Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Adrien heard the screams before the pain even made itself known. Then it was quick, assaulting his body as if he'd fallen six stories and lost any ounce of breath that remained in his chest.

A noise rang out—deafening to his ears—and then he was on the ground, collapsed on the surface of a stage where thousands of fans caught well more than a glimpse of what had transpired. Their faces twisted in horror, and their mouths were agape with their accompanying shrieks.

Panic. Panic. Panic.

A friend in the crowd. Burning—hot, wet pain in his chest and a deep red staining his hands—

then nothing.

He slept.

Everything was fuzzy.

A desolate blackness filled Adrien's vision as faint murmurs danced by his ears. His head pounded as if his brain had melted to mush. Any coherent thought had long slipped out the door, and as he tried to move—to sit up or even find the strength to open his eyes—Adrien cursed the sluggish nerves that left his body feeling like a still, lifeless form wherever he lay.

But he wasn't lifeless. He was very much alive. At least… He was pretty sure he was.

Where was he? Home?

No, no… That couldn't be right. The bed was far too uncomfortable to be his own, and there were too many voices just out of intelligible earshot. He heard his name once or twice, though it was faint—the voices barely recognizable—and he could have sworn he felt someone touching his hands…

Oh.

Someone was crying.

As he listened, he noticed that the voice belonged to a girl. And not just any girl—a friend of his. His partner. He would know her anywhere.

Why was she crying? Was that her hand enveloping his own?

Oh, how he wished he could make her smile…

It's okay, he thought, desperately wishing he could speak or squeeze her hand. I'm fine, Ladybug.

It was too tiresome to stay awake after that.

He'd been shot.

That was what Adrien had heard from the passing whispers in the hall, anyway.

It had been sudden—quick and excruciating—but he barely remembered a thing. Well, except for the blinding, searing pain that had exploded in his chest, of course.

But that felt like forever ago.

All he could think about was that he was wrapped up in some uncomfortable bandages, and his head was pounding. The sheets underneath his body were cold and sleek against his skin. He shivered as a gust of cool air chilled the room.

Adrien didn't feel like opening his eyes. That could wait; most things could. At the moment, he focused solely on the sounds of people conversing somewhere and the gentle pitter-patter of heeled shoes on the tile floor.

This sounded like something other than home.

He wouldn't be surprised if he weren't in his bed. He had been nearly killed, apparently, and that did warrant time spent away from home… Right?

But still… It didn't mean he wanted to be nestled in some strange, bright room where the light shone through his closed eyelids.

He groaned. Pain shot up his spine as he adjusted his position. A cry rose from his throat, his brain jolting awake from the electricity that burned at his insides. With a wince, he blinked open his eyes, the heaviness that dragged at them causing him to shut them the second sunlight filtered into his vision, the sudden burst of yellow rays sending a headache to pierce his skull.

Teeth gritting, Adrien sighed as he slipped back into darkness. There were still voices outside, quiet as they mumbled about something that sounded as if it was of great importance. His name came up a few times, and the words "lucky" and "healing," did nothing to clear his muddled thoughts. Truthfully, he was confused.

There was a terrible dry feeling in his mouth. His tongue felt like cotton as he ran it over his teeth. Licking his lips, Adrien gasped, his voice only a cracked whisper as he pleaded for someone to bring him some water.

Nobody came.

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.

For the first time in his life, Adrien wished he were home.

He woke again the next day to hear someone saying his name.

Still, it was hard to find the energy to open his eyes. From the lack of light penetrating his eyelids, he assumed the sun had already set.

"Adrien's doing better," someone said, their voice soft yet ultimately unfeeling. "The authorities are continuing their search for the shooter, but it's been days, and there's still no sign of the culprit."

Another voice joined in, higher in pitch. They spoke with such emotion in their tone. "And what about his father?"

The first voice—one Adrien assumed belonged to a female—answered, "Gabriel's been… Drawn back. He hasn't left his room much. Hasn't visited." The woman sighed. "I'm afraid he's in shock. It's like he's pretending this whole thing hasn't even happened. Having this occur during Fashion Week doesn't help the situation."

So, his father hadn't visited him once. If Adrien could've mustered the strength to move, he would have scowled—perhaps even cried. Though he supposed he shouldn't be surprised. Gabriel never showed his feelings, even when Adrien needed him to.

(Hell, especially when he needed him to.)

He swallowed thickly. His throat felt tight with the urge to sob.

"He hasn't even visited his son?" the other voice asked, aghast. It was another woman, though she sounded far more kind. "What kind of father doesn't visit their child in the hospital after he's been shot in the chest? That's despicable. Why, if it were my daughter in that bed, I'd—"

"We're well aware of what you'd do, Madame Cheng," the first woman sniffed. "But as Gabriel's assistant, I must ask you to refrain from throwing insults. He's doing his best, especially considering Paris Fashion Week had to be canceled because of this…mishap. This whole thing has turned the event into a mess."

Madame Cheng…? Why did that name sound so familiar?

Adrien tried to speak up, but his voice fizzled and died in his chest. If only it weren't so hard to open his eyes…

Madame Cheng huffed. "Is that all you and Gabriel care about? Fashion week? Look, I'm sorry to break it to you, but his one and only child nearly died. You were there. His father was there, my daughter was there. We all saw it. In fact—" her voice became louder, causing Adrien's head to ache, "—you can tell Gabriel that if it hadn't been for Marinette, his son would be dead right now, no thanks to him. What kind of father stands there while his son is bleeding out on a stage in front of him—"

"You and your family have done enough," spat the first woman. "I must ask you to leave the room now, Madame Cheng, as you're causing a scene. You might wake the boy with your outbursts."

