Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This was excruciating. This was one of the greatest pains Marinette had ever experienced in her life, and that was counting the time she jumped into a dinosaur’s mouth.

“Please hold,” came the announcer’s voice again, “we are just waiting for our final contestants to arrive.” The message repeated in English, then again in German. Around the arena, Marinette could hear various voices whispering to each other in various languages, though the tone was recognizably one of disappointment and building frustration. The fencing competition should have started half an hour ago, but the stupidly cheerful announcer had come on twice now urging patience. Patience would have been easier if it had been a little less hot in the stadium--Marinette could feel a bead of sweat working its way down the middle of her back. Whoever had thought packing hundreds of people into an indoor stadium during a historic heat wave was a good idea should be arrested. She took a long sip from her water bottle and willed patience into herself.

“You know,” Adrien said to her, “this is really unusual. I remember Kagami saying once that if you were late, they would just disqualify you. I don’t understand why they’re holding everything up.”

“Maybe because it’s a different competition, so they have different policies?”

Adrien shrugged. “Yeah, maybe.” He smirked. “Or maybe it’s someone with enough money that they’re willing to bend the rules to keep them from getting pissed off.”

Marinette snorted. “I didn’t know Chloe had taken up fencing.”

The two laughed at that, and it was good. No awkwardness or sidelong glances. The last dozen or so months had been kind to them, even if there had been some rockiness in the beginning. But then again, as everyone had counseled Marinette, getting rid of a crush wasn’t exactly an easy process. She couldn’t exactly say that she was over Adrien, but she could speak to him in full sentences now, and they went out and did stuff around the city, which was fun. At first it had been with Alya and Nino, but that had felt too much like a bad facsimile of a double date. Then Adrien had started inviting Marinette along to some of the stuff he did with Kagami, who was, in Marinette’s estimation, in just as desperate a need of friends as Adrien had been when she first met him. So this was them now, their strange little friend group; her and Adrien sitting in the front row and waiting for this fencing competition to start.

Marinette got a hold of her giggles, taking another sip of her water before scanning the crowd. “How’s Kagami feeling about this lineup? Nervous? I didn’t really have the chance to talk to her before.”

“I don’t think Kagami really does ‘nervous,’” Adrien said, “but I didn’t really get a sense that she was too put out. This whole tournament is a fundraiser, and I don’t know how serious the competitors are. But it’s an international competition, and this is the final round, so I suppose she’s a little concerned about going up against new people.” He chewed on his lip for a moment. “Well, not concerned.”

Marinette nodded, she knew what he meant. “But not excited either. Just… anticipatory, for the newness. She doesn’t know what she doesn’t know.”

“Exactly.” The two fell silent as a couple walked behind them, loudly arguing in what sounded like Russian. They seemed to be looking for their seats; the venue had assigned seats, which had led to a lot of people squeezing by the two despite the empty seat right next to them. They were admittedly fantastic seats--Kagami had managed to get them front row. “Maybe this is bad of me,” Adrien said, leaning closer to Marinette, “but I really wish I spoke more languages, so I could eavesdrop on other people’s conversations.”

“I don’t think that’s bad. What I think is crazy is that there are still languages you don’t know.”

Adrien laughed. “There are a ton of languages I don’t know. I’m trying to get Kagami to teach me Russian. And sign language seems cool.”

Marinette began to count them off on her fingers. “Disregarding French, Chinese, Italian, or English.”

“And German,” Adrien added, managing to look slightly apologetic. “But a bunch of those were for work. Or they were related languages.”

“Uh, huh. So which is next, LSF or Russian?”

“Probably LSF,” he said, a moment before he realized she was teasing him. “Hey!”

“I think it’s great,” she laughed. “So long as I stick close to you, I’ll never be at a loss for communicating.”

“So long as you--oh, hey!” As  he spoke, the lights in the venue began to dim. A man sat down in the seat next to the two right before the lights had completely dimmed, a spotlight shining down on the piste. The announcer with the annoying voice walked out, beginning the events.

“Are they usually this… showy?” Marinette whispered to Adrien. 

He shook his head. “Nah. Like I said, this one’s a fundraiser, so they may be playing it up for the audience.”

“I wish they would just get on with it.” On the piste, the announcer was thanking the many donors and spectators for their contribution to the Fonds de Reconstruction d’Akuma .

Soon enough, the man finished thanking everyone and blessedly got off the stage. Two fencers took their marks, and it was begun. It was… fine. Marinette was the first to admit that she had never really cared about fencing as a sport, and that she had only ever really followed it for the players--namely, Adrien. But a consequence of no longer being head over heels for him was that she didn’t really bother remembering anything about fencing, and she had allowed the rules and details she had accrued to slip from her mind to make room for more useful and relevant thoughts. Despite her precise lack of knowledge, however, she was still glad to be here. Kagami’s fencing was artistry in motion, and even a fencing-pleb such as Marinette could appreciate the prowess.

Adrien, on the other hand, was loving every part of the competition. “Mari, look at their footwork,” he would whisper, nuding her and pointing with a grin. “The way she moves her wrist!” Marinette would just nod, muttering an agreement. 

Kagami would appear occasionally, which would have both of them on the edge of their seats. Neither Marinette nor Adrien were even fully sure they were breathing when she was competing--the rise and fall of their lungs may have distracted them for the vital fraction-of-a-breath it took for Kagami to lunge, to weave herself around the opponent’s thrust like water and break forward, her sabre a silver tongue of lightning. Then it would be over, the spell broken, and the two fencers would disengage, the announcer proclaiming Kagami’s victory as assuredly as the sun rises in the morning.

As Kagami once again walked off stage, Adrien leaned in, slightly elbowing Marinette. “That was really good. The woman she defeated? Mlle. Tranchante? She’s really highly ranked internationally. I honestly kind of expected her to win that one.”

“You doubted Kagami? I thought you were sure she would win the whole thing.”

Adrien shrugged. “Well, it’s double elimination. Even if Kagami had lost that one, I do still think she’ll win it all. Though, that’s not what others thought; Tranchante is largely favored to win the whole thing… or at least she was up until a minute ago.”

Marinette steepled her fingers. “Well, she’s not out of the competition yet. And besides her, there are a few others out there that are really good.”

“Like the little M. Wayne?”

Marinette snorted. “Yeah, but it’s almost hard to take him seriously, since his competition all has at least a foot on him.”

“Almost, if he wasn’t undefeated so far.”

“Do you think he has a shot to win?”

Adrien shrugged again. “We’ll see. It’s not like he needs the prize money.”

“What do you mean by that? And to be fair, the Tsurugi’s aren’t exactly strapped for cash either.”

“Yeah, but I mean, he’s a Wayne. Like the Waynes who are sponsoring this fundraiser, Wayne.”

Marinette frowned, pursing her lips. The name was ringing a faint bell. “American?”

“Yep. M. Bruce Wayne and his foundation put money into all sorts of causes, and I guess the FRA is his most recent one. I’m surprised you hadn’t heard about it from Alya, it was kind of a big deal.”

“I must have just missed it,” Marinette half lied. In truth, Alya must have definitely told her and Marintte had simply allowed it to enter one ear and immediately exit the other. 

The Akuma Restoration Fund had been all Alya had been talking about for weeks now, and the Ladyblog was a proud partner of the project. A full list of donors and outreach efforts could be found on the website, as well as links for more information and to donations. It was honestly incredible, and Marinette was proud of her friend… if not a little burnt out on the project from all the time she had spent spots-on getting it off the ground. It had been a massive relief the moment she and Chat had been able to completely go hands off of the project, and with the normal demands of school and fighting akuma she hadn’t been paying much more attention to the FRA at all.

“You know,” Adrien said, cutting into her thoughts, “Speaking of M. Wayne, I met him once.”

“Really?”

“It was some event that my father had been invited to. I don’t remember what Mr. Wayne was doing there, it was a fashion event, and my understanding was that he was--is--more in the science and technology fields. He was there with someone, some woman, I think. I remember he had his son there too, but he was older than me, so I was too scared to go say hi.” He scratched the back of his head. “I must have been, what, ten? It was years ago.”

“What was he like?”

Adrien’s brow furrowed. “I mean, I was only briefly introduced to him. He was nice to me. He seemed a little sad, maybe? But he was just some guy. He and my father spoke a little.” Adrien crossed his arms, seeming to fold in on himself a little. “I don’t really remember a lot of that trip, actually. My mother had just disappeared, and I think Father was trying to distract himself from it. Normally Nathalie would have just stayed home with me, but she had gone with us too. I don’t remember why.”He shook his head. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. All that to say, I’ve met Bruce Wayne.”

“Oh.” The two were silent for a moment, watching the fencers. Marinette broke the silence as the next matchup was announced. “Well, speak of the devil…”

The young M. Wayne mounted the piste, Mlle. Tranchante taking the spot opposite him. The arena seemed to still for a moment, everyone murmuring down to an anticipatory silence, broken only by the ‘ allez! which set the two fencers in motion.

“M. Wayne is vicious,” Adrien whispered.

“I was going to say, he’s really going after her.” Down on the piste, the young man seemed to be more determined to push Mlle. Tranchante off the piste than to actually score a point, his sabre relentlessly flashing out, Tranchante only just managing to block each one. But she never had an opening to respond--just as quickly as she protected herself at one angle, another attack was incoming until she slipped, a mere eternity of a hesitation that passed in an instant as M. Wayne’s sabre landed.

Mlle. Tranchante staggered back, pulling her mask off. Even from this distance, the shock on her face could be made out. “Single touch rounds are brutal,” Adrien commented to Marinette. “I prefer to go to fifteen, since if you do poorly at first you have a chance to come back. But since it’s charity, and double elimination…”

“They had to make it quick, sure.” Marinette shook her head. “You said it though, brutal.” She took another sip of water, glancing up at the tournament bracket on the stadium screen. “Oh wow, it looks like he’ll be going up against Kagami for the final. We’re in semifinals now, and I can’t imagine either of them losing to their current matchup.”

Marinette was right, and soon enough both Kagami and the little M. Wayne had disposed of their competition, leaving them facing one another for the final round. The heat in the arena hadn’t gotten any better, and Marinette felt as if she was practically suffocating as the two fencers regarded one another on the piste.

They were off, M. Wayne pressing the attack as aggressively as always. Marinette squeezed her hands, watching Kagami avoid his attacks, her sabre moving against his, her attack seeming to crawl in comparison to his--then it was over.

“Wow,” Adrien breathed.

“Did Kagami… lose? He hit her with his sword!”

“No, no.” Adrien shook his head. “I mean, yes, he did. But she got priority at the last second and got off the response. Kagami won!” And the announcer was calling out the same, proclaiming Tsurugi Kagami the International FRA Charity Athletic Conference’s Fencing Champion as Adrien and Marinette laughed and squeezed each other’s hands. Marinette looked down at where their hands had met out of instinct, feeling her face turn slightly red as she tried to not jerk it back. If Adrien was also blushing, she didn’t mention it. There was nothing to mention.

The man sitting beside them stood up, shuffling his way towards the aisle. Adrien nodded his head towards the exit. “He seems to have the right idea. Ready to go and meet up with Kagami?”

“Sure! I just need to run to the restroom first.”

Marinette weaved through the crowd, stopping at a food vendor that she had spotted on the way in before ducking into the nearest bathroom she could find. She entered a stall and bolted it behind her, snapping open her purse.

“Okay Tikki, you can come out.” She offered the cookie she had gotten from the vendor, smiling as the kwami began to devour it.

“So I hear Kagami won?” Tikki asked between bites.

“Yeah! Adrien and I are going to find her once we’re done in here. Sorry it took so long--I knew you must have been getting hungry, but it was taking forever to start, and even with the shortened rules it’s still a long thing.”

“No worries, Marinette. I understand. I’m glad you’re getting to spend time with your friends!”

“Yeah, it’s been really nice lately. I don’t know why Hawk Moth has been so quiet lately…” She trailed off, frowning.

“You don’t seem to be enjoying the peace and quiet. Maybe he’s given up?”

Marinette shook her head. “No, Tikki, I don’t think that’s it.” In the past, Hawk Moth had attacked like a man possessed, driven by some dark mission that only he could understand. That he would just stop all of a sudden seemed so wrong to Marinette that it almost made her nauseous. “I just can’t help but feel that he’s biding his time, and that when he comes back it’ll be with a vengeance.”

“Well, there’s nothing you can do but enjoy your time off while it lasts.” Tikki finished the last bite of the cookie, brushing her mouth for the scant crumbs.

“True. Ready?”

“Yep!”

Tikki tucked herself back into Marinette’s purse as the young woman exited the bathroom. She found Adrien where she had left them, at their seats, before following him through the stadium to the locker rooms where the contestants were packing their gear. They greeted Kagami with a hug when she exited, her eyes widening in surprise at the ferocity of the embrace before hugging them back.

“Congrats!!”

“Yeah, way to go, champion! Another trophy for the wall, huh?”

“Yes,” Kagami nodded. “Another one.” She smiled slightly, but it didn’t quite meet her eyes.

Adrien pulled back, frowning. “You don’t sound too enthused about it.”

Kagami shrugged. “No, it’s not that. It’s something about my final opponent, Wayne. Something about him caught my attention, but I can’t figure out what it is. It irks me to have such a brainteaser: to know you’ve noticed something, but not know what you noticed.”

“Ah. Well, what do you think about heading back to my parents’ bakery and having sweets until you either remember or forget about it?”

Kagami laughed. “I’m afraid we cannot. Or at least, I cannot. The top three placing contestants are invited to a dinner hosted by M. Wayne. I am allowed two guests, and am hoping that you two would accept?”

“Oh!” Marinette clapped her hands together before looking at Adrien. “A fancy dinner where I don’t have to work? Sign me up!”

“Yeah, that sounds great! Thank you for the invite, Kagami.”

