Chapter Text
Even as Alya walked off the screen, Adrien leaned closer to his, watching as the handsome face of Edmond Proulx smirked at the camera. Others might have called that expression solemn, but Edmond's eyes glittered with something that looked too much like victory.
Their hostess forced a laugh to break the dead air. "Well, Monsieur Proulx, I suppose it's just us now."
Edmond sighed. "Yes, it is a great shame. You must admire the passion in someone so young, but when all you have to support your arguments is passion… Well, you know what they say."
"What do they say?"
His smile was mild and amiable. "When you burn too brightly, you blind yourself to the truth."
Adrien watched every second of the remaining interview, a prickling awareness creeping up his spine like the raised fur of a cat. When the program finally ended, he clicked off his TV. Pacing back and forth, he worried about Alya. The show had taken a troubling turn. He thought about what, if anything, this man and his organisation would mean for him and Ladybug. And of course, presuming she'd seen it, he wondered what Ladybug was thinking, and what she was doing right now, out there somewhere in this city of millions.
Before his mind could descend into its favourite preoccupation of imagining what the nameless, faceless civilian Ladybug was doing at any given moment, he drew it back and tried to focus his energy on something he could do now. Plagg was reluctant to agree, more so than usual, but Adrien had to leave. Had to work out this nervous energy. And he knew exactly where he wanted to go.
The toe of his boot made barely a whisper against the ceramic roof tiles as he moved to get a better vantage of the house across from him. One of the lights was still on in the upper floor. He had a pretty good guess as to whose it was.
He knew how much Alya had been looking forward to appearing on the show. She'd told him herself not two days ago how she'd intended to use the time to promote her site. In the end, she'd barely mentioned it, putting it aside as she tackled the greater questions posed by Edmond Proulx. But Alya had always been one to speak for people who weren't there to speak for themselves.
"Thank you," he said to the distant window, the words dispersing into the night air as a puff of mist.
It was as he watched it that he noticed something moving on the roof across the street.
Chat blinked, feline eyes crystallising on the source of the movement. A figure was huddled down just where the flat tile shifted to a peak over the window, hidden by shadows the wan starlight couldn't break. But Chat didn't need light to recognise that profile.
Using his baton, he vaulted across the street to join Ladybug before he'd even really finished processing that she was there.
She sat with her back leaning against the steep side of the peak, her knees pulled up to her chin, head resting between her arms. She looked up at the scuffing noise he made as he tried to signal his presence.
"My Lady." He greeted her with a soft grin.
"Chat," she said with muted surprise, "what are you doing here?"
It wasn't until she asked that he suddenly realised how odd it was for him to be there. Knowing Alya, she had probably given Ladybug her address during one of her many attempts at an interview, but Chat had no such convenience. There was no reason he should know this address. In fact, Adrien barely had, as the only reason he'd found Alya's house at all was because he'd spent twenty minutes digging through his school files for the old class list he knew he'd kept somewhere.
"So cold." He mock winced. "And after I've come all this way to see you." He didn't answer her question, but she let it go, which he was grateful for.
She sat tucked into herself, arms and legs crossed protectively in front of her. He found something odd about the picture before him. She looked small. Well, she was small, but usually it wasn't something he noticed. Ladybug wore her confidence draped over her like a cloak, making her seem larger-than-life, like she couldn't be contained in one skin.
Something very unlike the figure seated before him. He rocked back a step, tail swishing, taking in the scene. Some strange instinct told him that she'd been sitting there for some time. "What are you doing?"
She looked up at him for a long moment, lips pursed. "Guarding."
He blinked at the unusually curt response. She lowered her gaze, instead looking out over the empty rooftops. "If there is one person in Paris he'd try to akumatise tonight, it would be her."
Well, that confirmed it then. Although he'd suspected as much when he'd spotted her crouching among the shadows of maison de Cesaire. She'd seen the program. She'd obviously seen Alya's reaction. But even though it was important and he knew that's what he should be focusing on right now, for some reason he couldn't seem to let go of the idea that something was amiss with Ladybug.
There was a strange tone to her voice that tugged at his memory. She'd spoken slowly, quietly, almost as if she was short of breath. Chat moved in closer as a thought settled in his head, and was surprised when instead of meeting his gaze she looked down, subtly shifting away from his examination. But this close he was already able to pick out what he might not have noticed had he not thought to look for it.
