Opening Act

by CountingWithTurkeys

Redemption and recovery may come at a steep cost, but the Rehearsal is over and it's time for Bonnibel and Marceline to decide if the price is one they're willing to pay.

10. Haunted

Real talk: Wow, I hate long breaks, don't you? I have some real-world stuff going on right now, so this chapter was delayed, as will the next one. Part of the reason for the delay for this chapter was that I decided to shift the order of events for Opening Act (same story, diff order), which meant that certain things I wanted to have happen in this chapter have to be postponed a bit because I decided that certain things need to be established and set up now, before the next arc of the story. I think it's called closure?

Someone asked for a chapter count. Right now I'm estimating that Opening Act will have 26 chapters, based on how the progress is planned. With that said, it may change. Sometimes chapters end up too long and need to be split, or I decide to combine two chapters. Or there's a bonus chapter, like Love Letter in Rehearsal. With that said, I'm pretty sure this is accurate.

Thank you all for all the reviews and PMs and favorites/follows while I've been busy. I've read and seen everything, and it's been really motivating me to continue writing as much as I can. It's not very motivating when your story makes people go 'meh', so it really makes me feel honored when I'm told you like it!

Content Warnings:

Beginning of a panic attack
Description of mental trauma recovery
Implications of past lady-sexing
Rechte's a pervert, but Bonnie started it
Greensleeves is such a nice song, isn't it? Just saying
Is that... is that fluff there at the end?! I'm sure that'll last and nothing bad will ever happen ever again!
The preceding statement was partially false

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*scritch* *scritch* *scritch*

Not again.

*scritch* *scritch *scritch*

Am I just not allowed to not wake up to dumb annoying noises?

*scritch* *scritch *scritch*

You know what? No. I'm not gonna let it win this time. I'm just gonna go back to sle-

*scritch* *scritch *scritch* *scritch* *scritch *scritch*

With a snarl and righteous fury Marceline Abadeer threw the blankets off of her shot up, and scanned immediately for the source of her frustration. Or… her most recent frustration in a long line of other equally if not more frustrating frustrations. But it had the desired effect: immediately the scratching noise ceased, taking only a bit of her animosity with it.

"Oh! You're awake!"

It was eerie how similar her current situation was to her nightmare. Being awoken by repetitive noises that grated on her sanity? Check. A recognizable location with absolutely no recollection as to how she made it there in the first place? Check. A familiar voice rousing her from her stupor, forcing her to crash back into reality, or at least what passed for it these days? Check. No idea as to what time or day it is? Check. But there were differences as well. The repetitive noises were scratches and reminded her of a quill or even a pencil, far less high-tech than Lady Evil's strange computer. The location was recognizable because it was the Candy Kingdom castle's master bedroom, a place she had willingly spent a collective hundreds of years. The voice wasn't insufferable - and wasn't that a shocking thought? - it was concerned, almost relieved. She wasn't waking up on the hard cold floor of whatever it was the Citadel was made of, a demonic word she couldn't pronounce, she was laying in what was probably literally the planet's softest bed.

Vague memories pawed for her focus, wanted attention in a way that reminded her of a pesky housecat. Alright… so I remember wigging out. And… I got hurt? Yeah, that sounds like me. Then… right! Bonnie brought me back to the castle to… ugh. It faded then and her eyes closed against the frustration of her memory betraying her. What the flip. I know I was awake for the rest of it-

"Hey." Now the voice was at her side and she startled, then growled in embarrassment. The number of times Bonnibel had successfully startled her in their centuries of friendship could now officially be counted on two hands. As disheartening as that little tidbit of knowledge was, though, Marceline could hardly begrudge her. Even she could hear the concerned twinge in her voice, feel the way she cautiously lowered herself on the mattress, as if Marceline were made of glass. The vampire could feel her warmth, so close she could almost reach out and touch it. Why didn't that notion sicken her? Okay, so… Bon's here. Duh. That makes sense. What happened before I fell asleep?

"I suppose you're having some trouble remembering what happened just before you fell asleep."

Marceline eyed her warily. Telepath!

Bonnibel knew that look, that silent accusation that she was telepathic - it was the same accusation she had heard for hundreds of years - but chose not to feed its poor background logic. She only offered a knowing but gentle smile. "It isn't surprising. You've gone through a lot of mental trauma over the past few weeks. Memory is already fickle in the best of times, and I know you haven't been eating, which is probably exasperating your situation."

The logic presented bothered her. The fact that it didn't sound like a lecture - not even the part about her lack of eating - bothered Marceline more. It was all matter-of-fact, but not unkind. But through that bothering she recalled something very important: She had willingly stayed in the princess's room because she had acted so much unlike Princess Bubblegum and so much like Bonnibel that it had caused her stupid dead heart to ache, and her stupid soul to refuse to leave. Just like she was refusing to leave now, with no excuse except that she just didn't want to. With a grunt of acknowledgement, and unable to bring herself to look at the woman who really, really looked like her mate, she sat up and pulled her bare knees close, rested her forehead on them, and groaned in exasperation. How was it possible to be so exhausted from the mere act of waking up?

She didn't see Bonnibel's loving smile, but it was there all the same. "I brought you home to tend to your injuries. We had a discussion about my behavior… and about your desire to return to the Nightosphere out of a noble but misplaced desire to protect those places and people you care about-"

It was coming back to her now. "Right. The Cosmic Owl Dream. The Grasslands I torched. The people I probably killed."

Bonnibel didn't like the sound of that flat affect. "One thing at a time, Marcy. Do you remember what we talked about before you fell asleep?" It wouldn't surprise her if she didn't; selective memory lapses weren't exactly uncommon in situations such as Marceline's. Without meaning to, the princess reached down to lace their fingers and squeezed her lover's hand. Without meaning to her lover squeezed back. "First, why don't we see how well you're healing and see if we can find something for you to eat? You consumed half an apple before you fell asleep, but I suspect that's not enough to sustain you, given all that's happened." Marceline turned away, her cheek now rested on her knees, a small huff escaping her. Are… are you pouting? It was what she had always done when they were younger, a way of acknowledging that Bonnibel was right without admitting she was right. It was coded language, developed over centuries of friendship. A language only they shared, that allowed them to have an entire conversation with a raised eyebrow. She smiled. You are. You are pouting. Well, go ahead and pout.

The candy golem knew better than to draw attention to it, especially now, when she was so close. Both physically and metaphorically. "I promised that once you heal a little bit we would review the damage to the Grasslands and its denizens together. I meant it, Marcy." Now she did scoot closer until the two were touching. Whatever she was wearing, Marceline felt the younger woman's body warmth through the fabric. It took away the fight in her and put itself in its place. "That… may involve going outside, and it's day now, but I have ideas of how to safely re-introduce you." The less they dwelled on that the better. "There's… also something I need to talk to you about. We can do so before we investigate the Grasslands, but I'd like to see how you're recovering and get some red in you first, alright?" To Marceline's bafflement that question actually sounded like a question, as if she was actually being asked her opinion and not being lead to just agree with Bonnibel.

Which she did anyway, because habits are sort of hard to break.

"...Alright. Where do you want me."

The princess's smile was wan. "You don't need to go anywhere, Marcy. I want to make sure you're able to rest for as long as you'd like." Goodness knows you need and deserve it. "Is it alright if I look you over?" The vampire tensed then, freezing in her position. Unseen by the young scientist her eyes have shot open, just as frozen as the rest of her.

Remember what 'looking her over' used to entail, Bon?

She did. Oh, how could she not? "We're not going to my lab or anything, Marcy," she soothed. "Just literally looking you over, with my eyebones. I saw how badly you were hurt before you fell asleep and I'd like to see if you were able to heal anything while you were unconscious. I won't even touch. I promise."

After considerable hesitation the half-demon nodded, sighed, and unclenched from her righted yet balled position. All while still not looking directly at the scientist. "So just… lay down?"

Bonnibel's gentle smile had yet to fade. "That's right, Marcy. When I ended my examination before your abdomen, back, and right side were still heavily damaged. Just a quick check to see if any of that damage has been rectified." Without meaning to she kissed the top of the vampire's head, the vampire who waited for some comment about her voice and throat, because she knew the princess who had only been allowed a quick peek under the purple collar but once. How could she resist another? But as long as she waited there was no follow-up, no acknowledgement of the one area damaged the most and above all. The queen had a vague recollection of Bonnibel promising not to touch the area days ago, but was still surprised nonetheless.

She… kept the promise? It was enough. "...Alright." And with that she uncurled fully, laying first on her left side out of habit. Now she could see what the princess was actually wearing and why it was so easy to feel her warmth through it: it was a soft, form-fitting lavender dress. The sleeves, hem, and neckline were laced mosaic, flowing in spirals and loops colored rose pink and made of the finest velvet. It was a familiar dress, but an article of clothing Bonnibel hadn't worn in some time. In all honesty, if she hadn't spent so much of her time raiding Bonnibel's things for stuff and giggles she wouldn't even have been aware she still had it.

Marceline raised an eyebrow and Bonnibel laughed softly at her look but chose not to address it, not exactly wanting to admit that she had chosen the garment specifically because she knew it radiated warmth and would naturally draw the older woman in. With a smirk to indicate that she wasn't going to satisfy her best friend's curiosity Bonnibel hummed happily, slowly pulling back the remainder of the blankets shielding grey flesh from prying eyes. It gave her just enough room for her to shed the t-shirt she had fallen asleep in, leaving the musician in exactly three articles of clothing: her bra, her panties, and her royal purple collar. Head rested on her pillow her eyes closed, silently consenting to whatever it was that Bonnibel had in mind, unaware that the sight before her had caused the princess to flush deeper than should logically be healthy. After all, it had been a long time since they had been intimate, and even on those rare but brutal occasions when they fought it was unlike the pair to have a dry spell. As much a woman of logic and science as she was hormones happened, and when deprived long enough when so accustomed otherwise… well, the view before her raised some curious thoughts, and oh how impossible it was for Bonnibel to control her curiosity. If we have been apart objectively for several weeks and this is having such an effect on me… well, subjectively it's been over a hundred years for-

Bon, as much as I am genuinely loving this train of thought you're on and am more than happy to help you ride it later you're kinda on a time limit, huh?

