Work Text:
When Alya knocks, two sharp raps against the wood, and invites herself in, she knows her arrival isn’t a surprise. It’s expected, even.
“You were right,” Marinette says dully. The vrrr of the sewing machine matches her cadence like a backing track, steady and flat. “I can’t sustain a relationship built on lies.”
“So you chose to end the relationship,” Alya says. “Not the lies.”
Fabric rustles. “Nino told you.”
“Adrien did, actually.”
She sees the way Marinette’s shoulders tense, just for a moment. Whatever mental script she’s running through, the revelation that Adrien… what, talks? It throws Marinette for a loop, one she’s fast enough to smother from most people.
Alya, with eyes like a hawk and the tenacity to match, tugs at that thread. “He thinks you were coerced. That you wouldn’t just stop loving him. That you might need your best friend to check up on you.”
The anger, the bitterness she knows wants to flare, is something Alya consciously tamps down. It’s not helpful, and it won’t drive the point she needs to make if it’s motivated by that rawness.
(and, more selfishly, it’s only more fuel to feed into Marinette’s self-flagellation. And Alya refuses to be used in that way.)
But pointed. That she can do. That, she intends.
Marinette doesn’t respond. The sewing machine slows to a stop, and she methodically removes a small, round piece of fabric to the side, piled with others. She grabs a fresh square of fabric, and the machine hums back to life.
She’s not going to get anything out of her like this. And honestly, Alya would rather this conversation happen while she’s not staring at Marinette’s back. With purposeful, audible steps, Alya strides the length from the hatch to her work station, stalling next to the chair.
Marinette doesn’t look up, a forced sense of focus in her dulled expression. Alya turns her eyes to the pile of what look to be charms, little and round and cotton. She picks up the just-finished one, noting a simple design embroidered on one side. A wifi symbol, maybe? Light pressure lets her identify that, while there’s some sort of stuffing, something solid and rigid resides in its middle. She presses a little more to try and identify what, but no dice.
At the same time, Marinette’s phone on the table buzzes. She doesn’t pause nor look away from her in-progress charm as she reaches one handed to tap it still, but she does grant an explanation. “The new Butterfly holder can take the form of anyone we know. These are a safety measure to make sure any Miraculer in a certain radius will know any civilian they’re talking to is the real deal, as long as they press their charm. Miraculers already have a way to prove their identity to me, secret or otherwise, by their kwami, since a concept can only exist once in the universe, but in case they need to prove themselves to anyone who’s not Ladybug, this is another layer of protection.”
She finishes up another one, black with a stripe of yellow, green and purple. Alya almost wants to call out the audacity, but she knows fully well this is a Ladybug project, and Ladybug doesn't have any hangups preventing this. “There needs to be far more than just enough for Miraculers,” Marinette continues, “just so no one’s identities can be easily narrowed down by the fact they have one of these, and they need to be hidden enough that they can be activated out of plain sight. It’s a simple call and response buzz for any charm in a close radius, and for a hero’s Miraculous if they’re transformed. Ideally I’d want to make them a little more personalized, but if I want them out as soon as possible then I can’t afford to waste—”
Wham, goes Alya’s palm on the table, charm in hand, the pile of others jostling with the force. Marinette’s phone buzzes again. She makes no move to silence it, nor does she look up from her project. She does, however, stop directing the fabric at the machine, her hands stilling when the needle has nothing left to mend.
If Marinette won’t look at her, fine. But Alya refuses to avert her own eyes, staring with daggers she’s sure the other feels. “What you’re doing is cruel, Marinette.”
Vrrr, goes the sewing machine, purposeless without a cause. It slows, agonizingly so, before spluttering to an unsatisfying end. Marinette takes a deep, shuddering breath.
“All that matters,” she says, deliberate as can be, hands tightening against the metal of the machine. Her eyes lift, and she levels Alya a hard, decisive stare. “...is that he’s happy.”
“You think breaking his heart makes him happy?”
Alya watches, the way Marinette’s stare doesn’t falter, the way she doesn’t give anything away. It’s what Ladybug does. It’s what Marinette leaps at the chance for, if it protects the people she loves. If it destroys her, just to do so.
“He’ll love again.” And there’s a crack, right at the love, dangerously charged, expertly masked faster than she can blink. When she continues, she’s fully recovered. “That’s something he can come back from. His father—that’s huge. That’s permanent.”
“And when the truth comes out anyway?”
“Then he’ll hate the girl who broke his heart.” Her attention goes back to the sewing machine, letting it thrum back to life as she continues to direct fabric. “Not the girlfriend he loves.”
Alya’s palm, still pressed firmly against the table, curls closed. The pressure activates the charm, and Marinette methodically goes to still her phone’s buzzing once again. It’s rote and routine, and for the first time, Alya feels a sudden, blinding resentfulness towards Ladybug.
It’s almost alien, feeling such contempt for a hero Alya has always adored—both before and after learning her true identity. Paris will always need a Ladybug to watch over her, to protect and empower its citizens, and Marinette takes to the role like fire to air. Marinette Dupain-Cheng is a perfect Ladybug—and Ladybug is what destroys Marinette Dupain-Cheng.
Alya thinks about the lies, the secrets and the protocols, the burdens of Guardianship and Creation, the girl who’d reached out when those were too heavy to bear, the sight of her now bearing the weight until it’s all she is, and thinks: I want my best friend back.
Her hand must be trembling, bitterness and anger nipping away and wanting desperately to be known, because the charm goes off and the phone buzzes again. Marinette goes to silence it and frowns, glancing up at Alya with a furrowed brow.
