Author's Note: Based upon "I Remember You" and "Holly Jolly Secrets".

"It's Time"

Her first memory is of ashes. They fell thick upon the earth and if she stuck out her tongue, she could taste them. Now, she realizes she thought the ashes were snowflakes. They taste nothing like snowflakes and she spits them out. The false flakes leave a residue on her tongue.

She's been walking for a while. Her feet ache and her legs shake when she stops. It's cold, colder than she's ever been, and she can't see the sun. Ash is everywhere.

Cars are destroyed and their wreckage lines the streets. Storefronts have been broken into; their windows smashed and glass littering the pavement. Streetlamps lean drunkenly against buildings and, in some cases, have fallen down entirely. She has to step around the lamps and keep walking, even if she has no idea where she's going. She just has to keep walking.

Hunger gnaws at her and she doesn't remember the last full meal she's had. There are no people here to feed her—anyone she might have asked took one look and fled. They're too busy worrying about themselves to care what happens to a small, demonic child. Marceline used to care, but her ability has been reduced by hunger and loneliness. Maybe if she keeps walking, she'll find someone who will want her around.

Huddled in her coat, she pays no attention to the supermarkets, grocery stores, and convenience stores that have already been robbed. There's nothing left to scrounge for. There's no one to listen for, either—all she can hear is an echoing, eerie silence, disrupted only by the sounds of fires in the distance. It's like everyone in the world has died and she's all that's left. She holds her arms out, as if she could hug the world and bring it closer. The world doesn't help her. It stays at a distance and she is alone.

Before she knows it, she's crying. She just wants someone, anyone, instead of this miserable broken world. Her father's left her, her mother's not even a faint memory, and she has nothing and no one. The world, it seems, has moved on.

A man runs up beside her and wipes her tears away. Startled, tears still trickling down, she looks up. Her heart is pounding and she finds herself hoping desperately this man won't disappear. He doesn't—instead, he heads over to a broken storefront, hands her a stuffed animal, and she squeezes it for dear life. She dares to hope.

"There, now," he remarks gently. "It's all right. Everything's going to be all right."

The tears disappear. She smiles with a child's blind trust and he reciprocates. This man, whoever he is, has just become the center of her world. She wouldn't leave him for anything. She hopes her expression shows him she means it.

"Hey, don't you have anywhere to go?" he asks and she shakes her head.

"Come with me, then," he says. "I don't know where I'm going either."

This startles a laugh, the first time she's laughed in a while. He smiles back, tousling her hair, and they walk past the wreckage. He slows his stride, so they can walk easily together. In her arms, she cradles Hambo, as she has already dubbed it. It's soft and comfortable against her body. She can't stop smiling now.

"So, you come here often?" he asks.

"No," she replies. "I've never been here before."

"Lovely view," he comments. "You have the destroyed bank over there, and what used to be a school a mile away…oh, and the mall down there looks very nice."

She rolls her eyes and they walk together quietly for a while. She plays with Hambo's arms and legs, twisting and manipulating them so that they look like they're moving. It's been too long since she played.

"Anyway," the man says, perhaps uncomfortable with the silence, "I'm Simon. And you?"

"Marceline," she answers, still toying with her stuffed animal.

"That's a pretty name," he says and she flushes, embarrassed and pleased. Not too much longer passes before he speaks again.

"How old are you, Marceline?"

She shrugs. Time has no real meaning and it stopped having meaning long before The Mushroom Wars. Speech, likewise, has little meaning to her. She's been alone for far too long. Speak is a way to communicate in a world where communication no longer matters.

Rather than speak, she sings softly. It's a song she composed herself, since she likes singing. It makes her feel less alone and helps her figure out problems to which she'd ordinarily have no answers. She reasons singing must have been important to someone she can no longer remember.

"What's that you're singing?" he asks, interrupting.

"It's a song I wrote," she announces.

"Can I hear the rest? You're quite good."

