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Michelle sat quietly that night, pushing her food from one side of the plate to another and back again. Normally, she loved it when Robert cooked, but tonight she just wasn’t feeling it.
“Are you okay?” he eventually asked her from the other side of the dining room table.
She looked up at her husband, taking note of how his hazel eyes were full of worry, and she gave him a small smile. “I’m fine,” she told him, already knowing that he hadn’t brought into her false facade. “Bad day at work,” she told him, hoping to get him off her case.
He hummed in response. “Would you like to talk about it?” that was Robert, always thoughtful, always caring. That was why she had fallen for him in the first place.
Michelle only shook her head, her eyes locked on the plate of food before her.
They sat in silence once more. For Robert, it was a peaceful sort of quiet, but at the same time unusual — normally dinner was filled with conversation and laughter, at least, it had been for the past 12 years of their marriage. But for Michelle the silence was painful. Each moment being reminded of the event that had occurred today.
It had occurred at work, so yes, she technically hadn’t lied to Robert (she hated lying, but what was a little white lie in the grand scheme of things?) but the incident hadn’t really been work-related had it?
“Would you like a drink?” he asked eventually, breaking the silence.
She slowly looked up at him, then to the pitcher of water in his hand and back to him once more.
Water.
She dropped her gaze to her plate again and shook her head. “No thank you,” she said in a small voice. “I’m okay,” she wasn’t sure if it was the offer of water that she was okay for, or if she was trying to convince him — convince herself — that she was okay.
“Okay,” he half-whispered in response before he began pouring one for himself.
She heard the water as it tumbled into his glass. Bubbling and babbling. A piece of ice fell from the pitcher and into the glass, hitting the side and creating a sharp tinging sound.
Water.
Sounding like it had during the day.
She looks up and watches as another piece of ice joins the glass and she has to force herself to tear her eyes away.
She tries to close her eyes, but all she can see is her desk at work. The desk where she was sitting at when she first noticed her socks were damp.
No. they weren’t damp. They were wet. Soaking wet. And looking down at her feet showed that the water was steadily rising. Rising water. Rising fast.
Her breath hitched as tears started welling in her eyes. That was just what she needed. More water.
“Michelle—” Robert began, but her senses were overfilled by everything else that she didn’t even register him calling her name.
Silent tears fell down her face, running down her cheeks, a few finding their way onto her lips.
They tasted salty, hot and fresh and painful.
The taste reminding her of how the water felt that afternoon. How it felt as she tried to run through the slowly flooding office to the door. The water had made it difficult to run, every movement was like she had been put in slow motion, like she wasn’t in full control of how her body moved.
Someone across the room from her cried out “akuma” and the cry felt almost useless — Paris didn’t flood like this without a magically-aided supervillain running interference.
She got to the door before any of her coworkers and tried to open it, but it seemed that the force of the water on either side of the door was making it too difficult for her to open it. She tugged and pulled, and eventually, someone joined her.
Their fight was futile.
“Michelle,” Robert got up from his seat, making his way around the table to where his wife was sitting. “Michelle—” yet his words did nothing to pull her from reliving the nightmare she had endured earlier.
Michelle and her coworker — a younger brunette, Cassie — had pulled at the door, their arms aching as they did. Pulling and twisting the handle but it did nothing. The water was at their waists by then, getting higher and higher with each second.
A voice called from one of the other doors, it was open. Michelle had locked eyes with the Cassie and a silent conversation between the two was undertaken — get to that door.
Michelle had tried running through the water to get to the open door, conveniently placed half a room away from where she was. It led to a stairwell, a way to the roof. A way up.
Running throw water was a slow process, a constant fight between the strong current as the room slowly filled and Michelle’s tired muscles, her body running off of leftover adrenaline and by the time she had made it to the door the water was up at her chest. She heard a cry behind her and looked back to see Cassie, stuck.
“Go!” the girl screamed. “Its an akuma! Ladybug will fix it! I’ll be fine!” but that did nothing to assure Michelle.
She tore off her sopping wet blazer and began to paddle her way over to the girl. Michelle wasn’t the strongest swimmer, but she could at least manage a basic doggy-paddle. She stopped to catch her breath when she got to Cassie. “It’s my skirt,” the girl said. “It's stuck on something,” Michelle nodded before diving under.
The water stung her eyes, it made her vision blurry, but she forced herself to keep her eyes open. Forced herself to dive deeper, despite the ache of her bones and muscles, despite her heart thundering on in her chest.
The skirt had been beautiful when dry — a long flowing navy blue skirt — and now the wet mess clung to the young woman’s legs, making it difficult for Michelle to see what was wrong. She didn’t try to search for very long, the burning in her lungs telling her she needed to go up for air, which she ignored.
