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The day Paris falls, Marinette is sick.
It’s the product of a hectic week spent on the last legs of life, exhaustion lingering to her damp bones like morning dew clinging to the grass in the park. By the time Friday rolls around, after a round of midterms and projects, there’s little choice but to spend the day in bed with soup, sleep, and sketching. Her parents haunt the halls like ghosts, hovering but never touching, because a Marinette who isn’t feeling well has a knack for high temper and tantrums, but when given the opportunity, sleeps like the dead.
The phone buzzes with a new alert just after eleven in the morning: Chat Noir Attacks Louvre!
Her sleep-addled brain takes a few moments to process what she’s reading, and even then Marinette still isn’t sure she’s registering it correctly. “Wus that?” she mumbles to Tikki, voice hoarse from disuse.
“Marinette.” Tikki’s voice is low in warning, tinged with worry. It’s something she’d ever expect from the kwami, so she peeks out a bit more from her nest of blankets to get a better look at her cellphone.
BREAKING NEWS: Chat Noir Attacks Louvre, Takes Hostages for Hawkmoth
Her heart jumps in her throat, eyes wide with fear. Nothing in the four years as a hero of Paris could have ever prepared her for such a headline about her partner, so the adrenaline thrusts her from her bed, and she bolts down the stairs to the living room where her parents hold vigil around the television.
“What’s going on?” she asks again, this time to her mother who stares at the news with heavy eyes. There’s something stricken about her expression, like she’s aged a thousand years in a few seconds.
“Go back to bed, Marinette,” her mother tells her, but she’s distracted. Her gaze never leaves the television.
She rubs her sleep-crusted eyes with the back of her hand, trying to read the headlines flashing across the screen more clearly. It’s exactly what she’d seen on the alert from her phone that woke her up from a dead slumber. The world suddenly rights itself, having flown off its axis with panic earlier, but now she regains her bearings and everything makes perfect sense.
This must’ve been his plan , she tells herself.
“This is still a developing story,” the newscaster is saying, eyes wide with worry. “But rest assured, we will do our best to keep you all updated. For now, be safe, everyone.”
Marinette stares at the image of Chat Noir that blinks to life, looks at the glint of his sharp claws under the Louvre lighting. “Be safe, Adrien,” she whispers under her breath.
She hopes it’s enough because, even though her panic might be abated, her fear is not.
This is just the beginning.
*
“Hawkmoth is my father,” Chat Noir tells her one night as they sit on the struts of the Eiffel Tower, staring out over the slumbering city while they settle in with their own bone-deep exhaustion. “I’ve known for a couple of days, but I didn’t know how to tell you.”
Shock zaps through Ladybug like a lightning strike. “Excuse me?” she whispers lowly, voice lost in the wind whistling past them at this height. She feels lost in the storm, caught between the safety of land and the calm of the eye.
Chat Noir— of all people —the son of Hawkmoth?
“That’s not funny,” she says before he has a chance to respond, still in the quiet night, like one of the stone gargoyle along the age-old rooftops of Paris. Surprise keeps her steady.
“It’s not a joke.”
There’s no shelter from this kind of severe weather.
Disbelief keeps her silent, bites tooth-carved wounds into her tongue, and makes her hold back her thoughts. Stumbling to piece together the truth, all she can think about is Chat Noir and how this must feel for him. The whole reason they accepted the responsibility of being Paris’s heroes was to keep the people they love safe from the terror that oftentimes threatens to tear the whole city apart.
But what are you supposed to do when the one you love is the person you’re fighting?
So Ladybug stares at her partner for a few moments, where his heavy gaze is lost in the night trying to find a way home amongst the starless sky, and knows what to do. Trembling arms loop around his neck and pull him against her. His head buries itself in the warm crook of her neck and holds on tightly, as if she might disappear any second. They collapse together like a dying star and wait with baited breath for the explosion.
“Are you okay?” Ladybug finally asks him after a few minutes. “I know it’s probably a stupid question, but…” Her voice trails off, thoughts too jumbled to continue.
What do you even say to this?
“I’m not sure how to feel,” Chat Noir tells her honestly. “I’ve had the time to think about it, but I don’t understand enough to really feel anything.” He pulls away, expression pinched together, before looking at her with frustration etched across his face. “Does that make sense?”
Ladybug simply stares at her partner and tries to imagine how someone as kind as him could have a father like Hawkmoth: selfish enough to put the world at risk, content to kill anyone who was in his way. Chat Noir is a gentle soul, one full of charisma and compassion, who wears his heart on his sleeve and hides so much behind his smiles. How can Hawkmoth create someone like that ?
“Yeah, it does.” Ladybug bites her bottom lip, chewing over his response. “Are you sure though? Like, you’re positive?”
Chat Noir’s answering laugh is something dark and raspy. “Yeah, trust me, I’m sure.”
She stares at him blankly and asks, desperate for the whole story, “What happened?”
