Written after the origins episodes aired. God, I'm so emotional. I'm calling it now, the reveal scenario is going to involve rain. You heard it first here, folks.
What The Rain Gave To Them
by hashtagartistlife
"It's you."
The wonder in her voice is unmistakable. He wonders if the awe in his gaze is just as obvious. The rain is falling, soaking through their hair and their clothes down to their skin, but the two of them stand still; lost in their own world, lost in each other. There is nothing in the entire universe that could distract either of them now.
"It's you," Chat replies, and his voice is rough with emotion—it's her, he realises, it's been her from the start, and now that he knows he doesn't understand how he hadn't seen it sooner. Who else shines so bright, who else is so unerringly kind and achingly beautiful and gives him so much strength, in either of their forms? Who else could possibly be his lady? Who else but the girl in front of him right now?
Who else, but Marinette Dupain-Cheng?
"Marinette," he whispers, and finds that his hands are trembling as he raises it up to her face; the mask he's been holding flutters to the ground and lands softly in a puddle, quickly becoming soaked through. His fingers brush her cheek unsteadily, wiping away the raindrops that roll down her face like tears. Her eyes are wide, luminous in the uniform grey of their surroundings; eyes blue as the heavens, and Chat knows in that moment that he is utterly, completely lost.
"Adrien," she breathes, his name light as a feather on her tongue, and Chat feels a shudder wrack through his entire body; his hands come up to grasp her shoulders and he closes his eyes. Adrien, she called him, not Chat,Adrien, and with the kind of reverence in her voice that he thought he'd never hear from his lady's lips. Adrien.
"Say that again," he asks of her, because he needs to hear it again to feel real—needs reassurance that any of this is still real, and not a fever dream conjured up by his brain. The rain, the cold wet touch of his leather uniform against his skin, the distant rumbling of thunder on the horizon; none of that matters, not in this moment. The only thing real in this world right now is the girl in front of him, so small and delicate yet stronger than anyone else he has ever known. His tether has always been her.
"Adrien," she breathes again, and her words send shivers thrilling down his spine— "Adrien, Adrien, Adrien, Chat Noir, it's you, it's you—"
"It's me," he acquiesces, "it's me, it's me, Ladybug, Marinette, it's me—"
Neither of them knows who moved first. All they know is that in between one word and the next, in the space of a breath, they are embracing, crushing each other to their chests. All they know is the heat of the other's body, and the warmth of their breath on the other's skin. Their words trip over each other's, a litany of names and titles and confessions like a prayer, and all they know is each other, and the fact that they are home.
"I didn't know– I couldn't see–I'm sorry, I'm sorry--" is the broken refrain on his lady's lips, and Chat responds in kind, feverish and ardent; that he's so glad, so glad, that she is Marinette and not anyone else. That he's sorry too, sorry for not ever really seeing her, sorry for not recognising the one person he should have known better than himself. And then they are laughing, both of them, at themselves, at each other, at the wonder that is this world and its coincidences, because haven't they been absolutely ridiculous? When what they had both wanted so much had been right in front of them this whole time–
– and when they kiss, it happens so naturally that neither of them ever think to stop and question it. Laughing, they tip their heads towards each other; laughing, Ladybug leans up and Chat leans down and they twine their fingers together. Their foreheads touch, and they are still laughing, still smiling achingly wide, when they lean in even closer and their lips bump against each other's with all the grace of a clumsy moth drawn to the light. Their first kiss is breathless and fumbling, punctuated with laughter and the slickness of the rain, but it is also the most natural thing in the world. They could have been kissing each other for a minute, or for centuries. There is no way of telling. They only know that surely, this was the way they were created: with his soft lips on hers, giving and taking, their breaths mingling as though they had been made to be one entity from the start.
When they break apart, Chat sees the entire world reflected back at him through the blue of his lady's eyes. His heart is full to bursting, and for the first time in his life, he is not scared of the changes that tomorrow may bring.
He knows that she will be by his side, to weather whatever the world chooses to throw at them together.
"Marinette," he says, taking her hand again, "Ladybug."
She smiles up at him, and he can't help the matching grin that spreads across his face.
"All of this is a bit new for me," he says, and watches with amusement as his Lady's beautiful smile dissolves into a tiny look of confusion before she remembers the reference and smacks him on the arm, laughing once more. "I don't even have an umbrella this time. But, my lady, with your permission– I'd like to be your friend, once again. I thought I knew Ladybug, and I thought I knew Marinette. And now I'd like to get to know you, all sides of you, all over again from the start. Would you let me do that with you, together?"
"You silly cat," she responds, and Chat Noir's heart contracts a little at the sheer amount of fondness shining through on Ladybug's face. "We'll always be friends."
Friends, partners, lovers, strangers– whatever they are, Chat thinks, it is enough. They are something to each other, something irrevocable and irreplaceable, and knowing that fills him with a sense of lightness so profound that he does not think he will ever be afraid of the dark again.
Then something crashes in the distance behind him, and both of them close their eyes in consternation.
"Are they serious right now?" Ladybug mutters, while Chat starts laughing– of course they were serious right now, this was exactly what they had signed up for in the first place. Evil waits for no man, woman, or teenaged superheroes who have just revealed their identities to each other dramatically in the rain.
"Duty calls," he says ruefully, picking up their discarded masks and smoothing them out. He places hers back over her eyes, being careful to avoid getting her drenched hair caught underneath it, and places a light kiss on her forehead when he's done. He catches a faint blush on her cheeks at that, and thinks he could really, really get used to seeing that a lot more.
He puts his own mask back on, and takes out his baton. "Shall we?" he asks, extending a hand to his lady, and she takes it without hesitation.
"Let's go kick some akuma butt," she replies, before kicking off the ground in one fluid motion, taking an unsuspecting Chat with her. He cries out in surprise, but soon rights himself when they land on the roof. He chases after her; she's laughing as she runs on ahead of him, and he does not hide his own wide smirk. A whoop of joy leaves his lips, and he extends his baton and throws himself into the fray after her.
Above them, the skies show no signs of clearing. Adrien and Marinette, Paris' erstwhile heroes, do not mind. Rain might have been a nuisance to others, something best avoided, but neither of them can bring themselves to seek shelter from it. Instead, they run: straight as an arrow, hearts full of hope as they leap over the familiar cityscape towards their next challenge. The rain is not a hindrance for them; it is a friend, familiar and comforting, warm and gentle, soothing their fears and washing away their doubts.
After all, their stories have always begun in the rain.