Today's AN was posted on Tumblr because it got long. It's right here: post/113656310154/this-goes-with-todays-update-of-preachers

Some stuff in there is pretty important so I'd thank you to read it. Cheers. This is the Easter chapter and I'm really bummed that I have to post it now. I feel all icky and gross. Bye.


Sunday 29th March 2015

"You didn't have to stay, Miss Banner. I was perfectly capable on my own."

She glanced up from laying out place settings at the dining table. "Oh, it's really alright, Father," she said absently. "This gives me an excuse to meet Marshall. Since I've heard so much about him and all that."

He arched an eyebrow as he pulled the roast from the oven (that Marceline had put on to cook before she left with strict instructions that her father not be allowed to touch it except to remove it). "Have you really? I didn't think she'd talk about him."

Bonnie shrugged. "I get the impression they're fairly close."

Hansen hummed, focused on not burning himself on the hot metal. Bonnibel couldn't help but read into his silence. Marceline should be back from the airport any minute now. If not soon, the meal would go cold.

The front door banged open and both Bonnie and Hansen stuck their heads around the frame to see who it was. Peter shook water from his hair, kicking his shoes off in the entrance. "Sorry I'm late," he hollered. He shuffled into the kitchen a moment later to fix them with a confused expression. "Where is everyone?"

"Not here yet," Hansen replied, still glowering at the lamb. "Should be here in a minute though."

On cue, the door opened again, only this time it was supplemented by loud voices.

"You don't have any friends! That's the only reason you come home." The words – while heated – were accompanied by a smiling Marceline barging into the kitchen. She was trailed by a tall blonde woman (also grinning) and a man who looked freakishly like Marceline except with much shorter hair and an extra foot of height. Oh yes, they were very obviously related.

His eyes flashed up, glancing around the room, sparkling with mischief. "I have friends, sis; promise. Because I'm a nice person and I don't tend to glare as much as you do." Those eyes – just as piercingly blue as Marceline's – finally found Bonnie. Then a grin easily as cheeky and teasing as the light in his eyes exploded across his face. "There's someone in our house I don't know," he observed.

Marceline scowled at him. "Why, thank you, Captain Obvious. This is Bonnie." She punched his arm before turning a soft smile Bonnibel's way. "This is my idiot brother, Marshall and his exceedingly tolerant girlfriend, Fionna."

Marshall thrust a hand out, wiggling his fingers. "It is a pleasure to meet you," he enthused. When she took it, he pulled her closer to whisper, "Are you the friend she argued with last year?"

"That's me," she laughed.

"Ah. Well, congratulations on being able to survive Marceline's temper." He offered a mock salute. "Not many people can claim as much."

"She's not so bad," Bonnie opined, shooting a smile back at Marceline.

"Right," Hansen interrupted, hooking a thumb into the kitchen. "The food is ready so you can eat now, if you'd like. Peter and I will be back for dinner." He eyed Marshall flatly. "Don't burn the house down."

"You got it, father, sir," Marshall deadpanned. Although there was a lilt to most of what he said, implying he found pretty much everything funny. So it wasn't really deadpan; just mocking. Once his father and Peter were out the front door (discussing something), he threw his hands up. "Alright. Party at our place."

"How about lunch first?" Fionna suggested, rolling her eyes.

"There won't be any partying anyway," Marceline grouched, folding her arms. "Not unless you're cleaning up the mess you make."

He snorted. "Whatever. What'd you cook?"

"Food." She continued to glare at him. "Sit down."

"Wow, you're so grumpy," he exhaled dramatically. "How do you deal with her?" The last bit was directed at Bonnie. For her part, Marceline simply sighed at him and stalked into the kitchen to dish up the food, Fionna followed on her heels to help.

Her lips quirked. "I don't deal with her," she replied. "I quite enjoy her company."

Marshall blinked, uncomprehending. "But…" he waved a hand at the kitchen. "She's so abrasive."

"I can still hear you," Marceline called.

"You're meant to." Then he returned to looking at Bonnibel expectantly.

She could only shrug. What else was there to say to that? "She's not always grumpy. Was there bad traffic?"