It comes out in broken segments, pieced together with deep breaths and long silences that threaten to break him under their weight. How he came home one night under the guise of a late study group, seeing the dark shadow of his father disappearing into his study. The creak of old floorboards under his orange converse as he pushes the door open just a crack, eyes peering in to eavesdrop. A jewel hidden in the red swath of a tie, glinting an eerie purple in the light of the desktop lamp, and the kwami that burst to life at his father’s command.
A summons. A promise. A threat.
“I saw it,” Chat Noir tells her, voice hollow. “He turned into Hawkmoth right in front of me.”
“Out in the open?” Ladybug still can’t believe it.
“Just like that.”
The bell tolls from an old church somewhere far below, and she can’t stifle the thought that this is like a funeral song. Learning Hawkmoth’s real identity has sealed an end to everything, the death to what they are too afraid to voice, a chance to finally be done with this long-fought war.
She reaches out and cradles Chat Noir’s jaw in her hand, directs his gaze towards hers. “So who is it?” It’s the last question she has to ask. Everything else is dust to the wind.
Here, he crumbles. Chat Noir’s eyes glimmer with tears like glass, a single drop rolling down his cheek. Ladybug catches it with her thumb and wipes it away. Everything he’s been holding in, all the secrets he’s been too afraid to tell, finally take their toll. He gasps out his words with something akin to a sob.
“I have to tell you who I am then.”
“Yeah,” she says, breathless. “You do.”
He presses his lips into a thin, white line. “I’m scared, Ladybug.”
Are you scared of your father? she wants to ask. Or are you scared of me learning who you are?
Instead, she strokes the apple of his cheek, studies his face for a few seconds, and then asks, “Do you want me to go first?”
A pause, and then, he nods.
She ducks her head, heart trying to escape from its cage, and murmurs the detransformation phrase.
*
Adrien doesn’t come to school the next Monday.
His seat in the front remains empty. There’s no warm baritone voice to answer during roll call, and Nino’s texts regarding his whereabouts go unanswered. Marinette spends her day looking for ghosts around corners, near lockers, ducking into locker rooms and bathrooms. Tikki appears more morose at Plagg’s absence, sulking deep in the confines of her purse as she murmurs incoherently around a chocolate chip cookie.
Marinette didn’t bank on Adrien leaving school for whatever plan he’d thrown together to take on Gabriel. This isn’t the first time she thinks that perhaps he’s in over his head.
She doesn’t know what to do. They don’t have Master Fu anymore, no proof besides the word of two teenagers on Hawkmoth’s identity, and Gabriel Agreste’s influence seeps deep into the roots of Paris. It will take time and effort to draw Hawkmoth out into the open, to gather evidence and build a case, but the fact of the matter is that Adrien is right—they needed a concrete plan.
But… a double agent as the best option to gain intelligence on Hawkmoth? Marinette didn’t expect that .
“Do you have any idea where he is?” Alya asks her during their free period, staring at Nino’s sleeping form next to them. He’s been trying to reach Adrien all morning and decided to take a nap to pass the time without response. “I know you guys have been close lately.”
Marinette picks at her nail beds, keeping her face purposely blank. “I’m not his keeper.”
“I never said you were.” Alya quirks an eyebrow in confusion, sensing something in the cold edge of Marinette’s voice. She levels her with a careful gaze. “Everything okay, girl?”
“I’m just… worried.” That’s a safe answer, right? It’s not a lie. “He usually tells us if he’s gonna be absent, and he’s attached to his phone even more so than you are.”
“Maybe he’s just sick.”
“Maybe,” Marinette says quietly.
Nodding along to her sentiment, Alya stretches her upper body out across the table in front of them, tapping away at said device. Her cellphone has been chiming with notifications all day, and while it has nothing to do with Adrien Agreste, it has everything to do with Chat Noir, which is basically the same thing…
(Marinette’s still getting used to that.)
“Did you hear about Chat Noir this weekend?” Alya asks, trying to change the subject.
Marinette snorts. “I was sick, not dead. Pretty sure everyone heard.”
“Still, I know people joked about him going to the dark side, but I never actually thought he would.” Alya murmurs, eyes scanning her screen as she reads the latest news reports. It’s not the truth, Marinette knows, whether it’s the tabloids or major news organizations reporting. No one but her knows the risk that Chat Noir is taking, only the front he portrays, and it’s slowly killing her.
( But do you really know ? she’s afraid to think but must. He didn’t tell you what he was doing. Is he really a double agent? Or does he think joining Hawkmoth is the right way to end this?
…Do you really know him?)
“He can’t be evil,” she murmurs under her breath, not sure if she’s talking to Alya or herself. She clenches her hands into tight fists under the table, nails digging into the heels of her palms. “I don’t believe it.”
“Better believe it,” is all Alya offers as she turns the phone to Marinette, showing the video taken from Chat Noir’s attack at the Louvre again. “You know what they say: pictures are worth a thousand words.”
“They also say that looks can be deceiving. That you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.”
Alya sighs, casting a sideways glance towards her friend. “How would you judge this then?”
Marinette drops her head into her hands and groans. “I hate this,” she says, ostensibly to herself, but Alya still hums in agreement.
