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Marinette looked up at her wall clock. Five minutes to nine — she was almost done.
Not with her homework, of course. She puffed out a long breath of air and peered down at her maths assignment. It was laughing in her face, and had done so for the whole evening. And it had added a little snicker every time a hero poked their nose through her little balcony escape window — for advice, for conversation, for repairs.
If only someone could have poked their nose in to provide her with some advice. Specifically about algebra.
First there was King Monkey. Kim had stepped on Xuppu’s headband, apparently, while running in the park. The even more apparent part was that it had cracked in two, so that was a whole repair job to get through. And because Kim had no sense of other people’s comfort, he had persisted in talking to her afterwards, mostly about his lap times.
Marinette had often found herself cursing the ancient mage who first crafted the Miraculous for not making them sturdier. They felt flimsier than regular jewelry even at the best of times; then again, she wasn’t a jeweller, so she didn't know for sure. But she hadn’t yet had a week where at least two heroes didn't come visit for a fix-up — Alix’s shattered watch, Nino's torn armband, and that infernal headband with its endless fracture points, she’d repaired all of them this week and it was only Wednesday. Carapace was the second person to visit today and the tear was Chris's fault, he'd said.
Even something as reasonably small and sturdy as Ivan's nose ring had managed to need repairs, but at least in his case it came from being hit very hard in the face by an akuma. Stompp had only barely managed to keep his costume running until he got here.
But that was last week.
And then there was the kwamis’ health. Routine checkups were one thing, and she usually set off Saturdays for those but due to how they had all been locked away for two hundred years, there were so many new viruses and bacteria for their bodies to adapt to. They got assigned permanent holders during flu season, for cripes’ sake. So just over the course of today, Mylène had come in with Mullo, Max had come in with Kaalki, and Adrien had brought in Plagg for the usual session of hypochondriac complaining.
Actually, it wasn’t hypochondria. Plagg just liked the extra attention, and Adrien — big ol’ softy that he was — always gave Plagg extra camembert whenever he pretended to be sick. Even when he obviously wasn’t, because — as Adrien had said today — “But what if?”
And inbetween those three, Sabrina had brought in Barkk for a counselling session. It was hard to tell whether Barkk or Sabrina needed it most, but they had at least both seemed happy when they left. After Adrien left, Marc had brought in Orikko due to worries of bird flu; she counted that as counselling, because Orikko hadn’t shown any symptoms. It was just about calming them both down and pointing out that Orikko wasn’t actually a bird in that way. He wasn’t more at risk than any of the other kwamis just because he looked like a rooster a bit.
How long had it been now since she became the guardian? She should remember, but with all the time distension it felt a lot longer than it probably was. Almost three months… possibly, yeah. Fu, the old guardian, had collapsed on the doorstep from cardiac arrest on the first day of school. Within moments, twelve kwamis had poured out from his rucksack. They had swarmed to her — because she was closest, because she was trying to help him — and within half an hour, they had performed a ritual on her room to make it their permanent safe haven. And thus… she was his replacement. For a man she’d never met until he died in her arms right outside the bakery.
There was no other way, of course. There had to be a guardian, especially when there were active heroes and villains. The kwamis didn’t have time to go looking for alternatives. So she’d been left with the responsibility of… sitting in her room, every evening between 18:00 and 21:00, to wait for any heroes or kwamis in need. And to be available at all other times, in case she was needed. Which would theoretically be murderous to her social life, and in several ways it was, except —
Three knocks. On the window. She sighed and pushed away from the desk — the time was 20:56 — rolling her chair so it could see when whoever it was dropped down on the bed. “Come in,” she called out.
The skylight opened. The flash of red and black was all she needed to see to know this would at least be a pleasant visit.
“Hey, girl,” said Scarabella, swinging herself down and then shutting the window. “Got time?”
“No,” said Marinette. “But you know that doesn’t matter.” She snapped her fingers, and the windows turned a pale misty blue, and the air itself turned a little tighter.
Scarabella rolled her eyes. “I mean it. Even if you can remove us from time, I don’t want to stress you out. Got that?”
“I know,” said Marinette and smiled. “Look… I’m a little behind on maths, but if you need help then I’m going to help. Is Tikki sick? Anything wrong with the earrings?”
“Nope. It’s all fine and dandy. I just wanted to talk for a bit, hero business, so there’s absolutely nothing you have to do. Tikki, spots off.” Alya smiled as her transformation fell away in a bright flash, and started climbing down the ladder from the bed.
