I don't own Adventure Time.

Chapter 10

19th February 2016

Having an ex-chef of an uncle had spoilt Bonnie, causing her to dissect every Western cuisine she came across. She picked at the vinaigrette-less salad in front of her with a dull plastic spork. The old-style burger joint she and the Mertens were sitting in felt like it could have been straight out of a neo-noir film, but maybe that was because of the stereotypical checkered flooring and the '80s jukebox lying dormant in the corner.

It had been too long since Bonnie had something on her schedule that involved friends rather than a trip to the Dean of Blackwell's office, or to Lenon's hellish cell. Bonnie remembered the small gatherings she and her Blackwell friends had. Well, ex-friends now. Each one of them had become a distant memory, and - unfortunately - each a part of Bonnie's oldest recollectable ones.

She did have a couple relationships with some of the boys there, each one subsequently having been sent packing when Bonnie made her position on their sexual advances clear. The worst one had to be in her junior year.

Derek had been older than Bonnie by a handful of years, but he was well-built, tall, sculpted and had a calm demeanor about him that made Bonnie feel safe. Untamed black hair covered most of his face, and he was known by most to be very masculine and refined. The first month or so of dating, Derek had been gentlemanly, going out of his way to make Bonnie feel like she was all that mattered in his world. Even Sam had a high opinion of the man when Derek brought Bonnie home from the theaters or a Blackwell Tigers game. He was one of the few people Bonnie had told about her amnesia to and - like the gentleman he was - he kept his mouth shut, understanding of the girl's feelings. At first, he thought it was an elaborate joke, but as Bonnie explained, his smile had faded.

She could've seen herself settling down with him, living as a lavish wife to a possible future upstate banker or oil tycoon.

Alas, it didn't take much to break Derek's polished facade.

An end-of-term party had Derek and Bonnie at one of the other student's mansions, their parents out on holiday and likely unaware that their child was holding one of the biggest house parties of the calendar year. By midnight on the day, Derek's breath had been stained with a nefarious quantity of liquor, his breath was foul with the poison when he had tried to force Bonnie, force her into giving up what little security she had left of herself.

She was sixteen.

But she wouldn't let him. She wouldn't let him steal from her. No, her purity was reserved for herself and perhaps someone else someday, somewhere, some other time. Bonnie broke up the relationship right then and there. Sure, she may have had to walk the whole two-hour journey back home, but at least her pride and dignity remained intact.

By the beginning of next term, however, Derek had already done the damage, spreading enough rumors to permanently destroy any reputation Bonnie had. After all, who would question Derek and the words that came out of his perfectly-cast jaw?

The lies had reached Bonnie's ears the moment she stepped foot back onto campus that semester.

They said she was deranged.

That she was a floozy.

That she had taken on an affair behind Derek's back.

That she was an amnesia-ridden psychopath who only wanted Derek for his future inheritance.

Lies. All of them.

But lies were easily believed when the mouth that spewed them was fraudulently respected.

Human contact had been sparse for Bonnie for the past several years, so it was all the more enjoyable when Finn and Jake had invited her out for an afternoon snack. A platonic afternoon, Finn had reassured.

"I can't believe your boss is the vice-prez," Finn said, taking another sloppy bite out of his Americano burger.

"Yeah, I can't really believe it myself," Jake agreed, chomping on a handful of fries.

"It's not that big of a deal," Bonnie said. "It's just a job like any other."

"Yeah, but you're working with an Abadeer! They're pretty much aliens living in Bathurst. It's not every day you get to see them - yet, you get to see one like every day."

"My boss isn't a zoo exhibition, Finn. She's a normal person, like you or me."

"Hah! Not sure about that. Don't 'cha reckon being in a rich, old family would mess with your head? Like, how come they never talk in public? Or why we never see them around except in photos?" He stopped chewing, pondering his own question. "You're working with an Abadeer, Bonnie. Got any clues?"

Photodermatitis. Most likely genetic and from a dominant allele within the family.

