AN: Inspired by tumblr's toriitorii's au where Marinette dies in childbirth, and my-fair-ladybug's excellent fanfic, both of which can be found here: post/140137090526/my-fair-ladybug-toriitorii-au-where. They are both heartrending. Take a look.
I was also listening to Bear's Den's 'Above the Clouds of Pompeii' on loop while writing this, so yeah.
I kind of feel I could do more with this, so stay tuned. And if you have any thoughts, please do let me know!
His jacket is too tight.
So is his shirt; the collar is strangling him. For probably the tenth time he moves to adjust it, but stops at the gentle pressure of Alya's hand.
"It's fine, Adrien."
Emma is nestled in her baby seat next to him. He wants to take her out and hold her, but Sabine's car safety instructions forestall him.
She catches his eye, seated across from him and manages a small smile, obviously knowing what he was thinking. She is very pale, her eyes red rimmed with dark bruises under her eyes. Her hand is trembling, clasping Tom's on her knee.
His eyes skitter around the interior of the limo, alighting and lifting off Alya just as quickly. There are lilies in her hands and on the seat beside her, red tiger lilies for confidence and luck. The florist had been surprised, insisting white lilies are more traditional. But Adrien had been adamant.
Only the red and black spotted lilies would do.
Seeing them now, he wishes he'd relented.
He returns to Emma. She is dozing and resplendent in a tiny black dress embroidered with white flowers over a white baby grow, complete with a little cap and booties.
It had been hell to get her into it this morning, and would probably be covered in sick by the end of the day.
He tries to remember where the set came from but comes up blank. Sabine had handed it to him this morning and he'd accepted it mechanically, but now he's looking at it, he can see it's definitely not one of Marinette's designs. Too impractical. Perhaps it was a gift from Father?
The baby stirs and opens her eyes. They're still a murky shade somewhere between grey and blue, waiting to settle. Hopefully they'll darken into a deep blue, like her mother's.
The car slows and grinds to a stop and Adrien's heart plummets to his shoes.
Just breathe.
He releases a shaky breath.
"Adrien."
Alya is standing outside the open door and watching him with deep sympathy. Sabine and Tom have gone ahead.
He tries to smile and fails. "I'm coming."
"Do you want me to wait with you?"
"N-no. I'm fine. I'll be right there. Just – just give me a minute, OK?"
She nods understandingly and turns away. Adrien can see Nino approaching. His mouth is pulled down at the corners and his eyes look a little glassy, even at this distance. Alya moves to meet him and they hug before meandering towards the church.
Keep breathing.
He feels tiny little paws on his cheek and glances down at Plagg. His eyes are enormous, dwarfing his face, ears drooping, tail hanging limply – he looks just how Adrien feels.
"You OK, kid?"
"No."
Plagg nods. "We've got to go."
"I know."
He doesn't want to, though. Because once this is done, the rest of his life stretches in front of him.
But he gets out of the car anyway and unstraps Emma. He really should be talking to her, he knows, for her language development, but his face feels stiff and his voice is lodged somewhere in his throat.
She flexes a hand at him, and he takes it as an encouraging gesture – just like her mother. Plagg seems to think so. He's cooing at her, sounding very un-Plagg-like.
While they're busy, Adrien takes the opportunity to stretch and tries to fill his reluctant lungs. The cool October air feel too sharp and he imagines he can hear his bones creaking. The headache corkscrews, continuing its dull spiral from the hot burning behind his eyes into the centre of his brain.
He wishes he'd slept in the car. He hasn't slept properly for days.
Emma fusses and his eyes snap back to her.
He forces his lips to curve and reaches for her. "Come on, little lady."
She's tiny, really, but he likes the warmth and weight of her in his arms. He settles her on his chest and a loose dark curl – she was born with a lot of hair – escapes her cap to brush his cheek.
Perhaps they can just stay here? Crouching beside the car with the open door shielding the three of them from the rest of the world?
The slight burn in his calves tells him what they think of that idea, so he straightens and reluctantly leaves the shelter of the limousine.
There aren't many people – he had insisted on a small service – but he recognises a few faces from college, lycée and university. Old friends, relatives and work colleagues milling around outside the open doors, waiting to be sucked in.
They all watch him. Some directly – is that Tom's aunt staring? – others more discretely, out of the corners of their eyes while talking behind their hands.
He doesn't need to hear them to know what they're whispering.
Poor boy. So young. With a baby too. Such a tragedy. So young. Whole life ahead of her. What a waste. And they were married! How awful.
He holds Emma tighter and feels Plagg nudge him gently from inside his breast pocket.
His collar is too tight. It's strangling him.
Deep breath. They're watching.
Years of training kick in, straightening his spine and lifting his chin. After the first step he falls into an easy stride. He is calm. His hair is perfect.
Show time, Agreste.