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.

22. The Other Side

See? I told you all I was back. I'm trying to get back into a better posting schedule, or at least more often than I have been. If anything my workload has increased due to the pandemic so I'll try my best, but you can always find my blurbs and such on my tumblr to keep you occupied while you wait for chapters and new stories!

Speaking of which! A long time ago I did a tumblr contest wherein the winner got to request a story. I tried very hard to make that story fit into Musicology as its own chapter, but unfortunately it never played out. I still plan to write it, however and as it ties in very nicely with this chapter it will be posted on my tumblr, hopefully soon but definitely before the next OA.

Content Warnings:

Look, they're consenting adults doing consenting adult things. It's not explicit but it's pretty obvious that there's some adult situations here

Implications of PTSD

Very mild hints of a domme/sub relationship

Obvious foreshadow is obvious

Tiny bit of emotional heaviness

It's honestly mostly fluff. Like, 80%?

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When Bonnibel Bubblegum awoke she realized three things simultaneously. She was naked. Someone was touching her breast. Her own hand was wedged between a young woman's legs. Not that any of this bothered her, not in the slightest. If anything, she gave the morning only the most basic of acknowledgements, peeking an eye open just long enough to confirm that Marceline remained deeply entrenched in sleep. Sure, she always had and always would find it generally impossible to fall back asleep after awakening, but why should that mean she shouldn't enjoy the blissful sensation of being curled against her queen, skin to skin, finally free of the looming anxiety that had plagued her since her return from the Nightosphere?

With a soft yawn Bonnibel disentangled herself from Marceline, withdrawing her cramped hand. Her sleep had been strangely deep, not that she was complaining. It meant she was absent from the normal nightmares that had been such a staple of her life the past year, free of the spectres of self-doubt and depression. Now, instead of the sounds of her own taunting self-consciousness, she had Marceline's sleepy groan of protest as the vampire's favorite source of warmth pulled away ever-so-slightly. With a silent chortle Bonnibel kissed her grey forehead, tucking her back in to trap the warmth before it could rouse the musician. The gimmick worked, and with an incoherent mumble Marceline returned to sleep.

Bonnibel let her hands linger on the older woman just a tad longer than was strictly necessary, but her muscles and joints, stiff from not moving for hours on end, screamed for her to stretch. It was only fair, but it was when she sat up that the princess felt a new form of pain. Well, perhaps 'pain' wasn't the correct word for the ache that radiated from her shoulder, the one that found her hand reaching up before she realized what she was doing. She shouldn't have been surprised to find the twin fang punctures under her fingertips, but that surprise soon turned to elation. She bit me, Bonnibel thought in wonder. She marked me. She- Unable to help her curiousity, her stupid insatiable curiousity, Bonnibel lifted the blankets. There was just enough light trickling into the room to confirm her hopeful suspicion: Marceline was nude, save for the purple cloth tied around her neck to hide her fresh scars, and the vambracer, that precious, beautiful accessory that signified their tangible bond.

With a wide smile Bonnibel replaced the blankets, not wanting to risk too much heat escaping. After all- When was the last time she looked so peaceful? The scientist tucked a loose strand of onyx hair behind Marceline's sensitive ear, silently chuckling when the demon ducked under the blankets, deeper into the hypnotic warmth. Stay sleeping, little bat. We both know you need it. With another well-restrained yawn and palpable reluctance Bonnibel slid out of the bed, repositioning her pillow should her queen reach out for her in her sleep. The princess was hardly thrilled with the prospect of leaving her delightfully naked mate, but it was the lesser of two evils; Bonnibel rose at the same time, every day, without fail, and only three individuals in the world knew what time that was. Two were in the room already. And I will not allow the third to spoil this rare moment of peace. The thought was, perhaps, just a teeny bit more icy than the situation strictly called for, but the last thing Bonnibel wanted was for either her morning glow or first day as Marceline's literal soulmate ruined by her esteemed butler's reproachful glower and disapproving 'tsk tsk tsk'ing. I will not suffer misplaced judgment from my own creation.

Princess Bubblegum gave a hard look to the door knowing that, literally any minute now, Peppermint Butler would give it a knock and present her with her morning meal. Which, yes, was technically his job, but there were two problems. The first was that Marceline's sharp hearing would catch even the softest knock and cause her to awaken, which was quite the opposite of Bonnibel's goal of letting her have as much rest as possible. The second was that there was a distinct possibility that, depending on whether Marceline registered the noise as an annoyance or an intrusion she may treat her servant as a threat and kill him. Demons were unpredictable like that, particularly mercurial ones with the power to sunder Ooo, if not the world. Not that Bonnibel was complaining about that protective instinct- honestly it's one of my favorite things about her -but it was simply too much of a hassle mediating their fights. And putting Pep back together would hinder my plans to spend the day with her.

Bonnibel took one last look at the lump hiding under the blankets, her expression softening into a happier expression. I suppose you're probably hungry though… Whereas the princess was used to going days at a time without nourishment, just as she had yesterday, Marceline's vampiric biology meant skipping too many reals was risky, both for her and those around her. A feral Marceline was a dangerous Marceline. Mind made up, Bonnibel strolled to her wardrobe, retrieving her fluffy pink robe from within, pointedly refusing the very notion of clothes. Too dangerous a precedent. After all, what if Marceline decided to follow her lead and put on clothes as well? Unacceptable.

Peppermint Butler got in one singular knock before his liege opened the door. His eyebrow raised at her attire, but he prided himself on his decorum and professionalism. In all honesty, he just didn't want to know, but he did get the hint loud and clear. The circumstances may be new, but this wasn't the first time he had disturbed their post coital quality time. "Good morning, Your Majesty," he began quietly, suspecting a sleeping and thoroughly exhausted vampire to be occupying his mistress's bed. "Would you care for breakfast this morning?" Translation: You're eating today, no excuses.

Bonnibel's hard expression softened at his demeanor. Yes, he was definitely refraining from some comment, but the important part was that he was refraining, and being quite respectful while he was at it. "Good morning, Pep. Breakfast sounds wonderful."

He hid much, but not his relief that his creator was being so amenable to the idea of eating. "Certainly, Your Highness. And shall I bring something for your… companion?"

To his credit, he tried very hard not to spit that word. Bonnibel appreciated the effort. Though it was curious, she supposed. He hasn't referred to Marcy in such a way since- Reflexively, her hand shot to her shoulder, to the discolored spot that showed so blatantly against her pink skin and robe. Figs. Busted.

Peppermint Butler raised an eyebrow, his voice a hush whisper. "I assume Miss Abadeer accepted, Your Grace?" It was an odd question, odd in that it seemed almost curious, almost devoid of his normal animosity towards the vampire. Almost, not quite, but the closest he would ever come.

It wouldn't be fair nor make sense to deny it, not after all of the albeit-reluctant effort he had put in to help escort her during her trek through the Nightosphere. "Yes," she said, matching his hushed tone though with a 'and I'm quite pleased with myself' tinge in her intonation. "She accepted, Pep."

"Wonderful," he deadpanned. I suppose that at least makes my task of keeping Her Majesty alive easier. Miss Abadeer may as well make herself useful. The degenerate. He was a smart mint and said none of that. He liked living. "I shall prepare something appropriately celebratory."

"Thank you, Pep." She gave her favorite creation a sincere smile, bobbing her head in acknowledgement as he turned to tottle back from whence he came. "And Pep?"

He stopped, turning over his shoulder. "Your Majesty?"

"Leave it outside of the door, alright?" For your own benefit.

His grimace doubled as a nod and she closed the door. For my own benefit. Though snide, his thoughts echoed his liege's and, in the privacy of the great and private hall that separated Princess Bubblegum's chambers from the rest of the palace he allowed himself the luxury of a disgusted shudder and spared the bedroom door a reproachful look. His mistress may be the most brilliant mind alive, dead, or anything in between, and she may be one of the most powerful beings in all of Ooo, capable of creating life itself and bending natural law to her whim, but she was still a teenager. And saddled with teenage hormones. They both knew it, but chose not to acknowledge it, and the less he knew about what would be happening that day, or the night before, the better. Especially for his sanity and sense of respect for his position.

Bonnibel tried to listen for the sounds of her butler's retreating footsteps, but she had designed her bedroom to be soundproof. She could only hope he was as dutiful as always, or at the very least had the self-preservation to heed her subtle warning and not to disturb her. Or eavesdrop. Her smile twisted into a devilish smirk and she turned back to the bed, dropping her robe as she went. It was the most curious feeling as she returned to her lover's side, one she only had time to ponder now that she knew her servant was no longer a hindrance to her good mood. When she had left the bed, left Marceline, to intercept Peppermint Butler she had felt what could only be described as a tug in her soul. Not something literal, not a physical barrier, but what could best be characterized as a compulsion to return to her queen. While it was not unwelcomed per se it was highly unusual, and certainly atypical of her normally apathetic demeanor when it came to receiving or providing physical affection. Is this the result of the soulbond? It would certainly be a satisfactory explanation, but already her overactive mind was playing with that possibility, trying to decipher what it would mean if so. More importantly… is this what you feel when we're separated, Marcy? It would certainly explain a lot.

Bonnibel slid back into bed, smiling softly when Marceline sleepily cuddled closer. At some point during her brief meeting with Peppermint Butler the covers had slid down the vampire, and in the light of day the princess could appreciate her handiwork: the deep scratches she had left down the demon's back, the light bruises of a lovebite here and there, those marks that she knew from experience Marceline would resist healing for as long as possible. 'Trophies,' she had always called them. Evidence that Bonnibel had enjoyed herself just as much as the musician had. She would delay stitching her flesh back together again for as long as she could, which meant Bonnibel knew the best possible way to wake her up in anticipation of a nourishing meal. The devilish grin returned as her warm hand traced the claw marks on Marceline's cool back, and just as she always had in the past the vampire hissed - though hardly from pain - squirming under the light touch. A glazed garnet eye peaked open, saw the mischievous smirk, and closed again. Marceline yawned, turning so she could see her mate. "Mornin', Bon," she mumbled sleepily.

