Finally December came around, and Fiddleford went home for the holidays for three weeks. He'd been looking forward to being out of Gravity Falls for a while, but even though he couldn't recall the things that had bothered him so much, he was still anxious and worried, though it was now about something else. He feared he'd already done permanent damage to his memory by using the memory eraser so often. His mind was still fuzzy most of the time, and he was frequently quiet for long periods of time. He subconsciously wondered how Ivan was getting along back in Gravity Falls. Fiddleford had left one of the memory rays with him, trusting that he wouldn't do anything reckless. A few times Fiddleford's family tried to get him to talk about his past few months in Gravity Falls, but always he simply brushed it off as being "a typical Oregon town". Despite the thoughts that constantly occupied his mind, Fiddleford enjoyed his time off, and it all went by far too quickly for his liking. The swift passage of time did bring one advantage, though- for the first time in several weeks, Fiddleford felt like he could think straight. The troubles he had faced not so long ago seemed a million miles away.

The relief was only temporary, unfortunately. The second he was back in Gravity Falls Fiddleford felt as though there were walls closing in on him from every side. After returning to Stanford's cabin, he felt a little better, being on familiar territory, but even the cabin had been changed. The large wood building had inexplicably been transformed, and in every available place sat a triangular form of some kind, whether it was in a stained glass window, a glass prism, an ornately triangle- decorated rug, or even a large tapestry. It freaked Fiddleford out a little, especially the triangles that were depicted with a single eye. Along with this, Stanford was behaving odd as well. More than a few times Fidd heard him talking to himself under his breath, although that wasn't extremely out of the ordinary. What was out of the ordinary was when he'd see Ford "meditating". He'd sit on the ground with his eyes closed, and when they reopened, he just wasn't the same person. He was far more reckless and clumsy than usual, and he cracked quite a few more jokes than he normally did. Ford wasn't the type of person to laugh very often.

Is anything going to remain the same? Fiddleford often wondered. Everything around him just seemed to be falling apart.

Stanford had a different outlook on things. Nothing was falling apart; rather, it was falling into place. His Muse was helping him out more than ever, in fact, he seemed especially keen to get the portal fully constructed. Ford didn't have a clue what he'd do if not for Bill. More and more, he was allowing Bill to take control over his body while his mind rested, and it was helping tremendously. Just a few weeks ago, Stanford had been falling slightly behind on his work schedule, but since his Muse had stepped in, he'd actually been getting ahead. Sure, it was rare that he got any sleep at all these days, and occasionally his right eye throbbed with pain (what that was from, Ford had no idea.), but the end result would be more than worth it.

Grand Unified Theory of Weirdness, here I come! He thought giddily. He was so close. Nothing could stop him now.

Frequently, Stanford would hear the voice of his Muse whispering in his mind. Lately, Bill had started to make predictions about the future, and they always turned out to be right. He trusted the triangular being completely. Something bothered him, though, something his Muse had once told him.

"Your assistant may not be committed to the cause, Ford. He may not be as bold as you." The warning Bill had issued still unnerved him. Mainly because he feared that as usual, Bill was right.

Over the next two weeks or so, Fiddleford began to see more and more previously hidden risks to running this portal. It's dimensions were too large, something that held so much power could have catastrophic repercussions. After calculating the probabilities of succeeding or failing in finding the "Weirdness Dimension" that Stanford believed was just on the other side of the portal, Fiddleford had made up his mind. This was far too dangerous, even if Fiddleford didn't know exactly why. He had to make Stanford see that, before it was too late.

"Ford?" Fidd stared at the ground. He could already tell this was going to be difficult, and he had to force his next words out. "I don't know if this is a good idea."

"What?" Stanford raised his eyebrows. "What isn't a good idea?"

"The.. building the portal."

"Wh- what?!" Ford paused, a small scowl on his face. "Fiddleford, if this is a joke, it's not funny."

"It's not a joke!" Fiddleford finally looked up. "I'm serious!" Ford stared back at him, completely shocked. ...may not be committed to the cause.

"What brought this on?" He asked, shaking his head slightly. ..not as bold as you.

"This did." Fiddleford pulled a large folded up sheet of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Ford. Drawn neatly on the paper was a graph showing the probability of failure. The chances were unnervingly high. "I've done quite a few of these, and the result is always the same." Fiddleford said quietly. "The portal might be too powerful for us to be able to effectively control it."

"We can't quit. We're so close. Just a few more days, and we'll be there!" Stanford said, seemingly agitated and frantic. He stared at the graph. "Maybe that is wrong. It can't hurt to run a test, right?"

"But what if it does?" Fiddleford countered cautiously. "Do you really understand how the machine works, Stanford? What happens if it malfunctions?"

"It won't!" Ford snapped. "You've gotta trust me with this! I had a.." Ford struggled to find the words. "A friend check over the portal while you were gone. He said it's flawless, that nothing could go wrong." Fiddleford sighed. Why did Stanford have to be so adamant about this?

