Chapter Text
There she was, nearly 11 years later. Back in the dark, dreary city, sitting in the familiar car with the person who practically raised her for the first few years of her life. Marinette sighed as she thought about how she ended up back in the most crime-ridden city in the world. The place he kicked me out of, a small voice in her head supplied. Shaking her head she tried focusing on the present. That, however, proves a very difficult task when all one can think about is how she just defeated a magical supervillain, lost her parents and had to leave her best friends behind in Paris. One of which had to deal with a deteriorating brand while trying to prove to the public he had no part in his deranged father’s actions. Sure, Adrien still had his newly cured mother, but that was a whole separate can of worms she didn’t even want to think about opening.
Stuck in her thoughts, she didn’t notice Alfred pulling up to the old manor grounds where she remembers wandering as a child.
“Grampa Alfie! Why are you cutting the roses?” A small, nearly three-year-old Marinette ran up to her grandfather figure as he worked in the gardens. “Hello, Miss Marinette. I’m pruning the roses to help them grow, healthy and strong.” “But why would cutting them make them bigger? Can I help?”
Now, Marinette was always a gifted child. Even if Bruce never noticed, Alfred certainly did. She was already speaking in full sentences and her speech resembled an adult’s by the age of three. Although she was still very small, she was surprisingly strong for her age and had always enjoyed helping those around her. Despite living in Gotham, she was like a mini ball of rainbows and sunshine who had a heart of gold.
“Of course young miss, if you are up for the job you may help.” Her enthusiastic reply in response filled with reassurances made him chuckle at the young girl’s antics. “Now let me teach you some more about the plants in the Manor’s garden…”
Alfred smiled to himself at the memory. Glancing behind him to check on the girl he grew to see as a granddaughter. The smile faded slightly when he caught sight of her lost in thought. The neutral expression on her face, the twinkle in her eyes much duller than he recalled. He knew the smiles and reassurances she offered him were fake, she was a shell of her old self. She had grown up and had seen how cruel the world was, but he couldn’t do too much to comfort her at the moment. Perhaps I can figure out what’s bothering her later. Turning his attention back to the road, he silently passed through well-oiled iron gates leading up to the manor. Oh, how he sometimes wished the boys were as cooperative as Miss Marinette was. Maybe they would have adjusted better if she stayed at the manor, Alfred thought. Even if he didn’t show it, he was rather upset with Master Bruce for sending his own daughter halfway across the ocean with little to no warning. He had a strong feeling that it would’ve saved a lot of pain and suffering, but he also felt how the universe had deemed it necessary, so that one way or another, Marinette would have ended up in Paris by the time she was 13 no matter what.
Wordlessly, he wondered what happened to her after she was sent away, not at all enjoying the impending sense of dread building. For Alfred knew, he along with the others, were missing a major part in the story.
Marinette knew very well why she was sent away. It was ‘too dangerous’ in Gotham City according to her father. Nonetheless, she never understood why he would barely even acknowledge her. She knew he was a busy person. Accepted it even, but she would’ve appreciated a simple ‘good morning’! Anything more than a nod of greeting or the famous simple one or two-word responses. Despite all that, she thought it was normal. Yes, he spent much more time with her brothers, Bluebird and JayJay, but everyone assured her that Bruce just needed to talk to them about more grown-up things.
Marinette knew it was a lie. How could she not? She lived in the same house, observing their behaviour pretty much 24 hours a day. Not like she was permitted to leave the extravagantly large grounds. She wasn’t stupid or oblivious even with her young age. She knew of her father’s little nightly escapades. How he dragged her two brothers into it.
Still.
She saw it as a normal thing. Assumed all the nightly adventures were ‘grown-up’ things. She had nothing else to compare it to. So she accepted it and continued being the bright, bubbly sunshine child.
How all that changed once she moved to Paris. Tom and Sabine showered her in love and affection, it overwhelmed her for months. She didn’t understand why she was being praised so often, for such little tasks or how anyone could show so much physical affection. To her, it was an anomaly.
Marinette was pulled out of her thoughts when Alfred announced they had arrived. “Thanks, Grandpa Alfie” she replied offering a small smile. Her so-called father never paid attention to her before, why would he care now?
So when she saw a rather large group of people lined up outside the manor doors, she internally scoffed and rolled her eyes. Of course, only now that she had a tragic backstory would he even spare her a glance. Granted, her biological father only had part of the story. How she found the bakery engulfed in flames when she arrived home one night.
He didn’t know about the bullying, not how it really happened anyways, how she was chosen to be a child soldier at the young age of 13, the weight of responsibility on her shoulders from keeping the world in balance.
Stepping out of the limo, she wanted to gag. It wasn't due to car sickness, though, being the guardian of 19 magical gods came with side effects. Someone had died and whoever it was, reeked of Lazarus. She wasn't going to judge anyone for the simple fact of death. If anything, it just made her a tad more concerned for them, and added a little bit more anger towards her father. So no, she wouldn't judge, she had died herself! That didn't change the fact that the stench of corrupt magic was making her nauseous. Marinette kept her emotionless mask in place, swiping her luggage away and sending Alfred a meaningful look when he reached to assist her with her bags.
Glancing over the group of people, she instantly recognized her father, Bruce, her Bluebird, Dick and her JayJay, aka Jason. They had aged, but looked mostly the same - that white streak in Jason’s hair was... odd. The others took slightly longer for her to pinpoint, but the next person she recognized was Tim. Ah, the neighbour boy he adopted. She remembered seeing him every once in a while from her time at the Manor. Had she spoken to him? No. But she knew of him. Next was a girl, Cassandra her brain provided, finally, her eyes landed on a boy with dark hair, tan skin and green eyes. Damian. He looked familiar. She couldn’t exactly place it, but she was sure she’d met him before she knew they were related.
How had she known who everyone was? Simple. Unbeknownst to the Batfamily, she’d been keeping an eye on them through less than legal means.
Before she could think too hard on it, she noticed her two eldest brothers fidgeting slightly, Dick in excitement and Jason in nervousness but with a wry smile. Tim looked dead on his feet, grasping his thermos like a lifeline. He looks like me when I stay up for weeks finishing a commission, maybe I'll make him some of my coffee later she thought holding back a snicker. Cassandra seemed to be curiously observing her body language and Damian was unsuccessfully suppressing a glare.
They weren’t who she watched the most closely though. Her father was looking at her with what she assumed was an attempt at neutral but welcoming. He was failing greatly, but then again, she grew up observing him - learning his tells. Rather than cool, calm and collected, he had what looked like a cross between a pained nervous smile and a grimace.
Marinette had reluctantly thought about this moment multiple times. She began putting together the perfect script in her head the moment she stepped onto the plane and all throughout the long flight to Gotham, silently rehearsing a polite greeting and introduction.
Yet as she looked up at him, meeting his eyes, it all flew out the window.
Instead of the polite greeting, she intended to say, all her agitation, annoyance and resentment bubbled up at once resulting in a less than dignified first statement and even less than an ideal first impression.
“What? I get some tragic backstory and now I’m finally worth your time?”