Bonnibel hummed her acknowledgement, delighting in how her lover had responded so readily to such a simple gesture. It was only as Marceline curled into her thigh, eyes closing as a soft purr of contentment overtook her, that gentle tug in her soul finally seemed to be satisfied. Would this be a common occurrence? Would it ease as their bond settled into a healthy rhythm? It was impossible to tell, but the princess was unbothered. Paying it no mind, Bonnibel ran her hand through onyx hair, twirling a lock in her fingers. It seemed entirely unreal to be laying in their shared bed, unashamedly nude and satisfied both physically and emotionally as the vampire purred under her ministrations. Trust. She trusts me. In what could only be described as wonder, Bonnibel marvelled at her soul's mate- she really is, she's literally my soulmate now - and how she had never allowed herself to dare hope she would ever have anything like this. Her shoulder ached delightfully, reminding her that she truly was the vampire's, just as the vambracer's gem glittering in the morning light evidenced that the vampire was truly her's. "Good morning, Marceline," Bonnibel whispered, not daring to ruin the beautiful moment. "Did you sleep well?"

Marceline stretched, rolling onto her back to better see her lover. Not that Bonnibel was going to complain. Or stop her gaze from wandering south, entirely thankful that the queen was too busy rubbing the sleep from her eyes to notice and tease her mercilessly. Leering really was more of a Marceline-thing to do. "Yeah. Didn't dream, so that was cool."

Given the circumstances, Bonnibel considered both that and the fact she was able to regain her composure before Marceline noticed she had lost it to be wins. "Wunderbar. How do you feel?"

Marceline raised an eyebrow. "Feel like I should prob be asking you that question. You know." She emphasized her point by holding up her left arm. "The thing."

Before she could lower it, Bonnibel took the vambracer-clad arm into her hands, tracing the text of her vow that was engraved in the sturdy material. "Honestly? I hadn't anticipated feeling this good."

Marceline hadn't expected that answer. "Yeah?"

Bonnibel nodded, resting her fingers over the gem that was once her own. "I feel better than I have in a long time, Marcy," she whispered, as if speaking too loudly could shatter the moment and prove it to be an illusion. With a soft grunt Marceline sat up, pulling the younger woman against her. Bonnibel settled into the embrace, resting her head against the vampire's cool shoulder, bringing the blankets around them out of habit. Whatever Pep was doing, it could wait. This was just too important to ignore, and it felt too perfect a moment to waste.

Marceline hummed in thought, long fingers absently tapping out a beat as she mused. Bonnibel let her think, let her turn the fact that she had been wrong about what it would feel like over in her mind, let her ponder what it could mean. After all, it was rare for Marceline to be wrong about her demonic half, and while it was surely an exception to the rule it was a critical one. "You said it… felt like coming home?"

In all honesty, Bonnibel was far more interested in how the aftermath of the ritual felt for the demon, but she knew there was no way she was going to convince Marceline to open up about her experience unless she went first. It was just too like Princess Bubblegum to deny the musician closure by favoring her own curiosity. "Yes. I feel… calmer. I suppose it's quite close to relief, though more profound. Like-"

"There's a weight off your chest?"

An opening was an opening, and Bonnibel was thankful. "Is that how it feels for you as well?"

It was an opening, but it was also a loaded question. Even Marceline wasn't entirely sure how to describe it. It was just too foreign, too weird. But… guess I can't really just ignore it, right? That's not cool. "Dunno how to put it. It's like… listening to something righteous. Like, you know it's righteous. You can feel the beat, it makes you want to groove on it, but there's like this mondo weird white noise that's drowning it out, just enough to drive you nuts to the butts because you can't get away from it. You just want to listen but you can't. It's kinda driving you slowly insane. And then it's just… gone. Poof. And you can hear the tempo and feel the beat and the rhythm is even more awesome-socks than you thought it was. Like when you hear your favorite song for the first time, and you wanna listen to it over and over, and… finally, you can. And… it's better than you imagined it would be." Towards the end of her description the vampire's speech slowed, gradually becoming quiet as the full weight of what had transpired settled over her.

Bonnibel couldn't blame her, and as Marceline spoke she held her tighter, the princess rubbing her grey arm soothingly. Though she was relieved to hear her lover describe the process as an overall positive one, something about that description seemed almost far away, as if there was something else there that the demon wasn't telling her. Or that she herself doesn't understand yet. That seemed entirely plausible; Bonnibel doubted Marceline would knowingly withhold important details about her experiences from her, this was just too important. I've had more time than she had to consider the implications of this. This may be new for both of us, but I've had more time to prepare. It's expected that she would need an adjustment period. The important thing was that Marceline had accepted and- No. I can't assume that part. That would be unfair. I have to ask. "Do you regret accepting my offering?"

Marceline was startled at the question, though were it because of the question itself or the apprehensive tone it was asked in Bonnibel wasn't sure. Regardless- "What? No way, Bon. Come on, you know me better than that, right? I mean, yeah, I get it. This is heavy jumbo, and it's not like I ever expected you to… you know." The less said about the candy golem's unexpected trek into the Nightosphere, the better. "It's just gonna take some getting used to. It's good, though, don't get me wrong. I feel better, too. Way better."

That was good enough for the young scientist. It would be unreasonable and unrealistic to expect the half-demon to adjust to having her soulbond completed overnight. That soulbond being broken, and the expectation that it would always be painfully incomplete, was something she had been prepared to accept for the rest of her unending life. Even wonderful changes in life took time to grow accustomed to. Though she may have been incapable of admitting it to Bonnibel or to herself, the candy royal had always seen the look of longing Marceline unwittingly gave her, the tell-tale signs of frustration that no matter what she did or how hard she tried the connection between them would always be incomplete. Logically knowing that the younger woman had chosen her could never relieve the pain of feeling like half of you was missing, nor the frenetic anxiety of the compulsion to impress her, to woo her, to demonstrate her strength and ability to protect and provide as Bonnibel's mate. It was unfair but, until less than a day prior, that had been Marceline's destiny. The sad truth was that somewhere along the way Marceline had held a funeral for her own hopes of a soulbond of her very own, and had resigned herself to her fate of always fending off phantom suitors and her own violent paranoia.

How much energy had it taken over the past six hundred years? How distracting had it really been? How much had it robbed Marceline of some semblance of a normal life, however that could be defined for her? Had the soulbond, then-incomplete and raw, stunted some vital part of Marceline's growth? Had it robbed her of some sanity and self-assuredness, some security that she rightfully deserved but had been denied for the crime of falling in love with a surface dweller? As Bonnibel cuddled, so safe and sound in the arms of the one woman she knew she could always trust, she wrestled with those questions and tried to imagine that insecurity and how it must have manifested over their lifetime together. Yes, Marceline's obsessive need to protect the princess was an obvious symptom of a greater problem, but surely there had to be others the pink-haired woman had either missed or willfully ignored over the years. Had that incomplete bridge between them done even more harm than she had considered? It had to. I never considered it at all.

Guilt settled into the pit of Bonnibel's stomach. The treasured logical part of her mind knew she couldn't blame herself. Even Hunson and Naxal had confirmed that the development of a soulbond was entirely involuntary, and the princess knew she had gotten almost impossibly lucky just to make her vambracer offering, let alone her immense fortune in convincing Marceline to accept it. That wasn't the part she blamed herself for. I used the soulbond against her. I knew that, and she has forgiven me for it, yet before now I never considered that the incomplete bridge itself could have hindered her in other unforeseen ways. Staggeringly powerful or not, all sapient beings have a finite amount of energy, and it is impossible to calculate how much of her's was wasted over the centuries.

It sickened her, both on a personal level and a professional one. Those squandered opportunities were such a waste of talent, and who knew what harm to the most precious person in her life that misplaced energy and aggression had wrought. Bonnibel wanted to apologize, almost did so, but stopped herself just short of opening her mouth. Deep down, in her newly thawed heartguts, she knew it wouldn't help either of them to keep unearthing the past just to gawk at its ghost. It wouldn't help, nor would it make either of us happy. It would only be a waste of time, energy, and this beautiful day together. If I am truly remorseful for failing her and, by extension, myself, I can only make amends by moving forward. A small smile played on her lips. You're an expert at that, aren't you Marcy?

Bonnibel pulled away from the embrace, kissing Marceline's cheek as they separated. Now wasn't the time to dwell, or mourn for opportunities squandered. Now was the time to reaffirm their bond, to build from the ground up. And just as Marceline was an expert in moving forward from tragedy, Bonnibel was an expert in conceiving and creating change. "Are you hungry, Marcy?" She didn't miss the way the demon's gaze lingered on her when the blankets fell away, or the partially-concealed nervousness. Were this even a year prior the candy golem would have teased her lover for both, but it was unreasonable to assume that the older woman would adjust to physical intimacy rapidly after just one night, especially given her subjective century-long absence.

It wasn't unreasonable to indulge in it, though.

Bonnibel stretched, pretending to be just as ignorant of Marceline's look as she was certain Marceline was ignorant she was giving the look in the first place. When she did finally catch up to her own ogling she blushed, a rarity indeed for the musician was rarely embarrassed by anything she did. Bonnibel made a point to commit the sight to memory. Who knew when it would happen again. "Uh… yeah, probably." Though her expression may have betrayed her the nonchalant answer did not. "What about you, though? You didn't eat yesterday."

Bonnibel not eating was far less of a concern than a potentially feral vampire, but it was a fair enough point. "I suppose I'm a bit hungry," she admitted.

"What, Pep's not feeding you? Told you that guy was a creepenstein, Bon."

There was humor in her voice, sure, but it was just another in a long-line of barbs and quips the two had exchanged for hundreds of years. Bonnibel should have been used to it by now. Should have been. "Marceline-"

"Chill, Bon," she snorted. "I'll behave."

Will you? "Mm."

Marceline rose from the bed, wrapping her arms around the younger woman's waist. With a mischievous smirk she kissed the discolored mark on Bonnibel's shoulder, relishing in the involuntary shiver. "Look, I'll get you something to eat, just chill, alright?"

Bonnibel sighed, though whether it was from the strain of mediating her best friend and most faithful servant's eternal feud or the gentle affections she wasn't sure. It didn't matter. "Pep has almost certainly brought breakfast for the both of us and left it outside the door so as not to disturb us."

"Man, you've got the little weenie trained well, huh?" Marceline snickered, easily amused by her own antics. "Look, I'll grab food, go do your thing, 'right? We both know you get anxious when your routine gets interrupted."

The vampire didn't wait for the acknowledgement that was right, which was fortunate because Bonnibel would never admit such a thing. She disappeared, presumably to retrieve the promised nourishment. Are you hoping that your invisibility will allow you to prank him as he performs his sanctioned duties? Bonnibel briefly considered warning her favorite creation, but the urge was a passing fancy. Whether it was because she trusted her mate to make good choices or because she knew stopping her was impossible the princess resigned Peppermint Butler to his fate and made her way to her bathroom. Maybe she'll be unlucky and he will already have left breakfast for us.