The flush deepened, and she was oh so thankful that Marceline had since closed her eyes against the exposure and was unable to see her indignity.

Definitely push it back here to your subconscious though, I'll take good care of it for you, Rechte purred.

The sounds of delighted cackling faded to the back of the young scientist's mind as she did what she did best: science. "Alright Marcy…. It looks like your side is doing much better. There are a few faint scratches-" that are quite obviously claw marks "-but they look significantly better than before you fell asleep." Marceline nodded, but remained silent. Remained un-engaged. "Could you roll onto your stomach for me?" With a soft sigh the vampire did as she was bid and rolled over, exposing her back. Out of habit a pink hand reached out, but stilled. I promised.

Nice catch.

"Could you move your hair, Marceline?" Because as beautiful as it is, it's obstructing my task. This time Marceline did open an eye, watching her carefully. It was a look Bonnibel was used to seeing, but not on her older lover. It was something she herself wore far more often. It was the expression of someone intent on an experiment and the pursuit of knowledge. ...You tested me?

You should probably get used to that, Bon, at least for a while. You said you were you again, so she's probably gonna test you and lash out to see if you're lyin' or gonna abandon her.

There was a pang in her heart then, not because she knew Rechte was right but because it made perfect sense in terms of being a logical course of action. There was something unsettling about Marceline making perfect sense. But the flowing locks were whisked away, exposing the previously perfect grey skin underneath, now marred by strange wounds she wasn't used to seeing on the older woman. "Hm… well, not as bad as it was, that's for sure. I think you subconsciously prioritized your sides while you were out. Once we get some red food in your tummy you should have enough energy to finish the job back here." There was no point in mentioning that the strange wounds were heavy bruising, a type of injury Bonnibel couldn't place given the circumstances. How did this get here? "Does it hurt to move?"

"Not to me."

And therein lied the rub: Marceline's typically wonderful pain tolerance made it virtually impossible to tell how bad an injury really was unless the body part was literally falling off, and even then that only sometimes got a reaction out of her; the last time she had lost her entire arm she was more angry that it had taken her an hour to find it than crippled by the pain of losing it in the first place. "Alright, if you're not bothered by it I'm sure it'll heal nicely on its own." There was gentle humor in her voice, not that Bonnibel knew how it got there. She let it stay all the same. "One last spot to check. Could you please roll onto your back?"

With a grunt of effort Marceline rolled over, exposing her underbelly. Her still very clawed, raw, damaged underbelly. Grey skin was lighter than it should be, indicating that even now, after plenty of opportunity to recover, the flesh was still inflamed, still sensitive. Inwardly Bonnibel frowned, disappointed that it had yet to heal, even if she outwardly gave no indication. Why leave a naturally vulnerable area for last? Have you been healing indiscriminately? Her mind floundered for an explanation but staring at a wound was a sign of predation and so she tore her gaze away, offering the vampire an encouraging smile. "Thank you, Marcy. Your abdomen seems to be the only are left that needs work. That's quite an improvement. I suppose rest really was the most adequate medicine," she mused absently.

Marceline eyed her, then rolled over to push herself back into a sitting position. The effort made her dizzy, and a dull thud began behind her temples. Only then was she noticing a familiar sensation, and one that didn't come easily: grogginess. "...Yeah, speaking of. How long have I been out?"

Bonnibel's smile was sheepish. "Oh. Yes… I haven't really been keeping track of the exact hours, but at least a solid 24 of them-"

"Are you serious?!"

She had been prepared for that outburst. "Marcy, you needed to rest-"

"The flip I-"

An idea. A risky idea. "Marcy, do you remember the time I stayed awake for 83 hours making Goliad?"

"Yeah, but-"

"And when you tried to make me rest I kept getting out of bed after only short naps?"

"Yeah, but-"

"You almost resorted to physically restraining me until I cooperated. You did that because you knew that doing so was never going to let me catch up on my sleep debt, and you cared too much to let me do that to myself." Garnet eyes narrowed, but the threat was empty and they both knew it. It always was. "You haven't been eating… like, at all. And you were horribly hurt, Marcy. You needed rest."

"How do you know what I need," she muttered with only half the normal amount of vitriol.

But while even a week ago such snark would have been biting Bonnibel had come prepared because Rechte-who-was-not-Rechte was entirely right; Marceline's modus operandi would be lashing out, to try to push the younger woman away, to test her claims and assertions. Because one of the most sacred promises had been broken the moment the princess had thrown that dagger, and that was that Bonnibel would never leave. It made only perfect sense that this would be where the half-demon would push hardest. This was the weak link in the chain, and this was where the stress test would begin. In a weird way the candy scientist was proud of her mate. She's experimenting with thoughtfulness and consideration of the potential implications. Whether or not this was her natural curiosity afoot or a symptom of Lady Evil's influence that Princess Bubblegum had been her unwitting teacher the princess wasn't sure. But she was happy to consent.

"The same way that you've always known what I need. Sometimes we're too engrossed in ourselves to understand what we require to not just live but to thrive. You've always been more adept than I at this, given your remarkable ability to adapt to pretty much any situation you find yourself in, but you're allowed to be vulnerable. I just so happen to have six centuries of experience with your particular type of vulnerability and recognized both its cause and solution." She gave the calloused hand, still clasped in her own, a tight squeeze. "Letting you continue as you were wouldn't be freedom, Marcy, it would be abandoning you. You've always protected me. I'm overdue in returning the favor. Now," she rose, using the vampire's dumbfounded stare to her advantage, "I believe it's time we move on to Phase 2 of helping you recover."

Marceline knew where this was going and turned her head, entirely unsure how she should feel about her challenge being met and matched. "...Food tastes weird."

"Mm." Bonnibel nodded absently to herself, turning towards her desk in pondrance. The queen watched her from the corner of her eye. "Is it all food?"

You're not letting this go, are you? She groaned. "Uh… apples, strawberries… I think I ate a towel. Or… a sock? Those come in red, right?"

Bonnibel laughed softly, resisting the urge to roll her eyes, even if it was exceptional to hear just a bit of humor creeping back into her favorite voice so unexpectedly. Though that's Marcy for you. Forever enigmatic. "Yes, I assure you that most articles of clothing come in red." How easy teasing was coming to her now, as if a skill learned centuries ago was responding to muscle memory effortlessly, as if no time had passed at all.

Told ya there's hope for you.

She shot Rechte a mental glare that was without merit. "So the same problem has presented regardless of what you've tried to eat?"

"Everything just tastes weird," she repeated, laying on her side once more. It was only then that she withdrew her hand.

Unwilling to let the contact between them break Bonnibel took to her own side of the bed, laying on her back on top of the blankets, just to see if her oldest friend would object to her close proximity. When she didn't her cold grey heart grew just a little warmer and pinker. "Have you been craving food of any kind?" Like bloo-

Marceline shook her head, eyes closing. "Nah. I don't think I'm hungry? I mean… it's not like I've gone red-starved, so I'm probably invincible, right?"

Now Bonnibel did roll her eyes. "No, Marceline, that's not the way any of this works. While I don't have a solid understanding of what's happening to you just yet I hypothesize that not all of your consciousness is recovering at the same pace, such as your memory lapses." Please, please never remember the world you were trapped in. "You may be hungry and just not capable of recognizing it yet."

Marceline seemed to consider this. "...But like… I keep doing that brain thing where I'm not sure if I'm in my mind or in actual Ooo, right? I didn't eat when I was in my brainspace, right?"

A gross oversimplification, but one that made her heart sink, her blood run chill. She knew where this was going, even if Marceline didn't. Oh no. "Honestly, there wasn't any red in your mind to begin with, Marcy. Well, except for your bass. No piece of you required sustenance, though one of you did eat Finn's notebook when offered. It seemed to be more for pleasure than a requirement." She frowned at a sudden memory. "Though one of you was capable of eating non-vampire food, so I suppose that may also be a factor."

"Lady Evil?," she spat.

Bonnibel sighed, moving herself just a tad closer to her vampire. "Yes. She was the only full-blooded demon, though I somehow doubt her eating solid food is causing this dilemma now."

"...You seem pretty sure of that, Bon." There was a suspicious tone in her voice. One the princess had to soothe immediately.

"Only because she was quite adamant that she functions best subconsciously and without drawing attention to herself. She was rather clear that she prefers stealth, and I doubt that aspect of your psyche would allow for such a dramatic upset in your behavior or physiology." Please, please don't make me tell you what part you she was.

Marceline rolled that explanation around in her mind. She knew there was something that Bonnibel wasn't telling her, something she was dancing around, something that almost made her snap, but even she was capable of introspection. No. She's been really honest about everything so far. I told the Dork Patrol I didn't wanna know about the … other me's? Me's? Whatevs. Is this just her respecting that? For the sake of argument she decided that was the case.

Or maybe she just wanted to hope Bonnibel had actually changed.

"So… that's it? My brain doesn't know what food and hunger area unless I'm force-fed?" Awkward silence. "...Bon?"

And then Bonnibel did something unthinkable, something she never except in the impossible situation where she was trapped by Marceline being inarguably logical: She squirmed. "Well… there is a third possibility. Do you recall when Finn explained that one part of you was almost killed?" Here it comes, Bubblegum. Get ready for the fallout.

"And then you made that bet with Lady Evil. Yeah, I don't think I'm gonna forget hearing about that."

She sighed, closing her eyes. Mentally preparing herself for this peace she had spent so long building and the bridge between them so freshly mended to come crashing down. "Before I thought to make such a deal with her I had the idea to… feed you my blood. Just a few drops!," she rushed, unfamiliar nervousness beginning to blossom into something grotesque and counter-productive. "You can feed on red but it can't nourish you like blood does, and I thought perhaps the nourishment might heal you-"

"But… I don't crave blood."