Wake him? But he was already awake.

Madame Cheng's voice cracked as she continued. "That boy is your boss' only son! His child. My daughter saved his life—not you, Nathalie, and certainly not his father. I came here to see if he was okay. What are you here for? To see him wake up and get out of bed like everything is fine? For him to be ready to go back to modeling on a stage where he was nearly murdered? What kind of a family are you?"

"This is none of your concern—"

"I'm just worried about Adrien!" Madame Cheng cried. "You treat him like he's—he's a prop to be played with, not a teenager! He deserves to be loved, Nathalie, not ignored while he's recovering from an attempted homicide. This is negligence—"

"You need to leave. This does not involve you."

"It involves me when my daughter is at home crying her eyes out because her friend almost died, and his father acts like he doesn't even care!"

Adrien groaned, the increase in the volume of the two women's voices causing his headache to assault him from the back of his neck. He hissed as he moved his arm; something poked him from the inside. "Can you both please stop yelling?" he pleaded, his raspy voice barely above a whisper. "It hurts."

Stunned silence was his reply.

He drifted off again after that.

He was flying.

Dashing across the city rooftops, he soared with his baton, spinning his wrists in a circular motion that was perfect for vaulting him into the sky. He twirled, the night's breeze flowing like salty summer air through his hair, leaving memories of sunsets on his skin. The atmosphere was warm and easy, and as his metal-tipped boots skidded along the slick panels of Parisian apartments, he slipped—but he wasn't afraid.

No, he could never be. Not when he was transformed. Not when he was free.

His baton caught him in an alleyway, poised perfectly between two walls. He dropped feet-first onto the pavement below, dusting off his hands before springing himself back into the starlight. The moon's familiar weight settled on his shoulders, and it was with a grin that Adrien took her for a ride, black tail whipping behind him as a reminder that he was home.

The city at night was his home.

Claws tracing down the well-worn brick of an aged building, Adrien took a moment to pause. He needn't catch his breath. No, he wasn't tired, but he wanted to allow himself a minute of stillness—of peace.

The brick was rough against his back. Adrien could feel his hair brushing the surface as he rested his head.

"Taking a nap on duty?"

Ladybug's voice was like honey to his ears. The sound was sweet as his eyes met hers, and that gorgeous blue he'd seen in his dreams shone like stars. It was—no, she was captivating, her black tresses dancing in the late-night breeze as she carded her fingers through the strands. She'd forgone the twin ponytails and instead let it flow free. It was a gorgeous sight to behold.

Adrien's fingers tingled with the desire to brush her fringe out of her face.

He wanted to reply to her. He wanted to. But his voice wasn't in his chest tonight, as his heart was beating far too loudly to muster the strength to respond. Instead, Adrien scooted closer as she placed herself next to him, her black-dotted suit matching the dark color of his own. Her skin smelled of cinnamon as he pressed his cheek against her shoulder.

"I'll always be with you," he wanted to say. "I love you."

But his lips were frozen, and suddenly, he was on the ground with his gaze trained toward the sky. His chest burned wetly. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Adrien pulled his clawed hands back in terror as he noticed they were covered in blood.

His blood, he realized, his stomach churning sickly at the gushing hole in his chest as red-stained tears flowed down his cheeks.

"Adrien," Ladybug cried, her face pale in terror. Her lips trembled as she screamed, "Get up! You have to get up! You have to be okay. Please!"

She was fading. Her face glitched like pixels in a corrupted computer program, and as she lifted her bare hands, her face—void of any mask—was blurred. But the choked sound of her sobs was unmistakable.

"Adrien," she bawled, her voice full of despair. It was agony to his ears. "Please, please don't die."

His eyes snapped open.

With a throat like sandpaper, he looked around. The room he was in was small and empty save for himself, and it smelled of chemicals and cleaner. He assumed it was the same hospital room he'd been in for the last few days. However, this was the first time he'd actually been able to see it.

His body hurt with every breath. Who knew breathing could be so painful?

Adrien could feel the dampness of tears on his cheeks. With a sigh so heavy it caused his chest to ache, he shuddered, trying to rid the memory of the horror his dream had presented him as a figure entered his room.

He didn't look up. No, no… That took too much energy. His eyes stayed fixed on the window. Through the barely-parted curtains, the Eiffel Tower glimmered in the far distance, and the city shone on, ignorant to the fact that Adrien was here in the hospital, aching and burning as if he'd just jumped out of a moving car on the freeway.

He pondered whether the citizens were missing their Chat Noir.

"Evening, honey," a woman's voice said, soft and welcoming. "It's nice to see you alert."

The feeling of sickness from his nightmare still haunted his mind. "Hi," Adrien said. He weakly turned his head to face whoever had entered.

It was a nurse. Clad in sea-foam green scrubs, she was a younger woman—on the heavier side—with curly red hair and freckles. She approached him gently, and Adrien allowed her to check his vitals without a fuss. Her perfume had the faint scent of something floral, and her touch was soothing, even as she helped him sit up and remove the bandages around his chest and back.

