Real talk: Aaaand we're back! One of the things I often do in my writing is establish certain plot and character arcs to be addressed later. Sometimes they can be pretty obvious (you all know Marcy's sedatephobia is going to be its own story later), but a lot of the time the things I do in my writing are a lot more subtle.

With that in mind, I want to give a public acknowledgement to a reviewer on AO3, for catching something I didn't expect anyone to ever catch: check every single one of my stories, never once have Bonnibel and Marceline said "I love you" to one another. This is 100% on purpose. They've referenced their love for one another, mentioned it to others, even come close to saying it! But never have they actually said those three little words out loud.

I actually have a lot of rules in my writing, but that's one of the most subtle and most easily missed, so seriously, I'm impressed. Why don't they say "I love you"? I've hinted it throughout the series, and I'm not spoiling that effort now. Sorry guys, I like secrets and hints too much.

I hope you enjoy the second half of Duet. This is actually one of the oldest story ideas I ever had, and I'm glad it came to fruition before the second half of Opening Act.

Content Warnings:

Descriptions of sickness

Almost naked-ladies

Innuendos

Implications of previous character death

Awkwardness

Easy, easy… quiet…

The soft pitter-patter across a cold wooden floor.

Careful…

Each step precise. No sound could be made. She would hear if there was any noise.

Almost there…

The natural abilities of her unnatural existence gave her perfect night vision. Quite advantageous, given who her prey was. She smirked, liking the way that word felt in her thoughts, in her mind. 'Prey'. Prey probably wouldn't appreciate the comparison, but it was totes apt. The thought made her snicker, but the noise was too loud; she froze as Prey shifted in her sleep, rolling over to face her. But the other woman was still asleep and the vampire smirked, knowing she'd have to be more careful. With the glass window separating the cabin from the greater world opened more than its previous crack and slid shut once more, aided by a light touch of telekinesis, it was time to get to work.

And then there was no more vampire, no more humanoid figure. Because the name of the game was stealth, for Prey could be a light sleeper at the most inopportune times. This called for a form that made no sound, and where there was once a half-demon there was now a black rat with four garnet eyes, thick fur helping to muffle the tiny nails on the hard floor. The rat skittered around a chair leg, over a book, stopping briefly at a discarded vermillion brassiere (just for a snack), and the small mammal stopped just before a long, thick, pink blanket, almost absurdly plush and cuddly. Tiny claws rubbed together in glee before scaling the side of the bed. By the time she reached the summit the rat was glad it couldn't laugh in this form, because it would surely give her away.

But nothing said she couldn't be smug.

Sensitive ears strained for the sound of soft, rhythmic breathing. Fast asleep. Adorable.

That's it. Stay sleeping.

Adorable, but as a master of stealth she knew that arrogance could easily be her downfall. Prey had known her for far too long, and though she still had some tricks up her sleeve there was something to say about the benefit of experience. And so the small rat crept quietly along Prey's side, relying on the thick blankets to cover the tiny sounds of tiny nails. Once she reached the small of Prey's back she shifted into invisibility, just for added measure. Even that wasn't fool-proof; Prey had an uncanny ability to know exactly where she was, even when she was invisible. Like a telepath. But it did give her some security.

At her shoulder now, soft gummy hair tousled from a fitful sleep. She frowned at that, hoping it didn't mean unpleasant dreams for Prey, who was prone to insomnia and nightmares. Even when she did sleep it wasn't always small rodent resisted the urge to scuttle over her shoulder, didn't want to risk Prey waking up, because knowing the vampire's luck that's exactly what would happen. But the other woman's heartbeat was strong and steady, her breathing calm and deep. The rat decided to chance it, and in one swift motion she slid under the blankets.

The funny thing about chance, though, is that it can go either way. When Prey immediately flipped over, pink hands gently but firmly wrapping around the wiggling mammal, Marceline Abadeer realized she had gambled and lost. An amused and ever-so-smug voice chuckled darkly against the vain squirming. "Marceline. Did you honestly think I wouldn't notice you sneak into bed?"

