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Chapter Text

PROLOGUE

The Western Front, France, 1918

Get up.

That’s what Francoeur told himself.

Get up. 

Lève-toi.

Pain. There was only pain. But he couldn’t do anything about it. He wiggled his leg, but it wouldn’t budge. Muck dripped from his brow. Francoeur closed his eyes. His face hurt. His leg hurt. His arms hurt. His chest and head and heart - everything hurt. So much. All he could do was listen. So he did. Explosive shells whistled. The ground shook. Dirt flew in the sky. Everything reeked of death. Somewhere, far away, so far away, soldiers yelled, screamed, cried. Others laughed. Some even sang. 

Francoeur cracked his eyes open. Around him, the dust settled. Colour had been sucked out of the battlefield, a mess of greys and browns. Grey skies, brown earth. Red flashed here and there. Francoeur tried not to think about that. 

Hunger. Thirst. Fatigue. Pain. Boredom. 

Those were all things Francoeur had become accustomed to. The Front had its way of doing that. 

This time, though, this was the end.

How long had he been stuck here? Lying on his stomach? Leg wrapped in a barbed wire fence? In No Man’s Land, wishing for a shell to fall on him? To finish the job? He’d seen the sun rise… twice. Maybe. So two days. 

Surely a shell would deign fall on him now.

None did. Hours crawled by. Somewhere ahead, too far to be heard, the soldiers on the other side remained steadfastly stubborn. Like those behind him. As they had since the beginning of the War. Since they’d started digging. Every once in a while, Francoeur tried to push or pull his leg out. Nothing. Not even the tiniest leeway. 

Well. That wasn’t happening. 

Light faded as the sun continued its course in the sky. Night soon engulfed him, cool and fresh. Francoeur closed his eyes. Maybe now he’d sleep. No. That wasn’t happening either. The Earth rumbled under his belly. Dozens of feet pounded the muddy ground. Soldiers screamed. Francoeur tried to crane his neck to look. Was it time for another attack? 

Finally.

They appeared through the fog, clutching their guns to their chest. Running at high speed. Francoeur wanted to laugh. They were all children of War. Like himself. Who had bought into lies and fairy tales. Join the Army, they’d said. You’ll be a hero, they’d said.

The first members of the battalion ran past him on their way to the German side.

Francoeur willed his arm to move. 

Come on. 

Grab them. 

His hand came up empty.

Grab them. Grab them. Attrape-les.

His hand curled around a boot’s ankle.

The man screamed. Not quite a man. A boy, really. Not much older than Francoeur himself. He kicked with his foot, as if trying to dislodge it from barbed wire. Which he probably thought it was. Francoeur opened his mouth. He groaned. A low, sharp sound.

Talk. Now’s the time to talk.

“Help… me… Aidez… moi… ”

A gasp. Soldiers piled around Francoeur. A light blinded him.

“ Heille! Heille, vous autres! Yé-t’en vie! Guys! He’s alive!”

Funny. That man had an accent. One Francoeur had rarely heard.

French Canadian, perhaps?

“Pull him up, pull him up! Come on, he looks like he’s been there a while. We need to get him to an Infirmary. Stat!”

“Are you sure, Joseph? He looks badly injured. Maybe we should just…”

“What? Just what? Let him be?”

“Well…”

“You can save that poor man’s life and you want to let him die? Bunch of cowards. If you won’t help him, I will!”

Francoeur was certain steps had to be taken to get him out of that fence. There must have been. But the next thing he knew, he was being pulled up by a pair of arms and dragged back to the trenches. For a moment, he felt himself fly. Downwards. Then he crash landed inside the muddy hole. Bruised and in pain. But alive.

He was alive, all right.

“You okay there, buddy?”

Francoeur managed a nod. 

“Good. Stretcher bearer! I need a stretcher bearer!”

Francoeur was turned onto his back. He gulped in air. Breathed in. Breathed out. Breathing. Alive. He was alive. His memory lost bits and pieces of what happened next. He was hoisted onto a stretcher. Put in a vehicle. Carried away from the Front. 

He arrived a few days later at a hospital, far from the front lines. More and more French Canadians busied themselves about, talking in their funny accent. They worked for a university in Montréal, he’d learn later, and had joined the War effort for France. Chaos reigned even here, nurses and doctors walking around, shouting orders, taking in soldiers. 

Francoeur didn’t mind the noise. Noise was fine. 

In time, Francoeur would become unable to deal with silence. 

Weeks passed by in peace. His leg scarred, but somehow, they managed to save it. He had to learn to walk again, but Francoeur never complained. He knew others had it far worse. By the time Francoeur was told he was ready to go back on the battlefield, there was no need.

Just like that.

The War was over.

CHAPTER ONE

Paris, France, 1928

The train shuddered to a halt. Francoeur massaged his left leg, sighing in relief. It may have healed, but no matter what he did, pain would flare up when he didn’t move for too long. Or when he got too cold. Or when he made a misstep. Or… well, you got the picture. Francoeur got up, hands at the small of his back, and stretched. Francoeur wrapped his favourite red scarf around his neck. Then, gathering his belongings, he walked off the train. He breathed in the scents of steam and sweat.

Somehow, he’d never stopped breathing.

Two kids pushed past him on their way down the train. Giggling. Their short-haired mother followed after them, apologizing profusely. It didn’t bother him. He’d never tire of the sounds of children laughing. Francoeur tipped his wide-brimmed hat at the woman. She answered by tugging down on her cloche hat.

“Not a problem, madame. ”

Her gaze caught a glimpse of the ghosts in his eyes. She walked briskly away.

With his guitar case and suitcase in both hands, Francoeur left the Gare du Nord. Paris welcomed him with open arms. Its boulevards opened up for him. Automobiles honked in the streets. On the sidewalk, people passed him by. Some rushing, others walking. He heard bits of conversations, laughter between friends. Jazz fluttered from a window to his ears. A cool breeze, announcing spring, toyed with his hair. It was loud and bright and alive , a wonderful day to spend in the city of his childhood. Nostalgia tugged at his heart. How many years had passed since he’d last been in Paris? The War had been so long ago, yet it felt like yesterday.

“Taxi!”

Montmartre appeared a mere fifteen minutes later. Alleyways serpented around the main cobblestone streets, up to the Sacré-Coeur standing high on its hill. Screaming kids played football on the sidewalk. The taxi driver grunted when a ball hit the door. With a “sorry!” the kids apologized ran away. People piled around tables, outside cafés. Francoeur closed his eyes. 

Home. He was home.

Well.

Not quite. 

His parents didn’t live in Montmartre. Which explained why he was here.

Even ten years later, he couldn’t face them. Not yet. 

The taxi driver cracked the window open. Art and poetry’s smells wafted in Francoeur’s nose. Or maybe it was the smells of bread and pâtisseries that wafted from a boulangerie . Francoeur’s stomach rumbled. He asked the driver to stop, got down from his taxi, generously tipped the man, and walked inside the bakery. 

Ding! 

A girl, still a child, welcomed him with the proudest smile he’d ever seen from the other side of the counter.

“Bonjour!” she chimed. “Welcome to the Tom et Sabine Boulangerie Pâtisserie! My name’s Marinette Dupain-Cheng. How can I help you today?”

Francoeur tapped his mouth, looking at the delicacies beyond the glass counter.

“Hmmm… how much for a baguette jambon beurre , two croissants and a religieuse ?”

The girl - Marinette - stabbed her calculator with one finger. 

“That’ll be…”

The bell rang. Cutting her off.

“Oh! Adrien!”

Francoeur spun around. A boy, probably Marinette’s age, walked in, a hand in his pocket. He offered a smile as bright as the sun. Francoeur turned around once again. Slowly, this time. Marinette had completely lost control of her own actions. Her face had gone slack, hand hovering above the calculator. A blush bloomed on her cheeks. 

Swallowing down a grin, Francoeur coughed.

“What?” asked Marinette. 

A touch too loud.

“How much for a baguette jambon beurre , two croissants and a religieuse ?”

“Oh! Right, right. That’ll be twelve francs, monsieur. ”

Francoeur nodded. He put down his suitcase and guitar case, under two pairs of curious eyes. He crouched down and, precariously leaning on the tip of his toes, opened his guitar case and foraged for some money. One, two... he ran out. Huh. How strange. He really thought he had more than two francs in there. 

He had far from enough. 

Francoeur huffed.

No lunch for today. At least he was used to it.

“I’m sorry, this is embarrassing,” he said, rising up to his full height. Which was much taller than Marinette. “Do you have anything for two francs?”

Marinette looked crestfallen. 

“Sorry, monsieur .” 

“That’s all right. I should have calculated better before bothering you.” Francoeur clicked his guitar case shut. He shouldered it. “Thank you anyway. I wish you a good day.”

He was half-way out the door when an army of kids barged in. Cutting off his retreat.

“I can’t believe you didn’t wait for us, mate!” said a boy.

“Don’t worry, Nino,” teased a girl with a knowing wink. “He just wanted to spend some alone time with Marinette.” 

“Shut up!” said another, voice high-pitched and shrill. “Adrichou is mine!”

“Keep telling yourself that, Chloé,” groaned another girl.

“What? You think you’re better than me, Lilla?”

Francoeur’s head spun at the sight of all these children walking in. Bombarding each other with chatter and laughter. Soon, they were more than ten, piling up in the boulangerie. Marinette looked from one to the other, eyes wide. Downright panicked. 

“I’m so sorry, Alya! I forgot we were going to a talkie today.”

“Again, Marinette?”

Alya pinched the bridge of her nose. Francoeur tried to sneak past them all on his way to the door. He damn tried. But he couldn’t. They were all there. Standing there. Like a herd. How many friends did that girl Marinette have?

“Hey, you play, too?” said one of the boys, pointing at Francoeur. 

Francoeur blinked. He hadn’t even realized some of the kids had been staring at him. With wide eyes. Necks bent backwards to look at his face. Francoeur blinked again.

“Oh!” 

He looked down at his guitar case. 

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

“That’s swell! Name’s Luka. You play often?”

“Indeed. As much as I can. I’m a… wandering musician, if you will.”

“Really?” said Adrien. “Hey! I want to offer you a deal.”

Francoeur looked over the other kids’ heads at Marinette and Adrien. She was still standing behind the counter and he was still standing on her left, eying Francoeur with a knowing smile. A smile like a cat’s. About to swallow a mouse whole.

“A... deal?”

“If you play for us, I’ll pay for your lunch.”

“I… ah…”

Gasps echoed all around. The kids pleaded, hands clasped under their chins.

“Can you play for us?”

“Please, monsieur !” 

“Come on, play for us!”

“Maman, Papa!” called Marinette, both hands forming a cone around her mouth and looking behind her. “Come, quick! There’s a musician who’ll play for us!”

“A musician?” said a woman’s voice.

A woman and a man appeared from the back store, holding arms at the elbows. Marinette’s parents, Francoeur presumed. They offered Francoeur their widest smiles.

“A concert in our own bakery!” The man elbowed the woman. “How pittoresque! ”

Francoeur’s mouth hung up. At a loss for words.

“I didn’t say yes.”

“But you can’t say no,” retorted Adrien.

At that, his stomach growled. Francoeur let out a bark of laughter. He nodded. Cheers erupted all around. Francoeur sat at a small round table, rested his guitar case on the floor, and pulled out his trusty guitar. Ooohs and aaahs echoed. Luka looked impressed. While Luke eyed his guitar, the others gazed at the many, many stickers adorning its case. Telling all about Francoeur’s adventures around the globe. From New York to Shanghai, passing through Mumbai and Timbuktu. Francoeur cleared his throat.

“What do you want me to play?” asked Francoeur.

“You choose,” said Adrien.

“Hm… all right.”

Francoeur scratched the back of his head. 

Think, think, think… Pense, Francoeur, pense.

He looked at Marinette again. Eying Adrien shyly. Her hand was resting against the counter. When Adrien’s hand found hers by accident, they retreated their arms. As if burned. And looked away. Francoeur’s eyes lit up.

“I think I got it.”

He started to play. 

Histoire éternelle (Eternal story)

Qu'on ne croit jamais (That we never believe)

De deux inconnus (Of two people)

Qu'un geste imprévu (By an unexpected gesture)

Rapproche en secret (Brought closer together)

Francoeur paused, hands grazing the cords. Two girls - Rose and Juleka, he’d learn eventually - held hands. Nino wrapped an arm around Alya. Marc and Nathaniel blushed at each other. Lilla tried to sneak next to Adrien, but Adrien’s eyes turned to Marinette. Marinette shared a glance with him. Lilla was pushed aside by another girl, Kagami, who rolled her eyes, and stood next to Luka. They eyed each other shyly. Marinette’s parents swayed from side to side.

Et soudain se pose (And suddenly settles down)

Sur leurs coeurs en fête (On their partying hearts)

Un papillon rose (A pink butterfly)

Un rien pas grand chose (A nothing, an almost)

Une fleur offerte (An offered flower)

Francoeur’s eyes went from his guitar, with his fingers running against the cords, to his audience. They were all there. Listening. Half-dancing, half-leaning on each other. Enjoying his art. Caring about his art. His heart swelled. Francoeur rose to his feet. A clamour of “oh, oh, oh!” followed.

Rien ne se ressemble (Nothing seems the same)

Rien n'est plus pareil (Nothing feels the same)

Mais comment savoir (But how can you know)

La peur envolée (When the fear is gone)

Que l'on s'est trompé? (That we were wrong?)

He walked amongst the crowd of kids as they swung along to the song’s sweeping movements. Making them shiver like a tree’s branches under a strong wind.

Chanson éternelle (Eternal song)

Au refrain fâné (With its faded refrain)

C'est vrai, c'est étrange (It’s true, it’s strange)

De voir comme on change (To see how we can change)

Sans même y penser (Without thinking about it)

Finally, Francoeur took back his seat at the table. His shoulders moved along with the notes. He felt it tickling under his skin, felt the rhythm of an ocean he was singing about. One day, he’d get to do all that. Go to the beach with someone important to him.

For now, he sang.

Tout comme les étoiles (Much like the stars)

S'éteignent en cachette, (Go out in hiding)

L'histoire éternelle (This eternal story)

Touche de son aile (Touches with its wing)

La Belle et la Bête (Beauty and the Beast)

L'histoire éternelle (This eternal story)

Touche de son aile (Touches with its wing)

La Belle et la Bête (Beauty and the Beast)

The last notes were played. People clapped. Francoeur looked up. He’d almost forgotten he had an audience. Almost.

“That was beautiful!”

“But what does it mean?”

Francoeur blinked. Quickly. Rapidly. As if coming out of a dream. He shrugged.

“I heard it in a play once. About the fairy tale.”

“Oh.”

“Here.” 

Francoeur looked to his left. Marinette was standing in front of him. Holding a white box. Her mouth curved into a smile. He took it, arching an eyebrow.

“Yes?”

“Your lunch, monsieur .”

Oh! Right.

“Thank you. Really. But after that… I should probably keep going.”

A chorus of “Nooooooo!” traveled through the crowd. The kids piled around him once more, looking at him pleadingly.

“Another, another, another!”

Francoeur laughed. He raised a hand.

“All right. But first, let me eat. And after that, I’m going. Okay?”

By the time Francoeur stood at the door, the last song played, he had a full belly. Chocolate, whipped cream and coffee danced on his tongue, thanks to the delightful religieuse . He thanked Adrien, Marinette and everyone profusely. The bell chimed when he opened the door. A voice made him turn back towards the boulangerie , though.

“Come back tomorrow,” said Sabine, Marinette’s mother. 

“Yeah, we’d be delighted to have you,” joined in Tom, Marinette’s father.

Francoeur bowed.

“Thank you! I’ll be back.”

With that, he walked out the door.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWO

The door slammed shut in the dark of the night. Somewhere, a cat meowed and a dog barked. He shivered. Why was it always Rémy who had to close up shop? Everyone else was gone - even Linguini, after promising to cook dinner at the apartment, which made Rémy shudder again at the thought - and he was left cleaning up pots and pans, broom in hand. As usual. Rémy rubbed at his bleary eyes. Leave it to the sixteen-year-old to clean up, all alone at night, when a burglar could come in at any moment.

Not that anyone dared break in at Gusteau’s.

Rémy’s stomach growled. What time was it, again?

Eleven. 

Superbe .

Arms and legs aching, Rémy locked the door behind him. He almost jumped out of his skin when he spun around. An old man was standing there. Smiling. He was small, unassuming, really, with a brightly-coloured shirt. Covered in flowers. Rémy frowned.

“Um… hello?” 

The man stared. Rémy stared back.

“What… can I do for you? Monsieur ?”

“Are you a chef here?” 

Rémy’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. He would have laughed. Had he not been so tired. Him? A chef? Pfft. What a joke.

“I wish! No, unfortunately. I’m just the janitor.” 

Rémy opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. 

“Actually?” 

Self-righteous anger bubbled inside him. He’d had enough. A part of his tired brain told him to shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, but he didn’t listen. 

“My friend Linguini is only a chef here because I saved his ass with a soup. He can’t cook at all, I’m the one who’s showing him the ropes, and he gets all the glory.”

The old man’s eyes gleamed. A grin spread on his face.

“You’re a highly-intelligent fella, but you’re underappreciated. Aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess.” 

Rémy opened his eyes wide. 

“Oh, mon Dieu! If you say what I just said to my boss Chef Skinner, I’m so fired. Linguini is so fired. We’re so fired. Please, please, please! Don’t tell him.”

The old man grinned. In an unnerving, I-know-more-than-you-do kind of way. 

“ Je serai muet comme une tombe , my young friend.”

Rémy slumped in relief. Mute as a tomb, huh?

“Thank you.”

“But… in exchange for my silence…”

Rémy froze up once more. There it was. Manipulation. Rémy wanted to kick himself. Why had he said that again? 

“Please,” the man’s eyes sparkled. “Some bread for a poor old man?”

Rémy’s eyebrows shot to his hairline once more.

“Oh! Um. I’ll… huh… Yes. Of course. I’ll see what I can do.”

It was so easy to steal food from the pantry at this hour. No one was there to look. Rémy came back out with a baguette, cheese and strawberries, knife in hand. Rémy and the old man sat down on the hard stone steps. 

“Wait!”

The piece of cheese hovered an inch from the old man’s mouth.

“Yes?”

“Try the cheese first. Alone. Savour it. I want to test something.”

“If you say so.”

The old man put the cheese in his mouth.

“Close your eyes.”

He did.

“Creamy, salty sweet. An oaky nuttiness? You detect that?”

A giggle escaped the old man’s lips.

“Definitely.”

“Good. Now try this.”

Rémy offered him a strawberry. The man plopped it in his mouth and threw away the green stem. He hummed, blissful smile spreading wide.

“Sweet, crisp, slight tang on the finish?”

The old man nodded.

“I love strawberries.”

“Me too. Now try them together!”

He did. The old man gasped.

“It’s delicious!”

“I knew you’d like it!”

“Those strawberries… and that cheese! Hm! My tongue tingles.”

Rémy grinned. He cut some more cheese with his knife and plopped it in his mouth. Rémy closed his eyes, feeling its delightful taste dancing on his tongue. The best feeling in the world. Better than anything. Food. Amazing food.

“You’re a thief,” said a voice. “I saw you steal that food.”

Rémy’s eyes snapped open. He and the old man froze. Footsteps came from straight ahead. Rémy’s stomach twisted. He swallowed. His mouth felt dry. 

Oh. 

Oh no. 

Oh, no, no, no! He’d been caught. He’d been caught and he’d lose his job and he’d have to go crawling back to his father’s and he’d have to beg forgiveness and he’d have to take part in the family business. No, no, no. Not that. Please, no! 

A man, face mostly hidden under a wide-brimmed hat, stepped out of the shadows. There was a tense moment of silence. Then, his head tilting towards the old man, he said: 

“On this gentleman’s behalf, I wanted to say thank you.”

Rémy’s entire body relaxed. A puppet pulled off its strings. 

The old man chuckled.

“Ah! Yes, where were my manners? I didn’t even say thank you!”

“It was nothing, sir,” cut in Rémy automatically.

“Nonsense!” He patted Rémy’s knee. “That was a kind gesture and I appreciate it.”

“Well, you’re welcome.”

Still, some uneasiness settled in the pit of Rémy’s stomach. He stared at the strange man who had just appeared. As if birthed by the shadows.

“You’re not going to rat me out. Are you?”

The man with the wide-brimmed hat laughed, a hand on his chest.

“Don’t worry! I would never.”

“Thank you.”

Rémy noticed there was… something behind the gleam in the man’s eyes. Old memories, perhaps? Or maybe the ghosts of a past long gone? Rémy didn’t want to ask.

“Under one condition.”

Rémy’s shoulders reached his ears.

“Yes?”

“You let me try that cheese with those strawberries. I’m starving!”

The old man let out a belly laugh. Rémy himself chuckled. Not the nervous kind. A good laugh. A relieved laugh. The old man extended a hand.

“Sit, young man, sit.”

The man with the wide-brimmed hat sat on Rémy’s right, while the old man sat on Rémy’s left. A guitar case and a suitcase rested at the bottom of the stairs. Rémy arched an eyebrow. A musician? Really? Who knew this night would be so eventful?

“You are?” asked Rémy.

“A musician, yes.”

“No, I meant... your name. What’s your name?”

“Oh! François Vadeboncoeur. Call me Francoeur. What about you?”

“Rémy. Rémy Petit.”

“Nice to meet you, Rémy.”

They shook hands. 

Cold air swooped in the back courtyard. The old man shivered. Immediately, Francoeur jumped up. He offered the old man his coat. It swallowed the old man whole.

“Ah! Thank you, thank you, young Francoeur! That’s very appreciated.”

“You’re welcome.”

Francoeur plopped back down on Rémy’s right.

“Cheese and strawberries?”

“With pleasure!”

Silence washed over the group as they ate. The almost-but-not-quite full moon shone bright in the silky black sky. Lights glittered at windows. Paris was ever awake, as it was wont to do. Above its Haussmannian rooftops, the Eiffel Tower was ever present. A beacon. A constant in Rémy’s life since he had moved to Paris a few months ago.

“You shouldn’t be ashamed,” said the old man.

Rémy looked at the man. But he was looking around Rémy. At Francoeur.

“Excuse me?” asked Francoeur.

“You shouldn’t be ashamed. About your past.” 

“I… how…?”

“Our eyes show us who we truly are.”

Francoeur’s mouth formed an O. Until he nodded, lips forming a thin line. He looked deep in thought, as if he knew too well what people saw when they looked at him. 

Oh. 

That’s when Rémy realized. 

He must have been old enough to fight in the Great War. So he was a musician-warrior, then. A soldier. A boy sent to war. Weighed down by the memories. 

“So,” said the old man. “Where are you going to sleep tonight, young man?”

Francoeur looked up. Eyes widening. 

“Me? Oh, I don’t know, actually.”

“You’re not considering sleeping outside, are you?” asked Rémy.

“Well… it’s not as if I haven’t done it before.”

The old man cocked his head to the side. 

“Are you sure there’s nowhere for you to go?”

“I’ll find a place.” Francoeur shrugged. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I could… I don’t know.” Rémy wracked his brains. “I could ask my friend Linguini if you could sleep at his place. Our place. It’s… already cramped, but I think you could fit.”

Francoeur raised both hands.

“No, no, thank you. Truly. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

With that, Francoeur rubbed his hands together and pushed himself to his feet.

“You know, I think I should be on my way. Thank you for the cheese and strawberries, they were delicious. I wish you two a good night, gentle-”

“You can’t possibly go without singing us a song!” protested the old man.

Francoeur looked up at the sky. A smile tugged at his lips.

“You know, you’re the second person to ask me that today.”

“Then that means I have taste!”

Francoeur chuckled. He sat back down and pulled out his guitar. He started to move a few strings. Francoeur paused. Eyes glancing at nothing in particular. Rémy could almost see the wheels turning in his head.

“Hmmm… you know, I think I have the perfect song.”

“We’re listening,” encouraged Rémy.

With that, Francoeur started to play.

Les rêves des amoureux sont comme le bon vin  (Lovers’ dreams are like good wine)

Ils donnent de la joie ou bien du chagrin     (They bring joy or, well, sadness)

Affaibli par la faim, je suis malheureux     (Weakened by hunger, I am miserable)

Volant en chemin tout ce que je peux     (Stealing on the way whatever I can)

Car rien n'est gratuit dans la vie     (For nothing is free in this life)

The old man tapped the rhythm on his leg. Rémy grimaced. That hit a little too close to home. Still, Francoeur kept singing.

L'espoir est un plat bien trop vite consommé (Hope is a dish so quickly eaten)

À sauter les repas, je suis habitué (Skipping meals, I am used to it)

Un voleur solitaire est triste à nourrir (A lonely thief is sad to feed)

À un jeu si amer, je ne peux réussir (In a game so sour, I cannot win)

Car rien n'est gratuit dans… (For nothing is free in…)

Francoeur’s fingers played fast on the guitar. He jumped up, dancing to the rhythm of his own song. Francoeur closed his eyes, lost in the music. Rémy moved his head from left to right, left to right. That was how he felt when he was cooking. Lost in his own world.

La vie!     (This life!)

Jamais on ne me dira     (Never will you tell me)

Que la course aux étoiles     (That my run for the stars)

Ça n’est pas pour moi       (It isn’t for me)

Laissez-moi vous émerveiller       (Let me enthrall you)

Et prendre mon envol       (And take my flight)

Nous allons enfin nous régaler       (We will finally feast)

Francoeur da-da-dee-dee-da’d with the notes he played.

La fête va enfin commencer! (The party will finally start!)

Sortez les bouteilles, fini les ennuis (Get the bottles, troubles are over)

Je dresse la table de ma nouvelle vie (I set the table of my new life)

Je suis heureux à l’idée (I am happy at the idea)

De ce nouveau destin (Of my new destiny)

Une vie à me cacher (A life lived hidden)

Et puis libre enfin, le… (And finally free, the…)

Festin est sur mon chemin (Feast is on my way)

The song slowed down. Francoeur still smiled to himself.

Une vie à me cacher (A life lived hidden)

Et puis libre enfin, le… (And finally free, the…)

Festin est sur mon chemin (Feast is on my way)

Francoeur’s fingers graced the strings one last time. Rémy and the old man clapped. He bowed. Francoeur fell back down to Earth. Well. He didn’t fall, per se, but he sat back down on Gusteau’s steps. To be precise. Rémy bumped his elbow against Francoeur’s arm. Francoeur bumped his elbow back. It was always a good day to meet a new friend. Or a good night, he should say.

“Brava, brava!” The old man clapped some more. “That was wonderful!”

“Thank you.”

“I’m sure one day, people will line the streets to hear you sing.”

“That’s the dream.” 

Francoeur rubbed the back of his neck. 

“There are so many talented souls in this city. I probably won’t make it.”

“Nonsense! I have a very good feeling about you.”

The old man wrapped two hands around his knees and pushed himself up. Once he was on his feet, he flashed them his brightest smile. He shook off Francoeur’s coat and gave it back, that smile still firmly on his face.

“Thank you for the cheese, the strawberries, the bread and that delightful song. Now, I wish the both of you a good night!”

And with that, the old man walked away, humming le Festin as he went. 

“Did you catch his name?” asked Francoeur once he had turned the corner.

“Nope.” 

“Huh. What a strange old man.”

They sat there in silence. Somewhat awkwardly. Soon, it was Francoeur’s time to leave. Rémy felt for the poor guy. Was he oing to sleep outside?

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to our place?”

“Nah, don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

“Suit yourself.”

Francoeur walked away. The strawberries, bread and cheese finished, Rémy walked back inside to wash his knife and put it away. Then, he followed suit, leaving in the opposite direction. A song fluttered in Rémy’s brain and he sang as he walked.

Une vie à me cacher (A life lived hidden)

Et puis libre enfin, le… (And finally free, the…)

Festin est sur mon chemin (Feast is on my way)

Rémy passed by L’Oiseau Rare , its Art Nouveau windows glittering like jewels. He continued on his merry way, whistling as he went. At the turn of an alleyway, Rémy heard clatter. Rumbling. The whistle of a yo-yo swinging. Rémy kept close to the walls. Red and black flickered on the rooftops. Rémy turned around, avoiding the area at all cost. 

It was another one of those nights, huh? Ladybug and Chat Noir were busy. 

Once again.

Luckily, Rémy made it to Linguini’s apartment without incidents. Snoring came from the bedroom, the door left open. It smelled of burnt food in here and Rémy opened a window. Once showered, he slouched on the couch. His makeshift bed.

The view of Paris was beautiful, from up here.

The Eiffel Tower shone like a beacon. Until Rémy fell asleep.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THREE

Lucille hated him. She hated, hated, hated him. With all her heart.

Had she mentioned she hated him?

It had all started the night before, when Victor Maynott had dared to step inside her aunt’s cabaret, L’Oiseau Rare . From what she’d heard of him, Maynott was a tall and charming gentleman, who loved parties and women and entertainment. He loved parties and women and entertainment so much, it was said, that they were a distraction. He was on the ballot for the mayoral election and Lucille prayed to God he never got a spot in the Hôtel de Ville. Not unlike what he’d done for an alarming number of Paris’ citizens, Maynott had sweet-talked his way into her aunt’s heart. Which meant Lucille now had a date with the man. Today. When he was… how much older was he than her? Twenty years?

Last night, Lucille had seen Maynott from the corner of her eye. Yes. She’d seen him. No matter the shadows gathering around the audience and the lights engulfing her on stage. He was hard to miss. With his private seat.

Of course, he had booked one. He loved their whole “Paris before the War” schtick.

Je ne sais, ne sais, ne sais pas pourquoi (I don’t know, don’t know why)

On s’aime comme ça, la Seine et moi (We love each other, the Seine and me)

Lucille took a bow. She finished her song. When her gaze found her aunt in the private seat, Tante Carlotta pointed at Maynott, awed. Lucille bowed to him, faking a smile. She had to. For her aunt’s sake. Lucille bowed until she was standing near the painted backdrop. The silk curtains swooshed back into place. Swallowing all sounds and sights. Lucille shivered. That man gave her the creeps.

It didn’t take long for her aunt to enroll her into this date.

Lucille sighed at the memory. She adjusted her cloche hat, walking down the streets of Paris with posters in hand. She’d accepted. Of course, she had. Her poor aunt deserved that much, Lucille figured. She’d been living with her aunt since she was fourteen, after her parents’ deaths on the battlefield. Her father as a soldier and her mother as a nurse. Lucille’s heart felt hollow at the thought of her dear Maman and Papa. She had wanted to become a nurse in the Great War for this very reason, but Tante Carlotta had disapproved. She’d been too young, she’d argued. She was probably right. She was an artist, not a fighter. 

Lucille pushed those dreary thoughts away and kept on walking. She was going to do this. Tante Carlotta had accepted her when no one else could.

A date. It was just a date.

Sure, just a date. But that man wasn’t just a man.

More memories of last night came back to her. Right after the show, Lucille had decided she needed a drink with her childhood best friends, Marcelline, Eugénie and Gabrielle. Montmartre’s nightlife was renowned for a reason. She’d exited L’Oiseau Rare using the side door, umbrella in hand. Just in case. 

Maynott had appeared from the shadows. She’d jumped out of her skin. Shivering. And not in a pleasant way. The lantern illuminated his face. That smile… 

He looked more wolf than man.

“Good evening, Lucille.”

“Good evening, monsieur Maynott.”

“Oh, please! No monsieur between us. Call me Victor.”

“Well, good evening, Victor.”

She tried to walk past him. He slid in her way.

“I’m sorry, Victor, but I can’t talk to you much tonight. People are waiting for me.”

  “Oh, really? Who?”

The urge to spit in his face made Lucille swallow. Now wasn’t the time to make him an enemy. Not when they were alone, standing in an alleyway after dark. None of your business, Lucille wanted to say. Instead, she chewed on her bottom lip.

“My friends. We can talk more tomorrow.”

“You’ve accepted our date, then? Splendide!” 

He clasped his hands together. 

“Until then, I’ll escort you to your friends. It wouldn’t be proper for a young woman such as yourself to…”

“Our cabaret may be old-fashioned, monsieur Maynott,” Lucille cut him off, “but you can be certain that I can take care of myself. My mother taught me self-defense when I was twelve years old. I taught my aunt myself when I moved in with her.”

“I see,” said Maynott, looking mildly flummoxed. “You are a femme moderne .”

“I am.”

“With your…” His voice grew into a growl. “... long hair and short skirts.”

The tip of his boot toyed with the hem of her skirt. Lucille grasped her umbrella. In one fell swoop, she struck at the back of his ankles. Maynott was on his butt a second later. 

Lucille towered over him. Maynott looked downright terrified. 

“If you think me being a modern woman means I’m flattered by your unwanted advances, vous vous mettez le doigt dans l’oeil! I may be a young woman who loves dancing and drinking, that doesn’t mean I’m open for business. Apologize.”

“I… Of course. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t sound like he was. No matter. 

“I’ll see you at our date tomorrow, sir.”

With that, Lucille left, head held high and umbrella on her shoulder. She heard him more than saw him, but Maynott got to his feet and left, grumbling as he went. 

Lucille had sunk against the closest building, neighbouring L’Oiseau rare . She breathed in and breathed out. The breeze played with her faux bob. She’d never cut her hair, for she needed it long for the show. All her friends had short hair, but she needed it long out of duty. At that moment, she wished she had cut it. Just to spite Maynott. She already felt exhausted. But that’s why she needed Marcelline, Eugénie and Gabrielle. She needed a break. A long, well-deserved break. 

And a cocktail, s’il vous plaît.

She didn’t see it either, but a pair of eyes had been watching from the shadows. Just in case something went wrong. What she heard, though, was a man’s voice singing from far away. 

Je ne sais, ne sais, ne sais pas pourquoi (I don’t know, don’t know why)

On s’aime comme ça, la Seine et moi (We love each other, the Seine and me)

Lucille gasped. She turned around, but the man had already turned the corner. That voice… It soothed her heart. Her soul. It was beautiful, high and low at the same time. It fluttered to her ears easily, without imposing itself. 

It was beautiful simply because… it was. 

“Hello?” she called.

No one answered. 

He was gone.

Marcelline, Gabrielle and Eugénie welcomed her with open arms at the café. Their sharp eyes had immediately told her they knew something was going on. They’d known each other since their school years at the Collège Françoise Dupont. Lucille could never keep a secret from them. Not that Lucille wanted to.

“Come on, Lucille,” had said Marcelline. “Spill.”

They’d talked, danced and drank. For a time, Lucille forgot about Maynott and Tante Carlotta. She forgot about her troubles and was just a woman of her age, as the youth who benefitted from peace only could. She spared a thought for her Maman and Papa on her way home from the café, past midnight. 

They would’ve wanted her to be happy. Not involved with a man whom she hated. A man who didn’t respect her. Her parents had taught her dignity and respect. That’s what she deserved. And she knew it.

Besides, that voice had haunted her all night.

So it was that the next morning, Lucille was walking away from L’Oiseau Rare . Every few lampposts or wallspace, she’d stop by and stick a poster there. At her aunt’s request. Tante Carlotta’s enthusiastic voice rang in Lucille’s ears.

“Oh, Lucille, I almost forgot! On your way, could you hang these for me? We really need a new musician for the show. Fresh blood, you know?”

Right. Fresh blood. That wasn’t creepy at all, Tante Carlotta.

No matter, Lucille had agreed. She could never say no to Tante Carlotta. Just like she could never say no to her date with Victor Maynott. Lucille tried not to think about it too much. Now was the time to hang posters. Maynott would come later.

“Lucille?”

Lucille spun around. A girl was standing there, eying her behind round glasses.

“Maud! Bonjour . How are you?”

Maud’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. She toyed with her fingers.

“I’m… well. I think. Can I… talk to you?”

“Of course! I was on my way to get these posters up for my aunt. Raoul and Émile were supposed to come and help me with these…” Lucille looked around. “...but they haven’t shown up yet. As you would expect. Anyway, that’s not the point. Could you help me?”

“Sure! I wouldn’t mind. Give them to me!”

And so, they started to walk around, hanging posters as they went. 

“So,” said Maud. “You want to hire a new musician?”

“We do! We need a new guitarist. And a singer wouldn’t be half-bad either.”

“I suppose.”

People walked them by, some admiring the beautifully-drawn posters - Lucille had hired Marcelline, an artiste who particularly admired the late Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, to draw them - and others chatting along the way. A car honked down the street. After hanging one more poster, Lucille turned to Maud.

“So. What did you want to talk about?”

“Um… well…”

Lucille waited patiently. Maud gulped.

“How can you be so confident?”

Well, that seemed to have come out of nowhere. Lucille frowned deeply.

“Confident? What do you mean?”

“Well, there’s… there’s a bunch of girls who… you know… they make fun of my hair and my glasses and my love for cinema and they’re… I can’t… I can’t face them.”

Lucille’s heart ached. 

“Oh, Maud…”

Maud looked up. With determination in her eyes.

“So I wanted to know if you could teach me some tricks! About how to be confident, you know. So I can face them.” 

“Ah…” 

Maud pleaded with her puppy-dog eyes. Lucille nodded.

“Sure. I can try. First…” 

Lucille counted on her fingers as they walked further and further away from L’Oiseau Rare . 

“One. Don’t try to be someone you’re not for them. Don’t ever change yourself for someone else. Especially mean girls. Or boys. You know who you are, you know what you like, what you don’t like, your strengths and weaknesses… Be yourself. They don’t bully you because they want you to be like them. They do because they want you to feel lesser. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“There isn’t?”

“No. There’s none. I believe that. Second…” 

She counted on her fingers again. 

“You have to admit to yourself that it’s okay if you feel like you’ve been hurt. They’re mean and people who are bullies know exactly how to hit where it hurts. Don’t try to act aloof. Know your feelings. Let yourself feel the pain. Then let it go.”

“Okay… I guess I’ll try.”

“And third…” 

She counted on her fingers, then Lucille rested a hand on Maud’s shoulder. 

“Don’t face them alone. Always count on your friends to back you up. When you know those girls are there, don’t be shy. Come to me. To us. Me and the girls - me and Marcelline and Eugénie and Gabrielle - will come to help.”

