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Chloé Bourgeois was not a morning person, nor was she a night person when it came to being woken up. The heiress of the Grand Paris Hotel preferred her beauty sleep—eight hours minimum, preferably nine, with silk sheets, a lavender-scented eye mask, and absolute silence. So when a blinding flash of light pierced through her darkened bedroom at 2:17 a.m., she was not pleased.
“Pollen, turn the lights off!” Chloé groaned, yanking her eye mask down and burying her face into her pillow. Her voice was muffled, thick with sleep and irritation. “I swear, if you’re floating around eating honey again, I’m locking you in the mini fridge!”
“Bzzz, it’s not me, My Queen!” Pollen’s tiny voice squeaked from the pillow beside her. The bee kwami hovered up, her golden eyes wide with alarm as the light intensified, swirling into a vortex of blue and white. “That’s… that’s not a lightbulb!”
Chloé sat up, her blonde hair a messy halo around her head, and squinted at the source of the disturbance. A glowing portal—circular, pulsating, and distinctly not part of her luxury bedroom decor—hovered at the foot of her bed. Before she could muster a proper complaint, a figure stumbled out of it, landing with a thud on her plush carpet.
“Bunnix?!” Chloé yelped, recognizing the blue-haired, bunny-themed hero despite the dim light. “What are you doing in my room? Do you know what time it is? This is unacceptable! I have a spa appointment at ten!”
Bunnix, panting and looking uncharacteristically frazzled, waved a hand dismissively. “No time for your diva meltdown, Chloé. I need your help. Now.” Her voice was urgent, her eyes darting around as if expecting an akuma to burst through the walls.
Chloé crossed her arms. “Help? At this hour? You’ve got to be kidding me. Call Ladybug or that mangy cat. I’m retired from the hero gig, remember?” She flopped back onto her pillows, fully intending to ignore the time-traveling rabbit.
But Bunnix wasn’t having it. She marched over, yanked the covers off Chloé, and fixed her with a glare. “This isn’t a request, Chloé. It’s a crisis. I need the Bee Miraculous. Temporarily. And I need you to come with me.”
Chloé’s eyes narrowed. “The Bee Miraculous? My Miraculous? Absolutely not. Pollen is mine, and I’m not handing her over to some bunny who can’t even knock.” She glanced at Pollen, who was hovering nervously, her tiny paws clasped together.
Bunnix sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Chloé, I don’t have time to argue. There’s a situation in the future—big, bad, world-ending stuff. I need Queen Bee’s powers to fix it. You can either come with me and keep an eye on your precious Miraculous, or I take it and you stay here wondering what’s happening.”
Chloé’s stomach twisted. She hadn’t been Queen Bee in months—not since the whole Miracle Queen fiasco. She’d tried to be better, to make amends, but the sting of her past failures lingered. Still, the idea of someone else using her Miraculous? Unthinkable.
“Fine,” she snapped, swinging her legs out of bed. “But if this ruins my manicure, you’re paying for it, Bunnix. Pollen, let’s go.”
“Bzzz, as you command, My Queen!” Pollen chirped, though her voice trembled slightly.
Chloé grabbed her yellow bathrobe, slipped on her bunny slippers (ironic, she thought), and followed Bunnix toward the glowing burrow. “This better be quick,” she muttered, stepping into the swirling light.
The Burrow was disorienting, a kaleidoscope of timelines and glowing portals that made Chloé’s head spin. She stumbled after Bunnix, clutching Pollen to her chest like a lifeline. The air felt strange—electric, almost, like the hum of a beehive. Portals flickered around them, each one a window to a different moment in time. Chloé caught glimpses of Paris in various states: sunny, stormy, futuristic with flying cars, and once, terrifyingly, in ruins.
“Stay close,” Bunnix warned, her voice tight. “Don’t touch anything. Don’t look at anything. The less you know about the future, the better.”
