Work Text:
It was unlike Chat Noir to skip their patrols. Normally, he took as hard a stance on enforcing them as she did; doubly so on the rare occasion where it would just be the two of them.
Though, she knew that he only did it as an excuse to spend time with her, of course.
In saying that, of the whole team, he did seem to be the one most likely to be found outside of their strictly scheduled appearances and akuma battles. There was a time when she would have looked at his flippant demeanor and assumed that he didn’t take his role as Chat Noir seriously enough, but with time came retrospect, and she’d instead started to wonder what pushed him to live as Chat Noir when the moon rose above the horizon.
If she was being frank, she worried that he pushed himself too hard. Almost like clockwork he’d traverse the city, every night, from nine in the evening to sometimes two or three in the morning. He couldn’t possibly be getting enough sleep.
But despite this potentially unhealthy obsession with being in costume as much as possible, tonight, of all nights, when Rena Rouge had to drop out of patrol, he wasn’t available.
Ladybug grunted as she hit the rooftop in a roll, sprinting out of the move and leaping over the edge as she threw out her yoyo, and before long, she was soaring through the air once more, her feet gliding low over the road before she swung high with an impossible velocity, her superhuman strength yanking her back up into the sky.
She wasn’t mad about it, really. Not even slightly disappointed. It was important, after all, that as a leader, she delegated patrol duties equally amongst the team. That naturally meant that if someone can’t make it, she can’t expect Chat — or anyone — to be able to make an appearance at the drop of a hat. It wasn’t an akuma attack, after all.
The fact that he seemed to make himself available at this hour had in no way impacted the frequency at which she patrolled. It certainly had nothing to do with why she insisted on patrolling, herself, instead of just pairing up members of the team. No, not at all.
They just weren’t… ready yet.
Of course, she still could have asked another member of the team to take his— to take Rena’s place, but for completely unrelated reasons, she didn’t feel like engaging in the usual banter or patrol routes. No, she’d go for a quick run around the city to let out some excess energy, keep her eyes peeled for any dark shapes traversing the rooftops — akumas, she means —- and then catch an early night. After all, there was not much reason to patrol when—
Ladybug skidded to a stop, her arm catching on a chimney to halt her race across the westernmost rooftops of the Quartier Saint-Paul. She blinked, unsure if she’d simply been seeing things.
‘No, I swear I saw something…’
She waited for a moment.
And then, a moment longer.
And just when she began to worry that she was actually starting to manifest him in her peripheral vision, she saw it again in the distance, across the Seine: a black shape darting between buildings like a moving shadow, identifiable only by what, from where she was standing, appeared to be a tiny tuft of blond hair. He was almost invisible, as if actively moving so as to not be seen.
Evidently, he didn’t anticipate someone who was subconsciously looking for hi— for signs of danger, because she was on patrol, and not running around feeling sorry for herself. Certainly, he didn’t expect someone to see him all the way from another district, but then, that’s why they patrolled on the rooftops; to get the furthest view possible. The privacy didn’t hurt, either.
He wouldn't have been visible at all if it wasn't for the city lights just barely backlighting his silhouette; certainly, nobody below him had noticed his presence. She'd forgotten how stealthy he was, when he wanted to be.
‘What are you up to, kitty cat?’ She frowned.
If she hadn’t allowed herself to dwell on him for the better part of an hour, she might have given more thought to the prospect that Chat Noir simply needed some time alone, tonight. As it happened, all that she could think of was that he desired time away from her. Which was absurd. They only saw each other every other day.
Almost every night, sure, but some days? They don’t run into each other once.
It was irresponsible; she knew that. She wasn’t totally out of her right mind. If he needed some time away from her, she would have been a good leader to allow it; certainly, an understanding friend. She checked her yoyo, just to confirm that, no, he hadn’t tried to contact her, and yes, he was still hiding his location on their shared, digital map.
However, he’d explicitly told her that, quote unquote, ‘Paris would have to make do without Chat Noir, tonight’ and that he had ‘unavoidable plans’ and that he was ‘sorry’. Ladybug grumbled as she leapt from building to building, running alongside him from across the Seine.
She might have believed that — she might have even believed that he was simply getting from point A to point B — if it wasn’t for the fact that he seemed so sneaky out there; his moves lacked their usual flamboyance in favour of swift bounds and vaults, careful to avoid even the tiniest lick of light. That, and the fact that he’d found himself on the Île Saint-Louis, which was a relatively small, water-locked district, for what would be the most inefficient way to parkour across the city.
No, he was up to something. And her curiosity was piqued, now. After all, what could he possibly have to hide from her? Aside from… everything she’d told him to hide.
Eventually, he ran out of roof, and instead of extending his staff to cross the intersection, as she would have expected of him, he instead aimed it down and wedged it between the edge of the building and the curb nearest the Seine, where — after assessing his surroundings for any prying eyes — he carefully zipped down with one hand loosely wrapped around the pole. As his black-clad form briefly passed through the lamplight, she noticed that he was wearing a dark backpack.
As Ladybug darted from lamppost to lamppost across the bridge that connected their districts, she watched him take the stairs by the river that led down, below street level, where he took his time walking along the water’s edge. Once she made it across, she at first thought to follow him down there to question what he was up to. But then, she figured, that if she interrupted him now, she might never know.
