Chapter Text
The materials are all assembled on Marinette’s desk. Shank buttons, small and round, painted in teal and azure. Yarn, pastel yellow and burnt umber, bought from a crafts store in two hanks. Felt, pale pink and timber brown, the colour of skin. Fabric, cotton and muslin, patterned with various shades of teal and plum. White lace and black ribbons, for decorating the hemline. Threads of all colours, to sew the entire project into shape, and to embroider the details.
Paper, printed with the patterns for sewing two dolls, one shorter and the other taller. Marinette custom-made them for this project—she spent hours researching the intricacies of doll-making, before fine-tuning the doll templates she found online into the patterns she have now.
With her materials set, Marinette spreads a roll of felt across her working space. She picks up one of the patterns and a marker, tracing the pattern onto the felt surface, and begins crafting two doll effigies of [teal] and [plum].
Ladybug swings past a roadside stand after an akuma attack. Mylene’s papa waves at her, setting up his props for a performance later that day.
“Ladybug!” He calls. “I never thanked you for saving me that time I became the Mime! Are you interested in coming to my show tonight?”
Ladybug reels in her yo-yo, and lands in front of the man. The box of props catches her attention immediately—particularly a half-melted roll of grass carpet that should belong to a landfill instead of a prop box.
“Maybe next time; I have plans tonight.” Ladybug smiles politely, calling upon the PR lessons Chat Noir forced down her throat. “By the way, about that grass carpet…why is it burnt?”
M Haprele rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “Oh, I was trying out some magic tricks to expand my repertoire—fire magic tricks, in fact.” He winces, “It…didn’t go well. I was going to toss the rug out, but I guess it slipped my mind. Thanks for reminding me, Ladybug!”
“Don’t play with fire; it’s dangerous.” Ladybug scolds, (like a hypocrite. She can still recall leisurely evenings spent in a scorched meadow with [teal] and [plum], crimson flamethrower glinting and delighted laughter ringing in her ears—[plum] was always a bit too enthusiastic about playing around with her fire magic. Those memories, she supposes, is what made her eye catch on this carpet of half-melted plastic grass.) “But…if you’re going to toss it anyway, mind if I take it off your hands?”
One of the best things about being a superhero who comes up with the strangest plans, Ladybug soon finds, is that nobody asks questions when she carts around items like an entire burnt grass carpet.
The front doors swing open as Johanna Lavillant is about to close up the store for the day. Her back is to the door, so Johanna hears laughter before she sees her customers’ faces. Young, light and bubbly with the euphoria of staying out late—teenagers.
Johanna turns around to warn the kids her shop will be closing in five minutes, and shouldn’t they be safe at home before the dying rays of dusk fade? Her comments die on her tongue as she registers the appearance of her two customers—
Oh. That’s Ladybug and Chat Noir.
Chat giggles at something Ladybug says, as the two inspect the contents of Johanna’s shelf. He retorts with a comment that has Ladybug elbowing him, and then they find themselves both doubling in laughter.
Staring is rude—Johanna has always emphasized that to Rose—and yet, staring is the only thing she seems capable of in this moment. She has never met one of Paris’ heroes up close, and it is only then that it hits her—Ladybug and Chat Noir are kids.
Sure, she has always known this on a peripheral level—but hearing Chat Noir mention he is in collège on the news is different from seeing Paris’ saviours act like the kids they are. Ladybug and Chat Noir have always acted so mature—so put together. To think that they are barely older than her Rose…maybe even the same age…just who put them up to this job? To make children do the work that even adults can’t fathom—Johanna cannot think of any evil greater than that (except maybe Hawkmoth, who actively fights said child soldiers).
The two children superheroes walk to her. There is a box of miniature food display in Ladybug’s hands.
Johanna blinks at the toy. She was expecting the heroes to browse through her clothing section, not…this. The toy section. Ladybug and Chat Noir are so young. Has Paris been relying on child soldiers all along?
Chat Noir smiles at her, “Excuse me, ma’am, but we couldn’t see a price tag on this set. Can I ask how much it costs?”
