Chapter Text
The winds on the rooftop of Le Grand Paris Hotel whipped around Chloe as she growled, straining, lifting, and heaved her treasured custom-made Bee Signal over the parapet to impact and shatter on the pavement six floors below, bowing her head, lower lip quivering in anger-fueled self-pity.
Footsteps behind her.
Silver mask gleaming in the sun, supremely, smugly self-confident in his resplendent aubergine silk suit, Papillion smiled. “Chloe Bourgeois, rejections hurt!”
Chloe turned to face him, her back to the edge of the roof, tears threatening in the corners of her eyes, blonde ponytail blowing in the breeze.
“Your talents deserve to be recognized!”, the villain taunted. “Ladybug and Chat Noir's reign has gone on long enough, it's time for Paris to have a new queen and the Queen Bee on my chessboard is you.”
Chloe bristled, voice trembling. “You've akumatized my parents! If I had my Miraculous I'd—”
“You're right”, Papillion admitted, raising a hand to interrupt her. “But I did it for one reason only. So that you would finally realize that Ladybug will never give you the Bee Miraculous again. I, however, always keep my promises.” Papillion reached behind the left breast of his suit jacket, retrieving something, then opened his hand, revealing the golden comb of the Bee Miraculous.
“This isn't real! How do you have it?”, Chloé gasped in shock.
Papillion’s thin smile, nefarious and ingratiating. “Try it and see for yourself”, he replied, dodging the question. “You're Ladybug's greatest fan. You've helped her, you've trusted her, and what has she done for you in return?”
“Nothing!”, Chloé snapped. “She couldn't care less about me! I'm done with her. She's irrelevant, utterly irrelevant!” The young heiress reached out, trembling, to lift the offered Miraculous from Papillion's gloved hand, pausing. “I want you to deakumatize has my parents first!”
“Whatever you say, my queen”, Papillion chuckled indulgently. It was all going marvellously according to plan. The young Bourgeois girl had always been exceptionally easy to bait and manipulate.
Chloe took the comb and put it in her hair, releasing the kwami, Pollen.
“Your majesty, wait! Remember! Please!!”, the diminutive yellow spirit urged.
Pale blue eyes swiftly appraised the villain standing expectantly before Chloé. Memories flickered, emotions flashing over her face.
“You need my help…”, Chloé muttered, eyes darting, searching, evaluating.
“Yes, that’s why I‘m here!”, Papillion snapped. “Transform! Become Queen Bee! Exact your well-earned revenge!”
“You hurt people. You want me to hurt people for you”, Chloé growled. “You have the same utterly ridiculous plan to steal Ladybug’s and Chat's Miraculous’! And you need my help!”
“Yes!!”, Papillion almost howled in frustration. “And every second you waste is another chance for those two brats to foil our plans! Now do as I command and transform!”
Chloé grimaced, a lance of pain as a headache blossomed suddenly behind her eyes. “You're as bad as my mother.” She took a step backwards. “You demand, and threaten, and order, and use people! You don’t care who you hurt, or what happens to them.”
“What?” A note of confusion crept into Papillion's voice.
“This isn't right”, Chloé muttered to herself, temples throbbing. “She trusted me. We were a team. We were… we were…”
Memories of blue eyes. Smiling. Laughing. Tired. Hurt. Scared.
Those blue eyes. Her blue eyes. Like perfect dark sapphires.
“What are you saying?! You're Queen Bee, and you’ll be my Miracle Queen!”, Papillion boasted.
“… No …” Quiet defiance.
“Do as you’re told! Transform!”
“No!”, Chloé screamed. “You need me! You want me to… to… no!! I’m…no!! You need me! I’m part of your plan! Ahhh!!” Another stab of pain.
It never hurt before. When she accepted Papillion's offer.
Before?
Had she already done this? Was that why it felt so wrong this time?
Another step backward, faltering, shaky, the lipped edge of the parapet against the back of her leg.
“I can stop you.”
“Stop being a stupid little girl! Do as you’re told!”, Papillion hissed.
Stumbling, Chloé backed up onto the wide ledge of parapet, frowning at Papillion.
“Get down immediately! Play your part! Become Queen Bee!”
“If I transform, you win. Ahhh!!” The pain almost brought Chloé to her knees.
“Don’t do this! We can win!”
“I’m so sorry, Pollen…”, Chloé whispered, then took one more small step backwards, into the void.
*-*-*
Chloé bolted upright in her bed, the scream dying on her lips had the same note as the clock-radio blaring on her bedside table. She silenced it with a touch born of reflex.
Again the same horrific nightmare. The one that brought a blinding headache along for company. How many nights in a row was this? Ten? More?
Blinking blearily, Chloé looked around her room. The same four walls, water-stained plaster ceiling, a cheaply-curtained window looking out from the second floor to the street from the rundown two-up/two-down rental row-house, the rippled, dated, and badly hung wallpaper surrounding the same second-hand bunk beds she and her brother had slept in since they were kids.