‘I have to know. What if he’s doing something really irresponsible? What if he’s meeting someone out here? At this hour? It can’t be good.’
So instead, she followed him from street-level, which overlooked his little hiding spot by some meters. Up where she snuck, the small concrete barrier that skirted the edge of the wall below — and the number of trees that protruded up from the stonework, both on her level and his — would give her more than enough cover to remain unnoticed, provided that she didn’t get cocky.
She snuck up to the barrier and slowly peeked over, looking down at her feline friend through the leaves cast by the tree that had grown right at the water’s edge. The lamp by the water below was broken — the bulb dead — leaving only the lamp above, on her level, to illuminate him.
He was just standing there, alone, with his bag flung over one shoulder as he watched the water ripple before him. They were right at the tip of the island, where the river that flowed on either side met to wrap around the northern flank of the Île de la Cité.
He stayed that way for a few minutes, watching the water flow ahead of him, before he turned towards the tree and laid his bag against it, where he knelt down to unzip it and reveal…
… a bouquet of flowers?
Ladybug felt something catch in her throat, and she dared not move a muscle as he stood up straight and held them in his hands, looking down at them as if they were the most important thing in his world. There was something else in his expression, barely restrained, and Ladybug chalked it up to nervousness.
They were enchanting looking things; predominantly a collection of white flowers, but with some yellows in there as well. They were wrapped up in shiny, golden cellophane. If it were a little brighter, or if she were a little less taken aback by this development, she might have been able to identify them.
But in the end, it didn’t really matter, did it? It was immediately clear, to her, what this was: a moonlit rendezvous, like he’d organised for her, more than once. It would have been nice, if he clearly wasn’t waiting for another gir—
— if it wasn’t so incredibly irresponsible!
‘Damn that cat! You can’t go around meeting up w-with girls like this! At night! As a superhero! Imagine the publicity if people found out! I-it would put her in unimaginable danger! It could ruin her life!’ She was fuming. It was so far beyond inappropriate.
In her mind, she was in the right to jump down there right now and give him what for, but as she stood to do just that…
“I’m sorry that I couldn’t do more…”
… he spoke.
And he sounded so, so sad, that it gave her pause.
“I’m sorry that I couldn’t… I’m sorry that I can’t do this properly.”
He moved towards the water’s edge and leant back against the tree, sliding down it until his knees were drawn up to his chin, with his arms — and the flowers — outstretched before him; the bag laying at his side.
“I-I’m sorry that I have nowhere else to go…
“No way of visiting you; seeing you…” his voice wobbled, and he sounded on the verge of bawling. “I’m sorry that this is the best I can do for you, right now.”
He rested the bouquet against the tree at his side, facing out to the water.
“But then… if not at your grave, where else but here, right?”
Ladybug shot back down to her hiding place.
‘Oh no…’
“I can’t do this at home… I mean, you know how father is. He’d probably pull me out of school again if I said your name out loud. He hasn’t… come to terms with it yet.
“But I… have. I-I have to…” his voice cracked. “I c-can’t keep preten— I can’t…” She heard him shudder, and her heart cracked. “I’m sorry,” he whimpered, “I have to let you go. I have to. I have to, I have to, I have to…” Her eyes went damp when she heard his quiet sob, and then, his not-so-quiet sob. “I can’t keep living like this, I’m sorry; I’m so sorry, Mum, I’m so sorry…”
He went on like this for a while.
Too long.
Ladybug squeezed her eyes shut, as if doing so would protect her from the waves of guilt that broke against her. How dare she be here? How dare she invade this most private of moments? How dare she think so little of him in the first place?
She wanted to both run away to give him his well deserved privacy and leap over that barrier and envelop him in the biggest hug of her life, and she found herself held in place by the indecision.
‘If I did that, what if I just hurt him more? When he realises that I was following him… spying on him… what if he can’t bear to look me in the eye, after this? What if he hates me? What if it’s the end of our partnership and he refuses to speak to me ever again and—’
“Bug?!” he called out into the night, his voice broken and hoarse. “M’lady, I… I kn-know you’re there…” he sniffed.
She didn’t dare move. Did she make a sound without realising? Could he see her when she was watching before, in his peripheral vision?
“Bug, I have super-hearing a-and night vision. You weren’t sneaking up on me.”
…
“Are… are you still there?”
‘Nope. Not here. Was never here.’
“Please… I don’t want to be alone,” his voice shook. “I… I don’t want to do this alone…”
‘... oh.’ She opened her eyes.
“Ladybug?!” he called again, this time closer to a cry, and she stood, stepping into full view. The relief that flooded onto his features the moment they made eye contact was almost enough to make her think that she was going to get away with this transgression scot-free.
“I’m here, kitty.”
“Y-yeah, I know…” He huffed out what was almost a chuckle. “Come down here; you’ll be able to hear better.”
Ladybug’s eyes dropped away, but she did as he asked, clambering over the wall and landing before him with a light ‘pat’.
“Chat, I… I’m so sorry. If I knew—”
“You’re not supposed to know, remember? You’re not supposed to know anything about me.”
“I’m… so sorry…”
Chat opened his mouth — presumably to chastise her — but he didn’t seem to have it in him, right now. Instead, he only sighed as he rested his head back against the bark of the tree, and she dared to meet his gaze as he looked up at her with those big, cat eyes, through wet, golden lashes, and Ladybug froze once more, but this time, not with guilt, but… something else.