"No idea," Bonnie lied. It would be wrong to just tell everyone about her boss' medical condition. How would she feel if someone just told everyone about her amnesia? "Marceline's not as bad as she seems. She may act like a spoilt child every now and then, but..."

"But what?"

She wasn't a spoilt child. Intentional or not, Marceline had done more than one good deed for Bonnie. The time she had forced Lenon to give Bonnie some much needed space, the ride home in the pouring rain after a botched interview, and the fact that Bonnie had even received a new job; all pointed to the feeling that Marceline's temperament was just a thickened mask.

"... I don't know. Forget what I said. How's your burger, Finn?" Bonnie asked, quickly changing the subject.

"Prehhdahhrrguud," he said, his mouth full of the sandwich.

Bonnie brought a hand to her mouth, holding back a giggle. Even though she didn't see Finn in an amorous manner, she had to admit the man did have a cute, boyish charm. "Anything else happen while I've been gone?" she asked.

"Meh, not much. Lenon's looking for a new lackey to pin all his work on. Hats off to whoever that's going to be," Jake said. "Stuff's been getting real busy around the floor, lately. People are actually e-mailing us for help now. Must be because we don't have you around the floor anymore, 'ey Bon?"

"Perhaps," Bonnie said with a grin.

"That reminds me, I've got to ask," Finn said, tossing his burger wrapper onto the table. "What's Marceline like? Is she a better boss than Lenon?"

"She's better than Lenon, that's for sure. She doesn't bark at you or make you work for days straight. I think I've actually had my first week of proper sleep in a long time." Even if I have to sleep a bit into the day. "She's… different." Bonnie resumed picking at her salad with a neutral expression.

The two brothers looked at one another. "Different? How so?" Finn asked.

"There's just something about her I can't put my finger on…"

Something… so familiar.

The jittering vibrations of Bonnie's phone on the diner's marble table interrupted her thoughts. She picked the thing up to see she'd received a text from the boss herself.

'My office. Now,' the text read.

'Omw,' Bonnie replied.

'What? I don't know speak nerd, princess.'

'It means 'on my way'.'

'Oh. Sure.'

She shoved the phone back into her skirt's pocket before standing from the table. "Sorry guys, I have to go. Business and all."

"Woah, woah, you're leaving already?" Finn asked.

"Yeah. Marceline wants me at the office and, unfortunately for me, I agreed to some very strict rules which basically strips me of my freedom from disagreeing with her."

Why the blimp did I agree to those..?

"Yikes, sounds rough. Tell you what, Jake and I could give you a ride there. It's on the way back to our place so it'd be no biggie."

"Really? That'd actually be a big help," Bonnie replied, smiling at the brother's kind offer.

The sooner she got there, the better. She wouldn't want to tarnish her relationship with her boss any further.

"Finn. Dude. Check it out," Jake said from the back seat of the car, pointing to something through the windshield.

Finn's jaw lost its hinges as it dropped to the floor, his hands slipped from the steering wheel as he ogled the metal beast in front of him. "Is that what I think it is?" he asked, wide-eyed. "No way. No way. I didn't even know there was one in Bathurst." He waggled a finger out the driver's window. "That right there's a Murciélago."

The trio had stopped in front of Nighto's skyscraper. Marceline's blood-red car was parked right in front of them - in a no stopping zone too, unsurprisingly. The woman herself was leaned up against the car's bonnet, engrossed in her phone.

Amazingly, she had changed her outfit. Instead of her usual college-like attire, she had herself on a thick, black turtleneck with a pair of charcoal mittens adorning her hands. Her jeans had been replaced with an inky circle skirt and with the stockings to match.

And what was up with the red beanie and scarf? It's like ninety degrees out here.

Oh yeah, that's right.

The photodermatitis.

A single patch of skin didn't remain uncovered over Marceline's entire body. Her eyes were even shaded behind a pair of gold-rimmed aviators.

