First ML story that I've actually finished, how about that. Yes I know, rarepair and what not but in my defense it's not my fault. The road to rarepair ships is paved with cute art and meaningful fics.

With that out of the way, enjoy!

Gabriel Agreste was a man of note for many reasons. Not all of those reasons were good ones. He was among the best in the business, on par with Chanel and Vuitton. The only problem was he was an insufferable man, good at business, good at his craft, but there were reasons why his social interactions that were non-business related -even some of those for business- were kept to a minimum. The best description of him (and the most frequent) given was, "He's an ass. A genius, but an ass."

And though he himself might not have put it so crudely as that, he also could not find any evidence to argue the contrary. Despite what he was certain his son might have thought, Gabriel Agreste had not changed much since his wife's disappearance a year prior. He had changed, but the change had been more a regressive one in more ways than his progeny was aware of. The Gabriel he was now was the same Gabriel he had been in the years before his wife -his wonderful wife with her sunshine and warmth- had come in and melted the glacial walls around his heart. The man Adrien had known as his father for fourteen years had been the changed man, this Gabriel was not.

And yet, the regression had come about as a natural thing, but not at all a desired one. It felt more like a mask he had slipped on without noticing the adhesive coating it. He longed for the days before his darling's departure. It was hard to say whether he had answers or not, as every lead he found only lead to deeper mysteries. It was why he needed the power of the miraculous, the only foolproof method of restoring his former life to him; a feat which not even the best detectives money could buy had been able to achieve.

Still, he supposed, things could have been worse all notions considered. At least he wasn't alone. Well, that was perhaps the wrong choice of word. He wasn't isolated. Yes that sounded better. Isolated no, alone yes. And even so, there was the familiar shadow of comfort, his mirror, almost.

Nathalie Sancoeur. As emotionless and robotic as her name might have suggested, most of the time. He knew she had fears, the primary one being his wrath. Deep down he knew she was only human, that a mistake or two was inevitable. But even a minor slipup such as the ones she rarely had echoed to him as both a mitigated and magnified reflection of his own failure each and every time Ladybug's miraculous cure swept through the streets of Paris without the earrings and ring in his grasp. How many times had he come close? How close had he come? Closer, with each succession of it. The only time when he had not minded losing so much was when it had been himself he had akumatized. Either way the turnout would have been favorable. Had he succeeded he would have had what he needed, and though he had failed he was no longer the target of suspicion from Paris' superheroes.

So many people in the city of Paris. So many hapless victims to prey upon. He valued that fact, though despite what others might have thought he did not relish it. Hawkmoth was a villain born out of necessity, not greed or sadism or even a tragic backstory. Yes, there was tragedy to his modus operandi, but he had come to no other option that would produce results. If his wife were to show up on his doorstep Hawkmoth would disappear, there would be no more use for him. But the likelihood of that happening was slimmer than the models he designed for. In the meantime, there was still his way of doing things.

And also in the meantime, he still had a company to run, if only by proxy. Nathalie was such a blessing, not only being aware of his business dealings but his supervillain ones as well. It made his life so much easier to have at least one person in the closest confidence. One he knew he could trust, since he knew she had no personal nor moral qualms with his activities so long as he stayed on task and got the things he needed to do done. More specifically, making sure the company didn't go bankrupt so that her generous paychecks would continue to go through. And she organized his work in such a way that left plenty of time for causing chaos while trying to draw out Ladybug and Chat Noir.

He had to admit, as against the idea as he had originally been, as against the idea as part of him still was, letting her convince him to send Adrien to school was a brilliant strategic move. Adrien was such a curious boy, and though he still could not figure out how he had gotten the safe open without a combination, Gabriel simply could not risk more of his secrets being discovered. School work on top of the extra-curriculars and modeling he did kept him well out of harm's way- for now. He had his suspicions, but no concrete proof as of yet. And yet the nagging sensation that one of the miraculous was closer within his grasp than he might have noticed before persisted. Then again, it had already been proven Adrien had a penchant for sneaking out, perhaps the ring he now sported had been purchased for some inane reason that Gabriel hadn't yet figured out.

Such thoughts the designer mulled over while absent mindedly sketching some preliminary designs. None of his real work -for the business- had started yet. As a matter of fact, Nathalie hadn't come to check in on him once this morning. And usually she was the one who briefed him on what needed to be done in which order. Gabriel checked his wristwatch, then double checked the time on his phone. Odd and unusual. Since settling into the pattern of Adrien going to school Nathalie rarely accompanied the boy unless it was to an afternoon shoot or from an early morning one. He remembered planning neither and there was nothing which indicated such on Adrien's schedule.

