Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Adrien hadn't wanted to go to the opera in the first place.

Opera itself was fine, he didn't have a problem with it; plenty nice to watch and listen to… After the novelty had worn off several years ago Adrien found that he preferred to crane his neck after the action happening in the rigging above the stage (which had earned him a few cleared throats from an accompanying adult over the years).

It was the whole fuss about it that bored him: far too many layers of too-stiff clothes, the standing around in dim foyers surrounded by other people also wearing far too many layers of too-stiff clothes and chitchatting about the stock market or charity dinners or somebody’s career progress (before, during, and after the performance)... It was the “stand up straight’s” and the “I would like to introduce you to’s” and the “be sociable’s” and the “your father regrets that he is unable to attend’s”... Maybe it'd be better if he, like every other person jammed into this tiny stuffy bar between the acts, had a glass of champagne to fall back on.

It'd probably be pretty easy, a tiny part of him figured, now that there were so many dropping like stalactites out of hands all over the room, to pluck a flute from the air and see if it helped.

Instinct had him vaulting over the bar instead.

There he crouched low as he was jostled by escaping staff, his breathing deep and even, eyes glued to the enormous mirror stuck to the wall. Adrien scanned the reflected horde of fleeing audience members with a well-practised precision, looking for… Well.

When identifying akuma the first thing you looked for was an ostentatious outfit.

A screaming woman stumbled past, with what looked like an entire swan pinned to her head.

Adrien blinked.

An ostentatious outfit at the opera.

…

On to criteria two then.

The second thing you looked for was the flow of the crowd: whichever direction they were running from , that was where the trouble was. And where the trouble was, Adrien had to go.

It looked like everyone was getting clear of the auditorium as fast as they could; the bar at this point looked mostly empty.

Adrien’s fists curled against his thighs. Could he risk transforming here? Was that creak the sound of someone hiding nearby or just the shifting of old wooden architecture? Was that murmuring coming from outside or inside the room? Even behind his countertop hideaway, he was still far too exposed for comfort… No, he decided, there were plenty of nooks and crannies in the old opera house, he’d find a better-   

His heart stopped in his chest when screams erupted anew from just outside the auditorium door.

Manic laughter - the akuma!

And that was the end of Adrien’s rational thought process.

Because after that, the akuma began to sing.

The only way he could describe the note that shook the building with the magnitude of a 9-on-the-Richter-Scale earthquake was… High.

A piercing screech unlike anything he’d ever heard, Adrien’s eyes watered as he slapped his hands over his ears, drawing his legs up tight against his chest when bottles of expensive liquor rattled free of their confines and smashed about his feet. God, the noise. It felt like white-hot pokers were being driven into his head from either ear. It hurt, hurt -

Out! He had to get out! He could feel tiny kwami paws jabbing at his ribs - I know, I know! He mouthed (or shouted? How could he tell when his ears were already full of sound), head spinning as he tried to find an escape route- left! He threw his arms over his head in an effort to defend himself against the hailstorm of bottles; Adrien scrambled along the back of the bar to-

The voice somehow, incredibly, jumped an octave: the effect was instant and absolute paralysis. Adrien’s yowl of part-pain, part-frustration was lost in the horrific cacophony of exploding glasses and the akuma’s song. He careened into the side of the counter, his shoulder jarring painfully against the woodwork, which was when he heard it:

Crack.

He had no idea how it was audible above the din, but Adrien felt that crack pass over him like a wind, standing his every hair up on end.

Crack.

His eyes swivelled in their sockets, fixing on the great mirror that made up the entire back wall. The mirror, and the dark lines running through it like lightning.

Another high note burst from the auditorium-

The mirror shattered.

Chapter Text

Marinette had always wanted to go to the opera.

There was the production (the costumes!), obviously, but the whole affair of attending one had been spun so glamorously in her mind: like something out of a fairy tale, skirts trailing over the marble steps under the low light of countless glittering chandeliers… Recently she'd started picturing a sharply-dressed blond waiting for her at the top of the stairs but that (she flushed) was a daydream for another time.