Chloé rolled her eyes. “Please, I’m not an idiot. I can handle a little time travel.” But her bravado faltered as they passed a portal showing a young girl with blonde pigtails, laughing in a park. For a split second, Chloé thought it was herself as a child—until she noticed the girl’s eyes, a striking teal that didn’t match her own.
Before she could dwell on it, Bunnix grabbed her arm and pulled her forward. “Focus, Chloé. We’re almost there.”
But Chloé’s attention snagged on another portal, this one glowing brighter than the others. She slowed, drawn to it like a moth to a flame. Through the swirling light, she saw a cozy living room, warmly lit, with toys scattered across the floor. A small boy, no older than four or five, sat on a rug, clutching a familiar stuffed bear. Chloé’s breath caught.
“Mr. Cuddly?” she whispered, stepping closer despite Bunnix’s hissed warning. The bear was unmistakable—worn, slightly frayed at the ears, with one button eye replaced by a mismatched blue one. It was her childhood toy, the one she’d clung to during lonely nights in the hotel, the one she’d hidden away in a box when she decided she was “too old” for such things.
The boy looked up, as if sensing her gaze, and Chloé froze. His hair was jet-black, tipped with teal, and his eyes—those same teal eyes she’d seen in the other portal—sparkled with mischief. He was beautiful, she thought, in a way that made her chest ache. “Is that… mine?” she asked, her voice barely audible.
Bunnix whirled around, her face paling. “Chloé, I told you not to look!”
But Chloé couldn’t tear her eyes away. The boy giggled, hugging Mr. Cuddly tighter, and something in Chloé’s heart twisted. “He’s mine, isn’t he?” she pressed, her voice rising. “That’s my bear. That’s my… my child.”
Bunnix’s silence was deafening. Chloé grabbed her arm, forcing her to meet her gaze. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me that’s not my kid.”
For a long moment, Bunnix said nothing, her lips pressed into a thin line. Then, finally, she sighed. “Yes, Chloé. He’s yours. But that’s all I’m saying. You can’t know more—it’s too dangerous.”
Chloé’s knees wobbled, and she sank to the floor of the Burrow, Pollen fluttering anxiously beside her. “My… my son?” she whispered. Her mind raced, a whirlwind of denial and curiosity. She wasn’t ready to be a mother. She was barely nineteen! She was still figuring out how to be a decent person, let alone a parent. And yet, the boy’s face—those eyes, that smile—felt like a piece of her she hadn’t known was missing.
“Who’s the father?” she demanded, scrambling to her feet. “Bunnix, you can’t just drop this on me and clam up! Who is it?”
Bunnix shook her head, her expression resolute. “I can’t tell you, Chloé. You know why. The timeline—”
“Screw the timeline!” Chloé snapped, her voice echoing in the Burrow. “If that’s my kid, I deserve to know who I’m… who I’m with!” She blushed furiously at the thought, her mind spiraling. She hadn’t dated anyone seriously, hadn’t even considered it. Her life was a mess of redemption, hero work, and trying to be less of a “total brat,” as Adrien had once put it. The idea of a future with a child—and a mystery man—was too much.
Bunnix crossed her arms. “I’m not telling you, and you’re not coming with me to fix this crisis. Stay here. Watch the Burrow. Don’t touch anything.” She turned to leave, but Chloé, stubborn as ever, followed her.
“No way. I’m not staying behind while you play time cop with my Miraculous. And I’m not done talking about this kid!” She darted toward the portal, peering closer at the boy. His features were so familiar, not just because of Mr. Cuddly. That blonde hair was hers, no doubt, but those teal eyes… they reminded her of someone. Her heart skipped a beat.
“Luka?” she whispered, the name slipping out before she could stop it. She turned to Bunnix, eyes wide. “Is it Luka? Is he the father?”
Bunnix’s face remained impassive, but her silence spoke volumes. Chloé’s jaw dropped. “No way. No way. Luka Couffaine? The guitar-strumming, laid-back, boat-boy? Him?”
