The first week has to be the worst.
How do you handle sending the police on a missing person case that you know will turn up nothing? It's not like you can explain the little that you do know anyways.
Instead you just go through the motions- pretending you have no clue what has happened, demanding answers you know will never come in the hopes that maybe it will keep you distracted until the world sorts itself out.
You desperately try to find words to explain anything to your inconsolable 11 year old son. You wonder if he is ready to know the truth, or if is better to keep him in the dark. After all does he really need to know about the monsters in the world that neither of you can even hope to fight?
You find yourself terrified to leave the house in case by some miracle she comes back, walking into the room with a brilliant smile and a teasing gleam in her eyes, victorious as always. You pretend that the stagnant peacock broach locked in your safe isn't there.
…
The third month has to be the worst.
After months of sleepless nights and desperate searches you finally find someone who is supposed to have answers.
The strange Chinese man is not what you expected. There is nothing about his innocuous appearance that would make you think that he was a powerful guardian of mystical secrets. He is the type of strange old man that you would glance passingly at if you saw him and then immediately forget, and you can't help but stare in surprise.
She had always given off the aura of someone spectacular.
He tells you a little about the purpose of the miraculous, and the sacred duty of those chosen to wield their powers but it is nothing that you hadn't already learned from years with her.
You find your patience worn thin from these last few months of torture and you cut to the chase. You what is being done to save her?
He looks at you with pity and your stomach clenches in dread.
He tells you that sometimes things are lost, that there are rules and consequences to powers of the universe. He tells you that there is nothing he can do for you.
It takes every ounce of willpower you possess not to attack the enigmatic old man. To scream and kick and hit like a child throwing a tantrum.
You have been in a cutthroat business long enough to know what someone is telling you only the parts of the story that they want you to hear.
You also know there is a difference between can't and won't.
You argue in circles for a good half hour before you finally storm off in disgust. The small flame of hope that had been sustaining you to this point flickering out in despair.
How are you supposed to cope in a world where you have no way of fighting back?
Who can you trust when the forces that are supposed to protect you refuse to act?
How do you stay strong when the strongest person you know has already been ripped away from you?
How can you know that the worst isn't still coming?
Adrien is supposed to start at a public collège next week.
You send a message to Nathalie to arrange interviews for private tutors instead.
…
The eighth month has to be the worst.
You take the day off work for the usual tradition of taking Adrien out shopping for his birthday present. You think that maybe you can handle this on your own, but you never even manage to leave the house. Instead you spend hours awkwardly cradling your crying child as he falls apart in front of you. He looks at you will hallow eyes as he says "She's never coming back is she?" and you feel your own world shatter into a million pieces. You tell him you don't know, as you desperately try to hold back your own tears.
The next day you arrange for Nathalie to take Adrien to the Louvre and lock yourself into your study with a bottle of Cognac.
You hire a team to remodel the east wing into a new room for Adrien. You spend a small fortune catering to the design aesthetics of a wildly active twelve year old, but it's worth it to see him happy. At least for a little while.
The only time you seem to smile anymore is when he comes barreling into your office eager to show you another scrawled out design for some new outlandish feature.
You pull out a blank notepad and begin drafting out a more comprehensible drawing as Adrien excitedly explains the intended details of his scribbles. Clearly he did not inherit your natural artistic talent. But he seems to love watching you bring his ideas to life, gazing in awe as each stroke of the pencil creates a real, tangible picture of the image inside his head.
You are almost glad that he is so spectacularly awful at drawing. At least now you have something that you can do for him.
Besides he is so skilled in so many areas- a wonderful musician, exceedingly intelligent, athletic, and of course physically stunning, it's not like he will be hurting for career choices.
On a whim you ask him one day if he would be interested in coming into the main office with you and modeling some looks for the new youth clothing line. His eyes light up as he asks if you will be overseeing the shoot like you used to for mom.
He does a brilliant job of course, though he is definitely more reserved than most of the models you have become accustomed to over the years. The staff adore him, and you can't help the overwhelming heart ache that she isn't here to see it too.
Adrien's smile is overpowering when you tell him how proud you are of his success.
A week later he hesitantly asks you if he can try it again.
…
The first year has to be the worst.
It has been exactly a year to the day since this nightmare began and you still are just as lost now as you were then.
It is well past noon but Adrien is still asleep in your room, having snuck in sometime around three am and curling up against your back, eyes wet with tears the way he used to when he was younger.