He’d never looked so gorgeous, studying her as he was. But he also looked so incredibly fragile that she couldn’t help but wonder if catching him in this state alone was too much of a peek behind the curtain.
‘You’re not supposed to know anything about me’ rang through her mind as she looked down at this… this boy that she barely recognised as her Chat, and her cracked heart threatened to break completely.
Because up until this very moment, she thought that she really knew Chat Noir.
She thought that despite all the secrets that they had to keep, that the two of them were closer than most people could ever hope to be. She knew how he thought; what he’d say; how he’d act; what he’d do. All the time.
But for all his attempts to convince her to open up to him, he’d never once broached his own problems to her, and with how happy he always seemed to be, she had naively believed that it was simply because he didn’t have any. Of course, thinking back on that now, she realised just how ignorant— no, downright foolish that line of thinking was.
Of course he had problems: he was a human being. But she’d allowed herself to be convinced that he was somehow above that fact, because he was… Chat Noir. Because…
She looked down at this boy that she barely knew and her already wet eyes began to blur.
… because he’d gone out of his way to curate the person she knew… for her, and for all of Paris. And at her request. How else could he hope to keep such an important detail from her, if he didn’t pretend like everything was fine.
They’d known each other for years, and yet, she never would have even begun to suspect that this was lying below the surface; that he was putting up a facade.
This was a boy who’d lost his mother. What was almost worse was that he’d never been allowed to grieve; that he’d had to hold onto that grief — that pain — for she-could-only-guess how long. He lived in a home where he wasn’t able to honestly express how he felt and their friendship existed in that exact same light.
No wonder he’d tried so hard to convince her to break their rule. And no wonder he’d been so dejected by her refusal, every time.
“Aw… Bugaboo, if you’re gonna start crying, then you have to sit down.” He patted the space next to him. “This is the Crying-Tree.”
“Th-the what?” she blubbered.
Well, okay, maybe she’d gone too far. Clearly his absurdity wasn’t a complete act.
“The Crying-Tree,” he replied as he attempted a smile, but his features were so overcome with melancholy that even him smiling seemed so incredibly sad. “It’s a tree…” He looked down at his bouquet and wiped his eyes with his forearm. “... where you cry.”
“I… I got that.” Ladybug approached and he moved the bag into his lap, beckoning her to his side. She dropped down next to him against the supremely uncomfortable tree. “As ever, your creativity when it comes to names peaked at ‘Mr. Bug’.” He chuckled, close to a genuine laugh, and it was the best thing that she could imagine hearing, in this moment.
“Actually, my Mum came up with that one, but yeah… you can see where I get it from.” Again, she fell into silence. “It…” He wavered. “It was the last place we visited before she c-couldn’t walk anymore.”
Ladybug knew that the most responsible thing she could do, as hard as it would be, is shut this down now, before she learnt too much.
She lightly knocked her shoulder against his and when those pretty greens flitted up to meet her eyes, Marinette just didn’t have the heart to break his. So instead, she nervously brushed her knuckles against his, and she felt something flutter in her chest when his hand found its way into hers.
“Tell me,” she murmured, as she drew her knees up to her chin, much like Chat had.
“Are… are you sure?” She nodded, lifting his hand up so as to hold it in both of hers. “Well, the first time we came here, me and Mum and Dad, we were…” He hesitated. “... at a place nearby for one of Father’s work things and I… happened to be involved in it. This was a long time ago, now. Even when I was little, he had me working for the company’s… well, the less said about that, the better.
“Anyway, I was very upset to be there because I was missing my then-best-friend’s — well, my only friend’s — party. It wasn’t even her birthday; she just liked to be celebrated.” Ladybug huffed.
“Yeah, I know someone like that.”
“Needless to say, we aren’t very good friends anymore. I’m lucky to have some… better people in my life, now.” He squeezed her hand and she squeezed back, despite just how much she believed him to be wrong, on that front. “But anyway, I ended up getting into a fight with my father. He kept bossing me around and dragging it on and on. When we started running an hour behind, I yelled at him and he…”
He paused, and Ladybug peeled her eyes away from his hand in hers just in time to see the aftermath of a flinch or a grimace.
“... he didn’t take it well. Mum ended up getting between us. She was the only person alive who had a hope in hell of telling him off, and boy, did she lay into him.
“Anyway… she enforced a break, and then took me on a walk along the Seine. We ended up here. Honestly, that kind of thing wasn’t all that out of the ordinary for us, but that day I was just so overwhelmed with everything.”
Ladybug almost couldn’t believe what she was hearing. What kind of family life did he have, when his mum had to step in between him and his father? How bad has it gotten now, with her gone? They might be superheroes, but outside the masks, they are still kids. Who’s protecting him?
“I was working long hours and Father… was being Father. I mean, in hindsight, things weren’t really that bad — not yet — but I just wanted to spend time with other kids. I mean, I couldn’t have been older than ten. I might have been nine… it doesn’t matter.
“I was starting to understand that Mum was getting sick, too. I mean, she’d always been sick, as far as I know, but it was starting to get… bad. Nose bleeds; dizzy spells; weight loss that couldn’t be managed; migraines like nothing else. And all that time, she had to take care of me, because even back then, Dad wanted almost n-nothing to do with me…”
Ladybug let go of his hand so as to wrap an arm around him and snuggle in, and he placed his bag to the side so as to better curl into her.