“Really?”

“Of course. And if you need someone to talk… I’m there to listen.”

“Thank you, Lucille.”

“You’re welcome, Maud.”

Soon enough, after the last poster was hung, a familiar truck came sputtering and grumbling down the street. Catherine parked on the sidewalk. Anger flared inside Lucille as Raoul leaned over his opened window. He flashed her his brightest grin.

“Lucille! How are you on this lovely day?”

“You’re late, Raoul! You were supposed to help me this morning.”

“Help you?”

“Yes! I called Émile earlier! He was supposed to tell you.”

A door opened and slammed shut. Émile came walking around Catherine, wringing his hands together. He smiled at Raoul, then at Lucille.

“I… huh… I... forgot. It’s entirely my fault! I’m sorry.”

Lucille groaned.

“I know it’s not your fault, Émile. You can’t lie. Don’t even try with me. He overslept, didn’t he? As usual. We can never count on him.”

“Um… he… ah… yeah.” 

Émile bowed his head. 

“Yes, he did.”

“Next time, don’t try to lie to me. Okay?”

“Okay. There’s still time, though! We can help you with your posters.”

Émile sent her such a hopeful look, it broke Lucille’s heart to tell him no.

“Maud and I just finished.”

“Maud?”

Lucille turned around. Maud had been hiding behind her. Maud put on a grimacing smile - awkward and shy - and walked around Lucille. With a “Maud!” Émile, turning pink, removed his bowler hat and bowed his head. Meanwhile, Raoul had walked out of his old and rusty truck and was fetching a crate at the back. “Champagne” was written in broad letters on the side. Lucille rolled her eyes. He was late for that one, too.

“Tante Carlotta has been waiting for hours for that champagne.”

“Why? You won’t need it until tonight, right? You… You still sing tonight. Right?”

“Yes, I do, but we need to have everything prepared in advance. And you know how Tante Carlotta is.”

“Always on schedule.”

“Always. Unlike you.”

Raoul cringed. Lucille didn’t really care. This wasn’t the first time he was late. Or had broken promises he should have kept. He’d even broken the champagne bottles, once. By dropping them. They’d been hiring Raoul for years and by now, he should know better. 

“Well, I…” 

His face twisted in anger. 

“You’re not being fair. Listen to me, ma puce .”

“Don’t call me ma puce .”

Meanwhile, Émile and Maud watched from the sidelines. Looking from Raoul to Lucille, like a tennis match. The ball moved from her to him. From her to him.

“Look at you,” said Raoul, crossing his arms over his chest and voice coming off as a wounded growl. “Walking around as if you own the place. You think your show is so good? Well, I…” 

He raised the crate in his arms. 

“I think you should prove it!”

“I have nothing to prove to you.”

“Yes! You do. Prove me that it’s, that your show’s… how would you put it, in your big words? Creative and intelligent? I want to see it. And then, I’ll be the judge of it.”

Lucille arched an eyebrow. 

“ You would know what’s creative and intelligent?”

“Yes! I would. If only you could show me.”

“Sorry, we don’t accept les ringards. ”

“ Ringard? Me?”

“Yes. You are. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a date.”

Not that Lucille actually wanted to go. But then again, she didn’t want to have anything to do with Raoul anymore. And so, she started to walk away.

“Ah! Sure, run away! You’re scared of my critiques !”

“ Critiques ?” Lucille scoffed, not turning around. “You think you’re some sort of…” She waved her arms in the air. “Some sort of Anton Ego for cabarets?”

“Well.. no. I mean, yes! I can be critical, too. I have high standards.”

“Really?”

“Really!”

Lucille spun around. She marched on Raoul until her index finger was a few inches from his face. His eyes crossed, both eyes trying to look at her finger at the same time.

“You think you have high standards? Tell me. When’s the last time you’ve been to the Palais Garnier?”

“The Palais Garnier?”

“Yes! To see an opéra!”

“Um… huh…”

“Or ballet? A concert? A play? A galerie d’art? What’s the last art piece you’ve looked at?”

“Ah… huh… ah…”

“See? You wouldn’t understand.”

Raoul pushed her finger aside. “What? I need credentials to come see your show?”

“Maybe you do.”

“Great! Une Légion d’honneur with that?”

Lucille’s eyebrows rose to her hairline.

“You think you can get a Légion d’honneur ? You haven’t been to War.”

“I know.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. 

“What act of heroism have you done lately?”

“Um… None. But I will!”

“Really?”

“Yes! Really! It’s a bet. If I get a medal, you’ll let me in your show.”

“Right. And the champagne will flow. That’s what you want?”

“Yes, that’s what I want!”

They shook hands. 

“It’s a bet, then.”

Lucille dropped Raoul’s hand. She was about to send him another asinine remark…

When she stopped. 

Lucille’s ear twitched. She turned around once more. 

That… That sound. 

There was… There was music playing! A guitar. It came from… somewhere. Down that street.

“Do you hear that?” asked Maud.

“What?” countered Émile. 

“Music,” said Lucille.

I’ve been gone for so long, now (Je suis parti depuis si longtemps)

Chasing everything that’s new (Pourchassant tout ce qui était nouveau)

I’ve forgotten how I got here (J’ai oublié comment je suis arrivé ici)

But I have not forgotten you (Mais je ne t’ai pas oubliée)

Yes. Music.

There it was.

Lucille followed after it.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER FOUR

Maud didn’t know how her day could have started so strangely. Well it had, and it was only getting weirder and weirder. 

Lucille had left their spot on the sidewalk. Eyes and mouth wide. Following after the sound like a moth drawn to a flame. Or a sailor drawn to a siren’s voice. Émile had followed after her and Maud could only follow after him. Raoul had grumbled something about his champagne before putting his crate back inside his truck. His footsteps echoed behind Maud’s. They followed after the sound. Together as one. With Lucille leading the way.

They all turned at a street corner and stared.

A group of Americans - Maud could hear them from here - were standing in a half-circle around a man playing the guitar. A musician. A tall, very tall musician. And a very handsome musician, Maud had to admit.

He was the definition of rugged beauty. A beard was beginning to form on his cheeks, eating away at his face and melting with his hairline. He was wide-shouldered, well-built and strong-looking, notwithstanding the obvious malnutrition from which he was suffering. His smile, though, was gentle and kind, shining with a warmth Maud had rarely seen in strong men. But when he turned his head slightly towards them, Maud had a glimpse of just how rugged he was. How hard his life must have been. In his eyes, sparkling with his love of music, shone the ghosts of a difficult past. Memories of a war long gone.

Maud looked away. Lucille didn’t.

I hope that's you, standing at my doorway (J’espère que c’est toi à ma porte)

That's the scratching of your key (C’est ta clé que j’entend)

And I hope this song I'm singing (J’espère que ma chanson que je chante)

Someday finds you   (Te trouve un jour)

Wherever you may be   (Où que tu sois)

Lucille’s eyes never left him. She walked forward, body stiff. She looked awed. Admiring. In a trance. Lucille pushed her way through the small crowd, seemingly not caring about the odd stares she got. Maud followed, apologizing for Lucille’s sake. She’d never seen her like that. Lucille looked… hypnotized. When Maud and Lucille finally broke through the last line of Americans, the musician turned to them. Long eyelashes fluttered when he blinked rapidly. Three times. Under his wide-brimmed hat, his smile disappeared. His body froze. Except for his fingers, which continued to play. Somehow. 

Maud had never seen something like that. The world didn’t seem to exist for those two. They breathed in tandem. Staring at each other.

Through the good times and the bad (Durant les bons et mauvais moments)

You were the best I never had (Tu es la meilleure que je n’ai pas eu)

The only chance I wish I had to take (La seule chance que je n’ai pas prise)

There was no writing on the wall (Il n’y avait rien d’écrit)

No warning signs to follow (Pas de signal à suivre)

I know now and I just can't forget (Je le sais et je ne peux oublier)

You're the best I never had (Tu es la meilleure que je n’ai pas eue)

He played the last notes. The music fluttered away, light on a butterfly’s wings. Cheers erupted all around. For the first time since he’d seen Lucille, the musician tore his eyes away to stare at the crowd. He grinned. Emphasizing his sharp features. Red tinged his cheeks. Raoul and Émile suddenly appeared behind Maud, pushing through the crowd.

“What did we miss?” asked Émile.

“I think Lucille found the musician she’s been looking for.”

“Thank you for your attention, my American friends! It’s one of the only English songs I know, but I can sing others. And if anyone wants a song in French, demandez-le! ”

Francs were dropped in the musician’s opened guitar case. Soon enough, the crowd separated. Some Americans whispered in their friends’ ears, pointing at Lucille with snickers and giggles. Lucille still looked under a spell. She was smiling, hands clasped together. She was the last to drop a coin in the musician’s guitar case.

Their eyes met.

“I’d like a song. A French one. Monsieur…? ”

“Francoeur,” he answered without missing a beat.

“Francoeur.” 

Lucille chuckled. 

“I’ve never heard that name before.”

“It’s a nickname. François Vadeboncoeur. At your service, mademoiselle …?”

“Lucille.”

The corners of Francoeur’s mouth curled up. 

“Lucille.”

Oh, he was smitten, all right. 

Maud may have been timid, but she knew that look. She secretly hoped Émile would one day look at her like that. But she’d never tell him. Of course.

“All right.” Francoeur cleared his throat. “Let me think. A song, a song, a song…”

“Francoeur!”

They all jumped. A group was coming around the corner. A large group. Teenagers. Maud’s heartbeat picked up. She tried to hide behind Lucille. A futile effort, really. Still, her eyes scanned the crowd, expecting to see those girls. Thankfully, there was no sign of Chloé Bourgeois, Lilla Rossi or Sabrina Raincomprix. Maud breathed out in relief. Lucille sent her a glance, but she shook her head. She was fine. Though it had been a close call.

“Hi, everyone!” said Francoeur, smiling wildly. “Lucille, these are my friends. Adrien, Marinette, Alya, Nino, Juleka…”

Maud knew Lucille forgot their names as soon as they were out of Francoeur’s mouth. 

“Guys, this is Lucille and her friends…” Francoeur took a pause. He eyed Lucille, a hand scratching the back of his neck. “I didn’t get your friends’ names.”

“Oh! Of course. This is Raoul, this is Émile and this is Maud.”

A chorus of “nice to meet you!” scattered around the crowd. Francoeur stretched his neck, above them all. He smiled broadly. He waved. Maud turned around. Towards another young man who was walking with two adults. Too young to be his parents, though.

“And if this isn’t Rémy! Hey, Rémy! Come here!”

The aforementioned Rémy looked up, eyes wide and body freezing on the sidewalk. He exchanged a glance with the young man and woman at his side. Then, he grinned, too.

“Good morning, Francoeur!”

The three newcomers walked closer. Again, Francoeur introduced him.

“This is my friend, Rémy. You must be Linguini, right?”

The man, lanky and awkward, nodded.

“And this is Colette,” he gestured at the young woman with one hand.

“I can introduce myself, thank you very much!”

Lucille snorted. Maud already predicted those two would be fast friends.

Colette nudged Linguini with her arm.

“I’m just teasing. You know that.”

“Right.” 

Francoeur cleared his throat. 

“They work at Gusteau’s. ”

“ Gusteau’s? ” 

Adrien’s eyebrows shot up. Clearly impressed. 

“Wow, you must be really good! It’s my Dad’s favourite restaurant! Though, he says it hasn’t been the same since Gusteau…” 

His shoulders slumped. 

“... You know.”

“I’m not a cook there,” said Rémy, raising both hands. “Just a janitor.” With his thumb, he pointed at Linguini and Colette. “They’re cooks, though.”

“Nonsense!” 

Linguini smacked a hand on Rémy’s shoulder. 

“This young man here will one day be the greatest chef Paris has ever known! Mark my words.”

“You really don’t have to say that.” Rémy flushed bright red. He pushed Linguini’s hand away. “But thank you. I’m touched.”

“You deserve it, petit chef .”

A somewhat awkward silence filled the square. Lucille turned back to Francoeur. Her smile could have lit up Paris at night.

“So, about that song…”

“You promised her to sing a song?” said Luka. “Can I join you. this time? I’ve got my guitar!”

“Sure thing, Luka. I still haven’t picked a song to sing, though.”

Francoeur tapped his guitar with unsteady fingers. If Maud knew him better, she could say for certain she could see the wheels spinning in his head. His eyes moved from left to right. As if on their own accord. He tsk ed. Suddenly, off into the distance, Notre Dame’s bells rang the hour. Dong, dong, dong… Francoeur’s eyes widened. He grinned, body straightening as if pulled tight on a string. He nodded.

“I know what to sing. But… this won’t do.”

Francoeur rushed into a nearby shop. Maud arched an eyebrow. He’d disappeared inside a music store. Soon enough, Francoeur was walking back out with the owner of the shop… pushing and pulling a piano onto the sidewalk. They all gasped.

“You play the piano, too?”

Francoeur pulled down on his wide-brimmed hat. 

“I play… pretty much everything.”

“Stop that!” said Nino. “You’re making all of us look bad, fella!” 

Laughter ensued. Francoeur blushed.

“Sorry about that.”

Behind Lucille, Maud saw Raoul stick out his tongue. He silently mocked Francoeur, hand moving like a talking mouth. Émile nudged him hard with his elbow. Raoul crossed his arms over his chest. 

He reeked of jealousy. 

But Francoeur didn’t look… arrogant. Or proud. 

Only humble. 

A bench was put before the piano and Francoeur shook the owner’s hand. 

“Thank you, monsieur Melville. Thank you so very much.”

“Don’t worry, mon garçon . That’s what old friends are for.”

With that, the man took a seat on a stool, by the store’s entrance. That was their cue to sit down, Maud figured. The teenagers scattered as a one-man army around the sidewalk, sitting down on the ground. One of the boys, Nino, wrapped an arm around Alya and gestured at Rémy to come sit with them. Rémy plopped down next to them. Linguini and Colette sat a step away, careful not to touch each other. Linguini flushed red, the same colour as his hair. Raoul and Émile gestured at Maud to sit with them, off to the side. Lucille was the only one who stayed standing, with Francoeur and Luka, of course. 

Francoeur sat down at the bench and cleared his throat. 

“Here goes.” 

He started to play, fingers effortlessly flying on the keys. Luka followed his cues on his guitar.

A l'abri des fenêtres (Shielded from the windows)

Et des parapets de pierre (And parapets of stone)

Je regarde vivre les gens d'en bas (I see those who live below me)

Chaque jour j'envie leur vie (Every day I envy their lives)

Moi qui vis solitaire (Me who lives alone)

Mais leur histoire (But their stories)

Je ne la connais pas     (I don’t know them)

J'apprends leurs chansons (I learn their songs) 

Leurs rires, leurs visages (Their laughs, their faces)     

Moi je les vois (I see them)

Mais eux ne me voient pas (But they don’t see me)

Francoeur’s voice, full of sorrow, lightened into a smile. He grinned to himself, swinging from side to side. Lost in his own world.

Je voudrais tour-à-tour (I would like, one by one)   

Rencontrer ces personnages (To meet these characters)

Rien qu'un seul jour       (Just one day)

Au pied des tours (At the feet of the towers)

Luka, still playing on his guitar, took a seat on the sidewalk. Leaving Lucille standing alone by the piano. As Francoeur sang, the rush of voices from people sitting at tables outside restaurants died down. More and more people stopped. 

Listening.

Tout en bas (Down there)

Vivre au grand soleil (Living in the sun)

Sans regarder le ciel (Without watching the sky)

Une seule fois (Just once)

Partager leur joie (Share their joy)

Je crois qu'ils n'entendent pas (I don’t think they hear)

La voix de mon coeur       (The voice of my heart)

Qui se meure (Which dies)

Quand je vois les gens d'en bas (Everytime I see those down there)

Francoeur’s fingers played furiously as the song exploded in his hands.

En bas j'entends les tisserands (Down there I hear the weavers)

Les meuniers et leurs femmes (The millers and their wives)

Leur bonheur insouciant (Their carefree happiness)

Me brûle et m'enflamme (Burns and inflames me)

Leurs cris qui résonnent (Their cries that resonate)

Jusqu'au coeur de Notre-Dame (In the heart of Notre-Dame)

Font saigner les larmes (Make tears bleed)

Au coeur de mon âme (In the heart of my soul)

Si j'avais cette vie (If I had that life)

Je vivrais à la folie (I’d live madly)

Francoeur’s voice soared. The crowd grew and grew around them. Lovers put their heads on their partners’ shoulders, others held hands, some whispered in their ears. Lucille leaned lightly against the piano, closing her eyes. Her hand rested against shiny wood. Feeling the vibrations.

En bas     (Down there)

Sur les bords de Seine     (On the Seine’s banks)

Je goûterais la joie     (I’d taste the joy)

Des gens qui se promènent     (Of those who walk around)

Si pour un jour     (If for one day)

Un seul jour         (Just one day)

Je quittais ma tour         (I’d left my tower) 

Ce serait merveilleux         (It would be wonderful)

D'être heureux         (To be happy)

Francoeur jumped up, completely giving in to the song. On his own two feet, he still kept playing and singing. Fast and precise.

À mon tour           (It’ll be turn my turn)

Faire un tour (To walk around)

Alentour (Right around)

De ma tour (My tower)

Rien qu'un jour (Just one day)

Un jour (One day)

En bas! (Down there!)

Francoeur played the last notes. Silence filled the street. Then, the crowd broke into cheers. Lucille straightened up, clapping. Francoeur looked around, as if he was coming out of a dream. As if he hadn’t seen how many had stopped to hear him play. He looked vulnerable, mouth agape and Adam’s Apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed. Francoeur jumped up and removed his hat. He bowed.

“Thank you, thank you very much!”

Money rained into his opened guitar case. Soon, the crowd had dissipated, leaving the teenagers, Maud, Lucille, Raoul, Émile, Rémy, Linguini and Colette sitting on the sidewalk. The music store owner waved a hand when Francoeur offered to push the piano back inside. As if to say, leave it there for now, that’s all right. Soon, Adrien was sitting down at the piano. Looking at Francoeur, he started to play himself. Eager to learn the song. Francoeur sat to teach him with a wide grin.

“Adrien Agreste! What is the meaning of this?”

Footsteps stomped the ground. They all looked up.

Oh. Wonderful. 

Victor Maynott was here. Along with the cavalry. Commissaire Pâté and Officer Roger Raincomprix. Francoeur looked around. As if trapped.

“What’s the matter? We only wanted to play, monsieur l’agent ,” said Adrien.

“Does your father know you’re out here playing with beggars?” asked Raincomprix.

This time, Adrien, too, looked like he was trapped.

“Please don’t tell him.”

Lucille jumped in front of the both of them. Shielded them.

“Victor! Good morning. Hello. I’m sorry, I’m the one at fault here.”

Maynott squinted his eyes. “You are?”

“Yes. I’m the one who asked this man to play.”

Pâté clasped his hands behind his back, looking pained. 

“I’m afraid this man is playing outside without any authorization. Against the law.”

“I don’t mind, sir,” immediately said the music store owner, pushing himself off his stool. “This is my shop.” He waved at the store with one vague hand gesture. “I told him myself it was all right. I don’t mind. Really.”

“Still.” 

Maynott’s eyes could have killed. 

“I’m afraid I have to…”

“Hey! What’s that?”

All turned towards where Rémy was pointing. A silhouette had landed on the roof above. Dark against the baby blue sky. A laugh echoed in their ears. Cold and calculating.

Maud grabbed onto Émile’s arm. Her stomach turned to ice.

Oh, no! An akuma!

“Oh, great,” grumbled Marinette. “Monsieur Pigeon.”

“Monsieur what?” asked Francoeur aloud.

“You haven’t been in Paris in a while, huh?” said Alya.

“No. Not in ten years.”

Not since the War was left silent, but Maud heard it.

She knew Lucille heard it too.

“Do you think Ladybug and Chat Noir will come?” asked Officer Raincomprix.

“I bet they will,” answered Nino.

“Lady what and Chat who?”

They ignored Francoeur.

“All right. Enough of this!”

Maynott put his two hands around his mouth and called into the sky:

“Monsieur Pigeon! I am Commissioner Victor Maynott. You are standing on this roof unauthorized. Raise your hands up in the air and surrender at once!”

Rémy snickered.

“You think an akuma will surrender to the police?”

As expected, Monsieur Pigeon burst out laughing.

“Aw, you’re adorable!” taunted Monsieur Pigeon from up on his roof. “But I answer to no one but Papillon! And he wants our favourite superheroes! Now, now. Laadybuuug! Chaaaat Noiiiir! Come out, come out, wherever you are! Do you have the chair de poule? ”

Maud giggled. Chicken, pigeon...

From the corner of her eye, she saw Francoeur frown. Looking around. 

“Hey. Has anyone seen Marinette and Adrien?”

No one listened. All were focussed on Monsieur Pigeon, up on the roof. He cooed, arms forming wings at his side. Monsieur Pigeon blew in a whistle. An army of pigeons blocked out the sun. Maud gasped.

Where were they already?

“Again, Monsieur Pigeon?” 

More gasps came from around the crowd. Some clapped. Maynott looked like he’d stubbed his little toe.

Ladybug had appeared on the roof, swinging her yo-yo. 

“Don’t you ever rest?”

“You said it, Ma Lady!” 

Chat Noir leapt on upon the roof on Ladybug’s right, appearing out of nowhere. 

“Who knew pigeons could be as unkillable as cockroaches?”

“Hey! Where is the musician? Where has he gone?”

Maud tore her eyes away from Ladybug and Chat Noir. She turned to Victor Maynott. He was himself looking around. Jaw clenched. Showing all his teeth. Francoeur was nowhere to be found. Maynott growled, face becoming an ugly shade of purple. He pointed at them all. Maynott grabbed Raoul and Émile by the shoulders. Raincomprix’s hands clawed at Maud’s own shoulders. Digging into her skin.

“You three! You’re coming with me.”

“But… hey!”

“Stop that! You’re hurting me!”

“We did nothing wrong!”

Maynott, Pâté and Raincomprix dragged them away anyway.

“Chat Noir! Watch out for the civilians!”

“On it, Ladybug!”

Pigeons attacked. The crowd scattered, leaving the piano alone in the square.

Maud watched Ladybug and Chat Noir fought against Monsieur Pigeon’s army of pigeons. Smacking a silver staff, swinging a yo-yo. Until they had turned around the street corner. Leaving the music store, the piano and their new friends behind.

“Catherine!” squealed out Raoul. “I can’t leave Catherine!”

“Don’t worry, young man. Your friend will be fine.”

Maud didn’t quite believe Pâté.

“Where are you taking us?” asked Émile.

“To my office,” answered Maynott.

Maud swallowed.

Fear settled like an icy rock in her stomach.

Piano men, pigeon men and policemen. 

That was how Maud’s day had gotten so strange.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER FIVE

Victor Maynott, Police Commissioner of the City of Paris, clasped his hands together, jaw clenched. His elbows rested against his desk. 

“Sit. Down.”

The three bumbling buffoons were sat down by Pâté and Raincomprix. They all stared at each other. In silence. In oppressive silence. It seemed the walls, the metal cabinets, even the wooden desk, all worked for Maynott. Intimidating. Pressing down on them. Maynott took in a deep breath. And let it out. He didn’t know these kids personally, but he had heard of them. If anything, Maynott was an observant man. He had heard of them or seen them around the city. Especially in Lucille’s circles. One was a delivery boy who drove a garbage can he called a truck. The other two worked at a cinema together. Lucille’s friends.

Maynott tsk ed.

“Now, tell me. Who was this man you were with?”

Blank stares answered him.

“Answer me!” 

“What man?” asked Delivery Boy.

“You know who I’m talking about.” Maynott groaned, fingers pinching the skin between his eyebrows. “The piano man.”

“Oh.” 

Leprechaun tapped a rhythm on his armchair. 

“We don’t know him.” 

“Émile’s right, Monsieur Maynott,” said Lady Four-Eyes. “That was the first time we’ve seen that man around the city. I promise.”

“Oh, please. You obviously know him. I could see from a mile away he was flirting with Lucille.” 

He looked down at his watch. 11:30. Maynott’s face scrunched up. He wouldn’t be late to his date with Lucille. He simply wouldn’t. Not for this piano man. So those three had to talk. Fast. He breathed in. And out. 

“Now tell me. Who was that man? Give me a name!”

“If we do…” Delivery Boy eyed Maynott carefully. “What will we get in return?”

“In return?”

He sounded bewildered. Because he was. Who dared try to strike a deal with Victor Maynott? Lady Four-Eyes looked at the other two. Mouthing something Maynott couldn’t quite understand. He clenched his jaw further. His teeth ached.

“I’ll give you anything you want.”

Delivery Boy jumped up.

“I want a Légion d’Honneur !”

“Raoul!” hissed Leprechaun.

Maynott stared.

“I’m sorry?”

“That’s all I want. And I want one for my friends, too!”

“A Légion d’honneur ?” Maynott chuckled. “Really? That’s all you want? A medal for something none of you have earned, huh? Pathetic.”

“It’s that or we keep our mouths shut about that man.”

They eyed each other for a long minute. Staring each other down.

Maynott gave in. He didn’t have much time.

“All right.” 

Maynott fished out three medals from inside one drawer of his desk. He tossed them at the three buffoons unceremoniously. Metal clattered on his desk. 

“Here.”

Raincomprix and Pâté exchanged a glance while the three of them put the medals on. Their wide eyes and proud faces made Maynott sick. 

Children, the lot of them.

“Now tell me. What was that man’s name?”

Delivery Boy was the first to answer.

“Francoeur, monsieur . He told us his name was Francoeur.”

“A… nickname, I presume?”

“Yes. For François Vadeboncoeur.”

“Vadeboncoeur, Vadeboncoeur… there must be a million François Vadeboncoeurs in this city. Anything else you know about him?”

“He said earlier… huh… he hasn’t been in Paris in ten years,” said Lady Four-Eyes, lifting a finger. “I don’t know how that could help you.”

“... Huh. Actually, that might be interesting.”

Leprechaun arched an eyebrow. 

“How?”

“That look on his face. I’ve seen it before. He was in the Army. And if he hasn’t been in Paris in ten years… that must mean he hasn’t been in Paris since the War.”

Maynott slammed his hands against the desk and pushed himself to his feet.

“Pâté! Raincomprix!”

They nodded, suddenly stiff as boards.

“ Oui , monsieur ?”

“Go do some research at the Archives de Paris . I want any information you can find about a François Vadeboncoeur who was in the Army in 1918. I have a feeling you’ll find some interesting things in the section for the war wounded. That’s a good place to start.”

“ Oui, monsieur! ”

Maynott sat back down, a satisfied grin on his face. Pâté and Raincomprix left his office, slamming the door behind them. The buffoons flinched.

“What do you want to do with him?” asked Leprechaun.

“Nothing.”

“You’re suspiciously aggressive for someone who wants nothing to do with Francoeur,” said Lady Four-Eyes, squinting at him.

“I don’t want any beggars fooling around with Lucille, that’s all.”

Leprechaun and Lady Four-Eyes shared a look.

“Does this have anything to do with your mayoral candidacy?”

Delivery Boy tapped his chin with one thin finger Maynott presumed he could snap in half if he tried. 

“And why are you so interested in Lucille?” 

“That’s none of your business!” 

Maynott rose up, towering over them. 

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an important lunch. Take your medals and scram.”

“But monsieur !”

“I said scram!”

They fled without being told twice.

Maynott sank in his office chair. A hand rubbed against his face. Until he looked down at his watch. As if on a spring, he jumped up. No time for breaks. Breaks were for the weak. He had a date and couldn’t afford to be late. After staring at himself one moment too long in the mirror standing on feet in a corner, he grabbed his coat and left his office. His hunger guided him to the restaurant. Maynott didn’t even have to say his name. The host took one look at him and slid from behind the counter. 

“Follow me, monsieur. ”

Maynott followed to the best table in the restaurant. People stared from their seats at their tables, but none dared to come talk to him. Maynott basked in the attention. In any other circumstances, he would have stopped to shake hands. To take pictures. To sign autographs.

Not today. 

Today, he was busy.

Lucille, beautiful, resplendent, angelic Lucille, was already waiting for him at their table. Maynott’s face contorted into a grin.

Their table.

It had a nice ring to it.

“Please pardon me, Lucille,” said Maynott smoothly, sitting down opposite her. He barely sent a second glance to the host, who stood off to the side. “I had incredibly important work to finish at the office, you understand.”

“Oh.” 

Lucille blinked. As if noticing him for the first time.

“I didn’t mind.”

“Allow me to order for you, then.”

Before she had time to protest, Maynott turned to the host.

“We'll both have the lamb. Rare, with a little mint sauce.”

He turned to Lucille, ignoring the way her face had frozen in time.

“You like lamb, don’t you?”

She smiled. Tightly.

Maynott waved the host off. With a nod and a bow, he mentioned he was going to fetch the waiter and disappeared into the kitchens. Soon enough, silence surrounded them. Well. As much silence as you could find in a restaurant. Cutlery clinked against plates. Voices grumbled at other tables. Somewhere in the kitchens, a chef called for order. Maynott looked around, then he gazed at Lucille from the corner of his eye. She belonged here. In this grand, luxurious restaurant by the windows overlooking Paris. Light flooded around her, creating a halo around her. Her costume de scène fit her well. She truly was an angel. 

His angel.

She belonged here, opposite him. 

It wouldn’t be long before he had her seduced.

And then, then she would see.

“So,” said Lucille. “You like Gusteau’s? ”

“It’s the best restaurant in all of Paris.” He leaned over the table, winking at her. “What else would I have offered you but the best?”

She smiled that tight smile again.

Silence resumed. She looked down. Playing with a fork in her hands.

Think, Maynott, think. Don’t let this be awkward.

“I believe you like music, Lucille?”

She looked up.

“Yes! Yes, I do. I love music.”

“Ah, love. What a lovely feeling. I believe I first fell in love when I saw an opéra for the first time. What a lovely experience.” He chuckled. “Do you know how that feels like?”

“How what feels like?”

Lucille reached for the sugar bowl. Maynott put one hand over hers.

“To fall in love?”

Lucille swallowed. She looked around. Like an animal caught in a trap.

“Well…!”

To Maynott’s annoyance, they were interrupted.

“Here are your two agneaux à la menthe, ” said the waiter, coming towards them quicker than Maynott could have ever expected. 

Maynott retracted his hand and Lucille did the same. He eyed the waiter critically for one long second. No. This wasn’t the same man. This was a boy . Barely out of childhood. Maynott wanted to sniff derisively. It seemed Gusteau’s standards had started to decline. Hiring a boy as a waiter! What a joke. At least he looked the part. 

“Yes?” 

“I hope you enjoy your meal.”

“Of course. Thank you. You can go.”

The waiter nodded. He sent Lucille a glance. He nodded at her, then he started to walk away. Until… well, until he stopped. Frozen mid-step.

“Wait.”

The waiter spun around.

“Lucille?”

Her shoulders jumped to her ears. 

“Yes?” she asked, voice high-pitched.

“I’m Rémy! Rémy Petit!” He walked back over to them. Standing a step away from their table. With a hopeful look on his face. “Do you remember me? I’m Francoeur’s friend. Who was with Linguini and Colette?”

Lucille turned fully towards him. She smiled at Rémy. A smile that reached her eyes. Maynott frowned. Was that relief he saw flooding her face?

“Rémy! Yes! Yes, I remember you! You’re a cook! A good cook, or so I’ve heard.”

Maynott scoffed.

“You? A cook? You’re barely a child .”

Rémy’s eyes darted from Lucille to Maynott. When he spoke again, he sounded as diplomatic as any politician Maynott had ever heard. Or had ever competed against.

“I serve many functions, but today, I’m your humble server.”

“Right. A server who should…”

Maynott was once again interrupted in his scathing remark. 

An equally scathing voice came from the kitchen. A small man burst through the doors, hands into fists at his side. He unclenched his fists and tugged on his chef’s hat.

“PETIT!”

Rémy jumped, spinning around.

“ Oui, Chef Skinner?”

“Stop dawdling and come back here! I don’t pay you to chat with our clients.”

“You don’t pay me at all.”

“Come. Here!”

“ Oui, Chef Skinner.”

Rémy turned once more around. He gave Maynott and Lucille a respectful nod.

“If you’ll excuse me.”

Finally, oh finally, he was gone.

Maynott breathed out. In relief. He was not going to lose his temper. Not today.

“So. Lucille. What were we talking about?”

“Um… the opéra?”

“Ah, yes! Falling in love. The best feeling in the world.”

Someone cleared their throat. Maynott wanted to erupt like a volcano. He spun around once more. There was Pâté. In the middle of Gusteau’s. With papers in his hands. Raincomprix was nowhere to be found. Maynott tried not to think about the stares directed at him, the stares of other clients, who had stopped eating, forks halfway to their mouths. 

Breathe in. Breathe out.

“Yes, Pâté?”

“I found some information about François Vadeboncoeur in the Archives, monsieur .”

“You’re investigating Francoeur?” asked Lucille.

Maynott’s entire body froze. Couldn’t that man have a worse timing? Instead of making more of a scene, Maynott waved a hand.

“It’s only routine research, Lucille. Don’t worry. I’m only looking because… um… I’m not fond of beggars marching the street, so I wanted to… ah… see if I could know more about this man and get him off the streets. Truly.”

“Hm, hm.”

She didn’t look like she believed him. Maynott didn’t care.

“So.” 

He turned towards Pâté again. 

“Anything about him, Pâté?”

“Yes!” He nodded firmly. “François Vadeboncoeur is the eldest child of Maurice and Camille Vadeboncoeur. During the Great War, he was a soldier in the infanterie . He fought in the Second Battle of Picardy in 1918 before he was taken off the trenches because of a leg injury. He remained in a military hospital until the end of the War. Right before he should have been discharged and sent to return to the battlefield, the War ended. I guess he was lucky, sir.”

“Lucky indeed.”

“How old was he?” asked Lucille, leaning forward, showing more interest now than she had during their entire lunch. “At the time, I mean.”

“Um… that’s where things get… interesting.”

“Yes, Pâté?” Maynott swallowed a piece of his forgotten lamb. “Get on with it.”

“Well, we found his birth certificate and discovered that he was born in 1902. So Monsieur Francoeur is twenty-six years old now. Yet, on his enlisting form, it says he was born in 1898. So while he was sixteen at the time, his form said he was twenty.”

Maynott’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

“He lied to enlist.”

“I believe he did, monsieur. ”

“A liar and a beggar, then.”

“ Excuse me?”

Maynott’s head spun on his neck. 

“Lucille?”

Her face was growing red. As red as her hair, in fact. Lucille’s voice came out cold, as cold as the ice floating in Maynott’s glass of water. Her hands rested on the table. Maynott swallowed under her intense stare. Her eyes flashed.

“He fought for you. For me. For all of us. And that’s how you’re going to repay him? By calling him a liar and a beggar? You’re an awful man, Monsieur Maynott.”

“Victor, Lucille. Call me…”

“I’m well aware you asked me to call you Victor.”

Maynott gulped.

“Francoeur is a hero,” she said with finality. “He deserves respect.”

“Right! You’re right. I… I didn’t mean…! I’m sorry. I should apologize.”

“Yes. You should.”

“ Du vin, monsieur? ”

Maynott almost jumped ten feet in the air. His neck spun on his neck once more. It was that waiter from earlier again. Rémy. Another interruption? 

“What do you want?”

Rémy blinked. He raised his wine bottle.

“I’m asking if you want wine. Would you like some?”

“It’s lunch. Isn’t that inappropriate?”

“I’d like some!” said Lucille, pouncing on the occasion.

“Of course, mademoiselle. ”

Maynott saw it all happen in slow motion. Slowly. So slowly. Rémy walking around Pâté. Uncorking the bottle. Reaching down over Lucille. Tilting his bottle above her glass. Moving up... and up... and up… Too close to her. Way too close. 

Wine poured out of the bottle. 

And onto her dress.

Time snapped back into motion. Lucille jumped up.

“Oh!”

Rémy gasped, a hand over his mouth. It sounded oddly fake, to Maynott’s ears.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry, Lucille. I didn’t mean…!”

“It’s okay, Rémy. I’m fine.”

Maynott grabbed a napkin and offered it to her. To his surprise, she took it. Lucille tried to wipe off the wine. And only spread it further.

“I’ll need to shorten our lunch, Victor. I can’t stay like this.”

“Yes! Yes, you can. Please, sit back down. I don’t mind the stain.”

“Come to the kitchen, Lucille!” Rémy grabbed her wrist, pulling her after him. “I think we have something to remove the stain.”

Before Maynott could protest, Lucille had disappeared after the waiter. Silence fell upon Pâté and him. Maynott waited. A minute. Two minutes. Maynott scowled. His fingers tapped a rhythm on the table, next to his plate. Around him, people stared. Pâté stared. Everyone stared. 

Today was supposed to be the best date of his life.

Now, it was ruined.

After five minutes, Maynott pushed himself to his feet. His chair crashed on the ground. Maynott marched to the kitchen and shoved the swinging doors open. Many pairs of eyes landed on him. Maynott breathed loudly, like a panting animal. He looked around. Eyes seeing red. Dear God, where was Lucille?

“Where is she?”

The only woman in the room walked towards him, arms crossed over her chest.

“Who is where?”

“Lucille! The… The girl with the wine stain on her dress.”

“I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

“What are you…?” Maynott sputtered. “Where’s the waiter? The young waiter who was with her? His name… Rémy! Rémy was his name. Where is he?”

“What’s the meaning of this?”

A door slammed shut. The thunderous man, Chef Skinner, appeared. Stepping out of an office. His office, Maynott presumed.

“Why are you in my kitchen?” asked Skinner

Maynott flashed his badge. 

“Police business.”

“ Monsieur le préfet! ” Skinner gasped. “Of course, stay as long as you’d like.”

“I want to know where she is!”

Skinner clasped his hands together.

“Who, monsieur ?”

“Lucille, the girl I was with. The girl with the wine stain.”

“I… haven’t seen a girl with a wine stain. At all. But if there’s one way she… ah… could have gone, I presume it would’ve been through the back door.”