"Um… a little? Not much once we got out of town…" He paused. "Wait, are you trying to blame her bad mood on traffic?"

"Sure. There's got to be an explanation." Bonnie twisted in her seat to peer into the kitchen. "Hey, Marceline. What happened to your good mood?"

"Depends on who I'm talking to," came the reply. "Marshall's a jerk. He always gets a bad mood."

"There," Bonnie said happily. "Resolved."

"But I'm your brother!" Marshall shouted at her.

"So you get the worst of all my moods. Come and get your food."

Bonnie bounced from her seat much faster than Marshall. Her hand found a spot on Marceline's lower back as she leaned over her shoulder to peer at the food. The reaction was funny – a cross between a startled squawk and a shiver that betrayed how she really felt about Bonnie being that close.

"Smells good, chef," she laughed.

"Thank you, apprentice chef," Marceline replied, recovering quickly.

"Apprentice chef? Excuse you." Bonnie tried to sound indignant but it didn't really work.

"That's right, apprentice," she repeated with finality. "Once you graduate to using recipes you can level up."

Bonnibel heaped steamed vegetables onto a plate so she could brandish the spoon at Marceline. "How come you have a higher level when you're handicapped by the rigidity of a recipe? Shouldn't I be ranked above you because I don't have to rely on someone else telling me how to do it?"

"Ah," Marceline expounded, waving the tongs. "But I'm not going to make mistakes am I? While you burn things half the time, I'll get it right in one go."

She stuck her tongue out. That's an excellent counter argument. "I'm positive that once I've got it right I don't muck it up again. You're demoted." With that she hefted her plate and Marshall's (since he hadn't bothered to get up from his spot at the dining table) and whooshed from the kitchen. 'Whooshed' sounded so much less antagonistic than 'stalked' and that's not what she did. She whooshed.

"I am not demoted," Marceline retorted sharply, following with her plate. Fionna trailed behind her carrying gravy in her spare hand, looking mightily amused by the whole conversation. "You can't demote me. I'm senior."

Bonnie scoffed. "Actually I'm six months older than you. Cool your jets."

"Not what I meant."

"Doesn't matter. I've got seniority. Plus, if I was your apprentice chef, why would you leave me in charge?" She raised both eyebrows pointedly as she sank down beside Marceline at the table. She got nothing but silence and some muted splutters in reply. "That's what I thought. Point to me."

Marshall stared at her, mouth hanging open, looking to have forgotten all about lunch. "Did you just… like… bicker?" he blurted. "That was… What? What is this? You're actually friends, aren't you?"

Marceline rolled her eyes at him. "Duh. Don't you listen when I speak?"

"Not usually," he confessed. "And it doesn't matter; I didn't think you were serious. I was positive you were exaggerating, but you just… that was… Wow." He threw a hand across the table. "Shake my hand; I need to be certain you're real."

Bonnie laughed, but did it anyway. "As real as I was last time you shook my hand."

"I don't know what you did to my sister, but I'm glad you did it," he sighed. "That was incredible."

The look Marceline gave her at that was so incredibly loaded that Bonnie decided it was best to just ignore it. That would be much safer.

"I didn't do anything," she muttered instead before focusing on her food.

Other than banalities addressed to Marshall and Fionna ('how was the flight', 'when do you go back', 'how's business going') or at Marceline ('how's school', 'how many days have you skipped this year', 'what black magic voodoo did you work to get Bonnie to be your friend') the meal was silent. Which was perfectly reasonable to Bonnibel's mind as Marceline was an excellent chef. It deserved all the attention that could be spared.

Of course, near the tail end of the conversation, it collapsed into Marceline and her brother arguing about upcoming video game releases. Neither Bonnie nor Fionna had a clue what they were talking about, so when their heated 'discussion' fired up too much they were unceremoniously kicked out of the kitchen. Whereupon Marshall turned on their gaming console and declared that if he won two out of three in something-or-other, Marceline would have to concede he was right on whatever subject they were talking about. To her credit, Marceline did offer to help Bonnie clean up but she was shoed away with a gentle 'you cooked, I'll clean'.

Fionna did stick around to help though. It seemed like something she was resigned to doing actually. The look she wore said Marshall required coercing to do house work.