Bunnix didn’t answer, but the lack of denial was enough. Chloé’s mind exploded with questions, her face burning. Luka was… well, he was hot, she’d give him that. She wasn’t blind. Those piercing teal eyes, that effortlessly cool vibe, the way his lean muscles moved under his band tees when he played guitar—she’d noticed, okay? She’d noticed a lot. But a future with him? A child? It was absurd. Ridiculous. And yet…
“Bunnix, you can’t just ignore me!” Chloé shouted as the rabbit hero stepped through another portal. “I need answers!”
But Bunnix was gone, leaving Chloé alone in the Burrow with Pollen and a thousand questions.
Chloé sat cross-legged on the Burrow’s floor, staring at the portal where the boy—her boy—had been. Pollen hovered beside her, nibbling on a sugar cube Chloé had stashed in her pocket. The kwami’s presence was comforting, but it did little to quell the storm in Chloé’s mind.
“Bzzz, My Queen, are you okay?” Pollen asked, her voice soft. “You look… troubled.”
“Troubled?” Chloé laughed bitterly. “Pollen, I just found out I’m going to have a kid with Luka Couffaine. Luka! The guy who lives on a boat and probably owns three shirts! How is this my life?”
Pollen tilted her head. “He seems nice, though. And you did say he was, um, ‘hot’ once or twice.”
Chloé’s face flushed. “I did not—okay, fine, maybe I did. But that’s not the point! I’m not ready for this. I’m not… mom material.” She hugged her knees, her voice dropping. “I mean, look at my own mother. She’s a disaster. What if I’m just like her? What if I mess that kid up?”
Pollen landed on her shoulder, nuzzling her cheek. “You’re not your mother, Chloé. You’ve changed. You’re trying to be better. That’s what matters.”
Chloé sighed, her thoughts drifting to Luka. She’d always found him attractive, in a frustratingly effortless way. He was tall, lean, with a quiet intensity that made her stomach flutter despite herself. His teal-tipped hair and those stupidly soulful eyes didn’t help. She remembered the time she’d bumped into him at a music festival Marinette had dragged her to. He’d been playing guitar on a makeshift stage, his fingers moving with a grace that made her pause. She’d told herself it was just the music, not him, but deep down, she knew better.
Still, a child? With Luka? It was too much. She wasn’t even sure she liked him like that. Sure, he was kind, patient, and annoyingly good at seeing through her defenses, but… a future together? It felt impossible. And yet, the image of that boy—their boy—clutching Mr. Cuddly wouldn’t leave her mind.
When Bunnix finally returned, looking exhausted but victorious, Chloé pounced. “Okay, rabbit, spill. What’s the deal with my kid? And Luka? You can’t just leave me hanging!”
Bunnix groaned. “Chloé, I told you, I can’t say more. The timeline is fragile. You knowing too much could change everything.”
“Then why show me at all?” Chloé snapped, her voice cracking. “You let me see him! You let me see my future, and now you expect me to just forget it?”
Bunnix softened slightly. “I didn’t mean for you to see. It was an accident. But you’re strong, Chloé. You’ll figure this out. Just… don’t do anything rash.”
Chloé huffed, but Bunnix’s words lingered. As they stepped back through the portal to her bedroom, Chloé’s mind was a mess of emotions—shock, fear, and a tiny, traitorous spark of curiosity about what a future with Luka might look like.
The next few weeks were torture. Chloé couldn’t look at Luka without her brain screaming, That’s the father of your future child! Every time she saw him—at school, at Marinette’s bakery, or even just passing by the Seine—she bolted in the opposite direction.
The first incident happened at the bakery. Chloé had been roped into helping Marinette with a catering order (part of her “redemption arc,” as Adrien called it). She was icing cupcakes, grumbling about manual labor, when Luka strolled in, carrying a guitar case. His eyes lit up when he saw her, and he gave her that infuriatingly calm smile.
“Hey, Chloé. Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, his voice like a soft melody.