Fantasies aside, Marinette hadn't really imagined that her first visit to the opera would involve her punching the mezzo-soprano in the face.

Come on, surely this didn't count as her first visit- yes she'd been in the building and yes she’d heard singing (she winced at the memory of the akuma’s pitchy shrieks), and yes she’d even gotten dressed up to attend (albeit in spots)... But it didn't count!

After all, this had been a business trip, not one for pleasure.

Satisfied with this rationale, Marinette (no: Ladybug) planted a fist on the curve of her hip, lightly bouncing a spotted pair of earmuffs in her other palm as she surveyed the catastrophic damage done to the interior from centre-stage.

If she had to pick a word: yikes.

The enormous chandelier lay in ruins at her feet; crushed beneath it were a good third of the seats (luckily the auditorium had long since emptied by the time it fell). Deep cracks ran through the painted ceiling above, loose chips of plaster and dust floating to the floor like snow. All around her: battered woodwork, torn curtains, smashed statues, shards of glass… And a little to the left of where she was standing, a great gaping chasm torn through the middle of the stage. The entire scene was lit by the flickering remains of the wall lamps, casting long nightmarish shadows beyond the sporadic spots of yellow light.

“I don’t think your Cataclysm could’ve done a better job at wrecking this place,” Ladybug tossed over her shoulder.

She was answered by a low groan. Unsurprising. Chat Noir had been peculiarly flat during the fight today; probably due to his super sensitive hearing. Sure, okay, fair enough. Although… It also wasn't unusual for Chat to show up with less than three hours of sleep under his belt, he'd admitted one day, which of course was absolutely insane … Still, despite her long rambling lectures, his sheepish grins and mumbled apologies, Ladybug hadn't been able to shake him of the habit. She sighed. Looks like today was another one of those days.

“Aw, kitty,” Ladybug lilted her lips sympathetically. “Another late night?”

A muffled thud echoed from the wings as her partner slid down the wall and onto his rear - that drew a sliver of concern.

She tilted her head after him, frowning.

His entire body seemed to sag, cat ears drooping and his live-wire of a tail curiously limp on the floor. His chin had dropped to his chest, face totally obscured behind that shaggy mop of hair, and…

“Kitty?”

And his breathing- His breathing was… Light and shallow. Off.

Her gut tickled unpleasantly.

“Chat?”

By the time he’d responded with a strained “Mmm?”, Ladybug had crossed the space between them.

“Chat, are you… What’s the matter?”

He was hurting, she realised with a nasty jolt. Stupid! How hadn't she noticed?

She placed a hand on his shoulder-

Chat flinched, hard. He hissed - he'd never hissed before, what the hell was going on - before his head fell back against the wall, hair finally moving out of the way so she could see his face- She sucked a breath between her teeth. He was white as a sheet. His eyes were screwed shut, nostrils flared and lips twitching around whispered expletives.

Oh my god, he was really seriously actually properly hurt.

Ladybug’s mind blew up in an icy flurry of panic: when? How? She played back the entire evening in triple-time, desperately scanning her memory for any hint of when he could've been hit by… By something? Had he pulled a muscle? Had he landed funny on a jump? Maybe hit the wall in a particularly nasty way?

Hang on - oh, stupid - she still had her Lucky Charm. She'd let him sit there in pain like an idiot when she had the power to fix everything just sitting in her goddamn hand!

“Hang on, let me just-” she made to stand “-Miraculous L-”

“NO!”

Chat Noir’s hand was like steel on her wrist; she nearly pitched forward into his lap at the force of the sudden stop. No?What did he mean, no?

The move had obviously not been thought out on his part: Chat’s teeth flashed as he hissed again, his back bowing awkwardly as he suddenly tensed. His eyelashes fluttered, an eye cracking open to fix her with a horrible look - it seemed to Ladybug dull, dull and wet .

“Don’t,” he said softly (very softly, like a sigh). “Please don't, I'm-” he licked his lips and dropped his gaze “-I'm not sure what… What…”

She tried to put as much Ladybug into her voice as possible.

