IMPORTANT: This is pre-Finn.
Words: 1,395
RESCUE ME – [Part II]
"Bad guys." Marceline says it slowly, and repeats next, "Bad guys? Seriously, Bonnibel?" She arches her brows at the princess.
"Fine. If you don't like that particular moniker, how about threats? Marceline," Bubblegum determines, "you are the perfect person to teach me how to fight threats."
Folding her arms in a diamond behind her head, Marceline blinks and frowns. Her legs scissor idly with a swimmer's grace. "Okay," she attempts. "You want me to teach you how to defend yourself. In a one-on-one combat situation." It isn't a question so much as a statement, and Bubblegum nods along.
"Yes," she affirms. "Your mention of a militia earlier—that's a wonderful idea. I should attempt to have my cabinet organize one as soon as possible. Once formed, it—they—will care for my kingdom. And as ever, my guards will attend me personally while I am in residence here performing my daily duties. But," she finishes, "it would be optimal if I could properly kick butt when I'm alone. Should the need ever, ahem." Bubblegum steeples her fingers. "Arise."
"And that's where I come in?"
"And that," cements Bubblegum, "is indeed where you come in." Leaving her closet, she crosses the room, tweaking Marceline's knee midway, and plops down on her bed. The mattress bounces; the cuffs of her pajamas flutter around her ankles.
"You could just hire a bodyguard, you know," Marceline points out. "Someone strong who'd stay with you forever. Devote their life to protecting you."
Bubblegum straightens slightly, the corner of her mouth curled still with her smile. "Funny," she observes. "That sounded a little like an offer."
She rubs her hands down her thighs, smoothing the wrinkles in her pajamas. Her eyes flick to Marceline, who has pointedly aimed her face at the ceiling. The vampire's profile, all slender nose and shuttered lashes, is blank.
Bubblegum goes on after a moment, "Will you teach me, please?"
Marceline swings her feet down hard to land. Abruptly Bubblegum realizes that her friend is not wearing shoes, socks, slippers, anything: her feet are bare from the ankles down, their undersides a dusty pewter, their toes long but otherwise normal. Well, normal except for the…
"Is that nail polish?" gasps the princess. "Pink nail polish?"
Marceline, who has by now meandered over to the bedside, takes a seat next to Bubblegum. She curls her toes in the carpet, hiding the nails—their color too. "What," she asks, and drives her elbow into Bubblegum's hip, "makes you think I'm even the best person to teach you, huh?"
"As evidenced by your predicament this morning and what you've told me about occurrences like it, you have great experience dealing with unexpected situations involving close personal combat. And"—Bubblegum shifts aside, scowling down at Marceline's elbow—"you know me better than most. Given your expansive knowledge of both variables in this equation—"
"Variables?"
"Challengers and me, yes. Given your expansive knowledge of both those things, it only makes sense that you would be able to reconcile a situation wherein I could learn to properly defend myself against them."
"Sheesh!" Marceline laughs. She drops her face into her palm. Scrubs said palm down her cheek. Peeking up at Bubblegum through her fingers, she admits, "You're making it sound like this is some sort of math problem or chemistry final you can study for, Bonnibel. And it's not. It's really, really not."
"You fell into my room this morning and you were almost on fire," Bubblegum replies. Her voice is soft but there's steel in it too, and maybe Marceline notes that the smaller monarch's hands are so tight over her knees that her knuckles are bleaching lavender. "I think I am aware that this is well beyond my comfort zone, Marceline."
The vampire queen sighs and lifts an arm to loop it gently around her friend. "Easy, princess," she soothes Bubblegum. "I'm sorry, okay?" As the other girl slides into the slender slope of her side with a grumble, Marceline smirks and murmurs, "You're really serious about this, huh?"
"Yes!" Bubblegum's tiara jounces against Marceline's temple. "Yes, I am totally serious!"
"You really think I'd make a good teacher, Bonnibel?" Before Bubblegum can even open her mouth to answer, Marceline slips away like the shadow she came from long ago and whispers aloft, turning to fling her arms wide. Somehow the light in the room gutters, dims, snaps out, and then there is darkness and Bubblegum is squinting into it, trying hard to decipher where it stops and her friend starts. A touch on her cheek betrays Marceline's closeness: fingertips, pressed still and cool now to the small space just alongside the younger monarch's chin. Bubblegum can't see it, but she gets the idea that Marceline is smiling. "I'm not too evil for you?" continues the vampire. "Not too… wicked?"
Something slithery and wet flickers against the tip of the princess's nose. It's Marceline's tongue, and Bubblegum leans the tiniest bit forward, enough that she feels lips brush her skin, before instinct clamps its teeth tight into her gut and she eases back again. Her cheeks are hot, her pulse a drum in her neck. She wonders if Marceline knows. She wonders if Marceline wants—
"You'll make a fine teacher," Bubblegum assures her friend, bringing the situation back to its bearings and ripping her mind away from otherwise improper thoughts. Her mouth is dry—her palms wet with sweat. Smearing them against her pants, she huffs, "Wicked indeed," and turns her head to dry her nose on her sleeve.
The desk lamp across the room winks to life again, the bulb's low zzzt sending a spangle of orange over the carpet. Marceline is inches away, grinning now rather than smiling; her fangs dimple the flesh of her lip. "Okay," she says. "Okay, I'll give it a shot. I'll try to teach you to how to tango."
"You will?"
"I will."
Leaping to her feet, Bubblegum throws her arms about Marceline's neck and squeezes. "Excellent! Wunderbar! Thank you, Marceline! What should I—"
"Dawn," Marceline interrupts. Folding her hand over Bubblegum's shoulder, she presses the princess back down against the mattress and repeats, "Dawn. Be ready. Cancel all your stuff for tomorrow. And"—the queen holds up a finger—"it's just tomorrow, Bonnibel. This isn't gonna be some lengthy training exercise. This is officially a crash course in being a badass."
"Why a crash course?" wonders the princess. "Why so quick? If this is a bad time for you…"
Marceline's fingers tighten over her shoulder. "If you can't learn what I'm gonna try to teach you in a day," she professes, "you'll never learn it period."
"I do far better mulling things over," Bubblegum protests. "Contemplating the information I've been given helps me absorb it. Studying it will—"
"Leave you dead in two seconds." Marceline shakes her head. Leaning over the princess, she murmurs, "I'm gonna try to teach you how to turn this off"—she taps Bubblegum's temple—"and turn this on." Her hand trickles low to flare over the other girl's belly. "Gotta learn to think with your guts, Bonni."
Bubblegum looks down between them: looks down at Marceline's fingers, splayed in a star. Reaching to take them, she rubs her thumb over the ridge of the vampire's nails and probes, "Why don't you paint these too? It would look nice." And then, "All right. Dawn. I'll be ready."
Marceline tugs her hand free. Reluctantly? It seems like she does it slowly, yes. "Don't wear a dress," the queen orders. She tacks on next, "I'm not coordinated enough to paint my fingernails. One hand ends up looking like a psycho splattered polish all over it."
"Next time I'll do it for you, then."
Shrugging, the other girl smiles. "Get some sleep, Bonnibel," she urges, and in the next moment she's gone, a shadow slipping soft through the window.
Bubblegum rises and moves to that window, calling out into the night beyond, "Don't forget your umbrella this time! Or your hat!" The shush of the breeze is her only reply. It sends the skin of her arms stippling into gooseflesh. Rubbing at them, Bubblegum mutters, "I can't afford to let you sleep in my drawer again—I'll run out of underwear for you to leech," and withdraws into the relative warmth of her bedchamber to await the morning.