That would have to be Future Bonnibel's problem. Present Bonnibel planned to enjoy her time in her luxurious shower and admiring the evidence of her first intimate time with Marceline in almost a year. Her scratches were light, especially compared to the ones she had left on the older woman, but Bonnibel nevertheless enjoyed them all the same, admiring them in the mirror and absentmindedly trying to remember the moment she received each of them. It was a habit she had developed after every night of lovemaking, though the meaning now was far different from how it originated.

Back then, dozens if not hundreds of years ago, Bonnibel considered it a necessary evil to search herself for marks and bumps and bruises, anything that could possibly indicate that she, one of the most powerful beings in the world, had engaged in something as crass as physical intimacy, to hide that she, like every other creature, had hormones happen. She could not, would not, be caught having stooped to the same level as those she crushed in her pursuit of power. That would have been an unacceptable embarrassment, humiliating in a way she could not, would not, tolerate. Perhaps more importantly, though, it would have raised too many questions. Princess Bubblegum had always been adamant that she had no need for a consort; her public statements declared time and time again that she was married to her work, and courtship would have been an unacceptable distraction. And so she would take her time, meticulously tracking every indicator that she had indulged her baser urges and make it a point to cover them all without mercy.

That was then. Now? Now she admired every scratch and mark, delicately tracing over the discolored puncture wounds on her shoulder, shivering involuntarily at the memory of Marceline's look when she had been granted consent to mark the princess as hers. The demon had never been rough with Bonnibel, too aware of her own strength and too afraid she would actually hurt her younger lover. No, she was the gentle one, selfless and attentive. In truth it was Bonnibel who was the rougher one. After all, why should she restrain herself? Marceline had an obscenely high pain tolerance and could heal from almost any injury, and certainly any injury that might occur in bed. They were consenting adults, and wasn't that what mattered?

It was pointless, childish in a way, but Bonnibel couldn't help the spark of animosity she felt for her past self, even as she was aware she was only being angry at herself. How could I waste our time togeth- No. That train of thought would stop right then and there. There's no point in dwelling. Her hand fell away from her shoulder and she turned to the shower, adjusting the water; Marceline had been the last one to use it, and owing to her dulled temperature receptors she liked her showers hot. Now with the water a reasonable temperature Bonnibel stepped in, closing her eyes to enjoy the sensation of gentle water droplets beating into her sore muscles. It was a good soreness, a very specific one she had missed for months, but the relief was welcomed. Perhaps I can convince Marcy to massage them later… Such an arrangement was, after all, mutually beneficial. And enjoyable.

Bonnibel returned to Ooo from her reverie, turning off the water with a satisfied hum. She had stayed in a bit longer than she had intended, as made evident by her now very malleable skin, but it had been worth it. As she stepped from the shower and grabbed a towel to dry herself off she could see, in her mind's eye, her vampire in their shared bed, snacking on whatever food Peppermint Butler had provided. Bonnibel knew she'd be in for a lecture, a stern gaze as Marceline watched to make sure she ate her own breakfast, and every bite at that. It wasn't that she enjoyed worrying her queen, but there was something oddly reassuring that, even now, centuries later, Marceline made it her business to keep Bonnibel safe, even from herself. They kept each other safe from themselves.

Except that the bedroom appeared to be empty as Bonnibel opened the door, her towel tossed into the hamper for a maid to later retrieve for cleaning. The candy golem frowned, closing the door behind her as she stepped into the room. "Marcy?" There was no answer and green eyes darted this way and that, looking for some sign that Marceline was merely still invisible. There was no answer and no indicator that the vampire was anywhere nearby and the princess's frown deepened. Odd… A grating sound grabbed her attention and she followed it to the corner of her room, where she found a clue: Schwabl was awake and chewing some bone or treat. It was a sign. Marcy only gives him those when she plans to be occupied for a time. "Hm…" Working on a hunch, Bonnibel approached the small dog, kneeling both to get a closer look at the treat and give him an affectionate headpat. He paid her no mind. This treat is fresh. So where did you go…?

Hunting down her missing vampire wasn't how Bonnibel imagined she would be spending her day, but it was entirely within the realm of possibility. Exhaling softly, the candy golem shook her head and searched for something appropriate to wear. Even if she's left the room it's improbable that Marceline has left the castle, especially given that she left her bass and sunhat here. Now… what would possess you to make such an abrupt exit? Safe In the knowledge that she wouldn't be leaving the more secure - and private - areas of her castle Bonnibel opted for lavender leggings and a simple sky blue shirt. Let's find where you went.

She didn't have to look far. The moment she opened the door she saw the breakfast Peppermint Butler had brought. Or, more accurately, what remained of it: on the right side of the tray sat a bowl of grey, lifeless strawberries. The left side had what Bonnibel supposed was meant to be her breakfast, a stack of pancakes thick with syrup. Syrup that had been manipulated to spell 'LAME' in bold, capital letters. Well, at least she ate the strawberries. Bonnibel carefully stepped over the tray and into the hallway proper, tilting her head both to the left, then to the right, in search of some indicator of where her mate had left and lamenting that their newly formed soulbond didn't give her some guidance.

The guidance came instead in the form of a most curious smell. It was familiar and warmed some deeply-held, nostalgic part of her heart and Bonnibel followed it down the hall, then the stairs, and down another hall. She kept her steps quiet, fuzzy pastel pink socks on plush carpet muffling any signal of her approach. Her ears strained for some sign of life, and she found it within her castle's kitchen. No, not one sign. Two. Two voices, one nasally and clearly irritable, the other mercurial and taunting. Bonnibel stopped just short of the entrance's archway, listening to the exchange with more than just a little amusement.

"-perfectly capable of providing the most exemplary care for Her Highness-"

A derisive snort. "Man, I wish I could be as delusional as you, Chief Weenie the Striped. Is the sky still blue in your world, or did you have to come up with some whole new color that matches the stick up your-"

A loud, indignant huff came from within and Bonnibel covered her mouth to stifle her laughter. "Her Majesty's meal was nutritionally balanced for her precise metabolic needs-"

"Dude, does Bon give you a raise every time you use a big word? 'Cause you're cramming them in there like Jake crams in cookies."

"Your arrogance-"

"Is well-earned?"

"-will one day be your downfall, Miss. Abadeer!"

"Mm… nah. I don't think so."

"Do you ever think? Are you familiar with that sensation, or would it cause you physical pain? Has your mind atrophied from its disuse-"

"Blah blah blah-"

"-or are you so enamored with your own ego-"

"My ego? Serially, I'm doin' a better job of keeping Bon safe and healthy than you are. You keep feeding her the same stuff over and over again. Variety is the spice of life, Oh Round One."

Another huff. "You aren't even alive."

"More alive than you. You gotta take that stick out and learn to live it up."

"Oh do I now? The day I take life advice from a scoundrel and blackguard such as yourself-"

"Is the day you learn to have some fun. Deal with it. Now go skulk off before you get burnt and I gotta explain to Bon that I accidentally melted you makin' her lunch. Cool?"

There was the sound of something solid but lightweight being rested on the kitchen counter and Bonnibel resisted the urge to betray her position to get a closer look. This was the closest Marceline and Peppermint Butler got to getting along, and she wasn't ready to interrupt it just yet. You're making lunch for me, Marcy? That brought a smile to her lips and reminded her of simpler, happier times, before the weight of her crown. She had always been quite adamant that Marceline was an exemplary cook.

"My breakfast was perfectly adequate."

"Whatev you gotta tell yourself to sleep at night."

"And what do you tell yourself to sleep at night?"

Another loud snigger. "Uh, I'm a vampire? Nocturnal?"

"A vampire. And a demon." There was something almost cold in the butler's tone of voice, something almost like a warning.

The almost-playful mocking exchange was replaced with a tension Bonnibel could feel even in the hallway. "Careful, Pep." Marceline had returned Peppermint Butler's warning with an icy one of her own.

His voice became a hushed whisper, but not quiet enough for Bonnibel to miss. "Have you considered the possibility that your father may learn of-"

A slam resonated through the wall and Bonnibel would have jumped, were she not used to acts of aggression triggered by mentioning Marceline's father. Peppermint Butler had her sympathy. Please, refrain from injuring him, Marcy. He was expensive.

"Now, Miss Abadeer-," Peppermint Butler began cautiously. He had apparently realized too late after the fact that he was both playing with fire and had a low melting point.

"I don't like being threatened, mint," Marceline growled.

"You misunderstand me, Marceline." A rare use of her first name? Intriguing... "He will find out."

"Snitches get stitches. The only reason you're in one piece right now is 'cause I know you're Bon's favorite and she's been through enough lately without her needing to put you back together."

Just as she put you back together?, Peppermint Butler thought with only a little acidity. He was too smart to say it, though. He liked living. "I have no intention of telling Hunson anything. Despite what delusions you choose to adhere to, my loyalty is strictly to Her Majesty. Given that," he gestured to her vambracer, "I seem to have failed to convince her that you are a ne'er-do-well and that she can do better. However," there was a stress in his voice, as if he was imploring her to see reason, "inevitably he will find out. And so will Ooo." Strangely, he began to sound sympathetic and Bonnibel resisted the urge to peek in to see what prompted the impromptu change in demeanor.

"What do you mean?" Marceline's demeanor, too, had changed, or at least the aggression in her voice had ebbed.

He sighed. "I understand Her Grace has her reasons for keeping you ignorant as to this part of her life, but given the circumstances-"

No. Absolutely not. This was not something she wanted Peppermint Butler of all people to tell her queen, even if it did sound to be with the best of intentions. Out of the question. She would speak to him later about holding his tongue, but for now she had a crisis to avert. With a bit more sound than was strictly necessary Bonnibel made a show of yawning - quite convincingly, really - as she walked into the kitchen.

Marceline turned from the esteemed servant, uncertainty replaced with an expression of actual joy. "Hey Bon! What up?"

Bonnibel returned her smile before turning her attention to the condition of her castle's kitchen. Despite the heated exchange between her best friend and favored creation, the kitchen was remarkably intact. The white and candy-can striped table sat in the center, chairs pulled out and awaiting occupants. The windows had been covered with a pair of dark tablecloths; they did not fully block out the sunlight, but enough evidently for Marceline to maneuver in the kitchen freely. The fridge was intact and not thrown in a fit of rage, the cookbooks were nicely organized. The only thing off at all were the missing knives that were typically housed above the sink.