Kagami smiled again. “Of course. I would hate to not have my friends with me. But there is some time beforehand… Marinette, could we go to your house and change there for the dinner? I also understand you have the new Mecha Strike--perhaps we could play a few rounds?”

Marinette smirked. “Only if you’re in a losing mood.” The three laughed, the moment suspended in joy before the screaming started.

The trio whipped around, watching as people fled from the exit, clamoring back into the stadium.

Marinette reached out, as one of the fleeing people tripped, steadying him. “What’s going on?”

“A… a… akuma,” the man panted. “She--” he gasped and went silent. Marinette screamed, jerking back from the man as he clawed at the space where his mouth should be. Behind him, a woman grinned, the tip of her sword resting on the man’s back. She was dressed in a dark purple robe, a black sash fluttering from her waist. Her eyes were concealed behind a black mask, and her hair disappeared into the hood of her robe. Marinette had no idea who she was, but it was obvious that she was dangerous.

“Shhhh, it’s all going to be alright.” She drew her sword back, her face twisting as she lunged forward. Adrien dove, pushing Marinette out of the way. The two of them hit the ground rolling, wincing as the ground dug into their elbows.

Above them, Kagami had produced a sword of her own, and was attempting to engage the akuma. It was, unfortunately, of little effect--the akuma’s sword sliced through Kagami’s own like paper, the tip coming to rest against Kagami’s collarbone. Kagami stared at Marinette and Adrien with wide eyes as her mouth disappeared, the message evident: run .

The two scrambled to their feet, racing away. “Let’s split up,” Marinette said, checking over her shoulder. The akuma was following them, though not running. She seemed to be completely at ease, strolling and looking around as if she had never seen a stadium before. Or as if she was taking note of all the entrances and exits.

“Good idea,” Adrien said. “Harder for her to get us. Meet at the main entrance once it’s safe?”

Marinette nodded. “Yeah. I’m sure Ladybug and Chat Noir will be here soon.” She ignored the pang of guilt as she and Adrien separated, reminding herself that he would be safer faster once she could transform and take care of the akuma. Still, she didn’t like the idea of him helpless somewhere, hiding. Her resolve strengthened--she was going to get this done. She just wanted to play video games with her friends, damn it. Marinette ducked behind a pillar, opening her purse.

“Tikki, spots on!”

Ladybug leapt into action. The akuma’s head immediately turned, uncannily quick to make eye contact with Ladybug.

“Here at last,” she laughed. “Good! I figured I would have at least ten more minutes of hunting the little monster before you showed up, but now that you’re here I can relieve you of your Miraculous.”

“Yeah right,” Ladybug said. She widened her stance, knees bending slightly. “Not going to happen.”

“If you want to do it the hard way, we can certainly do it the hard way. Allez!” She lunged, her sword bearing down on the space where Ladybug used to be. Marinette was rolling, her yo-yo shooting out to try to restrain the akuma.

The akuma batted the yo-yo away with her sword, twisting it to get the wire around the blade before pulling hard on it. Marinette grunted, digging her heels in to avoid being pulled straight into the sword. She leapt up, pulling her yo-yo free as she vaulted over the akuma’s head.

“Give me your Miraculous,” the akuma growled. “I don’t even care about you. I just want the brat!”

“Like I said. Not going to happen.”

“Shut up! I will succeed! I will!” The akuma leapt again, vicious and wild, and Marinette could swear it was in slow motion. She saw the point of the blade bearing down on her, only for it to be intercepted at the last moment, Chat’s baton extended.

“Pardon me, my lady,” he grinned. “I don’t mean to step on your toes, but it seemed like you could use a hand.”

“Always,” Ladybug said, returning the smile. “So, I’m thinking the akuma’s in the sword itself.”

Chat’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, either that or the sash. Nothing too special about the robe.”

“There was a fencing competition here earlier,” Ladybug said. They were beginning to circle the akuma, forcing her to divide her attention. “You lost, didn’t you? I’m sorry, but that’s how it goes sometimes.”

“I can handle losing,” the akuma spat. “What I cannot handle is being bullied, being demeaned, being seen as less than.”

“Sometimes, people are just rude,” Chat said. He had edged all the way behind her, while her attention was still on Ladybug. “It’s nothing to do with you, and it’s all them. You have to let it go. Be the bigger person.”

The akuma bit off a sharp laugh before spinning, thrusting her sword at Chat. He parried, only for her to follow up. Marinette had to admit--she had spent the day watching some of the finest international fencers compete, but Chat could give any of them a run for their money. She knew that her yo-yo responded to her will-- that it tended to do whatever she needed so long as she could concentrate on it-- and she wondered if Chat’s baton was similar. It would explain his technique, the way he wielded the metal shaft just as effortlessly as a perfectly balanced blade.

Ladybug flicked her wrist out, her yo-yo sailing through the air and wrapping around the sash end. Marinette pulled it loose, catching the fabric in her other hand. “I’ve got the sash!” The akuma whirled as Ladybug tore it in two, eyes scanning for the black butterfly to come out. None did.

“It’s not in there?” Chat called.

“Nope.”

His eyes narrowed. “The sword then.” He engaged again, driving the akuma back. “If this doesn’t work,” he called to Ladybug, “I’ll have to get out of here quick. Ready?” She nodded. “Cataclysm!”

As his hand was cloaked in shadowy energy, he reached out, catching the sword strike that was aimed at his chest. The sword shattered, knocking the akuma off her feet. Chat covered her, leaving Ladybug to take care of the butterfly that had--as expected--emerged from the shards.

“Bye bye, little butterfly,” Ladybug murmured, watching the purified butterfly depart. She invoked her Miraculous cure, watching as her magic ladybugs set things to right. She and Chat Noir exchanged fistbumps as they regarded their aggressor. On the ground, the akuma’s costume had dissolved, revealing Mlle. Tranchante.

“How are you feeling?” Ladybug asked, offering a hand to help her to her feet.

“Disoriented,” Mlle. Tranchante admitted, holding her head. “I was akumatized, wasn’t I?”

“Yes, but you’re safe now.”

“Thank you, Ladybug. Chat Noir. I appreciate it.”

“Of course. It’s what we’re here to do. Do you have someone you can call?”    

Mlle. Tranchante nodded. “My fiance. I was on the phone with her when it all happened. I…” she laughed bitterly. “I guess I need to tell her we’re not going to the victor’s dinner.”

Ladybug cocked her head to the side. “What?”

“Oh, the top three placing contestants from the fencing competition were invited to a diner, hosted by M. Wayne. I placed third, and was telling my fiance when the second place contestant… began speaking to me. What he said obviously upset me,” she said, gesturing to herself as if she still wore the robes of the akuma.

“I’m sorry that happened,” Chat said, exchanging a look with Ladybug. “Well, I hope you and your fiance manage to have a good night regardless.”

“We will,” Mlle. Tranchante assured. “And thank you again!”

Ladybug and Chat Noir watched her leave before vaulting up to the rafters, slipping through a skylight onto the roof. “I guess chivalry really is dead,” Chat said, glancing across the rooftops.

“And sportsmanship with it,” Ladybug sighed. “I hate to save the day and run,” she said, “but I need to get going.”

“No worries,” Chat said, “I’m in the same boat. I’ll see you for patrol?”

“Sounds good.” Ladybug smiled, placing a hand on Chat’s shoulder for a moment before they parted. His eyes tracked her fingers as they slipped away, though he said nothing, content with the familiar gesture.

Ladybug slipped away, concealing herself on a fire escape as her earrings chimed that her time was up. Her costume dissolved in a shower of pink light, leaving Marinette to scramble down the stairs and head back to the front of the stadium, where she had promised to meet Adrien.

He was already there when she arrived, and Marinette hoped that she hadn’t kept him waiting too long. She had tried to be quick with Chat, though not so fast as to raise suspicion. “Adrien!” She caught him in a hug. “I hope you haven’t been here too long.”

“No, got here right before you did. Are you alright?”

“Totally fine,” she said. “Did you catch any of the fight?”

“A little,” Adrien said. “Looked like LB and Chat Noir had it in the bag.”

“Yeah, they took care of that one quick.”

“Adrien! Marinette!” The two turned to see who was calling them--Kagami was approaching, waving. “Are you two alright?”

“Yeah, we’re good. We sheltered until it was over. How are you?”

“Fine. Ladybug restored my mouth, as you can see. Are we still going to head to Marinette’s to get ready?”

“That sounds good to me,” Marinette said. “Though, will you two need to go home and get outfits for the dinner?”

Kagami glanced down at herself, as if just considering that the tracksuit that she had worn to the competition may not be sufficient for a fancy meal. “That would be wise. Adrien, can I ride with you and your driver? We will go to yours first, and then you can escort me to mine.”

“Sounds good with me,” Adrien said. “My father told me this morning that he was going to be in a meeting pretty much all day, so my schedule is actually pretty open for once. Marinette, see you in about half an hour?”

“Alright!” Marinette offered a thumbs up. “This dinner’s going to be awesome!”

The dinner was… strange, to say the least. The restaurant chosen by M. Wayne was L’Homme Bleu, where the smell alone was tantalizing enough, let alone the food. However, it was perhaps a little misleading to say that this was M. Wayne’s dinner, given that the host himself was not actually here.

Sitting across from Marinette, Adrien, and Kagami was M. Richard Grayson, who had warmly greeted them. He had shaken their hands, asked them to call him Dick, and immediately apologized for the absence of Bruce Wayne, who Marinette had gathered was his adopted father. It seemed that M. Wayne was the head of two companies, Wayne Enterprises and the Wayne Foundation, which were jointly sponsoring the tournament and FRA under the Wayne name.

“Bruce has been very busy lately, involved in urban renewal and infrastructure projects back home in Gotham City,” M. Grayson had said, by way of explanation. He had greeted them in French, though had quickly switched back to English--a glance between Kagami and herself revealed their mutual suspicion that pleasantries might be all the French he knew. Nevertheless, his accent was pleasant enough, neither grating nor unintelligible, though somewhat clipped. “He really does send his most sincere apologies for being unable to get away from the business. Though, if you’re stuck with us as a surrogate, we can at least pay for a meal.”

To M. Grayson’s right sat a young man, who Marinette could not have placed above thirteen. He had scowled so far though the dinner, speaking only when spoken to by M. Grayson. He had been introduced as M. Wayne’s son, Damian, and Marinette felt ice settle in her veins when she realized that Damian, this teenager, was the one Kagami had defeated for first place--making him the second place contestant that had been so rude to Mlle. Tranchante.

The two seats at the end of the table, on Marinette’s right, sat empty, presumably for Mlle. Tranchante and her fiance, who had sent gracious apologies about their inability to be there tonight. The waiters had cleared those spots and separated the tables, but left one place to M. Grayson’s left, across from Marinette.

“My brother, Tim, is in town,” M. Grayson said by way of explanation. “I had hoped that he would be joining us, but his own business might be keeping him away.”

“Are you not traveling together as a family?”

At the end of the table, Damian scoffed. “That would presume us to be family.”

“What Damian so poorly communicates,” M. Grayson cut in, giving Damian a look, “is that our family structure is somewhat atypical. Bruce took me in when I was eleven, having me as his ward after my parents died. He was just twenty five himself at the time, so God knows what he was thinking, but it worked out alright. He later adopted me, once I was an adult, but he would later separately adopt my brother, Tim. Damian here is Bruce’s only biological child.”

Damian gravely nodded, but said nothing, drinking from his water glass.

“How many siblings do you have, all in all?”

“It’s me, Tim, Damian, and our sister Cassandra.”

“I think I met Tim, once,” Adrien said, perking up slightly. “It was at a fashion event in Milan, around seven years ago. I know I met M. Wayne, and I remember a boy being there. He was older than me, though, maybe around sixteen?”

M. Grayson’s face tightened at the edges, his smile slipping a bit. “Seven years ago? That likely would have been my brother Jason. He passed away.”

“Oh.” Adrien’s eyes widened as he wondered how he could fit both feet in his mouth at once. “I’m sorry.”

“The loss of a sibling is very hard,” Kagami said, folding her hands. “I am sorry too.”

“It was years ago,” Damian said, “things have changed. We have kept going.”

“Indeed.”

Fortunately, the food then arrived, saving the table from any lingering awkwardness around the grief of a dead child. Exquisite looking tagines were sat down before them, the lingering background scents of the restaurant suddenly directly presented to them in happily bubbling ceramic dishes.

  Kagami gently lowered her spoon into her dish, bringing up a bite to blow on. She chewed pensively, an eyebrow slowly rising. “I cannot say if this isn’t as good as the dish I had in Morocco,” she said.

“Doubtful,” Damian said, slowly drifting his spoon through his own dish. “The fruits of colonialism are only ever bitter.”

“Well, I think my meal tastes great,” M. Grayson said, eyes darting around the table. “Marinette, did you get the meatballs too? Aren’t they spiced well?”

“They’re very good,” Marinette said, tearing a small piece of bread to dip. “Kagami, I didn’t know you’ve ever been to Morocco.”

“Yes, with my mother.” She nodded towards Damian. “I take it you’ve been?”

“Indeed. My own mother and I traveled extensively before I went to live with my father.” He paused, glancing up to meet Kagami’s eyes for a brief moment. “I miss the food,” he confessed. “New Jersey, I do not believe, is exactly a culinary capital.”

“We’re not too far from New York,” M. Grayson protested. “There’s all sorts of good food there! And Alfred is a great cook!”

“Pennyworth is English,” Damian said, as if it explained everything. The three Parisians shrugged, understanding his gist. British cuisine was not exactly renowned for their use of the spices that the young M. Wayne seemed to be missing.

Adrien spoke again, apparently recovered enough from his last faux pas to try to rejoin the conversation. “M. Grayson, do you travel much?”

