthy he felt. He'd been in these clothes since Wednesday, after all. "Could I go change into pajamas?" he asked.

"Of course."

He grabbed fresh clothes and his toothbrush and took them to the bathroom. He wished he could take a hot shower, but the Museum didn't currently have running water. They had drinking water, thankfully; but since that couldn't be spared for anything else, the best option for cleanliness right now was to wipe themselves down with baby wipes. Gideon was too tired for that, though, so he settled for changing into clean pajamas and brushing his teeth without water. Good enough.

Geneva was waiting for him on the couch when he came back. "Are you sleeping on the couch?" he asked. There was a blanket and pillow beside her.

"I was. But you can have it. I'll sleep on the floor."

It was a magnanimous offer. Gideon noticed Geneva's eyes glance down at his chest and arms, as if she could see through his pajama shirt.

Right. That's why she was offering.

"I showed Mabel," Gideon said, sitting beside Geneva. His heart pounded, but he wanted to be able to talk about his scars. Especially with his own mother. He continued, "She saw my scars."

Geneva was quiet. "I haven't seen them since you were very young. Back when you would still. . . still come to me for comfort."

He felt more shame at that. He had gone to her when he was young. When Gaston first started hurting him and conditioning him to the sound of that terrible whistle. But before long, Gaston had forbidden Gideon to ask his mother for comfort. He'd said Geneva shouldn't be bothered with Gideon's problems. Gideon had stopped going to his mother and had gone exclusively to Grace after that.

"I'm sorry," Geneva whispered. "I know I wasn't much help. No wonder you stopped coming to me."

Gideon's eyes widened. "No — no, it wasn't that. Father told me to stop."

Geneva stared at Gideon for a moment. Then she closed her eyes. "Of course he did."

Mother and son were quiet for a few minutes, sitting together on the couch. It helped, somehow, with the pain of being rejected earlier. Gideon still loved Mabel; he still wanted to be with her; but he remembered, sitting beside his mother, that there were more relationships than just romantic ones. Gideon should probably build strong family ties and good friendships before he tried for romance. He needed to get away from his abusive father, of course, and Grace was gone, but. . . his mother was here.

And he'd actually become friends with both Mabel and Dipper this winter. Mabel wanted to be his friend; she hadn't completely rejected him.

Even though they didn't talk much, Gideon still felt better the longer he spent with Geneva. They hadn't been able to sit together like this in years.

It wasn't long before Gideon fell asleep in his mother's arms.