Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lunchbox, check. 

Water bottle, check. 

Reading books, check. 

Contact book?

“Lewis, where is your contact book?”

Lewis Wilde looked up, dark hair hanging over his face. He continued to tie his laces as he blew wavy strands away from his bluebell eyes. “On the kitchen table.”

“Well, how is Miss Greene going to see it from there?” Adrien muttered and went to fetch it. “Is that everything?”

Lewis shrugged. “I think so.”

“Have you brushed your hair?”

“Today?”

“Ideally, yes. Have you?”

Lewis gave the question too much thought. “I think so?”

Adrien grabbed the brush from the shelf in the hallway and dragged it through his son's hair, smoothing it from a scruffy mess into a slightly less scruffy style.

“That's better. Now, say goodbye to Plagg and Poe.”

The two black cats sat on the stair, one fluffy, one sleek, both watching the usual morning chaos with disinterest. Lewis shuffled towards them on his bottom and kissed each on the tops of their heads, which they tolerated patiently. “Bye, bye, kittens!” 

He slung his backpack over his shoulders and Adrien did the same with his own bag. 

Their neighbour, Mr Owens was already weeding his pristine garden. “Good morning,” he said. “Lovely day.”

“It is,” Adrien said. “Perfect for gardening.”

Mr Owens stood, a clump of weeds hanging from one hand. “Ay, got to get it done before the weekend. We’ve got the whole clan coming over.” He thought for a moment. “Probably best keep the cats indoors on Sunday, my youngest grandson is a terror.”

Marcus Owens was at nursery school and already infamous amongst teachers as one to look out for. Adrien dreaded the day he grew up and came to secondary school.

“Noted. Well, have a great day.”

“And you. You, too, Master Wilde.”

“Bye, Mr Owens,” Lewis said, beaming broadly.

They walked side by side down the street toward the footpath that led to the school. Lewis reached up and took his father’s hand. “Is Mr Owens a grandpa, then?”

“Yes. He has a daughter and a son who have grown up and had their own children.”

A pause. “Do I have grandparents?”

Adrien’s stomach jolted. “Yes and no. My mother died when I was still in school and my father… My father isn’t around. He wasn’t a well person.”

“What about my mother’s parents?”

Guilt tugged at his gut. This was the part he hated most. The lies. Lies he had to tell to protect them. All of them. “You don’t have a mother mon petit.”

Lewis scowled. “Everybody has a mother, dad."

“Not Macduff. ‘Be bloody, bold, and resolute; laugh to scorn / The power of man, for none of woman born / Shall harm Macbeth’.”

“No. Macduff had a mum, you said. That’s the point. Macbeth thought that meant nobody could stop him but he was wrong.”

Adrien studied English Literature when he first moved to England. The house, paid for by a subsidiary of a shell company of a shell company of Fathom Holdings, was close to a university town. Adrien juggled parenthood and a degree, thanks to teachers who were more than happy for such a well-behaved little boy to attend their classes and fellow students who were happy to entertain Lewis when he was restless. By the time he began school, Lewis knew all the classics as bedtime stories.

“You’re right. Macduff’s mother probably died during birth so he was born by c-section. It gave him an advantage over Macbeth, though.”

“So, who is my mother?”

Adrien sighed and ran his hand through his dyed brown hair. This was a regular conversation with his eight-year-old son. He could never give an answer that satisfied Lewis. It would be sparked by Mother’s Day or parent-teacher night or any of the many open days the school hosted. Adrien taught at the local secondary school so he wasn’t available to attend most of the opportunities for parents to visit Lewis’s school, and Lewis didn’t have a mother to attend instead. 

“Mon trésor, we’ve talked about this. Your maman was in an accident and you were born like Macduff. You finished growing in an incubator until you were ready to come home.”

“And by then, mum was gone?” Lewis asked, as though the answer might someday change.

Tears welled in Adrien’s eyes; the sting of regret, the pain of lost love — his and Lewis’s. “Yes, Lewis, she was gone.”

“What was I like when I was born?” 

The great thing about difficult discussions with Lewis was that the subject veered away from the painful topics as quickly as he landed on them. 

“You were very small, very pink, kind of shiny, and your head was too big for the rest of your body.”

“That sounds awful.”

“You were beautiful.”

Lewis wrinkled his nose. “I don’t think I want to be beautiful. Or cute, sometimes the teachers call me cute.”

Adrien couldn’t help but agree. Growing up, his beauty was placed above so many other attributes that he valued. He vowed to never focus on Lewis’s looks. Sure, Lewis was the most beautiful child in the world, and cute as a bug, but that wasn’t the most important thing about him. Adrien wanted him to know that his worth was not in how he looked.

“Well,” Adrien said. “What do you want to be?” 

Lewis thought hard. “I’d like to be called a nerd.”

“A… nerd?” 

“Yes,” Lewis said seriously. “Krzysztof said I was a nerd because I’m smart and I read a lot. I think that’s a good thing to be.”

“Then, yes, I guess it is.”

“Lewis! Hey!” Alex MacDonald called out from the school gate where he waved madly. “Salut, Monsieur Wilde!” 

 “Salut Alex!” Adrien waved back, laughing at how his son’s mood lifted as he ran to greet his friend. “À bientôt, Lewis, j’aime bien.”

“Bye, dad!” Lewis yelled. “Love you!”

“Tha gaol agam ort,” Alex’s mum called from beside Adrien. “Mar sin leibh.”

“Ha geel a coo morsh, mum!” Alex shouted.

Adrien chuckled. “He’s getting there.”

Eilidh groaned and shook her head. “I’ve said it to him every day since he was born and this is what he comes out with. Yet, Lewis teaches him French one day and it sticks. I give up.”

Eilidh MacDonald had grown up speaking Gaelic on the Isle of Lewis in Scotland. Her voice still held the lilting quality he’d come to recognise as a Western Isles accent, though blunted by years of living in rural Warwickshire. She left home when she fell pregnant. As the unmarried daughter of the town’s preacher, she left to escape judgement from her family and community. When Adrien met her on Lewis and Alex’s first day of nursery, they bonded over single parenthood, teacher training, and Adrien’s choice of name for his son. 

She was the Classics and Latin teacher at Greater Nieweham Secondary School — Adrien’s colleague, and his best friend.

That she had blue eyes, black-blue hair and freckles had nothing to do with anything. 

“Shall we?” Adrien asked, pointing towards the school bus that would take them from Little Nieweham to the nearest town.

“Do we have to?” Eilidh’s shoulders slumped. “I swear they pay us badly so that we’re forced to supervise these delinquents. If I could afford a car, I’d never get on that bus again.”

Adrien laughed and steered Eilidh’s shoulders toward the bus stop. “If you want them to pay you at all, yes, we have to.”

On their way to the bus, they bid good morning to Findlay’s grandparents, Thalia’s mum, Joey’s parents, and Summer’s mum and little sister (who called them “Lewis-dada” and “Alex-mama”, which Adrien thought was adorable). Krzysztof and his older sister, Lena, rushed past them just as the school gate was about to close.

“Don’t let the bus leave without me!” Lena called as she hurried past them.

“Poor kid,” Eilidh said. “She practically brings her brother up on her own.”

“Her mother works the night shift, that can’t be easy either,” Adrien added. "Everyone is dealing with something."

“Aye, ‘he is a wise man who does not grieve for those things which he has not, but rejoices for those which he has’.”

“Who said that?”

“Epictetus. Greek philosopher.”

Adrien chuckled. “Nerd.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I rob you of the chance to quote Shakespeare? How rude of me.” Sarcasm dripped unctuously from every word. It was wonderful. “Next time I shall yield to you and The Bard.”

They reached the bus and Adrien checked behind them for Lena. No sign. “Hey, Rob, can you hold on another minute for Lena, please? She’s dropping her brother off at school.”

Rob was Summer’s dad, and he drove the bus between Little Nieweham and Greater Nieweham every weekday. In this village, everyone knew everyone, and they all supported each other. Rob would never leave without Lena, even if it meant the bus arrived at school a little later than scheduled. 

“You look wrung out,” Eilidh said when the bus finally pulled away from the stop. “You okay?

“Lewis wanted to know about his grandparents.”

Eilidh winced. “Yikes. How did that go?”

“About as well as you’d expect.”

“You mean you chose not to tell him that his grandfather is a dangerous psychopath who is currently under house arrest in Paris. Or that he threatened to kill you both if he found you? I’m shocked.”

That made Adrien smile. “Okay, yeah. He threatened Lewis’s mother, too, by the way.”

“And you’re thinking about Mr and Mrs Bun?”

The bakers.

Even here, in the middle of nowhere, on a bus full of teenagers too busy with their own issues to eavesdrop, they spoke about Marinette’s parents in code.

“They’d be the most loving, doting grandparents and I took that from them.” Adrien blew out a long exhale, controlling the tears that threatened to fall again.

“Hey.” Eilidh ran her thumb over the back of his hand. “You didn’t do that. Hawkman did.”

Adrien snorted. “Hawk Moth. Or Shadow Moth or Monarch, he had many names. Never, and it’s important that you understand this, Hawkman. He was a butterfly-themed villain.”

“Yeah, I’m never going to get how that was so scary.”

“You had to be there,” he said. “Am I a horrible father for not telling him the truth?”

“Adrien, he’s eight. I could tell Alex that the last time I saw his grandparents, they were condemning me and my unborn child to hell. That his father refused to admit to the unedifying sexual encounter that, while record-breakingly brief, led to my pregnancy. That, despite that, my father thought I should marry him. But, I don’t, because that’s not his burden to bear.” She took his hand and squeezed it. “Lewis and Alex are loved. They don’t need to know about the parts of their families that refuse to accept them. Or, even the ones who would have loved him in better circumstances.”

“She would have loved him,” Adrien said. “If she’d had a chance.”

“I’m sure she would.”

“Your hands are freezing, by the way.” Adrien pulled away from her. “Are you comforting me or trying to steal my warmth?”

“Two things can be true at once.” 

Eilidh put her other hand down the back of Adrien’s collar and he shrieked in surprise. She laughed heartily; a filthy laugh that was deep and contagious. Soon, Adrien was laughing, too. 

──── •✧•────

Marinette closed her eyes as the bed slid inside the MRI machine. Everything in the pure white hospital stung her eyes; the walls were too bright, the antiseptic smell too strong, and the cage her head was inside too tight. She was used to the procedure—she’d had one every year since the accident—but she’d never get used to the hospital.

The accident. 

She still had no memory of what caused it. 

The last thing she remembered was running late for school on the first day of term. She dropped half of the macarons her father gave her before she ever got to school and Chloé knocked the rest out of her hands when she got to class. She made a new friend, Alya, who stood up to Chloé and Sabrina like Marinette never could. Something strange happened, she remembered that. Something involving Ivan. 

There was a strange box in her bedroom.

When she woke up, it was ten years later, and her parents and Juleka’s brother, Luka, told her that she had been in a coma for two months.

Her memories had gone — Marinette couldn’t remember her life from the age of fourteen until twenty-four. 

Muffled through earplugs and headphones, the booms and clangs of the MRI machine began their erratic symphony. The sound was almost soothing, like white noise. The noise helped her think.

She'd been getting stronger. The physiotherapist said she could take a walk around the hospital soon; she suggested Marinette should go to the maternity ward. Meanwhile, there were guards on her door and the static of walkie-talkies heralded every visitor.

One day, Papa came in carrying a baby. "Did Bridgette become a mother?" she asked, unsure who else the baby could belong to but her older cousin.

A dark-haired woman arrived that day. Nathalie. She worked for Gabriel Agreste. “I am going to turn myself over to the police,” she said. “Before I do, I must warn you. Gabriel knows who you are, he knows your identities.”

“They gave up their Miraculouses. He’ll never find them,” Tom said, holding the baby close to his chest.

It made no sense to her. Luka later explained that Marinette had played a part in Gabriel Agreste’s arrest. Marinette discovered that she had worked for his company; she assumed she had been a whistleblower.

“I know. Gabriel, he… The Miraculouses corrupted his mind — he’s not the same man anymore. He wants them dead; both of them.” Nathalie coughed. “All three of them.”

Marinette looked from Nathalie to her father to the baby in his arms. “He’d kill a baby? Why? Who are its parents?”

Nathalie frowned. “I… uh… I came here to tell you to leave Paris and not come back. Gabriel has people he can still control, and money to control them. Change your name, keep your head down and stay out of France. If you do, you might stay alive.”

Breathe in… and hold your breath… 

Marinette held her breath, trying not to move. Her eyes still closed, her hands by her sides, fists clenched, she waited for the instruction.

You may breathe normally.

She exhaled and relaxed her hands.

That day, her parents, grandparents and Luka had a hurried conference in Marinette’s hospital room. Nonna Gina had a friend with a house near Lake Como who would let them stay there. Tom and Sabine wanted to come with her, but Gina warned against it. “The more of you who move, the easier it will be to find you.” The next day, Marinette and her grandmother moved to Italy.

“Relax your arm, please, signora,” the radiographer’s voice brought Marinette back to the present. “We are about to inject the contrast.”

Marinette breathed slowly and consciously relaxed her muscles. A chill ran through her veins, a slight metallic taste at the back of her tongue, then the dizziness. The contrast solution made her feel woolly and blurred her vision. She breathed her way through the rest of the procedure

“Signora Pagnotto, you continue to astound us,” Dr Ricci said, chuckling. “You are thirty-two years old but your brain and body are a decade younger. We still can’t figure out what caused it, but it’s extraordinary.”

“I wish I knew, too,” Marinette agreed. 

“Well, we’re grateful that you’re willing to let us monitor this. It is probably the reason why you bounced back so beautifully after your accident.”

Bounced back. Marinette didn’t agree. It had been a long, slow, arduous journey. 

She had lost her last years of school and her entire fashion design degree. Certificates said she had attained knowledge that she had no recollection of. Her designs and clothing showed that her fingers had mastered techniques that her brain could no longer access. Her body had scars for injuries she couldn’t remember sustaining.

Eight years later, Marinette still had so many missing pieces.

“Signora Mari, your fiance is here,” said a smiling nurse in mint-green scrubs. 

──── •✧•────

“Your roots are showing.”

Adrien looked up to see Eilidh sitting across the table from him. The teachers’ lounge was filling up and soon their table would be packed with the usual assortment of Arts and Languages teachers.

“My French roots or my blond roots?” he asked.

Eilidh smirked. “Both.” 

He held his lunchbox out to her. Baguette, tomato confit and Camembert cheese sat bedside chopped apple and a Bonne Maman yoghurt. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Haha. Do you want me to come round tonight to help you dye your hair?”

Before Adrien met Eilidh, his hair was obviously dyed. A chocolate brown mound of amorphous colour, like a Lego man. His blond eyebrows and lashes were a giveaway that his hair was not natural. After he trusted her enough to tell her about his past, she offered to help him with his hair. She even taught him how to tint his eyebrows and lashes. Now, he was a natural-looking brunette, the shade of his hair almost exactly matching Lewis’s. 

“You don’t have to.”

“Adrien, I dye my hair for vanity, and to prevent me from ever resembling my mother. You dye yours so that you don’t alert hitmen to your true identity. I think I can spare a few hours on a Friday evening to help you.”

Her eyes darted around the room, checking for anyone who might overhear her. Adrien smiled.

“Dinner and a movie?”

“That depends, do you have any ice cream?”

“I have ice cream and wine.”

Eilidh clapped her hands. “It’s a date.”

“This will only feed the rumour that we’re an item, you know.”

Eilidh chortled. “Have they ever tried to Netflix and chill with two eight-year-olds in the house? Impossible.”

“The term sleepover is a misnomer,” Adrien agreed. “No sleeping takes place.”

“Let them talk, Adrien. While they’re busy wondering whether you and I are smooshing booties, none of them are questioning anything else”

Bread and cheese stopped halfway to Adrien’s mouth. “Smooshing booties?”

“You made me watch Brooklyn 99, this is your doing.”

He gave her his most laconic stare. “Is this your way of saying we should stick to Taiwanese dramas?”

She stole a piece of fruit from his box. “You didn’t even give Autumn’s Concerto a chance.”

“We should probably watch Romeo and Juliet.”

Eilidh rolled her eyes. “Again?”

“I found a different production.” Adrien met Eilidh’s bored stare with a determined one of his own. “I’m directing the play for the Shakespeare Festival, I need to make sure I do the research.”

“You wrote your dissertation on the damn play, I think you’re good for research. Why is the festival even coming this far out? Don’t they keep it to Stratford-Upon-Avon?”

“They teamed up with the University so events are happening from Stratford to Warwick.”

“But you didn’t have to volunteer.”

“My old professor called me. He knew I worked in the school and he thought an age-appropriate production would be noteworthy.”

“And you couldn’t say no?” Eilidh guessed correctly.

“I have a problem,” Adrien said, holding his lunch out to Eilidh so she could help herself to more apple.

──── •✧•────

The limousine sailed along the SS36 towards her lake house. Marinette let her head fall back against the headrest, one hand absentmindedly stroking her stomach. A long scar on her abdomen was just one of the mystery injuries she carried with her. 

“You okay?” Luka asked. “Is your scar hurting?”

Marinette half-smiled. “You don’t have to sound so worried, I’m not Harry Potter. My scar hurts sometimes, but it doesn't mean the villain is coming back from the dead.”

Luka raised an eyebrow. “I know. Besides, your enemy isn’t dead. That’s the problem.”

“He can’t hurt us here.” Marinette took Luka’s hand and stroked it soothingly. 

Luka kissed her knuckles. “I know.”

He had been there for her. After her accident; after Gabriel threatened their lives. Even before that. He told her how they met through his sister, how he found her after a boy broke her heart, how he comforted her. She had trusted him enough that she must have told him all of her secrets because he knew everything. 

When she moved here with her Nonna, Luka came with them. Gina didn’t stay long, but Luka did. He helped her with her studies, he filled in the blanks about her life and answered questions that arose. They had dated, he explained, but she told too many lies. Her life had been complicated

She was different now. They were free to be together. 

Less than a week after they arrived at Lake Como, Marinette heard the news about Gabriel's son, Adrien. He had tried to run to America, but he didn’t survive. Police ruled it a suicide, but Marinette knew different: Gabriel’s men caught him. 

It terrified her. If he could do that to his own son, what would he do to her? She turned to Luka for comfort.

Marinette rolled the ring on her finger with her thumb, pushing the emerald from the front of her hand to the back. She still wasn’t used to wearing it. She twisted it back to its original position and held out her hand to view it. The stone twinkled in the sunlight, winking at her like… like something locked inside her mind, just out of reach. Another memory she couldn’t find.

Proximity, history, familiarity. Whatever the cause, when Luka suggested they marry, she agreed. He stuck by her when nobody else did. He was her rock, her port in the storm. It was only right that he should become her husband.

She wanted to get married in London, during their annual visit for their clandestine meeting with her parents. Tom and Sabine travelled every year to visit Marinette’s aunt, so she and Luka, too, would go to London and meet them for dinner. It was always too brief, but it was all the contact they dared. 

The Marriage Visitor visa paperwork would be too conspicuous, so they planned to have a civil ceremony in Italy before they went to London where they could celebrate with their families. Luka had arranged for Juleka and Anarka to be in London at the same time.

“Oh, I got a copy of the interview.” Luka rummaged in his bag and produced a thick glossy fashion magazine. “It’s excellent.”

Something she did remember was her desire to design clothes. From her new home in Italy, she took correspondence courses and online workshops. The fashion design degree certificate that bore a name she no longer used, and whose content she no longer remembered was a reminder to her that she’d done it once before. She did it again. 

One year ago, with the help of some strategic social media marketing, Marinette launched her first collection. The mystery of a designer who sought no spotlight set the fashion world ablaze. This year, she had been offered runway shows at London, Paris, New York and Milan fashion weeks. Her agent was one of a handful of people who knew who she was, and her phone was ringing constantly with requests for interviews and features. Finally, Marinette accepted one.

She took the magazine from Luka and flicked through it. “It’s not too revealing?”

Luka shook his head. “I read the whole thing and it focuses on your work, your inspirations, your newest collection and says that you value your anonymity. There are no clues as to who you are or where you live.”

“Good.”

──── •✧•────

“Speaking of problems,” Eilidh said, looking suddenly grim. “Have you seen Miss Dupont’s copy of French Vogue today?”

Adrien stared blankly at his friend. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Years ago, I expect. My question, however, still stands.”

“There are two things I try to stay away from.” Adrien held up two fingers. “France.” He put one finger down. “And fashion.” He put the next one down and opened his palm to her. “Why would I read French Vogue of all things?”

Eilidh didn’t answer. She half-stood and waved wildly across the room. “Pamela! Over here!”

What was she doing?

Pamela Dupont, head of Modern Languages, and Robin Robinson, a German teacher approached the table. “May we join you?”

“Please do,” Eilidh said, moving around the table to sit beside Adrien to make space for them and two other teachers who had entered the room.

Mr Nicholl, an English teacher who specialised in film and television studies —and from whom Adrien had sourced several adaptations of Romeo and Juliet— sat and opened his lunchbox with a flourish. “Mr Wilde, Miss MacDonald. How are plans for the play?”

Eilidh stifled a groan. Adrien ignored her. 

“I’m starting to wish this school had a drama department, but I think I’m ready. Auditions are next week.”

“Do you think we have the talent for it?”

“I’m sure we do.”

“I can suggest a few confident types from my choir?” Miss Ansell offered. “They have a flair for the dramatic, that’s for sure.”

“I’ll take all the support I can get,” Adrien said gratefully. “And I’ll need some teachers to play the parents, and possibly the nurse and friar, too.”

“I think the entire English department will be queuing up for that,” Eilidh said, smirking.

Adrien fixed her with a knowing stare. “Please, I know you plan to audition.”

“I have to audition? Don’t you know who I am?” Eilidh gasped.

“I still think it’s a big ask of school kids,” Mr Nicholl said, ignoring Eilidh’s theatrics. “There are professional troupes doing the other plays.”

“Not all of the plays. Norton Basil Amateur Dramatics got Midsummer Night’s Dream and Beeton Players got Hamlet.”

Mr Nicholl pulled a face like his pasta salad was bitter. “They gave Hamlet to amateurs? Ouch.”

“Tell me they’re going to abridge it?” Robin asked.

“Nope. They have to do the entire play.”

“Oof.” Miss Ansell said before returning her attention to her sandwich.

“I say, Pamela, do you have that magazine you were showing me earlier?” Eilidh asked, as subtle as a yo-yo to the head.

“Oui, sûrement.” Pamela produced the magazine from her bag.

Pamela was from Manchester, not Marseille as she claimed. Adrien recognised that her French accent wasn’t native from their first conversation, although he was careful not to say anything that might spark her interest in his reason for knowing that. If anyone understood the desire to avoid scrutiny into their past life or present persona, it was Adrien.

Eilidh held the magazine so that Adrien could see the cover. He translated the headline instantly. THE ENIGMATIC DESIGNER SPEAKS! The image behind the words showed a model wearing a peplum dress, all sharp lines and angled curves. Her hand rested by her side next to an embroidered letter. 

The letter M. Unmistakably her signature.

“Oh, shit,” Adrien whispered.

Eilidh’s lips were next to his ear. “Indeed. I recognised the script from your scarf and, well, if I did, who else will?”

Chapter Text

Adrien lay back on the sofa, freshly dyed hair still damp. Plagg purred on his lap while Poe stretched lazily over Eilidh’s ankles. Eilidh’s head rested on Adrien’s chest as the opening number of West Side Story played on screen. Upstairs, the sound of giggles and thumping carried through the floor.

“Should we do something before the ceiling falls down?” Adrien asked.

“Probably, but are you going to move the cats?”

Adrien absentmindedly scratched Plagg between the ears. “Good point. They’ll wear themselves out eventually.”

They had picked up Lewis and Alex from their after-school club and come back to Adrien’s for dinner. Fish fingers, chips and peas with far too much ketchup, followed by butterscotch Angel Delight; the sort of food Adrien wished he’d known about as a child. In many ways, having Lewis gave him another chance at childhood — an opportunity to right some of the wrongs of his own past.

Since meeting Eilidh and Alex, Adrien and Lewis spent most of their free time with them. After a solitary childhood and teenage years full of restrictions, Adrien was determined to fill Lewis’s life with people and experiences. He wanted Lewis to look back at his early years with joy.

Eilidh stared at the swinging light fixture above them. “When they said they were going to play Ninjago, I stupidly assumed they meant building Lego, not reenacting the show.” 

Adrien laughed. “Where would the fun be in that?”

“I’ve yet to convince Alex that silence can be fun.”

“You’d need to convince yourself first. Shush and watch the movie.”

“A. Rude. And, B. Don’t think I missed that this is Romeo and Juliet by stealth,” Eilidh said.

“Still not shushing.”

Eilidh shushed and she and Adrien watched the movie until Tony and Maria’s eyes met across the dancefloor. 

“Is that what falling in love feels like?”

“There was less dancing for me,” Adrien said with a chuckle. “But, yeah, the world kind of stops moving.” 

Eilidh’s head tilted to look into Adrien’s eyes. “Less, but not none? So there was some dancing?”

Adrien could still feel Marinette’s hand in his, her heartbeat against his chest. Could still hear the music in his ears. Every single dance was imprinted on his heart. 

He swallowed a lump that had suddenly lodged in his throat. “Yeah, there was some dancing.”

Eilidh returned her attention to the screen. “Sounds romantic. I’d have loved that.”

“You never danced?”

“I did, but Scottish country dancing is not romantic. There's too much step-two-three-hop-ing to be anything close to—" she gestured towards the television "—this.”

Adrien paused the movie and reached for his phone. He scrolled through playlists until he found something suitable and connected his phone to the Bluetooth speaker. “Okay.” He stood up, eliciting an annoyed meow from Plagg. “Get up.”

Eilidh squinted suspiciously at him. “What are you doing?”

“I’m asking you to dance.”

“Why?”

Adrien sighed and closed his eyes to let his annoyance dissipate. “Because you just said you haven’t danced before.”

“I was hoping that when I did, I’d be wearing a pretty dress, not an ancient Gap hoodie.”

He didn’t point out that he’d never seen her wear a dress in the past five years, pretty or otherwise.

“Eilidh, you’re making it very difficult to be spontaneous. Will you please dance with me?”

She stood up and took his hand. “Fine.”

“That’s the romance I was looking for,” he said, stifling a grin.

Adrien slid his hands around Eilidh’s waist and she wrapped hers around his shoulders. They started to move around the tiny rug as Taylor Swift sang Love Story through the little speaker next to the sofa. 

He thought about his first dance with Marinette, at Chloé’s party at Le Grand Paris. Grander circumstances than this. There had been something magical about it and he didn’t know why at the time. Even when they had a literally magical dance, floating above New York, it was Marinette who captivated him. If only he hadn’t taken so long to realise how he felt about her. 

Regrets were useless, however. He refused to live in the past. Not when his future was so full of hope.

“Did you mean to choose a song about Romeo and Juliet?” Eilidh asked, bringing Adrien back to the present. “Or is your subconscious stuck on them?”

He chuckled. “A happy accident. Now, shut up and let me spin you.”

──── •✧•────

Marinette’s studio overlooked Lake Como. Her desk faced the large floor-to-ceiling windows so that she could look out at the beautiful scenery while she worked. It inspired her to see the changing seasons play out in front of her. It was especially beautiful at sunset when the sky became streaked with pink and orange.

She sat at her desk and gazed out of the window. Sometimes, a lost part of her missed the city; the busyness, the noise, the tall buildings. She often missed the people she loved in Paris—her parents and her friends—but she knew that their lives were different to how she remembered them. They had lived and loved and moved on from their old selves, from the versions of them Marinette once knew.   

Perhaps it was better that she moved away. She had been able to rebuild her life without holding everyone else back. 

Her phone rang, almost vibrating itself off her desk before she answered. The number was withheld.

“Hello?” she answered.

“Am I speaking to Marinette Dupain-Cheng? Or should I say, Mari Pagnotto?”

The deep voice triggered panic in her. Her insides froze. Her throat constricted. “Who is this?” She croaked, already sure she knew.

“Oh, Miss Marinette, how quickly you forget. Yet, I see you are coming for my crown. The brilliant but reclusive fashion designer? I must say, I think I did it better.”

Gabriel Agreste.

How did he get her phone number? Did that mean he knew where she lived?

“What do you—”

“Italy? Really?” His tone was mocking, cruel. His laughter was cold.

“No… I… How did you..?”

“I thought I warned you, Ladybug. If I ever found you, I would kill you. And now you have exposed yourself.”

That name again. Marinette knew it must mean something, but not to her. “No! I didn’t! I don't… I…”

“I’ll be seeing you Miss Dupain-Cheng.” Gabriel descended into laughter. A chilling, maniacal cackle that would forever haunt her nightmares. 

She dropped the phone onto the floor. It bounced on the floorboards, clattering to a stop somewhere beneath her desk as she ran into the hallway. 

“Luka!” she called desperately, checking behind every door. “Luka!"

She found him in his workshop, carving a violin, music blaring. He switched off the stereo as Marinette burst in. She fell to her knees on the hardwood floor, panting and terrified, her sweaty palms slipping on the polished surface. “He knows where I am!”

Luka ran to her side and scooped her up into his arms. He carried her into the lounge and placed her on the sofa. “Who knows, Marinette?”

“Gabriel,” she cried. “He found me.”

Luka’s face drained of all colour before he dashed out of the room. All Marinette could do was sit, shaking, on the sofa and watch him leave, tears streaming down her face. He was gone for an eternity. He returned with her phone in his hand. 

“Unknown number. Are you sure it was him?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” she shrieked. “I know the voice of the man who wants me dead!”

“Okay, calm down,” Luka said. “I need to think.”

Marinette seethed. She didn’t need to ‘calm down’, she needed to get out of this house and far away from Italy. This was Luka’s fault. The article had been his idea. Now, she was exposed. Gabriel knew her new identity, her phone number and god knew what else. She had to keep moving.

It was time to leave.

──── •✧•────

Adrien fidgeted beneath the sheets and stared into the darkness of his bedroom. He couldn’t sleep. Eilidh turned on her side to face him.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. Yes. Maybe?”

“Adrien, use your words. What’s bothering you?”

“Stupid French stupid Vogue.”

“Ah. What are you going to do about the article?”

He sighed. “Nothing. There’s nothing I can do. Even if I knew how to contact her, I couldn’t risk it. I have to keep Lewis safe. She’s hardly managed to keep herself hidden, I can’t trust her to keep Lewis a secret.”

“Discretion doesn’t seem to be her thing.”

Adrien thought about the ways Marinette had kept secret after secret for them. As Ladybug, as the Guardian, as his girlfriend. She knew the identities of every Miraculous holder and kept them to herself — even when the holders were less than discrete. Time and time again, she reiterated the danger of Ladybug and Chat Noir ever knowing who the other was. They had been in a relationship for years without ever knowing each other’s secret identities.

Secrets and lies were a way of life for both of them. 

Thanks to Gabriel, they always would be.

“The thing is, it was. She was like a vault.”

Eilidh sat up in bed and switched on the lamp. Poe mewed grumpily as her feet were removed from under him. He walked in an angry circle before lying down in the same spot as before, glaring at Eilidh until his eyes closed. “So what changed?”

“I guess she did. She lost so much of her memory that maybe she forgot how to keep secrets.” Adrien sat up and faced Eilidh. “Though, I think she had help to forget. Did you see the byline on the article?”

“No?”

“Alya Césaire.”

“Should that mean something to me?”

“No, but it should mean something to her. They were best friends throughout school and Alya has always been persuasive. If she wanted the scoop on a mysterious designer that was apparently taking the fashion world by storm, Alya would have got it.”

“Could you get a message to this Alya? Warn her?”

“Not without a Ouija board.”

Eilidh frowned. “Alya died?”

“No.” He smiled thinly. “I did.”

The day after Marinette left Paris, Adrien entered the UK as Félix Fathom. Aunt Amelie travelled separately with Lewis, smuggling him into the country in her limousine. Félix took Adrien’s passport, driver’s licence, phone and bank card and flew to Florida, USA. At the airport, he hired a car and drove to a cheap motel. Police later found Adrien’s documents in the motel room, and his phone with a search history full of local suicide spots. Adrien Agreste ‘died’ less than a week after his father ordered his death.

“Oh. My condolences.”

Adrien laughed. “It’s okay, much like your wine guy, I didn’t stay dead.”

Eilidh looked horrified. “I don’t know what’s worse, that you called Dionysus a ‘wine guy’, or that you literally had to fake your own death in the first place.”

“Your priorities are messed up, Eilidh.”

“Hey, I'm not the one offending the god of theatre right before attempting to put on a play, but whatever.”

──── •✧•────

“Okay, I have a plan,” Luka said finally. “Dad has an apartment in London that he hardly ever uses. We can borrow a car and drive to Zurich and get a flight from there. Once we’re safe, we can look into getting new identities.”

Nonna Gina’s friend had provided Marinette with a new passport and a new identity when they arrived in Italy. It took time, but she had finally gotten used to being known as Mari Pagnotto. Now, she had to say goodbye to another part of herself.

“I’ll go pack.”

Marinette grabbed a suitcase from the closet and wondered what she’d need in London. She’d take her tablet so she could continue to design. Or should she leave it behind? Could Gabriel track her through it? She left it on the bed. She started out designing on paper, and she could go back to it. She’d buy pencils and a sketchbook at the airport.

Her assistant could take care of the logistics for the upcoming catwalk shows; the collection was ready to go. She could ask Nonna to oversee packing up the rest of the house and putting it on the market.

Phone? Should she take her phone with her? No. Gabriel knew the number. What else could he find out from it? She would text her assistant and grandmother now and scrub her apps and email from the device.

Email? How would she contact her manager without a phone or email? She grabbed a pen and a notebook and carefully wrote out the important contact details she might need. She could get a new email address and phone number in London.

Clothes? Nonna always said that light layers were the best way to pack for any circumstance. Marinette grabbed a few pairs of trousers, some skirts, dresses and shirts. She almost exclusively wore black and white so everything would match. 

Shoes? It was late springtime in London. She would only need light footwear. Unless it rained. That’s what it did in England. It rained. She added a pair of boots to the suitcase.

The sound of a message arriving froze her in place. With shaking hands, she checked her phone. It was Nonna.

Leave your phones and passports behind. I’ll take care of everything in the house. Take the new IDs from the safe. The code is your birthday.

“New IDs?” she said. 

Finally packed, Marinette opened the safe in her studio. After that call, the view seemed somehow marred, the inky darkness outside now foreboding. Inside the safe were two Spanish passports, one for Marinette, the other for Luka, a wad of euros, another of pounds sterling and a last stack of Swiss francs.

“Ready?” Luka asked, hurrying into the studio. He stopped in his tracks at the sight of the open safe. “Woah. What is your grandmother into?”

“I’m wondering the same thing myself.” Marinette opened the passports and read the names. “Well, I guess we are Maria Perez and Lucas Castillo for the next while.”

“Gracias,” Luka said, taking his new passport from her. “Let’s go.”  

──── •✧•────

Saturday morning was in full swing. Lewis and Alex woke criminally early, as usual, and they all made a mess of the kitchen making pancakes and endless cups of tea. Somehow, they managed to get the boys ready and out to the cricket club on time for practice. 

Eilidh and Adrien sat in the stands, watching eleven identically dressed kids running up and down the field.

"Where do they get their energy?" Adrien asked.

"They sap ours," Eilidh said, leaning back to rest on the benches behind her. 

Adrien yawned. “Yeah. And they actually slept last night.”

It had been after 4 AM when Adrien and Eilidh had finally stopped talking and got to sleep. Nothing was resolved, despite Eilidh’s ten-minute rant about Greek Theatre, Orphic legend and something about Pythagoras that Adrien didn’t understand because it had nothing to do with triangles. Adrien had gone back and forth on the idea of contacting Alya and couldn’t decide what to do.

He hadn't told Eilidh, but he did have a way to contact Alya if he wanted to. Félix could contact her. 

At the start of every school year, Adrien wrote a letter on flash paper to update Tom and Sabine on Lewis’s progress. Felix had it delivered to the bakery via a supplier of lotus seed paste in London’s Chinatown. On receipt, the Dupain-Chengs read the letter and immediately burnt it. Lewis’s grandparents were reassured that their grandson was thriving and Adrien felt marginally less guilty about taking Lewis away from them; none of them compromised themselves or left clues of their contact to be discovered by the wrong people. It was extreme, but Gabriel’s legacy was one of fear and mistrust.

On a positive note, however, Sabine had started making mooncakes with the lotus seed paste to sell at the mid-autumn festival and they were now famous throughout Paris.

Regardless, if anyone could find a way to get an incognito message to Alya, it was Félix. If only Adrien could decide whether or not it was a good idea. What good would come from it? The damage was already done, and all he was likely to do was expose Lewis. 

“Farmer’s market after this?” Eilidh interrupted Adrien’s brooding.

“Yeah. Then lunch at the pub?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

On the field, two boys ran into each other, crashing heads.

Eilidh winced. “Oof. Either of them ours?”

Adrien peered at where one boy was holding his forehead and the other clutched a bleeding nose. “For once, no.”

Professional cricket players had to contend with joint injuries from fast bowls and quick turns. Kids learning cricket, it seemed, were far more prone to a bat or ball in the face or running into something or someone else because they weren’t paying attention. Lewis and Alex had sustained their fair share of split lips and bloody noses since they started weekly training, but the injuries never deterred them from joining in.

Adrien hadn’t been allowed to play team sports —Agrestes weren’t team players— and certainly wasn’t allowed near anything that might damage his face. Even when all the other boys were made to play rugby at school, Adrien had a note to say he couldn’t. According to Eilidh, he’d been lucky. She had a scar above one eyebrow from a particularly rowdy shinty match and bemoaned the compulsory nature of sports in her own school days. 

“I thought cricket was meant to be a genteel sport,” Eilidh said as a bleeding boy was led back to his parents, a bundle of tissues in hand.

Adrien chuckled. “Compared to your Highland sports, it is.”

“Well, we couldn’t all be doing parkour and gymnastics off the rooftops while dressed like Hello Kitty.”

Adrien cackled at the characterisation. “Touché.” 

──── •✧•────

"London has a truly dystopian amount of CCTV cameras. It's very unrocking," Jagged Stone said. "If Gabriel is as connected as you think he is, you should probably disguise yourself before you go outside."

Luka and Marinette had driven through the small hours to Zurich airport and arrived in London in time for the morning rush hour. They took several connecting trains to reach Jagged’s apartment. Jagged and Penny had travelled to Kensington to meet them.

Luka frowned. “Surely he can’t access CCTV footage? That’s owned by the police.”

Marinette snorted, unable to contain her derision. After everything, how could Luka still be so naive?

“Some of them, sure,” Jagged said. “But cameras in this city are owned by different councils, businesses and private citizens, too. I don’t have loads of experience with Gabriel Agreste myself, but from what I know, he’s always been a vindictive bastard. If he wants something, he’ll shell out the money to get it.”

“And his pockets are deep enough to buy whatever he wants,” Penny added.

Jagged nodded in agreement. “Yeah, and after what he did to his own son, I doubt there’s much he wouldn’t do. Poor Adrien, he was a sweet kid. Didn’t deserve any of it.”

A solemn silence fell between them. 

Marinette seldom thought about Adrien Agreste —she didn’t know him personally, after all— but when she did, she was struck by deep grief for his loss. She’d seen photos of him and, while she had nothing to base it on, she thought he seemed kind and brave, mischievous and generous. Like somebody who wouldn’t think twice about putting himself in danger to protect someone he cared about. Like he could simultaneously make you laugh and want to throw him off a building at the same time. Not that she ever mentioned it to anybody else. That was a lot to take from a photo of someone she’d never met.

Someone she would never be able to meet.

The reminder of how far Gabriel went to kill his own son was sobering.

“How should we disguise ourselves?” Marinette asked, thinking aloud. 

“You’ve got that big hat,” Luka suggested.

Marinette didn’t facepalm but it took every fibre of self-control to stop herself.

Penny was kinder than Marinette could be. “A big hat or sunglasses is as conspicuous as going out as you are. The idea is to blend in. Become unremarkable.”

“My wig guy can sort you out with something, Marinette. And, Luka, I’ll set you up with my stylist — get you a new look.”

“I know somebody who can get you new IDs. Good ones.” 

For the first time since the moments before that harrowing phone call, Marinette felt herself relax. She didn't feel safe, exactly, but she was, at least, surrounded by competent people. People who could help her. After spending the past 24 hours checking over her shoulder, she was now able to look forward.

“Thank you,” Marinette said. “Both of you.”

Jagged slapped her shoulder. “Hey, man. You helped me out a bunch back in the day, Marinette. It’s pretty rocking to be able to save you for once—” Luka cleared his throat “—you, know, with fashion. I still have those Eiffel Tower sunglasses you made me.”

She’d seen photographs of the glasses, images of Jagged Stone wearing them. She owned a signed copy of the album she’d designed for Jagged. She remembered none of it.

Penny looked awkward. “Um, about that. Fashion, I mean. It might be a good idea to take a break from designing for a while. From releasing any designs, at least. If that’s how Gabriel found you, it would be wise to avoid giving him that avenue again.”

Fashion design was all Marinette knew. It was the only part of her life from before her accident that still made sense to her. It was more than a career, it was who she was. Yet, she knew that Penny was right.

“We’ll find something else to occupy ourselves while we’re here, won’t we?” Luka said, sounding excited by the prospect. 

Marinette tried to smile. “Nonna passed instructions to my assistant to take my collection to the various fashion weeks so I don’t have to be involved at all.”

“I’d maybe try to get away from London when fashion week happens, then,” Penny said. “If there’s ever a time you might be recognised, that’s it.”

“Hey, I’m doing a Shakespeare festival in June, you could come with me, get out of London,” Jagged suggested. “I’m playing Feste in Twelfth Night and I bet I could get you in as one of the other musicians, son.”

Luka grinned. “I’d love that, Dad. Thank you.”

Chapter Text

“I found it!” Lewis called from behind a tree.

“Uh, we found it,” Alex’s indignant voice chimed in.

Adrien laughed. “Well, bring it here.”

“This scavenger hunt was a great idea, Adrien,” Eilidh said. 

Adrien shrugged. “Anything to take my mind off exams and auditions.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Quite the opposite.” Adrien sighed. “The auditions were all great, and now I have to choose one Romeo and one Juliet. It’s impossible.”

After a week of after-school auditions for every age group, Adrien was faced with a difficult decision. There were several talented candidates, many of whom had excellent chemistry with each other. 

“And exams? Your kids ready?”

Adrien leaned back on his elbows, lifting his face toward the sky to soak in the strengthening sunshine. “As ready as they’ll ever be. Most of them have good enough grades on their coursework that even if they have a disaster on exam day, they’ll still pass. Not that I’m anticipating any disasters.” 

Eilidh gently tapped his head. “Touch wood.”

“That still sounds like a euphemism to me.”

Eilidh laughed. “It’s basically the only part of the English language that isn't a euphemism.”

The boys thundered across the park toward them and Adrien fell back on the grass in time for Lewis and Alex to jump on him, giggling.

“Careful,” Eilidh warned. “If you squash him, you won’t get the final clue.”

Alex sat up, one knee embedded in Adrien's liver. “Wait, I thought this was the last one.”

“No, this is the last clue to make up the big clue,” Lewis said, pushing himself upright on Adrien’s head.

“Ouch, by the way. I’m not a crash mat,” Adrien groaned.

Alex giggled. “Then give us the clue!”

“Read what you have, then,” Eilidh prompted.

Lewis tore open the note he found in the park and read. “Take a bow to reveal your treat.”

Alex and Lewis jumped up and bowed towards Adrien and Eilidh, Alex adding a musical theatre flourish to his. Adrien laughed and applauded. 

“As lovely as that was, you need to join all the clues together.”

The boys fished the other clues from their pockets and placed them on the ground in order, heads together to confer. 

Where bats fly, you’ll see a sign. On the edge of the village, there was an old barn with a sign warning about roosting bats. 

Here, the ball goes across the line. The goalposts on the football pitch.

Ask for a full pint at the pub.  Mike at the bar poured them each a glass of apple juice before handing over the clue.

Find the Ashes near the club. The scrubland behind the football clubhouse where the Guy Fawkes effigy was burned every year on the 5th of November. 

Pluck a cherry, take a seat. The cherry tree nearest to a park bench where the boys found the final clue. It was too early for cherries yet, though the blossoms had shedded and were still scattered across the park like fragrant snow.

Take a bow to reveal your treat.

“Oh, I’ve got it!” Eilidh exclaimed. 

“Tell us, mum!”

“No, that’s cheating.”

Lewis’s brows knitted together and his lips moved silently as he read the clues to himself over again. Adrien saw him form the words “bats”, “ball” and “Ashes”, and he knew he’d worked it out.

“Cricket!” Lewis shouted, jumping to his feet.

“What?” Alex asked.

Lewis crouched down and started pointing out the pertinent words. “Look. ‘Bats’ and ‘the ball goes across the line’ that’s cricket, right? And ‘Ashes’ has a capital letter, like the trophy.”

“Oh!” Alex got it. “Full pint is when the stump is knocked out of the ground. Coach said that when big Davey did it once.”

“And another name for the ball is?” Eilidh prompted.

“The cherry!” Alex and Lewis replied in unison.

Adrien grinned. “So what are you waiting for?”

The boys scrambled to their feet and ran towards the cricket grounds. There were no games or practice at this time of day so Adrien had cleared with the coach to leave the box on the boundary of the outfield.

He stood up and lent a hand to Eilidh, who was flopping like an upturned turtle on the lawn, before they followed their sons. 

“This must have been so much effort, Adrien. Thank you.”

“I enjoyed it,” he admitted. 

And he had. He understood now why Marinette arranged so many scavenger hunts for him. It was their secret way to meet for dates without Gabriel or the press finding out. She found new and creative ways to leave clues for him and he looked forward to date nights, wondering what theme she’d have chosen this time. He still had the clues from their last scavenger hunt — the one from that night.

“Wow!” 

“Cool!”

Excited voices floated from the cricket field. Lewis and Alex had found their prize.

Adrien and Eilidh upped their pace to a half-hearted jog to reach the boys. They were both dancing on the spot next to the box —complete with a large bow— that contained their treat.

Go on then,” Adrien said, smiling. “Take a bow to reveal your treat.”

“Homonyms are awesome,” Eilidh said. 

“Nerd,” Adrien whispered. 

“Takes one to know one.”

Lewis and Alex ripped the bow away from the box and tore the lid open and pulled out bags of sweets and popcorn. 

“Awesome, Uncle Adrien, thank you.”

“Yeah, dad, this is cool.”

Eilidh burst out laughing. “You guys! This is another clue. There’s more to your treat than sweets.”

Lewis turned to his father. “Really?”

“Auntie Eilidh is too smart for her own good, but, yes, there’s more to it. Look at the sweets.”

Alex held up one bag. “These are peaches.”

“I’ve got foam mushrooms,” Lewis said. “And there’s chocolate coins and jelly turtles in here, too.”

“Mushrooms, turtles, gold coins,” Eilidh reiterated. “ Peaches. ”

The boys stared blankly at her.

Adrien checked his watch. “If you don’t figure it out soon, we’re going to miss the bus to Greater Nieweham.”

Lewis frowned at him. “The bus? Where are we going on a bus?”

Alex was examining the bag of popcorn. “The cinema?”

“Is that right?” Lewis asked. Adrien nodded. Lewis narrowed his eyes in concentration. “Are we going to see the Super Mario Bros Movie?”

“Are we?” Alex’s eyes were like saucers.

“We are,” Adrien said to cheers of delight. “But only if we get going soon.” He turned to Eilidh. “You get your own treat, by the way.”

“I do?”

“Yeah, you’re not invited. Take the evening off and do something for yourself. In fact, take the night off. Alex can sleep over afterwards if he wants to.”

Alex looked confused. “Don’t we have school tomorrow?”

“It’s a Bank Holiday, you dumpling,” Eilidh replied. 

“Oh, yeah. So can I sleep at Lewis’s?”

“If Uncle Adrien is sure.”

“I’m sure.”

Eilidh threw herself at Adrien, hugging him so hard that she crushed his ribs. “Thank you! Oh, my goodness, I’m going to eat Thai food and watch a movie that you would hate!”

“Go, live your best life.”

“This is really kind of you, Adrien.”

Adrien shrugged. “Not really, once rehearsals start, you’re going to be looking after Lewis evenings and weekends. I’m giving you one night to yourself.”

“Please, you know I’m happy to do that.”

“And I’m happy to do this. Go on, go watch your terrible movie, and don’t dare come round tomorrow until lunchtime at the earliest.”

Eilidh kissed Alex, hugged Adrien again and set off running across the field towards her house. “I love you!”

“That was addressed to you,” Adrien told Alex.

Alex frowned. “I’m not sure it was.”

──── •✧•────

Marinette was becoming a creature of habit. 

Every morning, she left the apartment and walked three blocks to a coffee shop that served good Italian coffee, and croissants that were almost as good as her father’s. She’d pay with cash, then sit by the window and watch the people of London pass by. 

Afterwards, if it was dry, she’d walk to Holland Park and settle down in either the Kyoto Gardens or the Rose Garden to draw in her sketchbook. When she was able to release designs again, she’d have volumes of works to choose from.

After three weeks of this, Penny found her on her walk back to the apartment. 

“Hi, Penny. Fancy meeting you here.”

“I knew where I’d find you,” Penny said. “And if I’ve noticed a pattern, other people might, too.”

Marinette frowned. Gabriel didn’t know she was in the UK; they had covered their tracks well. They got rid of Nonna Gina’s fake passports as soon as they cleared customs and Penny provided new IDs: driver's licences, phones and bank accounts for Luke Stone and Mary Baker.

“Who would notice?” she asked.

Penny gave her an impatient look. “The barista at the coffee shop, other regular customers, people who frequent the park… If anybody starts asking questions, your actions will be easy to predict.”

Marinette sighed, containing her frustration. “How would he even know to find me in London?”

“He wouldn’t. Not for sure, but he has a boutique here and someone who works for him might recognise you. And by ‘here’, I mean right here in Kensington. Turn right at the end of this street and you’ll find it.”

This was it. She would have to move again. She would have to live in seclusion for the rest of her life.

“I’m going to be running forever, aren’t I?”

Penny’s expression softened. “No. Listen, can I be honest with you?”

“Please.”

“I knew you… before… and you look the same. Your look hasn’t changed since you were a teenager. Even this wig is the same style as your real hair, just in a different colour. Have you thought about updating your style? It could completely change how you look.”

Marinette’s stomach clenched. When she woke up in the hospital and realised that she’d lost a decade of her life, she clung to any part of herself she recognised. Her hair and the clothing she was brought into the hospital wearing were anchors to her old self and, subconsciously, she hoped they might serve to bring her memories back. Moving on felt like leaving behind all hope of the past returning.

“What about Luka?” Marinette asked. 

Penny shrugged. “What about him?”

“What if he doesn’t like my new style?”

Penny laughed. “He loves you, Marinette — has done for almost twenty years. Even when you… Well, throughout everything. I doubt a makeover will change that.”

Luka had given up everything for Marinette, leaving his family and friends behind. His whole life changed when he agreed to run away with her. She knew he loved her. Yet, a tiny part of her worried that he might resent her for taking all of that from him.

But, had she?

His instrument workshop was his passion. His violins were celebrated across the world; one article even compared his work to Stradivarius. Even now, while Marinette was aimlessly wandering around Kensington and Chelsea, or bored in Jagged’s apartment, Luka was in the studio with his dad, writing music. Soon, he’d be travelling to Stratford-Upon-Avon to start rehearsals for Twelfth Night. Perhaps she hadn’t taken that much from him after all.

If Luka could continue to live his life while they were in hiding, Marinette could let Penny take her to the hairdresser.

“Okay,” she agreed, still reluctant. “I’ll change my look.”