Perhaps he's being too complimentary or, perhaps, like her, he is desperate to hold onto any kind of attachment in this world. She prefers to think the latter, because she needs to believe it. She needs to think the best of him.

"The winds used to blow
There used to be people here long ago
Before the screaming and bombs flew through the air
There used to be people standing there
Sometimes if I close my eyes and think hard enough, maybe
There's someone else who's still here, free
Someone who's waiting for me
Someone just for me."

Sometimes, Marceline can flip through her memories and find the ones she likes. Sometimes, the bad ones find her instead.

She remembers the first time he hit her. Under the influence of the crown, his temper mounts and he says some ugly things. The words and his sudden change in demeanor frighten her a lot more than the slap. Somehow, the violence pales in comparison. She doesn't know this man who wears the crown, because he isn't Simon Petrikov. The man who wears the crown is not her friend.

The man who wears the crown doesn't know Simon either. With or without the crown, his skin has acquired a blue coloring. This wasn't how it was when he first found her, either. It seems the longer they are together, the more he changes before her eyes. In truth, she blames the crown.

She has grown to associate the crown with bad things. The crown is a loss of control, an inability to regain himself. And even as he apologizes for hurting her, she withdraws. Simon isn't himself. She'll wait until he is.

"I don't know what came over me!" he protests. She just glares at the crown.

"Right," she replies, hard. "Can we just get back to what we were doing?"

"Going through the Enchiridion?" he asks, having forgot what they were doing in addition to himself. She groans, flopping onto her back. They're in his ice fortress, where he spends part of his time (the rest spent in the remains of Earth), and which is part of the beginning new Land of Ooo. The few humans who are left are helping rebuild the world, but they are dying out. She thinks that perhaps in a thousand years, there will be no humans left. Simon, in her mind, no longer qualifies as completely human.

"Yes," she says. "A future hero has to know these things."

"And you don't think I'm a hero anymore?" he replies, sounding hurt. It's in her nature to want to lash out, but she can't. She is fundamentally gentler to him than anyone, because of who he is.

"I wouldn't use the word 'hero'," she demurs.

"This isn't because I hit you, is it?" he asks. She shakes her head. Her long hair is brushes against her back when she moves. The ice bed beneath her is chilly, but she doesn't feel the lack of warmth as much as a human would. She suspects Simon doesn't feel it either.

"You think this book will last until the next hero shows up?" he inquires, sounding skeptical.

"Maybe it won't and we'll all die a horrible fiery death. Hey, who knows?" she asks. She rolls over so she can examine the book beside him. Distantly, she thinks she hears penguins. Near the ice fortress, there are always penguins. It's funny how all these humans died out, but suddenly, penguins.

"You're always so cheerful, aren't you?" he comments.

"Always," she responds. She traces a circle idly on his comforter. "You think the world will ever really recover?"

"I dunno. Maybe it'll be bigger. Better," he says and then smiles slyly. "Maybe all sorts of new things will be possible that we didn't know before."

She's nearly an adolescent and she's already jaded. It comes with the territory.

"Or maybe everything will be worse."

"What's worse than a flaming apocalypse?" he inquires, genuinely curious. He's so good at derailing her that it takes her a moment to figure out what she had lined up to say. Blinking, she sits up and hugs herself. She can see her breath.

"You tell me."

Simon casts a sidelong look at the crown on the bed. It sits there like an accusation and Marceline unconsciously slides away from it. Simon doesn't appear to notice—his gaze is rooted to the crown. He strokes the jewels on it and sighs; his thoughts are invisible to her.

"You all right over there?" she teases.

"I can think of a few things…" he muses, lost in contemplation. His eyes have glazed over and whatever they're looking at isn't the crown, but something only he can see. She wants to touch the crown, yet there's an evil aura attached to it. It's even more convincing than whatever aura usually surrounds her. It's like the crown is trying to repel her.

"What do you see with that thing, anyway?" she inquires lightly.

"Ice," he whispers. "Ice and destruction. And loneliness."

