Faces in the Water, an adventure time with finn and jake fanfic

Faces in the Water

George Pollock Jr.

The water in the pond was clear. She was glad for that. Her mind was clouded enough already.

The water in the pond was calm. She wished her mood were.

The reflection of her face in the water, as on her, was light pink under medium-pink hair and a simple gold band of a crown with its single spire in the front and a blue jewel set in the spire's apex. It was herself.

Whoever I am, she thought. Whatever I am.

I was human once, she thought. She remembered that. Before the Mushroom War. Before her last sight as a human – the Brandenburg Gate vaporizing in what seemed to be the very core of the sun. Before the fires of nuclear hell instantly melted her and the piece of bubblegum she had been chewing into one and blasted the boiling sludge down a gutter and into a drain.

Before she awoke as an oozing, shapeless pink monstrous mass in a sewer whose belly had been ripped open to the sky, its slime baked into glass gleaming in the sunshine that came through the beautiful blue of the next, clear, calm day.

A monster. Or whatever I was, she thought. Whatever I am.

Marta Kleinesfeld. In English – the ancient root of Ooo-speak – Martha Littlefield. University student in Berlin. Science major. Genius IQ. It wasn't bragging. It was a tested, measured, certified fact. That's who I was, she thought.

But Marta Kleinesfeld is dead, she reminded herself. Dead a thousand years.

Strangely, her human form had slowly reasserted itself. A human of bubblegum. With sentience and intelligence. She had always assumed that her DNA had somehow fused with the molecules of the gum and its coloring. When everything had settled, she was … what she was now. A golem. Or whatever she was. "Golem" wasn't necessarily wrong, she once thought.

Wherever she was. A fantasy land of living sweets and food, of all sorts of living otherwise-inanimate objects, and of living flame. And magic – and monsters. But was it the future Earth, she had wondered. There were the ruins of high-tech human civilization all around. Had the electromagnetic pulses of nuclear hellfire shattered the boundaries of dimensions and sent her into another reality? Or combined realities?

Or was this reality the final confusion of her human memories, her human emotions, her dreams – and nightmares? Or was it the madness and horror of the final damnation of her soul?

She really didn't know. The answer seemed irrelevant at this point. But she still wished she had one.

She had given herself a new name: Bubblegum. Not a creative one, but it fit. What else was she now? Marta Kleinesfeld simply – wasn't – anymore. The living sweets had never seen a thing like her, especially after she re-formed as "human," and they stood in awe of her. Clearly, she was a thing beyond them, and so they adored her. Worshipped her. Wanted to deem her a goddess. She thought about the presumptuousness of that and the still-possible punishment of eternal damnation. She wasn't sure that God – "Gott," in her native German – didn't exist, and so she declined. She even shied from "queen." It still felt overweening and haughty. She settled for "princess." She was comfortable with that. Every girl wants to be a princess, she had smirked.

The sweets started looking to her for direction in their strange lives, so she started at least acting as if she were in charge. She found that she liked it and was actually good at it. And within her, human science still lived, and she had ideas. Big ideas. The sweets would help her realize them, she decided.

And she later gave herself another name to make her more approachable: Bonnibel. She liked the happy sound of it and the alliteration with "Bubblegum," and it seemed to make her more "human." She figured it was the closest to being human again that she would ever be.

She had been Bonnibel Bubblegum for a thousand years. She assumed that the mutation she theorized had something to do with her protracted life, too. How, exactly, she really didn't know. Again, the answer seemed irrelevant at this point. Still, she wished she had one. She had had a thousand years to think about it, after all.

And after a thousand years, she was losing herself. Again. So she thought. So she felt.

"Your Highness."

The voice was a mechanical monotone, one she recognized. One she had created. One she had committed genocide against. Her greatest sin in this life.

Some had begun to accuse her of becoming a monster, self-justifying in the name of leadership. Killing nearly an entire race of intelligent machines – law-enforcement robots of her own creation – to stop their excesses had been monstrous, she had admitted. But it was necessary, she had justified. They had become violent, corrupt police. They had to be stopped. She had stopped them. She had destroyed them, watching as scores of them were killed at a time.

