Chapter Text
The summer evening was soft and golden, the last streaks of light catching on the leaves that swayed gently above the park. A long picnic table had been decorated in Marinette’s careful touch—hand-sewn bunting stitched with tiny embroidered ladybugs and black cats, a cheeky way to incoorperate their past as the defenders of Paris, pastel napkins folded into little bows, and a centerpiece of fresh bread and pastries from the bakery.
Louis, their six year old, was bursting with restless excitement and kept bouncing on the bench, his sneakers thumping against the wood. Adrien laughed softly, resting a hand on his son’s shoulder.
“Easy there, bug. You’ll knock the table over before dessert.”
Louis leaned toward Alya, stage-whispering: “Auntie Al, I have a big secret. A huge one.”
Alya raised a brow, phone already half-poised to record. “Oh really? You’re terrible at keeping secrets, Louis. Spill.”
“No, no—” Adrien interjected quickly, glancing at Marinette, who was balancing a tray of steaming dumplings. “Let Mama do it.”
But Louis’s grin stretched ear to ear, unable to be contained. “I’m gonna be a big brother!” he shouted, triumphant, as if announcing to the whole park.
The words rippled through the table like a spark. Sabine gasped, hand flying to her mouth, while Tom immediately began sobbing, pulling Marinette into a crushing bear hug. “My little girl… a mother again! Oh, Sabine, we’re going to have another grandchild!”
Marinette laughed, muffled against his chest, while Adrien set down the tray and gently rescued her before Tom squeezed too tight.
“You’ll smother her before the baby even gets a chance,” Adrien teased, though his own eyes were shining.
Alya squealed and nearly dropped her phone, shaking Nino’s arm so hard he choked on his drink. “I knew it! I called it, didn’t I? Marinette, you had that glow—don’t roll your eyes, you totally did!”
“Don’t encourage her,” Nino muttered, thumping his chest and then cracking a grin. “Man, Louis, you just leveled up, little dude. Gonna have to teach you all the cool big brother tricks now.”
Louis puffed up proudly, eyes darting to Adrien. “Can I teach them fencing? Like you do Papa?”
Adrien chuckled, ruffling his son’s hair. “Maybe wait until the baby can walk first.”
The laughter carried, warm and easy, floating into the balmy night air. Even Gabriel, seated with stiff posture at the end of the table, not really talking, just quietly watching, allowed the corners of his lips to soften. Adrien almost didn’t notice it at first—the quiet curve of a smile on his father’s usually severe face. It made him happy to see his father happy, albeit it was a subtle smile.
“To new life,” Gabriel said, raising his glass of sparkling water. His voice was calm, measured, yet faintly reverent. “And the future it brings.”
Adrien blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his father’s tone. Gabriel had never been one for casual toasts or familial warmth. For a brief second, Adrien wondered if this was what it might have been like if his father had always been this way—if Emilie had never left them.
Marinette, gracious as ever, lifted her glass in return. “To the future.”
The moment seemed almost perfect. But as Marinette’s eyes met Gabriel’s, a flicker of unease passed through her. Even though she had been married to Adrien for five years now, and Gabriel had been her father-in-law, she hadn’t gotten quite used to his…deameanors. His gaze lingered—not just politely, not just warmly—but with an intensity she couldn’t quite read.
She looked away quickly, laughing with Alya as though nothing had happened. Gabriel’s expression smoothed back into neutrality, as though the look had never existed.
The night stretched on with chatter and celebration. Chloé stopped by briefly, scoffing at all the “sappy domestic stuff” but slipping Louis a tiny wrapped toy car before sweeping off again, something about “important business women things”.
Tom insisted everyone take home boxes of leftover pastries. Sabine pulled Marinette aside to press her hands against her belly with tears in her eyes. Adrien busied himself with cleaning plates, sneaking kisses against Marinette’s temple when no one was looking.
It was the kind of night that felt untouchable to Marinette.
xxx
Later, when the food was packed and goodbyes exchanged, Marinette offered to run one last errand—she’d promised a local seamstress friend of hers she’d drop off a fabric order tonight, and it was only a few blocks away.
Adrien hesitated. “I can go with you. Or it can wait until tomorrow.”