Maynott pushed his way through the kitchen. He emerged in blinding sunlight.

She was gone. 

Of course, she was gone. 

And the waiter was gone, too.

“Where’s Rémy?” asked Skinner.

Maynott breathed in. Breathed out. Like a wounded animal. He clenched his fists at his sides. Putting pressure on his hands until his knuckles turned white.

His voice rang out clear in the kitchen when he said:

“That’s what I’d like to know, too!”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER SIX

“Are you sure you won’t get in trouble because of me?”

Francoeur looked up from his spot on the roof. 

Francoeur hadn’t meant to sit on the roof of L’Oiseau Rare . But somehow, he’d found his way there. The Parisian roofs had pulled Francoeur in like a siren calling out to a sailor. Ever since he had been a kid, he remembered nights where he’d woken up shivering after looking up at the stars too long. Or entire days spent sprawled out in the sun. Today was one of such days. He had enough money for the night and decided he needed a break for the first time since he’d arrived in Paris. So he had lounged for a few hours.

Now here he was, looking at the clouds. He’d been sitting in silence until a bicycle had woken him up from his daze. A bell ringing in his ears. 

“Please, please tell me you won’t get in trouble because of me.”

He knew that voice.

“No, no, Lucille. I’ll be fine.”

Oh? 

That was Rémy.

Francoeur leaned over the edge of the roof. Just enough so that he saw Lucille walk off the bicycle. Francoeur froze. Was that… was that blood on her dress?

Flashes of a battlefield came back to mind. Dirt overturned. Red dripping from his leg. 

“Go and wash off the wine,” said Rémy. “I’ll be back to Gusteau’s in a second.”

Oh. Wine. Of course. Francoeur breathed out in relief.

“So you’ll be fine?”

“Yes. I’ll tell them I had to do a last minute delivery. They’ll buy it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Entirely sure.”

“Thank you. If it wasn’t for this mess… I’d hug you.”

“It was my pleasure. I’m not really good with hugs, though.”

“Understood. Thank you again. Oh! And Godspeed, Rémy!”

With that, Lucille disappeared inside L’Oiseau Rare. Rémy’s bicycle sped away down the alleyways. Francoeur figured he should do the same. So he left, too.

While the day had started so well, bad luck followed him on the way away from L’Oiseau Rare . It seemed as if God himself had its plans against him. The sunny day turned cold and cloudy, wind ripping through his coat and leaving him miserable. He stepped in a muddy puddle, covering his pants in muck. He played for hours for people passing by, sitting in the street. A few pitied him enough to drop a few coins. But not enough to buy the next day’s breakfast. At least, thanks to monsieur Melville’s piano, he had enough money for a sandwich. 

And as it soon turned out, playing on the streets of Montmartre wasn’t enough to pay him a night in a dingy room in a woman’s basement either. 

Or, well. It had been enough, but the woman didn’t care anyway.

“But… but please, madame ! If it’s not enough, I can help around the house!”

“We don’t need you.”

A door was shut in his face.

We against you.

Francoeur swallowed. He looked around. Some kids stared, while their parents pulled them by the hand. His fingers grazed the skin below his eyes.

Oh. Right. 

The War was written there. In his eyes. 

She would have probably given him the same welcome if he had his old uniform on. Any memories of the War made people uneasy. He was a relic of the past.

Where was he going to stay, now? 

Outside? Again?

And he had been hoping for a nice, warm bed.

Francoeur paced around the streets and alleyways. The clouds took on an orange tint, sunset beginning above. It would be dark soon. Francoeur stopped. 

Maybe he could go back to the Dupain-Chengs. They’d be welcoming enough. 

Of course, when he made it to the bakery, the windows were dark. No one answered at the door. Francoeur’s shoulders drooped. What was he to do now? 

Wait! 

Hadn’t Rémy suggested he sleep at his and Linguini’s cramped apartment? Again, disappointment toyed at his insides. 

He had no idea where that apartment was. 

Francoeur rubbed at the back of his neck. He was about to ask aloud if his day could get any worse when he bit his tongue hard. 

Now wasn’t the time to jinx it.

Somehow, his feet guided him back to L’Oiseau Rare . As they had earlier that day. Awkwardly hoisting up his suitcase and guitar case, Francoeur climbed to the roof. He lay down on his back. Looking up at the sky. Exhaustion made his limbs and eyelids heavy. Night fell upon him. Covering the sky like a dark, cozy blanket. 

He was out like a light before the stars were out.

Had Francoeur been awake, he would have seen Ladybug landing on a roof nearby. Had he been awake, he would have seen her rubbing the back of her neck. And had he been able to read her thoughts, he would have known what she was thinking. Two akuma attacks in one day. Papillon was busy. A few minutes ago, Ladybug had changed back into Marinette, but after giving Tikki a macaron, she was now Ladybug again. Therefore, she had all the time in the world to watch the stars. Well. As much stars as she could see in Paris’ lights.

Still, had Francoeur been awake, he would have seen Ladybug landing on another roof. The roof next to L’Oiseau Rare , to be precise. She stopped, hand clutching her aching side. Oof. Tonight had been a close call. Papillon’s akumas were getting stronger with each passing day. Almost too much just for herself and Chat Noir. 

Once more, Ladybug jumped on another roof.

This time, Francoeur woke up. 

“Hello? Who’s there?”

Francoeur blinked away his sleep. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth. What time was it? What had happened? There was… There was a girl there. On the roof. 

Francoeur stared. 

She was a girl people talked about in hushed, revering voices. A girl who wore red and black, with a mask over her eyes. 

Ladybug grimaced, whole body cringing. She raised both hands.

“Sorry, monsieur ! I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“Hm?” 

Francoeur pushed himself up on his elbows. He removed his hat and set it aside.  Recognition dawned on her face. She knew who he was. She’d seen him before. He squinted his eyes at her. He’d seen her before, too. Fighting against Monsieur Pigeon. But he also… he also knew her. Francoeur’s eyes opened wide.

“Marinette?”

Ladybug looked at him as if she’d swallowed a lemon.

“Marinette? I don’t know who you’re talking about! Who’s Marinette?”

She’d talked so fast, he almost hadn’t understood the flow of words coming out of her mouth. Francoeur chuckled. He ran a hand over his tired face.

“Marinette, I know it’s you! I can’t believe no one else has figured you out yet. You’re only wearing a small mask over your eyes! Your hair’s the same! Everything about you’s the same, unless we count the costume! Do your friends know?”

“No, they don’t. For their own good. It would be too dangerous. Chat Noir doesn’t know either. I mean!” She slapped a hand over her mouth. “I’m not Marinette!”

“Right, right. Well, it’s nice to meet you, Not-Marinette.”

Ladybug didn’t answer. Francoeur sat up, legs dangling above the street. He patted a spot between himself and his guitar case.

“Come, take a seat. If you want. Or do you have any superhuman activities to take care of? I’m sure you must be very busy.”

“Well…”

She looked around, hand still above her mouth. Ladybug shrugged.

“I could use the company, I guess.”

And with that, she plopped down next to him.

They watched the Parisian world go by. Full of golden lights and rumbling cars. The cloudy sky had opened up while he was asleep. A small opening in grey clouds. Like a peace offering. Or a moment of peace in a storm. Francoeur rubbed his fingers together. A question burned at his tongue. All he could do was ask.

“You said earlier... you mean to tell me Chat Noir doesn’t know who you are?”

Ladybug eyed him carefully. Francoeur moved his hands up.

“You don’t have to tell me anything! But if there’s anything troubling you, I thought you could use a friend. That kind of life must get lonely, after a while.”

She surrendered, whole body drooping.

“No, not really. A bit, I guess. It’s hard. Keeping secrets.”

“It must be. How… How does it work? Really? I’ve heard about akumas, but… I don’t have any idea what those are. Where do those… villains… come from?”

Ladybug blinked.

“You haven’t been around here in a very long time, haven’t you?”

“I haven’t been back in ten years.”

“Huh.”

It took him a few minutes to understand, but he listened. Ladybug explained everything. The akumas were black and purple butterflies that had started to appear around Paris around a year ago. Every time an akuma touched someone suffering from inner turmoil, those negative emotions were exploited by Papillon, also called Hawkmoth by some. Why? Because he wanted Ladybug’s and Chat Noir’s Miraculouses. 

“Your what?”

“My Miraculous. His Miraculous. Our Miraculouses.”

Ladybug pointed at her earrings. Francoeur puffed out his cheek and made a popping sound. His feet kicked the empty air, at the roof’s edge. 

“Why would he want your earrings?”

“They’re the source of my power. They’re how I become Ladybug.”

“Huh. And what does he want to use them for?”

“The usual. Power, world domination, that sort of thing.”

“You don’t sound sure.”

“Well.” She raised both arms in a Gallic shrug. “I don’t know the guy. None of us know who Papillon is. So that’s why we keep our secret identities a secret, even from each other, Chat Noir and I. It would make it easy for Papillon to exploit us against our will if we new.” She sent Francoeur a sideway glance. “That’s why no one must know.”

“Hey, I don’t know anything.”

Francoeur clasped his hands together.

“Besides, I know a thing or two about negative emotions.”

Silence filled the space between them. In the streets, automobiles rushed by and people walked at a brisk pace. Heading for home. Shadows appeared and disappeared under the tall lamp posts. Francoeur looked up at the inky black sky, leaning on his hands and head turned back. His hair touched a spot between his shoulder blades. He should cut it, one day. But haircuts were a luxury he couldn’t exactly afford, right now.

“So,” finally cut in Ladybug. “What are you doing back in Paris?”

“Hm?”

“Why are you back in the City?”

“Oh! Well… I don’t know. It felt… right. Somehow. Like it was time.”

“And you’ve been sleeping outside ever since you’ve arrived?”

“Since yesterday, yeah. Don’t worry. It’s not like it’s the first time.”

“I could… I guess… I…”

Francoeur looked at her from the corner of his eye. Ladybug’s gloved hand curled into a fist and rested under her chin. Her eyebrows frowned. She looked deep in thought. He could feel the battle behind her eyes. Francoeur’s body relaxed.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m used to it. You can’t really do anything about it, now, can’t you? Not if you want to keep your secret identity a secret.”

“You’re… right.”

She slumped in on herself, looking defeated. Then, her whole face brightened.

“I know what I can do! I’ll be right back.”

Before he could say anything, Ladybug was off, jumping from roof to roof. Francoeur looked away and back at the sky. He didn’t want to know where she was headed. He had a feeling he knew where, but if he knew for sure, it would bring only danger to her and himself. Did that make any sense? He rubbed at his tired eyes.

Nothing made sense, when superpowers were involved.

Before Ladybug could come back, though, iron grey clouds rolled in. Suddenly. Carried by a strong wind. It blew in his face. Threatening to snatch his hat away. The moment of peace before the storm was over. Francoeur swallowed. 

Maybe his day could get worse, after all. 

Almost as if to answer his miserable thought, the clouds cracked open. Pouring rain fell down. Cold. Needle-like. Like a wall falling down on him all at once. 

Francoeur sighed. 

Yes. His day had just gotten worse.

“What do you want from me?” he asked aloud. 

A clap of thunder answered.

How fitting.

“Can’t you give me a break?”

The sky remained stubbornly silent. This time.

Hat on his head, scarf around his neck and guitar and suitcase in hand, Francoeur slid down from the roof. He landed in an alleyway. On L’Oiseau Rare ’s other side. 

At first, he started to walk in one direction… but then he turned around. He walked in the other direction… and turned around again. Just like that, almost involuntarily, he paced along the alleyway. Not caring for the rain. Where was he to go? No one would take him in. No one could . Not at this hour. Rain poured over him, thick droplets dripping over the brim of his hat. Soon enough, he had to start caring for the rain. He was shivering. Teeth clattering. Francoeur rubbed his hands along his arms. Not even his thick coat could shield him from the cold. It seeped into his skin. 

Great. Just great.

“Look, Maman!” said a voice. 

Francoeur spun around. 

Who…? What…?

A little girl was running towards him. Where she’d come from, Francoeur had no idea. But she was coming, all right. The little girl stopped just a few steps away. Downright pointing at him. With a wide grin of awe on her face. Mixed in with fear. 

Francoeur pulled his hat down over his face.

“I found another akuma!”

The words cut deep in Francoeur’s heart.

“An akuma?”

An umbrella fell to the ground. A gasp echoed above the roaring downpour. The woman came rushing after her daughter. She shielded the little girl behind her legs. When the woman truly saw Francoeur, though, she relaxed. 

“Oh! Manon, that’s not an akuma. That was very rude! Say you’re sorry.”

Manon pouted.

“No. He’s tall and scary.”

“I’m so sorry for my daughter’s behaviour, monsieur . I’m Nadja… monsieur? ”

Francoeur barely heard her. His ears buzzed. Sometimes, he forgot. He was tall, strong, impossibly so. He carried the weight of History on his shoulders and that made everyone who didn’t know him uneasy. Uncomfortable. 

His own existence made people uncomfortable. 

Was that really what children saw when he walked these streets? An akuma? The kind of monster who lived under their beds at night? 

Was he… Was he a monster?

“I… I… ah… I should go.”

“ Monsieur!”

Francoeur ran. 

He ran. Thunder roared in his ears. If it was even possible, it rained even harder. Soaking him to the bone. His heart pounded in his ears. Francoeur’s feet hammered against the old cobblestone streets. Francoeur didn’t care where he ran to. All he knew was that he had to go. He had to get away. Far away. Right now. He didn’t think about Ladybug and what she’d say when she wouldn’t find him on the roof. He didn’t think about the way his thighs hurt. He didn’t think of anything until his once injured leg gave out under him.

Francoeur fell. He sprawled in the mud, in the middle of an alleyway.

Panting, he sat up. 

Get up. That’s what he told himself.

Get up.

Lève-toi.

He tried. He really did. 

But pain flared in his leg. Making him clench his teeth.

He couldn’t get up. Not yet. 

So instead, Francoeur sat in the light of a lantern, hanging from a hook by a window. The rain had somewhat slowed. It dripped-dripped-dripped down his hat. Francoeur shivered. The adrenaline rush seeped out of his limbs as quickly as he’d felt the urge to run. Once again, he felt tiredness overwhelm him. But there was no way he could sleep now. He felt agitated and exhausted, all at the same time.

Where was he, anyway?

Francoeur looked around. Above him was a sign. It read... 

Passage Francoeur . 

If there was any breath left in him, Francoeur would’ve laughed. Of course! He knew that sign. He knew where he was. 

He had run in a circle and had somehow found his way back to L'Oiseau Rare . Where Rémy had dropped Lucille, earlier today. On the opposite side of the building where that little girl, Manon, and her mother Nadja were. 

Francoeur hoped they were gone. He prayed they were gone.

There was a light at a door on the opposite side of the alleyway, but he didn’t dare get up and knock. He bet Lucille wouldn’t want to see him like this. 

A pathetic wreck.

Francoeur closed his eyes and listened to the rain.

He was alone.

A monster who was alone.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER SEVEN

Lucille rubbed at her temples with a deep sigh.

She had had a rough night, indeed.

Sure, her day had started good enough. Good, even wonderful enough, but strange enough. There had been that lovely song the musician - Francoeur, she could never forget his name - had sung. Then her disastrous date with Maynott. Then after she’d been whisked away by Rémy, she’d had to prepare everything for tonight’s show. Now here she was, waiting for everything to start. And Albert, their insufferable waiter, had decided he wanted to audition to be their new musician. 

With his triangle. 

And his terrible voice.

Hence the headache plaguing her brain.

“Albert!”

He jumped when she snapped.

“Yes? Don’t tell me. I’m the best guy you’ve heard today.”

“Oh, you’re…” 

Far, oh so far from the best.  

The last part she didn’t say aloud. It took all her inner strength, but Lucille bit back her retort. If she insulted him, he’d stay longer. 

“Thank you for your marvelous audition, Albert. I need time to decide. I’ve had multiple applications and I need time to think about it.”

“Multiple applications? In one day?”

“Yes, yes, that’s it.”

Lucille rose up from her seat at her desk and, as kindly as she could possibly muster, guided him to the door of her dressing room.

“See you at the show!”

Lucille slammed the door behind him. Breathing out in relief, she leaned her back against the door. She slid down to the floor. Lucille brought her knees to her chest, rested her arms on her knees and her head on her arms. 

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. 

Don’t worry, she told herself. Everything will be fine. Tante Carlotta has given you at least a full week to find a new musician. You have more time. You really do. 

Yeah. She knew it. 

But then again, the best musician had slipped between her fingers.

Lucille took the time to breathe. 

Then, she listened. 

The storm outside had slowed. Leaving barely any sounds in her dressing room. A clock tick-tick-ticked somewhere far away. A cat meowed in an alleyway. Rain pitter-pattered on the roof. Steadily. Endlessly.

It created a rhythm. A distinct rhythm. 

Like…

Like music.

Je cache ma lumière (I hide my light)

Sous ce manteau noir (Under this black coat)

Cette écharpe rouge et ce chapeau (This red scarf and this hat)

Lucille’s head snapped up.

She knew that voice.

Je cache mon coeur (I hide my heart)

Sous ma carapace (Under my shell)

J’ai bien trop peur (I’m way too scared)

Qu’il ne se lasse (That it becomes weary)

Qu’il ne se casse (That it breaks)

Lucille rose up. Slowly. As if walking on eggshells. She tiptoed down the hallway. To the door that led outside. She walked past the bin they’d put their umbrellas in. Lucille held her breath. She pressed her ear to the door.

Then, she listened.

Je cache ma peine (I hide my sadness)

Sur ces mélodies (On these melodies)

Sur ces quelques notes (On these notes)

Qui sauvent ma vie (That save my life)

Lucille looked through the tiny window at the top of the door. The rain had slowed down. She saw nothing more of him than a silhouette. A wide-brimmed hat. Long legs. A large torso. There he sat. Alone and dejected. Between the puddles and in the mud. 

Je cache mes espoirs (I hide my hopes)

Je les dissimule (I conceal them)

J’ai bien trop peur qu’ils ne s’envolent (I’m way too scared they’ll fly away)

Something fluttered in Lucille’s line of sight. Something flew above his head, above his wide-brimmed hat. 

A butterfly. Black and purple.

An akuma.

Car je suis un monstre à Paris (For I’m a monster in Paris)

Un monstre à Paris (A monster in Paris)

Un monstre à Paris (A monster in Paris)

Lucille was out the door before she had time to think. Umbrella in hand, she crossed the alleyway. She pushed the umbrella open. The akuma’s wings bumped against the fabric, never touching him. A shadow spread over Francoeur’s face. When he looked up, Lucille felt a weight settle in her stomach. His whole face was wide open. Vulnerable. His eyes were full of tears. Reddened around the edges. 

She knew those eyes, she’d seen them before. 

She’d heard that voice before, too. But never as sorrowful, never as heartbroken. 

“ Bonsoir, ” she whispered. 

It felt right to whisper. Like a secret. Or a prayer.

“ Bonsoir. ”

“Francoeur. That’s your name. Right?”

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

A beat. Silence. 

Lucille swallowed.

“For what it’s worth,” she tried, “I don’t think you’re a monster.”

Another beat. His mouth hung open. Until he spoke again.

“Me neither. I mean… I… I know I’m not.”

“Then why were you singing about being one?”

“Oh. Well, I came up with this song on the spot. I didn’t really think.”

Francoeur tried to smile. It didn’t reach his eyes. Lucille saw more than heard him take a shaky breath. The rain still dripped around them. Swallowing sounds. 

Lucille tried again.

“But do you think it’s true?” 

“No. I... There’s a part of me that once did.”

“Why?”

“Because… Because that’s what people think of me.”

“I’m sorry you feel this way.”

“You do?”

“Yes. I do. I’m truly sorry.”

Francoeur rose to his full height. Lucille craned her neck to see him from so close. He was tall. So tall. Her umbrella couldn’t cover him anymore, but there was no need. He was already wet and the akuma was far gone. Francoeur’s smile reached his eyes this time.

“I know I’m not a monster. I’m who I am. And that’s all that matters.”

“Good. Then, let’s meet again properly.”

She offered him her hand.

“I’m Lucille.”

“Francoeur.”

They shook hands. For just a moment. Until he retracted his hand. As if uncomfortable. Or, perhaps, awkward? 

A thought burst through Lucille’s mind.

“Can I… Can I ask you a favor?”

“You can ask me anything.”

Lucille shivered at the sound of his whisper. It sounded devout. Honest. Sincere. Or maybe she’d shivered thanks to the cold rain. She couldn’t tell. His eyes, once saddened, now shone. Determined. Francoeur held her gaze. His jaw clenched. Lucille had half a thought that if she really asked anything from him, Francoeur would give it to her. Without reservations.

Lucille’s tongue felt like lead in her mouth. She pushed the words out of her mouth. 

“We need a... And I was wondering… if you…”

“Yes?”

“Would you like to be…” 

A voice that sounded a lot like her friends’ rose up in her mind. Come on, Lucille! Get those words out! You never freeze in front of a boy, pour l’amour du ciel!

She took in a deep breath. And finished:

“I wanted to know if you’d like to be one of us.”

“One of…” He blinked. “One of you?”

“Yes. We need a musician at L’Oiseau Rare . Musician, singer. Anything you can be. We’ll give you money and… and I’ll talk to my aunt Carlotta about giving you a roof over your head, if you need it. I’ll take care of everything.”

Francoeur’s eyes widened.

“You’d want to give me a job?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He stared at her for a second too long. Then his face broke into a smile.

“Of course! Yes, yes, I’d be honoured to join you!”

Lucille’s heart leapt in her chest. He’d said yes. He’d said yes! Eager to lead him inside, she took a step back. 

And lost her footing. 

Lucille’s foot slipped on the wet cobblestones. For one impossibly long second, she was flying. The umbrella fell from her hand. Lucille yelped. Everything spun. Light, darkness, the alleyway. The sky came into view, up above the Passage Francoeur . Lucille closed her eyes. She was going to crack open the back of her skull on the cobblestones. 

In one, two…

Hands grasped Lucille’s shoulders and knees.

She never touched the ground.

Lucille opened her eyes. Slowly. Between the raindrops, Francoeur’s face appeared, close and concerned. His eyes were wide and his lips trembled. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Francoeur closed his mouth, swallowed, and tried again.

“Are you all right?”

His voice was so small. For such a tall, large man, he sounded so soft and scared.

“Yes. Yes, I’m okay.”

“ Dieu merci . I thought… you could have…”

“I’m fine, Francoeur.” Her hand brushed his shoulder. “I’m fine.”

He suddenly seemed to remember that he was holding her, suspended a foot or so above the ground. Soon, he had shifted his stance. Lucille’s feet found solid ground again. Her brain felt full of fog for a long second. Lucille picked up her umbrella from the floor. 

“Come. Follow me.”

Francoeur’s hand was warm and feather-light in her hand. He let her guide him to the door, without any sign of resistance. His face was still wide open, as if he didn’t believe his luck. When she looked over Francoeur’s head, something caught Lucille’s eye. She thought she saw a flash of pink and heard a whisper on the wind.

“ J’t’ai eu. ”

Lucille hesitated, a hand on the door.

“Bye bye, petit papillon. Miraculous Ladybug.”

Lucille looked up at the sky. Ladybug was nowhere to be seen. Yet a small white butterfly had taken flight, between the raindrops. Lucille huffed in relief. An akuma averted. She guided Francoeur through the door. Warmth engulfed them. Wonderful after the rain.

“Here.” She showed Francoeur to her dressing room. “The bathroom’s over there.” She opened a closet and pulled out a fluffy towel. “You can take a hot shower. There’s soap, shampoo and conditioner. Everything you’d need. I’ll get you some fresh clothes in the meantime. These need a good washing. I’ll ask Albert to take care of that.”

“Albert?” Francoeur arched an eyebrow.

“He’s the waiter. But he does a little bit of everything around here.”

“Ah.”

“So while you take your shower, I’ll get ready for my show.”

Francoeur perked up. “You have a show tonight?”

“I do. It’s in…” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Oof. Less than an hour.”

“And am I… going to…?”

“Oh, no! I didn’t think you’d sing tonight. I’ll prepare the best spot in the entire theatre for you. So you can kick back, relax and enjoy the show.”

“Good, good. Though I… I, um… already know your song.”

Lucille blinked. “You do?”

Francoeur scratched the back of his neck.

“I was sitting on your roof last night and I heard it.”

“Oh! What did you think?” 

“It’s wonderful. I’ve played around with my guitar today and…”

“Lucille?”

A muffled voice came from the other side of the door. The one that lead to the cabaret, not the one that lead outside.

“Yes, Tante Carlotta?”

“You have visitors, darling!” 

“Can they wait? I still need to get changed.”

“You do? But the show starts in-!”

“I know, Tante Carlotta. I’ll be there. I promise.”

“All right, darling. If you need anything, you know where to find me!”

Once Tante Carlotta’s footsteps were gone, Lucille turned back to Francoeur. He was frozen like a statue, eyes wide. She gave him a smile. He smiled back.

“I’ll… go take that shower, then,” said Francoeur.

“And I’ll go get changed.”

They found each other again fifteen minutes later. Lucille had draped herself in her angel wings and long, puffy-sleeved, white dress. Her usual attire for her performance. She stopped and stared when she saw Francoeur, though. His chin was freshly shaven, hair still long at the ears. He wore a tuxedo, all white, even to the shoes, except for a light blue vest. Francoeur had turned his back to her as he stood by a coat hanger. He put on a wide-brimmed white hat, similar to his black one. When he turned around, that’s when Lucille noticed he’d wrapped a light blue scarf around his shoulders, too. 

He looked… dashing.

“Oh!” Francoeur froze to the spot. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“You look… stunning.”

“You think? I know it’s rather… old-fashioned. Tante Carlotta has a thing for the Belle Époque, Art Nouveau, Alphonse Mucha… she likes everything pre-War.”

“Yes! I mean… no! You look stunning, but not old-fashioned.”

“Thank you. You look stunning yourself.”

“Thank you.”

They stared at each other for a moment too long.

“Lucille!”

Lucille flinched. She spun around.

“Yes, Tante Carlotta?”

“What’s taking you so long? Your guests are waiting!”

“Yes! I’m coming! And… I have a surprise!”

Tante Carlotta burst in through the door with her usual enthusiasm. She looked about, eyes hungry for that surprise.

“A surprise? Oh, you didn’t have to! It’s not my birthd… Oh!”

Tante Carlotta’s eyes landed on Francoeur.

“Who is this?”

Lucille turned to him. Francoeur immediately removed his hat, hands resting on his chest. Lucille smiled warmly. Proud.

“This is François Vadeboncoeur. He’s our new musician.”

“ Bonsoir. Everyone calls me Francoeur.”

“Francoeur!” Tante Carlotta jogged around Lucille and stood before Francoeur. She was so small compared to him, it was almost comical. Tante Carlotta’s hands were clasped together, under her chin. “Oh, yes, I can see you fitting in nicely! Your costume even matches Lucille’s! You’ll look lovely together on stage. What do you play?”

“Um, guitar, piano, mostly. But I can play anything, if you need it.”

“That’s amazing. And do you sing?”

“When I can.”

“Tall, strong and humble! You really know how to find them, Lucille.”

Lucille grinned under her aunt’s praise.

“I’m happy you like him.”

“He’s also really handsome.” Tante Carlotta chatted on, completely unaware of the way Francoeur’s eyes had widened at the sudden praise. “I think we should make you look… mysterious. The unapproachable gentle giant. Lucille has her angel wings, maybe we could dress you up too. How about a mask, darling?”

“A mask?” asked Francoeur.

“Of course! But not the type that hides your whole face. No, no, no! Maybe just the eyes. Very… Very Ladybug and Chat Noir! I’m sure you must have one of those, Lucille?”

“Hm… I’ll see what I can find.”

Soon enough, Lucille had fetched a white domino mask from a drawer.

“Here. Try this!”

Francoeur put it on. Lucille guessed he tried not to wince. It didn’t work.

“How do I look?”

“You look lovely!” Tante Carlotta clapped. “It sets off your eyes beautifully.”

“You think so?”

“I know so! Is there anything else we can add to your outfit?”

At that question, Francoeur looked… even more awkward. He shifted from one foot to the other. His mouth formed a thin line and he wouldn’t quite meet their eyes.

“You can tell us anything, Francoeur,” gently pressed on Lucille.

“Right! I had an idea. I should only wear these for special occasions and… well…”

“This is a special occasion, indeed!” finished Tante Carlotta.

With a curt nod, Francoeur crouched down. He pulled open his guitar case. He looked around for a moment, one hand fishing for… something. Lucille couldn’t quite see, as she stood behind him. After a moment, Francoeur rose to his feet and, his back turned to them, moved his hands around his chest. Lucille frowned. What was he doing?

Francoeur spun around. Lucille and Tante Carlotta gasped. 

Two War medals glinted in the light.

“You were a soldier in the War?” asked Tante Carlotta, voice low.

“I was.”

“But you look… so young.”

“I was that, too.”

“My parents…” Lucille swallowed. “My parents died in the War. My father was a soldier and my mother a nurse. That’s why I’ve been living with my aunt ever since.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you for your concern.”

Startling Lucille and Francoeur, Tante Carlotta gasped. She looked at the clock.

“Oh, have you seen the time? It’s getting late!”

“Well, I…”

“Come on, Lucille! Your guests are waiting in the entrance hall. Don’t worry, I’ll be taking Francoeur to the stage.”

“I think… because he’s so new, he should have a chance to watch the show.”

“Oh! Rightt. I’ll bring him to our best table, then. You ready, mon garçon ?”

“There.” He shut his guitar case and shouldered it. “It goes with me everywhere.”

Tante Carlotta nodded. With that, a terrified-looking Francoeur was grabbed by the hand and pulled along by Tante Carlotta. Lucille followed after them. Francoeur sent her one last wave of his hand. She waved back just as he was about to turn the corner. There. She’d meet her guests and meet him after the show.

Everything would be just fine.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER EIGHT

Everything was not fine.

It had started fine enough. Until Carlotta had brought Francoeur to the stage. Before he could think about saying anything, the curtains had been drawn. He’d found himself staring at the faces of dozens of people, sitting at tables scattered around the cabaret. He’d frozen in place. Like a Greek statue, brought back to life by Roman marble.

“ Bonsoir , everyone!” had said Carlotta, with as much enthusiasm as he figured she could muster. “I’m Carlotta, the owner of L’Oiseau Rare . Tonight, I’m proud to say we have a lovely surprise waiting for us. May I present you an amazing artist, born and raised in the City of Lights? Please welcome Monsieur Francoeur!”

Francoeur swallowed. He waved at the crowd shyly. Everyone clapped.

“Now,” said Carlotta, clasping her hands together. “I’m afraid I’ll have to make you wait just a moment longer. My niece Lucille is on her way. Good evening!”

The curtains dropped down over Francoeur once more. He turned to Carlotta.

“With all due respect, madame … what was that about?”

“Don’t worry! I introduce all my musicians like this.”

“You do?”

“I do! Now come along, hurry!”

Francoeur followed after her. Carlotta lead him up a short flight of stairs to one of the private boxes. Voices came from the curtain’s other side.

“If you don’t do as I say, I’ll tell everyone you’re in love with Lucille!”

Francoeur froze.

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Tante Carlotta drew the curtain aside. “Take a seat… Oh!”

Oh indeed. There were already three people sitting at the small round table, looking rather small behind the tall ice bucket set for champagne. Francoeur looked at each and every one of them. He’d seen them before. Raoul, Émile and Maud. Lucille’s friends.

“What are you doing here?” asked Carlotta, smile becoming tense.

“Lucille said we could sit here,” said Raoul with a grin. “We won a bet.”

“Did you, now?”

“Hm, hm!”

“I see. Then, Francoeur…”

“Will stay right here.” 

Lucille pushed aside the curtain opposite Francoeur’s and Carlotta’s. She looked ready to kill. Francoeur swallowed. He never wanted to be on the receiving end of that glare.

“The show will start in a few minutes.”

Raoul sputtered.

“Lucille! I thought you’d said we’d be in private.”

“Yes,” she crossed her arms over her chest, “and this is my friend, Francoeur. As long as you’re with my friend, I consider you to be in private. Enjoy the show.”

With that, Lucille pushed beyond Francoeur and disappeared.

“Right!” Carlotta turned to Francoeur. “I’ll let you settle in, too. So… ah… take your seat and enjoy the show!”

With that, Carlotta disappeared, almost fleeing after Lucille.

Francoeur sat in the dark. Three pairs of eyes stared him down.

“Yes?” 

“Oh!” Émile looked away. “Nothing.”

“It’s lovely to see you again, Francoeur,” said Maud, ever so diplomatic. She pushed her glasses further up her nose. “How have you been since this morning?”

“I’m fine, thank you, Maud.”

“So you do remember our names,” cut in Raoul.

“I… do. Why would I have forgotten? I never forget a name.”

“Don’t you?”

When Raoul’s eyes squinted at him, Émile tugged on his sleeve.

“Come on, Raoul. Be nice.”

“It’s okay. You can ask me anything.” Francoeur sat back in his chair. “I don’t bite.”

“Okay.” Raoul didn’t take long to ask: “What’s the deal with the medals?” 

“Raoul!” hissed Maud.

“What?”

“Be nice.”

“Right. Huh… What do they mean? I mean.”

Francoeur’s fingers brushed against the cool medals on his chest.

“I had a feeling you’d ask that.”

Francoeur cleared his throat.

“That’s the Croix du Combattant , and that’s the Médaille des Blessés de Guerre. ” Raoul, Maud and Émile blinked owlishly. Francoeur sighed. “Okay. I went to the Front. Got injured. Spent the remaining of the War in a hospital. There’s not much to say, really. My friend who got me out earned his Croix de Guerre, though.”

“Not much to say?” Maud’s eyes were as round as saucers. “You’re kidding!”

“She’s right, Francoeur,” nodded Émile. “There must be quite a story there.” 

“How were you injured?”

“Raoul!”

“What?”

Francoeur toyed with his silky napkin.

“You don’t want to know.”

“Oh.”

Three heads bowed. Slightly disappointed.

Francoeur opened his mouth. Closed it. Wait. What was…? He squinted his eyes, gaze falling on the medals glistening on each of their chests. How had he not noticed before? Raoul, Émile and Maud squirmed uncomfortably.

Ah. There was a story there, too.

“What about you guys? The Légion d’honneur . You must have been officers.”

Émile looked down. Raoul’s hands clasped together. Maud pushed her glasses up her nose. Francoeur rested both his hands, palm down, on the white tablecloth. He brought himself up, leaning over the table. His eyes grew severe.

“All right. Spill.”

Émile looked up. “He gave them to us!”

“Émile!”

“I don’t care, Raoul! I don’t want to lie. Victor Maynott. He gave them to us. Said he would if we told him who was the guy who flirted with Lucille earlier today!”

“What?” Francoeur barked.

Too loud.

Silence fell upon the crowd down below the box and a hundred eyes poked holes in Francoeur’s general direction. He swallowed and muttered a “sorry!” As if all had heard him, conversation and the clinking of cutlery resumed. Francoeur cleared his throat. He looked back at Raoul, Émile and Maud, eyes squinting once more.

“You mean to tell me… that you got these medals… over inanities? ” 

They swallowed.

“Yes?” squeaked Raoul.

Francoeur pulled himself to his full height. His shadow, tall and wide-shouldered, stretched over them. Three pairs of eyes widened at him. 

“Do you know what it is like, to go to war? The three of you?”

Émile shook his head.

“Raoul and I, we were too young to join the Army. Fourteen by the end of the War. Same for Maud. She couldn’t be a nurse. She wasn’t of age.”

Francoeur’s eyes zeroed in on Émile. 

“I was sixteen. Too young. But tall and wide, even back then. No one questioned it.”

Émile looked about ready to pee his pants. 

Good.

He needed to be taught a lesson.

“You want to know how I got these medals, Raoul? Well, you know what? I’ll tell you how I earned these medals. My officer had ordered us to attack one night. We all got prepared. Good little soldiers ready for battle. He whistled. We were out. Screaming. We wanted to make our Mamans proud. Make our country proud. As if our country - our own government - would ever care about us after the War. We’re an embarrassment, nowadays. But that’s not the point. We were kids who wanted to kill some boches while we had the chance. Well, do you know what happened?”

They shook their heads. Unable to talk.

“I never made it to the other side. I slipped. My leg got trapped in a barbed wire fence. A shell exploded nearby, covering me in mud. Some shrapnel hit me in the face.” Eyes uncompromising, he pointed at the right side of his face. “The others thought I was dead. Gone. For good. They left me. Ran away like the cowards we all were. By the time the sun was up, I was still there. Stuck in No Man’s Land. I had to stay there two days. Waiting.”

“Waiting for someone to rescue you?” choked up Raoul.

Francoeur’s eyes turned colder.

“Waiting to die.”

They gulped.

“I had to stay there two days. Without food. Or water. I could hear every scream. Every shell falling. Waiting for one to fall on me. I hoped it would fall on me. Less painful that way. If it fell nearby, more shrapnel would finish the job. Slowly.”

Émile, Raoul and Maud turned green.

“Everyone I knew thought I was dead. I was found when another battalion ran down where I was. I was saved by French Canadians. Of course, they were Canadians!”

Francoeur shook his head. He needed to focus. Not to get lost in the details.

“What you’re doing. By wearing these medals when you haven’t earned them. Is spitting on the legacy of all those men who died for you. Who came back and have to live another day with the knowledge nothing will ever be the same again. We lived and died for you. For a doomed cause, for a disrespectful government. For civilians.”

Maud bit her lip.

“Thank you.”

“I don’t want your thank yous!” Francoeur spat. He breathed in. Slowly. He had to calm down. No need to lose his temper. “All I want is respect.”

Lights went out. The audience clapped. Francoeur looked over the railing. Curtains separated, revealing the stage. His breath caught in his throat. Lucille appeared, wearing her pure white dress and angel wings. He’d already seen her wear that dress, but not… not like this. Not under the lights of the stage. A thousand diamonds glistened, from her puffy sleeves to her long skirt brushing the floor. She looked heavenly. Not from this world. 