“I’ll make some calls.”

──── •✧•────

Lewis and Alex’s rendition of Peaches continued all evening until they finally crashed out after midnight. Adrien woke up with it stuck in his head the next morning.

He was up before the boys, drinking coffee while Plagg rubbed against his ankles and Poe snoozed in his lap. Adrien stared out of the kitchen window at his postage stamp of a back garden. The lawn was growing long — he would go out this morning to mow the grass and do a spot of weeding. The nasturtiums Mr Owen had given them were flourishing at the back of the garden, but dandelions were flowering where he and Lewis had planted sunflower seeds.

If the weather stayed dry, they could have a barbecue for dinner. Everywhere was closed for the Coronation Bank Holiday, but Adrien had some sausages in the fridge and he could make rolls in the afternoon if there was time. 

“Peaches, Peaches, Peaches, Peaches, Peaches,” two slightly out-of-tune voices sang their way downstairs. “Peaches, Peaches, Peaches, Peaches, Peaches, I loooooove yooooou.”

“Good morning,” Adrien said when Lewis and Alex reached the kitchen door, still in their pyjamas. “What do you fancy for breakfast?”

“Ooh, pancakes!” Lewis exclaimed. 

“Yes, please!” Alex agreed.

“Pancakes for three, coming up. Can you two get plates and cutlery ready, please?”

When Adrien left Paris, he could barely heat soup. It was just one of the many ways he felt completely helpless. Pancakes were one of the first things he learned to make. When Lewis was a toddler, pancakes for dinner were a regular thing. Since then, he’d expanded his repertoire to provide a balanced diet for himself and Lewis. Pancakes were still their favourite weekend breakfast, however.

Lewis and Alex set the table before fetching two glasses of water, turning the tap the wrong way so that they were both soaked. Adrien sent them upstairs to get dressed before the pancakes were ready.

They returned to the kitchen in time for Adrien to place a plate full of crêpes on the table.

“Pancakes are ready. What do you want on them?” Adrien asked.

“Syrup, please,” Lewis said, already helping himself.

“Alex?”

“Chocolate spread for me, thanks.” 

These boys were only quiet when they were eating or sleeping so Adrien enjoyed the brief moment of peace as they inhaled their breakfast. Adrien was about to ask if anyone wanted more to eat when— 

“Dad! Nosebleed!”

Adrien turned to Lewis. He was holding one hand under his face to catch the blood that was now trickling from one nostril. Adrien grabbed the roll of kitchen towel from the counter and tore off a sheet. “Okay, head down, please.”

He handed the paper towel to Lewis who wiped his hand before holding it under his nose. Adrien pinched the bridge of Lewis’s nose with one hand and guided his head down with the other.

“Eugh, is he okay, Uncle Adrien?” Alex asked, his face white.

Adrien nodded. “He’s fine. Lewis gets bad hayfever and when the inside of his nose gets inflamed, he gets nosebleeds. The good weather we’re having means the pollen count is high so he’s more likely to get them. Are you okay? You look a bit wabbit.”

Alex smiled at Adrien’s use of the Scottish word. It was enough to distract him from his revulsion of Lewis’s blood. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“How about you, Lewis?” Adrien tore off another piece of kitchen roll and switched the wad under Lewis’s nose for it. “You coping?”

“Yeah,” Lewis sounded snuffly and fed up. “Does this mean I have to stop eating fruit?”

Lewis had Pollen Food Allergy Syndrome. When he had hayfever, he became reactive to certain foods. It was an uncommon condition; in Adrien’s life, he only knew one other person who suffered from it. 

“Not all fruit, mon trésor, but yeah. Sorry. No kiwis, no apples, no tomatoes, no melon, no oranges, no pears, no cherries, no apricots and uh, what’s the other one?” Adrien knew the answer but he wanted to make Lewis say it.

Lewis groaned. “Peaches.”

Alex gasped dramatically. “Oh no, did the song make your nose bleed?”

“No,” Adrien chuckled. “It’s just a coincidence.”

“Oh, phew. That would be bad.”

“Yeah, you guys would have to stop singing for a few minutes. That would be terrible .”

──── •✧•────

The hairstylist wouldn’t let her look in the mirror until he was finished, but from Penny’s encouraging smiles throughout the process, Marinette guessed it was going well. From the sheer volume of hair around her feet, she knew it was a drastic cut. Now, the stylist was applying bleach and talking about ‘shadow roots’.

“After this, I’ve got you an appointment with a personal shopper.”

“Oh, yeah?” the stylist asked. “Did you get Zazzy?”

“That’s Jagged’s stylist,” Penny explained to Marinette. “No, she’s on maternity leave, but she recommended someone else great.”

The stylist bounced excitedly on his heels. “Oh my gawd, what did she have?”

Penny smiled. “A little girl. She’s gorgeous.”

“Got any photos?”

“No, sorry. Next time I come in, I’ll make sure I have some.”

“You better.” He turned his attention back to Marinette. “What about you, Mary, got any kids?”

She tried to shake her head but remembered the bleach on her hair. “No. No kids.”

“Never wanted them, or just didn’t happen?” Penny cleared her throat demonstrably and he immediately looked mortified. “Sorry, that’s way too personal. I’m a bit blunt sometimes.”

“No, it’s okay,” Marinette said, twisting her engagement ring so the emerald twinkled back at her. “I’ve had health issues for the past nine years so babies were never on the agenda. I think I probably wanted to have one when I was younger but…” 

She trailed off, not because it was hard to talk about, but because a number jumped into her head. Three. She had wanted three babies. And something else: a feeling of nervous anticipation. A secret to share.

It wasn’t a memory, she hadn’t remembered it. It was something else — an instinct, something that was inside her, waiting to emerge. 

Throughout rinsing, toning and styling, Marinette pondered this feeling. Occasionally, a memory would come back to her fleetingly. She would try to grab onto it, to relive it, but it would float out of reach to that locked part of her brain. The doctors were puzzled. They thought her memories would slowly return over time, but they hadn’t. It was as though some other force was keeping that part of her life from her.

But this… This felt tangible. Like she could reach out and touch it. It was a moment in time, an emotion. Fear, excitement and more. Disappointment? She wanted to know what it meant.

Are you ready to see your new look? The stylist asked. Marinette nodded nervously.

Her chair was turned around and a stranger greeted her from the mirror. Chocolate brown, chestnut and caramel hues blended into warm black roots. Her long hair was gone, the pigtails relegated to the dustpan. A new Marinette stared back at her, unrecognisable from the past version. 

She couldn't stop the grin that spread across her face. “I love it.”

──── •✧•────

“I slept like the proverbial log,” Eilidh announced as she walked into Adrien’s kitchen after lunch. “Like the sleepiest, most exhausted log in the forest.”

“I’m glad. Tea?”

“I’ve yet to turn down a cup yet.”

Adrien filled the kettle and placed it on its base to boil. “Biscuits?”

“I brought treats.” Eilidh tilted her shopping bag to indicate a pink bakery box inside. “Fruit tarts.”

“Which fruits?” Adrien asked.

“Strawberry, why?”

Adrien winced. “It’s Lewis-can’t-eat-anything season.”

“That sucks. Strawberries are okay, though, right?” When Adrien nodded she mimed wiping her brow in relief. “Phew. Can you text me with a list of what he can’t have again, please? I don’t want to be the one that accidentally makes him itchy.”

“Sure thing.”

“Can you WhatsApp it so I don't lose it?”

He sighed impatiently. “Yes, fine. So, apart from sleep, how was your evening?”

Eilidh placed the box of tarts on the table before helping herself to plates and forks from the cupboard. Adrien busied himself with the ritual of making tea. It was a very British thing: tea. Something he learned early on was how to make it like a native. Milk was a given, but should never go into the cup first unless you’re using fine china. In France, if he’d wanted it, he would have to specifically ask for milk in his tea, here it was assumed.

“I got takeout from the Thai restaurant and watched Blue Jean. Then, I went to bed with my book and fell asleep on the first paragraph. I woke up at nine, completely refreshed. I’m a new woman, Adrien.”

He laughed. “I’m glad, the old one was getting boring.”

“Hey! For that, I’m taking the tart with the biggest strawberry on it.”

Six pairs of feet clomped down the stairs. Sometimes, Adrien felt like he should check to see if Plagg and Poe were actually wearing clogs on their paws. Two cats and two boys arrived in the kitchen with much fanfare.

“Mummy!” Alex exclaimed. “You brought cake!”

“Hi, I missed you, too,” Eilidh said dryly as Alex peered into the box. “There’s one for you, too,” she told Lewis.

“Thanks, Auntie Eilidh.”

Tea was poured and everyone sat around the table to devour strawberry tarts. Alex and Lewis regaled Eilidh with Super Mario Bros spoilers, reenactments of their favourite scenes, and (of course) a performance of Peaches. 

“What are we going to do over the next few weekends while Adrien is rehearsing his play?” Eilidh asked. “I’m not sure I can top the treasure hunt and cinema extravaganza you guys had yesterday.”

Lewis and Alex had some suggestions. Some were adventurous, like a trip to Alton Towers or Cadbury World, others were more local, like nature walks or Pokémon hunts. Eilidh and Félix were friends on the Pokémon Go app, and they had developed a friendly competition to see who could evolve a Gyrados first. Eilidh had enlisted Alex and Lewis to help her beat him. 

“Can we have more sleepovers?” Alex asked eagerly.

“I think we can manage that,” Eilidh said. 

“And pancakes for breakfast?”

“Alright, Alex. Let’s not ask for the impossible from me. We can have toast or cereal. Maybe bacon sandwiches.”  

As they ate, Plagg went from chair to chair, placing his front paws on each person’s leg and trying to look underfed. Poe meanwhile, was more of a work-smart-not-hard cat, so he waited under where Lewis and Alex were sitting for their inevitable crumb drops. When Plagg reached Adrien, he just laughed. 

“I fed you this morning, minou, I know you’re not starving. You’re just like your namesake.”

“Is Plagg named after someone?” Alex asked. “I thought it was a made-up name.”

Adrien sneaked a pastry crumb under the table for Plagg. “Yes, he’s named after a, uh, companion I had as a teenager.”

Eilidh raised one eyebrow in a way that made Adrien flash back to every time Alya didn’t believe what he was saying. “Did you spoil the other Plagg like you do this one?”

“Even more so.” Adrien grinned at the memory

──── •✧•────

Marinette hadn’t expected the catharsis that a haircut would bring. As she left the salon, it was like leaving her old self behind. It was freeing. 

She walked with Penny to the department store and made a decision. If she was to truly leave the past in its place, she should make amends.

“Penny, if you knew me before then I probably owe you an apology.”

Penny frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”

Marinette stopped on the pavement outside Harvey Nichols. “Look, I don't remember what I was like then, but I know I told a lot of lies. If the things I said or did ever caused you pain, I'm sorry.”

“Oh, Marine— Mary. You don't owe me an apology for anything.” She looked so distressed that Marinette worried that she was hiding something.

“Are you sure?”

Penny smiled reassuringly. “Positive. You don't owe me or Jagged an apology. If anything, we owe you a debt. I know I’m not supposed to talk about the time before, but please know, we appreciate you.”

Relief flooded Marinette’s chest, “Okay,” she said. “I know that the old me caused a lot of problems for some people, I'm glad I didn't hurt you.”

They entered the department store and Penny immediately approached the concierge. After a few discrete words, a special key was produced and a private lift was called. Marinette had gone from incognito to VIP in one day. Strangely, she felt more protected like this than she ever did in hiding. 

The lift opened into a plush suite, all cream leather and polished glass.

“Mary, this is Edvard, your fashion stylist for today.”

Edvard, a flamboyant blonde with a strong Scandinavian accent bowed deeply in greeting. “Miss Mary, I’m delighted to make your acquaintance.”

Despite her reluctance to take fashion advice from anyone but herself, and her nerves at leaving her old style behind, she giggled. Edvard looked up and smiled at her, revealing dimples on his cheeks. 

Marinette curtsied. “Pleased to meet you, Edvard. I put my style in your hands.”

He clapped excitedly. “Let’s begin! Turn for me.” Marinette rotated on the spot, suddenly self-conscious. “Okay, first impressions: you’re hiding in your clothes. This monochrome theme is not working and, I’m sorry to say, it’s boring.”

“Ouch,” Marinette said. “I didn’t realise how much the truth hurt.”

Edvard laughed gently. “Don’t worry, I shall build you back up again. I think this gamine style suits you and your fashion instincts are good, but I want to soften your look and add some colour. Wait here, I’m going to bring you some options.”

Alone in the luxurious private shopping suite in Knightsbridge, Marinette examined herself in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Edvard was right, she did hide in her clothes. She hid behind her hair. She hid behind her sketchbook. For all of her adult life —that she could recall— she had hidden. That in itself was conspicuous, however. 

“Hide in plain sight,” Penny had said. “Instead of trying to disappear, you need to look like you fit in. In this part of London, that means wearing fashionable clothing with confidence.”

The confidence was going to take some work, but Edvard was already returning to the suite with an entourage of assistants, each carrying an armful of fashionable clothing.

“Skirts here,” Edvard said, directing one assistant to the furthest empty clothing rail. “Trousers next. Tops, then dresses and jackets last. Accessories on the table, please. Thank you!”

The von Trapp children would look awkward and uncoordinated next to these assistants. They each trouped to their allotted rail with practised choreography, deposited their items and left the room with only a curt but friendly nod in Marinette’s direction.

“Ms Rolling said you required clothing for all occasions so we shall start with casual wear and work our way along to formalwear. Across all of your wardrobe, I want to focus on separates — A-line skirts, capri pants and cargo pants, paired with boat-neck tops and button-down shirts. I have a mixture of soft pastels and modern neutrals, and some beautiful textures and patterns.”

Marinette gazed in wonder at the array of clothing in front of her. “It’s a little overwhelming.”

“Oh, Miss Mary, that’s why I’m here.”

──── •✧•────

After tarts and future breakfast negotiations were finished, Lewis and Alex sprinted back to continue whatever game they were playing. Eilidh started to stack the plates but Adrien stopped her.

“I’ll do that.”

Eilidh snatched the plates and took them to the sink. “You have to stop with the gratitude, Adrien. As much as I like to mock you for it, I know how big this opportunity is for you. I’m going to do everything I can to help make your life easier so you can give it your all.”

“Thank you,” he said. Eilidh scowled at him and he held his hands up in surrender. “Fine, does ‘everything you can’ include sewing costumes?”

“Yes, but only because it gives me a reason to frequent the Textiles classroom.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Adrien acted scandalised. “Are you using my play to get a date?”

“Yes, Adrien, I am.”

“I feel exploited.”

“That sounds like a you problem.” Eilidh poured way too much washing-up liquid into the sink. The soft water in Warwickshire was wonderful, like drinking a magical fresh elixir after growing up in Paris, but it was impossible to lather soap in it. Eilidh’s solution to that was to add half the bottle. “And you? Is there anyone you want to date?”

Adrien hadn’t dated since he arrived in England. Aside from the potential risk to his identity if he posted his photo on a dating app, he simply didn’t want to. He and Marinette belonged together — they were fated. He couldn’t bring himself to move on. 

“Nope. I’m your perpetual wingman, you know that.”

“Aren’t you, like, horny?”

Adrien snorted. “Sure I am, but I’m not into casual sex and I’m not ready for a romantic relationship so I’m going to stay that way for a long time.” 

“So, if you don’t have a date, does that mean you’re going to invite me to the ceilidh?”

He shouldn’t still be surprised by her ability to know everything before most people, but he was.

The ceilidh was an end-of-festival tradition. One that Adrien had been informed he would receive twelve tickets for. It was the after-show celebration for all of the companies involved in the Shakespeare Festival. This year, it was going to be held at The Ruins at Coventry Cathedral. Adrien, Miss Ansell, Mr Nichol, the four teachers in the cast, three Art teachers and one Textiles teacher made eleven.

“How do you… Silly question, you’re like The Oracle at Delphi. Which means you should also know the answer.” He paused for effect. “Of course I’m going to invite you. You’re the only person I know who can actually do the dances.”

She flicked a handful of washing-up bubbles at him in response. 

──── •✧•────

She waited for hours for Luka to come back to the apartment. In the end, she fell asleep before he returned. Now, she woke to find him in bed beside her, propped on one elbow and staring at her.

“I was worried for a moment that I got into the wrong bed last night,” he said, smiling gently.

“What?” In her just-woken haze, it took her a while to realise what he meant. “Oh, my hair. Do you like it?”

She ran her hand through her newly cropped hair, still not used to how abruptly it ended when she did so. Her muscles still expected long tresses. 

“It’s… different. It’ll take a little getting used to.”

Which was Luka’s polite way of saying he didn’t like it.

She could feel herself getting upset so she changed the subject. “You were out late last night. In the studio?” 

“For a while, then we met up with the rest of the cast of Twelfth Night. They’re all great, and so talented, it’s going to be an incredible show.”

“I’m glad. When do you go up to Stratford-Upon-Avon?”

“Two days from now.” Luka kissed her and pulled her closer. “So we should enjoy each other while we can.”

As Luka’s kisses trailed along her jaw and down her neck, she asked. “Why can’t I come with you?”

She heard him sigh as he stopped kissing her. “Marinette, we’ve talked about this. The house is for the performers only.” 

“Penny is going with you.”

He tilted his head in that way Marinette hated. It was patronising. Marinette had lost her memory, but she wasn’t a child; she couldn’t stand it when he acted like she was. “Penny is working. You can come up to see the play, but there’s no room for you in the house.”

“Okay, I understand,” she said, pulling him in for another kiss. 

She understood that she couldn’t stay with Luka and the rest of the cast, but that didn’t mean she had to stay in London. There was a whole festival to enjoy, not just Luka’s play. Why shouldn’t she go on her own to see a few performances?

Chapter Text

If it hadn’t been for Luka and Kagami’s encouragement, he and Marinette would never have gotten together. After months of failed schemes, Kagami made a bet with Adrien that he wouldn’t ask Marinette out. Unbeknownst to Adrien, Luka made the same bet with Marinette. Adrien and Marinette both won, in many ways.

If it hadn’t been for their friends, they might never have stayed together. Luka, Kagami, Alya, Nino and all of their friends provided the smokescreens and alibis Marinette and Adrien needed to spend time with each other. 

From tentative beginnings, their relationship grew closer and stronger, a bond formed in ways neither of them even knew. 

Gabriel was, to nobody’s surprise, against the relationship. Adrien wasn’t sure why. His father was suspicious of her, though, wary of something or someone that Marinette knew. He was careful to keep her at arm’s length. He banned Adrien from seeing her.

They had to be careful at collège — Gabriel had spies everywhere. During lycée, they found spare classrooms and stolen moments in which to see each other. Once university arrived, they had more freedom and more privacy. Every moment spent together revealed more reasons to love her. The more Adrien learned about Marinette, the more he was in awe of her spirit, her generosity and her creativity.

Then, Marinette got a job with Gabriel Fashion.

Freedom, privacy and time became scarce.

They made time to see each other. Marinette would arrange dates and come up with creative ways to communicate the locations; picnic spots in quiet gardens, where crowds thronged behind ornate hedges; peaceful quays where the waters of the Seine lapped gently by their feet; obscure museums where they were the only visitors; boutique hotels with discrete staff. 

Adrien was less imaginative than Marinette, but he was good at choosing gifts for her and calling her every night to say he loved her. 

Meanwhile, Chat Noir and Ladybug’s partnership grew stronger. Removing the tension of possible romance brought them together. Years of fighting Hawk Moth’s many villains together meant they knew each other better than anyone else. Their relationship was almost psychic; they could predict each other’s moves and knew without asking what the other needed.

•✧•

That day, Adrien was in the library after classes, a stack of science journals towering over him, when he opened his pencil case to find a tiny book inside. It was a miniature copy of Romeo and Juliet. He turned it over in his hands, wondering how Marinette even got it in there. 

What did it mean?

“Another scavenger hunt?” Plagg asked from the top of his journal tower.

“Looks like it,” Adrien whispered. “But what does it mean?”

“Well, it’s a book.”

“Thank you, Plagg.” 

Centuries of wisdom, knowledge and experience meant nothing to the Kwami when scavenger hunt clues had to be solved.

It was, however, a book. A Shakespeare book.

“Shakespeare and Company?” Adrien asked, not expecting a response from Plagg. “It’s worth a try.”

He packed up his things and returned the journals to the shelves. As he left the library at Sorbonne University, Plagg popped out of the collar of his jacket. “Are you going to ask her tonight?”

Plagg had been sharing Adrien’s bag with the ring for weeks now. Adrien was waiting for the right time. A moment that he hoped would present itself for him to ask Marinette the biggest question of his life.

“I hope so. I just have to be brave and do it.”

“Sooner rather than later, please.”

“As soon as I can, I promise.”

Soon, he reached Shakespeare and Company, the famous bookshop on the banks of the Seine. It was one of Adrien’s favourite places; packed to the roof with books on every topic. He stepped inside and went to the till point.

“Bonjour,” he said to the smiling assistant. “Does this mean anything to you?”

He placed the little book on the counter and the assistant began nodding enthusiastically. “Oh, yes, I’m to give you this.” She disappeared under the counter for a moment and emerged with another tiny book. “Here you go.”

“Thank you.”

This book bore an image of the Mont Saint Michel Abbey on the cover. Inside were photos of the Abbey of Saint Genevieve, and the Abbey of Saint Victor in Paris. Westminster Abbey in London, Santa Maria de Montserrat Abbey in Catalonia.

“The Abbey Bookshop,” Adrien said. 

The shop assistant grinned. “That’s correct.”

Five minutes later, he pushed open the doors to the Abbey Bookshop on Rue de la Parcheminerie. He found a shop assistant, stacking shelves. 

“Hi, excuse me. I think I have to show you this.”

“Of course, sir. I have something for you.” He reached into his pocket and handed Adrien another book. 

On the cover of the newest book was a photo of the Golden Gate Bridge. Inside, further pictures of Lombard Street, Fisherman’s Wharf and Alcatraz.

“Is there a San Francisco bookshop?” Adrien asked. 

”Yes, sir. It’s a second-hand bookshop about ten minutes from here.”

“Thank you.”

Outside, Adrien looked the shop up on his phone. It was on Rue Monsieur le Prince so he began to walk in the correct direction. 

Plagg was right, he should ask her tonight. But, would it be fair to piggyback on Marinette’s hard work in setting up this date night? No, she did this for both of them, Adrien was sure she wouldn’t mind. If he did it well, she definitely wouldn’t mind at all.

San Francisco Books Co was a red-fronted shop with shelves of books lining the door. Inside, books were piled as far as he could see. He wanted to explore the shelves and discover their treasures, but he had a different treasure hunt to follow first.

The shop assistant must have seen the book he was still holding in his hand, because she approached him. 

“Hi, I believe this is for you?” She handed him another tiny book.

“Thank you.” 

It was a restaurant guide. Okay, what was a book-themed restaurant that was within walking distance from this shop? Les Éditeurs was nearby, but it was the sort of place they went only for special occasions. Was he missing something? 

He racked his brain all the way to the restaurant. It was neither of their birthdays, too far from Valentine’s Day and their anniversary. Unless she was planning to propose, he was out of ideas. Could that be it? Was she bored of waiting for him to do it?

There was one way to find out. Adrien entered the restaurant.

“Good evening, do you have a reservation?” The host asked, his expression conveying that he didn’t believe Adrien could possibly have one.

“Uh, I think I’m meeting someone. Marinette Dupain-Cheng? I’m Adrien Agreste.”

The host’s attitude changed immediately. “Of course, monsieur Agreste, please follow me.”

Adrien followed the host upstairs to the quiet book-lined dining room. In the furthest corner, sitting anxiously on the red leather banquette, was Marinette. She waved when she saw him.

Marinette got up to kiss Adrien when he reached the table, before the host presented him with a menu and offered them both champagne. 

“Not for me, thanks,” Marinette said. “I’ll stick to water.”

“Water’s fine for me, too, thanks,” Adrien added.

When the host left them alone, Marinette smiled brightly at Adrien. “You found me.”

“I always do in the end. This is a nice place.” Adrien looked around, taking in their surroundings. 

“Yeah, I… I wanted this to be special,” Marinette said, biting her lip and frowning slightly. “Do you, uh, do you remember Chloé's birthday party?”

Did he? Vaguely. It was several months ago and a lot of alcohol was consumed. He remembered some of that night. He particularly remembered after the party, when he and Marinette stumbled up to their hotel room, giggly and handsy. 

He remembered how Marinette was framed by the window where the Eiffel Tower’s lights twinkled in one of its hourly cycles. Even this view of Paris dulled in comparison to her beauty. Her pale pink ball gown was the colour of cherry blossom, her lips the colour of roses. Her azure eyes sparkled with life and love as she gazed back at him. Adrien was entranced.

“How did I get so lucky?” he asked her.

“What do you mean?”

He pushed a strand of hair from her face. The intricate updo from earlier was starting to fall; tendrils brushing her shoulders and cheeks. “I mean, even after all these years, I still can’t believe that you love me like I love you.”

She shook her head. “Oh, no. I love you more.”

“Um, excuse me. I think you’ll find that I love you more.”

Marinette bit her lip coyly. “Show me how much.”

He kissed her. Losing himself in her; in the smell of flowers and spice from her perfume, in the warmth of her soft skin, in the way she kissed him like it was the most important thing in the world. 

Like she was his world.

When she tugged his shirt from his waistband and slipped her hands inside, her fingertips created a trail of goosebumps. Electricity seemed to course between them, the air almost crackled with it. Adrien needed to feel his skin against hers. He found the zip of her dress just as Marinette tugged his jacket off his shoulders.

Adrien, giddy with love and champagne, guided them towards the enormous bed in the centre of the room. They fell back onto the sheets, still entangled in each other. Slowly, delicately, they unwrapped each other’s clothing. 

He showed her how much he loved her, how much he worshipped her, how beautiful and creative and kind he thought she was. Together, their bodies in harmony, minds in sync, souls united, they made love until the sun rose.

“I remember,” he admitted, unable to keep the smile from his face.

Marinette smiled, too, less certainly. “Well, since then things have been stressful at work and, uh, other things and I guess I didn’t notice that… Well… And I was on the pill, so…”

Adrien took her hand and ran his thumb over her fingers. “Is everything okay? You know you can tell me anything?”

She nodded, her expression serious, determined.

“I do. Adrien, I—”

That sound. A dozen Akuma alerts from every Alliance ring in the restaurant. 

Another date interrupted. 

Adrien thought Marinette was the most understanding girlfriend ever. She never complained about his regular disappearing act during every akuma attack, despite his shaky excuses. 

This time, Marinette's face fell. This interruption was more inconvenient than usual. Adrien didn't have time to ask why.

“We should get to safety,” she said.

He kissed her before he left. “To be continued, I promise.”

Those were the last words Marinette heard Adrien say to her.

•✧•

The battle was fierce, the Akuma strong. Hawk Moth used almost every Kwami power possible in his newest supervillain. Over the years, Hawk Moth had studied Ladybug and Chat Noir. He knew that Chat would protect his Lady, no matter what. 

This time, he sent his akumatized villain after Chat Noir in order to isolate Ladybug.  

His target was her: the Guardian.

Without full control of the Kwamis, he kept losing. Hawk Moth believed that he needed to force Ladybug to relinquish the Miracle Box. That he could become the new Guardian and do what he pleased with the Miraculouses.

After fighting until their energy was depleted and their hope was low, Hawk Moth made an appearance. 

Ladybug fought Hawk Moth alone, but she had done her homework, too. She knew his fighting style and understood his weaknesses. Now that she was older, she matched him in skill and strength. Despite Hawk Moth using every dirty trick in the book, Ladybug stood her ground.

Chat Noir had used his Cataclysm multiple times, he was fighting on borrowed time. Fortunately, he knew a time specialist. At the last possible moment before defeat, Bunnyx emerged from her Burrow to help him. Soon, Su Han joined them from whatever vantage point he had been observing from. 

Together, they beat every power Hawk Moth gave his villain. With teamwork, they pushed her back until she had nowhere to run. Chat Noir saw that the villain was, yet again, Nathalie Sancoeur and his worst suspicions were realised. The possibility that he and Ladybug had discussed was now confirmed. If Nathalie was helping create an ambush, there could be no doubt. 

Gabriel Agreste was Hawk Moth. 

Chat pulled on every final energy reserve to destroy the Akuma’s container and return Nathalie to her civilian form. 

When she saw the Akuma flutter skywards, Ladybug caught it and purified it. It was a moment of distraction that Hawk Moth used to his advantage. 

She fell. 

Hard. 

Hawk Moth followed her, his vicious cackle echoing against the walls of the alleyway where Ladybug had plummeted.

Chat Noir was torn. He had to restrain Nathalie; she was skilled and determined to help Gabriel no matter the cost to her. He had to get to Ladybug; she needed him now more than ever. 

Bunnyx made the decision for him. She jammed her knee into Nathalie’s back and shoved her roughly onto the rooftop. “Go,” she ordered him.

He bounded the length of the roof and hurtled down the walls, barely needing his staff to support him. He was powered only by concern for his partner. Hawk Moth was bent over Ladybug like Nosferatu, removing one earring, then another. It was his recoil of surprise that gave Chat the edge. 

Fury drove him onwards. He had to stop him now. She was no longer protected by her powers and Hawk Moth wanted to destroy her. Chat was in a haze of anger and betrayal, and a desperate desire to save Ladybug. Instinct and training guided him and he thought briefly that his father must now regret forcing him to take those fencing and martial arts lessons. When Chat finally pinned him down, he made a quip about swatting a bug. It wasn’t his best line, but he had other things on his mind. 

Hawk Moth wasn’t going down without a fight so Chat was relieved when Su Han joined him and took charge. 

With one swipe, Gabriel Agreste was revealed, his face contorted with vile rage against everyone who stopped him from destroying the world. Chat didn’t care — he ran to his lady. The roar of outrage from his father as the police converged on the alleyways only spurred him on to her side.

“Marinette, please be okay,” he begged. “We need help!” he shouted, voice breaking with desperation. “Please! We need an ambulance!”

“Chat… I…”

Her eyes flickered open momentarily and she tried to grab his hand. Fell short. He took it and squeezed it as though he could infuse some of his own strength into her. “My Lady, stay with me.”

She smiled weakly and whispered words more destructive than every Cataclysm he’d ever used. More devastating than losing his mother. More life-changing than having a supervillain for a father. 

“I, Ladybug, hereby relinquish the Miracle Box and name Su Han the new guardian.”

At that, she lost consciousness, and Adrien lost all hope.

•✧•

The gardens of Hôpital Hôtel-Dieu were his refuge. The doctors wouldn’t let him into the Urgences while they were treating her, and now they wouldn’t tell him where she’d been taken because he wasn’t family. Police officers trailed in through the main entrance and disappeared out of sight. Until Tom and Sabine contacted him, all Adrien could do was wait.

Marinette was Ladybug. 

That thought tumbled around his brain. In the moment she was revealed, his only instinct was to protect her. He had been numb to her identity. Perhaps it was because when he saw the face under the mask, it seemed right — like hers was the only face he expected to see. 

Now, though, now that he’d sat with the knowledge for a while, he was reeling. 

Marinette was Ladybug!

The two loves of his life were the same person. The women that inspired him every day were one woman. And now she was fighting for her life.

He was aware of someone watching him. He knew why he was there. 

“I have to give my Miraculous back now, don’t I?” Adrien asked Su Han who was trying and failing to blend in behind a tree.

The Guardian emerged and sat next to Adrien on the bench. “I’m afraid so. Your identities are compromised, it’s for your own safety.”

“I know.” Adrien twisted the ring on his finger one last time, heart heavy. The Miraculous and Plagg had given him a life he could never have hoped for. His Kwami hugged him before he removed the ring. “Thank you for everything Plagg, but now I must renounce you for the last time.”

“Thank you, Adrien,” Su Han said gravely. “I know it must have been difficult for you.” 

Adrien nodded. “And the others? Are the Kwamis all okay?”

“They have had a traumatic experience, but we will be able to return them to full power. In a way, we should be grateful that your father treated them so badly. If they had been well cared for, Hawk Moth and his associates would have had more power than we could have handled.”

And if I had been well cared for, perhaps I wouldn’t have been Chat Noir, Adrien thought. 

“A lack of compassion for those he considered lesser than him was always Gabriel’s folly,” he said.

“Something that you were the greatest victim of, I believe.”

“How is Marinette?” Adrien asked, stealing an opportunity to wipe the tears from his face with his sleeve. 

Su Han shook his head gravely. “There are some things I do not know.”

“Su Han?”

“Yes?”

“When Master Fu gave up the Miracle Box, he forgot everything about his life as the Guardian.”

Su Han nodded slowly. He spoke delicately. “It is part of the magic of the Miraculous. A way to protect them from those who would wish to do harm with them.”

“How much will Marinette remember?”

“All memories of her time with the Miraculouses will be blank.”

Wait. 

No.

“But, I thought Master Fu only forgot them because he’d been a Guardian from a young age.”

“Wang Fu knew about the Miraculouses before he became the Guardian. All memories are locked away for the protection of the magic and the person.”

Ten years of her life would have gone the minute she uttered those fateful words. Her life as a superhero, wiped away. 

Her life with Adrien — gone. 

“What about the other Miraculous holders?” Adrien asked, wishing his pain could be taken from him.

“I’m sorry. You have a different burden to bear.” 

Adrien’s voice choked in a sob. “I just want to know she’s okay.”

“Be patient, young Adrien. Healing takes time.”

And with a leap, Su Han, Plagg, and his life as Chat Noir disappeared into the skyline. Adrien was truly alone for the first time in ten years. 

But things had changed in the intervening decade, and he wasn’t alone for long.

“Hey, man, you okay?” Nino sat next to Adrien on the bench and pulled him into a hug. “We came as soon as we could.”

“We?”

Alix shoved Adrien to make room for her on his other side. “You didn’t think we were going to let you go through this on your own, did you?” She lifted his head and turned it in the direction of the entrance to the gardens. 

One by one, his friends began to crowd around him, offering their sympathies for his father, for Marinette, and for him. 

“Do you know how she is?” Rose asked, eyes full of tears. Adrien knew how she felt. 

“No,” he said, his voice catching in his throat. “I’m not family, they won’t say.”

Alya stood up. “Then let’s go get them.”

“I tried. Their phones went to voicemail. It’s late, they’re probably in bed already so the detective said she’ll send police officers to the bakery.“

“So we just have to wait?” Kim asked, indignant. 

“Yeah.” Tears fell once more but, in the company of his friends, he didn’t try to hide them.

“Ridiculous! Utterly ridiculous. They can’t stop you from seeing her.” Until then, Adrien hadn’t even noticed Chloé join them. “Come with me, Adrikins, I’ll get you in.”

He wasn’t sure if she did it out of concern for Adrien, to make amends for the way she’d treated Marinette over the years, or because she simply liked throwing her name around, but he was grateful for her. 

She grabbed his arm and dragged him into the hospital and marched up to the reception desk. 

“This is Adrien Agreste and he needs to see his girlfriend right now.”

Adrien immediately took pity on the harassed-looking man on the desk. 

“I’m sorry, madam, but it’s hospital policy that we only let family in.”

Chloé scoffed. “They’ve been together for ten years. They ARE family.”

“Yes, but—”

“No buts! Do you know who I am? Do you know who my father is?”

“Uh…”

“Would you like me to call him and you can explain to Mayor Bourgeois why the young man he views as a son is receiving such terrible treatment?” 

For a brief moment, it warmed Adrien to think that someone possibly viewed him as a son. It was clear that his own father didn’t.

The man sighed. “I can try to find out where she is, but you’ll have to convince the doctor to let him in.”

Something Adrien had no doubt she could have done. In the end, there was no need. Tom and Sabine rushed in behind them and insisted that Adrien come with them. He gave Chloé a hug and thanked her for her (albeit terrifying) help before following close behind Marinette’s parents.

They were ushered into a family room in the intensive care unit. A grim-faced doctor explained that even though she was transformed when she fell, the blow to her head was significant. Sabine’s face turned grey at the revelation that her daughter was Ladybug, the information seemed to bounce off of Tom in his shock. They were barely able to stammer out their answers to the various medical questions the doctor was asking them.

Adrien was in a daze, but he understood that her condition was serious but stable. She was in a coma, but the doctor told them to talk to her, that Marinette could likely still hear them. They couldn’t predict when she’d wake up, or what level of lasting damage she’d sustained. They would soon be able to go in to see her and Adrien clung to that piece of information.

The doctor addressed Adrien. “Can I ask, did you know she’s pregnant?”

It was his turn to be shocked. The ground seemed to tilt under his feet. “She’s… what? No. She’s on the pill and we’re… we were careful.” He looked at Sabine. “Did you know?”

Sabine shook her head, still stunned by the constant barrage of surprises.

“There’s something called a cryptic pregnancy,” the doctor explained. “It’s the name we give any pregnancy that goes unnoticed for the first twenty weeks.”

“Twenty weeks?! That’s five months!” Adrien screeched. “She’s five months pregnant?”

“According to our measurements, she’s between twenty-eight and thirty-two weeks.”

Adrien needed to sit down. His knees didn’t want to hold him up anymore. “I don’t understand. Did she know?”

The doctor nodded. “According to her medical records, she had an appointment with an obstetrician next week.

Adrien did the maths. That was why she’d brought up Chloé’s party. In the heat of the moment, they didn’t bother with protection. Marinette was on the pill so they decided they didn’t need to use a condom. He remembered that they were very hungover the next morning and Marinette had been sick. 

The party was seven months ago. That must have been when they conceived. 

He was on autopilot as the doctor escorted him, Tom and Sabine in to see Marinette. She looked tiny on the pristine white bed. Tubes and wires seemed to come from everywhere. Monitors measured her brain activity and heartbeat and there was a tube up her nose. Lower down, another machine was connected to her stomach. Adrien didn’t know what that was for. 

“Adrien,” Sabine said, her voice a whisper. “That’s your baby’s heartbeat.”

His baby. 

Marinette’s and his.

And she was trying to tell him about it when the Akuma alert sounded.

•✧•

Hours of police interviews followed. 

They wanted to know about his father’s behaviour over the last decade and beyond. They asked intrusive questions about his mother and her character, about Nathalie and her relationship with Gabriel. They wanted to know what happened to the Miraculouses, and the identities of everyone who had held one. 

Adrien refused to betray anyone’s identity, except to confirm that Gabriel was Hawk Moth, or Shadow Moth, or Monarch, or whatever the hell he wanted to call himself. 

The lead detective vowed to conceal his and Marinette’s superhero aliases for their own safety. She worried that they might be targeted by the fringe of people who supported Hawk Moth. The attending police officers, medics and press were told that Marinette was a bystander; a victim. That Ladybug had been witnessed at the scene after Marinette’s accident.

That reassured Adrien. As did Alya — she would take Marinette’s secret to the grave. 

Just as Adrien thought his nightmare was over, the police searched his home and discovered his mother’s body.

His world crumbled once again.

Over and over, he wished he could forget. He couldn’t.

He buried his mother in the Graham de Vanily plot in Picpus Cemetery surrounded by his Aunt Amelie, cousin Félix, and his friends. 

He wasn’t alone, but he felt isolated from everyone but Marinette. They had shared an experience like no other. They had grown together as superhero partners, friends and lovers. She was his soulmate, and she had been stolen from him.

Nathalie had evaded arrest in the chaos of the aftermath of the battle so Adrien was followed everywhere by undercover police officers. The hunt for her was the biggest fugitive operation in living memory.

Armed guards were posted outside Marinette’s hospital room and visitors were limited, but Adrien spent every moment he could at her bedside, talking to her.

He talked to Marinette about the baby she was growing inside her, about his excitement to be a dad, and about how much he looked forward to them being parents. He told her about his favourite of the scavenger hunts she set for him, about times they’d laughed until their muscles hurt. About how much she meant to their friends. He was careful to not mention Ladybug or Chat Noir. He never talked about the Miraculouses. 

“Adrien, we need to talk.” Marinette’s ICU doctor and obstetrician entered her room. 

“Uh, yeah? Marinette’s parents had to get something to eat but they’ll be back soon.”

“No, this concerns your baby.”

His insides froze. 

Beside him, the twin heart monitors continued their rhythms; one slow, one fast, both steady.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, steeling himself for the worst. 

The obstetrician spoke. “Not if we act soon. We’ve been monitoring your baby closely to make sure it’s healthy, but Marinette has something called placental abruption.”

“It’s likely that the fall caused it,” the ICU doctor explained.

“It means that the placenta is separating from Marinette’s uterus. If it continues, your baby won’t get the oxygen or nutrition it needs to grow.”

Panic squeezed his chest. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t lose either Marinette or their baby. “What can you do?”

“We’re going to give Marinette a steroid injection to help prepare your baby’s lungs and schedule her for a caesarean section. Your baby will be delivered early, Adrien. You need to prepare for that.”

A week later, their baby boy was born and immediately transferred to the Local Neonatal Unit. 

Adrien spent every moment he could by his incubator. The nurses in the unit taught him how to change his tiny diapers without disturbing his breathing or feeding tube. They gave him a blanket to carry around before putting it into the incubator so that his son would get used to his scent. Adrien asked for another one for Marinette.

“We can’t keep calling him baby boy Dupain-Cheng,” he said to Marinette on a visit to her bedside. Tom and Sabine were visiting their grandson. “So I was thinking back on conversations we’ve had. Louis is a name you like, right? I know I have loads of names, but I don’t want to do that for our son. Maybe Thomas, after your dad? Or André? I know Mayor Bourgeois is an unlikely role model, but he helped my mother become an actress, and he’s always been kind to me.” Adrien stopped and looked at Marinette as she lay with only her chest moving. He sighed. “I wish you could reply. Tell me if I’m doing this right.”

The weeks ticked by and Louis Thomas André Dupain-Cheng grew stronger. Adrien learned how to NG-tube-feed him himself, how to clean his tiny face, and he grew in confidence as a father.

Louis was transferred to the Special Care Baby Unit where Adrien was able to remove him from his incubator to hold him and feed him. Gradually, he started to take a bottle feed and Adrien learned how to gently burp him.

On his regular visiting time for Marinette, Adrien was met in the corridor by Luka. He hadn’t realised that Luka had been cleared to visit so he was caught off guard. Even more so when Luka told him that he couldn’t go into Marinette’s room.

“She woke up and the doctors need to check her over,” Luka said. 

Adrien wanted to run to her. To burst into her room and scoop her up into the biggest hug he could manage. “How is she? Can I see her?”

“She’s lost a lot of her memory. It’s probably best to wait for a few days so you don’t upset her, yeah?”

“Where are Tom and Sabine?” Adrien asked.

“They’re in there with Marinette.”

Adrien decided to wait. When Tom and Sabine eventually came out, they would explain the situation to Adrien. They would let him in to see her. 

They didn’t. Neither did the doctor. 

“Not immediately, Adrien. Marinette has substantial memory loss and we need to reintroduce people to her gradually. She remembers her parents and grandmother so we’ll start with them and work slowly up to other people.” 

“And Luka?” 

“He can’t go in yet either.”

Tom and Sabine’s visits to Louis were Adrien’s only chance to learn how Marinette was progressing. They were hopeful that her memory would return soon. The doctors had said it could be a long slow process, but Tom, in particular, was sure it would happen soon.

Day after day, he saw their hope for her memory to return start to fade. 

“Perhaps if she met her baby, she might feel connected to him?” the doctor suggested. 

Tom agreed. 

The SCBU doctors agreed that Louis was well enough to go for a visit. “He’s much stronger now. You’ll be able to take him home soon.”

It should have made Adrien feel happy, but without Marinette there, his heart sank.

He waited in the ICU family room with Félix and Aunt Amelie while Tom took Louis to visit Marinette.

“What if she rejects him?” Adrien wondered aloud.

“Then you can live with us,” Aunt Amelie said. “We’ll help you raise Louis.”

“And Tom and Sabine?”

“Will visit you. And you will visit them. In time, I’m sure Marinette will remember.”

But Adrien knew otherwise. Louis was in a part of her mind that was locked away by a magic stronger than any other. Magic with the power to rewrite reality. He didn’t know any key that could unlock that part of her.

Tom’s return brought the expected news. And something unexpected.

“Marinette has to leave,” Tom said, gently hugging his grandson before he placed him back in Adrien’s arms. “So do you, Adrien. Take Louis and get as far from here as possible.”

“What?” Adrien’s life was spiralling again.

“Gabriel has vowed to kill you, Marinette and… uh…”

Fury rose from deep within Adrien. Wrathful, incandescent, powerless rage. “And Louis.”

“Yes.”

“Where will Marinette go?”

Tom’s expression was pained. “I can’t say. For both of your safety.”

•✧•

As soon as he arrived back in London, Félix called in favours from his most clandestine contacts to create a false identity and a paper trail for Adrien and Louis. Adrien was sent to intensive elocution lessons. By the time Félix had finalised all of the arrangements, Adrien spoke English with no trace of a French accent.  

They drove together to Warwickshire in near silence. Adrien had never lived alone, he’d never had to look after himself. Now, he was responsible for not only himself but his son. It was his biggest challenge yet.

“Okay, this is your life now,” Félix said, slapping a folder full of paperwork on the kitchen counter. “You are Adrien Wilde.”

Adrien bounced Louis on his hip as he opened the folder and examined its contents. A new birth certificate, a National Insurance card and a marriage certificate for him and Mu Wilde (née Cheng) slipped onto the counter. Félix even included a death certificate that claimed Mu Wilde died during childbirth and planted an obituary notice on the web archive of a Midlands funeral home. Without ever being married, Adrien was officially a widower.

Louis Thomas André Dupain-Cheng became Lewis Thomas Andrew Wilde, place of birth: Birmingham City Hospital.

All trails leading to their past lives ended abruptly. 

“Why have you changed Louis’s name and not mine?” Adrien asked Félix.

“You’re used to your name, it doesn’t make sense to change it. Honestly, you’re more likely to be caught out if you do. All it takes is someone to call out to another Adrien, or for you to momentarily forget your new name and you’ve blown your cover. I had to change Louis’s name because it’s very French. And he’s young enough that you can get used to this new version.”

“What now?”

“Drivers licence — please don’t ever get a car unless you plan to actually learn to drive. Bank account, child savings account, ISA. There’s enough money in each to keep you going for a few years, so take your time and choose a profession you like. Utilities are set up and you can use your bills to get things like a library card and really become part of your community,” Félix said as he placed a mobile phone next to the folder. “This phone is contracted to the private secretary of the Duke of Warwick, and the SIM is registered to the admin offices of Coventry Town Council. I pay the bill through an offshore bank account that not even the best hackers in the world can access. Basically, it’s untraceable. However, try not to give out the number to too many people.”

Adrien picked up the phone and looked at the screen. “What’s this app?”

“Encrypted messaging app. Any text you send or receive will disappear after 24 hours so don’t leave me unread.” 

“This is so much security.” Adrien’s head spun.

“It’s necessary, but you will get used to it, I promise.” His cousin placed a hand on his shoulder, the most affection he’d shown in years. “This is your chance for freedom, Adrien, for a life you could never have had before. Spend it well.”

Félix had been right. Adrien made himself part of the community, he made a life for himself and Lewis. Despite his constant vigilance, he’d never been more free.

Chapter Text

Adrien looked at the group of students and teachers in front of him. A cast of twenty-one, plus four understudies, the entire art department and a textiles teacher stared back expectantly.

In four weeks' time, they would perform Romeo and Juliet in the arts centre of Warwick University. During that time, Adrien and the other teachers, and the students, would be juggling classes, exams and rehearsals. 

Cecilia, a year 9, was playing Juliet. She was a mousy thirteen-year-old who refused to even raise her hand in class, but on stage, she transformed. Denver, a tall year 10, who (according to Eilidh, who knew all the student gossip) was something of a heartthrob, was playing Romeo. Adrien, Miss Ansell and Mr Nicholl all agreed that they not only had individual talent, but they had excellent chemistry together. 

The added bonus was that neither of them had exams this year so they were available to rehearse more regularly than the older students.  

“Can I begin by thanking all of you for giving up your time to be part of this? I know that some of you have a lot on your plates already so I appreciate your involvement. Please also thank your adults on my behalf for the sacrifices they’re inevitably making for you to be here.

“Romeo and Juliet is a play about the power of love, but it’s more than that. It’s about passion and sex—” Adrien paused to let the giggles subside. The mere mention of the word ‘sex’ was guaranteed to evoke titters among teenagers. “—and it’s about patriarchal power and the problems caused when fathers act with ownership over their children. It’s about long-held grudges and violence, about how even family members can become enemies when rivalries are clung to. It’s about youth, inexperience and the impulsiveness that comes with that. And, it’s about fate.”

This was a speech he gave to every GCSE class before they studied the text, he was used to these words. No matter how often he spoke them, however, their personal resonance still struck him.

He continued. “Romeo and Juliet are described as star-crossed lovers. The chorus makes several allusions to fate. While we don’t necessarily place as much emphasis on destiny in today’s world, it’s still important to understand that Shakespeare wanted you to know that the universe is not on board with this relationship. Their fates are misaligned — hence the tragic outcome.

“The theme I’d like us to really dig into for this production is duality. Love and hate, light and dark, night and day; it’s a motif throughout. To quote the Friar ‘virtue itself turns vice being misapplied / and vice sometimes by action dignified’. Even the flower from which the poison was made could also yield medicine. It could both give and take life. I think the idea of duality is one that most of you can relate to. As teenagers, you have different versions of yourself: the one you present to your friends, the one you present to your family, and maybe even another to other adults in your life. You are constantly overestimated and underestimated at the same time.” Adrien watched the students nod their heads in agreement. He knew they’d understand. “But before you all completely glaze over, I think we should rearrange our chairs into a circle and start the read-through, yes?”

A chorus of “Yes, Mr Wilde,” preceded the scraping of chairs on the classroom floor. Soon, they had formed a haphazard oval that filled the space in Adrien’s English class. He had stacked all the desks against a wall earlier in the morning to make a temporary rehearsal space. Once the exams were over, they would rehearse in the hall — until then, Adrien would be rearranging his room every evening and weekend.

Miss Ansell handed out the scripts and Adrien made sure everyone had a pencil. 

“Are we all ready?” Adrien asked. Every head nodded. “Great. Lena? Can you get us started?”

Lena shuffled her script nervously, cleared her throat, and began. “Two households, both alike in dignity / (In fair Verona, where we lay our scene)...”

──── •✧•────

Mrs Owens was waiting outside the cottage when Marinette pulled into the driveway.

“Miss Baker, lovely to meet you,” she said. 

Marinette shook her proffered hand and realised that she hadn’t interacted so closely with a stranger in decades. That she could remember. “Thank you for meeting me at such short notice.”

“Happy to, my dear. Now, shall I show you around?”

“Yes please.”

Mrs Owens held up a large bronze key. “This opens the front door.” Then a smaller, silver one. “This is for the back door.” And the smallest key, a burnished golden locker key. “This one is for the woodshed, although if the weather stays warm, you probably won’t need to use it.”

She unlocked the front door and pushed it open into the tiny hall. Directly ahead of her, a staircase led upstairs. To the left, a red-painted door was ajar and Marinette could see the cosy living room. Mrs Owens pushed the door wider and ushered Marinette through.

“Living room. Help yourself to books, DVDs and puzzles; they’re not very up-to-date, I’m afraid. The wood-burning stove is fairly self-explanatory, but if you get stuck, call us. Kitchen. There’s tea, coffee and sugar in the cupboard and milk in the fridge,” Mrs Owens said, tapping on the cupboards and fridge doors as she continued her tour. Microwave, toaster, oven… no freezer, just a little deep freeze at the top of the fridge.”

“Is there a supermarket nearby?” Marinette asked. She’d travelled with nothing more than her clothing.

