Sadly, I don't own Adventure Time.

Chapter 4

February 5th 2016

Bonnibel dropped onto the linen bus seat, having the courtesy to leave the seat next to her empty despite her overwhelming want to just lie down. When you haven't had a proper sleep in over a day, manners would be the least of your priorities. Leaning her forehead on the window, Bonnibel stared blankly at the scenery that passed by. The streets of Bathurst City were bustling with their normal afternoon clutter: drivers taking the commute home, students beginning their end-of-week binge, street performers conducting their niche acts. The juddering of the bus's windowpane mimicked its sputtering motor, the feeling of which was oddly massaging as Bonnie collected her thoughts.

Abadeer.

The entirety of Bathurst city knew the family surname. Deceptive entrepreneurs, ambitious tycoons, leaders to a dynastic corporation, all adequately describing them. Since the origins of Nighto Incorporated in the late 1500s, the Abadeers have always had a foothold in world economics, with power rivalling that of the East India Trading Company before it became vestigial. Generation after generation, they pursued power in both financial and political environments with family members succeeding one another in an abiding cycle.

Bonnie brushed her skirt pocket, digging out her phone. Simply typing 'Ab' was enough for Google to autocomplete her inquisition into the family's Wikipedia page. Bonnie glazed over the article, ignoring the constant mentions to the sizableness of the Abadeer fortune. With money like that, Bonnie could finally put herself through college… a thousand times over.

Her eyes paused when she reached the family overview. Lo and behold, there was a Marceline Abadeer. A small frown appeared on Bonnie's face, slightly disappointed that a hyperlink on Marceline's name didn't exist.

Could've at least been a photo.

But then again, the Abadeers weren't really much for publicity. The general public barely knew their faces; only the name that they carried. They communicated through subordinates whenever it involved meeting the public. Whether it was due to the time constraint of managing a multi-billion dollar company or disgust for the general public, no-one really knew.

Finn and Jake had been kind of enough to inform Bonnie of the company gossip. Apparently the president, Hunson Abadeer, was away in Dubai negotiating contracts with the Sheikh, Mohammed. Meanwhile, Marceline - the 19-year old vice-president - was left in charge of home operations in Bathurst. Rumours were that the girl was inept at managing the corporation that encompassed finance, real estate, mining and energy. Well. No surprise there. Despite her own prowess, Bonnibel doubted that even she could take on such a monumental task.

Finn and Jake said that the e-mail Marceline had sent was the only thing she had done since filling in for her father. As a result, a question still lingered on Bonnie's mind.

Did she try to help me?

Try was the important word. It felt as if Garb had placed a vendetta on Bonnibel after his humiliation. So if helping was Marceline's intent, it certainly backfired a bit. But… no. She wouldn't be helping a random intern on the fourth floor by putting Bonnie's supervisor to shame. Maybe it was something else.

Maybe the two had beef with each other…

More likely. Everyone had something of Garb to quarrel about. Whether it was his appearance, demeanour or authoritarian approach to management. Bonnibel's first impression of Marceline was also enough to justify her reasoning that the girl had to have some adversaries. Maybe the vice-prez was searching for an excuse to provoke the man, and Bonnibel's work schedule was the perfect ammunition. But…

What if she really did just want to help me?

… No. Doubtful. Maybe out of pity; but nothing else. She did give Bonnie a longer weekend, however. Perhaps that was the pity.

The familiar sight of Bonnibel's bus stop broke her thoughts, aware that the bus journey was over. Dragging herself out of the seat, she stepped off the bus, thanking the driver on her way. A cool breeze greeted her along with the soft coos of the pigeons nesting in the nearby tree; a welcome change from the staleness of an office. Bonnibel tread along the sidewalk, only a few minutes away from her home in the city district.

Upon arriving at the old rustic place, she walked up the stairs to the front door, heading inside where she was happily greeted by Uncle Sam, sipping on what smelt like his home-made brew of chamomile tea.

"Bonnie! Welcome back," the man greeted her, a broad grin on his face. "I was worried when you didn't come back last night, but no worries needed! I got your message. How was work?"

