Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It all happened so fast that, for a moment, Adrien thought he might be dreaming. But then the police rushed in from where they had been waiting, handcuffing the defeated villain as previously planned. Adrien watched numbly as a swarm of officers pinned the man to the floor and patted him down. Looking at him now, it was hard to believe that this was the man who had inspired such terror in Paris for years. He was bald, in his mid-forties, dark bags under his eyes. Without his mask and suit he seemed innocuous, plain.

“We did it,” Ladybug breathed in relief. “Oh thank god, it’s finally over.”

“Yeah,” Adrien replied slowly, rubbing his arm distractedly. Over. The thought did not produce the same kind of relief for him. Hawk Moth might be defeated, but what did that mean for Plagg? Was he about to lose one of his closest friends? Plagg had never told him what would happen once they won.

The police officers hauled the man to his feet, then hustled him toward the door. As they left, the police chief walked over to Adrien and Ladybug.

“You two did great,” Chief Robert told them, patting Ladybug on the shoulder. “I know it was a long stand off, but we’re still going to need you to come in for the paperwork. I can take you in my cruiser.”

“Thank you, Chief,” Ladybug told him. She glanced at Adrien questioningly, and he gave her a small nod. May as well get it all over with. “And of course we’re ready to fill out the report.”

“Great,” Chief Robert told them, breaking into a tired smile. “I really appreciate it. Alright, right this way.”

Adrien trailed Ladybug and the Chief, still trying to orient himself. Somehow, it all felt so … anti-climactic. In all the time he had spent thinking about finally taking down Hawk Moth, he had never thought about the need to file a police report.

He glanced at Ladybug’s back.

What about her? They had been chasing Hawk Moth for four years now. A team. Of sorts, he thought bitterly. But he still didn’t know who Ladybug was. Now that this was finally all done, she was going to tell him. … Right?

How was he supposed to go about even asking something like that? What if he messed it up and made her angry? But he had to know. After all, he wasn’t even sure if they’d wake up tomorrow and be able to transform. It would be nearly impossible to find her in that case.

“What is that?” Ladybug asked suddenly.

Adrien was confused for half a moment. Then he heard it—a muted shouting coming from outside. Chief Robert merely smiled. “You two might want to brace yourselves.”

The chief held open the front door, and suddenly Adrien was hit by a wave of shouting and cheering. He followed Ladybug outside, mouth dropping at the sheer number of people that had gathered behind the police tape.

At the sight of the two superheros, the crowd went wild. Within seconds they had started chanting Ladybug’s name and throwing hats into the air.

Ladybug recovered first, covering her surprise with a wave at the crowd. Adrien shook himself—he could worry later. For now he needed to be there for Paris. He broke into an easy grin, waving at the people who had lined up to see their heroes in their moment of victory. He threw a wink at a girl in the front row, who cheered even louder.

“Here we are,” Chief Robert said, opening the door of his cruiser. “I hope you don’t mind sitting in the back.”

“Not at all,” Ladybug replied, sliding in.

Adrien got in behind her, giving the crowd one last wave. Then the chief closed the door, its tinted windows blocking them off from the outside world.

Adrien took a deep breath, sinking back against the seat in relief. What was wrong with him? He should be happy—overjoyed, really. The idea of finally capturing Hawk Moth had been keeping him up at night, and he had no idea what he would have done if he had to continue his duties as Chat Noir when his classes at the university started up in two months.

“You okay?”

Surprised, Adrien glanced up to find Ladybug watching him with a worried frown.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” she added.

How did he even answer that question? Yes, I’m fine? No, but I don’t know why? Will I even get to see you again? She was waiting patiently. Finally, he shrugged. “Yeah.”

Her expression softened, and suddenly he was sure that she understood. This wasn’t like what they showed you in the theaters. There was fanfare and excitement, but those things where separate, outside beyond the tinted glass. Inside, Adrien wasn’t sure how to deal with this massive change. And from the look on Ladybug’s face, she was similarly conflicted. It was more reassuring than anything she could have possibly said.

“Ladybug.” He hesitated, still unsure how to phrase this. “Listen, now that Hawk Moth is—”

His heart nearly leapt out of his chest as she put a hand on his knee. But then he caught the warning look on her face, and the quick glance that she shot toward the front of the vehicle. To where Chief Robert was silently driving the car. Oh crap, Adrien thought. I almost forgot. The Chief was a good man, but Adrien knew that the force was itching to find out who they were—probably to keep tabs on them.

“It’s been a long day,” Ladybug said, subtly changing the topic. “Let’s just get this paperwork done so we can relax.” She shot him a look that said we’ll talk afterward. Adrien nodded, feeling far more relieved than he had any right to be.

Ladybug fell silent again, and Adrien could tell that there was something else bothering her. “Are you alright?” he asked, watching her closely.

She shrugged, looking out through the window. “Hawk Moth’s kwami, the one who was freed right at the end…”

She trailed off, as if struggle to find the right words. “Do you think the kwami is okay?”

“I hope so,” he said quietly. Truthfully he had no idea. From the looks of things, the kwami had been held against its will. At the very least it was free now.

Ladybug shot him a weary smile.

The rest of it was a blurry haze. Being ushered into the police station amid an even larger crowd of cheering Parisians celebrating Hawk Moth’s downfall. Filling out form after form. Explaining what had happened, each attack and counter attack. Swearing that they had never seen the man outside of costume, that they had no involvement with him, that they didn’t know how he had gotten his powers.

By the time they were released it was already getting dark, and still the people of Paris were filling the streets with jubilant cheers. Ladybug hesitated in the foyer of the police station, looking out at the crowd.

“It’s going to be pure chaos once we go out there, you know,” Adrien told her, eyeing the crowd warily.

“I know,” Ladybug replied. She hesitated, then leaned in closer to him. Adrien pushed aside the distraction of his quickening heart rate. “We’re not going to have a chance. Not tonight.” Ladybug bit her bottom lip, as if debating something. Finally, she said, “Can we meet tomorrow? It would be easier in the daytime, out of costume—”

“Yes,” Adrien breathed, all in a rush. “The park, maybe?”

Ladybug nodded. “Alright. I can be there at two.”

As Adrien nodded, Ladybug pulled away. With a deep breath, she squared her shoulders. “Are you going to be able to get home okay?” she asked, giving the crowd another wary glance.

“Of course,” Adrien replied with a grin. “Will you be alright, My Lady?”

Ladybug rolled her eyes, although he caught the small smirk on her lips as she headed toward the front doors.

Sunday morning Adrien was buzzing with barely contained excitement.

“This is it, Plagg,” he kept saying. He didn’t add how relieved he was to discover that Plagg wasn’t going to vanish just because they had defeated Hawk Moth.

“Yeah, yeah, lover boy,” Plagg told him with a dismissive wave. “Just try not to let her see how big of a dork you really are.”

He got to the park a little early—okay, an hour early. Once there, though, he hesitated. The park was big. How would she know how to find him? Already there were a ton of people milling about, joggers and school kids and a few people just sitting on the benches. In the end, it was probably a good thing he got there so early, because he spent most of the time trying to pick out the perfect waiting place.

Finally, he settled for the fountain. It was centrally located and gave him a good view of the entire park. Hopefully, from here, he would see her first.

By two o’clock he couldn’t stop his foot from bouncing. He kept pulling out his phone by reflex every ten seconds.

By two ten he was in agony, wondering if he had somehow missed her.

By two thirty his jitters were gone, replaced by nervous worry. Maybe something had happened to her that had held her up.

When he looked down and saw 3:02 flashing across his phone’s screen, he finally stood up. Maybe she was waiting somewhere for him. Maybe he was supposed to go out and find her.

He had circled the park at least twelve times, and it was already approaching four o’clock. He had casually walked past every person in the park. Even the men. Even the children. No one had approached him, and the most he had gotten were a few smiles from passersby.

His phone was touting a bright 6:43 when his stomach growled in protest. Tense, Adrien stood up to do another round of the park. He had seen a few new faces. She probably just had been held up.

The sun was casting its fading pink glow on the world, but Adrien couldn’t shake his growing concern. Had she been hurt? Was she alright?

It was exactly 9:54 when the officer approached him. “Hey kid,” the officer said gruffly. “It’s past dark. You need go home now.” Nodding mutely, Adrien turned and went home.

Within half an hour he was back, tight suit clinging to his form. Maybe he had somehow misunderstood. Maybe she meant two in the morning. No one would see them then. He settled into a tree and silently waited.

By four he finally had to face the facts: she hadn’t come.

He went back the next day. And the next. His summer vacation became an endless stream of days sitting by the fountain, watching as the rest of the visitors enjoyed their summer.

At first he was worried sick. But as the weeks slid by, Adrien had to admit that it was unlikely. Even if she had somehow wound up in the hospital, surely she would have been released by now.

One day, he had a terrifying thought: what if she had somehow—

He couldn’t finish the thought.

That night Chat Noir showed up at the police station, strutted up to the receptionist, and said, “I need a favor.”

Luckily, the police complied, and they supplied him with the list of reported deaths from July 6th and 7th. Over those 48 hours, ninety-two Parisians had died. Fifty-three of those were women. None of them even remotely matched Ladybug’s description.

“C’mon, man!” Nino told him angrily. “You can’t spend the whole summer avoiding me! We’re barely going to have any time once the semester starts. What are you even doing in that park every day? Staring at the trees?”

“I’m waiting for someone,” Adrien mumbled, not quite meeting Nino’s gaze.

“Dude, it’s been more than a month,” Nino told him. “I’m sorry, but they’re probably not coming.”

Classes started, but Adrien still went to the park on the weekends. Just for a few hours. Just to be sure. Sat quietly as the leaves fell. As the snow drifted. As his first year at university passed him by. Eventually, he started going once every other week. Then once a month.

On Sunday, July 7th, he silently stood guard in the park from dawn until long past dusk. When he finally went home that night, he found Plagg watching him silently.

“I’m sorry, Adrien,” he said. “But I don’t think she’s coming.”

“Yeah,” Adrien said, trying to push away the now familiar mix of anger and despair rising in his throat. “Yeah.”

The alarm blared to life. Groaning, Adrien groggily rolled over and pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes.

“Turn it off,” Plagg quipped from the pillow. Groaning again, Adrien sat up.

Shit. What a terrible way to start the day. She had plagued his dreams for years, but he had thought he was finally passed all of that.

“Adrien, turn it off,” Plagg growled insistently, worming deeper under the covers. With a sigh, Adrien finally complied, stumbling over to his alarm and silencing it.

He quietly went to the bathroom to get ready for the day, frowning at the dark bags under his eyes. It was probably just all the stress at work that had brought this about. He was under a lot of pressure to keep the new client happy.

But shit, why her? He may waited it the park on and off for five years, but he hadn’t even been near there at all for the past two years.

Plagg watched suspiciously as Adrien walked back into his bedroom. “You okay?” he asked quietly, looking Adrien up and down.

“I’m fine,” Adrien said. And he was. When Plagg didn’t reply, he added, “Really.”

“It’s almost July, you know,” Plagg told him slowly. “If you need—”

Adrien cut him off with a sharp look. “I’m probably going to be late again tonight, so you’ll have to fend for yourself for dinner.”

Plagg moaned, rolling his eyes as he followed Adrien into the kitchen. “Again? I’m going to starve.”

“Considering I spend upwards of fifty dollars on cheese alone each week, I somehow doubt that.” Adrien grabbed a slice of sweet bread from the fridge.

“Are we going to do some rounds tonight?” Plagg asked, grabbing a chunk of cheese. After all these years, Adrien still didn’t understand how the kwami could eat that stinking stuff for breakfast.

“Maybe,” Adrien said, considering it. With the craziness at work, they hadn’t been out on patrol at all so far this week. “It depends on how late I get back.”

“Aren’t you supposed to tell the Chief before you make your decision?” Plagg asked pointedly. The effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that his mouth was full of cheese.

“I think he’ll survive.” Adrien grabbed his keys and his wallet, then headed toward the door. “Alright, I need to get going. I’ll see you tonight.”

He didn’t miss the concerned look on Plagg’s face as he headed out the door. But the kwami didn’t need to worry. Seven years was a long time, and he wasn’t the same vulnerable kid who had sat anxiously waiting in the park all summer long.

Chapter Text

Marinette stood quietly against a pillar as people milled in an endless, surging sea around her. She was a little further back from the luggage claim than was practical—it would be, if not easy, then at least possible to miss her six suitcases should a large group of people happen to walk past at just the right time. But the pillar provided a solid, unwavering anchor in the swell of the crowds, and Marinette felt it was worth the risk for the reassuring steadiness against her back.

Over the years, Marinette had come to decide that, despite the various architectural designs, airports were all virtually the same—the same crowds, the same rush and bustle, the same tight sensation that never quite eased from her lungs until she had finally gotten herself out of the hectic structure. But today, the atmosphere of Roissy settled over her, insistently needling her with its differences. Even through the universal, endless din, the rumble of voices was very obviously French.

This wasn’t like the phone calls with her parents every few days. Her parents were her parents, and that they spoke French was a simple matter of identity. But it had been nearly three years since Marinette had been to Paris last. Nearly three years since her ears had been filled with nothing but the beautiful lilt of her native language.

It somehow felt both familiar and foreign, and she couldn’t shake the strange sensation in her chest that wanted to feel reassured but instead left her lungs tightening even more anxiously than the feeling that airports normally evoked.

Someone bustled past, close to her pillar, and Marinette shifted her luggage trolley in closer to give them more room. She attempted to expel the tight feeling in her lungs and focused her attention back to the steady parade of suitcases in front of her. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to get distracted and miss her luggage altogether.

Without thinking, she gently slipped her hand into her purse. She felt Tikki place a reassuring, tiny hand on her own, gentling dispelling a small bit of her dread.

A flash of red caught her eye, just rounding the curve of the luggage claim. Marinette quickly pushed off of the pillar and guided the luggage trolley toward the lazy susan. Sure enough, those were her six suitcases, miraculously all lined up in a row. Then again, maybe there wasn’t anything miraculous about it—with their bright red coloring and black polka dots, it was obvoius that they were meant to be together.

Marinette got a few curios stares from some of the other people waiting for their bags as she hurriedly hauled the suitcases off of the train before they could be whisked away again. She was actually quite proud of the suitcases and their distinctive decorations. She had painted her original suitcase like a ladybug long ago for the fun of it, and had happily discovered afterward how much easier the coloring made it to find her own bags.

Now, however, those glances made her shift uncomfortably. It was one thing for a teenager to have a single red suitcase; quite another for a grown woman to have six. Trying to ignore the growing uneasiness in her stomach, Marinette piled the suitcases haphazardly on the trolley and quickly strode away.

The trolley had a wiggly wheel, and its metal bars rattled in her hands each time the wheel served and stuck. Feeling ever more self conscious, Marinette ducked her head and focused on the singular task of making it to the doors and out of this place that had no right to feel so foreign.

But as Marinette reached the doors, she slowed the cart to a stop and paused. Then she closed her eyes and took a deep uneven breath. You can do this, she told herself. Confidence. She took another long breath, warding away the dread that had been clinging to her all morning. Be honest, she told herself ruefully. It had been clinging to her for far longer than that.

Not allowing herself to hesitate any longer, she forced her eyes open and strode through the doors out into the brilliant afternoon sun. Squinting a bit against the light, she glanced up and down the line of waiting cars for her mother’s blue sedan.

She stumbled sideways as a heavy weight slung into her side. Disoriented and frowning, she almost yelled at whoever had bumped her—but a strong pair of arms wrapped around her shoulders.

“Marinette!”

Marinette felt her eyes widen as she got a mouthful of wavy, brown tresses. “Alya?!” she squeaked, incredulous. “I thought you were in Rome until next week!”

“Of course not, silly! Do you think I would miss your homecoming?” Then, throwing a sly wink, Alya added, “I just wanted it to be a surprise.”

Marinette threw her arms around Alya, for the first time feeling her shoulders relax. “It’s so good to see you,” she said earnestly. “I’m glad you came.”

Alya gave her a familiar pat on the head, then pulled away. “Alright, we better start loading your stuff into your mom’s car.”

Marinette looked where Alya pointed to see her mom waving happily a few cars down. A rush of relief flooded her from head to toe, so strong that it nearly took Marinette’s breath away. Home. She was going home.

Struggling to push away the crushing weight of that realization—both reassuring and helpless—Marinette quickly pushed the cart to the car. As they walked, Alya glanced critically at Marinette’s precarious tower of suitcases. “How many of your outfits did you have to leave behind?”

“What?” Marinette asked sharply, scandalized. “I didn’t.”

Alya fixed her with a critical look. “You brought all of them?”

Marinette rolled her eyes as she opened her mom’s trunk. “Yes, Alya. I put all that hard work into making them—I couldn’t just get rid of them.”

“Mari, you have six suitcases,” Alya said firmly, lugging one of them off of the trolley and handing it to Marinette. “Are you telling me that you abandoned everything else and only brought clothes?”

“No,” Marinette quipped defensively. She took the next suitcase from Alya and shoved it into the trunk. “I’ve got shoes—“ Alya groaned loudly. Without stopping, Marinette continued, “shoes, a few books, some papers, my toiletries, a few small knick knacks.”

Alya was watching her with a flat, disbelieving stare. Marinette yanked the next suitcase from Alya’s hands. “How on Earth did you manage to fit all that and your gigantic closet?”

“I borrowed a friend’s magic,” Marinette replied sourly, shoving the fourth bag into the trunk. Then, frowning, she glanced from the very full trunk to the two remaining suitcases.

With a sigh and a sidelong look at the last two bags, Alya shut the trunk door. “I guess I’m sharing the back seat with these, huh?”

Marinette gave Alya her sweetest smile, which earned her a light smack on the shoulder.

“Fine, fine,” Alya grumbled, though she was smiling. “You stick those last two in the back and I’ll put the trolley away.”

Marinette opened the rear passenger door and unceremoniously shoved the other suitcases in. She paused with her hand on the door as she caught a sniff of the familiar scent of her mom’s car. It was such a little thing, something she hadn’t ever paid much attention to, but now it only increased the strange, bittersweet feeling in her chest. Taking a deep breath, she left the door open for Alya and slid into the front seat.

“Hi, honey,” her mom said, leaning over to give her a tight hug. “Did you have a safe flight?”

“Yup,” Marinette told her. Just like I texted you ten minutes ago, she thought to herself with fond exasperation. “Is Dad at the shop?”

Her mom nodded. “He really wanted to come, but we couldn’t leave the store empty for the afternoon.”

“I know that,” Marinette reassured her. “Thanks for coming to pick me up.”

“Ah-hem?” Alya said pointedly, sliding into the back seat. “No thanks for your lovely friend?”

“Thank you, Alya,” Marinette said with a grin. Then, trying not to get her hopes up, she added, “Will you have to fly out again soon?”

“Nah,” Alya told her, waving her hand dismissively. “I was able to get my boss to keep me on local stories for the next month. My next assignment won’t be until sometime after that.”

Marinette was outright beaming now. “Really, Alya, you are the best.”

“Do you know where your next assignment will be?” Marinette’s mom asked.

“Not yet.” Alya shrugged. “I got lucky with Rome, because they knew pretty far in advance that they wanted me covering the ceremony. But a lot of times the trips are pretty last minute.”

“You mean like when they sent you to New York the one week I was out of town?” Marinette asked with good-natured sarcasm.

Alya was shrugging again. “Can’t help that. It’s just the nature of journalism.” Then, pinning Marinette with a look, she added, “So, how did the last minute packing go?”

It was Marinette’s turn to shrug. “Alright, I guess. Once I had my suitcases packed with what I was taking, it was just a matter of finding out how to get rid of everything else.”

“You didn’t throw it away!” her mother exclaimed. She said it like a question, as if her daughter had gone insane.

“No, Mom,” Marinette assured her quickly, trying not to roll her eyes. “I dropped a lot of it off at Good Will. It was mostly just odds and ends from around the apartment.”

“What’d you wind up doing with the furniture?” Alya asked curiously. The last time they had talked before the move, Marinette had been trying to decide. Furniture was too expensive to ship across the ocean.

“I wound up selling it online,” Marinette replied. “Well, except the nightstand. Allie needed one, so I gave it to her. But I made a little money off the rest of it.”

She didn’t add how disconcerting it had felt. She hadn’t had much furniture in her small flat, but everything she did have were items she had bought in New York. They felt like a permanent part of her everyday life, and there had been something deeply personal and final about selling them. As if she were carefully dismantling the life she had made for herself in that crazy, fast-paced city over the past seven years.

“Did Allie wind up throwing you that goodbye party?” Alya asked. Marinette could hear the careful way she phrased it, almost hesitant. Stomach fluttering uneasily, Marinette bit the inside of her cheek.

“Yeah,” she replied, much more cheerfully than she felt. “It wound up being really small—just a handful of the NYU crowd—but it was fun.”

Marinette could see her mother frowning next to her. Suddenly, it was as though the car was filling with water, threatening to cut off her breath.

“What about at work?” Alya cut in, and Marinette gratefully felt her shoulders inch down a bit from her ears.

“Didn’t I tell show you? They got me a cake.” Marinette pulled out her phone and scrolled through her gallery. She handed it back to Alya, who gave a low whistle.

“That’s one nice looking cake,” Alya said appreciatively. Considering the wide range of truly expensive cakes Alya had seen in her mother’s kitchens, Marinette knew that was a huge compliment.

“Yeah. My supervisor was still upset that I decided to leave, but everyone else was super happy for me.”

Marinette felt a small pang. Jessica, and Keri, and Jackie—it was going to be strange not working with them every day. For the first time, she wondered which of her New York friends would eventually fade into the background. Marinette wasn’t going to fool herself—she had been through the whole international move thing before, and she was well aware that only the strongest of friendships really held up, despite Facebook. There was no doubt that many of her New York friends would slowly become “acquaintances,” but she had no way of knowing yet who those people would be.

“You start up at Attitude on Monday, right?”

Alya was watching her with an overly-airy smile. You can think about that later, Marinette scolded herself. No need to make Alya worry needlessly. Forcing what she hoped was an easy smile, Marinette replied, “Yeah. I can’t wait, but I’m also a little nervous.”

“Don’t worry, dear,” her mother said, placing a kind hand on Marinette’s forearm. “You have the whole weekend to get settled in.”

“Well, yeah,” Marinette said, shrugging a bit. “But I’m planning on spending most of tomorrow apartment hunting.”

Her mother sighed. “Really, Marinette, I don’t see what your rush is. Your father and I are perfectly happy to have you back home. And you’ll save so much money!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Marinete replied. She had heard her parents’ arguments a thousand times over the last month. “But I’m 25. I’ve been on my own for seven years. Moving back in now just feels …”

“Like a step backward?” Alya supplied.

“Yes,” Marinette breathed, shooting Alya a grateful glance. That was it. That was exactly it. “I love you and Dad, truly. But I like having my own place.”

This time, her mother’s sigh sounded resigned. “Well, be sure you at least take your time and find an apartment that works well for you, and not just the first one that’s available.”

“I will.” She smiled, and was relieved when her mom smiled back.

“And one that has a big enough closet,” Alya added, glancing shrewdly at the suitcases beside her. “Or perhaps a spare bedroom that you can fill with clothes racks.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Marinette said, voice and stare both going flat.

“Seriously, I don’t know—”

Alya cut off short. The car was suddenly flooded again, the water rising past Marinette’s mouth, choking her.

“—why you bother to keep them all,” Alya finished hurriedly, as if it would make up for her awkward pause mid-sentence.

Marinette laughed, pretending not to have noticed. “I just like my clothes, okay?” she said, rolling her eyes. Alya rolled her eyes back, but Marinette didn’t miss the small, worried frown that had returned to her mother’s lips.

“Just wait, Mrs. Cheng,” Alya said, turning to Marinette’s mom. “Once she starts up Monday morning, Marinette’s closet is probably going to start filling up faster than ever. You’ll probably wish for her to leave faster just to be rid of all the clothes!”

Her mom laughed. “I suppose that’s true.” Then, tapping on her lips, she added, “I need your input. I made a roast for dinner. What would you girls like for a side dish?”

“Green beans,” Marinette replied decisively, earning a chuckle from her mom.

“Alya?”

“That sounds wonderful to me!” Alya replied. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask you, my mom tried some of that soup you sent me home with last time and loved it. She wanted to know what you used.”

Marinette leaned back into her seat, listening to her mom and Alya discuss the recipe. The momentary tense atmosphere had dissipated, but Marinette couldn’t shake the painful regret it had produced in her. She wasn’t sure what Alya had been about to say, but that didn’t matter. She had obviously almost slipped and mentioned—

No, Marinette told herself firmly. No. I’m not going to think about him.

It was obvious that Alya and her mom were doing their best to avoid the subject altogether, which she appreciated.

Marinette gave a small start as Tikki patted her hand again. She hadn’t even realized she had slipped her hand into her purse. Still, the gesture made her smile, and she gave Tikki a small, grateful nudge before drawing her hand back into her lap.

She couldn’t help noting that Alya hadn’t once mentioned Ladybug. Be real, Marinette told herself. Ladybug is old news—you know that. For the first two years after Marinette had left Paris, Alya had still talked about her hero often. But even Marinette was aware that it had now been a long time since anyone in the City of Lights had spared a thought for her. She had come to terms with that already, but it did nothing to lift the thin blanket of despair resting on her shoulders.

Chapter Text

“Your mom’s food is delicious,” Alya said earnestly, tugging on her shoes.

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Alya, your mom is a world-renowned chef.”

“Exactly,” Alya quipped back. “So I know what I’m talking about.”

Marinette couldn’t help a chuckle. She had to admit, her mom’s food was pretty spectacular.

Alya finished tying her laces, then stood up and enveloped Marinette in another huge hug. “It feels so good to be on the same continent again,” Alya told her earnestly, squeezing her tight. Marinette returned the hug with as much strength as she could muster.

“It really does.”

There was a careful look in Alya’s eyes as she pulled back. “You know that you can talk to me about anything, right?” she said firmly. “If you ever need someone to listen, I’m here.”

Marinette’s lungs seized, somehow feeling grateful and uncomfortable all at once. Even now, offering to listen, Alya was carefully avoiding mentioning the topic. Marinette nodded. “Thank you,” she mumbled, managing a small smile. “You’re the best friend anyone could wish for.”

“Anything for my girl,” Alya told her. Her tone was airy, but Marinette could see the fierce earnestness nestled in Alya’s expression.

“See you in the morning?” Alya added.

“Bright and early,” Marinette confirmed, her unease retreating to the back of her mind.

Alya groaned. “But Saturdays are for sleeping in,” she whined, shaking her head. “Can’t we start around lunch time?”

Marinette only smiled wider. “I’ll see you at nine.”

She closed the door behind Alya, then leaned against it and loosed a small breath. All through the ride home, all through dinner, even just now, Alya and her parents had kept the conversation consciously upbeat and away from New York. She appreciated it—she really did—but it had also made everything so stifling. Suddenly feeling boxed in, Marinette took the steps two at a time, quickly heading back upstairs.

As she passed the family room, her mom looked up at her from the couch. “You want to watch the movie with us?”

Marinette glanced from her parents sitting close on the couch to the old film on the screen. “Not tonight,” she told them. “I think I’m going to take a walk.”

Her father smiled. “Enjoy the beautiful night,” he told her, then snuggled closer to her mom, who was frowning slightly. As Marinette hurried up the stairs, her mom called, “Just don’t stay out too long.”

Marinette rolled her eyes as she heard her dad gently admonish her. “She can look after herself,” she heard him say. Thank you, Dad, she thought silently.

Marinette pushed the trap door open, flicking on the lights to her room. Her six suitcases were taking up a large swath of space near her bed. She would need to unpack those soon, but for now Marinette just needed out.

“Tikki?” she called, grabbing her purse from her desk.

The little kwami zipped out from behind a picture frame. “Yes?”

“I’m going for a walk. Want to come?”

Before she had finished her sentence, Tikki had already zipped over to her purse. “Did Alya leave?”

Marinette nodded, carefully holding open her purse for Tikki. “Yeah, but we’ll see her first thing in the morning.”

“I’m glad,” Tikki said with a big grin before slipping inside. Marinette felt her heart warm. If Alya was the best friend that anyone could ask for, then Tikki was simply off the charts. Marinette wasn’t sure how she could have managed everything these past three months without her constant companion.

As she hurried back downstairs, the need to get out swelled alarmingly, pushing at her chest until there was no room left for anything else. Marinette nearly threw the door open, taking a deep breath of relief as the warm night air eased into her lungs. She closed the door behind her, careful to be gentler, and then headed down the street in a random direction. Anywhere.

After a few strides, Marinette reached into her purse, carefully cradling her hand until she felt Tikki’s familiar weight.

She brought Tikki up to her right shoulder, then reached back into her purse for her Bluetooth earpiece. As Tikki settled into sitting, Marinette slipped the device over her right ear. It was a trick she had developed in New York—an easy way for them to talk normally while making it seem like Marinette was simply on the phone.

“It’s a beautiful night,” Tikki said slowly. Marinette hummed in agreement, her footsteps slowing to a more normal pace.

For a little while they simply walked in peaceful silence. The familiar glow of the Parisian night wrapped Marinette in its warmth, and that strange, not-quite-familiar, almost-reassuring feeling rekindled in her chest. It was a big city, and still awake despite the relatively late hour, yet it was so different from New York. Right now, Paris wasn’t quiet, but it was peaceful, at least here, on these streets. In New York, there was no peace—always the rush of cars, odd sounds in the night, sirens running down her street toward the nearby hospital.

The un-harried, peaceful Parisian sounds were nice, but somehow Marinette still found the lack of muted clamor unsettling.

“It’s … weird to be back,” she confessed finally. She could feel Tikki shift minutely on her shoulder. She didn’t need to glance at the kwami to know she was listening. “I haven’t been home in…”

“Three years,” Tikki supplied softly.

Marinette nodded slowly. “And it’s much longer than that since I could last call Paris home. When we got off the plane, that’s all I could think: I’m finally home. But at the same time, it doesn’t feel the same anymore.”

“Everything changes, Marinette,” Tikki told her, her voice growing unusually somber. “Every second of every day, over the months, years, millennia….”

For a moment, Marinette was reminded that Tikki had been around for far longer than her, or anyone she knew, or any human on Earth, and that she would continue to be around for a long time after Marinette was gone.

