I Miss You - The Henningsens

The night wore on then, much like it always did. In exactly the same fashion that every other concert wound to a close, so too did this one. The only difference was that this particular audience had been given something very, very special. They'd been given a glimpse into Marceline's life, a look behind the darkened windows of her personal life. No other audience had ever had that opportunity.

She staggered off stage almost five minutes before the concert was scheduled to finish feeling drained. Feeling very much like a deflated balloon or… or a puppet with no strings. Limp, lifeless, ready to fall asleep and never wake up again. Marceline rubbed her eyes blearily, not even registering the sad smile Keila shot her way.

Oh, but Marceline was perfectly awake enough to hear the cries for an encore from outside. A senior member of her stage staff stopped hesitantly before her, blinking nervously.

"You have time for one more song," he prompted.

Marceline glanced over at Keila who just shrugged.

"My drums are already half way packed," Bongo whined. "I can't play now."

"But…" Guy mused. "We do technically have to play until the timer hits zero."

Marceline mulled it over for a moment then sighed, "I'll go. Get my guitar for me would you?" The staff man raced off to do just that, hurrying back seconds later with her faded red instrument. Keila gave her that odd sad look again. She rolled one shoulder, dismissing the expression and hastened back onto the stage.

She waved off-stage impatiently. It took a moment, but the lights snapped back on, blinding her momentarily. The audience – who by the looks hadn't actually been expecting an encore – fell silent.

Marceline sucked in a deep breath and settled herself cross-legged on the floor, her stool having been removed a while ago. "I don't have time for a long song, but how's about a shorter one, eh? Another unreleased one. Sound good?"

The crowd roared their approval.

It earned a chuckle. "Well alright then." Once again, Marceline closed her eyes. It might have been because she was tired, it might have been because she was feeling so drained and apathetic. But it most certainly did not have anything to do with the songs she'd sung that night. Nope.

"I miss the simple conversations.

I miss the silence in between.

I miss the clatter in the kitchen,

It always seemed to help me sleep.

But most of all, I miss you."

Alright, so maybe it had a little to do with the songs. She'd exposed an awful lot of herself tonight, more than she'd ever let any person see before. Well, there was only one person she'd ever divulged the secrets of her soul to. She desperately needed that. Needed a friend.

"I miss the way that you could move me

With just a corner of your smile.

The gentle way that you could save me

With just the want to in your eyes.

But most of all, I miss you."

Keila was always there for her, true. And Bongo and Guy, sure, yeah. But that was different. They… no matter how hard they tried, wanted to, they could never, ever know her as well as she needed. She needed the one person with whom there was no need to speak. Silence was just perfect.

"I know I drew a line in the sand that I can't cross back over.

And I know, baby, you'll be fine

But if you don't mind, I'll never recover.

Never recover."

Now, even behind her closed eyes, she could feel the rasping of sandpaper in her throat, the pressure of wool on her vocal chords. She could feel the needles in the backs of her eyes, stinging with salt and tears and anguish. The loss long buried dredged up now for these people she didn't know. Her finger twitched, skipped a chord.

"I miss the way you made me better.

I miss the touch that made me melt.

I miss being wrapped up in you, baby.

Instead of always wrapped up in myself.

But most of all, I miss you."

Her hand shook on the neck of the guitar. Why was it always so hard for her to just say what she damn well meant? If she was capable of that, then none of this crap would be necessary. Then she wouldn't write sappy songs and break down all the time. Marceline tried very hard to mentally berate herself, but she just couldn't do it. It hurt too much.

"I know I drew a line in the sand that I can't cross back over.

And I know, baby, you'll be fine

But if you don't mind, I'll never recover.

Never recover."

And then her voice finally cracked. A waver in the lyrics, a word slightly too slurred, a clench in her throat she couldn't sing around. Gritting her teeth, jaw tightening painfully, she went on. This was why she'd never recorded and released these songs. They hit a nerve and it made her ache all through her shattered heart.

"I miss the simple conversations.

I miss the silence in between.

I miss that little bit of hope,

You might be coming back to me.

But most of all, most of all,

Most of all… I miss you…"

The lights cllllppppd off and Marceline tumbled upright and shuffled off-stage. Behind her, the audience screamed again. Now she was officially far too tired to do anything. Maybe she could collapse on the sofa and have a nap.

But no, Keila darted to her side. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Marceline sighed. She ran a hand through her hair absently. "Just… uh… Where's my coat? I'll just go sit outside for a little bit."