In that moment Marceline Abadeer decided that Bonnibel Bubblegum did not make very good prey.

The vampire gulped. There was something oddly intimidating about a woman made of pink candy with a grip like iron. Without relinquishing her hold the younger woman sat up, gradually manueving herself until she her wayward friend sat on the pink blanket, atop a rather soft lap. Every movement was slow, deliberate, meant to be imposing and intimidating and oh how it was working. A small paw rubbed the back of her neck nervously. Busted. "...Yes?"

A pink eyebrow arched. "And what could possibly make you think you would ever be able to sneak up on me after more than a hundred years? Brazenness? Cockiness? Foolishness?" More squirming. "All three?"

The small head ducked.

"All three then."

Well, she wasn't wrong.

"Did you have fun?" A question asked sickeningly sweet and Marceline knew she was in trouble.

"...Yes?"

"Oh good. I'm glad it was worth it." Finally the hand released, and only then did Marceline notice something off. She blinked, pressing her sensitive rodent nose into the pink palm, only registering the other woman's amusement enough to be annoyed. As if she didn't know. "Yes, Marceline?"

"...You're warm."

A pink eyebrow arched. "Yes, Marceline. Many living creatures, including candy golems, tend to be warm. Myself and Neddy included."

The sarcasm, despite being Marceline's native tongue, did nothing to dissuade her sudden curiosity. In fact it seemed to only fan the flame; the moment she was cleared of the blast radius the rat was no more and the vampire had returned to her true form, perched at the edge of the bed, garnet eyes slitted against the dark, soft pink hand now grasped in cool grey ones. "Yeah, but… not this warm? And you're definitely a couple shades redder than normal..." It came out as a question but really was more of a muttered fixation.

Bonnibel Bubblegum was nothing but entertained. Her best friend of over a hundred years had disappeared from her life for a month-long tour of Ooo's budding musical hotspots and returned in the dead of evening, in the middle of winter no less, wearing heavily torn black skinny jeans, an only half-buttoned flannel shirt, combat boots, and obviously mismatched socks, which was quite rude, really, because Bonnibel distinctly remembered packing her only matching pairs. She heard the *thump* of a bass being lowered to the ground, but exactly where it was she couldn't say; Marceline was leaning in, so close that the candy golem could see the three steel studs lining the bridge of her ear, fangs almost grazing her throat as she listened intently. To anyone else allowing a vampire that close to her throat would be cause for alarm. But Bonnibel knew better. "Marceline, what are you doing?"

The half-demon pulled away, tilting her head in thought. "...You're warm," she repeated. "Like… warmer than normal. And your pulse is really fast." How did I miss that? With a frown she retreated, finally giving her friend's bedroom the appraisal it deserved, because it was only then she began noticing the inconsistencies. Sure, the walls were still the same tan wood as the rest of the cabin, with the same ebony bookshelf stuffed with books. And sure, the rectangular royal purple throw rug on the hard floor was still blemish-free, the simple mahogany desk and chair still covered with neat stacks of papers and quills. But the rest? Bonnibel was normally an exceptionally tidy individual, but here not just one but several outfits littered the floor, joined by used cooling pads and empty bottles of liquid. It was winter, but the window had been left open a crack. The scientist's skin was clammy, for one of her kind anyway, and she wasn't wearing a nightgown, only her pink bra and panties, a sight that made Marceline blush horribly. The bedroom door was open, whereas she normally always kept it shut when she slept. Even the black-out curtains had been drawn, and come to think of it her usually finely made bed had been haphazardly done, as if it had been in use for a long-

"You're sick."