It's the first time he has done so since the disappearance.
You pretend to still be asleep, partially because you don't know what to say and partially because he seems to need the reassurance that you, at least, are still here more than he needs any false words of comfort. If you acknowledge his presence than his obstinate 12 year old pride will carry him back to his own room as soon as he is done crying himself out to avoid any further signs of weakness. He is your son too after all.
He finally passed out a little after five, but you knew that the likelihood of you falling back to sleep as well is nonexistent. Instead you wander to the kitchen to brew up a double espresso before slipping back into the master bedroom to work on some designs. The last thing you want is for Adrien to wake up and find you gone as well, even if it just is to your private study.
You don't even think about going into the main office, and are somehow not surprised when Nathalie knocks on the door around ten to inform you that she has already been there to make sure that everything for the day is taken care of and your presence won't be necessary.
You give her a rare grateful smile and gesture to the chair across from you at the small Pembroke table. She nods at the invitation and sits, placing her ever present tablet down and gazing across the room towards Adrien's snoring form with uncharacteristic fondness.
"Are you doing alright?" She asks bluntly, and you have to resist a light chuckle at the lack of sugar coating. You aren't sure if she means you in the singular or plural sense of the word but you shrug resignedly. The answer would be the same regardless anyways.
"As well as can be expected."
She nods in understanding and you both just sit, enjoying the companionable silence punctuated by the occasional sounds of Adrien's fitful slumbers.
"Are those designs for the Florence Expo or the Fall Runway?" She asks, glancing down at the sketches you are still idly working on and moving the conversation to a more neutral topic. She knows when to push and when to keep silent, and she shares the same ruthless efficiency that you are famous for.
Nathalie is probably the closest thing to a best friend you have ever had.
When Adrien does finally wake he is quiet and subdued. He asks timidly if you are going to have to build some kind of memorial, like the ones he visits once a year for the grandparents he never knew.
You feel the porcelain cup you are holding fall from your trembling fingers, hitting the floor with a soft thud.
You tell him not to be absurd, that graves are only for the dead. Your words are harsh and angry, your tone colored by your own fears and helplessness, but for once your abysmal lack of paternal sensitivity seems to be more helpful than destructive.
Adrien nods thoughtfully, clutching a pillow tightly to his chest, his eyes taking on a slight hopefully gleam. If you haven't given up, then he doesn't have to either.
Adrien stays curled up in your bed for the rest of the day, although at some point when you were out of the room answering phone calls he must have snuck away because you notice him discreetly playing on a small handheld game system that he didn't have this morning.
You wonder why he felt the need to hide it.
None of the answers you come up with are good.
That night after Adrien has fallen asleep again you pull out your laptop and begin drafting a plan. You may not have much in the way of knowledge or allies, but you have instincts and you have drive. They have served you well before. You know how to make contacts and get information. You know how to read people, and you know how to learn. And this time you have something you didn't have before. You have money, and you have power.
…
The second year has to be the worst.
You've made headway, you probably know more about ancient magic than some of the people who actually wield it, but it still isn't enough.
Your already formidable reputation has become downright ruthless, and you are looked it with awe and respect in both legitimate and more notorious circles.
You know on some level that you have become almost zealotous in your ambitions, but the further you delve into this world the stronger your need for control over it.
You have already seen the consequences of your own ignorance, and you will never make that mistake again.
Adrien is bearing the brunt of your obsession, as the combination of company expansion and personal vendetta rob you of time you should be spending with your family.
You tell yourself that this will be better in the long run. It might be hard now, but when this is over you both can have your entire family back.
You do your best to keep him occupied with lessons and studies on all manner of subjects. His modeling jobs become more frequent, although with the continued company demands you only oversee the most prestigious shoots yourself these days. But Adrien is talented and ambitious in his own way, and you are pleased to see how often he is the preferred choice of top photographers and editors alike. Your home and company office become a collage of images of your son. It's a constant reminder of the better life waiting for you both at the end of all of this.
But for now power comes with a price and mostly that price is a series of endless meetings with even more tiresome people.
Today you are suffering through a 'personal' meeting with the Mayor, and while Mssr. Bourgeois is of no real use to you in any of your endeavors, he could prove to be an inconvenient enemy if threatened. Your own wealth and influence had put you in the greedy politicians sights, and you figure you can afford to waste one afternoon in your home indulging his flatteries and ill disguised motives.