She wasn’t an angel, though. Lucille was human like the rest of them. And from the beatified look he saw on Raoul’s face, Francoeur had a feeling a lot of men in this city liked Lucille not because of her compassion, which he had witnessed first hand, or her dignity.

Francoeur gritted his teeth.

“And I bet that’s what she wants, too.”

With that, Francoeur grabbed his guitar and left.

He didn’t exactly know where he was going. Francoeur’s feet guided him down the stairs, back to the main floor. He stayed in the wings, crossing his arm over his chest. He stood off to the side, where he wouldn’t bother anyone, and closed his eyes. Lucille was about to sing. He didn’t want to miss any note.

Music fluttered to his ears. Yet, Francoeur frowned.

She’d missed her cue.

Francoeur snapped his eyes open. His gaze found Lucille’s. She was standing there, staring at him. She cocked her head to the side, eyebrows frowned. An idea lit up in his mind, a light switch turning on. He knew what he had to do, now. Francoeur nodded. Lucille offered him a smile. Francoeur put down his guitar case. Instrument in hand, he climbed a second staircase, off the stage and up to the musicians’ box. 

Music fizzled out. Francoeur squeezed amongst the musicians. He breathed in. And started to play. Quickly. Much more than Lucille was used to. She didn’t seem to mind.

“Oh!” came her soft gasp.

Francoeur breathed in and out, whole body relaxing. Music had its ways with him.

Down below, Lucille started to sing.

Elle sort de son lit (She gets out of bed)

Tellement sûre d'elle (So confident)

La Seine, la Seine, la Seine (The Seine, the Seine, the Seine)

Tellement jolie, elle m'ensorcelle (So beautiful, she enchants me)

La Seine, la Seine, la Seine (The Seine, the Seine, the Seine)

Extralucide, la lune est sur (Clairvoyant, the moon is on)

La Seine, la Seine, la Seine (The Seine, the Seine, the Seine)

Tu n'es pas saoul (You’re not drunk)

Paris est sous (Paris is under)

La Seine, la Seine, la Seine (The Seine, the Seine, the Seine)

Lucille danced around the stage, moving her arms, shifting her feet. She sent a sideway glance at Francoeur. He joined in, every time she sang la Seine .

Je ne sais, ne sais, ne sais pas pourquoi (I don’t know, don’t know why)

On s’aime comme ça, la Seine et moi (We love each other, the Seine and me)

Je ne sais, ne sais, ne sais pas pourquoi (I don’t know, don’t know why)

On s’aime comme ça, la Seine et moi (We love each other, the Seine and me)

Lucille twirled and gestured at him to come down. Francoeur didn’t hesitate. He jumped. Feet first. For a second, he was flying. The ground rushed to meet him. Francoeur landed next to Lucille. The bright lights turned to blue and pink. He grinned. They shuffled their feet in perfect rhythm, front and back, front and back. Francoeur circled Lucille.

Extra Lucille, quand tu es sur (Extra Lucille, when you are on)

La scène, la scène, la scène (The stage, the stage, the stage)

Extravagante quand l'ange est sur (Extravagant, when the angel is on)

La scène, la scène, la scène (The stage, the stage, the stage)

Je ne sais, ne sais, ne sais pas pourquoi (I don’t know, don’t know why)

On s’aime comme ça, la Seine et moi (We love each other, the Seine and me)

Je ne sais, ne sais, ne sais pas pourquoi (I don’t know, don’t know why)

On s’aime comme ça, la Seine et moi (We love each other, the Seine and me)

Francoeur slung his guitar over his shoulder. They jumped. Suddenly, Francoeur had the feeling they weren’t on the stage anymore. For a brief moment, they were on the Pont des Arts, dancing upon the Seine. Really, he wouldn’t want to be anywhere if not here with her.

Sur le Pont des Arts (On the Pont des Arts)

Mon cœur vacille (My heart flickers)

Entre deux eaux (Between two waters)

L'air est si bon (The air feels so good)

Cet air si pur (This air so pure)

Je le respire (I breathe it in)

Nos reflets perchés (Our reflections perched)

Sur ce pont (On this bridge)

Lucille took Francoeur’s offered hands. They waltzed together, smiling under twinkling stars. Francoeur closed his eyes. He could see it. The bridge, Gustave Eiffel’s Tower, the bright full moon. He opened his eyes. Lucille was still smiling.

On s’aime comme ça, la Seine et moi (We love each other, the Seine and me)

On s’aime comme ça, la Seine et moi (We love each other, the Seine and me)

On s’aime comme ça, la Seine et moi (We love each other, the Seine and me)

On s’aime comme ça, la Seine et moi (We love each other, the Seine and me)

They were now back on stage. Lucille danced a few steps. Francoeur imitated her. He danced some more steps. She imitated him. Finally, the last notes grew to a close. Pink and blue lights became white once more. The audience jumped up, clapping and cheering. Lucille offered Francoeur her hand. He took it. Together, they bowed low for the crowd. 

A bouquet of roses landed at Lucille’s feet. She picked it up and they retreated at the back of the stage. The curtains were drawn around them, shielding them from the crowd.

“You were amazing!” said Lucille.

“Thank you. You were, too.”

“A show like that, you gotta celebrate!”

They both turned towards the wings. Followed closely by Émile and Maud, Raoul had appeared, holding in both hands a bucket of champagne and glasses. Raoul faltered in his step. Sniffing, he breathed in quick. As if he was going to… Oh no. Francoeur cringed. Too late. Raoul sneezed. He tripped over ropes lying on the floor. The ice bucket slipped between his fingers. Soon, cold water had spilled over both Lucille and Francoeur.

“Sorry,” Raoul sniffed. “The feathers.”

“Can everybody stop dropping liquids on me today? Give me that!”

Lucille gave Francoeur the bouquet of roses and grabbed the towel Raoul had been holding. That glare was back on her face. That death glare. Francoeur busied himself by burying his nose in the roses. He breathed in. Breathed out.

He never tired of this smell. His mother’s old garden came back to mind.

Was she still keeping her rose garden, at the back of their house?

“Look, Lucille. I just really wanted to say…” Raoul put a hand over his cheek, at a loss for words. “I felt that the high notes were high, and the low notes were, uh... Low. And you know, the whole thing was… was... You know, it was…”

“Magic?” suggested Maud.

“Yeah, exactly. It was magic!” He turned to Francoeur. “And you, and you…”

“It was marvelous, mademoiselle Lucille,” complimented Émile.

“Thank you.”

“And you too, Monsieur Francoeur.”

Francoeur nodded. He hoped there was a new found respect in that nod.

“Thank you.”

Eventually, they took refuge in Lucille’s changing rooms backstage. Francoeur took a seat on the couch, guitar on his lap. Lucille took a seat next to him. Raoul, Émile and Maud remained standing, all crossing their arms over their chest.

“So, um…” Émile scratched his chin. “About earlier…”

“Everything’s forgiven,” said Francoeur “As long as you return those medals.”

Lucille perked up at that.

“Medals? What about their medals?” 

“These three earned their Légions d’honneur by telling private informations about me to Victor Maynott, apparently.”

Lucille gasped.

“That’s how Pâté was looking through the Archives about you!”

“He was? How do you know that?”

Lucille flinched.

“I was on a date with Victor Maynott today.”

“Oh.”

“So that’s the important meeting he had today?” suggested Maud.

“Yes, he was looking for Francoeur’s war records. Why…? I don’t really know.”

“You don’t?”

They all stared at Raoul.

“What? He told us he didn’t want ‘beggars to fool around with Lucille’.” Raoul lifted both hands. “No offence.”

Francoeur quirked an eyebrow. “None taken.”

“So he’s… jealous?” said Émile.

“Probably.” Lucille huffed. “I’ll have to keep a close eye on him.”

“Right, right, right.” Raoul toyed with the hem of his shirt. “So, about that date…”

Lucille growled.

“I only went because my aunt asked me to, all right? I hate that man.”

“You went even though you hate him?” said Maud, blinking quickly.

“I can’t exactly say no to my aunt. So… yeah. I went.”

“No matter Lucille’s reasons,” said Francoeur, “in any case, you have to give back your Légions d’honneur. Only then will I know you’ve learned your lesson.”

“We’ll do,” said Émile. “First thing in the morning.”

“Good.”

“Hey, um, Lucille.” Raoul slid in between Francoeur and Lucille. “You know how you said you hated Maynott? Well, I was wondering…”

Someone burst through the door.

“What are you all doing here? Everyone’s leaving!”

They all looked up at Carlotta. She was staring them down, hands on her hips.

“Oh,” whispered Lucille. “Tante Carlotta, I…”

“I know.” Carlotta pointed at Raoul, Maud and Émile. “You three, get out of my cabaret. And please, come back soon.” Next, she pointed at Francoeur and Lucille. “Lucille, show Francoeur his room. Quick. I don’t want my new stars to go to bed late. I want you fresh as a daisy for tomorrow night’s show.”

“Yes, Carlotta,” they all said together.

They all went their separate ways. Francoeur pushed a door open. There he was, standing in… his room. His own room. Francoeur smiled. It had been so long since he’d had an entire room for himself. With a roof over his head.

“Please… tell your aunt I said thank you. For everything.”

“I will.” There was a chuckle in Lucille’s voice. “But I wanted to thank you, first.”

He spun around, looking at her as she stood in the doorway.

“Me?”

“Yes, you! You were truly marvelous, Francoeur.”

“Oh. Well. Thank you.”

“Sleep well. Tante Carlotta’s right. We need to be refreshed for tomorrow night.”

“Right. Good night, Lucille.”

“Good night, Francoeur.”

She closed the door behind her, leaving him alone. After putting on old nightclothes he found in a drawer, Francoeur sank in on his bed, looking at the ceiling. 

“I have a home,” he whispered to no one.

Soon enough, he’d drifted off to sleep. For the night, this time.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER NINE

Bright and early - too bright and early if you’d ask Rémy - he arrived at Gusteau’s for the opening. Closing and opening. Those were the hours he had to work. Of course, he had to. He was the homme à tout faire , after all. Stifling a yawn, Rémy dug inside his pocket to find his heavy ring of keys. The right key scratched in the keyhole. 

He was about to slip inside when he heard…

“Rémy?”

Rémy froze. Wait. He knew that voice. He hadn’t heard it in a while. Not since he’d left his home in the south of France and had moved to Paris. But… it couldn’t be! Rémy’s heart jumped in his chest. He spun around. And yet… Yes! Yes, it was!

“Émil!”

“Rémy!”

Rémy jumped in his brother’s open arms. A bear hug welcomed him. Émil was tall, even taller than Rémy remembered, and a shadow of a beard was growing on his chin, but that smile was as cheerful as ever. Rémy pushed himself away, looking straight into Émil’s eyes. Even though joy burst in his chest… confusion settled in, too. Rémy frowned.

“What are you doing in Paris?”

“Well…”

Émil scratched the back of his head. 

“We’ve, um… we’ve kind of all moved to Paris.”

“Kind of?” Rémy’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. “Wait up! All of you?”

“Yes! Yes, all of us!”

“But you… but I’m not…” 

Rémy toyed with his keys. They jingled in the still morning air. Around them, Paris was mostly calm. As calm as the city could be. No one else was around. Birds sang and the sun was just starting to appear upon the horizon. And yet, Rémy found no solace in that silence. Confusion, joy and now dread battled inside him. Émil was here! In Paris! This was good, this was wonderful! But what if… what if…?

“You’re not… mad at me?”

Émil’s eyes turned stormy at that. He put his hands on his hips. Cheeks flushing the same colour as his bright red hair.

“Am I mad at you? Why would you ever think that?”

Rémy deflated like a balloon. His voice was soft when he said:

“You’re really not mad at me.”

Émil released all tension from his body.

“Of course, I’m not mad at you!” He put a warm, reassuring hand on Rémy’s shoulder. His wide eyes were piercing when he said, voice jovial as ever: “You’re still part of the family, Rémy! I don’t care that you ran away! Dad doesn’t care that you’ve run away!”

“Really?”

“Yes! I’m just glad I found you again.”

Pure relief over powered any emotion Rémy was feeling at that moment.

“You’re glad you found me?”

“Absolutely! I mean… The whole village moved in one of those apartment buildings made by that Baron whatever after you... Anyway, that’s not the point.” 

Émil waved a hand. Dismissively. Then, he put his hand back on Rémy’s shoulder.

“We still love you. We never stopped loving you.” A huge smile tore Émil’s face in half. His voice became elated when he continued: “This is… this should be a celebration! We finally found you again! Everyone will be ecstatic!”

Rémy opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

He toyed with his keys once more.

Jingle, jingle, jingle!

“Yeah, um, about that. I can’t really go back to the family just yet.”

Émil frowned. “You can’t?”

“No. I… um… I have a job.”

Rémy pointed vaguely at Gusteau’s. Émil’s mouth fell open.

“Are you serious? You work at Gusteau’s?”

“Yeah. I’m not a cook. Not yet! Though I do teach Linguini - he’s my friend and my roommate, Alfredo Linguini - how to cook in our free time. Trust me, he… he really needed it, at first. He was a disaster when we started. And, I... I do a little bit of everything. Yesterday, I was even a waiter! It was a nice change of pace after being a janitor for so long.”

Émil blinked. His whole face cracked into a smile once more.

“That’s amazing! My little brother is working at the restaurant of his dreams! It’s...”

He was interrupted by a growl. Breaking through the silence around them. Émil’s eyes widened. He put a hand on his belly. His face turned sheepish.

“Oh. Um… Sorry about that.”

Rémy looked back and forth between Émil’s hand and face. 

“You’re hungry.”

“No! No, I’m not. What makes you think…?”

Another growl interrupted him. Émil rubbed a hand over his face.

“All right, yes! I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten in two days.”

Rémy’s stomach dropped.

“Two days?!”

Émil lifted both hands at Rémy’s outburst.

“Shhh! Keep it down, okay? Life isn’t easy, all right? The village… we take care of each other, but it’s… it’s tough. Paris isn’t exactly the cheapest city to live in.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Anyway, we, huh… you remember Pierre and Marguerite? Who lived down the street? They have five children and they’ve had trouble feeding the family for a while and… well… I’ve been giving them my meals for the past few days. What other choice do I have? Please don’t tell Dad! I don’t want him to worry.”

Rémy’s throat tightened. Poor Émil. Always too kind. Even for his own good. Rémy scratched his cheek. He couldn’t leave his brother like this. No. No, he couldn’t.

“You know what? Come with me.”

“With you? Where?”

Rémy pushed the door open.

“You’re in my city now, the city of fine cuisine! I can’t let my brother go hungry.”

It was child’s play to sneak inside the pantry. Émil stopped in the doorway, eying everything at once. Rémy smiled. Gusteau’s kitchens had been overwhelming at first. But now looking through the pantry, with its countless goodies, had become second nature to him. Rémy busied himself, walking around the small, long, barely-lit room at a brisk pace. His brain worked a mile a minute. Wondering what Émil could cook - to the best of his abilities - with the least ingredients available. Beef brisket, red wine and a handful of fresh herbs. It wasn’t that much, but it would be a start for.. . 

“What would you say about boeuf bourguignon? Still your favourite?”

“Of course! I’d love that.”

Rémy nodded. Good. 

They were about to sneak out, ni vu ni connu , when the doorbell rang. Ding, ding, ding! A high-pitched voice rang in the otherwise empty restaurant. Loud and clear.

“Delivery from Tom et Sabine Boulangerie Pâtisserie !”

Rémy almost cursed. Almost. Of course! How could he forget? They got fresh bread directly from the bakery. Every morning. And the Dupain-Chengs were never late.

“Coming, Marinette!” he called. “I’ll be right there.”

“What do we do, what do we do?” asked Émil, whispering madly.

“I don’t know! Let me think, let me think…”

Too late. 

Marinette appeared at the door.

“Rémy? What’s taking you so long? Oh!”

They all froze. Eyes wide and bodies impossibly still. Staring at each other.

Marinette’s eyes zeroed-in on the food in Rémy’s hands. Rémy and Émil exchanged a glance. Then, they stared at Marinette again.

No one talked.

As if afraid to break a spell.

Marinette was the first to regain her composure. Her whole face frowned, hands on her hips.

“What’s the meaning of this?”

Rémy’s shoulders dropped.

This was it. 

They were caught.

And he was going to lose his dream job.

“Marinette, this is my brother Émil. Émil… Marinette.”

“Nice to meet you,” tried Émil.

“I wish it was nice to meet you,” countered Marinette. “Rémy! You’ve been stealing food? How long has this been going on? You know you could lose your job, right?”

“I… I know, I know, I know. I’m sorry! And… And this was the first time it happened! I… I… I promise!” 

Rémy’s stomach knotted painfully. He winced.

“Well, except…”

“Except?”

“Except for the other night. I helped a quirky old man who wanted some food.”

At that, Marinette looked… interested.

“A quirky old man, huh? Did he talk in parables and wear a shirt with flowers, by any chance?”

“Yes. Yes, he did. You know him?”

“A little.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “What do you know of him?”

“Nothing! He didn’t even give me a name.”

“I see.”

“I’m sorry! This is all my fault!” 

Émil seemingly broke under pressure. He snatched the ingredients from Rémy’s hands and hastily put them wherever he saw fit on the shelves. 

“I don’t care if I’m hungry, or if anybody else at home is. I don’t want you to get in trouble. Not for my sake. That wouldn’t be fair.”

“‘Anybody else at home’?” parrotted Marinette.

Rémy and Émil nodded.

“We, huh, you know I told you I grew up in a little village, in the south?”

“You mentioned it.”

“Well, from what my brother just told me this morning, they all decided to move to Paris! We’re about… ten families living as a tight-knight unit together. But as mortgages in the city aren’t exactly cheap… they’re going hungry.”

“Oh.”

Marinette’s harsh façade softened.

“I see.”

She looked around, as if searching for anyone who could give them trouble. Hope bubbled in Rémy’s chest. Was she… was she going to help?

“Okay. I won’t say a thing.”

They both sighed, relief flooding them.

“Thank you, Marinette! Thank you so much!”

“But that shouldn’t become a habit. You boys hear me?”

“ Oui, m’dame!”

“Good.”

Rémy grabbed the ingredients once more and shoved them all inside Émil’s old shoulder bag. The three of them then walked outside, where the Tom et Sabine Boulangerie Pâtisserie delivery truck was waiting. Marinette’s father, Tom, walked out of the truck with his usual kind hugs and bubbly attitude. Tom shook Émil’s hand when they were introduced. Then, he turned to Rémy.

“Rémy! How’s it going for my favourite petit chef ?”

Rémy waved in a noncommittal way. 

“I’m doing great, Monsieur Dupain-Cheng, no need for compliments.”

“Don’t be so humble, mon garçon ! You deserve it. Linguini was a disaster at cooking before he met you. I’m sure his mother Renata, bless her soul, would be so proud of him.”

“Thank you. It’s nice to be acknowledged. Once in a while.”

“Hey, um…” 

Émil shuffled his feet. Behind Rémy. 

“I should probably go back home.”

“Oh, of course!” Réy spun around. “I’ll see you later?” 

“Sure, little brother. Sure.”

Soon enough, with a pat on the shoulder and a waved goodbye, Émil was gone on the bicycle he’d apparently used to find his way to Gusteau’s this early in the morning. Rémy helped the father-daughter duo unload crates and boxes from the truck. Tom chatted on and on about Marinette’s friends, and made a snarky comment about ‘a certain blond boy whom he had a feeling Marinette had gotten a liking to’.

“Dad,” said Marinette. “Adrien and I are good friends.”

“I never said his name. How did you know I was talking about him?”

Marinette flushed bright red and carried a crate twice her size inside.

Rémy snorted.

But Tom didn’t seem to be done.

“So, what about you, Rémy?” asked Tom. “Got a girlfriend or something?”

Panic filled Rémy. Him? With a girlfriend or something?!?

“Me? Goodness gracious, no!”

That was met by an empty stare. 

“Oh?”

“I…” 

Rémy swallowed down the awakwardness gripping him. He never wanted to talk about that sort of thing. Never. Not with his Dad, not with his friends, not with his friends’ fathers… Never. At all. Nope, no thank you!

“I mean… I’ve got my cooking and my… I don’t have time for… And even if I did, I don’t… I don’t think…”

“You don’t think?”

“The life of an eternal bachelor sounds good to me.”

Tom burst out laughing.

“I see! That’s good.”

Rémy’s voice sounded tiny, small as a mouse’s, when he asked:

“Yeah?”

“Hm, hm.”

“Good.” Rémy let out a sigh of relief. Good. It was good . “Romance just… doesn’t sound right for me, you know.”

“That’s all right. It’s not for everybody.”

“I… um… I think Marinette might need me. I’ll be right back!”

Rémy escaped the conversation, rushing back to the kitchen. Marinette was still there, stretching with her hands on her lower back. A flash of something red jumped inside Marinette’s bag, but Rémy didn’t think much of it. Probably a trick of light. Or his tired brain still waking up. When Marinette looked up at him, she looked all too happy to talk about romance when it wasn’t directed at her. 

So, she said cheerfully:

“That’s great! Makes your life simpler, I guess.”

Rémy actually laughed at that.

“Oh, Marinette! You have no idea how complicated my life is. Skinner is always breathing down my neck. Down everyone’s necks! And…”

He paused. Should he… Should he talk about this?

“And?” pressed on Marinette.

“I… I don’t know. I have a feeling he’s hiding something.”

“Hiding something?”

Rémy rubbed his arm. “Yeah.”

At that, Marinette tapped her nose. Pensively.

“Well, I’m not a bad detective. Maybe we could figure this out together. I wouldn’t say I’m as observant as Alya, but…” Marinette snapped her fingers. She talked really fast. As if she was excited. And she probably was. “Alya! That’s it! I can ask Alya to come! Nino could come give us a hand. And I bet Adrien wouldn’t want to miss a thing! They’ll give us a hand!”

“Us?”

“Yeah! And I bet if there’s a scoop, Alya will want to learn all the details.”

“You bet?”

“I do! She wants to be a journalist. She really looks up to Ida B. Wells.”

“Oh! I see.”

Marinette clasped her hands under her chin. “At what time is everybody gone? At the end of the work day?”

“I close up shop a little after midnight, usually.”

“Good! We’ll meet you then.”

“We? Does that… does that mean…?”

Marinette blinked at him.

“Hm?”

“I… I don’t have many friends. Is all. None of my age, anyway. I, ah… had to stop going to school a bit early. To work at Gusteau’s. You understand.”

“Oh! Sure. Yeah, you’ll be with us! You’re part of the gang now.”

“Really?”

“Really.” 

Rémy smiled. Grinned, really.

Friends.

“That sounds great.”

“Marinette?” called her father. His voice coming from outside. “I’m ready to go!”

“Coming, Dad!” 

Marinette was halfways to the door when she spun around. She tripped and almost fell. But caught herself at the very last second. 

“See you tonight, Rémy! Or, well. Early tomorrow morning.”

Rémy nodded. With that, Marinette jogged away, one hand safeguarding her cloche hat on her head. 

Rémy had a feeling he had no idea what he’d gotten himself into.

***

“Are you sure?”

Alya pushed the telephone receiver against her ear. Her mouth hung slightly open, one finger toyed with a lock of hair. Doubt threatened to swallow the excitement currently filling her belly. Had she heard Marinette right?

“Yeah, I’m sure! Rémy has a big scoop waiting for us! At Gusteau’s ! Could you imagine us discovering a secret from that shady Skinner man?”

“That would be amazing! I’ll be right there.”

“No, no. Tonight. At midnight.”

“Oh. I see. See you tonight, then.”

Alya hung up.

She waited until she was in her room before she squealed at the top of her lungs.

Waiting until the night was pure torture. Alya paced around her room. Read a few books. Struggled with homework. Her sisters exchanged glances when she played with her food on her plate at dinner. She sat there, cheek in her palm. Ella and Etta started a food fight and Alya barely paid them any attention. Maman kindly told Ella and Etta to stop. Papa joined in her mother’s chastising. Nora merely arched an eyebrow.

“Any trouble with Nino?” asked Nora.

Alya looked up. She blinked.

“Hm?”

“I said: ‘any trouble with Nino?’”

“Oh! No, no, we’re fine. Why?”

“I don’t know. You’ve been acting… strange all day.” 

“I’m perfectly fine. He wants to go dancing tomorrow night.”

“If he ever hurts you, tell me. I’ll kick his…”

Alysa raised a hand.

“No need for that, Nora. Nino is kind and sweet. Sister’s honour.”

 “Good.”

There was a moment of silence. Until Alya asked:

“So, how was your day?”

Soon enough, the skies darkened and the city lit up. Alya packed her bags. Full of her journalistic equipment. Everything she might need for the Collège Françoise Dupont Gazette. Right before midnight, she opened her bedroom window. Letting the cool air in. It was surprisingly easy to sneak outside and make it to Gusteau’s.  

Excitement built up in her stomach more with each step she took. When Alya walked in the back courtyard, she couldn’t contain herself anymore. 

Marinette wasn’t kidding when she said they would all be there. As soon as Marinette had come up with her wild plan, Alya, Nino and Adrien had all agreed to show up. Of course, they had to! It wasn’t like, apart from Ladybug’s and Chat Noir’s usual fights against evil, there was a lot of excitement in the streets of Paris. Alya stood on her tiptoes at the thought. 

She was going to get a scoop! A real, a very real journalistic scoop! About the city’s most beloved restaurant! 

Though it had come somewhat under disarray since Gusteau died.

Unfortunately.

“Hey, guys,” came a whisper from the shadows.

Adrien was the last one to show up, wearing dark clothes to blend in more with the city’s almost darkness. It was never dark in the City of Lights, but it had felt good to come prepared. Marinette fumbled with her words, Nino slapped a hand on Adrien’s shoulder and Alya almost forgot to tease Marinette.

“So, we’re all here, huh? Isn’t that nice, Marinette?”

Marinette giggled.

“Yes, yes, very nice!”

Alya’s heart drummed in her chest, even louder than before, when a key scratched in the keyhole. The door slid open and Rémy appeared. Looking from right. To left. He gestured at them to come inside.

“Hurry up! We have to be quick, I don’t want to get in trouble.”

Even more excitement bubbled in the pit of Alya’s stomach. She had to keep her cool, though. She was the aspiring journalist, after all. Alya pushed her way inside the darkened kitchen, pulling a magnifying glass from her bag.

“All right, let’s see… Rémy? Where would we find information about Skinner?”

“His office, I believe. I haven’t been able to open the door, though.”

“Leave it to me.”

Alya put her fingers in her hair. Still in its finger waves. She fetched a hairpin and crouched next to the keyhole. Her tongue peeked out from between her lips.

Left, right, left… 

“Come on, come on…!”

Click!  

Ah, ha! Alya pushed the door open. Rémy, Marinette, Nino and Adrien followed after her. Whistling and whispering their approval.

“Wow, Alya!” 

“That was awesome!”

“I didn’t know you could do that so quickly!”

Alya winked.

“Journalists always need to know a little tour de passe-passe !”

With that, they scattered around the office. Marinette, Alya and Rémy searched the drawers on one side of the desk. Adrien and Nino looked on the other side. Tense silence engulfed them. Broken up by drawers shifting open and fingers shuffling through paperwork. Until, it seemed, Marinette couldn’t take it anymore. 

So she asked:

“Any fresh news since this morning, Rémy?”

Rémy muttered something noncommittal. 

When Marinette pressed on, he said:

“Oh, well, it’s suspicious, but I don’t really know. You know? Anyway. Monsieur Skinner has gotten even more interested in Linguini’s… I don’t know. Case? They were drinking Skinner’s best wine all night.” Rémy stopped. Then, he sniffed. “Actually? Come to think of it, Linguini was drinking and Skinner was… not. And I really don’t know why. I think Skinner doesn’t want Linguini to know something. And I don’t know what.”

“That’s why we’re here,” said Alya, as confidently as she felt.

“Hey, Rémy? You know how weird that is, that your friend is named Alfredo Linguini and he’s a cook?” pointed out Nino. “What are the chances of that?”

Rémy chuckled.

“That’s very true. I never even noticed!”

Alya pulled on the last drawer, at the bottom of the row. She tried to open it.

She tried . And yet, she couldn’t.

It was locked.

“Guys? I think I found something.”

Marinette, Rémy, Nino and Adrien gathered around Alya. She could feel their expectant breaths on the back of her neck. Alya shoved her hairpin in the keyhole. 

Right, left, right… 

Come on, come on, come on…!

Click!

Alya pulled the drawer open. Piles of papers awaited her. She divided the piles amongst her friends and grabbed the last one. Together, they all plopped down on the floor. There wasn’t a sound around Skinner’s office, except for the ruffle of flipping pages. Alya’s gaze glided across the paper. 

Taxes... 

Taxes… 

More taxes… 

Oh!

“Skinner’s not paying his taxes,” said Alya.

“I wouldn’t be surprised. From what I can read here, I think he’s supplying the Americans in alcohol, too,” said Adrien.

“So?”

“Prohibition, Marinette,” deadpanned Nino.

“Ah! Right. I forgot. Sorry.”

“I… I think I found something even better.”

All turned to Rémy. He’d gone pale. Slack jawed. 

“Yes?” pressed on Alya.

There was a moment of silence. Full of anticipation. Then, Rémy said:

“Linguini is Gusteau’s son.”

Jaws dropped. Wide eyes stared at each other. Alya’s mouth had gone dry. 

Then she almost laughed. 

Or danced. 

Or screamed. 

The scoop of the century! They’d found the scoop of the century! She had found it! 

“I’m sorry?” said Marinette.

“Linguini is Gusteau’s son.”

“I know!” Marinette grabbed her face. “I’ve heard the first time. I mean… how?”

“I don’t think you want to know how,” snorted Nino.

“No, no, no! That’s not what I’m saying! What I mean is, how can he be Gusteau’s son? He doesn’t look anything like him! At all!”

“He must have taken after his mother,” shrugged Adrien.

“Don’t you understand?!” 

Rémy jumped to his feet, pointing at the pages he was gripping tightly in his hand.

“Linguini is Gusteau’s son! That means he’s his rightful heir! The restaurant doesn’t belong to Skinner. It belongs to Linguini!”

“Yes, and that’s a secret I can’t let out.”

The lights turned on. Their heads spun towards the doorway. Fear gripped Alya’s stomach. Freezing her like ice. She jumped to her feet, followed by Nino, Marinette and Adrien. 

Skinner.

Skinner was there. 

Standing in the doorway. 

Half-crouched as if ready to pounce, Skinner panted like an angered animal. His sharp eyes looked at them one by one. They all held his gaze. 

“Teenagers! Of course, you had to be teenagers. I hate kids.”

Adrien shared a look with Marinette. Alya and Nino shared a glance. And Rémy smiled a predatory smile. Showing all his teeth. 

Together as one, they ran around the desk. Screaming at the top of their lungs. Skinner screeched. He cowed in on himself, shielding his face with both arms. They pushed past him, past the still darkened kitchens and into the streets. They needed to scatter. Cover more ground. Marinette, Adrien and Nino ran right. Alya and Rémy veered left. She clutched her pages to her chest. He did, too.

“Stop those teenagers!” came a cry behind them.

Alya looked. She wished she hadn’t. 

Skinner was following on a bicycle.

“He’s taken chase!” warned Alya.

“I see him! Hurry!”

They ran in a roundabout. Automobiles honked. Lights flashed in the dark and for a long, terrifying moment, Alya feared they would be hit. But they weren’t. They somehow ran between the automobiles, making it to the middle of the intersection. Behind them, more honks came. Automobiles crashed, but the bell on Skinner’s bicycle dinged anyway. 

He’d made it. 

Rémy looked back. Unsure. Alya grabbed his wrist and pulled him after her.

“No time to look back!”

Alya took the lead. They were by the Seine, now. Running along the edge, Paris’ lights twinkling on the dark waters. Wind blew in Alya’s face. Whistling in her ears. Behind her, she felt more than saw Skinner get closer. Closer. Closer… 

At the last second, Rémy darted away. Jumping to the side.

With one long wail, Skinner, still clinging to his bicycle, skid down stairs to the river’s banks. He fell from his bicycle and growled at them.

“Did we make it?” asked Rémy.

As if to answer him, a gust of wind took hold of half of the letter.

Rémy darted after it. He took the lead, this time. Alya ran after him. Legs burning. Skinner’s bicycle flew past her, down below, and Alya had to stop. She put both hands on her knees. Panting loudly. Alya watched as Rémy chased after his missing page. The wind kicked it into a tall tree’s branches. Rémy jumped. He landed amongst the leaves. For a long second, Alya couldn’t see him. Then he ran on one branch and leapt once more. 

He landed on a barge, upon the Seine.

Alya pumped her fist.

“Yes!”

It wasn’t over, though. 

Skinner jumped on the barge after Rémy. Never giving him one moment to rest. Rémy ran to the other side of the barge. He climbed onto the railing.

He jumped. 

Alya’s mouth fell open. 

For a long second, Rémy was flying. 

Then he landed upon a passing boat. A restaurant. Skinner jumped after him. He didn’t stick the landing. With a yelp, Skinner took a dive in the Seine. Alya giggled.

Alya watched as Rémy and Skinner shared one long glance. When the floating restaurant glided by the banks of the Seine, Rémy jumped back on dry land. He found Alya at the top of the staircase. They stuck their tongues out at Skinner and ran away. 

Skinner sent them a death glare. Defeated.

They were eventually found by Nino, Adrien and Marinette.

“Did you see that?!”

“That was incredible!”

“I can’t believe you played him like that!”

“Good job, you guys. But I don’t think we’re quite done. Not yet.”

Twenty minutes later, Alya, Nino, Adrien, Marinette and Rémy were back in the main office at Gusteau’s. Soon after, Colette and Linguini arrived. Called in the middle of the night. No one asked questions about how or why a bunch of teenagers had found a letter in Skinner’s locked deck. Instead, Linguini took his seat at his desk.

“I’m going to have to get used to this. Aren’t I?”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get there in no time,” reassured Colette. With a wink, she added: “I’ll be there every step of the way to help you, of course!”

They shared a beatified grin. The others ignored them.

“You know,” said Alya, pointing at Rémy. “You’re a pretty agile fella.”

“I guess I am.”

Alya tapped her chin with one finger.

“I’d see you as a superhero, you know?”

Marinette and Adrien turned stiff as boards. In perfect synchrony, they looked away, arms crossed over their chests. Marinette asked: 

“Rémy? A superhero?”

“Yeah! Like Rena Rouge, Carapace, Ladybug, Chat Noir. He’s quick, he’s smart, he snoops around. Like one of them, you know?”

“Yeah.” Nino nodded. “I wonder what animal Rémy would be, though.”

No one wanted to say it out loud, but Alya could bet everyone thought it all the same. Rémy would fit right in with the Rat Miraculous. If there was ever such a Miraculous. After all, the rat was a Chinese Zodiac sign, right?

But comparing Rémy to a rat… might have sounded offensive.

So they all looked at each other but didn’t say it. 

Rémy was a rat, all right.

Cutting through their conversation about magic and superheroes, the doors flew open. Wet footsteps followed. Skinner burst in.

At the sight of Linguini, he turned bright red.

“Get out of my office!”

Colette, arms crossed over her chest, stepped in front of Skinner. If glares could kill, he would’ve been six feet under already. Letter in hand, she pointed out with finality:

“This isn’t your office. This is his.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TEN

To Lucille’s surprise, days turned to weeks at L’Oiseau Rare . And she didn’t mind at all. Ever since she’d found Francoeur, she’d been having the time of her life. Singing and dancing had been her job for years now, but she had to admit it had been quite lonely. For a while, now. No one around here understood her like he did. No one had a mind for music like his own. Building up shows with Francoeur was so much fun. He wrote songs, happy love songs or sad ballads, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. Every day, he’d come up with some melody, some notes, some lyrics. And it was way too much fun for Lucille to learn his songs. She’d never tire of hearing Francoeur play on Tante Carlotta’s old piano.

Besides, it seemed everything was going swimmingly for everyone in their widening circle. After Rémy, Marinette, Alya, Nino and Adrien had found Linguini’s birth certificate, a whirlwind of change had blown in Gusteau’s kitchen. Skinner was thrown out the door. Rémy was given his own job as an official chef. Something he was too happy to oblige. Under Linguini, more and more people came to the restaurant. And if Lucille was hearing right, their reputation was back to the good old days when Gusteau Senior was still alive.

Meanwhile, Raoul, Émile and Maud kept hovering around her, coming and going. Same with Marcelline, Gabrielle and Eugénie. They went out dancing every few weekends. And Lucille didn’t want anything to change. 

She wanted nothing to change.

Of course, when one wanted nothing to change, that was usually when life took its turn. Some nights when Maynott showed up, with his shark-like grin, that happiness was soured. Just a bit. But on those nights, Francoeur seemed unintentionally observant about her. If anything, he seemed to notice. When no one listened. When she needed a friend.

That was why Francoeur arrived in her dressing room that night. His demeanour had somewhat changed in the past few weeks. She’d noticed just like he noticed. Once, Francoeur would have been shy. Especially when he’d have to knock at her door. But now, they knew each other’s boundaries and Francoeur had grown more confident with each passing show.

A soft knock was heard at the door. Lucille looked up.

“Yes?” 

“Lucille? It’s me. Are you busy?”

“Just a minute!”

Lucille bit back a curse. She’d been trying - trying! - to get into her long white dress. But it wasn’t exactly easy . Not when she had to put it on on her own. That was Tante Carlotta’s job. But she was currently scolding Albert about… well, about something. Lucille didn’t care what. All she cared about was that she couldn’t tie herself up herself.

A piece of red hair fell into her eyes. Lucille huffed. Her hair rose up… and fell back down on her forehead. Once again.

With another huff, she said: “Come in, Francoeur.”

He walked in, his hand holding tight on the doorknob. He stared. For a moment.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m…” 

In other circumstances, Lucille would have lied. She would have said that everything was fine. That she could manage perfectly all on her own, thank you very much. In other circumstances, she really would have lied. But not to Francoeur. 

She couldn’t lie to him. 

Never. 

Lucille’s shoulders dropped. She heaved a heavy sigh.

“No, I’m not okay. Could you help me with this?”