Wait. That was wrong. It was all wrong. She should be in her room in the hotel.
And she was an only child.
The frame-and-panel door to her room squealed open, her brother slouched in from the hallway with it's threadbare carpet, barefoot, wearing baggy grey track pants and a new-ish black tee-shirt.
“Bad dreams again?”
“Adrien?!”
“Uh, yeah? Who were you expecting? Your street-magician supermodel idol Felix?”
“Felix is your cousin!”
Adrien put the back of a cool hand to Chloé’s forehead, green eyes peering at her. “You feeling alright, sis?”
Chloé pushed his hand away. “Since when are you my brother?!”
Adrien grinned. “Uh, since we were born? Twins, remember?”
“We’re twins?!”
“Okay, this isn't funny anymore. Get your skinny butt out of bed, and get dressed. Dad has breakfast ready downstairs. If you don’t hurry were going to be late. Again!” Adrien busied himself getting ready for the day, pulling clothes out of a chest of drawers that looked decades old.
Chloé scrambled out of bed, pulling the closet accordion door aside with a protesting rattle. “Where are all my clothes?!”, she demanded.
Adrien shrugged. “It was your turn to do laundry. The stuff you wore yesterday should be okay.”
“But my designer—“
“Designer?”, Adrien laughed, cutting Chloé off. “Since when do we afford designer clothes for you on dad's cop salary? C'mon, quit messing around and get ready.”
Chloé glanced at her clock-radio, cursed quietly and bolted for the cramped, out-dated bathroom, rushing through her shower and morning routine, long blonde hair pulled back in a neat-ish ponytail. Yesterdays clothes turned out to be a pair of jeans with the knees actually worn out instead of artfully distressed, and a black scoop-neck cotton tee-shirt under a mustard yellow hoodie.
P’tit dej consisted of a day-old supermarket croissant smeared with strawberry preserves and a gulp of luke-warm coffee as daddy shrugged into his ballistic panel lined duty jacket while kissing the top of Chloé’s head and instructing Adrien to behave as he departed, then hurrying out the door and shuffling along the street under a blustery grey sky, clouds scudding before a chill south-westerly breeze, Adrien pocketing his copy of the latch-key.
Chloé shivered under her inadequate hoodie as they scurried down the avenue, school bag slung over her shoulder. The entire situation was bizarre, utterly, utterly ridiculous. She should be riding in a limo to school, not walking like a peasant!
“Did you at least finish Sabrina's assignments like she told you to?” Adrien's question cut through the tangle of her confusion.
“Huh?”
A long-suffering sigh from her twin. “You know how impossible she gets when you forget to follow her orders. God, why do you let her push you around like that?”
“But— I’m her only friend!” Chloé protested in shock.
“You don’t actually believe that garbage, do you? You've been under her thumb since you started school. Stand up to her this year! Make some new friends”, Adrien suggested, annoyed. The school bell rang in the distance. “Merde! First bell already! Now we're definitely gonna be late!”
*-*-*
“How very kind of you to join us this morning", Madame DuPain-Cheng smiled ironically as Adrien and Chloé slunk into the room. “Late two days in a row at the start of term is hardly a good example, is it? Find a seat and we'll take attendance and begin.”
“Yes, Madame, won’t happen again", Adrien nodded, embarrassed, taking a seat beside his best friend, Kim.
Chloé scanned the room, discovering her usual seat at the front of the class occupied by Sabrina, who sat next to Alya Césaire of all people, giggling as they flicked a glance in her direction in a shared private joke. Sabrina, dressed in the latest designer clothes.
“Did you bring our project, Chloé?”, Sabrina demanded with a haughty tone, as the blonde slid onto the bench beside Marinette DuPain-Cheng, who glanced at her indifferently.
“Uhh, I slept in. Forgot it in the rush", Chloé mumbled, cheeks flaming. What the hell was going on?!
“Do better tomorrow then", Sabrina condescended.
“God, can this day get any worse?”, Chloé muttered, mostly to herself.
Marinette scowled. “Yeah, well, having my mom as homeroom teacher wasn’t on my bingo card either. I was hoping for Damocles, but he retired and opened a used book store, remember?”
“Tell me you at least brought some macarons, DuPain-Cheng…”, Chloé complained.
“Why? Just because our fathers work together, that doesn’t make us friends. Besides, you want pastries, you talk to Spooky.” Marinette pointed in the direction of an extravagant confection of black lace, satin, and tulle topped by an elaborate shimmering mane of black curls shading to brilliant violet ombre at the tips.
“Juleka is the baker girl?!”
“Are we quite finished interrupting, Mademoiselle Bourgeois?”, Marinette's mother inquired pointedly.
Every eye in the room was on Chloé, who groaned, mortified, and slid down in her seat, wishing nothing more than for the floor to open up and drop her into hell, which would be an improvement in her opinion.