Alya draws in a breath, forcing her hand to uncurl and fall at her side. This isn’t helpful. She’s not going to let her scorn take any degree of control in this situation. It doesn’t matter how unfair or unjust any of this is—these are Marinette’s choices, and they’re ones Marinette needs to own up to.
Whatever Marinette finds, searching Alya’s expression before she can sufficiently school it back to neutrality, is enough to make her scoff, turning back to her project. “You could tell him,” she says, lips quirking up into a sneer. “You don’t like lying.”
It’s dismissive, a pettiness incongruent with the Marinette that Alya knows. But crud, if that doesn’t get under her skin regardless. “It’s not my secret to tell,” she says instead, tone clipped.
“But the truth always comes out in the end,” Marinette states mockingly, her grin twisted with vitriol, biting and vicious. “So put him out of his misery.”
Put me out of mine, goes unsaid, buried by the vrrr.
Alya watches the way Marinette keeps that smile plastered. Wonders how long she’d keep it up. Wonders how long it’d take, to become real.
Knows she’d commit, if it came down to it.
(“If we’re really your friends, you can confide in us.”)
“I know what you’re trying to do,” Alya says, “because you’ve tried it before.”
(“Well, then maybe I don’t want you to be my friends. Get OUT!”)
Another charm finished. Green, music note. “Have I.”
(I want my best friend back.)
“If you want this to end—” Alya motions to the space between them. “—and cut me out completely? Fine. But say it to my face. Don’t waste my time, or yours.”
The smile, warped with cruelty, slowly falls. After a moment, the sewing machine follows suit, fading to a stop.
Silence invades, heavy and loud. Marinette stares down at her hands, at the in-progress charm, at nothing at all.
Alya waits.
She doesn’t want to be doing this. There’s no pleasure, no satisfaction out of demanding an ultimatum like this, but this isn’t something to compromise. Either Marinette chooses to drop the shovel, or she keeps digging deeper. Whatever the choice, it’s hers to make. It’s hers to stand by.
Something decisive flashes through Marinette’s face. She stands, palms slammed against the table, the chair rolling back. There’s a sharp inhale, steadying and preparatory, before she rolls her shoulders back and straightens her posture, turning directly to face Alya.
Alya’s eyes narrow, challenging, expectant.
Marinette’s gaze holds.
Seconds stretch to eternity, locked in the tableaux that they are.
Do it, Alya knows her eyes convey. Ruin your life. Eradicate Marinette piece by piece until Ladybug is all there is. If that’s what you really want, then say it.
Marinette’s stare never falters. Her fists clench tight. Her teeth bare into a grimace, ground against each other and whatever words she’ll force out.
End our friendship, the way you’ve ended yours with Adrien. Lose me too, if that’s what you want.
Her fists tremble. Her shoulders, her face, everything about her goes taut, tension coiled.
Marinette’s mouth opens.
I want my best friend back.
…and she hangs her head, the tension draining in an instant. Her hands go limp, her shoulders slump, and her hair falls loosely over her face.
Silence, for a moment.
“My parents know,” Marinette says, defeated, “about me.”
Alya stares down at the top of her head, refusing to let her tone give anything away. “They found out?”
“I told them.”
This catches Alya truly off guard. “What?”
“If the Butterfly wielder ever attacks us again, they can’t stay in the dark. For their safety, they have to know what we’re up against, and why.” Marinette takes a deep breath, and before Alya can dig into that any further, she moves on. “Kagami knows. Heard us talking, at some point. Felix knows because Kagami knows.”
She’s listing them off, one at a time, with a solemnity reserved for those at the barrel’s end of a firing squad. They’re revelations, sure, but none really catches Alya by surprise as the first one.
Until: “Nathalie Sancoeur knows,” Marinette continues, “because she was there after Monarch fell, and saw me.”
Adrien’s guardian? Right, she was Gabriel Agreste’s assistant. Did that mean she’d known—
Marinette doesn’t give any time to dwell on any potential revelations. “Luka knows,” she says. “You, um, know that already, I guess, since he was public about his reasons for moving to Brazil. I don’t know when exactly he found out. And Alix knows—but she’s Bunnyx, and Bunnyx knows everything about the future. Which you, um. Know.”
That sense of composure at the start fizzles out by the end, and it’s when Marinette finally lifts her eyes with a pleadingness she can’t fully mask that she sees it.
It’s a peace offering. Truths, unprompted, that she has the right to share. An answer as much as anything else, saying without words: I don’t want to lose you. I want my best friend back.
Alya purses her lips, then sighs.
It’s a relief, that Marinette isn’t choosing to dig deeper. But the hole is still there, and that’s not something Alya can overlook.
She reaches forward and sets a hand on Marinette’s shoulder. The other girl lifts her head higher to match her gaze. “We’re not okay,” Alya says, decisively. “But we’re not over.”
Marinette’s lips draw into a thin line. She understands as much as Alya does, the choice that needs to be made for them to be okay. A choice Marinette is unable, unwilling to make. She nods.
Alya lets go. Turns around, and walks to the hatch. Opens it. Starts to descend.
She looks back. Marinette stares, but says nothing.
“I want my best friend back,” Alya finds herself saying, resent and bitterness and longing rearing their heads, just a tad, just enough to tinge her words. “So—can you please start acting like her?”
Marinette’s eyes go glassy. She bows her head to the floor and says nothing at all.
A kindness or a cruelty, Alya doesn’t know. But she’ll honor her wishes and leave all the same.