Bongo tossed a soft white jacket at her. With its high collar, she could tuck her hair down there, slap a floppy hat on her head and wander around without being recognised. It wasn't fool proof, but a simple disguise was always best. Besides, she'd never been very curvy, she could pass as a dude without even trying.

Outside was a path that wound past the stadium heading across town to an apartment complex. Marceline had always wanted to live somewhere like that; you'd get a lot of shows for free. The music was so loud that you could stand on a balcony and listen to whichever shows you fancied. Of course, the flip side was all the shows you didn't want to hear. She could live with it though. It'd be great.

With a great exhalation of relief, Marceline collapsed onto the sidewalk and rested her head against the cold concrete of the building. There were a lot of stars visible tonight, which was odd really, in a city. She'd been told once, by the smartest person she knew, that there was too much concentrated pollution in cities for the stars to shine through. It was a shame really.

For… what… maybe twenty minutes, she just sat there, legs stretched out in front of her, staring at the stars. Counting them at one point, but when she got somewhere near fifty she lost track of which ones she already tallied. It made her chuckle. She closed her eyes again.

"Marceline?"

The soft voice seemed to echoed off the insides of her skull. It was so familiar and warm and it made her tingle. What she wouldn't give to see the owner of that voice.

"Marceline, why are you sitting on the sidewalk?"

"Because there's better air out here," she mumbled. "It's cleaner."

The voice snorted. "Cleaner my left foot."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Marceline interjected. "There's no such thing as clean air in a city. You already told me that, brainiac."

There was silence for a moment. Then, "Are you alright?"

She blew air out heavily. "Psh, alright? Man, I haven't been truly alright in six years."

"Be serious."

Marceline rolled her lip under. "I'm broken. All shot to shit. Hell, I'm talking to a voice in my head the owner of which I haven't seen in the better part of a decade." She sighed. "The things I'd take back if I could." That last was the merest whisper. She wasn't even sure she'd said it.

"I'm not a voice in your head, Marceline," the voice said tartly. "Although at one point I thought I ought to be. Open your eyes, numbskull."

Obligingly, Marceline opened one eye a crack. Then they both shot open and she lurched to her feet. She leaned right forward, eyes as wide as they would go now, startled and horrified. One trembling finger poked the apparition before her tentatively. Yup, solid flesh alright.

"Bonnie…?" she asked slowly. "Am I hallucinating?"

The face broke into a smile. "I'm not a hallucination, Marceline," Bonnie said softly. To prove it, she jabbed Marceline in the shoulder. Bonnie rocked forward on her feet up onto her toes. If Marceline had suspected this woman was anything like the Bonnibel she went to school with, she would have said there was a hug in the offing. As it was, Bonnie rolled back onto her heels, still smiling vaguely.

Marceline rolled her shoulder uncomfortably. This was why she'd stopped calling. "So um…" she began warily, one hand absently rubbing at her neck, eyes glancing up at the stars again. "How've you been?"

Bonnie laughed at her. "Eloquent as ever, I see. Walk with me." She stuck her hand out, at first Marceline thought it was for her, but that was a long time ago and this arm was pointing in the wrong direction anyway.

She followed it with her eyes before finally noticing a little girl standing shyly not far away. She wore a black band tee that was several sizes too big for her, a soft grey hat and a ruffled skirt. The girl had black hair, wore little belted slippers and cream stockings and for a moment (with exceptions made for her hair colour), Marceline was positive she was looking back in time to the moment she first saw Bonnie. Standing on the footpath outside her house as her dad left, she followed the car down the street until she was bouncing on her toes in Marceline's driveway. Five year old Bonnibel, caught somewhere between pyjamas and immaculate presentation in a moment of confusion and sorrow. Her father had never come back the day Marceline had accidentally stumbled into her picture perfect life. But they'd been friends after that.

This girl, maybe six years old, was not Bonnibel. Holy flying spongecake on a stick did she look just like her though. Marceline blinked dumbly at the girl, mouth open.

"This is Elizabeth," Bonnie told her quietly. "My daughter."

Marceline snapped to attention. Well that certain explained the resemblance. She swallowed hard around the lump suddenly in her throat. "Dad?" she rasped.

Bonnibel looked away, down at the girl's uncertain face. "He left when he found out I was pregnant," she whispered. "She found your first demo in my things when we moved to the city and has been your biggest fan ever since."