M. Grayson nodded. “I used to travel more, but yeah. I grew up in the circus, so we were always going to new places. A little while after I started being Bruce’s ward I actually spent some time here in Paris, which was quite the adventure for me. Tim did the same too, if I remember right.” He leaned back slightly, stretching. “Very good time.” 

“So how long will you be in Paris this trip?” Adrien asked.

“Well, it depends,” M. Grayson said. He took a bite of tagine, eyes distant as if mentally looking at a calendar. “Like I mentioned, we’re trying to meet up with our brother.”

“You never did answer,” Marinette suddenly realized. “Earlier, I asked if you were all traveling separately or together.”

“No, I suppose I didn’t. Tim came ahead of us, doing a research project of his own. He’s very particular about it though, hence his keeping us at a bit of a distance.”

Marinette nodded. “An, I get that. I mean, I’m an only child, but I could imagine wanting space to do things your own way. Especially with such a big family. What is he researching?”

“Family history,” M. Grayson said.

“That’s so interesting! Does he have family from Paris? Or M. Wayne?”

M. Grayson took a sip of his drink, glancing at Damian for a moment. “That’s what he’s trying to find out.” He leaned forward again, looking at each teenager. “So I understand that this fencing tournament was for a charity that Bruce has helped sponsor, right?”

“Correct, the Fonds de Reconstruction d’Akuma ,” Kagami supplied.

“ Fonds de Reconstruction d’Akuma, ” M. Grayson repeated to himself, mouthing the words like they were unfamiliar to him. “And these… akuma. That’s what attacked the stadium? I guess that’s why you need a reconstruction fund.”

Marinette and Adrien exchanged a look. The representative of one of the Fund’s biggest sponsors didn’t even know what the Fund was? “Well, the Fund isn’t just for physical reconstruction,” Marinette said. “Ladybug and Chat Noir are able to set most everything to right at the end of every battle. The fund is for whatever physical damage isn’t repaired, for whatever reason, as well as helping provide more intangible support, like funding mental health services.”

“That does seem like the sort of thing Father would support,” Damian said. “He always placed an overpriced premium on the value of things you cannot actually see.”

“Bruce does a lot of work in Gotham through the Wayne Foundation,” M. Grayson said. “He funds a lot of mental health stuff there, which I admit, Gotham needs.”

“I have heard that there is a lot of terrible crime in Gotham,” Kagami said. “Is it as bad as the newspapers make it sound?”

M. Grayson shrugged a little, sighing. “It depends. We have all the normal crime that every city has, but it’s true we also suffer from some extreme super-crime. Not unlike Paris, it seems.”

“But we just have Hawk Moth,” Adrien said. “From what I hear, Gotham City has a lot of super-criminals.”

“This is true,” Damian said. “But,” he continued, leaning forward, “we also have Batman and Robin.” He leaned back. “Paris is fortunate to only have one super-criminal, and they are fortunate that he is so incompetent. I fear so-called heroes like Ladybug and Chat Noir would not last long against more serious adversaries.”

“I’m sure Ladybug and Chat Noir are more than competent,” M. Grayson said, intervening before Marinette’s blood pressure blew. “And, they are only teenagers.”

Damian snorted. “The Teen Titans do not hide behind such excuses. When they are inadequate, they simply become better.”

“Damian,” M. Grayson said, his tone sharp. “Stop.”

Damian did, and Marinette noticed that Adrien’s grip had gone white around his spoon. Was it M. Grayson’s tone of voice? Marinette knew that Adrien was a fan of Ladybug, but this seemed too genuine an emotion to simply be an offended fan. She resolved to ask him later, but the waiters were hurrying about, cleaning out the empty dishes and providing dessert menus, and her thoughts were lost in the shuffle.

Ladybug stood at their normal rooftop, watching the lights of the city reflect off the Louvre’s glass facade as she waited for Chat. It had been a hectic day. The fencing tournament and the akuma attack, then dinner with M. Grayson. All that was left between her and her bed now was patrol, which she silently pleaded with God to make an easy one.

“Long time no see, Bugaboo,” Chat teased, landing next to her on the rooftop. “Have a nice day?”

“Decent enough,” Ladybug replied. “Very busy though, I’m exhausted.”

“Same. An akuma fight really takes it out of ya, and I didn’t have time this afternoon for a cat nap.”

“Oh,” Marinette laughed, “you poor thing. It’s a hard knock life, isn’t it?”

“The hardest,” Chat sighed, bringing a hand to his forehead in faux exhaustion.

“Well, let’s do a quick patrol and see if we can get to sleep.”

The two set off across the city, listening for any sounds of trouble. It was quiet tonight, fortunately, though Marinette couldn’t shake the feeling that this preternatural calm was in anticipation of a storm she couldn’t see.

“I talked to Tikki today, about how long it’s been since the last akuma,” Ladybug eventually said.

“You mean, how there was that gap before the one today?”

“Yeah. She told me to worry less and just accept the break.”

Chat laughed. “I talked to Plagg about it the other day--he told me basically the same thing, though I’m sure in much more vulgar words.”

“Today was easy,” Ladybug said.

“You thinking it was too easy?”

“I’m not saying that. Just… easy.”

“Maybe Hawk Moth’s losing his touch.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Marinette chewed on her lip a moment, glancing at the cityscape. “When the final fight comes, you and me versus Hawk Moth, do you think that we’ll be up to it? That it’ll be easy too?”

Chat Noir looked at her, his head tilting as he took her hands. “What are you saying? Of course we’ll be up to it. I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but we’re the best Paris has.”

Ladybug’s voice was small. “But what if we’re not good enough?”

His green eyes met blue, certainty written on his every feature. “Ladybug. We will be. We already are.” He pulled her into a hug, and she let herself believe him. She let herself let go of the fear that was born of anger--though it may have really been anger born of fear--inspired by the comments made at dinner. She let go of the patterns that she could observe but not yet understand: the rate of akuma attacks, the difficulty, the slowly shifting goals they seemed to proclaim. She just allowed herself to be held by Chat, reassured for a moment that all was, and would be, all right.

The explosion rocked the peace.

The two heroes jerked away from one another, both pivoting to find and race towards the blast, smoke already pluming on the horizon.

“Any idea what that was?” Chat asked.

“No,” Ladybug said, her voice focused with nerves and adrenaline. “But we’re going to find out!” What she didn’t share with Chat as they flew over rooftops was that Alya lived in this direction. Marinette would be dead and damned before she allowed anything to happen to her best friend.

Earlier:

Gabriel Agreste thanked Nathalie as she placed two coffee cups down on the little table. He picked his up and pretended to admire the porcelain, studying his guest over the rim.

“Thank you again for seeing me, M. Agreste,” his visitor said, taking a sip of her own coffee. “Sir Edmund Dorrance always spoke so highly of you.”

“How is our mutual friend?”

“Sir Edmund is… unwell,” she confessed, though the gleam in her eye did not suggest that she was the least bit sad about it. Since she had first sat down, every part of her had reminded Gabriel of a predator--a woman who knew exactly what she wanted, and would eat anyone alive to get it. “I actually have not spoken to him in some time, but last I heard he had taken a terrible fall.”

“How horrible,” Gabriel expressionlessly remarked. “Now, if you will forgive me for being so blunt, may I ask why you requested to see me today?”

“It’s been a long time since I was last in Paris,” the woman said, and Gabriel was unsure if she was deliberately avoiding his question or merely providing a roundabout answer. He wasn’t sure which one annoyed him more. “I was working for Sir Edmund the last time I was here, before he and I parted ways. I’m currently in the process of trying to rebuild my life, and I remember him referencing you before my last visit here. He said that you were powerful.” She leaned forward, her smile wicked and sharp and so hungry. “That you were a man who could make things happen.”

“Did he?”

“He did.” She leaned back, crossing her legs as she took another sip of coffee. “I was hoping that we could enter into a partnership.”

“And what partnership would that be?”

“GABRIEL does very well, from what I hear,” the woman said, waving in the air as if gesturing to market charts. “I could turn an even tidier profit for you. A profit you don’t even have to report for taxes, if you understand my meaning. All I ask for in return is you exert your influence, put in a good word here and there, in my favor when I so require.”

“Hm. A laughably amusing proposition.” Gabriel sat his coffee cup down on the saucer with perhaps a touch more force than necessary. “I think not. GABRIEL does well enough without needing to involve myself or my brand and reputation in the dirty business that you propose. Especially given that I suspect such dealings--one way or another--brought Sir Edmund to his current situation, and I quite enjoy this life I currently lead.” He stood, looking down at her. “I have built my way up here, and do you know what I see from this perch? I see before me a miserable little girl who does not know how to make her own way, and instead seeks men of power and stature who can open doors that she only knows how to oil with blood and charm.” He waved dismissively. “I am no one’s valet. Wherever you end up, it will be under your own power. Goodbye.” He turned, ignoring her furious snarl. “Nathalie. Show her out.”

“Right away, M. Agreste. If you’ll follow me?” Nathalie led the woman out, the doors to the Agreste Mansion booming shut behind her.

Lynx checked her phone, hissing in frustration as she hailed a cab. One way or another, she would get what she needed. She only needed to find her way in.

Chapter Text

Dick Grayson paced on the hot Parisian streets, steadily ignoring the way his hair was starting to stick to his scalp. It was too hot to be outside for any longer than he had to, but he felt compelled to try Tim’s phone one more time. He shook his head as the line rang… and rang… eventually clicking off to an automated voice inviting him to leave a message. He returned his phone to his pocket, glancing around.

“What am I doing?” he muttered to himself, not for the first time this week. The immediate answer was obvious: representing the Wayne Foundation for the Fonds de Reconstruction d’Akuma --filling in for Bruce. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t done before, stepping into Bruce’s shoes for an event here or there, but it had always been temporary before. This was just another suit he was wearing in Bruce’s absence, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had been sewn into it.

He pulled his phone out one more time, punching in Tim’s number without even looking. “Hey,” he said as soon as the voicemail engaged, “I know you don’t want to talk to me. But I’m in Paris for a couple days. I know you’re here too. I’m…” he paused for a moment, unsure if he should correct himself, if he should let Tim know that he wasn’t traveling alone. “I’m here doing a Foundation thing, and I wish I could see you. Or talk to you. These were never exactly fun before, but it’s rough doing this, Tim. Doing his stuff. It would be nice to talk to someone who gets it. It would be really nice to see you. Or to just talk to my brother. Call me when you can.” 

Here he paused again, an ‘ I love you’ sitting on the tip of his tongue. Bruce wouldn’t have said it, he knew; Bruce was always too sparing with his verbal affirmations. Came with being raised by a Brit, Dick had supposed. Though, on his more cynical and vicious days he let himself indulge in listening to a dark voice wonder if it was to also foster a sense of urgency in his Robins, a need to perform and outperform for those desperate morsels of validation. That voice sounded like Jason, the new Jason who none of them recognized but all of them desperately wanted to find a way to love. Regardless, it wasn’t true, he knew in his heart. Bruce wouldn’t have done that.

He should tell Tim he loved him. It was what he should do because it was what Bruce wouldn’t or couldn’t have done, it was what Tim needed to hear… He sighed, turning off his phone. There was no way he could convince Tim that it was genuine, though, at least not right now, and insincerity--real or perceived--would only make things worse. It would probably be a problem then, that he didn’t tell Tim that Damian was here too, but Dick had to pick his battles. Tim might meet with Dick; Tim wouldn’t willingly come within a mile of Damian if he could help it. Lying to Tim about this--if lies of omissions even still counted as lying in their family--was a price Dick had accepted as a necessary evil.

The newest addition to their family was, admittedly, not the easiest to get along with. Dick was under no illusions about that, and he didn’t blame Tim for any wariness after his and Damian’s spat in the Cave. Spat was even too nice of a word for it. Damian’s difficulty was exactly why Dick needed to approach Tim with his best foot forward, because Dick simultaneously recognized that Damian was too much for him and Alfred alone. He needed Tim, and honestly Damian needed Tim. But Dick hadn’t been able to convince Tim of that before he left. It was one of many things that he couldn’t convince the young man of. Couldn’t convince him that he wasn’t trying to take anything away from Tim, but to give him a platform to grow like Dick himself had. Tim had just heard what he had heard, and took off.

It was almost funny--Dick had created Nightwing on his own, away from Bruce and the long shadow of Batman. In his turn, Dick had tried to give Tim space to become his own hero with his--with Batman’s-- support, and Tim had rejected it, blazing into Red Robin solo on the other side of the world. He could almost hear Barbara cracking wise about how time was just a circle, but thinking of Barbara too long invited feelings that he didn’t have time to--and simply didn’t want to-- sort out right now.

Dick wasn’t yet all sure if this Red Robin persona of Tim’s was good or not, truthfully. It was impossible to ignore the slow trickle of information that he had been getting: Madrid, Prague, then Paris. Sneaky, if you didn’t know what to look for. If they hadn’t been taught the same tricks by the same man. By all accounts, Tim had been raising all sorts of hell as he blazed across Europe. After the last report, Dick’s concern had officially bubbled over--he needed to see Tim. Dick would decide if he needed to bring Tim home once he had seen him, but first and foremost he just needed to lay eyes on his brother.

So despite everything, he put Gotham on pause, just long enough to go find Tim, to try to make one last appeal to Tim’s better reason. He prayed it was the right decision. The Outsiders were watching over Hush, Barbara was training Stephanie. Dick personally wasn’t quite sure how good of an idea that was, but he trusted Babs, still, after everything. Always.

Gotham was in good hands, but Tim was still dodging his calls. Did he not appreciate what Dick’s being here meant? Was he being spiteful and petty? Or was he still so wrapped up in his blinding grief and anger that he couldn’t see? If he could get ahold of him, maybe Dick would ask. He checked his watch, cursing slightly under his breath. The tournament was about to begin.