Of course that was also before you discovered how tenacious the man could be.
It's a blessing when a call from the main office give you an opportunity to excuse yourself from the room. It is hardly an emergency, but you would rather be on the phone giving instructions on product distribution than listening to the self aggrandizing man sitting in your office and helping himself to your brandy.
Sadly this is only a temporary reprieve.
You end the phone call and brace yourself to head back into this tedious meeting when the soft sound of laughter catches your attention.
You walk silently over towards the murmur of voices echoing from the family room and peer in through the open doorway.
Adrien is seated at the piano next to the mayor's girl, smiling and attempting to explain the difference between the black and white keys as the girl glares at the instrument with a frustrated pout.
She mutters something that you can't quite make out and Adrien laughs again, scooching her over slightly and setting his hands against the keys as he begins to play a short lively etude he had finished working on with his teacher last month.
The lithe blond girl smiles and grins, clapping her hands excitedly in praise before Adrien has even finished the piece, causing him to flush happily at the attention.
You watch them for a few minutes before quietly closing the door and heading back to the front meeting room.
You pause for a moment before entering, straightening your jacket and pondering what you have just seen.
Andre is a corrupt and insipid politician, but perhaps he may be of some use.
You push open the door and plaster a false smile onto your face, apologizing for the interruption.
At the end of the meeting you invite him to come back next week for dinner to discuss his most recent trade proposal and how to win over more popular support for the initiative. You casually mention that he should bring his lovely daughter along too.
…
The third year has to be the worst
You have firmly established yourself as one of the most successful and influential men in Paris. You wield more true political and economic power than your 'friend' Andre could ever dream of. You also spend less time at your home than in your office, and haven't had a decent conversation with your Child in weeks.
Adrien has begun begging to attend school, and your persistent nightmares about him leaving the house and never coming back are robbing you of the miniscule amount of sleep you do manage.
You tell him absolutely not but do not elaborate on your reasoning.
You officially make Adrien the face of your brand, exponentially increasing his commitments. He is established enough and liked enough that no one in the company objects despite the arguably blatant nepotism. Not that their opinions would matter, it is your company after all.
His more intense schedule keeps him busy and also allows you to more directly keep tabs on him, as his high profile shoots are now often under your own personal supervision.
For a while you think perhaps things are under control.
But his smiles on set are becoming less frequent and less vibrant.
Before long he is pleading with you again, asking why he can't attend the nearby college with Chloe and her friends.
You don't give him an honest answer.
But finally you see the light at the end of the tunnel in the form of an ancient manuscript that you can't read and the rumors of fallen hero in a far off land.
You book a flight to Tibet and hope that you will make it home before Adrien's birthday. You remind Nathalie to arrange for a gift again this year just in case.
…
The tenth trip has to be worst.
At least it's only for a week this time. It's been getting harder and harder to justify your absences. While Nathalie continues to oversee the managing of your public image and the company deadlines, these extended trips as well as the now countless hours spent doing research and meeting with various less professional contacts are eating into your already busy schedule. At this point you spend almost as much time in hotels as you do in your actual home, and even when you are in Paris you barely have time to balance your business obligations and your research.
You see more of Adrien at photoshoots than you do in your own home and you know that the continued excuse of work obligations is wearing thin. You wonder again if hiding this quest from him was for his benefit or your own. A nagging voice in your head mockingly taunts that you just can't bear for him to see how much of a failure you truly are, that if the situation had been reversed that she would have found a way to bring you back in less than a week.
You pull your coat tighter around you and glance again at the directions that you already have memorized.
You were never the one to have epic adventures, much more content to spend hours sketching at a desk or curled up with a good book, but you can't give up now. Not when you have come this far and sacrificed this much.
You grit your teeth against the bitter cold as you trudge your way through streets too narrow for your rented transport.
The heavy briefcase you are carrying knocks against your leg as you walk but you welcome the discomfort. It is a reminder that you have started from nothing before, and that success can always be won if you are willing to fight hard enough.
You try to convince yourself that that is what you are doing- walking towards success and not chasing another windmill on this endless Quixotic mission. That you aren't losing yourself in a hopeless endeavor and destroying what little is left of your family.