“Oh, yes, dear.” Mrs Owens led her back into the living room and pointed out of the bay window to the expansive park outside. “The high street is across the green there. We’ve got a mini supermarket, a greengrocer and a butcher. There’s a farmer’s market every Saturday. If you need a large supermarket, there’s one about thirty minutes drive from here.”

“Thank you. And restaurants?”

“The pub serves meals, and there’s a Thai restaurant, an Indian takeaway and a fish and chip shop. The Chinese restaurant in the neighbouring town delivers, too. During the day, the café opposite serves lunch.”

“A lot of choice, then.” 

She didn’t know what she’d expected. When she found the holiday cottage online, it was one of few still available during the Shakespeare festival. When she delved further she discovered that it was in a small village that, while central to the various performances, was difficult to reach without a car. Fortunately, Penny had left hers behind when she travelled to Stratford-Upon-Avon and told Marinette she could use it. Marinette thought the cottage would be more remote than it was — she certainly hadn’t expected a choice of restaurant or multiple shops.

Mrs Owens showed Marinette upstairs to where the bedroom and bathroom were. “It’s small, but hopefully has everything you need.”

“It’s perfect, Mrs Owens.” Marinette meant it. After years of rattling around a luxurious lake house, then weeks in a rock star’s apartment, Marinette was glad for the cosiness of the cottage.

Once she had settled in, she wandered out to the park and found a bench beside some cherry trees to sit in and relax. She’d been there for only a few minutes when a young boy ran past before doubling back towards her.

"’S’cuse me, miss, d’you see a cricket ball go by?"

Marinette screwed up her face. Her English was good but she was unused to regional accents. "Pardon moi, um, sorry, could you say that again?"

The boy looked like he was thinking hard about something. " Um, avez-vous vu une… uh… balle du cricket… passer… par ici?"

Marinette couldn't help but smile. "No, I'm sorry."

"Lewis," a woman's voice called out from behind the trees. "We found it, oh."

The owner of the voice emerged from the trees. She was young, mid-twenties, probably; petite and pretty with long dark hair pulled into braided pigtails. She had blue eyes, like the little boy who spoke French. Beside her stood another boy so similar that he must be the first boy's brother. 

"Hello," the second boy said. “You’re new.”

"I'm just visiting. For the Shakespeare festival."

"My dad’s in the Shakespeare festival. He's a director," the first boy said proudly.

Marinette smiled. "So is my, uh, friend. He's a musician. Maybe he knows your dad?"

"That depends on which play he's in," the woman said. "Lewis's dad is working on Romeo and Juliet. I'm Eilidh, by the way. And this—" She ruffled the hair of the other boy. "—is Alex."

Marinette couldn't place her accent. The boys’ sounded similar to her hosts at her holiday cottage, but the woman… her accent was different. 

"I'm," Marinette took a beat to remember her new name. "I'm Mary."

"Well, Mary, welcome to Little Nieweham." 

She said it 'new-am' which was not how Marinette had been saying it. Had she been giving herself away with her bad pronunciation? No, it was probably the French accent that was doing it.

“What play is your friend in?” Alex asked. 

Marinette had forgotten how forthright children could be. It was refreshing. “Twelfth Night.” 

Alex frowned. “What’s that one about?”

“I don’t know how to describe it, sorry.”

“Lewis? You know all the plays,” Alex demanded. “You must know.”

Lewis pulled a don’t-ask-me face that was so familiar to Marinette that it was jarring. Did one of the kids she’d babysat for do something similar? 

“There are a lot of plays, we don’t expect you to know them all, kid,” Eilidh said. 

“Dad will know.”

“Eilidh nodded. “He will. We’ll ask him when he gets home.”

“When’s that?” Alex asked.

Eilidh pulled her phone from the back pocket of her denim overalls and woke up the screen. “About an hour if all’s well.”

"We're going for a juice, do you want to come?" Lewis asked Marinette.

“Oh, uh…” Marinette was taken aback by his kindness.

"To the cafe across the park," Eilidh clarified. "You're welcome to join us. They have tea and coffee if juice isn't your thing."

"And biscuits," Alex added.

"Wait a minute, who said anything about biscuits?" Eilidh said in mock surprise. "I don't remember authorising that."

The boys giggled. "You promised!"

"Oh, okay, then. Off you go." The boys ran at full speed across the park. Eilidh shouted after them. "Stop at the road!"

She tucked the cricket ball and bat under her arm and turned to Marinette. “You are welcome to join us.”

“Thank you, but I can’t. I have something to do. Another time?”

Eilidh smiled. “I’ll hold you to that,” she said before she jogged after the boys.

──── •✧•────

He could have danced home. 

Of all the possible scenarios he’d imagined for their first read-through, the one where everyone had practised their lines and some were already off book was one too wild for him to anticipate. The four-week deadline was within reach.

After the kids had gone home, Adrien stayed to discuss scenery and costume with the art and textiles teachers. They had an idea that was simple but visually effective and Adrien was excited to tell the cast about it at the next rehearsal. 

The caretaker was about to lock the gate when Adrien jogged out of the school grounds towards the bus. It pulled up to the stop just as Adrien arrived and threw his arm out. He extracted his season ticket from his wallet and scanned it before rushing to a free seat. As he sat down, he caught a glimpse of someone at the bus stop that triggered a feeling of deja vu. The pink-haired teenager was familiar, but when he turned back for a better look, she was gone.

On the bus, he texted Eilidh to let her know he was coming home and she told him to meet them at the café.

He hopped off the bus at the High Street stop and walked into the cafe. Yvette, the cafe owner, was there, clearing tables.

“Hi, Adrien, they’re at the back.”

“Thanks.”

“Your usual?”

He looked at the time, it was almost five. “Yes, please. And I promise we’ll be out of your hair by closing time.”

Yvette smiled. “For my favourite customers, I don’t mind. Take your time.”

When his coffee was ready, Adrien found Lewis, Alex and Eilidh deep in an intense conversation. “Uh oh. What did I miss?” he asked, sitting on the free seat between Lewis and Eilidh.

Eilidh looked at him with an expression that read ‘My/your child is being ridiculous’. “Joey and David were in here, and the boys discovered that they’re cousins. Now, Alex and Lewis are upset that they don’t have any cousins.”

“I see,” Adrien said, trying to treat it with the seriousness the boys clearly thought it warranted. “Well, I’m an only child so there was never any chance of cousins, I’m afraid.”

That shook Lewis out of his mood. “Oh, yeah. What about my mum?”

“Also an only child.” Adrien shrugged.

“What about me?” Alex asked. 

“You have a found family,” Eilidh said. “That’s better than the people related to you by blood, trust me.”

“What’s a found family?”

“It’s when you love your friends like they’re family, but you don’t share DNA. Uncle Adrien is like a dad to you, yes?” 

Alex nodded. “And Lewis is like a brother.”

Adrien’s heart swelled. 

Eilidh grinned. “‘One loyal friend is worth ten thousand relatives’, my sweet child.”

“That’s very profound,” Adrien said.

Eilidh smirked. “It ought to be, it was said by Euripides.”

“Euripides and I rip-a those,” Adrien quipped.

“Your talents are wasted as a teacher, Adrien. Imagine the impact you’d have made on the comedy scene with material like that.”

“Hey, dad jokes are hilarious. That’s scientific fact.”

“Says the Arts and Humanities graduate.”

They left the cafe as Yvette was about to lock the door. Eilidh insisted on clearing their table first. She had waitressed as a student and hated leaving a mess behind when they ate out. After crossing the road, they let go of the boys’ hands and let them run ahead while they crossed the park. 

Halfway across, Lewis ran back to Adrien.

“Dad, what happens in Twelfth Night?”

“Why do you ask, mon trésor?”

“We met someone earlier who’s in town for the festival. She’s got a friend in Twelfth Night.”

“Oh. Well, it’s a story of mistaken identity, confusion and a love triangle,” Adrien said.

“So what happens?” Alex, who had fallen into step with Adrien and Lewis, enquired.

It was unusual for the boys to want to know more so Adrien took advantage of the situation. “Viola and Sebastian are brother and sister and they’re shipwrecked. They both think the other has died. The story follows Viola as she dresses as a man, Cesario, and gets a job for the Duke, called Orsino.”

“So it’s a comedy?” Lewis asked.

“Well done, Lewis, it is.”

Eilidh took Adrien’s arm. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but keep going.”

“Orsino is in love with Olivia, but she’s not interested because she’s grieving. Orsino decides to send Cesario, aka Viola, to woo Olivia on his behalf but Olivia ends up falling for Viola/Cesario.”

“Nice,” Eilidh said.

“Meanwhile, Viola falls in love with Orsino, who is confused by his feelings for her because he thinks Viola is Cesario. You following?”

Lewis and Alex nodded.

“In the end, Sebastian, who everyone thinks is dead, and who thinks Viola is dead, arrives and everyone mistakes Sebastian for Cesario, including Olivia, who asks him to marry her. In the end, the love triangle —which is square at this point— is resolved and everyone is happy. There’s also a side story about Olivia’s servants tricking Olivia’s butler and getting him locked up for being mad.”

“What a ride,” Eilidh said. “Makes Romeo and Juliet seem kind of rubbish by comparison.”

Adrien shoved her gently in the arm. “Rude.” He rolled his ‘r’ in an impersonation of her accent.

Eilidh turned to the boys, who were both giggling madly. “Do you see what I have to deal with?”

They continued to cross the park until Eilidh stopped dead, something occurred to her. “Wait, that’s the plot to She’s The Man.”

“Eilidh MacDonald, you can’t quote Greek philosophers one minute then compare Shakespeare plays to Amanda Bynes movies the next.”

“I’m not comparing them, I’m saying that She’s The Man is objectively better.”

“We already had this argument after 10 Things I Hate About You. Teen movies will never out-bard The Bard.” 

“I hope you’re not besmirching the name of Amanda Bynes, her movies defined an era.”

“Is this your way to suggest we watch the movie tonight?” 

Lewis and Alex groaned. 

“Should we watch the movie tonight after the boys are in bed?” he asked.

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to more Shakespeare by stealth, but yes. I’m not staying tonight, though. I need to make cheesecake for the barbeque tomorrow”

“And by ‘make’ I assume you mean ‘buy’.”

It was a running joke that Eilidh liked to buy desserts and pretend she made them. The cheesecake was something she made herself, though.

Eilidh’s baked cheesecake was one of his and Lewis’s favourites. For a woman who hated to bake, she made an incredible cheesecake. Her justification of ‘it’s not real baking when you used cheese’ convinced Adrien that she’d have got on well with Plagg. 

Kwami Plagg. She already got on well with the cats.

“Rude.” Eilidh paused self-consciously. “Do I say that a lot?”

“Not enough that it’s your catchphrase, but, yes.”

“Wait, do I have one? Adrien, what’s my catchphrase?”

Adrien put on his best high-pitched Scottish accent (which was terrible). “Och aye the noo!”

Eilidh cackled. “When have I ever said that?”

“That’s basically all I hear when you speak,” Adrien said, shrugging as nonchalantly as he could while shaking with poorly suppressed laughter.

“Oi!” She pushed him in the arm and Adrien fell theatrically onto the grass. 

“Violence! Man down!”

“Oh, no! He fell! Who will help him?”

Alex and Lewis turned to see Adrien rolling on the ground like Neymar Júnior. 

“Bundle!” Lewis shouted, and he, Alex and Eilidh all jumped on top of him until they were all in a giggling pile   

──── •✧•────

From her window, Marinette watched the family cross the park with a pang of jealousy. They looked so happy, so at ease with each other. 

It was Eilidh, the woman she met earlier, and, Marinette assumed, her husband. He was a tall, brown-haired man with an elegant stature. Eilidh came up to his shoulder and no more.

His children looked up at him with adoration.

Lewis and Alex. They were sweet.

The tallest one, Lewis, had a different hue of blue in his eyes than Eilidh and Alex, and Marinette found herself wondering about his father's eyes. He certainly took his build from his dad. He, too, was tall for his age, and graceful — like a cat, or a catwalk model. 

She wondered if she and Luka would start a family once they were married. They'd discussed it before, but that was when all of their focus was on Marinette's health after the accident and it was purely hypothetical. Now, it felt like an important thing to talk about.

Before that, there was another conversation to have. Luka had been angry at her for travelling to Warwickshire alone, but after some explanation, she had calmed him down. Somewhere this remote was an ideal place to lay low, and the community atmosphere she'd already experienced made her feel far safer than she did in London. 

Mrs Owens had even invited her to her home for lunch the following day. It was a neighbourhood event, she'd said, Mr Owens took care of the barbeque and everyone else brought a side dish or dessert. Marinette was going to go to the supermarket on her way to see Luka and buy what she needed to make macarons.

In the car, a black Mini Cooper, she watched in the rearview mirror as the man fell to the ground and the rest of the family jumped on top of him. Soon, he was on his feet and chasing the boys, easily picking them up, one under each arm, before running after Eilidh. The boys wriggled free so the man picked up Eilidh over his shoulders and strode across the field with her while the boys ran alongside. Another townsperson walked past and the man waved and greeted him, as did Eilidh from his back.

Marinette smiled. They looked like a fun family, and Eilidh and the boys had been so kind and friendly. She wondered if Luka would consider living somewhere like this.

──── •✧•────

“Okay, fine, it was a good movie,” Adrien admitted. “Is Channing Tatum in everything?”

“I think so. At this point, I think filmmakers get a tax break when they cast him, or something.” Eilidh yawned and stretched. Beside her, Poe did the same, only with more teeth and claws on display. “Okay, I’m going to head home.”

Adrien scratched Plagg behind his ears and he purred loudly. “Are you sure? You’ll have time to make cheesecake in the morning.”

“It takes an hour in the oven, then I have to let it cool before I chill it. It’s too much to do in the morning.”

“It’s late, though.” Adrien pouted.

Eilidh couldn’t be convinced.

“It’s not even ten. If I leave now, I’ll be done by midnight. If I go in the morning, I’ll be giving Mrs Owens a warm Crunchie cheesecake and that’s not cool.” 

“Literally and figuratively.”

Eilidh sighed and stood up. “And that’s my cue to leave.”

“Fine, can I walk you home?” Adrien followed her to the hall, accompanied by the cats.

“No, Adrien. It’s very thoughtful of you, but I can walk by myself.”

Eilidh put her shoes on as Plagg wound himself around her ankles and Poe sat on the doormat.

“The cats don’t want you to leave, either.”

Plagg meowed in agreement. Eilidh picked him up and held him like a baby, which he would have mauled Adrien for trying. “I’ll miss you, too, fluffbutt, but I have to go.”

She put Plagg down, hugged Adrien, nudged Poe out of the way, and opened the door. 

“Call me as soon as you get home,” Adrien called after her as she walked down the path and out of sight.

──── •✧•────

“I just don’t understand why you did it,” Luka said.

“Because I was bored in London. I did the same thing every day, streets away from a Gabriel boutique. I wanted to come and support you, but you seemed like you didn’t want me here so why would I tell you?”

Luka clasped his hands in front of his mouth, taking care to say the correct thing. “Because I won’t go back to you keeping secrets from me. Not again.”

Oh.

That.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think of it like that.” She reached her hand across the table and he took it. “What did I do, back then?”

“Marinette,” Luka gave her a look that told her the conversation was over. “The doctors said not to force your memories.”

She wasn’t ready to leave it alone this time. “They also told me not to suppress them. I think it’s okay to talk about my past.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why?”

“Because it hurts to remember it, Marinette. I’d rather look forward to our life together.”

When he put it like that, there wasn’t much more she could say. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she wanted to know more about herself.

“I’m sorry. Tell me about rehearsals. How is it going?”

Luka talked and Marinette listened. All the time, however, she wished that he’d open up about her past. Knowing some details might trigger memories. Luka told her that he didn’t want to put false memories in her head by talking about their lives as teenagers, even something mundane. All Marinette wanted was to remember small things like her teachers’ names or how she spent her birthdays. Luka never shared those things.

“... We’ve got a costume fitting next week, which is cool. And the dress rehearsal is the week after. It’s crazy to think how soon the performance is.”

“Mmhmm,” Marinette agreed, wondering who was making their costumes. She missed sewing; her fingers itched to create.

“And then we can all head back to London, yeah?”

Marinette removed her hand from Luka’s. “No, Luka. I’m going to stay for the whole festival. You can go to London or you can join me, but I’m going to be here.”

──── •✧•────

Eilidh stood in the hallway with a cheesecake in one hand, and a bottle of wine in the other. “Can I just hide in your bedroom with the cats?”

Adrien laughed and shoved her out the door. “No, you have to be sociable.”

Eilidh sighed. “Fine. Come on Alex, Lewis. If I have to be sociable, so do you.”

The boys ran noisily into the hall (when did they ever do anything quietly?) and jammed their feet into their shoes.

“Why do they even put laces on kids’ shoes?” Adrien asked rhetorically. “I’ve never seen either of you undo them to put your trainers on.”

“We don’t need to, dad, look.” Lewis rocked his foot back and forth until his foot eventually popped into the shoe.

“And that’s why your shoes all fall apart at the back. Okay, everyone out.”

They left the house and turned right into Mr and Mrs Owens’ garden path. Adrien knocked on the door. Mr Owens answered, smiling broadly.

“Master Wilde, lovely to see you,” he greeted them. “And Master MacDonald, a delight as always. Krzysztof, Joey and Thalia are in the back garden.”

They didn't need to know more than that. Alex and Lewis ran, dodging the legs of adults, out the backdoor. 

Adrien and Eilidh made their way to the dessert table and found a space to put their Crunchie cheesecake and strawberry cupcakes on it. Mrs Owens ushered them into the kitchen to get a drink and, once they had them, shooed them out into the hallway, where they met Lena.

“Hi, Mr Wilde, Miss MacDonald, how are you?” Lena said.

Adrien smiled. “You know, when we're not at school, you can call me Adrien.” 

“And I answer to Eilidh or 'oi, you'.”

Lena giggled nervously. Meeting teachers outside of school was always weird, even if they lived in the same village as you.

Adrien thought he knew how to make her feel less awkward. “I meant to say before you left on Saturday, I was very impressed by your performance. We all were. Being off book before rehearsals begin is an incredible feat, especially since you have exams to deal with right now.”

Lena blushed and beamed in delight. “It's just something I can do, learn stuff by heart.” 

“It's a valuable skill, just ask 'oi, you' here. It'll stand you in good stead for further studies.” 

Eilidh rolled her eyes at Adrien’s joke. “Have you thought about what you want to do after school?

This was turning into a guidance interview. The problem with meeting teachers outside of school: even in another setting, deep down they were still your teacher.

Lena shrugged. “I don't know what I want to do with my life, but I love English and History so maybe I'll study that and see where it takes me.”

“Good plan. Follow your passion and you can't go wrong.”

As Lena walked away, beckoned by Keira, another teenager from school, Eilidh leaned in towards Adrien. “Following my passions as a teenager is exactly how I ended up pregnant, by the way.”

Adrien laughed. “That's not the own you think it is, Eilidh. That's how you got Alex. It's what led you here, into my life. I'd say that's a win.”

“Quite the high opinion of yourself, eh?” 

Adrien made the shape of a heart with his hands and held them in front of his chest. “You love me.”

“Begrudgingly,” Eilidh said, not quite managing to hide her smile. 

Mr Owens started to grill on the barbeque and the air was filled with delicious aromas of cooking food. The sun beat gently down and a slight breeze kept it from getting too hot. Even the wind direction was on their side, blowing the smoke away from the garden. Mrs Owens bustled about, topping up glasses and making sure everyone was happy before pushing them all to queue up for burgers and sausages.

Adrien chatted to a steady stream of his neighbours, parents of students and of Lewis and Alex’s friends. Summer’s dad, Rob stopped to talk about cricket and Warwickshire’s chances in their upcoming fixtures. Adrien knew nothing about county cricket so he smiled and agreed with Rob’s opinions.

“Was I convincing?” he asked Eilidh as Rob was distracted by his youngest daughter.

She shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“Hi, sorry I'm late,” someone behind them said in a heavily accented voice.

It tickled Adrien's subconscious with its familiarity and he sought to place it. The tone, the pitch, the gentleness, the wavering confidence; it was something he'd been used to hearing. It was someone he'd missed.

“Not to worry, it's a very informal occasion, my dear. Mr Owens has only just started serving the food so you're exactly on time.” Mrs Owens, ever the gracious host, would still welcome a guest that showed up a day late and covered in mud. “Eilidh, Adrien, have you met our new lodger? This is Mary.”

She was handing a tray of macarons to Matt Owens, Mr and Mrs Owens's son, when he saw her. Her golden-brown hair was styled in a fashionable pixie cut that highlighted her elegant shoulders and neck. That, and her boat-neck top and flowing skirt, made Adrien think of Audrey Hepburn. 

Then she turned to face him and Adrien’s world spun off its axis.

Her.

Different in many ways except the most important ones.

The freckles scattered over her cute nose.

A smile that lit her face from within.

Shades of azure, cornflower, sapphire and teal blue shone like two deep pools of water that Adrien wanted to drown in.

Marinette.

He lost his grip on reality. She was here, in Britain, in Little Nieweham, in his neighbour's garden, in front of him. The plate slid from his fingers, hitting the ground food-first, the resulting splat dragged him back to the present.

“I’m sorry, I’m a clutz.” He kneeled down to pick up his plate, fortunately made of paper, and retrieve his lunch from the floor.

“It's not a problem, Adrien,” Mrs Owens said cheerfully. “Accidents happen.”

Yes. accidents did happen. This, however, was bigger than that. This was fate mocking him. This was a disaster. A cataclysm.

He stumbled backwards, recoiling from her, as though her mere vicinity was toxic. “I… I…” Words caught in his throat, choking him, cutting off air. “I have to go.”

He ran through the house and out to the street without thinking. His instinct was to keep running, except that he couldn’t go anywhere without Lewis. Instead, he went into his own house and into his bedroom. 

As he sat on the floor with his back against the bed, Plagg put his paws on Adrien’s bent knees and rubbed his face on his cheek. “I know, Plagg, it’s a nightmare. What do I do?”

This Plagg didn’t have any answers, not even a cheese-related analogy to pretend he was interested. This Plagg didn’t even know Marinette. After all this time, neither did Adrien.

And she didn’t know him. 

The front door opened and closed. A few moments later, he heard footsteps on the stairs. Eilidh’s head appeared in the doorway, followed by the rest of her. 

“There you are. Hey, how come you get to hide in your bedroom with the cats and I don't?”

“This isn't funny, Eilidh, that's her.”

“Her who? Who’s her?”

“Mary is Marinette,” he hissed.

“What? Wait, I need to see the back garden, let's go into Lewis's room. We can keep an eye on the boys from there, too.”

Reluctantly, he followed Eilidh into Lewis’s room, dodging strewn Lego pieces and an unstable-looking stack of books. Eilidh peered out of the window while Adrien stayed flat to the wall.

“She doesn't look like you described.”

He tried to look out of the window from behind the curtain. “Her hair and clothes have changed but I'll never forget those eyes. It's her. Why is she here?”

“For the Shakespeare festival, I told you.”

“That's who you met?! She met Lewis? What did she do? What did she say?”

“Uh, not much. We said hi and the boys asked what she was doing here, because kids have no filter. Then we invited her to the cafe and she declined. That's it.”

“Oh my god, oh my god, what do I do?”

“Act normal, for starters. Stop chucking your sausage on the floor when you see her.“ Eilidh began to giggle uncontrollably.

“Eilidh! This is serious!”

“I'm sorry, ‘chucking your sausage on the floor’ sounded rude.” Despite himself, Adrien chuckled too. Eilidh composed herself. “Okay, I'm fine. All I meant was, act like she's just anyone else. At least until you figure out what level of screwed you are.”

“Normal. I can do that.” 

Eilidh patted his shoulder. “The evidence so far is that you can’t. Look, I’m going to go back out there and say that you felt dizzy. You can come out when you’re ready, but you do have to come out.” When Adrien continued to stare through the window from behind the curtain, Eilidh jabbed him in the ribs. “Did you hear me?”

“Dizzy, yes.”

“And you have to come back and talk to her. After all this time, you owe yourself that.” 

──── •✧•────

She saw Eilidh return to the party and go to the kitchen to pour herself a drink. Marinette found her topping up a glass of wine, an anxious look on her face.

“Hi, sorry. Is your husband okay?”

Eilidh smiled at her concern. “Adrien? He’s fine.”

“Oh, good. I was worried.”

“And, he's not my husband. Adrien and I, we're… not what you think.”

“I see,” Marinette said. “Actually, I don’t.”

“We’re just good friends. I got pregnant at 17 years old and my parents kicked me out. Everyone disowned me except for my cousin who was training to be a midwife in Birmingham. I lived with her and studied until Alex, my son, was born, then I moved into student accommodation. The university had childcare. I moved here when Alex was three and met Adrien. He was a single dad to Lewis and on the same PGCE course as me. When we were both offered NQT jobs at the same secondary school, it just cemented our friendship.” 

Wow, her accent was difficult to understand. Marinette could tell that Eilidh was speaking more slowly than was natural for her to make herself understood. Even so, Marinette had to concentrate to follow what she was saying. Not all of the confusion was due to her accent, though.

“PGCE?” Marinette asked.

“Oh, sorry, post-graduate certificate in education. It's what most secondary education teachers have. And NQT stands for newly qualified teacher. We were lucky enough that our posts became permanent after the probation period was over. Anyway, that's a lot about me, tell me about you. What do you do?”

What did she do? She was meant to be laying low as a fashion designer; it was that part of her life that exposed her. Aside from that, what did she like? She enjoyed music, but not in the passionate way Luka did. She loved to read, but that didn’t translate into a job.

She opted to tell Eilidh something adjacent to the truth. “I had to give up my job to travel with my partner. I’m still looking for something to fill my time.”

“I’m sure the festival will keep you busy. Do you like Shakespeare?”

Now that was something that made her passionate. While she was still in the hospital, she found a dog-eared copy of The Winter’s Tale in her room and read it during her first weeks in Italy. Whenever she found Shakespeare in bookshops, she devoured them. “Oh, yes, I love his plays. I plan to see as many as possible while I’m here.”

Adrien skulked into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of the same wine as Eilidh was drinking. He tried to sneak past them but Eilidh grabbed his arm. 

“Adrien here is the resident Shakespeare expert.” Eilidh’s tone became strict and Marinette could imagine her commanding a classroom. “Aren’t you, Adrien?”

To complete the image, Adrien rolled his eyes like a teenager being reprimanded. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

“Is that what you teach? Eilidh said you’re both teachers.”

“English Literature, yes,” Adrien said shortly. Was he always this rude, or was there something about Marinette that he didn’t like? She twisted her ring nervously and he noticed. “I guess I should congratulate you? You’re engaged.”

The way he said it, it was jarring. Like she had betrayed him. She straightened the ring on her finger. “Um, yes, I am. His name is Luka.”

Adrien choked on his wine, coughing and spluttering as Eilidh thumped him on the back.

“I like your ring,” Eilidh said, smiling gently.

“Thank you.” She held her hand out to display it properly. The emerald sparkled back from its rose gold setting.

“It's a unique choice for an engagement ring,” Adrien said, recovered from his choking incident, his face now impassive. 

It almost sounded like an insult. Eilidh must have thought so, too because she elbowed him in the side. Had she done something to upset this man?

Marinette looked him defiantly in the eye. “My fiancé said that it represents the goddess of love.”

Eilidh, however, was the one to respond. “Both the Greek goddess, Aphrodite, and the Roman Venus, yes. It's more significant than that, though.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes,” Eilidh said enthusiastically. “The ancient Romans believed that emeralds were so pure that if someone was lying to you or concealing something, the stone could change colour or turn pale. In really bad cases, it would fall out of its setting. If that happened, the Romans knew something big was being hidden from them. So, the fact that your ring is intact means that your betrothed is honest.”

“He is. Truth is a big deal for him.”

Adrien snorted and Eilidh elbowed him again. She blurted out, “Veritas.” 

“Sorry?” Marinette frowned.

“The Roman goddess of truth was called Veritas.”

“Is there a Greek one?”

Eilidh considered the answer with pressed lips. “Sort of. Aletheia was the Greek equivalent, but her name means 'un-concealment' so it's not quite the same.”

“What's the difference?” Adrien asked.

“I guess it's the same as a lie is different from an omission. If you don't tell someone something, you're not technically lying but it can be just as bad.”

Huh.

Eilidh bit her lip and winced. “Anyway, I'm blathering. Adrien tells me off when I go too far down a Classical Studies path.” 

The more time she spent with him, the more she felt like she knew him. “Adrien, have we met? What's your surname?”

“Wilde,” he snapped. 

“With an 'e' like Oscar. Or Nick.” Eilidh was trying to keep the conversation cordial, but the stress was starting to show on her face. Annoyance at Adrien and pity for Marinette.

“Sorry, Who’s Nick Wilde?”

“Um, he’s an animated fox. When you have an eight-year-old, a lot of your popular culture references come from Disney films.”

Adrien put one hand on Eilidh’s shoulder. “Speaking of eight-year-olds, I’m going to check on ours. Excuse me.”

No ‘nice to have met you’, not even a cursory glance in her direction. He just walked away. 

──── •✧•────

Luka.

She was engaged to Luka.

How?

When she left Paris, nobody knew where she was going — that was the point. She was in hiding, like he was. So how did Luka find her?

Unless.

No. 

She had gone away with her grandmother, that’s what Tom and Sabine had told her. That day, after Félix arranged his travel, Adrien went to Marinette’s hospital room and she was already gone, they told him she was travelling with Gina. 

They lied to him. Luka was with her. 

Outside, Adrien spotted Lewis and Alex playing a game with Krzysztof, Joey and Thalia. Adrien leaned against the garden wall, trying to catch his breath, willing his heart to stop rioting and his mind to stop racing. 

Lewis. His mother was metres away from him. The mother he’d ached to know. The woman who gave him the colour of her eyes, whose influence could be seen in everything Adrien did for his son. Their son. 

What would he tell Lewis? Could he tell him anything?

And her?

He had always said that Marinette should know about her son. That she should have the choice to love him like Adrien did. Given time, he would have introduced her to Lewis properly —gradually— and let her heart remember him like he knew it would. She had too much love inside her not to.

Instead, she was going to be Luka’s wife, she would be the mother to his children. And Adrien and Lewis would continue as they always had.

“Hey, dad, look!” Lewis called to him. He leapfrogged over Alex, then braced himself on his knees so that Alex could do the same over him. When it was over, he looked at Adrien, beaming with pride.

Adrien applauded. “Very cool.”

Lewis was his present and future. 

Yesterday, Marinette had been his past. She was an emblem of the greatest love he’d ever known and the deepest heartache he’d ever felt, and nothing more. Now, she was a ghost, haunting his memories; a phantom that threatened his son's safety.

Now, he knew she was going to marry Luka.

And Lewis would never know his mum had been this close to him. 

It all hurt less when he didn’t know. 

──── •✧•────

Adrien avoided her for the rest of the afternoon. Every time she walked into a room, he left it. Eilidh was extra friendly towards her in an attempt to disguise the tension between them. 

In spite of him, she enjoyed her time with the Owens family and their neighbours. Everyone she spoke to had been welcoming and kind. She was overwhelmed by invitations to coffee, offers to accompany her to Shakespeare plays, advice on the best places to eat, drink and shop nearby, and compliments on her macarons. She felt at home here. The only sour note had been struck by Adrien.

“Hi, excuse me, did you make these?” Lewis tugged at her sleeve and pointed to the macarons. 

“I did, yes.”

“Alex said they’re peach flavoured. Can I please ask what’s in them?”

Marinette shook her head. “Not peach. They’re passion fruit. There are egg whites, sugar, almonds, cream and passion fruit nectar in them. Oh, and food colouring.”

“Oh, good, thanks.” He took one, but before he put it to his lips, he asked. “What’s passion fruit nectar? Is that like what bees collect?”

Marinette laughed. “It’s sweet like nectar but that’s where the similarity ends. It’s cooked passion fruit that’s blended and sieved so that only the juicy parts are used and all the skin and seeds are thrown away.” 

“Wow.” He bit into the macaron and his expression told her all she needed to know. “Yum. How do you make these?”

“Do you like to bake?” she asked him.

“Oh, yes! I can make bread and cupcakes, and dad says I’m good. He says it’s in my genes.”

“Mine, too. My dad taught me how to make macarons,” she said, smiling at the memory, grateful that it was something she’d been able to retain. “Have you ever made meringues?” He nodded vigorously. “It’s kind of the same. You have to whisk the egg whites until they’re foamy, then add the sugar and keep whisking until it’s fluffy. Then you can fold in your ground almonds and colour.”

“Where is the passion fruit nectar, then?”

Marinette pointed to the creme in the middle of the macaron. “In there.”

“Oh, cool. So can you make other, um, ones of these?”

“Macarons. Yes, you can make any flavour you like. What’s your favourite fruit?”

“I like cherries, but I can’t eat them right now.” He pouted and thought some more. “And strawberries.”

“I like strawberries, too. You can make strawberry macarons. Or cherry, or chocolate…”

“Lewis, mon... uh, it’s time to go. Can you please go and say thank you to Mr and Mrs Owens?” Adrien interrupted them. 

His tone was much softer when he spoke to his son. Marinette could hear his affection for Lewis in his words. 

“Wait, Adrien? I’m sorry, but do we know each other?”

His eyes narrowed. “What? No.”

“Are you sure? It’s just that…” Luka told her not to share details about her past but there was something about this man, despite his rudeness, she wanted to trust him. She  knew  she could trust him. “I had an accident and lost my memory. There’s a decade of my life that I can’t remember and I thought maybe we knew each other then.”

Now his eyes widened and she thought she saw tears pool in them. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”

“Ready!” Lewis returned. “Bye Miss… uh… Mary.”

As they left, Adrien turned to look at her for a final time. It was part enquiry, part accusation and entirely confusing.

But, those eyes… She knew them from somewhere. She knew him somehow.

She closed her eyes and brought his face into focus like the doctor taught her to do. She grasped at the image, trying to pull it into context, to remember. No matter how often she tried it, no memories returned. Her mental images remained blank.

This time was different. A swooping sensation brought something to mind. It was fuzzy and flickering, like on a broken television screen. Distorted from seeing and hearing it across space and time. Chewing gum on her seat, Chloé and Sabrina laughing. And him. 

He was part of it. He was there. 

She hurriedly found Mrs Owens and thanked her for her hospitality before she ran outside, hoping to find him. To her surprise, she found them standing at the house next door.

“Adrien,” she called out.

“Okay boys,” Eilidh said, directing them into the house. “Let’s go in and get your hands washed, yeah?”

As she pulled the door closed behind her, she gave Marinette an encouraging smile.

Adrien waited until the door was shut, and whirled around to her. “What do you want?” 

He stared back at her, obstinate, unmoving, impatient. But this was important and she refused to be intimidated. 

"You didn’t like me then, either, did you?”

Chapter Text

“You didn’t like me then, either, did you?”

Adrien’s heart beat like it was trying to break out of his chest. She spoke with such certainty, like this was something she knew. It wasn’t right — the opposite, in fact. She hadn’t liked him on their first meeting, but they’d resolved their misunderstanding quickly.

But they had their Miraculouses then. Was there a time that they had renounced Plagg and Tikki, and the memory had sneaked through the magic? There was a brief time, but there was no way she could misinterpret that. Besides, she was the Guardian then, there was no way she could have remembered that.

All he knew was that she was sure of this.

“Sorry?” he asked. He didn't mean it as a question but as an apology.

He’d seen her like this before when she stood up for herself to teachers or his father. This was taking all of her bravery, and he was repaying that courage with a lie. 

She shook her head. “You knew me before I lost my memories, and that’s why you’re being so unfriendly.”

No, no, no. He couldn’t admit that. Lewis’s safety was at stake. If Adrien exposed himself, he exposed Lewis. She could never know who he really was.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mary, is it? I’m not who you think I am.” 

He went to open the door and she threw her hand out.

“Wait! I don’t know who you are, that’s the point. I just know that I knew you. I went to school in Paris. Collège Françoise Dupont and Lycée Simone de Beauvoir, are either of those familiar to you?”

“I… I've never lived in France, so I can't help you.” The lie caused him physical pain. His denial of her, of their history, burned in his chest.

“Are you sure?”

“I think I’d remember.”

A regretful smile. “Maybe not. I’m proof of that.”

Oh, good, now he was mocking her. This day couldn’t get worse. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“Mais… Je me souviens de toi.”

“Écoute, je suis pas celui que tu crois.” He didn't speak French in front of anyone except Félix, Eilidh, Lewis and Alex. It was too risky. With her, though, the words spilled out and he immediately regretted it.

Her face fell, her shoulders slumped. “Je suis désolée,” she said, her voice a whisper. “Sincèrement.”

He watched her walk away and leaned against the door. “Pas autant que moi.” * 

“Whit’s yer problem?” Eilidh demanded as soon as Adrien closed the door behind him.

“Where are the boys?” 

“Playin upstairs, sae ye can explain exactly why yer bein a bawbag tae thon poor lassie.”

“A… what?” 

Eilidh was incomprehensibly Scottish when she was mad. If he'd truly infuriated her, he could expect to be insulted in Gaelic.

“Adrien! Ye wur positively rude tae her. Whit fur?”

“I had a good reason, you just wouldn’t understand.” Adrien started to get angry now.

“Och, yer bum’s oot the windae.” Eilidh turned on her heel and stormed into the kitchen.**

Okay, that one he vaguely understood. Adrien followed her into the kitchen. The kettle, cabinet doors and two mugs bore the brunt of his frustration. He wasn’t talking nonsense; this was serious. “She’s engaged, Eilidh! Engaged.”

“Okay, but she didn’t do it to spite you.” His anger seemed to dissipate hers.

Eilidh walked over to Adrien and removed the teaspoon from his clenched fist. She stood in front of him, part beseeching, part scolding him with her eyes until he broke down. Tears flowed and he hugged Eilidh like she was a life raft. 

“It’s not fair,” he sobbed.

“I know.”

She stroked his hair and held him as he cried. When he was done, she made him sit at the table while she finished the task of making tea. Adrien sat, sniffing, watching her at ease in his kitchen. Finally, she set a mug of tea in front of him and sat opposite.

“It might be none of my business, but I think you want her to hate you,” she said tentatively.

“Why would I want that?”

“Because then at least she’d feel something for you.”

“Ow, that’s… accurate.” The truth hurt as much as lying to Marinette had. 

“‘I’d rather hear how much you regret me, and pray to God that you never met me, than forget me’.”

“Who said that?”

“I just did.” Eilidh looked around herself and under the table. “Why, who else is here?”

Adrien laughed despite his pain. “Who said it originally?”

“The great Scottish philosopher and my second favourite Lewis: Capaldi.”

“Smart guy.”

“We’re a thoughtful and intelligent nation.”

“The stereotypes are true,” he quipped, amazed that he still knew how.

“Yeah, well.” Eilidh nudged him under the table with her toe. “You need to remember that she’s not the bad guy, that’s Hawkwind.”

Tea came out of Adrien’s nose. “Hawk Moth,” he coughed.

“Look, I’m never going to get it right, and you’re disgusting. I'm going to get the boys to help me make cheese on toast for dinner to give you time to change your t-shirt and brood over your secret box of memories.”

“So secret that you know it exists.”

Eilidh shrugged. “I know all.”

The box, an old Converse shoe box, was the only thing Adrien brought from Paris. He had seconds to retrieve it from his bedroom before Félix and Aunt Amelie spirited him away from France forever. Now, it lived on the top shelf of his wardrobe behind a stack of sweaters.

Adrien closed the bedroom door and Poe immediately started pawing at it. Ignoring the pitiful meows, he retrieved the box from the wardrobe and sat on the floor with it.

Lifting the lid was like travelling back in time. Even the smell inside the box was from another time: a carefree and dreamy time. He carefully removed the scarf, recalling how he didn’t find Marinette’s signature on it until he was in England. If he’d cared to study it properly earlier, perhaps he’d have suspected his father sooner — perhaps he wouldn’t have ascribed to him the humanity that he didn’t deserve. Underneath, his kwagatama and lucky bracelet lay against the magazine and newspaper clippings about Ladybug and Chat Noir he’d saved to maybe show Lewis one day. When Lewis wanted to know his mother, Adrien wanted to show him that she was a hero.

None of this was what he wanted to look at now. He picked up the ring box. The one that nestled in his jacket pocket that night. That stayed with him every day at the hospital. He opened the box and gazed at the ring. The 3-carat cushion cut sapphire sparkled from its white gold setting. The style was art deco, but the design was subtle. When he saw it in the jewellery shop, he knew it was right for Marinette.

According to Eilidh, sapphires were associated with Apollo, the god of music, art, archery, light, prophecy, healing and truth. She said they were worn to visit the Oracle at Delphi to obtain knowledge about the future. If only it had revealed knowledge of the future to Adrien when he bought it — he would have begged Marinette not to fight that night. 

That wouldn’t have worked, though. Adrien knew Marinette enough to know that she’d never leave somebody in trouble if she could help. And, he had read enough Greek tragedies to know that fate takes control, no matter how well-informed you are of its plans.

It hurt that he wasn’t the one who proposed to Marinette, but Luka had been a good guy, hadn’t he? He cared about Marinette. Could Adrien be happy for her and her new future? 

No. Not right now.

──── •✧•────

Marinette cried all the way back to her cottage. 

She’d come so close to learning something about her past, but Adrien wouldn’t even admit he knew her. Yet, he spoke French like a native. 

There was more about him to learn.

Back home, she cleaned her face, then cleared up the mess she’d left in the kitchen and made herself a coffee. Sitting at the bay window that overlooked the park, she wondered about Adrien. She’d seen him in her memory. A memory that came to her despite never being able to recall that time in her life. It felt early; the beginning of term, near the start of collège. 

Why that memory? Why now?

For a brief moment, hope had flared in her heart that he might be Adrien Agreste. She thought she might finally learn what linked them in Gabriel Agreste’s eyes. Why he’d singled both of them out for revenge 

Adrien Agreste was dead, though.  

And Adrien was a popular name.

Her phone rang and she answered it. “Hi, Luka.”

She didn’t even have to check the caller ID, Luka was the only person to call her.

“Hey, how was the picnic?”

“Barbecue. It was good. I… I thought I met someone familiar but I was wrong. How was your day?”

But Luka wasn’t ready to move on. “Familiar how? From where?”

“School. But I was mistaken.”

“Okay. You didn’t tell them about being from Paris, or anything about what happened to you, did you?” His tone was pure anxiety. 

“Of course not,” she lied. 

It came easily to her. Some things were less easily forgotten than others, it seemed. Lying was something she never forgot how to do.

Adrien might have denied knowing her, but she still felt sure she was right to trust him. Despite that memory, she felt like he was a good person at heart. Just watching him with his son told her that. Hearing Eilidh describe their relationship confirmed it.

“Good, I don’t want you to expose yourself again.”

He made her sound like a flasher.

“I wasn’t the one who wanted to do that interview, Luka.”

“I’m not getting into blame, Marinette. I just wanted to check that you were doing alright on your own.”

She tutted. “I’m not made of glass. I won’t shatter if I fall.”

Marinette was tired of being treated like she was fragile. She was tired of the way Luka and her parents tiptoed around her and her condition. She wasn’t going to break open if somebody mentioned something she’d forgotten, but they acted like the knowledge would be poisonous to her. 

“I know,” Luka said defensively. “I’m allowed to worry about my fianceé, aren’t I?”

“Yes, of course you are, it’s just that… I don’t know. I just want you to have faith in me. I can look after myself.”

“I never suggested you couldn’t look after yourself, Marinette. This is the first time you’ve been alone in years, though. Whenever I had to go away, Gina was there for you. It’s fair that I should worry about you.”

“Well, don’t. I’m more capable than you think.”

She hung up and tossed her phone across the room to the squashy sofa. If he called back, she wouldn’t answer. 

Today, she’d gone to a party alone, she’d met people and carried on conversations without Luka’s help. She’d had fun and made friends. She’d remembered something organically. 

On her own, a face had sparked a memory, and she’d uncovered a snippet of what she’d lost. If she could remember that, she could remember more.

──── •✧•────

The half-term holidays should have been a relaxing week off, free from exam stress and homework to mark. For Adrien and Miss Ansell, it wasn’t. All week, they were running intensive rehearsals. 

“I know it feels like we’re working you hard, but if we get things down now, the next couple of weeks will go so much easier,” he said for the fiftieth time. 

Cecilia and Denver were great together, but giggly and silly when they weren’t on stage. Adrien was getting sick of shushing them when others were rehearsing their scenes. Today, the sixth former who was playing the Friar was clearly hungover, and Mercutio still didn’t know his lines. 

It was a mercy when they finished. 

Adrien addressed the students. “Okay, that was rather more painful than it needed to be, but you are all making progress. Please practise your lines at home and make sure you check the schedule for your rehearsal times next week. Thank you all, and have a good weekend.”

They filed noisily out of his classroom, and Adrien and Miss Ansell followed them. Once everyone had been safely returned to a responsible adult, or signed out and left to take themselves home, Miss Ansell turned to him.

“Do you have time for a cuppa, or do you need to get home?”

Adrien looked at the time. “I’ve just missed one bus and there’s an hour until the next so a cuppa sounds great, thanks.”

She handed Adrien the key to her classroom. “I’m going to steal some milk from the staffroom, you can put the kettle on.”

He let himself into Miss Ansell’s music classroom and found the kettle in the little office at the back of the room. He filled it and switched it on. The piano sat in the corner of the room, and, as the water rumbled to a boil, he stood staring at it. He hadn’t played the piano for eight years, he wasn’t even sure his fingers knew how anymore. There was one way to find out. Adrien sat on the stool and played the first thing that came to mind. 

He didn’t notice that Miss Ansell had arrived until she spoke. “That’s a lovely melody.”

“I wrote it for a girl I liked when I was a teenager,” he admitted bashfully

She chuckled. “We’ve all done it. Teenage love is the most potent drug. Are there words?”

Miss Ansell didn’t know about his past, but they had worked together for a few years now. She was dependable and kind, and she reminded him of Ms Bustier with her ability to make her students feel heard and seen. He could trust her with a sliver of the truth. 

He sang. “Pas besoin de grande déclaration. Ni même de poème plein d’émotion…”

Miss Ansell stared in confusion. “You wrote a song for a girl in French?”

“I wrote a song for a girl in France,” he clarified.

She frowned. “Was she a pen pal or something?”

“No, a classmate. I lived there, too.”

“Wow, I didn’t know.” Miss Ansell leaned back on the desk behind her. “You never talk about it.”

“For reasons too complicated to get into right now, it’s something I’ve worked very hard to hide for the past eight years.”

She nodded slowly. “I won’t ask anymore, but eight years. That’s how old Lewis is, right?”

“Yup.”

“Okay.” Miss Ansell came over and sat on the piano stool beside Adrien. “Well, in my experience, music can be healing.”

“Do you think?”

“They say that smell is most closely related to memory, that certain scents can evoke memories. I think music must come a close second. Revisiting a song that reminds you of a particular time, but in a different context, I think it helps you to process your feelings.”

Adrien's heart replayed a different tune. He closed his eyes and recalled the Grand Paris. He remembered the way time seemed to slow down as she took his hands, and how his heart raced when she drew closer. He smiled. “Yeah, I think so, too. Thank you.”

“With your permission, can I incorporate your song into the play? It would set the tone of the lovers meeting nicely.”

“Uh, sure. Do you want me to play it through?”

“Yes, please.”

──── •✧•────

The DVDs in the cottage might not be up-to-date, but Marinette didn’t mind. A quick Google search told her which of them had been in cinemas in the time between her fourteenth and twenty-fourth birthdays. She pulled Solitude, Ladybug and Chat Noir, and Mecha Monkey vs Cyber Sharks 1, 2 and 3 from the shelf. The little supermarket across the park had popcorn, sweets and Orangina. She was going to have a movie marathon.

Marinette changed into her pyjamas and put the first disc into the DVD player. She settled into the comfy sofa and pulled the crocheted blanket over her knees. Mrs Owens had made it herself, and Marinette made a note to ask her for some crochet tips. Knitting was something she could do, but she’d never quite mastered crochet.

She had driven past a craft store on her way to meet Luka that first night. Sometime soon, she’d retrace her journey and pick up some yarn and crochet hooks. Marinette missed creating. She wanted to sew something — to make something. That was why she’d been baking so much that week, it was the only creative outlet she had.  

Mr and Mrs Owens had been the recipients of the second batch of madeleines she’d made. The tarte amandine went to Mrs Lupinska, who Marinette met at the barbecue. Kasia or one of her children must have mentioned it to Yvette from the cafe because she had asked Marinette if she’d be willing to sell her baking. “I could sell as much as you bake,” she’d said.

If she was going to stay for longer than the duration of the festival, maybe Marinette would have considered it. 

When Luka was done with Twelfth Night, she hoped they’d have a conversation about where they would live next. She hoped he’d listen to her reasons why a small town like Little Nieweham would be safe for them. She hoped he’d be willing to settle for a quiet life with her.

Luka had such ambition for himself, and for Marinette. He encouraged her to release her designs because he had faith that she could be successful. Like he was successful. That had backfired when her recent collection started to gain traction. She was noticed, yes, but by the wrong person, and she felt like she let Luka down in the process.

She sometimes wondered if he wanted her to find success for herself, or because she had become a burden to him. For years, while Marinette was relearning everything she forgot through distance secondary and further education, Luka was building his own business and honing his own craft. Despite his support and encouragement, she always felt like she was trying to keep up with him. No matter how hard she tried, she was always too many steps behind. 

She felt like she was holding him back.

It was never something explicitly said, just a doubt that took root in Marinette’s mind and kept growing. A feeling. 

Marinette wanted to be someone who helped others. To inspire them. Even, if it wasn’t too conceited, to be a role model. How was it possible when she had to hide who she truly was? It seemed like an impossibility.

Then again, she had heard the hospital staff talk in hushed voices about the Heroes of Paris. Young people who stood up against a pervasive threat and won; they had to hide their true identities, but people still looked up to them. Granted, she wasn’t as special as them, but it showed her there must still be a way to do both.

That was a conundrum for another day, however. Today, she was relaxing, eating junk food, and watching the movies that Luka always forbade her to watch.

She pressed play and the Ladybug and Chat Noir movie began. 

──── •✧•────

Adrien was crossing the park from the bus stop to Eilidh's house when he saw her on the bench. Seeing her there, he realised that there was a reason why it was his favourite place to sit. The cherry blossoms reminded him of her. There was an air of melancholy about her that chipped away at the hard shell he'd tried to build around his heart since she’d appeared. 

He couldn’t leave her alone like this.

“I did like you, Marinette. From the start.”

She gasped, eyes like saucers. “You… you did?”

“May I?” She moved over on the bench and Adrien sat down. “Yes. Everyone did.”

Marinette scrunched her face and shook her head. “No. That's not true. I told lies, I kept secrets. I know I hurt people. I know that much.”

Adrien had to consciously unclench his hands. His blood simmered. Had Marinette somehow been convinced that she had been a manipulative and mean teenager? Did she think she was like Lila?

“Who told you that?”

“My fiance, Luka. He told me how much my secrets hurt him.”

Adrien wasn’t violent, but he was sure that if Luka had been in front of him, he’d have punched him in the face. He took a calming breath.

“Marinette, normal teenagers keep secrets. They’re developing a sense of identity, figuring out new emotions and ideas, and finding out who they are. While they do that, they hold a lot of themselves back. Secrets at that age are normal.”

She looked back at him with tears in her eyes. “Really?”

“A hundred teenagers come through my classroom every day, and every single one of them is keeping secrets.”

“But I hurt people with mine.”

He smiled. “And you helped even more people with them.”

She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“I know. But ‘virtue itself turns vice being misapplied / and vice sometimes by action dignified’.”

“Romeo and Juliet?” she asked.

“Yes. That's all I can think about at the moment.” 

Almost all he could think about.

“So, did I do bad things for good reasons, or good things for bad reasons?”