Honestly, Marceline had always hated children. They were loud and messy and just mucked everything up. In no future had she ever entertained the idea of having children. But this girl reminded her so much of Bonnibel that it was hard to think of her as a proper child. She was… Well, she was a miniature Bonnie. How dangerous could she be? Carefully, Marceline knelt before the girl and offered a hand. "Hey there," she murmured. "You're Elizabeth Bennet, huh? I'm Marceline Abadeer."

The girl nodded and put her tiny palm against Marceline's, eyes big as they stared at her. "You don't look like Marceline," she whispered. "You look like a boy."

"Libby," Bonnie scolded, exasperated.

"Nah, it's a'ight, Bon," Marceline laughed, looking over her shoulder at an offended Bonnibel. "As I recall, you accused me of being a boy a couple of times too." She leaned down towards Elizabeth. "I wear my hair all tucked up like this so I don't get recognised," she confided softly. "Fame's not all it's cracked up to be, yeah?"

A tentative smile crept across Elizabeth's face. "Yeah?"

Marceline nodded. "It's kinda crummy, actually. You get a lot of rabid fans all up in your face, invading your personal bubble. It's gross. Gotta defend my bubble."

The smile widened. "You don't like being famous?"

Exhaling heavily, Marceline mused over that question for a long moment. Then, "In my dreams, performing in front of a stadium of forty thousand people was the best thing I could imagine," she paused there, casting another look over her shoulder at Bonnie, her throat catching. "But sometimes," she went on slowly; "Sometimes there's really only one person who matters. Forget forty thousand. Just one is excellent. If it's the right person."

Elizabeth nodded, solemn, beyond her years. "Is that why you're out here now? Because of fans?"

Marceline beamed at her. "Partly," she confessed. "And partly because I poured my heart out in there tonight, showed the whole crowd all of my scars, all the places where I haven't quite healed and it hurt. I don't like talking about my feelings. Ask your mother. She knows how terrible I am at that."

"You know mum?" Libby asked, her eyes widening somewhat.

Marceline straightened, spinning on Bonnibel. "Your daughter listens to my music and you never told her… anything?"

Bonnie shrugged. "She didn't need to know. I hardly know you anymore, Marceline."

"Oh, come on, Bon," she said tiredly. "You will always know me best of anyone. Always."

The blonde woman shrugged. "Time changes people, Marceline."

"Not me. I'm exactly the same stupid, brazen, impish, weirdo you left behind seven years ago. Only with a few more scars and a lot more regrets." She turned back to Elizabeth. "Your mother and I grew up together," she told the girl quietly. "With the exception of maybe five years when we were kids that don't count anyway cause you don't remember any of that junk, and seven years most recently, we've known each other our whole lives."

"Was mum the one you called your best friend tonight?" Elizabeth asked shrewdly. Oh hell yes, this was Bonnibel's daughter to a T. All brains and logic and far too much insight to be anything but kind of creepy and no small amount of uncomfortable.

"Heh, yes," Marceline admitted. "Yes she was. She gave me that guitar, wrote a little message on the back and everything."

"I can't believe you still have it," Bonnie whispered. "After all that."

"Despite whatever I said that day, Bon, I don't hate you," Marceline replied just as softly. She turned back to fully face Bonnibel now. "I have missed you every day since I walked out. Every single day. It was the dumbest, most ridiculously idiotic thing I have ever done. And I've done a lot of dumb things." She slumped a little then, staring at the space between her feet and Bonnie's. Once it would never have seemed so… so… so unbridgeably, mind-bogglingly, vast. Once there were no barriers, no such thing as a personal space they didn't both share. "Every day since we went professional that summer, those words… what you said, it's been there, in the back of my mind. You have always been the voice in my head, Bonnie."

Surprisingly, Bonnie shuffled forward half a step, Marceline's gaze snapping back to her face. "I'm sorry too," Bonnie muttered. "I was unfair and overly harsh. Do you really not remember what it was about? The argument I mean."

"Haven't the foggiest."

It almost sent her reeling when Bonnie grinned. "Me neither. I recall saying something awful, the look on your face, the tone when you replied. But I don't know what we fought about. All I know is, since then, there's been something missing. Libby's dad, I met him about a month after you left, in eight months we were married, but when he found out about her, when he found your album in the drawer, when my mum died… he just left."

Marceline felt hollow. After all the junk that had happened to Bonnie – her dad leaving and all that – it didn't seem fair that the same thing happened to her daughter too. Life was a funny, cruel thing.

"I'm sorry, Bonnie," she said. "I'm sorry I ever left, sorry I deleted your number, sorry about everything."

"Me too. I'll only forgive you if you forgive me though," Bonnibel warned.

Marceline deflated. "Deal."