The superhero’s eyes are green and slitted. They are nothing like Rose’s sky-blue eyes, but Johanna sees her daughter in Chat Noir all the same.
Johanna cannot do much to help these kids in their battle against evil, but she can at least give them this one moment of innocence—this mischievous joy of shopping in the streets, staying out past curfew. This fragile chance to just be kids and worry about nothing else.
She smiles back, “Take it. The price is your dedication to protect Paris.” She pauses, “Would you like a cup of tea before you go? It is no good for growing children like you to run around the city empty-stomached.”
Marinette and Alix sleep over at Kim’s apartment. Kim’s parents went back to Vietnam to visit his grandparents for the week, leaving the apartment all to himself. And a sleepover is something the three childhood friends haven’t done since primaire—since before akumas, before Chat Noir, before Marinette’s memories returned.
The three of them play video games well into the night. Marinette wins every tournament of Ultimate Mecha Strike III, much to the disappointment of Alix, who was the one to introduce her to this game. They eat instant ramen for dinner and breakfast, just like the old days.
Marinette liberates a pair of disposable chopsticks from Kim’s drawer. Back at home, she sands one of the chopsticks into a perfect cylinder, painting the rod ivory white.
She takes out the box of washi tape her maman bought for her tenth birthday, selecting the white one with teal petals. Marinette wraps the middle of the wooden cylinder in teal, and then paints the exterior with clear nail polish for a shiny finish.
She regards the product with pride. New and old family, coming together.
An accident involving a cat, a chainsaw and a fire engine occurs in the park outside Collège Françoise Dupont. Ladybug and Chat Noir are on the scene within minutes. They find a tree collapsed onto the back of a fire engine, the chainsaw that cut the tree stabbed into the ground, and a terrifying old lady with a cat and a cane yelling at a team of hapless firefighters.
The cat in the old woman’s arms mewl at the heroes pathetically, as if crying for help. This only makes the old lady begin to swing her cane around threateningly, like it is a sword and she is the chosen one reincarnated.
In the end, Chat has to Cataclysm the tree to free the fire engine, not that it stops the truck from ending up as a heap of scrap metal. Ladybug uses her best customer smile to send the old lady on her way, and they still don’t manage to understand what the heck happened here.
One of the firefighters smiles at them, relief shining through his eyes, “Thank you, Ladybug and Chat Noir. I don’t know what we would do without you.”
Chat grins back. He begins telling them “it isn’t a problem, really, we happened to be on patrol anyway”, even though it is a clear lie what with school being in session right now. Ladybug is too caught up in the crimson of the fire engine to reply—the paint’s hue is a bright burnt red that reminds her of lilac fire and flamethrowers.
“Actually,” Ladybug interrupts, “there is something you can help us with…”
Late at night, Max Kante hears a knock at the window. Markov pulls back the curtain without being told to, and the two stare at the sight of a superhero in his window.
Ladybug waves, “Hi! You’re Max Kante, right? Sorry to bother you this late, but I was told you know how to do metalwork.”
Still astonished, Max nods. He allows Ladybug to carry him to an abandoned warehouse, holding onto Markov in his arms.
He didn’t know he could be more shocked, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the sight of a fire engine sitting in the centre of the warehouse, the back of the engine crushed as if something heavy had fallen on it.
Ladybug turns to him, “Can you show me how to do metalwork with that?”
It is only then that Max notices the workstation next to the crushed fire engine. Every piece of tool and even the table is coloured with black-spotted red.
“How did you move this fire engine here?” Markov asks, flitting around the metal structure to scan it. “From my calculations, it should be impossible for someone your size to move this.”
Ladybug grins. There is something almost maniac in her eyes. “The power of love and energy drinks is so strong, isn’t it? Also, I have a pocket dimension in my yo-yo.”
Chat Noir hands her a box of rhinestones one night.
“Do you like it?” He asks, bouncing on his heels. In his voice is a curious mixture of anticipation and anxiety, like a kitten overeager for pets but reluctant to show it. “I saw it at the thrift shop and thought…of you. Well, your project. I hope it’ll be useful.”
