Chapter Text
Police lights flashed, beacons of brightness in the dark night, casting elongated, writhing shadows on nearby buildings. The piercing sirens had stopped some time ago, when the cars first arrived. At the time, it had been a relief, but now Ladybug almost wanted them back. Policemen bustled around her, trying to gather information, to keep civilians away. A crowd had gathered, kept at bay by hastily erected blockades and dozens of officers. It seemed half the city was awake, come to see the fallout, the end.
Come to see if their heroes had won.
From the center of the cordoned off area, Ladybug stared blankly at the mass of people, their faces bathed in red and blue. A wave of sound rose from them, thousands of voices mingling together, overlapping until it became impossible to know what was being said. Until it was simply noise.
It wasn’t loud enough. The shouting police, the calling citizens. None of it was loud enough. None of it could overpower the ringing in her ears. The clash of metal on metal.
A yell of pain.
Stop.
Breathe.
Clouds rolled in the sky above, covering the moon and painting everything in dim light. The heavy smell of rain hung in the air. A storm was coming. A storm had already passed.
How fitting, she thought, that the end should happen on a night like this. How fitting that the sky should cry too.
Red spilling on dull gray.
Focus.
Chat Noir’s gaze drilled into her. Even without turning, she could picture him, waiting silently in the dark, visible only by his luminescent green eyes. A phantom, her ever faithful shadow, always watching. Though the crowd seemed oblivious to his watchful stare, the police knew. Ladybug caught more than one of them glancing in his direction. Some wary, some thankful, some simply confused. A few looked to her as if preparing to ask about his absence, but they all seemed to think better of it in the end. Ladybug herself had to resist the urge to turn and look. She longed to be up there with him, away from the lights and people and expectations. The hundreds of questions thrown at her. She longed for him to be here, by her side, supporting her as he always had. But he was in no state to handle this, and she was loath to put it off. Get it over now and she won’t have to deal with it later.
Stop.
A flash of purple.
Breathe.
White hair. A sharp inhale.
Focus.
Lieutenant Raincomprix made his way toward her. He looked tired but excited, triumphant. Ladybug found it hard to share his joy. A large navy blue coat rested on his broad shoulders. As he approached, Roger took off his hat, held it near his heart. Ladybug focused on the dark of his coat instead of his too bright hair. Hair that looked much too red in the light.
A shock of red and white in the corner of her eye.
Don’t look.
“This city is grateful for everything you and Chat Noir have done, Ladybug.” A salute. “I speak for everyone when I say thank you.”
She forced a smile. Her hands shook behind her back. Could he see? Could he tell it wasn’t real? “We’re just doing our job. If that’s all, I think I’ll go rejoin Chat Noir.”
“Of course. Have a good rest of your night.”
I don’t know if that’s possible.
“You too.”
She couldn’t leave fast enough. The yoyo felt foreign in her hands.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. It was supposed to be final, easy, a mystery man in a mask sent to jail. Cheers and news broadcasts and celebrations. A collective release of breath throughout the city. The tension, the pain, was supposed to be gone. It wasn’t supposed to be this. Gabriel Agreste in the back of a police car. A weight in her chest. Pain. Pity.
Adrien.
She would have to tell him. He would see it on the news, maybe already had, but she would still tell him. She owed him that. He needed to know how sorry she was. His father, the only family he had left. It would break him.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Chat stood waiting on the roof. He didn’t turn to look at her as she landed next to him, keeping his eyes fixed on the retreating cars. He seemed to have recovered from the shock. The moonlight made him pale, sharpened the lines on his face. His normally bright hair hung limply around his face, appearing almost white in the light. He looked years older, like he’d aged a decade in the span of a few hours. It felt like she had as well.
Ladybug reached over, grabbed his clenched fist. For a few terrifying moments, he was unresponsive, standing still as a statue. Then, as he’d done a hundred times, he laced his fingers through hers. She squeezed, and when he squeezed back, some of the tension bled from her.