The air conditioning, weak as it was against the crowd of people inside, was nirvana against his skin when he entered the stadium. Dick made his way to his seat, sitting down right as the lights dimmed. He glanced around, taking in his surroundings as automatically as breathing. He was on an aisle seat, with an old woman behind him and a teenager next to him. He was on the front row, so at least he had an amazing view while he melted in this crowd.

The announcer came on, thanking participants for donating to the FRA, and the actual fencing began. It wasn’t long before Damian faced his first opponent, and Dick was at the edge of his seat. He had enrolled Damian in this against his better judgment--it was perhaps a bad look for a Wayne to be competing, with the Waynes sponsoring the event, but the boy had been insistent. Dick had figured that the chance to participate in the tournament would be Damian’s consolation for being dragged to Paris, and Dick was curious to see how Damian would react to losing.

Of course, Dick had no way to know how the tournament would play out, but by all accounts either Ms. Tsurugi or Ms. Tranchante would beat Damian for first place. Dick had never even seen the boy fence before, and he had no idea if Ra’s al Ghul had encouraged any non-lethal uses of a sword.

Any doubts Dick had evaporated when he watched Damian fence. The boy was good. Quite good, though when he watched him Dick couldn’t help but recognize how many of those moves were adapted from League moves, intended for a far more deadly sport.

Dick allowed his mind to wander, checking his texts and emails whenever Damian wasn’t on the piste. His attention was grabbed, however, when he overheard the teenagers next to him. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, really, but they kept saying ‘Wayne’ back and forth. They were talking about Damian, Dick realized, mentally scolding himself for having been so lax. The blond one was beginning to talk about a time he had met Bruce, and Dick consciously chose to stop listening, unwilling to hear any story about a time when Bruce had been alive.

“How did you leave me?” Dick asked himself, watching Damian return to the piste. “How did you leave me here and expect me to pick up the pieces when you were the center that held it all together?” Damian swiftly, brutally, won his semi-final, and Dick wondered how he’s ever supposed to temper such rage. Was he as angry, when Bruce first brought a grieving orphan into his home? Dick’s rage had been focused, targeted, and though he had wanted to kill Zucco to avenge his parents at the time, Dick had lacked the training and fundamental capability. Damian was, in many ways, the opposite. Damian’s anger seemed to be against the world, spilling out towards anything that provoked him. And, unlike Dick, he had the means to express that anger in ways only taught by the League of Assassins. Damian needed that direction, that purpose, that Bruce had given Dick. Batman and Robin. Here they were again, two halves of one team, echoed across time. And Tim would never forgive him for it.

Distantly, Dick realized that the cheering of the crowd meant that the match was over. A glance at the scoreboard confirmed that Damian had won, and that he would be going up against Ms. Tsurugi for the final. Was it bad that he hoped Damian would lose? Or more precisely, that Ms. Tsurugi would win. Dick slipped his phone in his pocket as he watched the two fencers move. Damian was holding nothing back, moving like a trained fighter. He was obviously enjoying it, getting to flex his prowess without anyone raising any eyebrows. He lunged, his sabre flashing out… and then he had lost in an instant. Dick let out a deep breath that he hadn’t realized he was holding, clapping for Ms. Tsurugi with the rest of the audience. He stood up, heading towards the locker rooms where he knew Damian would soon be waiting.

He wound his way through the back of the stadium, maneuvering through the growing crowd of people as everyone sought cooler environs. He found the locker room that Damian was supposed to be in, opting to wait outside rather than wade in and try to find him. Dick remembered being a teenager, and there was nothing more uncool than your guardian following you around. Damian didn’t, however, emerge from the locker room, instead approaching him from down the hall.

“Richard, I’m ready to depart.”

“Yep. Let’s get you to a shower. You stink,” Dick said, making a show to pinch his nose.

“These facilities fail to include a shower,” Damian said. “Perhaps that should be a priority of this fund.”

“This money is already all well accounted for,” Dick said, beginning to lead them towards an exit. “Mental health services, phone line operation, news and crisis update coordination, insurance, and physical rebuilding costs. I’m not sure a set of showers is high on their priority list.”

“Tt. I still fail to understand why we have to be here when we have more pressing matters at home. If Elliot wishes to trot my father’s name, face, and wealth out so much, why is he not here to represent this cause?”

“Because Thomas Elliot is too smart to easily control,” Dick said, not for the first time. Control was perhaps even too strong of a word--manage, more like. “The fact that he’s impersonating Bruce is a tenuous enough situation--the last thing we need to do is bring Hush to a city of eleven million people and lose him here. We have him right where we want him in Gotham, which means we can be free to leave from time to time.”

“If you say so. But the trivialities of such engagements bore me. Like this dinner that we are to attend.”

“That was part of the deal,” Dick said. “You knew it was going to happen when you agreed to come.”

“You made me come,” Damian accused.

“Did I?” Dick smiled. “Funny, I don’t remember it that way.”

“You are a nuisance, Richard,” Damian said, and he only sounded like he meant it a little bit.

“Love you too, kiddo,” Dick said.

Someone raced past the two of them, bumping into Dick’s shoulder as they ran. Then a second person. In the distance, screams could start to be heard. Dick and Damian spun, trying to see what was going on.

“Akuma!” One of the fleeing spectators shouted as they ran past Dick and Damian. “Akuma!”

“Grayson--” Damian’s head swiveled, looking for the enemy.

“Damian.” Dick’s voice was solid, lower. This was Batman speaking. Dick could feel his heartbeat pumping in his ears as everything he knew about Paris flooded back into his head. The types of super-criminals Paris was host to. “Come with me.” He grabbed Damian’s hand, the boy too shocked by the change in tone to protest as Dick began to run, dragging Damian with him. “We are going to go outside. You are going to take shelter. And you are not going to move from there until I come and get you, alright?”

Damian’s eyebrows narrowed. “Grayson, you must be a fool if you think I am going to just shelter in place while there is an enemy.”

“Damian, listen to me. Paris is not like other cities, they don’t have bad guys like we do.”

“There are no villains like Gotham,” Damian scoffed, and for a moment Dick felt a swell of Gotham pride before he refocused on the matter at hand.

“Paris is a special case. I know you’re still relatively new to this whole world, but I need you to heed what I’m about to say, okay? I need you to.”

“I… will listen.”

“Good. Thank you. This is the official policy of the JSA and JLA, so understand this is serious. What do you know about the heroes and villains of Paris?”

Damian’s face scrunched slightly as he recalled the dossier he had studied on the flight. “The two primary protectors of Paris are Ladybug and Chat Noir, who can call upon powers of creation and destruction. They oppose Hawk Moth, who uses magic to empower champions from afar to fight Ladybug and Chat Noir. He does this by exploiting a volatile emotional state.”

Dick nodded. “Good. The way they can do these things is through items called Miraculouses. These are seriously powerful items, which channel a ton of magic. Hawk Moth had been terrorizing Paris for years now with his Miraculous, while he seeks to possess Ladybug and Chat Noir’s. He believes that if he can wield them at the same time, he can accrue unlimited power.”

“Is it true? If so, why hasn’t the Justice League intervened?”

Dick shrugged. “I don’t know if it’s true. What I do know is that the Miraculouses come from really powerful, arcane, cosmic forces. That’s why they’re so powerful, and it’s why the Justice League hasn’t done anything about Hawk Moth. Dr. Fate has officially recommended, repeatedly and intensely, that we sit this out and let it be settled between Miraculous wielders. He won’t say much else on it. It’s way above our heads and capability.”

“Dr. Fate… Damian’s mouth twisted. He is a Lord of Order?”

Dick shook his head. “Almost. Dr. Fate is any hero who wears the Helmet of Nabu. It’s Nabu who is the Lord of Order, and who makes Dr. Fate powerful enough to pound Superman into paste.”

“Magic,” Damian spat. “But your points are heard.”

“Perfect.” Dick glanced around, directing Damian to wait down in a metro stop. “So you understand why you’re going to stay exactly right here until I come and get you, right? I’m not even going to try to get involved, I’m just going to make sure people get out.”

“I can help do that too!”

“No dice, kid. You’re my first rescue. Now stay. That’s an order.” Dick turned and raced back up the stairs, hoping that Damian would listen. Dick helped two others to the metro station, pleased each time that Damian was still there. He directed them to him, confident that Damian would watch over them. As Dick re-entered the stadium, he heard the unmistakable sounds of a fight. He quickly crouched in the stands, peeking over the seat backs to watch the heroes fight.

Dick found the combatants in the main arena--three figures locked in a blindingly fast fight. A woman in purple robes was cackling, her sword flashing out at the hero Dick recognized as Chat Noir. He was fencing with what must be the akuma while Ladybug attacked from behind.

Her yo-yo arced incredibly, moving with supernatural dexterity to wrap around the sash the akum was wearing and pull it off. Watching it, Dick could only be reminded of the lassos that Donna and Diana used--the yo-yo seemed to have the same magic spark that made it so powerful as it sailed through the air. Chat Noir’s skills weren’t too bad either--he wielded his staff like a sword, but he obviously had some familiarity with it. What struck Dick as the two fought, however, was just how young they were. It was a feeling that only grew with every year older Dick got--it was hard for him to remember sometimes that he had been even younger when the first Teen Titans had gotten together. The impression of Ladybug and Chat Noir’s youth was only strengthened by their apparent lack of formal training: obvious gaps that they would leave, or follow-ups they would fail to take. No major mistakes, but enough to prove to Dick that they were self-taught, and probably magically enhanced.

“I’ve got the sash!” Ladybug yelled to Chat as she ripped the fabric.

“It’s not in there?” Chat responded. Dick frowned. He couldn’t see much from where he was hiding, and he wasn’t sure what they were looking for.

“Nope.”

“The sword, then,” Chat Noir called. “If this doesn’t work, I’ll have to get out of here quick. Ready? Cataclysm!” Dick watched as Chat Noir’s hand turned pitch black, energy drifting off of it in little motes. This must be his power--Dick realized--destruction incarnate. Chat Noir reached out, catching a sword strike in midair with the power as the sword shattered in his grip. Dick watched as a black butterfly drifted out of the sword pieces before Ladybug caught it in her yo-yo, releasing a white butterfly a moment later.

Ladybug swung her yo-yo in the air, releasing a swarm of ladybugs that passed over Dick. Wherever they went, things seemed to mend themselves, leaving no trace of the fight that had ravaged the stadium. It astounded Dick--such incredible power. He glanced at the villain, recognizing Ms. Tranchante, one of the fencers from earlier. She was speaking with Ladybug and Chat Noir, though he was too far away to hear. Instead of getting closer, Dick opted to retrace his steps--he needed to get back to Damian.

Outside the stadium, he lingered for a moment, realizing that before he got Damian, he had another good opportunity to call Tim. He ducked into a nearby alley, dialing Tim.

The line rang and went to voicemail, exactly as Dick had suspected. “Hey,” he said, “it’s me again. You know, I hope that you’re just ignoring me, and this number hasn’t gone out of service. I’d feel stupid if I was leaving all these messages to nobody.” He chuckled for a moment, the seconds slipping by. “Just checking in on you again. I wanted to let you know, I’m hosting a dinner at L’Homme Bleu. There’ll be a seat open for you if you want to join us. You know how much I’d like to see you, but no pressure. Just hoping you’re well.” He paused again, unsure what else to say. He had said everything he knew in all his calls before, but he was beginning to accept that he could not pester Tim into responding to him. “Please just send me a text or something, just to let me know you’re okay,” he ended up hearing himself say. “From what I hear, you’re careening through Europe, and I don’t want you to end up hurt. Promise me you’ll stay safe. Please. I’ll call again later. Bye, Tim.”

Dick ended the call, placing his phone back in his pocket before pinching the bridge of his nose. He let his head tilt back, slouching in the shadow of the alley. Overhead, he heard a noise, his eyes widening as he realized what he was seeing.

Damian was intensely inspecting his cuffs as he and Dick sat down at the restaurant, which Dick suspected was an attempt for him to not have to look at Dick.

“Those cufflinks were your father’s,” Dick said. “I’m not sure, but I think your mother gave them to him.”

That got Damian’s attention. He turned, the question obvious on his face. “Oh?”

“Back in my day--God, I sound so old when I say that--when your parents were still… courting, if you want to call it that, little presents would occasionally just show up at the Manor. They would always be wrapped the same way, with the same black and white ribbon. Cologne, a scarf.” He nodded towards Damian. “Cufflinks. Little things that let Bruce know that she was thinking of him, even if they were separated by space and circumstance.”

Damian looked at his cuffs again as if seeing them for the first time. “That’s romantic,” he proclaimed, a soft smile tugging on his lips as he traced the silver studs.

Dick smiled, his personal feelings towards Talia sublimated to witnessing her son envision the sort of romance that she and Bruce could have had. Perhaps in another life Bruce and Talia could have lived a sort of fairy tale, but this life was only what it was.

Damian glanced down the table, frowning. “There are too many seats,” he noted. “You said that Mademoiselle Tranchante and her party would not be joining us.”

“No, she won’t,” Dick agreed, internally cringing at the conversation he and Ms. Tranchante had endured earlier. She had been exceptionally polite, admittedly, but there was no non-awkward way around excusing yourself from a dinner because a thirteen year old had bullied you to the point of supervillainy.

“Was the waitstaff unable to accommodate our change in guests?”

“I didn’t want to throw something at the staff last minute.” What Dick didn’t share was that he actually had updated the reservation--originally, the table was to hold him, Damian, Tim, the three placing contestants, and up to six additional guests. When Damian had taken the second place, Dick had called to reduce the number of place settings, but Ms. Tranchante’s last minute change had allowed him to leave three seats--seemingly for her, though truthfully disguising a place for Tim, should he choose to come.

Damian narrowed his eyes, his mind obviously at work as he regarded the chairs. Dick wasn’t sure why he was choosing this as something worthy of his suspicion, though Dick supposed his apprehension was increased by the fact that he was indeed hiding motives. He wasn’t even trying to be secretive--that was always something he had held against Bruce. Dick just wanted to reduce potential friction, minimize problems before they became issues… and Dick felt something clench in his stomach when he realized he sounded like Bruce too.