It was the other side of the kitchen that proved interesting. Whatever Marceline was up to, she had been busy: chopped onions and green herbs, crushed garlic cloves, and more than one dirtied cutting board decorated the counter. The sounds of boiling water emanated from the pots on the stove, and from the corner of her eye Bonnibel watched as Marceline sprinkled what looked like raw sugar into the largest pot of all before giving it a quick stir with some wooden implement sticking out. How long was I in the shower for?, the princess thought with slight bewilderment. "What are you up to?," she asked, eyebrow raised in suspicion. Marceline looked over her shoulder, lifting the wooden spoon from the pot as she stuck her tongue out at the younger woman. A very familiar food came with the ridged spoon before it was returned to the metal container, and Bonnibel's surprise was quickly replaced with a strange fuzzy feeling in her chest. "You're making spaghetti?"

"Yep. This one," she hooked her thumb at the clearly indignant mint, back turned to both candy people, "tried to give you pancakes for like the jillionth time."

"Her Highness's diet-"

"Dude," she said, exasperated, "I've been cooking for Bon since before you were made. I'm better at it, just accept it, move on, I rock, deal with it."

Peppermint Butler took a deep breath in preparation for some diatribe, but it became a gentle exhale when Bonnibel rested her hand on his head. Whether it was a reassurance or a warning he wasn't sure, and he wasn't willing to take the risk. Besides, if Princess Bubblegum was so adamant about keeping her deranged pet inside the castle with civilized company then she was her responsibility. "I will not suffer fools any longer. If you will excuse me, Your Grace." With a bow to his liege and a glare to her paramour he sauntered off, eye twitching from the sheer level of disrespect he was being afforded. The major domo of the most important kingdom in all of Ooo history and I'm being upstaged by a rapscallion with father issues. His seething was so palpable Bonnibel almost expected him to melt as he left the room for parts of the castle unknown. She excused his incensed mutterings.

The princess shook her head as she watched him, silently resolving to find some way for her two oldest friends to at least tolerate one another. But not today. Today was about her and her queen. Putting her concerns for her butler aside - and silently resolving to reassure him of his position and importance later on - Bonnibel wrapped her arms around Marceline from behind. Her cooking was well-honed, the result of centuries of practice. The vampire used to cook for Bonnibel almost daily, deriving a very obvious satisfaction from seeing her lover so happy. I didn't realize how much I missed this. "Isn't spaghetti typically a later-day meal?" The princess's voice was teasing.

"Time's not real, Bon," Marceline mused with a smirk.

The candy golem rolled her eyes, kissing her lover's shoulder before pulling away to retrieve appropriate dish and tableware. "I suppose that's one perception," she mumbled, not unkindly.

The vampire snorted. "Look," she started, matter-of-fact, "Chief Weenie keeps feeding you the same thing over and over again. It's gotta get boring. So I thought I'd make you something better." When she caught what Bonnibel was up to out of the corner of her eye she snapped the cabinets closed, smirking when the younger woman glared at her. Sorry Bon. Telekinesis rocks. "Go sit down, BonBon. Chill. I know, I know, I'm asking so much of you. Don't know how you stand it," she snickered.

Bonnibel sighed, but it was a sign she knew that there was little she could do and was resigned to her defeat. This was a strange habit the demon possessed; after a night of physical intimacy, especially after a prolonged separation, Marceline would, without fail, make the effectively-immortal woman one of her favorite meals. If she was aware of her strange habit she gave no indication, and Bonnibel felt it would be rude to point it out. Besides, there was a strange sort of comfort in watching the singer work; the older woman was so focused, with every movement practiced and precise. Just like the princess herself, whenever Marceline decided a task was worth her undivided attention and sincerest efforts she was graceful and committed, and, in truth, Bonnibel always found it strangely enchanting to watch her mate work, whether it be performing before adoring fans or cooking a simple meal.

And then she heard it. Soft singing, a simple but intriguing melody. Bonnibel wasn't familiar with it, and that in of itself piqued her interest. Even at her worst the young scientist had always loved hearing her vampire sing, and though she hadn't always been able to attend shows in person she possessed every album, knew every song, and would listen to every concert as she worked, her lover keeping her company even when afar. This song, though, it was new. And it was beautiful. Is this something new for your Grasslands concert? She didn't dare ask; how could she be so cruel by interrupting something so beautiful?

It shouldn't have been so surprising to hear the musician sing; Bonnibel may be her mate but music was Marceline's first love, and she often sang at every opportune moment, and even inopportune moments. Except… when was the last time I heard you sing without seeming self-conscious? Green eyes darted to the purple cloth wrapped around a grey throat and bit her lip. The last thing she wanted was for her queen to feel self-conscious about her subtle vocal change and so, knowing it could end at any time, Bonnibel kept quiet, enjoying the treat of her lover's song. The words may have been indecipherable from the distance, but the melody was soothing, comprised of some wrought emotion she couldn't name but filled her with a sense of melancholy all the same.

The siren song came to an end and the spell broke. "You doing alright, Bon? You're pretty quiet." Evidently unaware that she had been singing, Marceline lifted the pot over to the sink to pour its contents into the awaiting colander, giving her best friend a concerning look along the way.

"Hm? Oh! Yes, I'm perfectly fine, Marceline. Just a bit tired I suppose." Wrong thing to say. Or, rather, admit. The vampire grinned as she assembled the ingredients on the plate and Bonnibel blushed deeply at the self-satisfied expression, the knowing glint in garnet eyes. They slitted, just for a moment, just long enough to betray what exactly was going through her filthy mind. But there was something else there as well, a glint of nervousness, of uncertainty. There was a certain self-confidence Marceline was meant to have in this situation, and it wasn't one that was there now. Perhaps it was unreasonable to expect her to recover so quickly from her century-long absence. In that case… "Yes. It's your fault. I do hope you're proud of yourself."

The confirmation eased the nervous tension out of Marceline's body. Well, most of it anyway. Beggers couldn't be choosers and all. "Name one time I haven't been proud of myself."

Ah, there it is. "Mm… I can think of a few," Bonnibel replied sweetly.

Marceline narrowed her eyes at her princess's knowing smirk, at the implicit 'have you forgotten how well I know you?' she was being threatened with. "Natch," she grumbled in apparent defeat. "Whatevs." A plate of some of the most delicious looking spaghetti Bonnibel had ever seen was placed before her, along with a glass of some sweet carbonated beverage. Surprisingly, Marceline sat - actually sat - in the seat across from the younger woman.

Bonnibel beamed at the meal. As much as she tried not to take sides in the squabbles between Marceline and Peppermint Butler it was entirely warranted in this case: Peppermint Butler might be technically proficient in almost any task assigned to him, but there was something special about the vampire's cooking. Only she understood the appropriate amount of sugar to add to Bonnibel's meals, or the nutritional ratios appropriate to her unique biology. Most importantly, though, her meals were delicious and constructed with care, the love and devotion evident. Even at her worst, Princess Bubblegum had never taken Marceline's cooking for granted, and though she would argue the notion that 'love' made food taste better there was certainly a different between meals created with great care and attention to detail and those that were merely technically proficient. "Thank you, Marcy." How she could perfect the art of cooking without being able to taste her food was a mystery Bonnibel never wanted solved.

Marceline shrugged, her attempt at a devil-may-care attitude thwarted by her obvious pleasure at seeing Bonnibel enjoy her food. "No big 'd'."

"Perhaps… but it does mean a lot to me." And I know it's your way of celebrating this momentous occasion.

Another shrug, this one half-hearted. "Eh. Thought you could use something diff than what you've prob been eating. Variety, you know?"

Bonnibel thought of the bowl of grey strawberries left outside of their shared bedroom. Variety...

"Understandable. Thank you, Marcy," she repeated. "I sincerely appreciate it."

"'Cause no one else can make your favorite meal half as well?" Bonnibel shot her a look over her fork. "What? Just 'cause I'm right," she grinned.

Ah, there's the arrogance I've so sorely missed. Whether or not she was relieved by its return Bonnibel wasn't sure, but chose to believe she was. It was just easier that way. And… quite possibly more accurate. "You are gifted in the culinary arts," she reluctantly admitted, "and I wish you were as gifted at humility."

"Mm… nah. Thought about it, hate it."

Bonnibel sighed as she set her fork on her now-empty plate, trying to repress her smile. Somewhere, deep down, she had missed this banter, these playful quibbles, terribly. "You're a butt, Marcy." Marceline's laughter followed her as she brought her dishes to the kitchen sink. And I wouldn't have you any other way. Trusting a member of her staff capable of taking care of the remaining mess in the kitchen, and wanting her lover all to herself for the day, Bonnibel touched the vampire's shoulder as a signal for departure. "Shall we?"

Marceline followed after her princess, floating silently behind her as she was led back to their bedroom. "Off to do princess junk?"

Bonnibel stopped, and the vampire halted behind her, tilting her head when the younger woman turned to give her an indecipherable look. Do you honestly believe, after what happened yesterday, that I would abandon you now for royal duties? That guilt returned. ...It's exactly what I would have done. Left you alone. How long would it take her to make up for her past transgressions? How long would it be for Marceline's gut reaction to change from the expectation that she was the second most important thing in Bonnibel's life? These are all learned behaviors, though. Which means they can be unlearned. The pink-haired woman returned to Marceline's side, cupping her cheek lightly. "Marceline," she began gently, "this day is for us." Her look of bewilderment was almost endearing, and Bonnibel took her hand. "Come on, little bat."

Marceline allowed herself to be led back to the bedroom, trying to make sense of the strange sentiment Bonnibel was exhibiting. It wasn't that it was unwelcomed, but it was unusual. Not that she was complaining. "You feeling alright-"

The kiss took her by surprise. Perhaps it shouldn't have, if she had been paying any attention at all to the subtle cues and suspiciously amorous glances Bonnibel had been bestowing on her. Marceline hadn't been paying attention, too caught up in wondering what exactly was going on, trying to wrap her mind around the notion that the young scientist was now her literal soul mate. There was a connection, a very real and heavy connection, that would forever bind them. As the onyx-haired woman let herself be led inside their bedroom, as she closed the door behind her and both allowed and was allowed in turn to explore and become reacquainted on a profoundly intimate level one last thought flickered in the back of Marceline's mind before becoming extinguished under a haze of tender affections: What am I so afraid of?