But this is too important to trust to anyone else, and at least you won't have to handle another smirking archaeologist treasure hunter producing yet another worthless trinket. It's always better to cut out the middleman anyways.
By the time you arrive at the designated hovel you are already bracing yourself for how you will handle another miserable flight back to Paris with nothing to show for your wasted time.
You try not to think about the email you received earlier from Nathalie warning you that Adrien had been caught sneaking out again. He had been found quickly enough, hanging out at the Palace Hotel with the Mayor's daughter, but you still feel the sense of terror that you can't manage to protect the only person you have left.
With a deep breath you knock on the door, and prepare yourself for disappointment.
You gaze disbelieving at the innocuous pink and silver brooch that you have seen staring back at you from the pages of an ancient book. You can feel your fingers twitching in eagerness to seize the object and test if this is truly the genuine article, but you know that this is not the time or the place and you did not get to where you are in life by acting rashly.
Instead you make a show of examining the item, asking questions about how and where it was recovered and tuning out the replies. You don't really care, but you can't risk seeming too eager in front of an unfamiliar collector in case they decide to rescind their offer in hopes of a higher payout. After an appropriate amount of scrutiny you pull open your briefcase, and try not to roll your eyes as the dealer's face lights at the staggering amount of bills before them.
They don't bother to ask to count the cash, you had already agreed on an amount in advance and your reputation is more than enough to ensure a certain amount of deference.
They place the brooch back into a small velvet jewel case and you shake hands and exchange parcels.
You tuck the box into an interior pocket in your jacket and head back to your waiting car. You don't even notice the cold as you hurry to your destination, an unfamiliar giddiness buoying your steps and pulling at the corner of your lips.
You realize that for the first time in years you actually believe you can do this.
…
The first transformation has to be the worst.
You manage to wait until you are back in the safety and comfort of the mansion before you test to see if you really have found a true miraculous, downing more than one glass of wine to calm your nerves through the hours of travel from your luxury hotel in northern Tibet back to the familiar streets of Paris.
You force yourself not to immediately disappear into your study as soon as you arrive home, instead deliberately heading to Adrien's room to announce your early return.
He pales when he turns from his computer screens and sees you enter the room, launching into a string of apologies and pleas regarding his rapidly increasing disappearances. His eyes are wide with fear and guilt you feel your heart sink that you have caused this. All you want is his happiness and all you seem to do is break him further.
You bury your hand into your pocket and clutch the small jewelry box hidden there. Soon. If this is actually what you believe it is than soon this can all be over.
You reassure him that you aren't angry with him but remind him that leaving the mansion without his bodyguard is not acceptable behavior.
At last you make your way to your own private sanctum, and you realize you have absolutely no idea what to do.
You pull out the small jewelry box and for a few minutes simply stare at the brooch.
You have no idea what you are supposed to do.
She had been given her miraculous long before you ever met, and you have never really been on to ask that many questions.
You steel yourself and pick up the brooch.
Nothing happens.
For an agonizing moment you are terrified that once again it has all been in vain.
With trembling fingers you pin the miraculous to your vest and with a last desperate effort, you say the words you have heard million times- "Transform Me."
The change is immediate as the power rushes over you in a wave of purple sparks and fluttering wings. You can feel the power of the protective suit you now wear, feel the metal of the cane clutched in your hand.
It feels wrong.
You feel wrong.
If there is one thing you know after a lifetime in fashion it is when a suit doesn't fit.
You were never meant to have this power.
"Detransform me!" you cry, collapsing down into a chair as a flash of purple light peels away the magic and you are once again yourself.
"Is everything alright Master?"
You let out an inelegant shriek of surprise at the small winged creature hovering by your shoulder.
"I am sorry master," it continues in the same soft voice, "I did not mean to startle you. Normally I would have appeared the moment you first touched my miraculous, however it seems my long absence must have caused some complications."
You don't bother to correct your new magical companion. No point in admitting that you were not chosen for this role. That you are in fact an imposter in this magical game.
After all, there is no reason to play your hand too soon.
"You…" you take a deep breath and try to collect yourself. "You are a kwami I presume?"
"That is correct," it says, "My name is Nooroo, the kwami of the butterfly miraculous."
"Please…" the words are out of your mouth before you can stop yourself, "we have to save her. I need you to save her."
"Master?"
"My wife!" Your voice is shrill even to your own ears. "She was lost fighting your war! You need to bring her back!"