They stood there, side by side, clouds drifting above, until the car lights faded completely. As the excitement faded, the people began to disperse, eager to return to the warm comfort of their beds. Some stayed, straining to get a glimpse of their heroes, but they eventually tired and shuffled back home. Silence, or as close to it as was possible in Paris, filled the emptying streets.
“We did it,” she murmured, not because she was afraid of disturbing the quiet, but because she couldn’t find the energy to speak any louder. “It’s over. Four years later and it’s finally over. We won.”
“Did we?” Chat’s voice was hoarse, as if he’d been crying.
Ladybug looked at him. It was hard to tell with the mask, the unnatural green coloring of his eyes. Had he been crying? She squinted in the dark, gaze alighting on his cheek. A cut had been there, stretching from the corner of his mouth to his ear. It had vanished with the cure, healed by the hundred ladybugs that had rushed to his side. If she hadn’t seen it, she never would have known it was there in the first place.
Her eyes strayed down to his torso. It was gone now, the tear, the blood. But she couldn’t unsee it, would never get it out of her head. It would haunt her forever. The rapier sliding through his chest. His gasp of pain. Red staining the sword, his skin, her hands. So much red.
Her fault.
Don’t look .
She returned to his face, his healthy, healthy face. Did he remember? Did he remember the pain, the blood, her scream? Would it haunt him too?
You died.
“I guess not,” she conceded. This didn’t feel like victory, this hollow in her heart. It felt like loss. “I can’t believe it was Gabriel Agreste.”
Chat’s hand slipped from hers, the sudden movement drawing a flinch from her. He turned and stalked to a chimney near the center of the roof. His ears pressed flat to his head, belt swishing behind him. All signs of agitation. He really was so much like a cat sometimes.
“Chat?” Ladybug asked. “Are you okay?”
He didn’t answer. She watched him move, back and forth, back and forth, like she was spectating a tennis match. Everything about him was tense, a loaded spring ready to be launched. A faint growl reached her ears, almost quiet enough for her to believe she imagined it.
“ Chaton , what’s wrong?”
A humorless laugh filled the night, dark and emotionless. Dead. “What’s wrong?” he snarled. “Kind of a dumb question don’t you think? Everything. Everything is wrong.”
Ladybug stepped toward him, hands up in a placating gesture. “Calm down, Chat. This isn’t like you.”
He stopped, looked her dead in the eyes. His slitted pupils narrowed, irises glowing a radioactive green. “And you would know what’s ‘like me’ would you?”
The words hit her like a slap to the face. She gaped at him.
“Of course I would,” she said, not bothering to keep the hurt from her voice. “We’ve been partners for four years.”
The pacing resumed. Ladybug watched him, confusion and fearing warring within. She had never seen him act like before. Her sweet, flirtatious partner. He’d been serious before, when the need arose, but never angry. Not like this. Not at her. She felt suddenly unsteady, like the floor had vanished underneath her.
“Does that really mean anything though? Do we really know anything about each other?”
“Chat, what are you talking about?” She fought against the exhaustion threatening to overwhelm her. She was so tired. Emotionally and physically drained. It was supposed to be over. She was supposed to be home. They had already been put through so much. Why now did she have to deal with this too?
“This. Us. Him.” Chat threw one black clad arm in the direction of the police precinct. “Gabriel Agreste had an entire company of people working for him and no one figured out he was a fucking terrorist for four years!”
Ladybug found her own anger rising to the surface. What was he talking about? Why was he accusing all these people who had nothing to do with this?
“You can’t blame them for that. It wasn’t their job to know.”
“Then whose was it? Adrien’s? Shouldn’t his son have known?” He was yelling now, shaking with the force of his anger. Eyes wide, lips curled in a snarl, tail lashing back and forth like a whip. He looked manic as he continued his furious pacing. She would never admit it, because he would hate himself if he knew, but for the first time in their four years of partnership, Ladybug was scared of him.
“It’s not his fault either,” she said, voice shaking despite her best efforts. “Don’t bring him into this.” Only a low snarl in response. “Chat why are you getting so angry?”
“Because he’s my father !”