“I wouldn’t say you did ‘bad’ things at all. Just that you had good reasons for your actions. Good intentions.”

Like saving the world.

She seemed deep in thought and he took the opportunity to study her face. He smiled at the same little pout she made when she was concentrating; the steely focus in her eyes and the crease between her brows that he had to consciously not reach out to smooth. 

“Why did you put chewing gum on my chair if you liked me?”

This again? Almost twenty years later, in another country, in another life, and his first impression on her was still as the entitled friend of Chloé who played a cruel prank on her. 

“I was trying to take it off. Chloé was being mean and I didn’t like it. But you… well, you jumped to conclusions. Understandably, I was Chloé’s friend, after all. You couldn’t be blamed for thinking I was like her — you certainly weren’t the only one.”

She put her hand on his and it took all of his self-control not to clasp his fingers around hers. 

“Well, I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions. Did we become friends in the end?”

He smiled. “We did.”

“I’m glad.” She paused, wrestling with something. “Can I ask something?”

“Anything.”

Well, not anything. 

“Did I have a birthday party that year?”

That, he could answer. “Yes. It was meant to be a surprise party in the park by your house, but you guessed. You’re terrible at feigning surprise, by the way. At least, you were.”    

She laughed and Adrien tried to soak the sound into his memory to replay later. “And was it a good party?”

Adrien remembered how Befana had turned up, and how Marinette’s friends sacrificed themselves to protect her. He winced inside at the way he’d rescued her as Chat Noir. How he’d flirted with her. Knowing what he did now, he knew that she didn’t need to be rescued.

“It was… memorable.”

Her smile turned sad. “I’m glad other people remember it.”

“I’m sorry, that was a bad choice of words. I just meant…”

“Adrien, it’s okay. It's actually nice to talk freely about it and not have everyone tiptoe around it. I lost my memory, I didn't die, but people treat me like I did.”

“Do you mind talking about it?”

“With you? No. You’re easy to talk to.”

The irony. All it took was for Marinette to forget who he was to be able to talk to him without tripping on her words. They’d been dating for weeks before she admitted that she didn’t feel good enough for Adrien, that her feelings were responsible for her inability to speak in full sentences around him. It took months of work before she was able to talk to him. It was years later that she finally felt worthy of his love.

“I’m happy to hear you say that.”

“My parents act like I’ll crack if I learn something about that time of my life. Not knowing makes me feel incomplete, though.”

Adrien wasn’t feeling particularly charitable toward Tom and Sabine right now. Not after learning that they’d omitted to mention that Luka had gone away with Marinette. They weren’t malicious, however, and Adrien knew they’d have an honourable reason for doing it. 

“They’re probably just worried about you. It’s the curse of being a parent,” Adrien said. 

Marinette smiled. “Your son, Lewis, he’s delightful.”

Our son.

“Thank you, I think so, too.” Adrien smiled, too. He couldn't help it when it came to Lewis.

“You brought him up alone, Eilidh said. That must have been hard.”

“He makes all the hard times worth it.”

“I can imagine. He said he likes to bake?”

When Lewis showed an interest in baking, Adrien encouraged him a little too enthusiastically, buying him an apron and a kid’s baking set. Adrien watched the Great British Bake-Off with a notebook and pencil, taking notes from Paul Hollywood and Prue Leith on what a good bake looked like. 

Adrien wanted Lewis to have a connection to his mother, even if he didn’t know it. 

“He loves it.”

Marinette shifted in her seat, uncomfortable or embarrassed, Adrien didn’t know. 

“Um, this might sound weird, but I’d like to teach him how to make macarons,” she said uncertainly and hastily added, “Only if he wants to, and if you’re okay with it. I don’t want to assume, but he seemed interested.”

“I think he’d love that. Thank you.”

Marinette Dupain-Cheng: still the most thoughtful and generous woman in the world.

“I have to go pick up Lewis now,” he said, regret at having to leave her sat heavily on his heart. “But, uh, it was good to talk to you.”

“You, too, Adrien.”

“I’m sorry to ask you to keep more secrets, but, uh, nobody here knows I lived in France. Could you not tell anyone?”

“Of course."

Adrien took several steps across the park before he stopped and ran back to Marinette. This was a terrible idea, but he didn’t care. Seeing her —talking to her— had made him reckless. 

“What’s your phone number?” he asked, keying it into his phone as she reeled it off, saving it in his contacts as ‘M’. He called her and let it ring once. “There, now you have mine, too. We can arrange for you to come over sometime to show Lewis how to make macarons.”

Her smile this time was beatific. “Thank you, Adrien.”

As he strode across the park towards Eilidh’s house, his grin was so large that it hurt his cheeks.

──── •✧•────

Marinette had a birthday party in the park! She’d had friends who loved her enough to try to surprise her, and who seemed to find it funny that she wasn’t surprised. 

And Adrien didn’t hate her. She still wasn’t sure why that was so important to her.

She wanted to ask him a hundred questions at once. What did she like to do? What were her friends like? Was she so focused on fashion that she had no other interests, or did she like other things? What were the secrets she kept? Did she share them with anyone? 

It was strange. She had one tiny fragment of a memory of Adrien, yet she felt like she knew him better than she knew herself. Perhaps it was because he was in the first piece of memory she’d retrieved from that time. And why that particular memory?

If she concentrated more, could she recall other moments? Now that she’d had a glimpse, she was keen to discover more.

But, did she want to know?

Adrien might have insisted that Marinette was likeable as a teenager, but she knew that wasn’t the entire truth. She made enemies, she lied. Maybe it was as Adrien said: secrets kept for good reasons. Or, maybe she was a bully like Chloé. It was possible. People who are bullied sometimes repeat that behaviour as a defence.   

That was then. Luka would tell her. Leave the past where it is.

For most of the last eight or so years, she’d been happy to, but that was before the past called her at home and threatened her. 

“Miss Marinette, how quickly you forget.”

Those words. His tone. Did he know about her memory loss? Did he think she had information about… something? 

Marinette growled in frustration. This was why she needed to remember! She needed to know why she was running from this man. To know what she did to make him hate her so much. Whatever it was, it was bad enough to make him murderously angry — his own son was proof of that. 

This was what Luka was scared of her remembering, she was sure. Perhaps it was a mercy that she’d forgotten. 

Her accident involved Gabriel Agreste. She’d learned that after she woke up. After realising that nobody was willing to tell her what happened to her, she would pretend to be asleep and listen in to conversations between her parents, her grandmother and Luka, to the hospital staff and the guards posted outside her room. She knew that Gabriel Agreste’s son had been involved somehow… and someone called Louis. Her father was adamant that she should know everything, but Luka and her mother were more cautious. Nonna refused to voice her opinion, but Marinette heard fear and confusion in her voice. 

Then that woman, Nathalie, came to her room. After that, everyone was scared.

Every single day after that one, Marinette had locked away all hope of rediscovering her memories. She didn’t want to know if they could put her in further danger. Was she wrong to want to remember now? 

A text message arrived and the tone surprised Marinette. She didn’t receive text messages. When she retrieved her phone from where she’d left it in the living room, she opened the message.

A: Lewis is excited about learning to bake macarons 🙂 Are you free on Sunday?

She smiled when she saw who had texted. She was free. She was free every day.

M: I am free.

A: Would 11am be okay? We could get Sunday lunch at the pub afterwards? To thank you. 

M: that sounds great. 

A: Text me a shopping list so we have everything you need.

M: no need, I’ll bring it.

A: Are you sure?

M: I’m sure. I have plenty left over from last weekend. 

A: Okay, great. We’ll see you on Sunday. You remember which house is ours, right?

M: I do. See you then xx  

Chapter Text

Lewis flung the door open as Marinette approached it. 

“Hi! You came!”

“Hi, Lewis. Of course I did, I promised, didn’t I?”

He stepped aside to let her into the house and Adrien’s head popped out from the room furthest from the front door. “Hi, Ma- Mary. Lewis has been leaving nose prints on my bedroom window for the past ten minutes, he’s so excited. Let her in, trésor.”

Lewis bounced on the balls of his feet beside her as Adrien stepped forward to take the box of ingredients out of her arms. 

“Thank you,” she said, startled by this act of chivalry. It felt familiar, but that was something she’d have to get used to since she had actually known this man in another time.

“Come.” Lewis took her hand and dragged her towards the door that Adrien was retreating through. “Let’s go to the kitchen.”

Though larger than the one in the cottage, Adrien and Lewis’s kitchen was small. It was cosy and lived in. The wooden cabinets were worn but well cared for, and the worktops were clean and tidy. In the centre of the room, a round wooden table was surrounded by four matching chairs, each with a red fabric cushion on the seats. One seat contained a sleeping black cat.

“Oh! Who is this?” she asked.

“That’s Plagg,” Lewis said. “He’s kind of grumpy and he loves cheese. His brother, Poe, is somewhere else.”

“Probably watching birds from your bedroom window, Lewis.” Adrien smiled at Marinette. “Can I get you something to drink? Tea or coffee?”

After their first meeting, Adrien's kindness was soothing, like cold water on sunburn. She was curious about why he was hiding his background and wondered why he didn't seem to have the same curiosity about her secrets. He knew, after all, that she was using an alias, but he never asked why. 

“Tea, please. Those are interesting names for your cats, did you choose them?” She turned her attention back to Lewis. 

His blue eyes held a kindness that reminded her of her mother, and his enthusiastic energy made her think of her father. She missed her parents. Once a year wasn't often enough to see them; Lewis's arbitrary similarities to them only emphasised her longing to visit them more regularly. 

Lewis pulled a chair out from under the table and clambered onto it. He folded his arms on the tabletop. “No, dad did. I was a baby when they came to live with us.”

“You were a little older than that. You were two years old.” Adrien looked up from where he was preparing a pot of tea. “Please, sit down, Mari. Lewis! You should offer a seat to your guest.”

 “Sorry, dad.” Lewis pushed a chair towards Marinette with his foot. “There you go.”

Adrien tutted, but Marinette laughed and sat down. Adrien brought the teapot to the table and placed a plate of small cupcakes with water icing and sprinkles on them next to it. “How do you take your tea?”

“Just a little sugar, thanks.”

“I made those,” Lewis said, prodding the nearest cake with his finger.

“And that one is yours.” Adrien removed it from the plate and put it in front of Lewis with a roll of his eyes. “Don’t poke the food, please.” He poured tea into three cups and added milk to two of them and sugar to all of them. When he moved Marinette’s tea near to her he nodded at the cakes. “Help yourself to a fairy cake.”

She blinked. “Fairy cake?”

Adrien shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. It was awkward and endearing, and it tickled the part of her brain that contained her hidden memories. “It’s a British thing. It’s because they’re small enough for fairies to eat, but now that I say it aloud, I’m not sure if Eilidh was pulling my leg with that.”

Well, that was adorable. 

“Even if that’s not true, I still love it.”

“This is hot. Please be careful,” Adrien said emphatically as he passed a mug of very milky tea to Lewis, who sipped it and immediately winced. “What did I just say?”

“Hot. I was just checking for myself.”

Marinette chuckled. The relationship between father and son was sweet enough to give her a toothache. She was sure there had been difficult moments that brought them to this place, but she could see from this short interaction that Adrien was an excellent father. Lewis was the proof of that.

Adrien dropped into the last free seat with a sigh. He took two cakes in one hand, dropping one in front of Marinette. He peeled the paper case off his own before taking a bite. Marinette did the same. The sponge was light and fluffy with a slight buttery, vanilla hint. 

“This is very good. Did you really make them yourself?” she asked Lewis.

“Yeah,” he said through a mouthful of crumbs. “Dad helped with the oven stuff but I did the rest.”

“Very impressive.”

Adrien waited until his mouth was empty before he spoke. “I can make bread, but that’s where my baking prowess ends. Lewis is the pâtissier in the family.”

“That’s what my parents do,” Marinette said. “They have a bakery and patisserie in Paris.”

Lewis’s eyes were wide. “Wow. Is that how you know how to make those um…”

“Macarons?”

“Yeah, macarons.” He formed the word carefully.

“It is. My father taught me how to make them when I was about your age. He said it was a family tradition; his father taught him how to make them, too.”

He’d never say it out loud, but Marinette knew that Tom regretted not having a grandchild to pass the recipe and techniques on to. He used to talk half-jokingly about Marinette’s future son who would take over the bakery from him. 

It was just another thing she could add to her list of regrets.

Perhaps by teaching this bright and talented young baker, Marinette could right that wrong in a small way.

“Are we making the same flavour as before?” Lewis asked. “The passion fruit nectar ones?”

Marinette smiled. “We can. Or, we can make strawberry ones. That’s your favourite, right?”

Lewis had mentioned cherries, too, but Marinette couldn’t tolerate those at this time of year so she’d opted for something she was safe to eat.

“I love strawberries! Can we make strawberry ones, please?” When Marinette nodded, he turned to Adrien. “Uh, sorry, dad.”

“Sorry?”

Adrien leaned back in his chair and wrapped his hands around his mug. “Passion fruit is my favourite.”

“Well, maybe we could make you some passion fruit macarons another time? If you want.”

“That would be lovely.”

When he smiled, it brightened the room. There was something so genuine about him. He was indisputably good-looking — every feature was defined and model-perfect — but it was his kind nature that truly shone from his face. She was captivated by his eyes, by the way they sparkled and made even the most flawless gemstones seem dull by comparison. 

She was staring. And blushing. She had to stop that.

“Um, are you ready to start?” she asked. Lewis nodded eagerly. “Let’s wash our hands first.”

“Do you want me to leave? How much space do you need?” Adrien asked. 

Marinette was touched that he trusted her enough to offer but she wanted him to stay. His presence was calming. “We can work on the counter here. You’re welcome to stay.”

He considered it. “I have a few Year 8 essays left to mark. Why don’t I work at the table for a while, then, if I’m in the way, you can tell me to move.”

While they washed their hands, Adrien left the room to fetch his laptop. Lewis fired a dozen questions at her about her favourite bird, dinosaur, thing to bake, what it was like to grow up in Paris, if she’d ever been to Legoland—

“—Lewis,” Adrien chided when he returned. “Give Mari a chance to breathe.”

“You keep saying her name wrong, dad. It’s Mary.” Lewis looked at her for confirmation. “Isn’t it?”

She hadn’t even noticed. The way he said her name felt natural to her.  

Adrien’s cheeks flushed and he reached for the back of his neck. “Uh, I guess I was using the French pronunciation without thinking, sorry.”

“It’s okay. I guess I should get used to hearing it said the English way.”

──── •✧•────

Adrien had messed up. He shouldn't have invited her here. It felt too right, too normal. She and Lewis clicked too well; like mother and son should. Her name —her real name— tripped too easily off his tongue. Each time he said it, he managed to stop himself before he said her full name, but eventually, Lewis noticed.

His heart ached too much.

He couldn’t tell Lewis not to be excited. Not to gaze out of the bedroom window in anticipation of her arrival. He couldn’t explain that she wouldn’t be here for long — couldn’t be here for long. That she had a life and fiancé waiting for her elsewhere. 

It was difficult enough for him to accept, how could he expect an eight-year-old to understand?

The essay in front of him could have been garbage or gold. Adrien didn’t know because he wasn’t focused on the screen, he was listening to Marinette explain the origin of macarons. Lewis listened, rapt, as she spoke.

“Macarons were introduced to France by Catherine de Medici, but they were making them in Italian monasteries as long ago as the 8th century. Back then, they were called ‘priest’s belly buttons’.” 

Lewis giggled. “That’s a funny name.”

“Ouai, I think they should have kept it.” Marinette giggled too. “They didn’t look like the macarons we know now, though. That didn’t happen until they reached Paris in the 1800s. The macaron Parisien was popularised by Louis-Ernest Ladurée, and that’s still a name known for amazing macarons today.”

“Louis,” Lewis said, trying out the French pronunciation. “That’s my name in French, isn’t it, dad?”

Adrien forced his face into a nonchalant expression. Inside, he was panicking. “Yes, I guess it is similar.”

“This probably sounds silly but, when I was young, I wanted to call my son Louis after Monsieur Ladurée.” 

“That’s not silly. I was named after CS Lewis,” Lewis told Marinette conspiratorially.

It was a story Félix came up with and Adrien had told him it was unnecessary. Now, he should call his cousin and thank him for the ruse.

“I think that’s lovely,” Marinette said.

“So how do we make these belly buttons?”

Marinette laughed. “First, we get everything ready. It all moves pretty fast once you start mixing so you can’t stop to weigh things.”

Lewis dragged a chair over to the counter, remembering to remove the cushion before he stood on it. Adrien was grateful for his lightning-fast reflexes after the time he stood on the chair and slipped on the cushion. If he hadn’t caught Lewis, it would have ended with a trip to A&E.

Agility and quick reactions were the positive legacies of holding a Miraculous. That, and the fact that his body hadn't aged like his peers' had. He and Marinette had grown up and matured into adulthood but didn't have the typical signs of ageing that their friends showed. When he told Eilidh about it, she'd joked that Gabriel shouldn't have ground the Miraculouses into rings, he should have made them into skincare.

“What’s that?” Lewis peered into the box.

Marinette lifted a container of clear goo from the box. “Egg whites. It’s good to separate them a couple of days before you need them to let them mature. Keep them in the fridge, then take them out a few hours before you use them to let them come to room temperature.”

The crease between Lewis’s eyebrows showed Adrien that he was listening carefully. “Is a day before okay?”

“Yes, that’s probably the minimum, though. Macarons aren’t really something you can make at the last minute.” 

Adrien tried to stop gazing at the two of them like the heart-eye emoji. He couldn’t. It was too wonderful to look away. 

When they ran the food processor, Plagg woke up and shot out of the room at top speed. Marinette turned towards the black blur with a frown. 

“He’s fine,” Adrien assured her. 

“Yeah, no… I thought… Never mind.”

Essays. He had to finish marking these. 

He had to stop staring at Marinette and her son. He had to stop noticing all those familiar quirks she shared with Lewis, and how many features they had in common. He’d always known that Lewis got his eye colour from Marinette, but until he saw them side by side, he hadn’t seen their many other similarities. Their cheeks were the same, as were the freckles that dusted them. Lewis’s nose and chin were Adrien’s, but his mouth was his mother’s. They both had the same energy; they both lit up from within when they talked about something they loved. Right now, they were both glowing with enthusiasm.

And she was still as beautiful as she’d ever been. Her eyelashes were impossibly long — when she blinked, they seemed to brush the apples of her cheeks. He tried not to remember the way they tickled his face. Her short hair emphasised her graceful neck, and that spot under her jaw she liked to be kissed.

He had to focus on something else.

Like the elegant way she held herself. That was new. Adrien had often suspected that much of Marinette’s clumsiness came from self-consciousness, and her more sophisticated adult self confirmed his hunch. 

She guided Lewis’s hand on the whisk and praised his efforts. When it was time to add the almond and sugar mixture, she demonstrated how to fold them in, and then handed the spoon to Lewis.

“Oh, no, that’s difficult,” he protested.

“And the only way it gets easier is by practising,” she said matter-of-factly.

Lewis took the spoon and tentatively copied the motion she’d shown him. “Like this?”

“Exactly, Lewis.” Marinette’s voice rang with admiration. “You’re a natural.”

Adrien ducked behind his computer screen to wipe the tears from his cheeks. His heart couldn’t take this. No. He had to do this. He had to keep his head above water for Lewis’s sake. He would endure his heartbreak for a few more weeks so that Lewis could have this time with his mother. Then, when she left, he’d be there for Lewis.

“How do you know when it’s ready?”

“A little more folding. It should look shiny and smooth.”

They piped the macarons onto baking sheets and Marinette showed Lewis how to drop them onto the table to smooth them out.  

“And then we bake them?” Lewis asked.

“Not yet.”

“Why?”

“One who is burning with impatience can never eat hot porridge,” Marinette said. She frowned and shook her head like there was water in her ear. She looked disconcerted.

“Are you okay?” Adrien jumped out of his chair to put a steadying hand on her arm. 

“Yeah.” She blinked slowly. “It’s weird. Like deja vu, but… more unsettling.” Marinette leaned against him and he tried not to smell her hair. “I… I don’t know where that saying came from but I know I know it.”

Master Fu. He’d said it to Adrien, too. “It must be confusing.”

She placed a hand on his chest and closed her eyes, calming herself. Lewis looked at Adrien in concern. Adrien smiled reassuringly and ruffled his hair. 

“Your ma— Uh, Mary is okay, mon trésor, I promise.”

“Sorry, I’m fine,” Marinette said. “We need to let those rest before we bake them. Do you want me to explain myself while we wait?”

Adrien didn’t want her to talk about it if it was difficult for her. “You don’t have to.”

“No, I want to. If you want to know?”

Lewis nodded his head. His face still showed anxiety. “Yes, please.”

Adrien put the kettle on while Marinette and Lewis sat at the table.

“About eight and a half years ago, I was in an accident. It was bad and I was in a coma for a few months.”

“What’s a coma?”

“It’s when you are unconscious for a long time. Sometimes, when you have a head injury, like I did, doctors can put you in a coma to help your brain heal itself. But, when I woke up, my brain wasn’t healed like they thought it would be. I lost my memories from the past ten years.”

Lewis frowned. “All of them?”

“I remember being a child, and everything up until my first day of school near my fourteenth birthday. Then, nothing more until I woke up in the hospital. The doctors thought those lost memories would come back eventually. It’s been years now, and still nothing. Well, nothing until recently.”

Adrien’s insides tensed. What did she remember? Surely if it involved him or Lewis, she’d have confronted him about it?

Lewis asked the question for him. “What happened recently?”

“I don’t know.” Marinette’s brows furrowed. “I wish I did. Since I got here, little clips of memory have randomly come to me. That thing I said about porridge? As soon as I said it, I knew it was a memory, but there’s nothing else attached to it; no people or places or context. When your cat ran out of the kitchen, I felt like I’d seen something like that before, but I don’t remember who I knew that had a black cat. That’s why it’s so weird.”

Lewis leaned back in his chair and blew air out through his lips. “That’s scary.”

“It is,” Marinette said. “And also not. After wishing my memories would come back for so long, it’s kind of exciting, too.”

Adrien put tea in front of Marinette and a glass of water in front of Lewis. He sat back down at his place and shut his laptop. What did it mean that she was remembering things? He wished there was someone he could talk to about this, but nobody apart from the Guardians would know what was causing it. 

“Is there anything we can do?” Adrien asked. 

Marinette reached out and squeezed his hand. “You’ve already helped.”

──── •✧•────

The macarons were perfect. Lewis really did have a natural gift for baking. They left them in the kitchen to cool and went out for lunch. Adrien shut the kitchen door to prevent the cats from trying to steal them. 

“They say cats can’t taste sweet things, but I swear Plagg can. After cheese, he loves cakes more than anything.”

“At least Poe is normal,” Lewis offered. 

Adrien screwed up his nose. “Not really. He’s just weird in different ways.”

The face he pulled made him look even more like his son. It highlighted his nose and chin, which matched Lewis exactly. Though Lewis’s eye colour was different to Adrien’s, the shape of his eyes was the same, the brows, too. 

“Where are we going for lunch?” Lewis asked. 

“I think that’s up to Mary. I suggested the pub, but if you’d prefer the cafe, we can do that, too.”

“The cafe has better desserts,” Lewis said.

Marinette smiled. She couldn't help but like this kid. He was sweet and earnest and full of questions. “I can hardly argue with better desserts, can I?”

As they walked towards the cafe, Lewis skipped along next to Marinette and Adrien.

“What’s the weirdest macaron flavour you’ve made?”

“Not me, but my parents told me that there was an American pop star who ordered mango and chilli macarons.” 

Her father refused to say who it was but he was so giddy when he told her that it must have been a big star. 

“Spicy macarons? That does sound weird.”

“Apparently they tasted nice. If you like chilli.”

“I like some spicy food but I’ve never had chilli in a cookie. Do you like spicy food?”

“I do.”

“What’s your favourite thing to eat?”

Marinette considered her answer; there were so many dishes to choose from. Was it her mother’s xiaolongbao, her father’s galette des rois or her grandmother’s ossobuco? Was it polenta uncia, like she ate in Italy? Was it Luka’s specialty French toast with wild berries?

“Ice cream,” she said. It took her by surprise, but when she said it, it felt right. “What’s yours?”

“Dad’s pancakes are the best.”

“You make pancakes?” she asked Adrien.

He smiled shyly. “Crêpes, actually.”

“You should come for breakfast one day!” Lewis said. “Shouldn’t she, dad? She could come to ours next weekend.”

“I don’t think—” Marinette began to object.

“You’d be very welcome,” Adrien insisted. “The house is as busy as the Carrousel du Louvre on the weekends but if you don’t mind chaos, you should join us sometime.”

After years of near-solitude, chaos sounded ideal. “I’d like that.”

They arrived at the cafe and Adrien pushed the door open, holding it for Marinette and Lewis to step inside. Yvette, the cafe owner grinned and called out a greeting.

“Mary! Lovely to see you again. Adrien and Lewis, how are my favourite boys?”

“We made macarons, me and Mary,” Lewis said. “Strawberry ones.”

“Wow, that sounds fun,” Yvette said. “Do I get to taste one?”

Lewis giggled. “We haven't finished them yet but I’ll bring you one when we do.”

He was such a thoughtful kid. Marinette felt her heart swell at his kindness.

Yvette smiled. “I look forward to it. And how are the babies?”

“They’re good.” Adrien must have seen the confusion on Marinette’s face because he explained. “Yvette runs the local animal rescue group. She’s the one who called me when Plagg and Poe were found abandoned by the road out of town. She knew I couldn’t say no to brothers in need of a home”

This man was not only a loving and involved father, but he rescued kittens, too? He was almost too wonderful. 

“Well, grab a table and I’ll come over to take your order soon. Can I get your drinks while you wait? Squash for Lewis, coffee for Adrien and…”

“I’ll take coffee, too, thanks.”

Lewis led them to a table and insisted that Marinette sit next to him. She picked up the menu and browsed it. Adrien did the same.

“Remember to leave room for dessert,” he said, smirking.

“Obviously,” she replied, returning his cheeky smile.

“You know, a pterodactyl isn’t actually a dinosaur?” Lewis said. 

It was so random that it took Marinette a moment to remember that she had told him earlier it was her favourite. 

“If they’re not dinosaurs, what are they?” she asked. She knew the answer but she could tell how passionate Lewis was about the topic.

“Prehistoric flying reptiles. They were like the cousins of dinosaurs.”

“That’s interesting. You know, I went to the Museum of Geology and Paleontology in Florence once. It was pretty cool.”

Lewis’s eyes widened and she was struck once again by how beautifully blue they were. “That’s so cool. My class is going to see Dippy at the Herbert for our school trip. I can’t wait.”

Marinette frowned. “I don’t know what half of those words were, sorry.”

“It takes a while to start to speak Lewis,” Adrien said with a chuckle. “Start with who Dippy is.”

“Dippy is a diplodocus skeleton that comes from the Natural History Museum in London. She’s been on a tour of Britain, in lots of different museums. The Herbert is a museum in Coventry that she’s displayed in now.”

“See?” Adrien said. “It doesn’t hurt to explain yourself, does it?”

Lewis rolled his eyes but he didn’t get a chance to respond. Yvette arrived at the table with a tray. 

“Two coffees and one blackcurrant squash.” She put the drinks in front of each of them. “Do you know what you’d like?”

Marinette picked up the menu again. “I haven’t even looked, sorry.”

Yvette smiled. “No problem. I should say that we have run out of baked potatoes, sorry. We do have a cheese and tomato quiche that’s very good, however.”

“Not for either of them,” Adrien indicated to Marinette and Lewis. “They can’t have tomatoes. Do you have that broccoli and stilton tart you sometimes make?”

What? Marinette was sure she hadn’t mentioned that to anyone.

Marinette had Pollen Food Allergy Syndrome which made her allergic to certain foods during hayfever season. As far as she knew, only a few people knew about it. Her parents, her grandmother and Luka. Nonna had told her that she’d discovered that she had it in her teens when cherries suddenly started to make her mouth itchy. 

She pressed her lips together, holding back a multitude of comments and even more questions. “I guess you can order for me since you know my preferences so well.”

Adrien visibly winced. “No, sorry. Please, order.”

She ordered a cheese and ham toastie like Lewis did. Adrien opted for the quiche. When Yvette left them again, Marinette tried to form her racing thoughts into a question. Lewis beat her to it.

“Why is it called ‘quiche’?” 

Adrien looked at his son with a gentle smile. It was clear that he was proud of his inquisitiveness and wanted to indulge every question. “Well, it’s a French word that comes from the German for ‘cake’. So I suppose it’s kind of a savoury cake.”

Lewis’s nose wrinkled. “Why would you make a cake savoury?”

Marinette laughed. “Some baking just works for savoury flavours. Gougères are cheesy choux puffs that taste great. Most people think of choux pastry as being for profiteroles or éclairs, but that doesn’t mean you can’t make them savoury, too.” 

“I suppose. But pastry is different. It’s like the envelope for the filling. Cake is… Well, it’s cake.”

“You’re never going to forgive me for that savoury muffin last year, are you?” Adrien asked, shaking his head.

Lewis scowled. “It was a muffin, dad. That’s meant to have chocolate or blueberry in it. Not Olives. Never olives.”

Adrien laughed. “I said I was sorry. I wasn’t trying to trick you.”

“Hmmm.” Lewis looked unconvinced. “What do you think? Are savoury muffins a lie?”

She barely knew Lewis and Adrien, but already, Marinette’s affection for them was growing. Their closeness was sweet, and they never acted in an exclusive way. She had never felt left out by them. They had embraced Marinette and made her feel part of the… Not of the family, because she wasn’t… Part of their inner circle. 

“I don’t know. I guess it would depend on the muffin,” she said.

“What about olives, feta and tomatoes in a wholemeal muffin?” Lewis spat the words out in disgust.

She laughed. “I think that sounds interesting.”

“Interesting,” Lewis said triumphantly before he turned back to Adrien. “But not delicious.”

Adrien held up his hands in surrender. “Fine. I’m not going to do it again.”

A young waitress arrived at the table with three plates. “Hiya, who’s having the quiche?”

“That’s me.” Adrien raised his hand. The waitress put his plate on the table, followed by the two toasties for Lewis and Marinette. “Thanks, Keira. How are the exams going?”

The girl frowned. “Fine, I guess? Only one more to go.”

“I’m sure you’ve done better than ‘fine’. You’re a good student. Have faith in yourself.”

“Thanks, Mr Wilde.” Keira smiled. “Enjoy your lunch.”

As Keira walked away, Marinette watched Adrien pick up his fork and dig into his quiche. Somehow, he managed to make people feel better about themselves. He’d done it with her when he met her in the park, and now with this girl.

“So, you know everybody, huh?” she said.

He shrugged. “In a small town like this, it’s hard not to.”

“You’re being modest. You care about people.”

Adrien’s eyes darted towards Lewis and back to Marinette. “I guess it’s because I spent so much of my life not being cared about. I know how much it means to have somebody show interest and concern about you.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, you’re hardly one to talk. You’ve been here a week and you’re already on first-name terms with Yvette, and BFFs with Mrs Owens.”

“I’m not on first-name terms with Mrs Owens, though.”

“Nobody is. I’m not even sure if Mr Owens is. They were both teachers and everyone around here just knows them as Mr and Mrs Owens.”

Marinette liked that. She remembered learning a few of her teachers’ first names in the bakery and never being able to reconcile their names with the authority figure. Of course, she was probably Lewis’s age at the time.

“What did they teach?”

“Mr Owens was the head of the primary school and Mrs Owens was an English teacher. In fact, she retired when I qualified so I guess I technically replaced her.”

“It’s a small world.”

“It certainly is in Little Nieweham.” 

“I like it this way,” Lewis interrupted. “It’s nice that we know everybody.”

“I agree,” Marinette said. “I went from a big city to a remote lake house so I’ve never lived somewhere like this, but I like it, too.”

“What lake did you live at?” Lewis asked.

“Lewis,” Adrien immediately reprimanded him. “That might not be something she wants to share.”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind.” Marinette noted Adrien’s quickness to defend her past. He seemed to understand the need to hide certain details from people. With Adrien and Lewis, however, she didn’t want to conceal anything. “I lived in Italy, on Lake Como.” 

“Are there any monsters in the lake? You know, like Nessie.”

Adrien laughed but Marinette just grinned. “Actually, there is. Lake Como’s monster is called Larrie.”

“What? That’s so cool! Did you ever see it?”

“I didn’t. My office used to look out over the lake so I did try to catch sight of him, but I never did.”

“Aunt Eilidh says she saw Nessie.”

“Aunt Eilidh lived nowhere near Loch Ness,” Adrien snorted. “She’s pulling your leg.”

“You said you met a T-Rex, but you think Aunt Eilidh is lying? Right, dad.”

Adrien was indignant. “I did meet a T-Rex!”

Lewis scrunched his face sceptically. “I’m eight, dad. I don’t believe that anymore.”

“Ouai, I don’t believe that either,” Marinette said.

“Wow, et tu, Brutus?”

“It’s Mary, dad. You’re really struggling to remember her name, aren’t you?” 

──── •✧•────

While Lewis and Marinette finished their desserts, Adrien went to the counter to pay for lunch.

“Mary’s great, isn’t she?” Yvette said, holding the card reader out to Adrien.

He looked over to the table where she was laughing about something with Lewis. Lewis’s eyes shone with mischief as he gesticulated wildly in time with whatever story he was telling.

“She is.”

“I can’t believe she’s only been here a couple of weeks, it feels like she’s part of the furniture.”

Adrien agreed. And that was the problem. He felt like she’d always been here, so it was going to hurt when she wasn’t.

His phone rang and he apologised to Yvette before he answered.

“Hi, Eilidh, what’s up?”

“Uncle Adrien?” Alex said, his voice shrill and shaky. Adrien's heart clenched.

“Alex? Are you okay?”

“Uh, no. Mum has cut herself really bad and I don’t know what to do.”

“Is there a lot of blood?”

He swallowed loudly. “Yes.”

“Okay.” He returned to the table and put his hand on Marinette’s shoulder to get her attention. “Can you find a clean towel for your mum? Pass it to her and tell her to put pressure on the cut. We’re on our way over now, okay?”

“Hurry, please.”

“Hang in there, Alex.”

He ended the call and Lewis’s face reflected his own panic. “What’s up with Alex?”

“He’s okay, but Aunt Eilidh might not be. We need to get over there to see what’s going on. I’m so sorry Mary but we’ll have to cut this short.”

“I can come. If there’s an emergency, you might need another pair of hands.”

That was what Adrien needed to hear. Her company reassured him. “Yes, please. I’ve paid, so we should go now.”

They crossed the park in silence, each of them lost in their own worst-case scenario. When Adrien looked down to put his hand on Lewis’s shoulder, he noticed that Marinette was doing the same thing. 

He used his own key to let himself into Eilidh’s house, calling out for Alex as he opened the door.

“Alex? It’s Adrien and Lewis.”

Alex stumbled out from the kitchen, a queasy look on his face and fell into Adrien’s arms. “Uncle Adrien!”

“Oh la vache! Alex, you're green. Are you doing alright?”

“I'll deal with him, you check on Eilidh,” Marinette said, taking Alex’s hand and sitting him on the stairs.

“She's in the kitchen.”

Adrien stepped into the kitchen with some trepidation. Eilidh and Alex’s house had the same layout as Adrien and Lewis’s but the interior was vastly different. While Adrien had an old farmhouse-style kitchen, Eilidh’s was modern and bright. Glossy sage green units and cream worktops and floor tiles were now spattered darkly with blood.

His stomach knotted but he tried to keep his voice and face passive.

“I leave you unsupervised for a few hours and this is what happens, huh?“

“Faigh e deas suas fhèin”

He had no idea what that meant but trusted that it was probably insulting. He couldn't blame her, he'd be sweary too if he'd lost as much blood as she had.

“Let's see.”

“How’s Alex?”

“Coping admirably; still conscious and everything. Marinette’s with the boys, they’ll be fine. Now, let’s see.”

Adrien held his hand out and Eilidh relinquished her grip on the beach towel she was holding. When he said 'clean towel' to Alex, he should have specified the size. With the cut revealed, it was his turn to swear.

“Merde!” It was bad. Adrien could see parts of her hand that he was sure shouldn't be visible. “What did you do?”

“I dropped the knife and stupidly tried to catch it as it fell.” She pointed with her good hand to where a sharp-looking kitchen knife lay on the tiles a short distance away.

“You need stitches, Eilidh.”

“Aye, well, I can hardly get the bus to the hospital like this, can I?”

“I can drive you,” Marinette said, stepping into the kitchen. 

“Are you sure?”

“I want to help.” 

And that was Marinette to a tee. Of course she wanted to help, she always did. He smiled. “Thank you. There’s a minor injuries unit in Greater Nieweham.”

“Uh, this is hardly minor.”

“Your hand is still attached, Eilidh, the minor injuries unit will do.”

“Well, let me run home and get my car. I’ll just need the name of the place for my satnav.”

“Thank you,” Eilidh called after her. The door clicked shut and she grinned at him. At least, he thought it was a grin; through the pain, the effort made it look more like a grimace. “Stopped being a jerk to Marinette, I see.”

“You were right, she’s not the enemy.”

“I’m sorry, the blood loss has affected my hearing. What did you say?”

Adrien tutted. She might be his best friend but, at times like this, he sincerely disliked her. “You were right. Do you want me to write it down in case you forget later?”

“No need,” she said smugly. “I’ll remember that.”

“Pòg mo thòin.” Adrien knew some Gaelic, too. 

“Wow, plan to kiss your girlfriend with that mouth?”

“She’s not my girlfriend. She’s engaged to Luka.”

“Aye, right,” Eilidh said archly.

“What’s that meant to mean?” He knew he was being defensive. It was hard not to get his hopes up around Marinette but he knew nothing could come of her visit. She was here for Luka. Her fiancé. Not him. That wasn’t Eilidh’s fault though. “Sorry. I’m trying to be circumspect here, but I still love her, Eilidh. It’s not easy.”

“I understand. Doesn’t stop me from shipping it.”

He smiled. “You’re a dweeb.”

“I’m your best dweeb, and don’t forget it.” She squeezed his arm with her left hand. “And I’ll be here for you after, you know?”

After Marinette had gone.

“I know. Thank you.”

The front door opened, signalling Marinette’s return. “Ready to go?”

“Almost.” Adrien jumped up and opened the drawer where Eilidh kept her tea towels. He rolled one up and handed it to Eilidh. “Easier to handle than the other one.”

They swapped towels. 

“Thank you for everything,” Eilidh said. “Tell Alex…”

“I’ll tell him to stay upstairs until I’ve cleaned up the blood. And that you’ll be back as soon as you can.”

Marinette offered Eilidh a supporting arm and walked her out to the car. When the door closed, two small faces appeared over the bannister above him.

“Is mum going to be okay?” Alex asked, his voice quiet and wobbly.

Adrien climbed the stairs and sat on the second to top one. Alex and Lewis sat on the top stair. “Your mum will be fine once she gets some stitches and a bandage on her hand. You, Alex, did exactly the right thing today. You should be proud of yourself.”

Tears pooled in his eyes and his bottom lip trembled. “I was so scared, Uncle Adrien.”

“Come here,” Adrien said, reaching out to hug Alex. He sobbed into Adrien’s shoulder, leaving it soggy and probably a little snotty. “Being scared is normal. Something scary happened and your mum was in pain. But you got help and you found a towel for her, even though the blood must have made you feel ill.”

“I thought… I… was… going… to faint,” Alex stuttered through his tears. 

“You were very brave.”

“Was… I?”

Adrien laughed. “Yes! Especially brave because blood makes you feel icky and you helped your mum anyway.”

Cried out, Alex pulled away from Adrien and wiped his face with his sleeve. Lewis put his arm around his friend's shoulder to comfort him. 

“Do you want to go play with your dinosaurs, Al?”

Alex nodded. “Yes.”

“And when I’m done cleaning up downstairs, maybe we can raid Eilidh’s secret chocolate stash and watch a movie?”

“How do you know about that?”

“Your mother isn’t the only one who knows stuff.”

The boys ran to Alex’s room and Adrien returned to the kitchen. He helped himself to the contents of Eilidh’s cleaning cupboard and set about removing her blood from the cabinet front and floor. As he worked, his phone notified him of a message. 

M: At the hospital and waiting to be seen. I’ll keep you updated. Hope Alex is okay now xx

He smiled. She was still as thoughtful as ever. 

How did she feel about hospitals now? Before her accident, she had told him how much she feared them.  ‘There’s something so hopeless about a hospital ward,’  she’d said. Since then, she had endured the most confusing and difficult time in the hospital. She’d lost even more than she knew as a result. Was she, like Alex, pushing through her fears for Eilidh? 

Kitchen clean and the washing machine on, Adrien washed his hands and reached for the box on the highest shelf of Eilidh’s pantry. From it, he retrieved a large bar of Dairy Milk. He’d replace it the next time he went shopping. 

“Guys, are you ready for a movie?” he called up the stairs.

Lewis and Alex cheered and barged their way down to where Adrien was waiting for them. “Can we watch Jurassic World, please?”

“Again?” Adrien sighed. “Of course you can.”

──── •✧•────

Alone in the waiting room, Marinette took out her phone. She wanted to keep Adrien updated on Eilidh so that he could reassure Alex. The distraction was welcome, even after all these years, Marinette hated hospitals. Before she could send the message, though, the phone rang. She went to the door before she answered and found a spot where she could see Eiilidh if she returned from the treatment area.

“Hello?” she answered.

“Marinette?” Luka asked. “Where have you been? I tried calling earlier and you ignored me.”

“I did?” She checked her phone screen and, sure enough, there was a missed call notification. “Sorry. I was driving to the hospital.”

“What happened?”

“I’m okay,” she said quickly. “My friend, Eilidh, she cut herself and it’s pretty bad. I brought her to the hospital.”

“Oh… I didn’t know you had a friend.”

Marinette took a deep breath. He wasn’t trying to insult her. Luka had a lot on his mind at the moment and he wasn’t being deliberately thoughtless. 

“Well… I do, and she needed help. Sorry I wasn’t immediately available to speak to you.”

“Marinette, don’t be like that. I just meant…”

She knew exactly what he meant, even if he couldn’t say it. 

“How are you?” she asked, seeking an easier topic of conversation.

“Fine. It’s been a tiring few weeks but the play is really coming together. How many tickets do you want, by the way? I can get up to six.”

It was petty but she couldn’t help it. “I’ll take six, then.”

“Really? We don’t want empty seats.”

Marinette swallowed her retort. Luka was stressed. She shouldn’t take this personally, no matter how personal it felt. She already had tickets to Midsummer Night’s Dream with Yvette and saw As You Like It with Penny. She had friends who wanted to attend the theatre with her. Perhaps she should invite Adrien, Lewis, Eilidh and Alex to see Twelfth Night? 

“Really. Six might not be enough but it’ll have to do.”

Luka sighed loudly. “Okay. I am glad you have friends, Marinette, I hope you know that. It’s a good thing.”

“Glad but still surprised?” 

“Surprised because you haven’t shown any signs of wanting to meet people in the last eight years. You’ve been content with me and your grandmother.”

Marinette pinched the bridge of her nose. This conversation was giving her a headache. “And I’m still content with you, Luka. But you’re busy with something else right now. I’m sure you’re meeting new people. Is it not right that I should have new friends, too?”

“Okay, yes, I’m sorry. I just miss you, that’s all. I can’t wait for this to be over and we can be just us again. Maybe we could still get married this summer? You always wanted to get married with your parents around. We could do that when they visit London next month, if you like?”

“I’d love that, Luka. Thank you. Could your dad get Anarka and Juleka to visit at the same time?”

“I can ask. I love you, Marinette.”

“I love you, too.”

Marinette ended the call and returned to the waiting room just as Eilidh was escorted from the treatment area. She still looked pale and clammy but the clenched teeth and watery eyes were missing. Her hand was bandaged and she held it protectively against her stomach.

“How are you?” Marinette asked.

“Extremely lucky,” the doctor said. “She could have damaged nerves or tendons but she somehow didn’t.”

Eilidh held up her hand. “We have very different definitions of the word ‘lucky’.”

Marinette giggled. She was learning that Eilidh did not make a good patient. 

The doctor didn’t smile. “It could have been much worse, Miss MacDonald.”

“Do we need to know anything important, doctor?” Marinette said, trying to distract Eilidh from a potential argument with the medical staff.

“Miss MacDonald can either come back here to have her dressing changed every other day, or she can contact her GP to arrange it. She’s had a local anaesthetic to clean and stitch the wound so when that wears off, she can have paracetamol as directed to deal with the pain. Keep the bandage clean and dry and avoid moving or stretching the hand.”

“And the stitches?”

“Are dissolvable. No need to have them removed.”

“That’s good. Thank you, doctor. Can I take her home now?”

“Please do.”

Marinette sent a message to Adrien to tell him that she was bringing Eilidh home. She led Eilidh back towards the car, still chuckling at how pleased the doctor was to see them leave. “What did you say to him that made him so grumpy?”

Eilidh raised an eyebrow. “Nothing in English. Turns out his mother is Irish though, and there’s enough crossover between Irish and Scottish Gaelic that he knew I was calling him a particular part of male anatomy, and wishing pain on him.”

Marinette laughed. “I wish I could have seen his face.”

“Aye, well, it looked much like it was when you saw him. He didn’t have much of a sense of humour.”

“I’ve had doctors like that. They’re not all joyless, though.” Marinette opened the passenger side door for Eilidh and helped her into the seat. “Are you okay with the seat belt?”

Eilidh grabbed it with her left hand. “Yeah, I’ve got it, thanks.”

Once Marinette was in the car and they were back on the road, Eilidh asked her, “Have you dealt with a lot of doctors, then?”

“A tonne. I had an accident in my twenties and I’ve seen lots of different specialists since to try to figure out what’s wrong with my brain.”

“What is wrong with it? Wait, sorry, that’s intrusive.”

“No, it’s okay.” Marinette was tired of tiptoeing around her issues. It was freeing to discuss them. “I don’t actually know what’s wrong with it. I lost a weirdly specific amount of memories and they didn’t return like everyone thought they would.”

“That’s…” Eilidh frowned, searching for a word to describe the situation. It was an expression Marinette had seen in her family and various consultants. “Messed up. What do you remember?”

“Everything up to the start of the school year I turned fourteen and everything after I woke up in ICU at twenty-four.”

Eilidh whistled. “That’s got to be rough. On a positive note, I know a bunch of people who’d pay good money to forget high school.” 

Marinette laughed. “I never thought of it like that. If the missing years were anything like the ones before them, I guess I should be grateful I can’t remember them.”

“Seriously though, I hope you figure it out.” 

“Me, too. I feel like your teens are the years when you work out who you are, and I sometimes feel like I miss that part of myself.”

Eilidh moved her hand like she was about to reach for Marinette’s shoulder with her injured hand then thought better of it. “It’s never too late to do that. I’m still discovering who I am and I’m twenty-six. And who you are evolves over time. Maybe you skipped a little self-discovery, but that shouldn’t change who you are now.”

“I guess.” Marinette had never thought of it that way. She’d spent so much time mourning her lost memories and trying to replace the education she’d forgotten, she hadn’t considered that she still had time to grow as a person. That she  had  grown as a person. 

“Anyway, thank you for this. For driving me here. I might have managed to insult the doctor, and probably Adrien before we left home, but I really am grateful for everything you’ve done. All of you.”

“I wasn’t going to leave you to find your own way to the hospital when I could help. And, I don’t know Adrien that well, but I have a feeling he’d do anything to help a friend, even when she’s insulting him.”

Eilidh smiled. “Your instincts are correct. He’s one of the best.”

Something occurred to Marinette. Something Adrien had said earlier. He’d brushed over it and she didn’t have a chance to ask him, but Eilidh might know the answer. “Can I ask you something? About Adrien?”

“Mint and chocolate cookie gelato that you can only get in one supermarket in Greater Nieweham.”

“What?”

“I thought you were going to ask what his favourite ice cream flavour was.”

“No, but good to know, thanks. I was going to ask what you knew about his life before he lived here.”

“Ah.” Eilidh shifted in her seat. “That’s something he’s more elusive about.”

Disappointment weighed her down, making her shoulders droop. “Yeah, I get it.”

“But ask. I’ll tell you if I don’t know the answer.”

“I don’t want to betray his trust or anything. It’s just… He said something about people not caring for him and I wondered if you knew who his parents are.”

“Were. Who his parents were.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Marinette hadn’t considered that his parents might have passed away.

“His mother died, I think. It’s unclear. Adrien was thirteen. His father was a bellend.”

“A what?”

“Not a good guy. He basically stopped parenting after Adrien’s mum died, or whatever. It’s confusing, but, yeah. He didn’t really have parents after that.”

“That’s awful.” Marinette’s heart broke for him. “He must have been so lonely.”

“He had good friends, I’m told. They were there for him.”

“Do you know anything about France? He speaks French very well.”

Eilidh swallowed thickly. “Uh, his father was French. I know that. His mother was British.”

That explained his language skills. Marinette had listened for a hint of French in his speaking voice but he was distinctly English. Yet, his French was also perfect. Now she knew why. How long had he lived in France? Eilidh didn’t seem to know about that. 

Why all the secrecy? Adrien and Eilidh were close; so close that Marinette had assumed they were married. Why didn’t she know more about his past?

Marinette wanted to know everything about him. She wanted to understand where he came from, who he was before she met him, how he’d ended up in Little Nieweham, teaching high school English. She wanted to know more about Lewis. About who his mother was, and what happened to her. How had someone who’d likely seen such grief and sadness become such a sunny, loving man? 

And why did she feel like she knew him when she barely did? Why did she feel comfortable around him? Why did his smile make her heart skip like a scratched CD? Why did his eyes remind her of… someone?

They pulled into Eilidh’s street and Marinette parked on the pavement outside Eilidh’s house. “Do you need help getting in?”

Eilidh twisted in her seat to undo her seatbelt with her opposite hand. “Oh, you’re coming in. The least I can do is get you dinner to thank you for everything this afternoon.”

Dinner? Marinette looked at the dashboard clock. It was six o’clock. “I didn’t realise the time.”

“Exactly. So come in and we’ll order pizza or something, yeah?”

Before Eilidh could find the house key in her bag, the front door opened to reveal a worried-looking Alex. Adrien and Lewis stood just behind him.

“Mum! Are you okay?” He threw himself at Eilidh, hugging her waist.

Eilidh returned his hug with one hand. “I’m alright. The doctor had to put stitches in my hand and I can’t use it for a wee while until it’s healed. How are you?”

“Uncle Adrien says I’m brave.”

“Uncle Adrien is right.”

“What was that?” Adrien said from the hallway. “I didn’t hear you from here.”

Eilidh raised her voice. “I said, Uncle Adrien should stay for dinner tonight.”

Marinette chuckled. Adrien flipped the tea towel he was holding across his shoulder and Marinette was struck again by how attractive he was.

“Considering I made dinner, I’d hope I’d be invited to stay,” he said with a wink.

Marinette swooned a little before she followed Eilidh and Alex into the house. The aroma of beef and red wine filled her nostrils. Boeuf bourguignon. It smelled like home.

“Yeah, okay, I guess you can stay,” Eilidh quipped.

“But seriously,” Adrien said. It took Marinette a moment to realise he was talking to her. “How is she?”

“She managed to offend the doctor, but he still bandaged up her hand so, fine? He said she was lucky not to have damaged anything vital.”

“I don’t consider myself lucky.”

“I hate to state the obvious, Eilidh, but you were very lucky. Maybe don’t try to catch a falling knife in future,” Adrien said. 

Eilidh gasped theatrically. “Are you victim blaming?”

“In this case, yes. I very much am.”

“Wow,” Eilidh scoffed. “I was saying nice things about you earlier. I take it all back.””

