Chapter Text
“You sure you’re doing okay?”
“What? Yeah. I’m fine!” Marinette’s eyes were suddenly too wide in her face before she winced. “Sorry. I was spacing again, wasn’t I?”
“Just a bit,” Alya teased, an easy smile softening the offense.
“Sorry,” the ravenette said again with a duck of her head.
One hand came up to wave away the apology. “Don’t worry about it. I’m well versed in ‘Marinette’ and I know you’re pushing deadlines.”
The mere mention of work triggered her best friend to lightly thunk her head on the table with a groan. “Three days. I don’t know how I’m supposed to hand bead an entire gown in three days.”
“Same way you always do. Put Jagged Stone on loop, consume an unholy amount of caffeine, and forgo sleep,” Alya ticked off her fingers in a knowing fashion.
“Yeah, that sounds about right," Marinette's voice dejected as she rested her cheek on the table now.
"It is right, unfortunately." Alya clucked her tongue before reaching over to pat her best friend's hair.
"You forgot the part with me stitching right until my supervisor walks in."
She took a deep sigh. "Just a bit longer, girl. You got this."
Marinette sat up and looked at her unfinished lunch with frustration. "Thanks. It's just, I don't know how anyone can perform at this level for so long. People aren't machines."
She withdrew her hand as Marinette sat back up, and it broke her heart to see her best friend sigh with defeat. "Gabriel keeps a ridiculously high standard. You knew that long before applying for the internship."
"I did but it doesn't mean it doesn't suck."
"Truth." Alya popped her straw into her mouth and took a swig until air pulled at the ice with a wet sound. "I know you can push through. You got the spot by your own hands. Gabriel Agreste may not believe interns are human but he at least recognizes talent when it crosses his desk."
"I don't know if he thinks anyone is human," she grumbled. Pale fingers idly toyed with her salad. "Have you talked with Adrien at all, lately?" Blue eyes glanced up through the black fringe of bangs, Marinette’s gaze tight at the corners.
"Not recently," Alya admitted softly, "but he's doing okay from what Nino's told me. You free next week? Maybe the four of us could get together, like we used to." She knew the answer even before the suggestion had left her mouth, but Alya couldn't help the hopeful tint to the words.
"I don't know, Alya. After this deadline, I'm looking at four more outfits-"
"Please," her voice insistent. "A few hours isn't going to kill you. You're not a machine, Mari. I love you, girl, but you're burning yourself out. I hate to see you do this to yourself."
Silence settled over their small table. Maybe she'd pushed too hard. The young woman opposite her was staring at the uneaten food like it was judging her. In for a penny, in for a pound. "A few hours to be human could give you a recharge,” Alya pressed a bit more.
"You're probably right," Marinette conceded.
"You know I'm right," the quiet confidence in the statement infecting them both with smiles. "I'll talk with Nino, see if he can steal Adrien away from his machine overlord of a father, and we'll hang out like we've been talking about for months."
"Alya-"
"That's final." She was not going to give up when it came to her friends. Marinette had given an inch and by God Alya was going to keep it. One hand found her drink and Alya sucked on the straw to the sound of bare ice again.
A tiny, grateful smile pushed its way across Marinette's face. "Thanks." The smile did little to hide the wear from the girl's features; Alya could see the stress tucked away in the faint circles under blue eyes and the crease that had crept onto an nineteen year old's forehead. "I should get going. Those beads aren't going to sew themselves," her voice resigned as one hand pushed the unfinished food to the side.
"Marinette?"
"Hm?"
"You know you can talk to me, right? About anything." Hazel eyes bore into blue, hoping to convey the fullness of that statement.
"Thanks, Alya."
"I mean it. Anything at all. I'm worried about you, girl."
A somewhat brighter smile came her way. "I love you, too, but I don’t think you care to hear about the specifics of beading.”
“Doesn’t matter. For you, I’d listen to anything.”
It was dark in the apartment when Alya's key slid into the lock, the door otherwise soundless as it swung open. She took care to close it as quietly as she could before flipping the lock. Her own shoulders sank with relief as memory navigated the darkened rooms until she sat at her desk.
The enthusiasm of updating the hottest blog in Europe had faded in the past months but it was a project she could never part with. It was a large part of her identity and, even if she wanted to put distance between them, the Ladyblog called to her like an addiction. Cold light filled the room as the laptop threw her face into stark relief. The cable connected phone to computer as Alya downloaded the latest akuma footage and began typing up the accompanying article in the dim light of the screen.
Soft clicks pierced the silence of the room as Alya opened the fresh transfers. She scanned through the photos, trashing the blurred ones and a couple accidental shots of the ground. The first pass narrowed the selection down to a scant handful to use for the main image and accessories. The cursor hovered over the upper right corner before a soft click enlarged one of the options. It was a clean shot, and summed up the events succinctly: A bunch of civilians-turned-dogs were bearing down on the dynamic duo. Ladybug had stumbled, panic writ on her face as Chat reached to pull her up. To anyone else, it looked like a standard fight, but Alya picked out details she didn’t want to see, like the exhaustion clutching to Ladybug’s frame and haunting the corners of her eyes. Even Chat couldn’t disguise his weariness though it was more subtle, the set of his mouth and shoulders something Alya had learned to see in the past few months.
"You're not a machine, girl. Neither of you are.” The feeling of helplessness welled up again and pricked at her eyes. 'Helplessness' was the closest she could term it, the heavy, roiling ball of emotions that festered in her gut. The fox plush that sat on the bed was scooped up and cradled as the brunette allowed herself a small cry, hot tears leaking from behind glass lenses to trail down for little relief. Months of watching from the sidelines, of sitting across tables in silence as the puzzle pieces snapped together, as Alya Cesaire constructed the image of two teenagers struggling to balance their mundane lives with protecting Paris. The strange excuses, the missed parties, perpetually rescheduled dates, intentionally missed opportunities, and fallen friendships; Alya always was quick to forgive and never demand anything more than Marinette could give, but no one else saw it that way. No one else knew. It was all she could do to keep Nino in Adrien’s corner as his circle of friends likewise diminished.
Alya had learned holding fast to secrets can eat away at you. Especially when they’re not your secrets. For all her pride at being the smartest person in the room, it had become a double edged sword as the truth she had so long sought after became a curse.
The fox plush had weathered many long nights with Alya crying in frustration as Ladybug continually rebuffed Chat Noir only to stare sadly at Gabriel magazines over late night calls about nothing.
He’s right there, Alya wanted to scream, to whisper. We’re right here. Stop trying to do it all alone. Fingers dug into the stuffed animal for what little comfort they could glean. For all her wishes, it would never be Trixx.
They say one is the loneliest number.
If only she could add the ones.