“Oh — um,” Marinette raised her hands in preemptive terror, “you know that — remember the rules, right? They’re magic, so —”
“Yeah, I know,” said Alya. “Don’t worry, it’s just talk. But tell you what, I’ll help you with maths afterwards, okay? I already finished my homework for today.”
Well, that was enough to throw at least five loads off Marinette’s back. “Alya, you’re the best.”
“I try.”
“Hey, Marinette,” said Tikki. She waved cautiously.
“Hey, Tikki.”
She was one of only five kwamis who were handed out before Marinette became the guardian: her, Plagg, Pollen, Trixx, and Xuppu. Apparently, Xuppu was the last kwami Fu had handed out before he died; the kwamis said he was planning to hand out one more that same day. But of course, the magic being what it was, they had never been allowed to say whom he had chosen to hold Mullo's Miraculous. Instead, Marinette had chosen Mylène as the new holder, because — well, Mylène had something of the mouse in her already. Small, skittish, but independent and also fierce when backed into a corner.
There was fire in Alya’s eyes, too. Always, but also specifically right now. She hoisted herself onto the desk and smiled, but with the look in those eyes it didn't signify contentment. It was a smile of determination.
“I think I have a lead on Hawk Moth,” she said.
Marinette's heart sank. “Alya, you know that —”
“I know. I know, girl, don't you worry. I just need to talk at you for a bit and see if things make sense outside my head, too. Okay?”
What was there even to say to that? “Mkay,” — yeah, that was probably the best she could do.
“So. Here's my thinking,” Alya said, as though she’d been bursting to say those exact words since she entered the room; they fired out like a cannon volley. “Hawk Moth’s a rich guy. He's got a lot of free time, and he's not married, or his wife would be upset. Or husband, I guess, but either way he keeps sending out akumas at ungodly times and it's really annoying so I bet anyone living with him would be really annoyed too. Yeah?”
“I… guess?”
“He needs a free schedule, at least. I can’t see my dad doing it because when he's not at home, he's at work, and there are lots of animals to feed. Y'know? So it's got to be a single guy, enough money to not have to go outside when he doesn't want to, and also he needs a lair. That's what I reckon.”
“Maybe…”
“So I'm thinking… maybe Bob Roth? Jagged Stone? Alim Kubdel? Gabriel Agreste? André Bourgeois? Ooh, maybe Mahmoud Lahiffe?”
Marinette felt her lips move to speak someone else's words: “Maybe he doesn't have to be rich, or lonely?”
“Maybe not,” said Alya. She shrugged. “I guess it could be anyone. Yeah, maybe. But doesn't it make sense? It’s a good starting point, at least. I'll look into everyone who's rich and single I can think of.”
“Why Mahmoud Lahiffe?” said Marinette, to wash away the nasty feeling of alien words on her tongue. “He's married?”
“Sameera’s away on business trips all the time,” countered Alya, but without much conviction. “I figure she wouldn't notice when she's not there.”
“Okay,” murmured Marinette.
“Hey… when you protested there, was that because it is him, or because it isn't him?”
Marinette's breath hitched like it had struck a wall. She opened her mouth — but failed to speak.
“Hey, hey, sorry,” said Alya, faltering a little. “I know you can't say anything about this. I just got excited there for a bit that I'd found a clue.”
“I don't think I could give you a clue either way,” mumbled Marinette. “I… think the magic is too strong for that.”
“It protects against all revelations related to the Miraculous,” said Tikki. “Even accidental ones.”
Alya sighed. “Does it hurt?”
“Does what hurt?” said Tikki, echoing the question that Marinette would have used up a lot more words to ask.
“When I ask a question you won't be able to answer. And the thing happens.”
Marinette shook her head. Tikki said, “No. It doesn't.”
“Tell me who Cat Noir is,” said Alya. Point blank, no hesitation. And it completely bypassed Marinette’s defences.
Though as usual, when Marinette opened her mouth, the only thing that came out were soapy bubbles. Like Adrien’s name had been washed clean from her mouth and even her vocal cords.
Tikki cleared her throat. “It can feel a little uncomfortable to spit bubbles, though. The taste isn't very good.”
Alya clapped her hand over her mouth in obvious horror. “Oh no — Marinette, I'm so sorry, I didn’t mean to —”
“It’s fine,” said Marinette and raised a palm. “It’s fine. It doesn't taste bad to me at all. I think maybe human tastebuds work differently from kwami ones? It's just a bit sensory-weird.”
Which was true. The issue was more in all the things she wanted to say, but couldn't. All the things she said that she didn’t want to. All the empty bubbles that would continue to leak from her mouth without ever releasing the things she wanted to come out. Just the weird sensation of bubbles scraping against her teeth was nothing compared to that.