“It’s not bad,” Tikki continued, recapturing Marinette’s attention, “and it’s not good. It just is. Paris has changed since you left for New York, but you’ve changed a lot, too. It’ll take you a little while to find your new balance…”

“Yeah,” Marinette replied a touch skeptically, not feeling wholly reassured. Someday, far off in the future, she would get there. But that someday was too abstract now—it didn’t feel real, or possible, or remotely close.

“But,” Tikki continued, patting Marinette’s shoulder, “you will find it. Probably before you even realize that you have. I’ve watched you do it time and again: shifting into your new responsibilities as Ladybug, from grade school to university, from one country to another, from being a student to being an employee…”

There was a buzzing feeling shimmering under her skin, and Marinette felt her breath catch as she listened to Tikki talk—listened to her tell the truth. Because she was right: Marinette had done this before. It was never easy, but it was never impossible either.

“I’m proud of you, Marinette,” Tikki told her.

“I…” Marinette took a small breath, forcing away the wavering tears threatening the corners or her eyes. “Thank you.”

Marinette rounded a corner, then stopped cold.

After a moment, Tikki looked up at her and worriedly asked, “… Marinette? Is everything okay?” Then Tikki looked around and paused as well. “Oh…”

Without thinking about it, her feet had brought her to the park. Marinette thought she was going to be sick. She had been having a hard enough time dodging her thoughts about Bryce—she wasn’t sure she had enough mental will power left to force away thoughts of Chat as well.

Marinette abruptly turned on her heel, quickly marching back the way she had come. After a strained silence, Tikki hesitantly said, “You know, it’s not your fault—”

“I’m not talking about it,” Marinette said, tone short as she cut Tikki off. She could hear Tikki sigh dejectedly, but Marinette forcefully focused on something—anything—else. She had to get back home to bed, anyways. She wanted to be up early, and it was starting to get late.

Her body didn’t believe her. The jet lag between New York and Paris had always been bad. Her phone told her it was 10 o’clock at night, but her body insisted that it was still early afternoon.

I’ll just have to make myself sleep, she thought sternly. She would be ready by nine tomorrow morning.

She barely glanced at her parents when she finally got home, instead bee-lining straight for her room. She wished Tikki goodnight, pleading being exhausted after her trip today. The kwami watched her with a sad frown, but didn’t argue as Marinette switched off the lights and slipped under the pink covers of her childhood bed, still wearing her clothes.

Marinette closed her eyes. She should be exhausted, even with the jetlag. International flights were no picnic, and it had been a long day. Or, perhaps more accurately, an extremely short day—she had lost six hours somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean.

But her mind refused to cooperate. Now that she had slipped up near the park, it was as if a floodgate had been blown wide open. Memories of that night seven years ago batted persistently at the periphery of her consciousness, threatening to overtake her. The more she tried to shove the thoughts away, the faster they crept back in, reminding her over and over again of the guilt she had thought she had finally put behind her.

The memories attacked her relentlessly, keeping her up long into the night. Eventually, sleep slowly began to creep up unnoticed, muddling her mind until the thoughts she was attempting to push back wrested away her control. Marinette drifted off to sleep, the memory of that night burning behind her eyes.

Marinette paused in the foyer of the police department, the crowds visible through the glass doors beyond.

“It’s going to be pure chaos once we go out there, you know.” Chat’s tone was light, conversational even, but his gaze was trained on the doors and his stance was steady, as if holding his ground.

“I know,” Marinette replied quietly.

It was now or never. Hawk Moth was gone. There would be no more akuma attacks. No more patrols. No more chance encounters….

And, more importantly, there was no one within the immediate vicinity to overhear them. Pushing away her uneasiness, Marinette leaned in close to Chat, not wanting to take any risks.

“We’re not going to get the chance,” she told him, voice barely above a whisper. “Not tonight.”

There were too many people, and it would be hard enough to get home unnoticed, let alone to find an opportunity for both of them to slip away together without drawing a crowd. Marinette worried her lip, dredging up the confidence to propose what she knew was their only option.

“Can we meet tomorrow?” she finally said, all in a rush. “It would be easier in the daytime, out of costume—”

“Yes,” Chat said quickly, before she could finish. The relief in his voice was tangible, making Marinette feel guilty. “The park, maybe?” he added, a hopeful smile easing across his lips.

Marinette nodded slowly. It was going to be tight—after all, tomorrow was going to be a hectic day. But she could make it work—would make it work—for her partner.

“Alright,” she said finally. “I can be there at two.”

Chat nodded, and a sense of finality settled over Marinette’s shoulders. Tomorrow, they would finally know each other—their real selves. She would tell him then. She had felt bad, keeping it from him for so long, but she also hadn’t wanted him to worry. Everything had hinged on capturing Hawk Moth before time ran out. She didn’t need to burden Chat with her concerns.

But that was for tomorrow. Today, right now, they still needed to get home. Marinette took a deep breath, preparing herself to deal with the mob of people outside. This was going to be … difficult. “Are you going to be able to get home okay?” she asked Chat, her eyes never leaving the doors.

“Of course,” Chat replied, as confident as ever. Marinette didn’t need to see his face to hear the smug smile on his lips. “Will you be alright, My Lady?”

Marinette rolled her eyes. As if she couldn’t handle something like this. Still, she couldn’t help a small smirk as she headed toward the revelers outside.

There was no escaping the crowds. Though the streets near the center of Paris were the thickest, celebrating Parisians lingered throughout the city, cheering whenever Marinette swung by overhead. Twice she had nearly made it home, but had no way to slip away unseen to de-transform. Eventually, as the skies darkened, she was able to land unnoticed in an alleyway a few blocks from her home. Too tired to talk, she held her purse open for Tikki, who looked ready to fall over, before heading home.

Exhausted, she opened her front door, only to be confronted by the worried exclamations of her parents.

“Marinette!” Her mother rushed forward, taking her face in both hands. “Where have you been? You didn’t answer your phone!”

“Sorry,” Marinette said quietly, wincing at her parents’ obvious concern. “I… got caught up in the crowds. I didn’t hear my phone.”

“What were you thinking, the night before your big flight?” her mother scolded. “We’ve been so worried about you.”

Marinette wilted under her mom’s frown. Her dad frowned, then placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Well, it has been a momentous evening,” he said calmly, taking a deep breath. “And now we know she’s safe.”

Her mom pressed her lips together tightly, surveying Marinette. Then, shoulders falling, she told her, “Very well. But we have a busy day tomorrow. Hurry on and go to bed.”

“Yes, mom,” Marinette replied dutifully. She gave her parents each a quick kiss before heading upstairs.

Marinette barely made it to her bed before collapsing in a heap. Tikki managed to slip out from her purse and hover up to the pillow before falling down beside Marinette’s head.

“We did it,” Marinette moaned into her pillow. “I can’t believe we actually did it.”

“And not a day too soon,” Tikki replied drowsily. “I was worried you’d have to cancel your enrollment.”

Marinette sighed in relief, snuggling down closer under the blankets. “I guess …”—she yawned—“we just got…”—a second, large yawn forced her mouth open—“lucky…”

“You are Ladybug,” Tikki pointed out, mumbling into the pillow. But Marinette was already asleep.

“We’re taking you to brunch,” her dad said happily, a big grin across his face.

Marinette’s stomach dropped. “What?” she asked, feeling panicked. “Right now?”

“Of course, dear,” her mom replied happily. “You have your bags all packed, don’t you? We’ll bring them with us, just in case, but we’ll have plenty of time.”

Marinette’s heart was racing. She had assumed that she would have the day to prepare herself, to spend some time saying her last goodbyes to friends. Her heart worked its way into her throat.

“But I’m supposed to meet a friend at two,” she said quickly, glancing at the clock. It was already 10am. She didn’t need to be to the airport until four, but brunch with her parents usually took a while.

Her dad frowned. “Can’t you call them?”

“No,” Marinette replied, horror slowly seeping into her bones. “I don’t have their number. That’s why we were going to meet later. I don’t know how else to get in touch.”

“We’ll get you back in time,” her mother said, voice calm, yet firm. “It’ll be tight, but we will.”

The tension that had slowly been building in Marinette’s stomach loosened into relief. “Thank you,” she told her mom earnestly.

Her dad glanced at the clock. “In that case, we better get going.”

The restaurant was on the other side of the city, Marinette noted with worry. She understood now why her parents had wanted to bring her luggage—they actually passed the airport on their way to brunch. It’ll be fine, Marinette assured herself, repeatedly. Mom promised we would get home in time.

Marinette should have known that her parents would want to spend the day with her. She was leaving for the US tonight, and she wasn’t sure quite when she’d have a break from school to get back. The actual semester wouldn’t start until late August, but she was planning on participating in FIT’s special summer program for incoming freshmen designers. As Marinette gazed out of the car window, she couldn’t help thinking that Tikki was right. If they hadn’t managed to overthrow Hawk Moth yesterday, she would have had to cancel her enrollment in the program.

She had resigned herself to it. In all honesty, the anxiety had been eating away at her since she had decided to go to school in New York. FIT was amazing—one of the best fashion schools in the world—and Marinette was overjoyed to have been accepted. But she had a responsibility to the people of Paris, and she had been ready to drop out of FIT if the battle with Hawk Moth had persisted. Even working with the police had made the chances no better than a gamble. But the gamble had paid off.

The restaurant was surprisingly luxurious, a beautiful building that Marinette had never been to before, although she knew her parents favored for their dates. She followed them inside and back past the tables with a hostess leading the way. They turned in a back room, and Marinette had only a moment to be confused before the lights turned on.

“SURPRISE!”

She took an involuntary step back, heart hammering as she looked around at the room full of friends and family. She could see her grandparents sitting at a table near the front, her aunts and uncles—even her Uncle Cheng—and cousins nearby, Alya and her family on the other side, and number of other close family friends.

“We wanted to give you a goodbye party so everyone could send you off,” her mom said, smiling. Marinette felt her eyes tearing up, her heart swelling as she looked around at the room filled with all the people she loved.

“Thank you,” she managed to say, her voice wavering slightly at the pure mix of shock and happiness she was feeling. “You guys are the best.”

The rest of the morning was a happy blur, filled with her loved ones wishing her well. The brunch was stunning, and even Mrs. Cesaire gave it her hearty approval.

But Marinette also kept an eye on the clock, a knot growing ever tighter in her stomach as the hours ticked away.

Finally, a little past one, her father stood up to address everyone. “Thank you all again for coming,” he told them, smiling kindly. “This party was everything we wanted and more for Marinette. But we need to finish a few last things before her trip.” Marinette couldn’t help a small sigh of relief—they would make it back in time.

Then it was a rush of people coming up and saying their final goodbyes, hugs and kisses and tears.

When they finally made it back to the car, Marinette smiled at her parents. “Thank you both, so, so much,” she told them, giving them each a quick hug. “You’re the best parents I could ever wish for.”

“You’re welcome, dear,” her mother replied, beaming. “Now let’s get you home one last time.”

One last farewell, Marinette thought to herself as they sped down the highway. She was relieved they would make it in time, but now her stomach was twisting itself into new, slightly different knots.

It was going to be hard to say goodbye to Chat, but at least they would finally be able to swap phone numbers. They could still talk, even from across the ocean.

That wasn’t what was making her nervous.

The car started to slow. Confused, Marinette glanced out the window—they were still on the highway.

“Dad?” she asked, peaking around his seat toward the windshield.

Stretching out before them was a sea of red lights and idling cars.

“What on Earth is going on here?” her mom asked worriedly, looking around them. “The entire highway is backed up.”

Marinette’s stomach sank.

Grumbling, her dad turned on the radio, tuning it to the traffic station.

“—large accident, resulting in a multi-car pile up,” the radio announced. “The accident involved a oil truck, which turned onto its side, blocking all lanes and leaking its contents. All drivers are advised to avoid the highway—”

Her dad turned it off again with a grim frown. “That’s going to take a long time to clean up,” he said slowly, glancing cautiously in the rearview mirror at Marinette.

“We can just get off at the next exit,” her mom said confidently. “It will take a little longer, but we can still make it back.”

Marinette was barely listening. She couldn’t pull her eyes away from the mass of cars standing bumper to bumper all around them. They hadn’t moved once since first stopping.

“We’re just going to have to wait it out,” her dad said carefully, “and hope that they’re quick getting it all cleaned up.”

As the minutes slowly dripped by, Marinette’s uneasy grew ever tighter. After an hour, when they still hadn’t moved, she glanced at the clock—2:35.

She was so stupid. Why hadn’t she asked for his phone number last night? Not that she had had any way of writing it down, but it would have been better than watching the clock hopelessly as she grew later and later for their rendezvous.

At 3:02 she was losing her mind. They had moved forward perhaps 100 feet, which was hardly reassuring. At this rate, she’d be lucky if they could even make it to the airport on time. But maybe that would be a blessing in disguise—at least then she could still go to the park. A flight could be rescheduled—Chat could not.

The car started moving. Surprised, Marinette looked up to see the red lights slowly disappearing. The clock proclaimed it was 3:56.

“Oh thank god,” her mother said, slumping back in her seat in relief. “Can we get there on time?”

“Luckily, this close to the airport, we might be able to make it just a little late,” her dad replied.

Marinette stopped breathing. “But my friend…” she said quietly, heart breaking.

“Why don’t you call another friend to see if they can meet them?” her mom suggested.

“Maybe…”

Marinette took a deep breath. That might work. She could call Alya, perhaps. Swear her to secrecy. Tell her—

Marinette pulled out her phone. Her dead phone. The one that, in her exhausted haze last night, she had forgotten to plug in.

“Mom,” Marinette said. She was surprised at how calm her voice sounded—her mind was running a hundred miles a minute. “Do you have Alya’s number in your phone?”

Her mother gave her a disappointed frown. “No, dear, I don’t. I have it written down in the address book at home.”

Marinette almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it. Of course. Her mom still seemed to trust her old, worn physical address book over the digital one in her phone. And Marinette, being the stupid person that she was, had never bothered to memorize Alya’s number. Why would she need to?

She could do nothing but sink further and further into despair as their car neared the airport.

Marinette tried to consider other ways of letting Chat know. Maybe she could call Alya first thing tomorrow, when she would finally have the chance to charge her phone. She could explain—

Explain what? That she, Marinette, was Ladybug? That she had knowingly lied to Alya, her best friend, for years?

And would that be fair to Chat? Even if she could work up the courage to tell Alya the truth—and she really wasn’t certain that she could—by sending Alya to meet with him, Marinette was as good as outing Chat’s identity as well. With a sinking feeling, Marinette realized that she couldn’t do that, not to Chat and not to herself.

The clock was blinking 4:11 when her parents dropped her off. “A little late, but you should make it on time if you hurry,” her mother told her with a reassuring smile. Then she enveloped Marinette in a tight hug. “I love you. Be safe.”

Her dad joined the hug. “Call us as soon as you’re settled in so we know you’re okay.”

“I will,” Marinette replied, struggling to push aside the guilt nestled in her stomach so she could say a proper goodbye to her parents. “I’ll miss you guys.”

Her mom gave her a kiss on her forehead, eyes shining with tears. “Now go, quickly, so you don’t miss it.”

For a fleeting second, Marinette had an insane urge to drop her bags and simply insist that her parents take her home. She couldn’t just abandon Chat like this. Because that’s what she was really doing: choosing her own future over her partner. To hell with her parents, to hell with FIT. Wasn’t he more important?

But…

But her parents would demand an answer. They were paying for this flight—this very expensive flight. And they were paying for the summer program, which was also expensive. It was her graduation gift from them. “Saying goodbye to a friend” would not be a good enough answer for them. The only way they would understand would be if she told them who she was, who was waiting for her—

The prospect was utterly terrifying. Worse than lying to Alya was the knowledge that she had been lying to her parents. None of them could be allowed to know. There was only one person in the world who could possibly understand, and right now he was probably sitting in the park, cursing her name.

Feeling nauseous, Marinette waved goodbye to her parents and went to check in.

Her first year at FIT was … rigorous. The summer program was an accelerated track of classes for aspiring designers. Marinette’s schedule was jam-packed from the day she started until the day the program ended. She had a week to get her bearings before her freshman year started in full force. On top of her classes was the strain of trying to keep up with lessons in a foreign language, in a foreign city, with foreign people. Even with Tikki by her side, even with her parents’ reassurances, even with Alya’s weekly phone calls, Marinette was sure she would drown before the end of her first year.

The summer was little better. She landed a fairly prestigious internship that kept her busy from the end of school in May, through all of June, and halfway into July. The opportunity was amazing, but it left Marinette only two weeks to go back to Paris for a visit.

On July 28th, after greeting her parents and Alya, Marinette went to the park. She held her breath carefully the entire walk there, hoping against hope that he would be there. That it would be alright.

She waited on a bench through most of the afternoon, watching children play, adults biking past, couples strolling.

Then the next.

And the next.

On the fourth day, Alya called.

“Girl, what have you been doing?” Alya demanded, sounding frustrated. “I only have a week left with you. You better not have any plans today.”

Feeling guilty, Marinette resigned herself to defeat. “Of course not, silly,” she said, managing a teasing tone. “What should we do?”

The second to last day of her trip, Marinette cleared her schedule. She went to the park early in the morning and stood guard on the bench all day. Long after the sun had set, an officer approached her. “Miss, you need to leave now,” he told her sternly, glancing around the empty park.

Heart heavy, Marinette nodded and left. He wasn’t coming.

Somehow, her sophomore year was even more crazy than her freshman one. The classes were harder, and she started working a part time job to help afford the side projects that she made for fun. And, of course, she had started a night class at NYU to help improve her business English.

The next summer, she managed a trip home in early May, this time for only a short week before heading back to New York for another internship. She considered transforming and waiting as Ladybug.

“That’s crazy,” Tikki told her when Marinette suggested it. “And you know it.”

She did know it. It had now been two years since Ladybug had vanished without a trace. Paris’ hero had vanquished the bad guy, and then had suddenly just left. Alya had talked about it endlessly the first few months their freshman year.

“No one knows where she went,” Alya had told her. “Many of the Ladybloggers are angry, and they’re not the only ones. She didn’t even say a word. They’re saying she abandoned us.”

“What do you think?” Marinette had asked her quietly, barely daring to breath.

“I’m not even sure how to feel,” Alya had replied honestly.

Junior year was gone before she knew it, littered with contests and classes. One of her designs was chosen for the runway project, and she knew that her teachers were quietly buzzing about her—the up and coming design student. It was both exhilarating and terrifying, and Marinette doubled down on her work.

Her final summer vacation, Marinette was home for three weeks. She went to the park several times, but by then it had become more of a ritual than an actual expectation.

“He probably hates me,” she told Tikki, voice hollow.

“You don’t know that,” Tikki told her quietly, gently patting her head.

But Marinette did know, because if it had been her—if she had been the one to sit around waiting, she would have hated her too.

When she finally graduated FIT, things were different. She landed a job in New York. As the newest employee, she couldn’t take time off to go home. And somehow, in the crazy life in that crazy city, Marinette had never found the time to go back. And as the years stretched on, she did her best to put the thoughts of Paris’ hero out of her mind.

Chapter Text

Marinette sat sprawled in her chair, watching the people stream past along the sidewalk with unseeing eyes.

“I. Am. Exhausted,” Alya moaned, face-down on the café table. Marinette barely had enough energy to muster a slow nod in response.

“Two chai teas?” a waiter asked, stepping up to the table.

“That’s us,” Marinette said, managing a weak smile. Alya didn’t even bother to try to sit up. A portion of Marinette’s brain—the portion that sounded like her mom—scolded her and told her that they should be more polite and lady-like at a café. The rest of her mind told that voice that it could kindly shut the fuck up.

She gratefully picked up her tea, its warmth almost uncomfortable in the surprisingly warm June afternoon. Marinette sighed deeply as she took a sip. They had trekked all morning and into the early afternoon looking at apartment buildings and meeting with various landlords. Her feet felt ready to fall off.

“Why are the apartments in the seventh arrondissement so expensive?” Marinette whined unceremoniously, putting her cup back down on the table.

“Because you had to pick one of the most expensive, competitive industries in the world,” Alya replied. Slowly she pushed herself off of the table. Marinette giggled at red pattern pressed into her cheek from the table’s surface, and Alya shot her a frown.

“I mean, I just left New York City,” Marinette pressed. “I didn’t think anywhere could be more expensive than that.”

Alya made an annoyed noise in the back of her throat. “Oh come off it, you know it’s not that we’re more expensive, but that you’re taking a pay cut.”

Marinette’s shoulders slumped. She had known this, of course, but hearing Alya say it…

“Oh god, Alya,” she said quietly, feeling hollow. “What if this was a mistake?”

“No,” Alya said firmly. Surprised, Marinette looked up and met Alya’s unwavering gaze. “It might be difficult, and it might not be glamorous, but this is what you’ve been dreaming about for as long as I’ve known you.” All traces of Alya’s weariness were gone, and her eyes were pinning Marinette in her seat. “You just need to take a deep breath, square your shoulders, and make it work.”

Heart melting, Marinette couldn’t help a small smile. Still, she couldn’t completely beat back the uncertainty pooling her in middle. “Yeah, but what if I was wrong?” she asked. Lips twisting into a wry ghost of a smile, she added, “It’s not like I have the greatest track record recently.”

“Sh-sh-sh,” Alya replied, shaking her head. “Shush. Maybe you’ve put your trust in some people who didn’t deserve it recently, but that doesn’t define you. You trust me, right?”

Her smile grew. “Yeah, of course,” Marinette told her.

“Good,” Alya said decisively, “because you should. And I am telling you this, so listen close. You are amazing. You can do this. You are going to blow their socks off. Got it?”

Laughing, Marinette nodded. “Alright, alright.”

Alya’s stern gaze suddenly cracked into a smile, and she settled back into her chair looking satisfied. “Good.”

Marinette took another sip of her tea, sighing a bit. “I do wish finding an apartment weren’t going to be such a headache, though,” she added. “All that walking and listening, and we found nothing.”

Alya rolled her eyes. “Mari, were you actually expecting to find the perfect place in one afternoon?”

“No,” Marinette said defensively. Not really, anyway. Of course, she had hoped... “But—”

“You know, what your mom said yesterday was true,” Alya pressed, interrupting Marinette’s protests. “It’s going to take a while for you to find a place that works for you, and to do it right. Until then, try to relax and let the rest of us help you.”

“I…” The words died on her lips. Taking a deep breath, Marinette looked down at her hands. “I just… For the last seven years, I’ve done everything myself. I did the class work, got the grades, paid rent, worked my butt off, but I did it. I’m not...” She paused, looking at Alya beseechingly, straining to find a way to convey what seemed to apparent in her mind. “It’s hard to accept that I’m at a point where I can’t do that.”

“Oh, Marinette,” Alya said, shaking her head. To her surprise, Alya stood up and walked around the table to wrap her in a tight hug. “We want to help you, girl,” Alya told her, giving her a small but forceful shake. “Can’t you just let us?”

Marinette leaned into the hug, letting her eyes fall closed. “I’ll try,” she promised, meaning it.

“I know you’re going to do great,” Alya told her, finally pulling away and returning to her chair. “I’ve interviewed several people at Attitude for stories, and I think you’re going to love it there. It’s a really fun atmosphere, filled with people who are just as passionate about fashion as you are.”

“I am really excited,” Marinette admitted, grinning.

“Make sure you talk with Hélèn, okay?” Alya told her firmly. “She works at the front desk—she’s impossible to miss. You can tell her I say hi.”

“I will, I will,” Marinette promised, laughing.

“Have you decided what you’ll wear for your first day?” Alya was watching her carefully over the rim of her cup, as if intentionally downplaying the question.

Marinette scoffed. “Is that even a question?”

Alya broke into a big grin. “I’m guessing it’s a Dupain-Cheng original?”

“One of my best,” Marinette confided.

Even just thinking about it made her feel a little giddy. She had spent the last several years working in New York’s fashion industry, but for the first time she was going to walk into a company as a designer, rocking her own style and working every day to create new designs. She’d been dreaming about it for so long—had held herself back while nervously wringing her hands. No more. It was scary, and exhilarating, but Alya was entirely right: she needed to walk in there with her head held high and just do her thing. She could see how the cards would fall afterward.

“Alright,” Alya said, pushing herself back from the table. “I need to get going, and I’m sure that you’re ready to get home.”

“Yeah,” Marinette agreed, taking out some bills for the tea and tip and gathering her purse. She turned to Alya, and gave her another tight hug. “Thank you,” she told her, for what felt like the hundredth time. “So much. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Be far less fabulous, probably,” Alya told her with a wicked grin and a wink. Then, smile softening, she added, “We always have each other’s backs—what else are friends for?”

Marinette was fairly sure she had never done anything to deserve someone was wonderful as Alya for her best friend, but she merely smiled back and waved as they headed their separate ways.

After she got back home, Marinette went up to her room, intending on starting to unpack. She woke up hours later to her mom knocking on the trap door.

“Marinette?” her mom called. “It’s getting late. Why don’t you come down and have something to eat?”

A glance at the clock showed her it was already nearing ten o’clock. Groaning, Marinette let her head fall back down onto her bed. “I’ll be down in a minute,” she called back.

Marinette listened to her mom’s footsteps retreating down the stairs, silently cursing herself. She had avoided getting coffee at the café, worried that she might keep herself up too late. Only now did she realize how stupid that was—her day had been exhausting, of course she’d be tired. Now, however, she had basically sealed her own coffin. Her unintentional nap had only served to further throw her off from any semblance of a normal sleep schedule.

Annoyed at how awake she felt, Marinette pushed herself off of her bed and over toward the stairs.

“Are you feeling okay?” Tikki called from her desk, surprising her. Marinette felt a stab of guilt—she had been looking forward to talking with Tikki while she unpacked, but instead had left her friend with nothing to do while she snored away the rest of the afternoon.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Marinette assured her. “Just upset with myself for falling asleep.”

“It’s been a busy couple of days,” Tikki told her kindly. “You need your rest.”

Marinette nodded. “I know. But I also need to be able to get up for work on time next week.”

Her mom had set aside a big plate from dinner for her, and was heating it up as Marinette trudged downstairs.

“Where’s Dad?” Marinette asked, wiping the last traces of sand from her eyes.

“He went to bed already,” her mom replied. “Tomorrow’s Sunday.”

“Oh…” Marinette replied, feeling shocked. “Of course.” How could she have forgotten? Sundays were their busiest days, and her dad always went to bed early to leave extra time in the morning for baking. It was unsettling to think she could so easily have forgotten something that had always been ingrained in her.

Her mom took the plate from the microwave, then headed towards the couch. “I was just watching some TV,” she explained. “Why don’t you sit with me while you eat?”

“At the couch?” Marinette asked, flabbergast.

Her mom pressed her lips together. “As your father so kindly pointed out last night, you’re not a kid anymore. So I’m making a special exception for tonight. Now come eat.”

Grinning, Marinette plopped down on the sofa next to her mom and accepted the plate. She was surprised to realize how hungry she was—aside from the tea, she hadn’t eaten since her and Alya had grabbed a quick lunch early in the day.

As she chowed down, she watched the game show that her mother had on. It was a familiar experience, hanging out on the couch late on a Saturday night, but one that she hadn’t experienced here, on this couch, for a long time. And yet, despite the strange feeling it left in her limbs, Marinette had to admit that it was nice to just sit in peaceful silence, her mother by her side.

Eventually, her mom stood up. “Alright, I’m heading to bed. Don’t stay up too late.” She gave Marinette a kiss on the head.

“I’ll try,” Marinette replied, truthfully.

For a while, Marinette continued to watch the TV and the various game shows that were aired. But the longer she watched, the more awake she felt, until she finally snapped off the TV, turned off the lights, and marched frustrated back up to her room.

“Night, Marinette,” Tikki said quietly as Marinette joined her on the bed.

“Night,” she mumbled.

She stared up at her ceiling, attempting to breathe deeply and coax herself back to sleep. She had heard a number of times that consciously breathing in a certain rhythm could help you fall asleep. It had never worked for her before, and with frustration she found that it wasn’t working for her now.

Trying to take care not to jostle Tikki, Marinette looked around her room. Nowhere in the house was the subtle, unsettling feeling of change quite so strong as it was here. Somehow, her room felt smaller, as if she had long ago outgrown it and only just realized. The feeling only made her more anxious to get her own place.

Alya had been right: it had been foolish to think she could find an apartment in the span of an afternoon. But Marinette couldn’t help herself. She wanted to have her own place again, like her tiny flat back in New York. Sure, Bryce had always teased her—

Marinette’s thoughts stumbled, face flushing. Quickly, she mentally corrected herself. All of her New York friends had always teased her about her hole in the wall apartment. Her parents had worried themselves sick thinking about her in such a cramped little room. But it had been home to her, cozy, and she had never needed anything bigger. Sure, she had quickly run out of room for all of her sewing supplies, and she had had to be creative in order to find enough room to store all of her outfits. And it would be nice to try to find a bigger place here in Paris.

But that didn’t change the fact that she felt all adrift, as if her lines had been cast, her anchor drawn up, the wind yet to fill her sails, leaving her hesitating and motionless.

Marinette glanced at the clock, its red 12:24 burning through the dark room. The shadows seemed to press in on her, the walls inching ever closer, cutting off the air. She struggled to breath, her grip tightening on her blankets.

She sat up suddenly, forcing herself to take a deep, harsh breath.

“Marinette?” Tikki asked groggily, looking up from the pillow.

“I need some air,” Marinette said quickly, shoving her covers off and heading toward the roof.

As she stepped onto the tiles, the air danced across her face. It was still an unusually warm night for June, but the fresh wind brought a rush of relief, cooling her.

“Are you okay?” Tikki asked. Surprised, Marinette whirled around to her.

“Yeah,” she replied quickly, feeling bad. “Don’t worry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Tikki frowned in concern, coming to sit on Marinette’s shoulder. “Can’t sleep?”

Take a deep breath, Marinette relented. “No, I can’t.” She sighed dejectedly and slumped against the railing. “I just feel so … trapped.”

Tikki was silent, and Marinette did her best to calm down a bit as she looked out over the city. Her city. Or, more accurately, what used to be her city. Paris didn’t want her anymore. And the worst part was, she really couldn’t blame them.

But for the first time, Marinette allowed herself to acknowledge just how much she missed it. She was glad that Hawk Moth had been defeated all those years ago. Paris hadn’t been safe with him causing havoc. But there was no denying how exhilarating it had been, how wonderful to just leave all of her concerns behind and swing unbounded through the night sky.