Bonnibel smiled softly at the declaration. Here we go again. "It happens, Marceline-"

Too late. The vampire was gone, and the younger woman rolled her eyes. Already her perpetual headache was intensifying, because as much as she loved her friend she had the exact same reaction every single time she fell ill, no matter how severe the illness or short its duration. She was never forthcoming as to why, but it was perhaps the only time in her Unlife that Marceline was ever predictable. 5… 4… 3…

And just like that she was back, bottle of water in one hand, a cup of warm tea in the other, a candleholder floating to her side. By the time Bonnibel had finished her sigh the water bottle was shoved into her hands, the tea and candle set on her oak bedside table, next to the book she had spent the day reading. When Marceline saw it was a novel of all things her eyebrows rose. "Man, you were really sick, huh?" A tiny orange flame lit the tip of a gray finger, which then lit the candle before dispersing. "There we go. Stop trying to see in the dark, you're gonna make your headache worse. And I know you have a headache, Bon, you always get one when you're sick."

The pink woman sighed, knowing where this was headed. "I'm fine Marceline."

"Uh huh."

"It's not that bad."

"Uh huh."

"You're overreacting."

"Uh huh."

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Nope." Piercing green eyes narrowed at the older woman, who made the heart-wrenching decision not to address that paradox. Which was an unfortunate choice in retrospect, because it gave the vampire an opening. "How long have you been sick?"

Bonnibel wanted to tell her that she hadn't been keeping track and avoid this part of the interrogation, but the half-demon would never believe her. She was too meticulous. "Six days."

Quiet contemplation, then- "...You should have called me."

The scientist avoided answering by consuming some of the water provided to her, but when the thought ended there, when it became obvious that Marceline was expecting a response, she had to sigh once more, placing the now half-full water bottle on the table, next to her tea. She should have known better: never once in their decades of friendship had she ever avoided this course of events. If she got sick Marceline became overprotective, and that was that, cause and effect, if/then statement. "Marcy, be reasonable. I know you. If I had called to tell you I was sick what would you have done? Cut your tour short?"

"Yes." She would, too, that was the scary part.

"Precisely. If it were serious I would have alerted you, but I was fine on my own."

Marceline fixed her with a level stare. "Dude, your room is wrecked."

"It's not wrecked, as you put it. Merely temporarily disorganized."

"You just said it's been like this for like a million years."

"No." She closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. We have this same conversation every single time. "I said for six days. I'm going to be fine, Marceline."

This did not discourage her, it only caused her to bristle. "Bon, you left both your bedroom and your bathroom door open. You only do that when you're really sick cause you're gonna-"

"It's only a precaution!"

The two stared at one another, neither backing down from their positions, even if Bonnibel was quietly panting from the exertion of arguing. Why am I even doing this? She felt a stab of guilt as she saw the hurt glint in her vampire's eyes, the one part of herself she had never learned to properly conceal. It was obvious Marceline was trying her best to protect her and nurse her back to health, and Bonnibel had to admit it: there was just something nice about your best friend caring for you so devotedly when you're sick. After all, the candy scientist was used to having to fight every day to keep herself and her brother alive, and so, really, this pampering was a welcomed respite if she was willing to admit it to herself, not that she was. But even before it was pampering, when it was just one friend caring about another friend, it had seemed oddly… intense, and Marceline had never been forthright with why. It was a distraction that, over time, had evolved into a puzzle, and oh how Bonnibel's mind loved puzzles.

It was nigh impossible for the younger immortal to imagine just giving in and letting herself relax into the care she was being offered. Did she trust the vampire? More than anyone. But she had spent her formative years alone, and that had taught her that independence was the only way to survive; either you were dependent or you were the one people were depending on. This was never the way Marceline treated her, and it was, in simple terms, confusing. The older woman was childish and mercurial, but treated her as an equal in almost every case. Except now, because now was when she encouraged Bonnibel's dependence in the form of 'helping' her. It was too strange to the scientist, too wrong, because letting her help meant sacrificing… what exactly am I sacrificing? Pride? Dignity? Independence? Am I really losing anything at all by letting her help me now? That was an oddly loaded question.