"I haven't seen her this happy in a while," Fionna told her softly.

Bonnie cut a quick glance her way while the sink filled. "She missed her brother," she agreed. "Talks about him all the time. She wouldn't ever say it, but she's been looking forward to you guys visiting."

The blonde smiled. "He misses her too, but that's not what I meant."

Her heart lurched in her chest, panicking hard enough to crack a few ribs in its haste to hide. "What did you mean?"

She shrugged. "For as long as I've known her Marceline's only ever had Keila. Even though they're close and have so much in common… I think she was unsatisfied…? I'm not sure if that's the right word. I've just never, ever, seen her so excited to introduce us to someone." Bonnie kept her gaze fixed on the soapy water, but she could see Fionna studying her out of the corner of her eyes. "She's smiled more in the last two hours than I've seen in a long time. Thank you. For… whatever you've done."

"It was nothing," Bonnie mumbled, hunching her shoulders. "My pleasure." And wasn't it just that.

Fionna bobbed her head. "So what plans do you have for next year?"

"Oh. I sent in an application to Driscoll." There was no lie in saying she was immensely relieved for the change in topic. "I love it here, but it'll be nice to go home."

"Marceline mentioned you're from Ormeau."

A sly smirk oozed across Bonnie's face. "Did she? What nasty things did she tell you?"

Fionna laughed. "Nothing nasty; I swear. Just that you're from there, you live with your uncle because your parents passed away and we shouldn't talk about it also that you're a – and I quote – 'science nerd'."

"That's about all there is to say," she exhaled.

The other woman huffed. "Not really. She said you've been tutoring her. And that you haven't told Hansen that she's studying art and music instead of accounting and business principles."

"God," Bonnie muttered. "Can you see Marceline doing either of those classes? Her attendance would suck."

"Right you are." A pause filled with implications of things unsaid hung about them for all of five seconds. Then, "Why are you tutoring her? Aside from the pay and all that. I heard you two argued about it last year."

"She thought I was working for Hansen," Bonnie granted. "But she can't get into Driscoll like she wants with bad grades. If she wants to study music in college than I'm going to help her get the marks she needs. Everyone deserves an education."

Fionna let out a long breath. "You're just as awesome as she said, aren't you?"

"I do my best."

That was met with laughter. "As do we all. Marshall assures me he tries so very hard to do his best. When he falls short he buys me jewellery."

"Does that work?" Bonnie asked, astounded by the possibility. "Seriously?"

Fionna held out her left wrist to show her the braided silver bracelet clasped around it. "I like shiny things," she disclosed. "He knows he can dispel my wrath with pretty things. I have a necklace somewhere that matches. Next time he screws up my money is on a pair of earrings to round out the set."

Admittedly, Bonnie was paying a little more attention to the ring tan on Fionna's finger than her words but she got the gist of it. When she turned back to the sink, Bonnibel murmured, "When are you going to tell them?"

Fionna's shoulders visibly tensed. "Tell them what?"

"Marshall proposed, didn't he?"

She spun around slowly, regarding Bonnibel warily. "What makes you say that?'

"The tan line on your ring finger," she explained, waving a hand vaguely to point it out. "You've worn something there long enough that your skin has tanned around it, but you took it off recently. Possibly because you didn't want someone to see it. Since you're here, I'd guess you don't want Marceline or Hansen to know just yet and the only thing I can think of that you'd want to keep quiet and requires a ring is an engagement."

Fionna did her best to imitate Marshall's earlier jaw-on-the-floor expression. "Are you secretly Sherlock Holmes or something? Who pays that much attention to details like that?"

Bonnie chuckled. "I guess I do? You don't want them to know, I take it?"

"Not really," Fionna concurred, deflating. "Marshall said that since Marceline is graduating this year there could be some drama involving what she's doing next year. We just wanted to wait and see what happens."

"Fair enough."

"You won't tell?"

"I've had lots of practice at keeping secrets," Bonnibel assured her. "Don't you worry."

But there was something creeping around the fringes of Fionna's face saying she'd do just that.


"No! You can't do that." Marshall threw the controller down on the couch beside him, fuming. Marceline would be lying if she said it didn't entertain her to see him throw a fit like that.

