I'm not dead! As my Tumblr followers know, I've been dealing with a bunch of health issues and life changes. Combined with writer's block, it really ruined my ability to create anything meaningful. I want to give a massive thanks to my followers for giving me constant support and encouragement, and everyone who has left me comments and feedback through my hiatus. It really is what kept me motivated to write whenever I could, even if it was just for ten minutes at a time. Also, a HUGE thanks to Plesiosaur for being the best girlfriend and helping me work through my writer's block, this is really because of her.
Have a nice large chapter, because I couldn't find a place I liked to break it into two chapters.
Content Warnings:
Mentions of graphic violence (extremely tame for me)
Feels
Implied PTSD
New player!
It seemed like a good idea at the time.
Years later, many years in fact, when Marceline Abadeer was asked what had possessed her to return to her cave house so soon after her substantial psychotic break, the one that had left cracks in her sense of reality and driven a wedge in her sense of self, that would be her reasoning. She would defend her actions, snarl at dissenters, hiss at naysayers, all the while denying the harsh reality that befell not only her, but her mate as well.
In her defense, though, it really did seem like a good idea at the time.
How could it not? Since her initial freak out and destruction of her house too much had happened in too short a time, as seemed to be the running theme of her life as of late. Marceline had, for the most part, reconciled with Bonnibel, been trained by the embodiment of fire herself, rediscovered her music, come toe-to-toe with her mind's embodiment of rage, met and been rescued by the reformed Baddie that was Tyrant. She had been through so much in such a short amount of time, and really, shouldn't that count for something?
As the half-demon lay in bed, curled in her lover's arms, she certainly thought so. Well, actually, that wasn't entirely true; she was only half-awake at best, still exhausted from her short journey and the emotional upheaval entailed within, and not thinking much of anything. And, really, Bonnibel wasn't helping. She was delightfully warm and soft. Her embrace, even in sleep, tight and almost protective. It was odd, coming from the younger woman. It had been years - centuries even - since the young scientist had treated the queen so gently and warm, as if she were a true and precious equal, and it was making it too difficult for the vampire to rouse herself. Besides, the princess's soft breathing was soothing, and everytime Marceline almost breached the waters of the waking world she was lulled to sleep once more by the steady beating of her candy heart.
Though she would never admit it, Bonnibel was in a similar position. From the moment Unifier had looked at her like she was Nothing the candy elemental had almost given up all hope of rekindling Marceline's love for her. Now, somehow, the musician was in her arms once again, pink fingers wrapped in silky black hair as its owner slept. Not everything was back to normal, of course. While Marceline was historically a fan of sleeping either nude or near nude, so much a fan of skin-to-skin contact, she had only slept clothed since returning from the Nightosphere, and though the young scientist typically slept clothed herself she found that she missed the physical connection.
So much so, in fact, that the absence of cool skin against her caused her to awaken with a slight jolt, just the tiniest glimmer of fear that Marceline had fled yet again overpowering her peaceful doze. Even after quickly ascertaining that Marceline was, in fact, still in her arms and the princess had, in fact, overreacted to her well-honed paranoia – and since when did it start working against her? - she found herself unable to return to sleep. Typically, oh so typically, she would respond to such insomnia with the rationale that she may as well Be Productive, and would leave the comfort of her bed to begin her day. There was always so much – too much, she was beginning to realize – to do, and if she had to be awake when it was time to get to work.
But.
But Marceline was in her arms, curled into her oh-so trustingly. Trusting her not to discard her in favor of a different mental exercise, trusting her to be there when she awoke, trusting her to keep her subtle promise that the half-demon was her top priority, trusting her to be Bonnibel for her again, her lover and best friend and confidant, trusting her to Try Her Best to change.
Trusting her.
Bonnibel was still learning to appreciate the little things in life, but this was definitely high on her list. The musician's soft breathing, the way she sighed in her sleep, how smooth and soft her skin felt. The warmth that filled her pitiful heartguts whenever Marceline curled towards her, the simple awe of being secure in the knowledge that her lover, her partner, was home, had found a home in her. The elation of being forgiven. But, above all, the simple delight of seeing the vampire so vulnerable, so comfortable. How could Bonnibel wake her, deny her the comfort of warmth and love? Besides, Bonnibel reasoned, she's probably exhausted from her training. Yes, that sounded like a reasonable excuse, that would work. There was no need to admit to anyone, least of all herself, that she needed this just as much, needed to feel desired and wanted not for her crown or role but for – exclusively for – herself. How she needed the one person who truly and honestly understood her as a person. How she needed the luxury of being able to let down her own guard.
When had it become so heavy?
It made her frown, but she wouldn't let it rob her of the gentle morning. Yes, she agreed with herself once more, Marcy needs rest. It would be counterproductive to wake her.
You really gotta rationalize everything, huh Bon?
With a mental pointed look aimed square at the disembodied voice of Rechte Bonnibel settled into the embrace, onyx haired twirled in her pink fingers. For a brief moment she reconsidered tucking the vampire into bed and getting a start on her own day, perhaps even bringing something to read or work on into the bed as a compromise. That was something that had been common the beginning of their relationship, Bonnibel working in bed. Somewhere along the way, though, she had forgotten the simple joy of being productive while also spending quality time with the love of her immortal life. Somewhere along the way that quality time had been mistaken as a distraction and shoved to the wayside, just like the rest of Marceline. The princess could only scowl at herself, cursing her hubris, her own ingratitude; the loathing flared when her fingers brushed the soft texture of Marceline's choker, eliciting a soft whimper from the vampire. Her scar is still sore.
Would it always be? That was a question Bonnibel had both been Thinking About and Avoiding Thinking About. It was a medical curiosity and while she typically adored a good scientific mystery the implications were staggering. It didn't appear that the scar - and it was a scar, that much was painfully obvious - was going away any time soon, if it ever would. That was bad. What was worse was the knowledge that it still hurt the musician. Maybe it's psychosomatic? Perhaps after she heals a bit more psychologically it will lose its influence over her and begin to gradually hurt less. But… what if it didn't? It was a series of questions that Bonnibel was pointedly ignoring, it was those same questions that assaulted her now. Did the scar always hurt, or only when touched? What did the pain feel like; sharp, burning, dull? How did it look, hidden beneath the soft shield? Did it require care beyond what Marceline was capable of providing? And her voice… certainly, the change was subtle, something that could only be caught by the few who knew her best, but it was there all the same. Was this permanent? Was there anything she could do besides hold the queen as she slept? Was it enough? Was she enough?
Easy, Bon. Don't spiral.
The younger royal sighed internally. Figment of her own imagination or not, Rechte was right. This line of questioning was less productive and more of a self-administered punishment, one no one had asked for, and certainly one Marceline herself would object to. Very well.
That's my girl. Despite herself, Bonnibel smiled weakly at how proud the disembodied voice sounded. Besides, you got something a lot nicer to think about, right?