“What what, Chat Noir? Why can’t I use the Cure? Please tell me exactly what's going on, you're- you're scaring me.”

And he was. He was scaring the living daylights out of her and she was one heart rate spike away from cardiac arrest.

“I…” Chat exhaled heavily through his nose, refusing to look at her. “I’m not sure what it’ll do… To me… Uh…”

All Ladybug could see were fat red question marks.

“Something happened,” he continued. Here it comes. “Something during the attack-” she knew it “-but before… Before I transformed.”

The bottom fell out of her stomach.

“What happened?”

Was that her voice? Wow she'd never heard it that high before.

Chat squirmed a little.

“Chat Noir if you don't tell me what's wrong this instant so help me-”

“There was… I was here… I was hiding and there was this mirror. There was this mirror and the akuma sang, and it exploded and I… I think I…”

He looked at her then. Desperately.

“I think the suit is suppressing a lot of the pain and keeping me from- From bl… Blee… They’re still in me, I think. I think I can feel...”

Ladybug clapped a hand over her mouth.

“If you use the Cure, I don't know what’ll happen. And I can't stay in the suit forever, I-”

He swallowed. Then whispered:

“I don't know what to do.”

The Cure was supposed to fix everything. That's what it did, it was the Cure. I mean she didn't know the ins and outs of it- And now she understood his worry. Would the swarm of ladybugs rip the shards out of him and leave him to bleed while they fixed the mirror? Would they close the wounds with the glass still inside him? Would the glass just disappear? Would it hurt him? Or worst of all: what if her powers did nothing at all because he was in his suit? The suit… The impenetrable suit. Oh god… She'd never thought about it before. And now she didn't know. She didn't know what to do either.

Ladybug rocked back on her heels, eyes flying around the room instinctively for some sort of guidance. An idea, anyth-

Chat mistook her actions completely.

“Stupid.”

What?

“I’m being stupid, I'm sorry. I’m- Use the Cure, Ladybug, I’m sorry I can't believe I forgot about…”

He wheezed - was he laughing ?

Chat flopped a hand in the vague vicinity of the auditorium.

“Fix it, I can figure out me when it comes to it, I-”

He thought she was more worried about a crumbly old building than him. He was more worried about a crumbly old building than him, she- If he wasn't seriously injured she would've slapped him.

“Shut up.”

And he did, he shut right up, eyes wide as saucers as they fixed once more upon her.

Ladybug’s fingers had curled into fists. Her vision was a little wobbly and she knew she was on the verge of tears but by god, was she going to hold herself together.

“Don’t you dare finish that thought,” she seethed. “Now just- I’m thinking.”

…

“Where did it happen?”

“Where- Oh, in one of the bars, wh-”

“Can you remember how to get there?”

“Yes?” Chat blinked owlishly up at her. “Upstairs… On the first floor… Why-”

“I have an idea,” gosh she was amazed that she was managing to keep her voice so level, hooray for her! “I just want to run it by you first, okay?”

Chat Noir bit his lip. He nodded.

Right. Okay.

“I'm going to need you to detransform.”

Chat’s jaw dropped.

“Not now, when we get to the place where the mirror is. If you detransform at the same time that I use the Cure, then, I think… Because that's how you were when it happened and, um… That would cover us in most outcomes. What do you think?”

And if it didn't work, she could take him to one of the ambulances she’d seen parked outside on her way in and they'd be none the wiser about his identity and oh god, she didn't even want to consider anything beyond “what if it doesn't work”.

“I think… I think, okay,” he said carefully, eyes downcast. “Okay, good idea.”

Ladybug nodded. Right so they just needed to- ah. She looped the earmuffs around her neck.

“I'm… I’m going to have to move you, is that okay?”

Chat made a strange noise halfway between a gurgle and a giggle, a noise so strange, in fact, that she actually stopped halfway through looping her hand under his legs to check if that was actually an affirmative.