He hissed, wincing as the cool air of the room came in contact with his flesh. He resisted the urge to look at the damage that had been done to his body. Adrien didn't want to see that—to see what had hit him when he couldn't save himself.

Both wound sites were treated with medicinal ointment, and the old bandages were replaced with fresh ones. Adrien sighed in relief as his muscles relaxed.

The nurse pulled the blankets back over his body. "How are you feeling, Adrien?" she asked.

Adrien swallowed. "I'm sore," he rasped. "And thirsty."

"I'll get you some water."

His nurse left the room, returned a minute later, and handed him a paper cup filled with cool water. Adrien gulped it down gratefully.

It was quiet. Not awkward, but… Quiet.

"What happened to me?" Adrien asked. He knew, but he wanted clarity. He wanted facts.

After a pause, the nurse wrote something on the whiteboard that hung near the door, facing him with a gentle smile. "You were shot, hon. The bullet went in one end and out the other. Shattered a rib bone and fractured three of them. But you're okay now. Doing good. You're healing up well."

"Okay," was all he could say.

"You're one lucky kid," she said. "We're thrilled to see you alert."

"Me too," he said.

"Do you need anything?" the nurse questioned, fully opening the curtains by the window—she must have noticed him peeking through the cracks. There was a motherly lilt to her tone as she asked, "Fresh blankets? More water?"

Shaking his head, Adrien watched the city lights twinkle just out of reach. "No, thank you."

She bid him goodnight after that.

Adrien lay in silence. He wanted to move, to get up and go outside, but… All there was left to do was sleep.

But that sounded so boring. All he'd done these past few days was sleep his life away. He wanted to be out, racing through the misty rooftops of the city with his Lady by his side, grabbing a soda from the local corner store and downing it as they took a break to converse. He wanted to be next to her—to brush his gloved fingers along her own, to see her smile and laugh, and to hear her voice in his ears as she told him she missed him and that everything would be fine while he recovered.

He couldn't, though. The hospital window didn't open, and he was stuck to the bed with an IV pumping painkillers in his arm and some sort of tube in his chest. The staff would undoubtedly become frantic upon finding him missing if he tried to escape. And though he knew the feeling of his transformation around his body would fill him with energy, he would still be too weak to run, much less jump three-meter gaps over alleyways.

If only he could call her—ease her nerves a little. No doubt Ladybug had noticed him missing by now. If there had been any akuma attacks while he was out of it…

Adrien shook his head. He didn't want to think about it.

"Plagg?" he whispered, having just felt the tiny god's presence since he'd first woken. "There's no way I can leave, huh?"

The short fuzz of his kwami's fur grazed the side of his arm as Plagg poked his head out from underneath the blanket. His eyes, usually so bright and green with joy, looked dull, and for the first time since he'd met him, Adrien could tell that his companion carried centuries of life on his shoulders.

"No," the kwami said. His voice was worn as his gaze fell. "You need to stay. Please. You're being taken care of here."

A sigh blew from Adrien's nose. "I just want Ladybug to know I'm okay."

Plagg opened his mouth to speak but backtracked as his thoughts muddled. Silence formed a gap between them before he regarded Adrien with a stoic expression. His tail brushed against the sheets as his eyes flicked to the other side of the bed, voice cryptic as he said, "She knows."

"Yeah?" Adrien asked. Though Plagg's mannerisms were strange, he breathed a sigh of relief, unsure of how that information had been delivered to her but happy, nonetheless. "I'm glad to hear it."

With a twitch of his whiskers, Plagg flitted up to rest on his shoulder. His tail curled around his paws as he situated himself and nuzzled the side of Adrien's neck, eyes drooping closed. "You're going to be just fine," Plagg said. "I promise, Adrien."

"I know," Adrien replied. He scratched the top of his kwami's head as the corners of his lips curled into a grin. "But I don't think I'm the one that needs to hear that, right?"

Plagg said nothing. Instead, he pressed his muzzle against his chosen's skin, tiny body quivering as a weakened purr rose from his throat. His eyes were squeezed shut as if he was trying to wake himself from an awful nightmare that had somehow formed into reality. Plagg looked so tired for such a tiny being—as if he held eons of weight in his heart, memories of previous Chat Noirs he'd seen live and perish in the past, and he realized not too long ago, Plagg had been preparing to lose one more.

Cupping the kwami into his hands, Adrien held him to his face. He pressed his cheek against the cat's forehead. "It's okay," he whispered, reassuring his friend. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere, you hear me?"

"Okay," was all Plagg could say.

There were marigolds on his bedside table.

Marigolds, roses, and gifts adorned the wooden surface, notes piling on top of brightly colored packages and balloons floating in the room's corner near the window. A Ladybug plushie sat propped on the chair in the corner next to a giant stuffed cat, which held a heart in its paws that read: "Love mew!"

On the windowsill were folded blankets. Rays of sunlight filtered through the glass, bathing the dull-colored hospital room in radiant warmth. A wheelchair waited patiently in the corner. As Adrien looked up, his vision bleary, he saw that the television was on, but it showed only static.

Weakly, he reached a trembling hand for the remote. His head was still throbbing.

He couldn't muster the strength to grasp it.

Allowing his arm to fall flat against the cushion of his sheets, Adrien sighed, his eyes burning from overuse. He was still so tired, and he didn't even know why! All he'd been doing for the past—what, week?—was sleeping, and he was so done with lying around all day and having people talk about him. He wanted to get up, stretch his legs, and- and…

He wanted to talk to someone to rid the lonely pit that had settled in the bottom of his stomach.