"Can. Did. Suck it up. Next match, if you would." She gestured at the screen with her own controller. "You have one chance to redeem yourself."

"I've already lost two," he growled. "I won't make it three."

She batted her eyelashes at him. "Why… Are you conceding defeat, brother dearest? To me?"

"You've been practicing without me," he accused.

"Bonnie is surprisingly coordinated when it comes to video games," she allowed, grinning. He hauled a cushion at her.

"Your girlfriend plays video games, huh?" he teased, reclaiming his controller.

Marceline could feel her face going bright red. She had to take a deep breath to keep her cool. He was just being a dick. He didn't know. It's fine. "Not really," she finally muttered. "She asks what I'm playing, I give her the other controller and tell her which buttons do what and she's magically very good at it. I've had my arse handed to me more times than I'd like to admit."

Marshall smirked, chortling softly. "So you have to play more to keep up with her, yeah?"

"More or less. She watches me a lot, I think. Also, hi, you're dead." Her character on the screen whipped a sword through Marshall's avatar, giving him a little blinking death notice.

"Creepy stalker," he opined.

"No. The console basically lives at her place now," she told him. "I play and she reads. Then she gets distracted…" She trailed off because usually when Bonnie gave up on her book to join her in video-game-land it would devolve into one of them being tickled and then more than likely there would be kissing. Which is really nice, but Marshall doesn't need to know about it.

And there was red flushing her face again. Wonderful.

"By schoolwork?" he pressed. "You said she likes homework more than life. What's she doing playing video games?"

"Relaxing. Since the epic Study Disaster of last November she tries not to be too focused on it." She stuck her tongue between her teeth as her character notched an arrow and loosed it at Marshall. "Speaking of focus, are you paying attention at all to this?"

He grumbled as the arrow lanced through his face. "Yes. What are you doing? This isn't how you normally play."

"It's effective isn't it," she laughed.

"What happened to your blind rage mode?"

"Bonnie."

He eyed her while he waited to respawn. "You're different," he murmured.

She hunched her shoulders defensively. "Gee, I'm sorry."

"No," Marshall added hastily. "It's good. You're happy."

Marceline turned to look at him and for a moment they just sat there watching each other warily. Then she sighed, looking away just in time for his character to respawn five feet from her. She put an arrow through him again.

"That was mean," he blurted. "I was distracted."

"Whatever. Get your head in the game."

He shook his head, ducking into a structure so she couldn't hit him with more ranged projectiles. "I know dad is pretty oblivious to things," he began, confusing her with the weird topic change. "But you should probably try to keep your massive thing for Bonnibel toned down. He might work it out."

She was so shocked by his words that she didn't even notice when he came up on her flank and dropped an axe on her head. "What now?" she spluttered, eyes wide.

"Oh good," he laughed. "I wasn't sure I was reading you properly, nice to know. Does Bonnie know you've got the hots for her?"

Marceline was in real trouble of hyperventilating now. "What… Why would you say that? Oh my god. What?"

"Come on, Marceline," he chuckled. "She's all up in your space and you don't care, you argue like you've been married fifty years and you look at her like she's everything to you. You seriously thought I wouldn't see it?"

She sucked in a deep breath, trying ever so hard to find words. Any words would be nice. Just something to say. But she was coming up blank. So she kept staring at him incredulously.

"Wow, you really thought I wouldn't pick up on it, huh." He sank back against the sofa. "Come on. Spit it out. Does she know?"

Marceline's throat closed over, her heart pretty much stopped beating and she knew she was the colour of her car. "She's gay," were the only words she could manage to rasp past the lump. Why those words? God. Anything else would've been better.

And then Marshall was grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Oh that's even better," he cackled. "You've got the hots for your gay bestie. Perfect."

Marceline decided that was just the right time for her to run her brother's character through again. "Shut up," she grouched at him. "I do not."

"Does she know?" he pressed.

"Yes, okay," she snapped. "Fine. She knows."

"How is that not awkward?" he gasped theatrically.

"Because we've been dating for two months," she ground at him, glaring.

