Work Text:
All of Paris speculates.
“Where is Madame Agreste?” The police question, their voices devoid of all emotion. Officers poke around the mansion, though they take care not to poke too much or too hard under Nathalie’s firm gaze.
“I don’t know,” Gabriel says, his voice too full of emotion as he just barely manages to keep the tears from falling. He doesn’t add all the things that he wants to. I don’t know how I didn’t notice she was sick. I don’t know why she didn’t say anything. I don’t know if I can cure her. “I don’t know.”
“Where is Émilie?” Audrey Bourgeois demands to know, standing in the foyer of the Agreste mansion. Her hands rest on her hips as she looks around, her oversized sun hat flopping around. Chloé has already bounded up the stairs to go find Adrien.
Nathalie sighs, her cheeks a bit too sunken for makeup to fix and strands of hair escaping her usually immaculate bun. “I don’t know,” she mutters, never raising her eyes from her tablet. She doesn’t add all the things she wants to. I don’t know if we’re doing the right thing. I don’t know if there’s anything I can do anymore. I don’t know how I can cure her.
“Where is Mother?” Adrien asks, looking up from his homework.
Nathalie stands, her chair making an ugly sound as it scrapes against the dining room floor. She hesitates, gulping down the answer that rises in her throat as Adrien stares at her with his familiar green eyes. “Adrien,” Nathalie gasps, “please don’t ask such questions.”
He shrinks at this, averting his gaze back to his math problems. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, and Nathalie almost doesn’t hear him over the ringing in her ears.
“It’s fine,” she manages to squeeze out in between breaths, “make sure you finish your homework before you go upstairs.” And then she’s dashing out of the room, across the foyer, and into the office, frantically pushing buttons until they yield under her fingers and allow her access to the place that holds rushing water and pungent flowers and the body of her best friend.
Gabriel Agreste has always been absorbed in his work, a trait that his wife calls “his tendency to overwork himself” and what Gabriel himself would consider “the thing that made him into the best fashion designer in all of Paris and rich enough to prove it to anyone.” Rich enough to provide for his family - for ten families - all the comforts that could ever be known to mankind.
All the comforts save for one - himself. A present father, an attentive husband. Gabriel Agreste could give his family everything save for his attention, always needing to meet with more investors or the next big-name client or rush off to perfect his next collection.
But Émilie could deal with this. After all, she was the woman who had it all - all except for this one little thing. But she could deal with it, because it made Gabriel happy to be able to provide for his family, to see the designs he’d spent hours working on come to life on the runway, to go through thousands of fabrics until he found the perfect one for a certain blazer or shirt. So she dealt with the side of the bed that was cold when she went to sleep and cold when she woke up, and the chair at the dining table that always remained empty, and the clipped, one-word responses Gabriel would give to nearly everything she said to him these days.
Her husband loved her, Émilie knew that - the ring on her finger and the son they shared was more than enough proof. But it was just that he loved his work that much more than he loved her. But she also loved him, and so, for the sake of his happiness, she dealt with it.
It wasn’t until the coughs started that she realized exactly what that could mean.
It wasn’t bad, just a light cough. It just wouldn’t go away, with cough syrups making her lungs feel heavier and no amount of tea making her throat feel any less itchy. It was during dinner that the first petal fell.
“Mother, are you alright?” Adrien looks over, concerned, as Émilie coughs into her closed fist.
She waves him off, telling him not to worry once the coughs subside. They start up again not too long after, though, and then she feels something in her mouth, something small and velvety that she spits into her hand.
She can’t believe it.
“Mother?”
Émilie quickly clenches her hand into a fist, meeting Adrien’s eyes again. “I’m fine, Adrien,” she smiles, and, placated, he goes back to eating. But for the first time, Émilie doesn’t believe what she just said.
For the months in which her coughs had plagued her, Émilie had chalked it up to an allergy to the pollen, or perhaps aftereffects of the cold she’d caught at the tail end of winter. But not this - never this. Never Hanahaki.
She doesn’t go to the doctor - then Nathalie would know, Gabriel would know. Émilie already knows what this is, and she knows the cause - but it’s fine, she’s been dealing with this by herself for a while now, and she can deal with it by herself going forward. She’ll just have to … get over Gabriel.
Émilie sighs, resting her chin on the fist that holds the petal as she watches Adrien finish his dinner. She had hoped, perhaps naively, that he would be different from all the other children of rich parents that she’d witnessed - that he would be able to grow up in a family where both of his parents loved him and each other above all else, where love came before money or status or all the material things. But apparently she’d been a fool, and he, too, would have to grow up with Gabriel and Émilie co-parenting. Maybe she’d even have to move out.
The thought makes her frown, although it disappears as Adrien kisses her cheek and wishes her a good night before leaving the dining room. She opens her fist and stares at the petal, cursing a million things but mainly her own stupid heart. She’s a fool, a stupid, lovesick fool.
As the months pass, though, Émilie deals with it. The petals don’t stop, but they remain infrequent, something she’s grateful for. She takes to spending time with Gabriel and Nathalie in the office when Adrien’s at school or off on playdates or doing homework - at least this way she can see Gabriel in his element, see the joy and satisfaction and pride on his face, see the reason why she’s doing this. Why she still hasn’t told anyone about the Hanahaki.