Quiet settled over them, so absolute you could hear a pin drop. The noises of Paris at night seemed to fade, muffle, as if she were hearing them from underwater. Chat had whirled on her, shoved his face in hers. The sweat on his skin glistened in the dull light of the moon. His breathing was heavy, strained. It misted in the cold air, a cloud ghosting across her face as his chest heaved. He looked about to cry. Ladybug had taken a step back from his anger, startled by the sudden movement. Reflex more than anything had put her in a fighting stance, muscles tense, ready to move at any moment. Ready to attack. Blood pounded in her ears.
Surely she heard him wrong. There was no way. It had to be wrong.
“What?” Her voice was barely a whisper.
Chat Noir—Adrien Agreste—breathed deeply. For the first time, he seemed to take in her pose, her shaking hands. His composure slipped, the anger drained out of him. His entire body seemed to lose strength at once. He hung his head, shoulders slumping in defeat. A whimper escaped him.
When he spoke it was soft, almost too quiet to hear. “Gabriel Agreste is my father“—his voice cracked on the name—“and I just put him in jail.”
She wanted to reach out, to say his name, to help him somehow. But her body wouldn’t move. A sudden chill filled her, like all the warmth had been sucked from her. She watched, frozen, as he lifted his head. Her heart lurched at the tears filling his eyes. For a minute, he looked at her, an apology written on his face. And then he turned and left, disappearing into the night. Returning to a house he had never much liked in the first place.
Still, Ladybug stood there, staring at where he’d been. Her legs were weak, like she’d collapse at any moment. She couldn’t get enough air. She couldn’t breath. Like her lungs were black holes, sucking everything in, never full. He couldn’t be. The world couldn’t be that cruel. It couldn’t. This—this wasn’t fair. Hadn’t they suffered enough? Hadn’t they sacrificed enough? Why this? Why now did they have to lose this too? She was supposed to be good luck, wasn’t she? It was all supposed to be okay in the end.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Stop. Breathe. Focus.
Maybe she was just a fool. After everything she’d been through, maybe she should have expected this. She should have known that nothing in this world is fair.
Stop. Breathe. Focus.
A tear fell, then another, and another, until she crumpled under the weight of them. Under the weight of her pain, her grief. She curled into herself, sobs racking her body. The facade, the strength, the hero of Paris, slipped away. All that remained was the girl. The girl who had been asked to hold up the sky. The girl who had been crushed under it. And she mourned. She mourned a friend, a partner. She mourned a boy who died and came back. Mourned a boy who had lost everything.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
——————————
It began to rain on her way home. She slipped in through the window, careful not to make a sound. The skylight would have been easier, more quiet. But she was just awake enough to care about wet bed sheets, and much too tired to change them.
A flash of pink lit up the dark as the suit fell away. The god creature—the one who gave her this power—spun through the air. Tikki studied her chosen for a moment, then flew to the hidden stash of cookies. She returned with a cookie in hand (paw?) seconds later.
Marinette hadn’t registered her absence or her return. The girl stood in her room, eyes fixed on the wall, seeing but not seeing. Seeing his face, his anger, his pain. Seeing the truth for the first time. Seeing it and wishing she hadn’t.
She wasn’t angry about knowing. That wasn’t it. The reason she had been so adamant about secrecy in the first place was protection. Protecting her family, her friends. Herself. She was Ladybug, yes, but underneath the suit she was human. She could not be everywhere. She could not protect everyone.
Now that reason was gone. There was no risk of her family being targeted, her friends being used against her. That danger was past, the person causing it in a cell. Now she knew they truth. And all it brought her was pain. She wasn’t angry, not at him. In fact, she would have suggested a reveal the next time they crossed paths. No. She was angry at Gabriel Agreste. She was angry at the man who betrayed his son, who left him with nothing but fear and hatred. She was angry at Hawkmoth, who did terrible things to innocent people. She was angry at the monster who terrorized her city. This man who made emotions something to fear, and had the audacity to claim it was all for family.