So what was taking her? It was Monday of all days, Mondays were the most important days to Nathalie, as they primarily determined the rest of the workload for the week. She would never be late unless something happened. Unbidden and unwanted, worry rose in his chest. Gabriel knew that logically he shouldn't have been worried, Nathalie was a grown woman who could take care of herself, and that she would never skip out without letting him know. But his emails were devoid of any messages -personal or otherwise- from her. The same went for his phone and text message logs. Though he should have expected the latter. Nathalie was a professional, how professional were text messages?

Considering the amount of duties, the weight of her workload, and everything he required of her Gabriel had more than once offered to board her here at the mansion so she wouldn't have to risk going home at odd and potentially dangerous hours of the night. It certainly wasn't as though he didn't have the space to spare. And given how much she was privy to it only made sense to keep her close. She always politely but firmly declined, citing how unprofessional it would look if the tabloids were to find her sharing an address with her boss.A scandal waiting to happen, she had called it. A model employee through and through Nathalie would never take actions that would risk reflecting poorly on the brand or its CEO. He admired her for it, and yet it exasperated him as well. Though, at the moment, he was too anxious about what might have happened to her to feel much else.

What no one knew about the miraculous was that bearing them brought each wielder certain side effects. The side effect of being the wielder whose specialty was creating champions was that of empathic ability. He could sense the emotions of other people. Traditionally it was used to find the purest of hearts and grant them their deserved powers. But since Gabriel was distinctively and purposefully misusing his own it too came at a cost. He could only feel the negative emotions -in accordance with what he looked for in a "champion"- and could only focus on one person at a time. It was the reason that multiple akuma could appear a day, but never more than one at the same time. He didn't have enough power or stamina for that. Not yet anyways.

Had he been using the miraculous as it was intended the side effect likely would have been more useful in this instance. But Gabriel wasn't about to give up everything he had worked for thus far for someone he had no real relationship with. His wife was worth everything to him, far more than Nathalie. And yet, he had already lost one person he had been close with, wasn't the fear of a similar fate befalling another one natural?

Gabriel sighed and tried to put such thoughts to the wayside, nothing productive ever came of them so what was the use indulging them? Just as he had rationalized that it wasn't worth worrying over who should step in but the object of his worries herself?

Her heels clacked with prim efficiency, and he knew without even looking she would be holding her tablet, dressed in her usual austere black and red. Had he not any better he might have thought she was Ladybug, but it was impossible, as Nathalie spent a good portion of her time with him and always wore those pearlescent studs. He knew enough to know that there wasn't that much definition to the luck miraculous activated or not. Even if she carried the studs on her it would be too risky to keep having to change them in and out. Not to mention, during the whole Mime incident Adrien had been in the car with her and his bodyguard when Ladybug had tried to ward them away from the area, and that he had been the first put into his little book during his own turn as an akumatized villain and Ladybug had still shown up.

She drew closer to him and he went to offer his usual cursory glance. And then his eyes got stopped. Because one simple garment change was now enough to short circuit his systems apparently. Nathalie as usual was in her black and red, but the turtleneck under her jacket had been replaced with a v-cut button down blouse made of shimmering silk, and her pants were… no longer there. Not to say she wasn't wearing anything by any stretch of the imagination. No, what she wore today was a black pencil skirt. It was modest enough, falling to her knees and paired with nylons he assumed were the closest match to her complexion, and they were still a few shades too dark, but what got him was he noticed at the sides there were triangular slits cut into the garment. It provided for functionality, his designer's eye reminded, as due to the slim-fitting nature of a pencil skirt mobility could easily be impaired in a dangerous situation. And given how much trouble he brought and attracted Nathalie was right to own such a garment. The problem lay not in the composition of her outfit, it lay in the fact that Nathalie had legs.

To clarify, Gabriel was good at anatomizing people. As a designer, that was part of his job. Taking a person and breaking them down into their best and worst parts; bringing to life creations that brought out the former and hid the latter. And it was stupid to assume Gabriel had never known Nathalie had legs. Of course Nathalie had legs. He knew that, but it was something he had never made himself aware of. Never really noticed until now. Nathalie, as likely unaware of the problem, droned on and on about his schedule and workload and he couldn't pay attention to a word of it; too caught up in the vision the limbs made -lithe and graceful and dainty in her heels (which only made them look longer with the added height), perfectly proportioned to the rest of her body and yet fit to walk a runway. But it went beyond that of an inspired designer, beyond the bounds of a boss with his employee, more than beyond the boundaries of any self-respecting married man.