The scent of food passing by in the hallway drifted into his room. Breathing in, he caught the smell of something buttery and sweet, his stomach responding to the tantalizing aroma.

It reminded him of Marinette.

Marinette… Madame Cheng had said something about her the other night. Whatever it was, he couldn't remember. His head was such a mess right now that even the slightest puzzling thought caused his skull to pound.

He reached for the remote again. It slipped out of his shaking hand and clattered on the floor, the wire it was attached to dangling off the side of the bed.

"Damn it," Adrien said, a knot forming in his throat.

Everything sucked. He was about to give up and go back to sleep when the door to his room creaked open, and the blessed smell of pastries greeted him like a hug as three familiar faces stepped into his line of sight.

He felt Plagg nudge against his arm from underneath the blanket. It was a minor comfort in his world of soreness.

"Adrien," Nino said, approaching his bed with a wide grin. "You're awake! Finally." His arms connected around Adrien's shoulders, who gasped as a sudden bolt of pain shot through his chest. "Ah, shit. I'm sorry, dude. I shouldn't have—"

Alya laughed behind her hand. She walked towards him with warmth in her gaze. "Nino, the guy just narrowly escaped death. Don't kill him so soon."

"I'm sorry!" Nino whimpered. "It's just the last time we saw him, he was in ICU, and now he's awake, and I—"

"Nino," Adrien breathed, his dry lips curling upward into a smile. "Oh, man, I'm so glad to see you guys."

His throat burned as he spoke, but he didn't care. He was just happy to see his friends again.

"And we're glad to see you breathing, sunshine," Alya said, hands on her hips as she cocked her head to the side. Her eyes scanned his body up and down, eyebrows furrowed in concern, and red hair pulled back into a ponytail. "It's a relief. We all thought you were a goner that day. Why, if it hadn't been for Marinette—"

Nino nudged her in the side with his elbow. Her glasses slipped down her nose as she regarded him with an annoyed expression.

Marinette?

Someone else had said it, now. Marinette had saved him? How?

Mind full of fuzz, Adrien asked, "What about Marinette?"

The girl in question stepped out from behind the pair, feet shuffling on the tile floor and eyes glued on her shoes. Her black hair was loose rather than tied in her usual pigtails. She was quiet. Her eyes didn't meet his as Alya gave her a gentle nudge forward, encouraging her with a whisper Adrien couldn't hear.

Marinette approached him with a paper bag, the top wrinkled from how tightly it was held in her grasp. Its logo was familiar: two golden wheat leaves decorating the front of the bag with a matching T&S symbol in the center. The aroma of freshly baked something filled his nostrils, and as he lifted a shaking hand to open it, he was met with the overpowering scent of two chocolate croissants, his mouth watering at just the sight alone.

Was he allowed to eat this in the hospital?

Ah, who cares? It was from Marinette—he'd eat her parents' home-baked treats even if he were on his deathbed.

(Which… He essentially had been, right?)

"Thank you," he breathed, lips curling up into a smile so wide that his cheeks hurt. He looked up, hoping to meet her gaze, but…

Marinette wasn't looking at him.

She'd barely even acknowledged him. Her eyes were trained downcast on the floor, mouth sealed tightly shut as if she had nothing to say.

Adrien's heart sank. He tore his attention away from his friend.

Wounded by her cold behavior, he looked to Alya and Nino, who only glanced away. An awkward air hit the group like a truck—it was almost as if there was some elephant in the room his friends refused to recognize.

"Did I... Miss something?" he asked. His voice shook as he spoke. "What's wrong?"

The room felt stiff.

Nino adjusted his hat as he regarded him with a confused raise of his brow. "You mean… You don't remember?"

Adrien swallowed. Raising a croissant to his lips, he shook his head. "Remember what?"

Silence washed over them like a bucket of iced water. Frustrated, Adrien bit into his snack with a scowl. He wasn't dead, damn it. Why did his best friends feel the need to keep a secret from him? If something went wrong, he wanted to know—even if it was devastating. If he'd lost the ability to walk, he wanted to know. If he was infected, or- or was to become a zombie, he wanted to know!

The truth would hurt less than his friends withholding vital information from him as if he needed protection… He was Chat Noir, for crying out loud—he'd heard worse things.

Marinette spoke up. "He doesn't know," she whispered. Her eyes met his for a fleeting moment before she turned away, hands gripping the bottom of her shirt and her panicked gaze shooting to Alya. "Oh, my god. He doesn't remember! I thought for sure he would have—"

"Remember what?" he snapped. Marinette flinched. Remorse instantly set in as the words left his mouth, and he watched his friend wilt from his aggressive tone. "I'm sorry," he said, reaching out to her with a feeble hand as she backed away from his touch. "I didn't mean to yell at you, Marinette. I'm just really lost right now. What's going on? What don't I remember? Why won't anyone tell me anything?"

He shouldn't have been so cross with her. His crankiness from waking up in a hospital bed with confusion clouding his mind was no excuse to snap at her, especially when she'd been acting so drawn back. As Marinette shook her head and backed out of the room, however, he sighed, knowing full well that she hadn't deserved to be at the forefront of his frustration.

