Author's Note:

THE PRODIGAL SON HAS RETURNED!

Now here's something I've wanted to explore for a long time - the mother-son dynamic between Nicole and Gumball, except in a NON-incestuous context. This story is basically me putting to motion a theory that I've had regarding the protagonist, a theory that has been recently piqued by The Fury and The Choices. I see a lot of potential in how the show can play around with Nicole and Gumball's relationship, but so far it's only done so for comedic value and nothing completely meaningful. Well, nothing completely meaningful that is exclusive only to them.

This is where this story comes in. Its purpose is to see the depth and direction that this angle can go, possibly (hopefully) in places that the show itself has not been to yet.

Without further ado, enjoy.

The Carbon Copy

by Christopher R. Martin

Chapter 1 – A rediscovery

Ugh. Having to clean up your children's bedroom has to be the bane of many parents' existence. I know for me, it is. I think it's easier to count the times when the kids' room wasn't a pigsty. By this point, I'd rather reach into one of those garbage piles in the dumpster rather than underneath their bunk bed.

But it's not like I have much choice in the matter, seeing as that is precisely what I'm doing. An afternoon that could have been spent brushing up on my college studies is instead spent digging out the filth that has accumulated down there. I think at one point I felt something radioactive, but it might have just been my imagination. Though knowing this family, anything can happen.

Oh, well. If it's any consolation, so far there haven't been any month-old pizza slices that spontaneously sprout a set of legs and scuttle away. That was scary, and I've seen plenty in my life.

As I'm removing trash after trash, each one more peculiar than the last, I can't help but grumble at my children's inability to clean up after themselves. Not really my daughter—I trust her enough to know how to operate a vacuum cleaner—so much as my sons. I get that they take after their father, but did they have to completely take after him?

"I don't even want to know," I say in a deadpan tone after pulling out a handkerchief soaked in a suspicious glowing substance. And just like that, my arm is glowing in a similar manner, but I say nothing of it and keep digging.

Behind me, my sons look at each other with discomfort, obviously knowing what the substance is. I'll deal with it once this is over.

"Need any help, Mom?" asks Gumball, leaning forward.

"Oh, it's no big deal," I reply, even though that is not the case whatsoever.

Whether he sees through me or he takes what I say literally, he remains where he's kneeling and continues watching me. I meant to guilt-trip the both of them, but that clearly didn't work out in my favor.

No, scratch that, it does, as Darwin moves forward and lends both his fins to help. Slowly, little by little, the unwanted contents of the bed are being emptied out. One thing I can say is that I might have it a little better than other moms; I tend to find lots of 'interesting' items whenever I have to do this. There's the typical pizza boxes, candy wrappers, plastic cups, cans of lemonade and year-old milk, and then there are things like that nuclear handkerchief that are so removed from the norm.

Gumball has the word 'adventure' written all over him. There's no other way he'd get his paws on any of this otherwise. It makes me all the more curious about the antics he and his brother get into. I wonder how zany they would be in comparison to my own shenanigans. Mine and Richard's.

One last object remains under the bed before it's completely emptied out. I feel it on the tip of my fingers. It's soft. The texture is smooth. It's probably a shirt. A shirt and a pair of pants.

I pull them out. The sight of it ices me to the floor. I can't move. Breathing is hard. My eyes are wide open and stuck that way. My heart nearly skips a beat. The last time I've seen this, I was in the driver's seat of the station wagon, looking from afar. It's been a while…

"Mom?" A voice calls to me. It's near and distant both at once. "Mom?"

"Mrs. Mom?" Another voice joins. They repeat themselves, over and over. It takes a moment for my brain to register them. To acknowledge their presence. When they do, I am so overwhelmed that I need to gain my bearings, even though I've just been here in the house the whole day. I can breathe normally.

"Hey, Mom? Are you okay?" asks Gumball, waving his paw right before my eyes. As I put the object in my grasp down flat on the bottom bunk, his face lights up, he lunges at it and stares it at unbelievingly for the longest time. "No way. I…I thought I lost this! Figures that it was down there all along." He's pleasantly surprised, as he was when he first wore it.

Darwin, his eyes also brightened up, searches under the bed and pulls out a black belt that matches the plain white shirt and pants perfectly. He and Gumball then talk excitedly about the rediscovered karate gi, wondering how it ended up underneath their bed.

I wish it stayed lost, a voice inside of me utters disdainfully.