The skin across her cheeks and nose was slightly darker than the rest, the difference hard to spot in the low light. He could pick out tiny movements in her arms and shoulders even though they were tensed, clasped tightly around her legs. The situation felt familiar, right down to the bead of panic that was steadily snowballing in his stomach.
"Are you sick?" he blurted.
Her face scrunched and she frowned up at him. Chat crouched in front of her, extending a hand towards her but not quite daring to touch. She stared at it dubiously - and a bit groggily - as the little shivers danced down her frame.
"Please," he said, flexing the fingers of the hand he extended.
With a soft huff that was enough like her usual self to calm some of his worry, she placed her wrist in his hand.
She definitely had a fever. Not even the insulating nature of their suits could hide the heat coming off her skin, or the tremors she was obviously trying to minimise. He ran his claws gently over her forearm to her elbow before bringing them back to clasp her hand.
"What are you doing out?" he asked, dismayed.
"How did you know?" she groused instead.
Chat didn't think she'd be interested in hearing about his recent bumbling attempt at socialising. "Lucky guess. I think there must be something going around."
Her tremors grew worse as she gave up trying to suppress them and he swallowed down the worry before it overcame him again. There were no Alyas or Ninos here to fix things this time. Well, technically Alya was in the room below, but he didn't think she'd appreciate him barging into her room at 1 a.m as Chat and demanding she heal Ladybug.
Then he rethought that and realised that actually she might like it, but that didn't make it any more of an option.
No, he had to do something and Chat—admittedly still less than knowledgeable about illness, but remembering how cold Marinette had felt and how much she'd appreciated his scarf—reluctantly left Ladybug to go and fetch the cosiest thing he could scrounge.
With autumn well and truly underway and winter already impatiently creeping up undercover of night, there unfortunately wasn't any laundry conveniently out on the lines to select from. But in a stroke of luck, someone had left some fuzzy throws on their balcony chairs. Chat swiped them with nary a second thought, hurrying back to the pointed rooftop.
"Here." He laid the first one down on the cold tiles, almost shooing her towards it when she eyed it from her huddled limbs.
"Did you just steal a blanket?" she questioned, but nevertheless shuffled over to sit on the fluffy fabric.
"We're just borrowing it." He draped the second one over her, so that she was effectively swaddled from the cold on all sides.
Not really knowing what else to do, he moved to sit opposite, sliding his back down a metal pipe. Or a chimney. Maybe it was an air duct?
What were these things seemingly on every roof? You'd think I'd know by now.
Ladybug clutched at the excess of blankets around her. Truthfully, Chat wasn't even sure if they would help: through the winters and summers they'd worn their suits, Chat had never actually felt hot or cold. He'd always assumed that the magic extended to protecting the wearer from the elements. Maybe that was the problem here. Maybe because the heat was coming from within, the suit wasn't able to adjust in the same way.
He was broken out of his musing when he realised he was being watched, glancing up to find Ladybug's blue eyes gazing at him from over the top of the blanket. He froze under the weight of her stare, then started when she wordlessly lifted one corner out wide, silently inviting him to join her.
Chat held his breath. Their partnership had grown a lot from the days of awkwardly dancing around each other. They had grown. Even so, there were still times like this where she surprised him. Chat could confidently say they were friends but there remained some boundaries she was very careful with. Outside of battle, physical closeness was one. It was always special when she broke the professional mask to remind him in her own way that they weren't just partners. And though she usually did so with a long-suffering expression, he cherished it each and every time.
Ladybug shook the corner impatiently at his hesitation and Chat scrambled across before she could retract it. He settled next to her, leaving a couple of centimetres between them, and mimicked her posture, wrapping his arms around his legs. He imagined how comical they must look, with the blanket stretched between them, swamping her shaking shoulders yet barely covering his knees. Their height was one of the other things that had grown. Or rather, his had. Disarmingly, Ladybug had remained more or less the same.
She shifted a bit until her chin poked up from beneath the cover. Her nose crinkled. "Chat, are you wearing cologne?"
Oh no.
He'd completely forgotten. It had been for his own benefit, to cover the lingering scent of the Seine still caught in his hair, but he had doused himself in some sort of concoction that morning. And for nothing, in the end. He could still catch sour whiffs of river algae despite the perfume and the fact that he had scrubbed his scalp at least ten times the night of the swim.