What was she doing out in the afternoon sun?

Bonnie was just about to inform Finn whose car they were leering at, but the man had already put the car into park and hopped out the driver's side, taking long strides towards what, Bonnie assumed, was the man's childhood dream car. Bonnie turned around to see Jake had slammed the passenger door shut, following right on the tail of his older brother.

Oh boy.

The seatbelt around Bonnie refused to budge. She had only managed to get out of the car after shaking the darn thing off before speeding up into a light jog towards Marceline and the two brothers. When she had caught up to Finn, the man had already opened his mouth.

"Excuse me, eskimo-looking miss. I've got to say, you've got one epic set of wheels," Finn said.

Bonnie dropped her forehead into her hand. If her boss weren't wearing those sunglasses right now, she swore her eyes would have embers in them.

"What did you just say?" Marceline asked. Her voice was muffled by the thick scarf around her face. She couldn't see her boss' expression, but Bonnie could taste the irritation in Marceline's tone.

Attempting to defuse a potential bomb, Bonnie sided up to Marceline, leaning in to whisper in her ear. "He's saying he likes your car."

The rising stiffness in Marceline's shoulders visibly loosened before she turned to the taller blonde man. "Whatever," she said simply, waving Finn off before walking over to Mercy's side door.

Before Finn could open his mouth to say god-knows-what, Bonnie put on a highly-strung look, slowly mouthing out the words, 'that's her.'

'Who?' Finn mouthed back, his brow furrowed at Bonnie's soundless speech.

'Marceline.'

Finn dropped his keys with a startle, the metal made a scraping sound on the concrete walkway. Jake remained composed, only letting out a little cough, as if unsurprised by the identity of the car's owner. With his eyelids wide-open, Finn's eyes darted between Mercy and the woman who was dressed way too much for the warm weather. He let out a nervous laughter before picking up his keys.

"Say, Jake, we best be on our way, hey?" he stammered, rubbing the back of his head.

"Sure, whatever you say, bro," Jake said with a bob of his head.

"Y-yeah. We'll catch you later, Bonnie," Finn said, his keys jingling slightly from the tremors in the hand holding them. The Mertens climbed back into their car. The exhaust coughed out a fume of black smoke before the pair disappeared down the city district.

"Who the heck were those two?" Marceline asked after a pause.

"They're my friends from when I was on the fourth floor."

"Pfft. Friends? You? I swear from what I've seen this past week; the only friend you'd make with is a calculator."

"Now that you mention it, I did pretend my calculator was a friend in freshman year. I named it Joey."

"What, really?"

"No, not really."

The vice-president rolled her eyes as she swiveled the passenger door open. "Get in," Marceline said.

"What are we doing outside?" Bonnie asked.

And in the sun..?

Her question remained unanswered as Bonnie tucked her head down to fit into the obnoxiously low vehicle. Marceline had already made her way around the car to the driver's seat, pulling off the scarf around her face once she was within the confines of her car's over-tinted windows. The… tinted windows. Oh, it made sense.

Her cheek's healed well… or is that just foundation?

No, there weren't any brush marks. The vice-president's ailment seemed to be a fast-healing phenotype of some sort. Interesting.

After a few seconds, the ferocious roar of the car's engine came to life, drowning out any chance of an audible conversation between the pair. It was only when they were cruising down a drawn-out stretch of city road did Marceline speak.

"What do you know about the Bathurst Gala?" she asked, setting the car's engine into a lulled revving.

"The… Bathurst Gala?" Bonnie asked, quirking an eyebrow at the question.

Why would she ask about that?

"What do you know about it?" Marceline asked again.

The Bathurst Gala. Most had heard of it. Few knew exactly why it was held, or the specifics to its exclusive guest list. She knew it was an annual event where some of the most influential businessmen and women from across the country gathered. The city's grand resort on the coast served as the event's host, providing luxury that a majority of the populace would never have been able to afford. In the past, Bonnie had only read speculations as to the activities that occurred on the night of the Gala – but, there was just too much secrecy surrounding the event's purpose to get any solid information. Not to mention there was always an army of security surrounding the resort to stop the riff-raff from interrupting anything.