The soft patter of rain on the roof brought Marinette back to herself. Her gaze cleared. Her eyes—still red and puffy from crying—roved the dark room. Something on her desk, positioned just right to catch what little light shone through the window, snagged her attention. Her phone, resting face up, just as it had been when she’d left that evening. No doubt it had been vibrating non-stop since the beginning of the fight, but now it sat silent, dark. Taunting her. She turned away, feeling exhaustion drag at her. She wanted to sleep. She wanted to go to bed and never wake up. And she did not want to do it in her clothes. Years of the same routine prevented her from falling prey to her usual clumsiness as she moved about the room, changing into a pair of pajamas. She hesitated at the base of the bed, glancing back at her phone. A moment passed, then two. She grabbed the phone and retreated to her bed.
Marinette stared at the phone for at least a minute, internally debating whether or not looking now was really worth it. In the end, she decided to simply get it over with. Better to do it now, while she was already emotionally compromised. Then she could at least try to sleep it off.
Thank God for automatically adjusting brightness. She managed to avoid blinding herself when she opened the phone, revealing exactly what she’d expected. Dozens of texts and half a dozen calls sat unopened, mostly from Alya, but there were some from Nino, Luka, her parents. Those were mostly concerned, wondering where she was, what she was doing, if she was safe or not. Alya’s were mostly about the battle. It was odd, seeing the fight described by someone who had not been in it, who was only a spectator. Alya’s narration lacked Marinette’s thoughts, her feelings, the million and one desperate plans running through her mind. It lacked her panic and her fear and her anger and her pain. It felt . . . empty.
Then Chat got stabbed. In an instant, Alya’s text went from excited to horrified. Marinette felt sick just reading them. Even through text, her shock and confusion was palpable. The city, it seemed, had forgotten that they were not gods. For all their power, they were still only mortal. Flesh and bone. Breakable. And maybe they had forgotten that too. Nothing had truly hurt them in four years. Maybe somewhere along the way, they’d begun to believe nothing could. But Tikki and Plagg had shattered that belief. Everything has a weakness , they said, voices ancient as the universe itself. You are about to face yours . The weapons of other miraculous holders.
A rapier cutting his suit like butter. Blood. A scream.
Bile rose in her throat.
Stop.
His last breath a whispered declaration.
Stop.
White hot anger.
Stop.
It had been a rude awakening.
And everyone had seen it. It had been covered by every major news outlet, from every possible angle. It would be everywhere. She would see it everywhere. She would never stop seeing it.
Too much. It was all too much.
Stop stop stop stop-
The phone fell to the bed with a dull thud. In the absence of the bright screen, darkness returned to fill the room. Marinette hardly noticed as she curled into herself, legs pulled to her chest, palms pressed against her eyes to stop any tears that might form. She had no right to cry anymore. It wasn’t her father who’d been arrested. Wasn’t her father who’d shoved a sword through her chest. It wasn’t her life that had fallen apart. She was Ladybug, the goddamn hero of Paris, and she would not cry.
A small weight settled on her head. Marinette expected some kind of pep talk, some speech from her kwami that would cheer her up, make her laugh, help her realize how ridiculous she was being. Tikki always seemed to have a speech prepared for whenever Marinette began to doubt herself, whenever she felt less than heroic. Now felt like the perfect time to pull one of those speeches out. But she didn’t. Instead, Tikki simply said, “Marinette.”
There was such an understanding in her voice, in that one word, that Marinette almost began to cry. Again. Look at her, the hero of Paris, all torn up because someone had shown her a little sympathy. Pathetic.
She fought against the tears, shaking her head weakly. “I’m fine.”
A sigh, but no argument. Finally regaining control of her emotions, Marinette picked up the phone again. Alya’s last dozen texts ended in worry. Worry for Ladybug and Chat Noir, worry for Marinette, for Adrien. Texts of where are you? Why aren’t you answering your phone? Have you talked to Adrien? He’s not answering either.
Of course not. Because he was with her, fighting his father. Dying.
Breathe.
Marinette closed her eyes, clenching the phone tightly in one hand. She took a breath, focusing on the things around her. The material of the blanket tangled losing around her legs, measly protection against the cold. The rain pounding against the skylight, a steady thrum. Her own breath, air rushing in and out of her lungs, in tandem with the rise and fall of her chest. Alive. She was here, now, and she was alive. Chat was alive, safe at home without that man to hurt him anymore. Everything was okay.