The small creature looks at you with eyes full of centuries of wisdom, and infinite sadness.
"I am sorry Master, I do not have that sort of power."
"NO!"
You grab the miraculous off of your chest and fling it across the room. The kwami disappears leaving you alone in your study. Your ragged breathing is thunderous in the silence of the room.
You try desperately to control yourself but you continue to gasp for air like a drown man.
…
The second transformation has to be the worst.
It takes a week and a half before you are calm enough to attempt again. This time the small purple creature appears as soon as you pin the brooch to your breast pocket.
Maybe you don't have the power that you need, but perhaps you can get something just as valuable. Information.
"Hello Master," the kwami says with an incline of it's head.
"I apologize for our last encounter," you say stiffly, not bothering to look it in the eye. "I was… distraught."
"It's understandable. It is never easy to deal with the loss of someone we love."
You bite back a scathing retort. This is not the time to be making enemies.
"So, Nooroo was it?"
"Correct master."
"It seems we have much to discuss."
You deliberately place the book on the desk in front of you.
"Where did you get that?" the kwami cries, rushing over to examine the book.
You smirk, amused by the sense of shock portrayed by a creature that is basically a god.
It has always amazed you how often people dismiss the true power of persistence. It seems that even in the supernatural world hard work and stubbornness are underestimated.
"I acquired it, the where is hardly relevant," you reply, flipping open to the bookmarked page that illustrates you own miraculous.
"From the little I have been able to discern from this manuscript it seems as though the various miraculouses have their own unique powers. Is that correct?"
"Yes indeed," the kwami said approvingly. "There are dozens of miraculouses each with their own unique capabilities. It is always wise to understand the powers of others. I can see why you were chosen to be the new Papillion."
You cough uncomfortably.
"Yes well, unfortunately I seem to have exhausted my knowledge," you say getting back on point, "I was hoping that perhaps you would be able translate it, as it were."
"In theory I could translate it for you, but it will be much simpler if you simply transform. That way I can simply channel my power through you and you can read it for yourself."
Perfect.
You take a deep breath. Maybe this will be a little harder than you though, but at least you are still closer than you were before. There are dozens, perhaps hundreds of miraculous that have existed over time. Not to mention all the magical forces that made them necessary in the first place. Surely there will be one that can help you. You already have a place to start.
You are ready this time.
You summon a transformation.
…
The first day of being a supervillain has to be the worst.
After 2 months of meticulously combing through ancient manuscripts you finally have the answer to your problem, even if once again it turns out to be more complicated than anticipated.
You don't mind. You have reached the final piece of this puzzle and you can already feel that thrum of anticipation that comes just before a successful venture.
You are thrilled when in response to your first akuma the heroes appear on the scene. Not only have the Ladybug and the Chat miraculous' appeared in response to your manufactured threat, but their wielders are clearly teenagers at best. Young, inexperienced, and in over their heads. This is going to be even quicker than you originally thought.
After all they are just children.
They won't be able to hold out for very long.
…
The sixth month of being a super villain has to be the worst.
Somehow, in spite of all odds, the dynamic duo has continued to elude your grasp.
It doesn't seem to matter what sort of akuma you produce. You've tried adults, teens, generally pleasant personalities and bullies. Nothing seems to make a difference. In the end you are always left fuming.
You haven't quite crossed the line into attempting to empower anyone truly vile. Regardless of ample evidence that the Ladybugs powers can nullify any harm even you draw a line at encouraging flat out psychopaths.
You are only pretending to be a monster after all.
Still, as much as you try to keep your ever increasing frustration in check you find your anger manifesting in the strangest ways.
You've conspicuously avoided the use of red in this year's winter line.
You drop subtle hints to Andre about how the presence of magical vigilantes is making his police force look incompetent, and how he really should do something to correct it, and soon thereafter are delighted to see them begin hindering the young heroes in an attempt to showcase their own usefulness.
You almost fire Nathalie when, during a discussion about how to assuage Adrien's ever growing desire to spend time out of the house, she suggests getting him a cat.
Nooroo of course is no help at all. In fact all the irritating little creature does is complain about your methods and cry about your abuse of a sacred power for selfish gain.
You remind him that these heroic guardians he blathers on about seem more than happy to leave their champions and their miraculous partners lost and left for dead- himself included. That usually shuts him up at least for a little while.