“That’s a lot for anyone to deal with,” Ladybug murmured in his ear. “Let alone a little boy.”
Chat said nothing, apparently on the verge of losing himself again, and only nodded in agreement, his floofy hair tickling her chin. The reminder of how soft he was pushed her to venture her hand through it, as she sometimes did, and predictably, her partner’s cat-like nature kicked in; the act eliciting a low rumbly sound from deep within his throat.
“Are things… okay, with you and your dad?”
He said nothing, only pushing into her touch, and she could feel the vibrations emanating from his throat.
“He’s not…” she paused, almost too scared to broach the question. “He isn’t hurting you, is he?”
Again, he said nothing, instead crawling into her a little more, his face resting on her shoulder. She reluctantly pulled her hand away, thinking, perhaps, that her ministrations were preventing him from speaking, but found that he continued rumbling against her, nonetheless.
Then, shaking.
“Oh…” She began to tear up again. “Oh no… mon minou…” She pulled him into a hug. “I’m so sorry…”
“He…” he started, muffled against her collar, and she loosened up, if only a little. “H-he doesn’t strike me, really. Not usually. Not too often…”
‘Once is too often.’
“He finds that kind of thing… indignant, I think. But he f-finds… other ways, and sometimes, I think they might be worse, but… I didn’t come here to think about him. For once… just for once, my world isn’t revolving around him, tonight.”
“Okay…” She held him close. She was unsure if she could ever let him go again. “Okay, kitty. But… at some point, I want to talk about it.”
“At some point. But not tonight.”
She wanted to bundle him up and take him home and love him like he deserves to be loved.
She didn’t understand how this could happen; how it was even possible for a parent to feel anything other than the purest joy for their child to turn out as kind and gentle and smart and charismatic as Chat Noir had.
One day — one day soon, she could only hope — she was going to find out who that man was and make him pay for daring to mistreat her Chat. But until then, she was going to make sure that her partner knew just how loved he was. And she was going to stick by his side just as surely as she knew he’d stick by hers, regardless of whether or not she knew his real name.
“You deserve the world, Chat. You deserve so much better than all this…”
“Thanks, but… tonight isn’t about me, either. It’s about her.” He tried to pull away, but she held him fast against her. “N-not gonna let me go, huh?” She shook her head.
“I suspect that you’re lacking in the hugs department.”
“So you’re… what? Making up f-for the deficit?” She didn’t know what deficit meant — clearly, his school covered that before hers did — but he didn’t need to know that.
“Just keep telling me your story, kitty. What happened when you got here?”
He rested his head on her shoulder, his breath warm against her jaw as he spoke.
“W-well, when we got here, I… I was a mess. I’m not sure if she meant to bring me here exactly, but I think she was trying to take me somewhere away from prying eyes. Dad, he taught me that it was bad form to cry in front of people…”
“Well he was wrong.”
“I know. Mum tried to teach me differently, but… I always worry about weirding my friends out… ugh; off-topic…”
‘At least he feels comfortable crying in front of me. That, or he really just can’t help it, right now.’
“She sat me under this tree. I was all gross and babbling and trying not to cry, because Father h-had told me not to cry and… she just told me to let it all out. And I remember, I… heh… I was so ashamed. Father, he has this way of making you believe that everything is your fault, even when it isn’t. Even when it’s probably his.”
He turned to rub the wetness of his eyes into the material at her collar.
“I’m sorry you have to live with that.”
“Yeah, it… it’s exhausting…” he sighed.
The hand that she had committed to holding his back started to rub small circles into his lower-spine, and his voice trailed off.
“I can only imagine…” She craned her neck to place a kiss atop his head. “I’m so sorry, Chat,” she spoke into his hair. “I’m sorry that you’ve been so alone in all this.” He shook his head.
“I have some good friends. I’m not allowed to see them much, but when I can… they’re good for me; ride-or-die types. Like you.” This time, it was Ladybug who shook her head, but before she pointed out that they were actually there for him when he needed support, instead of just butting their way into his private affairs, as she had, she remembered that tonight wasn’t about herself, or him, or them.
“Your story…?”
“There’s not much else to tell, to be honest, but it kind of became our spot. When she wanted me to get out of the house or away from work… or away from him, she’d take me here. And we’d talk and play… it was the only time I really got to play. Sometimes, when she was really mad at Dad, she’d take me out for the whole day, and we’d inevitably come here for lunch or tea…” He smiled. “She’d even get our driver to pick up food and stuff from one of the nearby cafes.”
‘Driver?’ She blinked. ‘He has a driver? Who the hell is this boy?’
“When Mum got worse — I-I mean, when she got really bad — we weren’t able to go out very much. Dad started spending all of his time trying to find a way to help her while constantly coming up with more and more things for me to do. I think he was trying to get me off her plate, in those last months… I might never forgive him for that, and believe me, I’ve forgiven a lot.
“But eventually, she showed up on— uh, at work, one day. She had the driver come home to pick her up and she whisked me right off the job. And we ended up coming here. But for once, I think we came here for her, more than me. I-I think…” He paused, trying to keep himself in check. “I think she knew, you know? Th-that her time was just about up. We just sat… right here — right where we are now — a-and… just… talked. About life, and D-Dad and my future…”
Desperate as he was to keep his cool, he was unable to keep a lid on what was bubbling to the surface.