“Sure. No problem.”

His quick fingers started to tie up the back of her dress. Lucille dropped her arms. Thankfully. Her shoulders already ached from the awkward position she’d put them through. And there was still so much on her mind…

“Here. I’m done.”

Lucille dropped in her chair. 

“Thank you!”

“You’re welcome.”

They shared a glance through her vanity’s mirror. In silence. Until the silence started to eat away at Lucille. And she had to ask:

“So what brought you here? Did you have to ask me something?”

Francoeur blinked. As if brought out of his reverie.

“Oh! Well, no. Not really. You’ve been somber all day, is all. Even through the rehearsals. I was just wondering if you were okay.”

“And then you found me battling with my dress?”

“And then I found you battling with your dress.”

Lucille chuckled. Half-heartedly. A laugh dying in her throat.

Francoeur took that to heart. As he always did.

“Are you really okay, Lucille?”

And again. 

She could never lie to him.

So she put her chin in her hand. Leaning against the smooth wood of her vanity.

“No, I’m not okay. Maynott will be here soon and Tante Carlotta is ecstatic. She hasn’t stopped talking about him all day. It’s exhausting.”

“Why don’t you tell her you don’t…?”

Her eyes sharpened in on him. 

“Why don’t I tell her I don’t what, Francoeur?”

She saw his reflection swallow. Uncharacteristically uncomfortable.

He had his secrets. She had her own.

They both knew that. 

There were some things too hard to tell others. Especially family. 

Francoeur dropped his head. Lips pursed.

“Nothing.”

Lucille nodded. 

Big mistake. 

The room spun. Pinks and golds and whites blending together. Blurring together. Oh, that was great! Her headache from earlier was back. And what was it with those lights? They blinded her. Suddenly. Pain pounded on her skull. She shut her eyes. Tight.

“Urgh! It’s all giving me a headache. As usual.”

“Can I give you a hand?”

She opened her eyes once more and looked at him through the mirror… once more. Francoeur held her gaze. 

“You could help me with a headache?”

“I could try.”

He moved fluidly towards her. Dance-like. Francoeur’s hands barely touched the sides of her head. He rubbed circles with the tip of his fingers. Lucille sighed. Relief flooded her in waves. She didn’t know when she closed her eyes. But then she opened them again. Francoeur looked at her through the mirror. With a small smile.

“Better?”

“Yeah. Guitar, piano, singing, dancing, tying up cursed dresses and now massages? Do you know everything?”

He shrugged.

“You learn a thing or two in the trenches.”

Her face fell.

“Oh.” 

It wasn’t the first time Francoeur had brought up the War. He usually did it in jokes. Joking made the pain hurt less. It made it normal. As it was normal to live with it. But right now… Francoeur didn’t look like he was in the mood for jokes. His eyes shone. With the ghosts of the past, probably. Lucille looked away. Looking at him through the mirror.

“I didn’t mean to bring back… those kinds of memories.”

“You couldn’t have known. It’s okay.”

“Yeah?”

He blinked away the brightness in his eyes. When he looked up, he smiled a real smile through the mirror. Lucille smiled back. At ease.

She could never lie to Francoeur and he could never lie to her.

They could only omit things.

Omitting was easier.

“Yeah.” With a nonchalant shrug, Francoeur added: “Besides, relieving migraines is also great when travelling.”

“Ah, yes… travel.”

Lucille’s voice turned wistful. Wishing.

“I wish I could do that, too. Travel. Live the life you’d been living before we met. It sounds… much more fulfilling than whatever I’ve been doing.”

“You don’t like working here?”

“No, no, no! I love it. Only… a change of scenery would be nice.”

“Well, maybe one day, I’ll take you with me.”

Her eyes widened.

Really? He would do that?

Of course, he would. Again, Francoeur could never lie to her.

“With you? Where?”

“Anywhere.” He waved his arms around in vague circles. Gesturing at… at nothing and everything. All that surrounded them. Or the world at large, perhaps. All that was out there. Waiting for them. “Anywhere you’d want to go.”

“You would do that? For me?”

“Of course, I would. In a heartbeat.”

They smiled at each other, in the mirror.

Soon enough, though, duty called. 

The clock rang the hour.

“Oh!” Francoeur stiffened. Stiff as a board. “I should go back. See you later.”

He was gone before she had the chance to say more. Francoeur slipped back into his room and Lucille started to put on her wings. She couldn’t stop thinking about him, though. 

Francoeur treated her like a human being. Once he’d become comfortable enough that he didn’t think they’d kick him out anymore, his true self shined. Francoeur was full of love, full of light. He was a caring, gentle soul. He loved the world even though the world had eaten him up and spat him out more than once. He wasn’t without fault; he made mistakes and he was a little too harsh on himself, at times.

But at least he cared.

That was all she’d ever wanted to find. 

Someone who cared.

Lucille leaned against the wall with a warm smile on her face. Francoeur loved playing with the few kids who showed up with their parents at L’Oiseau Rare . That was what he was doing when she found him again. Playing with kids. 

“ Cheval! ” said Chris. His older brother, Nino, watched from the sidelines. “Je veux jouer au cheval, monsieur Francoeur!”

“Again? All right! Hang on tight!”

The little boy jumped up on his back and Francoeur started to gallop like a horse down the front hall. He galloped past Lucille, neighing and whinnying as he went. Chris giggled. 

They were soon interrupted.

The doorbell chimed. Francoeur froze. He looked behind him, towards the door. A little girl walked in, holding a woman’s hand. Her mother, Lucille presumed. The door closed behind her. Francoeur’s eyes landed on the woman’s.

Everybody froze.

Even the air seemed to hold its breath.

“Oh!” 

The woman put a hand against her mouth. 

“It’s… You’re that man.”

Lucille looked from the woman to Francoeur. From the woman to Francoeur. And again. Back and forth. Something was going on, here. Francoeur crouched down, body stiffer than she was used to seeing. 

“You can come down, now, Chris.”

“Okay, monsieur Francoeur.”

Chris found Nino’s hand. They started to walk away. But not before Nino sent her a curious glance. He mouthed “what’s going on?” as silently as she could. Lucille shrugged. She was probably going to find out soon. With a nod, Nino left through the double doors leading to the main dining room.

Lucille’s gaze went back to Francoeur. He gave the little girl his kindest smile.

“You’re Manon, aren’t you?” asked Francoeur.

The little girl nodded.

“ Bonsoir , Manon. My name’s Francoeur.”

He offered her his hand. Officiously. Manon shook it. 

“Your name,” said Manon. “It means frank heart. Right?”

Francoeur’s whole face softened. 

“Yes, that’s what my name means.”

“I…” Manon shuffled her feet on the carpet. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I said that day. You don’t look like an akuma. You look like a big teddy bear.”

Manon jumped into his arms. Francoeur laughed. A relieved, peaceful sort of laugh.

Lucille loved that sound.

“You know, my little sister was about your age when I…”

Francoeur’s sentence flew away from his mouth. His face fell. There was a tense moment of silence. Until he continued:

“She’s fifteen, now. I haven’t seen her in a long time.”

Manon took a step back and looked at him. Through him.

“Why haven’t you seen her in a long time?”

Francoeur’s Adam’s Apple moved up and down in his throat.

“Because she…”

He trailed off. Francoeur looked off into the distance. She saw them in his eyes once more. The ghosts of his past. 

Francoeur cleared his throat. He only replied:

“Because I haven’t had the time.”

“Why?” Manon frowned. “There should always be time for family.”

Francoeur chuckled. 

“You’re right, you’re right. Anyway, welcome to you and your mother to L’Oiseau Rare . I hope you’ll enjoy the show.”

“I’m sure we will,” said the girl’s mother. She shook Francoeur’s hand. “I never had the time to introduce myself! Nadja Chamack, journalist.”

“Call me Francoeur.”

Nadja took her daughter’s hand in hers once more.

“Come on, Manon. We wouldn’t want to be late, now, don’t we?”

“ Non , maman!”

With that, Nadja and Manon left the entrance hall, walking at a brisk pace towards the dining hall. Following after Nino and Chris. The other kids and their families did the same. Soon enough, Francoeur and Lucille were left alone in the entranceway. He rose up from his crouching position. He spun around, turning towards Lucille, and opened his mouth. Nothing came out. Francoeur shut his mouth. Cleared his throat. Opened it again.

“Lucille, I…”

Lucille’s heartbeat quickened. What did he want to say?

The doorbell chimed once more. 

Victor Maynott walked in as if he owned the place. He pushed the doors open, smiling that grin of his. Chest puffed out, hands behind his back, he looked… he looked resplendent in that moment. Not in a good way, though. Maynott looked like a man who was trying too hard to impress. Francoeur smoothly glided across the floor to stand next to Lucille. His whole face had contorted in a glare.

Francoeur had her back.

Always.

“Lucille!” Maynott’s voice boomed in the small entranceway. “How are you?”

“ Bonsoir, Victor. I’m… good. How are you?”

“Oh, I’m good, I’m good! I’ve been extremely busy, you see, with Papillon akumatizing one of my officers - thanks to the amazing help of Ladybug and Chat Noir, we were able to save Rogercop, of course - and then trying to find Skinner. I’m a very, very busy man, you see. But…” 

Maynott bowed down and grasped Lucille’s right hand. He pushed a kiss on her knuckles. Lucille’s stomach churned. Maynott winked at her.

“I always try to take time to come and see you.”

“That’s… kind of you, monsieur Maynott,” said Francoeur.

Lucille sent him a glance.

“Yes, yes, indeed.” Maynott straightened up once more. In one somewhat graceful swoop. “So! It’s been a few weeks since our date. I’m afraid it ended in such… horrible circumstances. We must have another. To start on the right foot.”

“Actually, I don’t… um…”

Francoeur sent her a curious look. His hand barely touched her arm, but Lucille was grateful anyway. He was there. By her side. Giving her his full support.

Whatever she chose.

“Victor, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Sure, sure! I’ve wanted to tell you something for a long time, too.”

Lucille cringed. He was getting it all wrong.

“No, I mean… you… I don’t…”

“Yes?”

Lucille took in a deep breath. She hoped he wouldn’t cause a scene.

“I don’t think we should…”

“Lucille!”

They all jumped. The doorbell chimed once again. A concert of squeals followed. Soon, Lucille found herself engulfed in hugs. Bypassing Maynott. Marcelline, Eugénie, Gabrielle and Maud had finally arrived. 

Oh! 

She’d almost forgotten. 

Tonight was girls’ night at L’Oiseau Rare .

How could she forget?”

“ Bonsoir , Lucille!” said Gabrielle, ever so cheerful. “We were just meeting with your friend, Maud. I like her round glasses. They look very chic !”

“Oh!” Maud’s face turned bright red. “Why, thank you!”

“Ladies.”

Maynott butted in, as always. He grabbed Lucille’s wrist. He grabbed it so hard, it hurt. Maynott pulled Lucille towards him. Closer to him. So close, she could smell his cologne. Everything inside her told her to run. To leave. 

But Lucille couldn’t.

“If you could please leave Lucille alone, we were having a conversation.” Without missing a beat, he added: “So, Lucille. What did you want to tell me?”

His fist around her wrist tightened. 

“Victor, careful!” Lucille grit her teeth. “You’re hurting me.”

“Come on,” he said instead, brushing her pain aside. “Tell me!”

“She said it hurts,” Francoeur cut in, putting himself in Maynott’s face. “Let her go.”

“Why should I care what you’re saying, mon garçon?”

“Don’t call me mon garçon. ”

Lucille took back her wrist. She wanted to scream. Was she ever going to be allowed to be listened to? Not when it came to Victor, it seemed. From the corner of her eye, she saw Marcelline, Eugénie, Gabrielle and Maud look at her with equal amounts of confusion, fear and surprise. Eyes wide and faces pale.

 Lucille raised both hands. 

“All right, enough!”

A few pairs of eyes found hers. All stared.

“Can I talk? Please?”

“Of course,” said Francoeur.

“I don’t know,” said Maynott. “Me and the boy were having a conversation.”

Lucille, her hand gentle, pushed Francoeur slightly aside. He nodded and stood by her instead of in front of her. Once again.

This wasn’t his battle. 

This was hers.

“Actually, Victor, this isn’t about Francoeur. This is about me. I…!”

For the fourth time that night, the doorbell chimed. Lucille wanted to scream all over again. She wanted to yell. Or to break something, perhaps. She spun around, towards the door. Raoul and Émile were coming in. The both of them holding on to a bouquet of white roses. Or, well. What could have once been a bouquet. But it looked like it had gone through the wringer. Or maybe it had squashed under Catherine’s wheels. 

“Hey, Lucille!” said Raoul, oblivious, while Émile froze at the door. “We - I - brought you flowers. I hope you don’t mind! We did what we were told, we gave back those medals to Maynott. Can we still come to the show tonight? I know we don’t have tickets but, huh, you can make an exception for good old childhood best friends, right?”

Émile and Maud looked at each other. She shook her head.

Lucille saw red. She exploded.

“No, you can’t get free tickets, Raoul! Not tonight, not ever!” She put herself in Maynott’s face, pointing a finger at his nose. “And you should try to listen to me for once in your life!” To everyone else, she said: “And now to all of you, shut up and let me talk!”

“What’s happening here?” asked Tante Carlotta, coming around the corner.

It was as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown over her head. Her aunt. She couldn’t do this to her poor aunt! Lucille lost all bravado. Her shoulders drooped. The fire in her died. 

She’d caused a scene. She’d caused a scene and now Tante Carlotta would be so angry. She’d almost… She’d almost told Maynott to get lost.

What would Tante Carlotta say? 

“Nothing! Leave me alone!”

Lucille ran away.

“Lucille!” Tante Carlotta called after her. “What’s wrong?”

Lucille slammed the door behind her. She didn’t talk to anyone before the show. She locked herself in her dressing room backstage until it was time to join Francoeur behind the curtain. They exchanged a smile. Then the show began and went as well as all their previous shows. The room was packed with more tables than before Francoeur had joined their humble cabaret. Francoeur and Lucille were everyone’s new favourite stars.

Soon enough, the curtains fell once more and Lucille practically fled to her dressing room once again. She busied herself by removing her makeup. Soon enough, her angel wings were gone and she had let her hair loose. She sat there, feeling her headache come back behind her temples. She closed her eyes and rubbed at her skin.

Was she ever going to find peace?

Not tonight, anyway. Lucille was on her way to stand behind the screen to change out of her show dress when someone knocked at the door. 

They didn’t wait to walk in.

Lucille’s heart jumped. She half-expected Maynott there. It wasn’t.

“Are you all right, Lucille?” asked Maud.

She breathed in relief. It was her friends. Not Maynott. Her friends . 

“No, I’m not. My life has become so complicated.”

Marcelline, Eugénie, Gabrielle and Maud piled around Lucille. They looked at each other through the mirror. Lucille wanted to cry. To leave. To put her knees up against her chest and try to avoid the outside world. Instead, she held their gazes.

“What’s bothering you? You know you can tell us anything.”

She knew that. 

After all, while Francoeur listened, she knew there were things she couldn’t tell him. Not now. Probably not ever. 

“I hate Maynott and I don’t like Raoul.”

No one looked surprised at that. They only nodded in sympathy.

“And you like someone else,” said Eugénie. “Don’t you?”

Lucille frowned. 

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, Lucille. We’ve all seen the way you look at Francoeur.”

“But… Tante Carlotta said Maynott was a good match and… and Raoul… he’s been my friend for so long. Since childhood! And he’s... I’ve known he likes me all that time. Ever since we were kids. But…”

“But you don’t like him back,” finished Gabrielle.

“Shouldn’t I? Shouldn’t I like him? Don’t I… owe him that?”

“You don’t owe anything to anyone. Ever.” Maud’s eyes burned like bright flames behind her glasses. “You’ve taught me you should never change yourself for a boy, Lucille. And you definitely shouldn’t change yourself for two of them.”

“... You’re right.”

Still. Did she love Francoeur that way?

“Besides,” said Marcelline, pulling her arms up in a Gallic shrug, “you could have found yourself a worse catch than Francoeur. Decorated soldier, singer, musician, all around gentleman who actually respects you without pulling out the You-Belong-To-Me-Because-I-Said-So routine. And you know what I like about him? If you told him you didn’t like him, he wouldn’t make a scene. He’d understand.”

“I know.”

Lucille sighed. She rubbed her eyes with the heel of her palms.

But did she like Francoeur that way?

S'il y a un prix pour manque de jugement (If there’s a price for lack of judgement)

Je crois que j'ai le ticket gagnant (I think I got the winning ticket)

Nul homme ne vaut de souffrir autant             (No man is worth suffering that much)

C'est de l'histoire ancienne (It’s ancient history)

Je jette, j'enchaîne (I quit, I move on)

Lucille rose up from her seat and, quick as lightning, emerged from her dressing room. She was about to close the door when Eugénie, Marcelline, Gabrielle and Maud grabbed the door. With delighted smiles, they sang:

Qui crois-tu donc tromper? (Who do you think you’re fooling?)

Ton cœur en feu est amoureux (Your heart on fire is in love)

N'essaies pas de cacher la passion (Don’t try to hide the passion)

Qu'on lit dans tes yeux (That we read in your eyes)

Pourquoi donc le nier, il t'a envoûté (Why deny it, he’s bewitched you)

Il t'a ensorcelé! (He’s enchanted you!)

Lucille jogged around the backstage portions of the cabaret, avoiding the musicians who were packing their bags and ready to leave for the night. She took refuge in a secluded spot under a window, Paris’ lights glittering under the stars. She crossed her arms over her chest, pouting. Eyes closed, she lifted her head.

Non, non, jamais je ne le dirais, non, non     (No, no, never, I won’t say it, no, no)

Eugénie, Marcelline, Gabrielle and Maud plopped down next to her on the bench. 

Ton cœur soupire, pourquoi mentir? Oh, oh   (Your heart sighs, why deny it? Oh, oh)

Lucille jumped to her feet and raised one hand.

C'est trop banal d'être sentimentale   (It’s too banal to be sentimental)

With that, Lucille walked away. She reached another hallway in the cabaret’s backstage areas, where a tall poster of L’Oiseau Rare ’s new rising stars had been drawn. She leaned against the wall, looking up at Francoeur. He was carrying her drawn character under twinkling stars. In the distance, the Eiffel Tower shone.

J'avais pourtant appris la leçon   (I thought I’d learned the lesson)

Mon cœur connaissait la chanson   (My heart knew this song)

Mais tout vacille, accroche-toi ma fille!   (But I stagger, hang on, my girl!)

T'as le cœur trop fragile, évite les idylles   (Your heart’s too fragile, forget idylls)

Oh, oh, oh!   (Oh, oh, oh!)

Somehow, the girls found her, leaning in a doorway on her right. 

Pourquoi nier? C'est dément!     (Why deny? It’s insane!)

Le tourment de tes sentiments     (The torment of your emotions)

Remballe ton compliment     (Pack up your compliment)

Quand tu mens c'est passionnément     (When you lie, it’s passionately)

Tu l'aimes et c'est normal     (You love him, that’s normal)

La passion t'emballe     (Passion thrills you)

Ça fait très, très, très, très, très mal     (It really, really, really, really hurts!)

Lucille rose up and fled away again. Couldn’t they leave her alone? 

Non, non, jamais, je n'avouerais, non, non     (No, no, never, I won’t admit it, no, no)

Another hallway, another vain attempt to escape. She ran into Francoeur, this time. She bumped right into him, that is. Her heart jumped in her throat. He looked her over, concern shining in his eyes. He opened his mouth to talk. Lucille put one finger to her lips. He looked above her head and must have seen Marcelline, Gabrielle, Maud and Eugénie there. He looked down again and nodded. With a wave, he closed his bedroom door behind him.

Lucille couldn’t help a smile.

Même si tu nies     (Even if you deny)

Tu souris, car tu l'aimes!       (You smile, ‘cause you love him!)

Lucille turned towards the girls, raising hands to her temples.

Laissez tomber! Je ne suis pas amoureuse!     (Let it go! I’m not in love!)

She ran. 

Lis sur nos lèvres     (Read on our lips)

Tu t'enflammes, car tu l'aimes!     (You’re on fire, ‘cause you love him!)

Lucille buried her face in her hands.

Jamais, jamais, je n'vous dirai     (Never, never, I’ll say to you)

Jamais, jamais, je n'oserai     (Never, never, I’d dare to)

Four girls piled around her, putting their encouraging hands on her shoulders.

C'est pas la peine d'hésiter       (It’s not worth it to hesitate)

Car tu l'aimes       (‘Cause you love him)

Lucille fled one last time. She finally reached her own bedroom door. She leaned against it, suddenly tired of running away. She was tired, but also tired of… Yes. She was tired of running away from her feelings. Looking up at the ceiling, she asked aloud:

Oserai-je un jour           (Will I one day)

T'avouer comme je t'aime?           (Confess to you how I love you?)

A collective, heavy, yet content sigh answered her. From the corner of her eye, she saw her friends sink against the wall, fanning themselves with their hands. Lucille snorted. Even she could find some humour in there. She slipped inside her bedroom and closed the door behind her. She pulled off her white dress and dumped it on the back of her desk’s chair. After pulling on her nightgown, she sank down on her bed. A soft smile spread on her face.

She’d said it out loud. 

She loved him.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Truly, life with Lucille was full of surprises.

Not that Francoeur was with Lucille. Not in a romantic way, anyway. Not that he wouldn't want...! He liked everything about her, of course. Her pain, her anger, her passion, her compassion, her fine tastes… He liked her on stage and he liked her in the quiet moments when they were just the two of them, sitting in her dressing room. He liked everything about her. All she was and more. He liked her.

Who was he kidding? He’d fallen for Lucille a long time ago.

He loved her.

Francoeur breathed out at that. Relief. That’s what he felt. He could finally admit it to himself. He loved her. Truly.

He’d started to fall for her way before today. And way before this morning, the day after Maynott had last come to L’Oiseau Rare . He’d looked up when he’d heard her knock at his door. Three quick little knocks. She’d walked in at his call. Francoeur had been sitting on his bed, legs dangling off the side, a book on his lap. 

“Lucille?”

“I want you to come with me.”

He dropped everything he was doing. Literally. He dropped his book. And jumped up.

“Of course. Where are we going?”

“You’ll see. I’m doing something impulsive. For once in my life.”

She told him along the way. She told him in curt sentences. Through gritted teeth. She’d told him quickly, rapidly, almost as if she’d lose all her courage if she hesitated for a second. It had taken her hours to find sleep. But eventually, she had. She’d mulled over what Maud had told her the night before and what she’d herself told Maud while putting up posters that day. 

Be yourself. Don’t try to be something you’re not for others. 

Don’t change yourself for a man. Or anyone.

Not even her aunt.

Maybe Lucille should start listening to her own advice more.

That was what she told him.

That was the advice he’d decided to follow himself.

Fifteen minutes. It took them fifteen minutes to get there. Three times Lucille almost convinced herself to turn back. While talking to herself aloud. She almost turned back. Almost. But she was no quitter. He knew it.

Lucille stopped at her coiffeur . The doorbell chimed. But she didn’t feel dread. Not this time. Her friends welcomed her.

“Lucille!” said Eugénie. “Thank goodness, we made it quickly!”

Lucille’s shoulders reached her ears. She took in a deep breath. In and out.

“Thank you for coming, girls.”

Lucille hung her coat by the door. She clenched her teeth. Holding her hairdresser’s gaze through the tall mirror, she sat in a chair. She nodded.

“Cut it.”

“Really?” The hairdresser gasped. “You want me to? Oh, Lucille! Thank you so much! I’ve been waiting for this for so long!”

“Odette!”

Odette’s jaw clicked shut. She offered a shy smile when she answered:

“Yes?” 

“Cut it. I won’t ask again. Do it quick before I change my mind. Please.” 

Odette smiled. She started to work.

That was that morning. Contrary to Lucille’s greatest fears, Carlotta hadn’t panicked upon seeing her. She’d jumped up and down, spun around Lucille, and had cupped her cheeks with both hands, telling her how beautiful her niece was. No need for wigs for shows, either! The short hair was stark against her angel dress. Like a Jeanne d’Arc born too late. Where it had once poured over her shoulders in waves, now it was cut to the cheeks. The cheveux à la garçonne fit her well. It squared her jaw and made her face look leaner. Prouder. 

Not that Francoeur had been staring at her face. 

At all. Of course, he hadn’t been doing that...

From what he’d been told by Carlotta himself, for the past few weeks since he’d met Lucille, she laughed and smiled more. Eyes sparkling. But today… she hadn’t been there as much. Not since the hair salon, anyway. She’d had a late breakfast with him in the dining room, then she’d… disappeared. He hadn’t seen her until just a few minutes before the show. When he’d told her about it, she’d made vague comments about being really busy, but that she wasn’t avoiding him. 

Good, he’d said then.

But now, right after the show, she was pulling him along, blindfolded by two scarves wrapped around his eyes, through L’Oiseau Rare . She’d asked him to put on his best suit and, if he wanted, his medals. 

Tonight was a special occasion. Apparently.

“Noooo peeeeekiiiiing,” whispered Lucille in a sing-song voice.

Lips curling up and eyes shut, he held on tight to her hand and followed after her. 

“Are we there yet?” asked Francoeur.

“ Ne fais pas l’enfant . We’re not even close to being there.”

“Okay.”

Quinze, seize, dix-sept, dix-huit … Francoeur counted his footsteps. All thoughts evaporated from his brain as soon as Lucille giggled. That was, she giggled until she put a hand over his chest. Stopping him. Francoeur frowned.

“What is it?”

“Shh!”

Francoeur bit his lip. Was something wrong?

“Ah! Madame Carlotta!” called a booming voice somewhere in front of them.

Francoeur froze. Oh. Now he understood. 

Maynott was here.

“ Monsieur Maynott! What are you doing here? The show is over!”

“I know, I know. But I wanted to give Lucille these flowers, you see? All girls love flowers and I figured… I figured she’d like them.”

Francoeur could imagine Lucille rolling her eyes. He almost snorted himself. Of course. All girls liked flowers so she should want them? How predictable.

“Right, right. Well, Lucille is asleep. She was tired after the show.”

“I’m sure she won’t mind me waking her up.”

“Please, monsieur Maynott. She needs to rest.”

“Come on, Madame Carlotta. Aren’t I your future nephew-in-law?”

There was a sharp gasp! Francoeur jumped. 

Was Carlotta…? Was Carlotta shocked?

“Don’t make assumptions about my niece!”

“I… I… um…!”

“Oh, now you can’t think of anything to say, hm? Monsieur le préfet? I encourage my niece to see you because you’re a gentleman who brings her flowers. And you’re a good match for her! But don’t walk around thinking that because I encourage it, it means that she will inevitably like you back. Don’t assume Lucille will! Lucille can make her own choices.”

“I…! But of course! I didn’t mean… I meant no disrespect!”

“I hope you didn’t.”

There was a moment of silence. Followed by a sighed breath.

“Now, monsieur Maynott, I think you should leave.”

“Right.” 

Another moment of silence. The woosh of someone tugging on fabric.

“ Bonsoir, Madame Carlotta.”

“ Bonne nuit , Monsieur Maynott.”

Maynott’s footsteps echoed away.

They stayed like that for a minute longer. Lucille and Francoeur. Him standing straight as an arrow and her with her hand resting on his chest. Until...

“Is he gone?” asked Lucille.

“Yes. You can go.”

At that, Francoeur’s whole face contorted in surprise. Carlotta was involved in Lucille’s scheme? What on Earth had she been preparing all day?

“Okay. Come on, Francoeur. Follow me.”

They walked down hallways and turned at corners. Left, right, left… A door creaked open. Francoeur sniffed when the night air hit him square in the chest. It was getting warmer with each passing day, with winter turning to spring. And yet that wasn’t what crossed Francoeur’s mind. Instead, he thought: where in the world was she taking him?

“Careful! There are a few steps. Down… Slowly… Okay. Good.”

They were in the spot where she’d found him, then. The Passage Francoeur . 

“Where are we going, again?” 

“Will you just stop asking? Be patient!”

He made a big show of sighing.

“All right, all right! I’m staying quiet.”

Soon enough, they were sitting in a car. A taxi, probably. He hadn’t heard where Lucille had told the chauffeur to drop them, but they were on the way. Then, maybe fifteen minutes later, Lucille helped him out of the car. A minute later, they were walking in the streets. Francoeur could feel people’s stares as they walked down the sidewalk. He found that he didn’t particularly care. Not when he heard Lucille’s giggling as they zigzagged around people passing by, on their way to… wherever they were going. 

Later than he expected, they turned at the corner of a street. Down a staircase. Down to… Wait. Was that music playing? Yes! Yes, it was! A violin’s lovely notes fluttered to his ears. Wait. There was more! Was that food he was smelling? That made his stomach growl?

What was going on?

“Okay.” Lucille sounded overly cautious. “Now, be careful. There are more steps down here. Okay. There. You’re doing great.”

“Is this okay?”

“Yes, this is fine. You’re doing great!”

“I have a great guide.”

“Aw. Are you trying to be sweet?”

“Maybe.”

“All right! We’ve made it.” 

He trusted her all the way down the stairs. Francoeur’s feet touched firm, solid ground once more. He smiled. At nothing, really. What was going on? What was happening?

“Now… un, deux, trois !”

She removed his blindfold. Francoeur blinked in the sudden light. His mouth fell open. At first, he only noticed Lucille, resplendent in a light pink dress, shin-length, with a furry bolero. Jewels glittered at her ears and around her neck. A feather danced in the wind, attached to her short hair with a slim headband. Then, Francoeur’s gaze went away from her. Under a lamp post’s golden light, a small round table was set up, with two chairs on either side. Two metal bell covers hid the delicacies inside. On a tray on wheels were what appeared to be mouthwatering desserts. A step away from the table, the Seine’s waters lapped lazily against the banks. On the other side, Notre-Dame stood, tall, so tall against the inky black sky. Francoeur held his breath. He could barely think. All he could do was... 

Grin. Awestruck.

“Do you like it?” asked Lucille.

“Yes! Yes, I do! I love it! This is amazing. Thank you. You did all this… for me?”

“Of course! I figured you needed a night on the town.”

What Francoeur finally noticed, then, was that they weren’t alone, right now. Rémy, in a waiter’s tuxedo, was standing to Francoeur’s left, holding a white silky napkin. He bowed respectfully at them. 

“Rémy?”

“Yes, indeed. My name is Rémy Petit, I will be your waiter for the night.”

Francoeur sent Lucille a glance.

“You actually got Gusteau’s best chef as our waiter?”

“What? He was available.”

“Of course.”

Francoeur’s gaze drifted to the other person standing on the bank of the Seine with them. To his right, standing on a box covered by a black sheet, was a violin player. Clad in a tuxedo, too. A violin player… who was oddly familiar.

Francoeur’s jaw dropped.

“Joseph?”

The bow screeched on the violin. 

Big eyes stared at Francoeur.

“François?”

“Joseph!”

Joseph jumped from his box. Relieved laughter burst out of Francoeur’s throat. They hugged tight, slapping each other’s shoulders. When Francoeur parted from his old friend, he noticed Lucille and Rémy exchanging confused glances. Francoeur slung one arm around Joseph’s shoulders. Then, he asked Lucille:

“How did you know? Where did you find him?”

“Know what? Find whom?”

Francoeur’s eyes widened. 

“You don’t know? You have no idea who this is?”

“I found a violin player who lived in the area,” said Rémy. “Why?”

Francoeur tapped Joseph’s shoulder.

“This is Joseph! He’s the one who saved me during the War. He’s the one who found me. He found me after I’d spent days out in the battlefield.”

Joseph snorted.

“Well, you kind of found me yourself!”

“Sure, whatever.” Francoeur shoved Joseph away with his elbow. “In any case, he’s the only one who stayed behind for me.”

“Really?” 

Lucille’s voice had gone soft. Her eyes focussed on Joseph. 

“You are?”

“Yep. That’s me.”

“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Joseph,” added Francoeur. He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I haven’t seen you in… well, over ten years! What have you been up to?”

Joseph shrugged. Non-committal.

“I’ve travelled, here and there. Visited the old family farm once.” Joseph suddenly shook his head, not unlike a wet dog. “ Heille , come on, man! This isn’t the time to talk about me! We’ll have all the time in the world to talk later. This is your date, Frank.”

“My… date?”

His gaze met Lucille’s.

“We’re on a date?”

“If…” She wrung her hands together. “Only if you want to.”

“Yeah! I mean, yes! I’d love it to be a date.”

“Good. It’s one, then.”

They stared at each other. For a second too long.

Rémy cleared his throat. Two pairs of eyes landed on him.

“If there’s anything you need, anything at all, I am here to help. And don’t worry about my shift. I took the night off.”

“What about Gusteau’s ?”

Rémy made a vague hand gesture. 

“It’s just for tonight. Besides, it’s not like Anton Ego is at our door!”

They all chuckled at that. Pulling on his most respectful face, Rémy showed them to the table. Francoeur helped Lucille into her seat and he sat across from her. She smiled at him. He smiled back. Rémy smiled at the both of them, standing on Francoeur’s right. He lifted up his plate and revealed tonight’s dish. 

“ La Ratatouille, ” he said proudly in a sing-songy voice. Serious once more, Rémy added: “It’s a dish I’ve been experimenting with. A prototype, if you will.”

Francoeur’s stomach growled. He’d never smelled anything so… so…!

“It smells delicious!” Lucille put a hand over her heart. “Compliments to the chef.”

Rémy imitated her. A hand over his heart.

“Thank you very much. Please tell me if you like it.”

They couldn’t get their bites into their mouths quick enough. When Francoeur and Lucille hummed with delight, Rémy looked ecstatic . Like he could jump up and down.

“So, you like it? You like it, you like it, you like it?”

“It’s amazing! Very rustic.”

“Thank you. That was the intent. A dish doesn’t have to be fancy to taste good.”

Rémy turned his back to them, then he revealed a bottle of red wine in his hands.

“ Du vin, mademoiselle? ”

“Oh, please do!”

“Let’s hope I don’t spill any on you, this time,” he said to Lucille.

At that, Lucille barked a laugh. 

“I hope so, too! You did that on purpose, that day, though, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. You looked like you were having the worst time of your life. Your eyes screamed save me. ”

“You wouldn’t be wrong.”

With that, Rémy poured wine in their glasses and stood to the side. In-between whatever topics they were talking about, Rémy would fill in their drinks again or bring them a basket of fresh bread from the Dupain-Cheng bakery. Joseph’s violin filled their ears and Rémy’s ratatouille filled their bellies. It was gone far too quickly. Francoeur was almost disappointed when he finished his plate. When Francoeur dropped his napkin to the side, Rémy was quick as lightning, switching their cutlery and their plates. Dessert and a small bowl of vanilla ice cream followed.

“ Gâteau opéra ,” Rémy said, smiling proudly like a mother duck looking at her ducklings. Layers of ganache, chocolate syrup, coffee syrup, coffee crème au beurre and biscuit Joconde , under another layer of chocolate icing.”

“Hmmm…” Francoeur licked his lips. “I’m already salivating.”

“Enjoy.”

They did. Oh, they did. Their spoons hit the bottom of their plates, once more, far too quickly. Contented sighs followed the clicking of cutlery as they sank in their chairs. Francoeur closed his eyes. Listening to Joseph’s violin. Listening to the Seine’s waters. All sounds were overshadowed when Notre-Dame rang the hour. Booming sounds making their bones shake with delight. 

Rémy chuckled. 

Then, he asked them to do something for him.

“What?” asked Lucille.

“Stand up.”

They did. Soon enough, the table was tucked away in a corner.

“What for?” Francoeur was the one to ask, this time.

“For dancing.”

At that, Francoeur saw from the corner of his eye, Joseph smiled broadly. He gestured at them to stand in front of him with his bow. When Francoeur didn’t move, Lucille offered him her hand. He took it. Breath itching in his throat.

“I… I, um… are you sure?”

“Come on! It’s not like it’s the first time we’re dancing together.”

“I know, but… this feels… different.”

“Different good or different bad?”

Francoeur tried to identify what he was feeling at that moment. A little sickened, a little scared, and yet… happy , too. 

A good different. 

“Different good.”

They stood in the makeshift dance floor by the side of the Seine. Lucille smiled up at him. Francoeur gulped. He’d never felt nervous around her. But now, he felt himself tremble, hands shaking. Lucille grabbed his hands. She brought one to her shoulder and the other on her waist. She positioned her hands and looked him in the eye.

“It’s just a waltz. Nothing complicated. Okay?”

He nodded curtly.

“Okay.”

Then, they started to dance.

Et un, deux, trois, l’amour est là (And one, two, three, love is here)

Je le vois dans ses yeux       (I see it in her eyes)

Francoeur spun her around. Lucille’s eyes shone. He couldn’t stop himself. He laughed. A deep rumble from his belly.

“What?” asked Lucille.

“It’s just… I didn’t know Joseph could sing.”

“I guess he’s full of surprises.”

“I guess you are, too.”

Elle est radieuse et si confiante (She’s radiant and so confidant)

Prête à saisir sa chance (Ready to take her chance)

Francoeur spun her around once more. Then, for just a moment, Lucille took the lead. He laughed at that. He didn’t mind at all. He’d follow her everywhere she wanted.

Je l’ai formée, pensant à tout (I taught her, planning everything)

À tout sauf à l’amour (At everything but love)

“You know…” Lucille started, but didn’t finish.

“What?” asked Francoeur, taking the lead once more.

“This isn’t as perfect as I wanted it to be.” She shrugged, not quite meeting his eyes. “Adrien wanted to come and play the piano, but his schedule didn’t line up. Besides, when I asked Monsieur Boisclair - the music store owner, I remembered! - if we could bring his piano here, he said it wasn’t a good idea. If we dropped it in the Seine or down the stairs…”

“I get it. This is perfect, anyway. Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome.”

Vladimir, comment as-tu fait? (Vladimir, how did you do it?)

Et qu’allons-nous faire désormais? (And what will we do now?)

From the corner of his eye, Francoeur saw Joseph smile as he sang the last part.

Aurais-je dû empêcher cette danse? (Should I have prevented this dance?)