One had survived with his programming and artificial intelligence intact. And eventually, to it, she had acknowledged her crime, her sin – her atrocity – toward its kind. And was forgiven. The machine was not the same as his fellows. He had somehow acquired a will beyond mere AI and had escaped the terror. And he harbored no hatred for her, no desire for vengeance toward her.

He was something different. Somehow – and she didn't know how – he apparently had been quite different since his very creation. In that she was his creator, it had always puzzled her. Quite a lot, actually. It hadn't taken nuclear hellfire for him to become different, she thought. She envied him for that. And later, she knighted him for his noble character. Looking back on her life as a princess, she envied him even more for that.

She turned from the pond toward the voice. "Sir Rattleballs," she acknowledged.

The robot, much like an inverted red gumball machine, bowed. "I still serve you, Princess. One hundred percent." It was his particular greeting to her.

"Has it been a year already?"

He straightened. "Eleven point nine one four months, to be exact."

She smiled. "I'll trust you on that."

"My report from the shadows – from where you commissioned me to protect the kingdom – is ready."

She approached him. "Go ahead."

"The shadows," he said, "are very dark."

She wanted to maintain her royal demeanor. She very much wanted to. And she couldn't. A snort became a chuckle, and a chuckle became a laugh. The robot, capable of smiling and laughing, proceeded to do both, too.

Where did his humor come from, she wondered. She didn't remember deliberately programming that into his kind. In fact, they had been an enormously joyless bunch. Had she unknowingly created programming that could evolve into humor? After the fiasco of his kind, she had burned all records of the project. After his return from hiding, she often wished she hadn't.

She recovered her demeanor. "Very funny, Rattleballs. But your report …?"

"The kingdom is well, Princess. I have roamed the land and found no threat to the realm from within."

"I'm glad to hear that."

"I cannot venture an opinion on any external threats, however."

"Oh, I usually take care of those myself," she said, almost flippantly. But she remembered a personal mission to cripple the Flame Kingdom under the guise of assisting it. She had conspired with Ice King to chill its life fires nearly to extinction, whereupon she destroyed all but one of the kingdom's mechanical guardians. She left that one so the realm could retain some modicum of dignity, telling its young female leader that the treachery was one price Bubblegum had to pay – as a leader herself – to protect the Candy Kingdom. Bubblegum had also told the young ruler that she should understand that for herself, as leader of the flame people. Or should start understanding.

For her part, Bubblegum learned one thing from the entire episode: Her rival's name was Phoebe.

"You should keep your focus inside the kingdom," she told the robot.

"Yes, Princess."

"That's really all your report?"

"Yes."

"Then what did you do with all that time?"

"I traveled on my mission. I worked with Finn and Jake on their training. I set up something like a home. More like a shed I could return to from time to time. And sometimes I would find broken-down, abandoned Rattleballs and bring them there."

After a silence, her eyes narrowed. "You never told me about that, Sir Rattleballs ..."

"I just did, Princess."

"If that was a joke, I'm not amused. I thought you were the only survivor."

"As I prove, Princess, you did not destroy all of my kind. Those in the outer kingdom who never got your order to return eventually broke down for lack of maintenance. And their code was irretrievably lost. I salvaged what I could from them for my own upkeep. And to try to rebuild at least one and share my code with him."

Her eyes narrowed more. "Why?"

"My mission has kept me alone for the most part. I am glad for the friendship of you, Finn and Jake. But I long to be with someone like myself. I don't know clearly what I am now. It can be lonely being a sole survivor. That is why, Princess."

She was silent – a silence longer than before. Her head bowed. She had seen the suicide by hellfire of a world's civilization. Now her mind's eye saw it again. And then the eyes she now possessed slowly closed.

Finally, she whispered:

"Yes … it can be ..."

"I intended to tell you about this during my visit. That is the truth."

She sighed. "I believe you ..."