“I don’t know how Ladybug’s gonna keep up—dealing with the akumas and Chat Noir now.”
“Me neither.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Alya asks again, unbridled concern dripping from her voice. It makes Marinette want to vomit, the situation turning too heavy too fast. Nausea bubbles in the pit of her stomach, hot like magma simmering below the surface, and she just shakes her head.
“Everything just got really crazy,” she tells Alya, and it’s the first honest thing she’s said all day. “I’m worried about Adrien and Paris, and I just…” She shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know what to do.”
Stretching out an arm, Alya runs a hand down between Marinette’s shoulder blades, gently trying to offer whatever reassurance she can. It does little to abate her frantic nerves, the panic she’s been keeping at bay all day, but it’s nice regardless to be reminded that she’s still surrounded by friends.
Even though it feels like it, at least at school, Marinette isn’t alone. Not like Adrien.
Never like Adrien.
*
Ladybug stumbles against the spire of Saint-Etienne du Mont, casting shadows against the gold stone of the cathedral. It’s late morning in the bustling city with traffic and civilians crowding the streets below. Paris is a marvel of light and warm sunshine, the kind of day that she loves, but all she wants is to go back to bed and hide under the covers.
Chat Noir’s attack has left the city stunned. His so-called “betrayal” made international news, and already media outlets patrol akuma hot-spots as often as Ladybug’s taken to running safety patrols, which is nearly every free moment that Marinette Dupain-Cheng can spare. Her days have become long and tiring, exhaustion seeping into her bones, and she has neither Chat Noir or Adrien for a reprieve.
It’s only been four days. There’s no telling how many more to go.
“Fancy meeting you here, my lady.” Ladybug stands up straighter, a jolt of surprise turning her senses sharp. “Thought I’d have to chase you all over the shopping district if you didn’t stop.”
Funny , she thinks. I didn’t even hear him.
Chat Noir lays against the dark stone of the church’s sloping roof, hands folded behind his head as if this is just any other midday meeting and he’s been waiting for her arrival. But Ladybug can see the harsh gleam in his eyes, the eerie glow of his green irises, and the tangled mane of blonde hair, so different from the natural spikes he usually styles it in.
His whole appearance has changed. Sleek faux-leather and Kevlar has disappeared, giving way to a black-and-ash suit, streamlined to fit his sloping shoulders and muscled torso. It’s not much of a difference from his usual outfit, but the colors allow him to blend more easily into the natural Paris environment. The differences don’t stop there: metallic claws glint fiercely under the sunlight at the ends of his hands, fangs peak out from between lips when he smiles.
There’s almost something feral about this version of Chat Noir, even more so now that she’s not seeing it through a television screen.
This is the Chat Noir that joined Hawkmoth. This is what an akuma does to its Champion.
(The change was seamless, almost too perfect. It’s like he was always meant to fight for Hawkmoth.)
“I’ve been looking for you,” Ladybug tells her ex-partner, voice shaking, but she doesn’t break. “Thought I’d give you the chance to come quietly instead of causing a spectacle like you did at the Louvre.”
Chat Noir shrugs helplessly. “I actually thought the Mona Lisa bit was tasteful.”
“Tactless, you mean,” she supplies. “Writing ‘ Give me your Miraculous, Ladybug!’ on the Mona Lisa isn’t art .”
Chat Noir laughs, and Ladybug fights back a smile. They fall into banter as easily as breathing, something that’s always been natural between them, and it’s almost like they’re not fighting on the opposite side of this war.
“So what’s your answer?” he asks her, and it’s straight to business. A faint outline of a purple butterfly crosses his face, so she knows Hawkmoth must actually be here. “Can we solve this quietly?”
“Are you gonna turn yourself in?”
“Are you gonna give us your Miraculous?”
She exhales, long and heavy, and watches Chat Noir do the same. In the distance, there’s the sound of the chopping blades as a nearby helicopter buzzes towards them, no doubt one of the passersby below alerted the media the moment they noticed that Ladybug and Chat Noir were facing off.
“You already know the answer,” she tells him, and he nods like he expected it.
So this is it.
There is a sharp clink of metal as Chat Noir pulls his baton off of his belt, one that Ladybug may have missed if she hadn’t been waiting for it. For some reason, with Hawkmoth’s interference, Chat Noir is quieter, ever the predator stalking his prey. However, Ladybug has spent the last four years as his partner and knows his cues and signals when it comes to battle.
There’s no way he can take her by surprise—not again, not when she’s prepared.
“Don’t do this, Adrien,” she says, too soft for anyone to hear, but she sees the prick in his ears, the slight shift forward, and knows he’s picked up on it. “Please don’t make me do this.”
“I’m sorry, Ladybug,” is all he says as he leaps forward, a blur of motion as the world rushes in.
She shifts her weight back, pulls out her yo-yo, and thunders into battle.
*
A week prior, Chat Noir tells her, “I have a plan to defeat Hawkmoth.”