Yes, she did, and green eyes flickered to the closed lavatory door. Just as the scientist had predicted Marceline hadn't noticed the object hidden amongst Bonnibel's soiled laboratory clothing. Between the half-demon's exhaustion and the overwhelming odor of formaldehyde to block the scent of the Nightosphere the vambracer had been completely missed; the vampire had cleaned herself in the shower, changed into night clothes, and curled straight into Bonnibel's awaiting arms. Wrapped in plush blankets, mental defenses lowered, she had told the younger immortal everything she could about her time in the Fire Kingdom. Though she would never admit it, Bonnibel had no choice but be impressed with how Phoebe had enticed the half-demon's white flame forward, even if she did continue to take when she knew to be sick glee in the knowledge that her castle was damaged for her efforts. But then, Bonnibel knew all about how no good deed ever went unpunished. And sick glee.
But even as Marceline had regaled her with the story of her exploits in the Fire Kingdom the knowledge of what was to come spelt a cacophony in Bonnibel's mind. She was distracted by her secret, distracted by the possibilities of how and when to reveal it. Which was not to say she wasn't thrilled with the vampire's progress. Far from it; it encouraged her all the more, and a small but important part of her was just too eager to get on with it, to show Marceline that she was ready to open her very soul to her. But Princess Bubblegum was nothing if not patient, and now was not the time. As repaired as their relationship was there was too much at stake to risk everything too soon.
And, deep down, she was having too much fun planning it.
So what have you got so far?
Bonnibel held the vampire closer, smiling softly at the sensation of her cool breath on the scientist's arm. Something… warm, I think. At night, of course. Something… to remind her of what we are. How… we used to be, before I gunked it all up. She loves the stars, so perhaps… I'm quite certain the proper time will reveal itself. I must simply be prepared to seize the opportunity. It must be done on her terms, even if Marcy isn't aware of it. Ultimately, this is about her, not myself.
Rechte sounded amused. Man, that's pretty sentimental for you, Bon. What happened?
Bonnibel ignored the gentle teasing. The affection shone through, the encouragement and pride evident. It's nice not fighting with my own self-conscious anymore. She allowed herself the luxury of being impressed with how far she'd come with the right motivation. More importantly, though, she was impressed with Finn and Jake's continued roles in Marceline's recovery, how they had been willing to put themselves in very real danger in blind faith that Phoebe's hunch had been right. Demon fire, Marcy's especially, can melt stone. I haven't tested its upper limits yet. They could've been injured, or even wasted, with just the slightest miscalculation. An odd pang of affection the princess was not yet used to made itself known and she almost winced from the enormity of it. That was another unpleasant realization she had been mulling over. I owe them quite a debt of gratitude. Were it not for them Marcy would still be trapped in her mind. She may very still even hate me. Certainly, she would not be here right now. Without realizing it, Bonnibel's fist tightened around the back of Marceline's shirt.
They're your buds, Bon.
They're my champions, Bonnibel mentally sighed, willing her guard back down. Not now, she admonished it.
Friends first, though, Rechte mused. They haven't spilled Marce's secrets, right? You know, the void demon thing, the couch full of trophies, that kind of stuff? Pretty sure none of that's in the job description. They're not doing this because they're your champions, Bon. They're doing this because you're ladybros.
Rechte was right, and what could be more distasteful than that? I owe them a great deal of gratitude, she repeated more to herself than the ghost that lived in her brain. If aforementioned ghost had a reply, however, it would have to wait because-
"Bon?"
Because Marceline sounded so adorably sleepy, and Bonnibel wanted to enjoy every second of it. "Hey, Marcy." Pink fingers ran through silky black hair, and it took her a second longer than she'd like for her to realize that the resulting shudder was, in fact, a positive reaction. One she wouldn't address, in the hopes that not acknowledging it would increase the likelihood that it would happen again in the future. Soon. "How do you feel?" It took effort to keep the concern out of her voice, to keep the tone conversational. Of the many things the pair of immortals shared, not being perceived as weak was one of them, and though Bonnibel seriously doubted she could ever see the vampire as truly weak she respected the sensitivity. Especially now.
Marceline yawned, garnet eyes peeking open before closing again. Missing Bonnibel's blush, the older woman settled into her warm arms, head rested on her lover's chest. "Had a dream that Pheebs turned into a black hole," she mumbled.
Bonnibel raised an eyebrow. "What?"
Marceline nodded, eyes still closed. "Yeah. We were fighting again and she got really hot and turned into a black hole or something. Something something fire?"
The princess resisted a sigh, but not the small smile that came with it. "Marcy, I assure you, Phoebe cannot and will never turn into a black hole, no matter how much she increases the temperature of her flames. It's impossible."
Marceline yawned, otherwise not moving. "Seemed to enjoy it, though. I think she liked being a black hole."
"Be that as it may, I promise that Phoebe is not and will never be a black hole. I assure you, it's ridiculous and physically impossible." And yet, despite the harsh words, the amusement was unmistakable.
The vampire nodded, yawning once more. "You're the brainlord," she mumbled dazedly, clearly satisfied with this reassurance. "Do I gotta get up?"
Yes, we have a big day ahead of us. "No." The hand gripping the musician's shirt released the fabric, instead sliding into the cool grey hand resting below the blankets. "You can continue to rest if you'd like." Now Marceline cracked an eye open, watching the younger woman carefully. Considering her skepticism understandable, Bonnibel gave her a gentle smile, squeezing her hand. And somehow not making any incriminating responses when it squeezed back. A personal victory. "You've had a very trying couple of days. Resting is a reasonable response, especially given that you're still recovering." Marceline opened the other eye, watching her mate almost cautiously. No, this clearly wasn't the answer she was expecting, and Bonnibel didn't blame her. Princess Bubblegum was a woman of action, a person who hated idle time and had goals, thank you very much. No, Princess Bubblegum would never tolerate just lazing about when there was a plan to actuate, and surely Marceline asking if she had to move was a courtesy, or perhaps just a habit. But Princess Bubblegum won't hurt you anymore, Bonnibel silently promised her , Princess Bubblegum wasn't for the vampire. Never again.
"...I'm gonna call your bluff." And with that Marceline settled back in her lover's arms, waiting for the inevitable sigh of frustration, the gentle prodding to get up and start the day, or night, or whatever time it was. She waited for the lecture, waited for the princess to, at the very least, get up herself; while it wasn't strictly unheard of for her to let Marceline sleep in a bit, particularly if it was still daylight outside, the younger royal would never accept sloth in any form from herself. As her eyes closed Marceline tried to remember the last time Bonnibel did allow herself a day off, the last time she saw such a thing as a luxury, rather than a punishment. She couldn't, and her eyes closed in her own frustration.
"Alright." Amusement bare for the world to enjoy, Bonnibel made a point to pull the blankets tighter over both of them, squeezing the cool hand in her own once more. The hand entangled in the half-demon's black hair slid down, instead wrapping around Marceline's thin waist tightly, protectively. She gave the older royal's forehead a soft kiss before settling into the soft mattress. There was just something so reassuring about Marceline's weight resting on her, knowing that the musician was safe. She's testing me. Understandable, after everything I've done to her. Now is an opportunity to show her how I've changed. "Are you hungry? I could have Pep bring us something."