Now, Gabriel was no stranger to temptations women often presented him, especially not after news of wife hit the echelons of upper society. Many a disgruntled housewife, or lady looking for a -he shuddered to even think the word- sugar daddy had approached him and offering to comfort and console him with his loss. They believed her dead, and wanted to profit out of his presumed grief. Had this employee been anyone else but Nathalie he might have accused them of the same motivations. But it wasn't, it was Nathalie, and while Nathalie might have had the same amount of scruples as him -which was to say, very little- she had clear lines that she would draw in the sand and not cross unless dragged over against her will. No, Nathalie was not after anything, he was certain of it. But betrayal and back-stabbing and double dealing and schemes were a very real part of their world, and he was now a more cautious man than he had been. It would never hurt him to check.

"Nathalie," he said, interrupting whatever it was she had been going off about, "What happened to your usual suit?"

The impromptu question clearly caught her off guard, even it it showed nowhere else but in her eyes. Those same eyes which cast a quick self-conscious glance down at her appearance as though she was trying to assess a flaw with the way she looked now. There wasn't any, but he wasn't about to say as much.

"My apologies sir," she replied mechanically, though he knew it was sincere, "I was washing my pantsuits last night and apparently a sewer main burst, flooding the laundry room with sulfur smelling water."

"I see, and how did this water manage to affect your clothes?"

"I was delayed in retrieving my wash to move to the dryer as I had been finishing preparing my dinner sir. Apparently one of the other residents of the building felt the wait was too long as my wet clothes were unceremoniously tossed on the floor -still wet I might add. By the time I realized that it was time to switch my clothes over the damage was already done. The main had burst and my clothes were the only victims since they were the only ones out. All my pantsuit pants were being washed at the time and there was really no other place to wash them when I saw what happened. The local laundromats were closed so I had to rewash them by hand, but they still smelled of sulfur when I woke up this morning. Obviously I couldn't come to work with my clothes in such condition, and this was the only other type of clean, professional clothing I own."

Gabriel merely hummed without giving his thoughts away, "And the shirt?"

"The material of this skirt and the material of my usual shirts clash. Considering I represent the company as your personal assistant my own fashion sense cannot be called into question by anyone. The silk blouse was the first top I felt would complement the skirt."

"Quite correct in that assessment Nathalie," his eyes flitted over her form, lingering on her legs for just a brief second longer.

"Sir?" apparently she had noticed it.

Gabriel cleared his throat, "Yes, well… hand me the urgent assignments and we'll get started, shall we?"

With a curt nod she replied, "Of course, sir."

MLB

The day passed in normalcy, more or less. Gabriel went through his usual duties: approving designs, altering those, signing papers, approving orders and reports, handling issues that were absolutely beyond Nathalie's control -they were relatively few and far between, but it was understandable since there was always someone who wouldn't be cowed until they tasted his icy demeanor for themselves- accepted appointments with new and returning clients who specifically requested him, he even got a chance to akumatize someone in the hopes of finally gaining Ladybug and Chat Noir's miraculouses. It didn't work, but he hadn't yet given up hope on trying.

The problem was, that as she did most days- Nathalie's duties involved her coming and going from his atelier/office. Normally he never paid attention to the clicking of her heels as they sounded against the tiled floors and signaled her approach. But with that skirt, and those legs constantly coming and going, occasionally standing still but always in a position or at a time where looking without getting caught was nigh impossible. Every single time she left there was a five to ten minute interval in which his mind would wander. And not a single thought that went through his head was at all appropriate considering who it concerned, and who he was.

But still they came. Now that he had seen her so much more casual than usual he couldn't help but wonder what it would look like to see her with that ever present jacket of hers off, if her top had short-sleeves or sleeveless. He found himself contemplating turning up the heat in the mansion just to find out. And yet, when he shook himself out of that thought others just as bad if not worse took their place. Like the ones about her hair. He knew it was long, it had to be considering she kept it up in a bun at all times. Short hair did not make for very effective buns. And Gabriel found himself thinking about how she kept it up. Was it a combination of hair accessories or just one type? Was it hairpins? He wondered what would happen if he got close enough to take them out. Wondered what Nathalie would look like with her hair down and curly from the style it had been in all day. And of course, such thoughts gave way to even baser ones. Ones surrounding the question how her eyes would look half-lidded from something other than her natural expression of dispassion and disinterest.