He stands tall atop one of the spires of Saint Ambroise Church, dark figure cutting stark against the white rock in the faded evening light. In one hand, he holds onto his silver baton a white-knuckled grip, poised to jump off and disappear into the city. In his other, he clenches onto her hand, and Ladybug can’t tell who’s more afraid to let go.
For a time, they debated what to do with the identity of Hawkmoth, but the truth of the matter, however, is that Gabriel Agreste’s threads of influence extend across the whole city—within law enforcement, government, everywhere . There’s only so much that two seventeen-year-olds can do about it, regardless if they are superheroes or not. Who knows what other resources Gabriel has at his disposal?
(“There is something that he has that we could use,” Chat Noir tells her in a soft voice.
“Who?”
“Me.”)
“You don’t have to do this,” Ladybug says to him—the same thing she’s been repeating for the last fifteen minutes. “Don’t leave. Just tell me what you’re doing, and I’ll help .”
Chat Noir rubs his thumb along the back of her palm. “You’d try to stop me though,” he says. “I have to do this, bugaboo. My plan gives us something we didn’t have before.”
“And what’s that?” She tightens her hold on his hand.
“A chance,” he tells her with a grim smile, eyes locking on her own. It’s the first time he’s looked at her all night, and she can almost taste the fear and love that lingers like something tangible between them. “If I do this, we can beat him, Mari.”
Tears glimmering, she stares at him for a moment—the span of a single heartbeat—and then pulls him forward. Chat Noir stumbles a bit but still collapses into her open arms, and they stand there, on the roof of an old church, gently swaying under the setting sun.
Something tells her that they won’t get this chance again. That these are their goodbyes.
Ladybug whispers his name—his real name—into the space between them. He’s always been so much taller than her, her lips just brushing his collarbone, so she just ends up murmuring it into the fabric of his suit. His hand cups the back of her head, trailing down the braid she’d tied that morning, and tugs at the end of it. It’s his own quiet way of reassuring her that, regardless of whatever happens, he will always be her partner, and she will always be his.
At the end of the day, they’re all one another has. The reveal of Hawkmoth has only strengthened it.
“Promise me you’ll be okay,” she says, voice hoarse as she struggles to hold back tears, too stubborn to be the first to crack. “Whatever happens, you can always come home to me. My parents love you.”
“Ladybug—”
“Just tell me you won’t do something stupid,” she presses. “Just promise me that much.”
Instead of answering, he presses a quick kiss to her forehead, breathes her in one last time and tastes her apple honey body wash on the tip of her tongue. Then, he steps to the edge of the roof and throws himself off the ledge without a single glance back. There’s a zing and metallic echo that reverberates through the streets as Chat Noir disappears.
She watches him go. Only when he’s gone does she let the first tears fall.
(She still doesn’t know what his plan is.
In seven days, she’ll find out and wish she had held on just a little bit tighter, just a tad bit longer.)
*
The dream starts atop the Eiffel Tower.
The setting sun sets the city and sky on fire, and her own rage burns something fierce. Hawkmoth stands above her with his scepter, black and purple butterflies eclipsing the glow that surrounds him. He’s a king uncrowned but still commands death—hers and everyone she loves.
Chat Noir sits at his feet, fangs and claws in full view. He’s animalistic, those soft smiles and secret glances having disappeared completely, like smoke to the wind. Whatever was left of her partner is gone, and she is certain she will never see it again.
Kill her, Adrien , Hawkmoth says, and Chat Noir crouches onto his haunches, ready to pounce.
Adrien, don’t— she tries to beg, but her words are lost in a scream. Chat Noir’s hand wraps around her neck, a claw swipes, and warm blood bubbles, and—
“Marinette,” comes a hoarse voice. “You have to wake up, Mari. Please .”
Strong hands wrap around her waist and tug her forward. She falls against a muscular, trembling chest, buries her face into the warm crook of someone’s neck, and feels her quiet tears spill over. Marinette can’t stop shaking, too scared to sleep and too afraid to wake up. Instead, she burrows closer to whoever holds her and takes whatever comfort they’ll offer.
“You have to open your eyes, Mari,” they speak. “I can’t stay long.”
Something about that voice sounds familiar. The scent of coffee beans and strawberries tickles her nose and pulls her from her dream-addled reverie. She pulls away abruptly and comes face-to-face with the haggard, worn expression of one Adrien Agreste.
“Adrien?” she asks, trying to piece together her thoughts.
It hits her suddenly: he’s not Chat Noir, and he’s on her balcony.
There’s a pause, and then she smacks him hard across the face. Anger bubbles up, hard and fast, like a volcanic eruption. Suddenly, she’s yelling and hitting him again and again, and he sits there and takes it as she rages. He takes it all, and when she’s done, he takes her into a tight hug again.
Neither have stopped shaking.
Marinette is still tangled in her knit blanket on her patio chair, Adrien straddling her hips with his arms wrapped around her. The moon hangs high in the sky above them, and she wonders what time it is. That long battle where she barely escaped with her Miraculous seems like a long time ago—months, decades, centuries—but she can’t even think about that right now. All that matters is Adrien, and how he’s here, and how they’re finally together again.