Green eyes snapped open. There was no yelling, no accusation, no alacrity. Nothing except mumbled confusion. "...What?"

Marceline misunderstood Bonnibel's confusion as to why there was no shouting with intrigue as to why she wasn't craving the one thing vampires were meant to crave. "Yeah. I know what a craving for blood feels like and I just don't have it in me. It's more like… not being hungry? I think?"

The princess stared at her lover in disbelief. She had expected Marceline to be absolutely furious about what was - she assumed- a grievous betrayal. After all, the musician had only three rules governing her immortal lifespan, and not drinking blood was one of them. And to not only drink blood, but to be forced to by the person who claimed to love her most? Why, that violated a second of the three rules: not hurting Bonnibel. And for Bonnibel to violate this rule not only for her, but on her behalf and without any semblance of consent? No, she had expected another outburst, another accusation of betrayal, of righteous indignation that she had ignored what Marceline wanted in favor of what was easy. Bonnibel was prepared for revulsion, for glaring, even for preventing Marceline from running out in the daylight - for her own safety, of course - in her haste to get away. But there was none of that. No enmity, no rage, no fury.

Nothing.

"Why aren't you furious with me?"

Only then did the scientist realize her bewildered internal monologue had turned into a bewildered external dialogue, one whispered, as if giving it volume would remind the musician that she was supposed to feel righteous fury. Instead Marceline gave an apathetic half-shrug. "'Cause of the you feeding me your blood thing?" A small, silent nod, followed by another half-shrug. "I mean… it's not real, right? It's not like you tried to make me drink blood out here in Real Ooo. And you said it was 'cause you were trying to save me, right? I dunno. I'd do a lot worse if I thought it could save you, even if you never wanted to see me again after-" And then she was silenced by the younger woman pulling her into her arms, by the tight embrace, by the envelopment of warmth and softness. Even the stinging ache of her still unmended wounds didn't register against the bizarre action. "Uh… Bon?"

"I thought you'd hate me." It was so uncharacteristically soft that Marceline would have missed it if not for her acute hearing. Even if it was muffled by how stunned she was not only by the sudden affection but by how much it wasn't revolting her. "I thought when I told you… that that would be final straw for us." Her fingers became possessive claws around the older woman. "How isn't this a mondo mega deal to you? Why aren't you furious? Why are you just letting me get away with it?"

The half-demon opened her mouth then to repeat how not a big deal drinking dream-blood was when, for the second time that day, she had another rare moment of introspection and settled in the hold. "...You're not talking me vamping your blood, are you?"

For a long moment Bonnibel was quiet and calm, but keen ears heard the brief moment her heartbeat became erratic and knew better than to trust the facade, because it took a lot for the candy golem to lose the impeccable control she held over her heartbeat's rhythm. Marceline had once again done what Marceline did best, and that was upset the natural order of things. She was supposed to be disgusted, this was supposed to be another opportunity for Bonnibel to explain herself and prove her merit and demonstrate that it hadn't been the easy way out. But here was her vampire, her overly-sweet and sometimes simple vampire just shrugging it off because, yeah, sure, maybe it wouldn't be a big deal on its own but she had just thrown a dagger had done so many horrible, horrible things and didn't that change the context the meaning the- "...I almost destroyed you. When I de-vamped you all those years ago I almost killed you, but this time I almost destroyed you. I know you're still livid with me, and you should be… but before you passed out you indicated you would be willing to forgive me, in time. Then, when I came to bed that night you were barely awake and you still sought me out. Even right now you're letting me hold you. Why?"

"Seems like you need it."

Bubblegum's frustrated sigh had everything to do with herself and nothing to do with- "Marceline, you know what I mean. I know that it will be years before we are what we were and we have what we did and I have so much ahead of me to prove myself to you… but why are you even letting me in the first place? Is it because your soul compels you that strongly? That's so unfair to you-"

Marceline shifted those curled claws away from a sore spot on her back. "Chill, dork. Yeah, I'm still mega whizzed, and all of this is super messed up… but you wouldn't forgive you for doing this, would you? Like, if you did all this crud to yourself instead of me?"

How obvious. "Of course not-"

How obvious. "See? That's kinda my point. You wouldn't forgive you, so you know what you did is unforgivable. But… that's something you get to say 'cause you don't have the sitch I'm in. If I try to do the you thing and logic this out and do what's supposed to make sense… I'm never gonna get closure, 'cause that's not how this works. Yeah, case closed, but that doesn't make me feel better. I can't just feel get over stuff because I know something. But if I go with it and you can't show me you're honest… then I get it. So yeah, you fed me blood. Make believe blood, 'cause you thought it'd save me. You've done worse, both to and for me. I'm mad mad, but I can't think things out like you do. I feel 'em out. So that's what I'm doing."

Bonnibel stared, then closed her eyes as she tried furiously to wrap her mind around that bizarre form of what only kind of sort of passed as logic. "Me… being unwilling to forgive myself lends credence to my claim that I've changed."

She didn't open her eyes, but she did hear her queen sigh. "Bon, you're really good at justifying why you do gonked up stuff, and I know for a fact you'd rather get maimed than admit you were wrong about anything, even dumb stuff, and I know you lie whenever you can get away with it making your life easier." No argument. There was none to be had. "But… it's like I said before. You promised you changed, or you're at least trying to. It's really weird, but you're doing okay so far, and this would be a really weird thing to lie about. I doubt you fed me Finn or Jake's blood, because even you have a limit on messed up stuff you'd do. That leaves only one person to make that sacrifice? So that'd be you putting yourself in a dangerous position, too. You know, if it did make me crave blood and junk, since I'd probably come after you first."

The princess wanted to open her eyes, see the look Marceline was wearing as she mused.

Can't apply what you'd do to what she'd do, Bon. You're in unknown territory with like… a garbage can lid as your only defense.

That's an absurd analogy.

Nah, it's legit. If you guys ever have kids this'll be a funny story for 'em.

You're not helping, Rechte!

Yeah, but… aren't I?

The mental argument with herself would have continued had Bonnibel not realized that Marceline was giving her an odd look. "I… you're right, Marceline."

"Always am. So," with only a few winces the vampire disentangled herself, "you promised me I'd get to judge for myself how much of a monster I am and let me see how many peeps I murder-"

"Marceline." Disgusted with the idea that her beloved see herself as a monster she responded to the situation in exactly the incorrect manner, once more slipping back into a warning tone strong enough to cause the older woman's jaw to snap shut. She could feel Rechte's frown radiate from the back of her mind.

Not cool.

She sighed, not disagreeing. Not when she saw the subtle wince, the visible waver in Marceline's confidence. Great job, Bubblegum. "I'm sorry, Marcy," she began gently. Already the vampire was settling back into an old habit, not even looking at the younger woman. It was morbidly fascinating how one word in one specific tone of voice could cause so much progress to unravel so swiftly. "That was uncalled for. I'm… still learning how to break those destructive habits I ingrained in myself, but that's no excuse. Yes, I made you that promise and I fully intend to keep it. In the interest of transparency, however… there is one more thing I need to tell you." But how to do it? Especially now, with that thoughtless and perfect blow? Would now even be the best time? Was there such a thing?

Perhaps not, she thought as she watched Marceline beginning to fiddle with some device laying on top of her trunk. As she watched her re-explore their room. But then again everything she was doing was a gamble lately. She had made so many promises with no guidance as to when to fulfill them. One thing was for sure, though: Rechte was right, and she was on a time limit. If it expired before she finished debriefing Marceline the situation would worsen in ways she could scarcely imagine. Once again, she took a gamble. "After you fell asleep I received word from Pep-But that a late night envoy had shown up unexpectedly. I wanted to send them away, but he seemed nervous and insisted that even Finn and Jake were in attendance. I thought it may have to do with what happened in the Grasslands, so I made the decision to hold a late-night court." Here it comes. "To my surprise, however… it was not an envoy in attendance. It was Phoebe."

Marceline couldn't help it. The contraption she was fiddling with just… slipped from her icy fingers, out of her grasp and taking her sense of safety with it, reigniting the ancient war that had roared within her for six centuries, the urge to run battling the knowledge that it was against the rules. All curiosity of whether or not Bonnibel was actually her old self were rendered null and void because it was just so ingrained in her; the price of her underestimating the other woman's ire was simply too high. Mind almost blank from the panic that had begun to settle into her very core her eyes darted to the window, but no part of her moved, too obedient down to her soul even now to run. But that was all that sang through her mind, or what was left of the conscious part: getting out, vacating the area as quickly as possible clearing the blast radius that was Princess Bubblegum. She could see it already, so clearly in her mind, could hear the firm sharp voice castigating her, the declarations of betrayal. And she was right, of course, Princess Bubblegum was right because Marceline knew she was putting the Candy Kingdom in danger in keeping a friendship with Phoebe. How selfish could she be? She needed to know but had no answer to give herself.

For one moment, for one last, glorious moment Marceline tried to imagine what her elemental friend could possibly have in mind, why she would ever visit the Candy Kingdom- but I've been gone for a hundred years, haven't I? I don't know what's changed. But Bonnie doesn't look happy. No, no, she doesn't look happy, she's so mad mad I can tell, she hates Phoebe and if she knows she and I are buds she's gonna be SO ultra mad- And with that all forms of thought and reason extinguished from her ancient mind, replaced in their entirety with one singular instinct: Run. But even as instinct spurred her to run - for even the daylight would surely be better than Princess Bubblegum's ire, after all, the Sky Ball of Death wasn't the one that knew all of her secrets or how to wield them as weapons - she remained planted, rooted, grounded, because some deep, traitorous part of her heard the whispered command in the back of her mind, not spoken in her own voice but that of her princess: stay put.