Chloé froze, a piping bag of frosting exploding in her hand. “Uh—gotta go!” she squeaked, practically vaulting over the counter and sprinting out the back door, leaving a trail of pink icing in her wake.
The second time was worse. She’d been shopping at her favorite boutique when Luka appeared, browsing vinyl records across the street. Chloé ducked behind a rack of dresses, heart pounding. Why is he everywhere? she thought, peeking out to see him chatting with a street musician. He looked so… normal. So Luka. And yet, all she could see was that boy’s face, those teal eyes.
By the third incident—a group hangout at the park—she was a nervous wreck. When Luka offered her a bottle of water, she yelped, “I’m fine!” and practically dove behind Adrien for cover. Adrien raised an eyebrow, but Luka just looked confused, his usual calm demeanor faltering.
“Chloé, are you okay?” Luka asked later, catching her alone by the fountain. His voice was gentle, but there was a flicker of concern in his eyes. “You’ve been avoiding me. Did I do something to upset you?”
Chloé’s heart raced. “Upset me? Pfft, as if. I’m just… busy. Very busy. Hotel heiress stuff, you know?” She forced a laugh, but it came out shrill.
Luka tilted his head, studying her. “If you say so. But if you need to talk, I’m here.”
His kindness only made it worse. Chloé mumbled an excuse and fled, her cheeks burning. She couldn’t handle this—not the way he looked at her, not the way her mind kept replaying that future child’s face.
It all came to a head one night after a patrol as Queen Bee. Chloé had reluctantly agreed to help Ladybug with a minor akuma threat, and Viperion—Luka’s hero persona—had been assigned as her partner. They’d just finished chasing down a rogue akuma, a disgruntled street performer who’d turned Paris into a cacophony of bad music. Now, perched on a rooftop overlooking the Seine, Queen Bee was restless.
Viperion sat beside her, his lute resting across his lap. The moonlight glinted off his teal scales, and Chloé couldn’t help but notice how… striking he looked. She shook her head, trying to focus. He’s just a teammate. Stop it.
“You seem off tonight,” Viperion said, his voice low and steady. “Something on your mind?”
Chloé fidgeted with her spinning top, her usual bravado faltering. She didn’t know Viperion was Luka—not yet—but something about his calm presence made her want to spill everything. Maybe it was the anonymity of their masks, or maybe she was just tired of carrying this secret alone.
“I saw something,” she blurted, staring at the river below. “Something about my future. And it’s freaking me out.”
Viperion tilted his head, his teal eyes narrowing slightly. “What kind of something?”
Chloé hesitated, then let it all pour out. “I saw a kid. A little boy. And he’s… mine. Like, my kid. From the future. He had my old stuffed bear, and he looked so happy, but I’m not ready for that! I’m barely keeping my life together, and now I’m supposed to be a mom? And the father…” She trailed off, her face flushing.
Viperion was silent, but his posture stiffened. “The father?” he prompted, his voice carefully neutral.
“I… I think I know who it is,” Chloé admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “This guy. He’s… nice. Really nice. And hot, okay? Like, stupidly hot. Black hair, teal eyes, plays guitar like he’s pouring his soul into it. But me? With him? It’s insane. I’m me. I don’t do… domestic. I don’t do kids. What if I screw it up? What if I’m a terrible mother?”
She was rambling now, her words tumbling over each other. “And the worst part? I can’t stop thinking about it. That boy—he looked so much like him. Like, it’s obvious. But how does that even happen? I mean, I’ve barely talked to the guy! Sure, he’s attractive, and maybe I’ve noticed how his stupid smile makes my stomach do flips, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to—ugh!” She buried her face in her hands, mortified.
Viperion listened, his expression unreadable behind his mask. Inside, though, Luka was reeling. Chloé’s talking about me. She saw our kid. Our… kid. His heart pounded, but he kept his voice steady. “Sounds like you’re scared,” he said gently. “But maybe it’s not as bad as you think. If that kid was happy, maybe you’re doing something right in the future.”