"It's something that happens every year on the city's coast. A formal event, I think. The news always showed some big names coming to Bathurst around the time of the Gala. But…"

"Nobody knows why?" Marceline said, finishing Bonnie's thoughts.

"Yes. Nobody knows why they come here."

"I do."

"Huh?"

"I know why - and before you guess, it's not because they're doing shady biz or dealing in black-market junk. The whole thing's held for one thing. A game."

"A… game?"

"Yeah. Poker."

… Poker? The card game!?

"You're telling me that some of the biggest people across the states meet up here every year, in Bathurst, just to gamble?" Bonnie asked.

"Oh, please. It's not about the money. The prize pool may go into the nine figures range, but that's pocket change to these people. They only care about who wins because of the status that comes with it. Most of the players come from multinational corps so that if they win, their name will be at the top of everyone's shortlist for future business."

It was a primitive doctrine, but it made sense. Poker; it was a game of risk, reward, luck and lies, perfectly synonymous with the practices of business. It was a crude indicator showing that whichever company won, they were the ones with the superior financial prowess.

"How do you know all this?" Bonnie asked.

"Because," Marceline began, a sigh leaving her chest, "my dad's been winning this game for the past four decades. He tried teaching it to me, but I honestly just didn't give a shit. But this year... he can't make it. He said he's busy doing some important crap halfway around the world. So…"

"He's making you take his place?" Bonnie asked, receiving an earnest nod from Marceline. "Wow, that's quite a bit of pressure."

"No shit. That's why I need your help."

"Excuse me?"

"Let's face it. If I've got any chance of winning this thing, you need to teach me. You're a total math whizz from what I've seen. You sorted like a year's worth of balance sheets in a couple days."

"It wasn't really that difficult."

"Don't give me that modest bullshit. I know you're smart so don't play it off. You're going to help me because that's going to be your job for the next fortnight."

Marceline was right. The past week had Bonnie wanting to fall asleep on her new desk. One could only stare at numbers and spreadsheets for so long until their sanity snapped, so maybe this could be a change of pace. Teaching a game for work? Heck, most people would do anything for a job like that. What did she have to lose?

"Alright, I'll do it. I'll help you win at your little game."

"Of course you will, because I told you to," Marceline said with a smirk. "Rule one, remember?"

Ugh, I wasn't thinking right when I agreed to those…

"Will you at least answer me one thing, please?" Bonnie asked.

"What?"

"Where are we going?"

Being out in the afternoon sun, the vice-president must've had a reason for the little excursion the two were taking.

"Like you said, the Gala's a formal shindig, and I need you there with me. So we're getting you something to wear," Marceline said casually.

"… Come again?"

"You're coming with me to this thing whether you like it or not. I need your help on the day too."

"No, no, I meant the second part. Did you say you're getting me something to wear?"

"Mhmm, I doubt you own anything close to formal. You're the type to say these sorts of events are way too superficial or some other junk to justify dropping cash on clothes."

She reads me like a book. "You're… taking me dress shopping?"

"God, do you have to make it sound like we're headed to a prom or something? Yes. We're going 'dress shopping'." Marceline recoiled at her last couple of words.

Fidgeting with her hands, Bonnie looked downwards at the car's carpet, letting herself a little nervous smile. Something about the idea of Marceline taking her dress shopping had brought butterflies to the girl's stomach.

Can she pick a dress any slower?

A half hour had passed when the girls found themselves standing inside one of the most extravagant clothing stores in Bathurst. Marceline paced back and forth across the store, boredom clouded her thoughts as she had been here a million times before. Bonnie, on the other hand, took her time examining every mannequin, running her hand across the linen and silk that each stature wore as mantles.

Has she never shopped for clothes or what?