She hastily grabbed the belt around Cassie’s waist and released it, pulling the skirt down, freeing the woman.
“Sorry,” she gasped as she hit the surface. “It was the only way.”
“Thank you,” Cassie had told her as the two had begun swimming toward the door, everyone else had escaped by that time. The water was about a foot from the roof, which meant that Cassie, who was a stronger swimmer than Michelle and had reached the doorway first, had to dive down a small bit to get through.
Michelle could see Cassie on the other side, she was waiting for her. “Come on,” she heard her call out in encouragement, and Michelle tried paddling harder.
It was hard — her arms hurt, her legs hurt, her lungs burned — but she tried. She was only a foot from the door when it happened. The water caught the door, and Michelle watched in horror as it closed in front of her.
“No!” she had heard Cassie cry on the other side of the door as tears welled up in her own eyes. Tears. That was what was needed. More liquid.
“It’s fine!” she called through the door. “Ladybug will fix it!”
“But—”
“Just go!” Michelle heard the sound of Cassie swimming away on the other side of the door and leant her head against the wall, sobbing freely into her hands in the silence, alone in a room that was rapidly filling with water.
The water did not cease to rise, only continuing to fill the room more and more.
She lifted her head, her nose now pressed against the roof in an attempt to escape the flowing water.
But she is tired. Her bones are aching and her muscles sore. “It’s futile to fight it,” a part of her screams, she wants to fight, but she’s tired. Oh god, she’s so tired. The tears in her eyes are washed away by the water as she slowly sinks.
At first, it burns — her lungs hunger for oxygen that she cannot supply to them. She often wondered if it was painful — drowning — and right now the obvious answer is, yes. It kills (literally).
She remembered reading somewhere once that drowning was thought to be one of the most peaceful deaths, but in that instance, she does not agree. How would they know? It’s not like they had drowned to death themselves.
She knew, logically she knew, that she wasn’t going to die — Ladybug and Chat Noir would defeat the akuma, Ladybug would call for the Miraculous cure and everything would be right again. But that didn’t stop the fear she felt from deep within her. The guilt and regret that filled her.
When was the last time she had told her husband she loved him? Did she do it enough? How often did she compliment those around her? What about that time she spilt coffee on Becky’s brand new white shoes?
The water tastes salty on her tongue, sharp and bitter and wrong. It wasn’t what water would normally taste like, and for a moment she felt like she was tasting her own tears.
After the initial pain subsides, Michelle feels nothing. Numb. All over her body. Its bizarre, and indeed, it is almost peaceful. It must be the lack of oxygen.
The last thing she remembered was looking at the watch on her wrist — 1:38 pm — before it went black.
“Michelle,” she hears. Its Robert. “Sweetie, it’s okay,” he says. “I’m here,” he tells her. “It’s okay,” and he holds her in his arms, close to his chest. He’s warm — so very warm — and Michelle relishes in it.
It was 2:06 pm when she first regained consciousness. She opens her eyes to find herself lying down on the cold office floor. She sits herself up, trying to distance herself from the cold tile as much as possible.
She slowly takes a breath — testing to see if it burns like it had before. She’s almost surprised to find that she can do so with ease, and she takes a big, deep breath in trying to fill her lungs. It isn’t enough, and she takes another. And another. Each time marvelling in the ease that she is able to do so.
The next thing she registers is the sound of feet pounding their way down the stairs, and the door flies open to reveal Cassie — who now has her skirt once more thanks to the Miraculous Ladybug cure.
The girl has tears in her eyes as she throws herself onto the ground beside Michelle and throws her arms around her.
“You saved me,” Cassie whispers in her ears. Over and over, like a mantra.
And yet, it doesn’t make Michelle feel any better.
“You would have done the same,” she says, but her tone is flat, lacking any emotion.
Cassie pulls back from the crushing hug and looks her in the eyes. “But I didn’t,” her voice is small.
Michelle shakes her head. “You couldn’t. You tried, you did.”
Cassie pulls her back into another embrace. “And yet, I failed,” she says. “You saved me.”
“How are you?” someone questions — perhaps its James from HR, Michelle wasn’t really paying much attention.
“I’m fine,” she whispers. She wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince — herself or them — and she wasn't sure it was working either. “I’ll be fine,” she says. And she will, won’t she? Maybe not now, but maybe someday she’ll be okay.
But right now? Right now she isn’t there yet.
“It’ll be okay,” Robert tells her. “We’ll get through this. Together.”
She looks at him, tears stains already dry on her cheeks, and nods slowly. “Together.”