PG knocked softly on Marshall's door. His new place was his old place, just up and moved to a new location. Gumball felt like a ball of nerves. Marshall had been such a dear friend, it pained him greatly to have had to banish him, and Gumball worried that Marshall held some contempt for him.
Perhaps the promise of a steady supply would help ice the wound. Marshall answered the door. He looked sad, and PG tried to feign cheerfulness to ameliorate the situation.
"This place is nice." PG said, attempting small talk. Marshall shrugged. Gumball tried to resist asking after Marshall, as it was completely obvious the Vampire King was not doing well.
The past couple of weeks had been the most alive Marshall had felt for a very long time. He felt inner physical strength he didn't think was possible for him. Yet, it was a horrible reminder that his physical well-being had come with a cost. It had cost him Fionna. He would have gladly chosen Fionna over his wellness, in fact, he had made that choice happily for the past few years.
Gumball cleared his throat uncomfortably, and handed Marshall a vial of Fionna's blood. Marshall took the vial and turned it over in his hands a couple of times, before unbottling it, and upending it in his mouth. He swallowed hard, not letting the taste rest on his tongue. Marshall then opened his mouth to show Gumball that he had swallowed it whole, and returned the vial to Gumball's hand.
"I'm still working on that cure, Marshall." PG whispered, offering a small smile. "It will all be okay."
"If you say so, Pinky." He said softly nodding, before slowly closing the door to wallow in solitude.
Three years passed this way. Fionna 'helped' Gumball in his experiments to bring back humans, which was a guise to create some kind of cure for vampirism, as Marshall toiled in isolation.
After three years, nothing appealed to Marshall anymore. He had lost his passion for music, he could not sleep, food had no taste. He was a shell, passing the time by closing his eyes and remembering times when he was happy. Times he had spent with Fionna. Her goofy smile, her determination and zest. Mostly he remembered her voice. For the hundredth time, he clicked on the tape recorder and pressed rewind. Then pressed play. An old recording of an ancient jam session began to play, her voice harmonizing with his. Then she had a solo that was just her, and Marshall sang along to the recording. It was so bittersweet. The song ended, and here came Marshall's favorite part.
'Now try to hit this note.' A happier version of himself spoke, before growling into a majorly low scale. Fionna tried, and growled along with him, and the two voices laughed together.
'You sound like a little frog.' The recording spoke, and then ended.
Sighing, Marshall slumped back on the couch, feeling like crud. It was rare that he actually applied his weight to the couch, as he floated by habit, but he was so low that floating seemed a bother.
The couch crinkled. Marshall frowned and wiggled his butt to hear it crinkle again. Curiously, he reached into the cushions to find an old piece of paper. He unfolded and read it.
His throat felt lumpy, and shakingly, he crumpled it up and threw it out of the window, wanting nothing to do with the offending words.
He never wanted to see the quaking handwriting, the clumsy words on that paper ever again.
It was the most boring three years of Fionna's life. Since she had become so critical to PG's scientific obsession, she was kept in close quarters, and to her chagrin, safe. Which meant no adventures, no wandering about, no life. It felt strange to be the center of Prince Gumball's attention, as he had never doted on her so heavily. How she wished he had done this when she was younger, it would have been her dream come true, but Fionna did not enjoy his stifling attention on her. He suffocated her every moment with scientific drabble.
A knock happened at her bedroom door, and Fionna rose to open it, only to find that no one was there. She stepped out to look around the corner, and found that a piece of paper was stuck to her foot.
She plucked it from her shoe. It was a beautiful envelope, with golden, curly Q writing which read 'I think this is addressed to you'. She flipped it over to find a curious address scrawled on the back. It was just a series of numbers and letters, not at all a proper address, but the name on the address steeled her.
'Marshall Lee', it read.
Her hands shook as she carefully opened the opulent envelope. The letter inside was in a comparingly terrible shape.
'I'm sorry, Fionna,' it began, 'I've got to go away, now. You made my life worth living and I am so sorry that I never-'
The note ended abruptly, the writing getting progressively harder to read. It was definitely Marshall's, but horribly messy. Her heart felt heavy, and she turned the note around to find that there was nothing else written. No clue on why it was sent, no explanation for the damning words written.
What kind of cruel joke was this? Sending her a letter from her dead friend? It made her angry and sad at the same time. Marshall, how suddenly his presence had gone from her life. Tears began to gather in her eyes, and she brought the crumpled note to her mouth. These were the last words she would ever get from him.
"You can write back, you know." Peppermint butler whispered. Fionna jumped, wiping her eyes to hide the evidence of her tears.
"What are you doing here?" She questioned him. Peppermint leaned against the wall, one leg propped, and smoking a candy cigarette.
"I'm returning a favor to someone." He said, pretending to put out the cigarette under his little foot. He then held out his hand, as if expecting her to hand something to him. "Well…?" He said impatiently. "I don't have all day."
Fionna didn't know what to do, her head was so full of questions, but nonetheless she scrambled to find paper and a pen. Peppermint leaned against the door frame, donning red shutter shades, awaiting her reply.
Fionna tapped the pen to the paper. She did not know what to write. What does one say in reply to a dead man's suicide note? Quickly, she managed a few words, and handed it to Peppermint. He sighed and snapped his fingers, a portal appearing before him.
"Don't tell Gumball." He said before disappearing into the portal.
Fionna, of course, did not expect a reply. Marshall was dead after all, wasn't he? It was a cruel joke to make her doubt that he was. The thought kept her up at night. She was devoured by a small hope that she would see him again. It consumed her. As she imagined knocking on his door to see him open to her, flicking his hair from his eyes and giving her his signature crooked vampire smile, her guts filled with an aching. She did not dare to encourage the possibility, but couldn't help daydreaming of his company.
That very evening, Fionna received a reply. Peppermint slipped it in her palm in the guise of a high five, winking at her before walking away. She looked at the note, the paper was new and neat, and when she opened it, the writing was steady.
'Fionna,
I never thought I would hear from you again. I miss you more than you could ever know. I'd give anything to hang out with you like old times. There are so many things I want to say to you. Particularly, I'd like to finish my earlier thoughts from the note before, but I think it's something to be said in person. Will you meet me? If so, please give me a date. I think about you every day.
Marshall'
The handwriting was definitely Marshall's, and when she turned it over, a crude map was drawn.
Oh my Glob, she really was going to see him again. She tried to not linger on how sweet the words were. 'I think about you every day', he had said. It made the ache inside her come alive.
Fionna had no time to waste. She was going to see him, as soon as possible, and wrote to tell him so. Fionna chased down Peppermint butler, who was enjoying a cup of coffee all by his lonesome, and pressed the note into his little hand, before pressing a kiss to his minty cheek. All of his white stripes turned pink with blush.
'Tonight', she had written.