“That’s still annoying for you, though,” said Alya. “I'm sorry, girl.”
“Don’t mention it,” insisted Marinette.
Alya gave her a look and a smile that both lay halfway between sympathetic and exasperated. “Okay, then. Whatever you say… now, how about that maths homework?”
“Ugh,” said Marinette, happy about the topic change and yet unhappy to be reminded that algebra existed. “I've been stuck on 13D for ages…”
“Let me see.” Alya inched closer until she stood right behind Marinette, leaning over her shoulder. “Right. Do you remember the quadratic formula?”
“The what?”
“You know. X equals minus B plus and minus the square root of, I won’t say it all out loud because your eyes are already glazing over. But you'll get the values of X that you need to get Y to be zero.”
Marinette groaned. “Are you freaking serious? I've been trying to brute force it and getting nowhere!”
“Yeah, I can tell,” chuckled Alya, tapping her index finger against the page. Obviously, it was filled with crossed-out attempts to get both the X or the Y value without knowing either oneP. “Do you remember how the formula goes?”
“No. X equals B minus something.”
Another chuckle. “Right. I'll write it down for you, then. And the setup for quadratic equations.”
Marinette didn’t reply. She put her head on top of her textbook and just exhaled until she was out of breath.
“You know,” said Alya, “you kind of like making things way too difficult for yourself, don't you?”
“I don't know where I'd be without you, Alya.”
“You'd be doing amazing things, just like you are now.” The scribbling finished, and then a pen tapped against Marinette’s shoulderblade. “Maybe you're bad at maths, but I don't think anyone else could do what you're doing. Being the guardian while also juggling school and all your personal projects? I'd go nuts, girl.”
“I go nuts on a daily basis,” sighed Marinette and lifted her head up again. Spending three hours in her room every day was not conducive to feeling un-cooped up, especially when she had to use her time stop spell a lot and experience those three hours as four, five, six hours.
She looked down at the page Alya had written on. There was a generalised quadratic equation, a quadratic formula, and arrows to indicate every part and where every part corresponded to everything else. There was also an example where she solved a simple equation and suddenly, everything made sense.
“Alya… I could kiss you…”
“Save it for someone who’s into that stuff,” said Alya and stuck out her tongue. “But I’m glad to help.”
“I’ll kiss someone else in your honour.”
“Ooh, who are you gonna kiss?” Alya waggled her eyebrows. “You got a secret boyfriend without telling me?”
Marinette emphatically shook her head. “I could kiss a random person.”
“But you’d never do that, because you’re you.”
“… Right,” sighed Marinette. “No, you’re right. But in spirit I’m kissing you silly.”
Alya cackled good-naturedly. “I appreciate it. Did you struggle with any of the other tasks?”
What an unfair question to ask when she hadn’t even gotten past 13D. “I don’t know yet.”
“Ah, right. Did you get all the other work done?”
“Yeah.” Marinette nodded. “It’s just maths I’m horrible at.”
“Good. I’ll stay and help you with those, then, and you can keep kissing me in your head.”
Marinette rolled her eyes at that. “I don’t know how you can say that so easily when you’re not interested in love stuff. Doesn’t it feel weird?”
“I only say it to you because I know you won’t actually do it,” replied Alya and nudged her in the shoulder with the back of her hand. Her smile fell afterwards, though. “I guess I’d feel weird if someone told me they were kissing me in their head… yeah, maybe it’s a bit weird. But I don’t think about it happening. I bet nobody’s even doing it.”
It was thoughtless of Marinette to even open her mouth. But she did, to say something about Nino’s crush, but all that came out was just more bubbles.
Alya’s eyebrows went up. “What’s wrong? Wait — were you about to tell me one of the heroes has a crush on me? Who is it? Do they go to our school?”
Once again, the outside power took over Marinette’s lips. “No,” she was compelled to say, “they have a crush on Scarabella. Not Alya Césaire.” And then, “They don’t live here.”
“Aw, I thought you had some juicy gossip there,” said Alya, pouting slightly. “But I guess even if you did, you couldn’t tell me.”
“Magic,” said Marinette. She half-coughed the word out. And that magic must have foreseen that if Nino’s name came up, Alya would have guessed; equally, if Marinette had said something less emphatic than the completely-true ‘they have a crush on Scarabella, not Alya’, and the misleadingly-true ‘they don’t live here’ (because he lived several blocks away), Alya would have caught on to something-or-other. Damn.
“Yeah, I know,” said Alya. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll try to ask less stupid questions.”