Nothing was okay.
Tikki rested on the girl’s chest, silent. A wound like this, she knew, could not be fixed with a few words, so she opted instead to be an anchor, a weight to ground her chosen. This poor girl. She had taken a burden she knew nothing about, for the good of others, and in the end, the world punished her for it. It always seemed to. Those chosen for this task always suffered, and Marinette, it seemed, was no exception.
There would be questions, Tikki knew. She had kept so much from the girl. Not out of malice or lack of trust—Marinette would not have been chosen were she not trustworthy, and Tikki adored all her chosen—but because at the time, it seemed safer. The strictness with which the kwami, and by extension, Master Fu, enforced their secret identities came from a place of fear for their safety. And Tikki did not regret that rule. But physical safety did not equate to mental safety. Physical safety did not ensure happiness. And given the recent developments, maybe a reveal would have been better. Maybe knowing their identities would have provided them more healthy coping mechanisms.
But if billions of years of life had taught Tikki anything, it was not to dwell. In less than a hundred years—such a short time to an immortal, a mere second of her existence—her chosen would pass, and she would find another. It would not matter then whether Marinette and Adrien knew each other's identities, whether they loved or hated each other. They would become nothing more than memories.
So Tikki spared only a second to consider her previous decisions before banishing the thoughts entirely. She focused her attention on Marinette. She watched the girl wrestled with her feelings. She waited.
Minutes passed—or maybe hours. The rain abated from a torrential downpour to a light shower, pattering gently against the roof. Marinette let out a deep breath, opened her eyes. Tikki’s small body settled in front of her, eyes like glowing pools in the dark. Something about her gaze made Marinette feel tiny, insignificant. Like looking into the universe itself. Then the god blinked, and her eyes were as they always had been; kind, encouraging, patient. Marinette took another breath, counted to five, then released.
“You knew, didn’t you? That Adrien was Chat Noir?” Her voice came out rough from crying.
Tikki nodded as if she’d expected this question. “I did. And Plagg knew you were Ladybug.”
“Because of Dark Owl?”
She shook her head. “Since the beginning. Plagg and I are two halves of a whole, and as such, we are inextricably linked. We could sense each other when you were at school. In fact, we would often talk during your classes. A little time together allowed us to better combat any loneliness we might have felt. Plagg and I are not usually so . . . separated.”
“You and Plagg we sneaking off together? How scandalous,” Marinette teased. Tikki smiled indulgently, a knowing look in her eye. Marinette smiled as well, but the act took far more effort than it rightly should have. The levity of the joke faded quickly then as her mind turned back to less humorous thoughts. “He was right in front of me the entire time,” she murmured, more to herself than Tikki. “ Mon Chaton . How could we both be so blind?”
“You both act differently in the suits. And there was magic involved. Your ignorance was by design.”
“Still,” Marinette sighed, weariness evident in her voice. “I—I can’t believe I was right.”
“When?”
Fourteen year old Ladybug, still with pigtails and a blind belief that the world was good. Fourteen year old Chat, refusing to even consider what she was saying. Standing on the roof of Francois Dupont, arguing about a man shrouded in mystery. At the time, it had confused her to no end, but now it made sense. Why he was so adamant that Gabriel couldn’t be Hawkmoth. Why his whole being had let out a sigh of relief when they’d cleansed the akuma. She understood, and she hated Gabriel all the more for it.
“A few years ago. After Volpina. That whole book incident, when Gabriel Agreste turned into the Collector. I was right.” Her eyes were dull. “We could have stopped this years ago.”
“You could have,” Tikki agreed. “But would that really have been better?”
A frown knit her brow. They could have saved hundreds of people the pain of being akumatized. They could have lived normal lives instead of constantly structuring their days around potential akumas. Of course it would have been better. “What do you mean?”
“Adrien would have lost his father at fourteen.”
Oh. “I . . . didn’t think about that.”
“Everything happens for a reason Marinette.”