There was something grotesque about watching the woman you love tear herself apart, but it was so much worse when seen through enlightened eyes. It was the first time Bonnibel had ever truly witnessed the meltdown that played out when Marceline was confronted by the need to escape but the helplessness of not being allowed to do so. She had never before seen the war between Marceline's love and fear. It broke her heart to see the other half of her tremble, to see her eyes dart futilely to the window, to know that the vampire would rather risk True Death than whatever Princess Bubblegum had in mind, but it broke her soul to realize that Marceline was wearing the exact same expression now that she had worn the moment she had seen The Door. The moment the half-demon had gone from cautious sarcasm to despair. The moment before her sanity had imploded.

Bonnibel Bubblegum wanted to vomit.

She's… she's terrified of me.

Bon, be extremely careful about what you do next.

How cruel was I, Rechte? Have I always inspired this reaction in situations such as these?

Bon-

Rechte, is this… is this normal? A typical reaction? All of those times I remember thinking her a coward for wanting to run instead of dealing with her problems… is this how she looked?

Bonnibel, I'm loving this moment of self-awareness, but if you don't contain this now we're looking at a repeat of the Grasslands Incident, and something tells me she won't hide at your cabin a second time. I really don't think she's gonna stop to put on Sky Ball of Death safety gear either. You're staring. Predators stare.

...And she's not staring. She's frozen. She's prey. I primed her for this, by thoughtlessly issuing that subtle command.

So what are you going to do?

What am I going to do? The first thing she was going to do was assure that she kept all movements slow and deliberate, that her tone remained calm, gentle, and understanding. She believes that I'm not a safe place to her at the moment. I have to show her that there's no danger. "Hey… hey, it's okay, Marcy." The vampire flinched, automatically looking away from the younger woman. It made Bonnibel wince as well, that knowledge that only moments before her lover had been so firmly on the road to recovery, even ready to reluctantly share her bed again. But it had all come crashing down, for it is so hard to create but so easy to destroy. What little trust that was beginning to blossom was already withering, rotting under centuries of exposure to a harsh and unforgiving woman who saw the queen as property first, always property first. I'm so sorry, Marceline. "I didn't know you two were such good friends. I can see why-" you were so afraid of what I'd do "-you kept it to yourself." She almost took a step forward but felt a mental tug holding her back.

Don't.

The princess swallowed hard against the silent response. "She's really worried about you. I don't know exactly what she knows, but she's definitely aware that you're hurt." More silence. "She'll be back tomorrow. We have to work out a trade arrangement between our kingdoms, but I'm sure she'd love to see you after we've concluded. If you'd like I can make sure you have plenty of privacy, wherever it is you want. I'll take care of it." Somehow Marceline's expression didn't betray her believing the younger woman in any way, shape, or form. Not with how tense she looked, or how her hands were clenched into fists. The way she was obviously clamping down on her cheek, that the trembling signifying the beginning of a panic attack had yet to subside.

But it's not full-blown yet.

No, but that was hardly a comfort. After all, it may not have progressed but it wasn't clearing either. "Marcy… I know you're afraid. I understand why. It's the same reason you hid your friendship with her from me, isn't it? Because you were afraid of how I'd react. I understand, Marcy. I put you in a horrible position. None of any of this was ever fair to you. I put myself and my disagreement with Phoebe first. It's no wonder you were worried, but I'm not mad, Marcy. I'm only sorry that I did this to you." Say it, Bubblegum. "I… I understand if you don't feel that you can be here right now. I never let you leave when I was angry, did I? I always thought it was because you were avoiding your problems. When I was inside your mind I learned how wrong I was, Marceline. You were just trying to protect a wound you weren't ready to show me yet. If…" A deep breath. "If you don't feel safe here no one will make you stay. But if you do leave… Marcy, it's day out right now." Another flinch. "I know. But it is, and I know that you may not remember the sun yet, but you do remember how dangerous it is for you. If you'd like to leave… I know there's protective clothing in your trunk. Please… put it on first, so that you're safe. You've already been through more than you ever should have."

At first there was no movement at all, no response, no indication that Marceline was even all there mentally. Bonnibel waited, resisting every urge to ramble further, knowing that her mate needed the time and space to feel safe enough just to process what she was being told. In truth, Marceline was finding it rather difficult to think at all; her head was pounding, her vision was blurred, ancient blood filled her mouth, her body was rigid and numb, and even though she was sure she understood most of what Bonnibel had said it mostly sounded muffled. As it stood it took more energy than it ever should have just to choke down her own blood and she hoped against hope that Princess Bubblegum didn't catch the unintentional self-mutilation, her pitiful attempt to stay focused and in the present. After all, she had rules against such behavior.

It was hard for her to understand how much sincerity really lived in those pretty words. It was unlike the younger woman to be gentle and understanding when faced with betrayal - and that's what her friendship with Phoebe was, no need for her to point it out apparently - and, in fact, it had never happened before. Not really, not sincerely, not genuinely, and so as much as Marceline wanted to believe her, wanted to believe that it really was okay and that she really wasn't in trouble it was a lie and she knew it. Princess Bubblegum just didn't forgive, and there was a steep price for betrayal. Especially for her. It all just hurt so much, and there was only one way out. There was always only ever one way out.

"I'm sorry."

It was a whisper, but it was more than enough. It should never have been said in the first place, should never have needed to be said, but there it was. Bonnibel offered her a sad smile. "No, Marcy… you have no reason to be sorry. You didn't do anything wrong. This was all my fault. I didn't respect you as an autonomous individual. I only saw what you could do for me. You had many reasons to hide your friendship with Phoebe. I'm sorry, Marceline. I was profoundly and undeniably wrong." Could her queen hear her inability to control her heartrate? Her nervous breathing? Her longing to make this, all of this, right, if only she knew how?

So slowly Bonnibel almost missed it Marceline's breathing, once haggard, gradually ceased entirely. Still not daring to meet her eyes the older woman cautiously turned towards the window, still blacked out, shielding her from one of the only things that could Truly Kill her. Is it even day? That could just be a lie to keep me here. But even plagued with doubt it somehow seemed unlikely. No… she told me where my stuff was. I'm guessing she means my hat and gloves. Why tell me that if she's lying? What an odd and novel thought; Bonnibel Bubblegum telling the truth. But… she has so far, right? About the other stuff? In all honesty, she wasn't sure. Her head hurt, her cheek stung, and as the panic attack faded so too did her energy. Would I even make it far even if it is night? There were too many questions, the knot in her mind was just too tangled. Where do I even begin with this?

"Marcy?" She jumped, tensing once more, but without the adrenaline that came from her panic it was a futile gesture and Bonnibel cursed herself inwardly, where only Rechte could hear. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Would you like to sit down while you think about what you would like to do?" As the half-demon mulled over that suggestion her eyes trailed to the only place near her to sit: the desk chair. No sooner had she dared think it she recoiled, unable to even consider it. Bonnibel's sad smile turned morose. It's not even occurring to her that she can float. "Here. Why don't I move from the bed, and you can sit on it. Would that be alright?"

Would it? The knot tightened until it was too much for her humanoid form. Unable to stay, unable to run, a rat took her place, flat against the corner of the bed, clinging for all she was worth as if mustering the energy to bolt at a moment's notice. Four garnet eyes watched Bonnibel, observing her every movement. Piercing green eyes watched back, softening at the new form; after all, the young scientist always did have a soft spot for rodents. Even horrifying and ferocious rodents such as herself. But… why isn't she moving like she said? 'Cause I didn't say yes? Am I supposed to? Marceline wanted to test it, wanted to see if the princess really would keep to her word and leave the soft bed if she was only asked to, yet the instinctive desires that demanded she run or hide or apologize were too strong, the very idea too outlandish. All she could do was stare, frozen in place by the amalgamation of love and fear. When the candy golem gave her a smile, an oddly loving one at that, confusion joined her mental party.

"Would you like a pillow? I know how comfortable you find our bed, but… forgive me, Marcy, but you look tired."

As absurd as it was a pillow did sound nice. It also sounded like an idea. A highly risky one, one that could land her in a mondo stuff-load of trouble, but an idea all the same. With her own slow and deliberate moments, and forcing herself not to break eye contact with the younger royal in what she knew was a pitiful attempt at a challenge, Marceline crept across the bed, towards the top, stopping just before the head. She almost lost her nerve then, almost chickened out, but with held breath she crawled past the threshold of the blankets, planting herself firmly on a pillow. Specifically, Princess Bubblegum's pillow. It was no secret that the younger woman was quite possessive and would never tolerate such an insult as Marceline laying claim to something as trivial as her soft pink pillow. When there was no immediate reaction the small rat dug her nails in, not enough to rip the fabric - she wasn't that brave or stupid - but enough to send the message that, at least for the time being, this was her pillow because, after all, she was offered one.

Surely Bonnibel, the smartest woman she had ever met, understood what she was doing, knew that she was purposefully trying to instigate… something, though even Marceline wasn't sure what. Yes Bonnibel knew, but to the musician's confusion her lover only laughed softly. "I would have brought you a pillow, but I suppose that suffices. Are you comfier now?"

...Is… is that it? It couldn't be. That sincere question, that gentle humor, couldn't possibly be the only reaction she was instigating. There had to be more, it had to be a trick, a trap of some kind. There was a lecture coming, or yelling, or… or… something, she just knew it. Uh uh. I don't buy it. Braver now, or perhaps only frustrated from her growing confusion, Marceline Abadeer did the unthinkable. Without breaking eye contact she extended two tiny fangs and pierced the soft pillowcase, draining just enough of the pink to be perceptible, only faintly registering- huh, this actually tastes really good. It's gonna be an awesome last meal before she ganks me. But Bonnibel wasn't ganking her. No, she was… chuckling? No, that's… she's not supposed to…

"I suppose that counts as food," she teased. Of course she knew what Marceline was doing, but two could play this game. And that's what it was, really: a game where the vampire would try to push her buttons, testing her, trying to find a breaking point that would turn 'Bonnibel' back into 'Princess Bubblegum' while Bonnibel thwarted her attempts by doing exactly not that. Undermining Marceline's efforts was a risky move, but it was a calculated one because it was something Bonnibel knew she used to do. Before the crown had corrupted her. Before she had turned into a monster. "Though I don't think you've ever eaten my pillow before. Does it taste better than the fruit we tried?" Now genuine curiosity stepped in place of the teasing; it was left in the background but was not allowed to leave.