She shook her head, smiling. “It’s just down the street. You stay here with Louis—I won’t be long.”
Adrien kissed her hand, reluctant. “Text me when you’re on your way back.”
“I will.”
xxx
The streets were quieter now, the park lamps glowing in soft pools of yellow light. Marinette’s bag swung lightly against her hip as she walked, humming under her breath. She pulled out her phone once to check the time—almost midnight.
The fabric drop-off went smoothly, the seamstress, Charlotte, thanking her profusely for the late-night kindness. Marinette left feeling light, thinking of Adrien’s smile earlier, of Louis’s excitement.
But halfway back to the park, the unease began.
A faint sound. Footsteps? She slowed, glancing over her shoulder. The path behind her was empty. The wind rustled the leaves, sending shivers down her arms.
She quickened her pace.
The footsteps quickened too.
Her heartbeat thudded, sharp and heavy. She reached for her phone, fumbling it out of her pocket. Adrien’s name lit up the screen—he was calling. Relief flooded her chest as she swiped to answer—
But a shadow moved. A hand grabbed her wrist. The phone slipped from her fingers, clattering against the pavement. The call still ringing.
The screen lit up with Adrien’s name.
And then, darkness.
xxx
The bed was cold.
Adrien stirred, reaching instinctively for the warmth he expected to find curled at his side. The sheets, smooth and empty, told him something was wrong before his mind fully woke. Marinette always came back. She never stayed out past midnight without letting him know.
“…Mari?”
The clock on the nightstand glowed 3:14 a.m. He blinked at it, the numbers stabbing at his nerves.
Maybe she’s still at the studio. Or maybe she went to the bakery. Or—
He reached for his phone.
12 unread texts. All to her. No response.
His thumb hovered over her contact, trembling, before pressing Call again. The dial tone rang hollow in his ear. Straight to voicemail.
Adrien’s chest tightened. His mind leapt to worst-case scenarios too quickly—years of battling akumas, years of losing people before he could save them. No. He refused to go there. Not yet.
He immediately checked Louis’s room next. His son slept soundly, tiny limbs sprawled out like a starfish, clutching his stuffed Chat Noir plush. Adrien knelt beside the bed, brushing hair from the boy’s forehead.
“It’s okay,” he whispered to no one in particular. “Mama’s just… late.”
Louis didn’t stir. Adrien straightened, determination sparking.
If Marinette wasn’t answering—if she wasn’t home—then Chat Noir would find her.
After quickly explaining to Tom and Sabine what had happened, Adrien left them in charge of Louis while he went out to search for his wife. They were distraught of course, the news of their daughters disappearing shaking them, but above all else they believed Marinette was strong enough to handle herself, their priority right now was to help Adrien and Louis.
The city blurred beneath him, rooftops slicing through the night sky as he vaulted from ledge to ledge. His staff extended, his ears straining for even the faintest sound of distress. He searched the route she’d take back from the seamstress, the alleys, the blind corners.
Nothing.
Only silence.
He finally made up his mind to find the seamstress. Whether she held answers, or was hiding something of her own, Adrien couldn’t afford to ignore the possibility.
He retransformed back into his regular clothes and held his breath as he entered. The tiny seamstress shop smelled faintly of lavender detergent and new fabric. Bolts of cotton and silk lined the walls in uneven stacks, colorful scraps pinned up like inspiration boards. Adrien lingered in the doorway a moment before stepping inside, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.
Behind the counter, the girl, Charlotte her name was if he recalled properly, looked up. She was about Marinette’s age, her dark curls tied back in a quick knot, a needle balanced between her fingers. Her expression lit up at first—then dimmed when she realized it wasn’t Marinette.
“…Adrien?” she asked softly.
He gave a tight nod. “Hey, Charlotte.” His voice was hoarse, his smile forced. “I—I was hoping you might have seen Marinette.”
Charlotte’s needle slipped, clattering against the counter. “Well I saw her earlier tonight when she dropped off the fabrics,” she said, looking at Adrien with intense worry. “I saw her walk out by myself after the fact, and earlier yesterday she texted me, said she couldn’t wait to show me a design she’d been working on for the baby. And then…” Her throat closed. “And then she never answered.”