She wouldn't have to suffer the thought, or at least it wouldn't plague her for long, before she found herself lost to talented hands, wandering lips, and an insistent heat. Sometimes her instinctive drive could be beneficial, and Marceline let that traitorous, conscious part of her mind shut down, stowing it away where it could do her no more harm. Now was not the time for overthinking or self-doubt. Bonnibel, her Bonnibel, was with her, so warm and soft and distracting in the best of ways. Marceline let herself be guided away from the uncertainty and self-consciousness of the waking world, tasting the most exquisite heat of pink instead of the waters of acrid reality.

She lost herself, mercifully, to the experience because if Bonnibel was good at anything - and in truth she was good at a great many things - it was comforting her lover in a way only she ever could. It was a physical release, certainly, but more than anything it was the re-establishment of their bond, a celebration that despite all obstacles set before her the princess had succeeded in her mission of letting the demon- no, her demon - claim her, body and soul. There was no resistance for either of them, only playful exploration, giggles and gasps, moans and purrs, but above all, a unique love as they celebrated finding in each other what they had found in themselves.

By the time Marceline regained something akin-to-but-not-quite consciousness she felt lighter than she had in what felt like a century. She was nestled under the blankets, head on her best friend's chest as pink fingers ran through her hair soothingly. She yawned at the touches, grumbling at the resulting chortle, quieting again when a reassuring kiss was placed on top of her head. Already she could feel new bruises and bites and scratches, but she had awakened in time to stop the healing process. She had a superb pain tolerance; why not indulge in the stinging and soreness a little longer? Especially when those pink fingers grazed over the ones on her back, making her shiver. She's doing it on purpose, Marceline lazily thought, more than just a little amused. Among other things.

Bonnibel absolutely was. The vampire was sensitive to touch normally, and doubly so just after physical intimacy. It separated the older woman's mind from the anxiety that had so often plagued her as of late, allowing her just a little more rest, a little more of an excuse to enjoy the candy golem's embrace. If she couldn't panic she couldn't question, and if she couldn't question she couldn't self-destruct. She deserves more than her own self-doubt, Bonnibel thought tenderly. In truth they both felt the same of the other, but the young princess wasn't there just yet. Instead she contracted her arms, delighting in the way Marceline took the opportunity to snuggle closer. Yes, this was much better than whatever royal duties awaited her, much better indeed. The younger immortal's fingers trailed down still, over the delicate point of Marceline's ear, stroking her neck to elicit the most delightful shiver, down her arm, resting at last over the royal gem. If she didn't know better she could swear it felt warm, and from more than just mingled body heat. Royal gems were sentient to an extent, bonding to their owners on a level she never had the time or forethought to fully examine. Did her old royal gem find its new owner acceptable, preferable even? Did it know Marceline as well as it knew her? It was odd, asking herself whether or not the blue rock felt happy, but it wasn't a far stretch of an inquiry. Keep her safe, she implored it. I need her.

"Bon?"

The mumble caught the scientist's attention, and she glanced down to see a sleepy garnet eye staring up at her. "Yes, Marcy?"

"You okay?"

Bonnibel tilted her head, lifting her arm to stroke down the vampire's now-warm cheek. That was an interesting question, she supposed. Not one that required intensive thought, but an interesting one nonetheless. "I am better than I have been in… an exceptionally long time." Yes, she decided, that was right. It wasn't that she felt better, she was better, in oh so many ways.

Marceline yawned, letting her eye close. Right answer, it seemed. "Rock," she replied lazily.

"Why?," Bonnibel asked, bemused.

"Curious."

"Mm." She was unconvinced, but for now she would let it go. "And are you okay?"

She hadn't expected it, but Marceline nodded. Odd; she had expected some heavy or pained statement, something else to interrupt such a tender moment as was so common lately. What she didn't expect was- "Warm."

"Warm?," Bonnibel repeated, bemusement giving way to mirth.

The vampire's arm tightened around the younger woman's waist. It was less of an embrace and more of a declaration. One that said- "You're not gettin' up."

A smile made its way onto Bonnibel, and she chuckled softly. "Oh I'm not, am I?"

"Uh uh," the demon shook her head. "Too comfy."

Indeed, the vampire was more relaxed than she had been since the night prior, lulled into a tranquil state, though whether from physical exhaustion or emotional comfort Bonnibel wasn't sure. As a mental exercise the younger immortal tried to imagine what would happen if she disobeyed that playful command, if she moved from her position just to tease her paramour. She felt it then, just imagining such an Out Of The Question activity. A small tug, deep in her heartguts, like a great reluctance that she could certainly overcome but saw no practical reason to. It reminded her of being dragged out of her lab by Finn and Jake when she wanted more than anything to finish her project, and faded only when she resigned herself to her fate of being a living pillow. Is this due to the soul bond?, Bonnibel mused silently. Do you feel such reluctance to leave me as well? Perhaps it wasn't due to the soul bond. I must consider that I simply do not want to leave this bed. Learning to tell the difference would be an interesting challenge. For now though- "Rest, little bat."

"Are you gonna stay?"

"Of course," Bonnibel promised. Without realizing it, without meaning to, her embrace tightened further. The very idea of leaving now was abhorrent.

Marceline smiled, pulling the blankets over herself until her ear was covered. "Thanks, BonBon," she whispered sleepily.

Unlike Marceline, Bonnibel's fatigue was purely physical and she found herself in the interesting position of watching over the older monarch as she dozed. It was a strange role-reversal, but not one she found herself disliking. There was a strange calmness, a warm sense of self-satisfaction Bonnibel found herself deriving from her temporary position as guardian. Trust. She trusts me. She's content, she's comfortable, and she trusts me to keep her safe, and to keep my promise to stay. It was hard to imagine otherwise when Marceline nuzzled into the crook of her neck, and Bonnibel found herself absent-mindedly running her fingers through the onyx locks again in ponderance over the shared life to come.

What next? Would they tell people, at least those closest to them? If so, what would they say? How could they possibly explain the immense importance of what had transpired in binding themselves together? It made sense to start with those more privy to Marceline's demonic nature, and therein lied the rub. I promised Naxal that, in exchange for his generous assistance, I would convince Marceline to visit with whatever it is she borrowed from him. A frown overcame her. As much I would love to dismiss it, Pep is right in that Hunson will find out about this, and more power comes to us both if we tell him on our own terms. Her eye twitched, just once. And I will need to have a conversation with him about the secret he almost spilled to Marcy.

Why?, Rechte, snickered, You the only one allowed to keep secrets from her? Ya gotta tell her sometime.

The sudden reappearance of the apparition that took up residence in her brain startled Bonnibel, but a quick glance downward confirmed Marceline's nap was undisturbed. Rechte?

What up, nerd alert? Miss me?

Loaded questions were best ignored. I know she needs to know, Rechte. I will tell her, when things are a bit more stable between us.

She could feel the disbelieving - or was it dismissive? - shrug. Eh. If you say so. You're the schemer. Was that a compliment or an insult? Either way it was accurate, so Bonnibel let the comment slide. For now. So what's the plan, dork?

Bonnibel almost sighed, if she could justify to herself arguing with her own self-consciousness. I prefer the term 'strategist', and quite honestly, Rechte… I have yet to come up with one.

Makes you uncomfortable, huh? The mockery was almost a cackle. Bonnibel Bubblegum, always so prepared. Can't you just wing it, this once?

Bonnibel scowled before composing herself. We can't all just 'wing it', Rechte.

Sure ya can, you just don't want to 'cause it gives you the creepies to think about your fate being in anyone else's mittens, right?

She was right, but Bonnibel wouldn't admit it. She wasn't ready to. Though… I suppose that's no longer entirely true. Because her fate was now inexplicably tied to another's, and not only was she perfectly happy with this development she masterminded it herself. But Marceline aside, I refuse-

Yeah, yeah. Paranoid delusions, megalomania, sociopathic tendencies, am I missing anything?

In her mind's eye Bonnibel could see Rechte's smirk. What she couldn't see was- Why have you chosen now to return, Rechte?

Hey. Somber didn't really belong in Rechte's voice, but there it was all the same. I'm proud of you, dork. You put all this together, but you let her lead, and I know that's tough for someone like you.

Rechte's sincerity was enough to encourage Bonnibel's own. If she couldn't be honest with her subconscious what was she even doing with her life? It was… an interesting experience, granting control to someone else.

The smirk-in-the-voice was back. Not gonna do it again, though?

Absolutely not.

Natch. She'd prob prefer it this way anyway.

There was an implication there, smoldering just beneath the surface, but Bonnibel chose not to dwell on it or how right Rechte was. Instead she focused on her best friend as the singer stirred, straddled between the waking and the sleeping worlds, trying to decide which way she wanted to push her. Ultimately the dilemma proved to be a moot point when Marceline yawned but didn't open her eyes, too relaxed in the younger woman's arms to be concerned with being comfortable and warm, as opposed to conscious. How could Bonnibel blame her? Even she knew now that there was a unique and undeniable sense of well-being that came only from being so close to the one she loved, the only one she could trust with all of her. The princess closed her own eyes, not out of fatigue but to focus on the sensations: the serenity, the simplicity, the contentment. Yes, she could get used to this. Or, more accurately, she could allow herself to get used to this. Or, most accurately, she would allow herself to get used to this.

An unfamiliar sense of disappointment flowered through Bonnibel when Marceline abruptly stretched, breaking the cuddle-hold Bonnibel had on her. At least, until she heard the vampire grumble a bewildered, "Did I fall asleep?"

"Given the circumstances, I think that's understandable, Marceline," Bonnibel answered, clearly pleased with herself for encouraging such a thing successfully. She didn't miss that the vampire's pointed look was weakened by a tell-tale blush. Her own expression softened. "Come here." Marceline relented quickly and allowed herself to be pulled back into the embrace, returning to her previous position. Forget dignity. She was happy.

"Marcy?"

"Yeah?," she asked around another yawn.

"Why did you make spaghetti? And I am quite aware that it's my favorite food, but that doesn't explain why you would put in so much effort when breakfast had already been prepared."

Marceline thought about that, both the question and the quizzical way it was asked. Why had she? It was rare for the vampire to question her own motives. After all, she just did things and was proud of that aspect of her personality. And yet… "...I dunno, Bon. Guess I just wanted to." But that wasn't good enough, she could see it in Bonnibel's eyes when she glanced up to see how well her justification had been received. The candy scientist had her Thinking Face on, and it was too much to look at. So she looked at her vambracer instead, looked at the way the gem twinkled in what little sunlight the blackout curtains allowed. "Just… felt right, you know? I know the little weirdo does his job and he's your favorite or whatevs, but he's all about 'technical precision'," she said, emphasizing her point with disdainful air quotation marks, "but there's something diff about something made with what you want in mind, not what you need, you know?"