“There would not have been enough seats if I had not placed in the top three,” Damian remarked. “You did call the restaurant.”

“Excellent detective skills,” Dick dryly remarked. “But still not a conspiracy. I called to remove three seats as soon as you won, but Ms. Tranchante didn’t update us until after I had already called. Hence not wanting to throw anything else at the staff.”

Damian shook his head, evidently annoyed. “I accept this,” he pronounced, though he certainly didn’t sound pleased about it.

Dick opted to roll his eyes rather than offer a more concrete response, standing up to meet Ms. Tsurugi and her friends.

“ Bonsoir ,” Dick said, shaking each of their hands. “ Je m’appelle Richard Grayson, mais appelez-moi Dick .”

“My name is Tsurugi Kagami,” Ms. Tsurugi replied. “We can proceed in English, if it is more comfortable.”

“My pleasure,” Dick said. He and Damian were both admittedly fluent in French, but it didn’t ever hurt to let people underestimate them. And with being Americans, it was generally assumed as given that they wouldn’t be fluent, which often worked to their advantage.

“Adrien Agreste,” the blond teenager offered, shaking Dick’s hand. Dick nodded, mentally connecting him to Gabriel Agreste, a fashion designer and business magnate Bruce had mentioned in the past. His father was something of a recluse, Dick understood, but the boy seemed nice enough.

“And I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” the other young woman said. “A pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Grayson.”

“Really, it’s just Dick,” Dick laughed, gesturing for them all to sit down. “Now, before we really all begin, I’m afraid that I have to apologize that this dinner, ostensibly organized by Bruce Wayne, lacks the man himself. Bruce has been very busy lately, involved in urban renewal and infrastructure projects back home in Gotham City,” Dick explained, only grimacing on the inside. The projects that “Bruce Wayne” were engaging in were really Thomas Elliot’s attempt to bankrupt Bruce while Elliot could wear his face and pretend to be him. However, seeming angry about your father’s social outreach programs would seem strange to anyone who didn’t know that the man assumed to be Bruce Wayne was secretly the supervillain Hush. “He really does send his most sincere apologies for being unable to get away from the business.” Dick offered a dazzling smile, shrugging with a sheepishness that he knew was more than a little charming. “Though, if you’re stuck with us as a surrogate, we can at least pay for a meal.”

If they were upset that Bruce wasn’t there, they didn’t let it show. Dick didn’t wonder if it could have been a little bit of a relief. Of all the words that he could use to describe Bruce, approachable wasn’t often one of them. He could perform affability as Brucie, the darling of Gotham high society, but even that airhead still wore the Wayne name, which was intimidating enough.

They all chatted as waiters deposited glasses of water and everyone placed their orders. Damian was pretending not to listen to something Kagami was saying to Adrien when Dick caught Marinette’s line of sight. She had been glancing at the other chairs, and her gaze had come to rest on the one Dick has mentally assigned to Tim.

“My brother, Tim, is in town,” Dick said. Beside him, he felt Damian slightly tense at Tim’s name. Dick knew that Damian could quickly put the pieces of the puzzle together, given that he was already suspicious, so he went ahead and bit the metaphorical bullet. “I had hoped that he would be joining us, but his own business might be keeping him away.”

Marinette nodded, cocking her head as she turned to face Dick directly. “Are you not traveling together as a family?”

Damian audibly snorted, earning him a look from Dick. “That would presume us to be family,” Damian said.

Dick took a deep breath, mentally noting to say something to Damian after dinner. He would ideally like to say something now, and maybe he should, but that was just as likely to rile Damian further. And Dick didn’t want to really get into it with Damian in front of guests. 

“What Damian so poorly communicates is that our family structure is somewhat atypical. Bruce took me in when I was eleven, having me as his ward after my parents died. He was just twenty five himself at the time, so God knows what he was thinking, but it worked out alright.” He laughed, and internally cringed at how scripted it sounded to himself. “He later adopted me, once I was an adult, but he would later separately adopt my brother, Tim. Damian here is Bruce’s only biological child.”

Damian nodded, though mercifully didn’t say anything else. Dick supposed that he had gotten the silent message.

Kagami took a sip of water, finger drumming against the glass. “How many siblings do you have, all in all?”

“It’s me, Tim, Damian, and our sister Cassandra.”

Across the table, Adrien straightened, smiling slightly. “I think I met Tim, once! It was at a fashion event in Milan, around seven years ago.”

Dick’s face froze in a strained smile, his brain unable to stop from doing the math automatically. Seven years ago, he would have been twenty, living in New York. Tim wouldn’t have joined the family for another two years. Jason would have been sixteen, full of anger and joy and curiosity and brilliant life.

“I know I met Monsieur Wayne,” Adrien was still saying, “and I remember a boy being there. He was older than me, though, maybe around sixteen?”

And there was no doubt in Dick’s mind. He wondered what it would have been--there were so many events, back in the day, that had Bruce all over. He remembered Bruce taking Selina to Milan a few years back--something about her having been attacked by Dr. Moon, and wanting to give her a good weekend to make up for it. It hadn’t seemed important at the time, so he hadn’t bothered to remember much about it. He hadn’t even remembered the trip had happened, let alone that Jason was going, until Adrien had said it. So much lost in those days when he and Bruce barely spoke to one another, sending only the sparsest details before communication broke down completely. Once Jason died.

Dick chose to not think about the man who wore the Red Hood, who had put a batarang in Tim’s chest and had taunted Bludhaven in Nightwing’s stripes. Who had held the Joker at gunpoint and begged Bruce to kill him. “Seven years ago?” Dick found himself saying instead, “that likely would have been my brother Jason. He passed away.”

He watched Adrien’s eyes widen as Dick’s words sunk in. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“The loss of a sibling is very hard,” Kagami offered. “I am sorry too.”

Damian made a low noise in his throat that Dick wasn’t sure anyone else heard. “It was years ago,” he said. “Things have changed. We have kept going.”

“Indeed.”

The waiters then appeared again, bearing tagines and bread and a break from the painful conversation. Kagami was the next to speak, after trying a bite of her food. “I cannot say if this isn’t as good as the dish I had in Morocco.”

Dick could practically feel Damian’s eyeroll. “Doubtful. The fruits of colonialism are only ever bitter.”

Dick glanced around the table, watching the way the teenagers stiffened. Damian wasn’t exactly wrong, but these three didn’t know him well enough to appreciate his specific brand of bluntness, nor was Damian socially savvy enough to understand why he was making them uncomfortable. “Well, I think my meal tastes great. Marinette, did you get the meatballs too? Aren’t they spiced well?”

Marinette nodded, relieved at the lifeline that dragged the conversation along. “They’re very good,” she said. She turned to her friend. “Kagami, I didn’t know you’ve ever been to Morocco?”

“Yes,” Kagami said. “With my mother. I take it you’ve been?” she asked with a nod towards Damian.

Dick was internally grateful that as difficult as Damian could be, they were trying to keep him included in the conversation. He wasn’t a bad kid, and he hoped that they could see it. They couldn’t understand him and his upbringing--the League of Assassins was not exactly dinner table conversation-- but they could be kind. And kindness was incalculable.

“Indeed,” Damian was saying, “my own mother and I traveled extensively before I went to live with my father.” He paused before admitting “I miss the food. New Jersey, I do not believe, is exactly a culinary capital.”

“We’re not too far from New York! There’s all sorts of good food there!” Dick felt called upon to protect the honor of his third home. Though, he understood where Damian was coming from. From what he could tell, food was one of the ways Damian felt most connected to his mother and the good parts of his childhood. Those points of access could be hard to find. “And Alfred is a great cook,” Dick added. Alfred couldn’t replace Damian’s childhood memories any more than he could have cooked John Grayson’s chili, but he would move mountains for the children in his care if he could.

“Pennyworth is English,” Damian said, and Dick didn’t press the point.

They ate for a moment longer before Adrien looked over. “Monsieur Grayson, do you travel much?”

Dick nodded. “I used to travel more, but yeah. I grew up in the circus, so we were always going to new places. A little while after I started being Bruce’s ward I actually spent some time here in Paris, which was quite the adventure for me. Tim did the same too, if I remember right.” He leaned back slightly, stretching his arms out over his chair. This was a bit of a Bruce move, practicing foppishness for no reason but to undercut others’ expectations of him. “Very good time,” he said. 

“So how long will you be in Paris this trip?” Adrien asked.

“Well, it depends.” Dick took a bite of food, waiting to answer for the sole point of taking more time. “Like I mentioned, we’re trying to meet up with our brother.”

Marinette perked up. “You never did answer,” she said. “Earlier, I asked if you were all traveling separately or together.”

Dick was beginning to see it; Marinette was smart. “No, I suppose I didn’t. Tim came ahead of us, doing a research project of his own. He’s very particular about it though, hence his keeping us at a bit of a distance.”

Marinette nodded. “An, I get that. I mean, I’m an only child, but I could imagine wanting space to do things your own way. Especially with such a big family. What is he researching?”

He’s searching for proof that our father, despite the charred body and the closest thing to the word of God we mortals get, is still alive, Dick mentally answered. “Family history,” he said out loud instead.

“That’s so interesting! Does he have family from Paris? Or Monsieur Wayne?”

Dick took a sip of his drink as he thought how to best answer the question. Beside him, Damian was pretending not to watch him out of the corner of his eye. “That’s what he’s trying to find out.” Dick leaned forward, eager to pivot the conversation somewhere else. “So, I understand that this fencing tournament was for a charity that Bruce has helped sponsor, right?”

Kagami nodded. “Correct, the Fonds de Reconstruction d’Akuma .” She pronounced it in French, rather than translating it to English. Dick supposed that the French did sound better than saying the “Akuma Restoration Fund,” with all its back and forth between choppy consonants and Americanized vowels.

“ Fonds de Reconstruction d’Akuma ,” Dick repeated. “And these akuma. That’s what attacked the stadium? I guess that’s why you need a reconstruction fund.”

Across the table, Dick watched Marinette and Adrien exchange a look. They obviously didn’t think him too bright, as if he would have come here without knowing exactly why.

“Well, the Fund isn’t just for physical reconstruction,” Marinette said. “Ladybug and Chat Noir are able to set most everything to right at the end of every battle.” Dick nodded. That was what that magical wave had been at the end, everything being set back in order. “The Fund is for whatever physical damage isn’t repaired, for whatever reason, as well as helping provide more intangible support, like mental health services.” Dick nodded again. Marinette was obviously knowledgeable about the Fund, which Dick supposed made sense.

“That does seem like the sort of thing Father would support,” Damian said. “He always placed an overpriced premium on the value of things that you cannot actually see.”

Was this one of Damian’s games? Baiting Dick? Sneering at Hush? “Bruce does a lot of work in Gotham through the Wayne Foundation,” he said. “He funds a lot of mental health stuff there, which I admit, Gotham needs.”

“I have heard that there is a lot of terrible crime in Gotham,” Kagami said. She managed to sound like she wasn’t too interested in the topic, though it was obviously something she was hoping Dick would say more about. That figured--Gotham’s crime was internationally infamous, and at things like this Dick often found himself fielding questions about supervillains and heroes.

“It depends,” Dick said. “We have all the normal crime that every city has, but it’s true that we also suffer from some extreme super-crime.” He chuckled weakly. “Not unlike Paris, it seems.”

“But we just have Hawk Moth,” Adrien said. “From what I hear, Gotham has lots of super-criminals.”

“That is true,” Damian said, his voice reverent. “But we also have Batman and Robin. Paris is fortunate to only have one super-criminal, and they are fortunate that he is so incompetent. I fear so-called heroes like Ladybug and Chat Noir would not last long against more serious adversaries.”

Dick’s head whipped around, watching Damian’s smile a satisfied grin. What the hell? “I’m sure Ladybug and Chat Noir are more than competent,” Dick said. The Parisian’s faces had all gone various shades of angry. Dick was no stranger to hearing people complain about the Batman, but Ladybug and Chat Noir were different. By all accounts Ladybug and Chat Noir were bright and cheerful, youthful, and--essentially--deeply beloved by their city. “And,” Dick added after thinking, “they’re only teenagers.” He meant it as a graceful detente for Damian.

Damian did not hear it as such. “The Teen Titans do not hide behind such excuses. When they are inadequate, they simply become better.”

That was enough. Direct it would be. “Damian. Stop.” Dick put as much Bruce as he could into his tone, and Damian flinched. Dick felt a pang of guilt, but resolved that it would be addressed back at the hotel, away from their guests. Who, Dick worried, had suffered through a very awkward dinner.

The waiters came to clear plates, and Dick’s offer for desert was met with polite refusal. He paid the bill and the party moved to the curb outside the restaurant, where Dick flagged a taxi for the teenagers.

“Congratulations again, Ms. Tsurugi, on the victory. It was a pleasure to meet all of you.” He fished in his jacket pocket for his card. “Here, if any of you would like to meet again while I’m still in Paris, contact me though here. Bonne soirée.”

“Good evening, Monsieur Grayson,” the three chorused, ducking into their taxi.

Dick and Damian began to walk towards their hotel, Dick resolved not to say anything to Damian until they were back at their room. They made good time, strolling through the streets. Even at night, the area around the Louvre kept an energy to it that Dick enjoyed--it was different from New York, so far as cities that never sleep go--but it was nice all the same.

The hotel lobby was full of warmly lit glass, with mirrors reflecting the two back at themselves as they made their way to the elevators. Damian looked up at Dick, and Dick realized that they weren’t going to be able to hold the conversation until the room.

“You’re upset with me.” Damian said it like a statement, though Dick knew there was the faintest question in there.