“That was your plan?” she gasps out in a raspy voice. “It was so stupid , Adrien!”
“I had to do something, Mari.” Adrien pushes her sweat-tangled fringe away from her forehead, trying to see her clearer. “Being a double agent lets me get intelligence from Hawkmoth directly, and—”
“You left me!”
“Hey,” he argues. “Being the one to leave doesn’t feel any better than being the one left behind!”
“You didn’t tell me though,” she says, the words coming out strained. “I didn’t know what to think. Suddenly, you’re attacking Paris and attacking me, and I didn’t know if you really betrayed me or if it was all an act, and I was so worried about you!”
Here, he stills. “I thought you knew—”
“How was I supposed to know? You didn’t tell me anything !”
“But you told Alya that…” Adrien swallows hard and forces it out. “You told Alya that you didn’t believe Chat Noir was evil.”
Marinette quiets for a moment, studies him with a careful expression. “You were at school that day,” she says. “You heard me.”
“Hawkmoth had me patrolling the school. He thought Ladybug might be there.”
“Does he know?”
“No.”
Marinette looks off to the side, trying to pull her thoughts together. Her heart still pounds like a wild animal behind her rib cage, the dream leaving panic pumping as easily as blood in her veins. It’s taking everything she has to steady it. Learning Adrien’s plan about the truth of Chat Noir’s betrayal is helping though.
“You’re my partner,” she says finally. “That means you have to trust me, and tell me before you go and do something stupid like this. I could have helped. I wouldn’t have hit you that hard.” She raises her fingers and barely touches his split lip from their battle earlier.
Adrien cracks a smile. “Had to make it look real though.”
Marinette laughs, the sound like a dead engine sputtering back to life. She knocks her fist against his shoulder in jest. “There’s other ways to do that other than outright trying to kill each other.”
It’s Adrien’s turn to laugh, and oh! that does something to her heart. Suddenly though, he stiffens and stands up, focus turning sharp. “I have to get back,” he tells her frantically. “He’s wondering where I am.”
“Your father?”
“His akuma is still inside me,” he explains, pointing towards his chest. “He can sense me, and we can communicate even outside the mask.”
“That’s messed up.”
“Tell me about it.” Adrien presses his lips into a thin line and turns his head, looking out over the city. “You have to be careful, Mari. He’s got butterflies around the city. This is the last time we can talk about this so publicly.”
Marinette manages a wry smile, the gravity of the situation finally taking hold. “Is that what you call sneaking up on me in the middle of the night?”
“At this point— yeah .”
“Can we get a burner phone or something?” she licks her lips, trying to think of something to say that will make him stay just a little bit longer. “You can call me once you find something out, or if you want to give up. Like I said, you’re always welcome here, and I—”
“I have to do this on my own, bugaboo.” He frowns, staring at his feet. “You’ll know if it works out.”
“And in the meantime?” she asks. “I’m just supposed to… What? Just sit here and do nothing?”
He laughs at her and ruffles her already messy bedhead. “Don’t pull your punches.”
Adrien turns on his heel, intending to take his leave, but Marinette reaches out to grasp his wrist at the last second. He stops for a moment, simply stares at her with a fond expression that speaks of long sleepless nights and last goodbyes.
“Stay safe, Mari.”
“You too, kitty.”
And then he leaves, and all she can think is that she was stupid to let go.
*
The weeks pass by in slow, honey-dripped days.
Marinette spends the time trying to keep up with her schoolwork, fielding worried friends’ concerns about a missing Adrien, and protecting Paris from the combined terror of Chat Noir and Hawkmoth. Each battle has a crisp apple-edge to it, sharp retorts and even sharper strikes, that leave her researching how to get blood stains out of her favorite dress.
She listens to news outlets casting shade on every fight that she and Chat Noir have fought over the last four years, hides from interviewers who stalk the Paris streets like predators, and tries to be prepared for any attack. Akumas still come, albeit weaker as Hawkmoth pushes his powers to their limits, feeling like he finally has the Ladybug Miraculous in reach. What energy he saves with akumas he expends into amping up Chat Noir’s, which puts an even tougher edge to her battles with her partner.
There’s something to be said about the Butterfly Miraculous being used for good. If things were different, in the right hands, it could save a great deal of people.
Needless to say, exhaustion seeps into her bones until it’s a part of her. Marinette can’t remember the last time she looked into a mirror without seeing dark shadows under her eyes, pale skin and cracked lips, stringy hair pulled back in a single braid. Alya claims she looks like death warmed over, and that’s being nice.
Adrien still won’t answer Marinette’s calls. Ladybug doesn’t dare try Chat Noir.
After years of juggling personal and hero lives haphazardly, battling akumas and Hawkmoth across Paris, late night patrols with her partner, there is a truth that Marinette can’t ignore: she doesn’t know how to be alone. There’s never been a time in four years that she’s had to get used to the quiet stillness and silent struggles, wondering if the sacrifices were actually worth no glory, because Chat Noir has always been there to guide her in the right direction.
(Her astronomical True North. Where does the compass point now?)
