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After things blow up between them, Marceline becomes elusive.
She's always thrived in spontaneity, vanishing and reappearing, creeping in the shadows only to explode out into the light armed with a black parasol. Had become a little more predictable, when they were together, because she knew Bonnie preferred plans over chaos. They'd found a happy medium, for a while.
But even back in her most unpredictable times, it was never like this. Bonnie could always rely on her showing up again, sooner or later, all Bonnie, let's go do this thing.
And now, nothing.
Not that Bonnie's looking. She's focusing on running the kingdom Marceline cared so little about. She's stepping up and taking responsibility and shutting herself into the lab and working all night. She's not searching for a vampire girl who stomped all over her heart.
But sometimes, she checks reports from guards or scouts. Sometimes, she contacts friends in other parts of Ooo and mentions, off-hand, vampire attacks.
Sometimes, on trips, she passes places Marcy used to go.
Always, there is nothing.
And the thing is, Bonnie's not even sure what she'd say if she found her. Not even sure she'd talk to her if she did. Marceline's parting song still rings bitter in her ears: can't believe that I almost thought that we were meant to be.
Yeah, well, Bonnie answers in her head sometimes. That makes two of us.
Marceline was selfish, she reminds herself. Marceline was childish. Marceline never bothered to understand the weight of Bonnie's responsibilities.
(Marceline was soft, whispers something treacherous, Marceline was funny. Marceline was everything.)
So what would Bonnie say, if she found her?
Sometimes, in exhausted imaginings, when she's too tired and overwrought to keep her walls in place, Bonnie goes on the attack: you've got a lot of nerve showing your face here (it sounds tough in her head, but she can't imagine saying it), or how dare you sing that song about me? (too resentful), or you don't care about anyone but yourself. I told you. We're done. (That one's the best, but she wonders if she'd have the strength.)
Sometimes, she's on the defence, instead. Sometimes Marcy turns to her with flashing eyes, you only care about your Kingdom, for Glob's sake. I was just a distraction to you–
And Bonnie says, someone has to care– Says, it wasn't like that, I had responsibilities, but I guess you wouldn't understand that idea– Says, sometimes, pathetically: you're wrong, you're wrong, you're wrong.
Sometimes, when she's sentimental, silly and hopeful and optimistic, she thinks maybe it'll be neither. Maybe if they see each other again, Marcy will say she's sorry. Maybe Bonnie will find the word, too. Maybe they'll fall back into each other.
(The times she imagines that, she goes back to the lab. Finds the hardest experiment she can. Works till dawn.)
Bonnie misses her, that's the horrible truth. The one she'll never say.
She misses her. And maybe it'd hurt less, if Marceline was still around, if Bonnie could catch glimpses of her out there, if she hung around the Kingdom being annoying and reminding Bonnie just how much it couldn't work between them.
But with her gone, so elusive, just fleeting shadows that vanish as Bonnie tries to catch at them– With her gone, she's coloured rosy by absence. All the good memories stand out bold and candy-bright, drumming in Bonnie's mind like, look at what you lost.
There's a day, sat in the lab, when a Banana Guard bursts through the door.
“Princess! Captain Banana Guard says there's a report of no red.”
Bonnie turns from the test tube she's pouring, presses her fingers to her temples. “Can you elaborate?”
“A place with no red,” the Guard repeats, then, slowly... “Drained! I remember. The red is drained.”
Bonnie's heart crawls into her throat. She should say, this isn't high-priority, come back to me with something important.
Instead, she gets to her feet. “Show me.”
It takes them a long time, bumbling and arguing about where exactly it was. The place they reach, in the end, is a small apple orchard. Half the red fruit is drained grey.
It was her, Bonnie knows. Marcy is the only living creature she knows of who feeds this way, and if Bonnie doesn't know of something, the chances of its existence are statistically insignificant.
Which means Marcy was here.
But there's only the wind left behind, rustling through the trees. There's only the crump of dull grey apples dropping to the floor.
Bonnie bends, picks one up. Dusts the dirt off. It feels sapped and fragile, the skin bruised and sagging. She tucks it into her pocket.
“There's nothing to see here,” she says, turns around. “Return to your posts.”
That night, curled in Marceline's t-shirt, she eyes the apple on her bedside table. Reaches out and runs her finger softly over the fang marks.
Thinks pathetically, I miss you. Thinks, please come back home.