Bonnibel tapped her chin in ponderance and Marceline grunted in protest that she was no longer being pet. "Interesting…," she muttered, mostly to herself. "I must admit, it was… refreshing. I have missed your cooking." I've missed all of those little things you do for me. Marceline made a wordless noise that caught in her throat before it could morph into something sensible, something happy but self-conscious. She hated being seen as being sentimental for sentiment's sake, though Bonnibel had to wonder how much of that was an innate trait or as the result of her own discouragement. Had to wonder, but now was not the time. "Thank you," she whispered instead, resuming stroking down the older woman's long hair.

Marceline nodded, her lover's admission making her squirm. Heartguts were weird, her's doubly so, and she wanted nothing less than to think about them right now. Guess it's not fair, though, right? She started it. It was a thought that was half disbelieving, half accusatory. "I just… missed you." The covers scrunched under her fingers as she closed a fist around them. "I don't really remember what it was like in my mind, but I remember missing you. Like there was a big flippin' hole in my chest, and it was there the whole time I was in the Nightosphere, too." She took a deep breath, but it was Bonnibel's gentle touch that spurned her forward. In for a penny, in for a pound. "I knew-" Stopped. Corrected herself. "...I didn't think if I went back things would change. It wasn't the first time we've fought about heavy junk, and I just…"

"Couldn't do it again?" It might have been a flinch, it might have been a nod, but whatever it was stung, and Bonnibel absentmindedly stroked the vambracer with her free hand, as if to reassure herself, remind herself, that whatever story Marceline was telling her had a happy ending.

"I knew I could kill that part of me that was connected to you, and I thought about it. Thought it would hurt, but it'd be easier."

"Why didn't you?"

Marceline swallowed hard, afraid that the words had the power to destroy her. Words were funny like that. Powerful little things. "Because... because as mad as I was I didn't really want you gone. I just wanted the pain to stop. I just… knew that if you came to the Nightosphere I'd break, and I couldn't do it all again, so I had this choice where either I could make all the pain stop by killing that part of me, but that would mean you'd be gone forevs, or…"

"...You could trust me." You wanted closure, Bonnibel mentally amended.

Marceline hand closed around the one resting over the vambracer. "I wanted to believe you were being real with me. I wanted my best friend back. I couldn't risk that you were back and I wasted it being mad."

Bonnibel tried to imagine how it must have felt for the demon. After centuries of romantic entanglement she finally shared a very real connection to the woman she had always considered her only worthy suitor. She tried to put herself in Marceline's place, tried to imagine, now having finally experienced the very and influential might of a soulbond herself, what it had to be like to experience that heartache. It made sense, why Marceline came back despite her almost volatile reluctance, and the realization made her skin crawl. Her soul chose me before I put on my crown. She was searching for her mate in me, even if she didn't logically believe I existed anymore. How terribly frustrating. Would Marceline's soul have chosen Princess Bubblegum? Did it see the princess as a role and Bonnibel as one in the same? Ultimately, Bonnibel supposed it didn't matter, because this did have a happy ending after all. That was what mattered. That, and being with her paramour now, because she had no ability to change the past but she could build a better future.

Bonnibel pulled Marceline closer, rubbing calming circles into her back. The older woman's voice was tight and her back was tense from the emotional burden she had carried alone for so long. Let's share it now, shall we? The candy golem kissed her grey forehead, caressing her cheek fondly. "I'm here," she vowed.

And then Marceline did something entirely unexpected: she smiled. "Yeah. I know." There was evident relief in her voice, and it did something strange to the young scientist. It filled her with an unfamiliar warmth, something calming and serene that she could draw no parallel for. It would be something for Future Bonnibel to mull over. Present Bonnibel wasn't going to waste this opportunity. This gift.

"Why did you accept my offering, Marcy?"

This time when Marceline searched within herself for Honesty it wasn't driven by pain. It was more thoughtful than that, a softer sort of intrigue. When she found her answer it came with a smile, something sweet and sincere and not at all like the queen's mischievous smirk. "'Cause you wanted me to." Bonnibel's gut reaction was to drill that answer, to refute it by asserting that Marceline should have only accepted because she wanted to. Perhaps it showed clearly or perhaps Marceline simply knew Bonnibel well enough to predict that her mind was going to overanalyze that sentiment. Regardless, the vampire gave her mate an impish smirk born from that smile and took pity on her. "Chill, brainlord. It's like…" She trailed off, thinking of a way she could describe it to someone so grounded in logic and reason. "You wanted me to accept it, 'cause you saw the soulbond as a strength. You wanted to share it with me, right?" The princess nodded. "Yeah, cool, that's what I thought. But that's my point, Bon. You wanted to share it with me, not use it as a weapon or something else messed up. The old you def wouldn't have done anything that she thought would make her vulnerable. No way she'd take that risk."

It clicked. "This was something Bonnibel would do, not Princess Bubblegum," the younger immortal concluded.

"Well, yeah. I get it, you'll always be a princess and you'll always have to do messed up junk. We…" Marceline swallowed hard, looking down at her hand still gripping the blanket. "We both always will." It wasn't Bonnibel's compulsions that disturbed her. It was her own. She wondered if that was obvious, and wasn't sure if she hoped so.

"Yes, I suppose so. This, though… it seems healthier." Her hand fell from Marceline's cheek so she could pull her queen against her, so she could let her nuzzle back into the crook of the scientist's neck and listen to the steady beat of her heart. "We will always have certain propensities, and there is no sense in pretending otherwise. Now, however, they can be put to better use." Now that I won't be using them against you. She wondered if that underlying comment was obvious, and certainly hoped so.

"I needed to see that you wanted this. For you. Not for some power thing or something else messed up. That it was something-"

"That I wanted, not something that I needed to further my own goals."

Marceline's smile was small, but relieved. Why relieved Bonnibel wasn't sure, but it was relief all the same. In fact, it was wonderful, and it did odd things to the younger woman, that smile she felt against her neck. "Yeah."

Now Bonnibel was very glad she interrupted Peppermint Butler before he had a chance to spoil things. Of course, that wasn't his intention, she knew. Her butler may hold a palpable dislike for her best friend but he was, if nothing else, impossibly loyal, second only to Marceline herself. She was certain that if they could put aside their animosity the two would… well, not get along, that was a stretch, but find common ground and put the energy they normally put into their feud to better use. The two were incredibly different people, but both Peppermint Butler and Marceline's goals overlapped more than she was sure they would care to admit. I can dream, I suppose. For now, she had more important things to attend to. Things like a sly smirk of her own crossing her face when she let her hand come to rest on the small of Marceline's back and the vampire squirmed, just for a moment, just long enough to betray her.

Marceline may have had a gap in memory spanning a subjective century, but her time before she put on her father's amulet was as clear as the rest of her life, and she didn't remember Bonnibel being so… forward. Not that she was complaining, no not in the slightest bit. As warm lips met her collar bone, ghosting over her neck, she mutely wondered how much of this was the result of their newfound connection and how much was purely Bonnibel. The pair had always had a highly physical relationship, right from the moment the younger immortal had first seduced her. But this? It's like… when we first found each other. Yes, that was it. This was less like the relationship they had in those days before Marceline put on the amulet, and much more like when they were just beginning their courtship. It filled Marceline with a bright nostalgia, with memories of happy times, before things got so unnecessarily complicated.

She was determined to enjoy every moment of it.

Letting go was easier than she thought, as was just letting herself enjoy her time exploring Bonnibel all over again. It would slowly come back to her over the course of the day, what every noise and tremble meant. She committed it all to memory, making use of her superior strength and preternatural powers stolen from those who were inferior and undeserving of them. This was a much better use for them. Bonnibel certainly seemed to agree. In fact, she seemed to be encouraging it. The candy golem was gentler this time, choosing to take advantage of the love marks she had already left rather than make new ones, as if reminding the vampire why she so often chose to keep her bedroom trophies unhealed for as long as possible. It was as much an act of affection as it was possession, and Marceline would have been lying if she professed not to enjoy it.

By the time she settled next to her lover, spent but fulfilled, both had lost complete track of time. Bonnibel's knowing chuckle filled the silent room, as if she wasn't equally as exhausted. She would have light bruises of her own this time from Marceline's grip, a rarity that only occured when the demon forgot her own strength relative to a body made of gum, rare because it took a lot to make the demon lose awareness like that. Bonnibel could already feel the bruises, not that she minded. They would heal and be forgotten in time. Marceline cuddled against her, strength of will to stay alert no match for the warmth and softness of the bed, and as she came to find a comfortable position Bonnibel lifted her left arm, examining the faint marks courtesy of having been pinned to the bed. When was the last time her queen had lost control like that? Or, more accurately, been driven to lose control like that? Though the older royal couldn't see it, Bonnibel's look could only be described as arrogant.

"Sorry, Bon."

Or perhaps Marceline could see. Bonnibel smug smirk became a knowing smile and she wrapped the arm around the musician's thin waist. "For what?"

Marceline opened her mouth to point out the obvious, then closed it without retort. Through her mental fog she realized that she wasn't being asked a literal question, she was being reassured: Bonnibel knew that such things could happen and didn't care, didn't see it as a bad thing and, most importantly, there would be no guilt over it. Not here, not now, not in their bed that they wouldn't be sharing if Bonnibel possessed even a glimmer of fear. Marceline didn't want to argue. She wanted to curl into the warmth only her princess could offer, take comfort in knowing that they were both safe. That she was home, that she was accepted. That she was loved. "Hey Bon?"

"Mm?"

"Think we're leaving this bed today?"

"I certainly hope not."

She laughed. Marceline couldn't help it. She had been expecting some well-humored lecture at best, or more likely a minute-by-minute breakdown of their schedule. The most likely scenario based on previous experience was, of course, that Bonnibel would realize how much of their day had been spent in bed and had a slight panic about it. The last thing Marceline had expected was such a quick dismissal of even the possibility of getting up. This was Bonnibel being resigned not only to her fate but enjoying it, enjoying not working, not having royal junk to do, not being needed by a populace too simple to understand where the sun goes at night. This was Bonnibel putting her own - and, by extension, Marceline's - desires first, Bonnibel acknowledging that she had needs, both emotional and physical, and that they were just as valid as any other's. And so Marceline laughed; from relief, from the unexpected sentiment, and just from how very determined her princess sounded to enjoy herself. This was their time and their time alone. "Righteous," Marceline murmured through a grin once she stopped.