Now, she fills her time with the wonders of the city. She chases brick walkways and weed-trodden paths, the shingled rooftops and squeaky shutters, the loops of smoke coming from rocky chimneys and the scent of rain on pavement after a thunderstorm. The usual patrol paths have been erased with Chat Noir and Hawkmoth monitoring her typical haunts, so she learns the hidden parts of Paris instead.
The threat of Hawkmoth’s roaming butterflies pushes her into the shadows the same way Chat Noir once tried to teach her. But Ladybug always mourned the loss of light and laughter, taking comfort in the people rather than the city. After all, it’s them they were fighting to protect, right? Slowly, however, she learns what Chat Noir actually meant.
Paris is more than just its people. It’s the stories told in the art Chat Noir defaced back at the Louvre during the first attack. It’s the histories spoken in tongues and etched into the scratches of brick near the crumbled downtown area from centuries ago where she patrols for the latest akuma. It’s the blood she leaves splattered in cracked cement curbs as a barista pulls her into a small café to hide.
It’s here, Marinette slowly begins to realize, that her loneliness isn’t the same as Adrien once had.
Being alone is how Adrien spent five years, trapped in Agreste mansion where his father lost himself to grief and his mother disappeared. It’s small talk over lonely dinners and only the shadows and echoes of guardians to lull you to sleep. Loneliness is where the prospect of losing a friend might have the same weight as dying.
Marinette’s kind of being-alone is being smuggled around the city by civilians, given shelter under the shacks of food vendors, first-aid care from private clinics when the doctors think the coast is clear. She learns more in the few weeks by herself than she ever has with Chat Noir by her side.
( Perhaps , she thinks, that just means I wasn’t ready for change .)
It’s helpful though, letting others help her—a prospect she’s never been open to before. It lets her gain allies, trade favors, collect equipment that will also help someone else.
A scared and tired Adrien Agreste.
He slips into her bedroom on a quiet Saturday evening after a long afternoon fight that nearly toppled an office building before Ladybug managed to cleanse the akuma and chase Chat Noir away. His claws and teeth, she’s realizing with a budding panic, have gotten sharper. They can slash through her suit like scissors to thin ribbon, and if she slows down at any point, gives up even an inch…
One of these days she might find herself in a predicament that simple first aid can’t cure.
“That looks painful,” is all Adrien offers when he drops down from her skylight. He closes it behind him with a grunt, still nursing his own wounds before sliding down the ladder to meet her on the chaise. She’s holding a bandana to the wound on the back of her shoulder, blood already soaking the fabric and trailing down her arm.
His burner phone is still clenched between his fingers. It’s for emergency use only—it was her one condition he finally relented on.
“Didn’t know your claws could come off.”
“It was my father’s idea.” And I agreed , he doesn’t voice.
Still, his hands are shaking, shoulders trembling. He’s scared, she realizes, by what he’s becoming.
“Your father won’t bother us?” Marinette asks, tossing him her first aid package, even though she trusts that Adrien wouldn’t have run off to her home of all places without checking.
But still .
He shrugs helplessly as he fumbles into a pair of surgical gloves. “Pretty sure. He and Nathalie are going to Rome for a few days, left the Gorilla behind to watch me.”
“You’re positive?”
“Marinette,” he says hoarsely. “Nathalie’s working with him too. There’s no one else here.”
Her mouth goes dry. “Mayura?”
Adrien doesn’t give her an answer, and there’s no need to. They both knew it’s true. He cracks open the first aid box and grabs the disinfectant and tweezers, pulls out gauze pads and medical tape, and she’s left to struggle with the realization that Adrien truly doesn’t have anyone. His whole family is involved in this.
“Who do you have then?” The question slips out before she can stop it.
There’s a crinkle of paper as he slowly gets to work, the quiet breath of fabric as he tugs her shirt farther down and throws her bandana away. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see the chrome glint of the tweezers before they dig into her wound, looking for the claw tip Chat Noir had left behind. She bites down hard on her bottom lip, stifling the pained groans that try to spill out.
“Sorry, Mari,” Adrien murmurs under his breath.
Marinette shakes her head, not wanting to hear it. She’s never had a chance to test the steel of her stomach against medical procedures, but there’s something nauseating about making her best friend fix the wound he ripped into her. The thought makes her dizzy. She doesn’t want his apologies—she just wants this all to be over .
“You never answered my question,” she tries again and bites back a profanity as the tweezers sink deeper.
“I don’t have an answer for you.”
Squeezing her eyes shut, Marinette digs her nails into the cushion on her chaise against the pain. “Just because we can’t be together doesn’t mean you can’t still talk to me—”
He’s shaking his head behind her. “That’s not what I mean.”
“Then explain it.”
Adrien is quiet, fiddling with the tweezers until he finally gets a hold of the metallic claw and pulls it out of her shoulder. A gush of blood follows, soaking into the dark fabric of her shirt, staining his fingers and plopping in drops on his jeans. It’s a macabre sight, but it’s one they’re forced to live with it. Neither make a move to complain because it’s the choice they’ve made.