Adrien laughed. It was deep and sonorous, and genuinely amused. Everything about him was honest and authentic — completely at odds with the fact that Marinette knew he was hiding something.

“Probably a bad time to mention that I’ve made yours and Alex’s packed lunches for tomorrow, or that Alex’s uniform is all ironed and hung in his wardrobe, his bag is packed and I signed his book for reading this weekend.”

“Urgh, fine. You’re a good friend, thank you.”

“And we ate some of your chocolate,” Alex said.

Eilidh’s eyes narrowed. “You did WHAT?”

 ──── •✧•────

After dinner, Adrien and Lewis prepared to leave. Marinette offered to drive them home before she went back to her cottage. 

“We didn’t get to finish making our macarons,” Lewis said. Adrien could hear the dismay in his voice. 

“That’s okay, mon trésor, you can do it another time.”

“I, uh, I don’t mind if we do it tonight. If there’s time?”

The way Lewis’s face lit up at the suggestion meant Adrien knew he had to say yes. “Only if it’s not too late for you.”

“I’m happy to.”

Lewis bounced on the balls of his feet. “Yes, please, dad.”

If he said no, he’d be disappointing both Lewis and Marinette, and he couldn’t bear to let either of them down.

“Fine. But let’s not make a habit of this,” Adrien said. “Hear, hear,” Eilidh called out. “Oh, crap!”

Alex gasped. “Mum! Swear words!”

“Sorry, Alex. It was for a good reason.” Eilidh emerged from the kitchen. “I can’t make your costumes like this, can I?”

She held her bandaged hand out to demonstrate the problem.

Adrien shook his head. Sometimes, Eilidh’s priorities were askew. “I hardly think that’s your biggest issue right now.”

“It’s an issue though. Astrid can’t do it all by herself.”

“What’s wrong?” Marinette asked.

“I was meant to be helping the Textiles teacher to make all the costumes for Romeo and Juliet, but I can’t sew now.”

Marinette’s eyes sparkled eagerly. “I can do it.”

Adrien wanted to agree. He wanted to take the opportunity to spend more time with her. He couldn’t. Every minute spent with her was exquisite but heartbreaking, and he felt himself growing closer to her. The closer he got now, the worse he’d feel when she left. 

“I can’t…” he started to say.

“That’s perfect,” Eilidh spoke over him. “Isn’t it, Adrien? Mary can help.”

Great. So much for keeping his head above water. 

At least he knew that she had the skills. “It would help me, but I don’t want to take up all of your time.”

“Are you kidding? I’ve been itching to pick up a needle and thread. You’d be helping me.” 

Now Marinette was bouncing on the balls of her feet and Adrien couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Then, yes, thank you. I’d appreciate your help.”

Marinette parked her car at the back of Adrien’s house and he led them inside via the back door. When he opened the kitchen door, both cats dashed in to meet them. 

“Hello, kittens.” Lewis sat on the floor to greet them. The cats rubbed their cheeks against him. “Did you miss me?”

“Okay, go get washed up so that you can finish making macarons. I’ll feed Plagg and Poe.”

“Yep.” Lewis ran upstairs with all the stealth of a rampaging elephant. 

“So light on his feet,” Adrien said.

Marinette giggled. “I was the same. When I was a kid, I’d try to sneak up on my parents and they’d hear me coming from miles away.”

Adrien remembered. He was the one who could sneak up on her, often inadvertently. After a while, he started to make noises when he approached her so that she knew he was there. It was easier to announce himself than to have to pick her up off the floor.

Lewis returned, sleeves rolled up. “Ready!”

“Hold on. I need to wash my hands and we can get started.”

While Marinette washed her hands and explained to Lewis what they were going to do, Adrien retrieved the cat’s bowls from the draining board and fetched a tin of food from the cupboard. He fed Plagg and Poe, rinsed the can and chucked it into the recycling bin. Poe ate his dinner in his usual, meticulous way. Plagg gobbled his up like he was in a speed-eating competition.

Adrien looked over at where Marinette and Lewis had their heads together, making a strawberry buttercream, and his heart hurt. As hard as it would be for him to say goodbye to Marinette again, it was going to be even harder for Lewis. Adrien could see how much Lewis already cared for Marinette, and how much he looked up to her. Adrien wanted to shield him from the pain, but doing so would mean keeping him away from his mother, and neither of them deserved that.

He left them to their task and used the kitchen table to make packed lunches for him and Lewis, sneaking a piece of cheese to Plagg who was acting like he had been starved, despite having just eaten dinner. Once they were ready, he put them in the fridge and checked that Lewis’s school bag was packed. Since the play rehearsals had begun, Adrien had to be even more organised than usual. 

Now that Eilidh was injured, he intended to help her however he could, too. He would make sure to make Alex and Eilidh’s lunches for them, and provide as many other meals as he could. There were only two weeks until the performance of Romeo and Juliet, then he would be more available to support his friend like she had supported him.

Once Marinette and Lewis piped the filling into the macarons, Adrien watched them press the two sides together and place them gently —Lewis slightly less gentle than Marinette— into boxes.

“Do you want to take some home?” Adrien asked Marinette as he found space in the fridge to store them. 

“No, these are all Lewis’s.”

“That’s very kind of you. Okay, mon trésor, time for bed. Say goodnight to Mary.” 

“Goodnight.” Lewis threw his arms around Marinette. She paused for a second before she returned the hug. “Thank you for everything today.”

Marinette smiled softly. “You’re very welcome, Lewis. Sleep well.”

As he brushed his teeth, already sleepy, Lewis looked up at his father. “I like Mary. I hope she stays.”

Adrien ruffled Lewis’s hair. “I don’t think she will. She’s just visiting.”

“You never know.”

“No, I guess you don’t.”

Once Lewis was tucked into bed with a book and a promise that he wouldn’t read for too long, Adrien walked downstairs slowly. He knew that when he reached the kitchen, he would have to say goodbye to Marinette and he wasn’t ready for her to go yet. 

“Did he settle okay?” Marinette asked and Adrien had a brief glimpse into a domestic life they could have had. 

It was a bittersweet thought, but Adrien had mourned that before Lewis took his first steps. He knew early on that he was going to be a lone parent. The fantasy of parenting with Marinette was one he couldn’t afford.

For this moment, though, he wanted to live in the fantasy.

“You like ice cream, right?” 

Marinette looked confused. “Uh, yes?”

“Do you want some? I have this great mint—”

“—and chocolate cookie gelato,” she interrupted him.

His jaw dropped. “How did you..?”

She smirked brazenly and Adrien had to hold back his urge to kiss the smile off of her face. “Eilidh told me.”

“What?” That caused a record scratch in his brain. Why did they discuss his ice cream preferences? “It’s not that weird, is it?”

“No,” she laughed. “It’s not weird at all. She just mentioned it. I… I’d love to try it.”

Adrien got the ice cream out of the freezer and two spoons out of the drawer. “Would you like a bowl?”

She shrugged. “I’m happy to share if you are.”

They used to share tubs of ice cream in the kitchen of Agreste mansion after Adrien snuck Marinette in once his father was in bed. He would raid the freezer for one of the expensive brands his mother loved and Gabriel still bought but never ate. They would sit with their backs against the kitchen island and feed each other spoonfuls of Belgian chocolate ice cream. 

Adrien passed Marinette a spoon and opened the ice cream container. Marinette pulled her chair closer to his. So close that her knee touched his.

“You first,” Adrien said.

Marinette took a delicate spoonful of ice cream and cookie crumbs. Adrien studied her face as she tasted it. She still ate ice cream like she always had; letting it melt on her tongue and savouring each spoonful. When her eyes flickered closed and her lips pressed together before the tip of her tongue swept across them to pick up the last remnants of flavour, Adrien knew she agreed with his choice.

“That’s…”

“Isn’t it?” Adrien said. 

They ate in silence for a while, taking turns to dig their spoon into the pale green ice cream and scooping up the dark brown cookie chunks. It was like Adrien had travelled back in time to ten years ago. He felt completely at ease in her company — relaxed. It was natural, normal. 

“Can I ask you something?” Marinette finally broke their silence.

“Sure,” he said.

“Why haven’t you told anyone here that you lived in France?”

Ah. That.

He was amazed it had taken her so long to ask. It must have piqued her interest when he first asked her to keep that secret, and he’d been expecting this question. He was prepared with an answer that was based on truth, but not the full story.

“My father was French, which is why I lived there. My mother was English. Father was— He wasn’t a good guy. When I came here with my mother’s side of the family, I wanted a fresh start.” 

“Oh. That makes sense. Sorry to pry.”

He put his hand on her forearm. “Don’t apologise. I asked you to keep a secret for me, it’s normal to want to know what’s behind that.”

“Is that why you haven’t asked me why I changed my name?”

Damn. He hadn’t even considered that. He knew why she was hiding her true identity, but he wasn’t meant to. “I figured you had a good reason.”

Marinette carefully put her spoon on the table. “Do you know who Gabriel Agreste is?”

Adrien dropped his spoon, only catching it after it clattered off the table a few times. “Uh, I think I’ve heard the name.”

“From what I was told, he was responsible for my accident — the one that caused me to lose my memory.”

Adrien felt like Phoebe in the episode of Friends when everyone learned that Ross hadn’t got the annulment for him and Rachel. He wanted to shout  ‘That’s brand new information!’ . How do you play dumb when you’ve relived that particular moment every day for eight years?

“Oh, really?”

Marinette nodded. “I don’t know all the details, except that he was arrested that same night. He had been up to something shady and I guess I exposed him? He didn’t like that and threatened to kill me. I’ve been living under a fake name ever since.”

He wanted to ask her what happened that day. He wanted to know how Luka ended up leaving with her, and who made that decision. 

“That’s… Wow. That must have been terrifying.”

“It was for my family, and for Luka. For me, though?” She shrugged and picked up her spoon again. “I had no memory of working for him, or what he’d done so it was really just confusing. I knew what he was capable of, but he was always this nebulous threat until…”

“Until?”

“He found me. In Italy. That’s why we left. It's why we’re here… Why I’m here.”

Something icy gripped his chest. Fear? Anger? Both? That interview in Vogue had given her away to Gabriel, it must have. It confirmed that he was still looking for them, that Gabriel was still clinging to his grudge. That he was still willing to hunt them down.

His hand, he realised, was still on Marinette’s arm. He squeezed it gently. “I’m sorry that happened to you. You’re safe here.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. 

When she looked up at him, her eyes glassy, pupils wide, Adrien’s heart beat in double tempo. She was close. Close enough to count her freckles. Close enough to see her cheeks flush. Close enough to notice that her gaze kept moving to his lips.

He could lean forward and kiss her. Just a few centimetres would do it.

But he couldn’t.

He was nothing to her now. Just an acquaintance. Someone she used to know.

He leaned back. “Uh, I should be thanking you. For rescuing me with the costume situation.”

Marinette blinked a few times like she was adjusting to a bright light. “Oh. Yeah. It’s honestly my pleasure. I miss sewing more than I thought possible.”

“Are you sure? There’s not much time left before the performance and a lot to do.”

“Under pressure is where I do my best work. You should see me right before fashion week.”

He had. He wished he could see her like that again. Laser-focused and full of passion.

“Would you be able to come to rehearsal after school tomorrow? I can introduce you to Astrid, and she can show you what needs to be done.”

Marinette nodded. “I can do that.” She looked at the clock on the oven. “Oh, look at the time. I should go. You have school tomorrow.”

He didn’t want her to leave. Ever. He wanted to tell her to stay.

“Thank you,” he said instead. “For baking with Lewis, for being so patient with him. For helping Eilidh today. For swooping in to save me with the costumes. Thank you for everything.”

Her smile was shy. She bit her lip and looked up at him. “It’s strange. I’ve only just met you, yet, in my heart, it’s like I’ve known you forever.”

“You should always trust your heart.”

“Yeah. I guess so. Goodnight, Adrien.”

He watched her go, waiting by the door until her car drove away and turned out of the street.

“Goodnight, M’lady.” 

Chapter Text

Marinette had the strangest dream.

In it, she was sleeping… no… not sleeping… It was like she was stuck between worlds. She could hear a man's voice, and he was speaking French to her. He was telling her about his mother’s funeral. About the shock and pain and betrayal he felt at discovering what happened to her. She heard the grief in his voice; raw and bitter and hopeless. He said that he missed her, that he wished she could have been with him.

“But you’re doing the most important thing right now. You’re healing. You’re growing a human. You keep on doing that until you’re ready to come back to us. Until you’re ready for us to be a family.”

The words were confusing and out of context, but the more he spoke, the more familiar it became. It was Adrien.

When she woke up, her cheeks were wet with tears. 

Blearily, she went down to the kitchen and made herself coffee. Her now-familiar spot at the bay window awaited her. The sky above the park was hazy and orange, the air already humid. Marinette gazed outside and turned her dream over in her mind.

She’d spoken about her accident and memory loss more yesterday than she had in some time. Eilidh and Adrien had divulged details about Adrien’s sometimes painful past. Those things must have combined to spark something in her subconscious. 

Or, perhaps ice cream too close to bedtime was a recipe for weird dreams. 

Marinette had told Adrien that her heart felt like she’d always known him, and she meant it. There was something innate in the way that she responded to him. Every nerve impulse and breath she took in his company seemed to be a reaction to him. That alone was surely something her unconscious mind needed to unpack as she slept. 

It was something her conscious mind needed to unpack, too. If only there was someone she could talk to about it. Luka was unwilling to discuss anything about that time, and Nonna wasn’t around enough to know who her friends were. She could try to speak to her father — he at least seemed more keen to prompt her memory than anyone else.   

The text message alert distracted her. She opened the app, expecting to see something from Adrien but it was a different number.

E: Hiya it is I ✨ Eilidh ✨ I forced Adrien to give me your number I hope you don’t mind lol. Just wanted to say thanks again for being an actual angel 👼 yesterday and also Adrien brought some of the macarons you made with Lewis to school and I think at least three members of the a&h dept now want to marry you 😍 you know, in case you want options 😉

Before she could respond, another text alert sounded. This time, it was Adrien.

A: Hi, I thought I should warn you that Eilidh now has your phone number and that she’s a menace. I wanted to see how you're doing today, it ended up being a long and strange day yesterday so I hope you’re resting now.

Marinette couldn’t stop the grin that spread across her face. Meeting Eilidh and Adrien was the best thing to happen to her in a while. Eilidh was fun and slightly chaotic, while Adrien was steadying and thoughtful, and both of them were endlessly kind. Even their texts made her smile. 

She fired off a reply to Eilidh, letting her know that it was okay for her to have her phone number but that the teachers would have to keep their marriage proposals to themselves. Then she replied to Adrien.

M: Hi :) Eilidh has already messaged me. She’s not a menace, just enthusiastic. I’m okay today. A little tired but I’ll be full of energy by 4.30, I promise x

A: She’s a real-life gremlin. Don't feed her after midnight. Are you sure you’re okay? We can reschedule? 

M: I’ll be fine. I have memory loss, I’m not made of glass 

A: Clearly. And if you were, you’d be safety glass - that’s tough. Anyway, looking forward to seeing you later. Have a smashing day.

Marinette giggled. She liked puns, who knew?

M: You crack me up. Have a great day too x

Still smiling, she scrolled back through Adrien’s messages and noticed that some of them had disappeared. Everything he’d sent her before yesterday was gone. Weird. Her phone must have deleted them. Maybe the app was glitching.

Coffee finished, it was time to start the day. Marinette was going to need a sewing machine and Mrs Owens had told her that there was a department store near Birmingham. Marinette was going to call by and see if Mrs Owens wanted to come with her.

Before she could do anything other than wash her coffee cup, her phone rang.

“Hi, Luka.”

“Hi, Marinette.” He sounded like he was getting a sore throat. “How are you?”

She decided not to share her dream with him. “I'm fine. Are you okay? You sound rough.”

“I’m fine. I’ve just been pushing myself too hard. I’ll be able to rest after next week.”

“Look after yourself until then.”

“I’ll try. How’s your friend, uh…”

“Eilidh? She got stitched up and she’s going to be okay.”

“That’s good. I am glad you’ve made friends, you know? I didn’t articulate that very well yesterday.”

Marinette bit back a scoff. He was trying and she appreciated that. “I know. It just…” Was it worth the inevitable argument? “Never mind.”

“What are you doing today? Do you want to meet for coffee?”

“I have to drive my landlady to Birmingham this morning, sorry.” It wasn’t a lie; it was an exaggeration. Or was this how it began for her? “Then I said I’d help Adrien with something at school.”

“Adrien? Who is Adrien?”

Something in Luka’s voice sounded alarm bells in her head. There was an edginess to his tone and he jumped on the name too quickly. 

“He’s Eilidh’s friend and colleague.” Which was technically true, even if there was more to the story. What had Eilidh said about a lie being as bad as an omission? Veritas and Aletheia: truth and unconcealment. “They needed help with costumes for Romeo and Juliet. The school is part of the Shakespeare Festival. I offered to have a look.”

“Oh,” he said, calm again. “Don’t take on too much, though. You don’t want to overdo it.”

That triggered some stubborn prove-them-all-wrong drive in her. 

“I promise I won’t do anything I’m not capable of doing.”

“Gather round, cast,” Adrien spoke with such authority that he didn’t need to raise his voice. Every face in the room turned to him. “Come on, don’t be shy.” The group gathered around him. “Now, I’m sure some of you have heard about Miss MacDonald’s injury, and have worked out that she’s now unavailable to assist Ms Wilson with making costumes.”

Marinette had been hastily introduced to Cerys Ansell, the kind and pretty music teacher, and Arthur Nicholl, a haughty older man who Adrien told her also taught English. Four other teachers were part of the cast.

“I heard she fought off a mugger,” one kid whispered loudly.

“I thought she did it in a sword fight,” a second kid said.

“I heard she rescued a baby from the jaws of a wild dog,” another offered. 

Marinette had only recently met Eilidh, but she was sure she was actively encouraging the most ridiculous stories for her own amusement.

Adrien smirked. “Almost all of the rumours are true, I'm sure. However, we don’t have time to speculate this evening, there’s too much to do. I want a full run-through, no books. We have eleven days until we go into the Arts Centre for the dress rehearsal, so when you’re not acting, please either watch quietly—” He looked pointedly at a boy and girl at the front of the group who blushed at his attention. “—or, if you haven’t been measured for your costume, please report to Ms Wilson and Miss Baker. Thank you. I need everyone involved in Act 1, Scene 1 at the front, please.”

The rehearsal began and Ms Wilson invited Marinette to sit at Adrien’s desk with her. 

“Here is the cast list with each of the costumes their characters require. Their measurements are all here, minus a few stragglers,” the Textiles teacher explained. “The Montagues will wear blue and the Capulets will be in red. Romeo and Juliet will start to wear purple tones as their relationship develops to signify the blending of both families.”

Marinette loved that idea. Simple but visually effective. “What can I do first?”

“Eilidh was mostly going to be making shirts but, Adrien said you’re pretty nifty with a needle and thread, so can I ask you to take care of Juliet’s wedding dress first? I want it to be more decorative than the other dresses if you’re up for it?”

Marinette nodded. “I can do that. What style are you going for?”

“A basic 14th-century silhouette but updated, and with modern fabrics. Kirtles for the girls, and the guys are wearing rectangle and gusset shirts with breeches. The Friar will have robes and the Nurse will have something more akin to servant’s wear. Only the adults will have jackets because it’s too much faff to make them for everyone. Besides, it’ll highlight their status.” 

“Maybe Paris should have a jacket, too, then?”

Astrid smiled. “That’s a good idea. I like how you think.”

There was a lot to do and not much time left to do it. Marinette loved the challenge.

“Well, I’m currently between jobs so give me as much to make as you can.”

“Once the wedding dress is done, I’m happy to load a pile of boring shirts on you.”

Marinette laughed. “Nothing is too boring for me. I can’t tell you how much I’ve been itching to make something.”

For the rest of the rehearsal, Marinette helped Astrid to record the measurements of the last few students and teachers. Mostly, though, she watched. 

There were a few rough moments, some forgotten lines, but Adrien was endlessly patient with everyone. She could see how much he cared about his students, and how much they respected him. He brought the same warmth and kindness to his work that he showed to his friends and family. He was strict, too, she could tell. None of the students tried to get away with bad behaviour around him. 

When the rehearsal ended, Astrid presented her with an enormous bag filled with fabric in every shade of purple and permission to “let loose” with the design. Students and teachers filed out of the classroom until it was just Marinette, Adrien and Cerys.

“It was lovely to meet you, Mary,” she said, offering a hand to Marinette. “I can’t wait to see what you do with the costumes.”

Then it was just Marinette and Adrien.

“I need to pack up my things so if you need to rush off, I understand.”

“Adrien, I’m going to drive you home.”

He seemed genuinely surprised by that. “Oh, well… Thank you. I’ll just be a minute.”

“Take as long as you need.”

Marinette watched him gather a few items into his messenger bag and sling it over his shoulder. He took the fabric bag from her and held the door open for her. On their way out of the building, he greeted the cleaners and the caretaker. 

When they were on the road back to Little Nieweham, Marinette looked over at Adrien. “You love teaching, don’t you?”

His eyes crinkled when he smiled. “I do. I never even considered being a teacher until one of my professors, the one who roped me into the Shakespeare festival, told me that I had the ‘right temperament’ for it.” 

“You do. Your students clearly adore you.”

“I’m not sure about that.”

“Adrien, I saw them today and they think you’re the best teacher ever.”

He shrugged self-consciously. “Those students like me because they all chose to be in the play. The ones in my mandatory classes probably don’t feel the same way. I make them work hard.” 

“I can’t tell you what my favourite teachers were like because I don’t really remember many of them, but I’m sure that setting hard work doesn’t preclude respect for your teacher.”

“I suppose you’re right. My favourite teacher cared about her class, but she didn’t let us away with anything.”

“Who was she?”

Adrien looked briefly shocked then said, “Ms Bustier, our troisième homeroom and Literature teacher.”

Our teacher. So Adrien was at the same school as her at age fourteen. That fit with the snippet of memory she had. “I remember Ms Bustier from collège. She was my quatrième teacher, too.” 

“So you don’t remember anything about troisième?”

“I remember running late for school.”

Adrien chuckled. “That could have been any day.”

“Touché, but I know it was my first day. I remember Chloé forcing me out of my seat because her friend was starting that day and meeting the new girl, Alya. I guess that friend was you?”

“In my defence, I didn’t ask her to do that, and you took your seat back a few days later.”

Marinette almost slammed on the brakes in surprise. “I took my seat back from Chloé? Chloé Bourgeois? Tall, blonde, frosted lipstick, main character energy?” 

Adrien snort-laughed. “The very same. You and Alya took back your desk on the second row and stayed there for most of the year.”

Pride bloomed in her chest. Pride in fourteen-year-old Marinette for standing up to her bully, and pride in herself for making an ally in Alya. “Go, me.”

As though he could read her mind, he said “You and Alya were best friends. In case you’re doubting yourself.”

“I vaguely remember how fearless Alya was. I hope some of that rubbed off on me.”

“Are you kidding? You were La—. You were braver than anyone else I know.”

Marinette took her hand off the gear stick to squeeze Adrien’s knee. “Thank you for that.”

“I never want you to think less of yourself. I know how hard Chloé’s bullying was for you, how deep the damage went. You need to know that you stood up for yourself. You proved her wrong. You made friends and helped people and…” Adrien put his hand over hers. “You were loved.”

She wanted to ask if he loved her but either way, the answer might destroy her. It wouldn’t do any good to know. 

Especially if he hadn’t. 

──── •✧•────

Adrien was a pendulum of emotions, swaying wildly from one state to another. One minute, he was ready to dive headfirst into loving Marinette; the next, he was slamming the door of his heart shut. Moments later, he was guarding his secrets like a jealous lover, before swinging carelessly into a desire to confess everything to her. 

With less than two weeks until Romeo and Juliet played to an audience, and A-levels ongoing, it was not a good time to be dealing with… whatever it was he was dealing with. He wasn’t falling in love exactly — he’d never fallen out of it. This time spent with Marinette just served to strengthen his feelings. Seeing her relationship with Lewis grow only made him love her more. Marinette and Lewis baked together whenever they had time. They ate together, learned about each other, and cared more and more about each other.

He should keep his distance from her; he knew that logically, but emotions kept getting in the way. 

The heat wasn’t helping either. The summer had finally arrived, hot and humid. That oppressive heat that clung to your skin. He felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“It’s not the heat, Adrien,” Marinette told him. “It’s the weight of your responsibilities that is making you feel like this.”

“I can cope,” He insisted. There was more to it than she knew, but he couldn’t tell her that.

“I’m not disputing that. You more than cope.” She reached out and squeezed his arm. That was happening more, too. The more time they spent with each other, the more tactile they became. It was another terrible idea that he couldn’t stop. “You have so much on at the moment. What can I do to take some pressure off?”

“You’re already helping.”

It wasn’t a platitude — Marinette was helping. She was a whirlwind. The wedding dress she made for Juliet was breathtaking; a simple sleeveless satin gown with handmade fabric-covered buttons that ran down the front in a nod to Claire Danes’s dress in Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo and Juliet adaptation. Marinette had taken it a step further with a stunning hooded lilac lace cape with a subtle angel wing design across the back. When she presented it to Cecilia, rehearsals stalled while every cast member crowded around to admire how beautiful it was. 

“I can’t believe you made the Claire Danes dress,” Adrien gasped. He still remembered forcing Marinette to watch the movie, claiming that she’d love the costume design when he just wanted to enjoy seeing Shakespeare being acted instead of reading it for once. 

She looked up at him, her azure eyes twinkling. “I had to. The costumes in that movie are iconic.”

“That’s practically couture,” Astrid said. “I hope you appreciate what you’re getting to wear.”

Cecilia gazed at her reflection in the mirror and nodded, speechless. “I do. Thank you, Miss Baker.”

Marinette smiled modestly. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Oh, speak again, bright angel, for thou art. As glorious to this night, being o’er my head. As is a winged messenger of heaven,” Denver said when he saw Cecilia, which Adrien took to mean that he approved.

It also meant that the rumours that Denver and Cecilia’s on-stage romance had migrated off-stage were probably true. That, or Denver was taking method acting to new heights.

By the end of her first week, every single Capulet had their costumes made and fitted. 

Adrien was stunned. He’d seen her clothe an entire band in just a few days and pull Gabriel’s Spring/Summer line together after a disaster in transporting the garments from the studio to the venue. This was surely a new record, though.

“I don’t know what I would have done without you here,” he said. 

“Please, I’m enjoying myself.”

She was. He could see that by the way she held herself. There was a smile that played on the corners of her mouth that was always there, and the sparkle in her eyes seemed more radiant than ever. Just looking at her as she handed out costumes, discussed plans with Ms Wilson, or rummaged through the fabric stash made Adrien smile at Marinette’s joy.

She drove him back to Little Nieweham every evening and ate dinner with him, Eilidh, Lewis and Alex. His found family had expanded, even if it was just temporary, and it felt like his heart had grown proportionally.

Meanwhile, Eilidh was milking her injury for as much attention as possible. She encouraged the bizarre rumours about the reason for the bandage because she wanted to see how silly they’d get. Eilidh was able to do whatever she needed at home with Adrien and Marinette there, but at school, she was suddenly helpless. At lunch, she’d sit in the staffroom while other teachers jumped to fetch cups of tea and helped to open the lunchbox that Adrien had packed for her. Miss Ansell in particular had made it her mission to help her in whatever Eilidh needed. Adrien had to warn Eilidh not to take advantage of her kindness — she was already busy with Romeo and Juliet.

“Gods forbid that anything take precedence over your precious play.”

They were sitting in the cricket grounds, Eilidh fanning herself with her hand, which was surely making her hotter than if she just sat still. Adrien felt sorry for the group of sweaty kids who were running up and down the field in 25℃ heat.

Adrien leaned back on his elbows. “Just be nice, okay?”

“I’m always nice.” Eilidh pouted and crossed her arms. “Most of the time.”

She was single-handedly (in more ways than one) caring for Lewis and Alex, so Adrien cut her some slack.

“I know, I just feel responsible for the wellbeing of everyone I roped into this thing. It’s such a massive undertaking.”

“They’re all grown-ass adults, they knew what they were doing when they took it on. You’re not their father, Adrien.”

He sighed. “I can’t help it.”

Eilidh rested her head on his shoulder. “You’re not your father, either. You understand? You haven’t forced anybody to do the play. Everyone chose it for themselves, you have to stop carrying around guilt for something you haven’t done.”

It was one of her gifts: seeing through Adrien’s concerns to the root of his worries. He wasn’t his father, he knew that. Except when he didn’t. It was one of his biggest fears, that Gabriel’s control was a product of nature, not nurture, and that Adrien might have unknowingly inherited it. For the longest time, it caused him to be something of a doormat to prevent it, but that was harmful in its own way.

“Fine,” he snorted. “Do you have to be so perceptive all the time?”

“Honestly? It’s tiring. I wish I could turn it off sometimes.”

“You wear the burden with grace.”

“I do, don’t I? And with humility,” Eilidh said with a chuckle. “When do you have to leave for rehearsal?”

“Not for another hour.” The performance was on Saturday, exactly a week away and Adrien had organised a full run-through at the Arts Centre, with music. They were so used to rehearsing in his classroom that he was worried they wouldn’t be able to use the whole stage. “I’m sorry to make you look after Lewis again.”

“Don’t be. Alex loves having him around, and so do I.”

“I still feel like I’m asking a lot from you.”

Eilidh made a ‘psshht’ noise and waved his concerns away. “You’re doing it again. I have my own mind. If I didn’t want to look after your delightful, polite and insightful son, I’d say so.”

“Okay, yes. Do you need me to do anything for dinner tonight?” he asked, desperate to make himself useful somehow.

“You can wash the dishes afterwards.”

“So, the usual.” He paused. “Is, uh—”

Eilidh predicted his question. “She’s spending some time with her fiancé today but she should be back in time for dinner.”

“Oh, right.” Her fiancé. For a blissful moment, Adrien had forgotten about him. “It’s just that if I don’t see her today, I won’t see her until Tuesday.”

“I’m sure you can survive without her for a couple of days.”

“You can say that because you get to see her on Monday.” 

Marinette had invited Adrien to the theatre to see Twelfth Night, but he didn’t want to risk seeing Luka. Aside from the real issue of revealing to someone from his past that he wasn’t actually dead, Adrien didn’t trust himself not to swing for the guy.

“You can take my place,” Eilidh said. “You know how I feel about Shakespeare.”

“I do, which is why I refuse to take this opportunity from you.”

“And because you're a giant coward.”

Adrien scoffed. “How very dare you. I’m incredibly brave. I’m just too busy and important to go see this particular play.”

“Okay.” Eilidh looked at Adrien with devilment in her eyes. “Do you want me to punch him in the nose for you?”

──── •✧•────

When Marinette told Luka that she wanted six tickets for the play, she wasn’t convinced she’d fill every seat. Once she started talking to her friends about it, she realised that she might not have enough. In the end, though, Adrien was too busy with rehearsals for Romeo and Juliet, and Yvette had a prior engagement so she had the perfect amount. 

On the afternoon of the play, She met Eilidh, Alex and Lewis after school and drove them to the train station. From there, they met Mrs Owens and her son, Matt, where they boarded a train bound for Stratford-upon-Avon. 

Matt was great with children, having two of his own, and he was happy to entertain the boys with jokes, facts about dinosaurs and a weighty debate about Pokémon that Eilidh joined. He even knew the names of all of the Ninjago characters. 

Mrs Owens and Marinette sat back in their seats and let the Warwickshire countryside whizz by. 

“It’s ever so kind of you to share your tickets with us, my dear,” Mrs Owens said for the third or fourth time. “I didn’t think I would get to see anything other than our Adrien’s play so this is a real treat.”

“You’re going to see Romeo and Juliet?” Marinette asked.

“I think half of Little Nieweham will be there,” Eilidh said, turning away from Matt and her insistence that Psyduck is objectively better than Golduck. “It’s Adrien’s play, but he belongs to the town so it's everyone’s triumph.” She shrugged. “Unless it’s terrible — then we’ll disown him.”

“Hush, dear,” Mrs Owens scolded her. “It is a triumph no matter what. No other school was asked to perform and only one other amateur director was chosen. It’s an honour for Adrien and all of us.”

Eilidh gave Marinette a you-see-what-I-have-to-put-up-with? look that made her giggle. 

In the space of a few weeks, they had become good friends — something Marinette had given up hoping for. After that drive to the hospital, they had barely gone a day without calling, texting or talking to each other, and they ate dinner together most nights. She hoped that after she returned to London, they would keep in touch.

“So, what other plays have you seen?” Eilidh asked Marinette.

“As You Like It, Midsummer Night’s Dream and Hamlet.”

Midsummer Night’s Dream was performed on midsummer night at the open-air theatre. It was scheduled to finish just as the sun was setting. It was magical. If tonight’s play wanted to beat that experience, it would have to be really special. Although, she supposed that seeing her fiancé and future father-in-law perform was special.  

At the theatre, Marinette went to the box office to pick up her tickets. When she gave Luka’s name, the front-of-house manager insisted on escorting them personally to their seats. 

“Luke is such a great guy, I had to meet his special guests.”

Special guests. Not his fiancée, his partner, or even his friend. His guests.

“Well, it’s lovely to meet you,” Marinette said. 

“Have you come far to see the play?”

“Nieweham.”

“Oh, not too far, then.”

Marinette was aware that Mrs Owens, Matt, Eilidh and the kids were following silently behind her. 

“Sorry, I should make introductions. This is Mrs Owens and her son, Matt. This is Eilidh and her son, Alex, And this,” she put her hand on his shoulder. “Is Lewis.”

The manager shook hands with the adults. “Oh, so sweet. A mother and son theatre trip!” 

Marinette opened her mouth to correct her. She tried to form the words. She looked to Eilidh in the hope that she might correct the error, but Eilidh merely offered her an utterly inscrutable smile. Even Mrs Owens refused to set the record straight. 

Once they were seated and the manager had left them, Mrs Owens leaned over to Marinette and whispered. “You know, the two of you are so similar, if I didn’t know better, I’d believe you were related.”

──── •✧•────

After the rehearsal, Adrien decided to catch up on paperwork. Lewis was at the theatre with Marinette, Eilidh and Alex tonight and he wanted to try to use his free time wisely. His desk had a view of the window and the school’s playing field where someone was running laps around the track. She wore a black tracksuit with neon green piping, with magenta hair stuffed into a black baseball cap. 

The sky had been cloudy over the past few days, and a threat of rain lingered in the grey tinge overhead. Humidity still hung heavily in the air. Adrien would not want to run in it. Every window in his classroom was wide open but the lack of even the slightest breeze meant it did nothing to cool his room. 

“Knock knock.”

Adrien looked away from the window to see a hand on the doorframe. “Who’s there?”

Miss Ansell entered the room, a shy smile on her face, her bag held by her side. “I would finish that joke but the only version I can remember right now is Eilidh’s interrupting cow—”

“—Moo.”

She laughed. “Exactly. Anyway, I was about to leave when I noticed you were still here and it seemed like your mind was elsewhere this evening, so I thought I’d check in.”

“That’s kind of you, C, I’m…”

“If you’re about to say ‘fine’, I don’t believe you.” She crossed her arms and leaned on the nearest desk. “Talk.”

When you spend almost every waking hour with someone, they get to know you pretty well, and she and Adrien had spent more time together recently than he had with even his own son. Again she reminded him of Ms Bustier with the way she cared about people.

“It’s just… Whose idea was it to take on performing a Shakespeare play on the day after exam season ends? I have cast members who are sitting a Chemistry paper on the morning of the dress rehearsal so trying to schedule it is a nightmare.”

“Tell me about it. Music A-level sat this afternoon and it felt like I was more focused on the kids in the hall than the ones in my classroom. It never gets easier. How many cast members are affected?”

“Two. Iromi and Alvin.” The Nurse and the Friar. 

“Wow, so, irrelevant characters?” Miss Ansell said, grinning.

“Yeah, no big deal.” Adrien smiled back. “I might have to get someone to drive them over after lunchtime. How do you think it went this afternoon?”

She shrugged. “They were ready. I did everything I could and hopefully they did the same.” 

“Where were you with this zen attitude last week when my kids were sitting their A-levels and Eilidh’s were sitting GCSE Latin?”

“I was deliberately staying far, far away. Eilidh wears her stress on her lapel and I didn’t want to get my head bitten off.”

Adrien tossed his pen on top of the pile of paperwork he should have been doing and stretched in his chair. “So wise for one so young.”

“Hey! I’m only a few years younger than you, and I outrank you.”

He smirked. Adrien, Eilidh, Miss Ansell, and Pamela Dupont all started teaching at Greater Nieweham High School at the same time. Four years on, they were still called ‘the new teachers’ by staff and students alike. Cerys Ansell, by merit of being the only Music teacher in the school, was the Head of Music. Likewise, Eilidh was Head of Classics. Neither of them would let Adrien or Pamela forget it. 

“It’s my own fault for joining a department with so many teachers.”

“Exactly,” she said, eyes crinkling at the joke. “So, enough beating around the bush. What’s going on with you these days? Something other than exams and Shakespeare is giving you a distant expression. What is it?”

“Am I that obvious? I thought I wore my veneer of fine-ness better than that.”

“The parts we can’t tell, we carry them well, but that doesn’t mean they’re not heavy.”

Adrien frowned. “That feels like a quote.”

“Dear Evan Hansen.” 

“Makes a change from Greek philosophers.”

“Eilidh is full of those, isn’t she?”

“She’s certainly full of something.”

Miss Ansell laughed. “You say that, but I can see how much you care for each other.”

“We’re Celtic, mocking each other is how we show affection.”

“I’m from Cornwall, I understand. And you’re dodging the question.”

He gave her a bashful look. “I am, aren’t I?” He’d been here before, five years ago. When he and Eilidh had been growing closer, she noticed that he was hiding something. Back then, he trusted her with the truth. Now he had the choice to trust somebody else. “Do you remember that song I wrote?”

“Remember? I’ve been playing it every day for a fortnight.”

“Well, the girl I wrote it for is here somehow.”

“Uh, wow. Okay.”

“And you’ve met her.”

Her eyes widened. “Is it… Are you talking about Mary?”

This didn’t just concern him anymore. Marinette was part of it; part of his story; part of his life.  

Adrien pushed a chair towards her with his foot. “You should probably sit down for this.”

──── •✧•────

The play was… fine. 

Marinette loved how enraptured Lewis had been by everything that happened on stage. She laughed, too, when Lewis and Alex laughed at Sir Toby and Sir Andrew’s antics. As the play progressed, she found herself watching Lewis’s reaction almost as much as she watched the actors. He was a precocious child, smart and kind, and she’d grown to have true fondness for him. It was strange —or perhaps not so strange— that she could feel so close to this child in such a short time. Lewis was so like Adrien that it was impossible not to care for them both.

The way she felt about Adrien was strange in itself. It was an instinct. He was intelligent, funny, loving and handsome (so strikingly handsome that she thought she might have fantasised him into reality, but that wasn’t something she wanted to dwell on). She had known him before and while her brain didn’t remember, her heart certainly did. It was confusing. When Luka arrived in her hospital room that first day, she didn’t have that same feeling — even years later, she didn’t. She learned to love him as they grew close in Italy. 

And she did love him. Luka was her fiancé because they wanted to commit their lives to each other, just as they had committed to each other when they fled Paris together. She loved Luka, and he loved her. That’s why she was here, after all. To support him in this play.

Luka’s part was small and he was on stage as part of a group, but Marinette was pleased for him that he was there and seemed to be enjoying himself. He’d worked hard, she knew, and she wanted to support him like he had supported her throughout the years.

The house lights came on and the audience began to filter out of the auditorium. The front-of-house manager returned and asked if they’d like to go backstage and meet the cast. Lewis gasped in excitement. Marinette looked at Eilidh, Mrs Owens and Matt. “Would you like to?”

“I’m sure mum would love to meet Jagged Stone,“ Matt said, grinning cheekily.

Mrs Owens blushed beetroot. “I hardly think that’s appropriate.”

Marinette caught the mischief in Matt’s eye and joined in with the joke. She shrugged nonchalantly. “Well, we don’t have to…”

“No, no,” Mrs Owens said rather too hastily. “I think it would be a good experience for the boys.”

“Aye, right,” Eilidh’s tone was so dry that Marinette felt thirsty just hearing it. “For the boys.”

So, they went backstage.  

“Mr Stone?” the front of house manager knocked on a door marked MUSICIANS.

The Mr Stone that answered was Jagged. Hair damp with sweat, towel wrapped around his neck, shirt unbuttoned. Mrs Owens whimpered.

“Marin— Uh, Mary! Great to see you.” Jagged pulled her into a hug. “So rocking that you could make it. Introduce me to your friends.”

She did, leaving Mrs Owens to last so that she received the most attention. When she spoke, her voice sounded high and girly. Matt snorted, quickly disguising it in a cough.

“It’s an honour to meet you, Mr Stone,” Mrs Owens said

“Please, call me Jagged.” He patted her arm amiably. 

“Then you should call me Doris.”

Eilidh’s eyebrows shot up as she caught Marinette’s eye. Marinette remembered what Adrien had said.  “Everyone around here just knows them as Mr and Mrs Owens.”  Marinette guessed that Eilidh had just learned Mrs Owen’s first name too.

“Mar. You came.” Luka was a welcome distraction from whatever was going on with Mrs Owens.

“Luke. You were great.”

He smiled bashfully. “I’m not sure I agree but thanks.”

“Naw, you were good,” Eilidh said and waved her bandaged hand. “Hi, I’m Eilidh.”

Luka nodded in recognition. “Of course. How’s the hand?”

“Healing, thanks to Mary for getting me to the hospital before gangrene set in.”

“What’s gangrene?” Alex asked.

“A symptom of your mother’s hypochondria,” Marinette said. “Luke, uh, this is Alex, Eilidh’s son, and this is Lewis.” Marinette rested her hand on Lewis’s shoulder by way of introduction. She lifted it off to indicate Matt. “This is Matt.”

“Hey, man, nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Luka said.

“And his mother, Mrs Owens is over there, swooning over your father.”

Luka frowned. “Does she know about Penny?”

Marinette laughed. “No. She knows about Mr Owens, though, don’t worry.”

“Oh, okay.” Luka turned his attention to Lewis and Alex. “So, what did you two think of the play?”

“I liked the drunk guys and the musicians,” Alex said, which elicited a grin from Luka.

“Me, too,” Lewis agreed. “Feste was brilliant, and I thought Orsino was great, and Viola, too. I thought Malvolio was the best, though.”

“He was very impressive,” Marinette said. 

“The cast are all going out for dinner now, do you want to join us?”

Marinette frowned. “Oh, it’s a school night so we should get the boys home before it’s too late.”

“You can go,” Eilidh said. “I’m sure we can get back another way.”

“If my mother ever stops flirting with Jagged Stone, we can drive you back from the station,” Matt said, looking a little concerned at the way Mrs Owens was giggling at Jagged. Nothing could possibly be that funny.

“I’m going back to London tomorrow so it’s the last time I’ll see you for a week since you’re so busy with that school play.”

“‘That school play’ has equal billing with yours in the festival,” Matt said. Marinette detected an edge in his voice that told her he was offended on Adrien’s behalf. He really did belong to the town.

Luka held his hands up defensively. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Eilidh placed a pacifying hand on Matt’s shoulder. “I think you probably did, but I’m sure that you also understand that teenagers are capable of remarkable things and shouldn’t be underestimated or disregarded because they’re young.”

“Of course I do. I honestly didn’t mean offence.”

“I know you weren’t intentionally being a snake. I think you deserve a second chance.” Eilidh turned to Marinette. “Anyway, don’t let us stop you from going out with Luke tonight.”

“I don’t want to cause a problem,” Marinette said. 

Eilidh smiled kindly and held eye contact with Marinette. “You’re not causing a problem by doing what you want to do. You’re your own woman with agency and independence and you can make choices for yourself, okay?”

A rush of gratitude for Eilidh swept over Marinette. Simply spending time with this woman had given Marinette confidence in herself. She seemed to sense whenever Marinette was doubting herself and immediately shot down the negative feelings before they could take hold.

“Okay.” Marinette nodded. She noted how Eilidh had turned her gaze onto Luka at the end of her sentence. She also noted how Luka bristled. “Then, yes, I’ll come to dinner with you and the cast.”

“Well, it was nice to meet you, Luke. Come on boys, let’s go get Mrs Owens away from Matt’s new daddy and head home.”

“Thank you for tonight, Mary,” Alex said.

“Yes, thank you so much,” Lewis added.

“It was my pleasure,” Marinette said, hugging Eilidh and Matt in turn. “Let me know when you’re home.”

Eilidh nodded. “Likewise. I don’t care how late it is, I want to know you’re safe.”

Lewis waved. “Bye.”

Sometime between baking macarons the first time and the time she taught Lewis her family recipe for baguettes, they had fallen into a new habit. Marinette held out her fist to Lewis. Lewis grinned in a way that made him look exactly like his father and bumped it with his own.

“Pound it,” they said together.

As they left —extricating Mrs Owens from her conversation with Jagged with some difficulty— Marinette smiled at her new friends. She was glad to know them. It was going to be hard to leave them next week.

When she looked back at Luka, he had a disconcerted look on his face. “How did you say you met those people?”

“Mrs Owens is my landlady and Matt is her son. Eilidh, I met through Mrs Owens.” Again, it was technically true but excluded certain facts. She had been doing that a lot recently. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Luka said, scowling. “There’s something off about Eilidh and her son.”

“Who Alex? What’s off about him?”

“No, the other one, Lewis. He’s familiar in a, I don’t know, a jarring way that I can’t put my finger on.”

If Lewis was familiar to Luka, then he might have known Adrien. Was it worth asking him about it? No, not Luka. There were others from her past here tonight, though.

“Is Penny here? I can go wait with her while you get changed.” 

She was. Marinette found her outside the theatre, on a bench beside a fountain. She was smoking a cigarette.

“Oh, hi, Marinette, you caught me.” Penny wafted the smoke away with her hands. “Don’t tell Jagged, please. He hates it when I smoke.”

So, Penny kept secrets, too.

“My lips are sealed.” Marinette sat beside Penny. “Can I ask you something? Do you know of an Adrien that I knew in the past?”

Penny’s hand stalled on its way to her mouth. She turned to Marinette, stunned. “Yes. Adrien Agreste. You were… How do I say this? You were close.”

“But Adrien Agreste is dead.”

“That’s what they say, yes. Why do you ask?” Penny finally took another pull on her cigarette.

“It’s probably nothing.”

“Marinette… It’s not nothing.”

No, it wasn’t. She was hiding things from Luka because of how he reacted to news that she might have met someone from her past, and his response to her merely mentioning the name ‘Adrien’. “Can you keep this to yourself?”

“What happens on this bench stays on this bench.”

“I remembered something. From the time I lost before the accident.”

Penny’s eyes widened and she leaned forward. “You did? What did you remember?”

“Being at school at the start of the year. And a boy who put chewing gum on my seat.”

“Is that it?”

Marinette shrugged. “It’s not much.”

“It’s more than you’ve ever remembered before.” Penny seemed deep in thought. “Do you think you could remember more?”

“I don’t know. I suppose I could try.”

“Maybe that’s how you get answers.” 

──── •✧•────

Adrien and Eilidh's new morning routine involved tea in Miss Ansell's classroom to talk about the previous evening's rehearsal issues and to plan the next one. Occasionally, Mr Nicholl would pop in on his way to his form class (something Adrien, Eilidh and Cerys had avoided that year) to keep them updated on stage management logistics.

Eilidh claimed she was just there for the biscuits.

On Tuesday, Miss Ansell wanted to know all about Twelfth Night.

“It was good,” Eilidh said. “Funny. Jagged Stone was definitely the best part of it.” 

“Hmmmm.”

Adrien frowned. “Why hmmmm? What do you know?”

“Your 'friend' Mary.” Miss Ansell actually made air quotes around the word friend. She'd spent too much time with Eilidh recently. “What was her partner's name again?”

Chat Noir. That was her partner's name. Her fiance's name, however, was “Luka.”

“Luke,” Eilidh corrected him.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“He’s a dick, by the way,” Eilidh said. “But I might be biased.”

Miss Ansell smiled rather too knowingly for Adrien's liking. It seemed like Eilidh and Cerys might have discussed this in his absence. “Well, he was named in the Leamington Observer's review. It's, uh, not flattering.”

She held her phone out, the webpage already open. Adrien snatched it from her and read. Eilidh did the same over his shoulder.

Twelfth Night at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre was arguably one of the most anticipated features of this year's festival. A cast packed with a galaxy of stars from stage, screen and music, and a director with a Shakespearian pedigree should have delivered on its promise. Yet, the audience was left feeling that this particular play had been overhyped. 

Director, RSC's Basil Conti should know by now that less is more, however, this performance was overstuffed and indulgent. Packed with highs and lows, ultimately this was a comedy that took itself altogether too seriously.

The highs: RSC's Giles Alconbury as Malvolio owned the stage throughout with his strong performance. Musical theatre stalwart, Esmeralda Rose, showed the audience that she can play the ingénue as Viola/Cesario just as easily as she can belt out a showstopper. Her musical prestige was exactly what the play required when many other singing voices didn't cut it. Feste, played by rock icon Jagged Stone, was the surprise gem in an otherwise lacklustre supporting cast. 

The lows: Although soap star Sophie Samson gave a spirited performance as Olivia, her lack of stamina for stage acting could be felt by the fourth act. Folk artist Elias Andrews, as Sir Andrew, demonstrated viscerally why we've never seen him act until now — although what he did on stage fits only the most generous definition of 'acting'. Luke Stone (no relation, we hope, otherwise the star quality gene must skip a generation) gave an insipid performance. Much like a black hole, this actor's nothingness appeared to suck the light and colour from all in his vicinity. In fact, the musicians could have been left off the playbill and the play would have been all the richer, tighter and more entertaining for it.

In short, watching Twelfth Night was akin to viewing a Rembrandt in a rubbish dump: you had to overlook a sea of dross to appreciate the beauty.

“Wow,” Adrien said when he finished reading. “This—” he checked the byline “—Hamilton Jones really hated the musicians.” 

“Yeah, ouch.” Eilidh looked horrified by what she'd read. “I mean, Luka’s a bellend but that’s harsh.”

“Luke,” Miss Ansell corrected her.

“Whatever.”

Adrien couldn’t take his eyes off the page. “Are all of his reviews this scathing?” 

Miss Ansell shook her head. “No. He's blunt, but not normally like this. I've been following him during the festival and he's usually much more complimentary.” 

“Is he coming to ours?”

“Yeah.” 

“Oh, dear.”

“None of that. You guys are going to be great.” Eilidh clapped his shoulder more fiercely than either of them expected. He held his shoulder while she nursed her hand. 

Miss Ansell shook her head. “You're going to split your stitches if you're not careful.” 

She took Eilidh's hand to check for damage.

“Don't worry about me, I'm fine,” Adrien said, wincing. 

Once she was satisfied that Eilidh's hand was still intact, Miss Ansell frowned up at Adrien. “Are you panicking now? Was it a bad idea to show you that?”

“A little bit, yeah. But it’s better to know. Forewarned is forearmed and all that.”

Eilidh snorted. “Come on, Adrien. You’ve dealt with so much worse in your life.”

“Yeah, from what I read you fought literal monsters, I’m sure a theatre critic is nothing to worry about.”

“From what you read?” Adrien was baffled. “Where did you read that?”

“It’s called the, uh, Ladyblog, I think.”

“Wait, there’s a blog all about you?” Eilidh asked, indignant. “Why haven’t I seen this?”

“It was taken down,” Adrien said. “They took down as many websites and social media posts as they could to try to protect the Miraculouses.”

“Yeah, but the internet is forever and some of it was archived.” Cerys took her phone back from Adrien and tapped on the screen until a different webpage appeared. It was text-only and nothing like he remembered it, but sure enough, it was Alya’s old blog.