Sam Beesley. Or, as the man preferred it, Uncle Sam. The retired chef had taken Bonnie in when she was just 12-years-old. Bonnie couldn't remember much of the man before that; only vague memories of his short appearances during the holiday seasons. Initially, he was against the idea of taking Bonnie in after her parent's death. Not that he didn't like the girl but he claimed that he was far from a good parental figure. But living with the man for the past seven years had gifted Bonnie a perspective that refuted such claims. The man was nothing but family-oriented.

"Hey Sam," Bonnie replied. "Work was…"

Different. My boss went nuts and apparently I met the Vice-President; an Abadeer.

"… boring as usual."

Bonnie was not in the mood for any long drawn-out conversation. Sleep was her priority.

"Haha! Now I know you don't like spreadsheets or business, but don't worry. Sooner or later they'll put you up that ladder, and then you'll have other people doing the work for you!"

"Mhmm," Bonnie hummed, ignoring the dark possibility that she would end up like Lenon. Dear lord, no.. "That is if they even notice me… It's only been a week, but I'm pretty sure I've done what more people could do in a month."

"Bonnibel Beesley! If there's one thing I'm sure about, it's that they'll take notice of you. Remember back in high school? Everyone knew you after the first semester! Bonnibel Beesley, the prodigy princess! The smartest kid in Bathurst they called you."

… that kind of publicity wasn't always good. I still remember the jealous ones.

"Yeah… let's hope so," Bonnie said.

"I know so, dear."

"Thanks, Uncle Sam," Bonnie thanked, offering the man an endearing smile. "Garb actually gave me a couple days off after the weekend – a token for all my work… I suppose." Technically it was the vice-prez who had granted the short-notice vacation but Bonnie decide to leave that out. "So I'll just be at home till then."

"See? They already started appreciating you!" Sam beamed, taking another sip out of his steaming mug. "I bet you it's only a couple weeks before they get you promoted. Heh. That'd actually help us out quite a bit too right now…" Sam said, his voice lowering to almost a whisper as he swallowed his homemade chamomile concoction.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Ahh, don't worry. I'm just droning on again, aren't I? Enough chit chat! Dinner's in the oven – I think you'll like it. I'll up in the study going over some records. Boring stuff, as you would say," Sam winked.

The mention of dinner evaporated all of Bonnie's thoughts as her focus turned to the gnawing feel in her abdomen. Geez, how long had it been since she'd eaten? A day? Sleep could wait when food was ready. Bonnie bid Sam a swift thanks as she made her way to the kitchen.

The distinct aroma of Sam's pizza immediately filled her nostrils, her nose becoming infused with what was nothing short of pure elation. The man was a master when it came to cuisine, despite the years that had passed since his retirement. Pulling the pan out of the oven and placing it on the kitchen table, Bonnie carefully carved a slice out of the appetizing pie.

A single bite was enough for Bonnie to let out a moan of joy, her face turning to pure delight. Italian spices, laced with a stringy buttery cheese coalesced with a red pepper flavour; a drug that would satisfy anyone's tastebuds. Pulling up a seat at the kitchen table, Bonnibel perused over the loose magazines and paper in front of her, searching for some reading material; an old habit. Strangely enough, there was a couple unattached papers under the vase on the table. Curiosity got the better of her as she pried the paper out from under the vase.

The letters were… bills? Invoices? Statements? Before Bonnie could pick up a second slice of pizza, her eyes became fixed on the bold red that accentuated the heading on each of the letters. 'Overdue. Urgent. Final notice. Payment required.'

What the…

Carefully, she flipped through each of them, scanning each one with a keen eye. Mortgage, utilities, phone bills, insurance letters; each addressed to Sam.

Why are they all overdue?

Realization struck her as she remembered Sam's words.

'… get you promoted… that'd actually help us out quite a bit too right now…'

Bonnie placed her free hand to her forehead, pushing her fringe back as a concerned expression replaced her previously delighted face. They were in the red. They were short on money. But how? Surely Sam had saved enough during his career to live comfortably. The man had retired early, building a nest egg from all those years working behind the stove at his old restaurants. He had to have been doing well for himself. What changed? The man should be set for life. Unless…

… Oh.

Unless someone like Bonnie happened to intrude on the man's life. Someone like Bonnie had to all of a sudden become a burden and parasitically prey on the man's life savings, slowly depleting the product of Sam's years of cooking. Seven years was an awfully long time to unexpectedly take care of someone. Attending a private school must've took a chunk out of Sam's nest egg too despite Bonnie being very vocal that a public school would've sufficed.

