Author's Note: Yep, I'm jumping on the Mystery Pearl bandwagon, and building my own wagon to go along for the ride.

I've rated this story Teen due to some degree of mild swearing, as well as references to drinking and sex.

Chapter One: Quarter for Your Thoughts

It starts with Steven being late for dinner.

Greg doesn't eat at the Temple all that often, and while he's being doing it more recently, it's still a bit of a special occasion. Which is why he's so surprised— and disappointed— when Steven doesn't show up on time. At five minutes they barely notice, but fifteen is very strange. Pearl begins tutting and fretting, Garnet looks unsurprised, and Amethyst is eyeing the food as if she's ready to eat the whole casserole herself, dish and all.

Steven shows up over half-an-hour later. He slinks through the door, sheepish, face covered in poorly cleaned silver makeup. "Sorry," he says.

"It turns out that he'd got roped into helping Mr. Smiley at the arcade for the day. Or not just for the day— indefinitely.

"What? He can't make you do that, dude," says Amethyst.

"But I broke his machine! I have to repay him!"

Over the course of dinner they get the full story out of him. Mr. Smiley had pulled some old fortune teller game out of storage, and it had fallen apart the moment Steven had tapped it too hard. Which is a shame, but hardly calls for indentured servitude. Pearl in particular looks prepared to point a spear at the man that's made Steven's legs ache.

Greg steps in before the Gems can go off and torment the guy. Once they finish supper, Greg sets out to Funland alone. (He'd bring Steven, but the kid's been on his feet all day, and deserves a rest). Outside the arcade he finds the Future Boy Zoltron game which caused all this trouble. It is cool, in a retro way— kind of like his van. But it's also in way worse shape than his van, which is saying something.

There's a jangle of keys. Greg looks up to see the arcade's owner, closing down for the day. "Mr. Smiley!"

"Hey," Mr. Smiley says, as he slides down the metal grating on the store front. "Let me guess. You're here about Steven?"

"Yes. Listen, you really can't expect him to—"

"Yes, I can. He broke my game."

"He's just a kid."

"He's just a kid who's caused me property damage a good three times before."

"By mistake! You know he doesn't mean any harm, he's really sorry—"

"I know." Finally something soft shows in the man's hard, smiling face. "But 'sorry's don't make up my profit."

"Come on," says Greg. "How much would this piece of junk have actually made?"

Mr. Smiley shifts. "… Every nickel counts."

Greg frowns. Looks at the man more closely. There are shoots of silver in his hair that he doesn't remember from before. More wrinkles on his face. Heavy bags under his eyes. His clothes are disheveled, and look like they haven't been changed in days.

Everyone knows that Funland isn't in great financial shape. It isn't easy supporting a full amusement park in a town as small as Beach City. But how bad is the situation, really?

Greg reaches for his pocket. Mr. Smiley's eyebrows shoot up. "You gonna pay the damage?"

"I could," Greg says, suppressing a sigh. Rich or not, he still feels uncomfortable spending large amounts of money. "But let's try something else first."

Instead of pulling out a wallet, Greg takes out a ziplock bag. Inside is a damp wad of tissue paper.

"What're you doing?" asks Mr Smiley as Greg pulls the tissue out.

Greg doesn't answer— just picks up the creepy Zoltron robot, places it on top of its broken perch, and applies the tissue paper to where the metal snapped. For a moment, nothing happens— then there are faint sparkles of light as the metal seals over.

"What the—" says Mr. Smiley. "How'd you do that?"

"Steven's got healing spit."

Mr. Smiley gives him a look. "Why didn't he use it before, then?"

"He can be kind of forgetful about these things." Mr. Smiley gives an accepted nod, but otherwise doesn't react to the revelation. Greg puts the healing spit napkin back into the bag, slides into a pocket, then pulls out a quarter. He puts it into the coin slot and asks the machine, "Are you fixed?"

"You-lucky-colour-for-today-is-orange."

"Well I'll be." Mr Smiley shakes his head. "Thanks, Greg."

Greg shrugs. "Don't worry about it, Mr. Smiley."

"Call me Harold. And listen— you were right. I was being too hard on Steven. He's a good kid."

Greg smiles. "I know."

Mr. Smiley— Harold— pulls out a quarter of his own, twirling it between his fingers. He's still smiling, but there's a nervous edge to the expression now. "I— uh. Hey. I wanna make this up to you."

Greg's about to say, 'there's nothing to make up for' or 'water under the bridge' or something else to that effect, when Harold puts the coin into the machine and asks, "Would Greg like to grab dinner sometime?"

"Your-lucky-for-today-shape-is-triangle!"

Greg blinks. "What?"

"I— never mind."

"No, no—. Um. Dinner— dinner would be fun. Sure."

It's all flustered and awkward, and the two of them get carried away into making dinner arrangements for next week at Fish Stew Pizza. None of them are quite sure what to say after that, so they both rush off— and it's not until Greg's finally back at the car wash that it hits him that he just agreed to a date.