Marceline broke the stalemate by shoving the tea in its dainty floral patterned lavender cup, part of a set the duo had recently discovered during one of their treasure hunts into the ruins surrounding the Grasslands, into waiting hands. "Drink your tea."

She meant for it to sound forceful, but it just sounded chagrined and Bonnibel's expression softened. I know you're just trying to help, Marcy, but I'm over a hundred years old and have created entirely new life forms. It wasn't in her heart to discourage the vampire though; after decades of living as the sole provider of her brother it was wonderful to have someone else taking care of her needs for a change and put her wants and desires first, even if Marceline did have a tendency to go overboard when she was worried. And that's all it was, Bonnibel reminded herself. She's just worrying about you. Don't be a ding dong, Bubblegum. You're fortunate you have someone in your life like that.

She sipped her tea, willing to admit that it did always make her feel better. Maybe it was because it was something lovingly prepared just for her, or maybe it was just really good tea, she wasn't really sure, but it softened her, soothing her nerves and throat, and when her headache began to lift it took her irritation with it. Once the entire cup had been consumed at a speed that surprised even her she placed it back on her nightstand. "Marcy…" She cupped the other woman's cheek, turning her gaze away from the floor. "I know you're just trying to help me, and I appreciate it. I mean that sincerely. It's reassuring to know that even when I'm at my most vulnerable I'm in no danger, and that I'm not alone." Like I used to be.

"So tell me the 'but'," came the muttered response.

Not even a crack at that play on words? That meant it was serious, and it took her soft expression and corrupted it into something sad. Did I push back too hard? It was certainly possible. In everyday life few things seemed to genuinely bother the laid-back and impish vampire. It was, instead, the odd triggers, and her obsession with caring for the younger woman was the oddest of all. Or at least in the top ten. And really, it was charming. Maybe I'm sicker than I thought if I'm lashing out at you so abruptly. Maybe, maybe not, but she took the safe bet and kissed her gray cheek, removing her hand. "No 'but', except that I would like more tea, please." Those were the magic words: with uplifted spirits the musician was off to the cabin's kitchen, dainty teacup in hand, leaving Bonnibel to settle back into bed.

The gentle *clink* of the porcelain cup being gently set besides her roused her from an impromptu nap. "Sorry, Bon. Didn't mean to wake you." She sounded adorably sheepish, a reaction that was difficult to obtain under normal circumstances.

Bonnibel did not have time to enjoy it, she was already frowning. "How long were you gone?"

Marceline frowned in concern, perching on the edge of the bed. "Five minutes? Tea doesn't exactly take a lot of time, Bon. 'Specially since yours is like 105% honey."

She almost reminded Marceline how percentages work, but that took a backseat to- "I fell asleep in less than five minutes?"

Now the vampire was smirking. "Told you you were sick. It's the only time I can get you to sleep without, like… bribing you."

That didn't help her frown, but it did encourage her to stay snug in bed, turning to lay on her left side, unable to face her queen. Secretly encourage her at least. No way she'd give Marceline that satisfaction, but her soft laugh spoke volumes. Busted. Rather than draw attention to it, though, the musician began to rub soft circles in the younger woman's back, smirk becoming a grin when she felt her figuratively melt under her touch. My heart's dead, Bon, you can't keep making it warm like this.

Neither woman was quite sure how long they stayed like that, Bonnibel half-dozing under Marceline's touch, Marceline absently rubbing her back, drawing patterns, shapes, letters, whatever came to her subconscious. It was a comfortable silence, calm and almost pure in its simplicity.

Until.

"Marcy, you should lay in bed with me."