“I knew th-that something was wrong; I had a bad feeling.” He tightened his hold of her, his breaths steadily quickening. “A-a couple days later, she w-wasn’t able to get out of bed. A week after that, she slept…” He sniffed, fighting to hold some semblance of composure and failing miserably. “... it m-must have been eighteen hours a day, at least. I could see… I could feel her fading away, bug,” he sobbed. “Father, he… he literally had to pry me off her to get me out of the door. I never wanted to leave her side.”
“Of course.” She kissed his hair again, where she’d rested her head on him. “You’re a good son.”
“I-I never should have left her side!” he cried as he dug his eyes into her shoulder, his form shaking in her hands. “I should have fought him! I should have hit him! Bit him! Whatever I had to do! I n-never should have left her…”
“Oh, Kitty…”
She pulled him into an even deeper hug than before and he immediately buried his face into the crook of her neck while the rest of him curled up in her lap.
“W-w-one day, I came home and the house was empty. The driver let me in and nobody was home. No a-assistant, no kitchen staff, nothing! And I just… knew. I ran up to her room and she was gone. It was just me and the driver, and he didn’t know what to do! He just… stayed with me. Father wouldn’t answer my calls; he just… dished out orders to Placide. You know; to have me fed, watched, etcetera etcetera.
“I-it was almost a whole day after I got home before Dad walked in the door, and you know w-what he told me?” He pulled away from her. “That she’d disappeared!”
He spread out his hands above his head, twinkling his fingers for dramatic effect, and the movement caused the lamplight from above to dance with the slender shadows on the sheen of dampness across his face that continued to renew itself with fresh tears.
“That he didn’t know where she’d g-gone, but that when we see her next, she’ll be happy again. And that’s all he’s ever given me. I d-d-d—” he stuttered “— d-don’t know when the funeral was, but I sure-as-shit wasn’t allowed to attend! I don’t even know if there was a funeral! I… Ladybug, I don’t know where my mother is buried.”
It was all too much.
Even for her, it was all too much. She was starting to weep alongside him again, and she quickly found that she couldn’t even see his tears over her own, anymore. From the way he was shaking in her arms, however, she could tell that he was well past the point of crying. He was breaking down right before her eyes.
She opened her mouth to say something — anything — and came up short. The only thing that touched her lips was the salty tinge of her own tears. What could she say, that hadn’t already been said? What could someone possibly say in her position? That they were sorry for him? That it was all going to be alright? That the day she finds out who his father is is the day that she hangs that man from the top of the Eiffel tower with her yoyo string? Possibly by his neck?
She shifted under him a little.
If she was being honest with herself, all she really wanted to do right now was grab him by the face and kiss him. She wanted to show him just how loved he was; to remind him of how much he means to her, and of how alone he isn’t. And maybe she wanted to brighten their— his day, a little.
But seeing as he’s currently lamenting the death of both his mother and his peace of mind, she, of course, decided against it. She’d managed to wander into the one scenario where he’d be anything other than utterly elated by her reaching over and doing… that.
“One day, Chat. Somehow, we’re going to figure all this out, one day. I promise.”
“You can’t—” Chat Noir started, but he choked up before he could continue. Ladybug rubbed hard at her eyes, fighting to stop their flow. “You can’t… promise that, bug.”
“After we defeat Hawkmoth.” She touched his cheek. “When we can know who the other is, I swear, I’ll find that man and get you your answers.”
“Y-you think I haven’t considered that? Trust me when I say that I’ve put a lot of thought into dangling my father off the balcony and demanding to know what he did with her.
“But we’re superheroes, m’lady. We can’t go around interrogating civilians. And even if we went down that path, it would raise too many questions.”
He was right. Of course he was right. But surely, there was something she could do for him; some way she could help… but what could she really, feasibly do?
Was Ladybug truly powerless, here?
After everything she’d done — all the villains she’d defeated — was she really being beaten by one cruel, vindictive man? She could save the city a hundred times but she couldn’t save Chat Noir once?
Now that she knows just how badly he’s in need of help, is she really supposed to just stand by and do nothing? Pat him on the back and wish him good luck, after all the times he’s saved her — sacrificed his life for her, body and soul — over the past year?
“You’ve got your thinking face on.”
How many times has he done that, now? Given up his life — thrown himself into the line of fire — for the sake of helping her plans come to fruition? All on the hope — the belief; the trust — that it’d be worth it? That she could bring him back?
How many times, through the toughest of days, had he done that thoughtlessly? Were there times where he really didn’t care, either way? Times where he did so with the tiniest of hopes that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t come back?
She forced herself to dispel the thought.
‘No. Chat wouldn’t do that. Even if not for himself… he knows how that would break me.’
She had to believe that.
That he wouldn’t — that he’d never — go there. That if he was willing to die for her, as he’d proven, time and time again, that he’d also be willing to live for her.
She was unsure about a lot of things with him, right now. But if she knew one thing for certain, it was that he'd do anything for the people he loves.
“Bug?”
And, as she knew perfectly well, he loved her, so—
“Ladybug?”
“Hm? Pardon, mon amour?” Chat sat up in her lap, his pretty, wet, cat eyes widening in surprise as his lips slowly formed into a pearly-white grin, astonishment plastered all over his features. It took her a few more seconds to register what she’d said, before her cheeks exploded in a deep red blush.