Marceline detached, staring at the scientist. She's… not mad? It was unfathomable. Unheard of. Not even Marceline had ever been exempt from Princess Bubblegum's demanding nature. Of course, she was often a part of that demanding nature, but it remained true all the same. And then she registered the question she was being posited. And then she registered the answer. "...Yeah, actually." Her voice came out small and anxious. She was being offered a treat that was both literal and metaphorical, and with no solid idea of what was happened she only eyed it warily. Both literally and metaphorically.

In response Bonnibel tapped her chin, a non-committal 'mm' escaping her. It was what she did when she was on the trail of solving a puzzle, when she had an idea, some experiment in mind. "Interesting…" Keeping her promise of slow, deliberate movements she stood with all the grace befitting her, glancing from her wardrobe, to the lavatory, then to- "Marcy, would you be willing to help me with-"

Do not say experiment, Bon.

"-an idea I have? I think I may know what foods would be palatable to you. Granted, even if I'm correct I'm not sure why that would be, but my primary concern is finding you a stable food source while you recover. We don't even need to leave, I have everything I need right here!"

There was a light in her eyes, the same one Marceline had fallen in love with six centuries ago. It was the light of curiosity, of wonderment, of needing to understand and discover. Some ancient feeling, not felt in a hundred years, stirred in the tiny rat's chest, and with it the fog of instinctive fear began to fade. Was she still cautious? Oh yes, she wasn't an idiot.

Still.

"...What kind of idea?" She pressed against the pillow, nails dug into the fabric, ready to run, ready to hide, ready to be anywhere but where she was.

Now the light reached Bonnibel's smile, and Marceline knew she must be very excited for that to happen. "A taste test! You don't need to move. Actually, it's better if you don't. The results will be more reliable if you aren't aware of which items are the control and which are not."

Marceline wanted to say no just for the sake of it, just to see if she had that power, both to know for herself and to know if Bonnibel was serious about not doing anything she didn't want her to do. But it had been a hundred years since she had seen that light in her eyes or felt her excited energy to solve a problem that she at least assumed only she could, because even before she was Princess Bubblegum Bonnibel was just a little bit arrogant. And really, this was exactly like Bonnibel, wasn't it? A spontaneous idea, an experiment instantaneously planned, Marceline kind-of-sort-of volunteering because it was hard to say 'no' to her. But I'm still not convinced you're her again. You gotta prove it. It didn't hurt that it actually sounded a little fun, like the games they used to play when they were just getting to know one another. "...Okay, but only if you tell me why Phoebe came. Even if you're telling the truth and she's just worried she would've just called or something. Especially since I know you two still aren't on talking terms." I really hope that sounds a lot more confident than-

"Deal!"

That was unexpected.

"Now, close your eyes. I know how good your vision is and I need to make sure I'm right! Oh, and no more eating my pillow! Science demands any investigation be as free from uncontrolled variables as possible!"

It was embarrassing how quickly Marceline obeyed and shut her eyes. She even flushed under her fur. If anyone asks, I'll deny it. It was just so hard to say no, even as she heard suspicious ruffling and the sound of running water. After all, it had been a command, sure, but it hadn't been in Princess Bubblegum's Most Royal Voice. It had been in Bonnibel's excited tone, driven by The Need to Know something. She's… not mad. She's never like this and mad. They're like… anti-moods of one another. I dun get it. But her bewilderment would have to wait, because-

"Alright Marcy, you can open your eyes!"

At first only one eye peaked open, but when it saw the pile in front of it the other three joined it. "...Bon, what is all this?" Well, what it literally was what obvious: a pile of cloth, all shades of red. Towels, a jacket, a dress, certain undergarments, all various shades of red. There was even the plate of apples Marceline had been tempted with before, though now, curiously, they were sliced. Everything seemed to be organized, though it was impossible to tell in what manner. It made her frown in consternation.

"I'm afraid I can't reveal that just, Marcy. It would taint the results. I assure you though, this should be a quick and easy test."

"And… what do I have to do exactly?"

She beamed. "I'm going to hand you two objects, most of which are cloth. I'd like for you to take a little nibble of each and just tell me which tastes better."

"And… then you'll tell me what happened with you and Phoebe." She sounded disbelieving. About everything.

Bonnibel nodded, undeterred. "Yes. I promise, as soon as this taste test is finished I'll tell you about her visit and answer any other questions you have."

The four eyes squinted at the younger woman, but all they saw was intrigue and eagerness. "...Alright. Fine. Let's do your thing-" No sooner had she consented to be a guinea pig - figuratively speaking, she was not turning into an actual guinea pig, thank you very much - two hand towels were offered to her. With a resigned sigh she sniffed them both, but they just smelled like pink hand towels, the same towels from the set she had never been allowed to break up, no matter how delicious they looked. ...Weird. But a quick drain of their color, made it even weirder.

It must have shown in her expression. "What's wrong?"

Marceline nudged the small towel in Bonnibel's right hand. "It's… weird."

"How so?"

"They're from the same set, right?"

Her smile was apologetic of all things. "I'm sorry, Marcy, I can't tell you. It might impact the test."

"...If you say so, but they look exactly the same but that one," she nudged the right towel once more, "tastes way different."

"How so?," she repeated.

"I dunno. Just… better. Like, not weird."

"Oh! Like how food is meant to taste?"

"I guess." Actually, she didn't guess, that was exactly what it was like.

"Fascinating!" Both towels were set to the side, the beginning of two piles. In their place came two faded vermillion rags, the sight of which caused the rat's nose to wrinkle. Bonnibel chortled. "I know, I know. Lab rags. Just go with me on this, okay Marcy?" She was definitely getting glared at, but the musician proved cooperative, once more nudging the object in her right hand. "Interesting…" The two were sorted once more, the chosen rag with the chosen towel, the discarded rag with the discarded towel. This time the options were two slices of apples.

"Uh…" Marceline glanced up at Bonnibel but the princess only smiled knowingly. That was good enough for her and with a shrug she drained a tiny amount of red from their peels. "...Yeah, these taste really different, too. Bon, what the lump?!"

"Don't worry Marcy, just a one more left. You're doing wonderfully." As if compliments were a fair reward. When the vacant pillow, her own pillow, was patted Marceline grumbled and left her comfy spot, making the grand sacrifice of draining it as well. "Still different?"

"Yeah. How much more do I have to do?"

"None, actually."

That was suspicious. As was the smugness in her voice. Granted, smugness seemed to live in her voice naturally, but still. "...That doesn't seem to be a lot."

"No, but it did successfully establish the pattern, and for all that's enough for a preliminary hypothesis."

"...Pattern? Hypo… thing? Do I really wanna know, Bon?" When the candy golem sat on the bed she scuttled away to make room, but when a pink hand gently patted her lap Marceline couldn't resist crawling into it. There was just something about her deliciously soft warmth that melted the residual panic from her mind. Especially when aforementioned pink hand began to stroke down her back.

"Aw… soft little mouse." But now her smile was turning sad, as if she was conflicted about whether or not she should be honest. In the end, her promise of being a new and improved version of herself won out. "Marcy… I'm going to disclaim to you first that you're not going to like the results of the taste test, but I am going to ask that you refrain from any rash action until we discuss the implications. Is that alright?"

Marceline narrowed her eyes. "I don't like when you begin stuff like that, Bon. What's going on?"

Well, here it goes. "Keeping in mind that we do not know the reason yet, and that it is counterproductive to act until we do know… Marceline, every item you picked was, at some point in the past, contaminated with blood. Specifically, my blood."

If Marceline had a living heart it would have froze. "...What?," she asked quietly, muscles coiled and tense.

Stay calm, Marcy, please. "Yes. The hand towel you chose I used to clean your bite mark the last time we made love weeks ago, whereas the other was a replacement for the towel I sent in your care package when you first returned to the Nightosphere. One of the rags was stained from when I was cross-examining blood genotypes in candy people in an attempt to establish a syrup bank, should the Candy Kingdom experience another disaster or war, whereas the rag you rejected had been stained with Finn's blood when he attempted to… help me." What an unpleasant and irritating memory. "My pillow case was from… well, I had a nightmare." Her voice turned stiff then, for the nightmare had been filled with silver daggers and lost love. With a shake of her head and a vague ache from the memory of when she had bit her cheek in her sleep, she pushed it back towards her own personal Mental Vault and left the explanation at that. The less Marceline knew about that the better. "The apples I sliced just now, but I purposely cut myself while picking that specific apple, though I did rinse the specks of blood off immediately after."

Silence, as the rat stared straight ahead, unable to process what it had just heard.

"...Marcy?"

"...I.."

Careful, Bon.

"Marcy… this doesn't mean what you think it means. None of this blood is fresh. It's all from the past."

"...I drank your blood?"

When the trembling began once more Bonnibel scooped the rodent into her arms, kissing the top of her furry head. "Shh… you didn't drink my blood, Marcy. All of these objects came into contact with my blood at some point in the past, but none of it was fresh or even present currently."

Without meaning to the half-demon's gripped the pink hand cupping her underbelly, tiny nails digging into soft flesh. Neither woman noticed. "...Then why..?"

Bonnibel kissed her head once more, manueving so that her back was rested against the bed's headboard, her legs stretched down the mattress. "I'm not sure just yet. I hypothesize that it may have to do with you consuming my blood within your mind, or it could be you instinctively seeking something with enough emotional resonance that it's powerful enough to ground you to Ooo, as opposed to the mindscape and, given our relationship, I suffice."

Poor choice of words. "...No, Bon, no, I can't, you can't ask me to-"

Oh butterbrittle. "Shh… no, Marcy. I'm not asking you to drink my blood. I would never ask you to break your vow. For now we have my pillowcase, the apple slices, the towel, and the rag. None has any trace of blood remaining, all of which have been washed and rewashed many times since their initial contamination. These should more than suffice. We can use this food to wean you onto proper food by making you more accustomed to what your diet used to be like. But," she gently turned the rat's head so that their eyes were locked, "I promise. I will not feed you blood, nor will I ask you to consume blood."