"You won't be lonely," she refutes. "You have me."

He doesn't appear to hear her. Instead, he rises from the bed without looking at her or the book, cradles the crown, and walks out. Marceline rises too, hesitates, and watches him leave. She's lost her taste for looking at the Enchiridion. There was nothing in the past for her and she's not sure how much of the future is here, either.

"What's a king without a crown?" she comments and her voice echoes in his fortress. She shivers and gets up. She doubts Simon will wonder where she went, anyway.

(Interlude)

Simon doesn't always remember everything. There are times when he forgets who Marceline and Betty are. There are times when he wonders how he got here. He never quite remembers the bombs the way he used to or the air raid sirens. He thinks he lived in Europe, but then he thinks he lived elsewhere. Then he wonders what Europe is, because it doesn't exist anymore.

Before he found the crown, everything was so clear. Now the lines blur and it's hard to follow his thoughts. They meander. Sometimes, he doesn't know what he was thinking about because it's completely gone. With or without the crown, things aren't the same.

He still gets the visions, regardless of whether he's wearing the crown. Originally, he saw visions of what would happen to the world and it had entranced him. Then he realized these visions weren't just their world, but other worlds. The crown held the link to other times, other worlds, and other powers. It has changed him and he gets giddy with the power. He alone can see these things. He alone can experience them. He alone can wield the ice power.

The power shouldn't excite him. It shouldn't drive out everything else. He shouldn't let it. But he can feel himself growing colder. He can feel internal changes and wishes he had the time to study them. But then he remembers he wouldn't know what to do if he could, because the meticulous notes he used to take are gone. The notepaper is gone too. That was a world ago.

A labyrinth has started in his mind. He can only protect Marceline for so long before he has to face the beast in the maze.

There comes a time when she knows he must leave. It has been building for a while. She has to leave for both their sakes, because looking at him is too painful. It has nothing to do with the occasional violence and outbursts and everything to do with the man she used to care about. Simon is now the Ice King, in fact if not in truth, and there is nothing of her friend to look for. Everything Simon used to be has gone into the Ice King and if she asks the Ice King about the Mushroom Wars or Simon Petrikov, he has no idea what she's talking about.

Nor does he seem to remember her for very long. He remembers certain things about her, but not the important things. He doesn't remember how they met or why he knows her. He doesn't remember the past, only the present. The pieces are out of alignment. Try as she might, all the kings' horses and all the kings' men can't put Simon Petrikov together again. And Marceline has no idea how to fix him.

She hasn't changed. No matter how bad the arguments get with the Ice King and how he insists she has changed and not him, she knows she hasn't. The darkness and the bitterness have grown within her. Still, there is light in the dark. She isn't sure Simon can ever find his way back to the light. The thought wounds her.

So she has to leave. She has to move her home so he can't find her and maybe then, she'll have some measure of peace. She'll never be able to reclaim the world before the Mushroom Wars, nor will she able to recover what she's lost. Now it's a matter of attempting to move on before things fall apart.

"Why are you going?" he asks, like a petulant child. His skin has shifted completely to blue and he has taken to wearing a robe. The glasses have been gone for a while now and she doesn't know where they went. As a wizard, he no longer needs them.

"I have to go," she says, rolling her hand. She's nearly a teenager now. Time has passed, far more than a few years, because her species takes forever to age. Eventually, she knows that she'll stop aging and plateau out. She doesn't know when that is, but she doesn't know how much she cares, either.

"Where?" he demands.

"Out," she remarks vaguely.

"Oh," he says and accepts this at face value. "Bring me back something."

"This isn't like that," she says.

"Like what?" he answers. His smile has begun to fade and though he doesn't understand her meaning anymore, she can tell its implications have struck him. She looks for a sign of Simon in his eyes and doesn't see it. Her heart aches.

"Never mind," she snaps. "I'm leaving. Goodbye, Simon."

"Simon?" he repeats. "Who's 'Simon'?"