Adrien swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the counter. “You two were together then? Last night when she disappeared?”
Charlotte nodded, blinking back tears. “She came in, we talked for ages—longer than we should’ve, honestly. We laughed about Louis insisting the baby was going to be a superhero. She promised she’d bring him by soon so I could measure him for that jacket we joked about.”
Adrien’s chest ached. The thought of Marinette smiling that night while he wasn’t there twisted something deep in him.
“I’m sorry,” Charlotte whispered.
Adrien reached across the counter, covering her hand with his. “This isn’t your fault. If you remember anything—anything at all—please call me. Even something small.”
Charlotte bit her lip, nodding quickly. “Of course. She’s my friend too, Adrien. We’ll find her. We have to.”
Adrien let go reluctantly, forcing himself to stand straighter. “Yeah,” he said, though the weight in his chest nearly dragged the words down. “We have to.”
The pit in his stomach deepened. He forced himself not to think of the phone—the one he imagined slipping from her hands, the one he didn’t dare picture lying broken on some dark street.
“Plagg,” he whispered when he stopped to catch his breath, crouched on a gargoyle. His voice cracked. “She wouldn’t just… she wouldn’t leave. You know she wouldn’t.”
Plagg hovered, unusually quiet. “I know, kid. But we’ve seen too many battles to believe in coincidences.”
Adrien’s grip on his baton tightened until his knuckles whitened. “Then someone has her. And I swear—”
But his voice faltered before he could finish the threat.
By dawn, Adrien had transformed back to Chat Noir and checked every rooftop, every street camera he could access, every alley. At last he went to the only people he could think of that could help him. He landed at Alya and Nino’s apartment.
Alya answered the door, bleary-eyed but alert, her phone already in hand. The moment she saw him—eyes bloodshot, hair disheveled, hands shaking—she pulled him inside and held his arm.
“Adrien, love, you look upset, what happened? Where's Mari and Louis?”
“She didn’t come home,” Adrien rasped, voice hoarse. “I can’t find her anywhere. I’ve been searching all night.”
Alya didn’t waste a second. “Okay. Okay. Lets call the authories, maybe your father can get in touch with someone on the higher end? Yoi know how the police are, they’ll drag their feet—paperwork, waiting periods. No. We’re moving now.” She grabbed her laptop, fingers flying across the keys as she pulled up maps of the area.
Nino came from the bedroom, understandably confused and rubbed his face.
“Nino my love I’m sorry we woke you,” she gave a small nod to her fiancé. “But Mari is missing, we have to find her.”
“What?” That woke Nino up. He immediately went over to Adrien and gave him a tight hug. “Dude, don’t worry, knowing Marinette she has herself handled. We're going to find her, we’ll start by getting in contact with the authorities and check anywhere she possibly could have been.”
She went over to Adrien and put his hand on his shoulder “You’re right. We check cameras, traffic feeds, bus routes—anywhere she could’ve passed. ”
Adrien looked at them bleakly. “I already checked the streets, most of them have cameras but I’m hard pressed to trust any of them actually work, besides I went over to Charlotte’s place, she wasn’t there either.”
Nino gave a weary glance to Alya. “Okay okay, that’s fine. You're just one guy with two legs, if we have the authorities on our side we can scour the city and-”
“I’m Chat Noir,” Adrien said blankly.
“Look for any possible cl- What?”
“I’m Chat Noir,” Adrien repeated. “I’m Chat Noir…and she’s Ladybug.”
Alya let out a small shriek. “Of course. Of course, of course, of course,” she buried her hands into her face. “She hasn’t just gone missing has she? Oh Adrien…”
Adrien let out an exasperated sigh. “Hawkmoth has been gone for years, since before Louis was born. But I can’t think of anyone else who would want Ladybug.”
Nino could only gape as he processed what had just been told to him. But Adrien knew they both had just understood the meaning of this revelation, had Marinette been just a civilian, they could rule it out as typical kidnapping, but with Marinette being Ladybug, whoever caught her must've known, and that sent a feeling of numbness down everyone's spine.