Bonnie's appetite regressed, replaced with a corrosive feel of guilt as she looked away from the rest of the pizza, the smell of tomatoes and cheddar having disappeared. Bonnie swallowed, the aftertaste of the heavenly pizza having become slightly bitter.

Sam had given so much for her. And what had she done in return?

Why didn't he tell me?

But she knew the answer already. Of course he wouldn't tell her that they were broke. The man's too kind-hearted to add to Bonnie's stress. He saw the way she came home every day for the past week; hair frizzed, clothes crinkled, exhausted. He wouldn't ask for Bonnie to contribute whatever she earned at Nighto. He knew that she wanted to save it all for the possibility of a tertiary education. Leaving these letters on the table must've been a blunder for him.

Bonnie heard the creaking of footsteps coming down the stairs. She promptly slotted the letters back under the vase as she found them before standing up and dashing to the sink to wash her hands. Sam entered the kitchen, his body language showing that he was in search of something.

Under the vase, Sam.

"Not going to have anymore? Too much salt?" Sam asked, pointing to the seven-eighths of pizza left on the table.

"No, it's good. Really good. But… I'm not really hungry," Bonnie lied, the feeling of guilt still remained. "I ate on the way home."

"Well, that's alright. More leftovers for tomorrow!" Sam exclaimed, as he began packing the pizza into Tupperware before placing the container into the fridge. The smile on his face made Bonnie question if it was genuine or not, considering their current situation.

"I was just looking for some papers. Letters. Couldn't go over some work without them. Have you seen 'em?"

"Letters? No, sorry," Bonnie answered, her back to Sam as she dried her hands on a tea towel. The sound of papers rustled behind her as Sam spread the loose magazines and newspaper on the kitchen table, searching for the letters. "Uncle Sam-"

"How many times do I have to say it, Bonnie? Just 'Sam',"

Bonnie let out a small sigh, her hands clasped in front of her. "Sam. If you ever need help around the house with anything, I can help you know…"

"Hah! Whatever do you mean?" Sam asked, surprised at Bonnie's words.

"I'm saying I feel like I've…"

Been a burden, a leech, a weight.

"… haven't really repaid you for all these years we've lived together. You've given a lot."

Sam stared at Bonnibel for a second, his smile having faded, an eyebrow raised at Bonnibel's sudden acclamation. "Nonsense. You don't have to do anything for me, Bonnie. Besides, that's the last thing your father would have wanted; for his daughter to take care of his older brother. I wouldn't put you up to any trivial work," Sam replied.

The mention of her father brought a solemn smile to Bonnibel's face. Even though she couldn't remember much of the man, Sam always spoke highly of him.

"Why the sudden offer, Bonnie?" Sam asked.

"… No reason. I was just thinking."

"I see, I see. Well… try not to think about that sort of stuff, dear. I assure you, we're doing just fine. You just focus on that job down at Nighto. I've got everything else handled."

At the sound of Sam's assurances, Bonnie loosened the grip on her hands, her foregoing guilt having disappeared somewhat. It sounded as if Sam had a plan. And if he didn't want to openly speak about their situation, then Bonnie wouldn't persist. The man was always stubborn, that's for sure, but not stubborn enough to jeopardize the only place Bonnie and he had left to call home.

"I will, Sam," Bonnie responded, grateful to Sam's thoughtfulness. Bonnie's hand covered her mouth as she let out a prolonged yawn. "I think I better go get some sleep."

"No worries. Rest up! You've had a long week."

"Sam?"

"Hmm?"

"… Thanks again. For everything."

"Don't mention it," he replied, a smile reappearing across his face that showed youth beyond his years. "I better get back to those records. Goodnight, dear."

Bonnie nodded, her body finding the energy to follow Sam out of the kitchen. She turned around, glimpsing at the spot where the letters were to see if Sam had found them. They were gone.

A/N: Background info chapter to the Abadeers. Marceline-focussed chapter next. So far everyone's names have been linked to AT (Lenon Garb = Lemon Grab, Finn = Finn, Jake = Jake, etc.) so I'd be very surprised if anyone figures out how who Sam refers to in AT (hint: get nerdy). Thanks again for reading :) -SnowyZoe