That was sudden, and the hand stilled. "Uh…" In reaction to her articulate response a pink hand reached out, patting her side of the bed. "Uh…," the articulate response continued. It was a good thing that Bonnibel was facing away from her, because Marceline was now flushing. Had they shared a bed together before? Well, yeah, sure, but… with more clothing on, definitely. With either having so little clothes on, though? She couldn't remember, but now seemed like a good time to know. It was a reminder of an unavoidable fact of their immortal lives they had somehow become really good at avoiding: they had been getting closer to one another, much more so than either had anticipated. When they could be together they were, when they could help one another they did. They enjoyed bringing each other into their respective worlds, proud to share those pieces of themselves that made them whole. They hadn't even really defined their relationship yet. Or, more accurately, redefine their positions in one another's life, because they had started out as one step away from enemies. But now? They were too close to be purely platonic, but both were too jealous to imagine the other in a serious relationship with someone else. Neither had the courage to be the first one to step forward and make their relationship formal or even admit they wanted it to be formal, leaving it purely unspoken and leaving them firmly in the 'in-between'. And so Marceline did what she always did in tense and awkward situations: she made it into a joke. "I don't know, Bon, I don't think you're up for that."

The patting was repeated, more insistent, the accompanying voice amused. "That wasn't what I meant, and you know it."

Did she? Do I? She turned away, even if Bonnibel wasn't actually looking at her. "You should def drink your tea, BonBon. It'll help."

The candy golem laughed softly, which turned into a series of coughs. Embarrassment forgotten, Marceline reached down, taking her hand. "See, Bon?," she asked softly. "Can I help you now?"

The candy golem opened her mouth to protest, then closed it. It was such a foreign concept; before meeting her vampire the idea of receiving help was laughable even when she needed it, let alone when it was only a nicety. It was part of what moulded her into some so headstrong and self-reliant; she'd never had anyone to help with any of her burdens, and while she knew she was the smartest person alive, dead, or in-between, she was only now realizing that you could want help without needing it, that she was allowed to have that luxury. And with that she nodded, surprising even herself, even Marceline. She had never answered 'yes' to that question ever before, and even if she couldn't vocalize her assent the message was loud enough to matter.

Marceline recovered from her surprise quickly, unwilling to miss this unique opportunity. She slid one arm between Bonnibel and the mattress, lowering her voice. "Why don't you turn on your back and I'll help you sit up?"

Did she need help sitting up? Even if so, could she admit that? I suppose it's inconsequential. I most likely could on my own, but it would be less difficult with assistance and would allow me to conserve energy, which I suppose would expedite my healing… And that was another novel concept: admitting vulnerability. Whether or not she could ever let her guard down before didn't seem to matter, because Marceline had slipped in anyway, and if she was going to use what few weaknesses the younger woman possessed against her it surely would have happened a hundred years ago.

"Here we go…" Before she realized what was happening pillow were being propped behind her back, her shoulders, her head, allowing her to lay against her headboard without adding to her dizziness. When she felt a presence perching next to her she weakly pulled her sit properly next to her. Bonnibel preferred her to the actual pillow anyway. "So why are you inviting me into your bed?" Perhaps she meant for that to sound cocky, but instead she sounded almost nervous.

Bonnibel smirked but didn't draw attention to the faux paux. "You're nice and cool," she murmured. Soft laughter, then the sound of boots hitting the floor. Before her eyes could close her second cup of tea was slid into her hands, and she gratefully sipped it. "You must tell me how you brew your tea."

"Uh uh. Trade secret," came the smug reply.

"Marceline, you can't even drink tea. It's not logical that you should be able to brew it so well!" She was both serious and joking at the same time, and it bothered her that there was no adequate word for when one does both simultaneously.

"And yet here we are." Bonnibel narrowed her eyes, sipping through her indignity. "Sorry, BonBon. Can't give you all my secrets." She winked as she took the now empty cup from the younger woman, setting it on the bedside table. "Now before you assault me with your pointy words, you wanna tell me what's up?" She raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the bedroom at large.

Now comforted by soft pillows, two cups of warm sweetened tea, a bottle of life-giving water, and the presence of her best-friend-but-possibly-more, it was easier to let her embarrassment over her current state slide into something calmer. Her head came to rest on Marceline's shoulder and she sighed at even that slight coolness against her burning forehead. "I've just been feeling ill, Marcy."