Ladybug felt him wince as she wrapped her other arm behind his back, her hand gingerly squeezing his waist (I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry). His eyes had shut again-

“Chat?”

“Uh huh?”

“This… Um, this is probably going to hurt.”

“It’s okay.”

To his credit he didn't make a single sound as she scooped him up in one big movement. Nor when she nearly tripped over a loose plank of wood at the edge of the stage. He was even silent when she'd jerked them backwards to dodge a piece of falling plaster from the ceiling. Mum on the stairs too - she'd started looking at him every few minutes to make sure he hadn't passed out. Quiet didn't suit him and she didn't like it.

Ladybug nearly dropped him when he finally spoke.

“Through there.”

The first thing that hit her was the reek of alcohol. The plush red carpet was black with it - every footfall was a squelch. Black, and glittery? With each flicker of the wall lamps the floor winked back at her like some bizarre reflection of the night sky. Oh, she thought numbly, it’s glass. Broken glass, everywhere.

She stepped into the room.

Squelch, squelch- crunch.

Then Ladybug saw the bar, and had to remind herself not to grip the body in her arms too tightly.

Her parents had made a cake like it once, no doubt for some fancy corporate ‘do. She'd enjoyed helping her father smash up the panes of sugar glass and watching her mother make a great show of jabbing the results into the cake - they'd called it modern art and laughed. Now Ladybug just felt sick.

The long wooden countertop stretched from one end of the room to the other: the entire thing was barbed and prickled with long, cruel shards of what she could only assume had been the mirror. When he'd told her “mirror”, she hadn't thought he’d meant “ entire wall” .

It was a miracle in itself that he was even alive.

Ladybug carefully deposited her partner on the least ruined of the sofa chairs on the other side of the room. He looked like a doll: limbs a bit too askew and eyes a bit too glassy. And staring straight up at her too, his expression solemn.

This would work, this would work, this was going to work.

She took a steadying breath.

“Are you ready?”

God she hoped that at least one of them was, because she sure as hell wasn’t.

He huffed.

“N-no, are you?”

Ladybug swallowed.

In lieu of an answer, she said:

“When I count to three, detransform. I promise I won't look, okay?”

“Okay.”

Okay.

...okay.

“One-”

“Wait, I- I- Can I…”

She looked down: he'd hooked a hopeful claw around her pinkie, oh… Ladybug dropped into a crouch beside the chair and pushed the rest of her fingers between Chat’s.

Her partner took a shallow breath.

“I trust you,” he said after a moment, his eyes large and dark and uncharacteristically serious. Ladybug's chest swelled. She wished she trusted herself.

“One,” said Chat Noir. He tried to smile - it didn't really work, so he nodded.

Here goes.

“Two,” Ladybug’s voice only wavered a little bit. Closing her eyes, she pulled at the earmuffs with her free hand.

…

“Three.”

“Claws in.”

“Mirac-”

The Lucky Charm slipped clean out of her grip when her partner screamed.

Chapter Text

Her ears were ringing.

“Ladybug!”

The bones of her hand creaked under the pressure of bare fingers, vice-like and ghostly white.

What had she done.

“Ladybug!”

He was going to die and it was all her fault-

“LADYBUG!”

Her eyes crossed, refocused, on a little black blob with acid green slits for eyes tugging painfully at her nostrils. A kwami.

“Ladybug,” it yelled. It yelled, over the top of a horrible, drawn-out scream. “Lucky Charm! Where’s the Lucky Charm?”

Her Lucky-

Her eyes bulged. HER LUCKY CHARM. Where was it (her one free hand fumbled about her knees), where- There!

Shit shit shit-

Ladybug’s hands were shaking so badly she could barely grip-

“Hurry!”

The screaming petered off into a cough, a rattle, and a hoarse sob-

(There was blood welling from the great tears in his white dress shirt, fast and hot and RED, and starting to pool atop the already drenched carpet it was coming so quickly -)

“LADYBUG!”

