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“Hey, Bug?” Chat Noir chuckles nervously, one hand pressed firmly against the curve of Ladybug’s waist and the other clawing at the air beside a fluttering akuma.
“Ladybug,” he repeats to the silence, teeth gritted. He squeezes her side at the same time he clips the akuma’s left wing, which gets her attention.
“Don’t hurt it,” She scolds.
With great difficulty, Ladybug pries her cheek from the cool black leather on Chat’s chest and blinks at the dark butterfly, moving entirely too fast for her sluggish, glossy eyes. For some reason, she extends a red gloved hand like she’s expecting the bug to land on her finger. Instead, it flaps farther away, dancing around her trembling hand mockingly.
Chat Noir almost meows in distress. The warmth of his palm disappears from her hip for a moment, and Ladybug just barely registers the loss of her yo-yo’s weight before it’s pressed into her palm. His hand cradles her own still-outstretched one, and she surprisingly doesn’t miss the way his thumb strokes the back of her fingers.
“Magic yo-yo, remember?” He talks like he’s smiling. “You got it.”
Fortunately for the city of Paris, she does remember. Marinette, masked in red, drags a finger across its surface and watches it engulf the insect in light like it’s the first time. She lets the circular toy hit the ground the second the butterfly is free, and almost follows suit, but there’s two slender arms under her own that save her just an inch from the ground.
“No, no, no, no,” Chat struggles. “Not yet, darling. Miraculous Ladybug!” He mimics her voice and comes with her to the ground, pulling her discarded lucky charm towards them with his foot. “Miraculous Ladybug.”
“What is this?” She pokes it, and he battles the urge to slap himself in the forehead.
“Just say it.”
She does, because she listens to Chat Noir sometimes, and something magical happens to everyone in the city but her, it seems. She slumps against him without realizing it, and as the buzzing of the battle dies down, the feeling that something is really, really wrong creeps up to the forefront of her brain.
“S’mthing’s w-wrong,” she vocalizes, kinda.
She can feel Chat Noir’s heartbeat against her back.
“We’re good,” he says. His ring screeches at them both. “We are so good, M’lady.”
“Kitty,” Marinette chirps at the sound of his desperate, animalistic whimpering. His hand -- shaking like hers now -- remains on her back while he crawls over to her front, second hand settling on her knee.
“What do I do?"
Her earrings beep, which is apparently not an adequate response because Chat’s glowing green eyes twitch before widening in a level of fear he’s never displayed in front of her before.
He allows himself a moment of panic before he straightens up. “Listen carefully, M'lady.”
“O-Okay…”
“If we don’t do something now, I’m going to see you. You. Do you understand?”
Ladybug blinks. Watches him tug at his hair.
“Okay.”
Adrien -- Chat -- groans, dragging both hands down his face before reconnecting the blurry eye contact. “Not okay. Not okay. You don’t want that, remember?”
Adrien loves Ladybug too much to disrespect her boundaries and far too much to leave her here so helpless. He dramatically ponders that he feels as though he’s being split in half.
“I don’t want that,” Marinette echoes. “I mean-- we, we can’t.”
Chat Noir smiles despite himself. Right, that’s right.
“I know it’s hard right now, but I need you to use that pretty little brain,” His smile widens when she scrunches her nose, awareness slowly returning to her ocean eyes. “You’re so smart, Bugaboo. Give me a plan,”
She’s silent for entirely too long. For each agonizing second, Adrien stares at her, trying to predict what she might be thinking so he can put together the broken pieces.
He stands, surveying his surroundings, and in the corner of his eye he sees Ladybug feeling her own forehead, then her cheeks, as if she’d be able to feel her fever through the mask and suit. Yup, no plan’s coming from his genius partner right now.
Then, he sees it.
Marinette’s parent’s bakery. He actually jumps in relief, imagining this is how Ladybug must feel when she puts together what to do with her lucky charm. His grin only falters when a distinctly human soreness begins to travel up the length of his legs. They only have seconds.
“Away we go, sicky,” Ladybug registers his voice in the wind. Her haphazard ponytails are slapping together with the force of their swinging, the tingle in her feet signalling Tikki’s faltering grip on her altar-ego. She opens her mouth to warn Chat Noir, but by the time she manages an exhale, her back is pressed against hard, familiar concrete.
She transforms, on the rooftop of her home, with no cat-shaped blur in sight, and the last thing Marinette registers before falling into a fitful sleep is her Kwami’s tiny body cuddled into the crook of her neck.
When Marinette opens her eyes, it’s to the glow of the moon. She’s dazed and in pain, but feels alive enough to sit up and look around the balcony.
“Marinette?”
“Tikki,” She tries, but only air comes out. Instead, she cocks her head in silent questioning.
“You’re so sick,” Tikki squeaks, flying around her face. “Chat Noir brought you here. Said -- to me, I think -- to make sure nobody saw you until I could get you to transform again…”
Marinette nods, actually lucid enough now to understand and feeling some hazy panic at the idea.
“He said,” Tikki boops Marinette’s nose as she continues, smiling wide like what she’s about to say is the most delightful news ever. “That when you were all masked up again to, and I quote, ‘Go inside and find Marinette. She always knows what to do.’”
Marinette blinks rapidly, something like excitement stirring in her chest. Her -- Marinette -- and Chat have had their fair share of encounters, maybe a handful of late-night conversations on this very balcony, but nothing she thinks would justify that kind of faith in her. To leave his partner, his lady, in her hands. To trust Marinette with the life of Ladybug.
Marinette’s eyes cross at the intricacy of her thoughts before she shuts them tight and rubs at her temples.
“Let’s get you to bed, hero.”
Tikki wraps herself around Marinette’s arm, moral support more than anything as she drags herself through the trap door and beneath the covers.
“Tikki?”
“Hm?”
“Remind me to wash these sheets later.”
“Sure thing, Marinette.”
“And to be nicer to Chat.”
“I don’t know about that one,” Tikki giggles, burying herself in Marinette’s pillow. “Sometimes I think your kitty likes the chase.”
“My kitty,” Marinette speaks into her dreams.