“Thanks,” said Marinette. She couldn’t bring herself to add the words, ‘But your questions aren't stupid.’ That wasn’t the magic's fault, it was just… she didn't want to encourage more questions. It felt so terrible to be unable to answer something that was really relevant for Alya to know. Like this, or the… whole entire other thing.
“Hey, what if we do a homework session tomorrow? Right after school? At my place so you're not forced to sit here for five hours. Or in the park?”
“Sure,” said Marinette. “You'll probably have to carry me through all of it, though.”
“Don’t be silly,” said Alya, eyes smiling sympathetically. “You're smart. You can handle it yourself, except maybe the algebra.”
Marinette groaned and placed her head sideways on top of the workbook. If she listened closely enough, she could probably hear the exponents screaming in her ear. “I hate when numbers and letters start ganging up on me. I can only handle one at a time…”
“So we'll gang up on algebra right back,” said Alya and winked. “Anyway, I won’t keep you busy anymore. You look tired. See you tomorrow, okay?”
“Yes,” said Tikki. “Sleep, Marinette.”
“Ugh… sorry, it's just the time stop spell, I still feel like time passes even though… I've had a thirty-four hour day today, it feels like.”
“Use the spell for a nap, maybe?” suggested Alya.
“If only I could,” said Marinette, forcing a smile. “That would be great.”
Alya also smiled, less forced, but with a kind of sorrowful empathy. “Alright. Sleep well tonight, at least, and I'll buy you a coffee tomorrow. Okay? Tikki, spots on.”
“Hold on,” said Marinette, and nearly jumped out of her chair as Alya started climbing the ladder. “You still need the hiding spell.”
“Sure do,” sighed Alya — or Scarabella now, rather. She slumped her shoulders. “Sorry, I almost forgot.”
“Well, it’s safer in costume than if you’re not… but it's always best to be safe.” Marinette touched Scarabella's forehead with her whole palm, and there was a flicker of grey in those amber eyes. “There. Now you're impossible to spot until you un-transform at home.”
‘Un-transform’. What a horrible-sounding word. The tiredness must be getting to her — at least her shift was almost over.
Alya smiled and hugged her on the cheek. “Okay. Thanks. Sleep well, now!”
“You too.”
The balcony window clapped shut a few seconds later. Marinette sighed and sat down with her homework — and tried to forget about the whole entire other thing. This was the time for quadratic equations. And speaking of time… she waved her hand and the windows stopped being blue and went back to showing normal Paris. The clock still displayed 20:56.
Now, this algebra business… she followed Alya’s instructions and had her two answers in reasonably short order. -5 and 3. She sighed, closed the book, glanced at the clock. 20:59. She was home safe, she only had one more minute to wait out — and then they rang out. Five insistent knocks on the skylight. The toll of a doom she had hoped she'd be without today. It was him.
But she was duty-bound. “Come in,” she said, and the skylight opened, and he dropped through the window — blocking off her escape — his physical frame descending onto her bed was never a pleasant or safe feeling.
“Hello, Guardian,” said Hawk Moth, as he crawled towards her ladder on all fours. “I have a task for you.”
“What is it?” she said, resigned to his presence now. She waved her hand and the windows changed to show misty blue again.
He dropped down on her floor and quickly rose to his full towering stature. Even when she was standing up, he was close to twice her height; now, he loomed like the physical but not metaphorical opposite of a precipice. A mountain in danger of rock slides. “A repair task,” he said. “Nooroo, dark wings fall.”
There he stood. Gabriel Agreste. The whole entire other thing, the secret that she could never speak no matter how much she wanted to. The man behind everything going wrong, whom she was bound by honour and magic to help, because he possessed Nooroo's Miraculous.
“What do you want me to repair?” she said, cautious. The brooch did not appear to be damaged in any way. “I'm not just some seamstress for your convenience, Gabriel Agreste.”
“I can repair my clothes better than you could ever hope to achieve, girl,” he sneered. “No, I need a Miraculous repaired.”
“But your brooch doesn't look damaged?”
“Not that one,” he said. His fist unlocked, and a separate brooch was stored inside it. Five feathers, blue with red tips, forming a half circle. Her heart stopped. “I need you to repair this.”
“You had Duusu all this time?” she gasped. “How long have you had her… oh no… this looks really bad…”
There were cracks in the brooch. Those were obvious to anyone just from looking. It seemed like something had fallen on it — a heavy rock, perhaps — in a way that didn’t actually shatter it, but instead left three crisscrossing, jagged lines across the whole. And the pin meant for holding it up seemed to have fallen off. Both of those would, in other circumstances, be a simple fix.