Hesitantly, she asked, “Do you think we could…?”

“No.” The steely force of Tikki’s tone took Marinette completely off guard, and she stood up straighter in her surprise. “We can’t, Marinette. You know that. Remember last time?”

Marinette winced, guilt eating away at her stomach. The last time she had been home—the summer before her senior year at FIT—she had persuaded Tikki to transform so they could have a late evening stroll across the rooftops.

“I was careless that time,” Marinette argued, fighting back her own inner voice. “It was too early, and I made too much noise.”

The city had been in an uproar for two days, everyone angrily denouncing the supposed return of the long lost superhero. Luckily, the media had eventually decided that it had merely been an enthusiast—one of the last few fans clinging to their idol and stupidly causing a ruckus in the night. But Marinette would not soon forget the pure, unbridled anger that her appearance had produced in the city.

“Just a quick swing around the block?” Marinette asked. “I won’t walk on any roofs, and I’ll keep to the residential streets. And besides, it’s well past midnight now, not like last time.”

“And what if you are seen?” Tikki demanded. “What if you’re caught this time? Is that what you want?”

“I don’t know what I want!” Marinette was surprised at how loudly and forcefully the words came out. “I can’t sleep, I can’t think, I can’t breathe! I just feel so helpless.”

Tikki was silent, and for a moment there were only the sounds of Marinette’s harsh breathing and the usual nighttime echoes.

“Please, Tikki,” Marinette said, far more quietly. “I just need to clear my head.”

Tikki loosed a strained sigh. “Just once,” she said sternly.

Marinette looked up, not quiet believing her ears. But the little kwami wore a resigned frown that reaffirmed what she had heard.

“But you need to be careful!” Tikki added. “Just a quick trip, and then let’s go to bed.”

“I will be,” Marinette promised, barely hearing herself through the excitement whirling through her head.

Carefully they crept back into the bedroom. Marinette closed her eyes, took a long breath, then looked to Tikki. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Tikki replied, looking determined.

“Spots on.”

The words were barely a whisper, but they instantly snapped the earrings to life. Marinette watched as Tikki was drawn inwards. Then, with a muted flash of light, the costume stretched into existence, rippling down her arms and legs.

Carefully, Marinette unslung her yoyo from her waist. She gave two quick bobs, smiling at its familiar weight and pull. Confidence growing, she quickly climbed back up to her roof. She stopped at the railing, surveying the city anew.

She would have to be careful to avoid any attention. But if she stuck to the sleepy residential streets, she likely wouldn’t have any problems.

Exhilarated energy suddenly coursing through her veins, Marinette quickly scrambled up, until she stood on the railing. For a fleeting moment, her heart wavered uncertainly. It had been so long. What if she slipped up, or fell, or—

Ruthlessly she shoved those thoughts aside. Then, a smile itching across her lips, she wound up and threw.

Not giving herself a moment to doubt, Marinette leaned out over the street and fell forward, grip tight on her string. She fell down, down, down, until suddenly she wasn’t moving downwards, but forwards, and then up, up, up…

Nearly whooping with joy, she wrenched her arm forward again, her yoyo zipping toward another eave.

It was like she had never stopped. With each swoop her muscles shook off their sleep and awoke their long remembered forms.

Streaming through the sky, the air became almost cold, whistling past her and flinging her bangs back from her face. Her hair, which she hadn’t thought to tie back, whipped wildly behind her. She knew with certainty that it was going to be an utter mess to deal with in the morning. She didn’t care.

Marinette couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so free. Even before she had left for the US, her final months in Paris had been wrought with worried nights over taking Hawk Moth down. It had been ages since she had simply enjoyed the freedom and wonder of flight.

A high pitched scream tore through the night, ringing from several blocks over.

Marinette stopped instantly, landing on the street and pausing in an alley, heart hammering. By this point, she had worked her way closer to the commercial area, where the night life was somewhat more active. But even so, she was well within the residential streets.

She heard a muffled thump echo between the buildings, but there were no more screams. Even so, Marinette hesitated. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe—

The excuses were pathetic. Concern rising, Marinette quickly crept down the alley and across the street on the other side. She couldn’t be seen—she knew that. But if someone was in trouble, there was no way she could simply pretend not to hear and walk away.

She paused beneath a doorway, listening for any signs of a struggle. After a moment, there was another thump, across the street from the nearby apartment complex.

Slowly, Marinette drew closer, peaking around the corner. She saw the men first—how could she not? There were four of them all standing around, and in the flickering street light she could see one of them smile smugly.

“Don’t fight it, pretty lady,” another was saying, voice a disgusting mix of oily syrup.

Only now did Marinette catch a glimpse of a woman huddled on the ground, backed all the way into a corner. From this angle it was hard to see, but her lip appeared to be bleeding. There was no mistaking her posture.

Barely daring to breath, Marinette drew back. She couldn’t just go out there. If she stepped into the light in fully spotted regalia, Paris would never let her go. This wouldn’t be like some accidental oversight in the night—this would be Ladybug stepping out of the shadows to help someone in need. The police would likely be relentless.

Her next thought was to de-transform. She could go out there and—

And what? Take on four guys, completely by herself? Perhaps, years ago, when she had been in her prime, she could have managed it. Now however, although she was not out of shape, she was definitely out of practice. A move like that would be pure suicide.

Suddenly, it hit her: she should just call the police. Reeling from her own stupidity, Marinette opened her mouth to de-transform—

—and was sharply cut off as two beefy arms wrapped around from behind her.

“Let me go!” she shouted, struggling in vein against her captor as he dragged her forward toward the others.

With growing horror, Marinette realized her mistake: the thugs had left a look out. And she hadn’t even noticed.

“Ay, Bay!” the man called, grabbing the attention of the others. “Look what I found lurking in the shadows.”

A black-haired man—Bay, apparently—sneered as he looked her over. Then he started to laugh. “What’s wrong, little girl?” he asked, walking closer. “Thought you were so big and brave, dressing yourself in red and black?”

For the first time in a long time, Marinette was overcome by fear. Stomach dropping, she struggled even harder against her captor to no avail.

“How lucky we are, boys,” Bay drawled. “The Miraculous Ladybug has deigned to join our little party.”

The men around him laughed crudely, two of them grinning maliciously as they looked her over.

“What says we show her a little of our hospitality?” he asked, fixing his eyes on her tight outfit.

“No!” she shouted suddenly, desperately kicking against the man’s shins. “Let me go! Let me go!”

“You heard the Lady.”

Bay stopped cold, staring past Marinette toward the mouth of the alley. Drawing himself up, he asked, “What was that?”

“Having trouble hearing, are we?” The newcomer strode forward. Marinette had only a moment to catch sight of a tight black suit, blonde hair, and a conspicuous pair of cat ears before her mind stopped working altogether.

Chat stopped two paces away from Bay. “Let the ladies go.”

Bay burst into laughter, though his buddies shifted uneasily behind him. “What is this?” he crowed, looking back and forth between Chat and Marinette. “Halloween? Or perhaps the two of you just have some strange kink—”

Chat’s foot slammed into Bay’s mouth, knocking him forcefully to the ground.

“You son of a bitch!” Bay yelled, scrambling to his feet as blood poured from his nose. He rushed forward, his friends quickly following suit. But Chat eased himself back onto his haunches, waiting, waiting until…

He spun, his baton extending suddenly and sweeping two of the men to their feet.

Mind still reeling, Marinette watched as they sparred, Chat’s familiar grace easily keeping up with the four of them. Chat.

What was he doing here? She knew from Alya that he had never quite disappeared the same way Ladybug had. The Parisians reserved the full force of their loathing for her alone. But all the same, she hadn’t heard any news about him in years.

He had grown a few more inches since they had last fought together, now easily towering over her and most of the men that he was scrambling with. His shoulders were wider, his chest a little broader, his muscles still a sleek ripple down his narrow build. Everything about him was the same, but not. Older, stronger. And, unlike herself, he was very much not out of practice.

Heart wrenching, Marinette forced herself to stop gaping and to think. Chat might have been holding his own, but the other woman was still huddling further back, in the corner. She needed to do something.

Mind slowly picking up its pace, she realized that her captor’s grip had loosened somewhat as he watched the scuffle unfold. Dredging together the shreds of her confidence, Marinette brought her left hand swinging above her head, fingers splayed, hoping…

Her fingers met something soft and resistant, and her captor bellowed as her nails drove into his eyes. With her limited range of motion she hadn’t had enough force to do much harm, but his pain and surprise were enough for him to drop her. She quickly rolled to the side, slinging her yoyo as she went. It wrapped once, twice, thrice around his legs and she yanked for all she was worth. The man—a burly red head—slammed to the ground.

Breathing hard, Marinette flicked her yoyo back into her hand and turned towards the larger battle taking place before her. She quickly sized up the status: one of the men was down, clutching his side, but the other three were closing in on Chat, who had taken up a defensive position in front of the woman. Exhaling in an angry hiss, Marinette rushed to help.

Chapter Text

Adrien kept his breathing steady, focusing his attention on the four men in front of him. He couldn’t let himself get distracted by the fool girl playing dress up somewhere behind him.

God, he didn’t need this right now. Seeing the red and black fabric had been an unexpected jolt, and no matter how hard he tried to shove it out of his mind, it had left him shaken.

One of the men—the shortest of the four—rushed him, and Adrien swiftly extended his baton. The pole rammed into the attacker’s middle, knocking him forcefully to the ground. Adrien wouldn’t be surprised if the blow had broken one or two of the man’s lower ribs. He followed up with a merciless smack to the head, knocking the man cold—it wouldn’t do to have him interfering—and then dancing back as another of the men lunged.

He needed to wrap this up quickly and get the two women safely into the hands of the police. And then he needed a strong drink, or something, to wash the annoying inklings of memories from the edges of his mind.

Adrien noticed too late that another of the men had thrown a broken piece of asphalt at him. He reacted quickly enough to avoid being hit anywhere vital, but the heavy stone still managed to slam against the edge of his thigh. Pain seared up his leg, stealing some of his breath. Cursing, Adrien rolled away as the leader rushed in to follow it up with a punch. Off balance as he was, Adrien’s only choice was to roll into the corner towards the huddled woman.

He caught the glimmer of fear in her eyes as he stood, and quickly sank down into a defensive stance. Shit, shit, shit. He was being shoddy.

Sure that he would regret it, Adrien spared a quick glance toward the mouth of the alley to check on the ridiculous girl. He caught sight of the burly man on the ground, and had only a moment to be surprised before the girl slammed into the back of one of the remaining attackers.

Adrien’s mouth fell open as he watched the man crumple beneath her. She had hit him with an elbow to the back of his head. Neat trick, he thought begrudgingly, then quickly shook himself alert. Now was not the time to admire the fact that the foolish girl actually had some use after all.

She quickly pushed herself up from the ground, taking up position on Adrien’s left side to further protect the woman behind him. Adrien felt his surprise redouble—she was going to fight? Never mind, his first assumption had obviously been correct: this idiot was letting her little Halloween costume go to her head.

Forcing down his rising anger, he told her, “Stay back.” Then he rushed forward toward the leader of the posse.

“Fat chance of that,” he heard her quip back, and he had only a moment of frustration before she rushed past him toward the final assailant.

Biting off a growl, Adrien helplessly let her go. The man in front of him—the leader—appeared to actually be a decent fighter, apparently having been trained in the ring. Adrien dodged a blow, his frustration growing. He couldn’t spare an attempt to drag the girl back into the corner for her own safety.

Fine then! he thought angrily, giving in. If she insists on running headlong into trouble, then let her!

He lunged at the leader, who swiftly danced back and away, avoiding his blow. As he moved to follow, Adrien caught sight of the girl windup, and then sling her yoyo toward her opponent. The man didn’t have a chance. The wire wound around him tight, halting him in his tracks. Then, with no hesitation, the girl yanked backward, spinning the man back and to the ground.

No. Adrien’s mind had stopped. No fucking way—

A fist caught him in the jaw, sending him sprawling into the wall. Stars flashed across Adrien’s vision as the air was knocked forcefully from his lungs. Carefully he pushed himself onto his knees, looking up to find the man winding up for what promised to be a painful follow up blow.

A yoyo wrapped around the man’s raised wrist, jerking him to a stop. Surprised, the man looked around to the girl on the other end of the string. Adrien followed his gaze, not quite believing his eyes. Whoever this girl was, she was good.

No, not just some “girl,” a voice whispered in the back of his mind. The fighting style was painfully familiar. How many people did he know who could take down a fully grown man with a yoyo?

Stop fooling yourself! he told himself firmly. She’s gone. Long gone. Don’t jump to conclusions just because some highly practiced fan is flaunting her skills. He almost believed himself.

“Bitch!” the man yelled, yanking uselessly at his wrist. “You think you’re cool just because you know a few tricks?”

His words barely seemed to register with her. Instead, she very deliberately gave Adrien a glance. A familiar glance. Adrien’s stomach dropped away completely. It was their signal. He knew immediately what she wanted, exactly what she was saying, and he hated himself for it. She was being the bait, stealing the man’s attention so that Adrien could step in and deliver the final blow.

“Just wait til I get my hands on you!” the man screamed at her. “We’ll see how cocky you are once I’ve got those polka dots off your tight little—”

Adrien wound up with his baton and swung it like a baseball bat, nailing the man in the head. It made a sickening thud as it connected, and the man dropped to the ground.

For a moment the alley was still, filled only with Adrien’s harsh breathing. He brought a hand up and tenderly felt his lip, which had split when he was punched. His thigh was still throbbing.

The girl flicked her wrist, retrieving her yoyo from the fallen thug, then bent over with her hands on her knees, breathing heavily. Adrien could see now that he had been wrong all along—he had assumed she was simply some childish teenager. But looking at her more closely, it was plain to see that the girl in red and black was obviously a woman. She didn’t wear pigtails. Instead, her mussed, long black hair was loose and fell well past her shoulders.

She looked up at him, meeting his gaze with striking blue eyes, and he froze.

“Chat…”

There was a noise behind him, and they both twirled to look at the woman still huddling on the ground. Ladybug—god fucking dammit, it was her—was instantly at the woman’s side, kneeling down to check on her.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” she asked in a calm, gentle voice.

The woman shook her head, raising a hand to check her hijab. Looking more closely, Adrien could see now that the woman appeared to be Maghrebi. His anger intensified. These damn sick bastards. Had they purposely singled her out because of her headscarf?

Rage boiling over, Adrien turned away. Ladybug could help the woman just fine on her own. He needed to get these men rounded up and into custody, now.

Adrien silently counted up the men on the ground as he pulled the police radio from his belt. Two, three, four…. Damn. One of them—the burly one who had been holding Ladybug—was nowhere to be seen. Taking a deep breath, Adrien pressed the button and radioed in to the station, giving them the details of the location and scene, and explaining that one of the men had escaped.

When he was done, he clipped his radio back to his belt, then paused. He could still hear the two women talking quietly behind him. He had an overwhelming urge to just leave, to get as far away from her as he possibly could. But that was ludicrous. He needed to be here, keeping a close eye on the remaining four thugs in case they began to rouse before the police arrived.

Steeling himself, Adrien turned around toward the back of the alley and made his way over to two women. Ladybug had helped the woman to her feet and had an arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders.

“Do you live near here?” Ladybug asked calmly.

The woman nodded her head. This close, Adrien could tell that she was barely much older than he was. His anger flared again, though he carefully pushed it back down.

“I live two streets over,” she explained to Ladybug. “I was heading home from work, and....” She trailed off. There was really nothing more to say—it was fairly obvious that the woman had done nothing wrong.

“We’ll get you home,” Ladybug reassured the woman.

Chat paused, frowning. “Well, actually,” he cut in, keeping his gaze on the woman, “the police are on their way. They’ll probably want you to make a statement, and then they’ll escort you home.”

“Wait, what?”

Adrien finally looked over at Ladybug, taken off guard by her surprised tone. “I radioed the police,” he explained, his frown growing as Ladybug’s eyes widened. “They should be here soon.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than the sound of sirens cut through the night air. Ladybug flinched back as if burned, stepping away from the woman.

“They’re coming here?” Ladybug pressed, looking wildly around.

The uneasy feeling in Adrien’s chest swelled. “Where else would I send them?” he asked, not meaning to snap at her, but at the same time not regretting it.

She pinned him with a panicked look, her blue eyes round. “I can’t…” She was edging back now, taking slow, halting steps away from him. “No… I—” Her face broke, overwhelmed by a raw mix of pain, sorrow, and guilt. “I’m sorry.”

Then she turned and ran down the alley. Within moments she had thrown her yoyo and catapulted herself onto the roof and out of sight.

Adrien’s head was spinning. Why did she run? No—why had she come back in the first place? The sirens grew louder, flashing blue lights pouring into the alleyway. Fucking dammit. Was she seriously just going to leave him with this mess?

First things first, he needed to take care of the current situation. Taking a deep breath, he held out a hand to the woman. “Don’t worry. The police are going to help.”

He walked her down the alley and back onto the street toward the waiting cruiser. Two officers stepped out, and Adrien was relieved to recognize them: Officers Dubois and Muller. Officer Dubois came forward and extended her hand to the Maghrebi woman. “Why don’t you come sit down with me?” she asked, and the woman gladly followed.

With the woman finally in safe hands, Adrien turned his attention to Officer Muller. The officer was surveying the alley, and whistled. “Four at once?” he asked. “Can you try not to put the rest of us to shame all the time?”

Adrien opened his mouth, ready to admit that he had had help, then froze. Ladybug had looked so panicked, like a deer in the headlights. He still didn’t know why, but she was desperate to stay away from the police.

Maybe she’s on the run, he thought. Maybe she did something bad, and I should turn her in.

His mind immediately rejected the possibility as false. There was no way that was possible. She wasn’t like that.

People change, his mind whispered. But even still, a larger, more reasonable side of his mind pointed out that if Ladybug were on the run from the police, he surely would have heard about it. It would have been all over the police airwaves.

Muller handed Adrien two sets of handcuffs, then moved off with two sets of his own toward the first of the fallen men. Adrien quickly headed to the back of the alley, purposefully locking up the leader first. The man was still out cold, but Adrien didn’t want to take any chances. He had been the best fighter of the group, and seemed the most likely to resist arrest.

As he worked, he couldn’t push away his rising sense of urgency. Was she still around? He almost laughed. Yeah right—she had been so intent on getting the fuck away. She was probably long gone by this point.

Still, he couldn’t quell the nagging question from the back of his mind.

By the time they had the men cuffed, another cruiser had rolled up, sirens blaring. Officer Faure stepped out of the car, and Adrien swore under his breath. He kept his face straight as the man stepped up to him.

“What happened here?” Faure demanded.

Adrien barely dared to breath. He should just out her. Let the police deal with her. It wasn’t his problem. But her pleading look came back to mind, her desperation. He owed her nothing—nothing—and yet…

And yet she had been his partner, and he couldn’t find it in him to betray her like that without understanding why.

“I overheard a scuffle,” Adrien said, voice flat. “There were five men ganging up on the Maghrebi woman. One of them ran when I showed up. I took out the other four.”

Faure nodded, though his lips were twisted into a frown. The man hated Adrien. He could only hope that he wouldn’t have to deal with him later at the station.

The station. Damn, they would want him to head back to headquarters and file a report. His heart began to beat furiously. But she was out there, somewhere. Trailing through the night. Let it go, he tried to tell himself gruffly. But he couldn’t.

“Alright,” Faure said. “We’ve got them in chains. We’ll head back to the station, and you can—”

“Sorry,” Adrien said quickly, cutting the man off. Faure’s frown grew, his brows lowering. “I wasn’t expecting to be out this late, and I need to leave immediately. You can tell Chief Roux that I’ll make my report in the morning.”

Without waiting for Faure’s reply—which was sure to be outrage—Adrien quickly extended his baton and flung himself onto the roofs. He took off at a run in the direction Ladybug had gone. They were going to be upset with him, but it wasn’t unheard of for people to make their reports the next day. They could deal with it.

And when they question the thugs and learn that Ladybug was there? he asked himself. What then? The thought left him feeling nauseous. He had spent years building up enough trust among the force to get to where he was today. With a deep breath, he decided that he would deal with that when he got to it, though he was sure it was not going to be pretty.

Still, he couldn’t not try. No matter how much his mind was telling him that he shouldn’t care, that she probably hadn’t bothered to stick around, that he should just look after his own hide instead of risking it for someone who didn’t deserve it, the rest of his mind wouldn’t listen.

She had a substantial lead on him, of course. And she didn’t want to be found. But Adrien had been protecting this city for the last decade—he knew every nook and cranny, and he would find her.

Chapter Text

Adrien lowered the volume of his police radio as he ran, bringing it to a low buzz that only his acute hearing would be able to pick up. He still didn’t know why Ladybug had run, but he was fairly certain that she didn’t want to be found—he was going to need every advantage he could get. The radio continued to crackle as Faure reported an update on the crime scene, but Adrien ignored it, instead focusing his attention on the chase.

He kept an eye on the open spaces of the city expanse: the gaps that the streets formed, the yawning distance above the rooftops. The method was far from foolproof. After all, Ladybug could just as easily have slipped into one of the buildings, or even a tight alcove, and huddled down to wait. But he had seen the panic on her face, as well as how desperate she had been to put distance between herself and the sirens. With any luck, she had grown sloppy in her panic.

His eyes flicked back and forth, scanning for any inconsistencies. He kept his cat ears perked and ready, listening for any odd sounds ringing counterpoint to the faint drone of the radio and his own quiet footfall.

There.

He caught only the smallest of movements from the corner of his eye—on his left. Angling himself, Adrien extended his baton and gracefully catapulted himself across the street to the rooftops on the other side.

Now that he knew where to look, it was easy to catch the fluttering motion as she swooped down the street up ahead. Keeping his breathing even, he pushed his legs faster in order to close as much distance as he could.

Ladybug swung past several more buildings before arching up into the sky and nimbly landing on the sloped, ornamental roof of a small strip mall. Adrien watched carefully as he neared, in case she decided to head off in a different direction. But no—she stayed put, hands once again dropping to her knees for support. Apparently she had decided she had fled far enough.

His heart suddenly picked up its tempo, hammering painfully against his ribs. What did he even plan to say to her? What could he possibly say to her? Ruthlessly he tore away his hesitancy, instead focusing on measuring his distance before he made the final jump to her perch.

There was a familiar moment of weightlessness as the street streamed past beneath him. Then Adrien landed in a crouch right behind her with a small thunk on the roof.

She jumped visibly, whirling around to face him with arms raised protectively. As if he were some sort of criminal. Her blue eyes were wide, her hair still a mess, and for a fleeting second Adrien felt as if only moments earlier they had been taking down an akuma, the same old routine. Fighting against the onslaught of memories, he rose with a purposeful, casual air.

“I could get in huge trouble for not outing you to the officers.”

The words were out almost before he realized it, accusing and sharp, but also the truth. Ladybug took a hesitant step back, her eyes trained on him. She didn’t reply, which only served to ratchet his anger a notch tighter.

“The guys who were taken in might spill that you were there, which will make it obvious that I covered for you,” he explained, keeping his tone cool. Because he needed her to answer—needed her to know exactly the situation she had put him in. “I might lose my rights.”

“So you’re a cop now?” She seemed almost contemplative as she asked, watching him with a narrowed gaze as if surveying a rogue puzzle piece. He felt her attention like a flame, dancing over him yet never quite touching, simultaneously enticing and infuriating.

He forced his mind into line, attempting to expel his acute awareness of their close proximity. Don’t get distracted. Never mind her curiosity—that was not the correct response in this situation. Rather than even feigning interest in the mire of shit she had just stranded him in, she was redirecting the conversation. With rising fury, Adrien realized that he shouldn’t even have been surprised. This was the girl—woman, his mind couldn’t help amending—who had left without a single word.

No more. He was not going to let her control this conversation.

He took his boiling anger and siphoned it into a cool, steely point. If she was going to act this way, then he would treat her just like any of the divas he had to deal with on a regular basis.

“I see that you’ve finally come back,” he told her, examining his claws and ignoring her question. Then, with a pointed look, he added, “Are you planning to hang around this time?”

Her mouth snapped closed, breath cut short. She watched him in silence, her eyes betraying the sharp pain his question had evoked. Her expression punched clear through his gut, momentarily robbing him of speech. She had the audacity to be hurt? As if her seven year absence was supposed to mean nothing?

It certainly hadn’t meant nothing to him. Oh no, Adrien Agreste had gotten a very early crash course in the troubles of trusting someone who would not put their full trust in him. Because that’s what it had been, all those years ago. Sure, he had thought they were partners, that she relied on him. But she had never been able to fully trust him, and he should have taken it for the sign that it truly was. She always insisted that they couldn’t reveal their identities, and then—when the time finally came—she had turned on her tail and fled.

His anger threatened to overwhelm him, but Adrien carefully pushed it back, along with the needling pinprick of betrayal. “Right, sorry,” he said breezily, feigning indifference. “How could I forget? You don’t share your secrets with anyone, do you?”

“Chat…”

The softness in her voice threatened to break him, but he urgently stomped out his flickering doubts. He had been with women like this before—who acted hurt in order to get what they wanted. He had long ago learned not to let them toy with him. But he had never expected for Ladybug—

No. He probably should have. She certainly hadn’t done anything yet to prove herself above such manipulations.

The thought was blindsiding.

“Still,” he added, “once every seven years? That’s quite the absence. How kind of you to finally grace us with your presence.”

“You think I never came back?” she hissed suddenly. Brows lowered, she took a step towards him, her presence suddenly building the pressure in the air between them. “You think I didn’t wait for you?”

Adrien’s breath was gone, his lungs straining against a void.

“I came back when I could,” she added, voice laced with the slightest twinge of guilt.

He almost believed her. Almost, but… How many hours had he wasted waiting for her? How many days, years? He had spent five years visiting that park, and he was finding it very hard to believe that he could have missed her attempts.

Honestly, there was no reason to believe a word she was saying—every reason to believe that she was lying. And with this realization came a well of surrendering sadness. Even with the years of anger, and disbelief, and pain, Adrien realized that somewhere deep inside he had still been clinging to the perfect image of the woman he had both loved and idolized. That he had hoped against all hope that there had been some mistake, that she hadn’t simply been misusing his trust.

“Well you have no need to worry,” he told her, unable to stop a small trickle of bitterness from leaking into his words. “I’ve been doing just fine helping the police and your adoring public by myself while you’ve been off doing your thing.” She opened her mouth, pained expression growing, but he cut her off. “I don’t want or need your help anymore.”

He turned away, forcing himself to ignore the way she reached for him, ready to head back into the night and just be gone.

“... Ladybug has been—”

Adrien froze, body going numb as his ears picked out the sound of the radio. He barely dared to breath as he quickly upped the volume to a normal range.

“I repeat, all units be alert. We have reports that someone dressed as Ladybug has been spotted on the streets. All available officers are to report to Officer Faure to begin the sweep.”

Ladybug’s hand was suddenly on his arm, her grip painfully tight. Adrien ignored the way his entire right side fell into a ripple of tingling pins. “That was your police radio?” she asked quietly, as if by merely hoping she could will its existence away.

Very deliberately, Adrien grasped her by the wrist and removed her hand from him. “You should get going,” he told her, suddenly feeling drained and very tired. “They’ll be looking for you now.”

A part of him—a very small part—felt bad for leaving her on her own. Oh come off it, he chided himself, disgusted. She’s a big girl, now. She can take care of herself.

“I need all available units in the seventh arrondissement stat. We have visuals of someone dressed as Ladybug on the streets in the Eastern section of the area. I repeat—”

“God dammit!” Adrien swore, making Ladybug jump. He spun on her, pinning her with a finger to the sternum. “Do you live in the Eastern section?” Her face was white, fear plainly visible. “Do you?”

She remained silent, which was answer enough.

Adrien barely managed to reign in his anger, instead lowering his voice to a mere hiss. “Do you understand what this means? They are going to be crawling over every inch of the district, combing the Eastern streets. There is no way for you to get back there. Even if you de-transform”—he managed a wry, humorless laugh, knowing exactly how likely she was to do that—“they will be stopping anyone who is out this late. How could you be so careless?”

Ladybug was outright scowling now, which in its own way was almost satisfying. Almost. “Don’t give me that crap,” she spat back at him, smacking his finger away from her chest. “You’re underestimating me. I’ll just swing back in over their heads while nobody’s looking and—”

“No.” God damn, why didn’t she understand? Adrien grit his teeth and closed his eyes, reminding himself that yelling now would only serve to act as a beacon, drawing unwanted attention. “What part of they have visuals do you not understand?”

“Any of it!” Ladybug hissed back. “What does that even matter?”

“They caught sight of you on the city cameras!” Adrien shook his head, struggling to maintain his control. “How else do you think they knew where you were? Obviously you can’t avoid them—even I have a hard time doing that. If you go back now, you’re almost certain to get caught by another.”

“Cameras?” she asked incredulously. “What cameras?”

For one wheeling moment Adrien gaped at her, understanding slowly dawning on him. She actually didn’t know—if he had needed proof that she had been gone from Paris, this was it.

“They installed them last year,” he explained with strained patience. He ran a hand over his face. “For added security. They put cameras in several public areas as an additional crime deterrent. And you swung your pretty little self right past one of them.”

Watching the understanding creep across her face would have been funny in any other circumstance. “You mean I can’t get home?” she asked, face crumpling.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” he replied forcefully. “So just find somewhere to crash—not on the East side of the district, and you’ll be fine.”

“I can’t,” she whispered. There was a look of pure horror on her face. “I don’t know anyone....”

Perfect. What a perfect steaming pile of dog shit this was. Adrien snarled, just as angry with himself as with her. He shouldn’t care. There was absolutely no reason for him to concern himself with her problems. It was her own goddamn fault that she had gotten into this mess. And what did he owe her? Absolutely nothing. Already tonight he had put his reputation with the force on the line, simply to cover her ass for reasons that he still failed to understand. He had no doubts—he would be paying for that in some way, and he was sure the price wasn’t going to be pleasant. Why shouldn’t he just leave her—the way that she left me.

But, most frustrating of all, he couldn’t. Just as in some way he had been clinging to a small hope that she hadn’t deceived him, he now found that his perverted, misplaced sense of loyalty would not allow him to just leave her to a fate that she likely deserved. Despite his anger, despite his hurt, despite the fact that she had dug her own grave, he couldn’t just leave his former partner completely helpless and stranded.