Marceline stared at the younger woman, expression unreadable. Until, "...That's it?"
"What do you mean?"
The vampire didn't respond, hoping that the silence would prompt the princess to continue, to break, to reveal her true intentions. The queen waited for the 'ah ha!' moment, waited for her lover to explain her playing Marceline's game. Instead, though, Bonnibel only looked at her with affection, genuine affection, something sincere and heartfelt. As if this were the most natural, most understandable choice in the world. As if she were really Bonnibel again, and not actually playing a mindgame. As if… she wanted nothing more than to be in this bed with her.
There was a moment of discomfort Bonnibel would have missed were she not waiting specifically for it. It was the moment of uncertainty, the moment Marceline's guard dropped and she became uncertain of the young scientist's true intentions. It was exactly the moment she was waiting for, and so she struck. Metaphorically. "Marcy," she began not unkindly, "we'll go back to the house when you're ready. If you want to rest first that's quite understandable. Besides… I missed you, too."
There was so much sincerity in Bonnibel's voice it was almost dangerous. It was just so affectionate, so loving, so understanding. Not trusting herself to speak, Marceline only nodded. What she was nodding to exactly she wasn't sure, but the candy golem seemed to understand, kissing the top of her head, tightening her hold. It took several minutes of rubbing soothing circles against her back for Marceline to relax, though she was unaware of tensing at all. Still, it was several minutes more before her eyes closed and she allowed herself to doze. Not quite asleep, not quite awake.
She stayed that way as Bonnibel whispered soft reassurances, even dozing through the princess begrudgingly disentangling herself to meet the annoying knocking sound rapping on her door. Marceline's sensitive ears could just make out Peppermint Butler's annoying voice but not what he and his creator were whispering to one another. Not that she tried, really; Bonnibel had tucked her in perfectly when she rose, trapping her body warmth and leaving the vampire helpless to leave the bed. It just wasn't a fair fight, and while Marceline was typically all about Not Fair Fights she wasn't so much when they weren't in her favor. The spell was only broken when a tray was rested at the foot of the bed, the smell of some unknown food liberating her from her lethargy. She poked an eye open, expecting to see Peppermint Butler's scowl. But no, it was only Bonnibel's apologetic smile, with no candy creation in sight. She hadn't even heard him leave. How disquieting.
"Sorry, Marcy. Pep has been keeping tabs on my meals during your absence, and he took it upon himself to bring something for us." A half truth; there was no need to mention how the esteemed butler was also trying to pry into their biz, how he wanted to know what his liege's plan was with the vambracer. Demons may be terrible gossips, but they're no match for Pep. Clearly he was spending too much free time in the Nightosphere.
There was a subtext there, a subtle admission Marceline wouldn't miss for the world. Her ancient protective streak surged through her, a leyline to channel her frustration and confusion into something workable, some tool she could use to seize some semblance of Normality, some form of ordinariness. In an almost perverse way Marceline was glad for the opening despite the subtext, relieved that there was something she could work with. Something to make her feel needed for reasons other than her brute strength and proclivity towards murder and mayhem. A sign that the younger woman needed her, not her kingdom's defender. Needed her mate, not her pet. Because even before the rock candy that made up the castle walls had been mined, even before her crown molded, Bonnibel Bubblegum was terrible at basic self-care.
Both eyes shot open and settled on the most curious of sights; Princess- no, not Princess Bubblegum, this is- Bonnibel, eyes averted, a light blush decorating her cheeks, hands wringing one another absently. It was as beautiful as it was worrisome. Beautiful because it was exactly the unconscious antics that signified a rare moment when Bonnibel was feeling sheepish – guilty, if you would, as Marceline certainly did – knowing she had done something unconscionable but in lieu of an apology only engaged instead in childish behaviors as an admission of transgression. Worrisome because- "You haven't been eating, have you?" Marceline sat up, arms crossing as she leveled a steady look at her lover. Her best friend.
Bonnibel cleared her throat but had the good sense not to deny the charges, both because she was verifiably guilty – the verifiably part being the most important, she knew Marceline would check with Peppermint Butler if she denied anything – and because this was so… Familiar. That's the word for it. This dance was older than her role, even older than their relationship. Bonnibel would fail in something so basic as eating or sleeping, and Marceline would swoop in and protect her from herself, making her favorite food to entice her to eat, playing her favorite lullaby to entice her to sleep. It was with a not-entirely healthy form of happiness herself that the scientist had to admit- I've missed this. Not the stern look in Marceline's eyes, no, but the confirmation that under it all she was still a person. She hadn't meant to neglect her eating, not really, but time passed so differently in the Nightosphere, her inoculations weren't going to make themselves-
"Bon?"
Bonnibel huffed in vain before clearing her throat, hoping to restore the dignity she had oh-so-willingly parted with, exchanged for vulnerability. "I… no. Well, yes-"
"Were you eating actual food or those dumb ration bars you made for when you're doing science junk and don't wanna admit you have needs like food and sleep?"
Does the Nightosphere count as science junk? Not strictly speaking, but it was the spirit of the question Bonnibel chose to acknowledge, not the letter. "…It's a form of food."
"Bon!"
Despite herself, the candy golem offered her mate a small smile. She still cares. That's affection. She still… "You're right."
"You can't- …I am?" Marceline's diatribe died in her throat, retreating at the younger woman's nod.
"Yes. While the ration bars are technically food, they are not substantial nor an appropriate substitute for actual sustenance when it is available." Because she could have eaten the moment she got back from the Nightosphere, should have eaten, but she had been so excited about her success, so eager to plan her offer, so willing to dive headfirst into her project-
"…Oh. So you're eating now, right?"
Bonnibel scooted back into bed and brought the tray closer to herself, a subtle way of drawing attention to the pancakes drenched in syrup. The ones clearly inedible to a vampire. "Of course. Will you join me?" More subtext: will you try to eat? For me?
Marceline missed a step, an opportunity for a wisecrack or any other telltale sign that she wasn't hesitating. A beat too late. "…Yeah. Sure." She settled back under the blankets, back against her mate, back into the security of her rhythm. "Let's see what the weirdo's trying to poison me with," she mumbled with half-hearted disdain as she lifted her own dome.
Apparently, it was a bowl full of strawberries. Ripe, bright red, large. A classic meal. A vague memory stirred in the back of Marceline's mind, of collapsing in Bonnibel's lab when she was much younger, giving the elemental a proverbial heart attack at the sight of her so prone. How worried she had been, how she had gone out of her way to find the cause and finding it in her diet; without resorting to blood drinking Marceline had developed a magnesium deficiency. That was how her habit of preferring fruit to intake red had begun, the queen remembered now. Fruit had lots of magnesium, and her younger friend had taken the liberty to first plant fruit bushes around the vampire's homes, then around the castle itself once her own dream of being royalty came to fruition.