‘I didn’t just say that, did I?’
“Well, I was about to joke that you’re doing the cute think-y face you do when trying to solve a problem, but then you had to go and romance me. ‘My love’? I’ve heard a lot of nicknames from you over the years, but ‘love’?”
“I-it just slipped out! And I do not have a think-y face!” She pulled her arms from around him and made a point of lightly shoving his chest, but he only gave her a wet, breathy laugh in response. A genuine one, this time. Drawing it out might have almost been worth the embarrassment.
“Oh— oh my god, and after pulling me into your lap, no less!” He put a hand on his chest, as if scandalised. “My lady, you didn’t need to wait for a moment of vulnerability; you know I only have eyes for you.”
“That-that-that’s not— ooh, you are so lucky that I feel bad for you right now, otherwise I’d be kicking you halfway to the Eiffel Tower.”
“Sorry, lovebug? Kissing me where?”
“No— argh!” She covered her face. Usually, she didn’t let him get her so flustered, but in their current position…
… and in the new light that she was starting to see him…
… she just couldn’t help it.
“You do have a think-y face, by the way. You scrunch your nose and lips together; take on a cute little pout. It’s adorable.”
“No…”
She felt his hands dance across hers, before he gently pulled them away from her face and slipped them comfortably into his.
She was a deep, deep red; a colour that only spread further when he looked into her eyes with such an uncontained adoration. Chat Noir had always been attractive, both in the conventional sense and in the ‘dancing-around-bad-guys-in-a-catsuit’ sense. But she’d never seen him as being so… so pretty, before. Handsome, definitely, but pretty? Maybe that’s what happens when you discover a boy’s sensitive side.
After all, the only boys she could think of as being pretty were Luka and Adrien, the former of which only had a sensitive side and the latter of which didn’t make you go digging for it. And she’d fallen in love with both of them.
In a way, it was strange to hold Chat Noir outside of that camp. After all, she’d always known him as someone who was willing to love oh so freely and openly, but then, if you’re doing that while hiding so much of what makes you ‘you’, maybe it comes off differently.
He let go of one of her hands, so as to reach out and cup her face.
‘God… at this rate, I might just kiss him.’
“Thank you. For being here, with me.” Her eyes dropped away. “Thank you for being your curious, dramatic little self with absolutely no sense of boundaries,” he laughed, and she was about to mutter out an apology when he leaned in and planted a soft kiss on her cheek. “No, really.” He stayed where he was, his cheek brushing against hers as he whispered into her ear. “Thank you for being you. I love you. And this would have really sucked, if you weren’t here, tonight. Somehow, you always manage to bring out a… a happier person in me, and it goes a long way.”
He crawled out of her lap, then, and sat back at her side while he tended to something in his backpack. Ladybug, meanwhile, remained frozen in place for a few moments longer, entranced by his words and proximity, before she was spurred back to reality by the sudden lack of his warmth.
She wanted to take him home and cuddle with him throughout the rest of night. She wanted to wake up in the morning and take him downstairs and have breakfast with him. She wanted to go to school with him and have lunch with him and skip class to fight an akuma with him before going out to the park with him, in broad daylight, yet with no one looking. She wanted…
… So much more than this. So much more of this.
Their secret identities have never felt like as much of a hindrance on her life as they did right now, and she couldn’t help wondering, if only for a moment, if it was worth it.
Then, she remembered Chat Blanc.
The cost of their love.
Although…
She looked over at Chat Noir, who was busying himself folding a piece of paper, of all things.
… she knew a lot more about his life, now; about what he has to live with. A dead mother and an abusive father, intent on hurting and gaslighting him at every turn; on making him as miserable as he could.
She couldn’t help but wonder if that man — that bastard — had played some kind of role in his akumatisation. Like Chat Noir had said: ‘he has a way of making you believe that everything is your fault, even when it isn’t. Even when it’s probably his’.
Chat Blanc had blamed their love for the dark future that she’d narrowly avoided. But from the sounds of it, it would be just like his father to twist his feelings into a place where he could reach that conclusion. And it would be just like Hawkmoth to prey upon such a warped notion.
It was strange to think about. Up until tonight, she’d believed, on some low, low level that she’d never openly admit to, that Chat Noir possessed a… weaker will than she did, to be akumatised the way he was. But as it stood, it was a testament to his strength that he’d only been akumatised once, through all this; at least, as far as she knew. And she had a terrible feeling that despite everything he’d told her tonight, she only knew the tiniest inkling of what he was suffering.
She wasn’t sure how — or even if — she’d handle being in his position, but she believed one thing for certain: she’d be a mess; much more so than Chat Noir appeared to be, right now.
What if things only got worse, from here on out? What if he’s destined to be akumatised, them or no-them? What if the only way to save Chat Noir — and stop Chat Blanc, once and for all — is to get him out of that house? What if they were careful and did it quietly? A private place, in-doors, to reveal their identities? Away from prying eyes, where they could swear each other to secrecy, and figure it out from there? Figure out how to get him out from under his father’s thumb.
After all, it’s not as if there aren’t any grounds to have him removed from that house. The abuse is there, they only needed proof. And besides, back in that damned timeline, it had been Adrien Agreste that she told her identity to, not Chat Noir. The circumstances, the timing, it was all different.
Surely, if they managed to make it work, her cheerful kitty would have no chance of getting akumatised, and she knows that she’d be happier for it, too. That reduces the risk for both of them, in the long run.