Your life seems to have turned into an endless cycle of loss after loss. Although Ironically your company stock has never been higher as burying yourself in work makes the frustration slightly easier to bear.
Even so you still feel like a failure.
You've barely spoken to your son in weeks.
…
The fifty ninth akuma has to be the worst.
Your patience is running thin as you continue to watch akuma after akuma fall to the power of Paris' teenage superduo. It makes you reckless.
You feel very little sympathy for the hypnotist that you so publicly berated just a few minutes ago. After all it's not like you have any obligation to be courteous when it is your valuable time being wasted on a second rate reality television show.
The only bright side to the entire irritating affair is that you now have an unexpected opening in your schedule where this supposed interview should be. You know it won't take much effort to find a suitable candidate this time either.
You allow yourself a small smile.
It takes almost no effort to win over the weak willed magician. Honestly, you think it might have taken more energy to entrance the 6 year old you akumatized a few weeks earlier.
You squash down that persistent glimmer of guilt at that particular low point. Although, to the child's credit she had been by far one of the most effective and goal oriented allies you had created. You make a mental note to add her to the list of promising young talents for potential future employment.
You focus back on the task at hand.
You are slightly dismayed to see that the akuma seems to be standing atop a feral incarnation of your son's bodyguard.
Really what do you even pay people for these days?
You take a deep breath to calm the brief wave of panic.
Adrien is clever and resourceful. You have rarely seen him involved in any of the akuma attacks even though you have a bad habit of targeting his school out of convenience. He is always quick to get himself away from danger and stay hidden and you are unendingly grateful for his unexpectedly committed sense of self preservation.
Meanwhile, the newly empowered amature has launched into a predictable tirade- vowing revenge on you for refusing to appear on the idiotic television show and swearing to hunt you down.
An idea comes to you.
It's risky. It will leave you exposed and in no position to revoke the akuma on the off chance that things do go downhill.
But you have long believed that if you really want something done you have to do it yourself, and how many opportunities like this will ever come your way?
Besides, how much damage could this spineless charlatan do even with the powers you have given him?
You release your transformation, deliberately removing and pocketing the brooch so that you won't have to suffer through another round of Nooroo's whining.
You message Nathalie to meet you in the front hallway. It's time to prepare for some company.
...
It doesn't take long for the superheroine to arrive- although you didn't count on her having Adrien and his annoying little Bubbler friend in toe. Chat Noir has not made an appearance yet but perhaps that is for the best. It will be easier to trap them one on one.
Adrien is distraught, immediately demanding that you all go to safety. It's endearing, if completely unnecessary.
Of course you can't exactly reassure him that everything is under control and that you wanted all of this to happen. Instead you immediately send him to his room.
He glowers at you, even as he begrudgingly obeys, and it strikes you how much he seems to be turning into his mother. The thought is both gratifying and a little concerning. She was never one to do as she was told.
You can worry about your sorely neglected homelife later. Right now you are on a mission.
You calmly make your way into your home office, Ladybug trailing behind you.
It's almost too easy.
You clasp your hands behind your back and wait, giving enough time for Adrien and his escorts to be well out of range. You have done an admirable job of keeping your activities hidden thus far and there is no reason to ruin that now.
You glance at Ladybug out of the corner of your eye and are surprised to see her staring at the wall with undisguised rapture.
The surroundings are so familiar to you that it takes you a few moments to process that she is oggling the photos of your son.
You smile in spite of yourself.
"He is perfect, isn't he?"
"What! huh-who?" Ladybug asks, startling. You hold in a laugh at her guilty expression, as if you would somehow find it offensive to discover that a teenaged girl had a crush.
"My son Adrien," you specify mildly, although you both were already well aware of what you meant. "He's the epitome of perfection don't you think?"
"Yes, he's perfect!" She gushes. "I mean… I don't know him very well but, but he looks-" she trails off flushing.
You swear you can feel your entire body vibrating with anticipation.
"I never noticed your earrings," you say as casually as you can manage. It is taking every bit of self control you have not to simply tackle the petite heroine and rip the earrings off of her. Still, you force yourself to act like the professional adult you are. "They are really fascinating. Do you mind?"
You reach out towards the precious jewels, hoping that you appear to be nothing more than a curious designer.
She shies away but only slightly. You force your expression into a paternal smile as your fingers stretch closer to your prize.
A shrill beeping echos through the room and she scurries away, answer her partner.