Of course, none of these thoughts would get him anywhere. Until her body was found -hell until Nooroo was taken away from him and he was left without any other way to gain the ultimate power- he was a married man. And even if he wasn't already spoken for he was still her boss and Nathalie would slap him with a sexual harassment suit faster than he could blink if he tried anything. And still he was tormented. What would his wife think to find him in such a state? He was supposed to be loyal, faithful, but wasn't thinking adulterous thoughts as bad as committing the act itself?

It was nearing the afternoon, and his work was now trickling in instead of the constant stream from earlier today. Little by little the pace slowly decreased as the afternoon waned into the evening. Eventually Nathalie came in for what was likely her last check-in of the day. And his sanity was just about shot as her legs ate up the distance with confident, purposeful strides in those damnably delectable heels of hers.

"Sir," Nathalie interrupted his thoughts, "I have a contract here which will require your approval and signature."

"When is it due?"

"They would like it by tomorrow, but at your earliest convenience. I figured you might want to take the evening to look it over before making any final decisions."

"I see, have you any other work?"

"Plenty sir, was there something else you wanted from me?"

He could think of plenty he wanted from her, but he was a man in control of his desires, not the other way around. Still, distractions needed to be dealt with, "Wear your pantsuits again starting tomorrow."

"I-" she did a doubletake, astonished by the request, "Sir?"

"You heard me, never wear skirts to work again."

"Was this too unprofessional?" she asked, anxious to figure out the problem with her attire and why he hadn't said anything earlier, "I didn't realize-"

"It's distracting," he nearly growled, letting his own frustrations get the better of him.

Nathalie looked herself over again. She couldn't find anything that might fit what he was describing, "What is sir?"

He threw a hand out in her general direction, "Those," he replied.

But as Nathalie looked again she figured out what he was really referring to, "My legs sir? How could my legs possibly be-" and then it hit her and left her beyond amused. "Oh," she chuckled without even smiling, "I see…"

"See what?" Gabriel evaded, "There's nothing to see, nothing to read into."

"You're the one distracted by my legs, sir," Nathalie couldn't resist teasing him, "It's cute, well, as cute as a middle-aged glacier of a man can be anyways."

"I'm warning you, you better be in pants tomorrow."

"Will you be providing them then?" she asked him, "Because all the ones I own currently smell like rotten eggs and I have too much work to leave in time for shopping this evening."

"I mean it. No skirts, with or without tights in the office again," Gabriel ordered imperiously. "Are we clear?"

"Crystal, sir." Nathalie responded, "But for the record I don't wear tights with skirts; I wear stockings."

Sweet Kwamis above he had not needed to hear that little detail. She had said it on purpose. Gabriel had always known she was like his mirror and now she had gone and proven it further. Gabriel was not a vindictive man by nature, callous and a bit cruel, yes, but never vindictive. Still, he couldn't deny the little twinge of pleasure derived from getting a rise out of someone, out of flustering them and making them feel out of their depth. And that was the same reason Nathalie had chosen to inform him of what she wore with her skirts, knowing full well it was not a detail he concerned himself with unless it clashed horribly with an outfit. He could see the victorious smirk in her eyes as she got the better of him. But it still wasn't enough. She seemed to realize there was a game to be played between them, and she wanted to play with him.

As if proving his point she added, "Will there be anything else, sir?"

The challenge was there in her tone. She wanted to see what he would do. He still had some modicum of authority here. Should he shut her down now she would return to normal with no awkwardness to be found, she was just that efficient. And yet, he wanted to play.

His voice came out far differently than normal. An order issued, "Take down your hair."

Her gaze remained on him as her hand went to her bun. One tug, two of what ended up being hairpins and nothing else, and the do fell in a swirling cascade to land a good distance down her back. The pins were gripped tightly in her hand before being stored away inside her jacket.

"Ensure my office is off the security feed,"

She was already disabling it via her tablet, "Of course,"

"And one more thing Nathalie."

"Yes?"

"Lock the door."

There was a flash in her eyes at that command. One of surprise, one expectation, one of being impressed. The curl of her lips was a smirk equal parts victory and compliance, wet by a quick swipe of her tongue as she acquiesced with his two favorite words from her mouth,

"Yes sir."

If you guys could let me know what you think of this, that would be great. Reviews are always good for constructive criticism, and if not I always reread them on days I'm feeling down because they make me feel happy. Until next time!