Marshall hooted. "Wow. That's awesome. Wait. Dad doesn't know does he? Who knows? Does her uncle?"

"No one knows," she grumbled.

"Who are we talking about?" Bonnie – of course – picked that moment to sink beside Marceline on the couch. And yes, she squished right up into her personal space because it was really only meant to seat one person. Marceline didn't care, honestly, but Marshall's knowing smirk was infuriating.

"You," he basically giggled. "And how you're dating my sister."

Bonnibel went white, her hand clamping around Marceline's wrist. "Excuse me?"

"I told him," Marceline whispered, eyes following Fionna as she perched on the edge of Marshall's chair. She looked curious, but not enough to ask any prying questions. "I was right. He knows me too well."

Marshall twisted to beam up at Fionna. "Marceline's dating," he crowed happily, bouncing on the spot.

Fionna's eyes lit up and she smiled at Marceline so brightly it was actually sort of disorienting. "Oh my god, who? Do we know them?"

Marceline was too busy trying not to implode to answer. Bonnie lifted a hand – sheepish expression in place – and wiggled her fingers. "Me."

A funny combination of reactions danced across Fionna's face. But they settled on pleased… she guessed that's what it was anyway. "That's great. How long?"

"Two months," Bonnibel told her. The grip she had on Marceline's wrist loosened, but instead of pulling away she simply slipped their fingers together.

"Details please," Marshall demanded.

Bonnie opened her mouth (probably to comply) but Marceline beat her to it. "No," she said firmly. "Leave it alone."

Marshall stuck his lower lip out. "Please? At least tell me who made the first move?"

Marceline continued to glare at him, but Bonnie lifted a finger and levelled it at her. She swatted the hand away but it was much too late for that. Her brother's face was lighting up again.

"Aw, you asked her out? That's adorable," he sang.

She smacked his arm. "Shut up. I'm serious."

"What happens if dad finds out?" he asked, still grinning. "Do I have to keep this a secret?"

"Yes, you have to keep it a secret," she huffed, rolling her eyes. "Dad can't find out until… until I'm not living with him anymore."

"Oof," he wheezed, clapping his hands to her chest. "That could be a while."

Marceline hit him again.

"And what do I get for not telling him?" he mused.

"You get my silence," Bonnie put in before Marceline could curse him for threatening her.

All of them swivelled to look at her curiously.

"You keep it to yourself, and I won't tell Hansen your secret." And she smiled that too-good-to-be-true smile. So sweet and innocent it could only mean something horrible. "Sound fair?"

Marceline's brow pinched in confusion, her eyes whipping from Bonnie to her brother's now stunned expression. "What secret? And how does Bonnie know it before me?" Her gaze flicked up to Fionna before landing back on Marshall.

"She's very observant," Fionna muttered when his terrified face turned up to her. "I have a tan." And she waved her left hand under his nose, smiling sadly. Then suddenly it clicked in Marceline's head,

"You're getting married?" she basically shrieked. "That's so amazing." Her grumpiness gone (because the focus of the conversation had moved off her, thank god) she launched off the chair to wrap her brother in a hug. "I'm so proud of you."

He laughed but returned the gesture. "Thanks, Marce."

"I don't know how you're going to put up with him, Fi," she said over his shoulder. "But good luck."

"We'll be fine," Fionna laughed. "If I'm not sick of him after seven years I won't be in another twenty."

"You're a brave, brave woman," Marceline sighed, letting go to give Fionna a hug too. "But congratulations anyway."

"Don't tell dad," Marshall warned her as Marceline collapsed back down next to Bonnie. "Do. Not. Tell. Dad."

"Why?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Because I don't want him to be too worked up this year. With you graduating and going off to do whatever, he'll probably flip a shit about that. Plus he's still not happy with me for moving out and doing what I'm doing. He just needs to cool down. So we'll tell him later. Maybe once you don't have to deal with him."

"So considerate of you," she said drolly.

"Don't get used to it. This is just because Fionna feels bad for you."

"That makes sense since she's the nicer of you both."

"I hate you."

"I hate you too, bro."

All things considered, Marceline was glad her brother was home. And it was a nice afternoon. In spite of the ribbing she copped.