She sits on the couch next to Nathalie’s desk on those days, but eventually just watching Gabriel pace around and sort through fabrics and mumble to himself as he swipes through designs gets tiring, and Émilie’s never been much of a reader, so she starts talking to Nathalie. They used to be close when they went to school, best friends, even, but time and duty have caused their once-tight friendship to slacken. But hushed conversations about Adrien’s schedule and their past escapades blossom into a relationship that’s greater than what they used to be, better - Gabriel sometimes frowns when they get a little too boisterous with their chatter, loud laughter ringing through the usually-quiet office. He always smiles immediately after, though, at the sight of two of the most important women in his life and their beaming smiles, but Émilie doesn’t notice that.
She doesn’t even notice that the petals stop forcing their way up her throat, infrequent as they are. But she does notice when even Nathalie stops making time for her. And then the petals reappear.
It’s getting close to Fashion Week, Émilie knows that. It’s that time of year when Gabriel is busier than ever, making sure that his designs are better than perfect, eye-catching and captivating. It’s that time of year when he has to work twice as hard, to make sure that the Agreste brand won’t go up in flames due to a badly trained model or an errant stitch. And thus, Nathalie, too, must throw herself into her work, make sure there are no double-booked appointments, no coffee spills on important documents, no accidents or missteps. No time for unimportant matters, like talking with Émilie as she sets up the next week’s appointments or sharing a cup of coffee as she responds to emails. Like Gabriel, Nathalie loves Émilie, but she loves her work more.
So Émilie takes the hint, retreats from the office to Adrien’s room, cuddling her son close to her chest and playing the piano with him and watching the sun set from his windows. Adrien loves her above all else, Adrien would never abandon her - but Adrien is also at school, and has homework, and sports practice, and his own friends.
Émilie is bored in those hours, and after two days of moping around the mansion with nothing much to do, she goes back to the office. Even if she’s ignored, at least she’ll be around other humans, she reasons. It can’t be that bad, she reasons. Like every fool ever.
As she flings open the doors, Gabriel glances up from his designs (her heart soars with hope - after all this time?) before looking back down again (and her heart comes crashing back down to earth). She turns then to Nathalie, who is sending a soft smile her way and mouthing a hello (and up goes her heart again) before she, too, turns back to her monitor.
There’s something in Émilie’s throat.
Her heels clack against the marble as she dashes through the foyer, heading for the bathroom - having the briefest flash of sense to lock the door behind her - before her teeth unclench over the toilet bowl, the petals come streaming out - it’s never been this bad before -
No one loves you in the way you love them, in the way you want to be loved - and how could they, when you’re nothing but a stupid, stupid fool -
The petals just don’t stop coming, it feels like she’s suffocating - it feels like there are thorns in her lungs, pricking their way out of her body - oh God, oh God -
She barely registers the knocking and Nathalie’s voice coming from the hall as she reaches up to flush the petals down. Wondering if they’ll clog the toilet, Émilie catches sight of her hand - were her fingers always that thin, her knuckles always that prominent?
“Émilie? Émilie! Open the door, are you alright?”
No matter how many times Nathalie knocks, Émilie doesn’t answer. Gabriel eventually joins her, and when there is still no answer, they try ramming the door down. When that doesn’t work, they try to get the bodyguard to ram the door down. He can’t manage it, but he does produce from his jacket a small screwdriver, and gets to work on the hinges.
Inside, they find Émilie slumped over, unconscious but not dead, barely breathing, but not dead. She’s rushed to the hospital, the best money can buy, and then Gabriel and Nathalie must wait.
The doctor comes out, finally, and both leap to their feet.
“What is it?” Gabriel asks.
“Is it fatal?” Nathalie asks.
The doctor clears his throat. “We have found a growth in Madame Agreste’s lungs-”
“Is it cancer?” Gabriel cuts him off before he can finish, Nathalie waiting with bated breath for his answer.
“Well,” the doctor begins, taking the time to adjust his glasses as he peers at the clipboard he holds, “if you choose to see it that way, I suppose-”
“What can we do?” Gabriel interjects again, but this time he’s looking at Nathalie.
“Will putting her on oxygen increase her chances of survival?” Nathalie asks, typing furiously at her tablet.
“Well,” the doctor says, slowly noticing the mania in both of their eyes, “Madame Agreste is currently unconscious-”
“So we keep her in isolation,” Nathalie offers.
“Sealed away,” Gabriel agrees, nodding.
“Or just get surge-” the doctor sighs, understanding that the two people before him are lost to the world. Hanahaki really isn’t so bad, this famous actress would be fine if they just cut the growth out of her lungs - it’s a miracle she’s alive, honestly, if you asked his opinion on it. But they don’t, so he just tells a nurse to give them all the proper papers to sign and walks away. A few days later, the hospital receives a very generous donation from the Agreste foundation, and not a word of the entire affair is ever breathed in the general direction of the press.
And thus, Émilie Agreste was never seen again.
WHERE IS ÉMILIE AGRESTE, scream the headlines.
WHERE IS ÉMILIE AGRESTE, screams Amélie Graham de Vanily, her voice distorted as it echoes out of the phone.
WHERE IS ÉMILIE AGRESTE, everyone screams, and there are only two people in the world who have the answer to this question - two people who would take that answer to the grave unless they found an answer to questions of their own.
Gabriel closes the curtains, closes his eyes - if only he knew. Oh, what he would give to know….