Adrien passed a hand in front of his face, paused, then did it again. He was an idiot. A raving, stupid idiot.

“My apartment.”

Ladybug’s eyes narrowed, watching him with closely guarded confusion. Struggling to keep his jaw from clenching, Adrien repeated, “My apartment. It’s not on the East side, and it’s nearby. I’m familiar with the area and know how to avoid the cameras around here, at least.”

He watched as the hesitation and disbelief played out across her face, along with an overwhelming amount of relief, which she obviously tried to hide. “You would—”

He held up a hand, immediately silencing her. “Don’t question it, or I might come to my senses and change my mind.”

She held herself back, nodding slowly as she loosed a quiet, relieved sigh. “Thank you.”

For a moment she was just Ladybug, the partner he had known, relying on him in a moment of need. No, not just—she hadn’t grown much in the last seven years, and yet she was obviously older, a fiery, breath-stealing reminder that things were different. She stood there, dredging up memories of everything he had longed for for years on end, the person he would have willingly risked everything for. Carefully he blacked out the memory of all of his boyhood fantasies, which had always been eerily similar in circumstance, if not in tone. He wasn’t fifteen anymore—or eighteen, for that matter. He ignored the way his awareness of her burned just beneath his skin. Unlike the child he had been all those years ago, Adrien now well knew the difference between desire and pure stupidity. At least, that’s what he told himself repeatedly.

This was going to be a very long, very difficult night.

“Come on,” he said gruffly, turning on his heel. “It’s this way. I’ll point out the cameras. You just make sure that you don’t fuck up.”

Chapter Text

Chat paused ahead of Marinette, and she slowly came to a stop at his side. He was looking out across the rooftop to the next building over, a six story apartment building, but she couldn’t help a worried glance at the surrounding streets. It had taken only a matter of minutes to make their way here, and she hadn’t seen a single sign of the police. Still, they hadn’t made it back yet, and she didn’t want to risk getting sloppy before she was sure the coast was clear. She didn’t need Paris knowing she was back—just thinking about the possible storm it could cause left her breathless.

She glanced back at Chat, who was still silently surveying the building. She almost asked if this was his apartment, but she bit the question back. He had barely said a word on the way here, only a sparse few comments about where to avoid.

He was pissed.

No, pissed didn’t do it justice. The breadth and scope of his anger squeezed the air right out of her lungs. It was a thick, layered thing—anger that she had left, anger that she had come back, anger that she had dragged him into this mess with her, with pain and disgust woven so intricately between them that she could barely tell them apart.

“We need to get onto the roof,” he said suddenly, not bothering to look at her.

“Do you want me to swing—”

“No.” His voice was flat as he cut her off. Finally, with a small,annoyed sigh, he turned to her. “I’m more familiar with the building. It’ll just be easier if I do it.”

Marinette had about half a moment to be confused before Chat moved forward and snaked an arm around her waist. “Don’t fall,” he told her wryly.

Then they were yanked up as he extended his baton below them. Disoriented by the sudden change, Marinette tightened her arm across his back, trying to ignore the way that his arm held her firmly pressed against him. Despite his quipped remark, his strong grip ensured that she wouldn’t slip.

The air streamed past them as the buildings below slowly became smaller. Up, up, until they were rising even higher than the apartment building. Suddenly panicked, Marinette wrenched her eyes to the streets below. They were too visible up here. What was he doing? Had she misunderstood? Maybe she shouldn’t have trusted Chat. She had thought, even with his new allegiances, that he wouldn’t rat her out, but maybe—

Her stomach dropped away, and Marinette quickly looked forward as she realized that they were leaning too far, tilting in toward the apartment, falling. A million butterflies burst to life in her stomach, fluttering nauseatingly as they fell. A brand new concern replaced her fear of being spotted, and she looked horrified to Chat.

He didn’t seem concerned. In fact, he was staring with intent concentration somewhere below them. She followed his gaze, realizing he was judging the distance to the roof of the apartment.

Instantly, a sense of calm washed over her, even as the butterflies continued their nervous flight in her stomach. He knew what he was doing, and he wasn’t going to let them fall.

They gained momentum as they headed down, and Marinette watched with an oddly nervous serenity as the concrete roof crept ever closer. How on Earth were they going to land on that without breaking their legs?

Then Chat reached an arm down and under her knees, holding her bridal style. She had only a brief moment to marvel at the fact that he had so quickly retracted his baton before he landed on the roof with a solid thud and a grunt, the force of their fall pushing him down onto one knee. He let out a harsh breath through his teeth as he lowered her down onto the roof.

“Are you okay?” she asked, watching his face closely with concern.

He grimaced, waving her off. “I just should have landed on the other knee,” he said, rubbing a hand tenderly on his left thigh.

“Were you hurt during the fight?” Guilt suddenly overwhelmed her. She hadn’t seen him take a blow to the leg, but she also hadn’t seen his entire side of the fight.

“It’s fine,” he told her, voice clipped. He pushed himself up to standing, and she was reminded once again just how much he towered over her. For a heartbeat she couldn’t breathe as he looked down at her. Then his gaze slid away and he walked to the edge of the roof. Marinette allowed herself a silent, relieved breath.

She followed him over to the edge, glancing around nervously. “What if someone heard us land?”

“They didn’t.”

Marinette waited for a further explanation. When he didn’t provide one, she bit her tongue, refusing to press the issue. Still, she couldn’t help the nervous hammering of her heart. You’re still out in the open, she reminded herself. You’re not in the clear just yet.

Her stomach twisted, and Marinette pressed her lips tightly together. She had been so worried, back in the alleyway—she still was, even now. She had never expected Chat to call the police, for him to be working with them. If anyone found out that she was back—that Ladybug was back—things might get messy. All she had wanted to do was slip away unnoticed. She had never intended for any of this.

Oh Tikki, you were so right, she thought forlornly. It had been ten years, but apparently she still needed to be reminded that Tikki’s advice rarely led her astray.

“That balcony,” Chat said, pointing to a small concrete porch several feet below them. Marinette nodded, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand. There would be plenty of time to beat herself up over it once she was inside.

Chat dropped down first. He landed gracefully, though she couldn’t help noticing now that he favored his left leg. Marinette quickly judged the distance, then dropped herself over the edge. There was a two second span of falling, then her feet landed solidly on the balcony and she crouched into the landing.

Chat was already sliding open the glass door. He stepped inside, then paused, waiting for her to follow. With a deep breath, Marinette pushed away any of her lingering hesitations and followed him in.

She looked around the dark apartment as he slid the door closed behind her. In the moonlight, she could see they had entered a living room area, with a couch, coffee table, and television. Further in, she could make out the shape of counters and a refrigerator.

There was a clanking hiss, and suddenly the apartment was drenched in shadows. Marinette spun around to see that Chat had closed the curtains. Instantly she felt a rush of gratitude—he wasn’t taking any chances.

She watched silently as the dark shadow of his shape moved across the room. After a moment there was a click, and the entire room blossomed into view.

It was … nice. Marinette wasn’t sure what she had been expecting. Perhaps the problem was that she hadn’t been expecting anything.

Looking around, little details stood out. The room was clean—spotless, even. The carpet looked recently vacuumed, and there were no clothes or papers draped across the furniture or floor, unlike in her own room. The furniture itself was simple, but elegant: a sleek black couch and matching black chair that provided a contrast to the white carpeting, the glass coffee table and TV stand. She caught sight of a PS4 near the TV, which wasn’t much of a surprise, but even that was tucked away neatly, the controls wound up. There was a square dining table nestled into a dining alcove, with the kitchen sitting on the other side at the far side of the apartment. The whole place hinted to a side of Chat that she had never glimpsed, a home life that she had never let herself imagine.

“You can stay the night,” Chat said, dragging her attention back to him. “But in the morning, you need to head out. Just this once—I’m not going to stick my neck out for you again.”

It was as if he had dumped a bucket of ice water over her head. Immediately all of the twirled, tangled emotions from earlier came rushing back. “Right,” she replied quietly, struggling to find the proper words to say. “Thank you.”

He didn’t reply. Instead, without a word, he disappeared through one of the doors towards the back of the apartment. Marinette watched him with a rising sense of incredulity. Was he just going to leave her standing out here for the rest of the night?

But a few moments later he reappeared, carrying an armful of blankets and a pillow. She stepped forward, ready to take the blankets from him, but Chat ignored her, instead sweeping past and dropping them onto the couch.

“You don’t have to ignore me, you know,” she told him, struggling to keep her rising frustration from leaking into her voice.

He didn’t reply as he bent over the couch and started tucking in the blankets.

Marinette closed her eyes, taking a slow, painful breath. “At least let me make my own bed.”

“I’m sleeping here.”

Surprised, Marinette looked over to find Chat watching her with a guarded look. “You can sleep in my room,” he added, gesturing towards the room he had gotten the blankets from. “Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s very late, and I am very tired.”

The abrupt dismissal left Marinette momentarily speechless. She opened her mouth to argue, then paused. Chat turned away, returning to fixing his temporary bed.

It felt as if the room was breaking into pieces around her, large cracks running up and down the walls and ceiling.

“Chat…” She paused, picking her words carefully. “Can’t we just talk? There’s—”

He spun on her with a hard glare, and the words withered on her tongue.

“Talk?” he asked, dropping the blanket he had been holding. “Now you want to talk? Well I’m sorry, but you’re several years too late.”

“I know,” she cut in quickly, afraid that he would shut her down again. “But it isn’t what you think. It was an accident. I couldn’t—”

“I don’t want your excuses.” His gaze was almost hostile now, his voice cold, twisting into her gut like a knife. “I waited a long time for you to come back. Eventually, I came to my senses and gave up.”

“That’s it?” she asked, her own anger flaring. “You’re not even going to give me a chance to explain myself?”

“Seven years of silence speaks pretty loudly for itself.”

“I’m sorry.” Her heart was hammering, chest torn between anguish and anger. “I never meant for it to wind up like this.”

Chat was silent for a moment, an unreadable mix of emotions passing across his face. For just a moment, standing there watching each other, she could almost fool herself into believing that nothing had changed. Then his brows lowered into a frown.

“You know, I’m not very inclined to believe you.” He turned away, tearing her heart out with him.

“And in the morning?” she pressed, watching as he walked toward the kitchen. “What then?”

He paused at a cabinet, not bothering to look her way as he pulled out a glass. “In the morning, you leave, and we just leave it at that.”

The words blindsided her, leaving her speechless yet again. There was no heat to them, no anything. It would have been better if he had simply started yelling at her again. At least then she would know how to react.

He filled his glass with water, then made his way back over to the couch. She watched him, struggling to form some sort of reply. She couldn’t just leave it like this.

Chat set his cup down on the coffee table, then turned back to her. “Listen,” he told her, voice eerily flat. “I’m going to bed now. So if you could just—”

“No.”

The word felt too good leaving her mouth. She pinned him with a glare.

“I refuse to accept that we can’t at least talk this out. You’re my partner—”

“Just stop!” Chat said loudly, startling her. He took a step toward her, towering over her again. She had to crane her head back to meet his glare. “We stopped being partners the day you left me.”

The pain in his glare was overwhelming, and Marinette shook her head insistently, hoping desperately for some way to make him understand. “There was an accident on the highway,” she explained. “I had a flight—”

“What a convenient excuse,” Chat hissed, bending so that his face was only inches from her own. Marinette’s heart nearly stopped, choked by their proximity. She forced her mind to start working again.

“How can I apologize if you’re not even going to believe me?” she spat back, squaring her shoulders and meeting his gaze. She leaned in closer, ignoring the way her skin prickled at the tension between them.

“I don’t want your apologies,” he replied. His voice was low, but alarmingly loud in her ears. “I don’t want to see you. I just want to move on and not have to deal with any of this anymore.”

“And I won’t accept that.” She narrowed her eyes, trying not to notice the feel of his breath fanning across her face. “Because I hate that I hurt you, and—”

Chat reared back, anger flaring in his eyes. “I’m. Fine,” he gritted out, voice a low growl that inched down her spine.

“No, you’re not!” Marinette yelled back. She shook her head. “None of this is fine!”

“That is not my fault,” Chat snapped. “You started all of this. I’m merely putting this whole ordeal out of its misery, since you don’t seem merciful enough to do it.”

Marinette opened her mouth, ready to argue back, then stopped. He wasn’t going to listen—wasn’t even going to give her the chance to explain herself. The blinding pain that accompanied this realization coursed through her like an electric shock.

She had expected him to be upset, and even for him to yell. But somewhere, deep in the back of her mind, she had always assumed that the hard part would simply be finding him. That once they were reunited, she could apologize, explain the circumstances, and have everything go back to normal.

Normal. The thought made her want to laugh. What even was normal? He was right: they hadn’t had a normal moment between them in a long time. Back then, she had relied on him, known that he would always have her back, that he would protect her even at the risk of his own well being.

Now, she should probably count herself lucky that he hadn’t simply ratted her out. She did laugh at that, hollowly.

He blamed her, and it wasn’t her fault. Not all of it, at least. And yet, though it killed her to admit it, she could understand his anger. She could see why he was throwing the entire blame at her feet.

It made her angry—furious, if she was being honest.

But at the same time, she almost couldn’t fault him for it. Was it any wonder, after so long, that he had made such inaccurate assumptions? Hell, just listening to him made her feel overwhelmingly guilty, as much as she knew that she wasn’t entirely to blame. They had protected each other time and again, but in the end, she hadn’t been able to find a way to protect him from this. And though she hated herself for it, she couldn’t rid herself of the dirty feeling of guilt that clung to her skin.

She looked at him now, re-evaluating. This wasn’t the same Chat with whom she had roamed Paris. He had grown in more ways than one over the past few years. Grown to a place that she couldn’t reach. Grown an armor that she couldn’t pierce. That maybe she shouldn’t pierce, for his own well being.

“I…”

What else was there for her to do? Maybe he was right. Maybe she just needed to finally let him go, rather than force him to endure the suffering any longer. The decision was heartbreaking, and she struggled to fight against the tears that were threatening to work their way into her eyes and causing her throat to clench painfully.

Because he was—

He had been—

She didn’t even know how to put it into words. Her partner. But it had been more than that. The person who could make her smile, no matter how down she was feeling down. The person who supported her when she didn’t even know she needed it. Who made her want to be better.

Damn. With painful reluctance, she slowly realized that she had loved him, probably, way back then. Not that she had ever allowed herself to see it, because she was always thinking about Adrien Agreste. Chat’s words rang through her mind: too late, too late.

“... you’re right.”

The words must have taken him off guard, because his eyes widened ever so slightly.

Heart tearing in two, she forced herself to push the rest of the words out. “I can’t force you to listen. If that’s what you want—” She wanted to scream. To make him understand. To not stop fighting, even if it meant going against him. But, more than that, she wanted to do right by him. “—then, okay. I… I won’t press it.”

Her throat wasn’t working, and she had to swallow against a painful lump before she could speak again. “Good night, Chat.”

For a long moment he simply stared at her. She did her best to sear the image of him into her mind: sharp, clear green eyes, tousled hair, the hesitant line of his shoulders and back.

Then he shifted, disturbing the air between them. “Good night, Ladybug.”

Her entire body felt like it was buzzing, that if she could somehow just communicate and reach out to him that she could make him understand how she felt—something even she didn’t quite comprehend.

Instead, she offered him a small, weak smile. Then she turned and made her way to the bedroom. His bedroom—oh god. She nearly stumbled at the thought. Somehow she forced herself to breathe and keep her steps even.

Marinette closed the door behind her quickly, not allowing herself to look back. Better to make a clean break, right? She leaned her head back against the door, taking a few deep breaths. She glanced at the windows, which were thankfully covered by thin white curtains, before whispering, “Spots off.”

The transformation lifted, and suddenly Tikki was hovering anxiously in front of her. “Mari—”

“Shhh,” Marinette replied quickly with a finger to her lips. The apartment wasn’t that big, and she hadn’t forgotten his heightened sense of hearing.

Tikki swooped in, wrapping her arms in a tiny hug against Marinette’s cheek. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered. The words only choked Marinette further, the lump in her throat bobbing painfully. She patted Tikki gently on the head, then took stock of the room.

It was as eerily clean as the main living area. The only dirty clothes were piled neatly into a hamper in the corner. The bed was made, if not perfectly, then at least well. There were no mementos or photos. Guiltily, Marinette realized that even if there had been, she couldn’t have betrayed Chat’s trust by looking at them. At least, what little trust he had left for her.

Marinette bit the inside of her cheek, trying to force those thoughts away. Then, with a deep breath, she stepped away from the door. “C’mon, Tikki,” she said quietly. “Time for bed.”

She took off her purse and laid it on top of the dresser. She slipped off her sandals and left them on the ground nearby. For a moment, she considered trying to scavenge up some PJs, but…

But it felt far too personal and invasive. She would just sleep in her loose sun dress—it was light enough that it could almost pass as a nightgown, anyways.

She flicked off the light, then carefully made her way back to the bed and slipped under the covers. Almost immediately she regretted it. The pillows, the sheets, the blanket—they all smelled of him. She hadn’t really noticed it earlier, when he had lifted her into the air. But here, nestled in a cocoon of his scent, she immediately recognized it. It was overwhelming, and made her head feel hazy.

Tikki put a hand to her cheek again, and Marinette was surprised to realize the kwami had wiped away a stray tear.

“What am I going to do?” Marinette asked, taking a deep breath to keep herself from bursting into full out sobs. “Everything’s ruined.”

“You can figure that out in the morning,” Tikki promised her quietly. “You should get some rest now.”

Marinette nodded mutely, rolling over onto her side. She started a moment later as she caught the low sound of Chat talking in the room outside.

Talking to his own kwami, she realized. She listened to the sound of his voice, trying to push down the crazy longing that it evoked in her chest.

It wasn’t fair to want him now—not to him, and not to herself. She had had three years to come to that conclusion, and she had stubbornly refused. At the time, she had only had eyes for Adrien.

But she hadn’t even heard from or thought about Adrien in years. And Chat was here.

She immediately rejected that thought, shoving it to the farthest reaches of her mind. First of all, she reminded herself brutally, he hates you. That alone should have been reason enough. And besides that, it was obvious that he was only helping her out of some lingering sense of obligation. Really, he was risking himself to help her—again. Didn’t Chat deserve more respect than this?

The low rumble of Chat’s voice subsided. Marinette glanced at the clock and saw that it was 2:16. He was probably going to bed. You should too, she chided herself.

She tried.

But the more she forced herself to calm down and relax, the faster her thoughts whirled. Could it really be over? For one crazy moment she was ready to leap out of bed, march into the living room, and demand that he listen to her.

Without your costume? she asked herself sarcastically. Because that would make everything better. Not. At this point, he probably didn’t even want to know anymore.

God. Why hadn’t she just given in to him, all those years ago? She had been so worried about making sure that their identities couldn’t be used against them. And, if she was being honest, her own worry that he would look at her—the real her—and see her for the fake that she really was.

If she had only just told him. Then, when she left, he would have understood. They wouldn’t be here right now. Maybe, just maybe, they could have worked things out—

Stop. She was letting herself get caught up in the moment. Just because she had finally realized that she had loved him back when they were still partners, that didn’t mean anything about now. He hated her.

Which just led her right back to the beginning: all of her anger, her undeserved guilt, the low burn ache of her past feelings.

It was a downward spiral. She could see that very clearly, but she couldn’t manage to wrench herself out of it. The entire process was punctuated by the gentle scent of Chat’s sheets.

Finally, ready to lose her mind, Marinette sat up.

Tikki was snoring quietly on the bed beside her. Otherwise, the apartment was silent. Marinette looked up at Chat’s alarm clock—3:02.

Silently she eased herself out from under the covers. She sat on the edge of the bed, straining to hear any stray sounds.

Marinette tried to breath, shoving the swirling memories and arguments aside. Her mouth was uncomfortably dry.

Just go to bed, she told herself, but she knew it was hopeless. At this rate, she was going to lie awake all night and not have enough energy to drag herself home in the morning.

As quietly as she could, she stood up. She had lay long enough in the dark that her eyes had adjusted somewhat, so that the room presented itself in a series of shapes to avoid.

At the door, she paused. If he was awake…

Nonsense. Chat had made it very clear how tired he was. He was probably out cold. Still, she took great care in twisting the handle, praying that the hinges wouldn’t squeak.

The main room of the apartment was even darker than it had been when they first arrived, now that the moonlight had vanished from the edges of the curtains. Marinette carefully padded her way barefoot across the room to the kitchen.

She eased open the cabinet that Chat had taken his cup from and slowly reached inside. Her fingers pressed against cool glass, and just as slowly she took out a cup for herself.

She winced as the small stream of cold water leapt to life, trickling down into her cup. She filled it only part way, then quickly pushed the faucet down.

The water was cool and refreshing, and she downed the entire glass in three gulps. Feeling slightly better, she carefully placed the glass in the bottom of the sink and wiped her lips.

“What are you doing?”

Marinette yelped, spinning around to find Chat’s dark shape standing only three feet behind her.

Fear took over, her mind going blank. She wasn’t transformed. And he was standing right in front of her. She was so dead—

Reason suddenly snapped back into place. He was standing in front of her, but she couldn’t make out any of the features of his face, just a general sense of his angles and curves.

Her hammering heart slowed somewhat as she realized that he wasn’t transformed and thus couldn’t make out her own face in the dark, either.

“Water,” she croaked out, gesturing behind her to the sink. She half-laughed in delirious relief. “Damn, you scared me. I just—”

She was babbling. Oh god, shut up.

“Sorry,” she added quickly, wanting to sink into the floor. So much for a quick, clean break.

There was a pause, and Chat shifted, his clothes rustling. “No,” he said finally. “I should have thought to offer you a drink. Do you need anything else?”

Marinette opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t go from accusing and venomous to kind, generous host on the drop of a hat. Her already abused heart couldn’t handle it.

“I’m good,” she forced herself to say. “So long as you don’t give me any more heart attacks.”

“I wasn’t the one sneaking around someone else’s apartment,” he pointed out, though the edge that had been in his voice earlier had dulled.

Cautiously optimistic, Marinette gave a soft chuckle. “No, you were just sneaking around your own apartment. Are you actually a goddamn cat or something?”

That elicited a laugh from him, and Marinette felt her heart rate spike. “Sorry,” he replied, “just a force of habit.”

“To avoid all the cameras?”

She froze, instantly regretting it. Why did she have to go and mention the very thing that had caused him to yell at her in the first place?

But Chat chuckled. “Yeah, actually. I don’t know where all of Paris’ cameras are, but I scoped out the ones near here, at least, so that I could come and go in privacy.”

Marinette felt herself relax ever so slightly. She wasn’t quite sure how, but they were having a conversation—a normal conversation. In the dark. At three in the morning. In his kitchen. Out of costume. But she wasn’t about to argue over the details.

“It still seems so weird to me,” she conceded. “I mean, they had a lot of cameras in New York, but those were mainly street cams or on the subway.”

There was a long, drawn out silence, and Marinette felt her stomach slowly clench with dread.

“Oh,” Chat said finally, his voice suddenly much cooler. “New York. Is that where you were?”

Shit. Marinette took a deep breath, struggling to figure out how to respond. Finally, she settled on a simple, “Yeah.”

“How lovely.”

She cringed, wishing should could just snatch the admission back and somehow keep things at the happy, if tenuous, medium they had established.

“That must have been a lot of fun,” he added.

“I didn’t go for the fun of it,” she replied quickly, hoping against hope that he would understand. “It was a ton of work.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Chat,” she said imploringly, feeling her heart sink. She strained to see him more clearly through the shadows, watching his face. “Please, can’t you just hear me out?”

“Oh, right,” he replied. “Forgive me for not asking you more about whatever selfish reasons dragged you off to the big apple.”

It was as if something snapped in her chest. An eerie, trembling calm settled over her. “What?” she asked, voice low.

“I’m sure it’s a delightful story,” he continued, folding his arms across his chest. “I’ve heard the shopping there is phenomenal.”

“It wasn’t like that,” she hissed. “I went there for my education. I spent four years studying my ass off, and another three running myself into the ground.”

“Has it never occurred to you that I was doing the same thing, right here in Paris?” There was a rising hint of fire in his tone, but Marinette ignored it.

“Oh, excuse me,” she snapped, voice rising. “I didn’t realize that choosing to go to my dream school made me such a terrible person!”

“It’s not about the dream school!” Chat shouted back, leaning in towards her accusingly. “You left me without a word!”

“And I’ve already tried to tell you that I didn’t mean to!” she yelled, chest feeling ready to split open from the ache of it. “I wanted us to meet before I left! I wanted to keep in contact, even after I moved! But that day, there were things beyond my control!”

“But how long did you know this for!?” he asked incredulously. “When were you even going to bother telling me? The day you were leaving!?”

“Yes, okay?” she spat. “I waited, and it was wrong. But—”

“No!” he yelled, cutting her off. “Time and again, you chose not to trust me.”

“Because I didn’t want you to feel guilty!” The words were pouring out of her now, an unstoppable flow. “If you had known that there was a ticking expiration date on that summer, you would have beat yourself up over trying to defeat him in time!”

He opened his mouth, but she pushed on ruthlessly. “No—don’t try to deny it, you know you would have! I was worried sick about you! What if you took a stupid risk to try to defeat him faster? And what would have happened if we didn’t win in time!? There was no way I could have left—I was ready to give it all up and stay in Paris to see the fight through to the end. I didn’t want you to have to bear any kind of guilt!”

“And so instead you just didn’t tell me at all and left for seven years!?” His voice was an odd mix of overwhelming anger and incredulous surprise, as if he wasn’t even sure how to deal with this information.

“How many times do I have to tell you!?” she pushed back, taking a step closer to him for emphasis. “It was an accident! I tried to get to the park, but everything from that day on went wrong.”

Chat made a frustrated, desperate noise in the back of his throat. “Quit yanking me around!” he told her, suddenly looming over her. Her pulse stumbled. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. I can’t do this!”

She opened her mouth, not even sure what she was going to say, but suddenly he had leaned forward and was kissing her. For half a second she was frozen, taken completely off guard as his mouth moved desperately against hers and his hands gripped her arms. And then she broke, letting her lips match his pace, parting them as his tongue suddenly shifted from reaming her out to breaking her down. His hands were everywhere—on her hip, up her back, clutching her side, woven into her hair. Somewhere, deep in the recesses of her mind, a small voice was screaming at her, trying to drag her back to reason. Because this was so wrong.

But he felt good. Everything about him was hot. His breath. His touch. The feel of his body pressing up against hers, backing her into the sink.

She was dizzy, every nerve in her body jumping in shock. Damn. Why was he such a good kisser? She had kissed plenty of guys, but even with Bryce—

Chat groaned into her mouth, the thrum of his voice echoing down every inch of her body, and all thought was reduced to ashes. Then his hands were on her ass, hoisting her up onto the counter. The motion set her completely off balance, and she barely managed to throw one of her hands back onto the countertop to catch herself as he leaned into her.

He kept pressing closer, sturdy arms wrapping around her back and holding her in place. She found her own arms sliding around his shoulders, one hand inching into his hair, which was ridiculously soft. She slipped her own tongue into his mouth, mind reeling at the way he moved against her in response.

Then suddenly there was only air as his mouth left hers. Her breathing sounded harsh in the dark, overpowered only by the loud, heady noise of his own breaths. His mouth reconnected, this time on her neck, and there were stars flashing through the dark room, his lips and tongue doing things against her skin that made her whimper and forget which way was up. His hips were pressing against her knees, and she shifted, widening her legs and then wrapping them around him, liking the feel of his body pressed entirely up against hers.

He nipped at her collarbone, and she pushed her hips into him in surprise, earning herself another of his low, throaty groans.

His grip tightened around her, then he lifted her up—like she was nothing—and the room swayed dangerously. She buried her fingers in his hair, letting her lips travels against his temple, brush across his ear, taking delicious pleasure in the small shiver she elicited from him.

Her stomach swooped as he lowered her suddenly, and then he was pressing her into the bed. For a brief moment she panicked, realizing where this was heading very quickly.

I shouldn’t—

His mouth attacked hers once more, and she violently shoved any protests from her mind. Reason be damned.

Chapter Text

Slowly, Marinette became aware of the fact that she was awake. It was an odd sensation, her mind slowly waking up even as her exhausted body refused to move.

Not that that was really surprising. It had been a long night, and she—

She had slept with Chat.

Oh fuck. She had slept with Chat Noir.

The thought startled her the rest of the way awake, and she suddenly sat up. The sheets fell away, revealing that she did not have her dress on and only further confirming what she already knew. She glanced wildly around, looking down at the bed.

To where Chat laid next to her.

Except it wasn’t Chat next to her.

With growing horror, Marinette realized that she had been lying next to Adrien Agreste.

No. No, no, no. Her brain immediately tried to reject the idea, but there was no denying it. He looked different than she remembered, of course—older. But she had spent years staring dreamily at that face—had plastered it all over her walls and computer. She couldn’t not recognize him.

But that meant—

Dread drenched her entirely, body and soul. She hadn’t meant to look. She hadn’t even been thinking straight—it was first thing in the morning, and—

Adrien is Chat Noir?

She shouldn’t know this. If he had wanted her to know, he would have told her—

Shit. She had slept with Adrien? Her heart swelled, the lingering teenager in her beaming—

He hated her. The realization crashed down on her violently, momentarily taking all other thought with it.

He hated her—or, at the very least, he was exceedingly pissed with her. Could you sleep with someone you hated? It was a stupid question—she already knew the answer, and it made her stomach turn. As good as last night had been, she couldn’t deny that the entire affair had been somewhat … aggressive.

A part of her wanted to believe that last night meant that things were good between them now. But Marinette knew the truth of the matter was that one night together was not going to magically fix everything. She had finally explained herself, yes. But Chat—Adrien—had never really accepted her apologies. Honestly, if anything he had seemed more upset to learn the truth.

Marinette’s stomach flip flopped. What would happen when he woke up? Would he be just as mad? More so? And what was she supposed to do—wait for him to wake up and discover that she knew, now? For him to figure out who she was?

Her heart was hammering painfully, making it hard to breathe. She had always worried what Chat would think of her when he discovered who she was. But this? This was completely different. This wasn’t just Chat—it was Adrien.