Without realizing it Marceline was smiling at the memory, and without much fanfare she plunged her fang into the largest of the berries, draining its red and its nutrients. To her side Bonnibel had her own smile, watching her musician not only eating, but doing so without so much as a grimace. She didn't draw attention to it, didn't want to remind her that eating had been causing her pain. Didn't want to suggest that it should. Instead they ate in a comfortable silence, scooting closer periodically until they were touching. And when Marceline placed a strawberry on Bonnibel's pancakes – a 'finishing touch', she had called it – well, who was she to argue with the gift? That would be rude. Distasteful.
The transparent bowl, now filled with shriveled berries whose color had been drained for a more worthy cause, was being placed on the tray and Marceline looked delightfully sated. Her plate forgotten, Bonnibel reached out to the older woman, wanting to pull her in, wanting to share her simple contentment-
Her hand fell. We're not there yet, she thought regretfully.
You don't know that, Bon. You're not gonna know unless you try. Can't expect her to be in the brainspace to tell ya junk. 'Sides, she's Marce. Maybe she just doesn't know how to tell you it's okay. Fuzz, she just gave you a strawberry! You know how defensive she is about her food.
Should she take the risk? There was so much Bonnibel had regained in such a short time, but so much remained still, and at the heart of it all- I miss her, Rechte. and no matter how she repressed it, it hurt. It hurt that Marceline still held a hint of nervousness around her, hurt not to be able to engage in subtle intimate touches, hurt not to lay skin to skin. She wanted to be respectful, wanted to let Marceline lead so that the queen could feel she had control over her life, but-
But that was always your role, right? Maybe she's not sure where she stands with you, you know? Stop being a weenie and go for it.
Bonnibel Bubblegum was many things, but she was not, as Rechte so crudely put it, a 'weenie'. As if it were the most natural thing in the world her pink hand settled around the queen's waist and she pulled her mate closer while pushing the tray aside in one smooth, practiced gesture. "Was it good?" Please don't pull away. But Marceline didn't. She rested her head on Bonnibel's chest, bowing her head to let the pink hand slide down until it was settled on the back of her neck. It was exactly like old times, that intimate gesture. That sign that Marceline needed to feel close, needed affection but didn't know how to ask. For a mercifully brief moment the princess lost her composure, her breath hitching in her throat. Thank you. Whether she was thanking Rechte for prompting this or Marceline for cuddling into her she wasn't sure. It didn't matter, the result was the same, and for several glorious moments they stayed like that, Bonnibel holding her queen, fingers stroking the back of her neck, taking care to avoid the cloth wrapped around her throat. This was a sign of trust.
Trust. Her queen trusted her.
She almost said Three Little Words then, but- "Bon?"
But Marceline sounded nervous, and that was more important. "Yes, Marcy?"
"…You're coming with me, right? To the house?"
There was subtext there as well, and it was a plea: don't abandon me. The scientist's free hand came forward and tilted Marceline's chin up until green eyes met garnet. There was fear there, but there was something even more important: hope. They both needed more of that. "I meant what I said, Marcy," Bonnibel started softly, "you are the most important aspect of my life. You're mine to love and mine to protect. You need me right now, and I won't forsake you." Never again. "I'll be with you the entire time." Those Three Little Words threatened to pop forward again, and they almost made it this time, the clever jerks.
Marceline pulled away, settling back into her princess's arms. She hated this, all of it, but more than anything she hated not feeling like herself anymore. It started in the house. My own flippin' house. How degrading. "…Thanks, Bon." A gentle kiss to her forehead elicited a genuine smile in the way only Bonnibel could. She had missed this, missed it so much: the way the candy golem knew how to comfort her, the silent acceptance only Bonnibel could provide, the physical closeness. But as broken as she was Marceline knew herself well enough to know that if she didn't pull away then they would never leave. Indulgence was her strongsuit, and she was sorely tempted to call the whole journey off and spend the night having her neck and back stroked and leeching off of Bonnibel's literal and metaphorical warmth.
Stop being dumb. If you don't do this now you never will. What are you so afraid of, huh? With a groan Marceline pulled herself away from her mate, pushing herself off of the bed, careful not to meet the other woman's eyes. If she did she would surely abandon everything and return to inviting arms. "We should go, Bon."
She heard the young scientist rise from the bed, felt the warm hand on her cool cheek. It wasn't quite an embrace but Marceline still leaned into it, letting skilled fingers trace her jawline. It was odd, letting Bonnibel touch her like this. She had expected it to hurt, emotionally at least, the reminder of what they used to have before everything was ruined, but it was an unfamiliar ache that haunted her instead. A sense of nostalgia, coupled with the growing acceptance that Bonnibel, her Bonnibel, was back now. Maybe not for everyone else, maybe they got Princess Bubblegum, she wasn't sure and she didn't care. It was the confusion of not knowing what to expect of her future with the instinctive desire to cling onto the princess and not let go, to tear apart anything that threatened her. I missed her. That's what this is, huh?
Too much, it was all too much, and the ache was shoved to the back of her mind for Future Marceline to deal with. Reluctantly, she pulled away, turning her attention instead towards the wardrobe. As her hand curled around the handle to throw it open pink fingers settled over it, steadying her. "Are you alright, Marcy?"
The vampire let her hand, and by extension herself, be stilled. "…I will be, when we get back." The wardrobe was thrown open and the queen began to dig through the clothing, separating what was her's and what was Bonnibel's. When did this get all mixed together? It didn't really matter, she knew what her own clothing looked like, it was more of an… intellectual curiosity. Nothing wrong with that, right? She snatched a flannel shirt and black slacks she didn't remember owning before leaving Bonnibel to her own selection of royal purple pants and a band shirt that Marceline remembered owning at some point in the past. Somehow, it didn't bother her and she chose not to read too much into it. Not that it mattered; the princess's purple hoodie was thrown over it and the shirt troubled her no more.
Besides, there were more important matters to attend to. Matters such as- "Schwabl!" From under the bed the small dog emerged, a tiny candycorn rat riding his back. Cute. "We're heading out, okay boy? Gotta make sure the house is still standing." He chuffed and she rolled her eyes, scratching behind his ear. "Yeah, I'll bring you back a present, okay? Make sure Science doesn't get in trouble. You're the man of the room!" The dog chuffed once more before crawling back under the bed. "Cool, good talk."
Bonnibel's look was of wry amusement as she handed her vampire a messenger bag before sliding her own over her shoulder. As her companion secured her bag the younger woman dug into her hoodie for The Morrow's whistle.
Then stopped.
Something about the way Marceline was moving as they opened the balcony window, the way she held herself, gave the younger woman pause. She does hate riding on The Morrow… Yes, that could be it, and how easy it would be to attribute the queen's darting eyes, tense muscles, and clenched jaw to the simple dread of riding a giant bird. Bonnibel knew her better than that, though, had for hundreds of years. The hand withdrew from the jacket and was instead used to cup Marceline's cool cheek, warm fingers stroking along the jaw line. There would be no point in asking if she was alright, no point at all, for even in the best of times the vampire was awful at talking about things that ate at her. Be it from Princess Bubblegum's discouragement, good old fashioned stubbornness, or perhaps something else entirely she would never share. Not yet, not now, not here. But a woman of endless intellect was a woman of endless ideas, and now would be no exception. "Marcy, do you remember our night flights?"
