Like A Song

Bonnie motioned ahead of her. "Will you walk with us?"

"Of course."

"Hey, that song… what words didn't you tell me?" Bonnie asked, bending to straighten Libby's shirt.

She stuck her hands in her pockets and stared up at the sky again. "I do still suck at words, you know."

"So be evasive and round-about. I've always been able to work you out, Abadeer."

Smiling then, because it was true, Marceline said, "I couldn't ever tell you how much you meant to me. Pretty sure you were always the best thing in my life, Bonnie, and I never told you. I was never brave enough to risk that, to put myself on the line when I was so convinced you'd hate me. So I just never told you."

Bonnie just nodded. But there was something in her posture – in the angle of her shoulders, in the way her eyes watched Marceline – that told her more would be said later. For now, she'd ignore it.

Marceline crouched then, in front of Elizabeth. "How old are you, squirt?" she asked as the little girl yawned.

"Six," came the reply, muffled around her fist.

"Is that too old for a piggy-back?"

Libby's face lit up, an answer in and of itself. "No way. Uncle Finn gives me piggy-backs when we visit him."

"Well, how about you get up on my shoulders right now then, yeah? I'll take you home."

With a squeal of delight, Libby scrabbled up onto Marceline's back, arms around her neck, legs around her waist, head on her shoulder. Holding onto her knees, Marceline felt her relax almost straight away, as though standing up of her own volition was the only thing that kept her awake.

"I thought you hated kids," Bonnie said quietly as they walked.

"Any kid of yours isn't a proper child, Bon," she fired back. "She'll be counting pi out to a million and reciting the periodic table before she's ten."

"She already knows the periodic table."

"My point is made."

They fell silent then, just kept walking. It took a while, but eventually Marceline realised they were heading for that apartment complex she'd noted earlier. The one that would have awesome seats for any concert at the stadium.

"Do you live there?" she asked, gesturing in the handicapped way of someone with their arms tight around the legs of a little girl getting a piggy-back.

"Yeah."

"Why the hell did you pay for tickets to the show then?" She paused then, thinking. "Wait, why were you even at the show in the first place?"

Bonnie sighed. "Because Libby is your number one fan and… and I missed you too. But I couldn't call you. I tried. Turns out I'm not very brave either."

Marceline chuckled. How about that?

As Bonnie was unlocking the door to her apartment (she didn't even question it when Marceline followed her inside and up the stairs), she spoke softly into the lock, "How much did I mean to you?" The words were so hushed Marceline had to lean in to catch them.

"First of all, not past tense," Marceline corrected her. "Never, never, past tense." Bonnie gave her a flat look, knowing she was stalling. "Secondly…" The door swung inwards, and Marceline used that as an excuse to delay her answer. "Where's Elizabeth sleep?"

"Down the hall and to the left. Do you want tea? I have camomile. And I do expect a proper answer, Marceline." Bonnie was already busy boiling the kettle. When asked about camomile tea Marceline's answer would always be 'yes'. It was a silly question.

Once Libby was tucked up in bed (shoes very carefully removed beforehand), Marceline sunk onto a stool in the kitchen. A cup of tea was set out in front of her before Bonnie sat down beside her, eyes just exactly as penetrating and soul devouring as she remembered.

"My answer?" she prompted.

"Doesn't matter anymore," Marceline hedged, shifting in her seat.

"It does to me."

All of a sudden, the steam still coiling about the spout of the kettle was insanely interesting.

"I need you to open your mouth and spit out those words," Bonnie said just a little harshly. "I can make you angry. You know words come out when you're mad. Just don't think about it."

"I…" she couldn't do it. Her throat closed over the second it realised what she was about to say, refusing to let the words out. Marceline sighed. "It's pathetic and cheesy and – in light of everything – kind of pointless."

"Oh come on," Bonnie growled. "I've been a witness to fifty shades of Marceline Abadeer. Nothing they say in the tabloids could ever surprise me. Not that any of it is true. I know you better than to believe any of that rubbish. My point is: I've seen you pathetic and cheesy and pointless. I've even seen you cliché."

"Bonnie," Marceline warned. "I'm pretty sure I ruined our friendship, I'm not going to be the reason we stop talking again."

This time, the look Bonnibel gave her was so flat it was ironed. It was pancakes and paper and all kinds of other very flat things. "Please," she snorted. "I've given birth, Marceline. You can't break me with a few words."

Sing it like a song, Marceline, her little inner voice said. "I love you."

That was not a song.

Bonnie blinked. "Like what? Like a sister, like your best friend? Like what?"

"Like I want… I…" her throat clenched again. "Like I want to sweep you off your feet and carry you into the sunset, cliché type. I've been in love with you my whole life."

Bonnibel sighed. It didn't sound exasperated or angry or resigned or anything like that. It sounded… it sounded… Marceline looked back at her. Content, her brain supplied happily.

"Good." That was all Bonnie said. This time, Marceline blinked at her in confusion. For the longest time, they sat in silence, Marceline waiting for something else to be said.

It wasn't.

"Good?" she asked, trying hard not to shriek, to stay calm. "Good what? What's good?"

"Good," Bonnie said again. "I was kind of worried you didn't. And that would be awkward."

Marceline frowned. "Why?"

"Because I love you too," she replied like it was nothing. "Always have. I think that might be why my marriage failed."

Her brain had a field day with that one. Oh yeah, being in love with some random chick who sings in a band… that's exactly what you want your husband to find out. Great. Marriages are built on stuff like that. Sure would kill the libido, that's for damn sure. Turns out you're gay for some girl and wow does that make your husband question everything that's ever happened. Wow. Just… just wow. How do you even get married to a guy when you're still hot for a woman anyway? What even? Who made that stupid-ass decision?

It took a lot of effort for Marceline to shut down that line of thinking. It wasn't helping. "Ok," she said instead of any of those questions her brain had provided. Her heart didn't know whether to be confused and fluttery, or elated and fluttery. She let it do both.

Bonnie smiled. "Stay with me?" she asked.

Marceline lifted an eyebrow. "That's very forward of you. I think it took you nearly five years before you even let me sleep over at your house when we were kids."

"I know you a lot better now," Bonnie said, standing and heading for the couch. "I know a lot more about a lot of things now. Come on, we'll watch a movie."

The smile Bonnibel was wearing made her heart soar. It did backflips and gymnastics and drifted around in the upper atmosphere for a while in the low gravity. It pounded far too hard in her ears; it skipped far too many beats to be healthy. It was just in shock. Happy, overjoyed, wow-is-this-really-happening shock.

"Just like old times," Marceline croaked.

Bonnibel laughed and Marceline's soul trembled. A shiver of lightning and sun flooding through her, down her spine, tingling on the ends of her nerves. And in its wake, her heart was healed. No more cracks, no more fragments missing, taken, left behind when she'd left Bonnie. She was whole again.

Marceline turned her phone off and spent the night.