A part of her mind tried to reason that it shouldn’t even matter. She hadn’t thought about Adrien in years. He was just some high school crush, right? If someone had told her yesterday that she could talk to Adrien, she would have liked to catch up with him, but she wouldn’t have become flustered like she always used to be around him.

But he wasn’t just Adrien. He was Chat. There was no longer the distance that was associated with a mere crush. The entire situation was making her head spin dangerously.

She abruptly stood up, not even fully sure herself what she was planning to do. All she knew was that she couldn’t deal with another fight with him. Not like this.

Marinette quickly grabbed her clothes from the floor, yanking them on as she looked around wildly for her purse. She would need to grab Tikki—

Marinette froze in horror. Tikki. Where was she? Last she had seen the kwami, she had been sleeping on the bed—

Mortified, Marinette slammed her sandals onto her feet. Breathe. Breathe! There was no way Tikki could have slept through that. Marinette’s face turned beet red, her mind dredging up memories of last night that she really didn’t need to deal with right now.

Thoughts swirling a million miles a minute, Marinette grabbed her purse and headed for the main room, praying that Tikki had spent the night camped out there.

“You’re just going to leave?”

His words stopped her cold, her hand on the frame to his bedroom door, her heart freezing as she realized he was awake.

Yes. No. Even she had no idea. What could she do? There was literally no good option to deal with this complete and utter clusterfuck. Her mind stalled, and the only comprehensible thought that wiggled its way to the surface was that she could hear them both—hear him—in his voice. How had she never put the pieces together before?

Adrien loosed a frustrated breath. “So keeping your identity secret is that important to you, huh?”

She could hear the hurt and betrayal in his voice, though he was doing a fairly decent job of trying to mask it behind his very evident anger. It tolled through her like a bell, creating cracks and fissures as it went.

“Just know this,” he said, voice low. “If you come back in another seven years, don’t expect me to be waiting.”

His words obliterated her.

Last night, when she had made the decision to make a clean break with him, she had meant it.
But she hadn’t understood then. She had thought that was what he needed. That he was pushing her away, and that leaving would somehow at least fix things, even if only to a small degree.

But he had made the first move last night. She couldn’t deny that she had wanted it. Everything was different now that she realized that, even if he was still angry with her, he wanted her. Suddenly she was unsure if she had ever understood anything. She had obviously never understood him completely—not as Chat, and definitely not as Adrien.

She didn’t want him to know—that she was Ladybug, that she had hurt him for so many years, that she was hurting him yet again.

And yet, at the same time, she knew that she would never be able to live with herself now that she had discovered his secret. He deserved to know. And—

And if he knew, then maybe, just maybe, even if she left this morning, even if he was furious with her, even if he never wanted to see her again—

Maybe, down the line, if his anger began to subside, he would finally be able to find her.
He deserved to know.

Carefully, Marinette turned around to face him. Even frowning, he was the portrait of radiance in his perfectly mussed bed.

“Adrien…” The words caught in her throat, threatening to dry up completely. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

She had just enough time to see Adrien’s eyes widen, shocked recognition spreading across his face, before she rushed out of the room. She knew that she should have waited longer—should have given him the chance to say something. But she couldn’t bring herself to wait and see what the next emotion on his face would be.

Marinette anxiously glanced around the apartment. She needed to find Tikki. Now.

Her stomach crawled uneasily, all too aware of Adrien’s presence in the bedroom behind her. Then, with debilitating relief, she saw Tikki curled up on the couch, a small black kwami lying beside her.

Marinette paused, taking a deep breath.

Maybe this was wrong. Maybe she should go back in there and find some way to fix this.

She tensed, waiting next to the couch. Maybe he would come out here. Tell her to wait. Say something.

The apartment was silent, as if the very room was holding its breath. But after a minute, it became clear that this was simply a ridiculous delusion. He wasn’t coming.

Disappointment flooded her lungs, followed closely by aching despair. Wave after wave crashed over her, drowning out all other emotion.

She didn’t dare go back in the bedroom. The thought of facing his outrage was too unbearable. She needed to be gone. Now.

Gently but quickly, she scooped Tikki up in her palm, then hurried to the front door, carefully refusing to look toward the bedroom.

Marinette opened the door into an unfamiliar hallway. Disoriented, it took her a moment to remember that she had come in from the balcony the night before. She hurriedly closed the door and started off down the hall—which was thankfully short—to the elevator on the other end.

“Marinette?” Tikki asked groggily, stirring in her palm.

She jabbed at the elevator’s call button. To her enormous relief, the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. She rushed inside and quickly pressed for the ground floor. Then, as the doors slid closed, she leaned against the railing and let her head fall back against the wall.

Marinette felt Tikki’s weight leave her hand, and glanced down to find Tikki watching her carefully.

“Are you okay?” Tikki asked.

No. She was not okay. The entire world was wrong, and she didn’t know how to fix it.

When she didn’t immediately reply, Tikki fluttered over and sat on her shoulder. “What happened?”

Marinette opened her mouth to reply, then stopped. Her face flushed. “Uh…”

“This morning, I mean,” Tikki amended quickly.

Marinette chided herself—what was she getting all embarrassed about? She had talked with Tikki about her other partners, but this...

“It’s Adrien.”

There was a small silence, and Tikki frowned uncertainly. “What?”

“Adrien Agreste is Chat Noir.” It felt … unsettling to say it out loud. As if by telling Tikki, there was no way to go back from knowing. “I … saw him. Without his mask.”

“... Oh.”

Something in the way she said it felt wrong. Marinette frowned, watching Tikki closely. The kwami didn’t quite meet her eye, and Marinette felt something in her stomach turn sour.

“Did you know?” she asked, aghast.

Tikki didn’t reply, only further cementing Marinette’s suspicions.

“You knew this whole time?” she asked incredulously. The world, which had already broken to pieces too many times over in the last 24 hours, felt as if it was imploding.

Tikki finally met her gaze. “Yes,” she said quietly.

“And you didn’t say anything?!” Seven years flashed before her eyes—seven long years of heartache and guilt, for both her and Adrien. It could have been prevented. All of it. “Why?”

“I’m sorry, Marinette,” Tikki replied. “I couldn’t. It’s part of the magic.” She wasn’t sugar-coating it, simply stating the facts, which only served to emphasize her earnest tone.

Marinette shook her head, still unable to accept it. “Even once Hawk Moth was defeated? Even when we were going to tell each other anyway? Who cares about the magic!? You should have just told me!”

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. Frustrated, Marinette hurried through the apartment lobby to the front door. She pushed open the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk, then froze.

She had no clue where she was.

Biting back a frustrated growl, Marinette turned to the left and started walking. They hadn’t gone all that far last night, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to get home. She just needed to find an intersection that she recognized.

“Marinette,” Tikki whispered. “Can I explain?”

She left it at that, and Marinette knew that Tikki was waiting for her to put on her earpiece so that they wouldn’t attract attention now that they were outside, for all that the street was relatively empty. But she didn’t want to talk. Magic be damned—she could not believe that Tikki had known for so long and had never said a word.

She stalked angrily down the street toward the traffic lights ahead, Tikki silent and still on her shoulder. This was too much to take in. Her mind was already fried after everything that had happened last night. She didn’t want to hear Tikki’s excuses—

That thought dislodged something in her mind, and suddenly Marinette remembered Adrien’s words from last night: I don’t want to hear your excuses.

A flood of new emotions rushed over her. Suddenly, she understood—at least a little—what Adrien had meant, and why he hadn’t wanted to listen. And that realization also made her angrier, even, that somehow, someway, this could have been avoided. Yet she also felt bad for Tikki, because she had just been on the opposite side last night, and she knew how terrible it felt to have someone be furious with her.

With a sigh Marinette slowed down, her shoulders slumping somewhat. She reached into her purse and took out her Bluetooth, then slipped it over her ear.

For a few moments she continued walking in silence, struggling to put her mess of feelings into words.

“I don’t care about the magic,” she said finally, feeling another rush of anger, though this time it was muted. “You still should have told me.”

“It wasn’t a decision,” Tikki replied. Marinette heard the kwami give a tiny sigh. “The magic of the miraculous physically prevents me from revealing the identity of another holder until they reveal themselves. There are deep and powerful oaths woven into the magic, and for good reason. But even if I had tried to break those oaths, I wouldn’t have been able to.”

She knew Tikki was telling the truth. The kwami never lied, and besides that Marinette could hear the honesty in her voice.

Part of her wouldn’t accept it. Tikki could have found a way. She could have written a note, or dropped hints, or done something. But the rest of her knew she was being unfair to think that. Instead, she asked, “How did you even know it was him? Is that part of the magic too?”

“I wasn’t sure at first,” Tikki confessed. “I can sense other kwami. And I kept sensing another kwami whenever we were at school, in the classrooms. I figured it was Plagg, since you were working with Chat Noir at the time. But it took me a while to pin down who Plagg was with.”

Plagg. It was an odd-sounding name, though perhaps no stranger a name than Tikki. Marinette assumed that Plagg must have been the black kwami who she had seen on the couch.

“How did you figure it out?” she asked. Now that the truth was out, as much as it hurt, Marinette wanted to know all of it.

“I assumed it was a boy in one of your classes,” Tikki replied. “It wasn’t until the gaming tournament that I finally realized. When Adrien came over to practice, I sensed Plagg in your room. After that, it became obvious: Plagg’s presence was always strongest when Adrien was nearby, and it wasn’t around whenever Adrien was absent.”

Marinette bit the inside of her cheek, thinking back. Of course she remembered the tournament—her heart had nearly exploded from the chance to spend the entire afternoon with Adrien.

God, he had been right there the entire time. That year, he had literally sat right in front of her in class.

But he had been so different. Adrien was always polite and kind, cool and reserved. Chat was … Chat. Loud, over the top, exasperating, and flirtatious—

Adrien had flirted with her for several YEARS. And she had spent that entire time rolling her eyes at him and brushing it off.

“Tikki,” Marinette moaned, dropping her head into her hands. “I can’t deal with this.”

Tikki patted her shoulder gently. “For now, let’s just focus on getting home. Your parents might be worried.”

“Oh no,” Marinette gasped, mouth falling open in horror. “Mom’s going to be furious. What do I even tell them!?”

Frantically she scoured her mind for any explanation that wouldn’t seem as horrible as the truth.

“Alya!” she said suddenly, heaving a sigh of relief. “Maybe I can say that I couldn’t sleep, so I went to Alya’s apartment!”

“And if your mom asks Alya about it?” Tikki asked skeptically.

“It won’t matter if I ask Alya to cover for me,” Marinette replied, reaching into her purse for her phone.

“And what will you tell Alya?” Tikki prompted.

“I’ll play the best friend card,” Marinette assured Tikki, not feeling quite as confident as she sounded. “Every friend deserves one Get Out of Jail Free situation, right?”

Carefully, she reached up and cupped Tikki in one hand while sliding her earpiece off with the other. She placed them both back into her purse, then quickly punched in Alya’s number.

The phone rang for what felt like an eternity. Finally, Alya answered. “Hello…?” she asked groggily.

“Hey, it’s me.”

Alya yawned loudly on the other end of the line. “Marinette? Do you know what time it is?”

“I … no, actually.”

“It’s eight,” Alya informed her grumpily. “In the morning. On a Sunday.”

“Sorry,” Marinette replied, wincing. “But I really need a favor. If my parents ask, can you say I was over your place last night?”

“Sure,” Alya replied. Marinette heard another jaw-cracking yawn. “Of course I can cover for you. What happened?”

“Ummm,” Marinette said slowly. “I actually really don’t want to talk about it.”

The line went quiet for a moment, and Marinette suddenly felt nervous. Alya was her best friend, but maybe she was asking too much. Why was Tikki always right?

“I’m just worried about you,” Alya said finally. “Where did you even wind up staying?”

“Somewhere safe,” Marinette assured her evasively.

“I didn’t realize you had kept that close in contact with anyone else.” Alya definitely sounded slightly awake, as well as suspicious. Sometimes there were downsides to having a best friend who was a journalist.

“It was no big deal,” Marinette said breezily. “But I don’t want my parents to worry.”

“Yeah, I get it. I’ve got you covered.”

Marinette felt an overwhelming rush of gratitude. “Thank you,” she said earnestly. “I owe you.”

“Yes, you do,” Alya replied with a laugh. Then, after a moment, she added thoughtfully, “This wasn’t some kind of one night stand, was it?”

Marinette choked, tripping over her own feet. She pitched forward, swinging her hands wildly in an attempt to stay upright. Somehow she managed not to fall completely to the ground. Then, breathing heavily, she pulled the phone back to her ear.

“What? Tch—no, of course not,” she said, keeping her tone carefully easy.

“It was, wasn’t it!?” Alya exclaimed, now sounding completely awake. “Oh my god, Mari! Was he hot?”

“Alya, please,” Marinette pleaded. “I really, really don’t want to talk about it.”

Alya made a disgusted noise. “You’re lucky I like you so much. I can’t believe you—keeping all the good details to yourself.”

“It’s not what you think,” Marinette said quickly. Except, well… it sort of was, actually. But Alya definitely didn’t need to know that.

“Uh-huh,” Alya told her flatly. “Sure.”

She was so not convinced.

“Right, well, I have to go,” Marinette told her. It was kind of true. She needed to get home, and she still wasn’t quite sure where she was.

“Alright,” Alya replied, though she still sounded suspicious. “I’ll talk with you later, okay? Don’t forget to send me a picture of you in your outfit.”

My outfit? Marinette thought, completely confused. Which outfit—

Holy hell. Her first day of work outfit. Which was tomorrow.

“Sure!” she replied quickly. “Alright, gotta go, bye!”

As soon as she had hung up, Marinette groaned again. She had completely forgotten about her first day of work! And she still hadn’t unpacked any of her bags! She had so much to do today. Feeling the beginnings of a headache, she picked up her pace. First things first, she needed to get home. Like it or not, she was just going to have to worry about Adrien later.

Chapter Text

“You’re just going to leave?”

Adrien’s voice sounded dead, lips too numb to convey the overwhelming surge of disappointment, frustration, and incredulity that writhed in his stomach.

The words stopped Ladybug short, and she paused in his bedroom doorway. Even now, with the disappointment crushing his chest, he couldn’t help noticing the lovely way her pink sun dress—wrinkled from its night on the floor—ghosted over her waist and hips. Her dark hair was even more tangled than the night before and hung in a messy curtain to her mid back, revealing tantalizing glimpses of her pale skin. Femme fatale, a voice whispered in the back of his mind.

Why was he surprised? He had known she would leave. Even as he had lowered her to the bed, he had known that in the morning she would be gone.

But that hadn’t stopped him from—foolishly—hoping he had guessed wrong. That maybe, somehow, miraculously, he would wake to … what? A conversation? An apology? A future? Even he wasn’t sure what he had been hoping.

Yet there was something completely unacceptable about catching her in the act. If the apartment had been empty when he awoke, it would be beyond his control. He could have cursed her, and himself for being foolish, and then moved on.

Seeing her back hurrying towards the doorway, however—actually watching her in the process of deserting him again … He couldn’t let it go. Not like this.

“Just know this...” His voice caught, and he took a rough breath, forcing the words out. “If you come back in another seven years, don’t expect me to be waiting.”

Adrien could see the way her shoulders tensed in response, still standing frozen at the threshold. Slowly, so slowly, she turned.

“Adrien…”

The combined shock—that she knew his name, that he recognized her face—slammed the breath from his lungs.

Marinette? She was older now than he remembered, but he recognized her nonetheless. He hadn’t seen her in years. Not since she had left to go to school in—

He couldn’t breathe.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her face a crumpled mask of pain and fear. Without giving him a chance to reply, she spun on her heel and rushed into the main room, leaving him stunned on his bed.

For a moment, Adrien’s mind was filled with nothing but white noise. The absence of thought made his entire body feel hollow, left dangling helplessly over the edge of reason.

He could hear her footsteps in the living room. The floor creaked gently beneath her as she moved about. Somehow, that small reality jolted his mind back into gear.

Marinette had been Ladybug. All along. He had known her, seen her on a daily basis, admired her even.

Marinette had left him without a word, stranded for years on end? The thought caused his brain to stall out again—it was inconceivable. Marinette would never have hurt a fly, let alone have callously abandoned her partner.

Not abandon, his mind corrected. Even then she was trying to protect me.

If he could believe her, that was. But somehow, he suspected she was telling the truth. He would have written it off as wishful thinking, except he wanted for it to be a lie—wanted a reason to be mad at her, to blame her for all the years of betrayal.

The creak of Marinette’s feet stilled outside, and silence settled over the apartment.

She was right there. Standing in his apartment. He could simply demand to hear her reasons—the whole story this time, not some muddled, hasty explanation thrown out during a fight.

… Who was a he kidding? He wouldn’t be capable of demanding anything—especially of Ladybug, Marinette or not. Her hurried—albeit failed—attempt at a discreet exit had already proven that she didn’t want anything to do with him.

But maybe, just maybe, she would reconsider. Maybe she would walk back in here, and ...

Chest laced tight with pain, Adrien listened silently on his bed until the floor creaked once more. He caught sight of a flash of pink through the open bedroom door as she hurried across the apartment. A moment later he heard the front door open, then close with a soft, careful click.

Adrien let his eyes fall closed and dropped back onto his pillows with a strained sigh.

This was great. Just great. It was all too much too fast and his mind didn’t know what to do with any of the information it had just received.

Marinette.

He didn’t know how to feel. In a way, he had always pictured Ladybug as unobtainable—someone far beyond his reach, with whom he could only ever catch fleeting moments before reality tore them apart once more. They had been partners, of course, and he had trusted her quite literally with his life. But there had always been a distance between them—a distance that she had insisted upon. And somehow, in his mind, that had translated into Ladybug always being a step above him.

But she had been right there. A step above only in his mind—and, perhaps, a step up at the desk behind him.

Damn it all, they had been friends. He had seen her every day. And even though he had always admired Marinette’s determination and kindness, she had also been that goofy girl from class who stumbled and laughed awkwardly and was far from the perfect picture he had built up in his mind.

What had she even been doing these past several years? Most of what he knew of Marinette had come from Nino and Alya back before they had broken up. He knew she had gone to the US to study fashion—he remembered Alya complaining to him and Nino that she had to leave early that summer.

Adrien’s stomach twisted painfully. Damn, she really wasn’t lying, was she? In that case, they had literally defeated Hawk Moth the day before she left for New York.

His frustration swelled, accompanied by a small flicker of anger. She should have just told him that she would be leaving for school. That way, even when she didn’t show up, he could have understood. He probably could have even pieced it all together—Ladybug leaving for school in the middle of the summer on the exact same day as Marinette would have been a pretty big hint.

Too late now. Dreaming of Could Have Beens wasn’t going to help anything at this point.

Not that there was anything he could do now, either. Adrien was sure that he could track her down—on Facebook, or perhaps through Nino and some of their old classmates. But she didn’t want to be found. The fact that he knew her identity at all was barely more than a small mercy that had emerged of the complete and utter mess that had been the past twelve hours. He didn’t even know how long she would be back in Paris—for all he knew, she could be heading back to New York tomorrow.

He understood so much more, and yet he was still incapable of doing anything about it.

Adrien groaned and rolled onto his side, rubbing at his eyes. He was met with the scent of her—Ladybug—Marinette—and realized too late that he had rolled onto the pillow she had been using. Memories of the night before flashed through his mind—the curve of her back, the harsh sound of her gasps, the captivating way she had fallen to pieces at his touch.

Immediately he sat up, trying to find some way to escape her. He should just wash his sheets, get rid of every last trace of her both here and in his mind—

He should, but he knew that he couldn’t. He glanced ruefully at the pillow—her pillow—and then looked away. He was so fucked.

Grumbling, he finally got out of bed and yanked on a pair of sweats. Considering their late night, it was still fairly early for a Sunday, but there was no way he would be able to fall back to sleep now.

He strode over to the kitchen, willfully ignoring glancing at his front door. He already knew she was gone—there was no point in torturing himself by getting his hopes up. The clock on his microwave was blinking 10:17, and he paused. Damn, she had gotten up early. It had been well past two when they had first gone to bed, and they hadn’t exactly fallen right to sleep.

Just stop, he told himself ruefully. Forcing his mind to think of anything else, he glanced around the kitchen. His eyes lighted on his landline, which was sitting on the counter, and Adrien sighed as he noticed the blinking light. He walked over and hit the Play button, then crossed his arm.

“You have one missed message from Saturday at 6:42 pm,” the machine informed him. There was a moment of silence, then, “Hello, Adrien. This is Nathalie. You father wanted to—”

Frowning, Adrien hit the delete button. He didn’t have the energy to deal with his father right now. Rolling his shoulders, he walked over to the refrigerator and grabbed out a small bottle of milk.

“Oh ouch.”

Surprised, Adrien turned around to shoot a questioning glance at Plagg.

“Maybe she should have been Chat Noir,” Plagg said, shaking his head.

With a slightly annoyed sigh, Adrien walked past the kwami toward his table. “What are you talking about?”

“The claw marks on your back,” Plagg replied wryly.

Adrien stopped short. He craned his neck to try to look over his shoulder, but couldn’t see anything. Frustrated, he reached his free hand behind himself and flinched as his fingertips brushed against a series of scratches.

He was momentarily overcome by a fierce wave of possessive satisfaction—he had elicited that from her—intertwined with the disorienting bludgeon of the reality that its meaning was already in the past.

Angry with himself, Adrien sat at the table and twisted off the milk cap. “She left already,” he said, a bit harsher than he intended. “She isn’t coming back this time.”

Plagg hovered closer, a worried frown creasing his face. “You don’t know that. She might—”

“It’s Marinette,” Adrien said quietly, looking away. “One of my old schoolmates. And she isn’t coming back.”

“Oh,” Plagg said slowly. “You found out, huh?”

Adrien whipped around and pinned the kwami with a hard look. “What?” he demanded. “What do you mean?”

Plagg shrugged apologetically. “I thought it might be her. I sensed Tikki with her on a number of occasions.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” Adrien asked.

Plagg shook his head. “I can’t—the magic wouldn’t let me. And I wasn’t entirely certain it was her.”

With a hopeless sigh Adrien leaned back in his chair. He knew Plagg, and he knew there was no use arguing. Though he could be a trickster and a complete headache, he wouldn’t lie about something this important.

“But now that you know, can’t you just find her again and talk?” Plagg asked with a tilt of his head. “She really sounded sincere last night when she apologized.”

“Plagg.” Adrien met his eyes, then shook his head. “It’s not happening. Let’s just leave it at that.” He tilted his head back and took a sip of milk to emphasize that he was done talking bout it.

Plagg sighed, but finally flittered down to sit on the tabletop. “Alright, well then, when are you planning on going into the station?”

Adrien’s shoulder slumped and he groaned. “Shit, I completely forgot about that.”

“Roux isn’t going to be happy with you,” Plagg reminded him with a sideways glance.

That was putting it nicely. The chief was probably going to have his hide for not reporting in last night. “He’ll live.”

“Yeah, but you might not,” Plagg quipped. “They probably found out she was there.”

“We don’t know anything yet,” Adrien told him firmly. “I’ll go after dark tonight to report. With any luck, Roux will already have gone home.”

“You do know that the ring’s power is bad luck, don’t you?”

Adrien swatted at Plagg, rolling his eyes. “Thanks for the reassurance.” Adrien pushed back his chair and stood up. “Nothing we can do now, at least. I’m gonna go for a run.”

Plagg rolled his eyes. “What you should do is go back to bed. It’s still too early to be awake.”

“Some of us don’t have the luxury of lying around eating cheese all day,” Adrien informed him.

But as he made his way back to his room, Adrien allowed himself to admit that he was more worried about clearing his mind than making sure to get in a morning workout. Right now, he just needed to get out of his apartment. Maybe then he could stop seeing her phantom every time he turned around.

Chapter Text

Adrien slowed his pace as he approached the station, taking a moment to survey the surrounding area. His stomach was tingling with vague worry and he could feel his black ears twitch nervously. But he pushed his uneasiness–and the mess of other exhausted emotions–to the side. He was going to need to stay sharp tonight, and they would just get in the way. He took a deep breath, let his shoulders fall back, and plastered on an easy grin. Then he swaggered up to the building and in through the large front doors.

He didn’t bother to try the second set of doors, which were locked due to the late hour. Instead he pressed the call button and grinned at the small security camera in the corner.

“Come on in,” a familiar voice said over the intercom. There was a low buzz as the doors unlocked. Adrien pulled one of the heavy doors open and strode into the entry foyer. He took stock of the room as he walked to the line of service windows. It was surprisingly quiet, even for so late on a Sunday night. The only other occupant was a man sitting against the far wall, eyes glued to his phone.

Only one of the windows was open at this hour. As Adrien stepped up to it, Alis stopped fiddling with her hair and gave him a grin that rivaled his own. “Here to report?” she asked.

“How’d you guess?” he teased, taking the clipboard from where it sat on the counter.

“I don’t know,” she replied dryly. “I must be a psychic.”

Grin widening, Adrien looked down at the familiar form.

Name. He was tempted to draw a small paw print, but restrained himself. The last time he had done that he had earned himself an earful from Roux. He could save antagonizing the new chief for another night, when he was sure that his hide wasn’t on the line–or at least, not any more than it usually was when Roux was involved. Instead, he wrote in “Chat Noir” in sprawling cursive.

Time In. He glanced through the shatter resistant glass to the clock on the wall in Alis’s office, then wrote “10:41” in the open space.

Reason. He simply wrote “Reporting.” He purposely kept it simple, a small retaliation. Roux had been on his ass recently about every little thing, and it was really starting to get on Adrien’s nerves. It wasn’t like the reason for his visits ever changed. He only ever stopped by to report in. Adrien took a deep breath, waving his irritation off. Not tonight, he told himself firmly. He had bigger battles to worry about.

Done signing in, he looked up and noticed Alis fiddling with her hair again, fluffing it so it covered the red birthmark on the left side of her face. Adrien was pretty sure that the habit was so ingrained that she didn’t even realize she was doing it most of the time.

“How’s Lena been?” he asked, replacing the clipboard on the counter.

Alis shook her head with exasperation, though Adrien caught the way her eyes softened. “She’s anxiously counting down the days left until her summer break right now.”

“Lucky little ducky,” Adrien replied wistfully. “Tell her I’m jealous.” Then, with a sly wink, he added, “And tell her she has a remarkably beautiful mother, too.”

“Enough with the flattery, kid,” Alis told him, waving him off as she fought a grin. “You shouldn’t hit on women who are–what, twice your age? Now get going, I’ll buzz you through.”

Adrien saluted her and headed through the door to the back office.

Officer Jacquet glanced up from his desk as Adrien approached. “You here to make your report?”

“Sure am,” Adrien replied. “Is Thomas around?”

“Nah, he stepped out,” Jacquet told him. To Adrien’s surprise, Jacquet pushed back from his desk and stood up. “I’ll do it for you.”

“Oh,” Adrien said, flashing a smile to mask his surprise. Normally Jacquet was busy sorting through paperwork and assigned one of the other on duty officers to take Adrien’s reports. “Great, thanks. Been a slow night so far?”

“Yeah,” Jacquet said with a shrug as Adrien fell in step beside him. “I suppose that should be a good thing, but the night always seems to pass faster when there’s something going on. Right in here.”

Jacquet held the door to the small meeting room open for Adrien before sliding in behind him. He shut the door with a small click as Adrien took a seat at the table.

“You know the drill,” Jacquet told him blandly, sliding the paperwork across the table. He settled in to wait while Adrien took the pen and paper.

For a moment, Adrien stared at the blank pages in front of him, trying to make up his mind. A part of him knew that he should just tell the truth. If he was caught lying in a police report, he would not only get himself kicked out of his agreement with the force, but would likely also face charges himself.

But he still didn’t understand why Ladybug was so desperate not to get caught. Now that he knew she was Marinette, he was even more confused. Was she hiding something, or had it just been a brash, stupid decision?

“This is why officers are required to make their reports right away.”

Adrien looked up to find Jacquet surveying him with a frown. “It’s easy to forget little details, even just a few minutes after an event. The longer the gap, the harder it is to remember.”

“Yeah…” Adrien said slowly, looking back down at the table. It was probably better for Jacquet to believe that his memory was the cause of his hesitation.

With a sigh, Adrien tightened his grip on the pen and began to recount what had happened the night before. He left any mentions of Ladybug out of it entirely. If he mentioned her now, after conveniently forgetting to mention her presence at all to Faure on Saturday, he would only cause more trouble. He had no doubt Roux would try to turn the entire case around and use it as fodder against him, which was the last thing Adrien needed right now. It would be much better to just stick to one story.

Adrien’s hand was aching by the time he finished writing up his description of the scene. Jacquet picked up the pages and read through them judiciously, his slight, ever present frown slowly growing.

“This is it, then?” Jacquet asked, pinning him with a hard stare.

Adrien nodded. Though his stomach was squirming, he purposefully leaned back in his chair and smiled at Jacquet. “That’s it.”

The officer nodded, then gestured towards the door. “Alright. I’ll add this to file.”

“Great,” Adrien told him, stretching as he stood up from his seat. “Well, I’m heading out then. Hope your shift picks up a bit.”

He barely waited for Jacquet’s grunted reply before hurrying to the door. Somehow, he had lucked out. At the very least, he had been expecting an extended lecture about the necessity of immediately making his reports. Adrien felt a small smile twitch across his lips as he headed back toward the main office.

“Chat Noir. How nice of you to finally show up.”

Adrien’s grin slipped. He stopped, took a deep breath, then plastered a broad smile across his face and turned around.

“Good evening, Chief,” Adrien said, watching the tall man cautiously. “I thought maybe you had gone home already.” You crazy workaholic, he added grimly to himself.

Roux met his grin with a cold stare. “Why don’t you come join me in my office.”

It wasn’t a request.

Adrien felt the muscles in his back and shoulders begin to clench, but he purposefully kept an easy air as he approached the chief. “Sure, sure,” he said lazily. Roux’s frown only grew.

“You head back,” Roux told him. “I’ll be over in a moment.”

Doing his best not to grit his teeth, Adrien headed back past the mostly empty desks of the office–most of the officers who worked desk jobs were only in during normal business hours. There was a light on at Thomas’ desk, but it seemed he still hadn’t returned from whatever he was up to.

When Adrien got back to Roux’s open office door, he hesitated. Was he supposed to go in? He couldn’t remember ever being told to wait in the chief’s office before.