It was as much a question as it was a request, though Bonnibel was unclear which one it was that startled the musician so. Her tension was replaced with confusion, and then curiosity in short order. "Yeah… I remember." Though a statement in the strictest sense there was an upward inflection at the end, probing what it was the candy golem meant. Hoping she knew, that she was asking what she thought was being asked of her.
Hoping something was normal again.
Bonnibel didn't say anything, not verbally anyway. Her request was communicated in the old way, the way they communicated before she ruined everything in a single gesture of arrogance and silver: she pressed herself into Marceline, whose arms form the correct position on reflex, scooping up the younger woman, one arm under her knees, the other steady over her back. So much had changed over the centuries, but not this, never this. If Bonnibel didn't know any better, though, she could have sworn she saw the onyx-haired woman blush. That would be new. But it was dark, and she knew she must be seeing things.
As Marceline lifted off the ground Bonnibel was glad her small smile couldn't be seen. Instead she rested her head against the older royal's chest – because if Marceline can do it it must be fair game, that made perfect sense in her mind – and listened to her soft breathing. Which, if she didn't know any better, seemed to have gotten just a tad more rapid. Fortunately, she didn't know better, and the small smile graced her the entire journey to the vampire's cave. They were both quiet, enjoying the closeness while being glad it could be justified lest it become awkward, and Bonnibel didn't admonish Marceline's detours as she explored just a tiny bit more of the Grasslands, of the woods, of her world.
By the time she crossed the threshold of her cave she was more relaxed, and Bonnibel was thrilled with this development. As Marceline lowered her to the ground before the remains of the house the pink woman clasps her mate's hand, reluctant to break skin contact. She told herself that it was for the half-demon's benefit, so she wouldn't get scared or lose herself in her own mind. I was much easier than admitting the shame of truth.
"So… I did this?" Marceline wasn't sure if she should be impressed or disgusted with herself, and so settled on astonishment.
The kitchen was gone, clearly ground zero of whatever destructive force had violently escaped Marceline at the climax of her original break with reality. Based on the way the wood warped, the charring of the floor, the rubble that littered the ground the structure had continued to collapse long after Bonnibel, Finn, and Jake had chased the musician to her lover's lake house, the framework having been rendered unstable. Footprints - the princess supposed they must be Finn's – seemed ingrained in the ruined ground and dead grass just passed the kitchen; she could even see where life once occupied those spots, the exact difference between what had been touched and what had been spared. Unlike the damage to the Grasslands, however, this damage seemed logical and consistent with what she knew of Marceline's powers. You reacted instinctively, and unsure whether to choose between burning the perceived threat to the ground or shielding yourself from it you did both and effectively created a localized explosion. She filed that observation away, resolving to take a picture of the sight before her at the first opportune moment to compare with the Grasslands Incident.
When she turned her attention to the rest of the house she settled on the front, curious as to how far the destruction had reached. The first thing she noticed was that the front door had partially fallen off of its hinges, though be it from the force of the explosive exit or through tampering of looters Bonnibel wasn't sure. The latter seemed unlikely, both given the reclusive nature of the house itself and pervasive legends that surrounded the infamous Vampire Queen, many of which she encouraged or began herself to assure the queen's privacy. It seemed otherwise undamaged, as did the rest of the front of the house. Was the destruction confined to the kitchen? Glancing up revealed no wrecking to the top of the house that she could see, though perhaps the inside would reveal otherwise.
The hand she squeezed in reassurance squeezed back.
"Are you ready?"
Marceline knew from Bonnibel's tone that she was asking an honest question, that if her answer wasn't 'yes' that they wouldn't be going in. She also knew that if she didn't go in, didn't see whatever it was that had caused her to flip out, she would never move past her own mind betraying her so wretchedly. She would just hide in the castle, afraid to go outside, never playing for adoring fans or going on adventures with Finn and Jake again. Agoraphobia didn't suit her.
"…Yeah," she began faintly, "just don't-"
"I won't let go," Bonnibel promised, matching her tone but with a voice full of conviction. It was enough, and Marceline started forward, maneuvering the broken door out of both of their paths.
It was an uncomfortable sensation returning to her home, more uncomfortable than Marceline had anticipated. Despite Bonnibel's unvoiced hypothesis the damage caused by the vampire's expediate exit wasn't entirely confined to the kitchen. Really, though, the living room could have been significantly worse. Sure, the wall was cracked slightly, and the floor bordering the kitchen burned. And yeah, the lamp was knocked over and shattered, the pictures had fallen and cracked their frames, the door to the kitchen was nothing but a scattered pile of splinters- alright, fine, it's bad, but the dweebs fixed worse when they found this place the first time. But nothing could have prepared her for-
"Oh, Marcy, I'm so sorry-"
Bonnibel was covering her mouth in dismay, staring at remnants of Marceline's couch. Or, more accurately, the broken and fractured trophies it once held. Without thought Marceline withdrew her hand, eyes wide as she rushed into her house, gaping with dread at the broken and battered objects. They were scattered across the floor as if they were worthless junk, not a prized collection spanning hundreds of years, a morbid declaration of love, a deranged expression of admiration, the very first love song she ever wrote for her mate.
The shock and indignation of it all brought Marceline first to the ground, then to her knees. Wordlessly, mindlessly, she reached out for the nearest member of the collection, some curled red horn broken from some would-be assassin demon's skull as he screamed and begged for mercy. In her mind's eye the vampire could still hear his sobs pleading for forgiveness, the feeling of his bones cracking and flesh rendering effortlessly under the claws of her void demon form. Before that night he had had a name, a life, perhaps even a family. She hadn't cared, couldn't care, because he had made the choice of his own free will to involve himself in her biz, to try to take out the one good and constant aspect of her pitiful and eternal life, and he had to suffer for his crimes. She could see the blood dripping down the fingers, the eternal urge to have just a little taste and the influence of the promise she made to abstain. At the time the denial had made her all the more determined to make the little tranch suffer for his attempt on mate's life because how dare he, how dare any of them, she's mine mine mi-
Pink arms encircling her waist drew her out of her reverie, a sweet whisper of, "Easy Marcy, come back to me little bat," triggered the reflex to return her claws- when did I…?- into normal grey hands, to return her fangs to a socially acceptable length. As her eyes dilated the searing urge to kill and maim lessened to a dull roar, but in the absence of her rage a new emotion clouded her mind: frustration. Her treasures laid on the floor, as broken as she felt, and this was not something her mind could wrap around. Like they were Nothing. Six hundred years of defending the love of her life, of amassing physical manifestations not only of her affection but her worthiness and strength as a mate, gone by her own hand.
Normalcy denied.