Yes, that’s it. It’s a preventative measure, above all else. If they’re happier, they’re less likely to be akumatised; even less so, if they’re able to lean on each other, in and out of the mask.
She knew that she’d have to think about this more. A lot more. Maybe consult the kwamis on the matter, though, she wasn’t sure that they would understand. All that she knew for certain was that she was playing with fire just thinking about this. The trick was not getting burnt in the process.
“Bug?” He nudged her, rousing her from her stupor, and her eyes snapped back onto him. At this point, it was a miracle that she’d been able to take them off of him at all. “Where do you keep going?”
“Just thinking about what I can do, you know? For you.”
“Oh?” He quirked an eyebrow, a hint of levity in his voice. “You planning to rescue me from my tower, my knight-in-shining-armour?”
“Something like that,” she smiled. “What are you making?” He looked back down at the paper construct in his hands, before holding it up for her to see.
“What does it look like I’m making?”
“A… paper hat?” The corners of his mouth dropped a little. “A boat? Probably a boat, I’m guessing. W-what with the water being right there.”
“Yeah, it’s a boat. Clearly not my best work, though, if you thought it was a hat.” Somewhat dejected, he got up and placed the hat-boat in the water, pushing it downstream before sitting at the water’s edge and pulling another page from his bag. “It’s been a while. Claws make it harder, in my defence.” He turned back to her, a wicked smile on his lips. “And I wasn’t concentrating the first time around, flustered as I was, you flirt.”
Her mouth went agape.
“Me, the flirt?! Oh, you are a worse one! You— you know what? No.” She crossed her arms in mock indignation. “We are not having this conversation.” He snickered. “Make your boat. I’ll be here.” She pulled her eyes off of him, instead dedicating her attention to watching the misshapen paper craft float down the Seine, slowly spinning in circles all the while, before it was lost to the darkness.
Chat Noir watched her for a moment, as she fought to keep her eyes on the middle distance and off of him, and he smiled, before turning his attention to the paper and getting to work again, folding the page in half, then in half again.
“Have you ever…” he started, before wavering a little, “... been to Japan?” Clearly, he’d thought better of whatever he was going to ask.
She turned her attention back to him, and watched him sharpen the creases of the fold, before unfolding it a step and taking two corners, drawing them up to meet in the crease at the centre of the page in a practiced motion.
“No,” she said, as she shuffled over to join him, “though, I’d like to go one day.”
“I’d like to take you. It’s a beautiful country; wonderful culture. I went to finalise my understanding of the language, as well as the usual company crap, but… I learnt a lot about their beliefs, traditions… I guess you could say that I was inspired.
“Mum and I spent so much time watching the boats here, and… eventually, she taught me how to make these. Not for any particular reason, just… you know, a bonding activity. We used to stencil out our little crafts and colour them in. She’d keep them in the car’s glove box for whenever we ended up here. Or by the water, in general. There’s this big lake on my grandparents’ estate in—” He stopped himself.
Chat Noir held up a paper rhombus before her eyes and slowly spread it apart, the shape opening out into a petite little origami vessel. He pulled out the underside of the boat a little to widen its hull, before placing it on the ground before her.
“Boat!” he declared, waving a hand over his creation. “A fine vessel, if I do say so myself.”
She picked up the craft and examined its straight edges and minimalist design, with a triangular sail sticking out at its centre. It was, indeed, a fine vessel.
“I don’t think it’ll fit both of us, though,” she smiled.
“Well, it’s not for us. It’s for Mum.” He held out his hand and she placed the craft in his palm. He proceeded to place the boat on the ground before him and fold down the central sail, before pulling his bag in and rummaging around.
He produced from it a roll of tape and a couple boxes, one moderate in size and the other, tiny. The former appeared to contain biodegradable tea light candles, and the latter was a box of matches.
“In Japan, they’d usually make paper lanterns for this, but… the boat felt more appropriate. The, uh… the idea is that the boat will carry or guide her soul to… whatever lies beyond.”
She crossed her legs and leant into him, resting her head on his shoulder while he got to work fixing a tealight candle into the centre of the craft with the tape.
“It sounds lovely, Chat. I’m sure she appreciates it.” He nodded absently.
“She would have liked it,” he murmured as he stared down at the boat in his hands. “She would have wanted me to remember her like this. She never really said it, but I think that she was afraid that I’d only ever remember her as being sick, you know?”
“I could understand that, but… I dunno,” she looked up at him. “You always see the best in people. I think she would have known that.”
“Hm…” he nodded, slightly. His eyes were still attached to the vessel. “I don’t know about ‘always’. But maybe you have a point.”
He reached over to the bouquet that he’d left to rest against the tree, and he pulled out one of the shorter, white flowers from the bundle. He held it before his eyes, appreciating it for a moment, before he pinched the stem with his claw, severing it to a fraction of its original length and neatly tucking it into the folds of the boat.
“Can you hold it, for a moment?” he asked as he presented it to her, and she gingerly took it, careful not to crease it in any way. Chat Noir proceeded to pick up his box of matches and take one out, holding it over the striker strip, before he looked back up at the girl beside him and slowed to a stop.
A second passed.
Then, a few more.
And Ladybug felt the heat rising back up under her mask as he took her in.
“Do I have something on my face?” she asked as she smiled, awkwardly.