The silence that fell between them was comfortable. It was calming in its own way, a sign that neither had to say anything. Bonnibel shifted, letting Marceline hold her close. There was just something so peaceful about the simple joy of just laying with the woman she loved. Even now it hardly seemed real to have her queen back. Not just back. Mine. Against all odds, Marceline was back in Ooo, sharing Bonnibel's bed. She had been singing, albeit absent-mindedly. Her touch had been affectionate, nothing short of devotional, perhaps even worshipping. And, most unbelievably of all, she was wearing Bonnibel's offering. Even as she drifted to a satisfied doze that bewilderment followed Bonnibel, and though she did not dream in the conventional sense her thoughts did expand themselves into a vast tapestry of insecurities and realizations, painted with the forms of her memories. There was a reason she was an insomniac after all, and her workload was only a well-established excuse.

Here, in what passed for dreams, Bonnibel's insecurities found her. They seemed to ridicule the progress she had made in developing herself into a better person and friend and mate, mocking her well-earned pride and sense of peace. When she was awake it was easier to hide from these emotional weaknesses, but when she was alone and trapped with her own thoughts it became inescapable, like being trapped in paradise as host to a parasite. Without the distraction of her best friend, her work, or her ambitions Bonnibel had no defense against the toxicity of her own mind, and had no choice but to confront the ugliness inherent in her core. This shouldn't have happened, she thought hollowly. She was thrilled, of course, elated in fact, but that didn't change the vital fact that the likelihood of any of it shouldn't have happened and shouldn't be happening now. I've been a real dinger to her. Yes, Marceline had forgiven her, and she had no plans to discourage the mercy or turn the gift away due to such misplaced and erroneous notions of whether or not She Deserved It. That wasn't what plagued her thoughts now. A different, much harsher truth had to be contended with: the statistical odds that she should be in that exact moment were so small Bonnibel had no right to hope for it. And yet… here we are.

When was the last time she felt so retrospective while sharing a bed with the demon? Deep down she knew the answer, and her putrid thoughts were more than happy to make sure she didn't avoid it. ...When I was in Unifier's arms. Lost within her own mind, Unifier had given up all hope of returning home, unwilling to be spurned by hope ever again. She had been so reluctant to go back to Ooo, even when Bonnibel, Finn, and Jake had come to the rescue. She felt abandoned. It was self-preservation, and I was too arrogant to see that. I could only focus on what I had gone through to find her. My being inconvenienced versus her pain, and I put myself first. No wonder she wouldn't... Though she was too proud to admit it at the time, hindsight, that great and terrible revealer of all hubris, showed Bonnibel that on her own she stood no chance of bringing Marceline home. Not at the time anyway. Not as I was.

Especially in the beginning, it had been Finn who was instrumental in winning Unifier's trust in the trio, and from what Jake described without his emotional and mental clarity she and Navigator would never have made it through the Thorn Gate on their own, too lost instead in a sea of nightmares. Rechte had been content to live with her twin for eternity, only turning on her to defend the brothers from Linke's selfish ire. It had been Jake's idea to contract Lady Evil into assisting them; yes, she had turned on them the moment her contract had been fulfilled, but defeating Usurper would have been impossible without the Baddie and it was the dog's experience in dealing with lawfully evil negotiators that got them as far as they did. When Arbitrator challenged Usurper, who was it by her side? Not Bonnibel, that was for certain. Granted, it was for my own safety… which I then jeopardized by letting my temper undermine their strategy. Way to go, Bubblegum. She grimaced. What did I do that was essential? Certainly, Tyrant would have wasted Unifier and Navigator had she not been unable to defy Bonnibel's command to spare their lives, but- Was that it? My greatest contribution to our quest was keeping Tyrant under control? It left a bitter taste in her mouth, and Linke's words creeped forward from the darkest recesses of her mind.

Careful, Rechte. If you give Bonnie too much of her own medicine she'll get poisoned.

It may have been impossible to say whether or not the trio would have succeeded in rescuing Marceline without Bonnibel, but she could say with all certainty that the inarguable fact was that- This, all of this, could never have happened without Finn and Jake. I have to accept that. The humility stung, but it also cleared the bad taste from her mouth. Without them Marceline wouldn't be here. I wouldn't be sharing a bed, I would never have heard her voice except through her albums, certainly she would never have accepted my offering. My happiness is only here because of them. Bonnibel suddenly felt very small. I owe them more than I can ever repay.

Her downward spiral was interrupted by a sleepy mumble. "Bonnie? You doin' alright there? Your heart's going all nutso."

Marceline. She always knew when something was disturbing Bonnibel, and the younger monarch was relieved to be rescued from her own mind. Am I doing alright here? That remained to be seen. "I've been… lost in thought, I suppose."

Another yawn, but Marceline knew the dangers of that somber tone of voice. Nothing good ever came of it. Sharp things, poisonous things, reanimated-once-dead things, but not good things. "A brainlord like you? Pretty dangerous, Bon."

Bonnibel's lip twitched in what was almost a smile. It was a start anyway. She sat up and Marceline followed, not quite knowing where this was going but also not liking it. "I was… thinking about how fortunate I am. That this," she gestured to the bed and the occupants there within, "happened. Is happening, rather."

Somehow Marceline doubted that she meant the furniture, but she couldn't dispose of the threat until she understood what it was. "What do you mean?"

"I have you back," Bonnibel whispered, wringing the sheets. "You came home." Marceline almost cracked a joke at that, something to at least ease the tension, but she knew how to read a room and play to her audience. Whatever it was that was eating at her mate wasn't a recent development. Perhaps she had recently put a name to it, that certainly was possible, but its roots ran deep and trivializing them couldn't possibly help.

Instead she settled for a question, a gentle prod. "I thought that hit you awhile ago, though, right? You seemed pretty wigged out about it before."

Bonnibel shook her head before resting it against Marceline's shoulder. The singer took the hint and wiggled them both backwards, just enough to lean against the headboard. It seemed like Bonnibel needed the support. "Yes, but… this is different. I had been so focused on you finally coming home that I neglected to analyze the course of events that would allow for it." This was dangerous territory, one that necessitated tact and respect that the vampire wasn't ready to face these closet skeletons yet. It was rare for Princess Bubblegum to admit her own short-comings. Dangerous, too. "I'll spare you the deets, but… suffice it to say, I could not have accomplished it alone."

"You mean… like when you went in with your machine to get me? Well, yeah. The dweebs were with you."

"They were," Bonnibel agreed, "and I am only now realizing just how essential they really were."

Marceline hummed her acknowledgement, letting Bonnibel's head rest against her shoulder. Absentmindedly, she began stroking down her hair, trying to think of some way of being reassuring, of expressing her support without going too deep into Bad Stuff. There was only one way she could think of, and it was already making her nauseated. Bon's more important, though. Suck it up, stomach, in we go. "...Talk about it, Bon," she whispered. "I can tell it's eatin' you up."

Bonnibel sucked in her breath. She wanted to be respectful of Marceline's boundaries, and that included differentiating between 'socially polite inquiry' and 'genuine interest'.

Uh... Bon? It's Marce. I don't think she knows how to do 'socially polite inquiry'. Remember when she met Breakfast Princess and asked how she liked her eggs?

Bonnibel mentally grimaced at the memory. ...Fair point, Rechte. "Do you remember much about the day before we went to the Nightosphere?"

Marceline lifted an eyebrow. "Before? I remember coming home, I remember you were mad-mad…" She trailed off, trying to remember. Oddly enough, the actual day of the tragedy was far clearer than the one preceding it.

Bonnibel took a steadying breath. My own medicine truly is bitter. "We had an argument." This surprised exactly no one. "On the surface, it seemed to stem from… well, you know."

"Me not wanting to be involved in royal biz?"

Her silence doubled as affirmation. "Yes," she agreed after a very pregnant pause. "However… I later realized that one of the root causes of my ire stemmed from my mistaken belief that I was doing everything for you, carrying the burden of our relationship while you flippantly gallivanted across Ooo, fulfilling childish fantasies."

"Harsh, Bon."

There was a humor in her voice that cushioned the blow of those two short words, and Bonnibel needed it. "I was wrong, of course. I was enamored with my own ego and it was beyond me to believe that I was-"

Marceline's hand gave her own a reassuring squeeze, her voice understanding and soft. "Hey. It's alright. I get it." No more spiralling, BonBon.

Bonnibel closed her eyes, running her thumb over Marceline's palm. It was delightfully grounding. "...The point is that I believed I was the one suffering, and that you were being childish and ungrateful. Yet…" She stopped. How much detail should she give? Should she refer to the eight pieces of Marceline she had met by name? By role? Gloss over everything entirely and give only the bare essentials of what happened in the nightmare dreamscape? No. Now is not the time for stark details. Having her remember, or worse, relive that is not my decision to make. The bare skeleton of events it was. It was safer that way, at least. "We met eight different pieces of you. Your shattered psyche, I mean. We learned that in order to bring you home we would need to, for lack of better term, put you back together again… and once more I assumed I would need to be doing everything for you."

"And I'm gonna guess by how hard you're squeezing my hand that that's not what happened?"

The candy golem blinked, unaware she had been doing such a thing. She tried to let go, or at least loosen her grip, but Marceline held on for her. The choice out of her hands - figuratively speaking at least - she took the support. "If anything, I was a hindrance on at least one occasion." At the very least. Bonnibel expected some snarky remark or sarcastic quip, but her vampire was only fixing her with a level stare of concern. Somehow, that was worse. She just wasn't sure how and was in no position to explore that train of thought. Not now, anyway. "Finn and Jake were far more instrumental in bringing you home than I was. They immediately set to task, but I was so…"

"Stubborn?," Marceline offered.

"That… would be an understatement," Bonnibel admitted. "They adjusted to the situation readily, went with everything that happened, and were beyond supportive."

Marceline shrugged the shoulder not currently occupied. "Well yeah, Bon. They might be dweebs but they're friend dweebs, you know?"

Friends… "They are, Marceline, but this was far beyond the call of duty."

"As… what? Friends or your champions?" She snorted. "You gotta learn to separate the two, you know?"

She's right, you know, Rechte whispered.

Oh good, now they were ganging up on her. "...Yes. Perhaps. Regardless, I've realized that-"

"You owe them big?"