Jerking upward to race after her (despite the little strength that remained in his legs), Adrien yelped as the IV in his arm snagged at his skin and the tube protruding from his chest jostled. A hiss burst from his lips as a sharp pain seared in his insides. "Wait, Marinette!" he called, voice cracking. Nino rushed to guide him back into his bed, Alya shaking her head behind him.

"Dude, stay here," Nino said. "What the heck are you thinking?"

"I don't care," Adrien responded. "Alya, please go after Marinette and tell her I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to yell at her. I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"

Alya silenced him with a gentle press of her hands to his shoulders. Her tone was soft as she said, "It's okay, Adrien. She understands. Marinette's just… A little on edge right now, that's all."

A whine escaped his throat. "Why?"

Sharing a look, Alya and Nino sighed in unison.

"It's not our place to tell you," Nino reasoned. "I would, but… That'd be unfair to 'Nette, you know? It's her business, not ours."

That was understandable. But still…it didn't mean Adrien wasn't aggravated with the whole situation. He'd just woken up sober for the second time in—what, a week or more?—and he was still unaware of what exactly had happened to him.

"I just want answers," Adrien mumbled. He chewed on his croissant bitterly.

Alya placed a hand on his bedside. "We know. But some answers aren't our place to give you."

"Marinette just needs time," Nino said. He plopped down in the leather chair in the corner and sighed, adjusting his glasses and looking out the window, mind busy with muddled thoughts and emotions. "Look. What happened to you messed everyone up. We all thought you were dead. It was—" He pinched the bridge of his nose as his voice cracked, "—it was scary. You were fine one minute, up on stage and doing the model stuff that you do, and then suddenly, there was a loud noise, and we just…"

Nino shuddered. Alya approached him with a clouded gaze, her arm winding around his side as she consoled him. Clearing her throat, she continued, "You were shot on stage, Adrien. All our classmates were there. We—we all saw it. Saw you. You just collapsed, and there was so much blood, and oh, god…"

Adrien felt sick. Stomach churning, the croissant tumbled down his chest and onto his lap, where his trembling hands picked it up and placed it back in the brown paper bag Marinette had gifted him just minutes before. His breath came in quick gasps, and he- he- he…

He couldn't believe it. Everyone—everyone had seen him get- get shot, on stage in public, and here he was still alive, in a hospital room with flowers and gifts and knowing well enough that the damn thing was probably being broadcasted on every news station in the city. Everyone he knew had seen him get shot. Everyone.

Including Alya, Nino and—

...Marinette.

Marinette had seen him get shot, and he'd yelled at her.

Tears flooded his vision. Sniffling at the congestion in his nostrils, Adrien placed the bag of pastries on the bedside table, his chest burning with the reminder that someone had shot him intending to kill. And yet here he was, conscious and breathing…

But he'd barely been.

If he'd been shot right in the chest, how had he survived…? His luck wasn't that good.

The only person with luck that prosperous was- was…

Was Ladybug.

Why did it feel weird to think about her…?

"Are you okay?" came Nino's voice, quietly concerned.

Adrien could feel the tears rolling down his cheeks. He didn't know how to answer that question.

The back of his hand was wet as he wiped his eyes. He met the gaze of his friends as he said, "I want to apologize to Marinette."

The room felt thick. Sharing a look, Alya and Nino frowned, the pair regarding him with a pained expression—one that revealed that while they wanted him to speak with her as well, they both knew now wasn't the right time.

Adrien sighed. "Thank you both for visiting," he said. "But… Right now, I need some time to think."

Taking the hint, his friends' expressions wilted with hurt before they nodded.

Alya gave him a light hug. "Okay, sunshine. You take all the time you need. We'll come back tomorrow."

"Yeah," Nino said. He patted Adrien's hand. "We'll visit every day if you need, man. I know it probably gets lonely here. And, hey… If it's worth anything…"

"...We're proud of you," Alya finished. "You're stronger than anyone thought, Adrien. You're your own superhero."

His sight was watery as tears filled his vision once again. "I don't deserve friends like you guys."

"Oh, yes, you do," Nino said. "We'll see you again soon. Promise."

They waved as they left, shutting the door behind them.

He was alone again after that.

Three more days passed.

In two, he would have been at the hospital for two weeks.

Adrien found out from Nino that he had gone through surgery to repair his shattered rib. He was in ICU for three days before he became lucid and was moved to a room on the eighth floor, where he was currently recovering.

It hurt to move around most of the time. Breathing wasn't a challenge, but it was painful.

He wasn't allowed to lie back. Because of the injuries to his ribs, he had to sit up straight all day and all night, though he could get up and walk around every once in a while to get the strength back in his muscles. Mostly, he stayed put in bed. However, even the slightest amount of movement caused a searing pain to clutch at his insides, and he wanted to avoid the discomfort in any way possible.

Unlike the tube and IV, the stitches in his chest and back would stay until his bullet wounds had healed. A nurse came in twice a day to help him with breathing exercises that were supposed to assist in the healing of his ribs.

Adrien didn't like to look at himself whenever he could. His skin was mottled with blue and yellow from the bruising, and the injuries were a nasty sight to behold. It was just unpleasant.

He sighed, eyes glued to the city just outside his window. The sunrise was pretty this morning. By the mist on the window, he could tell the air outside was cool and that autumn was nearly in full swing.

As he pulled his blanket higher, Adrien wondered when his friends would drop by. Before school? During lunch? Maybe in the evening?

It didn't matter to him. So long as he got to see their faces, he was happy.