As the horn dropped and clattered on the floor she drove the heel of her hand into her eye as she felt something new cloud her vision. What were these? Tears? Ugly, traitorous things betraying her myriad of emotions, her frustrations, her resentment, her despai-
The arms holding her tightened and Marceline felt herself pulled into a familiar chest, surrounded by a familiar scent. Only then, buried in safety and familiarity did she allow herself the luxury of crying. The hand that had been driving back the onslaught of emotion instead gripped the hoodie, a silent plea for Bonnibel to just be there. The princess felt tears of her own sting her eyes but she did what she did best and repressed the emotion, at least for now. Now was not the time for her to cry, she would not rob Marceline of this opportunity to let out all of her pent up feelings. Wordlessly, she kissed her best friend's forehead and lingered silently. This wasn't about the loss of her material possessions, for the older immortal had never been a material person. This was primal and abject, this was having her past and her pride stolen from her in one fell swoop and having to live with the knowledge that she herself was the cause in her haste to escape a figment of her own imagination.
As her free hand came up to stroke Marceline's onyx hair she pulled the half-demon into her lap, her embrace as protective as it was a declaration of intent. Lifting her head to give the musician the crook of her neck to nuzzle into as her crying became silent and effortless Bonnibel surveyed the room. She too remembered every one of these macabre mementos, and though she may have rarely seen the assassin they came from while they were still alive – Marceline had always felt her art was best completed unobserved – she remembered the circumstances and, more importantly, how proud the heir to the Nightosphere had been when she presented them to her, the lop-sided smile she always wore tainted with something darker and attractive.
Being a demon gave Marceline a compulsion to impress her mate, to demonstrate why she should be chosen above all others. Intellectually, she of course knew Bonnibel had already done that, that there would never and could never be anyone her true equal except for her oldest friend. Demons, though, were instinctive and, at least in mindset, often quite animalistic and in the absence of a soul-bond part of Marceline had always felt the desperation to win the candy elemental's affection before some other, lesser demon did. Though they both relished in her violent protection now it backfired, and Bonnibel could only imagine the screams of pain and confusion emanating at the back of her lover's mind, struggling to understand. Scared that everything, all of her efforts, was for naught, because though their bond and relationship had changed over the centuries the collection, the testament to Marceline's undying loyalty, had always remained firmly at the back of both of their minds.
Her silent reassurance was interrupted by a crash and thud from above. Already primed for raw emotion Marceline pulled away from her mate, hands returning to claws. Someone was upstairs, in her room of all places. A snarl emerged from the back of her throat, and as she twisted to stand and float Bonnibel gave a sad smile to the ceiling. Whoever this intruder was, they had awful timing. At her most vulnerable someone had dared to invade the vampire's territory, was in her room, probably with the intent to take what was hers. It was a violation, a threat. Someone was going to die. "Stay here," Marceline whispered, eyes trained on the trap door that led to the second floor of her house. Fangs extended, eyes slitted, and ready to maim she didn't wait for an answer, bursting through the door to her room.
Predatory eyes scanned her room, searching for something that didn't belong. She quickly found exactly what she was looking for in the most bizarre sight of-
"Simon?"
-Ice King rummaging through her closet, oblivious to the arrival of the room's true owner. In bewilderment Marceline's fighting instinct was pushed aside at the sight of the shell of the man who was her adopted father singing softly to himself as he helped himself to her greatest secrets and personal possessions.
"Simon!"
"Oof," Ice King exclaimed as he hit his head on the closet shelf in surprise. "What the-" Then he turned, looking over his shoulder and his eyes brightened. "Oh. Hey, Marceline!"
"Simon, what are you doing here?!"
Not that he hadn't ever visited before, but he had always had the good sense to stay out of her room and away from her stuff. Not sensing, or perhaps ignoring, her indignation Ice King pulled himself out of the closet and hugged her. The rest of her rage fizzled into something inconsequential. "Oh man, it's good to see you! You've got some neat stuff, you know?"
She did know. "What the-"
"Oh right!," he exclaimed as if finally registering her question. "I heard through the grapevine that some weird stuff happened to you, so I rushed over to see what the what was. When I didn't find you here I thought you might be in the closet, so I took a lookie-look. You weren't there, but your stuff was, so I thought I'd see where you went. Pretty smart, right?"
Marceline gawked. Then the implication of what he said caught up to her. If she had running blood it would have run cold. "You… heard? What did you hear?" It came out in a rush, but Ice King didn't caught her apprehension.
"What did I…?" The madman frowned, stroking his beard in contemplation. "About what?"
"What happened to me!"
"Oh, right! Duh!" He blew a soft raspberry as he playfully bonked his own forehead with the heel of his palm. "I heard some bad stuff went down with that weird guy that visits you sometimes. The one who smells like fire and brimstone? That's a weird thing to smell like, am I right? I heard you were sick or got hurt or… something, so I rushed right over, and here I am! Pretty great, right?"
The gawking continued. "Wait. You just heard about that? Simon, that happened like six months ago!"
Ice King merely shrugged, unconcerned with trivial concepts like time. "Hey, you try reading Gunter's handwriting. It's awful!"
Marceline quickly ran down the facts as she saw them. Simon- no, Ice King was in her room, going through her stuff. He had heard half a year late that she had been almost wasted by the amulet, though the details seemed to be mercifully scarce. His delay was blamed on his second in command, a penguin. But that didn't explain-
"What are you doing here?"
This time there was no indignation, no anger. Only exhaustion. Ice King's grin dropped in favor of something more concerned, a look of bewilderment settling over his features. "Well… you're my pal. I was worried."
Of all the answers, she wasn't prepared for that one. "You were… worried?" It came out more quietly than she meant it to, but then Ice King or not he was still Simon, and somewhere in her subconscious Marceline would always see herself as a scared little girl, and Simon as the man who raised and loved her when she was alone in the world.
Much like she suddenly felt at that moment.
Ice King blinked as if the sentiment were the most obvious thing in the world. "Well, yeah! Who else is gonna rock out with me in our weekly jam sessions? Finn and Jake? They're squares, they haven't got The Stuff we do! Kids today."
It was such an Ice King answer she could only laugh a bitter, defeated laugh. All-too late Marceline realized that once again she had hoped that there was a glimmer of her adopted father in the deranged man's mind, and once again that hope was quashed. "Yeah. Jam sessions. We rock." But the reassurance was empty and hollow, her voice flat.
He didn't notice. "Yeah! Besides, you've got some neat stuff in here!" With that he turned back to her closet and she wordlessly floated behind him, if not to stop him then at least in the hope of some happy memory being unearthed.
"Like this thing!"
The glass jar he held up was the exact opposite of happy memories. Nevertheless, it was snatched from him and shoved in her bag and out of both of their sights. "Don't touch that! It's dangerous!"
Ice King blinked at her before shrugging and returning to his task of invading his friend's privacy. "Man, you've really got a lot of guitar picks. Ooo, a box!" Without any hesitation the man considered a lunatic pulled a pink box out of Marceline's closet, paying no heed to her demands that he leave it alone. When he opened it he found treasures of a different sort. And vindication. "You've got a thing for princesses too? We should compare notes!"