Chloé snorted, but her eyes were misty. “Me? Doing something right? That’s a first.” She sighed, leaning back against the rooftop. “I just… I don’t know how to deal with this. I’ve been avoiding him like the plague, and it’s not helping. Every time I see him, I think about that kid, and it’s like my brain short-circuits.”
Viperion nodded, his mind racing. “Maybe you should talk to him. Not about the future, but… just talk. Get to know him. Might make it less scary.”
Chloé glanced at him, surprised by his insight. “You’re not as annoying as most of the heroes, you know that?”
He chuckled, but it was strained. “Thanks, I think.”
They sat in silence for a while, the city’s lights twinkling below. Chloé felt lighter, like sharing her fears had loosened their grip. But Viperion—Luka—was anything but calm. As they parted ways, his mind was a whirlwind of shock, confusion, and something else he couldn’t name.
Back on the Liberty, Luka detransformed in his room, his hands shaking as he set his guitar down. Sass floated out of the bracelet, eyeing him with concern. “You seem… unsettled, Luka,” the snake kwami said, his tongue flicking.
“Unsettled?” Luka laughed, but it was high-pitched, almost manic. “Sass, I just found out I’m going to have a kid with Chloé Bourgeois. Chloé! The girl who once called me ‘boat boy’ like it was an insult! How is this my life?”
He paced the small room, running his hands through his hair. “I mean, she’s… she’s Chloé. She’s attractive, sure, and she’s got this fire in her that’s kind of amazing when she’s not being a total jerk. But a kid? With me? I’m eighteen! I’m still figuring out my music, my life, everything! And now I’m supposed to be a dad in some future timeline?”
Sass coiled on the desk, his scales glinting in the dim light. “It is… unexpected,” he admitted. “But timelines are fluid, Luka. What you saw—or what she saw—may not come to pass exactly as imagined.”
Luka groaned, flopping onto his bed. “That’s not helping, Sass. I can’t stop thinking about it. She said the kid looked like me. And she sounded so… freaked out, but also… I don’t know, like she cared. Like she was already worried about being a bad mom.” He stared at the ceiling, his mind racing. “And the way she talked about me—about the guy she thinks is the father—she called me hot. Hot. Chloé Bourgeois thinks I’m hot.”
Sass raised an eyebrow, if snakes could be said to have eyebrows. “And how do you feel about her?”
Luka froze. That was the question, wasn’t it? Chloé was a lot—bossy, dramatic, sometimes cruel—but she’d been changing. He’d seen it: the way she helped Marinette without complaining (much), the way she apologized to people she’d hurt, the way her eyes softened when she thought no one was looking. And yeah, she was beautiful. Those sharp blue eyes, that confident strut, the way her hair caught the sunlight like spun gold—he’d noticed. He’d noticed a lot.
“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “She’s… complicated. But there’s something about her. She’s not just the spoiled rich girl everyone thinks she is. There’s more there, you know? But a kid? A family? That’s… that’s huge.”
Sass slithered closer, his voice gentle. “You’re young, Luka. You don’t have to decide anything now. But if this future is true, it means you and Chloé find something worth building together. That’s not nothing.”
Luka’s chest tightened. “What if the kid’s not happy? What if he’s stuck between her world and mine? A Bourgeois and a Couffaine—and a Stone, if Jagged’s still around. That’s a lot for a kid to carry. I don’t want him to grow up feeling… trapped.”
Sass chuckled softly. “You’re already thinking like a father, worrying about a child who doesn’t exist yet. Perhaps this future isn’t as bad as you fear.”
Luka didn’t sleep that night. He lay awake, replaying Chloé’s words, imagining a boy with his eyes and her fire. It was terrifying, overwhelming, and yet… a small part of him wondered what it would be like. To have a family. To have Chloé by his side, not as an enemy or a rival, but as something more.