Nino and Alya made sure they visited each day. They brought him gifts and food, fresh blankets, his favorite movies from home, and a few books and magazines to flip through in case he got bored. They talked, joked, and filled him in on what he was missing in school, going on about dramatic events Chloé had pulled or what Akuma had tried (and failed) to seize the Miraculous that day.

They hadn't once mentioned Chat Noir's disappearance.

No matter—Adrien was just glad to hear that Ladybug was doing alright on her own.

(But he'd never really had any doubts.)

Nino and Alya's daily presence was a welcome sight to his weary eyes. Marinette, well…

She hadn't visited again.

Adrien frowned. There was no use dwelling on thoughts that made him sad.

Mostly, Adrien was okay. He wasn't happy, but he was okay. Alive. Breathing. Bruised, broken, and injured, but fine.

He'd be fine.

The hospital had a garden.

It was charming. It adorned the outdoor terrace of the sixth floor, which overlooked his home city as it bathed in the warmth of autumn sunshine.

There was a fountain in the center while perfectly landscaped flower beds lined the hedges around the walls, which vines greedily climbed like they were poised on an invisible ladder. Various benches were situated around the display. A rose bush grew pleasantly along a white lattice next to a magnolia tree, and as Adrien approached the outer walls, he was just tall enough to peek over the edge of their painted concrete surface.

The height was a familiar comfort to him. Clouds trailed lazily in the sky above him, which was so blue and bright, and as a cool breeze blew through his hair, he breathed in deeply, relishing the feeling of being outdoors for the first time in two weeks.

He was thankful his friends had brought him a pair of personal pajamas from home so he could walk around without embarrassment. That ugly open-backed hospital gown had really got on his nerves.

Adrien smiled. The atmosphere outside was calming. He felt like a cat in a patch of sunlight—so comfortable and full of warmth that he never wanted to go back indoors. No, not back to that old bed and stupid TV that played nothing interesting with that thin hospital gown on…he wanted to be here, outdoors, where the air was cool, and he could taste the air of his city—his home—up on the rooftops where he belonged.

No more IVs in his arm or a clear tube in his chest, and certainly, no more being woken up four or five times in the night to be checked on...just fresh air outside the hospital with no sterile walls to contain him.

"Adrien!"

Oh, great.

" There you are," said Nino, chest heaving as he caught his breath. He paused for a moment before approaching him with a hand connecting to his shoulder, using the other to fix his hat as it fell in his face. "Dude, you can't just go wandering off like that. You're hurt."

Adrien sighed. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I'm fine," he said, giving his friend a reassuring smile. "See? I can stand up and walk around."

Exasperated, Nino fumbled to find his words. "B-but you didn't ask anyone if you could—"

"I don't want to be here anymore," he said, gazing wistfully at the Eiffel Tower, which sat tauntingly in the distance. "I want to leave that stuffy room and go out somewhere. I'm tired of being cooped up. You know I don't like being forced to stay indoors—"

"Oh, my god." Alya placed her hands on Adrien's shoulders as she approached him. "You idiot, what were you thinking?"

Adrien walked away from the pair, wincing as he sat on a bench. A hand instinctively connected to his back as pain burned at his skin. He rubbed at the soreness under his shirt lightly. "I thought I couldn't stand to sit in that room anymore," he replied, swallowing the whimper that wanted to escape his lips. "With that freezing cold air conditioning. I'm happy out here. This is where I want to be."

Nino and Alya sighed in unison.

"We're just worried about you," Nino said. He sat beside him and removed his glasses, polishing a lens on his shirt before replacing them on his face. "I don't know how this stuff works. I've never known anyone who's been shot before. I mean, you were in ICU nearly two weeks ago, and now you're up and walking around, it's… Weird. You're healing really fast."

"Was I hurt all that bad?" asked Adrien, though he knew the answer. "I mean, both my nurse and doctor told me that the bullet went right back out my body and didn't touch any organs, so…"

"But it got your bones," Alya added.

Adrien shrugged. "I'm okay. I'm in pain, tired, and a little out of it, but okay. I'll be going home in a few days, no doubt."

Both of his friends shared an uncomfortable glance.

"Well, if you're sure…" Nino said.

"I'm sure."

The sun was beginning to set. Hints of gold painted the outer edges of clouds, and in the distance, a soft gradient of pink rose into the air. A flock of pigeons cooed as they soared above the terrace; Adrien envied their freedom.

He leaned into Nino's side and breathed out a sigh. Nino rubbed his shoulder with a comforting hand, careful not to touch him anywhere he'd been hurt.

"It'll be alright, Adrien," Alya said. She sat on Nino's other side, leaning forward slightly to get a better look at her injured friend. "Cheer up."

"I feel gross," Adrien said. "I want to brush my hair, shower properly, and go home. I'm tired of being here with people breathing down my neck. I'm used to that in my normal life, and I wish I could go out as Ch—" He swallowed. "As myself."

Nino gave him a light hug with his one arm. "You will," he said. "You will."

The hospital staff retrieved him after that, gently reminding him it wasn't advisable to walk off without informing anyone. They led him back to his room, where his nurse was waiting to administer his pain medication and help him back into bed.

Nino and Alya's visit lasted through dinner. The hospital food was bland, as it had been throughout his entire stay, and as he sat up at the rolling side table, Adrien felt a familiar soreness creep up his spine. His two friends secretly stashed a bag of Marinette's pastries behind his pillow for later consumption, and Adrien thanked them as they left, having to return home since the hours were ticking by and it was getting late.