You clutch your hands behind your back.
You have no idea how near Chat Noir may be and you know that it's safer to avoid a direct confrontation with the two of them together.
You can wait for your moment.
It takes less than a minute for the leather clad hero to swing in through the window and immedately begin barking orders.
You start in surprise when he directs you to activate the home security protocols, and you are a little dismayed that you hadn't actually bothered to do so yourself yet.
It is, after all, the most sensible course of action.
"How did you know about the security system?" You ask, giving the boy an appraising look. He has never been the planner of the duo, content to fulfil his role as the human meat shield. It is rather surprising that he would suddenly be so invested in defensive strategy, not to mention so particularly well informed as to your own provisions.
"Uh…" he stammers, looking uncomfortable under your scrutiny, "In a house like this it was obvious!"
For once you make no effort to hide your skeptical expression, but you do have bigger concerns. You file the information away for later as you begin typing in the security codes.
"They won't get in, this house is a fortress," you state calmly.
Of course even if they did get in you could always just transform and relieve Jackady of his powers, but you don't say that aloud.
You watch the monitors with what could almost be described as astonishment as the akuma and his army of minions batter their way through the front gate with enough force to short circut the main power and activate the emergency generators.
"There are way too many, your defense system won't hold!" Chat Noir cries, pointing defiantly at the monitors.
You are loathed to agree with him.
Apparently state of the art technology is not a match to magically enhanced super beings.
"Adrien and Nino!" Ladybug shouts, genuine concern, "I have to go get them!"
You realize that there may in fact be a glaring flaw in your plan.
As much as you want to end this ridiculous fight to gain the miraculouses, you are not willing to risk exposing your son to the whims of an angry brainwashed mob.
"Nathalie, take the remote to open the doors," you order your assistant, then nodding to Ladybug, "she will accompany you."
They both hurried out of the room.
"I'm going to reinforce outside defenses," Chat Noir states though with none of his usual flippancy. "Go to the atrium, it will be safer than here."
Your frustration at how truly ill equipt you were for this attack boils over into irritation at the upstart child before you.
"I don't receive orders from anyone, even a superhero," you state with as much pompous authority as you can.
You will be damned before you get shown up by a teenage boy, no matter what sort of magical trinkets he might possess.
Chat Noir glares. "Now you are taking the same risks as everyone else," he spits out angrily, "So stop thinking you are above everyone else and do what I say!"
He meets your gaze, green eyes flashing as if daring you to press your luck.
You stare in absolute shock at the boy in front of you. No one has spoken to you like that in more than three years. The scene is so achingly familiar that you swear you heart stops beating for a moment.
Without warning the hero cringes, his eyes going wide with… well you almost want to say embarrassment, although his sudden change in attitude is absolutely baffling.
Again you find yourself lost in a wave of affectionate nostalgia.
"Quite the temper you have there," you tease, "you remind me of someone."
The cat boys shoulders shrug in irritation and he gives you a final aggravated look, grabbing the final remote and disappearing back out through the window.
As he disappears into the fray, you can't resist casting a longing glance at her portrait.
Maybe you needed this reminded of what you are trying to accomplish.
You pull out the brooch and summon Nooroo.
Its time to get this upstart akuma back on target.
...
You can't believe that you actually managed to get captured.
This might be the most humiliating thing you have ever experienced. You can't even stop them. Your arms are being held too far above the pocket where you stashed your own miraculous. You should have been more willing to suffer through your kwami's whining. They you might not be in this mess.
After abour 25 minutes of pulling and prodding, you are finally dragged into the studio by the hoard of subservient Parisians.
You glower at the upstart performer, trapped in the vice grip of your own brainwashed employee. You aren't sure what annoys you more- the fact that he is gloating over his victory of you or the fact that he has completely abandoned his efforts to retrieve the miraculouses in favor of his own personal vengeance.
Scruples be damned, when you get out of this you are going to go back to akumatizing children. They are significantly less difficult to manage and far more likely to stay on task.
You brace yourself as you see him pull out another one of his cards, and for the first time since this affair started you hope that Ladybug and Chat Noir will emerge victorious.
...
The next thing you know is that you are standing on the roof of a tall building clearly about to jump to your death.
It's a rather rude awakening, as well as a irritating metaphor for your own hubris in this whole disastrous affair.
You climb down from the ledge and take several deep steadying breaths.
