Chapter Text
Before
Ladybug’s fingers clasped around the delicate butterfly on Hawkmoth’s chest and pulled. “NO! No more evil-doing for you! It’s OVER!” The fabric under the brooch ripped away, and with it, the magic shimmered and faded. Ladybug looked up to the clear Parisian sky and let her emotions pour out her eyes. “It’s over!” she gasped again in pure relief. Shaking with the overwhelming moment, Ladybug looked back down at the broken man at her feet. He was clawing at her, grasping, Chat Noir’s staff holding him firmly in place. “You lose, Hawk—” her mouth suddenly turned dry. She knew him. She knew this man. “M-Monsieur Agreste?” She gasped.
“You don’t know what you’ve done!” he was screaming. “You’ve killed her! Don’t you get it, you imbeciles, you’ve killed her! You’ve killed my wife!”
Ladybug shook her head and tucked the abused butterfly pin in her yo-yo for safe keeping. Four strong police officers swept in and quickly had the man in hand cuffs and were listing his rights as they carted him away. Ladybug, still shaking with the trauma and realization of it all, turned and held out her fist to her partner. “Pound it!” she cried, excited for this last, greatest moment. Seven years of hard-fought battles, seven years of work and loss and pain and hope and triumph all poured into this single fist-bump. It was woefully inadequate, but it was the only thing she could think of. Perhaps they’d celebrate later. Maybe a grand party? No, a quiet, calm moment in a hidden corner of Paris and they’d just hold each other and cry now that it was all over. But right now, a fist-bump would suffice.
The fist bump never came. “Chat Noir?” Ladybug asked, finally cognizant of her surroundings enough to realize that something was seriously wrong. “Chat Noir, are you ok?”
He was frozen to the ground, his baton still extended over the spot where he’d pinned Hawkmoth. His jaw wasn’t working right, his cat ears were flat against his hair, and his body was trembling. The side of his face was still bloody from the battle, but blood wasn’t the only fluid dripping from his eyes and down the tip of his nose.
“Chat!” He wasn’t breathing. He wasn’t breathing! Ladybug raced forward, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him gently. “Chat, breathe! BREATHE!” He didn’t blink. He didn’t gasp. He didn’t move. “Chat Noir, please! Someone, anyone, help!” she screamed, looking at his glassy green eyes. The baton slipped out of his grip and clanged on the ground. Ladybug jumped in alarm. “CHAT!”
Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, Chat Noir turned his head until his eyes focused on hers. The sound he made was so soft that she would have missed it had she not been centimeters from his mouth, “Father.”
After
“Adrien!”
Adrien’s eyes flew open. He was sweating and shaking, and from the ache in his throat, he’d probably been yelling. “M-Marinette?” he croaked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
She was kneeling over him, straddling his stomach, and she started massaging his head carefully. “The nightmares are getting worse.”
He shook his head as she clambered off of him and he stood to walk to the bathroom and wash his face. “Doctor Renault said that was possible.”
“Do you want me to set up an appointment for tomorrow?”
His gut reaction was to say no, that wasn’t necessary, but she was right—the nightmares were getting worse, ever since his father had been moved out of solitary confinement and was due to meet the parole board. “How did I not see it?” he questioned softly.
Marinette was suddenly by his side, her arms wrapped around his torso firmly. “Listen to me, Adrien. It was not your fault.”
He crumpled over the sink. She traced the scar on his right shoulder with her lips. “I know it wasn’t my fault,” he moaned, “but I should have known. I should have seen. It took us seven years to capture his Miraculous.” He turned to her, his beautiful, strong, brave Ladybug, and ran his thumb over her cheek, “You took far too many hits.”
“Adrien,” she whispered, “your father did a horrible thing; not you. He’s his own person.”
“I know,” he whispered, “but you shouldn’t have had to carry the burdens you did.”
She smiled tenderly, “That’s true. It wasn’t fair. It isn’t fair. But it brought me to you, and for that, I’ll be eternally grateful to Hawkmoth.” Adrien winced at the sound of his name. “Yep,” she added, “I’ll make that appointment first thing in the morning.”
“No,” he shook his head. She gave him a concerned look—it hadn’t been that long since he would try to talk her out of seeing a therapist—but he quickly added, “I’ll make the appointment myself.”
She raised an eyebrow, “Would you like me to come?”
He pondered briefly, “I think so. Yes?”
She smiled, “Good answer. Heaven knows I need it as much as you do. And besides,” she reached up on her tiptoes to kiss his lips softly, “we’re partners. We fought him together, we defeated him together, we’re healing together.”
His heart broke and reformed around hers once again. “How do you do that?” he whispered as he leaned in to kiss her jaw tenderly.
“Do what?” she gasped as he nibbled at the sensitive spot under her right ear.
“Say exactly what I need to hear, when I need to hear it?”
She smirked at him in the dim light, “Just lucky, I guess.”