She's right, you know.

Mentally glaring was an art, but Bonnibel was quickly mastering it. Before she could quibble with her own mind Marceline rubbed the back of her neck. "I guess… we kind of both do, huh?"

She's right, you-

Rechte, Bonnibel warned, Not another word out of you.

I could make noises instead, but you might not understand what I mean. Willin' to risk it if you are, though, could be fun-balls!

The princess ignored that in favor of the actual Marceline. "What do you mean?"

Marceline turned to her left arm. She lifted it, rotated it, admired the vambracer attached to it. It was warm, the weight a comforting reminder that not only was her best friend back but that she was bound to never leave again. She was home. They both were. Biting her lip, she looked around the room, at Schwabl napping in his pet bed, at her bass leaning against Bonnibel's desk. She thought of sharing breakfast with her mate, of her newest trophies that stung her back so delightfully. "...I could've stayed in the Nightosphere. Or, like… trapped in my mindmeats. Could've a lot of stuff, but I'm here." Life goes on, and I'm still here.

Bonnibel smiled. She hadn't exactly expected this type of retrospection from Marceline. While the vampire had always been more insightful to her own motivations, far more in tune with how her own mind worked than the candy golem, it would be an understatement that she had been more emotionally volatile than typical since returning home. It wasn't her fault, Bonnibel knew that; she had gone through something highly traumatic, had her sense of reality ripped away from her, lost her beloved trophies and cave house, and had seemed almost reluctant to return to music, quite possibly owing to her mildly altered voice. Marceline was more introspective, but that came at a price: she also wore her heart on her sleeve.

Perhaps it was her imagination, or even wishful thinking, but Bonnibel thought her lover had been recovering, making great strides especially within the past two days. Something about her conversation with Simon had sparked it, and it had only progressed since the scientist had presented her offering. Were the two related, rather than spurious correlation? Was this a causal link? Bonnibel wasn't sure, though she certainly hoped so. Marceline had been the victim of her own nature for far too long, and this tragedy was just the latest in a long line of heartbreak. This bode well and warranted more research, but that wasn't the only thing it warranted. Still smiling, Bonnibel kissed Marceline just under her ear, not complaining when the older woman rested her hand on her warm knee, gradually sliding it up. Regrettably for both women, before things could escalate once more there was a knock on the door. Scheisse. How disappointing.

Judging by the demon's snarl she was equally irate at the interruption. Her hand twitched but before she could rush and quite possibly eviscerate the interrupter Bonnibel fixed her with a firm Look. It was a specific Look, one the princess only ever wore when she needed to curb her mate's more violent tendencies. It wasn't her fault, Bonnibel knew that. Being only half demon didn't spare Marceline from the instincts inherent to her genetics, nor did they negate the simple law of her birthright that all morality was subjective, and this intrusion was preventing some much-enjoyable stress relief. "It's probably just Pep, Marcy."

The vampire took a deep breath, held it, then exhaled her ire. She didn't need to ask how it was that Bonnibel knew it was her butler; she stuck to a rigid routine whenever possible, one that was literally programmed into the servant. Even if Marceline never knew the time, firmly believing the concept itself to be faulty, she knew her lover's internal clock was never wrong. Not that it explained why he was there, of course. After all, leaving the pair to each other would make her life easy and no one could have that, now could they? "Come to be dinner?" A morbid joke, but in every joke there was a kernel of truth. And hope.

Bonnibel gave her head a patronizing pat and the vampire deflated. "Most likely come to bring us dinner."

"Figs," she grumbled. It was difficult to tell whether or not Marceline's disappointment was for comedic effect or genuine.

Bonnibel didn't give it much thought. "If I open this door, can I trust you not to eat him?"

"...Fine."

"I'm sure that caused you physical pain." Bonnibel smirked, but it was softened by the absurdity of it all. "Thank you. Please try to behave." She stood, reaching for her robe from the foot of the bed.

"Can't promise I'll try, Bon. I'll try to try, though?"

Good enough, I suppose. It was the best she was going to get anyway. "Thank you."

Marceline grunted, sliding under the covers as Bonnibel went to greet her visitor. She briefly considered bending her promise to behave, just a little. Just turn invisible a little, give him a heart attack alittle, amuse herself a little. After all, what was she without her pranks? Surprising even herself, she ultimately decided against it. She held no love for the little narc, but the fleeting joy she would derive from scaring him into what would hopefully be a fatal heart attack would only invoke ill-will from Bonnibel. They were having a nice day, why spoil the fun? Everyone gets one, you little poser. Tomorrow, that truce is off.

The door closed, breaking Marceline out of her daydream of how exactly she would torture her oldest nemesis, somewhere after 'hang him upside down and leave him overnight in the woods' was discarded as possibly too brutal. Just possibly, though, the idea had merit after all. She only needed to tweak it just a little-

"Marcy?"

The noise got her attention. Not the sound of Bonnibel calling her name, but the strange rumble of something heavy rolling across the bedroom floor. Marceline sat up, more curious than anything else. When she saw that her princess was pushing some sort of cart covered in various objects and, quite possibly, foodstuffs she went from inquisitive to confused. "What the butts, Bon?" She brightened, then beamed. "Are we-"

"No, we are not eating Pep."

"Lame."

Bonnibel ignored that. She was used to it. "Though it seems he did take it upon himself to bring us both dinner." To be fair, Marceline's look of skepticism was fair, but her curious nature got the best of her, as it always did eventually, and the covers were thrown back so that the singer could scoot across the vast bed, towards the cart. She swung her legs over the foot of the bed, only to recoil when she finally got a good look at what was exactly on the tray in its center. She hissed at it, not her normal overly dramatic hiss but one reflecting some emotion Bonnibel had trouble placing. Perplexed, the scientist dared to take her eyes off of her mate, who backed away from the cart.

The cart was grey and inconspicuous, one that Marceline surely seen hundreds if not thousands of times before. It was typically used to bring meals to visiting dignitaries and individuals of note if their arrival to the Candy Kingdom meant it was too late to dine in the great hall. Just a harmless grey cart, with four simple black wheels, a dark top big enough to fit four steel domes, used to protect meals and-

Oh.

"It's alright, Marcy." Bonnibel abandoned the cart, taking a seat on the bed as she motioned for the disturbed vampire to come closer. "It's just steel." In retrospect, the princess could see how Marceline could mistake the two shiny metal domes for silver. They were highly polished, reflecting what natural light that was allowed into their room. It was that light that was the problem. It glinted off of the smooth metal, exactly as it had Bonnibel's dagger. It was an involuntary reaction born from a traumatic betrayal. That would take time to unlearn too, and though Bonnibel knew her lover could hear her she was so focused on the objects, eyes pinned, that she ignored the reassurance. "Hey." Bonnibel settled her hand over the grey one gripping the blankets. The sudden warmth must have startled the musician because she jolted back to the present, back to their room. "I proms. Just steel. Okay?"

Marceline willed her body to relax, dropping her shoulders and unclenching her jaw. It was only when she went to reply that she realized how long her fangs were and those were retracted as well, along with the nails threatening to become claws. "...Yeah. Steel. I knew that," she mumbled in obvious embarrassment.

Therein lied the problem: Marceline did know that; she had reacted instinctively from a place of trauma. This would have been easier to address had it been a simple misunderstanding. Easier and less heartbreaking. It left Bonnibel conflicted. Should she address the response, try to work through it now while it was still fresh and risk potentially making it worse? Or should she let it go and hope it didn't scar, thereby saving Marceline from what she was certain to consider a humiliating overreaction? Ultimately she split the difference, pulling the older woman into a tight hug and kissing her temple. "No more. Never again," she promised.

Marceline stared at the twin domes, just in case they decided to morph themselves into the hated metal. She felt a warm hand rest reassuringly on the back of her neck and she untensed. Though she still felt the uncertainty that there was no threat she trusted her princess. After all, hadn't she promised that- "So it's… really gone? All of it?"

"All of it," Bonnibel concurred. "There are laws in the Candy Kingdom about the importation or use of silver in any form."

Yes, Bonnibel had mentioned that before, hadn't she? That she had gone through great effort to collect and dispose of all of the silver in her kingdom, even making sure every visitor was briefed on the bizarre law before arrival to avoid potential incidents. She had mentioned it, but at the time Marceline hadn't been in a place to believe her. Times had changed. "Why? What happens if someone tries to bring it in?"

Princess Bubblegum's look was unreadable. Unreadable and yet familiar, and it sent a shiver down the vampire's spine. "...It would be in their best interest that they don't," she responded carefully. It was a deliberately evasive answer, one that could best be translated as 'If someone attempted to do that I would do something so severe I'm not quite sure I what I would do because no one has ever made me that mad before'. Yes, Marceline knew that look well, but it was, mercifully, fleeting. "Your safety is my priority, Marcy."

Unable to stop her slight blush, and unwilling to consider why it was there in the first place, Marceline settled for gripping the bed sheets in agitation. "But… what if peeps start wondering why you even have that law in the first place?"

Bonnibel gave her a warm smile, and there went the rest of her lover's tension. "Let them wonder."

"And… if they figure out it's because of me?"

"Then let them figure it out." Her hand cupped Marceline's cheek and she let it go. When had she started to bite it? "You're the most important part of my life, and I for one consider it bulldonks that it's taken me this long to use my authority to protect you. This law harms no one, and it keeps you safe."

Marceline felt the hand leave her cheek, saw the sincerity in her princess's eyes, watched as she returned to the apparently-harmless cart to see what her esteemed second in command had brought them both for dinner. She knew Bonnibel said something, made some remark about what they were meant to eat, but the demon didn't hear it, too preoccupied with the beginning of an idea. Her authority…? "Hey, Bon?"

"Yes, Marceline?" Bonnibel looked up from what looked like some sort of sugar-glazed vegetable medley.

"You can do pretty much anything you want in your kingdom and your peeps just roll with it, right?"

Princess Bubblegum gave her a look that was equal parts skeptical and analytical, as only she could. "Within reason, yes."

"You said you wanted to thank the dweebs for-" saving my perfect butt "-getting me home, right?"

"That is my intention, yes. Why?" Marceline grinned, something lop-sided and mischievous and Bonnibel was already regretting confirming her suspicions. Somehow, even nude and covered with scratches and bruises, Marceline was conceiving of some antics and it made Bonnibel's head hurt. Even if it did also warm her heart. So, it balanced out, she supposed.

"I've got an idea."