Thankfully, he heard Roux’s footsteps approaching before he had to make a decision.

“Sit,” Roux said firmly, pointing through his open office door to the chair in front of his large, mahogany desk.

Adrien did his best not to feel like he was an unruly student being called in to the principal’s office. Somehow, despite only being perhaps a decade younger than Chief Robert, Roux always managed to make him feel like a child.

He settled into the the chair, watching Roux with a lazy grin as the man walked around to the back of his desk. Rather than sit down, the chief leaned on the back of his chair, pinning Adrien with a stern glare.

“Why didn’t you make your report last night?”

Adrien shrugged nonchalantly, ignoring the way his mouth went dry under that stare. “I got a call from my girlfriend right before I came across the scene,” Adrien explained smoothly. “She was startled by a noise in her apartment and wanted me to come by. I was worried about her, so as soon as I had reported to Officer Faure I headed out.”

Roux’s lips twisted into a tight frown that pinched his brows. “Your girlfriend? I didn’t realize there was a lucky lady in your life.”

Adrien carefully allowed his grin to grow in a cheeky way that he knew Roux hated. “Well, Chief, I don’t like sharing details of my personal life. But I guess the cat’s out of the bag on this one.”

Roux scoffed quietly, and Adrien bit back his exasperation. The man was incapable of appreciating a good pun.

“Do you understand, Chat Noir, why officers are required to make their reports immediately after an event?” Roux’s phrasing made it obvious that the question was rhetorical.

Oh lord, Adrien thought. Here we go.

“It’s because,” Roux pressed, leaning forward over the back of his chair, “the human mind is a feeble thing. It can forget. It can be tricked. It can fool itself. And yet an officer’s detailed report may be the only thing that keeps him safe in the aftermath of an incident. A detailed, written account can help protect your sorry ass in the event that something goes wrong. Those details can help get a criminal off the streets. Lock them behind bars. Bring them to justice. Protect the populace.”

Adrien stopped trying to hold his brittle smile, instead fixing Roux with an unwavering, attentive stare. Despite months of practice, he still found it hard not to roll his eyes at this man, even though Adrien knew such a move would be pure suicide.

He wanted to respect his chief. He really did. He had had nothing but the utmost respect for Chief Robert. And despite the previous chief’s stern nature–or perhaps because of it–Adrien had done his best to never toe the line any more than his already unusual circumstances forced him to.

But Roux … well, Roux hadn’t liked him from day one. Even as an officer, the man had done whatever he could to stand in Adrien’s way from working with the force. Working under him for the past eight months had become an absolute nightmare.

Roux continued to lecture, and Adrien felt his lips tighten ever so slightly. This man liked being in power, and he used it every chance he got to bludgeon Adrien. There was nothing to respect in that.

“And that,” Roux said emphatically, finally winding down, “is why you are to write your report immediately after an event. Are we clear?”

“Yes sir,” Adrien replied dutifully. Quite honestly, he would make sure to file all of his future reports immediately if only to save himself having to sit through another awful lecture.

“Good,” Roux said, finally taking a seat as he nodded. “Now then, how long has Ladybug been back in Paris?”

Adrien didn’t have to feign the way his eyes widened in surprise–the abrupt change in conversation had taken him completely off guard. He shook his head, shooting Roux a disbelieving look. “Ladybug? What on Earth are you talking about?”

Roux’s stare was icy, his lips tweaked upward just slightly at the corners. “Don’t play dumb with me, kid. That was a pretty brash move, ignoring the all hands call.”

Adrien frowned. “All hands call? I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t hear that. Like I said, I left the scene and headed straight to my girlfriend’s house. The call must have come after I turned off my radio.”

Roux clicked his tongue, narrowing his eyes. “Yes, how curious that you suddenly have a girlfriend.”

“Suddenly?” Adrien asked, leaning forward in his seat. He didn’t have to feign his anger. “Since when have I ever shared details of my personal life with the force?”

“Maybe we ought to change that, hm?” Roux asked.

Adrien made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. “That is not part of our agreement, and it’s not up for discussion.”

“We know that Ladybug was at the scene of the crime.”

Adrien frowned, hoping his expression looked confused. Roux couldn’t know, could he? There was no proof. “What are you talking about?” he demanded, knowing his tone of voice was toeing the line. “I haven’t seen Ladybug in seven years. And she definitely wasn’t there last night.”

“Cut the crap,” Roux said firmly, slamming his hands on his desk. “We have video evidence. You’re just digging your own grave with all of these lies.”

“Are you insane?” Adrien asked incredulously. His mind was reeling–was there a video camera in the alley? It was possible. But they hadn’t mentioned that over the radio last night–just a clip of her in the eastern corner of the seventh. “I’m telling you that Ladybug was not there.”

“Listen closely to me, child,” Roux said menacingly. “We have video of your long lost partner swinging about Paris last night, and we have two culprits claiming they fought against her. I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, but I’m telling you right now it’s a very dangerous one.”

Damn, damn, damn. Of course the thugs had spilled about her. But then what was with this cat and mouse game? If Roux actually did have evidence she was there, why was he trying to get Adrien to admit it? Roux had some end game that he wasn’t aware of, and all of Adrien’s instincts were screaming at him to hold his ground and tread carefully.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to imply, sir,” Adrien said carefully. He couldn’t stop his voice from quivering slightly in barely restrained anger. “But I have given you my report. I don’t know what else you want from me.”

Roux leaned back in his chair. “So. That’s how it’s going to be, hm?” he asked slowly. “Shifting allegiances as soon as your spotted little playmate shows up again? I always knew you were a slippery one, but did Robert ever listen? No!”

Adrien stood up abruptly, ignoring his chair as it toppled to the ground behind him. “I have been, and continue to be, completely devoted to the force from the day I signed my contract with Chief Robert.” Adrien’s voice was barely louder than a hiss, and he realized belatedly that his fists were shaking in anger. Before he could stop himself, he added, “Is there anything else you wish to accuse me of, or can I go home now?”

Roux regarded him silently. It was impossible to miss the pure hatred in his gaze, which Adrien met with an equally hard stare. After a moment, Roux replied, “You will be informed when the trial for the culprits will be held. We’ll see how well your story holds up in court. Until then, you’d do best to keep yourself out of any additional trouble.”

Adrien saluted in response, barely restraining the snarl that threatened behind his lips. He bent to right the chair he had knocked over, then headed to the chief’s door.

“Oh, and Chat,” Roux added. Adrien paused with his hand on the handle, not bothering to turn around. “Tell Ladybug to mind her own business. I have no patience to manage another hotheaded hero.”

Fuming, Adrien stormed from the room. What a complete and utter pain in the ass. If they had actual proof that Ladybug was there, on the scene of the crime, he was screwed. Dammit, Marinette! he cursed silently. It didn’t help much–he knew, in the end, that covering her ass had been his decision. But he really didn’t need Roux on his ass anymore than he already was.

“Hey!”

Adrien looked up to see Thomas hailing him from across the office. Smoothing away his frustration, Adrien grinned and waved. “Hey.”

“You got time?” Thomas asked. “I just finished dropping off some paperwork and was about to head on break.”

“Sounds great,” Adrien replied, ignoring how late it was. Waking up tomorrow morning was going to be a bitch, but he hadn’t gotten to chat with Thomas recently.

Thomas broke into a smile. “Great. Let me drop this off at my desk and we can go.”

Adrien waited as Thomas wove over to his desk and set down a folder. As he made his way back, Adrien asked, “Where did you have to go?”

“The mayor’s office,” Thomas replied, rolling his eyes. “The man was demanding to see the files from that vandalism incident from back in March, so Chief sent me over.”

Adrien shook his head ruefully. “At ten o’clock at night? On a Sunday?”

T homas shrugged, though Adrien caught the quiet sigh that accompanied it. “Hey, if the Chief says hop, then I hop. Who am I to question the mayor?”

As the two of them made their way toward the back door, Adrien couldn’t help but wonder if Roux had purposely sent Thomas out to keep him away. But that was ridiculous–the man couldn’t have known when Adrien would arrive. Suddenly feeling vulnerable, Adrien wondered if his visits were becoming too habitual. He had no doubt that Roux still attempt to track him from time to time, agreement or no.

Thomas pushed open the back door, and Adrien followed gratefully into the cool night air. He leaned against the wall as Thomas lit up a cigarette and took a drag.

Thomas exhaled slowly, then turned to Adrien. “So, did you get a tongue-lashing?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Adrien groaned. “He went on for a solid five minutes.”

“Honestly, Chat, I don’t think Robert would have done any differently.”

Adrien shrugged, taking a deep breath. “It would have been easier to take coming from Robert,” he replied.

“Did he grill you about the all hands call, too?” Thomas asked curiously, watching his cigarette a little too closely.

Immediately Adrien felt his hackles rise. Shit, had Roux put him up to this? He supposed it wouldn’t be too surprising–everyone knew that Thomas was Chat’s point person with the force. But still, that Roux might use Thomas to needle him with questions…

“Yeah,” Adrien replied truthfully, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “I didn’t even hear the call, but he got on my back about it.” Straining for nonchalance, he added, “What even happened? I don’t remember hearing sirens.”

Thomas rolled his cigarette between his fingers silently for a moment. “They spotted Ladybug on the cameras. Chief put out a search for her. Real quiet–no sirens or nothing, just several cruisers crisscrossing part of the seventh, and stopping anyone they saw out at that time of night.” Thomas glanced at him. “She was at the scene, wasn’t she?”

Adrien was already shaking his head. “Why is Chief even assuming that? I gave my report last night, and I gave the same report tonight, but he accused me of lying. I had no idea she had even been seen until I got here tonight.”

Thomas loosed a breath and leaned back against the wall. “I didn’t think you’d lie about something like this,” Thomas confided, obviously relieved.

His words hit Adrien solidly in the stomach. “Thanks,” he told Thomas, praying that none of his overwhelming guilt bubbled into his tone.

It was one thing to lie to Roux. But Thomas was his closest friend on the force, and the only officer Adrien had entrusted the knowledge of his identity to. It had been part of his initial agreement with Chief Robert–the man had insisted that at least one officer be an emergency contact. It acted as collateral, to prevent Chat Noir from up and disappearing if he committed a crime, and also provided a layer of safety for Adrien.

Standing next to his friend, Adrien wondered suddenly if it was worth it. Was it worth deceiving Thomas to cover for Marinette? The thought made his stomach twist painfully. Still, he knew that it was too late to question himself now. He had already lied to Roux, and he had no doubt that if he told Thomas the truth, Thomas would do the right thing and inform his chief. He was a loyal man–part of the reason Adrien admired him so much.

“I don’t get it, though,” Adrien said, hoping to change the subject. “Why did he put out such a huge search for her?”

Thomas shook his head. “He didn’t make it very explicit, but I heard from Clement that he was planning on bringing her into the station, sitting her down, and telling her that he didn’t want her meddling in the police’s business. Of course, then two of the culprits started talking about her being at the scene, which gave him a legitimate reason to search for her. But from what I heard, he issued the call before that.”

“That…” Adrien paused, at a loss for words. “That’s it?”

Thomas shrugged, taking another drag. “Yeah, I thought it seemed silly, too. Though I guess I can kind of understand where he’s coming from. It’s no secret you two don’t quite get along.” Adrien snorted–that was a vast understatement. “But you’ve been working with the force for years, and you’ve done a damn good job of sticking to your agreement. I think a lot of the force assumed you would get bored with it–I mean, you’re not a sworn officer. You’re basically only capable of making citizen’s arrests before turning everything over to the rest of us. A lot of the guys just thought you were playing around. But you’ve proven that you’re dedicated and trustworthy. And Ladybug hasn’t. I don’t know if putting out an entire search team on her trail was a good call, but I can understand Chief’s concerns.”

Adrien merely grunted. Thomas’ words left him feeling a strange mix of pride and guilt, and it didn’t sit well with him.

“Of course, I think Chief was hoping to catch you in a lie, too,” Thomas continued. He sighed deeply, turning to crush his cigarette in the ashtray. “But really, I think the thugs are just trying to stir up trouble. I mean, the victim is also claiming that you acted alone.”

Adrien snapped his head up, completely taken off guard. Idiot! he scolded. Are you trying to give yourself away? To his immense relief, he realized that Thomas had still been turned toward the trash. He schooled his face into a calm mask as Thomas turned back to him. “Eh,” he said carefully. “You know Chief–I’m sure he’ll use anything he can find to try to kick me out.”

Thomas grimaced. “Yeah. Alright, I should head back in. You coming?”

“Nah,” Adrien replied, waving him off. “I should head home. Have a good night.”

“You too,” Thomas replied, punching him lightly in the shoulder. “And seriously, watch yourself with Roux. Stirring up trouble now is just going to work against you.”

“I’ll try,” Adrien replied ruefully.

He turned and headed off through the night, carefully picking his path to angle him toward the areas he was most familiar with. As he strode through the shadows, he did his best to ignore the churning uneasiness bubbling in his stomach.

Chapter Text

Marinette stepped in front of her mirror, regarding her outfit with a critical eye.

“You look wonderful,” Tikki assured her.

“Thanks,” Marinette replied, shooting her a small smile. She turned to the side, fussing with the pink ruffles of her dress peeking out from under the white vest. Satisfied that they were sufficiently fluffed, Marinette turned to look at the other side. “Are you really sure you want to come today? It’s going to be a long day.”

Tikki hovered in close and planted a small kiss on Marinette’s cheek. “I wouldn’t miss your first day at work for the world.”

Marinette broke into a wide grin. “You’re the best, Tikki. Did you know that?”

Tikki giggled happily, bumping into Marinette’s cheek. “I may have heard that once or twice.”

“Because it’s the truth!” Marinette turned back to the mirror. She carefully ran a hand over her loose curls, checking to make sure they were holding all right.

“Marinette…” Tikki said slowly. “You’ve checked and double checked. If you wait any longer, you might be late.”

Marinette’s hands stilled at the gentle admonition. With a slow, deep breath, she took one last good look from head to foot. Curls in place? Check. Her miraculous securely in place behind her silver dangles? Check. The lone pearl sitting squarely in the middle of her chest? Check. Dress smooth? No loose threads? Nothing caught funny? Check, check, and check. Sandals buckled? Check.

She was as ready as she ever would be. “All right,” Marinette said, wrenching her eyes away from the mirror. “Let’s go.”

She held open her small clutch for Tikki, waiting patiently while the little kwami settled herself comfortably inside. When she was sure Tikki was ready, Marinette snapped her purse shut and headed downstairs.

Her mom looked up from the sink as she made her way down. “Are you heading out already?”

“Yup!” Marinette told her, leaving a peck on her cheek. “I’m going out to dinner with Alya tonight, so don’t wait for me to eat.”

“Okay, you girls have fun, and have a good first day,” her mom told her. “I’ll see you tonight.”

Marinette waved goodbye as she grabbed an apple off the counter. Then she slipped out the front door, munching on her breakfast as she headed down the stairs and to the street.

She started down the sidewalk, glad that she had taken the time to walk to Attitude’s offices the day before. It was only a fifteen minute walk, but Marinette felt better now that she had already made the trek once.

Thinking about it, however, only reminded her of the other trek she had made yesterday morning. Clenching her jaw, Marinette purposefully shoved that thought—and the heart-clenching pain that accompanied it—as far from her mind as she could. Not. Today. Right now she had other, more important things to worry about.

Instead, she focused on taking in the glory of the early morning sunshine lilting along her skin. The air was still cool, especially in the shadows—a perfect June morning. Butterflies threatened in her stomach, flittering just out of sight, but Marinette stubbornly pushed them away. It was too beautiful a day to let her nerves get to her. And besides that, she would be fine. Sure, she never liked starting a new job. But she was finally, finally starting her career as a designer. And on top of that, she really liked Attitude’s style. She had happened to catch an article about them after last year’s Paris Fashion Week, and their look had just seemed so … her. Fresh and catchy, but still down to Earth. She was still struggling to believe that she had managed to snag the position with them.

Her phone beeped, and Marinette quickly yanked it out of her purse, throwing an apologetic glance at Tikki as she did. She had a text from Alya. Smiling, Marinette juggled her apple core and clutch into her left hand, then opened the text.

Happy first day at the new job! You’re going to be fabulous!

Thanks! Marinette typed back. Hope you have a good Monday. We’re still on for six?

A minute later, her phone beeped again. Yup! I want to hear ALL about your day. Don’t forget to say hi to Hélèn!

I will, I will, Marinette replied, rolling her eyes. As much as she appreciated the reminder, the six times Alya had reminded her about her new coworker seemed a little excessive.

As she slipped her phone back into her clutch, she rounded the corner and caught sight of the building up ahead. She could see a few people walking through the front door, and suddenly it felt real. Yesterday, the street had been relatively quiet, with no one coming or going. But today, Attitude was alive and filled to the brim with her new coworkers.

This was … a little more intimidating than she had hoped. A shock of nervousness ran down Marinette’s spine, and she swallowed against the uneasy feeling swelling in her throat. She knew that she shouldn’t be nervous—Olivié, the HR rep, had told her over the phone how impressed they had been with her portfolio. Except…

Except making this leap was terrifying. She had spent the last three years behind a desk, working to market other people’s designs. And as much as she hated to admit it, Marinette found herself silently questioning if those three years in the marketing department had squashed her talent. A lot of her portfolio designs had been from her college days. What if, after three years, she had lost her mojo? What if she couldn’t shake the rust off and get back into the groove of designing?

You’re being ridiculous she scolded herself in a less-than-steady voice. You’re still a junior designer. You won’t even be making your own designs for a while yet. But another smaller, poisonous voice whispered, But you could have. If you hadn’t held yourself back, you might already be a senior designer. What if you ruined your chances? What if you missed the boat?

Marinette did her best to quash that voice into the back of her head. With a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and headed down the street toward the building, dropping her apple core into a trash can along the way.

Heart hammering, she pushed her way through the glass doors. The main foyer was a large, open room with a number of nice chairs lined against half walls. Marinette did her best not to gawk too openly as she headed toward the front desk along the wall opposite the entry.

The girl behind the desk was on the phone, taking down notes. Marinette found herself wondering if this was Alya’s friend—hadn’t she said Hélèn worked the front desk? When the girl caught sight of Marinette, she held her palm over the receiver and mouthed, “Be right with you,” before jotting something else down.

Marinette settled back on her heels nervously, glancing around the room. From here, she could see that the half walls lining the entry obscured a number of desks on either side of the room, where people were already getting started on their day. The large wall behind the front desk was covered in a beautiful black and white collage of photos, each displaying numerous ballet dancers in practice leotards performing various positions.

The girl hummed on the phone, and Marinette looked back to her once more. She was gorgeous. The bleached highlights in her afro stood out starkly against her dark skin, and her hair was gathered loosely at the back of her head with a nylon green headband before poofing out like a brilliant star burst. Her moomoo was also bright green, cinched at the waist with an electric blue scarf. Marinette couldn’t help but smile—the colors were a bit audacious, but there was no denying that she managed to pull them off.

“Great, thank you. Have a good day!” The girl hung up the phone, then turned her attention to Marinette. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, I’m supposed to start today?” Marinette replied, hating how her voice wavered ever so slightly. “I’m the new junior designer.”

“Oh, wonderful!” the girl said, breaking into a huge smile. “Let me paige Felise and let her know you’re here!” She picked up the phone again, punched in an extension, then happily chirped, “Heya! Your new designer’s here. … Yup. Great, I’ll let her know.

“She’ll be down in a minute,” she said to Marinette, hanging up the phone again. “You can hang with me until she gets here!”

“Thanks,” Marinette replied gratefully. She smiled hesitantly, then added, “Are you Hélèn?”

The girl’s eyebrows shot up toward her hairline. “Yeah, I am. What’s your name?”

“I’m Marinette,” she told her. “My friend Alya said she’s talked with you a few times. She works for the—”

“Ohmigosh, of course I remember Alya!” Hélèn gushed, her face split by a wide grin. “She’s such a sweetheart! How’s she been?”

“She’s good,” Marinette replied, relieved to have something in common to talk about. “She’s in town for the next month, so she won’t be running around quite as much.”

“Right, right, she’s a traveling journalist, right?” Hélèn asked excitedly. “I remember the one time she called in from Japan! It was so neat.”

“Yeah. I don’t know how she does it,” Marinette replied. She shook her head. “I would get exhausted flying so much.”

“Oh really?” Hélèn asked, sounding surprised. “I think it’d be kind of fun, getting to go all over the world. What about you, is this your first job?”

Marinette shook her head. “I worked in the marketing department at Calvin Klein for a couple years.”

Hélèn sat up straighter at that. “In New York?” she asked, eyes going wide. “Are you from there?”

“No, no, I’m from Paris,” Marinette explained, laughing quietly. “But I went to school at FIT and stayed there after I graduated.”

Hélèn whistled, shaking her head. “Did you like it in the US? I’ve always wanted to go to New York, at least once.”

“Yeah,” Marinette replied, shrugging. “I loved FIT, and Calvin Klein was nice, but I really missed everyone here back home, too. I’m glad to be back.”

Suddenly someone cleared their throat, and Marinette jumped. She turned to find a woman—Felise?—watching her closely. At first glance, Marinette was struck by how similar the woman was to her—particularly in height. But Felise had the softened look of a Filipino—rather than Chinese—heritage, had her hair cut short to Marinette’s longer locks, and had a much stockier build than Marinette despite their similar heights. “I take it you’re Marinette?” Felise asked, glancing toward Hélèn for confirmation.

“Yes, ma’am,” Marinette said quickly, standing up straighter.

The woman nodded. “Alright, this way.”

Suddenly feeling an anxious pit widening in her stomach, Marinette gave Hélèn a little wave. Hélèn waved back, and added, “Why don’t you swing down here around lunch so we can eat together?”

Marinette’s heart swelled. “That’d be great,” she said, feeling relieved to already have a friend. Then, with a glance toward Felise’s retreating back, Marinette quickly followed after.

Felise led them silently to a hallway off to one side of the front desk. Although the hallway stretched further back into the building towards a windowless door, Felise stopped at an elevator and pushed the call button. As they waited for it to arrive, Marinette stood quietly behind her, patiently waiting for Felise to say something.

She didn’t.

Feeling more and more uneasy, Marinette clenched her hands together at her sides, careful not to squeeze her clutch too tightly—she didn’t want to hurt Tikki, after all. When the elevator dinged and the doors finally slid open, Marinette had to restrain herself from loosing a relieved sigh. She noted that Felise pushed the button for the third floor—the highest in the building, it seemed—before the elevator whisked them away.

Should she open her mouth and say something? Was Felise maybe waiting for her to ask questions? Or did she expect her to remain silent? Was this some sort of test? But what if she said something and managed to piss Felise off? From the looks of things, it probably wouldn’t be that difficult to get on this woman’s bad side.

The third floor elevator doors opened into a much smaller hallway, with a door on either side. Marinette followed Felise through one of these and into a large open room that was obviously the designers’ studio. Despite her nerves, Marinette felt a small bit of comfort as she looked around the familiar feeling room. A large table dominated the center of the room, one end hidden under several bolts of fabric. A number of dress forms lined the near wall, some draped with partially finished outfits, others bare. The opposite wall was home to a handful of workspaces, each occupied by someone either leaned over their laptop or flipping through a magazine or comparing fabrics.

Felise marched her over to these, still unnervingly silent. A red-headed girl at one of the desks glanced up with a disinterested expression at Marinette before returning back to her magazine. Marinette felt her shoulders slowly inch closer and closer to her ears.

“This is your workspace,” Felise said, stopping in front of a relatively clean desk. “Olivié has a meeting this morning, so she asked me to have you to start filling out your employment forms.” She gestured to a thin stack of papers sitting in front of Marinette’s new chair.

“Thanks,” Marinette squeaked. She hurried to sit down at her new desk. At least if she were filling out paperwork she wouldn’t have to worry about making awkward conversation.

Someone laughed, and Marinette looked up to see a man approaching.

“Felise, lighten up. Can’t you see you’re scaring the poor thing?” he asked, pushing his long, blonde hair back over one shoulder. Felise frowned, but the man turned to Marinette, his brilliant green eyes twinkling. “Don’t let her stern nature get the best of you. She’s not half as unnerving as she seems.”

Marinette smiled hesitantly, unsure how to respond.

“Anyways, since Felise probably won’t bother to introduce us, I’m Selina.”

Marinette blinked, taken a bit off guard. Now that she looked, Selina was dressed in a rather effeminate, cream blouse that set off their lithe figure. “Nice to meet you,” she replied with a small smile. “I’m Marinette.”

Selina’s smile widened. “What a lovely name! Here, c’mon, why don’t I introduce you to everyone.”

Before Marinette could respond, Selina had grabbed her hand and was leading her towards the other workstations. Marinette cast a worried glance back at Felise. The woman’s frown grew, but she followed them nonetheless.

Another designer—a short brunette who wore her hair in a pixie cut—looked up from her desk as they approached. “Selina, what are you doing to the new girl?” she asked. She turned to Marinette with a soft smile. “If you’re not careful with Selina, she’ll chat your ear off.”

Ah. Marinette made a mental note as she hesitantly returned the woman’s smile.

Selina rolled her eyes and made a shooing motion. “Communication breeds community,” she said emphatically. “Anyways, this is Marinette. Marinette, this is Kari.”

“I’m a senior designer,” Kari added. “Felise, Selina, and I each work on coming up with the seasonal designs. You’re working under Felise, right?”

Was she? This was news to her, but Felise answered, “Yes, she’s working with me.”

Marinette felt her stomach sink. Out of everyone here, Felise seemed the least thrilled to meet her.

“Oh, and this is Vindyha,” Selina said suddenly, gesturing to a girl just walking into the design studio. “She’s the junior designer who works with me.”

Vindyha waved to Marinette as she headed back to her desk.

“And that’s Noelle,” Selina continued, pointing to the red head with the magazine.

“She works with me,” Kari added.

Glancing around at everyone, the first thought that entered Marinette’s head was how different everyone seemed. Selina was dressed in a very chic, airy ensemble, while Felise wore simple black slacks and a button down dress shirt and Kari wore a cute, cherry print sundress that hugged her curves and matched her bright red lipstick. Even Noelle and Vindyha, the junior designers, wore clashing styles: Noelle in a very Bohemian-esque skirt and Vindyha in a deep green, silk business dress that complimented her dark, braided hair and deep brown eyes.

And yet, despite their scattered styles, they felt like a cohesive whole. Marinette felt herself smiling hesitantly.

“It’s very nice to meet you all,” she said, looking around at everyone. The butterflies she had been ignoring earlier came back full force now that everyone’s attention was on her. Trying to keep her voice steady, she added, “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

“Okay,” Felise said, physically stepping between Marinette and Selina. “She has a lot of paperwork to finish up before Olivié gets back.”

Grateful to be out of the spotlight, Marinette followed Felise back to her new desk.

“When you’re done with the forms, let me know,” Felise told her. “I’ll get you started on your first project.”

A thrill rushing through her stomach. She was already going to be getting started? “Yes, ma’am,” Marinette said quickly.

Felise snorted and waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t ma’am me, just Felise is fine.”

Mortified, Marinette nodded and plunked down into her chair. She was off to a great start with Felise. She carefully picked a pen out from the pencil holder at her desk, then focused on the papers in front of her. They were the usual HR forms, which helped a little. Trying to rid her cheeks of their pink glow, Marinette set to work filling in all of the information.

As she wrote, she kept one eye on the room around her. It was pretty quiet, filled with the clicking of keyboards, the flipping of pages, the long scratch of pencil strokes against paper. Every now and then one of the designers would ask something across the room—usually one of the junior designers talking with their senior designer, or two senior designers conferring together. The quiet space was beginning to slowly feel more comfortable now that everyone’s attention was directed elsewhere.

When Marinette finally finished, she put down her pen and walked over to Felise’s workstation, which was right next to hers. “I’m all done,” she said quietly.

Felise looked up from her computer. “Okay. Olivié should be back soon, but in the mean time let’s get you started.”

Marinette followed Felise back to her desk. “Your computer should already be booted up. Your username is your first initial, first five letters of your last name, and the default password is ‘setup.’”

Marinette nodded, sitting back down. She swiped across the laptop’s touchpad to wake it up, then entered her credentials.

“Olivié will help you with your Email and other programs later. For now, open up the file explorer. Yeah, that’s it. In here are all of our project notes. The biggest project, which you’ll be spending the most time on for now, is the upcoming Fashion Week designs.

“See my directory?” Felise pointed to her file, and Marinette nodded. “I want you to take some time to go through my notes and get a feel for the outfits and styles. Later on I’ll show you the progress so far, and tell you what else I need help with.” Felise pinned her with a small frown. “Got it?”

Marinette nodded quickly.

“Good. I’ll swing by a little later when I’m ready to show you the designs.”

Marinette loosed a small breath as Felise headed back to her desk. She needed to be careful—she got the distinct impression that Felise would not tolerate her junior designer putting even a toe out of line.

Well, there’s nothing for it but to just do my best, Marinette reminded herself.

So she got to work digging through Felise’s files. There were a number of folders—sketches, fabrics, research, sourcing. Marinette caught sight of a folder named “FW Spring 16” and opened it up. Inside were a large number of files, including documents and spreadsheets. But what caught her eye were the image thumbnails.

She opened one, mouth falling open as the picture popped up across her screen. It was a sketch of a gorgeous gown, layers of black, white, and silver draped elegantly together. The skirt was cut so that the left hem hit around mid-thigh, while the right hem trailed nearly to the floor, with layers upon layers of color building up towards the waist.

Awe-stricken, Marinette clicked the side button. The next sketch popped up, this time a classy black and white checkered suit. She clicked again, and again, taking a moment to simply marvel at the beautiful designs.

When she reached the end of the reel, Marinette glanced covertly at Felise’s workstation. Sure enough, the physical copies of the sketches were pinned on a corkboard on the wall beside her.

Okay, so maybe the prospect of working under Felise was absolutely terrifying. But Marinette found herself increasingly excited to get to see Felise’s work first hand. It wouldn’t be easy, perhaps, but she was sure she could learn a lot. And the thought of getting to help out with actually making these beautiful designs was exhilarating.

Reinvigorated, Marinette dug back into the files, determined to learn as much as she could before Felise was ready for her.

Not even ten minutes later, however, Marinette was interrupted by a quiet knock on her desk. She looked up to find a new woman with curly black hair smiling at her.