Francoeur dipped Lucille backwards. He laughed, she laughed. Then, he pulled her up, back on her two feet. A second too late, Francoeur realized they’d stopped dancing. They were staring in each other’s eyes. Unmoving. Immobile. Francoeur breathed in a shaky breath. His mouth went dry. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth. 

He leaned down towards her.

“Lucille?”

“Yes?”

“There’s… There’s something I’ve wanted to tell you.”

“Yes?”

“Yeah. For a while, now.”

“Me too.”

He gaped at her.

“You too?”

“Yeah.” She looked down at his lips. Then up at his face once more. “There’s something I’ve wanted to tell you too. It hasn’t been that long, though. That I’ve realized…”

“Realized what?”

“Well…”

He leaned down again. Closer, closer… 

Francoeur closed his eyes.

BAM!

Francoeur snapped his eyes open. Together, they looked up. Something had collided with a metal trash can. A shadow lifted itself up from the ground. Dark as the night. With a mass of blonde hair. 

“Chat Noir?” asked Lucille.

A metal staff seemed to appear in his hands. He turned his back to them.

“Don’t worry, citizens of Paris! We have everything under control.”

With that, Chat Noir jumped back onto the street. The ground shook. A gigantic akumatized baby came tumbling down from a side street. Francoeur’s mouth hung open. On one roof, Ladybug appeared, fists on her hips. She said something witty and jumped off. Yo-yo swinging. Pink sparkles… sparkling.

“Will I ever get used to this?” 

Lucille chuckled. 

“You will. Give it some time.”

They turned back towards each other. Smiling. The giant baby wailed something about not wanting to go to bed. Francoeur pulled away from Lucille and pinched the skin between his brows. He sighed. Deeply. Great. Just great.

“Maybe we should pack up.”

Francoeur looked up. 

“Yeah, before that baby steps on us.”

Too soon for Francoeur’s liking, they were packing the violin, the table, everything else, and walking away. When Lucille seemed to notice his glum expression, she reached up and kissed his cheek.

“This was perfect. Wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. It’s just. Paris is a lot less quiet than I remember.”

“Oh, Paris is roaring, all right!”

Francoeur and Lucille burst out laughing. The giant baby’s wails absorbed the sounds of their laughter. Covering their ears, they ran away.

"Yeah. Paris is roaring. Literally."

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWELVE

Once Plagg had eaten his camembert, Adrien turned back into Chat Noir.

Chat Noir leaped onto the roof from the alleyway he’d been hiding in. Gigantitan had been surprisingly hard to defeat this time. He didn’t have enough time to use his cataclysme again, though, before Ladybug snatched the akuma from the sky. 

“ J’t’ai eu! ”

The white butterfly flew away.

“Bye bye, petit papillon. Miraculous Ladybug!”

Soon enough, with a flash of sparkles, Paris returned to its normal self. As if nothing had happened. As if no one had…

“Wait! My baby!”

“Careful, there!”

Auguste’s mother ran. 

Chat Noir jumped once more. He caught her baby, falling from the sky, and landed gracefully on the ground way down below. Auguste’s mother’s entire body relaxed with relief. She snatched her son from Chat Noir’s arms and sank to her knees on the ground, holding him tight. 

“Thank you, Chat Noir! How could I ever repay you?”

“No need for that, madame . This old cat never misses a chance to come out and play!”

They exchanged a grin. He saluted with two fingers and, with a wink, tapped his staff on the ground. Soon enough, Chat Noir had joined Ladybug up on the nearest roof. 

They bumped their fists together.

“ Bien joué! ”

Another night, another akuma defeated. Superheroes never took breaks, huh? Chat Noir looked out upon the city of his childhood, peaceful once more, glistening in the dark. Beyond his dark mask, his eyes drifted to the Seine’s banks. There, a couple he knew rather well was walking away. Packing up. 

Aw. Was the fun over?

“Speaking of playing.” Chat Noir nudged Ladybug with his elbow. “Wanna play a game? I spot with my little eye a romantic date night. Care to join, ma Lady?”

“No, thank you, chaton . See you next time!”

With that, she jumped away from roof to roof, carried by her yo-yo.

Chat Noir sighed.

Even though Ladybug had gone home - at least, that was what Chat Noir presumed - he didn’t really want to. Not yet. He hadn’t used his last cataclysme ; therefore, he had all the time in the world to travel around the city, see the lights, and enjoy a moment to himself before going back to his stuffy life. So Chat Noir took a trip around Paris. He stopped above the Closerie des Lilas, where he could hear Ernest Hemingway talk about books and life. Then, he took a stop at the Folies-Bergères, from which Jazz music fluttered to his twitching ears. He thought he heard a glimpse of Josephine Baker’s voice, rising above all others. Then finally, he stopped at L’Oiseau Rare , where he hoped he’d get to listen to Francoeur and Lucille singing.

If they went to their show, of course. Tonight had been a date night, after all.

Chat Noir was used to being quiet as… well, quiet as a cat. He’d wander around, leaping in secret, enjoying his perch on Paris’ roofs. He didn’t think he’d wake up Francoeur, sleeping on the aforementioned roof. 

Francoeur woke up with a start. A hand rubbed at his eyes.

“Ladybug?”

Black cat ears twitched. 

They stared at each other. For one long moment.

Francoeur’s eyes widened.

“Adrien?”

Chat Noir froze. Could he have been figured out that easily? No. No, it couldn’t be! Chat Noir straightened, A gloved hand ran through his hair.

“Adrien? Who’s this Adrien you’re talking about?”

“ Un certain… Adrien Agreste.”

“Oh! Adrien Agreste! No, no, no, you’re mistaken! My name’s Chat Noir. And Adrien? He’s a friend of mine! I mean, not close friends, but we’ve seen each other. A few times. I saved his life a few times, I mean. I mean, I’m flattered you’d think I’m as good-looking as he is! Did you know he’s a fashion model?”

“I didn’t, actually.” 

Chat Noir flashed Francoeur a grin. Francoeur, in turn, squinted his eyes.

“You’re… the trickster of the two, right?”

“I’m the guy you need when there’s a Chatastrophe!”

Francoeur groaned. 

“And you’re the one with the puns, huh?”

Chat Noir bowed. “That’s Chat Noir for you, monsieur !” Quick as lightning, Chat Noir’s body contorted. Awkwardly. “But out of curiosity - after all curiosity didn’t kill this cat - why did you think I was Ladybug?”

Francoeur shrugged.

“You know, I talked to her once. On this very spot, even. Ladybug grilled me in on the whole Papillon-and-the-akumas thing, don’t worry. She also told me about the whole… keeping-each-other’s-secret-identities-secret too.”

Chat Noir relaxed.

“Good. That’s a good thing.”

Wind blew in, ruffling Chat Noir’s hair. A not too cool, not too warm kind of breeze. The kind that didn’t make him want to go home. That was for sure.

No matter how much Plagg might have protested.

Chat Noir perked up when Francoeur spoke again.

“Well, if you’re not busy… come, take a seat. If you want.”

Francoeur patted the spot next to him. Chat Noir looked from Francoeur’s face to his hand. From his face. To his hand. And back again. He considered it for a long second. Did he have the time? If his father realized he wasn’t home, sleeping in his bed…

“ Pourquoi pas ?”

Chat Noir plopped down next to Francoeur. They were silent for a long moment, listening to the sounds coming from the streets. Paris never slept, after all.

“So,” said Chat Noir. “Problems with your lady friend?”

Francoeur blinked at him. Chat Noir explained:

“The lady I saw you with. By the Seine. You two seemed… close. Why are you alone on a roof? Did you get in a fight?”

“Oh!” Francoeur waved a hand. “She knows I’m up here. I come here to think every so often. I’ve always felt most at home here. On the roof. Ever since I was a kid. I’ve offered her to come with me once or twice, but she always says she wants to give me time for myself, too. And well… sometimes I fall asleep.”

“Ah. Sorry to have woken you up.”

“Not a problem. Ladybug did the same thing before we talked.”

“That’s true. You talked to Ladybug. When was that?”

At that Francoeur turned to him. Blinking at him. Chat Noir blinked back. His heart had skipped a beat when he’d heard her name. Ladybug.

And he had a feeling Francoeur knew it.

“She never told you?” 

Chat Noir shook his head.

“Huh. I guess she never had the time to tell you. Or maybe she simply forgot about me. That could also be a possibility. Anyway, we had a chat on this very same spot a few weeks ago. I was in a much worse shape at the time.” 

Francoeur looked away. Back at the golden roofs. When Chat Noir encouraged him with a wave from his paw, he continued: 

“Let’s just say, for a time, I was lonely. I didn’t have a spot to sleep in or no one to turn to. Ladybug appeared and offered to help me. Somehow, Ladybug and fate led me here. I’m eternally grateful for that.”

“I’m eternally grateful to have her in my life, too.”

“Oh?” 

Francoeur cracked a smile. He glanced at Chat Noir from the corner of his eye. Slyly.

“Ladybug, huh?”

“Yeah.” Chat Noir’s soft smile turned sour. He closed his eyes and, leaning on his hands, threw his head backwards. Eyelids shut. Tight. So tight, in fact, it hurt. “No. I mean… I like her, but… she likes someone else.”

“Ah.”

There was a moment of silence. Chat Noir looked up at the sky, his head still thrown back. He had a feeling Francoeur was going to say something. 

He was right, he soon found out.

“Maybe she’ll come around. Maybe she won’t. That’s her call to make.”

“I know. That’s what I told her.”

“You talked to her about it?” 

Chat Noir looked up at Francoeur once more. He nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

“That means you’re the good sort. Others may have thrown a childish tantrum. Others more would have made her feel lesser. It takes great courage to admit your feelings to yourself, but it takes much more to accept when they aren’t returned. You’re observant about your own feelings and now that you too talked about it, you’re in tune with hers. That’s a good start. But you know, maybe what you’re looking for is just around the corner.”

Chat Noir arched an eyebrow.

“You think?”

Francoeur shrugged.

“I think so. Life can change quickly. Sometimes, it’s hard to see what’s ahead.”

Silence settled between them. A companionable kind of silence. Born from two people who had seen much hardship already in their lives. Not that Francoeur knew any of it. But, Chat Noir realized, they had more in common than their love of the piano. From what he’d heard about him, Francoeur had had quite a life. For a moment, Chat Noir wanted to talk to Francoeur about his father. About his mother’s passing. About how lonely he had been, stuck inside his bedroom all day, before he’d been allowed to go to school.

Francoeur spoke first, though. 

“You know, I know this great girl. She’s about your age. Her name’s Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Have you ever seen her around the city?”

A soft smile spread all over Chat Noir’s face. Warmth filled him.

“Marinette? Yeah. I’ve stumbled upon her. Once or twice.”

“She’s a really sweet gal. I have a feeling she has something for Adrien.”

Chat Noir’s jaw dropped.

“I’m sorry?”

“Adrien Agreste. The handsome model I got you mixed up with before. You said he was your friend, right?”

“... Yes?”

“I know him. Adrien. He’s friends with Marinette. And… well…”

Francoeur turned his head to the sky, his gaze avoiding Chat Noir’s.

“You know, sometimes, we can’t see what’s right in front of us.”

Chat Noir mulled that over. A thought simmering in his brain. Did Marinette like… Adrien? Did Marinette like him ? What if she did? What if he…? Not for the first time, he thought of her smile, her timid face, her creativity, her kindness, her brave heart. 

For once, he realized, she wasn’t that different from Ladybug. 

She was a hero in her own civilian life.

“Right.”

Francoeur slapped a hand on Chat Noir’s shoulder.

“I’ve given you a lot to think about, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I’ll leave you to it.” 

Francoeur pushed himself to his feet. He walked up to the edge of the roof, towards one of the alleyways around L’Oiseau Rare . His feet clinking and clanking on metal, Francoeur started to step down a ladder. Before he could disappear beyond the roof, though, Francoeur stopped and lifted a finger. 

“Before I forget! If you’re ever in need of a hand or someone to talk to. You know where to find me.”

“Of course. Thank you, Monsieur Francoeur.”

Francoeur arched an eyebrow. A knowing smile stretched on his lips.

“How do you know my name? I never told you.”

Chat Noir almost swallowed his own tongue. He sputtered something unconvincing, but his own brain stopped him before he could make even more of a fool of himself. Francoeur barked a laugh.

“What? Cat’s got your tongue?”

Chat Noir huffed. He pouted, arms crossed over his chest. 

Francoeur chuckled some more.

“ Bonne nuit, Chat Noir.”

With a wink, Francoeur disappeared out of sight. 

It took Chat Noir some time to return home. He took the long way back, leaping from roof to roof. Once in the safety of his bedroom, though, he muttered “détransformation!” and became Adrien Agreste once more. 

Plagg fluttered next to him. 

“Phew! That was too close for comfort.”

“What do you mean?”

“That man? Francoeur? He almost figured out your - our - secret identity!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Before Plagg could grumble something more, Adrien dove under the covers. He gazed up at the ceiling. Thinking. It took him some time to find sleep. 

Marinette, huh?

The next morning, Marinette woke up bright and early. Brighter and earlier than usual, anyway. She soon found out why. Her superhero senses were tingling. Even in her sleep. Indeed, she woke up to the news that an akuma had appeared in the city. Upon hearing Maman’s sigh as she gazed at the newspapers, Marinette felt panic turn her stomach to ice. She finished her tartine and ran back upstairs, feigning having to finish some homework. Guitar Vilain was supposedly “holding auditions” (aka, holding people hostage) directly under the Arc de Triomphe. Wanting to find his newest musical talent. 

“This is terrible, Marinette!” exclaimed Tikki as she scrambled out of Marinette’s bag. “We have to do something!”

“Of course, we will! Don’t worry”

Marinette waved a hand at her earring. A smile appearing on her face. 

“Tikki, transforme-moi! ”

She found Chat Noir at the square at the feet of the Sacré-Coeur. The entire basilica was covered from head to toe, so to speak, in a thick purple substance. Almost like a jelly or a glue. With a growl, a push and a kick, Ladybug tried to push her way through. To get to the hostages. No such luck. Their muffled mumbles called for help from beyond the goo.

“Stuck in a sticky situation, ma Lady? ” asked Chat Noir, landing next to her.

“Yeah, you could say that, chaton. Give me a minute, will you? Lucky charm!”

A flash of pink burst out of her yo-yo. And a... sheet of paper dropped into her hands. A red sheet of paper covered in red dots. Ladybug lifted an eyebrow.

“A… sheet of paper?” 

Chat Noir scratched at the back of his head.

“That’s a little too paper-thin to be used as a weapon, wouldn’t you say?”

Ladybug looked around. She squinted her eyes at nothing and everything. She was looking for… something. What, exactly? Ladybug scratched her chin. Nothing came. No plan was jumping up at her. Come on, Ladybug. Think! 

“Ladybug and Chat Noir!”

They both looked up. Jagged Stone - now Guitar Vilain - looked at them through his bubble-like force field. His voice, amplified though a bit distorted, came through radio speakers scattered around the Sacré-Coeur’s roof. Guitar Vilain was sitting at a desk. One hand waved at the civilians he had trapped with him. Inside the bubble. One hand lifted a silver microphone up to his lips.

“Don’t you want to join us? I’m sure you have a lovely voice!”

“Lovely voice…” 

The solution appeared, fully formed, inside her brain. Ladybug snapped her fingers. 

“That’s it!”

“What’s it?”

“This isn’t just a sheet of paper.” She waved the aforementioned sheet of paper up to his eyes. Emphatically. “This is a music sheet!”

“Huh huh. So what?”

“So we need to find someone who likes to play music. A professional.”

Chat Noir opened his mouth. As if to suggest… something. Or someone. Then, as if he thought better of it, he shut his mouth. Once again.

Ladybug’s thoughts drifted to a man sitting on a roof. A man well-loved for his love of music. Then, Ladybug thought about a poster she’d seen on the streets of Paris. An angel and her mysterious man. Singing.

“I think I know who.”

Chat Noir nodded.

“I know too.” 

Ladybug’s earrings dinged, giving her a familiar warning. 

“I’m going to de-transform soon. Meet me in Montmartre, all right? At L’Oiseau Rare .”

“Got it. See you there, ma Lady! ”

Using her yo-yo, Ladybug propelled herself to the closest buildings. She ran as fast as she could, jumping from roof to roof. Down below, people pointed, stared and clapped after her. Ladybug sent them a salute before jumping away. She followed her footsteps back to the cabaret where she’d talked to a certain musician a few weeks before and landed on the roof once more. No Francoeur in sight this time, though.

She burst through the door a few seconds later.

“ Monsieur Francoeur! Madame Lucille!”

Both looked up from their breakfast, sitting at a table in the otherwise empty dining room. Lucille put down her newspapers and Francoeur froze, croissant halfway to his mouth.

“Ladybug?” they asked in tandem.

“We need your help.”

They exchanged a glance. It was almost unnerving, how in sync they were.

That was exactly what they needed.

“How can we be of assistance?” asked Lucille, rising from her seat.

Ladybug heard something fall behind her. Something or, more accurately, someone. A hand pressed against her shoulder. Her lucky black cat had arrived.

“We have to fight against a musical akuma.” 

Gasps answered Chat Noir. Yeah, it was that bad.

“He’s holding civilians hostage and the only way to reach him is to sing a song.”

Francoeur and Lucille nodded. They scattered around, her grabbing her coat and him grabbing his wide-brimmed black hat. Then, he stopped.

“You know what? I think I have just the song.”

“You do?” said Lucille.

“We’re going to need a piano and a violin, though.”

“I’ve got the violin!” called a voice. They all turned around, towards another man who had appeared upon the stage. “Name’s Joseph. Salut, les jeunes .”

“Oh! Yes, Joseph. Our new musician and an old friend,” explained Francoeur.

“Huh-huh.”

“Where is this akuma?” asked Lucille.

“At the Sacré-Coeur.”

“Hm,” hummed Francoeur. “We need to get going, then. Fast. We’ll take the funicular.”

“Got it,” said Ladybug. “Chat, keep Guitar Vilain busy while we’re on the way.” 

“Sure. I’ll see you there. You, stay with them. Just to be sure!”

“Right. Of course!”

Before he could leave, though, he spun back around. Looking at Francoeur and Lucille.

“And thank you. For helping us.”

“You need help. That’s the least we can do.”

With a nod, Chat Noir ran off. Francoeur and Lucille scattered. He went to look for his music sheets. Lucille and Joseph, with Ladybug’s help, lowered the piano from the stage and pushed it outside. Francoeur joined them soon enough. Once outside, they stumbled upon Lucille’s friends. Raoul, Émile and Maud, Ladybug remembered.

“What are you guys…?” 

Émile pointed at her. 

“Is that Ladybug?”

“No time to talk,” cut in Lucille. “We have to get to the Sacré-Coeur. Stat!”

“Civilians are in danger,” explained Ladybug.

“We’ll take Catherine,” said Raoul. “She’ll take us to the funicular.”

Ladybug jumped in front, stuck in-between Émile and Maud. Wheels hissed as Raoul stepped on the gas. Precisely twelve minutes later, they were overlooking Montmartre, facing the Sacré-Coeur. Raoul, Émile and Maud had stayed with them. Tagging along for the ride. Chat Noir was already there, of course, and he waved them closer. Francoeur and Lucille pushed the piano at the feet of the last few steps. Joseph opened up his violin case.

“So, what do we do?” asked Maud. “We watch?”

“You stay out of the way, yes,” said Ladybug. “That’s the plan.”

“Okay. We’ll do that.”

Chat Noir put two hands on his face and shouted:

“Hey, Guitar Vilain! We’ve found someone for you to audition!”

“Did you now?”

Guitar Vilain appeared at the top of the stairs. He looked them over, rubbing his chin with his index finger and thumb. He pouted.

“Hm. I would have preferred if you two could sing, though.”

“We found professionals, ” encouraged Ladybug. 

Guitar Vilain brightened at that. 

“Why didn’t you say so sooner? Sing!”

Francoeur flipped his music sheets until he reached the right song. He cleared his throat and exchanged a glance with Lucille. Joseph put his violin to his neck. Francoeur made a countdown with his fingers. Trois, deux, un …

They started to play.

Elle est debout juste derrière moi (She’s standing right behind me)

Elle me sourit, détourne les yeux (She smiles at me, turns away her eyes)

Je crois comprendre son drôle de jeu (I think I understand her funny game)

Guitar Vilain hissed. He dropped to his knees, hands reaching for his ears. As if… As if Francoeur and Lucille’s music was weakening him. His force field started to shake. It was almost an imperceptible vibration, but Ladybug could feel it. Guitar Vilain gasped, but didn’t get up from the floor. He clenched his fists at his sides.

“What are you doing?! Stop that!”

“No, no, no! Keep going!” said Ladybug. “His akuma must be in his guitar, but it’s safe inside that force field. We need to bring it down!”

Lucille nodded. Arms spread out, she sang:

Quand je le vois, je ne suis plus moi (When I see him, I’m no longer me)

Je deviens rouge et parle tout bas (I become red and talk very low)

Le souffle court, j'ai le cœur qui bat (Out of breath, my heart beats fast)

Ladybug swallowed.

That song hit a little too close to home.

When she glanced over at Chat Noir, she saw that he was looking back at her.

They looked away. Blushing.

Guitar Vilain’s force field shook again. Stronger. Much stronger. 

Francoeur seemed to take this as his cue. He jumped up, hands still playing. The music quickened, violin and piano notes melting together.

M'éloigner (Pull away)

C'est la seule chose à faire (That’s the only thing to do)

J'ai le cœur à l'envers (My heart’s upside down)

Je sens comme un pouvoir (I feel like a power)

Qui me tire au-delà (That pulls me away)

Du mur qui nous sépare (From the wall that separates us)

Lucille answered him, not missing a beat.

Mais pourquoi (But why)

Je n'ose rien lui dire? (Don’t I ever admit it?)

Je le veux que pour moi (I want him just for me)

Sa lumière, son sourire (His light, his smile)

Traversant pour un soir (Going through, for a night)

Ce mur qui nous sépare (The wall that separates us)

“No!” shrieked Guitar Vilain. “Stop that!”

Francoeur sat back down on the bench. He looked up at Guitar Vilain with what, Ladybug presumed, was a challenging grin. Soon, very soon, there would be hell to pay. Francoeur’s fingers flew on the keys as he sang once more.

Mais pourtant (But however)

Lorsque je pense à elle (When I think of her)

Je me sens infidèle (I feel unfaithful)

Je veux fuir dans la nuit (I want to run away through the night)

Pour voir ma coccinelle (To see my ladybug)

J'ai le cœur en duel (My heart’s in a duel)

Crack! A large rift appeared in the force field. Ladybug tapped Chat Noir’s shoulders. She pointed. He nodded. They jumped high above the piano, above the steps leading to the Sacré-Coeur, and landed at the basilica’s feet. Using their yo-yo and staff, they started to hit the crack. 

“Hey! Stop that!”

Come on… Just a little more… Just a little more…!

Behind them, Francoeur and Lucille sang together.

Toi et moi (You and me)

Si nous pouvions nous voir (If we could see each other)

Au-delà du miroir (Beyond the mirror)

Bas les masques pour un soir (Without masks for an evening)

Brisons de part en part (Breaking from all sides)

Ce mur qui nous sépare (The wall that separates us)

Guitar Vilain spun around, pointing at Francoeur and Lucille. 

“And you! Yes! You! Stop singing!”

Francoeur obviously didn’t listen, because he continued singing:

Je ne comprends pas ce que je veux (I don’t understand what I want)

Je ne peux pas tomber amoureux (I can’t fall in love)

D'où vient (Where does)

Ce sentiment mystérieux? (This mysterious feeling comes from?)

Ladybug froze. Was… Had Francoeur somehow read her thoughts? Or had he decided to pick this song… completely out of the blue?

Un jour viendra, tu découvriras (One day, you’ll figure out)

Le bonheur d'être à deux, toi et moi (The joy to be two, you and me)

Lorsqu'on se serrera (When we’ll hold each other)

Dans nos bras (In our arms)

She reached out a hand, shaking Chat Noir’s shoulder. He looked over at Ladybug.

“I think we need your cataclysme, ” she said.

He shook himself out of his reverie.

“Right.”

Mais pourquoi (But why)

Si mon cœur est ailleurs (If my heart’s somewhere else)

Je sens dans mon âme une chaleur? (Do I feel a warmth in my soul?)

Un frisson qui me porte bonheur (A shiver of pure joy)

Behind them, Joseph stopped playing and only Francoeur’s piano notes wandered around the square at the feet of the Sacré-Coeur. Lucille’s voice rang cristalline in the air.

Pourtant je le ressens (However I feel it)

Ce tourbillon de sentiments (This whirlwind of emotions)

Qui nous emporte au firmament (That takes us to firmament)

Dans le soleil et dans le vent (In the sun and the wind)

Comme une chance unique (Like a unique chance)

Un tournoiement magique (A magical whirlwind)

Chat Noir raised his gloved hand. Shadows burst through his fingers.

“ Cataclysme! ”

C'est fort quand je le vois (It’s strong when I see him)

Je veux crier sur tous les toits (I want to scream on the rooftops)

Notre amour qui nous tend les bras (Our love that extends its arms)

Mais je sais que je ne dois pas (But I know I should not)

Ce n'est pas le moment (This is not the moment)

Il faut être patient (We have to be patient)

Être patient (Be patient)

Chat Noir brought down his gloved hand.

The force field cracked open. Ladybug ran inside. Once more, Joseph started to play. Francoeur’s piano intensified. Lucille sang. Energized. 

Ladybug ran. Her heart drumming in her ears.

Je sais qu'un jour on s'envolera (I know one day we’ll fly away)

Car mon amour (Because my love)

Un jour tu verras (Because my love

Qu'auprès de moi tu deviendras toi (That with me you’ll become you) 

Ladybug pushed her way to Guitar Vilain’s desk. The trapped civilians moaned, stuck to the walls in cocoons of goo. They couldn’t talk clearly, gagged by sticky jelly. Behind her, Chat Noir started to search everywhere for Guitar Vilain’s guitar. It appeared. Right behind the desk. Ladybug’s voice rang out, loud and clear:

“I found it!”

Je ne comprends pas ce que je veux (I don’t understand what I want)

Je ne peux pas tomber amoureux (I can’t fall in love)

D'où vient (Where does)

Ce sentiment mystérieux? (This mysterious feeling comes from?)

Ladybug lifted the guitar over her head. Chat Noir nodded.

“Do it!”

Guitar Vilain screeched.

“No!”

Nous serons réunis dans la nuit (We’ll be reunited in the night)

Comme dans le jour (As in the day)

Où tout ce qui brille (Where all that shines)

Sera notre amour à l'infini (Will be our love infinite)

Ladybug smashed the guitar. 

Malgré ce grand mur (Beyond this great wall)

Qui nous sépare (That separates us)

L'amour traverse de part en part (Love travels from all sides)

Nous sommes ensemble une force rare (We’re together a rare force)

A white butterfly flew up into the air. At the feet of the Sacré-Coeur. Ladybug had freed the akuma before Chat Noir even had the time to jump next to her. 

“ Tu as assez fait de mal comme ça, petit akuma. Je te libère du mal!”

With a flash of sparkles, all the citizens were freed from their jelly prison. The force field disappeared. Vanished.

They’d done it. They’d succeeded. 

Ladybug and Chat Noir fistbumped. 

“ Bien joué! ”

Together, followed by the freed citizens and a dazed-looking Jagged Stone, they walked down the steps leading to the Sacré-Coeur. A sour-looking Raoul was standing off to the side, while Émile and Maud held hands. Ladybug and Chat Noir walked around the piano and found Francoeur and Lucille sitting next to each other. Close. So close.

Their noses touched.

Together, they sang the last part of the song.

Pour toi je patienterais tout une vie (For you I’d wait all a life)

Car oui je t'aime, à la folie (Because I love you madly)

Je t'aimerai à l'infini (I’ll love you infinitely)

Joseph finished the last few notes. Everyone cheered. Lucille and Francoeur looked up. As if abruptly brought back to reality. Chat Noir giggled. Ladybug only smiled, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You think you can get that piano back home?” asked Ladybug.

“Um…” Francoeur licked his lips. “Yeah. I mean, yes. We can. We will.”

“Good.” 

A familiar beeping sound alerted Ladybug of her de-transformation. Ladybug pushed her fist against Chat Noir’s shoulder. Playfully. 

“Time to go, chaton! Thank you for your help, everyone.”

“You’re welcome, Ladybug.”

With a wink, Ladybug jumped off the Sacré-Coeur’s hill. Leaving them all behind.

Chat Noir smiled as he watched her leave. 

One day.

Maybe one day. 

“You okay there, buddy?” asked Francoeur.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m all right.” 

Chat Noir jumped after Ladybug. Without looking back. 

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Lucille didn’t quite know what to make of this.

She knew that Francoeur loved her. That was certain. He’d basically told her so in a love song. And she knew she loved him back. That was also certain.

What she didn’t know what to make of, though, was how whenever they tried to spend time together, something or someone was always there to interrupt. Always. Akumas. Curtain calls. Surprise practice sessions. You name it. There was always someone who needed help, someone who hurried them along, someone who physically put themselves in-between them.

Quite literally.

And just now, Tante Carlotta had stumbled upon them sitting in the half-light, backstage a few hours before the show.

“We have a problem!” she came in, looking ruffled and restless.

“Tante Carlotta?” Lucille jumped to her feet. “What is it?”

“There’s a fight in the dining room.”

Lucille sent Francoeur a glance. He nodded. 

They ran.

Sounds crashed into Lucille’s ears as they ran through hallway after hallway. Shouting. Anguish. Frustration and new and old pain.

“You’re going to ruin your career!”

“Since when have you ever cared about my career? 

Smash!  

Broken glass. 

At that, Lucille ran faster. In the dining room, she found… Rémy. Rémy and a man. Rémy and a man whom she didn’t know. A gruff, pepper-and-salt-haired man who… somehow... looked a lot like what Rémy would possibly look like in the future. If , that is, the future was unkind to him. 

Rémy and the stranger didn’t even seem to realize they were there. 

They continued to argue. Catching her breath, Lucille took a moment to assess the situation. They were standing. At a standstill. On either side of a table. Rémy was so small, it looked like he was using it as a shield. Protecting himself. Safe from the puddle of broken glass - from an actual shattered glass, Lucille quickly realized. 

But no one seemed to care about the damaged dining ware. 

Only about the broken argument that was still going on.

“Since when have you ever cared , Papa?” asked Rémy, eyes wet.

Papa?

Well, that confirmed Lucille’s suspicions.

“You weren’t there when I started!” Rémy tapped his chest with one fist. “You never cared about what I wanted! Even back home, you always told me I was ridiculous for loving cooking, because it’s not a manly job. It was always Émil this and Émil that, you should be more like Émil. Well, I’m not like Émil, all right? I’m not and I never will be and you never respected me enough to try to listen .” 

A beat. Hesitation.

“And now you… you’re…”

“I’m what, Rémy? I’m what?”

“You’re trying to make me think you give a shit about what’s going on?”

All right, that was enough. If she let it continue, words beyond their control would spew out like lava from a volcano. She cleared her throat. Loud and clear.

“Can anyone tell us what’s going on?” 

Rémy looked up. Eyes wide. Bottom lip trembling. He looked… 

He looked scared. Terrified.

Before his father could say anything, Rémy zigzagged around the tables. With quick, small steps. He stood in front of Lucille and Francoeur, hands clasped together under his chin. Pleading. He was pleading . 

“Please knock some sense into him, please!”

Francoeur 

“Okay. Take a deeeep breath, Rémy. That’s right. Good. Now, can you please formally introduce us before going further with this? Please?”

“Oh. I didn’t… right.”

Rémy took a step back. He almost crossed his arms over his chest, but probably thinking it would make him look childish, he settled for clenching his fists at his side. Curtly, head bowed, he said in a rough voice:

“This is my father. Émil Senior.” He took a pause, took in another deep breath, and added: “Papa, this is Francoeur and this is Lucille. They’re a singer-musician duo.”

“Nice to meet you,” offered Francoeur.

“Sure,” was all the answer he got.

Lucille wanted to roll her eyes. What a charming man! They eyed each other for a long second. Silence settling in in the dining room. Settling like dust on the floor. Tante Carlotta’s eyes burned holes in the back of Lucille’s head. Standing at the ready. If any help was needed. Then, when no one seemed bothered enough to talk, Lucille pushed on:

“So, what’s the matter at hand exactly?”

“Émil told Papa where I lived.”

Émil Senior scoffed. 

“He couldn’t keep that secret for long.”

“Well,” spat back Rémy, “maybe he should have!”

“Okay,” cut in Francoeur. Palms out once more. “Émil Junior told him where you lived. What else? Rémy, tell me. What’s going to, and I quote, ‘ruin your career’?”

An enormous sigh rocked Rémy to the core. He put his head in his hands.

“Anton Ego showed up at Gusteau’s last night.”

Francoeur and Lucille looked at each other.

“He did?”

“Yeah. And he wants us to cook for him. Tonight.”

Francoeur blinked. Lucille arched an eyebrow.

“And that’s a problem?” she asked. “Somehow?” 

“Well, yes!” This time, Émil Senior answered. “It is a problem. A big one! Because Rémy’s not ready. He’s… He’s just a kid. Anton Ego has been in this business for years. My wife used to read his critiques from before Émil was even born! He’s scathing. No, not just that.” He sent a pointed look at Rémy. “He can destroy you. ” 

Rémy looked away.

“And if Rémy can’t impress him…”

“How do you know he can’t?”

Émil Senior’s face fell. Mouth agape.

“I beg your pardon?”

Lucille stepped forward. The clack-clack-clack of her heels echoed in the otherwise silent dining room. Her foot sank into the puddle of broken glass. Clink, clink, clink! Lucille didn’t care. She didn’t stop. Not until she faced Émil Senior. She was smaller than him and yet… he took a step back. Intimidated.

Good. 

Lucille glared with all the fury she could muster and, with her index finger, tapped in the middle of the man’s chest. She heard Francoeur cough, behind her.

“Here we go,” she thought she heard him.

Lucille clenched her teeth. Hard. Her finger dug in the man’s torso.

Yeah. Here we go.

“I said: how do you know he can’t?”

“He’s… He’s just a kid!”

“So what?”

Émil Senior opened his mouth. Closed it. He muttered something incomprehensible. 

“I, I, ah…”

“So what?” she repeated. Voice cold. Ice-like. “He’s a teenager. Sure. But he’s old enough to work at Gusteau’s . Where were you, these past months? Where were you when he got the restaurant back from Skinner? He and his friends are the only reason Linguini is the owner at all! Can you believe that? Linguini owes him his inheritance!”

“But…!”

“I’m not done! Rémy is a dear friend. He’s a creative, intelligent, passionate young man who deserves all the respect and the encouragement he can get! He doesn’t need you to try and spit on his hard work. He deserves better than that! Gusteau’s , the best restaurant in the City, deserves better than that!”

“Besides,” Francoeur stepped forward, putting a hand on her shoulder, “if it wasn’t for Rémy, Linguini wouldn’t have been hired at all. Did you know he taught him how to cook?”

Émil Senior stared at them. Awestruck.

There. They were getting to him. 

Good.

Visibly swallowing, Émil Senior sent Rémy a lost look. 

“I… I didn’t.”

Rémy looked away.

“So again,” Lucille said, voice softening. “I’ll ask, you, sir. Where were you?”

Émil Senior looked from Lucille to Francoeur to Tante Carlotta Rémy. Then, he deflated like a balloon. With a heavy sigh. His voice much softer, he said:

“Rémy, I… I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. It’s a bit late for that. Sorry about the glass, by the way. It was an accident.”

“Don’t worry,” replied Francoeur. “I’ll take care of that.”

With that, Rémy closed his eyes. With a huff, he ran past the tables and pushed the doors open. He was outside before anyone had the time to react. Émil Senior made a strangled, rather pitiful call after Rémy. 

“Rémy…! Come back here! We’re not done!”

Francoeur shook his head. 

“Leave him be. He needs some time.”

Émil Senior glared at them. His jaw clenched, teeth bared.

“You don’t know my son the way I do!”

“Then why did he run away?”

Silence fell. A stunned silence. Full of truths left out in the open. Full of open wounds. Émil Senior gaped at Lucille. Face turning red, he ran out the door.

The door slammed behind him. Leaving Lucille, Francoeur and Tante Carlotta alone.

“Well,” said Francoeur. “I wasn’t expecting... this… this early this morning.”

“Yeah, me neither. I like the quiet, though. Do you think…”

Lucille never had the time to finish. Someone barged into the cabaret. Doors bursting open once more. Letting golden light and a gust of air in. Lucille frowned. Barely a crease in her forehead. She almost expected to see Rémy there, once again. But no. It wasn’t Rémy. 

It was…

“Maud?”

“Leave me alone!”

Three girls followed in after Maud. Lucille’s eyebrows rose to her hairline. 

Oh.

She knew those girls.

She’d seen them walk around the City. Like they owned the place.

Chloé Bourgeois was unmistakable. Her father was the Mayor. Everyone knew her. And Chloé made sure everyone knew her. 

Sabrina Raincomprix came next. Maynott’s lackey’s daughter. It seemed she was as much a lackey as her father was. 

Then, a third girl followed, head held high. Lilla Rossi. Marinette loathed her. A liar and a cheat. That was all the good things Lucille had to say about this one. 

Huh. 

So these were the girls who tormented Maud.

Génial, she thought sarcastically. What a great trio.

“I said: leave me alone! Go away!”

“Come on, Maud,” said Chloé with immeasurable disdain. “Picking on you is way too much fun. You’re my main source of entertainment!”

“Besides,” added Lilla, “who would believe you ? There’s three of us and one of you.”

Somehow, they hadn’t seen Lucille or Francoeur or Tante Carlotta yet. Lucille cleared her throat. Once again.

Four pairs of eyes landed on her.

“ Mesdemoiselles ,” she said, voice even. “What’s the meaning of this?”

Sabrina swallowed.

“I, uh, ah…” 

Once again, the doors to the dining room burst open. Another group of three girls barged in. Thankfully, it was only Gabrielle, Marcelline and Eugénie. Lucille breathed out in relief. The cavalry had arrived. 