"I eat red Bon-"

"That's right," she soothed. "You don't drink blood. All of these objects have lots of red for you to eat." Not loosening her one-handed embrace Bonnibel reached over, pulling up her pillowcase. "We last made love weeks ago. This pillow has been washed and rewashed several times since then. There is no blood. You enjoyed eating it. Would you be willing to eat a little more?" Marceline squirmed, not knowing which answer was the lesser of all evils. "Please, Marceline. I'm worried. Eating is paramount to you healing, and it hurts to see you starve yourself." She certainly sounded worried, and her logic certainly sounded right, but the musician had no way to ponder that: the pink hand found her sensitive ear and was now scritching it lightly. The rat fell limp, eyes closing, mind going blank and not exactly willing to move. It was a dirty trick. Dirty, but effective enough that when the pillow was offered to her once more she instinctively bit down, slowly draining it of its delicious pink. Once it was a bit over half grey she snapped out of her trance and detached, only a tiny bit humiliated by how easily she was manipulated. Even if it was with good intentions. "...Full.."

Bonnibel smiled, taking it and switching it with the vampire's pillow. "Thank you, Marceline. It means a lot to me." With the rat set upon the comfortable pillow, and fuzzy ear still being scritched, she knew it was time to fulfill her end of the bargain. "Now, I promised to tell you about Phoebe." Two garnet eyes opened, watching her. "We let Phoebe know the basics of what's happened when we first recovered you from the Mindscape. She's aware of what I did to you, and how you're hurt, though I thought it best you tell her the specifics yourself. You deserve that freedom. We… had a long conversation wherein I must admit I was not as hospitable as I should have been given the circumstances."

Marceline's remaining two eyes opened, suspicion raising. "What circumstances?"

The princess's smile was… abashed? "Oh… yes. There was a bit of a… ah… trade dispute."

"...Trade dispute."

Bonnibel exhaled forcefully. "Do you recall the trade agreement the Candy and Fire Kingdoms signed a few years ago?"

Marceline tilted her head. "You mean the thing where you're mad at her because she-"

"Yes," the candy golem emphasized. "It mandates that the Candy Kingdom exchange raw dextrose to the Fire Kingdom and, in exchange, they provide raw metal ore. I was… ah… in violation of it."

"...How is that even a thing? Seems really simple."

It was, before I wrecked everything, yes. "I… set up an embargo on silver without consulting Phoebe, in violation of our agreement."

Silence. Then, "...What's an embargo?"

She sounded just so befuddled it was adorable, and Bonnibel smiled in spite of herself. "...I banned silver from the Candy Kingdom, and its territories, in all of its forms."

More silence. Then, "What the flip, Bonnibel?!" But it wasn't irritation or bafflement or alacrity in the queen's voice. It was guilt.

"Marceline," she began carefully, "I hurt you very badly, in every way. I refuse to risk your safety again."

"So you banned an entire metal?" Just… for me? "What about your experiments? You use it for those, right?"

You're worried about me? It was too endearing. "You only have four weaknesses-"

"If you blocked out the sun-"

"-and as we've discussed, blocking out the sun would be a catastrophe for the entirety of Ooo. That leaves only decapitation, which is an oddly specific way to die, and a stake to the heart-"

"Didn't you confiscate all of those after you de-vamped and re-vamped me?"

"Exactly my point. Now you're safe." Her voice was firmer than she meant, tight with repressed emotion.

Marceline's gaze softened. "Bon…"

The younger woman cleared her throat. "However, in a rare lapse of judgment I forgot to consult or alert Phoebe as to the change in our agreement. When she could not reach me in the usual manner she came to the Candy Kingdom herself. Fortunately, due to her friendship with you she was able to guess why that particular metal was banned. She gave me three days to draft a new agreement, which she will sign when she returns tomorrow. And, as I said, I'm sure she'd love to see you."

She… wasn't lying? "So… what else did she tell you?" She resisted squirming, but couldn't control the nervous twang in her voice.

The gentle hand returned to stroking a furry back. Somehow she thought it best not to mention that she knew how the two had met. No need to open that can of void demon-shaped worms. "She mentioned that you visit her in the Fire Kingdom. Do you really have a white flame?" Her voice was kept curious and light, as if this question were mere intrigue and not one of deep metaphysical ramifications.

The rat nervously rubbed the back of its neck, making it a point to avoid the collar. "Yeah, just… like… when I get ultra mad? I can't really control it, and it's mega hot. I can't really make it come out, and it's hard to make it stop, too. I didn't wanna hurt you, since… you know…," she trailed off.

Bonnibel continued the calming strokes. "I understand, Marcy. If what Phoebe said is accurate your fire can be hot enough to even burn fire elementals. It could certainly do considerable damage to my kingdom." And me.

Marceline nodded, tense. "Yeah… Phoebe's been helping me learn to control it. She thinks it has something to do with me being half-demon. Thinks I should, I dunno… embrace it?"

Yes, that sounds accurate. "She may not be wrong about your heritage being the cause."

"What, like… demon fire? I don't think I can do that, Bon," she frowned.

Oh, you give yourself too little credit. "I don't think it's outside the realm of possibility. Even if you are only half demon that half comes from Hunson Abadeer. It's not like your father is an ordinary guy. Even for the Nightosphere." Marceline sighed, curling into herself. "I know that it may not be what you want to hear, Marcy, but if her hypothesis is correct learning to control it and what its generation means may be the safest thing for you… and that may involve a trip back to the Nightosphere."

The half-demon groaned, rolling off of the comfy lap to assume her normal form. Modesty seemingly forgotten she sat at the edge of her side of the bed, gripping the mattress, still dressed only in a pair of panties and her bra. "What happened to you not wanting me to go back there," came the bitter question.

Although she didn't see it she was offered an understanding smile. Yes, this must be confusing. "Returning to the Nightosphere in an effort to treat your injuries and improve your health is a course of action I am against, as I firmly believe it will only make exasperate the situation. However… the Nightosphere is where half of your heritage originates, and it may have answers to questions we haven't even postulated yet."

Marceline said nothing, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Then she lifted her right hand, concentrating until a small orange flame was birthed in her palm. It was impossible for Bonnibel to understand what her lover was thinking, what must be racing through her mind as she stared into her own flame. Tense family reunion aside, it was now undeniable that the Nightosphere did in fact bring out the worst in the vampire, just as she claimed. It was a dimension full of unknowns; even Turtle Princess's library had no information on the pocket space, or even any mention of it at all. If Bonnibel hadn't known Marceline so intimately and for so long, had not seen the mountains of evidence herself and first hand, even she would believe it to be nothing more than a rumor, a scary story to tell the children of Ooo to coax them into behaving.

But the Nightosphere did exist, and everything Marceline had ever claimed about it proved to be uncontestedly accurate. Her mother was a full-blooded human, her father as demonic as demons come. There was a horde of demons vying for the princess's head. There was a Lord of Evil with a chaotic and sadistic disposition, wearing an impossibly powerful artifact that drew its power from manipulating and corrupting the wearer's psyche. Materials that should not or could not exist within the laws of physics as Bonnibel knew them not only existed but did so in great amounts, enough so to construct an entire castle. There was a language and culture all its own, a history she could never begin to understand, and though she didn't quite buy this whole 'demon magic' Phoebe and her gallant champions had referred to it was undeniable that Marceline did seem to possess the ability to warp reality in small ways she hadn't made a peep about, ways that her soul-sucking didn't entirely explain, no matter how hard she stretched that truth.

Marceline Abadeer knew all about candy people and the Candy Kingdom. After all, she had literally been present during the construction of both, had been told time and time again exactly how everything worked. The Nightosphere, on the other hand, was a mystery to all, possibly including Marceline herself. When she felt a hand rest on her shoulder the vampire dispelled the small flame. "Bon… that placed is messed up. You've seen how it's messed up."

Yes, but I've also met the large part of you that wants it to be your own. "That's undeniable, Marcy. I won't ask you to accept your heritage without question because you should always question, but this may be an avenue of knowledge at least pursuing. There are a lot of unknowns-"

"And you hate unknowns," she muttered. When the princess failed to continue to talk Marceline tensed. She knew how much the younger woman hated to be interrupted after all, but to her surprise it was not indignation she was greeted with, but concern.

"I do. Especially when they can hurt you. They've already done that." Even from behind the half-demon could feel green eyes focusing on her royal purple collar, her shield against exposing her newly developed scar. It made her self-conscious, and she was relieved when the princess didn't draw attention to it. "I won't ask you to decide right now, because I made a promise that I would accompany you in your investigation of the Grasslands. Will you at least think about it, though?"

She's keeping that promise? That alone was enough, and before she knew she was already nodding. "Yeah. I'll think about it." Unaware of the triumphant, self-satisfied expression behind her Marceline turned to the blacked-out window. "...It's still day, right?"

Bonnibel nodded, realized her queen couldn't see that, felt foolish, then spoke. "Yes. Later in the day, but the Sky Ball of Death is still outside."

The singer took a deep intake of air, then exhaled forcefully. "...Alright. I'm.." And then she trailed off, unable to admit-

"...Do you still not feel ready to go outside?"

That. Admit that. It caused her to flush in humiliation, at her inability to do one simple thing. She had protective gear, and it wasn't like she hadn't seen the sun thousands of times before as a vampire. So why…?

"Marcy… recovery doesn't happen all at once, especially when you experience the level of trauma you have. You may find that some aspects of your life will get better before other aspects. That's a part of healing." Without though she pulled her mate into her arms, resting her head over her now calmed heartbeat. "I know that you're not used to taking so long to heal from injuries, but this is a special kind of wound. Healing will happen, but it may be slow or painful at times, and I'm sure this must be quite frustrating. But as vexing as this is you will recover. I promised, remember?"