"Have you… been feeling better? Like… how's it been like?"

Bonnibel blinked through her fatigue, suddenly aware that the tone of the vampire's question had changed into something nervous. No, not nervous… she almost sounds scared. What could scare a vampire half-demon hundreds of years old? "Well," she began carefully, "to spare you the more grotesque details, there's light sensitivity, fever, head and body aches, fatigue, dizziness, and, ah… stomach-" She was saved from finishing that sentence by a fit of coughing. "And that."

Marceline rested her head on to of the young scientist's. "But… it's been getting better, right?"

The nervousness, the fear, had yet to fade, and Bonnibel responded by reaching down, grasping a cool, calloused hand into her own and squeezing it. "Marcy," she replied gently, "I'll be fine."

"It's just…" Now she was squirming, though she was doing a great job of hiding that fact. "You've been sick before, but you're usually a fast healer…" When she trailed off Bonnibel moved to lay down and was immediately - if not involuntarily - assisted.

"Come here, Marcy. Your skin is delightfully cool." To emphasize she squeezed her hand once more.

"Oh, so I'm just an ice pack to you, huh?," she pouted in obvious jest. The nervous awkwardness remained.

Bonnibel rolled her eyes. "Yes, you're a medical device."

She laughed softly and the younger woman couldn't help but smile. It was hard to resist doing when she heard that musical sound. "I'm gonna take that as a compliment comin' from you. But I want a badge that says it."

"Medical equipment doesn't usually come with badges, Marceline." Now she was shedding her own shirt and pants and it took everything in Bonnibel's power not to do anything incriminating.

"Yeah? What do we get?"

"Warranty cards and instruction manuals."

"Phft. Lame."

Bonnibel meant to reply with a jest of her own, really she did, but now she understood why Marceline had stripped to be as poorly clothed as she herself: if she thought her clothed cool shoulder on her warm cheek felt nice her cool skin against her fevered skin felt amazing. She shuddered both from the temperature change and from the sheer pleasure, readily pressing into her friend-who-was-possibly-more-than-just-a-friend, elated when the arm draped around her gently pulled her closer, clearly being mindful of her skin sensitivity and soreness, both only slightly aware of their lack of clothing. She smiled dreamily, let a happy sigh, and was content to lay like that. Until.

"...You're gonna be alright, right Bon?"

Now Bonnibel was worried. Worried, because Marceline often asked that question with her eyes, her posture, her actions, but never vocalized it. She blinked but didn't roll over, both too comfortable and too aware that she was having some stomach concerns she didn't want exploring, least of all in bed. "...Marcy, please tell me what this is about," she gently urged. "And I'm going to be fine, especially with you here." She blushed and was glad the vampire couldn't see it from her angle. Truer words, Bubblegum… though perhaps not because of the reasons you want to admit to yourself.

The older woman began playing with her fingers, fingers softer and finer than her own. "...When my mom.." At first she trailed off, but soon she brought herself back on track. "When my mom got sick, that was it. She lasted for awhile, but…" A sigh and Bonnibel squeezed her hand, a silent urge to continue. "When I was a kid I would've died from getting sick, but being half-demon saved me. S'only reason. When Simon got sick because of his crown he didn't get better either, he just headed north. When I found the humans I hung with them while I was protecting them and staking all the vamps, but if any of them were sick longer than a couple weeks… well, a lot of them were smart, but no brainlords were there to make them better if they got sick."

The implication was too large to logic away and even her normally stone heart ached. "Your experience has taught you that people who get sick tend to-"

"I can't let anything happen to you, Bon." She held her just a tad closer, voice watery but firm. "Don't you get it? I'm immortal, whether I wanna be or not. You're my best friend, but you're not like me, though. If get hurt I can recover. You're effectively immortal since you can choose what age you wanna be, but if you get too sick…" She sighed, but it did nothing to cleanse her spirit. "Don't you get that my worst nightmare is eternity without you?," she whispered.