Ladybug opens the lid. The plastic box is divided into twelve cubicles, each filled with a different type of rhinestone. She counts pink, silver, gold, black and every colour of the rainbow.
Ladybug carefully closes the container. She beams, and hugs her partner. “It’s perfect, Chaton.”
The next day, Marinette chooses a green and purple rhinestone from the box. Carefully, she glues them to the dolls, delicately situated over the yarn on their heads—where their soul gems used to be.
Marinette smiles at the doll depictions of her first two friends—her first two family. Her eyes well with tears, emotions swelling in her chest to the point of bursting, until there’s no way to distinguish whether the tears rolling down her cheeks are made of joy or grief.
Marinette wipes the dust from her windowsill, before spreading M Harpele’s scorched grass carpet across the surface. With gentle care, she sits the two dolls upon the rug. The smaller one has pink felt skin, teal button eyes and yellow yarn hair. She is dressed in a simple teal dress, draped with white lace as whimsical as the fog. The taller one is made of brown felt skin, azure buttons for eyes and umber yarn for hair. She is clothed by a flamenco that flares out like flickering flames, decorated by ribbons black as coal.
Two miniature weapons lie in Marinette’s drawer, one a quarterstaff made from the chopstick she stole liberated from Kim's place, the other a functioning flamethrower Max helped her build from the scrapped fire engine. Marinette places the quarterstaff in [teal]’s hand, and the flamethrower in [plum]’s arms.
Tikki floats onto Marinette’s shoulder, “Is this how you used to spend your time?”
“Almost,” Marinette says. There’s something missing…
She unpacks the miniature food set Chat and her bought from Rose’s maman. It doesn’t contain a picnic blanket, so Marinette cuts a square of chequered cloth and places it on the grass rug. She spreads the food across the picnic blanket—[teal] would never let them go an afternoon without food, and now, neither would Marinette.
“It’s beautiful,” Tikki says softly. “I’m sure they’ll love it.”
Marinette stares at the display in front of her.
A lifetime and an universe ago, she had spent carefree days with [teal] and [plum] at a meadow just like the replica in front of her—practicing magic, sharing snacks, and simply enjoying each other’s company. The world had seemed so bright back then; with a future filled with possibilities ahead of her, and two friends to share that future with. Marinette had thought those idyllic afternoons would last forever—perhaps they could have, in another world.
But even with this second chance at life Marinette has been given, she can never get those carefree days back. And she will never get to see [teal] and [plum] again.
“…you really think so?” she murmurs, a sudden sharp pang carving its way into her chest. “They’ll like it?”
“Of course they will,” Tikki reassures, floating upwards to nuzzle Marinette’s cheek. “You made it with love, didn’t you?”
“It’s just…” Marinette can’t seem to move her eyes from the display. The smiles stitched onto the dolls’ faces don’t hold a candle to the genuine warmth of her friends’ laughter. Not that she’ll get to see [plum] and [teal] smile again. “I’ll never get to ask them.” she sniffs. “Tikki…I’ll never get to see them again.”
“Oh, Marinette…” Tikki flies away for a moment, then returns with a handkerchief which she uses to dab Marinette’s cheeks. Ah. She didn’t realise she is crying. “I’m sure your friends are happy for you.”
“…I know.” Marinette sniffs again. “I just wish they were here with me.”
----, ------, are you watching? I’m so blessed to have this second chance at life, but I still miss the two of you so much. If only I could share this life with you too; I want to eat maman and papa’s pastries with you, have Ultimate Mecha Strike III tournaments together with Alix and Kim, and hang out at Chat’s blanket fort while watching silly movies together. Did you know I’m really good at cooking now? I never really got the hang of it in my first life, but now I know my way around the kitchen like the back of my hand!
Are you angry at me for not choosing to return? I don’t blame you if you are. And yet, part of me is certain you are glad for me too. Perhaps that is wishful thinking, so that I can move forward with my new life without guilt. Still. Even though I’ll never regret this second chance, I’ll always carry you in my heart.