“Yes and no,” Dick said as the elevator came to a stop. The two exited, heading down the hall to their suite. “You were a little antagonistic at dinner. I just want to know why.”

“Why what?”

Dick opened the door, letting the two of them into their room. “Like why did you say all that about Ladybug and Chat Noir?”

“Oh,” Damian sniffed. “You told me that the source of Ladybug and Chat Noir’s powers are from their magic items. I cannot find it within me to hold in high esteem heroes that rely on such fickle forces for their capability, rather than their own selves.” He looked up at Dick, face completely innocent. “I understand that this disdain for magic is something that my father and I share.”

“Dami,” Dick sighed. “Magic is a tool, just as much as an escrima or a sword. Bruce hated magic because it could be unpredictable, and because it was so easily misused.”

“Like the witch, Zatanna.” Damian nodded. “I understand.”

“I…” Dick shook his head. The Zatanna topic was complicated enough, he had neither the energy or the fortitude to get into it with Damian. He would have to address it, eventually, but now was not the time. “The point is, you were rude about two of Paris’ heroes. And this isn’t like Gotham, Damian. Paris loves those two.”

“Hero worship is a slippery slope,” Damian said. “Whoever Ladybug and Chat Noir are, everyone must remember that they are just people. Perhaps none so much as the heroes themselves. Especially if they become accustomed to the privilege of magic.”

“Since we’re in that conversational neighborhood,” Dick said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “you do realize that one of the two young women tonight could have been Ladybug?”

Damian’s eyebrows creased as if the possibility had not remotely occurred to him. “Firstly, that was a nonsensical phrase. But to your point, if Ladybug was dining with us, then she did a commendable job at keeping an even temper in the face of what I imagine would have been received as discomforting statements,” he said resolutely. His arms crossed. “Besides, the odds of one of them being Ladybug out of every young woman in this city are laughably small.”

“As small as one of them badmouthing Robin to your face,” Dick sighed. “Okay, you know what? I’m just going to go take a shower. It’s late, and we’re going to need to be up early tomorrow. We have a meeting with Mayor Bourgeoise about the Fund, and there will be a press segment. You may want to review some of… honestly, everything.”

“Do you have a resource you recommend?”

Dick opened his laptop, typing in a website. “Here. This is the Ladyblog. It started just as a fan blog to track Ladybug, but I understand that it’s become quite the resource. Alya Cesaire, the operator, is almost assuredly going to be at tomorrow’s meeting.”

Damian took the laptop and began to scroll. “She’s formidable?”

Dick laughed. “From what I can tell, she’s on her way to being the next Lois Lane.”

“Then I will research. Thank you, Richard.”

Dick headed into the bathroom, setting the water as hot as it would go. He undressed, savoring the feeling of the hot water as he stepped into the spray. He imagined his worries burning off of him, leaving him pinked and unbothered as the water washed him clean. He shampooed, shaved, and soaped, stepping out of the shower and toweling his hair dry before wrapping it around his waist. Dick opened the bathroom door, steam spilling out into the suite.

“Alright Dami, the shower’s… Damian?” The room was empty. Damian was nowhere to be seen. Dick crossed the room, turning the still-running laptop to face him. It was still open to the Ladyblog, which had a live alert to something happening. There had been an explosion… Dick’s breath caught in his chest. There was a picture of Tim in his Red Robin uniform, fighting three people Dick didn’t recognize as a building smoldered behind him.

Dick hurried to the closet, opening the specialized suitcases that held the Batman and Robin suits. Robin’s suit was gone. “Shit,” Dick hissed to himself as he began to get dressed, “this is bad.”

He dressed as quickly as he could, activating the tracker that was housed in the Robin suit. He didn't need it--the fire on the horizon acted as a beacon. Batman flew across the rooftops, a dark blur as he honed in on the flames. A firetruck was screaming somewhere in the distance, but Dick knew that it wouldn’t get there before everyone had left the scene. He could make out four figures on a rooftop, but the smoke was blowing too thick for him to make out who it was. Tim and his assailants?

Dick pushed off a ledge with his full strength, his cape completely unfurling. A deep shadow formed where he blocked out the moonlight, landing on the roof and seeing what was happening. Tim and Damian, both in their suits, were standing at separate sides of the roof. Between them stood Ladybug and Chat Noir, back to back and facing down Robin and Red Robin respectively. No one looked pleased.

Batman’s voice came out in a deep gravel, making everyone flinch. “What is going on here?”

Elsewhere:

Lynx stepped out of her cab, still nursing her wounded pride. She had spent the ride going through her contacts, both above-board and underworld, trying to come up with a name that could get her access to Gabriel Agreste. The unfortunate truth was, he seemed untouchable. And Lynx didn’t know anyone else in Paris with an equal or greater  amount of influence that she could get in contact with.

She had only taken two steps towards her hotel, with its drafty windows and cold water, when she was literally swept off her feet. She yelped, realizing that she was in the grip of something going extremely fast. No, not something--someone.

“Who are you,” she demanded as she tried to squirm out of its grip.

“Later,” the speedster said, moving even faster.

Lynx opened her mouth to say something else, but it was lost as her vision tunneled in, the sheer speed of their movement dragging her into unconsciousness.

“Mlle. Lynx.” A voice… Lynx stirred. She wasn’t sure how long she had been out, but she was in an entirely new environment. It was a dark, circular room, lit by a single large window. “Mlle. Lynx,” the voice repeated. The voice’s owner sounded male, his tone haughty and cold. “I know you are awake. I can feel your anger rising.”

Lynx’s eyes snapped open as she sprang to her feet, snapping into a ready position. The man in front of her did not move a muscle at her display, though she did disturb several of the white butterflies that had landed near her. “Where am I?”

“Safe,” the man said. He picked an imaginary piece of lint off of his purple suit, his expression hidden behind his grey mask. “Do you know who I am?”

“Hawk Moth,” Lynx said, eyes drawn to the brooch pinned to his chest.

“Indeed.” He turned from her, looking out the window. Lynx cautiously moved closer, coming to stand beside him. “What do you see, out there?”

“Paris,” Lynx replied. “No more, no less.”

“A philosophical answer, or an avoidance?”

“You tell me.”

Hawk Moth gave a dry chuckle. “You have none of Sir Edmund’s pleasantries. Did you learn nothing from your time as his lieutenant?”

She wheeled towards him. “You know Sir Edmund?”

“Of course.” He regarded her out of the corner of his eye. “Powerful people have a habit of keeping up with one another. A truth that M. Agreste seems to have forgotten.” He grinned at Lynx’s expression. It was not a kind smile. “Yes, I know all about your meeting with him. M. Agreste’s dealings are not yet beneath my attention.”

Lynx’s eyes narrowed. “The assistant.” It was the only thing that made sense. She was the only other person who knew Lynx was meeting with M. Agreste.

“Hm?”

“She is your spy.”

At that, Hawk Moth laughed out loud. “If it is convenient for you to think so, then by all means. I am not in the business of deluding. Rather,” he outstretched a hand, a butterfly coming to rest in his palm. “I am a firm believer in revelation.”

“And what do you have to show me?”

Hawk Moth closed his hands around the butterfly, holding it in front of him. “You sought out M. Agreste for power,” he continued. “It is not your fault for not knowing that he is a weak, shortsighted fool who would not know true power if it was dropped into the palm of his hand. Appearances can be deceiving.” He parted his hands, now revealing the butterfly to have turned a deep purple. “Neither of us are so blind to ignore the truth that real power is right in front of us.”

“And?” Lynx was getting edgy. This man had a whole monologue ready, which didn’t bode well for his mental state. He was saying all the right things though, and from what she could tell Hawk Moth was a major player in Paris. The type of player who could get her on the board too.

“I have a proposition. What do you know of my powers, of the Miraculous?”

“Only what anyone hears. That you are a sorcerer who turns people into monsters.”

“No, not quite. I turn people into champions. I do so with my Miraculous, the enchanted jewel that I wear. I’m sure it has already caught your attention. When unpowered, the eyes are nearly compelled to skip over it. But when it is engaged, it can be hard to notice anything else.”

Lynx put her hands on her hips. “Tell me more.”

“I want Ladybug and Chat Noir’s Miraculouses. They are specific tools that I require to recover something that has been lost. If you can do so for me, then I will give you my own Miraculous.”

That gave Lynx pause. “The power to create champions?”

Hawk Moth nodded. “Of extraordinary power.”

“What proof do I have that the power is genuine?”

Hawk Moth smiled. “You have already met him. Runegade?” In a blur, the speedster that had abducted Lynx appeared at Hawk Moth’s side. “A former track star,” Hawk Moth said, gesturing to the speedster. Lynx’s eyes fell to the knee brace he wore, which seemed to glow with an eerie purple light. “But an injury retired him from his glory days. He was very willing to become one of my akuma.”

Lynx stepped forward to inspect Runegade. He was standing still, almost too still. “And he is obedient to the wearer of the Miraculous?”

“Indeed. And if he tries to disobey…” Hawk Moth tapped his cane on the ground and Runegade collapsed, twitching in pain. “The longer I hold him in this state, the greater the agony becomes. And of course, I could always revoke his akuma as I saw fit.”

“This is quite the power. Is it worth giving up?”

“For what I seek to recover? It is a paltry price to pay.”

Lynx smirked. “Then perhaps I should aim for that prize too.”

She had to take a step back as Hawk Moth swiped out with his cane. “Let me assure you, what I am looking for has no consequence for you, but is of undefinable importance to me. I do not take such a personal matter lightly, and do not encourage you to do so either.”

“Touche,” Lynx muttered. “Fine. I’ll play your game. But why me?”

“Because you have knowledge that I think will become helpful very soon,” Hawk Moth said. He turned towards a segment of blank wall that blinked on, revealing itself to be a screen. On the screen was video feed of an explosion, and of four people that Lynx recognized to various degrees.

“Robin,” she snarled, eyes drawn to the figure in red.

“Indeed. These heroes’ presence in Paris is an anomaly for which I cannot account, but for which I believe you may be particularly suited.”

“I understand.” She nodded towards the screen. “How recent is this?”

“One minute ago.”

“Then there’s not a moment to waste.” She looked up at Hawk Moth and smiled. She may have to stab him in the back down the road, but at least now she could see the path. She had found her way in.

Chapter Text

Marinette wasn’t sure her heart was still beating as the dark shadow of the Batman fell over her and Chat Noir.

The recent past seemed to flicker in her mind like movie slides, recapping how she ended up staring down a man seemingly wrought from iron midnight. She and Chat Noir had arrived on the scene as quickly as they could. A hotel room had exploded, presumably bombed; smoke and fire spat out of a window in a dense and deadly smog. Opposite the hotel, the two heroes could make out four figures on the roof. One dressed in a black and red costume, the others in civilian clothes. Alarmingly, the three in plainclothes seemed rather intent on killing the one in the costume.

Despite being outnumbered three to one, the figure in red seemed to be holding his own.  His dark cape whipped around him as he dodged between his assailants. Still, Ladybug supposed that it never hurt to have friends.

“Stop,” Ladybug shouted, looking down at all four from a nearby rooftop. Chat crouched at her side, the claws of his suit clicking against the brick.

“Better do as the lady says.” He smirked as all four heads turned.

Whatever surprise Ladybug and Chat Noir introduced, it didn’t last long. “Owens,” one of the plainclothes trio said in English. “Flash.” Another one of them pulled a device out of their jacket, punching it into the ground. The night lit up with a disorienting, painfully bright light. She lurched forward towards them as soon as the spots in her eyes had cleared enough for her to see, but the plainclothes trio were already gone. The man in red and black was standing from a crouch, tucking something away in his belt. He offered a curt nod to the two heroes before striding to the edge of the roof.

“Need to keep moving,” the man muttered to himself.

“Are you alright?” Ladybug asked in English. “What’s your name?”

“And what’s with the getup?” Chat added.

The man turned, looking slightly confused. “Red Robin,” he said after a long pause. Ladybug frowned. He seemed unsure.

“What was going on here?”

Red Robin shrugged. “Assassins trying to blow me up. Standard stuff, really. Now, if you’ll excuse me--” Red Robin turned as if he was going to jump off the ledge. Ladybug swung her yo-yo out, wrapping it around his arm.

“I’m afraid we have a few more questions for you, Red Robin.”

He tensed his arm as if to try to pull Ladybug towards him by her yo-yo, but suddenly went still as Chat let out a yowl. Ladybug spun around, watching Chat roll across the rooftop, grappling with another person. The newcomer was also dressed in red, though his outfit was sleeker, less encumbered. A dark hood shadowed his features.

“Robin!” Red Robin shouted, the single word carrying more emotion than Ladybug would have thought possible. He sounded surprised, alarmed, and supremely angry. Ladybug flinched back slightly at the tone of his voice. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Chat Noir pushed Robin off of him, who somersaulted back onto his feet. “The League is in Paris, and I find you at odds with Ladybug and Chat Noir?” Robin tutted, placing his hands on his hips. “It does not inspire confidence, in light of your recent behavior.”

Red Robin had disentangled himself from the yo-yo, and slowly began to circle around the edge of the roof. Robin followed suit, like two panthers circling a cage. Ladybug was none too pleased that she and Chat were stuck in the middle.

“We all need to take a deep breath and calm down,” she said, placing herself in front of Robin. He stopped moving, and she felt Chat take up position at her back, facing Red Robin. “We’re going to talk this through.”

“The only language he understands is violence,” Red Robin sneered.

“Shut up,” Robin screamed back.

Whatever reply Red Robin might have had was lost when the shadow overtook the rooftop where they stood. It was giant, all-encompassing, and it caused Ladybug's stomach to drop to her feet.

“What is going on here?” Batman demanded.