He hugged them each, though their contact was light because of his injuries. Lying back in bed after clearing his plate helped ease the discomfort.

It was late. Adrien could hear the murmur outside die down. Pulling his blanket over his body, he felt Plagg press against his side just as the day's weariness caught up with him and caused his eyes to droop with the weight of exhaustion.

His thoughts were swimming, however, as it hit him with a bitter realization that a particular friend had been missing from his group's visit that afternoon.

Marinette hadn't come. Again.

And that was a thought that hurt him more than any other. Though he couldn't place why, ignoring the way his heart ached in his chest was futile.

A nap was welcome to his weary mind. He slept until nightfall, waking with a dry mouth and groggy thoughts before he forced himself out of bed for a cup of water and to use the toilet. Adrien's body twinged with pain, and his thoughts buzzed with depressing reminders he felt defeated .

It didn't feel good to sit without a means to escape. Adrien felt sad—and anxious—wanting to run out to the garden and transform. He had never gone so long without transforming before…

The need to feel the wind whipping at his sides was almost nauseating. He wanted to get up, to run around and jump and swing from roof to roof with Ladybug by his side and his worries long forgotten, the shadow of his partner enveloping his own as she swung across the skyline at the grace of her yo-yo...

He didn't want to be here anymore. It sucked .

Adrien knew he wasn't some feeble kid who needed constant rest. He was strong enough to go out for just ten minutes, right?

Yeah. Ten minutes as Chat was all he needed.

"Hey, Plagg," he whispered to his pillow. "You wanna—?"

"Adrien?"

He yelped.

Throwing himself back against his bed, Adrien froze, gazing doe-eyed at the thin figure in the doorway. Her silhouette was slightly skewed from the light in the hall, but as she shut the door behind herself and approached his bedside, Adrien sighed in relief at the sight of Marinette.

Well. Alright. Better late than never.

"H-hey," he breathed, swallowing around the nervous lump in his throat. He wasn't sure why he felt awkward in her presence, but the anxiety nagging at his gut refused to leave him in peace. Glancing at the clock, he asked, "What are you doing here? It's…" He squinted. "...past midnight."

Marinette rolled on the balls of her feet. "I know," she said.

"Visiting hours are over."

"I know."

Puzzled, Adrien sat up, hissing as he hovered a hand over his torso. "How… How did you get in here?"

"Th-that's not important," Marinette said, dismissing his question. She rubbed at her arm, eyes rising from the floor to meet his own. "How are you feeling?"

After looking her up and down, Adrien said, "You're in pajamas."

Marinette's cheeks reddened as she pulled on her sleep shirt self-consciously. "I know." Clasping her hands behind her back, she said, "You, um, didn't answer my question."

"Oh." He pointed to the entrance wound on his chest. "I'm okay. Still kind of in pain."

She stepped forward to sit with him but hesitated as he regarded her with a confused raise of his brow. Instead, she placed herself on the leather chair beside his bed with her legs crossed atop the cushion. "Sorry," she said, voice quiet—as if embarrassed she had even thought to sit by his side.

Adrien felt his stomach burn with irritation. Not at Marinette, no, never—but at himself.

"No, it's okay," he said. He scooted over and patted the mattress. "You can sit."

With a clearing of her throat, Marinette stayed put. "Are you healing up well?"

Oof. The awkward air in this room was so thick that it almost hard to breathe.

Adrien glanced toward the spot he'd been expecting his friend to occupy and nodded. His hair, shaggy because of its recently unkempt nature, swayed in front of his eyes as he moved. He combed his bangs out of his face with his fingers. "Yeah, I'm… I'm okay. The wound doesn't look as gross as it did a few days ago. So I think that's a plus, though having a hole in my body was kind of weird. I felt like a doughnut."

He chuckled at that last part, but Marinette was quiet. Really quiet...

"Are you… Okay?" he asked. She wasn't looking at him. "You seem off."

Marinette shook her head and presented him with a faux smile. "You don't know what really happened that day, do you?"

His grin immediately fell. Throat becoming dry, Adrien swallowed. "...No." His voice was raspy as he asked, "What really happened, then?"

She opened her mouth to speak. A sound came out, something small and tired, but she shut her lips and frowned, her blue eyes (ordinarily full of light and laughter) dulling like a gray cloud pregnant with rain.

And that's when he could get a decent look at her.

Her sclera was reddened around the edges as if she'd been crying for hours (perhaps even days) on end. The bags that hung underneath her eyes were heavy, and her skin—the skin that always looked so soft and clear—was pale. Marinette appeared small, thin like a victim who'd witnessed a gruesome event, and it was… Strange to see her looking such a way when Adrien knew her as the girl who wore confidence with pride, whose hair shone like starlight, and whose demeanor was strong, positive, and self-assured.

Marinette looked broken.

And that— that was a painful sight to see.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, hurriedly removing herself from the chair and wrapping her arms around her body. "I should go. You need your rest, and I—"

She was almost out the door.

Please, please don't leave, Adrien begged internally, watching as his friend curled her fingers around the handle, his heart leaping into his throat and stomach bubbling uncomfortably from what was lost in its pit.

"W-wait, Mari," he pleaded, forcing his weakened legs to carry him to her side, where he grasped her delicate hand within his own and squeezed it tight. "Please. You don't have to go. Just… Talk to me. Tell me what's going on."