Génial! And for real, this time.

“Maud!” said Eugénie. “We came as quickly as we could!”

The three of them put themselves in front of Maud, shielding her. Shielding her like the table had shielded Rémy, Lucille noted with a smile.

“Leave her alone.”

Chloé sniffed. “Is that a threat? Do you know who my father is?”

At that, Lucille’s pride at her friends turned to boiling rage. Of course, Chloé Bourgeois would think she was going to get away with it. Like usual. Well, not this time! Not on her watch! Lucille’s nostrils flared. Her hands balled into fists. Unballed. Balled again. At her side, she saw Francoeur’s surprised face contort in anger, too. Lucille and Francoeur put themselves in front of Marcelline, Eugénie and Gabrielle. Lucille crossed her arms over her chest, looking the three girls up and down with disgust. 

But first, she breathed in. Deeply.

Now wasn’t the time for an exploding volcano. Now was the time for cool rage. The kind that would cut through a mean girl’s façade.

Lucille tsk ed.

“I know exactly who your father is, Chloé Bourgeois. Do you know how I know that? Do you even know who I am?” Lucille looked at her nails. She put on a cold, hard smile. “My name is Lucille. I’ve been the star of this show for years . This is Francoeur, my partner. Now, now, back to your father. André Bourgeois comes here every few nights, whenever he can. He’s come backstage and congratulated us many times before. In person. He even brought me flowers a few times.”

“So?” Chloé’s face turned a shade of mauve. “You think you’re better than me?

“Oh, Chloé. I know so. Do you want to know why?”

Sabrina gulped, at her side. Lilla watched in silence, seemingly enjoying the show.

“What would your father say if we barred him from coming here for life because his daughter has been harassing one of my dearest friends?”

Chloé’s face fell. Turning pale.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, trust me, she would,” only said Francoeur with a terrifying grin.

“It doesn’t matter. Who would he believe? His daughter or two musicians?”

At that, Marcelline, Gabrielle and Eugénie stood on either sides of Lucille and Francoeur. They all adopted the same cold stare. The same stiff stance. 

A stand off.

“We’re six against the three of you. I think he’ll believe us.”

“You’re all forgetting a seventh person.”

They all turned around. Tante Carlotta came forward. Smiling. She walked around them, slow but determined, with a shark-like grin on her face. Lucille had only ever seen her like this a few times. When she did business meetings with investors.

Tante Carlotta could be as terrifying as all of them.

When she wanted to, of course.

“M-M-Madame Carlotta?” sputtered Chloé, losing all countenance.

“It would be a shame if one of your father’s friends were to talk against you, now wouldn’t it, Chloé? Or we can do like my niece suggests. And bar him for life.”

“But… but…!”

“You can keep on telling us off,” cut in Tante Carlotta, looking at her nails like Lucille had done a minute or so ago, “or you can apologize to Maud, leave, and never, ever bother her again.” Tante Carlotta finally put herself in Chloé’s face, standing in front of Francoeur, Lucille, Marcelline, Eugénie and Gabrielle. “And if I ever hear from Maud that you decided to touch a single hair upon her head, or sent even a scathing glare her way, I will know about it and I will go directly to your father.” 

A pause. Heavy silence.

“Do I make myself clear?”

Chloé looked like a mouse in a trap. She tried to argue, but when Tante Carlotta cocked her head to the side at her, she bowed her head.

“Yes, Madame Carlotta.”

“Good. Now. Apologize.”

They all parted like waves, leaving Maud to stand in front of Chloé. At first, Chloé tried to mutter something noncommittal, but Tante Carlotta cleared her throat. 

Pointedly. 

“All right, all right! Maud, I… I’m sorry.”

“And you won’t do it again.”

“And I won’t do it again. So, you’re happy, now?”

Maud grinned. 

“Yeah. Seeing your public humiliation has brought me some comfort. But I don’t want anyone to forget there are other people in the room.” Maud stretched her head above Chloé’s shoulder. “Right, Sabrina? Right, Lilla?”

With a sniff, Chloé walked out the door, head held high, while Sabrina who didn’t say anything else, followed, head bowed. Lilla didn’t follow, though. She did something worse.

She lied .

Lilla dropped at Maud’s feet. A pitiful attempt to be exonerated. Lucille felt sick to her stomach. 

Really. 

She wanted to puke. 

What shameful behavior.

“Please, Maud!” she cried, hands clawing at Maud’s shoulders. “You know I didn’t mean any of the awful things Chloé did! She was so mean, and I… I couldn’t…!”

“You’ll never change, Lilla.”

Maud slapped her hands away. She took a few steps back. Lucille had never seen her like this before. Eyes harsh behind her glasses. 

“You always lie.”

“I… No, of course not! I would never lie!”

“But did you ever do anything to stop Chloé? No! When you weren’t making thinly veiled remarks, you stood there and watched the show! You’re like Sabrina. Just as bad as Chloé. You’ve picked a side and can’t even commit. You disgust me.”

“I…”

“Get out of my sight.”

Lilla rose up, faster than Lucille thought possible. In the blink of an eye, her soft, almost scared face turned cruel. She put herself in Maud’s face.

“You think you can give me orders?”

Lucille snorted, making herself known once more.

“She’s earned that right. And if she can’t, I can kick you out the door in a snap.”

Lilla breathed out a heavy breath. Then, she basically ran out the door. Following after Chloé and Sabrina.

Leaving them all in silence.

Once more.

Lucille put a hand on her face, letting out a deep sigh. All tension was released from her shoulders. It was over. This was it. 

She jumped when the doors opened.

Again?!

This time, confrontation wasn’t on the menu, though.

“Maud?”

It was Émile. He was standing in the doorway, half-bent forward with his hands on his knees. He panted. Heavily. As if he’d run a marathon. Émile removed his bowler hat and brushed off sweat from his forehead. He still offered Maud a brave smile.

“Oh, Émile!”

A tearful Maud jumped into his arms. Lucille smiled at the sight.

They made a lovely pair.

“I… I came as quickly as I could! Are you okay, Maud?”

“Yes. I am.” 

Maud half-released herself from Émile’s warm embrace. She waved at Lucille, Francoeur, Marcelline, Eugénie, Gabrielle and Tante Carlotta. 

“Thanks to my friends.”

“It was nothing, Maud,” said Francoeur. 

“Hey,” said Lucille. “Where’s…?”

Once again, the doors were pushed open. And once again, confrontation wasn’t on the menu. It was Raoul, who waltzed in with a wide grin on his face. 

“Hey, everyone! What did I miss?”

Everyone burst out laughing.

Relief flooded in. Pulling at smiles, relaxing limbs. Soon enough, the entire crowd was gathered in a group hug. Lucille smiled, her chin settled in the crook of Tante Carlotta's neck.

Marinette, Adrien and their friends would never believe them.

And for once, Lucille didn't mind that Francoeur and her had been interrupted. 

She didn't mind it one bit.

“Don’t thank us, Maud. You deserve it.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Eugénie, Gabrielle, Marcelline, Émile and Maud stayed at L’Oiseau Rare all day. That is, they did until Tante Carlotta pushed them out, an hour or so before the show. Lucille and Francoeur practiced some more. Then the lights went down, the crowd hushed, a rush of adrenaline coursed through Lucille’s entire body, and the curtains fluttered open. The show began. Everything was the same, joyful as ever, until they finished the last song of the show. 

Francoeur’s new song.

Un p’tit baiser d’amour (A little lovely kiss)

Un p’tit baiser d’amour (A little lovely kiss)

Un p’tit baiser d’amoureux (A little lovers’ kiss)

As the song and choreography called for once, Lucille leaned on Francoeur. Pulling herself to the tip of her toes, she kissed his cheek. As practiced. As expected. And yet... he looked at her in a rather strange way. Eyes wide and mouth a teeny tiny bit agape. Lucille bowed for the crowd. As if remembering where he was, Francoeur bowed, too. Everyone clapped, flowers were dropped on stage, and when the curtains were drawn, Lucille found herself determined. 

Tonight, she wouldn’t let anything distract them.

Lucille and Francoeur left to get changed out of their show outfits in their respective dressing rooms. She found him again right outside her door, leaning against the opposite wall. When he smiled at her like that, her heart skipped a beat.

Had she ever doubted she loved him?

“So did you like the song?” asked Francoeur, pushing himself off the wall. 

“I did. It was lovely.”

They started to walk away. Her shoulder almost brushed against his arm. Close. They were so close. For once, Lucille found herself anxious. Nervous. She hesitated… 

Then she took his hand. 

He wrapped his fingers around hers. Warm. So warm. 

They didn’t dare look at each other. 

Soon, they found themselves at Lucille’s door, far from the musicians packing up their instruments and the rush of people piling out of the cabaret. It was quiet here, with barely a clock ticking the time away. Lucille finally faced him. She took his other hand in hers. Breathed in… and out. In… and out. 

There. 

Now, she could say it.

“Francoeur?”

“Hm?”

“Remember when we danced by the Seine? Before… you know, the whole giant baby akuma messed everything up?”

“Of course, I do. How could I forget?”

“Well… you said there was something you wanted to tell me that night.”

“Oh!”

Red creeped up from the collar of Francoeur’s suit up to his neck. Still, he held her gaze. He never looked away.

“I did, didn’t I?”

“Hm, hm. And I said I wanted to tell you something, too.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

A pause. Her tongue felt like lead in her mouth.

“Francoeur, I…”

Another pause.

She couldn’t bring herself to say it. 

Instead, she leaned forward. Hoping he understood. And as usual with Francoeur, so in tune with her, a flash of awareness lit up in his eyes. He leaned down. Before anyone could interrupt, she put two hands on Francoeur’s cheeks and pushed herself on the tip of her toes. 

They met halfway.

Kissing Francoeur felt like home. Like everything was right in the world. Like he would follow her lead and she would follow his. Her hands moved from his cheeks to his hair, underneath his big, wide-brimmed hat, and his to her lower back. She pressed against him and he sighed into her. 

Home.

He tasted like home.

It took all her strength to pull away first. They stared at each other for one long second. She saw it in his eyes. He didn’t need to say anything. He felt the same. 

Lucille’s voice, almost pleading, whispered:

“Stay.”

He swallowed thickly. 

“Stay?”

“With me. Tonight.”

Panic flashed in his eyes. 

No, no, no, no! This wasn’t what she meant!

“I don’t… I don’t mean… No! Not yet. I don’t want that yet. But I don’t want to be alone. Please. Stay.”

“... Okay.”

She opened her bedroom door, slipped inside, and closed it behind Francoeur. Then, she looked around. The lights turned off, the night washed everything in a greyish blue. She opened her wardrobe doors open and turned to Francoeur, who stood there.

Immobile.

“Make yourself comfortable. Just… don’t look, okay?”

He nodded quickly and spun around. Lucille changed into her nightgown. Once the soft, white dress was draped over her shoulders, she called over her shoulder:

“You can look.”

“Wait up, just give me a minute.”

Then, after a minute of silence, he said: 

“All right. You can look.”

Lucille turned around. Since his nightclothes were somewhere in his bedroom, he’d opted for simply wearing the short-sleeved, short-legged suit he wore underneath his tuxedo. Her eyes darted to his leg, naked from the thigh down. 

His scarred one. 

She knew it was there. She knew there was pain trapped under the skin. But she hadn’t known - not until now - that it was visible. There. A scar spiralled down his leg, past his knee and up to his shin, reddish and scratchy.  Shadows of the Great War’s barbed wires. 

Lucille looked up.

He was looking away. Not at her. Never at her. She could almost hear Francoeur’s thoughts behind his lost eyes. 

He probably half-expected many things. 

Disgust. 

A gasp. 

Maybe a hand over her mouth.

He probably didn’t expect her to say:

“Thank you.”

Francoeur looked at her. Deep in her eyes.

“Thank you? For what?”

“For feeling like you can trust me enough to see it.”

Francoeur gulped. 

“I… I thought you’d be…”

“I’m thankful for that scar, Francoeur. It shows me you’re alive.”

His shaky breath reached her ears. 

“I… didn’t see it that way.”

Lucille sank under her covers. She patted the spot next to her. Without saying anything more, Francoeur settled in Lucille’s bed. At first, he tossed around a bit, almost comically too big to fit in here, until he rested on his back. Lucille hugged his side, one arm resting on his belly and her face in the crook of his neck. 

When he tried not to look at her, Lucille frowned. 

She had to ask:

“Are you sure you’ll be okay? You don’t seem comfortable.”

“Yeah, no, I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Hm, hm. Since the War… I can’t sleep on my stomach anymore. The back is fine. The sides are fine. But the stomach… well.”

“I see. Got it.”

Lucille closed her eyes. Her slow breathing calmed her. The clock tick-tick-ticked on the wall. And Francoeur’s heartbeat echoed in her ear. Calming. So calming.

“Where would you want to go?”

Lucille looked up. She arched an eyebrow. 

“I’m sorry?”

“You told me you’d like me to take you anywhere. So where would you want to go?”

“Hm…”

She thought about it for one long second. She didn’t find any better answer than:

“Well… This may sound like a cop out, but… anywhere. Yeah. I’d love to go anywhere. Anywhere and everywhere. From Melbourne to Montréal, from Auckland to Cairo, from Buenos Aires to Hong Kong. Anywhere.”

“That’s not a cop out. To go anywhere, that takes desire and drive. I like that.”

Lucille sent him a look. She grinned.

“Desire and drive, huh?”

Red grew from his neck to his entire face, this time.

“I won’t elaborate on how that sounds, right about now.”

Lucille chuckled. There was a smile in her voice when she said: 

“Sure, you won’t. What about you? Where would you want to go next?”

“I don’t know. Same as you, I suppose.”

“Okay, wrong question. Where would you want to go back?”

“Hm…”

Francoeur squinted his eyes. Looking at the empty space. He nodded to himself.

“While travelling, I’ve learned something new everywhere. Everywhere, there’s something new to love. But right now? I’d say Berlin.” 

He raised a hand, the one opposite the side Lucille was pressed against him. 

“I know, I know. It sounds strange. We fought the Germans in the War, blah, blah, blah. But the Weimar Republic? I’m so glad they picked up the pieces after the Kaiser abdicated. Did you know Berlin has the second biggest cinema industry, after Hollywood? Women and Jewish people are allowed to be at the Reichstag. As fully-realized members of Parliament! Can you imagine? Their nightlife is fascinating, too. People wear whatever they want. I’ve seen women in top hats and suits! People can love…”

He trailed off.

“Yes?” encouraged Lucille.

Francoeur cleared his throat.

“They… uh… can love whomever they want. In secret.”

“They can?”

He nodded.

“That’s good. Have you ever kissed a boy, Francoeur?”

Under the palm of Lucille’s hand, warmth blossomed. Spreading through Francoeur’s entire body.

“Huh… I, um…”

Lucille looked up at the ceiling, trying to hide her smile. 

“Don’t be shy. I don’t mind. I’ve kissed both girls and boys, too. You know what that tells me?”

He shook his head. 

“No?”

“That there’s twice more people you could’ve chosen, and yet you chose me.” Lucille shifted, settling her head once more in the crook of his neck. “Same for me. I chose you.”

She felt him swallow against her cheek.

“I’m not Maynott. I’d never force a choice on you.”

Lucille couldn’t stop herself from smiling.

“I know. Trust me, I know.”

“Lucille?” 

She looked up at his face. 

“I… I’ve wanted to ask you for a while. What did I do to catch your eye? In that alleyway? When you allowed me to come here?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

“What did I do to ever deserve you? I’m just… me.” 

There was no hint of teasing or sarcasm in his voice. Francoeur’s eyes were full of sorrow and old pain. His heart exposed. 

God, she loved him. 

She loved him so much , it hurt.

“You never try to be someone else. You’re always so authentic, it’s almost hard to understand. Everyone in this City, it feels like, is trying to be something they’re not. But not you. Never you. And… not just that. You let me be myself when I’m with you.”

“You can? Oh! Well, me too.”

She kissed his neck. His breath shuddered in his throat.

“Good.” 

Then, she looked him in the eye.

“You deserve the world, Francoeur. You of all people do.”

With barely a nod, he leaned forward. They kissed gently, slowly, one last time. And one last time, they gazed into each other’s eyes. With matching grins. Lucille settled her head back down between his shoulder and neck. Soon enough, her eyes were closing. And Lucille drifted off to sleep. The best sleep of her life.

Knock, knock, knock.

Lucille’s head jerked up. Light. There was light at the window. Morning. She’d slept through the night without realizing it. And then… She looked into Francoeur’s sleepy eyes. 

What…?

“Lucille? It’s Tante Carlotta.” 

Both Lucille and Francoeur stiffened.

“I know Francoeur is there. I’m not mad, ma chérie . I just want to warn you. Victor Maynott is at the door.”

***

If there was anything Skinner hated more than humans, it was rats.

And he’d learned to know rats pretty well. For the past few weeks, since he had escaped law enforcement, Skinner had been living in Paris’ sewer system. Keeping his head down. But sometimes, he had to go out and get something to eat. Today was one of those days. Montmartre was a place where people could disappear quite easily, he’d figured out. If one didn’t dawdle. Especially when one smelled like sewage. Like he did. Head bowed and shoulders up, he stalked the streets, béret firmly in place.

He stopped when he heard a cry behind him.

“Newspapers! Newspapers! Gusteau’s reputation back to its former glory! Come read Anton Ego’s latest review! Newspaper! Newspaper!”

Wait.

Anton Ego?

Skinner waited while no one was watching. He snatched a newspaper from the stand and walked away at a brisk pace. He stopped in the Passage Francoeur , where he found peace and quiet. Then, he unfolded his newspaper.

In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little, yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgment. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read. But the bitter truth we critics must face, is that in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is probably more meaningful than our criticism designating it so. But there are times when a critic truly risks something, and that is in the discovery and defense of the new. The world is often unkind to new talent, new creations. The new needs friends. Last night, I experienced something new: an extraordinary meal from a singularly unexpected source. To say that both the meal and its maker have challenged my preconceptions about fine cooking is a gross understatement. They have rocked me to my core. In the past, I have made no secret of my disdain for Chef Gusteau's famous motto, “Anyone can cook.” But I realize, only now do I truly understand what he meant. Not everyone can become a great artist; but a great artist can come from anywhere. It is difficult to imagine more humble origins than those of the genius now cooking at Gusteau's , who is, in this critic's opinion, nothing less than the finest chef in France. I will be returning to Gusteau's soon, hungry for more.

Face turning purple, then white, then red with rage, Skinner crumpled the newspaper in his hands and threw it away. With a war cry. 

Gusteau’s, Gusteau’s, Gusteau’s! Anton Ego himself had bought into their nice smiles and good food! They’d managed to win his trust back! When Skinner had kept that raft afloat all these years after Gusteau’s death! It must have been that kid, Rémy’s fault.

That rat was to blame for the burden that had become Skinner’s life.

Jaw clenched and breathing harsh, Skinner was about to resume his walk when he stopped. Freezing mid-step. When one lived in the sewers, they learned to listen. 

So he did.

He listened. 

There were voices. He could hear them. From far away. Skinner put his ear to an air vent. That’s when he stumbled upon quite the commotion at L’Oiseau Rare .

“Ow! Stop that! You’re hurting me!”

“Let me in!”

“No! This is my niece’s room, don’t… no, stop!”

“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!”

Skinner almost ran for cover at that. That booming voice belonged to none other than Victor Maynott. He was sure of it, now. It couldn’t belong to anyone else’s.

“Victor, I…”

Oh. 

A girl’s voice. 

Youthful, in any case. 

So Maynott was having trouble with a lady friend of his?

“GET OUT OF HER ROOM!”

“NO! Leave him alone, he has every right to be here! I want him here!”

Oh, oh, oh! 

Skinner snickered.

 It seemed Maynott had gotten himself… cuckolded! 

“HE DOES NOT!”

“Monsieur Maynott,” said the first woman’s voice, “if you don’t leave this room immediately, I’m calling security!”

“Security? But I’m the security in this city, woman!” 

Skinner snorted.

Maynott wasn’t wrong.

“That… That doesn’t matter! Lucille, I… I thought… but I thought!”

“You didn’t think! You assumed! I never told you I liked you, I barely ever gave you the time of day! All I’ve learned since I’ve met you is that you’re an insufferable, arrogant, self-centered man! Now get out of my-!”

A loud crack!  

A slap? 

A punch? 

Skinner couldn’t be sure.

But he knew Maynott had hit her. Hard.

“VICTOR!”

“DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH HER!”

“STEP AWAY FROM MY NIECE! GET OUT! GET! OUT!”

The side door opened and out came a wreck of a man. Skinner pushed himself off the wall. His balance thrown off, Maynott fell in a puddle. Dirt and grime splattering across his pristine suit. Madame Carlotta at the door, face contorted in rage.

“If you ever touch my niece again, I’m taking matters into my own hands. You have been warned. Do not come back!”

With that, she slammed the door shut. 

Silence. Broken up by the sounds of the street, outside the alleyway. Maynott pushed himself to his feet, mumbling something. Something possibly outrageous, Skinner presumed. The man ran a hand over his face. His hair was all over the place, his eyes wide and blood shot, his teeth bared. He growled at the cabaret.

“That’s it! Wait until I tell everyone your niece is a whore!”

Maynott tried to kick a rock and banged his foot against a trash can instead. Grabbing the shiny metallic trash can and throwing it against the wall, he wailed:

“Your reputation will be ruined, you’ll be out of business before long! No one messes with Victor Maynott and gets away with it!”

Maynott grabbed the trash can lid. Discarded on the ground. His knuckles turned white as he held it. With iron fists. The man was lost in his rage. He growled like a wild animal. Skinner remained still. Maybe, then, surely he wouldn’t be noticed?

Skinner put his foot down. Wishing to get away.

He made too much noise.

He was noticed.

Maynott spun around and saw him. Realization seemed to hit the man like a train. A hand curled like a claw around the front of his shirt. He shivered in fear. His eyes widened when Maynott brought him closer, noses inches from each other. The intimidation tactic worked wonders, Skinner had the time to think.

 His ears rang when Maynott bellowed:

“YOU!”

Skinner swallowed. Quick, Skinner, quick. Think!

“Who? Me? Who…?”

“You! Yes, you! You’ve been making a fool of the police for weeks! If I hadn’t been so busy looking for you all over this city, maybe then… maybe…”

Maybe I would have gotten the girl.

Skinner heard it. Loud and clear. His eyes ran over Maynott’s angered face, trying to find a way out. Bluffing wasn’t going to get him out of this situation. Instead, he decided to play into Maynott’s rage. A rage he was familiar with, by now.

“I know how it feels. To be wronged like that.”

Maynott’s face fell. He let Skinner go. Maynott took a few steps back. 

“I beg your pardon?”

Skinner walked forward. 

“How dare they wrong you? How dare they decide that they can throw you away? What have you ever done to earn yourself such punishment? Who do they think they are?”

Maynott seemed to size Skinner up for a moment. 

“You’re… You’re right.”

Maynott dropped to the ground, sitting against the wall. His hands clenched into fists. His nostrils flared, he looked at a spot on the side of the building. Skinner took a seat with him. 

Who knew one day he’d have something in common with Victor Maynott, of all people? 

But they did. They shared a rage.

“I thought she loved me,” growled Maynott. “I really did! Who wouldn’t? I’m the greatest catch she’ll ever find! Who does she think she is? She can’t say no to me! She’s just a girl, just a lowlife singer! And now she’s run off with this… with this monstrous soldier-boy. What does he have that I don’t?” 

“They took everything I had,” joined in Skinner. “They took my home, my restaurant, my business. Everything I’d ever built. By the sweat of my brow, too! Who cares if some of it wasn’t entirely legal? I’m the one who kept that restaurant afloat! If it wasn’t for me, who lifted it up after the old man died, it would have died with him! His legacy! Gone! His son would have inherited a pile of dust. Nothing to his name.”

He spat on the ground. 

Maynott did, too.

Ah, yes , they could almost hear on the wind. 

A voice, far away, locked away in a grand house. 

A rounded window opened up. A cane tapped against the floor. 

What powerful rage, what all encompassing fury! I’m sure such passion can come in handy.

Silence settled between Skinner and Maynott. In the streets, people walked without care. Automobiles rumbled by. Music flew into their ears. Life resumed as normal. Paris had rejected them and now there they were, sitting in silence. Outside. In a dirty alleyway. 

Rage bubbled just under the surface. It simmered in their veins. Made their blood boil. Skinner’s hands gripped his béret. He pulled it off his head. Crumpling it in his hands.

“Look at me! Reduced to a tramp living in the sewers.”

“You deserved more, you know,” said Maynott. “I know you’re a bootlegger and a fraud. But that doesn’t mean they had the right to take everything from you.”

“And you’re such… you’re you! You’re the Police Commissioner of the City of Paris, for crying out loud! What girl can say no to you? What girl has a right to?”

A laugh fluttered on a butterfly’s wings. 

This seems almost too easy, mes garçons.

In his lair, Papillon was ready.

Fly , mes petits akumas, and evilize them!

“We should make them pay,” said Maynott in a low, dangerous voice.

“We should. If we don’t, who will?”

Skinner heard something. From up above. He looked up. Two butterflies, black and purple, fluttered down into the alleyway. Akumas. Skinner almost laughed. A predator’s smile curled on his face, eyes sharp as an eagle’s. Had Papillon decided to come out and dance? Wonderful! That’s exactly what they needed. The akuma landed on his béret. A flash of purple filled his vision. 

A voice burst into his head, loud and focussed. 

“Rat King. I am Papillon. I will give you the power of manifesting an infestation. This power will allow you to wrong your enemies and bring them to their knees.”

Maynott’s entire body shook with rage. Skinner realized he did, too. Somehow, Skinner also heard an echo of Papillon’s voice coming from Maynott himself. His akuma had landed on the trash can lid he still held, turning it to black. 

“Capitaine Spotlight. I am Papillon. I will give you the ability to fly above all of Paris, so that you can reach your angel without fear.”

Papillon’s voice rang loud and clear between them. 

“All I want in exchange is for you to bring me back Ladybug’s and Chat Noir’s Miraculouses.” Earrings and a black ring popped in Skinner’s head. “Understood?”

“Yes, Papillon,” they both said.

Shadows engulfed Skinner and Maynott. The world turned to night for just a few seconds. Then sunlight burst in Skinner’s vision, empowering him. No longer was he doomed to hide underground! Now he could stand in the light of day! When Skinner rose up, he’d never felt more alive. His head had before furry, with wide ears, a long snout, frightening teeth and  piercing eyes. A rat’s head. The rest of his body was dressed in a King’s outfit. His béret had become a tall crown. He was dressed in blue and gold. Magnificent.

He was magnificent. 

Skinner’s tail flickered.

He grinned.

Time to come out and play.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Skinner climbed to the rooftops. Hands raised to the heavens, he called:

“Hurry, my little furry friends! Come to me!”

An army of rats emerged from every sewer in the city. Crawling from every hole. Thousands of tiny feet scuttling along the pavements. In the streets, people screamed, jumped aside, ran away. Skinner’s army was barely affected. It never bothered. It never stopped. The first legions of rats appeared at Skinner’s feet. All of them clad in silver. Knights bowing to their king. 

Good. They were both ready. 

Skinner jumped off the roof.

Skinner landed in front of a horse drawn carriage. Cobblestones cracked under his supernatural weight. The horses reared back, neighing their displeasure. Skinner set off to work. He freed the horses and, with a flick of his wrist, threw out the coach driver and the passengers. Then, he raised his hands. With a flash of light, the carriage had become as beautiful as the Roi Soleil Louis XIV’s carriage at Versailles. Gold and red and decadent and magnificent.

Skittering sounds reached his fine-tuned ears. Finally, Skinner was surrounded by his army of rats. Some were much bigger than normal rats. Reaching the size of horses. 

Perfect.

With a snap of his fingers, Skinner attached the biggest rats to his carriage. Then, he snapped the reins and called:

“Yah!”

Skinner’s carriage travelled through the streets of Paris. Faster than any automobile. Faster than any horse. His army of rats filled the streets, climbing over walls, pushing cars out of the way. One rat was small and insignificant. But an army? 

Paris’ terrified citizens tried to flee.

Yes, they tried .

When Skinner raised his hands, they were forced to bow at his feet. 

As they should.

But Skinner wasn’t quite satisfied yet. He had one goal in mind. 

Finding that slimy little chef.

Skinner reached Gusteau’s faster than he could have ever dreamed of. People in the square in front of the restaurant scattered -ha! like rats! - screaming at the top of their lungs. Others rang from terraces and tried to seek refuge in shops nearby. When Skinner raised a hand, they all froze into place. Then, they turned around and were forced onto their knees.

Good. 

Kneel . 

“Get inside!” Skinner pointed with his index finger at Gusteau’s closed doors. “And bring me back Rémy, their child prodigy!”

His army of knights pushed the doors opened. Cutlery clanked on the floor, tables were overturned. More people screamed. He was pretty sure he heard the thud! of someone fainting. Soon enough, Rémy was carried outside by the rats, tied up with ropes. Rémy’s eyes were wide with fear. Gazing at nothing and everything… then focussing on Skinner. Skinner himself laughed. A high-pitched, grating sound.

“Now, now, now! Who’s the bigger man now? Or should I say… rat?”

Rémy’s face contorted in disgust. He mumbled something in disbelief. Skinner leaned over the side of the carriage, a hand at his big, rounded ear. Rémy said louder:

“What are you…? Skinner?!”

Skinner laughed again.

“Yes, yes, yes! Indeed, it is me, Chef Skinner! But call me Rat King!”

“You…! You’re not going to get away with this! Ladybug and Chat Noir…!”

Skinner rolled his eyes.

“Ugh. I’m tired of you already. Shut him up!”

With matching nods, the hypnotised rats locked Rémy at the back of the carriage.  Just as the doors closed, effectively shutting Rémy up, Gusteau’s new owner came rushing out of the restaurant, followed by his little girlfriend. Skinner sniffed.

“Ah! If it isn’t Linguini and Colette! Come to enjoy the show?”

“Chef Skinner?”

“You stole my life, I’m stealing your chef! Bonne journée! Yah!”

Skinner snapped his reins. With that, they were off.

***

Up there in the sky, a hot air balloon arrived at L’Oiseau Rare .

Maynott attacked.

***

Marinette hadn’t heard about the commotion at either Gusteau’s or at L’Oiseau Rare . That was why she didn’t rush to Maître Fu’s house. Instead, she walked in at her own pace. Slowly. Calmly. He welcomed her with a warm smile. He gestured at her to take a seat in front of him. She did so with a nod. 

“ Bonjour , Marinette. How have you been?”

“Good. Tired, but good.” 

“What about you, Tikki? Still enjoying the life of an active kwami?”

A little red kwami jumped out of the bag Marinette always wore at her hip. Tikki’s arms rested upon her cheeks as she nodded so quickly, her face became a blur.

“Oh, yes, yes, yes, Maître Fu! Everything is perfect.”

“Good. I’m happy to hear that.”

Marinette looked from Tikki to him. 

“What about you, Maître Fu?”

“Oh! I’ve been well. I’ve walked around the city, enjoyed a few shows… Life has been kind to me, these past few weeks. Though I do think you’ve been busy.”

“Incredibly busy. Papillon’s akumas attack more and more frequently. Thankfully, we haven’t seen Mayura and her Sentimonsters in a long while.” Marinette hesitated. She opened her mouth and closed it. Then, she gathered her wits and said: “That’s why I wanted to talk to you, actually. I think it’s time I know about the secrets of the Miraculouses.”

There was a pause. Then:

“Oh.”

Maître Fu rubbed his chin. Marinette’s stomach gathered in knots.

“You may not be wrong, Marinette, but learning the ways of the Masters is a difficult, if not dangerous training.” Fu raised both hands, palms out. “I fully believe in your capabilities. That’s not the problem.” He dropped his hands on his knees. “But learning too much… I’ve paid the price of learning too much. It’s exhausting. You can never go back once you learn everything. Are you ready to fully commit to this?”

“Yes, Maître Fu. I am ready.”

At that, he nodded and ran a hand through his hair. 

“I thought you’d say that. All right. Make yourself comfortable. We’re going to be here a while. Let me just get some books for…”

“Maître Fu! Maître Fu, Maître Fu, Maître Fu, Maître Fu, Maître Fu!

A little green blur rushed in through the window, talking lightning fast. Marinette and Maître Fu turned to Wayzz. He hovered in between them, spinning around as if he was trying to talk to them both at the same time. Maître Fu raised his index finger in a gentle warning.

“Calm down, Wayzz! Take a breath. What is going on?”

Wayzz stopped. His small chest heaving with each breath. He breathed in, breathed out, breathed in. Then, he blurted out:

“There are akumas on the loose.”

Marinette’s fingers turned cold and clammy.

“Akumas?” she asked. “As in, plural? As in, more than one?”

Wayzz turned to Marinette.

“I’m afraid so, yes. New ones.”

Marinette jumped to her feet. That was even worse. At least they knew what to expect with old akumas. Not that Ladybug and Chat Noir couldn’t take care of them.

“Tikki? We’re going after them.”

“Of course! Do you know where they are, Wayzz?”

“One of them is currently travelling through the city in a carriage pulled by an army of rat knights and the other scours the sky in a hot air balloon at this moment.”

Tikki and Marinette stared, sharing disbelieving faces.

“I beg your pardon?” asked Marinette.

“It’s true! I wouldn’t make akumas a laughing matter.”

“I know, but… rat knights? Are they toys or something?”

“No, the rats of Paris crawled out of the sewers to do his bidding.”

Chills ran down Marinette’s spine. She swallowed down the bile that rose up in her throat. Great. Actual rats. She straightened, trying not to think about the image that had unfortunately popped in her brain. 

They’d faced worse, she figured.  

But had they?

“Okay. I guess this had to happen eventually.”

“And do you know who those akumatized people are, Wayzz?” asked Tikki. “Who they were before being transformed?”

“No idea, unfortunately.”

“Got it.” Marinette raised two fists. “We have all the information we need. Tikki?”

“ Oui, Marinette?”

“ Tranforme-moi! ”

A flash of pink light later, Ladybug stood in the room, ready for battle. With a wave goodbye aimed at Maître Fu, she jumped out the window, carried by her magical yo-yo. Ladybug jumped from roof to roof. As she ran atop the apartment buildings, she shielded her eyes from the sun with one hand. 

Wait.

What was that thing over there, turning at the corner of the boulevard?

Yes. There it was. A carriage pulled by giant rats. And accompanied by an army of rats. Wayzz had been right.

Oh. Great.

“So, he wasn’t kidding when he said all the rats had crawled out of the sewers.”

“ Ma Lady! ”

Chat Noir landed gracefully on the roof next to her. Just after he did, he stopped and stared. Mouth agape. He stared at the carriage, pulled along by a laughing rat-man dressed in a horrifying version of Louis XIV’s get-up. Even Chat Noir himself couldn’t talk for a moment. Then, he cleared his throat and said:

“You know, I may be a cat, but even I’m not up to hunting for those.”

“No time to be comfy, Chat Noir! Come on!”

Ladybug flung her yo-yo and flew after the carriage. She heard Chat Noir follow after her. Soon, they were running on the roofs alongside the carriage. Ladybug put her hands like a cone around her mouth and called:

“Hey! Monsieur! You’re going past the speed limit!”

The rat-man turned his head towards her.

“Ladybug! Chat Noir! What a lovely surprise! Come to save the poor civilian?”

Ladybug’s eyes zeroed-in on the side of the carriage. A head had appeared at the window. Wide eyes looked at her in fear. Wide eyes she knew well. Ladybug gasped.

“He’s got Rémy! Rémy Petit! Gusteau’s best chef!”

“Ha!” The rat-man laughed. “That poor boy has nothing on the great Chef Skinner! Rat King won’t let him out of his sight. And then, he’ll make me rich!”

“Well,” pointed out Ladybug, “now we know who Rat King is! It’s Chef Skinner!”

“Rat King, huh?” said Chat Noir. “Isn’t that the character from Casse-Noisette ?”

Ladybug looked at him over her shoulder. “I didn’t know you liked ballet, chaton! ”

He rubbed at the back of his neck. 

“Oh, just a little. Watch out!”

Ladybug looked in front of her. She frowned. What should she watch out for? There wasn’t anything in her path. But then, she realized. He hadn’t meant that she watched out. He’d said that to the Rat King. Because there was now a small and very much human army standing their ground in the street. Blocking the road. Ladybug jumped in front of them, landing in the street, and swung her yo-yo to form a protective shield. 

At the last second, Rat King’s carriage spun around - stopping with a squeal of wheels - and a dozen rats were lunged at Ladybug. None could bypass her shield. The rats scuttled away, hissing at her and glaring with their mean purple glowing eyes. 

Ladybug ignored them. Instead, she turned to the angered mob.

“What are you doing? You have to get to safety!”

“I’m not going anywhere!” said a man who, from the look on his face, looked like he wanted to tell Rat King there was Hell to pay. “He took my son!”

“He took my baby brother!” yelled a young man, raising a fist.

“What about you guys?” asked Chat Noir, landing  next to Ladybug.

That’s when Ladybug saw, amongst the crowd…

“I’m Linguini, I own Gusteau’s. If it wasn’t for Rémy, I wouldn’t even know who my father was. I wouldn’t have my restaurant. I wouldn’t have anything. He’s my friend and I’m not going to let anyone touch him. I’m not going anywhere.”

“He’s right,” said a woman, standing to his left. Colette, Ladybug remembered. Paris’ best female chef. “We are all here for him.”

“Hear, hear!” said many others, whom Ladybug recognized as employees at Gusteau’s . One, she knew, was rumoured to have killed a man with his thumb. 

If he had, he definitely looked the part. The chefs seemed dangerous, right about now. Wielding giant knives, rolling pins, torches and pitchforks.

Yes. Really. Torches and pitchforks.

Could this day get any weirder?

“And we’re from Rémy’s village in the south,” added an elderly woman. She cocked the shotgun in her hands. Fire burned in her eyes, behind her glasses. Her mouth settled in a mean scowl, as if she was prepared to go to war in the middle of a Parisian street. Which, Ladybug figured, was probably the case, with all things considered. “You touch one of us, you’re going to pay the price.”