“Oh, I have to see this,” Eilidh exclaimed.

The two women put their heads together to read all about Ladybug and Chat Noir’s exploits. Adrien didn’t need to read it, he’d lived it. 

He sat down at the piano and picked out a tune. It was the theme tune of the Ladybug and Chat Noir Movie. He remembered voicing Chat Noir for it, constantly paranoid that someone would realise that he sounded exactly like the real superhero. Time and again, he worried that he’d give himself away but nobody ever found out.

Nobody, except Luka.

It was so long ago that Adrien had forgotten about it, but Luka had figured it out. 

He’d tried to be charitable about Luka. He told himself that since Marinette clearly loved him, he must be the same decent guy Adrien had known all that time ago. Now, though, he wasn’t so sure. Luka had convinced Marinette that she had been a liar in her teens. Now, he was discouraging her from trying to remember details about her past. 

What was he trying to conceal? He knew who Marinette had been, that she had been Ladybug, was that what he was trying to hide from her? 

Adrien didn’t know what consequences there could be for Marinette if she learned that she had been Ladybug. Master Fu learned about the Miraculous heroes after he lost his memory, but never about the Miraculouses themselves. Was Luka trying to protect Marinette? If so, he was stifling her in the process.  

She deserved to know more about her past, about who she was then. But, did Adrien have the right to tell her?

“Woah, Adrien,” Eilidh exclaimed, cutting Adrien’s thoughts short. “That T-Rex thing was true?”

“Yup.”

“Oh my goodness,” Miss Ansell looked up from the Ladyblog. “Ladybug let herself get eaten by it?”

Adrien smiled at the memory. At the time, he’d been furious with her for endangering her life. Now, he realised how well thought-out her actions had been. 

“She was a badass.”

“She still is,” Eilidh said. “She just needs someone to remind her of that fact every now and then.”

Chapter Text

Lewis held her hand all the way back from town, skipping lightly beside her as he talked about his favourite books. Marinette had learned that he liked stories with dragons in them. He thought heroes were cool in general, but didn’t care much for superheroes. She agreed; superheroes were overrated.

“So what are these chouettes that we’re making?” Lewis asked as they approached the house.

Marinette laughed. “Chouquettes. Chouette means owl.”

“So what does chouquette mean?”

“Little choux. Some people say that choux comes from the word chou which means cabbage.”

“So we’re making cabbages?” Lewis looked scandalised.

“No, we’re not. I think the name probably comes from pâte à chaud.”

“Hot pastry?”

Marinette smiled. The fact that Lewis spoke some French warmed her heart. “Exactement. The pastry is made with hot liquid — milk, in this case.”

They let themselves in —Adrien left the door unlocked during the day when he was home— and headed straight for the kitchen. Through the open door of the living room, Marinette saw that Adrien was asleep on the sofa with one cat curled up on his lap, another tucked under his arm with his head on Adrien’s chest. For the briefest moment, Marinette felt envious of the cats.

Arthur and the Art teachers had gone into the Arts Centre to set up the scenery and prepare the stage crew before the technical rehearsal on Thursday. Adrien gave the cast a well-deserved night off. He needed a break more than anyone did. Adrien had been under so much pressure during the last two weeks that he was permanently on the cusp of a panic attack. It was reassuring to see him rest.

Marinette held a finger up to her lips when she joined Lewis in the kitchen. “Let's try to keep the noise down and let your dad sleep.”

Lewis nodded and started to unpack their shopping bag. Milk, butter, flour and eggs from the grocer, and Swedish pearl sugar from Yvette, who used it on her apple cakes. Marinette took salt, sugar and vanilla extract from her box of baking supplies; a saucepan and weighing scales from the cupboard; and a wooden spoon from the utensil drawer. She was starting to feel at home in this kitchen and had learned where everything was kept.

“What do we do first?” Lewis asked. 

“Line some baking trays and preheat the oven.”

She and Lewis fell into an established routine of preparing to bake. They got their equipment and ingredients ready while Marinette explained what they were going to bake and how she learned to make it.

“Once you know how to make choux pastry, you can make all kinds of things. Profiteroles, eclairs, beignets, gougères, réligiouses and croquembouche. It’s also similar to things like churros, reuzenbol, karpatka and marillenknödel so it’s a useful recipe.”

Lewis’s eyes were like saucers. “That’s so many words I don’t know.”

“Une chose à la fois, mon petit. One thing at a time. Let’s start with chouquettes and before you know it, you’ll be making a patisserie's worth of choux.”

“Okay. What’s first?”

Lewis was an instinctive baker. He used all of his senses to tell when something was ready, and once he’d been taught a technique, he could do it again with minimal instruction. Marinette had been the same and it gave her a glimpse of the satisfaction her father must have felt when he taught her his family recipes. She wished Tom could meet this sweet, gifted kid — he would love him, too.

They worked quickly to make the choux pastry, each piping a tray of chouquettes. Lewis’s were wonkier than Marinette’s but she could see the improvement from the first one he piped to the last. He was a quick learner. 

“This is the fun part.” Marinette held up the pearl sugar. “They’ll puff up in the oven so make sure you get lots of sugar on each one.”

Lewis sprinkled sugar liberally on his choux lumps. “Why is it so big?”

“So that it doesn’t completely melt in the oven and you get sweet crunchy bits on the final product.”

Once the puffs were in the oven, Marinette fetched them each a glass of water. They sat at the kitchen table to cool down while they waited. Marinette noticed a trickle of red at Lewis’s nostril. Before he could react, she grabbed a paper towel.

“Lewis, your nose is bleeding.”

“Oh,” he said resignedly. “That happens during the summer.”

He held the paper towel to his nose. Marinette knelt in front of him and pushed his hair away from his face. “Look down for me. Can you pinch the bridge of your nose or do you want me to?”

“Can you? I never do it hard enough.”

“Of course.” She pinched the skin on his nose where freckles dusted out towards his cheeks. Adrien didn’t have those freckles. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m used to it.”

“When I was your age, I got nosebleeds a lot. My dad used to panic every time, but maman was calm.”

“When did they stop?”

She shrugged. “I wish I knew. Sometime between the ages of fourteen and twenty-four. That’s not very helpful, is it?”

“At least it’s not forever,” Lewis said.

“That’s a good outlook. I do still get them sometimes, but nowhere near as often.”

“It sucks not being able to eat the nice fruit during the summer, it would be nice to grow out of that, too.”

Marinette smiled sadly. “I hear you, little man. I’d love to eat some cherries or apricots when they’re in season. Can you eat cooked fruit?”

“Yeah. Just not raw.”

“I’d love to teach you how to make puff pastry, but I think the weather is too hot right now. Maybe we can cheat and buy some to make cherry pie?”

Lewis’s smile showed on either side of the paper towel. “I’d like that.”

A floorboard in the living room squeaked moments before a sleepy-looking Adrien appeared in the doorway, flanked by two stretching cats. He was adorably rumpled and a single pillow crease ran down one cheek. His hair was messy, his eyelids heavy. 

“Hey, you should have woken me.” He yawned, one hand over his mouth before he noticed Lewis’s situation. “Oh, Lewis, you okay?”

Lewis waved away his concern. “Just a nosebleed.”

“Ah, man, I’m sorry. It looks like you’re in good hands, though. You okay to deal with it?”

“I’m fine.” His trust in her sent a warmth through her chest. At that moment, she realised that Lewis trusted her, too. He didn’t ask for his dad, he let her help him without questioning it. Marinette blinked away the start of tears. This wasn’t the time.

“Mary had nosebleeds when she was my age. She said I might grow out of it.”

Marinette saw a slow dawn of recognition in Adrien’s face. “Oh, yeah. That’s good to know, isn’t it.”

“It might not be the same for you, but mine were due to pollen and humidity. If you think that’s what causes yours, maybe you’ll grow out of it, too.”

“Yes, of course. Different cases,” Adrien said hastily.

Marinette moved Lewis’s hand away from his nose. “Let me see.” She waited a few beats. “No more blood. I think you’re good.”

“Thanks, Mary.” Lewis sniffed. “I think the chouquettes are ready.”

Marinette breathed in. The unmistakable scent of freshly baked choux pastry filled her nostrils. It was a toasty, sweet smell. “I think you’re right.” When she reached for the oven gloves, the oven timer began to sound. “It might malfunction sometimes, but you’ve got a good nose, Lewis.”

She removed the trays of chouquettes from the oven and arranged them on cooling racks while Adrien checked over Lewis.

“What time is it?” Adrien asked, stretching. If it was possible, he was even more cat-like than either Plagg or Poe.

Marinette tore her eyes away from Adrien to check the clock on the oven. “Half past six.”

“Oh no, I slept far too long. I should make dinner. Can you go read, Lewis? Unless you have any other homework?”

“I already did my times tables.”

“Then read until dinner is ready, please.”

Lewis huffed, but he left the kitchen, grabbing a paperback from the table as he went.

Adrien checked the fridge. “I have chicken, broccoli that’s about to turn yellow, almost wilted spring onions and some ginger that’s mostly still edible.” He slammed the fridge shut and opened a cupboard. “Wow, I really need to go shopping.”

He took a jar of rice from one shelf and a selection of bottles from another. 

“What can I do?” Marinette asked. 

“Nothing. You and Lewis have been busy. Let me make this.”

Reluctantly, Marinette sat at the kitchen table and watched as Adrien boiled rice, steamed broccoli, chopped garlic, ginger, chilli and onions and threw together a dinner that smelled so familiar that it triggered a memory of sorts. It was vague and nonsensical, but she was in a new city where nobody spoke her language. She was trying to get… somewhere. She was trying to reach someone. But who?

“Adrien?”

“Yes?”

“Did we ever meet somewhere other than Paris?”

He kept his eyes on the pans but Marinette felt his full attention on her. “We had a school trip to New York. Have you remembered something?”

“Maybe that’s it. I don’t know.”

Adrien put a plate in front of her followed by two others on either side of it. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She shook her head. The memory had been like vapour to begin with and it had faded fast. “No. Whatever it was has gone. Let’s eat.”

“I’ll call Lewis. If you think of anything else, you can ask me later.” Adrien stood at the bottom of the stairs. “Lewis! Dinner’s ready!”

Heavy feet on the stairs heralded his approach. “Coming!” He climbed onto a chair and examined his meal. “Uncle Wang’s chicken?”

“Who?” 

Adrien sat beside her, his knee nudging hers under the table. “Sorry.” He rearranged his chair. “My Uncle Wang taught me how to cook this dish. He’s a chef.”

She had an Uncle Wang, too. He was also a chef. Small world. She picked up her fork and tasted the chicken. It was like something her mother would cook, maybe that was where the wisp of memory had risen from.

“This is delicious, Adrien.”

“Yeah, dad, s’good,” Lewis confirmed.

Adrien sighed. “I don’t need to see you chew it, Lewis. Eat first, speak after.”

Lewis swallowed loudly. “Sorry. This is nice.” 

“Thank you. Not as impressive as what you baked, though.”

“Yeah, thank you, Mary.”

“It’s always my pleasure.” She held her fist out to Lewis. “Pound it?”

He bumped it. Adrien sniffed and wiped his face.

“You okay, dad?” 

“I’m just happy, that’s all. So, how was school today? Did you learn anything interesting?”

Between mouthfuls, Lewis regaled them with facts about Ancient Egypt, fractions, and osmosis. Adrien encouraged him and added his own information where he could, admitting that most of what he knew about Egyptian gods and goddesses came from Eilidh. 

“You should go to London sometime,” Marinette suggested. “The British Museum has lots of Egyptian artefacts.”

Adrien shrugged. “Maybe one day.”

“Or Paris. Everything I know about Ancient Egypt comes from the Louvre.”

Lewis looked expectantly at his father, who was intensely interested in his own plate and hadn’t heard Marinette’s suggestion. “We’re going on a trip to Leicester Museum before the end of term. Miss Green says we’re going to make a mummy.” His face suddenly fell. “Krzysztof said maybe they’ll let me keep it since I don’t have a mummy.”

Adrien placed his fork carefully onto his plate like he wanted to slam it down and had to use effort not to. “Well, that wasn’t very kind. When did that happen?”

“Today.” Lewis's eyes were glassy and his lip trembled. Adrien reached his hand out to his son.

Not for the first time, Marinette wondered about Lewis’s mother. What could have happened to her? From the way Adrien acted without animosity at the reference to her, Marinette didn’t think it was a messy or bitter break-up. Could she have died? Did Lewis ever know her? The thought of Adrien grieving that loss while he brought up Lewis alone was too painful to think about. Yet, Marinette wanted to know more about her. The woman who captured Adrien’s heart and gave life to Lewis had to have been someone special.

Adrien frowned. “I’m sorry that happened. Did you tell him it was a mean thing to say?”

“Alex did. Then Miss Green told him off for bad language.”

Adrien’s gleam of satisfaction that Alex had defended his friend dimmed at the news that he was in trouble for it. “Do I need to speak to her?”

Lewis shook his head. “No. I told Miss why he’d said it and she made Krzysztof apologise to me and Alex apologise to Krzysztof.”

“Okay. Man, I’m glad I don’t teach primary school.”

“What do you do if someone in your class calls another person a ‘stupid eejit’?”

Adrien snorted. “I first check to see if Aunt Eilidh is in the room. Next, I’d point out that it’s a tautology to say ‘stupid eejit’ because they both mean the same thing.” 

“That saves me from asking my next question,” Marinette said. Adrien rewarded her with a glowing smile and turned back to Lewis.

“Then, I’d point out that it’s not a very nice thing to call someone. Although, in your situation, it sounds like it was justified.”

When they finished eating, Marinette insisted on washing the dishes. Adrien dried them, and Lewis put them away. Poe tried to climb into the cupboard with the plates, while Plagg cleaned himself under the table. It was the sort of family moment she’d missed. She and Luka took turns cooking and cleaning up, never doing it together, and her Nonna insisted on doing everything for Marinette when she was around. This —sharing the tasks and helping each other— was much more like Marinette's experience growing up and she loved it. 

Something Adrien and Eilidh had taught her was that family doesn’t have to be connected by blood. The trust and love and community that makes a family can occur anywhere. Marinette felt that bond now. 

“Did you know that Egyptians used to worship cats?” Lewis asked. 

“Rightly so,” Adrien said. “Cats are the best animals.”

“Even this one?” Lewis pointed to where Plagg was poised to scratch the table leg. He looked directly at Adrien before he dug his claws into the wood.

“Plagg, claws out!” Adrien exclaimed. Plagg ran out of the kitchen. “All of the scratching posts in this house and he wants to mess up the furniture.”

Marinette wasn’t listening. The bowl she was washing slipped out of her hand and landed in the water with a splash. Deja vu, or, in this case, déjà entendu hit her like a tidal wave. Her brain scrambled to place the memory, tried to slot it into place. Failed. She gripped the edge of the sink and closed her eyes, willing herself to remember. It was so close she wanted to reach out and touch it, but when she did, it was too far away. 

A gentle hand on her shoulder brought her back to the room. “Are you okay?”

When she opened her eyes, she was gazing into Adrien’s. Crystal green, full of concern, and hypnotically beautiful; his eyes captivated her even when they weren’t looking into her soul. Now, they left her speechless.

He took her hands and guided her over to a chair. She sat down as he removed the rubber gloves she was wearing. It was a delicate act — somehow more intimate than it should have been. 

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologise for,” Adrien said. He stroked her hair away from her forehead and pressed the back of his hand to it. “Are you feeling ill?”

“I’m fine.” 

She removed Adrien’s hand from her head, somehow entangling her fingers in his. Neither made any attempt to disengage. 

“Regardless, stay here for a while. I want to keep an eye on you.”

The tone of his voice —low, sombre, anxious— she had heard that, too. It was the voice she heard in her dreams when she was trapped in that dark place. Adrien spoke to her now as he spoke then. Was it a dream or a memory? 

“I’m okay, I promise. Why don’t we have some chouquettes.” She wanted to change the subject. 

Adrien frowned but he nodded. “Good idea. I’m dying to try them.”

Lewis fetched the bowl Marinette had transferred the chouquettes into once they had cooled and placed them on the kitchen table. “Can I have some milk, please?”

“Sure.” Adrien poured a glass of milk for Lewis. “Can I get you anything? Tea? I have decaf. Or Chamomile.”

Marinette nodded. “Chamomile tea would be lovely, thanks.”

Once tea was made, Marinette offered a chouquette to Lewis. He tried one and broke into a grin. “These are really good.”

“Of course they are, you made them,” Marinette said.

“Do you like chouquettes, dad?” 

“I love chouquettes.” Adrien tossed one into his mouth in a self-satisfied way that both infuriated Marinette and made her want to grab his face and kiss him. It was just pastry but it was loaded with conflicting emotion. “These are just like I remember.”

He grabbed a couple more and ate them with the same relish. Marinette took one. They were exactly like her father’s. He would be proud. 

“Is Aunt Eilidh bringing us to the theatre tomorrow? Lewis asked. “Or is that Friday?”

“Friday, mon trésor. You’re staying at Alex’s tomorrow, though, because it might be a late night for me.”

Lewis’s face lit up. “Sweet.”

“I thought you’d like that. But, listen, I need you to go to sleep when Aunt Eilidh says so. You have school on Friday, and so does she.” 

“Obviously, dad.”

Adrien’s lips twitched. “Obviously.”

Marinette marvelled at how Adrien managed to keep a straight face when Lewis was being indignant. She wasn’t sure she could do it.

“Okay,” Adrien said. “Bedtime. Say goodnight to Mary.”

Lewis surprised Marinette by throwing his arms around her neck and hugging her. “Thanks for baking with me, Mary.”

“It’s always my pleasure, mon petit. I’ll see you on Friday at the theatre.”

When she looked at Adrien, he was looking at her and Lewis with glassy eyes. Seeing his expression made her feel a little tearful, too.

“Goodnight,” Lewis said.

“I, uh, I should go make sure he’s not messing about upstairs.” Adrien wiped his face with his sleeve as he left the room. 

Marinette watched him leave until Plagg wound around her ankles. She offered him her hand and, after a few sniffs, he let her scratch him behind the ears. When she stopped, he reached up and placed his front paws on her knee, nudging her hands with his head for more. “Oh, Plagg, you’re very demanding. Tell me, why is your name so familiar to me?”

If he knew, he wasn’t planning to tell Marinette.

──── •✧•────

“Bonne nuit, mon trésor,” Adrien said, reaching for the light switch.

Lewis sat up in bed. “Dad?”

“Yes?”

“I wish Mary could stay.”

So do I, Adrien didn’t say. He leaned against the door frame and sighed. “I know.” 

“Why does she have to leave?”

Adrien felt like Mary Poppins when Jane and Michael asked her to stay after the wind changed. 

“She’s needed elsewhere. By her family, her work…” He shrugged. “She’s only visiting.”

“What if you told her that you love her? Would she stay?”

Adrien choked. “What? Why are you asking that?”

Lewis flailed his hands noncommittally. “I don’t know… just… it seems like you love her. And it feels like I've always known her, I don't want that to end.”

“Oh, Lewis.” Adrien sat on Lewis’s bed and hugged him. “Even if I did, she can't stay. She’s going to marry someone else, I’m sorry.”

“Well, he’s stupid.”

“Lewis!” No matter how much Adrien might agree, he wanted Lewis to be kind. “That’s not a nice thing to say about anyone, especially somebody you met for about five minutes.”

Lewis buried his face in Adrien’s shirt. “I know. I just want her to stay with us.”

“I know, mon trésor. We can’t make someone do something they don’t want to, no matter how much we love them.”

“Why not? You make me go to school.”

Adrien laughed. “That’s because I’m legally obliged to, and because going to school is a privilege.”

Lewis huffed. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

“Take it from someone who didn’t always have the chance to go to school — it is. Even when it’s boring or Miss Green is being strict. Remember what it was like during lockdown? All you wanted to do was get back to school and see your friends.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Speaking of which,” Adrien said. “Time to go to sleep so you’re rested for school tomorrow.”

Lewis lay back against his pillows. “Okay, night, dad.”

“Sweet dreams.” Adrien kissed his son’s forehead before he left the room, turning off the light as he went. “Love you.”

Adrien descended the stairs and paused in the hallway, taking a moment to compose himself. This was what he’d been afraid of. Lewis was becoming attached to Marinette just as she was about to leave them behind for her real life. For Luka.

Across the hall, Poe had been playing with the end of a shoelace. On seeing Adrien, he spat it out and it landed damply on the floor. Poe trotted over to Adrien and rubbed against his ankles on his way upstairs to stand guard outside Lewis’s room. Usually, Plagg joined him. When Adrien entered the kitchen, he learned why he hadn’t. 

Marinette looked up, grinning. Plagg was sitting on her lap wearing a look of bliss as she stroked his face and head. Adrien could hear his purrs from the other side of the room.

“You’ve made a friend, I see,” he said with a chuckle.

“He's very insistent.”

“He doesn't trust easily so you're obviously very special.” 

“I'm fairly sure I knew a black cat called Plagg… before… so maybe that's why.” She gave him a questioning look. “Do you think so?”

Adrien's stomach lurched as he sat on the seat opposite her. ”You remember something?” 

Now, she looked less certain. “When you said Plagg's name, and, what was it? Claws out? I felt like I'd heard that before. Like maybe I'd said it before. Is that crazy?” 

“Not crazy.” 

She was remembering more and more now. Adrien felt a spark of hope that she might remember more of her life, more of herself. Maybe even something of him and Lewis.

He wanted to help her. To tell her anything she needed to know. If she remembered something, he’d give her the context. Miraculous or mundane, he would tell her if her memory was accurate. He would tell her everything he could without divulging the secrets of the Guardians. 

“Did you or one of our friends own a cat called Plagg?”

“Plagg was…” He'd hate to be referred to as merely a cat when he was so much more. “He didn't belong to anyone, but, yeah, you knew a Plagg.”

Marinette nodded. “Thanks for… for humouring me.”

“I'm not humouring you, Marinette. If you have a question and I know the answer, I promise I'll tell you.”

Her smile was like moonlight. “Thank you.”

“Do you have to go now or do you have some time? We could watch some TV?”

“I’d like that.”

Oh, he wasn’t prepared for her to say yes. “Do you want a drink? I don’t have loads but there’s wine or whisky. Or tea.”

The whisky was from the Isle of Lewis, and a gift from Eilidh. Adrien wasn’t much of a drinker so the bottle was almost entirely full. 

“I walked here so I guess I could have a glass of wine.” Her face lit up at the idea. “I don’t ever have someone to drink with and I feel weird drinking alone.”

“I know what you mean.” 

Adrien poured two glasses of wine and led Marinette into the living room. He sat in his usual place on the sofa, leaving two places open for Marinette. She could sit next to him on the sofa, or on the armchair that sat perpendicular to it, under his reading lamp. She chose the sofa and Adrien internally cheered.

No. This didn’t mean anything. He’d explained this to Lewis already but, apparently, he needed his own talking to. She’s marrying someone else, he reminded himself.

Marinette pulled her feet underneath her so that her body faced Adrien slightly. She smiled at him. “So, what do you want to watch?”

“I…” He had not thought this through. “There’s a movie about Edgar Allan Poe I want to watch, or Eilidh recommended Lockwood & Co. but I'm not sure the teenagers saving the day part is something I want to deal with at the moment.”

Marinette wrinkled her nose. “Is there something more lighthearted?”

He leaned towards her a little to hand her the remote control. His inner Chat Noir fought for dominance and he shoved it back down. “You’re the guest, you should decide.”

Her cheeks flushed and she bit her lip. “I don’t know. What’s your comfort watch?

“My what?

“The TV show or film that you can watch over and over and still love. The one you put on when you just want to relax or when you feel sad.”

“I’ve never thought about it. What are yours?” Adrien asked. He wanted to know everything about her, even the contents of her Netflix list.

“It depends, but I like Mulan, Gilmore Girls, Friends, Sailor Moon and Nailed It!”

Adrien wanted to ask about her penchant for magic girl anime but there was something more pressing. “What is Nailed It!?”

She giggled. “It’s a show where people who have baking disasters get a chance to try again and, well, nail it.”

“I love that.”

“So,” she said, crossing her arms. “What are your comfort watches?”

“Um…off the top of my head? Movies: The Princess Bride and 10 Things I Hate About You. Series: Brooklyn 99, Santa Clarita Diet and Vampire Diaries”

“I’d like to watch something you love,” Marinette said. “Probably not a movie tonight, though.”

“Well, based on your favourites, I think you’ll like this. Adrien cued up Brooklyn 99, starting at episode one of the first season and picked up his wine glass. “Ready?”

She nodded.

He tried to watch the show, he truly did, but the sound of her laugh and the warmth of her body next to him was more interesting to him. Every time she shifted in her seat, she moved minutely closer to him. Their hands were millimetres apart and he had to focus on not letting a finger twitch toward her.

Somewhere, during the third or fourth episode, she leaned forward to place her now empty glass on the coffee table. When she sat back, she rested her head on his shoulder with a contented sigh. Her hair smelled citrusy and of amber or sandalwood, like expensive shampoo. He breathed it in and committed it to memory.

What if she loved him, too? Would that change things? There had been moments where he thought she might… 

But she didn't. She was engaged to Luka, and it was Luka who was going to marry her.

“Adrien?” He realised that Marinette had been speaking to him.

“Uh, sorry, I zoned out. What did you say?”

She pointed to the screen where the credits were playing. Another episode had finished. “I should go home before it gets too late.”

Stay.

Not just tonight. He wanted to tell her to stay here, in Little Nieweham, forever. Hell, he’d even be okay if she moved in with Luka, just as long as they lived where he could see her.

No. On second thought, he’d hate that.

And that was the problem. Her life included Luka, not him. She couldn’t stay because she had a life as a designer to follow. She had to get married and become Luka’s wife.

“Adrien?”

He shook his head. “Sorry, I did it again, didn’t I?”

She smiled gently. “I think you need to rest, too.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Marinette stood up and Adrien followed her to the hallway. He was probably projecting, but she seemed reluctant to leave. She hovered by the front door. 

“Thank you for dinner and the wine, and, uh, for the company.”

“Thank you for baking with Lewis and for indulging in a comfort watch with me.”

She chuckled. “I enjoyed it. Maybe next time we can watch one of the films? I have a decade of forgotten movies to catch up on.”

“It’s a date, Princess,” he said, letting Chat Noir loose for a moment.

Her lips parted in a soundless gasp and her cheeks flushed pink. “I look forward to it.”

“Let me know when you’re home safe?”

“I will.” She bit her lip in a moment of indecision before she turned and put her hand on the door handle.

Outside, the summer humidity had broken and rain was pouring. Adrien held Marinette's arm to stop her and reached for his umbrella. He stepped onto the doorstep and held it over her head. “Here, you'll need this.”

As she reached out to take the umbrella from him, she looked at him, a question in her eyes and in the frown that deepened between her eyebrows. Their fingers brushed as the umbrella changed hands. Adrien felt like he could see sparks pass between them but it was a trick of the lightning that threw the houses opposite into watery relief at that moment.

Adrien held his breath and counted the seconds, making sure that the storm wasn't too close. Or, hoping it was and she'd have to stay.

The rumble of thunder in the distance broke the spell, and Adrien broke their eye contact. “Uh, see you tomorrow.”

Marinette raised up on tip toes and kissed him softly on the cheek. “À bientôt.”

Adrien watched her leave until she disappeared from sight. He pressed his hand to his cheek and grinned. On the stairs behind him, a floorboard creaked, and Adrien turned to see Lewis sitting on the top step.

“Mon trésor? Did the thunder wake you?”

Lewis nodded sleepily. “I think she loves you, too”

──── •✧•────

Twelve missed calls. Marinette hadn't looked at her phone since she left home that afternoon. Based on the increasingly impatient messages from Luka, he'd been trying to contact her for hours. 

She took a deep breath and hit the call button.

“Where have you been?”

“S—” Marinette stopped the apology before it came out. She'd done nothing wrong. “I've been busy with the play’s director. I just got home.”

After Luka’s initial reaction to Adrien’s name, she’d stopped using it. Tonight hadn’t had anything to do with the play, but she still used it as a shield with Luka. Romeo and Juliet was the only reason he let her stay in Warwickshire while he travelled back to London with Jagged and Penny. 

“You could have let me know so I wasn’t worried,” Luka said. “I didn’t know where you were.”

“Well, stop worrying. I’m safe.”

Luka sighed. “Okay. I’m sorry. I just hate being so far from you. Things will be better next week when you’re back in London and we’re together again.”

Marinette felt like a stone had dropped into her stomach at that. Soon, she’d have to leave Little Nieweham, Adrien and Lewis behind. She’d have to say goodbye to Eilidh and Alex. She’d only be able to speak to Yvette and Mrs Owens remotely. She wasn’t ready to go, but the clock was running out.

“Do you think they’re ready to perform?” Luka asked, unaware of her turmoil. 

“I guess we’ll find out at the dress rehearsal on Friday.”

“I still can’t believe they got a Saturday slot.”

“Why not? It’s a popular play.” 

“Yeah, but they’re a school.”

Marinette bristled. “So it’s good that they’re not performing on a school night, isn’t it?

“I guess. What’s the theatre space like?”

“The auditorium is big —they have 1900 seats— but the stage is smaller than the Shakespeare Theatre. I haven’t seen the backstage area yet. Juliet has a couple of quick changes and I want to see where we can do them to give her some privacy.”

Luka coughed. “That’s twice as many seats as we had. There’s no way they’ll sell enough tickets.”

“It’s a full house. I only managed to get two tickets. I'll be backstage but you can bring someone with you.”

“Oh. I didn’t think you’d want me there.”

“Why not? I came to support you at your play, I assumed you would want to support me at mine.”

“But you’re just—”

“Just what?”

“No… I… It's short notice, I'm not sure if I'll make it.”

Disappointment festered in her chest. Tendrils of resentment wound around her heart and lungs, tightening until she couldn't breathe. “It's okay, I understand.”

“I knew you would. You're the best, Marinette.”

“Thanks. Uh, I should get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a long one.”

“Yes, of course, I hope it goes well. I don't know if you still say ‘break a leg ‘ when you're not on stage, but, yeah.”

Yeah. 

Luka had never been supportive of Marinette's involvement in the Shakespeare Festival, and she secretly wondered if he was worried that she'd steal his thunder. Since that awful review had come out (the one that Eilidh showed her but Luka never mentioned, even though Penny confirmed he read it) she was convinced that he didn't want her to succeed in a forum where he had failed. Fashion and music were separate, so they could each excel without overshadowing the other. If she did well in theatre after his failure… Well, she wasn't sure his ego could handle that. So, he was diminishing her role in the play.

“I get it, Luka. I'm not an actor so I'm not as important as you. Thanks for your honesty.”

She ended the call and turned her phone off. She didn't want to hear any more from him tonight. 

The storm outside had eased so Marinette threw the windows open to let the fresh air into the house. She sat in her usual spot by the window and tried to calm her racing thoughts.

In her head, a new storm raged. It was difficult to admit to herself that she was angry at Luka: at how he wrote off Romeo and Juliet because it was going to be performed by school kids, by the way he seemed to look down on her involvement with a school production. Yet, this was the most content Marinette had been, as far as she could remember. She loved working with the students; seeing their excitement about costume and design. Astrid Wilson told her she was a natural teacher and Marinette wondered if she was right. Regardless, Marinette cared about those kids and their play. She wouldn't let Luka's attitude change that.

And then there was Adrien. 

Something happened when that lightning struck. It wasn't new, she knew that. Her heart already knew how to love him but how? What was their history? And what was she going to do about it?

Chapter Text

“We are so close to the performance that you could probably reach out and touch it,” Adrien told the gathered cast, crew, musicians and chaperones. “I’m already incredibly proud of you and all of the effort and commitment you’ve put into this.”

“We’re proud of you, too, Mr Wilde!” a sixth former that Marinette thought was called Alvin shouted.

Adrien blushed. “Well, I’m not the one who learned my lines and turned up to rehearsals, while also keeping up with schoolwork and exams. That was all of you.”

“But you did, though, Mr Wilde,” Lena said. 

“Right? You slayed,” Will, who was playing Prince Escalus, added. “You got us through our exams, and learned all the lines, and ran all the rehearsals. You helped us understand what we’re saying. You know, like, the meaning of it all.”

“Okay,” Adrien said, his face bright red. Marinette couldn’t help but notice how even his ears reddened. His hand went to the back of his neck in that self-conscious way she adored. “I’m trying to tell you all how wonderful you are.”

“I think the cast are trying to tell you the same thing, Mr Wilde,” Miss Ansell said. “Learn to take a compliment.”

“Fine. Thank you. Now, I have a few notes before we go into the dress rehearsal.” The cast groaned. Adrien laughed. “That’s more like it. Okay, Cecilia and Iromi, remember to use the space when you’re together. You’re still too cramped. Romeo, do you need to practise your climb? It looked a little awkward.”

Denver waved his hand. “Yeah, I think I stepped up with the wrong foot and it threw me out.”

“Left foot first, then. You started with your right and it got messy halfway up. Also, after ‘I’m afraid all this is just a dream, too sweet to be real’, you need to wait for Juliet to appear before you react. You come across as clairvoyant otherwise.” Denver saluted. “Dinesh and Christopher, watch your blocking in Act 3 Scene 1, please, you were both wandering.”

The doors at the far end of the room opened and Eilidh waved from the back of the auditorium as she arrived with Alex and Lewis. Marinette slipped away from the briefing to greet them.

“Hi,” Marinette whispered. “You’re just in time, once this part is over, we’re getting pizza.”

“Yay, pizza.” Alex cheered quietly.

Eilidh chuckled. “Always thinking about food. Is there anything we can do to help?”

Marinette shrugged. “Not right now.”

“What’s dad doing?” Lewis asked.

“He’s giving notes from the last run-through. So that the actors know how to get better for the dress rehearsal. He’ll do the same afterwards, too.”

“Oh, cool.”

Eilidh was looking around, turning on the spot. “This auditorium is massive. Like, twice as big as the theatre in Stratford.”

“And sold out,” Marinette said.

“Wow, really? Go Adrien.” Eilidh turned to the boys. “Come on, let’s pick out seats for the show.”

“I thought the show was tomorrow?” Alex asked.

“It is,” Lewis explained. “Tonight is the dress rehearsal. If it goes well, it’ll be basically the same as tomorrow.”

“‘If all goes well’ being the operative words, Lewis. From your lips to Dionysus’s ears.”

“Who? The wine guy?” Marinette asked.

Eilidh scoffed. “Wine guy? Dionysus is the only Olympian with a mortal mother, a symbol of freedom from the restraints of society. The god of vine fruits, winemaking, madness, fertility and  theatre , but all you philistines remember is ‘wine’. You and Adrien deserve each other.”

Alex gave Marinette a pitying look. “Mum’s really passionate about this.” 

“There would be no Shakespeare Festival if not for Dionysus. Festivals where plays of comedy and tragedy are performed. Sound familiar? Dionysus!” Eilidh said to nobody. 

Adrien’s hand was warm on Marinette’s shoulder. She turned to see him smiling patiently at Eilidh. “It’s kind of nice to see someone else getting the brunt of Eilidh’s rants.”

“I called Dionysus a ‘wine guy’.”

He laughed. “Rookie mistake. Eilidh wrote her dissertation on Dionysus and women, or something, so she has big feelings about him. Did she call you a philistine?”

“She did.”

“Rude.” He rolled his ‘r’ in imitation of Eilidh. “You can either let her wear herself out or you can point out that the Philistine people were actually very cultured. That usually shuts her up.”

Marinette giggled. Eilidh glared at Adrien, but Marinette could see the smile in her eyes. “It was a study of gender and sexuality in Ancient Greece through the lens of Dionysian Cults.”

“Oh, you heard me,” Adrien said in mock surprise.

“Of course, I heard you.”

“Good, then you’ll hear this, too. The pizza is here.” Adrien said exaggeratedly.

“Ooh, perfect timing! Come on boys, what are you waiting for?”

Marinette felt dazed. “You were right, she's pure chaos.”

“Told you.” Adrien flashed her a smug grin and her knees went weak. 

 After introducing Lewis and Alex to the cast and crew, they joined the queue for pizza. 

“We've got meat over here, vegetarian here,” Cerys said, waving towards two tables, laden with pizza boxes. “On this table, there's halal, vegan and gluten-free.”

Some of the cast sat on the auditorium floor, others in seats. Some older boys dragged a bench in from the lobby. Nobody sat on the stage for fear of getting pizza grease on it and facing the wrath of Mr Nicholl.

Arthur Nicholl and Astrid Wilson sat in a tight circle with the four teachers who were playing the parents. They hadn’t mixed with the students at all since they reached the theatre. The stage crew and orchestra, however, mingled easily with the cast and there was a real sense of community. Marinette wondered again whether she had experienced something like this in her own school days.

After he discovered that Lewis spoke a tiny bit of Mandarin, Alvin was trying to teach Lewis some food-related phrases. Denver entertained Alex with talk about Minecraft. Eilidh and Cerys joked with some sixth-formers about trying to get into a nightclub in Warwick after the play. Adrien seemed happy to just observe the scene.

“I will bail you out of jail, but I will also tell your parents,” Eilidh said.

“Aw, Miss, I bet you went to clubs underage.”

“I grew up on one of the Hebrides, the nearest nightclub was a three-hour ferry ride away. I was lucky to get a pint in the pub beer garden.”

Cerys held up her hands. “Don’t look at me, I had to face my parents when the police brought me home after they raided the surfer club in Penzance that didn’t check IDs. If I had to do it, you should too.”

Iromi looked at Adrien. “What about you, Mr Wilde? Did you go out at night before you were old enough?”

Adrien smiled and put down the piece of pizza he was eating. “I did.”

“And did you get caught?”

“Only by the ones I wanted to catch me.” His expression was inscrutable. He was hiding something.

“Mr Wilde! Were you tom-catting it around town?”

He let out a sonorous laugh that reverberated in Marinette’s chest. “Not in the way you mean it, but I kind of did.”

Alvin leaned over to join the conversation. “Tell us, Mr Wilde.”

“Something you kids should know about Mr Wilde,” Eilidh said. “He’s a vault. Once he has a secret, it never comes back out.”

“Is this like in Sister Act when we find out that you’re actually a Vegas showgirl, Mr Wilde?”

Adrien looked aghast. “Let's get one thing straight, my dear Alvin. I am not, nor have I ever been, a Las Vegas showgirl. I am a headliner.”

Everyone laughed and Marinette wanted to stay there forever, soaking up the convivial atmosphere.

“What about you, Miss Baker? What kind of teenager were you?”

Marinette paused, unsure how to respond. Her eyes darted from Adrien to Eilidh and each of them met her with reassurance. 

“She doesn't have to tell you miscreants about her wild and crazy youth,” Eilidh said, giving Alvin a reproachful look.

Marinette’s gaze locked with Adrien's. She tried to communicate with him psychically, and it might have worked. In her mind, she heard his voice say “Trust yourself like I trust you.” 

“I'd love to tell you what I was like as a teenager, but I don't have an answer for you.”

“What does that mean?” Dinesh asked, frowning. “How can you not know?”

“That’s not really —”

“No,” Marinette said, stopping Adrien with a hand on his arm. “It’s okay. I was injured and lost my memory so I don't know what I was like as a teenager. I don't know anything about that time except for snippets.“

Denver whistled slowly. “Shit. Uh, sorry, kids.”

Eilidh waved away his apology. “It's appropriate in this context.” She turned to Alex. “Not from you, you're already on probation after cussing out your friend.”

“He deserved it,” Alex protested.

“Agreed, but there's a time and place and class isn't it.”

Iromi shuffled closer to Marinette. “So, what happened?”

Marinette shrugged. “I don't know for sure. I fell and hit my head and woke up in the hospital with a few scars and no memory from the past ten years.”

“Wow. That's scary,” Alvin said.

“I don't know, there are moments of high school I'd happily forget,” Denver said. 

“But plenty you'd rather remember,” Adrien suggested.

“Yeah, true.”

Iromi frowned. “But what about your A-levels? Do you remember them?”

“No. I studied and retook all of my qualifications. And relearned how to sew and design.”

“Just when we thought you couldn't get cooler, Miss Baker, we find out that you've been through all of that. You're amazing.”

“No, I'm not. I'm—”

Adrien put his hand over hers that was somehow still on his arm. “Learn to take a compliment, m’lady.”

──── •✧•────

As the rest of the cast got into costume, Adrien finished running through a scene with Dinesh and Christopher. Cerys and her small orchestra tuned up while Marinette organised a clothing rail ready for quick changes. Denver sidled onto the stage with a sheepish expression on his face. 

“Miss Baker? I think my trousers are too tight.”

“Really? In what way?” Marinette asked. 

“They go right up my arse when I bend over.”

To her credit, Marinette didn’t laugh. Christopher and Dinesh did. Adrien smirked behind his script as he observed the scene.

“Just one pair, or all of them?” 

Denver plucked the fabric at the knee of his breeches. “Just these ones, but I have to climb a wall in them and I’d rather not show the whole school my boxers.”

“That’s fair. Why don’t you try to climb the trellis and see if it’s a problem?” Marinette glanced back toward Adrien, seeking his permission. 

Adrien nodded. “Absolutely. It would be good to work out your footwork before our last run-through.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Go from, By a name, I know not how to tell thee who I am.”

Adrien watched Denver’s feet as they landed in exactly the right place, as they had rehearsed it. Finding this kid was like catching lightning in a bottle; he was extraordinarily talented. When he lifted his foot to climb, Adrien was pleased to see that he had fixed his earlier fumble. Denver stopped. 

“See? I feel like I can’t move anymore.”

“I do see,” Marinette said. “Are you sure they’re your trousers?”

“My name was pinned on them.”

Marinette took a step towards Denver.

A loud snap above them was all the warning he had.

Adrien's muscle memory kicked in and he did what he had always done. He grabbed Marinette and pulled her out of the path of the falling scenery, rolling onto the stage and away from danger. When they came to a stop, Adrien was on top of Marinette. 

A scenery piece slammed to the floor right where Marinette had been standing moments earlier. Someone in the auditorium screamed.

“Are you okay?” he asked as he climbed to his feet and offered a hand to Marinette.

His elbows and knees ached. Without a superhero suit and superpowers, that manoeuvre was much harder on the body. That, and the fact that he’d aged almost ten years since he’d last done it.

She took it. “Thanks to you. Why do I think you've done that before?”

Because I have. We’ve both done it before.

Adrien laughed nervously. “Just good reflexes, I guess.” He addressed the rest of the cast and crew. “Is everyone okay? Anybody hurt?”

Denver still had one foot on the wall. “Mr Wilde, that was cool.”

Dinesh agreed. “Deadass.”

Mr Nicholl dashed onto the stage, red-faced. “I'm so sorry, how awful. I double-checked everything myself last night, I don’t know how that happened.”

“Arthur,” Adrien tried to calm him down. “We’re all unharmed, it’s okay. Let’s check out the damage and see what we need to do to fix it.”

“Yes. Right. Let’s do that.”

Adrien turned to Marinette. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

She smiled gently but a frown drew her brows together. “I’m still not made of glass, Adrien.”

“Clearly.”

Her giggle was genuine. “You’ve already used that one.”

He hadn’t meant it as a pun when he said it but now that the challenge had been issued, his mind started whirring with possible responses. “I’m shattered. It’s a real pane to think of original puns, you know?” 

Her look of pure joy made him want to float away but it raised a question. Had she always loved his puns? 

“What?” She read his face.

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

Marinette touched his arm and moved closer to him. “Tell me.”

Well. He couldn’t hide anything from her when she was so proximate. “My puns used to annoy you, or so I thought. I’m just wondering what changed.”

“I did, Adrien. Head injury, memory loss.”

“Oh, yeah. Uh, I should check the scenery.” 

Adrien tried to fix his mind on the issue at hand: falling scenery. Marinette kept creeping into his thoughts. There had been a tenderness in her touch that unnerved him — it made him want to tell her everything, right there in front of the cast and crew of Romeo and Juliet. It was dangerous, getting close to her. Emotionally and physically. 

He and Eilidh had had a conversation about this very thing just yesterday when she reminded him that he only had to get through a few more days, through the play, and then Marinette would leave. After that, Adrien and Lewis would still be here. The finish line was in sight, he couldn’t afford to forget that now. 

It was going to be hard enough to get over her again without opening himself and Lewis up to the danger of detection. Gabriel was still looking for her, after all.

Mr Nicholl cleared the stage and he and Adrien assessed the damage. The plywood moon had been damaged —probably in transit— and the top of the crescent still hung, splintered, from the rigging. 

“I guess we’ll have to make do without it,” Mr Nicholl said.

“Maybe not.” 

“Unless you can conjure something out of thin air, you’ll have to.”

Adrien grinned. “Funny you should say that. It’s Mary’s specialty.”

Unconvinced, Arthur found her in the auditorium. Adrien watched as he explained the situation and caught the moment Marinette’s mind started to turn over ideas. He had always marvelled at how she worked out how to use her Lucky Charms, and this was a similar process. In no time, she had formulated a plan.

Mr Nicholl returned to the stage wearing a relieved smile. “We’ll have something ready for tomorrow.”

“Okay, let’s get this show on the road.”

Despite the delays, the dress rehearsal went off without any major hitch and Adrien sent the students home with minimal notes. When Cerys offered to take Eilidh, Alex and Lewis home, both boys were delighted that they got a second sleepover in as many days.

“Are you sure?” Adrien asked Eilidh. 

“Positive. He’s no bother and you know it.”

Adrien hugged Lewis and reminded him to listen to Aunt Eilidh. “One more day of all this show business, then we can go back to normal, mon trésor, okay?”

“I know, Dad. The play’s really good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Love you.”

Adrien kissed his son. “Love you, too.”

Marinette emerged from backstage, her hands and face flecked with paint, just in time to fist bump with Lewis as he left. The sight made wings flutter in his chest. She would be leaving soon and his heart hurt for the way Lewis was going to miss her — for the way he was going to miss her. 

What was it Alya’s grandmother used to say? “Life isn’t for waiting for the storm to pass, it’s for learning to dance in the rain.” Well, he had less than 48 hours left with Marinette so he was going to take every opportunity he could to spend time with her.

“Is Lewis staying with Eilidh again tonight?” she asked as she approached him.

“Yes. It’s late and Cerys is going to take them home so Eilidh can get the boys to bed before today turns into tomorrow.”

Marinette looked at her watch. “Oh, wow, I didn’t realise how late it was. Let me check with Astrid to see if she needs me to do anything else, and then we can leave, too.”

“And then, uh, do you want ice cream?”

To his relief, she smiled. “That sounds wonderful.”

──── •✧•────

Plagg and Poe wound around their ankles as soon as they stepped inside. 

“Nice try, guys, but I set up the auto-feeder this morning so I know you’re not starving.”

Marinette giggled. Adrien was sweet to everyone, including his cats. She was sure his life hadn’t been easy —Eilidh had alluded to that— but he treated everyone and every situation with kindness regardless of who they were. 

She couldn’t get the way he’d thrown himself on her out of her mind, the selfless way he saved her, or the way his body felt pressed against hers. He was powerful and fast. Strong in every way that mattered. 

“I got my usual mint ice cream, but they also had a blackberry one that looked interesting, so I got that, too. What do you prefer?”

“Is both an option?”

“Both is good.” 

He placed both tubs on the table and fetched two spoons while Marinette removed the lids from the ice cream. When Adrien sat next to her, she pulled her seat closer to his. She took a spoonful of mint while he took a scoop of blackberry.

As the ice cream melted on her tongue and the cocoa and mint flavour mixed together, she knew that this combination would always make her think of Adrien.

“Thank you,” he said.

She opened her eyes in surprise. “What for?”

He chuckled. “Where do I start? For doing what you always do and blowing everyone’s minds with the costumes. For saving the day by making an entire new scenery piece tonight. For being you.”

“Oh.” She didn’t know how to react to that. “Well, thank you for letting me do those things.”

Adrien frowned bemusedly. “I don’t remember you ever needing permission to do anything, least of all be yourself.”

She didn’t  need  permission, per se. It was more that she never felt as though she had confidence in what she did until Luka validated it. Since she’d come here, though, she’d been making her own decisions. Good decisions. Perhaps she could take that new-found (or rediscovered) confidence back with her.

“What was the best thing we did together? Before, I mean.”

Adrien bit his lip to obscure that inscrutable smile and his cheeks flushed pink. He became suddenly interested in his spoon. “We… uh… We were going to compete together in a video game competition.” He fished in his pocket and pulled out a beaded charm. “That's when you gave me this.”

“My lucky charm!” she gasped.

She remembered making it on the train back to Paris. Her Aunt Shu Yin had given her a box of beads on a visit to London and she couldn't wait to make something with them. That lucky charm had been a talisman for years. If she'd given it to Adrien, he must have been important to her.

“I’ve kept it with me ever since.”

“Oh, Adrien.” A thousand thoughts flew to mind until one emerged. “Wait. You said we were going to compete. Didn't we?”

“I gave up my place to Max. He deserved it more. You won, by the way.”

“I loved video games,” she remembered. “I wish I knew other things I did back then.”

“Well, uh, you were class representative.”

“Was I?” That had always been Chloé. Nobody dared run against her. 

Adrien nodded, smiling. “You and Alya, if you remember her?”

“A little. I lost memories from right around the time I met her.”

“And later, with Zoé.”

Marinette frowned. That name meant nothing to her “Zoé?”

“She transferred from New York mid-year. You two were close.”  

With a pang of regret that so many friendships lay forgotten in those lost years, she asked, “Do you ever think about them? Our friends in Paris?”

He stabbed his spoon into the ice cream. “Every day since I left.”

“I wish I knew what they were doing now.”

“Me too.”

Wistful silence fell between them. Another question came to her and she hesitated. He seemed to sense her indecision.

“What is it?” he asked. “You can tell me.”

“...I was wondering if you know Luka, but…” she trailed off, unsure why it felt like such an uncomfortable question.

“I did,” Adrien said somewhat bitterly. “Briefly… before…” He stopped and his eyes seemed to glaze over. “I doubt he'd remember me.”

Marinette didn't ask anymore. Something about Adrien's body language at the mention of Luka's name told her there had been animosity between them and she didn't want to push it. 

“Sorry.”

“What for?”

Immediately self-conscious, she began to stutter her words. It was her turn to stare at her spoon. “I… uh, I don't know. I- it just felt like I should say it.”

“Oh, Marinette. Never feel like you have to apologise for something you didn't do. You did nothing wrong, okay?”

“Okay.” Her voice was a whisper. “I just… I worry that I'll hurt people like I used to.”

Adrien cupped her cheek with a strong hand, raising her face until she was looking at him. Clear green, kind and gentle, but burning with indignation, his eyes searched her face until she held his gaze. “You have never hurt people. You are a good person, Marinette. The best person. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.”

He was so close that she could almost taste the ice cream on his breath. She could see every curve and ridge of his lips; how soft they were. Her breath caught in her throat and her pulse raced. Was it possible to know that someone was a good kisser without ever kissing him? She felt sure he was. 

How could she resist? 

She moved towards him until their lips met, soft and willing. Marinette pressed into him, taking in every sensation. Every nerve tingled with recognition and in a moment of strong déjà senti, she gasped. Adrien’s mouth paused, letting her decide her next move. His eyelashes fluttered on her cheek as he checked on her. She didn't want to stop.

Blackberry and mint mingled on tentative tongues, and they moved closer. A rush of feeling and memory and instinct told her body how to respond until a flash of clarity stopped her.

Marinette put her hand on Adrien's chest. To steady herself or push him away, she wasn't sure. His heart raced in time with hers.

“Adrien, I…”

His lips curled gracefully into a sad smile. “I know.”

When he removed his hand from her face, it was to put it over hers where it still rested over his heart. She let her forehead press against his, and that's how they stayed while Marinette tried, once again, to figure out how she had fallen so quickly for Adrien.