“Just your angelic visage, my lady.” He returned her smile with an uncharacteristic shyness. It was cute. “Sorry, this is just such a… jumble of emotions for me.”
He struck the match and dropped the box, reaching over to the boat. But again, he froze, the burning match hovering before it as his expression fell into something more sombre. She really should have expected that, given the circumstances, but still, every time her sweet kitty lost his lustre, it managed to crack her heart a little more.
“What’s wrong, mon minou?” She reached out to cup his cheek, but for once, he didn’t nuzzle into her touch. His eyes drew themselves up to meet hers.
“It just… occurred to me that you’ll never meet her. Which is obvious, I know, but… she would have wanted to know you. The two most important people in my life and… you don’t even know each other's names.
“Just… my whole life — everything I am as a person — has changed, since I lost her. I’m not the same sad, lonely little boy that she knew. I’m Chat Noir. I’ve saved lives, I’ve made friends, I’ve got you. This city… it looks up to me. This ring, these… these things we do; they’ve made me more than a person, you know? We’ve become symbols; we give people hope.
“I think… out of everything I’ve ever done or will ever do, none of it could ever make me prouder than that. And she’ll… she’ll never know. I mean, she’ll never even have a chance of knowing, you know? She never got to see me grow beyond that little boy. She’ll never know that I’ve been brave or strong or… more than I was.
“I think that she would have been proud. Terrified for me, but proud. And… we both missed out on that, in the end.” He finally lit the candle, before smothering the match between his thumb and forefinger.
“I know that she would be, Chat.” She held the boat out to him. “We’ve all come so far from where we started. I know she’s proud of you, because I’m proud of you. And I’m proud to call you my partner.”
“Aw…” He took the boat from her, his hand lingering under hers, for a moment. “Keep talking like that and I’m going to get as red as your suit, bugaboo.” He held the small vessel up to his chest. “Give me a moment…” He closed his eyes, his features slowly forming into a sad, somber smile. He looked peaceful, that way, and it was clear to her that he was talking with his mother, now. Slowly, she began to rise, intent on finally giving him some well-deserved privacy. “Don’t go anywhere,” he murmured. “I want you close.” He stuck his hand out in her general direction, and she grumbled as she took it while lowering herself back down, a slight tinge dancing under her mask, yet again.
“And you call me a flirt,” she whispered, more to herself than to him, but once again, his super-hearing pulled through for him, and his sad smile gained a hint of levity. Like everything he did, it seems, she thought it looked good.
They stayed like that for a good, long while. So long that she was certain she’d noticed a change in the moon’s positioning by the time he’d opened his eyes. A small pool of liquid rested on the top of the tealight.
‘Whoever you are,’ she thought into the void, ‘I promise you this: I’ll take care of him. No matter what; I’ll stick by him. He won’t ever be alone. And I’ll do whatever it takes to protect him, I promise… I promise.’
She should have known better than to make promises she wasn’t sure she could keep.
“Okay…” Chat sighed. “I think I’m ready.” He shuffled a little closer to the water, his hand in hers, and she followed alongside him. Then, he lifted her hand up to the underside of the boat. “Do it with me?” he asked, those big cat eyes looking up at her from where he was hunched over the water’s edge.
“Are… are you sure?” He gave her a small smile and released her hand so that it may rest under his, beneath the craft. “I don’t… know her.”
“Well, you know me, so you know her. She’s most of the reasons why I am the way I am.”
“Ah.” She slotted her fingers between his, under the boat. “So she’s the one to blame.” He huffed out a short-but-genuine laugh.
“Fun-ny. Very funny.” He lowered the boat down to the water. “But yes.” She giggled at that, and Chat couldn’t help but smile at the sound as they pushed the little ship downstream.
They sat up together, and Ladybug wrapped her arms around him as they watched the boat slowly float away. She rested her head on his shoulder.
“Well… you’re quite the legacy, Chat Noir. She should be proud.” He sighed.
“God, I really am her only legacy… a furry who beats up cartoon villains with a stick.”
“What happened to all your talk of hope and saving lives?”
“Well, okay, there’s that, too.” He pulled her close. “But still. I need to… like, name a charity after her or something, one day.”
She looked at him and reached up to his face, before leaning in to plant a delicate kiss on his cheek. Then, she rested her head on his shoulder again, and they fell into a comfortable silence as they watched the paper boat slip further down the Seine, slowly but surely.
She had work to do, Ladybug knew, if she was to keep her promise. There’d need to be planning, precautions, plans B-through-to-Z, should it all go horribly, horribly wrong. But they weren’t alone anymore. They had a team now; people they could rely on.
Keeping their secrets wasn’t enough, anymore. Not after this; not after everything she knew, now. This…
She squeezed her partner lightly, and he rested his head on hers.
… this was a good start.
But it would take more than this to stop what now felt like an inevitable collision-course with the future she’d already fought so hard to avoid. If things were as bad at home as they seemed to be — and for once, she feared that Chat Noir was actually understating his life rather than overstating it — then his akumatisation was certain. Maybe not tomorrow, or next week, or next month, but one day. And such days always come sooner than expected.
They watched the boat trudge along, slowly disappearing into the darkness of the night, and before too long, it was visible only by a tiny speck of orange light. Chat Noir sighed.
“Goodnight, Mum…” he murmured, as it faded from view completely.