"I'm really nervous about what the portal might be able to do." Fiddleford admitted.

"Don't be." Stanford said firmly. "If something were to go wrong, which I highly doubt will happen, the test will catch it." Stanford put a hand on Fidd's shoulder reassuringly. "We'll be fine. Trust me." Stanford calmly reiterated.

"Fine." Fiddleford gave in with a large sigh. "The test will catch any malfunctions." He repeated to himself.

"Exactly. There is nothing to be worried about." Stanford took a step back. "Now let's finish all this last minute stuff." He gestured with his head to the two desks set up in the disorganized study. Fiddlford took one last look at the graph he'd created before crumpling it up and following Ford to their workspace.

For a few hours everything was fine. Fiddleford kept reminding himself that if something were wrong, they'd find out in a few days during the portal's test run, but despite that, he still felt like he was standing on the brink of disaster. He began to think about what Stanford really wanted- fame. Ford was convinced that in order to lead a meaningful life, he had to discover something new and extraordinary. And yet he'd already accomplished that. Heck, he'd filled nearly three books just with the anomalies he'd found in Gravity Falls. That alone could make him a multimillionaire, but still he was set on discovering the "Grand Unified Theory of Weirdness". Maybe if he could just see that what he'd accomplished this far was sufficient enough to make him the renowned scientist he so wanted to be, he wouldn't take such a big risk with this portal.

Three days later, it was complete. Stanford decided that the occasion called for a celebration, and the two business partners ate at Greasy's Diner that night. Fiddleford stayed quiet for most of it, not saying much. He mostly fiddled with a napkin the entire time. Stanford on the other hand was the happiest he'd ever been. All of his dreams would be coming true within the next couple of weeks, and if that wasn't cause for celebration, then what was? Not noticing his partner's quiet and sullen mood, he raised his glass.

"Here's to the future!" He grinned, but it quickly faded a little when Fiddleford didn't return the gesture. "Fiddleford?"

"I'm sorry." He finally responded, lifting his gaze from the table. "You need to look at this, Ford. Really look at it." With a only a second's hesitation, Fidd handed a napkin to Ford. On the paper was a drawing of a graph, with the words PROBABILITY OF FAILURE written in bold letters across the top. "Look, before you say anything," Fiddleford said quickly, "I know we've been over this. But when you check something seven times, it doesn't lie." He stared at Stanford for a few seconds. "The portal isn't going to work. There are deep flaws in the design, flaws that could have disastrous consequences. I feel that whatever benefits the portal may have will be overshadowed by its repercussions." He paused for a moment. "Where did you get the idea to build this thing, anyways?"

"I-" should I tell him? Stanford wondered, but before he could come to a conclusion, Fiddleford had produced another piece of paper- and this one was full size with a lot of neat printing, including the name Stanford Pines credited at the bottom.

"Publish this." Fiddleford insisted. "For the last three days, I've been working during my breaks to put together this thesis paper. It's all your research, I just went to the trouble of cataloguing it for you. There are countless discoveries here, enough to make you a multimillionaire. With this, you will have everything you ever wanted, and you won't need to go through with this risky test. Forget about the portal, the Grand Unified Theory of Weirdness, all of it! Publish this, get your life back, and move on!"

Stanford was too shocked to respond right away, but all he could think was my Muse was right.

"I've trusted you for so long. And now you're going to just give up? I don't believe this." He finally managed, standing up. "Can I get the check, please?" He called sideways to a nearby waiter, who nodded and took off. Then he turned back to Fiddleford. "Even if you jump ship, I'm not going to let this go. I've worked too hard to get where I am."

"Yes, you have trusted me for a long time." Fiddleford responded, not looking away despite Stanford staring him down harshly. "So why don't you trust me now? I'm trying to help you! You don't see what could go wrong!"

"We'll do the test tomorrow at eight o'clock sharp. Be there or get let behind." Ford's voice was cold and flat. He stood and began to walk away. "The choice is yours."

Ford couldn't think straight as he walked home. His thoughts were a mess, but the Muse was continually breaking through and trying to talk to him.

You don't need him. I'm your true friend.

You've come this far. What's stopping you now?!

"Bill, can I just be alone for a bit?" Ford growled, and in response he got silence. Still frustrated and fuming, he shoved his hands into his overcoat pockets. For a second his resentment and bitterness faded when he felt something inside one of the pockets. He pulled it out and saw the ring he'd been given a few weeks ago by that fake Palm Reader lady. It was black. Rolling his eyes, Stanford clenched a fist around the ring and threw it as far into the forest as he could before disappearing into the dusk.

Exactly 2,000 words!

I now know how many chapters this book is going to have. There will be one more after this, and then Ignorance Is Bliss will come to a close. I really have nothing else to say, so....

Thanks for reading! I'll try to finish writing the last chapter this week, and if not during the week, it'll happen next weekend for sure. Later!