Really, though, I'm not sure what to feel. Maybe I should be glad since I did pay for this gi. It didn't exactly come cheap, let alone the black belt. If it weren't for my own achievements as a karateka, this belt wouldn't be here right now.

The disdainful voice in me continues. I should have gotten rid of them. I shouldn't have bought them at all.

I'm surprised by what this side of me is saying. I can't really be thinking this, can I? Or am I just fooling myself?

I haven't been this confused since I found out Richard landed a job as a pizza delivery guy. I need some space. Right now, my mind is a filing cabinet, and its contents have been spilled out. I need to be somewhere I can regain myself. Somewhere I can learn to make sense of things again.

Breathing deeply, I take to my feet and head for the door. My sons take notice and hurry before I leave the room.

"Are you sure you're alright, Mom? You're not looking very good," starts Gumball, concerned for my well-being.

I affect the tiniest smile and shake my head slowly. I look over my shoulder and say to him calmly, "I'll be alright, honey. I think I've had one drink too many today."

"Then, maybe lay off the brandy for a while? I don't know what else to say," says my eldest son, shrugging.

"I'll try," I say to him, following a giggle. Hoping that it will hide my unease.

Oh, who am I kidding? Everyone in this family knows each other like the back of their hands. Smiling at him does nothing. Not much. I'm grateful for his concern, though, so that's something.

"So will you two be fine cleaning up the rest?" I ask, putting my paw on the doorknob.

"Leave it to us, Mom," replies Gumball with a firm nod of his head.

I close the door behind them and proceed down the stairs. In the living room, Richard is reclined on the sofa, taking a nap from all the eating and watching he's done all afternoon. An empty bucket of popcorn lays idle on the coffee table, with several unpopped kernels strewn beside it and on the carpet. Not that bad of a mess, I suppose.

Coming down from the stairs, I gently caress my husband's face, pick up the bowl and the kernels, and turn the television off. I make my way to the kitchen and, to my pleasant surprise, find the dish rack filled with newly cleaned utensils, glasses and plates. In addition to that, but the oven and the fridge are glistening as if they had been recently bought from the store. Last but not least, the kitchen sink is spic and span, with not a single scrap of food in sight and the steel surface glistening and giving off my reflection.

These are the chores that I had set for myself earlier today. A passing glance at Richard as he snores loudly is all the clue I need. I beam at him and giggle. I have to admit, when he helps out, he really helps out. In the few instances that he does any kind of housework, he sure gives it his all. Well, mostly because I'm usually there, watching his every move, drilling my eyes into his head so that he gets the job done properly. But doing all this work without telling me is something I'd never in my wildest dreams expect of him.

I always knew that I could count on him.

Sadly for him, it looks like just a little bit of his hard will have to be undone. I throw the unpopped kernels in the trash and proceed to rinse the bowl. As I grab the sponge and start scrubbing, my reflection looks on from the window in front of me. The tap continues to run as I stop what I'm doing and stare at the window.

Now, instead of seeing my reflection, I see my son. Gumball. Not only that, I see him wearing those clothes. Wearing that gi. That belt, tightly tied around his waist, the embroidered golden Kanji showing on both ends. His face is one of pride. One of confidence. A bravado not too different from my own.

Whether it's actually happening or if it's just my mind playing with me, the projection on the mirror shuffles back and forth between an image of Gumball and an image of myself at his age. The similarities are striking. We both dressed the same way, except my belt is red. Confidence and pride burn in our eyes, in our scowls.

It's disconcerting, knowing that my son might very well go down the same road that I did. As early as the day I conceived him in my womb, I made an oath that I would allow him to live his life freely. To live as himself. To give him the freedom to make his own choices, while still guiding him every step of the way. The freedom that he deserves. The freedom that I had been denied as a kid, the freedom that I could only earn from severing ties.

I made this oath for the sake of all of my children, but Gumball is a separate case altogether. Beyond just his appearance, beyond being the first born, I've always known that he takes after me so much. And that fact only became clearer with each passing day.

Thus I've made it my solemn duty, as a mother, not to subject him to what I had to endure. Not to repeat the mistakes of my own parents. Their negligence, their overbearingness, their negativity, I swore to myself not to recreate any of that.

But uncovering that gi under that bed has made a big difference. With that thing around, the chances of my fears coming true are greater than before. Everything I've ever put into raising this family, raising my son, could be undone in one fell swoop.

I cannot let that happen. As a mother, I cannot allow it to happen.