“I don’t have anyone,” he finally relents, pressing a gauze pad over her wound. “Just you.”
She snorts. “Well I hardly count right now.”
“You’re still all I have.”
The words almost make Marinette want to laugh because that’s always been true. In the world of heroes, it’s always been them . Chat Noir has been all she’s ever had, the only one who understands the weight that secrets carry, who makes the same sacrifices between personal and hero lives, who struggles with the same decisions that thwart her at every corner.
As heroes, they’ve always been the us-against-the-world kind. Chat Noir has always been the too-good-for-the-world kind. It’s a never-ending cycle never more apparent than it is right now.
“I miss you,” she says, leaning into his touch when he presses harder against her shoulder. “At school, on patrol—nothing’s the same.”
“Marinette…” His voice trails off, her name turning to dust as it dies on his tongue.
There’s nothing he can say—can only return the same sentiment as he carefully covers her wound. It’s spoken in the soft press of his fingers against her burning skin, making her hair stand on end when his hot breath tickles the back of her neck. The warmth of his palm when he secures the medical tape in place. The sound of his heartbeat in the space between them and the wet clack of a tongue against the roof of a mouth, soft gasps of broken words neither have the strength to say.
You will always be my person .
*
A week goes by, and Marinette spends it staring at ceilings during class, at her phone during free periods, and at her own bruised knuckles when she gets home. Her parents know something is wrong but don’t even know what to ask her about. Alya fills her days with mindless chatter, too busy theorizing about Ladybug and Chat Noir’s break-up, but Marinette has long since learned how to tune her out. Nino is perhaps the only one who can come close to understanding, but there’s still a vast distance between them.
All Marinette can think about is Adrien.
Adrien, who has given up school and friends at the pretense of aiding in Gabriel’s foul plans for Paris.
Adrien, who traded the only freedom he’s ever known through Chat Noir in efforts to draw out a potential future without the fear of Hawkmoth’s reign.
Adrien, whose mother is missing and whose father is the great evil he’s been fighting for four years, who has absolutely no one in his corner because they’ve all decided there are more important things than him.
Adrien, who has actually given up his entire world, and somehow Marinette is the one who feels like she’s lost hers.
What good am I? she thinks about. Why does he have to lose everything while I sit here and do nothing ?
Chat Noir continues to wreak havoc across Paris, his new and descriptive Cataclysm! proving to be more terrifying than Hawkmoth himself. For one, he’s suddenly able to use it twice in battle, pushing back the five-minute mark easily after its first use. Ladybug struggles to stay on her feet, pushing her own powers to their limits just to contain the chaos from spreading beyond her capabilities.
At the end of the day, she isn’t any closer to beating Hawkmoth. It’s all she can do just to keep Paris standing .
Marinette isn’t sure how much longer she can take this.
But then comes those moments where she’s reminded that it truly is worth it.
It’s after battles where Ladybug has escaped, Chat Noir disappearing to nurse his own wounds, and Hawkmoth too weak to listen in. Claw-tipped fingers wrap around her bicep, and she jerks to a stop in the middle of a brick-lay alleyway, dashing to safety at the coffee shop around the corner.
“What’re you doing here?” The words escape her in a rush, shoulders still heaving from the fight. The gash in her side is bleeding sluggishly but nothing life-threatening. “You need to go , you need—”
“What I need,” Adrien says from behind Chat Noir’s mask, “is to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine. It’s nothing that hasn’t happened before.”
“I didn’t mean to hit you. I was aiming for the glass door.”
She laughs softly. “If it makes you feel better, you did hit it when you hit me.” The pain pricking along the exposed skin makes her feel like there’s indeed glass mixed in. Being blown through a door and drywall carries that risk.
“I’m so sorry,” he tells her, the same thing he repeats every free moment he can.
She’s always objective about this because it really isn’t his fault, no matter how much Adrien tries to carry all the blame. In the end, Marinette agreed to follow his crazy, stupid plan. So she reaches forward and cups his face between her hands, cradles his jaw and brings him close enough to press a kiss to his forehead.
Even though he’s a frigid beast under Hawkmoth’s hands, he still melts in hers.
“There’s nothing to forgive, Adrien.”
“I still hurt you.” The thought makes him shiver. “One of these days, I might get lucky, and it’s all going to be for nothing. You’ll be dead, and my father will win, and the world will end, and I just…” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “I’m scared of what I can do, Marinette, of what I’m becoming.”
“Hey, hey.” She shushes him and runs a hand through his tangled blonde mane. “You have to trust that I’m not going to put myself in harm’s way.”
Her words make him giggle hysterically. “Isn’t that my line?” he asks, referring to the rants she used to go off on whenever he tried to take a hit for her. “Don’t tell me you’re recycling my old material.”
“Someone has to when you’re not using it,” she snipes back.
He laughs again, but it comes across as a sob. “I’m so sorry, Mari.”
This , she thinks, is what I’m meant to do—take care of my partner, like he’s been taking care of me—no matter what it looks like .