She growls, frustrated and upset simultaneously, and storms out. It isn't the exit she wanted, but she feels trapped. Folding her arms across her chest with her belongings on her back, she hunts out a new spot. Maybe if she buries herself deep enough, he won't find her. Maybe the past will die.

(Interlude 2)

The Ice King likes his fortress. For one thing, it's all the way up top and someone would have to fly or climb really high to get him. It makes him feel secure and on the top of the world. There's something off about that, because he knows the heights are associated with something else, with something dizzying and burning, but he's stopped reaching for those memories. His mind is a maze and he doesn't have the time or inclination to go after information.

Besides, this is much cozier. With Gunther and the other penguins, he can relax and kick back. Everything lives forever here. He no longer has to worry about dying or about anyone he cares about dying. He doesn't remember who he used to care about, though. It's all a blur, like the time before he became the Ice King.

He only vaguely remembers Marceline and he doesn't know why he remembers her at all. There's also an electronic being in his mind named BMO, but he has no idea why he might be important either. And the Ice King has wasted too much time trying to over-think things. That's not who he is. He's not a thinker. He doesn't want to study or think about anything.

He could plot and plan, but where would that take him? No, it's far easier to rule in comfort. Rule over what? Well, the penguins. The penguins always need a leader.

"That's too far to the right," the Ice King complains to Gunther. "Move it the other way."

The penguin obliges, shifting a table bigger than him back and forth on the ice. He finally places it down, at the Ice King's discretion, exactly where it was before.

"Perfect," he announces. "Why don't we have a party?"

Gunther comments something to the tune of "you don't have any friends."

"What about that Marceline girl? Something about her seems so familiar…" he trails off, thinking to himself. "Maybe she can be the new singer in my band!"

There's something else, but he doesn't want to reach for it. Reaching for it is like trying to remember who Simon is. He scratches his scalp. What was he thinking about, anyway?

She remembers the first time he barged in on her new house and asked her, of all things, to sing in his band as a backup singer. Part of her is offended at being asked to be a 'backup singer' and the rest is miserable he doesn't remember her for anything more than her voice. Yes, she'd sung for him plenty of times in their time together, but that isn't it. And when she hints at more, he doesn't understand. There is a blankness in his gaze that hadn't been there before.

She winds up kicking him out, because she can't stand to look at him. Looking at him is entirely too painful. He doesn't even know why she's doing this and she can't be bothered to explain things.

"You're a lost old one," she sings to herself. "Aren't you, Simon?"

(Present day)

After the song was over, she put away the guitar and stared at him. He stared back, confused. He never quite understood what she wanted to say anymore. Before, he'd always known what she was going to say or think. That was before the crown took full hold, though she supposed she'd never known him before the crown. Perhaps he'd been completely different before the crown had stolen him away.

The thought brought tears to her eyes and she had to turn her head to wipe them away.

"I'm not that bad!" he said defensively. Then, jumping to the next topic, "When can we jam again? I need to work on my approach to the ladies."

"I don't know," she replied. Her voice was harsh, choked as it was with the suppression of tears. "Let me think about it."

"Don't move again!" he warned. "You crazy singers, always moving and changing."

"And you never move or change?" she answered dryly.

"I've never changed!" he retaliated. "I'm the Ice King through and through!"

Marceline had to press the heel of her palm against her eyes to keep from crying. Instead, she nodded and waved him out. As usual, it took several attempts to get him to leave before he finally got the hint. Once he was gone, she sunk to the floor and hugged her knees. She didn't know if she could meet him again, if she was strong enough to deal with it.

It was funny to think that a vampire wouldn't be strong enough to deal with things. A thousand year old girl didn't have control over her emotions. Then again, if she'd had control, she wouldn't have lost her closeness to Princess Bubblegum. The thought made her want to tear out her hair.

"You've never changed, huh, Simon?" she asked herself. The tears streaked her cheeks, despite her best efforts to suppress them. "Why don't I believe that?"