Unable to tear her eyes from the ruined chest before her, Ladybug didn't bother to look what happened to the pair of earmuffs she’d hurled over her shoulder. She wasn't even sure if the panicky squeaks she'd spoken were in fact the magic words or not. It was like she’d been dunked in ice water. Numb, shivery, and things seemed to happen in slow motion. It took a whole three seconds for her to even barely register the papery flutters of the ladybug swarm enveloping the room, the building, the... The…

Ladybug watched, as if from a great distance, the fingers gripping hers tighten before vanishing under a flurry of pink and spots and wings.

And when the cries stopped, her eyelids squeezed shut of their own accord.

…

“Kid.”

Ladybug opened her eyes.

The little black blob kwami hung in the air about twenty centimetres above the body on the floor like a drop of ink, tail limp and whiskers quivering. It hadn’t been talking to her, she realised. In fact, it seemed to have forgotten she was even there.

The shirt beneath the kwami was crisp, clean, and blemish free. And still. Perfectly still.

No rise and fall of the chest underneath it.

Nothing.

“Kid,” it said again, a little louder, a little sadder.

...

Ladybug was met with a face-full of 100% premium-grade cotton when her partner snapped upright like a jackknife, gasping for air.

“Oof!”

Air which Ladybug promptly knocked straight back out of his lungs when she threw her arms around his ribs like a vice, her nose smushed against an absolutely intact sternum that jumped with every wheeze, throbbed with every heartbeat…

He shifted beneath her; no, no way, she wasn’t ready to let go of him yet-

Ladybug twitched as two large, familiar palms settled tentatively just under her shoulderblades.

“H-hi,” he panted, breath hot and heavy and alive against the crown of her head.

Well, there was nothing for it: Ladybug burst into tears.

“Chat,” she wailed, repeating his name over and over and over again as she got snot and salty tears all over his nice shirt.

It played in her mind on loop in double time: Chat’s timid but certain “I trust you”, Chat’s fingers tangled in hers, Chat’s screams, Chat’s blood… Oh god, that'd been his body on the floor, hadn't it, bleeding and convulsing like that... It had really been him. He was here now, solid and sure, but he'd been so close to being gone-

His hands were everywhere: they slid over her shoulders to cup her neck, they were on her cheeks, they were stroking her hair, they were all the way around her back as he pulled her right up against him and rocked her gently, murmuring soft little things that she couldn’t really hear over her hysterics.

A big, wet droplet hit her scalp and Chat’s voice got stuck on what sounded a bit like an “it’s okay”. Oh bugger, now he was crying too - Ladybug squeezed, holding him so tight against her that she was sure he’d bruise, but it still wasn’t as hard as he was holding her.

What a pair they made.

Ladybug took a deep shuddery breath to calm herself (she wished she could smell him, Chat always smelled so nice, but her nose was clogged), and right before the exhale she caught the tail end of one of Chat’s mutterings:

“-I’m sorry it’s okay I’m sorry you’re so amazing thank you -”

Thank you. He was thanking her. For freezing up and hesitating and nearly killing him because she was so stupid and weak and how could he possibly be saying thank you when she’d almost…

“No,” she choked, fisting her fingers in the material at his back. “No no no, you- You don’t- You don’t s-say th-th- thank y-you , t-t-”

Chat’s hands were on her face again (cool, soft hands), his thumbs brushing over the tops of her cheekbones.

“Bug,” he said, voice very wobbly. “Bug, please, here… Here, look at me…”

And because he was Chat and she was Ladybug and he was okay and she’d do anything he asked as long as he would just stay that way , she followed his hands as they guided her eyes up to his.

His eyes were so, so green as they crinkled at the corners when he smiled, warm and watery and true.

“Thank you,” said Chat, honesty and awe dripping off the words like the fat tears from his chin, and he was beautiful.

...

Also, he wasn't wearing his mask.

This seemed to dawn on Chat as the partner in his arms stared for a little too long with eyes a little too wide, if the way his tender expression slid off his face was any indication.

God. God, she thought numbly. He looked so much like-

- ah .