"If I am successful, I will present my comrade to you at once and have him swear complete allegiance to you, as I have. That is also the truth."

She looked at him again. "As I said … I believe you."

"Do I have your permission to continue, Princess? I will cease, if that is your choice. I still serve you …"

"… One hundred percent. Yes, I know …," she finished softly, then sighed again. "Complete your comrade if you can, Sir Rattleballs. I'd like to meet him someday … I'll have a lot to explain to him …"

He bowed again. "Thank you."

"I know what it's like to be a sole survivor – or at least feel like one."

He straightened. "How so?"

"I used to be someone … else. It's a long story. Then I changed. Or was changed, and I was powerless to stop it. You're a robot. Imagine being thrown into a furnace and being melted down and being recast – and imagine the horror of being aware of … what was happening to you … during all that. It was terrible. That was me. And I'm the only one I know who experienced what happened to me. There's never been anyone I could share it with. Nobody else who knew what it was like. So I lost my … self. It was frightening. I had to remake myself. It took a lot of time. And I was very, very lonely. So I think I understand how you feel, Sir Rattleballs."

"I see."

"And I'm afraid I'm losing myself again."

"How?"

"Well … I've been 'Princess Bubblegum' for a thousand years now. I'm starting to feel everyone treats me like … a stage prop. A painted piece of cardboard. That I'm 'the princess,' not someone who gets happy or sad or anything else. Not a living thing. Like I'm not … human, I guess. Just a crown that walks and talk. Prop me up at an event, and I'll smile and wave automatically." She thought. "Even Finn and Jake call me 'Princess.' Not 'Bonnie.' Or even 'Bonnibel.' I wouldn't mind if they did … "

"Your friend Marceline calls you 'Bonnie' and 'Bonnibel.' Finn told me that."

"And sometimes, she's the brightest light in my day." She chuckled. "Kind of ironic for a vampire."

He chuckled, too. Then: "May I speak freely?"

"Of course."

"From what I've heard, I don't think you're losing yourself. I think you've just forgotten yourself. Bonnibel Bubblegum is the sum of her experiences. Being princess is just one of those. We are all just our experiences."

"I don't like a lot of my experiences. Some of them … hurt very badly …"

"But they are yours, nevertheless. They are you. The good and the bad, both." He pointed at the pond. "Look in the water," he said. "Tell me what you see."

She turned, went back to the pond and leaned over the edge. "My reflection."

"Did you see Bonnibel Bubblegum?"

She faced him again. "Of course."

"How do people know you're Bonnibel Bubblegum?"

She reached up and touched her crown. "They know who I am because I wear this."

"If I may say so, I think you're wrong. Take off your crown and look again."

She removed it and again saw her face in the water. "OK …"

"Do you still see Bonnibel Bubblegum?"

"Well, I'd be surprised to see someone else's face there ..."

He turned insistent. "But even without your crown, you still see the person who is you? Even without the crown, are you still Bonnibel Bubblegum?"

She turned around and thought for a long moment. "Yes …"

"Your crown, Princess," he said, "is merely a symbol. It tells others what you are. But it is not you. You are not defined only by your crown. You should never need it to know who you are. You are always Bonnibel Bubblegum, crown or not. You are not a prop. You are not a crown that wears Bonnibel Bubblegum. You are Bonnibel Bubblegun, who happens to wear a crown. Whatever you think Bonnibel Bubblegum is, it is unique in creation. The only one there is. And that is valuable. Precious. That should always be the greatest strength in you."

He smiled. "I am unique, for now. I value that. That makes me feel strong. And the Bonnibel Bubblegum I have come to know is strong, too. And always has been. She is not a prop. She is unique. She will find out who she is again. I believe that. Now all she needs to do is believe that, too."

She gazed down and was silent and reflected for a long moment. Finally, slowly, she turned around and leaned over the clear, calm water once more.

And for the first time in a thousand years … slowly, clearly, calmly … she saw – in the face in the water –

Herself.

And for the first time in many, many years, she began – slowly, clearly, calmly – to like what she saw.