You almost got yourself killed.
You almost left Adrien without a father.
As much as you don't want to admit it, a voice in the back of your head that sound suspiciously like her screams that you have taken this too far.
You stare out into the distance, not really seeing anything in front of you, lost in your own thoughts.
It doesn't take long before the two heroes arrive on the roof, looking ironically relieved to see you alive and well.
"I'm afraid your flight was cancelled," Chat Noir says, his expression having reverted back to his usual smirk.
"Pardon," you say, refusing to be amused at the joke. It was bad enough that they rescued you, no need to make it worse by bonding with the infuriating little duo.
"We just saved you," he states giddily, "no need to thank us!"
The hero slings his arm around Ladybug and grins up at you with all the pride and arrogance of a teenager showing off his new girlfriend.
A petty, vindictive part of you- the part that has spent countless hours seething in defeat at the hands of this smug brat and his indomitable partner- is tempted to casually mention the heroines obvious crush on your own son and wipe that self-satisfied grin off of his face.
You quickly dismiss the impulse, as there is nothing to be gained from such childish behavior.
A slight beeping sounds, and you know that at least this uncomfortable interview will be over soon.
Chat Noir holds out his hand for your own and you take it instinctively, hardly even registering that his is still talking.
It takes a moment to register that it is the hand on which he keeps his miraculous.
You hold his hand tighter than necessary and stare down at the ring. The prize you have wanted for so long is there, staring you in the face and part of you wants nothing more than to rip it from his finger.
If his transformation is about to wear off then hers can't be far behind. They wouldn't be expecting it. You could get the ring and get away, stall long enough for her to have to power down so you could escape. You would be halfway to your goal. And with the power of the ring it wouldn't matter if they knew your identity- you would have 2 miraculous to her one, and she would no longer have a partner to protect her.
But as much as you want to you find yourself hesitating.
You almost died.
You put everything you care about in danger.
You put Adrien in danger.
You hesitate.
He pulls his hand away and hurries off.
You aren't sure if you are disappointed or glad.
"Well I should be going as well," Ladybug says, "will you be alright?"
"I think I can manage to make it back to my own home," you reply. She shuffles back slightly and you realize that she missed your attempt at humor. "Thank you both for your assistance today." You try to soften your tone. After all, in spite of everything it is true in this instance. You owe a debt to your foes now, and you aren't sure how to cope with that.
She smiles hesitantly before running off herself.
Once Ladybug is out of sight you sit down on the ledge that you so recently were about to jump off of.
You force yourself to calm down. You need to get focused and get back to the house.
You need to hold your son.
…
It can't be true.
You lean heavily against the door to Adrien's room and feel your legs give way, slowly sinking down into an undignified heap on the floor.
He has the ring. Adrien has the ring.
Your head swirls with so many thoughts and questions you can barely process them all. When did this happen? Which seems like a ridiculous question because you know when Chat Noir first began to appear around the streets of Paris. You caused it. But has it been Adrien this whole time? You know logically that it has to be. The boy you have been facing off against for months is fairly memorable, with his blazé attitude towards danger and his unending collection of puns. You would have noticed if Chat Noir had suddenly acted like a completely different person. Besides as much as you don't want to acknowledge the truth, now that you have seen it you can't unsee it. The puns alone should have given it away months ago. It's too perfect of a fit.
How did you miss this? How did you not see the similarities? How did you not know that your own child spends his days and nights running around the city facing off against the foes that you created? How did you become so distracted that you never even knew that he was gone from the house?
For once all of your reasoning and justification fails you.
Your mind swims with image after image of every time you have watched as Chat Noir has been hit, slammed, stabbed, and dropped. Your ears burn with the sound of your own derisive laughter from watching as the overly chivalrous boy has been possessed by one of your minions- his jovial features twisted into menacing sneers as he fights for you against his beloved partner. The list goes on and on. You can hardly breath as you think about times where your own son was as good as dead, saved only by the magical powers of a teenage girl.
For so long now you have clung to the belief that nothing you have done matters. That the ends justify the means, and that the powers of the miraculous will ultimately ensure no lasting damage to anyone or anything in the city.
You know now that that is no longer true.
You have cursed the existence of the one person in this world you truly could not bare to lose, and you have made him hate you in return.
You are every bit the monster you once thought you would only pretend to be.
There is nothing worse than this.