Yes, he was kind and gentle. Yes, he was more attractive than any of the models who wore her designs. Yes, he was a wonderful father to a sweet boy. Yes, his students adored and respected him. Yes, he made her laugh. Yes, kissing him made fireworks explode in her chest. It was more than all of that, however. Something in her heart —in her soul— loved him before she met him. At least, before she met him this time. 

She had been drawn to him so powerfully that she wasn't sure how she'd function after she left. Yet, after tomorrow, that's what she'd have to do.

“I should go.”

“Stay,” he said. It was neither a command nor a plea; it was a wish spoken aloud.

She knew because it was her wish, too. 

It was an impossible wish. She was marrying Luka. Adrien wasn't hers and she wasn't his.

“I'm sorry.” 

This time, she meant it.

Chapter Text

The dream was stronger than ever before. The voice in the darkness was Adrien, she was sure of it. The softness, the concern, she recognised it now. There was something else, too. Exhaustion. His voice had a breathlessness to it as he spoke.

“He's getting stronger every day, just like you. And he's perfect, Marinette, you're going to love him so much.”

She could feel his hand on hers, and his breath warmed the back of her hand as soft lips kissed her knuckles.

“Oh, M’lady, I need you to come back to us. We both need you.”

──── •✧•────

Adrien lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Sleep eluded him. 

What had he done? He had thrown all caution to the wind and had done what he’d wanted to do for weeks. And he was electrified by it. If he ran his tongue over his lips, he could still feel her presence. Everything about the moment felt right.

It was wrong, though. For so many reasons.

He needed to talk to someone, but it wasn't fair to call Eilidh so late, and he wasn't sure he was ready to tell her yet. There was somebody who would still be up.

“Adrien? Is everything okay?” Félix answered after two rings.

“Hey, uh, I don't know. I need to talk.”

“Is this about Marinette?”

He didn't need to ask how he knew. “When did she tell you?”

“The night she showed up at your neighbour’s barbeque. Like you should have done.”

“I thought I could handle it myself.”

“Does this phone call mean you're not handling it as well as you anticipated?”

Adrien huffed. “That’s an understatement. I fell for her. Hard.”

“Bold of you to assume you ever fell out of love with her.”

He chuckled despite himself. Félix knew him well. “Okay, that’s true, but I fell even harder, and I don’t know how to live without her. But, she’s leaving after tomorrow.”

“Good.”

“How is that good?”

“Because she’s a liability. She exposed herself once, she can do it again.”

“I don’t know. I think it’s because Luka won’t tell her anything. She doesn’t know what she’s hiding from. Not really.”

“And Lewis?”

“He loves her, too.”

“No, I mean, does she also not know about him?” 

Adrien bristled. “I’m not completely inept, Fé.” 

Félix sighed. “I know. How’s he handling it?”

“I don’t think he’s figured that she's leaving yet.”

“Look, Ade, I know you didn’t ask for this, but you’ve made an amazing life for yourself and Lewis. Don’t let this aberration risk everything you’ve achieved.”

“It’s not an aberration, it’s Marinette.”

If Adrien could have seen his cousin, he’d doubtlessly have been rolling his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was deliberately calm.

“You know what I mean. Be careful.”

“I kissed her. Tonight, Fé, I kissed her.”

Félix made a strangled noise. “That’s the opposite of careful.”

“I know! But—”

“—yes, yes, it’s Marinette. How was it?”

“Better than I remember. Perfect. Wonderful. Wrong.”

“At least you realise that.”

“I think she remembered something when we kissed.”

“I'm sure it was special, man, but I don't think your lips can bring back magically lost memories.”

“I guess.”

“Wait. What do you mean Luka won’t tell her anything? What does she know?”

“She thinks she had an accident that made her lose her memory. She knows Gabriel had something to do with it. She knows he wants her dead. He hasn't told her anything about who she was before. She thinks she was a liar, she thinks she hurt people.”   

“She did have a pretty powerful right hook.”

“Fé! I'm being serious. It's not right.”

“Agreed. Does Luka know you’re here?”

“No.”

“That’s something. Keep your head down tomorrow, okay? Marinette might have invited her fiancé to see the play. You’ve come this far, don’t let him see you at the last minute. And definitely don’t let him punch you in the nose for kissing his girl.”

He deserved that. “Yeah, okay. Anything else?”

“No. Eilidh knows what has to be done.”

Adrien sat up straight. “What has to be done? Fé? Hello? What has to be done?”

It was useless. He had already hung up.

──── •✧•────

Marinette waited in the lobby to see if Luka would arrive. While she waited, she greeted Mr and Mrs Owens, Matt Owens and his wife, Yvette, Mr and Mrs Lupinska and Krzysztof. The woman who sold homemade soaps at the farmer’s market waved to her as she passed, as did the pub landlord.

Adrien had an appointment that afternoon so they didn't travel to the theatre together. She was avoiding him now. Not because she felt awkward about their kiss —even though she probably should— but because it wouldn't be fair to have a conversation about it before such an important night for him.

Eilidh arrived, flustered. “The train was packed. I think all of Little Nieweham is here.”

“Most of the town has passed through the lobby.”

“Any sign of your fiancé?”

She tried not to feel relieved. “No.”

“Where’s Adrien?”

“He’s talking to the cast.”

“I’m assuming he got to the hire place no problem, but I didn’t hear from him.” Eilidh pulled out her phone. “That’s why, battery died. Can I borrow yours for a minute? Adrien’s cousin is coming and I need to tell him where to find me.”

“Sure. So have you spoken to Adrien today?”

“Yeah, he came round for breakfast before he had to head out. Why?”

If Adrien had said anything to Eilidh, Marinette was sure she’d be acting differently. “No reason.” She unlocked the phone with her fingerprint and handed it to Eilidh.

“Thanks.”

Eilidh stepped away to make her call, leaving Lewis and Alex with Marinette.

“Are you looking forward to tonight or are you over it since you already saw it?” she asked.

Lewis’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “I think it’ll be different with all of these people here. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Yeah, it’s so busy,” Alex agreed. 

“You’re right. The audience will make a difference. And based on the energy of everyone as they come in, I think we’re in for a great night.”

“Thanks,” Eilidh returned Marinette’s phone. “Break a leg tonight, all of you. We’ll see you on the other side.”

“Thanks,” Marinette said. “See you afterwards. If you see Luka, tell him I’ll be here after the play?”

“Will do.”

As they walked toward the auditorium, Marinette heard Alex ask “Why did you tell Mary to break her leg? That’s mean.”

Eilidh laughed. “No, it’s not mean. It’s a theatre thing, a way of saying ‘good luck’.”

“Oh. That’s strange.”

“That’s theatre people for you.”

Marinette chuckled to herself as she headed through the green room to the backstage area. Alex and Lewis were sweet kids and she was going to miss them as much as she was going to miss Adrien and Eilidh. 

She hurried down the corridor and ran straight into Adrien. He caught her by the shoulders before she fell. “Woah, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, thanks to you. How are you feeling?”

“I haven’t been this nervous since I was waiting for Lewis to be delivered. Wow, I made him sound like a parcel. Now I’m babbling. Pretty nervous.”

Marinette put a hand on his elbow. “Calm down, Adrien. You’ve got this. The students have got this.”

He stopped and puffed out a breath. “You’re right.” He smiled at her. “About last night, are we okay?” 

How could they be anything but okay? Adrien was a source of comfort and confidence for her. He could never make her feel anything but good. They could never be more than friends because she was engaged to Luka, but she cared about Adrien. “Of course we are.”

“Good. I’d hate to make things weird between us. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I put you in that situation.”

“Don’t be. I knew what I was doing. Nobody is to blame, it was just something that happened.”

Adrien grinned. “Thank you.”

They walked together to where the cast was gathered. Nervous energy filled the air. If she focused, Marinette could probably see a cloud of static electricity above the students.

“Did you see the auditorium, Miss Baker?” Will asked. “Is it busy?”

“It’s a full house,” Marinette confirmed.

Panic spread over the faces of the cast. Adrien raised his hands to quieten them down. “And don’t forget that everyone there wants to see you succeed.”

Mr Nicholl’s voice sounded through the tannoy. “Members of Greater Nieweham Secondary School Players, this is your beginners' call for Prologue and Act One, Scene One. Beginners to the stage, please. Standby teachers and technical staff.”

Adrien clapped his hands. “Okay, break a leg, everyone. Lena, you’re up.”

While Lena found her mark onstage, Marinette found a place to stand where she was out of the way of the stage crew. Adrien slipped out through the green room to sit in the sound booth. The curtain raised and Lena opened the play.

“Two households, both alike in dignity, (In fair Verona, where we lay our scene), From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes. A pair of star-crossed lovers…”

Marinette was on the stage behind the tabs. Last night, in the spare dressing room where she was making a new scenery piece, she couldn't hear what was happening on stage. 

Tonight, she heard it loud and clear.

She’d seen plenty of rehearsals but this was different. With the scenery, costumes and music, the actors were transformed into their characters. It was stunning.

Miss Ansell and her band of A-level music students were spellbinding. Aside from Luka, Marinette had never watched anyone play music and she was enthralled by the way their bodies moved with their instruments, and how Cerys controlled them like a puppeteer. From her place in the wings, where she was concealed from the audience, Marinette could see the orchestra pit.

It caught her off guard. Something familiar that triggered that now common sensation. Memory. There was a boat and a band and a song. This song. She knew she was nervous about it, that hearing it was important. Marinette fought an urge to flee. 

She knew this song. She knew, somehow, that there were words to it. A melody that simply says, I love you.

Adrien. This was his song, he sang it. It was his words that she now recalled.

She had loved him and he had loved her. They were teenagers; closer to Lewis’s age than their own now. But it felt real, strong. Enduring. 

What had he been hiding behind that inscrutable smile? That they had shared a romance when they were the same age as the young actors on stage? After their kiss last night, Marinette wasn’t surprised.

But, what if she was wrong? Maybe it wasn’t his song. It could have been in the charts back then and this memory was simply a result of missed connections in her brain — of wishful thinking.

“Mary? Can you lace me up?” Lady Capulet asked.

“Uh, sure,” she said, mind still working through this new maybe-memory.

She’d have to ask Adrien.

After she helped Lady Capulet, Juliet had a quick change. Paris ripped a seam. Tybalt couldn’t remember how his shirt fastened.

“A glooming peace this morning with it brings; The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head: Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished: For never was a story of more woe, Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.”

With that, the play was over. Applause rang out, accompanied by the sound of 2000 seats flipping back into position as the audience gave the students a standing ovation.

Beaming, they took turns to take their bows until the entire cast was on stage. At that, Denver directed the applause towards Miss Ansell and her orchestra. They took their turn to bow before the company joined hands and bowed for a final time as the curtain dropped.

Then chaos broke out on stage. Cheering, hugging, crying and declarations of “this is the best feeling ever!”

“Better than sex!” Will proclaimed.

“How would you know?” Alvin asked, to raucous laughter.

From the side of the stage, Adrien's teacher's voice carried over the din. “Are you ready kids?”

Over half of the cast called back, “Aye, aye, captain!”

“I can't hear you!”

Now everybody joined in. “Aye, aye, captain!”

“Thank you! I'm so incredibly proud of you all and I hate to interrupt this well-deserved celebration but you all need to get changed and give your costumes to Ms Wilson. Nobody leaves unless I have seen your adult or you already have permission to go unsupervised. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mr Wilde.”

“Good. Clear the stage.”

As one, the students moved from the stage and made their way back to the dressing rooms. Marinette marvelled at how much command Adrien had. 

“How do you do that?” Marinette asked. “Get them to listen like that.”

“You find a way. SpongeBob is just the right side of cringe to be effective.”

They walked back through to the green room as the corridor cleared. Marinette tried to organise her thoughts.

“Adrien, I have to ask you… the music. It was something I'd heard before. I was…”

“Fé!” Adrien exclaimed. “Sorry, um, my cousin is here. Come meet him.”

It was Adrien, but not. Platinum blonde hair hung foppishly over his eyes and the look of amused condescension gave his face a more pinched appearance than Adrien's natural glow. His suit was Prada and his shoes were Christian Louboutin. By the way he filled his clothes, Marinette was sure he was toned under that expensive tailoring. 

Something about him tugged at another lost memory but she couldn't draw anything further out. He saw her and rolled his eyes. 

“Ade,” the man said coolly. Marinette imagined he said everything coolly. “That was triumphant. Brava.”

“Thank you, it means a lot that you enjoyed it. Oh, Félix, this is our wonderful costume designer, Mary Baker.”

Félix was expressionless as he shook hands with Marinette. When he turned back to Adrien she had to strain to hear him mutter “Mary… Baker? Jesus Christ, what amateurs did that?”

Adrien shrugged. At her or Félix, she wasn't sure. 

Christopher burst through the door to the green room. “Hey, did you know that Jagged Stone was in the audience?”

Commotion erupted as people jostled to the door to try to catch a glimpse of the rock star. Marinette’s heart swelled to know that Jagged and Penny had come to show their support.

“I should go talk to them.”

Adrien frowned. “Wait, did you need to ask me something?”

“It can wait. To be continued?”

Adrien's face fell but she didn't get a chance to ask why before she was swept along with the current of students on the way out of the room.

Out in the lobby, Jagged’s location was easy to pinpoint due to the crowds surrounding him. He was, as always, dealing with his fans with grace. He signed autographs and posed for selfies while Luka stood patiently to the side.

She stopped in her tracks.

Luka.

He came. 

Not Penny. Luka. After everything, he had come to her play. 

And she kissed Adrien.

Marinette was a terrible person. Now as much as she had always been. This was the proof. 

He saw her and snuck away from Jagged to greet her. “ Babe! I’m so proud of you. The costumes were beautiful.”

“You came,” she said, still shocked to see him.

“I did. I’m sorry for making you think I didn’t want to. I’ve missed you so much.”

He kissed her. Warm and kind, his kiss made her guilty heart burn uncomfortably hot.

Being with Luka was like floating in a deep, calm lake. He made her feel serene but she was always wary about what was below the surface. Spending time with Adrien was like rafting down a river with a life jacket on. Her pulse raced, and her skin tingled. It was exciting. Yet, all the time, she felt safe. Safe to be herself, safe to make mistakes. Safe to fall.

Luka wrapped his arm around her shoulders and led her towards the exit. “Come on, Penny's bringing the car around. Let’s go home.”

Chapter Text

You would be forgiven for thinking that Romeo and Juliet at the Warwick University Arts Centre last night was performed by professional actors. As I viewed this masterpiece, I admit I had to check my programme to make sure that this was indeed a school production. It was. Greater Nieweham Secondary School, to be exact. 

I wouldn’t blame you if you asked, was the director a professional, then? No. English teacher, Mr Wilde has no prior directorial experience. Neither has Music teacher, Miss Ansell ever composed an original score for a theatre production. Yet, both succeeded in creating something with such an impact that it will stay in our hearts and minds for years to come. 

Textiles teachers, Ms Wilson and Miss Baker designed and made every costume: a masterclass in simplicity and style. Their use of colour to separate and blend the warring families, while not original, was extremely effective. Likewise, art teachers Mr Sinclair, Mx Ross and Mrs Gallagher achieved a streamlined backdrop for the actors to tell their story. All of this was ably stage managed by another English teacher, Mr Nicholl.

The young actors, however, are why I am in awe of this production. Thirteen-year-old Cecilia Kennedy struck a noble figure as Juliet Capulet. She embodied the innocence and independence of the character more thoroughly and beautifully than I have witnessed in some time. Her counterpart, fifteen-year-old Denver Fadipe brought intelligence and sensitivity to Romeo Montague in a way I have seldom seen matched. Despite their young age, or perhaps because of it, Kennedy and Fadipe portrayed the essence of their characters tangibly and viscerally. 

The Nurse, played by Iromi Senanayake provided a welcome comedic break from the intense romantic tension as well as heart. As did Alvin Wu as Friar Laurence, who exuded wisdom and gravitas. Christopher Smith gave a powerful performance as Mercutio, and a death scene from which I might never recover. If we do not see these names on stage and screen in the future, there is truly no justice left in this world.

Honourable mentions go to William Campbell as an impressive Prince Escalus, and Lena Lupinska as the relatable Chorus/narrator, who both bookended the play memorably.

The score, entirely composed by Cerys Ansell, was an unobtrusive companion on the journey that enhanced our experience and magnified our emotions. If she ever tires of teaching, there is a successful career as a composer in her future. Or a conductor — her orchestra of year twelves and sixth formers performed magnificently under her guidance. No, I take that back. I hope she never tires of teaching, our young people deserve her passion for the arts.

Adrian Wilde’s talent as a director was laid bare in the way every actor not only understood the words they were saying but the reason and feeling behind them. So often with school productions, it feels as though the students are reciting words they do not understand. Not so here. The result was an emotional punch that none of the audience was prepared for. I must assume that every student under his tutelage receives an A* on their English GCSE.

I tried to find a flaw in this performance. I worry that you’ll think I sugar-coated this because the cast was young. The truth is that this production was as close to flawless as I have seen, not just in this year’s festival, but for many years. I am sure that Greater Nieweham Secondary School will become a regular feature in our county’s great Shakespeare Festival.

“Aw, they spelled my name wrong,” Adrien said as he finished reading the review aloud. 

“Boo hoo,” Félix said through a mouthful of pancakes. “It’s not exactly a mystery who they’re talking about.”

“Yeah, and it’s glowing,” Eilidh said. “You should print it out for the kids to see. They should be proud of themselves.”

After a late night of celebrating with their neighbours at Yvette’s cafe, Félix stayed at Adrien’s and Cerys stayed with Eilidh. They reconvened for a late breakfast to read Hamilton Jones’s review. 

Marinette disappeared after she went to see Jagged Stone after the performance last night and, according to Eilidh who swung by her house this morning, the place was empty. She had already gone. Deep down, he always knew she would.

Her last words to him had been the same as his that fateful night in Paris. When she spoke them this time, he knew he wouldn't get to say goodbye.

“Does this mean you’ll have to do it again next year?” Félix asked. 

“Oh, god. I don’t know. I’m not sure I could do that all over again.”

“Maybe you can get Twelfth Night next year and actually do it justice,” Eilidh suggested with a smirk.

“I enjoyed that,” Lewis insisted.

Adrien mussed up his son’s hair. “I know. And that’s the great thing about theatre, it’s a subjective medium and everyone experiences it differently.”

“Except for your dad’s play. Everyone enjoyed that,” Félix said.

“Hamilton Jones liked the Beeton Players, too,” Cerys said. “Hamlet was a hit. Which might be a first.”

“Hamlet’s a great play,” Adrien protested.

“Says the Shakespeare scholar. Us mere mortals struggle with it.”

Adrien didn’t argue. He’d seen enough students try to tackle the text to know how difficult it could be. “Well, I hope this encourages the festival committee to ask more schools and amateur groups to take part.”

“But not ours,” Eilidh said slyly.

“Not for a couple of years.”

“You know the PTA has been campaigning for a school show for years?” Cerys asked. “Our lack of drama department always dissuaded them from pushing the issue. You might have opened the floodgates.”

Adrien groaned. “What have I done?”

Eilidh laughed. “Please. If this is what you can achieve in a few weeks, during exams, imagine what you could do with a whole school year to do it.”

She had a point. But that wasn't what he wanted to think about.

“Did you call her?” Adrien asked.

“Yes, Adrien. I called her. She didn’t answer.” 

Félix frowned. “You have to accept that she’s gone like she always intended to.”

He didn’t want to accept it. Neither did Lewis.

“She didn’t say goodbye. She can’t have gone,” Lewis said.

“I know Lewis,” Félix said, his tone softening. “Sometimes people don’t get a chance to say goodbye.”

“So, what? She’s just gone and that’s it? That’s not fair.”

“Hey, mon trésor, come here.” Adrien lifted Lewis onto his lap and hugged him tight. “I know it’s not fair but I think it’s true. She’s not coming back.” 

Lewis cried into Adrien’s t-shirt, and he knew that he had to be strong for his son, even though his own heart was splintering into a thousand shards.

──── •✧•────

On Monday morning, they registered their intent to marry at the Kensington and Chelsea Registry Office and booked their ceremony for a Tuesday morning the following month. The Harrington room had space for 8 guests. Luka would have his dad, Penny, his mum and Juleka there. Marinette’s parents were moving their annual London trip to be there, too. 

The entire time, Marinette felt like an impostor, like the registrar could see her thoughts and knew what she had done. She couldn’t change the past, though, so she had to look forward, towards her life with Luka.

The next morning, Marinette and Luka walked to Battersea Power Station and got coffee and bagels to go. 

They were sitting on a bench near Chelsea Bridge, looking out towards the river. Marinette cradled her coffee cup in both hands, blowing the steam away as it rose from the surface of the liquid while Luka read the review of Romeo and Juliet aloud to her.

“He mentioned you by name,” he said, eyes twinkling. Luka handed her his phone to read it for herself.

Marinette smiled. “I didn't know he was going to do that.”

“Well, you deserve the recognition.”

“Thanks. I bet the kids are delighted with this. They worked so hard.”

“Sounds like this Adrian Wilde teacher is good at nurturing talent,” Luka said.

He was. Adrien was kind and caring and saw the best in everyone, even when they couldn’t see it themselves. He saw the good in her, too, no matter how terrible a person she was. When she kissed him, he had been patient and gentle, and when she drew back from him, he didn’t blame her or hold it against her. 

She blamed herself, though. One moment of weakness and she would live with shame for the rest of her life. She would spend that time making up for her mistake.

“He’s a great teacher. They all are. They care about their students and it shows.”

“That’s cool.”

“What were our teachers like? I remember most of them from collège but what about lycée? I don’t remember our teachers from there.”

Luka shifted in his seat like he always did when she asked about her past. The topic was guaranteed to make him uncomfortable but she didn’t care. Adrien told her more in a few weeks than Luka had in years, and now she was hungry to know more.

“Uh, yeah, they were good, too.”

“Did we have many classes together?” 

More shifting. “A few. Not really.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“What do you want to do today?” Luka changed the subject.

Marinette’s heart sank. She just wanted to know about her past but it was too hard for Luka to talk about.

“I don’t know, I guess we should make some plans for the wedding?”

“Maybe tomorrow? I’ve been writing with Dad and he wants to start laying down some backing tracks.”

“Oh, I thought… Okay. I could go look at dresses, I suppose. Get some inspiration.”

“That sounds great.”

Marinette finished her coffee in silence. In a few days, she had gone from having a community to just her and Luka again. From having a confidante and source of information about her past to someone who clammed up at the mere mention of it. She had gone from feeling useful to being at a loose end. She was losing control over her life again.

“Where are we going to live?” she asked.

“What do you mean? We live here.”

Penny had rented an apartment for them behind the Power Station for them to live in until the wedding. It was temporary and it wasn't their home.

“We can't stay in London.”

“Why not?”

She looked over the top of her oversized sunglasses at him. “There are almost a million CCTV cameras in this city. I can't live the rest of my life with my face covered whenever I go outside.”

“He'll stop looking for you eventually.”

Marinette spluttered. “Pardon? It's been 9 years and he found me just months ago, remember? Do you want me to hide my face until the man dies?”

“No. That's not what I meant.” Luka sighed demonstrably. “Where do you want to live?”

“You liked it in Stratford, didn't you?”

“That's still London.”

She suppressed an eye roll. “Stratford-upon-Avon.”

“Oh. Really? You'd want to live there? There's no music scene.”

“There is in Warwick, Coventry, Birmingham…”

“I guess, but I can't make instruments there. I doubt there's a market.”

“Didn't you make a violin for someone in the Bath Philharmonica? That's a whole lot closer to Warwickshire than Northern Italy is. You sell online. Internationally. Does it matter where you live?”

“It's so far from my family. I've reunited with my dad and now you want me to leave again?” 

“It's 3 hours by train. I'm not separating you. It's… never mind.”

She wanted to say that the more time Luka spent with his father, the larger his own profile grew. And the more likely Marinette was to be seen and recognised. She said nothing. After what she had done with Adrien, she wasn’t sure that Warwickshire was the best place to live. She wasn’t sure she wouldn’t seek him out and betray Luka again.

Luka crumpled his now empty bagel bag and tossed it into the bin. “I'll think about it, okay?” He kissed her forehead. “I'm going to meet Dad at the studio. See you later, yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

He stroked her hair. “Go find a wedding dress you love, okay?”

“I’ll try.”

He left her alone and, once again, Marinette felt like she was holding Luka back. He had sacrificed so much to keep her safe and what had she done in return? She kept turning his life upside down.

Summer in London was stiflingly hot and by mid-morning, Marinette was ready to leave the riverside. After some research, she found a few wedding dress boutiques in Islington so she took a Tube to Angel. A day of browsing boutiques should have made her happy.

As she browsed the rails of yet another store, she realised that she didn’t know what she wanted. A wedding was meant to be exciting, she was meant to enjoy the process of planning one.

Marinette missed Eilidh. She wanted to choose a wedding dress with her. To invite her to her wedding. She’d been gone from Warwickshire for a matter of days, but it could have been a year. For a brief time, Marinette had a best friend; someone to confide in, to make her laugh, to share her thoughts with. 

As for Adrien. His absence from her life was like a hole in her heart. A piece of her soul was missing. She more than missed him; she ceased to function properly without him. As much as she tried not to, she kept thinking about their kiss, and the way her body, mind and soul remembered him. Her memory, the one prompted by Cerys’s music, grew stronger every day and she wished she could talk to someone about it.

Then there was sweet young Lewis. Every croissant, bagel, cookie and dessert made her think about him. He was in the background of every thought she had, woven through everything like a golden thread in an exquisite tapestry. Being away from him was a constant ache.

She had looked for Adrien’s number on Sunday morning, after Luka left the flat to get breakfast. It was gone from her phone, as was every text message they’d shared. She had noticed how they seemed to time out after a day, but his phone number had never disappeared from her contacts until now. Was that a coincidence? Had Luka found it and removed it? She was scared to ask him.

Eilidh’s number was still there, though, so she snapped a picture of an ugly dress and sent it to her.

E: it's hideous I love it! is that what you're wearing to the ceilidh?

M: what's a ceilidh?

E: why did you leave when there is so much left for me to teach you 😭😭😭

E: it's a Scottish country dance type thing. 

E: Specifically, one for the end of the Shakespeare festival this Saturday

E: tell me Luke/a got you a ticket?

He did not.

Marinette started to type a reply, asking how Adrien was but she didn’t want to know. If he was fine, it would break her heart; if he was devastated, she’d feel even worse. It was better not to know.

──── •✧•────

Denver and Cecilia were an item. Adrien kept catching them kissing in the corridors. If he hadn't been so sorry for himself and his own lost love, he might have been more patient with them.

“You're such a grump,” Cerys teased after Adrien entered her classroom bemoaning how he’d caught them again.

“Be nice,” Eilidh warned. “He’s nursing a broken heart right now and can’t bear to see anybody else happy while he’s miserable.”

“That’s not true. It's too hot to share body heat with somebody else right now, that's all.”

“According to the Kinsey report, every average man you know, prefers to play his favourite sport when the temperature is low.”

Adrien chuckled, amazed his facial muscles remembered how. “But when the thermometer goes way up, And the weather is sizzling hot, Mister Adam for his madam is not, ‘Cause it’s too, too, too, too darn hot”

Eilidh, who was sprawled on a desk, fanning herself with a book of vocal exercises, groaned. “Why are you both being weird?”

“It's from Kiss Me, Kate,” Adrien explained.

“How do you know that?”

“It's based on Taming Of The Shrew.” 

“Oh, that tracks. Wait, Kinsey?”

Cerys nodded, anticipating Eilidh's question. “Of the scale, yes.” 

“Wow, who knew musical theatre could teach you stuff?”

Adrien tutted. “You're a philistine.”

“So,” Cerys said, her face a picture of concern. “How can we help you to feel better?”

He shrugged. “I don’t think you can. She just left. I don’t know how to process that. I’m…”

He didn’t even know how he felt.

“Empty?” Cerys offered. 

“Yeah, that's it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I wish I could call her but Félix deleted her contact from my phone.” He turned to Eilidh. “And I assume you deleted mine from hers?”

At least she looked apologetic when she nodded her affirmation. “It had to be done, Adrien.”

“I know, I know, it's for the best. Did you delete yours too?”

“That's what Félix told me to do,” Eilidh said, her voice tight.

“What about Mrs Owens or Yvette? They'll still have her number.”

“Maybe, but you know you can't call her. She left. She's not coming back.”

He let out a roar of frustration. “I hate this!”

“We know,” Cerys said, sitting next to him and hugging him. “And we're here for you.”

“Thank you,” he said into her shoulder.

“Hey, where's my hug?” Eilidh demanded.

Cerys laughed. “You're across the room, come over and get one.”

“Never mind, I don't think I can get up.”

“Do you need help?” Adrien asked. 

“Nah, I'll stay here until the bell goes.”

“Actually, Adrien, maybe you can help me,” Cerys said, sitting at the piano and unfolding a length of music manuscript. “I have this four-hand arrangement that I need a third and fourth hand to test properly. You game?”

He was. “What is it?”

“Canon in D. My cousin in Wales is getting married and my mother volunteered my brother and me to play the processional.”

“Does your brother play, too?”

“We both learned at school but he’s more of a hobbyist so I need to send him something to practise. Can you play through it with me to make sure it sounds right?”

“Sure.”

Adrien sat next to Cerys and surveyed the manuscript. He knew the tune and the arrangement was fairly straightforward. They played and Adrien let the music carry him away from his problems. 

“What does this song remind me of?” he asked after they finished.

“Everything,” Cerys said. “The chord progression is all over modern music.”

“Something specific, though.” 

Adrien closed his eyes and let a melody surface. His fingers took over, and after a few false starts and wrong notes, he started to play the song. Beside him, Cerys began overlapping him with Canon in D. He grinned and nudged her with his shoulder, this was exactly what he needed.

“Thank you,” he said. “I feel better now.”

──── •✧•────

London's garment district was in Shepherds Bush. After their usual breakfast date, Luka left to make music and Marinette took herself to a street lined with fabric stores. After days of searching, she couldn't find a dress she loved enough to wear to her wedding. She'd have to make it herself.

The problem with that was that there was too much choice. Silks, satins, brocades, chiffons, laces and tulles in every shade of white, ivory, cream, eggshell and porcelain. Every one was beautiful in its own way. 

She had too many ideas.

Had she always been indecisive? Luka always said that indecision was due to a lack of confidence, but what did she lack confidence in? She didn't doubt her ability to make a wedding dress. She was talented, she knew that.

She just needed to take a break.

She needed someone to talk to, to sort through her ideas so she called Penny and met her for lunch 

The smells at the Chinese restaurant brought a previously remembered memory back to mind. Adrien had suggested it might have been from New York but she was less sure. Had she been to China? She had family in Shanghai, but why would Adrien have been there? And, come to think of it, why did Lewis speak a little Mandarin?

Those thoughts made her miss them both so she pushed them away and told Penny about her ideas for a wedding dress.

“There’s just too many options,” she said.

Penny considered it over a soup dumpling. “You should trust your instincts. I’ve seen what you can make when you let yourself be creative. Jagged’s Eiffel Tower glasses? Those are iconic and you were a teenager when you made them.”

“I made those?”

“Did you not know?” Penny frowned. “What about Rock Giant?”

“The album?”

“Yes, you designed the cover.”

“Did I?” Marinette blinked, confused. “Nobody told me.”

To be fair, she never asked.

Penny put her chopsticks down very carefully on her plate. “Marinette, do you not know anything about your past?”

“Not really. I remembered a few things but Luka doesn’t like to talk about it so I try not to ask.”

“But you deserve to know. Look, I wasn’t in your life back then. I was touring with Jagged and, until Luka and Juleka found out that Jagged was their father, I really didn’t have much to do with any of your friends, but if I can answer any questions you have about that time, I will.”

Marinette plucked at a piece of cucumber salad, trying to avoid eye contact so she didn’t cry. “Thank you.”

“Speaking of the past, it's strange, I'm sure I saw Félix Fathom at the play.”

“Félix? Adrien's cousin?”

“That's him,” Penny said, helping herself to another dumpling. “He and Adrien were like twins growing up so it was jarring to see him. The number of times those two switched places to fool their parents, friends and teachers.” 

She fell into silent reminiscence and Marinette tried to make sense of what Penny had said. How did she know Adrien? 

──── •✧•────

“Mr Wilde?”

Adrien looked up from his desk to see a nervous-looking Iromi at his door. During this period, he’d usually be teaching A-level English, but since the exams were over, he’d had it free for admin. If he was lucky, he’d have all of his report cards finished before the deadline.

“Iromi, I didn’t think I’d see you back here.”

“It’s yearbook day. Everyone’s come back to pick up their books and get them signed.”

In his personal issues, he’d forgotten about that. 

“Is that today? Wow.”

“...And, uh, I was wondering if you’d sign mine?”

He smiled. Every year, a handful of students asked him to sign their yearbooks and he always felt honoured that they thought of him. 

“Sure.”

Iromi put the yearbook on his desk where it fell open at the page she’d been marking. ‘Teacher of the Year: Mr Wilde’ with a blurry photo that was clearly cropped from the group shot of the English Department. His jaw dropped.

“What? I didn’t know.”

Iromi shrugged. “We, the committee, decided to keep it a secret. Read the comments.”

‘Mr Wilde makes even the most boring books come alive.’

‘If it wasn’t for Mr Wilde, I’d never have made it through A-level English. He really cares about us.’

‘I hope I’m as cool as Mr Wilde when I’m grown up. He’s so passionate about his subject and teaching us that you want to do well for him.’

‘Mr Wilde made sense of Shakespeare in a way no other teacher has. Plus, he’s hot.’

Adrien laughed. “Wow, I’m honoured, even if I don’t believe that last one.”

Iromi smiled shyly. “We, um, we were wondering if you’d come down to the common room to sign everyone’s book?”

Dazed by the request, he nodded. “Okay. Lead the way.”

He followed Iromi to the sixth-form common room where he was greeted by cheering. It was overwhelming but, as Cerys recently reminded him, he had to learn to take a compliment.

On each book he signed, he wrote a personal message, wishing the student well in their chosen future before adding the same quote, “If we do meet again, why, we shall smile; If not, why then, this parting was well made.”

──── •✧•────

Instead of going back to fabric shopping, Marinette found the local library. She didn't know what she was looking for, but she knew where to start. She found the most private computer and searched for ‘Félix Fathom’.

She found the official website for Fathom Holdings, FexCorp, and a charity called the Fathom-Tsurugi Foundation that funded grief counsellors to work with children. She scanned the gossip pages speculating on his latest relationship with whichever D-list celebrity he was dating at the time and paparazzi sightings of him at various London clubs and restaurants. Nothing gave her clues to his link with Adrien. 

She added ‘Adrien’ to the search and, before she could add his surname, it autofilled with ‘Adrien Agreste’. Curiosity urged her onwards. 

Félix Fathom, along with Amelie Graham de Vanilly, had released a statement after Adrien Agreste died. 

‘It is with deep regret that we can confirm, following an investigation by the Tampa Bay PD and the county coroner, that our beloved nephew and cousin, Adrien Agreste died by suicide last month. We wish to thank you for your messages of condolence at this difficult time, and request privacy as we come to terms with our loss.’

So Adrien Agreste had been Félix's cousin, not Adrien Wilde. Yet, Adrien had introduced him as his cousin. Eilidh had said that Adrien’s cousin was coming to the play. What was the chance that Félix had two cousins called Adrien?

What had Adrien told her? “My mother was English. Father was— He wasn’t a good guy. When I came here with my mother’s side of the family, I wanted a fresh start.” From what she could tell, Félix and his mother were English.

A fresh start from what, though?

Marinette scrolled further. The news reports from the same time all said the same thing and offered no new information. Following the arrest of Gabriel Agreste for domestic terrorism, Adrien fled to the USA where he met his unfortunate end.

Domestic terrorism?!

What had she been involved in?

She searched for Gabriel Agreste and found reports on his arrest but few details. It was almost as if the information had been suppressed.

Perhaps this was as far as her search was going to take her. She should go back to fabric shopping. Marinette pushed the cursor up the screen to close the session and stopped. 

There was something else she could try. 

‘Alya Césaire Adrien Agreste’

Adrien Wilde had mentioned Alya so he had known her, too. If she could find a link between those two, she could start to connect some dots. 

The top result only perplexed her more. ‘Paris’ Heroes Remembered, One Year On.’ What did that have to do with Adrien? She printed the article to read later, her time slot was almost over. She had time for one more search.

‘Adrien Agreste’

Marinette scrolled through a sea of Gabriel advertising images until she struck gold. Class photos from Collège Françoise Dupont from her Troisième year. Marinette located herself and another familiar face. Even with blond hair, she recognised him. Adrien. 

Adrien Wilde was Adrien Agreste.

Not dead. Alive, well and thriving in Warwickshire. With a son who would have been born roughly the same time that Gabriel was arrested. A son that Marinette knew Adrien would do anything to protect, including, it seemed, faking his own death and starting a new life.

Marinette wondered, yet again, about Lewis's mother. Who was she? What happened to her? Was the reason she wasn't around now linked to whatever Gabriel did?

There was so much she still didn't know, but one thing she did: Adrien was hiding, too.

──── •✧•────

Adrien's eyes stung as he gazed out of the bus window. His thoughts had drifted back to Marinette and, for a brief moment, he had forgotten that she was gone. He lost her again.

Eilidh squeezed his leg. “I miss her, too.”

He smiled, not trusting himself to speak yet, he was too close to tears. 

“And I miss seeing you happy.”

“I know,” he whispered, swallowing down a sob. “I miss being happy.”

They sat in silence with Eilidh's hand applying reassuring pressure to Adrien's thigh until the next stop where a group of noisy school kids left the bus and Eilidh removed her hand before they passed. 

As the bus resumed its journey, Eilidh turned to Adrien. “Ever wonder what a 15-year-old you would think of you now, Best Teacher?”

“He'd be amazed. Not just that my students think I’m worthy of that title but just in general. He’d be impressed by how free I am,” Adrien said with a smile. Damn, Eilidh and her refusal to let him wallow in his feelings. “And delighted that I have so many friends and people who care about me.”

He nudged Eilidh playfully with his shoulder. 

“Well, you do have the best best friend possible.”

He laughed. “That's true. What about you? What would 15-year-old Eilidh think of you?”

“15-year-old Eilidh was a nerdy good girl who was terrified of doing anything to make her parents angry. She wouldn't recognise me.”

“You're still a nerd.”

“Rude.”

“It's not an insult, Eilidh, it's one of my favourite things about you.”

She nudged him back. “I love you, you know that? My life is great now because of you.”

“I love you, too, but your life is great because of you. You did that. I just get to cheer you on, that's all.”

“I think,” Eilidh said, holding her hand out for him. He took it. “We both worked hard for the lives we have, but neither of us did it in a vacuum. We did it together.”

They had. When Adrien met Eilidh, he needed a friend, and so did she. Over the years, they'd become family. A family Adrien never had before. Marinette might have gone, and he would miss her desperately, but he wasn't alone this time.

“I booked us rooms at the hotel across from the cathedral, by the way,” Eilidh said.

“Thanks.”

“Do you know that we have a spare ticket?”

Adrien frowned. Nobody had told him. “Why?”

“Astrid can't make it. Her husband's rugby club has a big fundraiser on the same night.”

“Husband?” He winced. “Did we know she had a husband?”

Eilidh shrugged. “She gave off different vibes.”

“And are you okay?”

“I've already moved on.”

He grinned. Eilidh was resilient, he could learn from her. “That's my girl. I can ask around to see if anybody wants to bring a plus one to use the spare ticket.”

“Bagsy!”

“Eilidh, you are a plus one.”

“And I know someone else who needs a plus one.”

“Fine. I don't care anyway.”

“So much ennui for someone who's apparently not French. How long is emo Adrien sticking around?”

“Bite me.”

She leaned over and very gently dug her teeth into his shoulder.

──── •✧•────

The red Indian silk was cool under her fingertips. It made her smile. There was a dress she had in mind — a 1950s-style prom dress with an off-the-shoulder neckline and a lace overlay. If she could find… 

Oh.

…Scarlet Chantilly lace, fine and intricate. The floral pattern had a scalloped edge that would look beautiful at the neckline. 

Could she get married in red? Something about the colour called to her. It felt right. Edvard, the stylist, told her to find her power colour.  “The colour that makes you confident enough to take on the world, Miss Mary. That gives you power.”  As she gazed at the crimson fabric, she was sure she'd found it.

Luka would never approve of it, though. He was expecting her to wear white.

She sent a photo of the lace to Eilidh. 

M: I need you to talk me out of buying this fabric or suggest an occasion to wear a dress made from it to 😢

The status bar read “Eilidh is typing” for so long that Marinette expected an essay when the message finally arrived. Instead, it was short.

E: I got you boo 😘

Chapter Text

Adrien was the last one to arrive in the hotel lobby. The stereotype that women take longer to get ready than men didn’t take into account the time it took to find and watch a helpful tutorial on YouTube on how to tie a bow tie.

Eilidh's copper velour jumpsuit made her eyes look more blue than ever. She wore her hair loose and curled and her skin glowed. Beside her, Cerys was wearing a midnight blue dress with a full circle skirt that Adrien thought was perfect for ceilidh dancing.

He was in full Highland dress, though he refused to wear the jacket in the summer heat. His black Barathea Tweed kilt waistcoat was buttoned over a black formal shirt. Eilidh blinked away a tear as she raised herself up on tiptoes and straightened his white bow tie.

“You'll have to move the sporran to the side when you dance, otherwise you'll hit yourself repeatedly in the balls.”

Adrien snorted. “I can always count on you to class up an occasion, Eilidh.” 

The modern hunting MacDonald of the Isles tartan was dark green and blue with a line of red running through it. At the hire shop, the assistant showed him a book of tartans and, as soon as he saw that Eilidh’s family had a tartan, he knew which one to choose. 

“You look very smart, Adrien,” Cerys said.

“And you look beautiful. Both of you.”

“Are you ready to go?” Eilidh asked.

“Adrien nodded. “Lead the way.”

When Eilidh had described the hotel as “across from the cathedral”, she was exaggerating. It was a 10-minute walk. They wandered unhurriedly through the town centre, noticing others who were clearly headed to the same place as they were. Adrien was relieved to see other men wearing kilts — he’d been worried that he’d be the only one.

The Ruins of Coventry Cathedral glowed with soft lighting. The sounds of a band warming up sounded from within.

Eilidh took Cerys's hand. “Let's go in, shall we?”

Adrien watched them and smiled. Something had been different and now he understood. “When were you two going to tell me?”

Cerys looked at her hand joined with Eilidh's and smiled softly. “Now?” 

Eilidh looked at Adrien bashfully. “Yeah. Uh, we're together.”

“I'm so happy for you!” Adrien enveloped them both in a hug.

“Okay, okay, watch the hair,” Eilidh grumbled. “Can we go in now?”

Adrien laughed and released them. “Come on.”

Inside, the dancefloor was lit by fairy lights overhead. A stage at the far end of The Ruins contained an accordion player, a fiddler and a drummer. A selection of flutes and whistles lay to one side and Adrien guessed that a fourth band member was elsewhere. A man with a microphone was talking to someone off-stage. They found the rest of their group at a table close to the stage.

“Got your dancing feet ready?” Arthur asked. He was wearing a black tuxedo with a tartan bow tie. 

“I think so,” Adrien said. “So long as somebody shows me how.”

“There’s a caller.” Eilidh pointed to the man with the microphone. “He’ll shout out the steps as we go. He’ll probably show you how to do some of them, too.”

She was right. For the first few dances, the caller gave a demonstration of the steps before the music began. He called out the steps so that everyone could join in. Adrien quickly learned how to do the Dashing White Sergeant, Gay Gordons, Canadian Barn Dance, St Bernard’s Waltz, Schottische and Strip the Willow. He also learned that Eilidh was a menace on the dancefloor whose spins left him dizzy.

He barely had a chance to sit down and catch his breath between dances.

“Everybody, take your partner for the Military Two Step.”

“Can I have this dance?”

Adrien looked at the woman who had approached him. She was a similar height to Marinette, wearing a blue tuxedo and a cheeky grin. Her short bleached-blonde hair almost clouded his recollection, but he’d seen that face before. Not just as a teenager, he’d seen this exact face at this age before.

“Alix! I can’t believe you’re here.”

“You absolute bastard!” She punched him in the arm. “Everyone thinks you’re dead.”

“Ouch. That’s kind of the idea of faking one’s own death.” He hissed, nursing the spot on his bicep that was sure to bruise. “Obviously you knew better.”

“Yeah, well, I knew what you were planning to do before you did.”

Time travel made Adrien’s head spin. “I thought you gave your Miraculous back?”

“I did. On the same day as you. Keep up, Adrien.”

They made their way to the dancefloor as the opening bars sounded. The dance caller’s voice rose over the music. “Ready? And! Heel, toe, heel, toe. Step, two, three, turn.”

“So how did you know I’d be here?” Adrien asked.

“Heel, toe, heel, toe. Step, two, three, together.”

Alix tilted her head and gave him an impatient look. “Come on, man, you’ve been in the Burrow.”

“Is this wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff?”

“Jump, kick, jump, kick. Turn your partner.”

Alix turned under Adrien’s arm. “A big ball of it, yeah. Anyway, I —another me— have been monitoring all the timelines and this one is…”

“And waltz.”

“...Fucked up?” Adrien suggested.

Alix laughed raucously. “Yup.”

“Heel, toe, heel, toe. Step, two, three, turn.”

A bubble of hope inflated in his chest. “Are you here to fix it?”

“No.” With a word, Alix burst the bubble. “I can’t mess with the timeline.”

“Heel, toe, heel, toe. Step, two, three, together.”

Adrien remembered her doing exactly that several times. “So why are you here?”

“Jump, kick, jump, kick. Turn your partner.”

She shrugged. “Just milling around. I’m a big fan of history.”

“What?”

“The Adrien I knew loved puns, don't tell me you’ve changed that much.”

“I've changed in many ways, Bunny-girl, what about you?”

“And waltz.”

As he and Alix waltzed, the ring on her finger caught his eye. She was never a jewellery wearer and this signet ring was chunky. The emblem on it was something he'd never forget. Alix saw him notice.

“Yeah, I guess not much has changed with me, except that the Guardians funded my PhD so that's  Doctor  Bunny-girl to you, Kitty-cat.”

“Heel, toe, heel, toe. Step, two, three, turn.”

“So do we insult each other until the music stops or…?”

“I'm game if you are.”

“Heel, toe, heel, toe. Step, two, three, turn.”

Adrien tutted. “Or you can tell me how our friends are doing?”

“Eurgh,  fine . You know that Alya is a journalist, right?

“Jump, kick, jump, kick. Turn your partner.”

“I'm aware. Does she know the trouble she caused?”

Alix winced. “Yeah. She realised too late. Like, when the enigmatic M’s phone number was suddenly out of service and her Nonna said she'd gone into hiding.”

That was something, he supposed. Bitterness at Alya’s negligence melted into concern that she was blaming herself for putting Marinette into a dangerous situation.

“And Nino?”

“He's a DJ.”

Adrien smiled. “I'm glad.”

“And he set up an organisation with Ivan and Kim to help raise awareness about suicide in young men and promote talking therapies.”

His smile vanished. “Oh.”

“They feel like they failed you, man.”

“They’re safer thinking I’m dead.”

“I know your dad’s a psychopath, and that he would have killed you if you stuck around, but it was a drastic plan.”

Adrien shrugged. “Yeah. And look how the less drastic version went for Marinette and Luka.”

Alix sighed. “Yeah, okay. How are you dealing with that information? Luka and Marinette getting married.”

“I’m not handling it well.”

“I know.” When Adrien gave her a quizzical look, Alix grinned. “I know you saw me a few times. And based on that all-too-familiar mopey in-love face, you still feel the same about her.”

“The woman I was about to propose to before my father attacked her, she gave up her Guardian role and her memory as a result, and I found out that she was Ladybug, then discovered that she was carrying my baby right before she disappeared out of my life without saying goodbye? Yeah, I still have feelings for her.”

“This timeline really is messed up. I’m doing what I can, Adrien, but there’s not much I can do, even if I did have my Miraculous.”

“How did it get so bad?”

“Certain events make the timelines split. You and Marinette’s first kiss, for example, affected Hawk Moth’s trajectory. Kissing her when you did made him go back to the drawing board and not enact a scheme that, in a different timeline, got him caught far sooner. When Marinette renounced the Guardianship, that made another split. A major one.”

“And she has no idea about any of it,” he said.

Alix let out a dry laugh. “That’s probably for the best.”

“How much can she know?”

The dance ended and they politely applauded the band along with the other dancers. 

“Let’s get a drink. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

──── •✧•────

“We're going to be late,” Penny muttered.

Jagged yawned. “Of course we are, when have we ever been on time for anything?”

“I think we just missed our turning.”

Penny swore and pulled an illegal U-turn. 

“Uh, Penny.” Jagged’s knuckles were white as he clung to his seat. “I think this is a one-way system.”

“This is why I don’t drive in cities.”

“There! Car park.”

Another illegal manoeuvre got them into the car park where they found a space. They climbed out of the car and smoothed down their clothing. Penny rolled her eyes at Jagged.

“I don’t understand why you’re wearing that.”

Jagged looked down at his kilt. “What's wrong with it? This is a ceilidh, isn’t it? It’s traditional.”

“But you’re not Scottish.”

“I am on my father’s side.”

Penny’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? I’ve met your father and he’s not Scottish. I doubt he’s been further north than Luton.”

“No, but his grandfather’s grandfather was from Dundee.”

“And that's the Stone family tartan, I assume?”

Jagged looked down at his kilt. “Modern Loch Sween, the guy in the shop said.”

“Is that near Dundee?”

“I don't know, I just liked the colours.”

Penny groaned. “And are you sure you're wearing it properly? Are the pleats meant to be at the front like that?”

“Which one of us is one thirty-second Scottish here, Penny?”

“How silly of me, of course you're right.“

──── •✧•────

Adrien and Alix clinked their glasses together. 

“Assuming I ever see her again, what can I tell her?”

Alix tutted. “Please, you’re Adrien and Marinette, you’ll see her again.”

“When?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m not a fortune teller, Adrien.”

He sighed. “So you can travel to the future but you can’t predict it?”

“Exactly.”

“Except when you can?”

“You’re finally catching on.” Alix smirked and took a slow sip of her drink. “Okay, she can know about the Miraculous heroes' existence but not the details. Especially not about the jewellery. She’ll never remember that she was Guardian, or any of the secrets so there's nothing you can do about that. If she finds out she was Ladybug, that’s… well, not ideal, but we can deal with it, but she can’t know about the earrings or her kwagatama, for example.”

Hope fluttered in his chest. “She remembered Plagg.”

“Did she know that he was a kwami?”

“No, I guess not, just his name. What about other details of her life? Normal stuff like school or her birthday parties?”

“Oh, she can know all of that.”

“So why hasn’t anyone told her about her life? She doesn’t even know about her friends.”

Alix frowned. She was clearly bothered about that, too. “Tom Dupain wanted to tell her everything but Sabine and the doctors were worried about overwhelming her. When Marinette left, they trusted Luka to tell her everything she needed when she was ready.”

“He didn’t.”

“I know that now. I just don’t know why.”

“She doesn’t even know about her son.”

“To be fair, none of us did. Well, not many of us. I personally knew about him before even Marinette did.”

“That’s weird.”

“That’s just the tip of an iceberg of weird.”

“So who knows? Juleka? Alya?”

Alix shrugged. “Nope. Just us and Su Han, Tom, Sabine, Luka, and your aunt and cousin.”

“And Gabriel.”

“Yeah, that bothers me. The only way he’d know is if Nathalie told him.”

“Which would mean she was still working for him.”