It was a box alright, one Marceline had often opened and visited in her darkest moments. Technically Ice King was wrong; she wasn't into princesses, she was into a specific princess, and it was to her the box was dedicated. Inside was a trove of memories, and before Ice King could spoil them she ripped the box from his hands. "Simon, no!"
"Aw, come on! Show me? Pleeeaaaase?"
Before she could respond a concerned voice called up from the open trapdoor, alerted by a lack of the sounds that typically accompanied the demon eviscerating a victim. "Is everything okay, Marcy?"
Marceline's eyes widened and she turned to the trapdoor in a panic. "Everything's fine! Don't come upstairs!" When she turned back, Ice King's eyes were wide with elation, almost as wide as his grin. "What?," she all but hissed. Not that she could bring herself to, not at him.
"Woah woah, hold the phone. Is Bubblegum downstairs right now? Man Ice King, this is your lucky day! The fair damsel is downstairs, your buddy's okay, time to go charm-"
"No." There was an ice in her voice Marceline couldn't help, but the instinct to tear apart any potential threat to her courtship was screaming in her ear. Only when it had been throttled down did she repeat herself, more quietly, less coldly. Sometimes, instinct really sucked. "No."
He raised an eyebrow, but at least he didn't move except to tilt his head. "Why not?"
Marceline sighed, clutching the box as she floated onto her bed, a silent invitation for him to join her. "This is why."
Undeterred in his affection, Ice King sat on the purple blanket with his friend. When he reached for the box she didn't stop him and that was all the permission he needed. When he peeked inside his eyes widened. "Woah woah woah. Hold the phone. You and Bubblegum?!"
He began digging through the box, pulling out object after object. A gold necklace with a red stone. An ancient communicator, the prototype of the holocrystal she wore. A pink sash she had nicked, the perfect accessory to pull a long-forgotten outfit together. Ticket stubs from their first concert. It was the picture that grabbed her attention most, and before Ice King could potentially break it Marceline pulled it out gingerly, too afraid she would break it. Even his shallow breathing over her shoulder as he snooped didn't dampen the bittersweet memory.
It was hundreds of years old, kept intact only through the magic Bonnibel called science. The moment was captured in an ancient ruin known before the Great Mushroom War as a 'mall', in a shop that had specialized in electronics. Bonnibel had been thrilled to find it, fascinated with pre-war technology and humans. Unbeknownst to her, the camera she had been playing with was still semi-functional, including its delayed timer function. Though not a great shot, it did capture the night Marceline had taught Bonnibel how to dance, both in preparation for her becoming princess – because royalty needs to know that junk, she had argued – and as an excuse to be close to her best friend, the woman she was unaware she was developing an attraction towards. If Marceline concentrated, if she closed her eyes ever-so-slightly, she could still hear the music play through the record player she found, could feel how warm Bonnibel's hands had been, how rapidly her heart was beating-
Her daydream was interrupted by Ice King's groan of disappointment, and his pout. "Aw, man. I guess she's off the market."
Marceline looked away from the picture and gave him a confused look that she meant to be pointed. This time he understood. "I can't lay claim to my best pal's girl!" She raised an eyebrow and his grin returned. "Besides, think of all the other ladies who can get quality time with me if I'm not going after Bubblegum. They should thank her!"
That was one way of putting it. "Uh huh…"
He took this as encouragement. "Yeah, no offense Marceline, but I'm definitely the pick between the two of us. Devastating good lucks, mad drum skills, my own castle, dad bod, a legion of penguins… yeah, I'm what the kids today call 'a catch'."
That elicited a genuine smile from her, albeit a weak one. It was too ridiculous, too genuine. Too innocent. She placed the objects back in the small pink box and slid it into her bag as well, not quite trusting the manic king not to return for it. "You're definitely something, Simon."
This time he caught the stain of sadness in her voice, and he responded with a genuine look of concern. "Hey, what's up? I told you, I won't go after your girl anymore. Invite me to the wedding though, right? I call best man!"
She groaned at his suggestive eyebrow wiggle, repeating for what she hoped would be the last time in her life- "We're not getting married, Simon."
"Why not? Come on, girl, if you love it put a ring on it!"
She was so very, very tired of this conversation and having it with everyone who had any sense she owed them an explanation. She pulled her knees to her chest, resting her forehead on them. "I'm a demon, Simon. That's not how it works. She's my mate."
"Uh huh."
"My soul chose her, so I'm already bound to her."
"Uh huh."
"She knows I'm… I mean, did you see all the stuff downstairs? That's from-" she stopped, thinking better than to regale her old friend with graphic descriptions of her violent exploits. "Look, it's complicated, okay?"
"Uh huh."
"Marrying isn't really a thing. I'm already her's."
"Uh huh."
Her head snapped up and she glared at Ice King, particularly the part where he was cleaning his fingernails with one of her guitar picks. "Simon! Are you listening?!"
"Of course I am! I pride myself on being an excellent listener. Chicks really dig that, you know?"
Her eye twitched. "What did I say?"
That gave him pause, but only for a moment, before he gave a half-hearted shrug and resumed his grooming. "Uh… something something making your life needlessly complicated… uh… yeah."
She gripped the blanket below her, trying to control a potential outburst. "It's not needlessly complicated! A lot of stuff is happening!"
"Like having conversations with your own shattered psyche personified as individual aspects of your mind and personality?"
Outburst forgotten, she stared at him. "What did you say."
It was a statement, not a question, and he half-shrugged once more as he switched his preening to his toes. "You have the same look I do. We're not so different, right? We're older than breadballs for one, professional musicians, legions of fans… we're both survivors, kid. We've seen it all and got the mindmeats to show it. And the scars. Chicks dig scars."
He continued, but she didn't follow. Was her insanity that obvious? The same look you do? Ice King himself was certifiably bonkers, but Marceline didn't think she was that far gone. Did memories of solitude and silence crush his spirit when he tried to sleep, robbing him of his sense of self, too? No. I'm not as messed up as Simon. I can't be. Sure, Usurper had kicked her butt despite not actually existing, and she had suffered that Cosmic Owl dream with the wad. And yeah, maybe even now she could feel some part of her mind trying to claw its way to the surface, wanting attention, wanting-
"Yo, Marce! Hellllooo? Man, and you say I don't listen. Sheesh. You gotta work on that if you wanna hold Bubblegum's attention. If you aren't careful I'll steal her out from under you-"
"How do you deal with it, Simon?," she muttered quietly.
Ice King thought it over. "Well, she's just one princess and there's loads of others after my buff bod and-"
"Not Bon- …Bubblegum! I mean…"
When she trailed off, staring at the floor despondently, he rested a hand on her shoulder. In that moment he looked so much like Simon it hurt her, body and soul, and she had to resist hugging him and crying into his chest, just like she did when was a child and didn't understand where her mother went. Because he's not Simon. Simon's gone gone gone-
"Hey, Marceline." He was quiet, uncharacteristically so, but it didn't reach her. He didn't seem to notice, or perhaps he did and just didn't care. "I don't know who this Simon guy is, but it's me, your buddy. That's good enough, right?" It was. It had to be. She nodded. The hand on her shoulder squeezed. "You're mega-talented, Marceline, but you gotta learn to live more in the moment."