Now, against sounds of protest, Bonnibel did roll over, stifling the accompanying nausea by nestling her head in the crook of Marceline's neck, wrapping an arm around her waist in a silent signal that she had no intentions of moving. Both completely forgot that they were supposed to be embarrassed by their shared almost-nudity. "It's alright, Marcy. I'm not that kind of sick. I feel gross and my body is doing certain things involuntarily," she waited for a giggle or joke that never came, "but I'll get better."

"...They always say that," Marceline whispered.

Bonnibel nuzzled into the embrace, her friend's cool skin not quite breaking her fever, but bringing her much closer than she ever could on her own. "I'm saying it. Besides, you can stay right here and help."

She could hear the watery smirk in Marceline's voice. "So you're gonna let me take care of you?"

A huff. "...Yes."

"'Cause you enjoy it?" Less watery, more smirky.

She wasn't going to dignify that completely accurate statement with an affirmative. "And while we're on the topic of health, how was your tour?"

Ah, the melodic laugh she loved. "You know what, I'll let that slide, 'cause music is indeed life. And it was good. Met some righteous peeps, made some new fans. Think I did an interview with… some magazine or something." It was hard not to laugh at how bewildered she sounded.

"I take it it was hectic?"

"Better be. If things aren't going nuts at a punk rock concert you're doin' something wrong, Bonnie. It's like if you do an experiment and nothing explodes."

Now it was Bonnibel's turn to play with her friend's fingers, to appreciate the callouses borne through perseverance and dedication. She wondered how many of them were new. "Generally speaking, Marceline, the goal is for an experiment to not explode."

"Oh." She sounded disappointed. "Then what's the point?"

"Not all knowledge is created from explosions, Marceline."

"Yeah, but, like… it couldn't hurt, right?" The witty retort the candy golem struggled for was halted by a fit of coughing and once more Marceline was frowning. "Come on, BonBon. You should rest. You want some more water?"

Bonnibel shook her head around her yawn. "I'm alright for now, Marcy. When are you heading back?"

She could feel the disdain radiating. "And leave you like this? Nope. I'm staying here to take care of you, dork." And you secretly like it, don't you? She hoped so, at least. She certainly had no plans to stop.

Maybe it was Bonnibel's blush that gave her away. "That… I can take care of myself, Marceline." ...Even if…

You really don't want to, though. "Sure you can, I don't doubt that. But why do it all yourself when you've got back-up?"

"I-"

"Besides… you don't exactly have the best track record when it comes to taking care of yourself. You're not a reliable source, Bon." She rolled her eyes. "Sometimes I think I have your best interests at heart more than you do."

She's not necessarily wrong… "I just-"

"Think you're invincible." Her smile was sad. "Don't get me wrong, Bonnie. You're righteous and I grock you, but you have weaknesses just like everyone else. I protect them for you, but that means you gotta let me protect you too, alright? Sometimes… that means from yourself." The embrace tightened, the 'just like you protect me' unspoken, but resounding. "I've known too many people who thought they were invincible. In the end we called 'em 'vampire thralls'. There aren't any more vampires… but…"

"The sentiment remains," Bonnibel whispered. Her mind was made up, her eyes closing. "I trust your judgment, Marcy." Why didn't those words, or the meaning behind them, scare her? What are you doing to me, Marceline?

"Rock." She pressed her hand against her forehead, then her pulse. "You still feel warm?" When a drowsy nod was given in response she frowned, had an honest to goodness idea, then smirked a self-satisfied smirk. "Alright, hold on." There was the sensation of the vampire shifting around her, the sound of cracking bones the weight of the bed shifting. The sound of mutilation never raised an alarm for Bonnibel; she was no stranger to gore even without the half-demon's input, but her best friend loved to shape-shift and that often meant loud breaking bones. Before she could inquire as to what exactly she was up to she felt something cool wrap around her.