Alix shrugged. “I don't know. She handed herself in as soon as she left the hospital, I saw to that. She testified against Gabriel and served her own time. As far as I know, she never communicated with him from prison or after.”

“That doesn't mean she didn't tell him about Lewis before she did all that.”

“I guess not. Is that his name?”

“Well, Louis, to be exact, but we changed it to blend in over here.“

“You've done a good job at that. It took ages to find you. Fortunately, I had the time.” 

“How much time?”

“Not enough for the monkeys to write Shakespeare, but more than Gabriel has.”

──── •✧•────

She saw him as he left the bar area towards the gardens. She followed him.

He looked sad. Pensive. Like the weight of the world was resting on his shoulders. He didn't see her as she approached, not until she was a few metres away.

Adrien looked up and a grin spread across his face. She was about to puncture that joy.

“Marinette! You're here!”

“And so are you, Adrien Agreste.”

His gasp and stagger backwards confirmed everything. “How did you—”

“—figure it out? Félix. If he's your cousin, you must be Adrien Agreste. And not dead.”

He muttered something about Alex that she didn't catch before he laughed. “I should have known you'd figure it out, your mind is incredible.”

“You could have told me. You can trust me, you know?”

“It's ironic, but I was worried that knowing each other's real identities would be a risk. That he could use it against us. It was better, I thought, to keep details from you.”

She knew who “he” was —Gabriel— but she didn't understand the irony.

“And you had to keep Lewis safe.”

“He was my priority, I'm sorry.”

As much as it hurt to think of Adrien being in love with someone else, and as much of a hypocrite that made her, curiosity won out.

“Lewis's mother, what happened to her?”

A tear ran down Adrien's cheek and he pushed it away with his palm. “Oh, Marinette… I… you… Were gone before he was allowed to leave the hospital. It wasn't her fault.”

It was a warm night but Marinette had goosebumps. “Did— Was your father involved?”

He nodded slowly.

“What happened?”

“She was trying to stop him and he threw her off a building. She sacrificed everything for us.”

“While she was pregnant?”

Through his sobs, she heard the words “didn't know” … “miraculous” … “wouldn't let me see you” … “I tried.”

“Oh, Adrien.”

She closed the gap between them and wrapped him in an embrace. He held her tightly until his breathing regulated and the tears stopped falling. When he pulled away, he looked wrecked, like he wouldn’t take another blow, but she had to deliver it.

“What did we mean to each other back then? Who were you to me?”

“Friends and partners at first. Then lovers. You were my first and second love.”

“What happened?”

“My father did,” he spat. That still tasted bitter to him. “Then… Other people put distance between us. It was out of our control.”

That was the story of her life. No control. 

“I’m getting married,” she said. The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could think them through. “Next month.”

Adrien’s smile was thin. “Congratulations.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I just want you to be happy, Marinette. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you. If he makes you happy then I mean my congratulations.”

Did he? Was she? 

“I came all the way here, though. Would you like to dance?”

This smile reached his eyes and made them crinkle adorably. “I’d love to.”

──── •✧•────

Moments ago, his feet ached from dancing and his head spun with everything that Alix had said. Now, Marinette was with him and the world felt better.

There was a freedom in sharing who he was, his true identity, with her. There was a catharsis in unmasking himself after all this time. The truth, though not laid bare, had been stripped of so many layers of omissions and lies that Adrien felt lighter.

He offered his hand to Marinette and she took it as they walked into the Ruins. As soon as they neared the dancefloor, they were spotted.

“Mary, you came!” Eilidh called out. 

“Ms Baker! What a delight to see you again,” Arthur exclaimed.

Soon, Marinette was swallowed up by the Greater Nieweham Secondary School group, all of them greeting her enthusiastically. It warmed Adrien to see how much his colleagues loved her, too.

She looked beautiful in red, he had always said so. Before, when they were together, she always got self-conscious about it and now he had an inkling why. Red was Ladybug’s colour and wearing it made her feel vulnerable to detection. Adrien knew the feeling well — it was why he avoided leather jackets for years. 

Now, she wore the colour with no inhibitions and her confidence was intoxicating.

“I hope everyone is sufficiently warmed up because it’s time to take your partner for an Orcadian Strip the Willow.”

“Yes!” Eilidh cheered. “You’re going to love this.”

“Why do I think I’m not going to love this?” Marinette looked at Adrien with trepidation on her face. Adrien returned her concern.

“Because if Eilidh loves this dance, that means it’s pure chaos.”

“Well, in at the deep end, I guess.”

The dancers were forming two lines so Adrien and Marinette took their place next to Eilidh and Cerys on one side and Arthur and his husband, Clive, on the other. Arthur leaned across Adrien to speak to Eilidh.

“Should I be afraid?”

Eilidh’s eyes gleamed mischievously. “Oh, yes. This is Strip the Willow but relentless.”

“Oh, good,” Adrien said. “I thought regular Strip the Willow was relentless.”

“The first couple starts up there.” Eilidh pointed to the couple nearest to the band. “They spin together for 16, then each spins the next couple and meets in the middle, spins the next, and so on, all the way down the line. The next top couple go once the first ones have reached the fourth down and we just keep going until the music stops or someone dies.”

“That’s about as clear as mud,” Arthur said, looking fearful.

“Eh, you’ll figure it out.”

They did figure it out. Sort of. A couple of hundred thespians and stage crew, merrily tipsy, with only basic experience with ceilidh dancing, attempting a non-stop version of Strip the Willow was guaranteed to be mayhem in the most fun definition of the word.

Adrien, though, couldn't stop looking at Marinette, at how much she was enjoying herself. The joy and wonder on her face made flames burn in his chest; when she laughed, those flames sparked and crackled.

When it was their turn to dance, Adrien joined hands with Marinette and spun around, never taking their eyes off each other. As they worked their way down the line, spinning the next couple and then each other again, Adrien almost stopped dead. Penny Rolling was next in line. As he spun Marinette once more, he noticed Jagged Stone standing opposite her.

Of course. That was how Marinette got here. She came with Jagged and Penny. Did that mean Luka was here, too?

He took Penny's arm and danced with her, keeping what he hoped was casual eye contact and a neutral facial expression. If she recognised him back, she didn't show it.

Back to Marinette, Adrien scanned the remaining line for Luka. It had been nearly nine years since he last saw him but he was sure he'd recognise him. Adrien didn't relax until they reached the end of the line.

Luka wasn't here. Adrien had Marinette to himself.

Almost.

The Circassian Circle followed: a mixer that split them up after the first repetition of the dance. They got separated during the Dashing White Sergeant. The Eightsome Reel was too complicated to truly focus on her. 

“Take your partner for the Gay Gordons.”

“Welp, that's us,” Eilidh announced and dragged Cerys to the dancefloor. 

Adrien took Marinette’s hand and led her back to the dancefloor, resisting the urge to ask her if she was feeling okay. He knew what her response would be: “I'm not made of glass”.

“How have you been?” he asked once the dance was underway.

She frowned. “I've been fine.”

He didn't believe her. “Are you sure?”

“No.” She smiled sadly. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

“And Lewis. How is he?”

“He's…” He searched for the right word, trying to sugarcoat his response. “He misses you, too, but he's dealing with it. Kids are resilient.”

“I wanted to say goodbye properly but, uh, everyone wanted to leave straight away and I didn't get the chance. I'm sorry.”

“You're here now.”

They polka-ed, and Adrien marvelled at how in step they were. Across years and countries, they were still in synch.

She felt right in his arms. He felt right when she was in his arms. If he could, he'd have stopped time at this moment to savour it. He needed an eternity to truly take her in. 

Once, years ago, they had talked about getting married. It was a light-hearted conversation about the things they had fantasised about as teenagers. They named their future pet hamsters, discussed how tall the croquembouche should be, and wondered if seven was too many bridesmaids. Marinette mentioned her mother's red cheongsam, the traditional dress she wore for her wedding, and said she'd like to wear something similar. This dress, although beautiful and distinctly a Marinette creation, was not her wedding dress, but Adrien would never see that. He wondered what it would look like, what she would look like on her wedding day, then stopped himself. He couldn't torture himself about the future. He needed to enjoy the present.

The sun set, glowing orange in the windows of The Ruins. The lights that adorned the old building made the approaching darkness feel like a fairytale. But fairytales all come to an end.

“Alas, it’s time for the last dance. Please, take your partner for the Lomond Waltz.”

──── •✧•────

David Bowie played on the stereo while Jagged snored in the back seat. Penny drove. The M40 lay placidly ahead of them, guiding them home through the dark countryside.

“It shouldn’t take too long to get back. You can let Luka know that we’ll be there by 2AM.”

“Will do.”

“Or you can stay with us tonight if he wants to get some sleep?”

Marinette smiled gratefully. “That’s probably a better idea.”

Penny drove on while Marinette sent a message to Luka. He quickly replied.

L: That’s fine. I’ll come by to pick you up tomorrow morning x

“It’s a shame Luka couldn’t join us,” Penny said. “But the musicians didn’t get tickets. I suppose they could have refused plus ones for the rest, but with all the big names involved, I don’t think that would have gone down well.”

“Yes, Eilidh said that numbers were limited. I was lucky to get a ticket.”

Penny’s brow lifted. “I guess it’s good that Luka couldn’t come, though. I’m not sure how he’d have reacted to seeing Adrien after all this time.”

Marinette gasped. “You knew?”

“I had more context clues than anyone else, but, no, I didn’t know anything for sure until I saw you two dancing.”

“How?”

Penny smiled. “You never asked about Adrien Agreste until the night of Jagged’s play. When I saw Félix Fathom, I started to put two and two together. Tonight, everything added up.”

“Does Jagged know?”

“Jagged doesn’t even know that he was wearing his kilt backwards all night.”

“Please don’t say anything. He’s in hiding, Penny, from his father, like me. You have to promise to keep this to yourself.”

“I know he’s in hiding, Marinette. He ‘died’”—she took her hands off the steering wheel to make air quotes—“right around the time you and Luka went to Italy.”

“You won’t tell anyone, right? Not even Jagged. Adrien has to protect his son.”

The car swerved briefly into the next, fortunately empty, lane. “Son?”

Marinette nodded. “Yes. He’s eight, almost nine.”

“Oh. I didn’t know.” Penny turned to look at Marinette. “He’s almost nine years old?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Penny drummed her fingers against the wheel and shifted in her seat. “That's… interesting.”

“Interesting? Why?”

“The timing is, well, interesting.”

“What does that mean?”

Penny laughed nervously. “Nothing, nothing. I'm being nostalgic, ignore me. So, it was good to see Adrien again?”

Marinette smiled. “It was, even though I know I don't remember him from before, I feel like I remember him.” She shook her head. “Does that make sense?”

“I think so. And, uh, do you think you’ll see him again?”

She sighed and rested her head against the passenger side window. “I doubt it. You're right, Luka wouldn't like that.”

“What about what you'd like?”

──── •✧•────

“I assume that the spare ticket went to Marinette?” Adrien asked as they stumbled back to their hotel, doner kebabs in hand.

“No, it went to Clive.”

“So, how did..?”

Cerys raised her hand. 

“You?”

She shrugged. “I was at uni with Davey, the accordion player in the ceilidh band. Managed to wangle another ticket.”

Adrien shook his head. “So you were both plotting behind my back. I see.”

“Hardly.” Eilidh dragged him to a low wall and sat him down. She and Cerys took a seat on either side of him. “Listen, you didn’t get to say goodbye and that was eating you up. An opportunity presented itself to get her to come tonight and I took it. Now, you get to put a full stop to the relationship instead of forever living inside that eternal ellipses.”

Adrien chewed his kebab slowly, considering Eilidh’s words. “But how did you get in contact with her? Félix told you to delete your contact from her phone.”

“Félix isn’t the boss of me.”

He laughed wryly. “And if he tried to have a go at you for it, you can tell him that he’s the reason why Marinette figured out who I am.”

Eilidh choked on her kebab. “She knows? How much?”

“My real name, who my father was.” He paused, wanting to keep the next part to himself. To hold it close to his heart and never let it go. Eilidh was right, though. Full stop. “And that we loved each other.”

 “Weird use of past tense there,” Cerys said. He looked at her, nonchalantly eating her kebab. She looked back at him and shrugged. “What? Anyone who saw you tonight could see how much you adore each other.”

“She's still going to marry Luka.”

Eilidh rested her head on his shoulder. “I know.”

Cerys put her hand on his forearm. “I'm sorry.”

He sighed and brought to mind their last dance. The last time he would ever hold Marinette in his arms. “What was that music? In the last dance, it was familiar.”

“Loch Lomond,” Cerys said.

“It's nice.”

“Apt,” Eilidh said. “You tak' the high road, and I'll tak’ the low road, And I'll be in Scotland afore ye, But me and my true love will never meet again, On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond.”

Me and my true love will never meet again…

As much as his heart didn't want to believe it, Adrien knew it was true.

Chapter Text

Without hope, without wishful thinking to believe that Marinette would return, and with confirmation that she was getting married; that her life was not with Adrien, Little Neiweham was a flatter place. His home, the park, and even school held clues to her absence, driving the message deeper into his heart.

She was gone for good.

He dragged himself through the days, forcing himself to be normal on the outside while his heart broke into smaller and smaller pieces until only rubble remained.

On Saturday, Eilidh took the boys to cricket practice and let Adrien sleep in. He was still in bed with the cats when they returned. 

“Okay, gang, wash hands and get changed before lunch.”

Footsteps thudded on the stairs and the bathroom door bashed against the wall as Lewis and Alex crashed through it. At the same time, Adrien's bedroom door burst open. Poe hid under the bed. Plagg dug his claws into Adrien’s shoulder.

“Why so loud?” he moaned, shoo-ing Plagg and nursing his arm. 

“Hey, dude,” Eilidh said, leaning against the door frame. “I know you're bummed out but I'm not having you end up like Sandra Bullock and Nicole Kidman’s mum in Practical Magic. I refuse to let you die of a broken heart, so you're going to have to get up, get dressed and start living for yourself and your son like you've always done.”

He groaned. “One more day, please.”

“Nope. You're not a Victorian widow, one week of wallowing is plenty.” She whipped the covers back. “Our admission time for the butterfly farm is one-thirty.”

“Go without me.”

“No chance, I bought a family ticket. If you're not there, it costs more.”

“Butterflies give me PTSD, I can’t go.”

“Adrien Oscar Nicholas Olivia Kimberley Wilde, you better not be faking mental illness to get out of a family day out.” 

He rolled his eyes at Eilidh’s tone of fake outrage. 

“Eurgh, fine. Not a single one of those was my middle name, by the way.” 

Félix, for all that he hadn’t managed to conceal Adrien’s identity from Marinette, had changed Adrien’s middle names. “There’s too many to not be memorable. You can have one.” Now, he was Adrien Emil Wilde. He had, however, made the mistake of telling Eilidh his full name once.

“Eh, close enough. You shower and I'll make sandwiches.” She raised her voice so that the boys could hear her, too. “We leave after lunch so be ready.”

He forced himself to get out of bed as Eilidh threw a towel at him. 

“Where are we going?” Alex asked as he and Lewis fell out of the bathroom.

“Butterfly farm.”

Lewis was wiping his hands on his shorts as though there wasn’t a perfectly serviceable hand towel in the bathroom. “What's there?”

“Dancing unicorns, obviously.”

Lewis laughed. “No there aren’t.”

“Well, what do you think there is, smarty-pants?”

“Butterflies,” Alex said.

“Oh, I guess so. Such clever children, you get that from me.”

“I don’t,” Lewis said, giggling.

“Oh, sure you do. This is a nurture-over-nature thing if I ever saw one, and I’m definitely the mastermind of this family.”

“Evil genius, maybe,” Adrien called out.

“Rude! No Nando’s for you, Adrien.”

“We’re getting Nando’s?” Alex asked excitedly.

“Only if you two change out your cricket gear and Uncle Adrien gets ready in time.”

He hadn't moved since she left his room. “Fine! I'm doing it now.”

“I don't believe you,” Eilidh sing-songed as she descended the stairs.

Adrien moved like he was under a weighted blanket. Every step took effort. His broken heart felt heavier this time than ever before. 

Letting the water run until it was hot, Adrien stepped under the shower and let it shield him from the world. Underwater, he was protected from everything else. 

The first time Marinette left, Adrien had a newborn son to focus on. He fled Paris and started his life again. This time, he had to find a way to continue living that new life surrounded by reminders of her. Lewis missed her, too, but he had only known her for a few months. Weeks, not years. Not a lifetime.

He didn't know how to get back to normal this time. 

He wasn't sure ‘normal’ was enough for him anymore.

The butterflies didn’t traumatise Adrien, even the Great Eggfly, a black butterfly with iridescent purple highlights on its wings that, from the corner of his eye, looked like an Akuma. Rather, he was taken by their beauty. Alex, however, was concerned about their flapping, and almost leapt out of his shoes when a large Monarch alighted briefly on his arm. 

Alex was particularly bothered when Lewis held out a hand and an Emerald Swallowtail landed on it. As it eventually fluttered away, Lewis grinned.

“That was so cool!”

Alex shuddered. “It was gross.”

“Bye, bye, little butterfly,” Adrien whispered.

If only he had Ladybug’s cure to help heal his broken heart.

──── •✧•────

Days flowed into weeks and the wedding drew closer. Still, Adrien burned just as brightly in her mind as he did after the ceilidh. She thought that seeing him again would give her closure but she felt more restless than before. 

Marinette tried to plan and organise all of the details for the wedding while Luka spent time in the studio with his father. She spent her days alone, and in the evenings when they were together in their apartment, he was so emotionally distant that she often felt even more lonely then.

On such an evening, she sat on one end of the sofa, texting Eilidh, while Luka sat on the other with a book.

E: btw I've found your wedding song. It's perfect 😜

Marinette pressed play on the attached TikTok link and her heart leapt to see a video, shot through a classroom window from behind Adrien and Cerys. They were playing the piano together. The song they were both playing was something Marinette associated with weddings, and something else. 

M: it's gorgeous. What is it?

E: Pachelbel’s Canon in D and Memories by Maroon 5

Marinette snorted with laughter. 

“What's that?” Luka asked, looking up from his book.

Marinette moved closer to him and played the video again. “What do you think? It could be my processional music.”

Luka's face screwed up. “That's not funny.”

“It's popular wedding music mixed with a song called ‘Memories’, that's objectively amusing.”

“Not to me. It's distasteful. Who is this?”

Marinette shrugged, defeated. “Just something I found online.” 

She watched Luka as he went back to his book and wanted to shake him. He seemed so disinterested in this wedding, even though it was his idea. He’d barely helped her plan anything, but she’d hoped he’d at least show some interest in the music. 

“Okay,” she said. “What should our wedding music be?”

Luka sighed and put his book down again. “I don’t know. Not that, though.”

“Well, do we have a song? What did we dance to?” When they first moved to Italy, and Marinette was feeling overwhelmed, Luka would take her to the deck overlooking the lake and hum a song while he held her close and they danced. 

“Just the song our hearts sang. I think the melodies have changed recently.” Luka sat forward and took her hand. “Don’t you think so?”

Her cheeks flushed and guilty prickles crawled up her neck. Did he know about Adrien? About their kiss? Did Penny say something? “I… uh, what do you mean?”

His thumb made soothing circles in her palm but it didn’t calm her. She felt sweaty.

“I think we’ve both been distracted since we came to London. I was excited to spend time with Dad, especially to work with him in the play. I wasn’t present for you, and I’m sorry.”

“I was busy, too.”

“I know, and I felt left out by that. I think we need to make time for each other again. What do you think?”

It made sense. The way she felt about Luka had changed after she went to Warwickshire. “I’d like that.”

Luka pulled her onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her. “Why don’t we talk about the wedding? What have you planned and how can I help?”

“Well.” She settled into his embrace, finding peace in the familiarity. “I arranged the flowers, hydrangeas and freesias. I have a small bouquet and there are buttonholes for you, Papa and Jagged, and corsages for Maman, Penny, Anarka and Juleka.”

“Happiness and serenity,” Luka said approvingly.

“What?”

“Freesias mean happiness and hydrangeas mean serenity. The language of flowers.”

“Oh, those are good meanings. I’ve made my dress, too, but…”

“But?”

She sighed. “It’s boring. I hate it.”

“You hate it?”

“Not really, it’s fine, but I don’t love it. I know it’s not right for me and I don’t know how to fix it. I want it to make me smile, to make me excited to wear it. Right now?” She shrugged. “I’m uninspired.”

“Hmmm.” Luka kissed her forehead absentmindedly. “You were always so good at customising your clothes and accessories in school. Maybe there's something you can do to personalise the dress?”

“What kind of things did I do?” 

Marinette held her breath. This was the first time Luka had volunteered information about her as a teenager, and she was afraid to act too eager and ruin the moment.

Luka didn't seem to notice her anticipation. “All kinds of things. You painted fabric, embroidered, appliquéd and beaded. Everything you wore was distinctly you.”

“I remember learning to make my own clothes. It was like a whole world opened up for me.”

“Not just your own. You made gifts for your friends, too.”

She thought about the charm bracelet she gave Adrien and wondered what else she made.”Did I make anything for you?”

“Oh, yes. I was in a band and you made all of our costumes, masks, stickers and badges.”

“What was the band called?”

Marinette could hardly believe how forthcoming he was. Perhaps Penny had spoken to him.

“Kitty Section.”

“Who else was in it?”

“Juleka, Rose, Ivan and, uh, a keyboardist. We were offered a record contract once but we turned it down.”

“How come?” She was determined to keep him talking for as long as possible. 

“I had to, uh, go travelling with Dad and Penny so it was a bad time.”

“I remember Rose and Ivan. I wonder what they're doing now?”

Luka stroked her back as he spoke. “According to Juleka, Rose is a teacher in Montpellier. Last I heard, Ivan was working for Office National des Forêts doing something with sustainability.”

Rose would be a wonderful teacher, she had the right temperament for it. Marinette briefly thought of Adrien and how much his students admired him. She was sure Rose’s pupils felt the same way about her.

“It's funny, saving the environment was always Mylène’s thing, and Ivan loved her. I wonder if they ever admitted it to each other.”

“They did,” Luka said. “They’re high school sweethearts that actually lasted.”

“Oh, that's lovely.” Her heart swelled at the thought of Ivan and Mylène's love for each other. “Do you ever regret not taking that contract? You could have been a rockstar like your dad.”

Luka stiffened. “I did what I had to do. I played my part and I don't regret anything.”

Marinette lifted her head from Luka's shoulder and looked at him. “You don't talk about that time much, is it difficult?”

“It's… complicated.”

“Well, thank you for talking about it now. I appreciate it. I appreciate you.”

Luka kissed her and she closed her eyes, trying to block out the memory of a different kiss.

──── •✧•────

During the last two weeks of term, subject-specific field trips took the students and teachers out of school and the halls felt empty. Adrien’s classes were often under-attended so he tried to make lessons light and fun. Coaches lined up outside the school gates every morning and evening. Eilidh took her Latin classes to The Roman Baths in Bath, and Arthur took a group of year 11s and 12s to the Bristol Old Vic. Adrien was exempt from organising any trips after his efforts with the play but he offered to help Cerys plan her class trip since she had helped him so much recently. 

As the days went by, Adrien tried to put Marinette out of his mind. It almost worked until Félix reminded him that it was time to write his update letter to Tom and Sabine. Every year, he struggled to condense a year of Lewis’s life into a page. How was he meant to distil everything that Lewis said and did into a few paragraphs? He wished he could send them photos or videos, to show them what Lewis was really like but he couldn’t. They didn’t even know his real name. 

This year, Adrien also had to wrestle with the fact that he’d seen their daughter. He had probably spent more time with her in the past few weeks than Tom and Sabine had in the past few years, but he couldn’t admit that either. Now that he knew for sure that Gabriel was still looking for them, he couldn’t take the risk.

“That time again, huh?” Eilidh asked, peering over his shoulder. 

“Yeah. I never know what to say.”

“I have a question. Why do we say Marinette’s name all the time, but always Mr and Mrs Bun?”

“Because Marinette is a common enough girl’s name that we could be talking about anyone. Mr and Mrs Bun’s surname is rare.”

“That makes sense. I don't even know their names, though.”

“I know, and I'm not going to tell you. They didn't ask for this, they should never have been dragged into it all.”

Eilidh's smile was sad. “Neither did you.”

No, he hadn't asked for it but when he put the ring on that first time, he took the risk. Tom and Sabine never made the decision to get wrapped up in Gabriel's madness.

“I know,” he said. “But with great power comes great responsibility.”

Eilidh snorted and threw a paperclip at him. “You're a doofus.”

“Have… Have you heard from her?”

His stomach knotted in anticipation of her response.

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yes. No? I don't know. Is she okay?”

“Yeah, Adrien, she's… she's doing fine.”

──── •✧•────

“Hi Miss, back again?”

“I can't stay away,” Marinette said with a giggle. “Too many pretty beads, too much choice.”

“Still don't know what you're looking for?”

That was the problem. Marinette made her wedding dress from the same pattern as her red ceilidh dress but it just didn't seem as special in white. After her conversation with Luka, she decided to decorate it with beads. The little store in East London was filled from ceiling to floor with every bead possible from tiny Rocailles to ones as big as her hand. Zahir had shown her everything he stocked: glass, semi-precious stones, Swarovski crystal, and even diamond. Still, after her third visit to the store, she couldn't decide.

“I've narrowed down the colour if that helps?”

Her favourite colour, pink, should have been her first choice but she kept wondering what Luka would like, not her. It was her wedding, too, though.

She remembered what Eilidh had said about the meaning of her engagement ring and wondered if she could find something with a similarly significant meaning.

Zahir led her to the pink selection and showed her the options. Pink glass, hemimorphite, rhodonite, pink jade, and rose quartz sparkled in the shop’s lights. She felt more overwhelmed than ever before.

“I don’t know.” 

“What about pink pearls?” Zahir suggested, pointing out the shades of pink, ranging from lightest blush to magenta.

“Do you mind if I make a phone call? I need another opinion.”

Eilidh’s voice was upbeat. “Hiya, what’s up?”

“Hi, I have a Classical Studies question.”

“That is my forte. Hit me with it.”

Marinette’s mood lifted to hear her friend. The way she was still kind and jovial despite the way Marinette left gave her hope that they could remain friendly even after the wedding. “Okay, can you tell me about these stones in mythology: hemimorphite, rhodonite, rose quartz, pink jade or pearl?”

“Wow, good question. As far as most of them go, no, I don't have any recollection, but two are linked to Aphrodite.”

“Like my emerald?”

“Exactly like your emerald. Pearls were said to have been her tears of joy. She was born from seafoam so she has links to the sea, hence pearls. They’re thought to represent love because of her, and wearing them on your wedding day is meant to prevent you from shedding tears. Is that the sort of thing you’re looking for?”

“It’s perfect.” 

“The other one is less clear cut, but, have you heard of Adonis?”

“Vaguely.”

“He was a mortal. The most beautiful man in all of Greece, apparently. Aphrodite loved him, she was beguiled by him, but he wasn't her husband which was a problem. I mean, not for her, Greek gods and goddesses weren’t exactly monogamous, but they weren’t so pleased about the ‘mortal’ aspect of it all. Depending on the source, Adonis was killed either by a wild boar sent by Artemis or by a jealous Ares in the form of a boar. Aphrodite rushed to his side, cutting herself in the process. The story goes that her tears mingled with his blood and anemones grew from it, meanwhile, her blood stained some nearby quartz and turned it pink. After she pleaded to Zeus for Adonis’s life, rose quartz came to symbolise the love they shared and lost, and that Zeus renewed.”

Being captivated by a beautiful man who isn’t her husband. Love shared, lost and renewed. It was a little close to home for Marinette. “That’s… thanks.”

“The other story is that rose quartz was brought down from Olympus by Eros, the God of love. If that’s better symbolism for you.”

“Yeah, maybe.” 

Zahir cleared his throat to catch Marinette’s attention. He pointed to another string of pink beads with the label ‘pink hematite’.

“Hey, Eilidh? What about hematite?”

“That’s Ares’s stone. Soldiers would crush it into their war paint to give them strength and protection in battle. Not very wedding-y.”

“Huh, okay. Thanks. Are you doing okay?”

“I'm on my lonesome today. All my friends are on a field trip to the opera so I'm doing paperwork.”

“That sucks.” Marinette didn't need to ask who Eilidh's friends were. She didn't want to hear his name. “What opera?”

“A Midsummer Night's Dream. I can't get away from bloody Shakespeare. How are you?”

Marinette paused. “I'm fine. So when do the holidays start?”

“Friday, and, are you sure you're ‘fine’? That wasn't convincing?”

“I'm…” she scrambled for another word. “Okay.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Maybe? But you're at work and I'm shopping so it's not the time. Raincheck?”

“Aye, right. We will talk later, yeah?”

“I promise.”

Marinette ended the call and turned back to Zahir. “Okay, I've decided. I'll take the pearls, in every shade of pink you've got.”

“The perfect choice for a wedding,” Zahir said, taking her selection to the till. 

“My friend said they're meant to represent the goddess of love's tears.”

“Really? I was told they represent wisdom, and they can help to bring out the truth of a situation.”

Chapter Text

“Ma petite! I've missed you!” 

Tom wrapped Marinette into an enthusiastic bear hug, lifting her off the ground as he squeezed a year's worth of love into the gesture. 

“Papa! I can't breathe!”

“Oh, sorry.” He set her back on her feet. “Let me look at you.”

While he did, she looked back at him. He looked older than she remembered — more careworn. In her mind, he was the man she knew at fourteen years old: sprightly, a little clumsy, and bursting with joy. These days, his hair was greying, wrinkles creased his face, and he seemed weighed down by his worries. 

“Your hair is different.” He stroked her head. “It suits you. Are you happy?”

Her smile was forced but she nodded. “I am, Papa.”

She had been but, now, she wasn't sure.

“Your mother is at her sister's so she’ll get here soon. I couldn’t wait to see you.”

“And you wanted to avoid Aunt Shu Yin.”

Tom grinned sheepishly. “That, too.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here. Would you like tea or lemonade?”

“Lemonade, please. It’s too hot for tea, no matter what the Brits think.”

They took their drinks to the balcony and settled into lounge chairs. For a while, they sat in silence and watched the city below them until Marinette became aware that her father was looking at her. 

“What is it?” Marinette asked. “You’re staring.”

“I’m just taking you in. I don’t see you often enough, ma petite. What have you been up to since we last visited?”

Marinette put her lemonade down and wiped the condensation from her fingers. The past year had been such a whirlwind, she didn’t know where to start. “Well, I was in Italy, designing and getting my collection ready to tour the fashion weeks when Gabriel found me, thanks to a Vogue interview. We came to London, but Luka joined Jagged in a Shakespeare festival in Stratford-Upon-Avon so I went there and got involved with a school production of Romeo and Juliet. There’s a review. Let me show you.”

She found the review on her phone and passed it to Tom. Before he read it, he said, “That’s… That’s a lot to take in. Are you safe?”

“I don’t know. Gabriel found me in Italy but, as far as I know, he doesn’t know I’m here. Not yet, at least.”

“Marinette…”

“I’m okay, Papa. Just read the review.”

With a final unconvinced frown, Tom read the review. When he returned the phone, he wore an expression like he was doing complex maths in his head. “This play. It was for the Shakespeare festival?” 

“Yes.” 

“And you made the costumes?”

Marinette nodded. “I did. And I made friends, Papa. Eilidh, who I still speak to now. She’s a teacher. And Adrien, too.”

His voice rose in tone. “That’s wonderful. Are they coming to the wedding?”

“No.” Marinette wanted to invite Eilidh but Luka rejected the suggestion. ‘I don’t trust her’, he’d said without further explanation.

“That’s a shame, I would have loved to meet them. Eilidh and Adrien, you say? Are they both teachers?”

“Yes. It was Adrien who directed the play.”

“I know.” Tom looked panicked for a moment. “From that review you showed me, obviously.”

Of course, how else would he know that?

“And I met an amazing little boy, Adrien's son. He is so talented at baking, I wish you could meet him.”

“Tell me all about him, ma petite.” Tom sat forward, eyes fixed on her, ready to hear everything.

“He’s bright and sweet and funny. I taught him to make macarons, madeleines, and choux and he’s a natural baker. It was wonderful to pass on the skills you taught me to Lewis.”

Tom choked on his lemonade. “I’m glad you had someone to pass your skills onto. Maybe one day I’ll have another grandson that loves to bake and I can teach him some of the family business.”

“Another?”

“What?”

“You said ‘another grandson’.”

“Did I?” Tom laughed awkwardly. “So tell me, are we going to bake you a wedding cake or a croquembouche? We only have a few days left to make it.”

“Oh, I haven’t thought about that.”

“What do you mean? It’s your wedding! You always had big ideas about your wedding day, I thought you would have every detail planned.”

She shrugged. “I guess the fantasy is more exciting than reality.”

Tom’s jaw dropped. “I beg your pardon? Reality should be the most exciting part. You’re committing yourself to the person you love most in the world and promising to spend the rest of your life together. It’s a romantic moment.”

“I… I just don’t feel excitement or romance, or anything much about it. It’s just another day. Am I a bad person for not looking forward to my own wedding?” Shameful tears welled in her eyes.

Tom's arms immediately enveloped her. “Oh, ma petite, you could never be a bad person.” 

That’s what Adrien said, too, but Luka was right, she hurt people. If he ever found out about her kiss with Adrien, Luka would be devastated. If he discovered that she returned to Warwickshire to see him one last time, it would destroy him. It would be better if he never found out.

“I think I am.”

“This is just nerves talking, I'm sure.”

Marinette was less convinced.

──── •✧•────

Félix was staying for a few days, and Cerys met them in the park for a picnic lunch.

A lump formed in Adrien’s throat to see Eilidh introduce her to the boys as her girlfriend. He knew she wouldn’t have done so unless she was serious about the relationship. In his heartbroken fugue, he had missed the signs that his best friend was falling in love. 

He owed her more than the shell of a man he’d been recently. He owed Lewis more, too. Adrien resolved to push his self-pity aside and focus on the people he loved and trusted: Lewis, Eilidh, Alex, Félix,  and, he now realised, Cerys.

While he was preoccupied, Cerys stepped in and stepped up. She was as responsible for the success of Romeo and Juliet as he was but got less credit. She was a confidante and a friend to him, and a support to Eilidh while her hand was healing. More than a support; a partner. He had been too blinded by Marinette’s appearance in Little Nieweham and subsequent disappearance from his life to see how integral she had become to his life and, more importantly, to Eilidh’s.

Alex and Lewis dragged Félix and Cerys to the play area for “a tour” while Adrien and Eilidh set up the picnic. They spread two blankets with an assortment of containers of sandwiches, cakes, biscuits, fruit, salad and cartons of juice. A cardboard bakery box rested on top of one blanket and Adrien pointed it out.

“Did you bring that?” he asked.

Eilidh barely looked up from where she was unwrapping a bundle of paper plates. “Nah, that's Cerys’s contribution.”

“She didn't have to.”

Eilidh smiled. “She wanted to. She's part of the gang now, Adrien.”

“I know. And I'm delighted for you. She's great. Better than great.” 

“I agree.”

“Should we let them know the food is ready?” Adrien looked to where Lewis was coercing Félix down a slide that was too small for him. 

“I vote we start and let them figure it out.” 

“Lewis!” Adrien called out. “What are you doing to your uncle?”

Lewis tried to look innocent and managed to look even more guilty than usual. In doing so, he looked even more like Marinette than usual. Since she left, Adrien noticed those similarities in him more often.

“Oh, look, the picnic’s ready,” Félix said, relieved to have an excuse to leave the playground. “Let’s eat.” 

Eilidh huffed. “Boo, too late. Now we have to share.”

Over lunch, the boys grilled Cerys like they grilled every new person. They found out that her favourite dinosaur was a styracosaurus, favourite bird was a peregrine falcon, favourite day of the week was Friday, favourite Pokémon was Jigglypuff, favourite ice cream flavour was chocolate (“the kind with chunks of chocolate in it”), she'd been to Legoland in Denmark but not the one in Windsor, and that she could surf and ski but her favourite sport was hockey.

“Mum played shinty.”

Cerys frowned. “What's that?”

“It's like hockey but you can play the ball in the air and use both sides of the stick,” Eilidh said. “And, where I grew up, hitting each other with your stick was allowed, too, but that's not in the official rules.”

“Caman,” Félix said, helping himself to a wedge of Camembert from Eilidh's plate. She smacked his hand.

“What?” Adrien asked.

“Caman. It's the name for a shinty stick. Félix is showing off.”

Félix shrugged. “I can't help knowing everything. Anyway, I have a question for Cerys, if Alex and Lewis are done.”

Lewis and Alex shrugged their approval. 

“I don’t mind either,” Cerys added.

“Good,” Félix said with a flourish. “These fruit tarts, are they for everyone?”

Eilidh snorted. “Always thinking with your stomach, huh, Fé?”

“You’re one to talk.” Félix looked pointedly at Eilidh’s plate, piled high with cheese and crackers.

“Calcium is important,” Eilidh said.

“If you say so.”

Cerys intervened before Adrien had to. “The tarts are for everyone, but I think Lewis should choose first to be sure he gets a strawberry one. They only had a couple of those left, and the others have apricots in them.”

“You told her?” Adrien asked Eilidh.

“She forwarded your list of fruit to avoid,” Cerys said.

Eilidh shrugged. “What? Why are you both grinning at me like that? I'm not going to leave any of my boys without cake.”

"Thank you!" Lewis threw his arms around Eilidh and Cerys, one knee in a plate of Party Rings and almost toppling them both backwards off the picnic blanket.

Adrien’s nose felt stuffy and tears pricked his eyes. “I don't know what I did to deserve your friendship.”

“Something terrible, I'm sure,” Eilidh quipped.

“Nah, I don't think so.”

──── •✧•────

They settled on a macaron tower in shades of pink to match the beading on her dress. 

After a trip to the supermarket for ingredients, they still didn't have rose water for the buttercream filling. 

“According to Penny, there's a Chinese supermarket near Hyde Park,” Sabine said. “I'm going to meet her there. What else do we need?”

“I can't think of anything, ma cherie. Marinette?”

“Nope, just the rose water, I think. Thanks maman.”

“Xǐtáng?” 

Marinette hadn't even thought about that. Once, those little candies given out on special occasions would have immediately come to mind. Today, mere days from her wedding, she'd forgotten.

“If you want,” she said.

Sabine stared at her. “What do you want?”

“I want…” She didn't know. As hard as she tried to make her wedding feel special, she kept failing. Something like xǐtáng was expected at Chinese weddings, and she spent her time trying to live up to everyone's expectations, so... “Yeah, get some, I guess.”

“Okay.” Sabine frowned and gave Tom a pointed look before she picked up her shopping bag and left.

They baked in silence. She and her father worked in such synchronisation that they didn't need to talk. Occasionally, Tom would sing his baking song. Marinette was lost in her thoughts. 

“You're a million miles away,” Tom eventually said.

Marinette smiled weakly. “I'm right here, Papa.”

He looked at her, his worried eyes searching her face. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“No,” she lied. 

“Okay. You can talk to me, you know?”

“I know.” 

They continued their work. Marinette piped pale pink macaron batter onto a baking tray while Tom folded more colouring into the remaining meringue mixture.

“Papa?”

“Oui, ma petite?”

“Did you know Adrien Agreste?”

Tom’s face seemed to grow younger in the glow of his smile. “Yes, a wonderful young man. Kind and caring despite everything he went through. He could have been angry or entitled and I’d have understood but he never complains. Why do you ask?”

“I wanted to learn about myself, about the life I forgot so I did some research.”

Tom’s mixing slowed. His face paled. “And, uh, what did you find out?”

“Frustratingly little. What did Gabriel do? The reports said domestic terrorism but there were no details. And how did I get involved?”

“Hmmm, yes, there was a press blackout. I remember how annoyed Alya was. That was her story, she had the inside scoop. Then they started to take things down — social media, blogs.”

“So what did he do?” Marinette asked. It seemed like a straight answer about this man was impossible.

“He terrorised Paris for years. He could turn people against everyone they loved and make monsters out of them. He used others to act out his terrible plans while he kept his distance. That's why he was so hard to stop.”

“How did I end up a part of it?”

Marinette braced herself for the worst. Given the type of person she'd been, she might have been an accomplice to Gabriel.

Tom's smile was wistful but full of pride. “You were part of the resistance. More than that, you were leading it. You helped to bring him down.”

That was surprising. She never considered that she was actively one of the good guys. 

“Oh. That's… What about Adrien?”

“He was fighting alongside you.”

“Me and Adrien…” She tried to form a question. There was so much she wanted to know but where to start? “Were we—”

The door opened and Sabine and Penny came in, laden down with shopping bags. 

Sabine looked from Marinette to Tom, noticing Marinette’s watery eyes before giving Tom a stern look. “What's got you both so serious?”

“Nothing much.” Tom pulled a face that gave Marinette a strong wave of deja vu.

“Are you okay?” Sabine asked Marinette. “Now you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Marinette shook her head, trying to loosen a stuck memory. “I’m… Papa reminded me of somebody and I can’t think of who.”

“Yourself?” Sabine suggested.

“What?”

“That face he’s making, you make it too.”

“Oh, I guess so,” she said. That wasn’t it, she couldn’t see her own face. Someone else, though… The memory, as always, remained just out of reach. 

──── •✧•────

They returned late from their day trip to Cadbury World, all slightly queasy after eating too much chocolate and, somehow, hungry for dinner. Adrien raided the fridge for salad ingredients while Félix barbecued burgers and Eilidh and Cerys walked with Alex and Lewis to retrieve buns and cheesecake from Eilidh’s kitchen.  

When, eventually, Lewis and Alex, too exhausted to argue, went to bed, Félix poured four glasses of wine. Eilidh and Cerys offered Adrien a space on the sofa (Félix and Poe had commandeered the armchair) but he was happy to lounge on the floor next to where Plagg had flopped, grumpy about the summer’s heat.

They reminisced about white chocolate Maltesers and Taz bars. “I refuse to accept caramel Freddos as an alternative,” Eilidh claimed, despite having purchased several earlier that day. Félix was horrified to learn that neither Eilidh nor Cerys remembered Starburst ever being called Opal Fruits. 

“How don’t you remember? It was only a few years ago!”

“1998,” Adrien confirmed after a quick internet search. 

“I was a baby,” Eilidh said. “And Cerys was a toddler.”

Félix groaned. “When did we get so old, Ade?”

“Speak for yourself, Fé. I’ve been old for years now.”

“And yet, you look the same as when we first met,” Elidh said. “You don’t age.”

Adrien shrugged. “I do, just slowly.”

“Side effects of superpowers,” Eilidh explained to a confused Cerys.

“Oh, I just thought French skincare was as good as the hype.”

“What about me?” Félix asked.

“You look lovely, Fé.”

Cerys frowned. “You were a superhero, too?”

“It was complicated.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means he didn't use his powers for the common good. At least, not all the time,” Adrien explained. “He wasn't a villain but he wasn't exactly a hero either.”

Félix sipped his wine. “I was an anti-hero with a villain origin story. If I recall correctly, Adrien used his powers for selfish reasons on occasion, too.”

“Yeah,” Adrien admitted. He regularly escaped his home life and sought freedom as Chat Noir, even when no akumatised victim required it. “The only true hero in this story was Marinette.”

Félix checked his watch. “We lasted longer than I thought before mentioning her. Fifty-four hours.”

Eilidh raised her glass in a mock toast. “Go us.”

“Have you been avoiding saying her name? I can hear it without breaking, you know?” Adrien almost said, ‘I’m not made of glass’ but he stopped himself. That reminded him too much of her. That was too raw.

Félix shrugged. “Not avoiding, per se. We’re just aware that you’re still healing.”

“How is she?” he asked Eilidh.

“Fine. Her parents are over at the moment. Before that, though, she just seemed busy.”

Marinette was always busy. Was she busy and happy, or was she filling her life with tasks because she was avoiding something? Adrien wished he knew.

Félix scowled at Eilidh. “You're not meant to know any of this.”

Eilidh blew a raspberry at him. “Aye, well, she's my friend and I want to keep in touch.”

“So don't tell Adrien about her. It's not helping him to get over her.”

“You're not my real dad, you can't tell me what to do.”

“I'm fine,” Adrien said, keen to stop the squabbling. “I'm getting over her.”

Eilidh and Cerys gave each other a cryptic look. Adrien noticed. 

“What? You have something to add?” He tried not to sound defensive. He wasn’t sure he managed.

“We’ve been talking.” Eilidh gestured between herself and Cerys. “Do you want to get over her, Adrien? Are you moving on because you want to, or because you think you have to?”

“She’s gone. I’m moving on because she did. Because I couldn’t find her again even if I wanted to.”

Cerys leaned forward, her chin on her hand. “You think that Marinette has disappeared, right? But she never did, not really. After Mothman chased her out of Paris, she went to Italy with her Italian grandmother.”

He was too depressed to correct her on the wrong name. It was probably a fitting legacy to Gabriel’s crimes that nobody bothered to remember his various villain aliases. “I don't follow.”

“Lake Como. Where her Nonna’s boyfriend owns the property she lived in,” Eilidh added.

“So?”

“So, she doesn’t have Bruce Wayne as a cousin.” Eilidh thumbed the air towards Félix. “She didn’t get a whole new identity and a house in the tiniest, most insignificant town in all of England. She went somewhere she had a connection.”

“I’d prefer to be likened to Oliver Queen, he has a better redemption arc, but sure,” Félix said. “It’s a good observation. Marinette didn't have access to the same resources as you did.”

“Okay…”  Adrien was starting to catch on.

“And we know that her fiancé—” Cerys paused to let Eilidh let out a string of expletives about Luka “—is the son of a rock star with properties all over the world, right?”

“Yeah…”

“So it stands to reason that they’ll be hiding out in one of Jagged’s homes.”

“Okay…”

“Do you want to find her?” Eilidh asked.

He didn’t have to think —there was little else he wanted to do more— but he paused. Was it selfish to find her? Was he putting them all in danger to try?

Reading his mind, Félix said. “You don’t have to do anything with the knowledge. It might give you peace of mind to know where she is.”

“So?” Eilidh asked. “Yes or no?”

Adrien looked at Félix, who already had his phone out, scrolling his contacts for his investigator. “Yes, please.”

Félix grinned. “Please excuse me, I need to make a call.” 

──── •✧•────

Two days before the wedding, Luka convinced Marinette to spend time together. There was too much to do, she still had to steam her dress; clear out the fridge so she could store the flowers once they were delivered; fill the macarons and make the tower; confirm menu choices at the restaurant they were eating at in lieu of a rehearsal dinner; and pick up the rings.

“Just an hour or two,” he promised. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in days.”

She relented and they went out for breakfast. The cafe near their apartment served breakfast late so they found a corner table and Luka ordered for them both; granola and fruit smoothies.

“How are you feeling about Tuesday?" Luka asked.

"There's so much to do before then, I'm not sure how I feel."

“Once that's all done, though, you'll be able to get excited.”

"Yeah," she said, taking a sip of her smoothie. “I'm sure you're right.” 

She just wanted it all to be over. The stress of organising, even with Luke's input and, now, her parents’ help, was too much. She couldn't wait for it all to be lifted.

“I booked the restaurant for after the ceremony, by the way,” Luka said. “The one on Sloane Square.”

“Sounds good,” Marinette coughed. 

She tried to clear her throat. It was itchy. She scratched her neck but it didn't help.

Luka frowned. “Everything okay?”

Marinette shook her head. Her lips tingled and so did her tongue. “What's in this smoothie?”

“Coconut, mango, passion fruit and kiwi.” He shrugged. It's the Sunshine one you always have.

She rubbed her tongue on the roof of her mouth, trying to ease the itching. “No. No kiwi.”

There were antihistamines in her bag and she fumbled with the package, trying to pop one out of its foil pack. She threw it into her mouth, the bitterness of the pill made her wince until she was able to swallow it. The itching would subside soon, she knew. 

“I can't have kiwi fruit,” she said.

“Since when?”

Marinette cleared her throat again, the vibrations scratched an itch she couldn't reach. “Every summer, Luka.”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot.”

“It's fine,” she said, even though it wasn't. “There's a lot to remember.”

Adrien remembered. He ensured everything he served at home and everything she ordered at restaurants was safe to eat. He kept a list on his phone, as did Eilidh.

“I’ll call Sabine.”

Marinette coughed. “You don't have to do that.”

“You're having an allergic reaction, I'm calling someone.”

By the time Sabine arrived at the café, Marinette’s lips, tongue and throat had returned to normal, but both Luka and Sabine insisted that she rest.

“Luka can pick up the rings and deal with the restaurant, can't you?”

“Of course.”

“Your dad can finish the macarons and we can deal with your dress tomorrow, okay? Let's go home.”

Marinette still had no control. It was something she'd noticed since she woke up in the hospital; everyone made decisions for her. That was until she met Adrien — he empowered her like nobody else did. Now that she was back with Luka and her parents, her decisions were being taken from her again.

“Fine,” Marinette sighed, picking up her bag. “Let's go.”

As she and her mother wandered back to her flat, something occurred to her. “Why Luka?”

Sabine’s grip on her arm tightened. “What do you mean?”

“At the hospital, nobody but family was allowed to see me, except Luka. Why?”

“Your father and I were there for you as much as we could, but we still had a business to run, and your Nonna, well, she's not great at staying in one place for long. There was, uh, of course, well, after— after a while, you didn't have as many guests as we wanted. One day, we came to see you and he was there, sitting by your bed, playing his guitar. We wanted you to have company and we knew we could trust him. He was there when you woke up so it seemed right to let him visit.” Sabine’s smile brightened. “And it all worked out in the end because, now, you're getting married.”

──── •✧•────

The tour guide glared at Félix when his ringtone trilled obnoxiously over her speech about stolen horses and the Gunpowder Plot. He stepped away from the group to answer. 

As the tour progressed around Warwick Castle, Adrien surveilled Félix over his shoulder to see what his face might betray. His expression was annoyingly passive; there was nothing to glean from that distance. When Félix rejoined them, he simply raised his eyebrows and held a finger to his lips.

“Later,” he said.

Over lunch, there was no chance to talk privately so Adrien suggested they check out the maze next. 

“Do we have time before we have to be at the dungeons?” Lewis asked.

“Our entry time isn't for an hour, so long as we don't get lost, we'll be okay.”

“To the maze!” Alex cried and led the way.

“We'll make sure they find their way back out,” Eilidh said. “Try not to get lost, you two, you have the dungeons tickets.”

Félix waved her and Cerys off. “I make no promises.”

Once the others were out of earshot, Adrien turned to his cousin. “Well, what's the update?”

“Nothing.” Félix shook his head. “My guy has staked out Jagged’s places in London, New York and LA. No sign of Marinette, I'm afraid. If they're staying with Jagged, it's not in one of his homes.”

“Damn,” Adrien groaned.

“I got him to check into any other properties in his name. Rental flats, hotel suites, that sort of thing. He could have some under a pseudonym but none that we can find.”

“Okay. What about Luke Stone or Mary Baker?”

“Sorry, no property or rental records for those names in combination. They're common enough names that there are thousands of records with one or other attached, but nothing that looks promising to my investigator.”

“Thanks for trying.” That was it. Marinette had disappeared again. If Félix and his investigator couldn't find her, nobody could. “Although…” 

“What?”

Just milling around. I’m a big fan of history. Why didn't he realise sooner?

“There still might be a way to find her.”

A ghost of triumph showed on Félix’s face. “Marinette? How?”

“Not Marinette, not directly. Alix. I need to go far enough back in time.”

“Are you okay, Adrien? You’re not making sense.”

He shook his head. “That’s what I thought — the timelines are more complicated than that. But the puns… It’s in the puns.”

“Adrien, you’re scaring me.”.

“I know, but don’t be scared. I need to know where the oldest windmill around here is, and when it’s open to the public.”