Work Text:
Paris was crying.
There were fat, heavy raindrops falling onto the sidewalk, staining the concrete. Each one bloomed like ink on paper, just as the blood flowing freely from Ladybug’s wound did. A metallic smell cut the air as Adrien pushed in at it, black, gloved hands coated with slick red. There was too much.
“Stay with me, my Lady. The ambulance will be here soon,” he whispered, his voice trembling. Below him, Ladybug smiled faintly. It was only the two of them there, at the dirty, abandoned alleyway. People were taking shelter from the abrupt shower.
“It’s too late, Chat.” He could barely hear her voice above the din of the rain. “The akuma got me good.”
A swell of tears pushed into his throat. Ladybug never gave up. Why would she say that? “Don’t say that. How can you say that?”
She only smiled back.
Adrien couldn’t contain it. The bubble broke, tears freely flowing from his eyes, vision blurring the sight of her. The love of his life. This couldn’t be happening.
“I—I can’t do this. I—without you...”
The touch of latexed fingertips against his cheek were as light as a butterfly. He held it there with his palm, trying his best to feel the warmth of her skin beneath the suit. He was crying and she was the one going to die.
“Chaton…”
“My—my Lady. Please.”
“Listen.” Her voice was urgent. He leaned in close, hiccuping. Her blue eyes pierced him. “My earrings.”
Understanding dawned on him. He shook his head violently. “No,” he choked out.
“Give them back. To Master Fu.”
“Please—Ladybug. I—I don’t want to know.”
He didn’t. Not now. Not like this with blood coating his hands like a second pair of gloves, her body growing slack with each passing second. Not when he was choking in his tears, grief clouding his senses. It wasn’t the right time.
Ladybug shifted beneath him. “My parents. My friends. Chat.” There was a waver to her voice at the end, but despite it all she still looked determined.
It had been his deepest desire: to find out who was under the mask, to lift his hand and to proudly point out who the girl of his dreams was, with or without the costume. He had dreamt up endless scenarios as to how he’d find out: accidental, predisposed, circumstance. It didn’t matter. He’d love her regardless.
Now, it was the thing he most despised. It was a present which he knew the contents. A present willingly given, and one he didn’t want.
But one he still had to open.
Her free hand had gone up to her ear, trying to twist the backing of the earring off. “Help.”
Gently, he placed her hand on her heaving chest. His fingers brushed the half sphere. One black dot blinked. His hands were shaking when he touched the clasp.
“My Lady. After this… I—I also want you to know who I am,” he said shakily. Ladybug’s eyes widened, her lips opening slightly. “Please,” he pleaded. He wished with all his heart that she could grant this one request for him.
She whispered: “Okay.”
He undid the clasp. A blinding pink light pierced the dark. He leaned back, shielding his eyes from the flash, before it gave way to the gloominess. He still had one earring to take off.
He moved in, anticipation building in his gut. He stopped cold when he saw who was lying bloody beneath him.
Marinette.
“M-Mari?”
It was Marinette all along.
A new wave of grief crashed over him. Unrelenting, it shattered his heart, the pieces lying at his feet. Not only did he have to mourn the love of his life, but he also had to mourn one of his best friends. To have both ripped away from him in one fell swoop was akin to having his soul severed from his body. It might have been the same thing. There was a bitter taste in his mouth as he bit down on his lip, to restrain the sob about to break. He tasted blood.
The world wasn’t fair.
On instinct, he slipped off the ring from his finger, the costume falling away. Raindrops clung to his skin, the water chilly, and he shivered as he reached in to take her remaining earring off. He stashed the jewelry in his rain-soaked pants, ignoring the growing lump in his throat.
Marinette was coughing lightly. It took Adrien a few seconds to realize that she was chuckling. “Adrien. You. Adrien.”
The earrings felt heavy in his pocket. He took her limp hand in his. “I-it’s me, Mari. It’s me.”
“Funny. Can’t believe… it. Plagg."
He'd forgotten about him. A black shadow came forward. His green eyes shone in the grey of the weather. They were sad.
"Take care… Adrien. Tikki," Marinette murmured as a red spot that he had dismissed earlier as blood moved closer to her face. Red had been Adrien’s favourite colour, but now it only made him feel sick.
The kwami hugged her cheek.
“Marinette.” The kwami was sobbing. "I’ll never forget you.”
“Thank you.” Tikki moved away as Marinette eyes fluttered shut, breathing becoming more laboured.
Dread seized him. “Marinette!”
Lazily, she opened her eyes. “It’s okay.” Her voice was quieter. “It’s okay.”
His vision was blurring. Adrien scooped her in his arms and pressed himself to her. He enclosed her body with his own, like if he was clutching on tightly enough, she would not leave him. She would be all right. She would open her eyes and stand up, dusting herself off. She would bid him goodbye and with a cheeky wink, swing onto the nearest building with her yo-yo. He would watch as she would leave, in all her scarlet glory, roughly in the direction of the best bakery in all of Paris.
He would sleep easy, knowing that the next morning, he’d see her at her locker, putting away her books. That when he’d tap her shoulder and she’d turn, she would give him one of her sweet smiles. There would be no words. She’d only incline her head, just so, as if acknowledging who he was. Who they were. That it was them against the rest of the world.
But of course that wouldn’t happen. There were no ladybugs to clean up this mess, no familiar shout of ‘Lucky Charm’ to save them. The ‘Pound it!’ that punctuated their triumph would always be missing one fist. One half of a whole would forever be absent.
Adrien felt her last breaths as he hugged her tightly to his chest. In the distance, he could hear the faint screaming of sirens. He wept silently, tears mixing with the rain while he held on to the last of her warmth. To the smell of her shampoo, which he got a whiff each time he flicked her pigtails at him. To the shape of her head, digging so hard into his chest that it almost hurt as much as he felt.
They were both there; two kids—one trembling with tears, the other motionless—as around them, their city continued to cry.