Adrien pressed a hand over his eyes, the weight of exhaustion slamming into him all at once.
xxx
Back home, Louis woke to the sound of voices downstairs. He padded down the steps, rubbing sleep from his eyes, and tugged on Adrien’s sleeve. Tom and Sabine were on the couch, looking incredibly anxious.
“Adrien, did you find her? Is she alr-”
“Papa? Where’s Mama?”
Adrien froze. He tore his eyes away from Sabine and looked at his son, his son who was the spitting image of Marinette. Every instinct screamed to tell the truth, to tell Louis exactly what was happening, but the boy’s blue eyes were wide and afraid, and Adrien couldn’t bring himself to shatter that innocence.
“She’s… working, buddy,” Adrien forced out, crouching down to meet him. “She had a late night at the studio.”
Louis’s lower lip trembled. He shook his head. “You’re lying.” For such a young child, Louis was very intuitive. It was something that Adrien loved about him, it reminded him so much of his own mother, but right now it only sliced a hole into Adrien's heart.
Louis’s small hands gripped his sleeve tighter. “If Mama’s in trouble, you have to go get her Papa. You always save people.”
Adrien’s chest caved in. He pulled Louis into a hug, face buried in his son’s hair. “I’m trying bug. I promise I’m trying.”
By midday, Marinette’s disappearance had hit the news. Fashion Designer Missing: Paris in Shock. The bakery was swarmed with reporters and sympathetic neighbors leaving flowers and notes. Tom tried to speak bravely for the cameras, but his voice cracked. Sabine refused to leave the counter, eyes scanning every face that entered as if Marinette might walk through the door at any second.
Adrien stood apart, numb, flanked by Alya and Nino.
xxx
Later that evening, Alya yelled out, “I found her last camera appearance. Right here—” she pointed at the map, her voice clipped. “She rounds a corner, and then… nothing. No footage from the next street. No witness reports. No audio. It’s too clean, Adrien. Someone planned this.”
Adrien’s fists clenched. “Then we find them. Whoever it is—we find them.”
Nino put a hand on his shoulder. “We will, man. But you need rest.”
Before Adrien could argue, another knock came at the door. Gabriel Agreste stepped inside, his expression grave. Adrien knew this type of thing would be a gut punch for someone like Gabriel, who dealt with a similar case when Emilie went missing. It seemed missing wives were a curse in the Agreste family.
“Adrien,” he said gravely, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, I heard about Marinette through her father. However you must stay strong. For Louis. Let me help where I can—contacts, resources. But your boy needs stability right now.”
Adrien nodded weakly, leaning into the offer. He watched as his father, for the first time, conversed with his friends. He seemed to have a glint in his eye, a glint of determination. Alya and Nino seemed a little surprised by Gabriel's efficiency, but Adrien could hardly feel negatively about it.
This may have been the first time his father had shown him this level of comfort and kindness, and Adrien wished it was under any other circumstance.
Adrien nodded weakly, leaning into the offer, for once grateful for his father's vast connections.
That’s when Chloé arrived.
She swept into the apartment like a storm, sunglasses on despite the cloudy sky. “Only you, Dupain-Cheng, could make national news out of disappearing,” she snapped, but the quaver in her voice betrayed her.
Adrien whipped toward her. “Chloé, this isn’t—”
“I know it isn’t a joke!” she snapped, a little too loudly. Then softer, eyes darting to Louis who sat curled in the corner: “I just… she’s supposed to be the annoying one. The reliable one. She doesn’t just vanish.”
For once, Alya didn’t bite back. She just studied Chloé quietly, noticing the way her hands shook as she fiddled with her sunglasses.
Adrien didn’t miss it either. It was the first time he’d ever seen Chloé look small.
That night, after Louis was tucked into bed, Adrien found himself at Marinette’s work desk. Sketches littered the surface—dresses, embroidery patterns, swatches pinned neatly in rows.
One sheet lay separate from the others. A baby onesie, drawn in soft pastels. Across the front, written in Marinette’s looping script, was a single name:
Emma.
Adrien sank into the chair, the paper trembling in his hands. His vision blurred as he bent forward, forehead pressing against the desk. The sobs came then, shuddering and unstoppable, breaking open the hollow ache that had been building since midnight.
The name swam in his mind.
Emma.
And at that moment, he didn’t know if he still had any hope left in him.