"Hurry up and pick one. We need to get started on this teaching thing tonight," Marceline said.

"How the… how am I meant to afford one of these?" Bonnie asked, rubbing the price tag of a particular blue gown. "The prices on these are way out of my league."

"I'll pay for it," Marceline stated bluntly, not noticing the look Bonnie had flashed her. "Now would you please hurry up and pick something?"

A perplexed Bonnie opened her mouth, most likely wanting to argue against Marceline's charity, but the vice-president's impatient glare quickly decimated any chance of retort. Marceline must've traversed the length of the store at least a dozen times before Bonnie had finally picked out something. Marceline had only caught a glimpse of the girl's choice of dress, being able to discern only its color - a dark wine red.

I'm surprised it's not a super-hot pink…

"For what occasion am I preparing ze' Mademoiselle for?" a feminine voice said. One of the store's clerk had pried themselves in between the two girls, noticing that Bonnie had made a selection. The blonde, middle-aged woman stood tall, a thick air of superiority surrounded her.

Marceline clicked her tongue as she said, "it's just for a night out-"

"The Bathurst Gala," Bonnie cut in.

"Ah, ze' Gala! Why did you not say so earlier? Excellent, my dear!"

A scowl took Marceline's expression. She knew how overly keen this particular store was on their higher-end clientele. Uttering the gala may have forced the pair more service than they needed.

"Keep the fitting quick, would you?" Marceline asked the clerk.

"Mademoiselle, I do not believe in 'quick fittings'," the clerk replied, pulling air quotes with her hands, "and especially not for a member of ze' Gala. When I am done with zis' girl, her beauty will be beyond measure! We'll need to 'ave a complete makeover on ze' face… mhmm, those shoes must go too, mon darling. Ah! I know ze' perfect hairstyle for those fiery locks of yours..."

Oh boy.

Bonnie turned to Marceline with a look that showed she had realized what she just committed herself to. Marceline shrugged with her hands.

You brought this on yourself, princess.

The clerk promptly pulled Bonnie into the fitting room before shutting the drapes behind them, Bonnie still having a plea of help written across her face. While waiting for her assistant to dress, Marceline plopped herself into the nearest chair before letting out a stress-filled groan. The Gala's date was near, yet she had so little time. What the hell was her father thinking? Surely he didn't expect her to win?

The chiming of a pentatonic scale caused Marceline to dig out her phone as she lazily held it in front of her. It was a text from Simon.

'How goes preparations?' the message read.

'Preparations are zilch,' Marceline typed back.

':(. Better start soon. The game is in two weeks.'

'Don't need you to remind me, Simon. Also, did you just use an emoji?'

'Why, yes I did. One of my younger clients introduced me.'

'Don't. Just don't. It really doesn't suit you.'

'Duly noted. I'm just messaging you to let you in on some news. Some of my more well-off clients have heard some spreading info; that this year, you're replacing your father.'

'People know already!?'

'It seems so. Your reputation precedes you as some companies are already preparing celebrations for a non-Abadeer champion this year.'

'Thanks, Simon. That's real reassuring.'

'No need for the sarcasm. I'm merely the messenger. What are you doing at the moment?'

Crap. What do I say? That I'm going dress shopping with Bonnie? God, no.

Marceline could only imagine the quips she would get from the white-haired psychiatrist.

'In my loft. Working on a new piano composition,' Marceline texted after a pause.

Simon's response was immediate.

'Really? If your definition of playing your piano is clothes shopping, then I must get you a better dictionary.'

The fumbling of her fingers almost caused Marceline to drop her phone as she sat upright. She read Simon's text again. Then for a third time. It was only when she swiveled her head did Marceline actually see Simon, standing outside behind the store's windows, a cheeky grin on his face. He waved with his phone still in hand before entering the store, a small bell chimed as he did so.

Marceline sat still, as if paralyzed, her eyes pleading the question, 'how'd you know I was here?'.