“As I was saying before I was interrupted, we have two new students joining us today. Please welcome Felix Agreste and his sister, Rose. I expect you to be on your best behavior, class, as Felix and Rose have been home-schooled by private tutors, and this is their first term in a public school.”
The class cheerfully rumbled greetings, and people shuffled to make room for the newcomers. Sabrina immediately claimed Felix, pulling him onto the bench beside her, an act which made Alya frown behind her glasses. Rose settled in meekly beside Juleka, but shied away as far as possible, deterred by the lurid goth attire. Juleka grinned and offered the timid girl a cookie shaped and decorated to look like a Mexican muerte skull from a purple pasteboard box trimmed with white lace, shaped like a coffin.
Chloé only paid partial attention to the explanation of the upcoming term and the days schedule, her mind a whirl of conflict, distraction, and confusion. Which probably explains shy she didn’t hear her name being called.
“Mademoiselle Bourgeois!”
“What?!”, Chloé snapped irritably.
Piercing brown eyes glared at Chloé. “I was dismissing the class to attend either Phys Ed or Mathematics, according to their schedules, but you, Chloé Bourgeois, are on your way to the principal’s office!”, Madame DuPain-Cheng ordered, pointing out the door.
“Way to go, Chloé…”, Adrien muttered sympathetically as she rose from her seat and made her way down the broad stepped aisle.
Chloé rolled her eyes and ‘tch'-ed in frustration, grumbling to herself as she left the room and made her way to the administration area, knocking on the door of the principal.
“Come in", sang the clear, familiar alto voice.
‘It couldn’t be…’, Chloé thought to herself as she opened the door.
It was. But it wasn’t.
The face was Madame Caline Bustier, dressed in her signature white suit and mint blouse, auburn hair in a neat bun impaled sideways with a spare pencil. The nameplate on the edge of the desk read ‘Mme. Raincomprix'.
“This is wrong! It’s all wrong!”, Chloé whined.
“Why don’t you come and sit down and tell me why you were sent to my office?”, Madame Raincomprix suggested, smiling gently.
Chloé slumped into one of the chairs in front of the tidy classic wooden office desk. “Nothing has been going right since I woke up. I…I’m out of place. I don’t belong here…”
Caline Bustier, no, Madame Raincomprix, Chloé reminded herself, sighed, rubbing at her temple with one hand. “It’s Sabrina, isn’t it? Already abusing her boundaries. I told Roger we needed to be more firm with her—”
“No, Madame Bust—I mean, Madame Raincomprix, Sabrina is fine. She’s…fine”, Chloé protested nervously. “It’s me. I’m…I’m messed up. It’s all confused! It’s these dreams I've been having for weeks. I'm…I’m not sleeping well, and I’m…I'm not…” Chloé limply waved a hand in frustration, unable to express what she was feeling, what she was experiencing.
Honest green eyes gazed at Chloé, assessing without judging. “It’s been, hmm, two years since your mom…?”
Chloé looked away, staring at the floor, arms wrapped around herself, defensive. “I don’t wanna talk about my mother, ‘k?”
Madame Raincomprix nodded, hands together on the desk, fingers interlaced. “Alright. So I'm going to conclude your recent sleep issues and moodiness are why you’re here.”
Chloé nodded, downcast, blonde ponytail bobbing. “Yeah. Probably.”
“Do you think counselling might help?”
“I don’t need counselling!”, Chloé snapped. “I need to—” She cut herself off, a whisper of memory, of falling, the flash of sapphire eyes…
She closed her eyes. She was so tired.
“I don’t belong here", Chloé whispered.
“Do you need to go home, Chloé?”
A bark of derisive laugher. “I don’t even know what home is anymore…”
“Chloé?”
The distraught blonde flicked an irritated glance at the principal.
“Chloé, I’m not an expert, believe me", the woman Chloé knew as Caline Bustier said quietly, “But I think you're probably dealing with depression, and still processing your mother's passing. I’m going to excuse you for the day, and send an email to your father recommending that you get counselling and maybe some medication, alright?”
“Alright", Chloé agreed in a small voice.
Madame Raincomprix pulled a pad of paper from a desk drawer, writing on it for a moment. “Here’s a hall pass excusing you for the day. I’d like you to check in with me first thing tomorrow morning.” She tore the page loose, handing it across the desk to Chloé.
Chloé sullenly tucked the folded note into the pocket of her yellow hoodie. “ ‘K…”
Impact rocked the school, the sound of falling masonry.
Chloé paled. The beginning of the school year. She should have remembered.
“Oh, no. No. Not again…”
Madame Raincomprix was speaking firmly into the handset of the phone on her desk, issuing orders to evacuate in a calm voice. The school's alarm klaxons blaring, warning strobes flashing in the hallways and over doors.
“Get out of here, Chloé! Now! You know where the rally point is.”
Chloé nodded, frantic. “The carousel in the park.”
“Go!”
Chloé darted out of Madame Raincomprix’s office, bobbing and dodging through the surge of students that flooded the hallways, pouring out the emergency exits. She had to find Adrien.