With her back turned to him, she was silent. The room was still. A shudder rose up Adrien's spine.

A snivel broke through the ice of silence, Marinette's shoulders trembling as tears dripped from her cheeks and onto the tile floor. She whimpered, her hand slipping from its grasp on the door handle and body curling in on itself as she cried, her quiet weeping escalating into heavy sobs by the time Adrien had enveloped her in his arms.

He gripped her with every ounce of strength he had left. Her tears leaked through the cotton fabric of his pajamas, but Adrien didn't care. Marinette needed him. Marinette was crying—desperately crying—and her happiness was the most critical factor. Rubbing a hand up and down her back, he ignored the pain he felt at the contact to his chest and whispered reassuring words against her fringe as his cheek rested on the top of her head.

"It's okay," he told her—he promised. "It's alright. Everything is going to be okay now. I'm safe, see? I'm alive."

Marinette's voice shook. "But you weren't ."

Not pausing his ministrations, Adrien frowned, tightening their embrace. "I know I wasn't safe, but I am now, right? I'm—"

"No, Adrien," she said. "You were dying. I-If I hadn't swooped in a-and—"

She was getting hysterical. Whatever had happened that day didn't matter at the moment—all Marinette needed right now was to be held and comforted, and damn it, that's what Adrien was going to do.

He might have been physically injured, but Marinette had some deep internal wounds that needed healing.

Adrien held her tight in his hold even as he led her to sit on the bed by his side. "Hey," he soothed, voice gentle. "Hey. It's okay… It's alright, Marinette. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. You've got me."

"I've got you," she said, voice cracked from the exhaustion of her tears, which had faded from wracking sobs to a gentle, sad whimper. "Y-Yeah. I do."

He said nothing after that.

Marinette appeared to have no intentions of leaving that night. Though they weren't speaking, they hadn't separated their contact. At some point, they'd moved to lie back on the mattress. Adrien wasn't exactly sure how they'd managed that—and he also didn't recall how he'd ended up with an arm snaked around his friend's waist, whose head had found a perfect pillow on his left shoulder.

It was quiet for a while. The white noise of the TV in the background filled the otherwise stagnant air, and the muffled voices outside the door slipped out of his mind as exhaustion weighed down his eyes.

He'd nearly fallen asleep when Marinette murmured, "I'm sorry I've been acting weird."

Adrien's eyelids groggily lifted. "It's okay," he said, voice thick with sleep. He went to meet her gaze, but she wasn't looking at him. "If I'd witnessed anything like you did, I wouldn't be doing so good either."

Her eyes shifted to him. She looked so tired … Why wasn't she sleeping?

"I… I want to tell you what really happened," she said. "But I—I can't. Not now, at least."

Adrien cocked his head to the side. "Why are you afraid? I can handle it. Hey, if I can live through being shot in the chest, then I—"

"Stop making jokes about it," Marinette said curtly. "It's not funny, Adrien. And I'm not afraid, it's just… It's a lot. I know something I shouldn't know, which only made me more worried about you. And I know you can take care of yourself, but it still… I still want to make sure you're okay."

… .Know something I don't?

His brain was wracked with what he hoped she hadn't figured out because it was near impossible she could have…he had no recollection of what had happened to him when he'd been shot, so it wasn't entirely implausible…

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Marinette shook her head. A small smile graced her lips. "You need to focus on getting better before I tell you anything. And I should probably get going... Let you rest. I can always come back tomorrow."

She shuffled her position and made to get up, but Adrien felt something painful pull at his heart at the thought of her departure. Shaking his head, he placed his hand over hers, trailing her fingers as she brushed her palm over the sheets. He said nothing—made no move to force her. But he knew what he wanted, and he knew what she needed.

The look in his eyes was all it took to convince her. She was back by his side in an instant, and within minutes, they had crawled underneath the covers and simply held each other—the best they could with his fractured ribs, anyway—and that was all that mattered in the world.

Adrien was drawn to her. He always had been.

No, he didn't have any explanation why… But he didn't care. Marinette was warm, and he felt safe.

For the first time in two weeks, Adrien felt content.

It didn't take long for her to doze off.

The TV played in the background. Adrien watched with little interest, mainly using it as a distraction to help ease him into sleep, but just as his eyes finally closed, he heard his name.

The voice wasn't coming from outside. No—the television that hung innocently in the wall's corner was the culprit, its blue lights flashing like lightning in the dull room.

He watched the screen.

Within two seconds, he wished he hadn't.

There it was, the footage of his shooting. A clip an innocent bystander had filmed was displayed on the channel, most likely having been recording to glimpse himself as he strolled down the runway in one of his father's signature designs, and then—

Bam.

Screams of terror erupted in the audience. The news station cut out the gruesome footage, as this was old news by now, probably only being covered as overnight filler—but it still caused a sinking, sickly feeling to pool within his gut.

He'd intended to look away. He had.

But he saw Marinette on the screen.

A clip showed her bursting through the audience, her face stark white and eyes flooded with tears of horror as she rushed to his side and lifted him in her arms. There was blood on her clothes—his blood—staining the white of her T-shirt until she uttered two words that were deafened by the panic of the crowd, yet the movement of her lips was unmistakable.

"Spots on."

And then Ladybug was standing in her place, carrying him off over the crowd and into the distance before the video cut to black.