“Does it?” she snapped. Tikki jerked back at her outburst. “Then tell me, what’s the reason for this? Why did Gabriel Agreste have to be Hawkmoth?”
“Marinette,” Tikki said. Not scolding, just sad.
The anger dissipated, replaced by a flash of guilt. She closed her eyes. “I’m sorry. I just don’t understand Tikki. Why him? Why does Adrien always lose?”
“Some people are just born with tragedy in their blood.”
Marinette laughed, so soft it was more of a breath than a laugh. “Why are you quoting Donnie Darko?”
Tikki cocked her head, the action reminiscent of a bird. “Who?”
“Never mind.” A thought came to her, one she had little desire to entertain. But she needed to know. She didn’t think she could sleep unless she knew. “Did Master Fu know that Gabriel Agreste was Hawkmoth?”
“No,” Tikki answered confidently. “He wouldn’t have kept that from you.”
“He kept other things from us,” Marinette pointed out, unable to keep a note of bitterness from her voice. She would be forever grateful to Fu for giving her Tikki and the Miraculous. But she would also be forever angry at him for keeping secrets, for forcing her to keep secrets.
“For good reason. He was being careful.”
“Careful about what?” she asked, some of her anger returning. Every unhelpful conversation she’d ever had with Fu played in her head. “I think it would’ve been helpful to know we weren’t invincible when we first started this. It would’ve been nice to know anything .”
Fu did more than just throw them into the deep end of the pool. He took them out to the middle of the ocean, pushed them in, and told them to swim to shore, all while a dozen sharks circled underneath them. He forced them to climb a cliff face in the blazing heat, with no safety rope, while he sat at the top sipping tea under an umbrella. He expected them to solve a calculus problem, without ever actually teaching them how to solve it. He wanted them to be paragons of heroism, but he neglected to teach them how. Marinette would never criticize someone for being cautious, lest she be called a hypocrite, but she would criticize Fu for abandoning them in the woods and expecting them to find their way home. They didn’t need caution, they needed help. Help that Fu continuously failed to provide.
Tikki sighed. “Marinette, you have to understand. Master Fu is the only remaining Guardian. Not just in Paris or France, in the world. The other Guardians are dead, and they’re dead because of something he did. He made a mistake before, and he wanted to make sure he wouldn’t make another.” Marinette pursed her lips but said nothing. Tikki added, “And if he had known, I’m not sure anything would have been different. You’re heroes, both of you. You are Ladybug and Chat Noir. Even if he had known who held the butterfly, he likely would have given Adrien the ring regardless. This is how it was meant to be.”
The girl scowled, far from satisfied with Tikki’s answer. “That’s stupid.”
Tikki smiled. “It may be,” she admitted.
“And who trusts two teenagers with a job like this? Shouldn’t you give the super powerful magic objects to people who are more emotionally stable?”
The god’s laugh rang out, clear and bright. “Probably. But can you really say you regret being Ladybug?”
Marinette contemplated the question. Did she? So many things had happened since she’d received the earrings, and so many of those things likely wouldn’t have happened had they gone to someone else. There was pain of course, sleepless nights and stress filled days where it felt like the universe was trying to make her as miserable as possible. But there were always good days. Good moments, really. Moments that made it all worth it. Moments that never would have happened otherwise.
She leaned forward and placed a kiss on the kwami’s forehead. “Never,” she said, and she meant it.
“You did the right thing Marinette,” Tikki said, that same gentle smile on her face. “Never doubt that.”
“I . . . I know. I just wish it didn’t feel like this.”
“It will get better. I promise.” She hovered above the bed. “You should sleep.”
Marinette nodded, eyes already drifting closed. Tikki settled on the bed’s railing. She fixed her ancient, endless gaze on her chosen. Thousands of years since their creation, but the human race hadn’t changed. Not in the ways that mattered. They were still so fragile, so easily breakable. She had seen everything, had seen the birth of the universe, the formation of the solar system, seen civilizations rise and fall. She was creation itself. But humans would always confuse her. And she would always care for them. It was in her nature.
So she sat and watched. Waited.
And she knew that somewhere in a cold, empty house, a black cat was doing the same.