"Well, the last time we met you did mention odours," he told her.
"It was you and your 'enhanced senses' that brought up the topic," she reminded him. Her eyelids were half-closed before she lifted them suddenly. "Wait, do I still smell?"
He made a show of sniffing at the top of her head. "Yes, terrible."
"Oh." She seemed shocked. The illness was definitely affecting more than her temperature. Normally, she would've been naturally distrustful of his solemn tone.
His grin gave him away before she caught on. "I lied, you smell fine. I think your kwami isn't as lazy about preventing 'harmless side-effects'."
She hummed disapprovingly. "And I believe you also made a threat about nursing me."
He nodded. "I did."
He'd never thought the teasing promise would actually come true. He eyed her carefully, noting her glassy gaze and the clammy sheen over her skin and remembered the last time he'd seen something similar. She frowned under his examination.
"Tell me if you need to throw up," he said.
Her frown turned to bemusement. "What will you do?"
"I'll catch it." He cupped his hands in a bowl in front of her.
His chest swooped in delight at her small, breathy laugh. Or maybe it was more of a snort. He didn't really care.
"Gross," she said in an attempt at reproach. "And really not all that helpful. Aren't you going to try and send me home?"
"I know you well enough by now to know that it won't work." His lips quirked. "You're one of the most stubborn people I've ever met, and trust me when I say I know some very stubborn people."
Like my father. Or Alya, he thought, ruefully remembering the reason they were both there. Edmond Proulx's victorious smirk danced across his memory.
"I saw the program," he told her.
She slowly lifted her head. "And?"
"I was surprised. I thought I was the only Cat in Paris until they managed to go and dig up that sourpuss."
She gave a familiar sigh and leant back against the roof. "This is serious, Chat. How many people feel the same as him?"
"It can't be that many. I've never heard of the organisation before at all. "
She made a noise somewhere between a hum and a groan as she raised one hand to her flushed cheek. The ball of worry Chat was suppressing twisted sickly in his stomach. She shouldn't have to deal with this. Not right now.
"Don't worry," he added. "We've had critics before. They always come around. Why would this be any different?"
"Because he was right. Where are we going, Chat? What are we doing? I've been wondering that myself." She grimaced. "I shouldn't be surprised that someone else had the same questions."
"Ladybug?"
"What have we learned about Papillon in all this time? We don't know who he is, or where his base is, or even what he wants the miraculous for." She was breathing shallowly, her eyes bright and unfocused. "We don't know where akuma come from. We can't predict them. We can't prevent them. We can't get any clues from the victims because they forget everything."
She finished on a deep breath. "He was right. We're not getting anywhere."
"No, he wasn't." Chat couldn't say he was shocked. He'd known long ago that she was the more pessimistic of the two of them, but hearing these thoughts from her ached. They had done so much for their city. They sacrificed so much of their lives. How could she doubt them like this?
"He wasn't right," Chat told her again. "We're helping people. You're sick and giving up your time to protect a stranger—"
"Chat, don't." For some reason, this line of thought seemed to make her more upset.
He tried a different tactic. "We're not soldiers, my Lady. We're not workers. We're not here to save the world. All we need to do is keep the citizens of Paris safe. That's what we've done."
Her lips pursed. He thought she might keep pushing, but then her posture sagged and she sank back into the blanket with a shiver. He hadn't seen her this uncertain since the first time that Papillon had challenged them in front of the Tower.
"It feels so meaningless sometimes. What's the point of these powers if we can't change anything? It's like we're caught in a loop. Don't you… Don't you ever get tired of it?"
He had goosebumps.
"No," he whispered.
The air felt crisp enough to break, the night colourless and dull except for the faint glow of the Tower in the middle distance. He was silent as her gaze roved out over the sleeping city.
"Something needs to change, Chat. We can't do this forever. I… I have dreams I want to reach. I had a plan, before all this started." Her eyes were like ice, piercing the warm protection of his suit. "Isn't there something else you want to be?"
His immediate response caught in his throat. Feelings he'd gotten better at controlling were pushed back down into their neat pen. He didn't want to make her uncomfortable.
But he still felt it.
I don't care what I am as long as I'm with you.