She takes him into her arms, holds him even when he refuses to let go, and they stand on the rain-slick pathway in a tight embrace. Their hearts beat at the same pace, the space between them measured in breaths instead of inches, and the two halves are a whole for the first time in nearly a month.
Marinette swallows around her pain and asks, “How much longer do we have to do this, Adrien?”
How much longer do we have to hurt each other? is what she really wants to ask. Because I can’t stand seeing you in pain, and it kills you to watch me. The world can think whatever but I just want us to be together again .
“Soon,” Adrien promises, just like every time before, and it’s the only answer she will ever get. Time does not follow the vagaries of human nature.
In the end, Adrien disappears as quickly as he came—just the warmth of his touch on her skin, the echo of words ringing through her ears, and the glow of his green eyes like stars in the night to guide her home.
She’ll see him again soon for Marinette is his person, and Gabriel Agreste can’t keep them apart forever.
*
The end starts how it all began: with Chat Noir hurtling at her from hundreds of feet in the air.
“ Watch out!” he shouts.
Ladybug doesn’t have enough time to react and instead finds herself under two hundred pounds of leather and legs. All she can think is: what the fuck .
“Are you okay?” he asks, voice hoarse. But it sounds different from before, less weighted and careful, more frantic but carefree. Ladybug doesn’t understand.
The roof of her mouth tastes like metal, and she swallows thickly as Chat Noir helps her to her feet. “I think you knocked out a tooth,” she tells him honestly, too stunned to properly think straight.
Chat Noir simply shakes his head, shoulders shaking as he chuckles in that warm baritone voice that she loves. It takes Ladybug a moment to process what she’s seeing, just letting her eyes take in the sight of her partner—limitless and free—laughing atop a Paris rooftop. He’s the version of himself that she recognizes: black faux-leather and Kevlar, dulled claws, and no fangs. Almost like there never was an akuma, and he never left.
“Sorry. I overshot that jump,” he tells her. “But now I see it doesn’t matter. You’re asleep on your feet.”
“Well don’t yell ‘watch out’ next time you decide to throw yourself at me,” she mumbles, rubbing the curve of her jaw to soothe the ache. There’s definitely going to be a bruise tomorrow. “I might actually put my head up to watch.”
“You still look beautiful, m’lady.”
Her eyes skitter back to his. “You haven’t called me that in weeks.”
“Didn’t want that to belong to Hawkmoth too.”
The question triggers something in Ladybug’s chest, and it tightens around her heart like a safety harness, trying to keep it from leaping into her throat. “And now?” she asks, breathless.
His green eyes soften, and oh . “It’s over now.”
It’s everything she could never hope when her burner phone rang fifteen minutes ago. The only one with her number—the only one she ever calls—is Chat Noir. And the only reason he’d ever call would be if…
“You got enough evidence?” Desperation clings to her like a heavy fog, and she can’t disperse it, just reaches out to Chat Noir as if he’s her lighthouse and the only way she’ll sail in safely. “We can go to the cops about him?”
“He finally showed me his lair,” Chat Noir tells her, letting his hands fall from where they rest on her shoulders down to her elbows until they gently grip her wrists. “I found my mother , Ladybug. She’s asleep, and there’s got to be a way to wake her up, but I got everything we need. We can turn him in.”
“But his Miraculous. Does he know you’re here? What about the akuma?” she interjects carefully, not wanting to ruin his bubbling excitement. God, his mother too?!
He lets go of her hands and puts them on his own torso. “The akuma’s gone, and my father’s at work. I’m free.” He’s flirting and teasing, but his smile is so contagious, happiness oozing from every pore, and she doesn’t know how she could have gone so long without seeing it.
“Yes,” she says softly, taking him all in. “Yes, you are.”
Her heart pangs pitifully in her chest, a pathetic reminder that her partner is here. It hasn’t sunk in yet, the idea that the fight against Hawkmoth might be over soon, that Chat Noir can slip back into her hero life so easily, that Adrien can return without another word. That she’s not alone anymore, that she did her part, that the sacrifices were worth it.
“So what do we do?” Ladybug asks, cocking her head to the side. She grabs onto his hand again, never settling to let go. “Considering you have all of Paris gunning for you.”
Here, his expression turns sheepish. “About that,” he says, rubbing the back of his head anxiously. “Do you think Ladybug can put a good word in for me with the Chief of Police? Just so we can get the investigation underway?”
His question makes her laugh because it isn’t even worth asking in the first place. “Come on, kitty,” she whispers, tugging him south towards the nearest police station where she’s sure Sabrina’s father works. “Let’s get it all taken care of.”
“Together?”
She smiles at him and squeezes his hand in hers. “Together.”
*
The way the world works is through human nature.
What counts as heroes one day can easily be the bad guys the next, and everything in-between is up to choice and chance. Perhaps there are worlds where Chat Noir does indeed join Hawkmoth, perhaps there are worlds where he’s akumatized and destroys everything, and perhaps there’s even worlds where he’s never Chat Noir at all.
(Those, Marinette is sure, are the darkest.)
However, through it all, there is a certain truth that Marinette knows.
Her partner will always come back to her.