"Mercy is hardly the most inconspicuous vehicle in Bathurst," Simon began. "I was in the neighborhood when I saw her parked just across the street. A couple of texts later, all I had to do was listen out for a particular pianistic ringtone, which just happened to be emanating from this store."

"You sure you're a psych and not Sherlock's cousin or something?"

The older man chuckled. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be under the tutorship of Ms. Beesley?"

"Yeah, about that. She's just-"

Before Marceline could finish, the noise of curtains being rustled and drawn caused both her and Simon to turn around.

"Voila!" the store clerk announced, pulling a very sheepish-looking Bonnibel out of the fitting room.

Marceline's knees suddenly became weak, her heart rate almost having tripled.

She looked flawless. The wine silken fabric nestled on Bonnie's body as if it had been tailored for her. The velvet folds hugged her figure, outlining her feminine curves, and the intense sanguine shades were bewitching against her ivory skin. The dress had a halter neckline which was embroidered with small roses that looked near organic. Midnight-black lacings matched the woman's eye shadow, and the garment's flowing skirt stopped midway above her knees, showing off her legs. Her hair had been tied up into a high bun, a deep red bow holding the ginger hair together as a couple loose strands fell to frame her face.

With her mouth wide open, Marceline looked back to Simon who had the grin of a Cheshire Cat. The psychiatrist shifted his gaze from Bonnie to Marceline before speaking in a low, amused voice. "So, this is what you've been up to."

"What-... I don't-... We're just-..."

Words escaped Marceline's tongue.

"I knew you were curious, but I didn't think it would extend this far," Simon said with a chuckle. "I'd best be leaving you two to it then." With that, the older gentleman gave a quick nod in Bonnie's direction before setting foot outside the store, laughing to himself on his way out.

Marceline didn't notice Bonnie had stepped up right next to her. "Was that the shrink from my interview?" Bonnie asked.

With a stupefied expression still on her face, Marceline nodded slowly, desperation gripping her as she avoided looking in Bonnie's direction.

"What was he doing here?" Bonnie asked.

"He… was just in the neighborhood. Nothing special."

"Oh."

"Will ze' Madame be purchasing zis' garment?" the clerk interrupted.

With a shrug, Bonnie looked at Marceline. "Well?" she said before performing a little pirouette, the hem of the dress flourished as she did so. "Am I up to your standards?"

Say something, you twit.

"You look…" Marceline began, struggling to find her words.

Say anything.

"... just..."

ANYTHING.

"... fine. You look fine. It'll have to do," Marceline stated, doing her best to keep the tremors out of her voice. She dug into her back pocket, pulling out her bank card to which she tossed towards the clerk. "We'll take it."

"Oui, merci!" the clerk exclaimed enthusiastically. The woman hurried off to the front of the store with Marceline's card in hand.

A very disheartened looking Bonnibel slumped her shoulders, her eyes were downcast as she mumbled something out of earshot. Marceline's chest filled with remorse as she noticed the woman's expression. She was torturing herself, not finding the bravery to pay the copper-headed girl a single compliment.

"Now hurry up and take that off. Bring my card with you when you're done. I'll be in the car," Marceline stated, turning her heels so quickly that Bonnie didn't even have a chance to reply.

Bursting out the front door, Marceline trotted down the street, her heart still pounded in her ears when she sat down in Mercy's front seat. She threw her head back into the black leather headrest, squeezing her eyes shut as she contemplated what she was thinking only moments ago.

She's your friend. Your childhood friend. Nothing more.

A frustrated moan left Marceline's lips as she pulled at the roots of her hair with her hands. Bonnie was her friend. She couldn't be more. She couldn't. Thinking about her in… that way was wrong on too many levels. Marceline buried her face in the palms of her hands, her pulse showed no signs of slowing down.

"It's just… it's just a passing fancy…" she whispered to herself.

But the issue was, Marceline found it hard to even believe her own words.

A/N: Oh boy. A little more backstory and semi-fluff this chapter. Thanks Panda for the beta ^^