Marinette took a deep breath. Then another. This was fine. She was fine. He was just… Batman. The Batman. To be honest, Ladybug hadn’t been fully convinced that he was real. Not in the way that she knew Superman was real, because she never had to question if she believed in Superman. The same was true for Wonder Woman, or the Knight and Squire. But Batman… He didn’t seem quite human. Ladybug couldn’t immediately make out a definite beginning or end to him—the night merely melted off his cape, spitting him forth. His eyes were mere slits of white, narrowed in anger.

“There was an explosion,” Chat was saying, and Ladybug was impressed by how calm his voice sounded. She suspected that it was at least fifty percent a performance, but it was convincing. “Ladybug and I came straight to the scene to see if it was akuma-related, and to get people to safety. When we arrived, we found Red Robin here,” he nodded towards him, “engaged with three people.”

“Engaged with?” Batman frowned. That didn’t bode well.

“Fighting,” Ladybug clarified.

“They were–” Red Robin and Robin began at the same time. Batman held up two hands, one in each direction, and they both fell silent.

“I’m speaking with Ladybug and Chat Noir,” he said, the white lenses of his cowl never leaving the young heroes’ faces. “We will debrief later.” He let his hands fall. “Continue.”

“They were fighting with Red Robin,” Chat continued. “We ordered everyone to stand down, and the trio threw down some sort of flash grenade. They got away,” he admitted, eyes glancing down.”

“Red Robin looked like he was going to go straight after them, but we needed to understand what had happened,” Ladybug said, picking up where Chat left off. “I had to restrain him a bit with my yo-yo.” She glanced over her shoulder to him. “Sorry about that. But that’s when Robin appeared. I think he took my restraining Red Robin as an attack, and he briefly fought with Chat Noir.”

Batman’s gaze turned to squarely look at Chat. “Interesting. And I assume that I arrived shortly after?”

“Yes.”

Batman nodded curtly.  “Robin, Red Robin, with me. Ladybug, Chat Noir, good work. I–” whatever he was going to say next was interrupted as a fist collided with him, dead in the center of the bat emblem on his chest. Batman went flying back off the edge of the roof as physics played their dispassionate game, leaving a man standing in what had–milliseconds ago–been empty space.

“An akuma,” Ladybug said, eyes narrowing.

“How observant,” the akuma drawled. “I am Runegade, and I speak for my master.” He turned towards Robin and Red Robin, who had edged closer together. “Hawk Moth extends his greetings, and hopes you enjoy your stay in Paris. He does, however, offer you one warning to not get involved in his affairs. Such a mistake would undoubtedly make your time here much less pleasant.”

“Your master is a coward,” Robin shouted, pulling what looked like a sword hilt from his belt. “He should face us in earnest!” He flicked his wrist and a blade extended from the handle. Beside him, Red Robin similarly extended a staff.

Runegade's face went slack, his body freezing for a moment as the purple outline of a butterfly lit up over his face. “Oh, little Robin,” Runegade’s mouth said in a voice that was not his own. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

“Hawk Moth!” Ladybug stepped forward. “You have one chance to surrender now.”

Runegade laughed, low and malicious. “You give me that chance every time we meet, Ladybug. Why do you believe I shall take it now?”

“Everyone has the power to change,” Ladybug asserted. “It’s never too late.” She could feel Robin and Red Robin’s eyes on her. Hawk Moth was her villain, not theirs. They were watching how she handled this. They would follow her lead, right?

Runegade tilted his head, then shook it. The butterfly disappeared from his face and Runegade crouched, shifting into a running position. “If you say so.” Then he moved, and it was all Marinette could do to avoid his blows. Each punch seemed to come faster, each kick harder to dodge. Chat intervened before Runegade could actually land a hit, a flurry of staff strikes and kicks forcing him back.

“It looks like he starts slow, then gets faster the more he moves,” Ladybug panted, stepping forward to stay at Chat’s side.

“You think he’s starting slow?” Chat wheezed, eyebrows creeping up.

“We just have to keep him off balance,” Robin said. She hadn’t noticed him coming to her other side, but he and Red Robin had come to flank her and Chat Noir.

Red Robin muttered something to himself that Marinette couldn't make out as he began to circle around Runegade. He advanced, his staff flowing in the air around him like water, a low whistle piercing the air as the staff moved. Across from him, Robin began to circle too, a mirror of his and Red Robin’s previous confrontation. Runegade’s eyes tracked Robin’s sword as it was drawn through the air in an exercise almost identical to Red Robin’s. The two weapons danced in a vicious harmony as they encircled the akuma, picking up speed as the two heroes came into position. As if prompted by some silent starting pistol, Robin rushed forward, bringing the sword straight down towards the akuma.

Runegade’s hands shot out to catch the blade in midair, barking out a laugh. “Is that all?” He then howled in pain as Red Robin’s staff struck the back of his knee–the knee that must have been injured already, given the knee brace he wore– sending him to the ground.

“Robin Rule Number One,” Red Robin said. “Be as distracting as possible.”

The akuma snarled, spinning to catch Red Robin in a blindingly fast right hook. Ladybug winced at the sound of the hit, and the sight of Red Robin being knocked back onto the ground. “You’re going to regret that,” he said, staggering to his feet. He winced, a hand darting down to feel the injury.

Robin raced towards him, and Marinette felt like she was watching in slow motion as he lunged towards the akuma. Runegade crouched, rising to interrupt Robin’s arc when he was directly above him. Robin seemed to be anticipating this, however, and used Runegade’s movement as a springboard to increase his own momentum, vaulting over the akuma and landing near Red Robin. “Keep him engaged while I tend to Red Robin.”

Chat met her eyes, the question obvious on her face. Ladybug nodded, swinging her yo-yo above her. “It’s time for a Lucky Charm!” She held up her hand to catch the item that manifested, almost laughing at the charm.

“A bag of marbles?”

“It’s so straightforward,” she said.

“Sure,” Chat said, adjusting his stance. “But he’ll see it coming a mile away.” He leapt forward, trading a few blows with the akuma before being forced back.

“Sure,” Ladybug echoed, though she was still grinning. She could see the plan as if it was a path in front of her. “Stand back,” she said. “It looks like he’s getting his second wind.” She glanced over Runegade’s shoulder to Robin and Red Robin, hoping that they would stay back and let her plan work. She bit the inside of her cheek–her plan would work. “The knee brace. Chat?”

“At your service, my lady. Cataclysm!” His eyes narrowed on the akuma as his hand began to drip shadowy destruction. “Ready?”

Maybe the akuma had gotten a second wind, or maybe Runegade had just been bolstered by Ladybug’s words, but he rushed forward, his eyes fixed on Chat’s hand. Because that was his Achilles Heel. He took out Batman first, and then went after Ladybug until Robin stepped in. After that, he kept all his attention on the sword. He only switched targets when Red Robin got in a hit, then immediately took him out. He was prioritizing threats–but doing it badly . And that was how she would defeat him.

Runegade raced towards Chat, his form beginning to blur as he picked up speed, so consumed with neutralizing this threat that he completely missed Ladybug throwing the marbles into his path.

If Marinette had ever felt clumsy in her life, it was nothing compared to watching someone wipe out at superspeed. Runegade's feet slid to the side out from under him, leaving him to hit the rooftop hard, rolling to a stop at the edge of the roof. He groaned, his body twisted beneath him.

Chat crouched down and touched the brace, nodding as it crumbled into dust and released the butterfly. Ladybug swiftly purified the akuma and invoked her Miraculous Cure, wincing at how little damage was actually fixed. The hotel had been bombed before they had arrived, and though the flames had dwindled the burnt-out window continued to leer at them.

“Well done,” a voice said. Marinette had to keep herself from flinching at the closeness of Batman’s voice--he was a few scant feet behind her, and she hadn’t heard him return at all. “You made quick work of a speedster.” A hint of a smile curled his lip. “I can see how you two have kept Paris safe for so long.”

“All part of the job,” Chat said, offering a mock bow. He must be rattled too, Marinette realized.

“Can Hawk Moth still see or hear us?” Batman glanced down to the slumped form of the former akuma.

“No, he shouldn’t be able to once we’ve gotten the akuma.”

Batman nodded. “Good. Take care of him, get him to where he needs to go. Be on the roof of the Hotel du Louvre in one hour.” He glanced at his partners. “Robin. Red Robin. With me.” He reached into his belt and pulled out a device. He aimed it and fired a grapple line, swinging off into the night. Red Robin and Robin held intense eye contact with one another for a moment, as if having an argument Marinette was not privy to. Red Robin sighed, aimed his own grapple gun, and followed in Batman’s direction.

Robin regarded Ladybug and Chat Noir for a moment longer. “Good,” he said simply, and left as well.

Ladybug and Chat stood in silence for a long moment, turning to look at one another once they were reasonably sure Batman and his Robins were actually gone. “Holy fuck,” Chat said. “That was the Batman.”

“Yeah,” Marinette breathed. The night wind was warm as it lazily moved across the rooftop. She felt like she had a million thoughts, all of them going too fast to manage, overwhelming her as she tried to parse though them. Marinette concentrated on the feeling of the wind in her hair for a minute before her earrings interrupted her thoughts. “Alya Cesaire lives near here. I’m going to go check on her, and make sure she’s okay after the explosion. Meet me there once you’ve gotten the akuma victim taken care of?”

Chat nodded. “Sounds good.”

Ladybug leapt from the roof, her yo-yo swinging out to rappel her through the night towards Alya’s house. It wasn’t far—she could see the roof of Alya’s building from where they had been talking. Alya’s window was open, which usually meant that she was expecting Ladybug. Given all the commotion, Marinette wasn’t surprised. She landed on the windowsill, knocking on the frame. “Alya?”

“Ladybug!” Alya grabbed her hand, pulling her inside and drawing the curtains behind her. “What’s going on out there?”

“Okay, so, there’s a lot going on out there. A hotel was bombed, and there was an akuma, but most importantly, I met Batman.”

Alya’s jaw dropped, her hand coming up to her mouth. “No. What? Batman?”

“Batman!”

“Holy shit, LB.” Alya took a step back, sitting down at her computer chair. “I didn’t think he was real.”

Ladybug nodded, pacing around Alya’s bedroom. “Well, he is. I think he’s going to help us take down Hawk Moth, he told me and Chat that he wants to meet us near the Louvre in like an hour.” Marinette opened her mouth to begin her next sentence, but was interrupted by the beeping of her earrings. “Uh.”

“Here,” Alya said, standing and opening her closet. Marinette slipped inside, closing the door and dropping the transformation. She opened her purse, offering Tikki one of the few remaining cookies. Two akuma attacks in one day had depleted her energy. It also didn’t bode well for Hawk Moth’s plans. Was the storm breaking?

“So this meeting,” Alya said from the other side of the closet. Something in her voice had changed, becoming more hesitant. “Do you want me there?”

“I’m not sure.” Marinette grimaced. She slid down the back of the door, sitting as comfortably as she could in the cramped space. Personally, Marinette wanted Alya to be there, to be honest. Alya was smart, capable, and had more than earned it. But Batman hadn’t invited her, and Marinette got the sense that one did not spring surprise guests on Batman. “I’m going to talk to him, and see if he’s interested in meeting the whole team. I’m not sure exactly what he’s planning on doing, how he’s going to help.”

“Well, that’s the thing,” Alya said. “Ladybug, I don’t mean to come off rude or ungrateful or even bitter, but… why is he helping now? The Justice League has all but ignored Paris and everything that goes on here. Every time we say something we get some vague answer from Wonder Woman in a pre-recorded message. Which, like, it’s awesome that Wonder Woman even knows that we exist. I still get goosebumps if I think about it. But what makes Batman just show up and want to help now? I don’t know, but I’m not sure I trust it.”

“You’re saying to not trust Batman?”

“No, I’m saying I don’t trust this situation.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “That’s the same thing!”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yes too!”

“Look, let’s not go round and round on this.” Alya took a breath. “Does, uh, Carapace know?”

“No, just you and Chat.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

“Yeah. After the first meeting. I really want us all to be there, Alya. Really. Because I do trust you. And Carapace. I just don’t want to blow our first real meeting with Batman.”

“Just promise you’ll be careful, yeah? Some of the rumors about this guy, Ladybug… they’re not all good.”

“Yeah.” Marinette laughed. “You should have seen me, Alya, I thought my legs were going to collapse. He’s terrifying.”

Alya laughed, the sound clear and ringing even through the door. “God help us if there’s something out there that frightens you.”

“I get scared just like anyone,” Marinette said softly. She pulled her knees up to her chest, watching as Tikki continued to eat. “I’m Ladybug, but at the end of the day I’m still just a person.”

“But you face that fear,” Alya said. “And you keep going despite it. That’s bravery. Not everyone can do it like you do.”

“Thanks,” Marinette said. Tikki took her last bite and glanced up at Marinette, nodding. She stood up, stretching. “Spots on.” Ladybug stepped back into Alya’s room, sitting on the edge of her bed. Alya had moved to the desk, and was flipping through coverage of the hotel fire.

“Do they know what caused this?” Alya gestured to the screen.

  “Assassins, one of them said.”

“One of them?”

“Red Robin. He was with Batman and Robin.”

Alya’s eyebrows shot up. “You didn’t tell me that there were others with Batman.”

“Yeah.” Marinette leaned over Alya’s shoulder, reading Nadja Chamack’s initial coverage on the incident. “Official sources have made no comment on what the cause of the fire was,” she read aloud, “but some have suggested that it could have been the result of a ruptured gas line.”

“Which is a bit of a stretch, considering how localized the damage was to this one room,” Alya pointed out.

“Is the Ladyblog going to publish anything along those lines? To combat the official narrative?”

Alya bit her lip. “Well… no. Probably not. Knowing what we know about the people involved, I don’t want to dispute the story too much, it could draw unwanted attention…” she sighed, her leg bouncing. She looked a little like she wanted to break something. “But at the same time every journalistic fiber of my being wants to be the one to set the record straight. No one else knows what we know! And people have the right to know!”