"In the moment?" She glanced up from the corner of her eye.
"Yeah! You gotta focus less on the past and the creepy crawlies in your mindmeats. There's lots of good stuff around you all the time, even if the bad stuff is louder. You'll get better at spotting the good stuff though, then you'll get so good the bad stuff just doesn't matter. I mean sure, yeah, I get sad too, but life's too long for me to just think about it too much."
"So just… don't think about it?" It came out as a disbelieving snort.
"Eh, kinda. More like, find something good and think about that. I've got a whole kingdom, and all the ice I could want! And when I wanna hang I know I've got you, and Finn and Jake too. I know it's hard when you can feel your brain going loopdee-loop, but maybe you just need a new kinda normal. Like I was so certain Bubblegum was gonna be my wife, but she's yours, so I can't do that anymore. Do you know how much of my time I spent inviting her to my bachelor pad and Finn and Jake crashing the party? But, eh," now it was a full-hearted shrug, "life goes on, and I'm still here."
Life goes on, and I'm still here. There was an odd comfort in that Marceline couldn't place. A new kind of normal, huh? "…Yeah. Thanks, Simon."
"You're welcome darling." Her head shot up at that, because the tone and gentle softness were all wrong for the man who used to kidnap her mate for funsies, but were exactly correct for- "What did you say, Simon?"
Ice King blinked at her, raising an eyebrow. "Why, what were we talking about?"
And then he was back, but rather than the normal crushing of hope Marceline felt something different. Maybe you're still in there. I'll find a way to save you. For now, though, Marceline had a life to rebuild. "Nevermind. It's not important."
That seemed to satisfy the king of ice and he hopped off the bed. "So… you sure Bubblegum's really off the market?"
At his lecherous grin Marceline rolled her eyes. "Go home, Simon. I'm fine. But… if you wanna hang, I'm staying in the Candy Kingdom. I'll ask Bubblegum to have the Gumball Guardians leave you alone."
He brightened at that. "Really? No lasers?"
She smiled at him, a real, honest smile. And then she laughed a real, honest laugh at his childish delight at the prospect of visiting his friend unimpeded. "Yeah No lasers. I proms."
With a beaming smile he turned to the trapdoor, then stopped. In his fingers he held aloft the guitar pick. "Can I keep a souvenir?"
"Yes. Go home, Simon," she said good-naturedly.
"Yes!" Whistling a happy tune he descended the staircase leading to the living, spotting his once-favorite princess. As Bonnibel stared flabbergasted at his presence he waved. "Hey, Bubblegum! I like what Marceline's done with the place! Is this what all the kids are into? Cracked walls, broken windows… yeah, I think this is what they call 'in'."
Just what either woman needed, more reminders of the vampire's ruined house. Without waiting for an answer he flew out the gaping hole in the kitchen fall, his mad cackle evolving into a happy whistle as he flew away. Bonnibel stared after him, nonplussed, turning to the sound of Marceline joining her in the living room several moments later, bag much fuller than when she had first ascended the staircase. Interesting, but not the princess's focus. "What was-" And then a most curious thing happened: Marceline hugged her. It was affectionate and loving, simple and genuine. She returned it. "Marcy? Are you okay? What happened?"
Life goes on, but I'm still here. Those words echoed in the back of her mind. Spoken by anyone else they would sound hopeless, a reminder that as everything changes she's cursed to remain. Spoken by Ice King? Simon? The only other soul she knew of to remember a time before the bombs, the only other person cursed with immortality and the knowledge he would outlive anything and everything and everyone dear to him? It was instead a reassurance that she was strong enough to endure this, strong enough to get better, strong enough to find a new kind of normal. "It's… I got some good advice from Simon."
That was perplexing to say the least. "From Ice-" Stopped. Rethought. "Simon? About what?"
How to explain? Could she? Maybe. But not yet. "Just… about finding a new normal I guess. Oh, and he said he'd leave you alone and I told him we could hang out at the castle, maybe jam a bit."
Those two sentences left much to process. Ice King gave advice that resonated? He's going to stop his fixation? What happened up there? She didn't ask. "Of course, Marceline. He's welcomed in our home." No, she didn't ask, because Marceline was opening up, both to Bonnibel and to the world around her. And if that took the form of someone as generally distasteful as the Ice King then so be it. He was a friend of her soulmate, and that was all that mattered. "Did you take everything from upstairs you wanted to?"
Marceline nodded, patting her bag, entirely missing how full Bonnibel's was as well. "Yeah. Hit up my room, found some junk I don't wanna leave."
"We can always come back, Marcy," the scientist promised.
Marceline's smile was sad, but not one that argued. "Yeah. Just…"
A gentle kiss to a grey cheek, something neither woman seemed to register as awkward. "I understand. We should return to the castle. It'll be dawn soon."
Marceline nodded, beckoning for Bonnibel to lead. The princess did as she was bid, but stopped when she didn't feel a presence behind her. Over her shoulder she saw her queen gazing longingly at the broken horns, shattered talons, cracked shell pieces, and other mangled objects, each of which held a memory precious to her. Bonnibel slid her hand into her lover's, giving it a squeeze. "I know, Marcy," she said hushed. It was, after all, a bittersweet and somber moment. "It's okay. It'll be okay. I'm here. I'm never leaving you again."
"Do you promise?," Marceline asked, not looking away from the horror of the living room she was about the leave pieces of her heart. The memories inside of her house, the reminders of how resilient and determined she once was, were piercing through her fortitude, and just as she felt the newfound strength she found begin to unravel she was pulled into Bonnibel's arms.
"I promise. I'm yours. You're mine. I'm sorry I forgot that for so long."
I'm sorry. Those were words Princess Bubblegum never spoke. They were a sign of weakness, that she was fallible. But Bonnibel knew better, because unlike her role she saw herself as a scientist first and foremost, and science was all about failing and trying, failing and trying, until an answer was found. Until she succeeded. Marceline returned the hug and then there was no more humanoid vampire, just a small, fluffy bat.
Whether it was because she was tired, because she felt vulnerable, because she felt the sun begin to rise Bonnibel wasn't sure. She knew only two things. The first: Marceline had burrowed between the princess's hoodie and shirt, nestling above her heart. And the second: No sooner had she begun to stroke down the small bat's back did the love of her life begin to purr, for the first time in half a year. It was the most beautiful sound the younger woman had ever heard. Covering sensitive little ears, she blew the whistle to summon The Morrow, unwilling to interrupt this beautiful moment with such unimportant trite as needing to get home.
The steed arrived swiftly, as was the bird's nature, and Marceline dozed throughout the journey home. Bonnibel's mind raced with what this surge of affection could mean, what it did mean. In the end her thoughts turned to the vambracer safely secured in her lab coat pocket. In the end, she settled on one singular thought.
This is it. I'm ready. It's time.