She peaked an eye open only for a moment, but even in the dark she could see what it was her friend was up to. It was when she felt the cool, supple texture being wrapped around her like a blanket that she sighed happily, snuggling against her friend. In the back of her mind she registered that the two were more skin-to-skin than not, and perhaps Healthy Bonnibel would have been flustered by such a realization. But Healthy Bonnibel was not around that day, and Sick Bonnibel was only too happy to let herself sink into her best friend's strong arms and- "Won't your wing get cramped if I lay on it?," she mumbled sleepily.

"Nah. I'm good." This was emphasized by the large grey bat-like wings tightening. "'Sides, this way you get a full-body ice pack. Once your fever breaks I'll shift back and get some actual blankets over you."

For some inexplicable reason Bonnibel wasn't looking forward to that part. "Are you going to stay?"

Marceline chuckled. "You're kind of on me, Bon. Besides, I promised to look after you, didn't I? You know I only have three rules. I don't break promises."

When she felt a gentle hand stroke down her hair she yawned, relaxing her head against her chest. It was becoming harder not only to stay awake, but to convince herself that she needed to. I have a resource. Why should I let it go to waste? If Marcy wants to help… it would be an insult to refuse her. Yes. That makes perfect sense. Well done, Bubblegum.

The musician smiled, watching her best friend's losing battle against sleep. It was adorable, really, watching Bonnibel pretend she didn't need food or sleep like other living creatures. Marceline especially like the part where she lost.

"You're honestly going to just watch over me all night?"

"I'm nocturnal, Bon."

"But-"

"Yeah, nerd. If I skip out before I know it you'll be trying to do work or something else you shouldn't be doing. Get some sleep. If you need something I'll get it, alright?"

"...Alright, Marcy. I trust you."

Marceline's heart didn't beat but she could swear she felt it stop. In their decades of friendship she had never gotten used to hearing that from the younger woman. By now her heart rate was calm, and though her breathing was more labored than Marceline would ever like to hear she was alive and safe. As she absentmindedly stroked down the candy golem's gummy hair the queen stared into space, aided by the soft light of the pink candle. Beyond the drawn blackout curtains it was winter now. Snow often turned her thoughts more somber, often reminded her of what she'd lost. I hope you're safe, Simon. Traitorous tears stung her eyes so she looked down instead, at the sleeping woman in her arms.

Bonnibel Bubblegum. Her best friend, but… perhaps they were more. Was there a word for that weird in-between, where you're not sure if you're together but you're not sure you're not not together? I bet German has one. Bon says you can just make up words in German using other words. I like that in a language. I can appreciate a free spirit. Not that Marceline was one for labels anyway, even her punk rock image aside; after all, she was half-demon, and what do demons care for romantic titles or platitudes? One of the many things Marceline and Bonnibel agreed upon was that actions would always be a better indicator than words.

And yet… some things do need to be said, some things need to be verbally clarified because without the words the meaning can be lost. Some melodies just go better with lyrics, some songs need accompaniment. Marceline tried to imagine her eternal Unlife without the younger woman but, nope, it just couldn't be done. Her laugh was soft, silent, bittersweet. I try to go the rest of forever without getting close to someone and you got in anyway. So, that's it Bon?

Without even looking for it she found her answer, the answer to the questions that had danced between the pair for far too long. Why it was impossible to imagine either of them in the arms of anyone else; why she didn't mind risking True Death if it meant just another hour or two with the candy scientist; why eternity without her really was her greatest fear; why she had an entire rule against hurting her and specifically her; why she was willing to not only die for her but to live for her as well. It was all so simple she almost overlooked it. She turned back to the sleeping woman, wry smile now soft, watched as her eyelids fluttered as she dreamed something that must, for once, be pleasant. A true rarity: a pleasant dream. So this is what being in love with someone is like, huh nerd? A soft mumble and the warmth above her cuddled closer. Marceline could do nothing but smile a smile most unbefitting Ooo's punkest of the punk rockers. Somehow, though, she didn't care.

...I'll tell you tomorrow.