“But people might also start asking how you know,” Marinette pointed out, laying a hand on Alya’s shoulder. “Your dedication to the truth is a good thing, Alya, but you can’t let it get in the way of the fact that the truth can be dangerous.”

“Because lies are so much safer?”

“Do your parents know you’re Rena Rouge?”

Alya frowned, but she closed the laptop. “Touche.”

“I don’t like it, Alya. I hate lying. But sometimes, in very specific circumstances, it’s necessary.”

“I guess.”

The two lapsed into an uncomfortable silence that was broken by a gentle tapping on Alya’s window. She moved over to open it, Chat slinking into the room.

“I assume Ladybug told you about our busy night?”

“Oh yeah,” Alya said. “How’re you feeling about all of this?”

Chat shrugged, folding his legs under him as he sat down on Alya’s rug. “It’s a lot,” he admitted. “Not because anything’s been asked of us,” he clarified, “but because it feels like such a step up. Like, this could be Justice League stuff.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Ladybug said, though she couldn’t refrain from a fond eyeroll. “We still need to talk with him.”

Chat turned to Alya, cocking his head. “Will Rena Rouge be coming with us?”

Alya’s gaze slid over to Ladybug, who frowned. “Ladybug’s not sure it would be prudent, since I wasn’t invited in the first place.” Alya’s voice was carefully controlled, which did just as good a job of conveying her displeasure as if she had jumped up and down with a sign that read ‘Bad Idea.’

“Oh. Well, do you want to be there?”

“Yes,” Alya said immediately, as Ladybug opened her mouth to say “Well…”

“Great!” Chat said, grinning a bit. “You want to be there, I want you there, and that’s two thirds. Democracy in action.” He looked at Ladybug, the same grin now lighting his eyes. “What say you, fearless leader?”

“How can I say no to democracy?” Ladybug sighed. 

“She thinks I’m going to interfere with the vibe of your meeting, or whatever,” Alya said by way of explanation as she slid open her desk drawer. She pulled out the false back, retrieving the little black box that held the Fox Miraculous. “And that I’m paranoid for not exactly trusting Batman.”

“You don’t trust Batman?”

“Does no one read the news?” Alya shook her head as she clasped the necklace around her neck. “He’s not a hero like Superman is. He’s dangerous.”

“Good thing we are too,” Chat said. 

“If you’re coming,” Ladybug said, standing and stretching, “you’re strictly backup. Be close enough to hear and help, but Chat and I need to be the two primary contacts.”

“You’re taking this very seriously,” Chat said, an eyebrow quirking the top of his mask.

“I don’t know why no one else is,” Ladybug protested. “Chat, I know you were just as intimidated as I was—where’s all this bluster come from?”

“He’s scary,” Chat admitted, “but he’s Batman. With Robin and everything. This is good for us, making more connections in the hero community. If heebie-jeebies are part of it, that’s fine, but I don’t think we do ourselves any favors by pretending like we’re suddenly above it all. Alya will be our backup just in case something does go sideways, but it’s going to be fine. Contrary to what conspiracy theories you may read on the internet,” she glanced at Alya, “he’s a hero.”

“May we all have your confidence,” Marinette said, moving to the window and sliding it open. “Let’s get going.”

“Sounds good.” Alya tapped her miraculous, Trixx materializing in a burst of light. “Alright Trixx, transform me!” A moment later Rena Rouge stood with the other two heroes, and all three of them went out into the sweltering night.

-

They made good time to the hotel Batman had named, Alya splitting from them several streets away to find a good vantage point. The glass pyramid of the Louvre shone nearby, illuminating the surrounding city blocks. For a moment Marinette considered how Paris might look to a visitor such as Batman, rather than how she viewed it as a born and bred Parisian. It certainly lived up to its reputation as a city of light.

“Where is he?“ Chat asked, glancing around. “Are we early?”

“Early is on time,” a voice said from behind them. The two teenagers spun, each taking a step back. Batman was on the roof with them, scant meters away. Neither of them had even heard him arrive.

“And on time is late,” Robin finished, perched on a nearby rooftop. He stood, crossing over to stand next to his mentor. “Where is your companion?”

Ladybug stiffened slightly, though she was sure neither noticed. “Who?”

“The Fox,” Batman said. “She was with you on your way here. Is she patrolling on her own?”

“No.” Alya approached the group, or rather, was led to the group by Red Robin, who had a firm grip on her arm. “Given that I’m being manhandled here, I am certainly not patrolling, thank you very much.”

“Hm. Is anyone looking after the city?”

“We’re here,” Ladybug said.

Batman nodded. “Robin, you and the Fox—“

“Rena Rouge,” Alya interrupted.

“You and Rena Rouge will patrol while Red Robin and I speak with Ladybug and Chat Noir.”

The two let out simultaneous noises of confusion and protest. “What?”

“Robin,” Batman warned at the same time Ladybug implored “Please.”

Robin nodded sullenly, crossing his arms. “Fine.”

Alya tapped Marinette’s chest, staring into her eyes. “I follow your lead,” she said before turning. “Alright squirt, keep up.”

Batman, Ladybug, Red Robin, and Chat Noir all watched them depart before their attention shifted back to one another. “So,” Chat said, “nice night.”

Red Robin shook his head, the white slits of his eyes closing behind his cowl. He looked somewhat uneasy, Ladybug thought, as if he didn’t really want to be there on the rooftop with her and Chat.

“What are you doing here?” Ladybug asked.

“What do you know,” Batman began, as if she hadn’t said anything, “about the League of Assassins?”

Ladybug glanced over at Chat, seeing the same lack of recognition in his eyes. “Nothing,” Ladybug said, “but their name isn’t encouraging.”

Batman nodded, crouching down. He placed a disc on the ground, straightening and tapping his glove. The disc whirred to life, projecting a series of images: twin volcanoes framed by an ocean, a tower fortress on an arctic tundra, an oasis amidst sand dunes. And bodies. Many, many bodies.

“The League,” Red Robin began, “goes by many names. The League of Assassins, League of Shadows, DEMON. It’s connected to countless other factions and offshoots, such as Leviathan or the Society.”

“And they’re here in Paris?”

“They’re everywhere,” Batman growled.

“But they usually stay under the radar,” Red Robin cut back in. “Except for tonight.” He tapped his glove, the image of the three people from earlier appearing from the projector. “These three are League operatives who targeted me in my hotel room.”

Chat cracked his knuckles. “So how do we stop them?”

“The easiest way is for me to just leave Paris,” Red Robin said. He shifted slightly as he said it, and Batman crossed his arms. “I have reason to believe that I’m being tracked by their leader.”

The picture changed again, showing a single man with a goatee. When Batman spoke again, his voice had dropped even darker. “Ra’s al Ghul.”

Chat started. “You’re just going to run? This guy doesn’t seem so tough.” Chat walked up to the projected image, staring down the holographic figure. “He’s one old guy. We could take him.”

Batman shook his head. “Absolutely not. This is why we’re having this conversation. Ra’s is over 900 years old, and spent every minute learning how to plot, manipulate, and kill to get whatever he wants. Red Robin and I don’t presume to believe we can match your knowledge regarding the villains you face—we need you to return that trust regarding our knowledge. Ra’s al Ghul is more dangerous than you would believe.”

“I’ll be leaving as soon as I can,” Red Robin said, but in the meantime we’re going to spar. We’re hoping to prepare you so that if you do run into any League operatives before I get out of the city, you’ll be able to hold your own.”

“You keep saying operatives,” Ladybug said, meeting Batman’s gaze. 

“Killers,” he confirmed. “Killers who believe fanatically in this man, and will do anything to execute his word.”

Marinette nodded. “Just wanted to make sure we were on the same page.”

Red Robin expanded his staff, moving opposite to Chat. “You and me, first. I want to see where you’re at, and then we’ll practice disengaging and escaping.”

“Wait a second,” Ladybug said, moving in between them. “What’s the long-term here? You’ve told us there’s a group of assassins running around that we had no clue about, and that there’s nothing we can do but wait for them to follow you away? And in the meantime all we can do is run, or fight until we can run? Why don’t we call in Superman or Wonder Woman or someone and just take care of it? This guy may be old, but it’s not like he can take out the Justice League.”

“He can,” Batman said. “He knows the Justice League, and our weaknesses.”

“But he doesn’t know us,” Ladybug protested. “Me and Chat and—“

“No.” His refusal was intense, Marinette involuntarily flinching. “You will not move against him, or get involved. He is a League problem for the League to deal with, outside of Paris.”

Ladybug caught Chat’s eye again, both silently agreeing to talk about this again later. Red Robin stepped around her again, looking towards Chat.

“Whenever you’re ready, let’s see what you’ve got.”

Chat extended his own staff, regarding Red Robin for a moment before charging him. Red Robin dropped into a crouch, catching Chat and flipping him over. Chat scrambled to his feet, bringing his staff down towards Red Robin. The attack was blocked, and Marinette found herself breathlessly watching the two exchange blows and parries. Chat continued to push forward, forcing Red Robin back one step, two. Chat moved in with what Marinette assumed was to be the finisher when Red Robin’s hand flashed, smoke billowing out around him. Chat yelped, and when the smoke cleared he was standing alone, scanning the roof.

“Where did he go?”

Batman said nothing, merely watching Chat. Ladybug didn’t even see where Red Robin came from—she just knew that in an instant he was on top of Chat, pinning him down.

“Smoke,” Red Robin said as he stood, offering Chat a hand, “can be your best friend.”

“Or your worst enemy,” Chat coughed, taking the offered hand.

“Tunnel vision can set in easily,” Batman said. “You need to know when to stop pushing forward, and when to rethink your approach.” He stepped towards the middle of the rooftop, Red Robin easily switching with him and taking his place on the sidelines. Marinette marveled at how easily the two moved around each other, how they seemed to know exactly where the other wanted to go, accommodating without saying a word.

Batman reached into his belt, passing her and Chat three small pellets each. “Smoke,” he said. “Just throw it down to activate it, and use the cover to get away.”

“They’re essentially foolproof, so we won’t go over how to use them. Chat, we’re going to keep working—have you been formally trained in staff fighting, or are you self taught?”

“And Ladybug,” Batman said, “you’re with me.”

“Great,” Marinette said. She hadn’t even heard Chat’s reply to Red Robin’s question—the moment Batman said her name, it was as if everything else had become very far away. Marinette pushed down the sense of doom that dropped into her stomach at his words, as well as the desperate desire to have Alya closer to this rooftop. “Let’s go.”

—

Elsewhere :

Lynx wondered where the line was, when she would have officially gotten herself into a situation she couldn’t get herself out of. As she watched Hawk Moth dispatch the akuma towards the heroes, she wondered if she might be creeping towards it.

Hawk Moth had given Lynx his cane to hold, explaining that through it she could see what Runegade saw. Magic was not much her provenance, though if Hawk Moth’s offer was genuine, this was an incredible power that she would have to become a master over. Lynx felt herself tense as Runegade came before the heroes, taking Batman out with a super powered blow.

“An akuma,” one of the heroes—Ladybug, Lynx believed—said. She took a step forward, her yo-yo in her hand.

“How observant,” Runegade said, and Lynx resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She wondered if the akumazation drove Runegade to monologue, or if he was like this to begin with.

“Your master is a coward!” The little one in the Robin suit yelled. This gave Lynx pause—the costume was close, but this was not Robin. Not the one she knew. The weapon he brandished too, it was wrong. Her Robin was a staff fighter. Just as she had the thought, the other man in red pulled out a staff. Could that be him?

Before she could consider it, Hawk Moth straightened up, the glowing outline of a butterfly floating over his face. “Oh, little Robin,” he said, and Lynx heard the echoes of his words coming from Runegade’s mouth. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Ladybug took another step forward, her shoulders set in determination, one hand outstretched. “Hawk Moth, you have one chance to surrender now!”

“You give me that chance every time we meet, Ladybug,” Hawk Moth laughed. “Why do you believe I shall take it now?”

“Everyone has the power to change. It’s never too late.”

Beside Lynx, Hawk Moth snarled, the butterfly over his face disappearing as he severed direct control. Lynx watched as Runegade took back over, engaging the heroes.

“He is fast.”

“That is the conceit,” Hawk Moth drawled. “Though, ultimately, he is likely not fast enough.” He nodded to himself, his fingers playing over the brooch he wore. “Ladybug and Chat Noir consistently contrive their victories over me. It haunted me for some time, the idea that I was sending akuma at them, over and over, with the same middling result. To continue to do so would be insanity. Which is why I began to research deeper into the Miraculouses, their powers, and their assorted esoterica.”

“And?” Lynx could feel a headache forming as she processed both Hawk Moth before her and the fight through the eyes of the akuma. Red Robin—the man she thought was her Robin—had hit Runegade in the knee. She had to focus to see the actual man before her, and Lynx wondered if this sense of being in two real places at once could have driven him quite mad.

“You are a woman talented at acquiring choice items, are you not? I have found an object that I believe would empower my abilities to such a point that not even the Ladybug or the Black Cat could hope to stand against them.”

Lynx nodded, already willing to get whatever was needed. “And where is this item?”

Hawk Moth smiled. It was not a kind smile. “The Musée du Quai Branly.”

Lynx bit the inside of her cheek to avoid saying something regrettable. “That’s one of the most heavily trafficked museums in the world,” she said. She was good, but she was no Catwoman. The Quai Branley would be exceptionally well secured—any approach would preferably need weeks, if not months, of preparation.

“Then you will have to be very careful,” Hawk Moth said. “Power must only belong in the hands of those willing to prove why they should hold it. I would hate to think I misjudged you.”

Lynx’s reply was delayed by Runegade, who Lynx could see was wiping out at super speed. Lynx did not watch Ladybug purify the akuma; her eyes stayed on Robin and Red Robin, the two that held her interest in earnest.

“You will have it,” Lynx assured. “I’m not in the business of disappointment.”