The vampire wanted to snap that, yeah, sure, Bonnibel always kept her promises… but it just felt wrong to, because Bonnibel did keep her promises. It was Princess Bubblegum who didn't, and Princess Bubblegum didn't seem to be here right now. Instead she curled against the younger woman, closing her eyes. "...I hate it."

"I know," she whispered, stroking her hair. "I cannot possibly imagine what you're going through, but you're not alone. It will be one step at a time, and you may regress at points, but progress is progress." Her freehand moved to the grey cheek not resting against her chest. "I'm here. Finn and Jake are here. And, evidently, Phoebe is here. Or will be tomorrow."

"...And you're gonna let us talk in private after your trade meeting… thing."

"I understand why you sound so disbelieving, but the answer is yes. While you were resting I drafted a new agreement that will benefit both the Candy and Fire Kingdoms."

"You two are gonna kill each other," she mumbled, eyes closing.

And that gave Bonnibel an idea, one that mixed her reluctant promise to Lady Evil with her need to prove to Marceline that she had changed. Funny how those seemed to coincide. "We won't kill each other. In fact, I will demonstrate so." The garnet eye cracked open. "Why don't you come with me when I meet with her?"

"...You hate it when I'm in your throne room. 'Specially if you're doing royal junk."

That suspicious tone was entirely warranted and Bonnibel knew it. "While what I do is not terribly interesting it was wrong of me to ban you from it. You helped build this kingdom, and you were instrumental in me becoming a recognized-" and the most powerful "-princess. Further, you have proven countless times that you are an insightful and invaluable advisor." She laughed softly, pulling her mate closer. "Now I can only imagine how many meetings with foreign dignitaries could have ended even more in my favor had I let you be there." A soft kiss to the top of her forehead. "I welcome you to join our meeting, Marcy. You can come exactly as you are or, if you prefer, you could be invisible, or perhaps even an adorable mouse. If you decide that you'd rather not join me you can always rest here, and I or Pep-But will come let you know when we're finished."

"...I'll think about," she sighed.

Odd. I'd expect you to be excited for that. Perhaps you're nervous? She knew better than to push it. Instead she laced their fingers, squeezing her hand. When the hand squeezed back she had no idea what to do with that joy. How fortunate that she knew just the thing to spoil the mood. "Excellent. Now, I know that I promised to show you the Grasslands to demonstrate how not a monster you are," Marceline opened her mouth closed it, and let the younger royal continue, "but as going outside isn't something you're prepared for just yet, why don't we go to the infirmary on pretense of me visiting the-" don't say victims don't say victims for the love of "-patients Doctor Princess brought? Most have been discharged by now, but as you will see there are no casualties." You didn't kill anyone, Marcy. Not a soul. Do you understand?

"...What about the ones I maimed?," she whispered. "The ones whose lives I gonked up?"

Evidently not. The hold tightened. "Marceline…," the gentle voice behind her began. "I know you must feel so guilty." She chuckled lightly. "Finn and Jake didn't believe me when I told that, between the two of us, you were always the one with the conscience. You've just spent so long knowing what you can do you've never stopped to think about what you would do. That's why I'm going to show you to the infirmary. Then, if you have the energy later, we can go to the Grasslands after it gets dark. Alright?"

Marceline gave this offer deep consideration, that much was obvious. She was looking for flaws in the other monarch's logic, some weapon of self-deprecation. It was almost frustrating to not find an armament to hurt herself with, but none was being presented to her. With a sigh she slid from Bonnibel's embrace, shuffling around for her previous day's clothing, aware that the moment she began to dress once more her princess averted her eyes. And then she shifted once more, the small rat scaling the bed, crawling over the candy golem's lap, up the arm of the smooth dress, until it was nestled under the blanket of Bonnibel's pink hair. There it flickered into invisibility, all-too aware of the younger woman's smirk. "Is this your way of asking me for a ride?" Tiny nails gripped the dress and she rolled her eyes. "Alright, you can stay there. I don't mind being your steed." If she didn't know any better she could have sworn she heard some snickering, though whether it was from her shoulder or her subconscious she couldn't say, and so thought better about drawing attention to it. Instead she swung her legs over the bed to retrieve her matching shoes. As they were leaving the room she felt a tiny nuzzle.

"Are you gonna, like… make a big announcement?," Marceline whispered.

"About the Grasslands?" A nod nuzzled her. Ah, a teachable moment. Are you happy now, Lady Evil? "No, there's no need." The door was closed and locked behind her. A quick scan of the hallway revealed none of her citizens lolling about, and she supposed she must have her esteemed butler to thank for that. He had been doing a smashing job of keeping the area leading to her rooms clear, providing space for both immortals.

"Why not?"

Which was good, because Bonnibel wasn't even making an attempt to match Marceline's hushed tones. After all, even if there were citizens skulking about the princess often engaged in conversations with herself on her way to science something, lost in a world of equations and logic. Over the centuries they had learned to just not ask questions. Especially since asking too many questions sometimes lead to disappearances. "Well, save for you, me, Finn, and Jake, no one is quite sure what happened in the Grasslands. They only saw a large winged animal and fire. Further, this incident happened miles from the Candy Kingdom, far outside of my jurisdiction. While you rested I made a formal welcome to the injured to the castle's infirmary, but if I do any more than that it becomes suspicious."

If she was hoping for relief she heard nothing of the sort. "So… that's all anyone saw?"

"Yes, and if we're objective that description could match any number of creatures in Ooo."

"But… what if something thinks it's me? I shape-shift all the time-"

"I considered such possibility, and they have no reason to suspect you. Ironically, the Vampire Incident actually gave credence to Finn's argument that you are little more than an impish prankster. Even though all of Ooo saw what you could do you used your powers to save them. It would be counter-intuitive to think poorly of you now."

By now they had left the central hallway and reached the peach spiral staircase that would lead to the infirmary. By habit Bonnibel gripped the candy cane stripes bannister to balance as she descended. "...I just don't like it, Bon."

That's adorable, she wants to help.

There's nothing for her to help, Rechte. It's done.

Eh. Not to her. Reality's all about perception, Bon, and this reality is still new to her.

Perception? Hm… that does give me an idea…

Yup. That's what I'm here for. I know, I know, I rock, you can say it.

If you know then there's no point in saying it, hm?

Oh, Sassy Bonnie came out to play! Def one of my top three favorite Bonnies.

I'll ignore that.

No you won't.

She was right. Bonnibel cleared her throat, touching down to the final step. "Well, perhaps there is something you can do, Marcy." She kept her tone conversational, even knowing her suggestion could go horribly wrong. If Marceline sensed her trepidation she gave no indication, which is to say she didn't sense her trepidation.

"Yeah?"

"You haven't performed in concert in quite awhile have you? In this area, I mean. I know you did a tour not too long ago, but the last time you held a concert here was before the war, wasn't it?"

Marceline eyed her. "Yeah… right before the thing with the gumwad."

"I bet the denizens of the Grasslands would love to hear the Scream Queen herself. You could do a free benefit concert. You always did assert of the 'healing power of music'." For emphasis she even used finger quotes. "And it's not out of the ordinary of something you would do even if you weren't involved in the incident. It's common knowledge that you relish in impromptu musical events."

Marceline fell quiet as she pondered the idea. True, it would not be out of character for her to see any excuse as an excuse to party, and if it helped spread her music so much the better. And true, she hadn't actually performed a home show in years, or put out a new album in almost as long. There was just one small problem. One giant small problem. Namely: "Bon… my voice is-"

"Getting better," She emphasized while reaching up, scritching the back of the rat's neck as she avoided the collar. "It's noticeable to those who know you best, but I doubt a loud and frenetic audience would be able to tell the difference, especially with how frequently you shift how you look and sound even during your normal concerts."

Once more Marceline fell quiet, and Bonnibel hoped that meant she was giving her suggestion actual consideration. True, her voice wasn't how it used to be but it was healing, she had been honest about that. Really, though, she could care less about benefiting the Grassland residents and victims. It was Marceline herself she cared about, and the candy scientist could think of no better way to help her mate return to a healthy mindset than to talk shop and think about her music, to get up on a stage where she belonged, where a crowd would cheer her name and rally for her gift. Because that had been something else Marceline had been deprived within her mind: her own music. You couldn't create anything new for a hundred years. This would be cathartic for you.

"...I'll think about it." She would, too, that's what scared her.

"Thank you, Marcy. That's all I ask." She glanced at her shoulder from the corner of her eye, but there was no rat to be seen. Not that anyone would question even if they did see a rat riding along on her shoulder. Princess Bubblegum had certainly done worse. And weirder. With that security in mind she pressed the door, opening it slowly enough to announce her presence to staff and patient alike.

It had been quite a long time since the vampire had seen the Candy Kingdom's hospital wing, but it seemed as though nothing had changed in her absence. The walls were an unblemished mustard-yellow stone. It wasn't an especially large room, with only four beds per side, each a flat mattress with turquoise blanket draped over white linen and a candy cane frame, each with a white curtain blocking Marceline's view. Above each bed, embedded in the walls, were large rectangular grates, between each of which sat a soft light, candy corn-shaped on the east wall, donut-shaped on the west. Above the room, flanking the center of the ceiling, was an elongated series of window panes, allowing the horrible daylight to illuminate the room. At least, that's what would be the case typically; this time the pink and cream frames had blackout curtains mounted over them, leaving the central strip of the ceiling - which was actually one long lamp - the only source of light in the room. Well, that and the uncomfortable glowing from the strange medical equipment in the room. When something moved from the corner of her eye she felt Bonnibel turn towards it and she instinctively drew back.

"Oh, Dr. Ice Cream! I didn't know you were back."

Marceline blinked. It had been quite a long time since she had last seen the Candy Kingdom's chief medical practitioner. Not that she had changed any, not that candy people ever seemed to change any; still tall and yellow, with partially melted ice cream for both hair and brains. She wore her longer lab coat as proudly as ever, strange blue horse parasite and all.

"Yes my dear, I came back licketty-split as soon as I heard about the accident in the Grasslands."