But then came the parts that most people couldn't see. The cleft that went beyond the brooch itself, the jagged edges that poked into the reality that existed outside it. The snarling tendrils of magic. This was an old wound. It would be dangerous to even wear this Miraculous, let alone use it.
She peered up at him with intense suspicion. Had he tried to use it? No — she couldn't see any scars underneath his skin. He didn’t have a single torn strand in his reality.
“When did you get this?” she asked. “How long has it been damaged?” The latter was a meaningless question: she could tell it had been broken for at least 50, 60 years. That was probably older than him. He wouldn't know, because he couldn't see how deep the wound had been allowed to fester.
“Can you repair it?” he asked.
“Mr Agreste —”
“I won't answer your questions, girl,” he said, cold and muted. “Can you repair this?”
Maddeningly unhelpful though he was being, she was compelled to answer. “Yes. I can repair it. But damage like this… it’s worse than a regular crack. I'll need… I'll need at least a week. Maybe more.”
His upper lip twisted away from his teeth for a moment. Then it sank again. “Fair. Do it. However long it takes.”
“Yes,” she said. Reaching out her open palm towards him was the natural next step, but… she struggled with it. She needed to do it, because it was her duty as the guardian, because to leave Duusu in this horrible state would be awful — but to give Hawk Moth another weapon would also be awful. Perhaps less awful, because the heroes had the situation under control, they could deal with any of Duusu's creations if it came to that. Duusu could not free herself, and anyone who used this Miraculous would immediately be cracked apart on a fundamental level. Even if they survived, their very being would start to drift apart, like a badly-sewn-on patch on a flimsy pair of trousers.
As she looked into his acrid eyes… she wondered if he knew that. If he was aware that anyone who wore it would have their literal soul injured beyond repair. She had never seen it, just like she hadn’t seen most things to do with the Miraculous. She hadn’t seen unifications, callings, a kwami using their power without a holder. She only knew what she knew because the spell that made her guardian had imposed on her five thousand years of accumulated knowledge. If he had seen it… of course he would come to her to have it repaired. Of course he would be reluctant to tell her anything. She couldn’t know if he'd seen someone else put it on… but there was something little and afraid flickering in the depth of those eyes.
“Hand her over,” she said, and finally pushed her hand out the rest of the way.
He turned his palm over and dropped the Miraculous into her hand. And she felt it, a sharp sting like the point of a match's flame or the jolt of an electric shock; she almost screamed. This — the Miraculous of Emotion — was lethal, even murderous.
“Fix it,” he said.
She couldn't help but ask him one more time. “Mr Agreste… how long have you had this? It must have been broken for a long time.”
His entire face contracted for a flash. Then it switched into some deep and wrathful upset. “You know nothing,” he said. “Stop with your incessant nagging.”
So she wouldn't get anything out of him. Entirely unsurprising, but also — ‘you know nothing’ — that really did sound like he'd seen someone wear it…
She dropped the Miraculous onto her workdesk. “I'll get started tomorrow,” she said. “Now, please leave this room.”
He sneered. Then he said, “Dark wings rise,” and his horrid costume spun across his body for a second before settling in place.
“You also need the hiding spell,” she said, not through her own choice. Clambering onto her stepladder was her own choice, however, because she knew there was no way around it.
“Get to it,” he said, and stepped up. She cast the spell again, and his eyes also glinted with cliffside grey.
He didn’t look happy as he climbed away. He rarely did. In fact, he rarely seemed anything other than seething. And maybe that was because he had to deal with a little girlpest in order to be Hawk Moth. To prostrate himself before his son's classmate as part of his power trip into villainy.
That was, at least, a small consolation for her. She might be forced to help him, but at least he didn’t enjoy that help.
The guardians weren't allowed to disrupt, contradict, or work against holders. They weren’t allowed to refuse to help a holder. Because their responsibility — her responsibility — wasn't to Paris or to her friends, it was to the kwamis and to the Miraculous. And the founders of old never imagined a situation in which any Miraculous would fall into the wrong hands. She wanted to curse them for that, even more than she wanted to curse the mage for how he made the Miraculous — a thousand times more.
Sometimes, though, her duty wasn’t enough.
She looked at the broken brooch again. Somewhere inside of it lay Duusu. The deep gashes would also be cutting into Duusu's mind, leaving her confused and weakened. A god couldn’t be killed… but a god could be tortured.
And Marinette couldn’t let that continue. Not when she had both a duty and a heart.
She twisted her hand, and the windows lit up once again with the colours of an approaching sunset. Then she picked up her hammer and her chisel, and prepared for a very long evening.