“Hi, Marinette right?” she asked, smile growing as Marinette nodded. “I’m Olivié—it’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Same,” Marinette replied, shaking her outstretched hand. It was nice to finally be able to put a face with Olivié’s voice after spending so much time talking with her over the past few weeks. “Thank you for taking the time to do phone interviews with me.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Olivié told her. “You’re hardly the first applicant from out of town. How did the move go?”

“Everything went well, thanks,” Marinette replied.

“That’s great. Well, do you have your forms all filled out?” Marinette nodded. “Awesome. Why don’t you come with me and we’ll get them processed and filed?”

Olivié turned to Felise as Marinette stood up. “I’m stealing your new designer for a bit. We’ll be back soon.”

Felise waved her acknowledgement, not bothering to look up from her desk.

As Olivié led them to the elevators she asked, “So, you met all of the designers?”

Marinette nodded.

“Great!” Olivié pushed the call button, then led Marinette into the elevator. “Once I get your paperwork filed, I’ll take you around to the heads of the other departments so you have an idea of who everyone is.”

“Okay,” Marinette replied, lips suddenly feeling numb. More people? She wasn’t sure if she even remembered all of the designers names.

Olivié laughed. “You look like you swallowed a lemon. Don’t worry, I don’t expect you to remember everyone right away. It’s more so that they’ll recognize you than vice versa.”

The elevator dinged, and they got off on the second floor. “The photography studio is over there,” Olivié explained, gesturing towards a set of closed doors. “But my office is over here.”

They entered yet another wide room, this one filled to the brim with cubicles. Olivié’s office was tucked into the back corner.

“Here’s your ID card,” she said, sliding it across her desk towards Marinette. “You can use that to get in after hours. Make sure you don’t lose it.”

Marinette picked it up and held onto it tightly.

“Can I have those?” Olivié asked, pointing to the forms in Marinette’s other hand. Marinette handed the papers over, and Olivié glanced through them. “You didn’t have any questions, did you?”

“No, they were pretty straight forward,” Marinette replied.

“That’s good.” Olivié put her papers down, then picked up a folder and handed it to Marinette. “This contains our employee handbook and some company memos. Take a look through them sometime over the next few days, and let me know if you’re unsure about anything. Now, let’s go introduce you!”

Marinette stood back to let Olivié head out first, then trailed behind her. She was starting to feel like a baby duck waddling behind its mother.

“This second floor is mainly marketing, sales, and supply,” Olivié explained as they wove between the low-walled cubes. She stopped at one in particular, and knocked to get the man’s attention. “Hey, Takeshi, this is the new junior designer, Marinette. Takeshi is the head of sales.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said, holding out his hand. He nodded his head to Marinette as they shook hands, his ear-length black hair brushing against his glasses. “You probably won’t be dealing with me too much for now, but I might get the chance to pester you sometime down the line.”

“I look forward to it,” Marinette told him. Takeshi laughed, and she snapped her mouth closed. Was that a weird thing to say? Maybe that was a weird thing to say.

She wasn’t given much time to mull over how to rectify the situation, though. Olivié moved on, leading her toward the opposite side of the room. “This lovely lady is Elaine,” Olivié said. “She heads up our sales. Marinette’s the new junior designer.”

“Pleasure,” Elaine said smoothly.

“Same,” Marinette replied. She gave the woman a small wave before hurrying to follow Olivié as she headed back to the elevator.

“Everyone downstairs makes up our company relations department,” Olivié informed her as they descended to the first floor. “But Edmond is in a meeting right now,so I can’t introduce you to him just yet.”

Marinette tried not to look too relieved.

The elevator opened on the first floor, and Marinette hurried out. “So that just leaves Abella,” Olivié said cheerfully.

Marinette’s stomach dropped away completely. “Abella?” she asked. “You mean the owner?”

“Yup!” Olivié gave her a reassuring pat on the back. “No need to be nervous. It’s such a small company that Abella is pretty closely involved with everything.”

If anything, this knowledge made Marinette feel even more on edge.

The owner’s office, it turned out, was at the center of the main floor, tucked snuggly behind the front desk. Olivié rapped on the door, waited for a reply, then led Marinette inside.

The room was half business office, half design studio, with two dress forms and several bolts of fabric propped next to a filing cabinet. Abella sat behind her desk—a beautiful piece of polished mahogany that, though elegant and fine, somehow commanded the entire room. It perfectly suited its owner, sitting with poise and radiating a sense of effortless control. Her blond hair was woven into a loose braid that hung over one shoulder, and she watched Marinette with a small smile on her thin lips.

She was overwhelmingly beautiful, but not because she was young or lithe. Marinette knew she had retired as a ballet dancer in her late twenties and had started the company soon after—the company had now been around for close to a decade. Abella looked her age, and yet, somehow, she owned it. That was what made her so breathtaking.

“Marinette, right?” she asked. “Welcome to our team.”

Marinette squeezed her shaking hands into her skirts. “Thank you so much for the opportunity,” she said, praying her voice wouldn’t waver. “I really admire all of your work.”

Abella’s small smile grew. She glanced down at Marinette’s hands, fisted in the folds of her pink dress. Embarrassed, Marinette eased her hands from the fabric and carefully laid them at her sides.

Abella’s gaze met hers once again. “Very nice work,” she said, with a nod toward Marinette.

No, with a nod toward her dress, she realized. Marinette instantly flushed, mind reeling at the unexpected compliment.

“Thank you,” she managed to splutter, too aware of the pink burning in her cheeks.

But Abella’s gaze softened, and a small knot of uncertainty eased itself loose in Marinette’s stomach. “I think you could do very well here,” Abella told her. “I look forward to seeing your work.”

“Thank you,” Marinette breathed again, unsure of what else she could possibly say in reply.

“Alright, Marinette, let’s get you set up on your computer,” Olivié said.

Stifling a sigh of relief, Marinette nodded goodbye to Abella and quickly followed Olivié from the office.

Olivié spent a good chunk of the rest of the morning helping get Marinette set up with everything from her Email to her time sheets to the programs that they used. As soon as Olivié had finally finished her explanations and wished Marinette good luck on the rest of her first day, Felise came over.

“It’s nearly lunch,” she told Marinette. “Why don’t you go grab some food now? I’ll show you the designs when we get back.”

Marinette nodded, a small thrill rushing through her middle. This was it—she was going to get to work with real designers on real outfits for the real Fashion Week. She wasn’t sure if her heart could take it.

She gathered her clutch, careful not to jostle it too much, then headed toward the elevators. Selina waved as she left, and Marinette couldn’t help grinning as she waved back.

As soon as the elevator doors had slid shut, Marinette opened her clutch.

“Well?” Tikki asked excitedly, zooming out of the purse.

“I love it,” Marinette said, all in a rush. “It’s completely unnerving, and I don’t know how well I’ll be able to hold my own, but…”

But it was so different from everything she was used to. Back at Calvin Klein, she had had friends among her coworkers, but there had always been a glass wall between the designers and everyone else. They had always been there, just out of reach. In addition, the company was so big that most of Marinette’s acquaintances were limited to the marketing department.

Here at Attitude, however, even if the sheer number of people was overwhelming, everyone was welcoming in a way that Marinette had never even considered as a possibility. Somehow, with these people, with these designs, she felt like she belonged here.

“I’m so proud of you, Marinette,” Tikki said, cuddling against her cheek. “You’re going to do a fabulous job.”

“Well…” Marinette hesitated, rubbing her arm. “I really like all of the designers, but I don’t think Felise is very impressed with me.”

“Yet,” Tikki corrected. “Don’t worry—soon she’ll see.”

The elevator dinged, and Tikki quickly flew back into the clutch. With a deep breath, Marinette headed over to the front desk.

“Hey Hélèn!”

Hélèn looked up from her computer and instantly broke into a smile. “Hey hon! You ready?”

“Yeah,” Marinette replied. “Felise told me to go grab something to eat.”

“Great! Let me just wrap this up and I’ll be ready,” Hélèn told her. As she turned back to her computer, she added, “I saw Olivié take you into Abella’s office—I take it you got the tour?”

Marinette nodded. “Does Olivié really take every new employee to meet her?”

Hélèn laughed. “Yeah, she does. Abella can be a bit intimidating, but she’s such a lovely person.” She finished clicking at whatever she had up on her computer, then turned to Marinette. “Alright, why don’t we—oh.”

With a frown, Hélèn looked toward the front. Confused, Marinette followed her gaze in time to see a small group of stunningly beautiful women come in through the front doors.

“They weren’t supposed to come until one,” Hélèn muttered to herself, glancing down at a book on her desk. Then, with a pinched sigh, Hélèn forced her frustrated frown into a welcoming smile. Marinette did her best to duplicate her expression as the women approached.

“Hello, ladies,” Hélèn said pleasantly. “You’re a little earlier than I expected.”

“Don’t worry, Hélèn, I’ll take care of it.”

Marinette looked up to the door, throat constricting. Holding the door open for the last of the women was—Adrien.

Everything stopped.

Why was he—

This couldn’t—

A dream. It had to be a dream.

Adrien let the door fall closed, then turned toward the desk. His eyes widened for a brief moment as he took them both in, and Marinette thought she might be sick right then and there, in front of everyone.

“Could you?” Hélèn asked, obviously relieved and completely unaware of the frosty tension that had frozen Marinette in place. “We were about to go to lunch.”

Adrien finally broke his gaze away from Marinette and gave Hélèn a warm smile that slowly shredded Marinette’s heart to pieces. “No problem,” he assured her. Then he glanced back over, that easy smile making Marinette’s hands tremble, and added, “How are you, Marinette?”

This was it. The world was ending. They would have to scrape bits of her from the floor and ceiling after she had spontaneously combusted.

Hélèn’s eyebrows inched up toward her hairline as she looked between the two of them. “You two know each other?” she asked, a small, curious smile itching at the corners of her mouth.

“We went to school together,” Adrien explained with a disarming smile.

How was he acting so perfectly normal? Did he actually not care that they were standing face to face not even 24 hours after the world had gone utterly to hell? What was he even doing here?

Move! her brain shouted at her. Do something! If she kept staring at him, things were going to get very awkward, very quickly.

Forcing her mouth to supply a smile, Marinette nodded and added to Hélèn, “Our best friends used to date.”

There was a muted ding, and one of the women called, “Adrien, come, we’re heading up.”

“Well, I guess I’ll be seeing you,” Adrien told them. He gave them a small wave as he followed the group onto the elevator.

Marinette managed a smile and a wave, watching tensely until his back vanished behind the sliding doors.

Deep breaths. She could do this. With an eerie sense of calm, she turned back to Hélèn. “What’s he doing here?”

“You didn’t know?” Hélèn asked, sounding genuinely surprised. “He works in the company relations department.”

Chapter Text

Adrien directed everyone into the Finale Room, the largest of the conference rooms.

“We’ll be holding the meeting in the Jeté Room,” he said, projecting his voice over the chatter. Immediately the models quieted down and turned their attention to him. “But since we’re running a bit early, I still need to set up the materials. Please wait here and help yourselves to the refreshments.” He gestured toward the small refrigerator and coffee pots in the corner of the room for the benefit of the few newer models. “I’ll be back in just a moment. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

He paused, waiting to make sure that there were no objections. But already the women were turning back toward their conversations. Relieved, Adrien slipped from the door.

Really, the restaurant was at fault for the inconvenience. What kind of place canceled such a large meeting at the last minute? Most of the clients had already arrived before the owner had bothered to inform them of the change. Un-fucking-believable.

Adrien’s head was already spinning from dealing with the pressure of pulling this luncheon off smoothly. He did not have the capacity to worry about anything else. Certainly not Marinette. He had already wasted too much of his energy thinking about her yesterday.

He glanced carefully at Hélèn’s desk as he hurried across the front foyer, but both her and Marinette were already gone. She said they were grabbing lunch, he told himself. Marinette must be a friend of hers. Luckily, he would still be chin-deep in meetings when they returned and wouldn’t have to deal with a second, awkward encounter.

Goran was already on his feet by the time Adrien made it to his desk. “The food?” Adrien asked.

Goran nodded. “I was able to find a caterer. The food should be here in about forty minutes.”

Adrien let out a sigh of relief. “That’ll have to be good enough. Thanks.” He grabbed the large pile of folders off of his desk, then added, “Can you help me set up the forms now?”

“Of course,” Goran told him. “Should I see if Hélèn can spare a minute too?”

“Nah,” Adrien replied absently. “She already went to lunch.”

“Oh, right. With the new girl.”

Adrien stopped abruptly, fingers tightening around the stack of folders in his hands. “New girl?”

“Yeah,” Goran replied, shooting him a questioning glance. “The new designer that started today, remember? Hélèn was telling Ada about her when I grabbed coffee this morning. She’s from New York or something.”

Shit. He had forgotten about the new hire. There was little doubt—it had to be Marinette.

“Great,” he muttered under his breath. He wasn’t even sure how to feel—he definitely didn’t need to be dealing with this right now, with the luncheon crisis hanging over his head.

“Everything okay?” Goran asked, watching Adrien with concern.

Later. He would have to worry about her later. “It will be once this lunch is over,” Adrien told Goran instead. With a deep breath, he pushed open the door to the Jeté Room, then handed Goran a stack of folders. “Place one of these at each seat. I’m going to set up the name tags.”

Goran gave him a strong clap on the shoulder and looked him in the eye. “You’ve got this.”

Adrien nodded. “Thanks. And thanks for the help.”

Goran waved Adrien off as he started around the table. “It’s nothing. Let’s get this set up so we can get Abella and then get this over with.”

Adrien couldn’t agree more.

“Okay, but do you even understand how big this is?” Hélèn asked around the smoothie straw in her mouth. “Adrien Agreste is the single most sought out guy at Attitude. I’m pretty sure half of the female staff have at least considered going out with him at some point.”

Marinette eyed Hélèn skeptically across the table. “Even Felise? Even Abella?”

Hélèn rolled her eyes dramatically. “Okay, wrong half. But I know for a fact that most of the girls in sales and marketing spend their coffee breaks tittering about him—I’ve caught them at it on more than one occasion.”

Marinette did her best not to grit her teeth. Who cared how many girls were dreaming of getting into Adrien’s pants? That was no different than it had been in high school, where virtually every girl had had their sights on him—even a few of the taken ones. And no, she did not feel some small sense of gloating pride that she had somehow successfully managed it at least once. Of course not.

Not that it even mattered, because she was still fairly certain that he wanted absolutely nothing to do with her. How had he even managed to act so calmly just now? What that said to her was that, for him, seeing her again was no big deal.

But what did that mean for her? Was she just going to have to sit there and pretend like nothing had happened? That she had no idea exactly who he was, now? That their past as partners meant nothing?

That sounded … exhausting.

Then again, it might just be for the best. If they were going to be working at the same company, she could hardly ignore him. And it definitely seemed like he had no intention of ignoring her. Maybe they could just play it nice and professional. He was in company relations, after all. She probably wouldn’t have to deal with him much, anyway. And maybe it would be a good thing. Force them to act civil and put their long, messy history in the past. Maybe this was a lucky break in disguise. Maybe seeing him at work every now and then would help her to get over him that much quicker—at the very least, she wouldn’t spend years wondering who or where he was.

Maybe.

“I’m just saying,” Hélèn pressed, eyes glinting as she dragged Marinette out of her churning mind, “that you are going to be the envy of many of our coworkers.”

“I think you’re making too big a deal out of this,” Marinette said lightly, picking at her salad. “I haven’t seen him in years—we’re not really even friends.” She stopped herself from flinching—those words held far more truth than she wanted to admit. Brutally squashing those feelings away, she pushed on, “I don’t think it’ll be any different than it was in high school. There were a few classmates who were jealous that I seemed close with him, but it’s only because Alya was dating his best friend. We would all hang out sometimes, but...” The next words caught in her throat—again, a little too honest. “... but truthfully, I never really knew him very well.”

Who sits next to their closest partner for literal years and doesn’t even notice? Even now that she knew Chat and Adrien were the same, she still found herself struggling at times to merge the two in her mind.

“Well…” Hélèn said slowly, “if you say so…”

“I do,” Marinette told her insistently, returning her attention to her salad.

“But you had to have had a crush on him at some point, right?” Hélèn asked slyly.

The question took Marinette so completely off guard that she dropped her fork onto her plate. She looked up to find Hélèn watching her with a too-innocent smile. “What?”

“Oh, come on,” Hélèn teased with a broad grin. “Statistically speaking, I’d be more surprised if you didn’t have a thing for him.”

“W-well, I mean…” She was stammering… oh lord, she was actually stammering.

Hélèn punched the air triumphantly. “I knew it!”

“Oh, that’s not fair,” Marinette whined, picking up her fork to absently twirl around a tomato. “I mean, the guy was a model—”

“And a gorgeous one at that!” Hélèn added.

Marinette glared at her—not helping—before continuing. “Right, a gorgeous model. And friendly, and … y’know, nice…” She shrugged. “I couldn’t have resisted if I tried.”

For a moment she was silent, a thought niggling in the back of her mind. Finally, her curiosity got the better of her, and Marinette added, “I have to say, I was a bit surprised when you said he works in company relations….”

She hesitated. Really, she shouldn’t be pressing it. What she needed was distance from Adrien, not to spend her lunch breaks talking about him. She should really just leave well enough alone. But then again, if she didn’t ask, she’d spend the rest of the day wondering. Taking a deep breath, she asked, “Is he not…?”

“Modeling?” Hélèn supplied. “No, not anymore. From what I heard, he gave it up once he started university. It makes a lot of sense, actually. I’m sure he had coursework to keep up with, and models often have hectic schedules. Apparently he never went back to it.”

Marinette nodded absently. It did make sense. It just felt … weird. For years and years, she knew every little detail about Adrien Agreste, knew when he had photo shoots and fencing lessons and piano practice… Honestly, thinking back on it now, she felt embarrassed. She had acted no better than a stalker. Nice—real, nice.

And a pretty terrible one at that, she thought, if I couldn’t even connect the dots between him and Chat.

“He obviously can’t stay away from it, though,” Hélèn continued. She sucked up the last of her smoothie, cheeks caving as she scrounged for every last drop. “Lord only knows why. Working with models day in and day out—I don’t know how he does it.”

“Oh?” Marinette blinked across the table at Hélèn. “I thought company relations dealt with customers.”

“They deal with everybody,” Hélèn explained, waving her hand. “But each person has a specialty. Goran deals with the suppliers, Ada handles many of our largest clients.” She shrugged. “And Adrien manages the bulk of our modeling contracts. Today’s when we’re finalizing all of the contracts for Fashion Week, so he’s gotta be completely overloaded. I don’t understand why they arrived so early, but I’m sure it’s not good news.”

Right, Marinette thought dully. Models. That explained why he was surrounded by a hoard of gorgeous women.

Not that she should care who he was around. Because she was trying not to think about him.

And doing a pretty terrible job.

“Alright,” Hélèn said, placing her cup and some change down on the table. “We should probably be heading back.”

“Yeah,” Marinette agreed. She opened her clutch and shot a quick glance towards Tikki, who smiled back. Relieved that Tikki still seemed to be doing okay, Marinette carefully dug out some bills to cover her share of the bill.

They fell into step as they headed back down the sidewalk. As they walked, Marinette peered up at Hélèn. Standing side-by-side, it was obvious how gosh darn tall the receptionist was. Add to that her platform sandals and her lovely afro, and Marinette was nothing more than a dwarf beside her.

Hélèn shot her a questioning look, and Marinette sighed. “Give me some pointers: what do you eat that lets you grow so tall?”

Hélèn raised her eyebrows. “What do I eat? Five eggs for breakfast with a can of spinach on the side. And I take four multivitamins a day.”

Marinette could feel her jaw fall open. “Seriously?”

To her surprise, Hélèn burst into laughter so hard that she bent double. “No, silly,” she said between giggles, wiping at a slightly teary eye. “I just got lucky—my dad was 190 centimeters, and some of that trickled down to me. I take it your parents are short?”

Marinette couldn’t help a small grin at Hélèn’s ridiculous joke. “My dad’s tall enough,” she said, “but my mom and her entire family are on the shorter side. So yeah, I guess genetics are holding me back.”

“Trust me, girl,” Hélèn said, placing a placating hand on Marinette’s back. “Being tall can be nice sometimes, but other times… ugh.” At Marinette’s skeptical look, Hélèn rolled her eyes. “I am always, always taller than my dancing partners. I’ve had guys try to tell me that I should only wear flats. To which I say: Screw that! I’ll wear what I want to wear, and if their fragile masculinity can’t handle all of this then good riddance!”

Hélèn emphasized her point by planting her hands on her hips and striking a bold pose that left Marinette laughing. “That’s amazing,” she told Hélèn, still grinning so hard her cheeks hurt.

They rounded a corner, Attitude coming into view just a few shopfronts down. As they approached, Marinette felt her nerves wriggle back to life. Once she got back to her desk, Felise would be waiting with a stack of expectations Marinette was not confident she could meet. But despite that, she felt a bit buoyant—at the very least, she had a new friend.

As they came up to the door, Marinette said quietly, “Thank you. For inviting me to lunch, I mean. I had a lot of fun.”

Hélèn broke into a wide grin. “You’re very welcome. We should make a habit it of it!”

“I’d like that,” Marinette replied. She would love the chance to get to know Hélèn better, rather than spending the entire time talking about—

Well, she’d like to get to know Hélèn better, and she’d leave it at that.

“Maybe you, me, and Alya can get together sometime,” Hélèn suggested. “I haven’t gotten to talk to her in ages!”

“Yes!” Marinette replied. It was great to know that Hélèn and Alya already got along well. Hanging out with the two of them would probably be … a trip. A fun, really crazy trip. Marinette was exceedingly grateful that Alya was already familiar with—

Her mind stopped short.

Alya knew this company well, right? She had been the one to tell Marinette there was a designer position open. And Alya knew Hélèn. So what if...

“Marinette?” Hélèn called, turning back to face her. With a start, Marinette realized she had stopped walking halfway to the front desk.

“Hélèn…” Marinette asked, quickly catching up to her. “Just how familiar would you say Alya is with Attitude?”

“Alya?” Hélèn repeated. “Pretty familiar, I’d say. She’s done a few pieces on us, including meeting with one of our designers and a few of the models last season.”

“The models?” Marinette asked. Her voice sounded flat, even to her own ears.

“Yeah.” Hélèn nodded. “She set the appointments up with Adrien. You know, I’m kind of surprised she never said anything at the time about knowing him from high school.”

Oh hell no. Marinette could feel her hands tightening into fists at her side. “Thanks,” she told Hélèn tersely. “Well, I should head up.”

“Oh, yeah,” Hélèn replied, watching her a curious look. “Have a good afternoon, Marinette.”

“You too,” she replied with forced sweetness, already heading to the elevator.

Alya had known. And she hadn’t said a single word. Marinette was going to strangle Alya when she saw her tonight.

Compared to the morning, the rest of the afternoon seemed to fly by. Marinette spent most of the time following Felise around, becoming familiar with the layout of the studio and the designs that Felise was working on for Fashion Week.

She was surprised when Felise nodded to her late in the afternoon and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“What?” Marinette asked, glancing up from the designs on her computer screen.

“Tomorrow?” Felise asked, watching her with a flat stare. “It’s already five. Things will be picking up soon, but I don’t have anything I need help on this evening, so you can head home.”

“O-oh!” Marinette stammered. Her cheeks flamed and she fought down a surge of overwhelming embarrassment. It was so obvious after just a few hours working reviewing Felise’s designs that the woman was amazing at what she did—why did Marinette keep making such a fool of herself in front of her? “Thanks!” Marinette managed to squeak.

She gathered her purse and shut down her computer the way Olivié had shown her earlier. Then, with a wave to Selina, Kari, and Vindhya, she headed toward the door.

She hurried into the hallway—and promptly barreled into Noelle’s back.

Marinette reeled back a step at the impact, feeling utterly mortified. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!”

Noelle looked up from her phone with a dark glare. For a moment, Marinette was sure the other junior designer was going to ream her out. But the redhead merely shrugged and rolled her eyes. “It’s fine,” she muttered, sounding as if it were anything but.

“Right, well… I’m sorry,” Marinette repeated, inching sideways towards the elevator. “I hope you have a good evening.”

Noelle, already bent back over her phone, replied with a dismissive wave.

Cheeks flaming, Marinette hurried to the elevator and jabbed at the call button. After a wait that felt like an eternity, the elevator arrived, accompanied by an announcing ding. She quickly slid through the opening doors.

Noelle looked up, saw the doors open, and silently joined her.

Great, Marinette thought. What am I supposed to say now? I already said goodbye. I must look like such an idiot.

She glanced over, shooting Noelle a small smile. Noelle, on the other hand, continued to type on her phone. Either she didn’t notice, or she didn’t care.

Well, that was—fine. Marinette didn’t particularly feel like talking with her either, really. So far throughout the day, Marinette had gathered that Noelle was not particularly social. She had said two words to Marinette all day, and Marinette had needed to literally run into her to force those from her.

Don’t be mean! she scolded herself. Maybe she’s having a bad day. Put in a little more effort, at least.

“So, um…”

Nice. She was off to a fantastic start.

“Have you, uh, been here long?” Marinette asked.

Noelle’s fingers stopped, and she side-eyed Marinette without bothering to raise her head. Then, with a sigh, she looked back down at her phone. “About a year and a half.”

“Do you like it?” Marinette asked. “You work with Kari, right?”

“Yeah,” Noelle said blandly, still typing on her phone.

This was…

Awkward, Marinette moaned to herself. Why is this so completely awkward?

Maybe she should just leave it there—what if she risked annoying Noelle even more? The girl probably just wanted to get home after working all day.

But… but maybe Marinette just was asking the wrong questions. She tried to think back on her conversation with Hélèn—that had felt so natural and easy. What was she doing wrong, here?

Marinette bit her lip, then finally said, “Do you enjoy it? Working with the senior designers, I mean.”

Noelle exhaled loudly, looking up from her phone and blinking rapidly in clear irritation. “It’s okay, I guess,” Noelle replied. She pressed her lips together, finally taking in Marinette with a long glance. “Kari’s great. But you’re stuck with Felise, huh? She’s picky. I’ll be surprised if you last two months.”

The elevator dinged again and the doors slid open. With a roll of her eyes, Noelle strode away without bothering to say goodbye, already bent back over her phone.

Marinette watched her leave, feet frozen to the floor. After a moment, she realized that she was gaping at Noelle’s back and promptly closed her mouth. After another moment, her mind finally reminded her that she was standing in the elevator like an idiot.

She forced her feet to start moving, trailing behind Noelle by a solid three meters toward the front doors. Marinette glanced toward the front desk, hoping Hélèn might provide a reasonable excuse for her to stay behind. But the desk was empty—maybe Hélèn had already left for the day.

Marinette glanced around, just to be certain—and stopped dead when she caught sight of a blonde head on the opposite end of the room.

He turned down a hallway, giving Marinette a solid view of his profile, and—yes, that was definitely Adrien. Damn, this was going to be so completely impossible.

Stomach writhing uncomfortably, Marinette quickly headed toward the front doors. All she needed to do was just sneak out before he headed back this way. She didn’t think she could handle any more small talk with him. Not today. Maybe not for the rest of this week.

Or ever.

She strode through the doors and quickly headed down the street in the direction of the restaurant where she was supposed to meet Alya. Mouth curling into a frown, Marinette hurried her pace.

Luckily, the restaurant where they were meeting for dinner was only a few short blocks from Attitude. As soon as Alya’s signature reddish locks came into view by the restaurant’s front door, Marinette broke into a trot.

“ALYA.”

Alya jumped—actually, visibly jumped—as Marinette approached.

“Hey, girl,” Alya said, watching her with a worried frown. “Everything okay? How was your first—”

“You didn’t tell me Adrien works there,” Marinette cut in. “Why didn’t you tell me that Adrien works there? You knew, didn’t you? Hélèn says you knew. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Whoa, Mari, slow down.” Alya made a placating gesture with her hands, which did absolutely nothing to ease Marinette’s nerves. “I don’t get what’s wrong.”

“What’s wrong?” Marinette asked. Even to her own ears her voice sounded slightly hysterical. She tried to reign it in a notch. “What’s wrong? That is, like, major Need-to-Know information, Alya. Like, major.”

Alya sighed and shook her head. “I just thought it’d be a nice surprise, that’s all.” Her eyes narrowed as she looked Marinette over. “Besides, you told me you were over him years ago. Is it really that big of a deal?”

“Ha. Nice surprise. Funny.” Marinette barked out a laugh that sounded far too forced. Perfect. “You still should have told me.”

Alya frowned, the gears turning behind those sharp, brown eyes of hers. Then, suddenly, her mouth fell open.

“Oh my god. Mari. No.” With a sinking feeling, Marinette decided she did not like the look on Alya’s face. Alya leaned forward, gripping Marinette’s shoulders. “Was Adrien your one night stand?”

Marinette spluttered. Opened her mouth to reply, then spluttered again. “Wha—? No! Why would you—no, of course not!”

Alya’s face scrunched into a look somewhere between disbelief, incredulity, and pride. She loosed a small shriek and punched Marinette in the shoulder. “Girl, I cannot believe—”

“It’s not what you think!” Marinette replied desperately. “Really.”

“Mm-hmm,” Alya hummed, a sly grin sliding onto her lips. “Sure, Mari. Whatever you say.”

Marinette opened her mouth to further protest, but Alya cut her off with a look. “We should go grab our table,” she said. Then, with a meaningful glance, Alya added, “We can talk about this more once we have something to munch on—I am starving.”

Marinette let the subject drop, hoping against all hope that Alya would forget about the whole thing.

Fat chance of that happening.

Alya had apparently called ahead, and it took her less than a minute to inform the hostess of their arrival and to have a waitress lead them back to a table.

As soon as the woman had left with their drink orders, Alya leaned over to table toward Marinette. “Okay, girlie. Spill.”

Marinette sighed, glancing down at her napkin—not to avoid Alya’s gaze, of course. The napkin was just … interesting. She waited a moment, wondering if she could simply refuse to talk until Alya gave up. The table rattled softly as Alya leaned even closer, only confirming what Marinette already knew: it was a hopeless cause.

Well, she thought. Might as well get it over with quick.