“Family sticks together.”

Meanwhile, Rat King’s carriage had gotten tangled in and on itself. It zigzagged around the street until he finally faced them once more. Rat King jumped up on his seat and raised his fist at them, tail flicking.

“Get out of my way, peasants! Move aside!”

“No! You have my son and we’re not moving!”

“We need to open up that carriage.” Ladybug turned to Chat Noir. “I think we’re going to need a hand, chaton .”

“Sure thing, ma Lady. ”

His ring glowed green. Shadows gathered around Chat Noir’s paw. He lifted it.

“ Cataclysme! ”

Ladybug and Chat Noir nodded at each other. Then, together at once, they started to run, screaming all the way. Ladybug swung her yo-yo at the army of rats, Chat Noir’s paw stayed up. Their intimidation tactic seemed to work. Rat King started to scream, too. He covered his face with his paws. With a well-known half-grin, Chat Noir jumped. His cataclysmic paw landed on the carriage. It slowly turned brown, deteriorating right from under Rat King’s feet. The carriage turned to dust. And Rat King fell on his bum. 

No akuma in sight, though. Still, they had won this round. Rémy had landed hard on his chin, freed from his gilded cage. Ladybug and Chat Noir ran to un-tie him.

“Thank you! Thank you so much!” he said.

As soon as he was un-tied, Ladybug and Chat Noir moved aside.

“Rémy!”

“Papa! Émil! Everyone!”

Rémy ran in their arms. Ladybug remained on her guard, though. She swung her yo-yo protectively. Rat King had scampered to his feet quickly. Too quickly. Un-humanly quickly. With a growl, he pointed at them with his index finger.

“Attack Ladybug and Chat Noir!”

The army of rats lunged at them. Ladybug swung her yo-yo and Chat Noir hit them with his staff. Smack, smack, hiss! The chefs and villagers fought alongside them, slashing with knives and waving torches. Some rats disappeared. Going out in a puff of smoke. But more took their place. They fought bravely. But there were too many rats. 

Far too many. 

They soon found themselves surrounded on all sides. Meanwhile, Rat King was watching, perched on one of his giant rats.

“Hey, I think we need a little luck, ma Lady, ” said Chat Noir.

“Right.”

Ladybug swung her yo-yo high.

“Lucky charm!”

What landed in her hands… was a teapot. 

“A teapot?”

“You want to invite Rat King to tea?” asked Chat Noir.

In a flash of recognition, Ladybug knew exactly what this teapot  meant.

“No. But do you trust me?”

“Always.”

“Then protect Rémy and his family. I’ll be right back!”

“Be quick.” Chat Noir’s ring gave a familiar beep-beep-beep. “I’ll de-transform soon!”

With a nod, Ladybug jumped away. She ran as fast as she could on her way to Maître Fu’s house. In the streets, civilians saw a red blur, dodging chimneys as she jumped from from roof to roof. Ladybug de-transformed just as she was leaping through the window. Maître Fu startled at the sight of her, a hand over his heart.

“Marinette? What is it?”

Marinette took a deep breath, hands on her knees. Then, she straightened up. Facing Maître Fu. There wasn’t a moment to lose. If they needed help against one akuma, she shuddered at the thought of defeating two at once.

“We need help, Maître Fu.”

He nodded. Maître Fu opened up the jewelry box containing the Miraculouses. He turned to Ladybug and said:

“Choose wisely.”

Marinette’s hand hovered above the box. She took in a deep breath. 

And reached out. 

Marinette grabbed a hairpin with a diamond in the shape of a little rat. 

Not a mouse. A rat .

“The Rat Miraculous.”

“Oh, oh!” Maître Fu chuckled. “A good choice. Unconventional, but I like it. The Rat Miraculous is not to be confused with the Mouse Miraculous. The Rat is a thief and, therefore, is intelligent and quick-witted. He is creative and adaptable. The Rat Miraculous is a master of disguise, with the ability to become invisible and shielding others from sight. He should not be underestimated, for he is a capable ally and an unpredictable foe. You must choose someone worthy of such a power. Someone you trust.”

“Yes, thank you.” Marinette picked up the little black box. “I’ll choose wisely.”

“Don’t worry, Marinette. I have a feeling we both know who will benefit from this Miraculous. And I believe you’ve made the right choice.”

“Of course. Tikki, transforme-moi! ”

In a flash of pink, Marinette turned into Ladybug. She took the hairpin from Maître Fu’s box and nodded at him, face showing in a proud frown. Gone was the hesitant Marinette. Ladybug looked as determined as ever.

“Thank you, Maître Fu.”

“Good luck, Ladybug.”

When Ladybug landed in the boulevard where she’d left Chat Noir, Rémy and his family, there was no more Rat King in sight. 

“What happened?”

“He’s gone, riding one of his giant rats. But he can’t be far. He…” Chat Noir paused. His ring made another warning beep-beep-beep “If you’ll excuse me!” He darted in an alleyway, out of sight. 

Ladybug turned to Rémy. 

“Can I talk to you? In private.”

“Me? Huh… I...”

Two hands rested on his shoulders. His father’s hands. 

“Go with her, Rémy,” said his father.

“Yeah,” nodded Linguini. “Don’t worry about us.”

“We’ll be fine,” reassured Colette.

“Don’t be scared, mon garçon! ” finished the elderly lady with the shotgun.

At that, Rémy nodded.

“... Okay.”

Rémy followed after Ladybug down the boulevard and into another alleyway. They hid between a few crates and garbage bins. 

Fitting, really.

Ladybug extended her hand, opening her palm. Rémy stared at the hairpin.

“Rémy Petit? This is the Rat Miraculous. It gives you the ability to become invisible and make others, objects or living beings, invisible, too. You will use it for the greater good.” 

Rémy’s face turned from unsure to determined. He picked up the box.

“Once our mission is over, you will give me back the Miraculous. Understood?”

At that, he nodded.

“ Oui, Ladybug.”

He opened up the box. A bright blue light made him gasp. A little rat, who looked a lot like Mullo, Ladybug noted, but in a deeper, almost charcoal-greyish blue and with light pink ears, appeared. Rémy put himself nose to nose with the little rat.

“Hello? What are you?”

“My name is Nyyte! I’m a kwami. We give superheroes their powers.”

“Really? You’re adorable.”

“Why, merci beaucoup! I try my best.”

Rémy fastened the hairpin into his hair, almost completely out of sight. He took a deep breath, as if readying himself. Then, he nodded at Ladybug.

“I’m ready. What do I do now?”

“You say…”

“Nyyte, transforme-moi! ”

A flash of blue later, Rémy appeared in his own superhero costume. Rémy’s outfit was a big, baggy, swishy coat, opened up almost like a cape, in different shades of blue and black, with matching mask. Underneath, he wore a fancy suit, black and white. His hair was shorter and sleeker. Rémy’s rat ears were flesh-coloured, big and wide. When he moved, a tail the same colour as his ears flicked and swished from under his coat. Rémy lifted his fingerless-gloved hands to his face. He laughed.

“This is amazing!” Rémy spun around, still laughing. “I’m a superhero!”

“Rémy! You need to focus.”

“Right!” He froze in place. “Of course. Whatever you want, Ladybug.”

“We need to go back to fight Rat King. And we need to focus.” 

“Don’t worry. He… woah!” He produced a baton, which had been tied to his back. When Rémy twirled the baton, it extended, not unlike Chat Noir’s staff, but became a giant key. “Wow. Am I a thief? If so, I guess this key makes sense.” 

“Come, follow me. We need to find Chat Noir.”

As they emerged from the alleyway, they found Chat Noir, transformed once more, who was currently gesturing at Rémy’s village and his friends from Gusteau’s to leave. When the both of them landed next to Chat Noir, he jumped. 

“You have a new friend, Ma Lady? A mouse, huh? Are you Multimouse, by any chance? You look… different, though.”

“No! I’m a rat, actually.”

“Oh!” Chat Noir rubbed his paws together. “Oh, oh, oh! A new superhero with new superpowers! I like that. And what might your name be?”

Rémy seemed to hesitate for just a moment. Then, he smiled.

“My name is Ratatouille, à votre service! ”

“Mmmm, sounds delicious!”

Ladybug turned to the civilians who still lined the streets. Proud looks stared back at her.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” said Ladybug, sympathy making her stomach twist in knots. When Rémy’s father opened his mouth to interrupt, she raised her hands. “Look. I know you want to protect Paris. And your son Rémy. But Chat Noir, Ratatouille and I will take care of everything from now on. Find a place to stay. Hidden. You’ll know when everything goes back to normal, I can promise you that.”

“It’s okay.” Rémy’s father jumped in Ratatouille’s arms. “Be careful, okay?”

Ratatouille returned the hug. “Of course… monsieur. ”

“Yeah!” Linguini stepped forward when Rémy’s father stepped aside. “We wouldn’t want our new superhero to get in trouble on his first day!”

Colette stood by Linguini’s side. She punched Ratatouille’s shoulder.

“Make us proud! Make all of Paris proud!”

Ratatouille blinked back tears. He nodded, voice thick.

“Thank you, everyone. I will!”

With one last nod, Ladybug jumped up to the rooftops, followed closely by Chat Noir and Ratatouille. They travelled along the city’s roofs, looking for Skinner. They found Rat King - where else? pointed out Ratatouille - in the square in front of Gusteau’s . Mounted on one of the giant rats, he guarded the doors. Jealousy contorted his face. Rat King barked a laugh when they landed in the square, yo-yo, staff and giant key at the ready. The rats laughed too, unnerving chattering echoing around them.

“You needed another superhero to defeat me? Ha! Pathetic!”

“We’ll deal with you just fine.” Ladybug lifted her yo-yo up. “Lucky Charm!”

Something landed in her hands. A… 

“Frying pan?” Chat Noir chuckled. “You want to do some cooking, ma Lady? ”

Ladybug looked around. She squinted at her frying pan, at Ratatouille’s giant key, at Chat Noir and at Rat King. A knowing smile stretched on her lips.

“I know what to do. You’ll have to trust me.”

They gathered in a circle. Whispering. Holding onto one another by wrapping their arms around each other’s shoulders. Rat King, curious it seemed, raised a hand and stopped his rats from attacking. Soon enough, Chat Noir, Ladybug and Ratatouille had finished their whispering and separated. Ladybug ran away, holding Ratatouille by the wrist. Chat Noir stayed behind. He spun his staff, pointing at Rat King.

“Ah! Your friends have abandoned you?” 

“Don’t worry. Cats hunt rats, don’t they?”

“Not this time, Chat Noir! Attack, my rats!”

Ladybug sank against a wall in an opposite street, out of sight. She gave the frying pan to Ratatouille. He weighted it in his hand for a moment, smiling to himself. 

“I know a thing or two about frying pans. This one is perfectly balanced.”

“You’re ready?” 

“Yes, Ladybug.”

Ratatouille raised his giant key in his other hand. Then, he called:

“ Rat-sparaît! ”

Ladybug blinked. One second, Ratatouille was there. The next, he was gone. She looked around for a moment, then back in front of her. There may have been blurriness where he had been a second ago, but even up close, it wasn’t easy to see. Ladybug smiled.

“All right. Let’s get this cooking show on the road!”

Ladybug jumped on the roof once more, spinning her yo-yo. Chat Noir looked genuinely overwhelmed, kicking his feet and spinning his staff against the onslaught of rats crawling all around him. With her hands forming a cone around her mouth, Ladybug called:

“Hey! Rat King!”

Rat King looked up at her. Eyes wide.

She grinned at him.

“What? Cat’s got your tongue?”

At that, Rat King’s face contorted in rage. He raised a hand.

“Argh! Come, my rats! Attack Ladybug!”

The army of rats scattered away from Chat Noir and started to climb up the apartment building. Now freed from the onslaught, Chat Noir jumped up. He landed next to her. When the first wave of rats reached them, she smacked them away with her yo-yo and he twirled his staff, almost like a sword. Rats fell to the ground, but others followed. 

Always more.

Ladybug and Chat Noir smacked. And again. And again. Soon, her arms were starting to ache. But she needed to buy more time. Just some more time… Just a little more…

“Ha!” 

Rat King laughed. He moved his giant rat - upon which he was still mounted - further into the square, leaving his back open. 

“Your other friend left you in the dust! He wasn’t as trustworthy as you…”

FTONG!

“Oof!”

Rat King fell from his mount. His crown thunked to the ground, away from him. 

Exactly what they wanted. 

Ratatouille appeared, standing behind Rat King, with his frying pan raised heavenwards. He cackled.

“I’d say you’re the one who trusted us too much!”

Ratatouille dropped his frying pan. Using his key, he sent the crown flying away, down the square. It clinked against the cobblestones.

“No!” screeched Rat King, reaching out. “Give that back!”

Ladybug smiled as she smacked and smacked at the rats. 

She’d been right.

The akuma was in his crown.

Ratatouille ran up to the crown and raised his key. At the last second, something pulled him away. 

Rat King. 

In a desperate attempt at saving his crown, he’d grabbed Ratatouille by the tail. Ratatouille kicked the crown away. Then, he raised his key once more. When Rat King shielded his face with one clawed hand, Ratatouille sliced at his own tail using his giant key. 

It fell away, becoming a ribbon in Rat King’s hands. 

Ratatouille didn’t stop to care. He ran up to the crown and smashed it with his key. A little black and purple butterfly emerged from the broken crown, fluttering up to where Ladybug and Chat Noir were still fighting the army of rats. 

Ladybug raised her yo-yo.

“ Tu as assez fait de mal comme ça, petit akuma. Je te libère du Mal! ”

The akuma was trapped inside her yo-yo. 

“ J’t’ai eu! Bye bye, petit papillon. ”” 

The white akuma flew away, disappearing amongst the clouds. Down below, Ratatouille picked up the frying pan and jumped up on the roof next to Ladybug. He offered her the frying pan with a respectful bow. Ladybug, Chat Noir and Ratatouille exchanged a grin. Then, Ladybug sent her frying pan high into the sky. 

“Miraculous Ladybug!”

Rat King made one last desperate shriek. In a flash of white light, the rats disappeared, sent back where they came from in the sewers. The overturned automobiles from Rat King’s mad chase around the city in his rat-drawn carriage turned back to normal. The carriage came back to life in the form of a normal horse-drawn carriage.

Rat King, in the square, was turned back into a confused Skinner. Up on the rooftops, Ladybug, Chat Noir and Ratatouille fistbumped.

“ Bien joué! ”

Ladybug’s earrings beep-beep-beeped. 

Oh, oh.

She was going to de-transform soon. 

Chat Noir and Ratatouille were going to, too. They’d have to find a safe place to de-transform. 

“Hey,” said Chat Noir. “Your tail.”

“Defense mechanism.” 

As Ratatouille spun, his tail grew back. 

“Hey! It’s back!”

“I guess that’s one of the perks of the Rat Miraculous!”

It seemed as if everything would go back to normal. They would de-transform and Marinette would give the Rat Miraculous back to Maître Fu. And yet… Ladybug knew something was off. The job wasn’t done. 

“This isn’t over,” she said. “We need to take care of the other akuma.”

“There’s another one?” Chat Noir blinked. “Really? Where?”

“Huh… guys? I wouldn’t want to alarm you, but… I think I found the akuma.”

Ladybug and Chat Noir turned around. In the sky above Montmartre, she finally saw what appeared to be… Yes. Wayzz had been right. An airship was flying above Paris. A column of smoke was rising high. High above… 

Together at once, the three of them said:

“ L’Oiseau Rare. ”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“Lucille?” 

Get up.

Francoeur coughed. He tried again.

“Lucille!”

Get up. 

Lève-toi.

Francoeur couldn’t breathe. Cracking his eyes open, he looked around. Everywhere around him was dust and rubble. Only then did Francoeur realize he was lying on his stomach. As if burned, he pushed himself to his feet. Wrong move. Pain flared in his left leg. Francoeur groaned. He steadied himself by leaning against the closest wall. What had happened? Everything came back in a rush. Him and Lucille, walking down the corridor. A hissing sound. Too used to the violence of battle, he’d known instinctively what was coming. He’d pushed Lucille aside.

Then, everything had exploded around him.

Dust had filled his vision. Walls and ceilings came tumbling down. He’d found himself trapped in the rubble and now here he was. Alive and mostly well, by all accounts. But where was Lucille? How long had he been out?

“Francoeur?”

His heart leapt in his throat. He usually could recognize every voice, but with his senses affected… Who was that? Who was that man? Francoeur tried to put himself in a defensive position - not exactly easy with an aching leg - but there was no need. For the person that came walking around the corner was...

“Joseph!” His hand curled around Joseph’s shoulder. Steadying him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m all right. Where’s Lucille?”

They looked around. Perplexed. There was nothing but broken walls and floors.

“I don’t know! She…”

“Francoeur!”

They both spun around. A familiar figure had turned the corner, down the other side of the hallway. She broke through the cover of dust.

“Madame Carlotta! I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“I’m glad I’m okay, too.” She rubbed a hand on Framcoeur’s shoulder. “Where’s…?”

“Lucille? We don’t know.”

The ground rumbled. Everything started to shake once more. Francoeur pushed Joseph and Madame Carlotta off the walls, in the middle of what remained of the hallway. Blinding sunlight poured in. The ceiling cracked open.

A bone-chilling laugh echoed in his ears.

More tiles fell from the ceiling and he came into view. Victor Maynott. Francoeur was certain of it. His face may have been covered in shimmering powder and his eyelids painted charcoal grey, but he could identify that grin everywhere. Maynott stood under an enormous balloon. Where had he found a hot air balloon? Was that Papillon’s work?

Francoeur gritted his teeth. He made one step forward. Pain flashed in his leg. He growled, falling face first. Madame Carlotta and Joseph pulled him upright. Francoeur’s eyes turned to Maynott. Turning cold.

Francoeur spat his name out like venom on his tongue.

“Maynott!”

“Oh, please! I am no longer Victor Maynott. I am Capitaine Spotlight! And I will never stand in someone else’s shadow. Never again!”

“What have you done to her?”

“Her? Oh! You mean her. ”

Captain Spotlight pulled someone from out of view close to him. Francoeur’s heart died in his chest for just a second. Lucille mumbled something behind the gag around her mouth. Capitaine Spotlight’s hand curled around her shoulder. She tried to push him off, but his hand clawed deeper at her skin. She’d been bound by thick ropes, hands tied together at the wrists in front of her. 

She was alive. But captive.

“Say hello to your boyfriend, my little angel!”

Captain Spotlight removed her gag. The white scarf fell to the ground.

“I’m okay, Francoeur. Don’t worry about me!” A strange sound, like a grunt, came from Lucille’s throat. Then she spat in Capitaine Spotlight’s face. “Let go of me, you monstrous wreck of a man! Let go of me right now!”

“Oh, we’re feeling feisty, today, huh?”

“I’m no one’s damsel in distress! Now un-tie me at once!”

He barked a laugh.

“Aw, that’s adorable. If you won’t be my damsel in distress, I’ll make you!”

“That doesn’t make any sense! What is wrong with you?” When Captain Spotlight threw Lucille up onto his shoulder, her legs kicked helplessly in the air. “Hey! Hey! Let me go! Let go of me!”

“So long, Vadeboncoeur!”

“No! Come back here!”

A rumble rose through the air. Soon, Capitaine Spotlight’s airship flew up, up, up and away, becoming smaller and smaller as it flew far put of reach. Faster than Francoeur had expected, Capitaine Spotlight was gone. And Lucille with him, too.

“She’s gone,” he whispered. “She’s really gone. She’s… It’s my fault.”

“Francoeur, look at me.”

Two hands wrapped around his shoulders. Francoeur had no other choice but to look at her. Madame Carlotta’s eyes shone with a fierceness he hadn’t seen in her before. Wait. That wasn’t true. He’d seen that rage before, gleaming in Lucille’s eyes.

“This is not your fault. This is Papillon’s and Maynott’s fault.”

He blinked.

“Papillon?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “He’s been akumatized by Papillon. He’s jealous and angry and he doesn’t want what’s best for Lucille. He never did.” Her shoulders dropped and she looked away. “I see that now. I should have seen it sooner.”

“Madame Carlotta…”

“It’s Tante Carlotta.” She looked him in the eyes again. “You’re family, Francoeur. Remember that. Now, together, we’re going to save my niece. Okay?”

He swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Okay.”

“And I’m gonna to be there every step of the way,” added Joseph. “ T’as-tu compris?”

Francoeur chuckled. “Got it, loud and clear.”

“Now, we need to get out of here.”

Tante Carlotta and Joseph half-carried Francoeur as they walked through the treacherous hallway. Soon enough, they’d reached the entranceway. Tante Carlotta pushed the door open and emerged onto the street. They gulped fresh air in.

“All right. Can you stand?”

“Yes. I believe so.”

Tante Carlotta and Joseph untangled themselves from Francoeur. She shielded her eyes with the palm of her hand and squinted at the sky. Tante Carlotta pointed at a shadow upon the horizon. Her voice turned grave. Angered.

“That’s Capitaine Spotlight. He’s going towards the Eiffel Tower.”

“The city’s tallest point,” said Joseph. “It makes sense.”

“Yeah.” Francoeur rubbed at his eyes. “Makes too much sense.”

“We’re going to have to get there. But by foot… it’ll take too long.”

As soon as Tante Carlotta had finished talking, the rumble of a motor puttered down the street. They all turned around. Francoeur couldn’t stop a smile.

“It’s Catherine!”

A honk answered him. Catherine parked in front of them. Raoul leaned out the window. He flashed them agrin.

“Need a ride?”

“Raoul! I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy to see you.”

“Um… thank you?”

“Hey, we’re here, too!”

Émile and Maud appeared at the window. Maud waved at them with an umbrella. Francoeur’s heart burst. With relief. Happiness. Everything collided at once in his heart.

“You guys came.”

“Of course, we came! Hop in!”

Francoeur and Madame Carlotta jumped in. Then, they froze, looking at Joseph. He was still on the sidewalk. 

“Go without me. I’ll stay here and see if anyone’s buried in the rubble.”

“You’re sure?”

“Completely sure. Go get ‘em, Francoeur.”

He nodded. The doors slammed. Raoul pushed his foot on the gas. Catherine slid down Montmartre’s streets, tossing and turning at neck-breaking speed. Everything shook around them. Francoeur pushed away a terrifying thought; that Catherine might not make it at this speed. His shoulders pressed uncomfortably in-between Raoul and Tante Carlotta. But Francoeur bit back his discomfort. No time to talk. Behind them, alarms blared.

They looked back. Police automobiles were after them. Roger Raincomprix leaned out his window and one hand was around his mouth.

“Hey! Stop this truck at once!”

“Oh, no, you don’t!”

Raoul tugged on the wheel. Catherine made a razor sharp turn. They went down a paper thin alleyway, barely making it through without bumping against the outside walls. When they emerged in the adjacent street, Maud leaned forward. She squinted at the sky. 

“Hey! Look! What’s going on, up there?”

The others leaned forward, too. Francoeur pointed. 

“It’s Lucille!”

They’d gotten closer to the airship and could get glimpses of what was happening onboard now. Lucille had managed to free herself from the ropes. She’d used something sharp to make a hole in the balloon. It was, slowly but surely, losing altitude. Capitaine Spotlight raised his hands above his head. Francoeur’s heart missed a beat. Was he going to throw her overboard? But no. He’d grabbed her and was tying her up again.

“Atta girl,” whispered Tante Carlotta.

“What’s happening?” asked Raoul. “I can’t see!”

“She’s buying us time,” answered Émile.

Catherine zigzagged between streets and alleyways, using shortcuts only Raoul knew. Years of being a delivery driver would do that to you, presumed Francoeur. He couldn’t stop himself from tapping a rhythm on the dashboard. He breathed in and out. In and out. 

“Don’t worry about her,” said Raoul. They exchanged a glance. “She’ll be fine. Lucille can take care of herself.”

“I know. It’s Maynott I don’t trust.”

They continued on their way down Paris’ streets and alleyways. Sooner than Francoeur expected, they were above the Seine, on the Pont de l’Alma. They turned on the Quai Branly. Francoeur’s breath caught in his throat. 

“Raoul?” 

“Shut up, I know what I’m doing!”

They were going against incoming traffic. 

Cars rumbled by; some honked, others screamed insults at them. Raoul turned as soon as he could on the ride side of traffic. Somehow, by whatever miracle Francoeur couldn’t understand, they screeched to a stop in the street in front of the Eiffel Tower. Francoeur’s hands, which had been gripping his knees, ached. Émile, Maud and Tante Carlotta stumbled out of Catherine. Francoeur followed after them, Raoul behind him. He almost dropped down and kissed the ground, but there was no time. Capitaine Spotlight’s airship was coming. Down. Fast .

“Get away!” they called, raising their arms over their heads. “Get away, they’re gonna crash! Get away right now!”

Tourists who had been gathering in the square underneath the Tower looked up. They ran away. Right on time. The airship crashed. Metal screeched and squealed. Dust rose up, making them all cough and blocking their line of sight. When the dust settled, Francoeur’s eyes zeroed-in on Capitaine Spotlight. He was already out of the airship, Lucille thrown over his shoulder. Her legs kept kicking and, freed from her gag, she screamed so many obscenities, Francoeur almost blushed.

“Let go of me, you little…!”

“Out of the way! Out,, out, out!”

Capitaine Spotlight tried to push his way through the crowd gathered at the foot of the Tower. When a group of particularly angry-looking American tourists tried to block his path, he lifted the pistol at his hip and shot into the sky. A crack echoed in the air. Everyone scattered around him. All gasped. Someone screamed. Capitaine Spotlight ran towards the Tower. Francoeur lead the way around the fallen airship. That was when he saw Capitaine Spotlight trying to make his escape. By stepping inside one of the elevators.

“No!” yelled Francoeur. “Don’t let him get in!”

Too late. The doors closed in on Capitaine Spotlight. And on Lucille. 

Francoeur stopped running. He panted. His lungs burned. His leg ached more than it had in years. What was he to do now?

“Need a hand, big fella?”

A flash of red and a flash of black landed next to him. A third flash of cool blue followed after the others, one step behind. The American tourists gasped with awe. Cameras flashed. Eager to capture this moment. Francoeur’s smile showed all his teeth. He wanted to cry, laugh, dance. 

They were here!

“Ladybug! Chat Noir! And... who’s this?””

“Ratatouille, à votre service , monsieur! ”

Francoeur bit back a laugh. Rémy’s voice rang loud and clear in his ears. His laughter died in his throat soon, though. This situation was too dire.

“We need to get up that Tower. Who knows what he’ll do to her?”

“Wait!” Ratatouille pointed at something fluttering by. “That’s his akuma!”

Francoeur’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. Ratatouille was right. There was a small butterfly, black and purple, flying just above their heads.

“But… we didn’t do anything!” protested Chat Noir.

“It must have been in the airship when it crashed. Give me a minute.” With one swing of her arm, Ladybug caught the fluttering akuma inside her yo-yo. “ J’t’ai eu! Bye bye, petit papillon . Miraculous Ladybug!”

A flash of light made the airship disappear. The column of smoke that had erupted from L’Oiseau Rare vanished, too. Francoeur had the faint notion that Tante Carlotta’s beloved cabaret would be safe and sound. But he could still see that Maynott - now back to his former self - wasn’t stopping in the elevator. His small form, way up there, looked dazed for a moment, but he still held onto Lucille. He wasn’t coming down anytime soon.

“Shouldn’t he be freed from the akuna?” asked Émile.

“I don’t think the akuma mattered,” answered Raoul.

Victor Maynott was a dangerous man, akumatized or not.

“Come on!” Francoeur took a step forward. “We have to… urgh!”

Francoeur almost fell face first once again. Gloves hands grabbed onto him. Holding him up.

“Steady, my friend,” said Chat Noir.

Ladybug looked around, as if she were trying to find an idea. And she probably was. For when she turned back towards Francoeur and the others, she called:

“We have to get up there. Hop on, everyone!” 

Two sets of arms wrapped around his shoulders. Francoeur crouched so he was holding onto Ratatouille. Émile and Maud wrapped themselves around Ladybug’s back, while Tante Carlotta and Raoul wrapped themselves around Chat Noir’s back. Soon enough, they were ready.

“Stop!”

They all turned around. An onslaught of police automobiles parked on the side of a road. Out from one of the automobiles came Pâté and Raincomprix. 

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“We don’t have much time, officers,” said Ladybug, her voice loud and clear even though she was weighed down by two people on her back. “Victor Maynott has taken a hostage - Lucille from L’Oiseau Rare - up the Eiffel Tower. He has a gun, sir. He’s not akumatized anymore, but he has no plan on stopping. And we don’t have much time. We need to get up there. Fast.”

It looked like Raincomprix was going to argue. But Pâté raised a hand.

“Let them go.”

There was a moment of silence. 

Then Raincomprix gave up.

“All right. Good luck, Ladybug and Chat Noir.”

Ladybug and Chat Noir nodded.

Suddenly, Francoeur’s feet weren’t touching the ground anymore. He was flying. Or, well. Jumping. Very, very far. Francoeur couldn’t stop himself. He screamed. The Eiffel Tower was coming. Fast. Francoeur closed his eyes. He expected to hit the Tower at the speed of an oncoming truck. He never did. Francoeur cracked his eyes open. He stared at the sky. All around, iron rushed by. Down there, Paris was a blur. Wind whipped at his face. Ratatouille was carrying him up the Eiffel Tower. 

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” he called over the rush of whistling wind.

“Not at all. I’m just going with the flow!”

With one last, tall jump, Ratatouille landed at the very top of the Eiffel Tower. Francoeur collapsed to his knees. Somewhere to his right, he saw Maud’s umbrella fall to the ground. He didn’t particularly care. Francoeur’s hands rubbed against the iron ground. Blissful. The feeling he felt now was blissful. A rush of emotions flooded him. He desperately wanted to laugh. He couldn’t. He didn’t have the time. Not when the elevator doors opened with a ding! and Lucille appeared.

“Lucille!”

“I’m okay, Francoeur. I’m okay.”

Despite Lucille’s reassuring words, she was still held at gunpoint by a harrowed-looking Maynott. He breathed in heavily, teeth bared, hair all over the place. His eyes were wide and bloodshot. He looked at everyone at once. As if trying to find a way out. Like a trapped animal. 

“Don’t move or she gets it.”

“I know what Ladybug said, but… I really thought the akuma had been rid of evil,” said Chat Noir.

“It was.”

Ratatouille’s eyebrows were frowned, above his mask.

“This is all him.”

Maynott stared. At them, at Lucille, at the gun in his hand. There was a tense moment. Then Maynott shrugged.

“You know what? This isn’t fun anymore.”

Maynott dropped Lucille. Tante Carlotta, Émile, Maud and Raoul rushed to her. Ladybug, Chat Noir, Ratatouille and Francoeur stayed out. Staring down Maynott. If he tried anything…! But he didn’t. Lucille jumped in Tante Carlotta’s arms, followed by the others. 

“Lucille! I’m so happy you’re safe.”

“I know, Tante Carlotta. I know.”

Then, Lucille pushed herself to her feet. Her eyes filled with a familiar rage, she put herself in  Maynott’s way, trying to get at the gun. Maynott raised his arm high above her.

“Stop! Get off me, woman!”

Crack! Maynott shot at the sky. They all covered their ears. He kicked Lucille in the shin. She fell down to the ground and sent him a death glare. Francoeur reached down and helped her up, pulling her along with him. Maynott pointed his gun at them.

“Do. Not. Move.”

Maynott’s eyes were dead set on Lucille and Francoeur. That was why he didn’t see Émile reach down. Or take Maud’s umbrella. Surprise flashed in Maynott’s eyes when he tripped and fell. Émile grabbed the gun and moved away. When Maynott tried to scramble to his feet, Maud took back her umbrella and started to smack him with the tip. Her high-pitched voice squeaked out, punctuated by every smack:

“Don’t! Touch! My! Émile!”

That is, until Maynott grabbed Maud by the throat and put her over the edge. Everyone gasped. No one moved. Maynott laughed.

“Give me back my gun or I drop her!”

“We’re too many against you, Maynott,” said Chat Noir with more bravado than Francoeur could muster. “And we’re three who can save her from the fall. You’re finished.”

Maynott breathed loudly. A gust of wind flew in, cold and humid. Raindrops fell from the sky. Eyes fluttered up. It would be a downpour soon. Maynott seemed to take advantage from the distraction. With a primal roar, he threw Maud at Émile, who had no other choice but to drop the gun. Chaos ensued. Some tried to stop Maynott, others stood unintentionally in their way. Limbs tangled, heads hit each other. Maynott dived for the gun. When he was back on his feet, he had the gun in his hands once more. He pointed it at Francoeur. Square at his chest.

“Don’t move or I shoot him in the heart!”

“No!”

Lucille opened her arms wide, putting herself between Francoeur and the gun.

Maynott hesitated.

“You’ll have to get through me first.”

They stared each other down.

For one moment too long.

This time, Raoul reacted. He grabbed Maynott’s arm and wrestled with him. But Maynott was taller and stronger. He slapped Raoul away and dropped him on the ground. His gun clicked when he pointed it between Raoul’s eyes.

“Would you prefer a bullet to the head, Delivery Boy?”

“No, not… not exactly.”

Francoeur looked around. Chat Noir and Ratatouille had gotten in a tangle of limbs in one corner. Maud and Émile were holding onto each other for dear life. Lucille sent him a desperate look, mouth forming a thin line. And Ladybug…

Wait. Where was Ladybug?

“You wanted to be in the spotlight, Maynott? Everyone, cover your eyes!”

They all obeyed. The Eiffel Tower erupted in light. Ladybug had opened the beacon. Francoeur heard Maynott grumble something. His favourite choice of curse words, probably. By the time the light had dissipated, Maynott had fallen to the ground. His gun rested an inch from his hand. Everyone jumped at once around Maynott, trying to get to the gun. When it made another clicking sound, loud and clear as Maynott cocked it, they all took a step back. Arms raised.

“Step away from her.”

He pointed his gun straight at Francoeur’s chest. Over his heart. Lucille’s face hardened, standing by his side.

“No,” she said. “He’s staying right here.”

“I said: step away from her!”

Maynott pointed his gun at the ground by Francoeur’s feet and shot. The bullet passed between his stretched out legs and fell down the Eiffel Tower. Francoeur grabbed Lucille’s hand. He squeezed. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to stand beside her, but Chat Noir and Ratatouille grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back. Just a step away. Not far. But to him, it seemed like he was miles away. The look Lucille gave Francoeur at that moment tore his heart apart. She tried to give him a smile, but it contorted her lips in a grimace and didn’t reach her eyes full of tears. 

Maynott pointed his gun at Francoeur.

“Lucille… don’t look at him. Look at me.”

When she did, there was only hatred in her eyes. Gone cold.

“Why should I?”

Her voice shook, but she stood her ground. Always so brave. Maynott opened his mouth. Closed it. He tried again. His voice broke.

“What does he have more than I do?” Maynott took in a shaky breath. He sounded like he was about to cry. His gun shook in his hand, still raised towards Francoeur. “Is it youth? Medals? What?” His voice rang in their ears when he screamed: “Tell me! What does he have that I don’t? Wasn’t I not enough for you?”

“I don’t want someone who is enough for me. I want someone who loves me.”

“But I do. I love you!”

“No, you don’t!” Finally, tears spilled from her eyes. “Have you ever stopped to consider what I wanted? You never loved me. You never did. You loved the idea of me. You… You love the perfect singer, the perfect angel! Someone who doesn’t exist.”

“Of course, you exist! You’re you! You’re Lucille. You’re mon oiseau rare. ”

Raoul looked at Francoeur. They shared a glance. Raoul’s eyes were red around the edges. It seemed like he wanted to cry. Raoul looked away. Shame written on his face.

“I hate him,” continued Maynott. “I hate him so much.”

“That’s your problem,” said Lucille. Cold. “This isn’t about him. This is about me.” 

Lucille shook her head.

“I’m no angel. I’m human. I’m sorry, Maynott. It was over before it started.”

The scream that escaped Maynott’s mouth would haunt Francoeur’s nightmares, splitting open skies and merging with the whistling of falling shells. It was a half-cry, almost to the point of tears, but broken by uncontained sobs. 

The gun moved to Lucille. Francoeur stopped breathing.

“If I can’t have you… nobody will.”

Francoeur saw Maynott’s finger hesitate on the trigger. He was going to do it. He was going to shoot.

Francoeur didn’t think. He jumped.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Lucille saw it all happen in slow motion.

Maynott cocking his gun. Francoeur rushing forward. Bang! Smoke. Fire. A loud no! echoing in her ears. A splash of red. Francoeur falling to the ground.

“NO!”

Everyone moved at once. Some crouching in on themselves, like Émile and Maud. Others grabbing Maynott and pulling him away, making him drop the gun, like Ladybug and Chat Noir. Another taking the gun, like the rat superhero; Lucille didn’t know his name. Another more putting a hand over his mouth, like Raoul. And herself. Lucille. She fell to her knees and put her hands against Francoeur’s side. Putting pressure on the wound.

Blood. Blood. So much blood. Blood-blood-blood-blood-bloo...

Lucille took in a shaky breath. Then another. Breathe. She had to breathe. For his sake, she had to breathe. She saw Francoeur clearly even through her tears. He was smiling. There was blood at the corner of his mouth. A hand reached for her. Pushing some blood red hair out of her face.

“Lucille… je... ”

His eyes rolled back into his skull. His hand fell away.

Lucille’s mouth fell open. For a moment. Then her face scrunched up in  anger.

“Listen to me, you listen to me!” Lucille’s voice was shrill. More tears blurred her vision. “You’re not going to get away from me, all right? Not like this! You’ve survived days all alone in the trenches, pour l’amour du ciel! You can survive anything! You’re going to be just fine. You listen to me, Francoeur! You’re going to live a long, long life! You’re going to see your parents and your little sister again. We’ll get married! We’re going to get a ring and we’ll have a party at L’Oiseau Rare after going to church. Do you hear me? I want to do all that with you! And only you!”

Her voice broke, but she focussed on putting more pressure on the wound.

“You’re going to be just… just fine!”