Bonnibel felt the tension in her shoulder. Both Marceline's and her own. "Are you working in tandem with Doctor Princess?"

Dr. Ice Cream nodded. "Yes, she requested Finn and Jake's assistance in locating whatever it was that injured these poor souls."

Tiny nails clenched. Sorry, Marcy. "Is everyone alright? Do you have enough supplies to treat everyone?" It was amazing just how sincere Princess Bubblegum could sound when she wanted to fake concern.

"Well, most of the injuries we saw were minor. Bumps, bruises, and doctor's notes to get out of work and the like. I let Nurse Pound Cake see to them. Only a handful were actual injuries. I had to attach a fair amount of limbs, but with some physical therapy with our clown nurses they should be right as chocolate rain in a few weeks."

The princess nodded along thoughtfully. "And what about the patients still residing in the hospital?" She made a vague gesture to the over half dozen filled beds, hoping she hadn't just asked a loaded question.

Dr. Ice Cream made a noise even she couldn't interpret. "I'd say 90% of what I saw was minor or will be minor in a matter of weeks. 10% of it though was crazy nasty, though I'm afraid I can't explain further, due to patient confidentiality. Not even to you, Your Highness, as they are not Candy Kingdom citizens." Her smile was apologetic but firm, and Bonnibel was quite glad for it. The less Marceline hear of the fine details the better.

"But they will recover?"

"Yes," she started. "Though I can't say how whole we will be able to make them. The prognosis is looking good, though."

"Excellent. Is there anything I can do to assist in any way?"

Dr. Ice Cream paused, scanning her room of patients. "If I were to provide you with a biopsy of the injured tissue could you examine it? You may have better luck than we do about finding what exactly these injuries are, which would give us a better chance to heal these poor souls. As it stands they'll be lucky if they can walk again, or if I can at least unfuse their limbs-"

"Yes," Bonnibel interrupted as quickly as she could, "I would be happy to analyze any sample you provide me with."

"Thank you, Your Majesty. Would you also like our documentation on the injuries? I can't tell you who the patient is, of course, but I can provide you a case study of the damage itself."

No no no no, we most certainly do not need Marceline to see- "Yes, that would be very helpful. Send the images via the castle intranet and I'll head to my laboratory now. Once you've acquired the physical specimens please ask Peppermint Butler to bring them to me."

"Wicked stuff. Thank you, Your Majesty. Are you going to head there now?"

Bonnibel was already turning to the staircase. "Yes, I'll begin making preparations immediately. Thank you for your assistance, Dr. Ice Cream."

"Of course. I'll send you the case files now."

The candy golem could feel the good doctor's eyes on her retreating back, but that didn't matter. The moment the hospital ward's door was closed she heard the small whimper. "Marcy… it's okay. No one was killed, and I'm sure I'll be able to science something to help the handful of people that need extra help."

"She said fused limbs, Bon. I didn't even know I could do that!"

Neither did I, nor was it any of the behaviors any of your psyche fragments demonstrated. How suspicious. Had her time so shattered awakened something else within her? "It doesn't really sound like something you even can do, Marcy. You have a plethora of power, but nothing like that. I really will need to examine this in the lab. Something is wrong here." It was blind reassurance, but reassurance was the necessary ingredient.

"...Lab."

Why does she sound so hesit- ...oh. Yes. "Yes… my laboratory. I imagine you must be feeling some reluctance." Silence, the ultimate confirmation. "My laboratory wasn't an… ideal location in your mind. While nothing-" that I'm aware of "-happened there it seemed to be representative of my own corruption. I doubt it inspires confidence and trust in you." Now she began to ascend the staircase. "I understand you will probably want to see the results of my research, so how about we compromise?" With one hand she reached over her shoulder, scooping the rat up with practiced grace. "While you catch up with Phoebe tomorrow I'll perform the necessary analysis on the samples Dr. Ice Cream will provide me with. Then, once you two are finished, I'll update you in our room."

Marceline sat in her palm, eyes narrowed suspiciously. "...And you'll actually tell me what you figure out. You won't donk up your… results or whatevs just to make me feel better?"

Bonnibel's smile was genuine. "Marceline, when have I ever altered science to better suit anyone's desires? Facts are infallible, and it's one of the reasons I treasure them. You know that. I will be honest once I'm finished. I promise."

She did, all too well. It made her sigh in both frustration and appreciation. "...Fine." I trust you. She didn't say that part out loud, didn't know if she had it in her. It didn't seem to matter anyway, Bonnibel got the message.

"Wunderbar. Thank you, Marcy. We'll have answers very soon." There was no response as Marceline took this time to stare into space, trying very hard not to think about the implications of what she had just heard. Any of what she had just heard. She was silent through the ascent, silent as they crossed the halls, even silent as they re-entered the bedroom.

The door closing broke her silence. "So… what happens tomorrow?"

The princess watched as Marceline bounded out of her hands, returning to both her normal form and visibility. "Tomorrow I meet with Phoebe to discuss the trade agreement, however long that will take. After we've concluded I welcome you to spend as much time together as you'd like. While you do that I'll analyze the samples and case studies that Dr. Ice Cream will provide me with, and I imagine that by the time you're both finished I'll have answers for you."

Marceline sat on the bed, arms folded over her knees. "...I guess that works." Her posture said otherwise: slumping, head downcast, eyes downtrodden.

Well, that won't do. Making just enough noise to be perceptible Bonnibel locked the bedroom door before following her queen to their bed. "Marcy…" A pink hand slid under her chin, effortlessly lifting it until their eyes met. "I know that you need more than my word to convince you, but you aren't a monster, you will heal, and everything will be alright." A furry lump zooming passed her made her smirk, especially when the furry lump jumped on the bed. "See? Even Schwabl thinks so." The dog seemed proud of himself as he settled next to his person, accepting dual-petting from both Bonnibel and Marceline. When the musician turned away to focus on her oldest friend Bonnibel smiled, strolling to the window of her balcony. Peeking out of the curtain. Smirking in self-satisfaction. "Marcy, I think you should come look at this."

"Look at what?" Bonnibel shook her head in playful disbelief, then looked over her shoulder, still smirking. When she gave no further response Marceline looked down at her apparently only loyal friend. "You seeing this, Schwabl?" To which Schwabl opened an eye, did indeed see this, then closed it again. "...Cool." And with that Marceline was up, floating to the window with every caution. "Uh…"

But the caution proved unnecessary, for when Bonnibel pulled back the curtain there was no Sky Ball of Death, only a clear, cool night and a full, bright moon. Just like that the vampire was calmed, staring at the night sky with every bit of wonder she did when the trio had first brought her home. Now the princess's look of self-satisfaction was almost a grin, one she described by kissing her cheek. "I'm going to take a quick shower and prepare for bed. I'm not sure how late in the evening it is exactly, but I imagine tomorrow is going to be very taxing on us both and I for one would like the extra rest."

Marceline raised an eyebrow, spell broken. "You? Resting? Didn't think you had it in you."

Bonnibel wasn't going to take that bait. At least, until she was standing and halfway across the room. "Yes, well you see, I have an incorrigible mate who becomes irate and vocal when I don't care for myself to her specifications, and she has quite high standards. I may not deserve her or her curiously impressive devotion, but I think the least I can do is make the great sacrifice and sleep once a week or so." And then she was gone, through the lavatory door, the sound of her teasing soon replaced with the sound of running water as the door creaked shut.

Marceline gaped as she watched the younger woman leave. ...What the flip just happened. It was almost… normal. Once she heard the water running she turned to Schwabl, knowing she could tell him anything, both because he was a dog and good at keeping secrets. And because she knew that bathroom was soundproof. "What do you think, Schwabl?" The only response was a loud snore. Excessively loud. What do you do all day that makes you so tired? After a shake of her head to clear that line of thinking she turned to the only other item of interest in the bedroom: her bass.

In a lot of ways it was just as much a part of her as her arm or ears. Only once or twice in her thousand years of life had it ever been separated from her, and it had been painful in every way both times. Without meaning to she summoned it to her hands. Guilt poured into her, because as well as she had been keeping it her bass was an instrument and instruments were meant to be played, but she was so ashamed of her mutilated voice it just wasn't something she could bring herself to do. Her right hand rested over the cool metal, her left automatically finding the staff. Though she was loathe to admit it she had only attempted to return to her music a handful of times since waking up in her father's office with her throat deformed; singing was out of the question, and it hurt her heartguts to just strum pointlessly, knowing that her voice was changed now, possibly for awhile, possibly forever.

And yet.

Concert, huh?

Marceline tilted her head, listening intently. Running water in a soundproof lavatory and Schwabl's snores were the only sounds that greeted her, and before her the moon and stars beckoned her. ...Ugh, I feel like a dweeb.

Perhaps if Marceline had not been so pre-occupied with her own inner turmoil she would have realized her error, because soundproof rooms can only be soundproof if all points of entry are closed. Had she thought about that she may have realized that the only way she could have possibly heard the lavatory's running water was if its door wasn't fully closed. Maybe then she would have realized that she wasn't alone when she began singing. Maybe she would have realized that she had an audience of one. Maybe she would have realized that this audience of one, who was half undressed and with tears of delight stinging her eyes, had her hand covering her mouth to stop any undignified sounds signifying her joy that the vampire was actually really truly practicing singing, was finally returning to what she did and loved best. Maybe if she knew who her audience was she would have picked a different tune entirely, because this was the beautiful song Marshmaline had once serenaded an elemental Bubblegum with, way back when the world was almost candy, when they loved one another openly and freely because it was just so sweet.

Or maybe.

Or maybe Marceline did realize that she could only possibly hear running water if the door wasn't fully closed. Maybe years as a professional musician made the judgment of a location's acoustics child's play. Maybe she realized exactly how sound carried in their bedroom from having sung in it for hundreds of years. Maybe guilt sparked the idea, and maybe she was spurred to try by the need to return to her natural environment of music and encouraged by her moon and stars. Maybe she knew that she had an audience of one. Maybe she knew who that audience of one was.

Maybe she was practicing just for her.