“I... um…”

Alya’s eyes narrowed, and Marinette quickly looked toward the window. Cheeks flushing a brilliant pink, she finally said, “So I might have. Seen, y’know … Adrien, that is. On … on Saturday.”

“Saturday night?” Alya clarified, eyebrow rising dangerously close to her hairline.

“Um, yes?” Marinette squeaked.

“And you stayed with him?” Alya continued. “Over night. With him.”

“You’re making a whole lot of implications, okay?” Marinette snapped, though her voice was still high and squeaky. “I’m telling you, it’s not what you think. At all.”

Okay, so maybe that was a slight exaggeration. Slightly. Maybe.

Marinette was starting to think that Alya’s grin would be stuck in place on her face with how hard she was smiling. “Okay first of all: holy crap,” she said, shaking her head. “And second: holy fucking crap.”

“Alya,” Marinette moaned desperately. “Please. Just drop it.”

“I just can’t believe it,” Alya replied, obviously not taking a single word to heart. “Oh my god, and on Saturday too!? One of my sources said there was some big hullabaloo that night. Apparently the police were all over the place, although they never gave a reason. Thank god you were with Adrien!”

“No,” Marinette replied, keeping her face carefully very clear of any reaction to Alya’s “breaking” news. “Do not thank god. It’s awful, Alya. You’ve doomed me.”

Alya scoffed. “Are you kidding me? Apparently I did you a favor. This is perfect!”

“But it’s not,” Marinette moaned. She dropped her head onto the table.

Alya tsked. “How many times do I have to tell you? You can’t die of embarrassment. It’s just not possible.”

Marinette scrunched her eyes closed, still pressing her forehead into the cool, polished wood of the table top. “No. It’s not… that.”

There was a stretch of silence. Then Alya placed a hand on her shoulder and quietly asked, “Mari, is everything okay?”

No.

No, everything was not okay. For the first time all day, Marinette finally allowed herself to feel all of the emotions she had so forcefully shoved to the back of her mind.

Everything was not okay. In fact, everything was terrible, and awful, and she felt like an idiot, and she was exceedingly angry with Adrien, except she also really just … missed him. He was right there, and yet he had never felt further away. Not even all the years they had spent apart—years that he had spent hurting, years that she had spent not knowing who or where he was—had made her feel as far from him as she did now. Because now the truth was laid bare before them, and it made the distance in between then insurmountable.

But… she couldn’t explain all of that to Alya.

For the millionth time, Marinette found herself regretting the slight—but noticeable—distance that being Ladybug set between her and her best friend.

So instead, Marinette simply replied, “We didn’t part on—well, the best terms.” She took a deep breath, then slowly raised her head to finally meet Alya’s eyes. “Seeing him today was a real shock. Not the good kind.”

Alya’s face twisted up in concern, and Marinette couldn’t help but notice that she looked guilty. Which only made Marinette feel worse—as frustrated as she was that Alya hadn’t told her, she wasn’t mad at her. Nor was any of this her fault.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Alya asked.

The look on Marinette’s face must have been answer enough. Before she had time to reply, Alya slammed her fist down on the table.

“Tonight is a chocolate kind of night!” she declared with a tone of finality.

“No, Alya, really, it’s fine—”

Alya cut her off with a sharp glare. “Chocolate. Night.” Then, raising one eyebrow, she added, “No arguments.”

Declaration or no, Marinette was ready to protest—but was cut short by their waitress returning with their drinks.

“Are you ladies ready to order?” she asked, taking out her book.

“Yes,” Alya said quickly. “I want two of chocolate milkshakes. Oh, and an ice cream fudge brownie. Two spoons please.”

The waitress smiled. “Just dessert today, then?”

“No,” Alya replied, looking for all the world like a refined customer despite her ridiculous request. She held her chin high and had her legs crossed daintily at the ankles. “We’re doing things backwards today—dessert needs to be first.”

To Marinette’s relief, the waitress simply laughed. “Alright, I’ll put your order in, then.”

Marinette opened her mouth as the woman left again, but Alya quickly cut her off. “Uh-uh! No!” Alya frowned at her so severely that Marinette finally relented in a laugh.

“Okay, okay,” Marinette ceded. She heaved a huge sigh. “Chocolate night it is.”

Alya clicked her tongue and winked. “‘Atta girl.” She shifted in her chair, leaning against the table. “Alright, now tell me about your first day of work. I want to know everything.”

Chapter Text

Marinette blinked, unable to stop her mouth from dropping open just a fraction.

“What?” she squeaked, glancing anxiously between the fabric in front of her and Felise by her side.

“A pattern,” Felise repeated, her tone flat. Well, even more flat—from Marinette’s experience so far, the woman seemed to always have a flat tone. It was far from reassuring. “You’ve seen the designs. This beading needs to be done as quickly as possible for the fitting this week. I’ve pulled samples of the beads I want you to use, but if you need more, one of the other junior designers can show you where to find them.” The woman paused, then pinned Marinette with a stern stare. “Understood?”

“Yes!” Marinette replied hurriedly, her voice still coming out in a squeak. She took a quick, somewhat deeper breath and added in a more reasonable voice, “Got it! I’ll start right away.”

Felise gave a single nod before heading back to her work station. With an uneven exhale, Marinette looked down at the project before her.

Three yards? Of a complex, beaded design? On her second day?

Brain still running in overdrive, Marinette slumped onto a nearby stool. She took another deep breath, struggling to regain some semblance of control.

Okay, okay, she told herself. This is a lot. Like, a lot a lot. How quickly does she want this, again? She said this week, right? Does that mean Friday? Or sooner? Or—

Marinette forced her thoughts to just stop, slamming her eyes closed in the process.

Slowly. Calmly. She needed to think.

It didn’t matter when Felise wanted the fabric by. Regardless, Marinette knew she should work as quickly as she could. With Fashion Week coming up, everything would be a rush job sooner or later.

Focus on moving quickly, but doing a good job, she told herself firmly. Felise will tell me if there’s anything incorrect.

Tch, Marinette didn’t doubt that.

But no—no. She would deal with that when she got there. For now, it was more important just to get started.

Marinette opened her eyes and looked down at the fabric on the table before her. One step at a time. She woke up her laptop, pulled up the pattern, and checked it against the fabric. Then, picking up the first of the beads, she got to work.

The first repetition was the hardest, of course. Marinette worked over it carefully, keeping a critical eye on the proportions, the number of beads, the placement. Once she was sure she had gotten the first set correct, she marked out the second repetition and began again.

By the fifth repetition, it had become a routine, albeit a slow one that required much double checking. Marinette rolled her neck once she finished the set, glanced around the room, then settled a little more comfortably on her stool so that her shoulders weren’t quite so hunched.

By the twelfth repetition, she actually was able to keep half a mind on everything going on in the studio. It was fairly quiet, much as it had been yesterday. But instead of leaving Marinette nervous, she found the atmosphere rather comfortable today. Kari had left her speakers on, and the muted sound of her Spotify playlist drifted through the open room. Kari herself was leaned over the back of Noelle’s chair, pointing something out on Noelle’s laptop. Vindyha was situated in the far corner, sifting through magazines and binders. Every now and then Selina would come bustling in, grab an item from her work station, then head back to the workroom across the hall, where Felise had set up for the morning.

As awful as it was to admit, Marinette was kind of relieved that Felise was in another room. She was able to breathe a lot easier knowing that she didn’t have to worry about Felise glancing over at any moment to check her work.

It wasn’t even that Felise was mean or rude… just that she also wasn’t particularly nice either. The woman seemed to be all business, and her not-quite-friendly atmosphere was setting Marinette on edge. Noelle’s foreboding warning yesterday evening certainly wasn’t doing anything to help ease Marinette’s nerves.

There was a muted thump, and Marinette looked up from the pattern to see Vindyha setting down a hefty stack of magazines on the other side of the table. As Vindyha sat down opposite her, Marinette couldn’t help admiring the calm grace the other Junior Designer seemed to possess, even in such a simple gesture. If she had been in Vindyha’s shoes, Marinette likely would have managed to find a way to trip and drop all of the magazines on the floor.

She shot Vindyha a smile and was relieved when the other Junior Design returned it with a small grin of her own. Then she glanced down at Marinette’s project and gave her an understanding smile.

“The joys of starting mid-season,” she said, sounding a friendly mix of ironic and sympathetic. “It’s going to get increasingly hectic from here.”

“Yeah… I’m still a bit nervous,” Marinette replied truthfully. “But I’m very excited to finally be working in the design department.”

“Just do your best,” Vindyha told her. “As for the rest… Felise and Abella will tell you where you can improve.”

Marinette nodded, not feeling entirely reassured. She would very much welcome their feedback—both Felise and Abella were amazing designers, and it would be great to learn from them. But that wouldn’t necessarily make it any less nerve-wracking to hear. In fact, quite the opposite.

Marinette set back to work on her pattern while Vindyha began taking notes, glad for the easy silence that settled between them.

Somewhere between her thoughts and the conversation with Vindyha, Marinette lost track of exactly how many repetitions she stitched. She worked her way through a fair number, and was rather pleased a little while later when she looked over the fabric and realized she had made some decent headway. Rather than counting each repetition, she began to pride herself on finishing a full row. It took much longer, of course, but it was satisfying to see the design inch its way up the bolt.

Marinette had managed to finish a couple additional rows when she realized that the quiet atmosphere of the design room had begun to shift. Selina was back, chatting with Kari, and Noelle had gotten up and left. Even Vindyha stretched and stood up from her stool. Marinette watched in confusion as Felise came in through the entryway just a few moments later.

Vindyha must have caught Marinette’s confused frown. “We take a short break every morning at ten,” she told Marinette. “Since Selina and Kari basically operate off of their caffeine, and Felise has usually worked her way through an entire pot of tea, it’s just kind of become habit.” Then, pushing in her chair, Vindyha added, “You can get up and walk around, if you want. Everyone will likely be grabbing more to drink for the next fifteen minutes.”

“Thanks,” Marinette replied quietly. She was so glad to have someone to explain the little things to her. Especially something as little as this—Marinette had already pestered Felise with tons of questions both yesterday and this morning. Even though a part of her knew that her mentor was supposed to answer her questions, she couldn’t help feeling nervous each time she had to interrupt Felise’s concentration.

Marinette lingered for a minute, just to make sure. But Vindyha was right: the Senior Designers had all disappeared out the door, Felise with her teapot in hand, and Noelle was still nowhere to be seen.

She wasn’t really thirsty, nor did she need any more caffeine. But she did know someone who probably wouldn’t mind having her hang around for a few minutes—at least, hopefully.

With a grin, Marinette headed down to visit Hélèn.

Adrien held his cup close to his face, breathing in the strong scent of coffee. Today was slightly less hectic than yesterday had been—slightly. But he had already spent two solid hours sorting through a stack of contracts that sat half a foot tall on his desk, and he still had plenty more to prepare for tomorrow. It was shaping up to be an awful Tuesday.

He took a long sip from his cup and waved at Selina and Kari as he headed out of the kitchen and into the hallway.

On most days he was quite grateful that his desk was so close to the kitchen. There were definitely perks to being located on the ground floor in the row of desks just outside of the kitchen’s hallway—namely, being the first to the kitchen when an Email went around about free cookies. But today, Adrien almost wished that he worked on the third floor, just so that he could prolong his inevitable return to slogging through contracts.

Adrien was nearly to the row of desks when a quiet peal of laughter echoed off to his right. He glanced over, then froze at the sight of Marinette leaning against Hélèn’s desk.

“I’m serious!” Hélèn insisted, grinning like a fiend. “I swear it!”

“There’s no way,” Marinette replied.

Her face was split in a beaming grin, cheeks bunched up and shoulders hunched. The sight hit Adrien like a punch to the gut, and he hurried his pace until the dividing wall along the desks blocked her from his view. She hadn’t seen him—or, at least, he hoped not.

“Hey.”

Adrien started at the sudden noise and turned to find Goran watching him from his desk.

“Would you mind looking this over?” Goran asked, gesturing towards his screen. “I need to…” His eyes narrowed, voice trailing off as he looked Adrien over. “Everything okay?”

Adrien glanced quickly back towards Hélèn’s desk, which—sure enough—was still blocked from view. Then, with a small smile, he replied, “Yeah, yeah. What did you need?”

Goran followed Adrien’s hurried glance, still frowning. “Isn’t the new girl over there?” he asked. “Hélèn’s friend?”

Adrien froze, his slight smile itching at his lips. “What?” he asked, feigning ignorance. Then, with a quick backwards glance—towards a wall that still revealed absolutely nothing—he said, “Oh, yeah, I guess.”

“Didn’t you say you know her?” Goran asked. “Aren’t you going to say hi?”

Oh lord. Adrien had been hoping that everyone would just … well, drop it. Like, Hey! Yay! New girl! Old news, and now let’s never talk about it again! Apparently that was too much to hope for.

Goran was still watching him with a small frown, so Adrien shrugged. “I don’t want to interrupt,” he lied. He held his breath as another round of giggles floated across the room. Then, seeing Goran’s skeptical look, he admitted, “I knew her in high school, but we … lost contact.”

More like she had disappeared… But even in his head, the words held less bite than they would have not even a week before. Instead, they merely solicited a dull ache.

With another small shrug, he added, “I wouldn’t call us close, and we never...”—the words got stuck in his throat, the gravity of them only just hitting him as they finally came tumbling out—“...never really were, I guess.”

Shit. Shit. Now was not the time to be considering all this. A fact that Goran thankfully appeared to pick up on.

“Makes sense,” he said with a small shrug. Then, gesturing back towards his computer, he asked, “So, like I was saying, would you mind reading over this Email? The salesperson at one of the new suppliers is being ridiculously adamant, and I want to be careful how I word this.”

Adrien released a tight breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. “Sure,” he said, relieved to hear his tone taking on a much easier air. “Just send me what you got.”

“Thanks, man.”

Adrien gave Goran a short wave then went to his desk—the next over. He plunked down in his chair, set his coffee aside, and let his forehead thunk down on the cold wood.

Why did she have to be here? Maybe, if she had slipped off—exactly as she had the first time except for him finally at least knowing who she was—maybe, then, he could have dealt with all of this. Eventually. Somehow.

But she was here, invading his space,his job, and making it impossible for him to avoid thinking about her no matter how hard he tried. And she was—was—

He didn’t even know. He didn’t know what she was to him anymore. Not just some one night fling, but no longer the partner he had long since stopped believing that he really knew. And yet someone he did know—just never knew well enough.

It was a complicated, tangled, dizzying mess of glass shards in his head, too sharp and painful to attempt to sort through.

With a forceful exhale, Adrien pushed himself back up in his seat and stared determinedly at the screen in front of him. He could save all of these god awful thoughts for when he wasn’t at work. Wouldn’t be the first time he had spent a sleepless night trapped in his thoughts because of her.

It didn’t really occur to Adrien until he walked into the photography room mid-day on Wednesday.

He led today’s group of models in, closed the door behind him, turned—

—and found Marinette staring at him from across the room.

Because of course. She was a junior designer, after all. Of course she would be there for the first fitting. And every other fitting from here on out, no doubt.

Adrien quickly tore his gaze away from her and focused his attention on the senior designers. “Hello, ladies,” he said, with as close to a genuine smile as he could muster. “We’re all ready to go?”

“Yes, please come in,” Selina replied. She shot Adrien a dazzling smile, and Adrien couldn’t help feeling a touch more at ease.

“Wonderful.” Adrien beckoned to two of the models, then headed over to Selina, solidly keeping his gaze trained on the designer in front of him. “This is Antja and Liza. They’ll be working with you for your first two outfits.”

As he made introductions, Adrien slowly allowed himself to ease into his usual flow. This was fine. It’s not like he needed to be on edge. He could just talk with the senior designers and then everything would be fine.

He pretended not to notice whenever he caught a glimpse of long, dark hair from the corner of his eye.

Adrien left Antja and Liza in Selina’s good hands, then moved over to introduce Kari to the two models who would be working with her and gave them the same run down. He held his breath as Kari gave Natalee a quick once-over—after all, Kari had never worked with the woman, but her reputation as a diva far preceded her. But Natalee was good, and she fit the look that Kari had wanted to a tee.

To his vast relief, Kari simply smiled. “I’m greatly looking forward to working with you both,” she said, her usual grin splitting across her face. “Why don’t we get started?”

Adrien gave the models one last glance to make sure everything was alright before he turned to the last designer. “Great, and—” He stumbled for half a moment as he found Marinette in front of him. Barely a hiccup—but a noticeable one, nonetheless. Adrien gave a small cough—was that a believable excuse for his trip up? Surely it was. Just a tickle in his throat, nothing more—and gestured to the last two models. “These two lovely ladies are Galina and Homa. Ladies, this is Felise.”

Felise stepped forward to greet the models, blessedly blocking Marinette from view.

Adrien gave them the same quick rundown as he had the others. Then, sure that he had hit all the necessary points, Adrien clapped his hands and took a step back to address the entire group. “With this being the first fitting, I’ll be sitting in, just in case there are any questions,” Adrien said, gesturing to a cluster of chairs along the back wall. “After that, I’ll be in and out periodically. Did anyone have any questions before we get started?”

He glanced around, glad to see everyone shaking their heads. “Great,” he said with a quick smile. “Designers, feel free to take it from here.”

The room quickly settled into easy chatter as each of the senior designers took charge of their groups. Satisfied, Adrien turned and headed to the back corner of the room.

This was, quite honestly, one of his least favorite parts of the job. Not because of the fittings—he enjoyed getting to watch as the designers’ creations came together in the weeks leading up to fashion week. But Adrien wasn’t here just to answer questions. He was here to evaluate. If any of the models were going to pose a particular problem, Abella wanted to know immediately, so that there would be time to find and sign a replacement if need be.

Adrien understood why it was important, and he also understood why he was asked to do the evaluations. After all, he dealt directly with each of the modeling agencies and models. It was his job to facilitate and—if necessary—terminate contracts.

But that certainly didn’t make the process any more fun. He just hoped that he’d be lucky this season and run into as few problems as possible.

Adrien settled into a chair and took out his notebook, flipping to the first free page. Then pen in hand, he watched.

It was far from a perfect method. After all, he couldn’t quite hear everything that was being said. There was too much conversation going on to pick it all out.

But he could see the easy way that Liza was working with Selina, her shoulders relaxed and a small smile on her lips. Adrien wasn’t particularly surprised. This was the third Fashion Week that Liza was modeling for Attitude. She was easy going and very professional—Adrien really didn’t need to worry too much about her.

On the other hand, he could also see how high Noelle’s shoulders had crept up around her shoulders while she helped Natalee into a dress. Noelle’s usually bored look was twisted into just a hint of a frown, and it was readily apparent that she was not particularly happy to be working with the woman. Natalee seemed blissfully ignorant of the subtle looks Noelle was shooting her, and Kari also seemed, if not unaware, at least calm enough to take the slight tension in stride and not allow it to get in the way of her work. Adrien worried his bottom lip and jotted down a reminder. He was going to have to keep an eye on Natalee, but so far his gut was telling him that things would be alright.

Homa was the only model of this particular bunch that was new this season, but she seemed to be getting along just fine with—Marinette.

Adrien swallowed thickly, quickly training his gaze back on his notepad. He couldn’t keep doing this. He needed to be able to observe the models, and to do that, he needed to be able to watch her without choking up.

It’s not like he wanted to watch her. He had seen more than enough beautiful women in his life. And if the swaying of her long, dark hair dredged up memories of the way she had looked Sunday morning—of the dark silhouette of her slipping out of her dress on Saturday night… Well, it certainly wasn’t by choice. No, no, definitely not. This was just part of his job.

But a part of Adrien couldn’t help fearing that she might misinterpret the attention as him—as him—well—

He didn’t even know. Yearning for her, maybe? Because he wasn’t. He definitely wasn’t.

Or maybe she would think that he wanted to make up—to be partners again. (Not that they had ever truly been partners in the first place, he reminded himself. Not when she had zero trust in him.)

Yeah, he definitely didn’t want that. He was doing just fine on his own.

Really, he didn’t want her to look at him and have any expectations. To think that he had expectations.

Because he didn’t. Or, at least, that’s what he told himself. Because having expectations of her was the biggest mistake he had ever made. And he wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t going to put himself through that—not again.

Even if she had been telling the truth. Even if it hadn’t been intentional. Even if she had been trying to protect him. It didn’t change the fact that she hadn’t trusted him and had put him through hell.

She had apologized, but…

But, well, he didn’t know if he could forgive her. He certainly didn’t want to forgive her. Especially since she had been all too ready to turn around and just do it again—walk out of his life without even a word. He couldn’t wake up to the sight of her sneaking off again. He couldn’t even look at her without the image rising unbidden in his mind.

Which… was proving to be an issue. Because watching her interact with the models was part of his job.

She turned and brought something over to Felise, and with a start Adrien realized he had been staring at her—and not watching the models, like he was supposed to. He resolutely turned his gaze to take in the models working with Selina again. See? Easy.

So why couldn’t he just do that with her, too? What he really needed was for everything to just be, y’know, normal between them. So he could observe her as she worked and have it be as impersonal as him watching Noelle or Vindyha or any of the models.

Adrien took a deep breath, then glanced back over at Marinette. She was leaning over to closely examine Homa’s bodice, the tip of her tongue stuck between her teeth in concentration.

Adrien felt his stomach swoop and his mouth go dry, and he quickly looked back down at his notepad.

This isn’t anywhere near as difficult as you’re making it, idiot, he resolutely told himself. She’s just another woman—just like any other person in the world. Stop acting like some lovestruck teenager.

The thought made him flinch. He wasn’t, he reminded himself. He was the furthest thing from lovestruck.

He was just doing his job.

That’s all.

Simple.

He ran his gaze across the room, eyes sticking to her form for half a second before he quickly looked away again.

Right. So simple. If he weren’t such a fucking idiot, maybe.

Angry with himself, Adrien sank down further in his chair and made himself busy with writing down something useful before the fitting was over.

Was he staring at her?

He was totally staring at her, wasn’t he?

Marinette chanced a glance over her shoulder, only to find that Adrien was writing something down on his notepad.

Well.

Okay, maybe he wasn’t staring at her. She was probably blowing this whole thing out of proportion. After all, he was simply doing his job.

See, girl? she told herself pointedly. He doesn’t care about you—don’t flatter yourself.

It was painful, but she took that statement and repeated it as often as she breathed, driving the nail in a little deeper each time. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.

And neither should you.

Easier said than done, if the way her heart ached with each reminder was any indication.

Marinette took a deep breath, then glanced back up to Felise … who was watching her expectantly. Oh shit.

Marinette blinked quickly, stomach flooding with dread. “I’m so sorry, what was that?” she asked, voice barely more than a whisper.

“Could you please grab the shawl and get it settled on Galina correctly?” Felise said, words pronounced just enough to make it clear she was repeating herself.

Marinette nodded quickly. “Yes, of course.”

She was halfway through turning when Felise added, “Marinette.”

Marinette used the momentum of her pivot to turn herself all the way around, right back to looking at Felise. “Yes?” she asked, cursing her squeaky tone.

“With this being the first fitting, we really need to ensure everything is done with a careful eye.” Felise said it with a normal tone, her gaze no more sharp than usual. But the meaning of her words was perfectly clear: this is important, and you’re not doing your job well enough.

Marinette swallowed and nodded her head at a much more controlled pace, somehow managing to meet Felise’s eyes evenly. Quite honestly, she wanted nothing more than to duck under one of the racks and hide for the rest of her life. Which was ridiculous. She was a grown ass adult, goddammit. She had worked in the industry for three years—in Marketing rather than Design, perhaps, but still. What was it about this woman that made Marinette feel like she was a five year old who couldn’t tell fleece from cotton?

Felise nodded once, apparently satisfied, and turned her attention back to re-pinning the back seam of Homa’s dress. Sucking in a relieved breath, Marinette hurried over to the rack and retrieved the shawl. It wasn’t finished yet—eventually it would be overlaid with the material that Marinette was sewing the patterned beading to. Which, quite honestly, wasn’t doing anything to calm Marinette’s nerves. Felise hadn’t commented at all on Marinette’s progress so far. Marinette still couldn’t tell if Felise had expected for it to be done already or not. She knew that today was just the initial fitting, but maybe Felise had intended to finish the shawl for today. What if she was throwing Felise off schedule?

Marinette forced herself to take a deep breath, taking the shawl from the rack. All you can do is your best, girl, she reminded herself. So focus!.

As she walked back, Marinette stole another quick glance to the back corner, where Adrien was still writing on his notepad. She quickly yanked her gaze back toward the front of the room, stomach twisting uncertainly. Really, this was growing absolutely ridiculous. There was no reason to get so flustered just because he was here. After all, he was technically going to be “here” every single day, given that they worked at the same company and all. She was going to have to get used to it one way or the other.

No better time to start than the present. Or, at least, that’s what she was trying very hard to convince herself.

Marinette hurried back over to where Galina was standing in front of the mirrors. “Would you please hold your arms out to the side?” she asked.

The model slid her eyes over to meet Marinette’s in the mirror and did as asked, expression rather bored.

Quite honestly, the woman’s attitude—or lack thereof—was rubbing Marinette the wrong way. But she plastered on a bright smile and said, “Thanks!”

Marinette set to work adjusting the shawl, which was a rather intricate task, given that the shawl was made to clasp onto the sleeves of the pantsuit. It was a neat little detail that Marinette really admired—it allowed the shawl to drape like wings without falling off of the model’s arms completely, matching the flowing nature of the rest of the design. However, the clasps were currently pinned in place, making them much more precarious. Marinette worked on the right sleeve with painstaking care to make sure she didn’t accidentally mess up the fabric or the alignment of the clasps.

Then, satisfied that the pins hadn’t been jostled and that the clasps would hold, Marinette shifted over to the left sleeve. She shook out the end of the shawl, draping it properly over Galina’s arm.

She hadn’t even realized her eyes had strayed to Adrien’s reflection in the mirror until his bright green gaze was suddenly meeting hers dead on.

Marinette flinched, her fingers fumbling with the pin in her hands as she quickly tore her gaze away…

… only to find Galina watching her in the mirror, her lips twisted into a slight frown that somehow still managed to be gracefully beautiful. Galina raised her eyebrows as Marinette met her stare.

“A bit flighty today, hm?” she asked with a thick Russian accent.

Marinette flushed deep red, quickly ducking her head back down to focus on the shawl. “No, no,” she assured Galina quickly. “Just had a sudden chill. Sorry to have jostled you.”

She chanced a quick glance up to see Galina still watching her with a considering frown. Galina’s gaze slowly traveled across the mirror toward Adrien’s reflection, then returned to Marinette’s face with a small smirk.

“Is the audience flustering you?” Galina asked, a slight, teasing lilt to her voice. “Is that what’s the issue?”

“What? No,” Marinette shot back with a forced laugh, her voice a little too high to be believable. She fought desperately against the second wave of red working its way across her cheeks.

“Oh honey,” Galina replied, shaking her head with a small laugh. “Do you even know who that is?”

Marinette blinked, too taken off guard by the question to respond. Did she know who that was? For real?

But Galina’s smile only grew at Marinette’s stunned silence. “That’s Adrien Agreste, sweetie,” Galina told her, sounding for all the world as if she were talking to a child. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about. He probably hasn’t even noticed you.”

It hurt. Not because the woman was treating her like some ignorant child. Not because it was Galina who knew nothing.

No, it was because, despite the fact that Galina was so in the dark, what she said was probably true.

Oh, sure. Adrien had noticed her. Of this, Marinette had no doubts.

But Galina’s words hit too close to what she had been telling herself all morning: He doesn’t care. At all. He’s fucking Adrien Agreste. He doesn’t need you, and he hates your guts.

Jaw clenched tightly, Marinette bit her tongue and got back to work adjusting the last of the clasps. Then, smoothing over the shawl with perhaps a touch more force than necessary, Marinette simply said, “Arms down, please.”

Galina lowered her arms carefully, tilting her head as she watched the fabric settle. Marinette refused to meet her eyes, instead focusing on tucking a loose fold back into place.

“You’re finished?” Felise asked, stepping up by Marinette’s side. She looked the sleeves over as Marinette nodded. “Good. Finish pinning Homa’s hem while I work on Galina’s pants.”

Marinette gratefully slipped away, heading over to where Homa stood a few feet down the wall-length mirror.

“Hey,” Marinette said with a small smile. She was relieved when Homa shot her a genuine smile in return. “Did Felise get started on the hem already, or…?”

“Yes,” Homa said, lifting her skirt and twisting it some for Marinette to see. “She had started it over here.”

“Great,” Marinette replied, a little relieved. It was going to be a lot easier to follow Felise’s hemline than to estimate—possibly incorrectly—how high up it should be on her own.

She walked around to Homa’s other side and knelt on the ground. Thankfully, from this angle Homa’s skirt blocked both Galina and the back corner from view.

It was ridiculous how comforting that realization was. And, with a twinge of guilt, Marinette realized that it was a problem.

After all, just because she didn’t like Galina didn’t mean that Marinette wouldn’t have to bite her tongue and play nice. She had learned long ago that the professional world was just like that: sometimes there were people she didn’t like. So what? Big deal. Grow up and move on.

So Adrien hated her. So they had a messy, sticky past that Marinette couldn’t even begin to make heads or tails of at the moment.

So what? That didn’t change the fact that they were coworkers. And, at the end of the day, she was just going to have to grow up and move on. If she was going to do her job—and do it well—she needed to be able to work with Adrien properly.

As the morning inched along, however, it became increasingly apparent that this conclusion was much easier to come to than to act on.

Rather than finding her eyes being pulled back to Adrien every few minutes, Marinette suddenly found it difficult to even look in his general direction. She went about her work with single-minded focus, honing in on each direction that Felise gave her.

When Felise tapped her shoulder at the end of the morning, Marinette was surprised to look up and discover that she, Felise, and Homa were the only ones left in the room.

Felise eyed Homa’s outfit up and down, then nodded with pursed lips. “Very good, thank you for your patience, Homa,” she said. As she helped the model out of the dress, she added to Marinette, “Go ahead and take your lunch. We’ll go over the details this afternoon.”

“Thanks,” Marinette replied. “It was nice to meet you,” she told Homa, before hurrying to return her materials to their proper places.

On her way out, Marinette spared a despairing glance toward the now empty chair in the corner. Dread filled her stomach, and she nervously bit her lip. She knew she needed to do something—for her own sake, if nothing else. The hard part was going to be figuring out what.