Adrien
The large iron gates were all the way across the street, tall and imposing just like the château behind them, the high walls and metal protections rising to almost cover the second floor making it look just like a fortress—or a prison.
For Adrien, dropping between two nearby buildings, his miraculous giving out one last warning before his transformation collapsed, it had looked like a prison since, not that many months ago, his father had uprooted both the two of them and Nathalie from the outskirts of Paris and back to the center of the city—back to a house he remembered from his childhood, from a time when his mother was still here and weeks of renovations hadn't so imposed his father's personality over every single corner of the building that its familiar façade didn't hide an almost unrecognizable interior. All of it sharp and martial lines. Modern. Beautiful. And intimidating.
He hated it.
He didn't remember hating anything more than he did this house. Even his mother's presence, lurking at every corner, making him feel like she really was there only forever out of reach, was more painful than comforting. The day he had made a break for it, evading the ever vigilant Nathalie and his bodyguard to get to school, he had felt he was suffocating, dying inside this great mausoleum. Was it not for Plagg and he would probably still be feeling like that and maybe that was the reason the still dizzy kwami, peeking from over his shoulder into the lamp illuminated lane, looked so confused.
"What got into you?" he queried. "You ran away from Ladybug, didn't even say goodbye—"
"I have to get home."
"You never want to get home."
Yes, and the day he did, Hawkmoth had to have time on his hands, his akumas had to be flying all over the city and not giving him or Ladybug a minute's peace. This situation they had just solved? That had been the fourth attack today. And honestly it was bad enough one of the earlier ones actually targeted his father—all but wrecking Adrien's certainties he was far too proud to ever fall for whatever persuasive methods Hawkmoth employed, much less follow orders from him—to know that, today of all days, the very same day he had a family dinner scheduled, he was late.
"Okay… now!"
Plagg dived inside his shirt pocket, getting into cover just as the security camera on the nearest corner of the house wall turned, losing sight of the alley where they stood. Jumping out, managing to dive inside the subway station just in the nick of time, Adrien sighed with relief as he joined the people climbing up towards the street and got in full view of the camera now returning to its initial position.
"You are acting really weird!" Plagg sing-sang happily from the pocket, his voice making a couple of passer-bys glance behind. Please think it is the phone! "So, so weir—Oh! Goodies!"
That… had sounded just like Plagg had found the emergency cheese he kept on his pocket. It also sounded like he was unpacking it.
"That is not for now, Plagg!"
"But Adrien!"
"Drop the cheese."
"Just a nibble?"
There was no way any of these people near the pedestrian crossing could possibly think he was fighting with his phone, was there?
Giving an elderly woman an innocent smile, now battling Plagg through the fabric of his shirt, Adrien looked at the sign, the changing light seeing him sprint to the other side of the street, running all the way to the gate and hitting the doorbell.
That he knew exactly who was on the other side of the security optic without anyone having to say a word, spoke a lot of the house's two other residents' very different optic-wielding-abilities.
"Hi, Nathalie."
The gate opened with a loud electric buzz and he was inside. Pressing himself between the two gates before they even finished opening. Sprinting across the well-illuminated courtyard. Jumping up the stairs to open the heavy oak door, get inside and—
"You are late."
—skid right pass the dark-haired woman who had addressed him, his hands reaching out to grab hold of the stairs handrail least he went straight pass not only her but the stairs and managed to trip inside the service corridor on the back.
Getting back his balance, going to stand on the black and white entryway, patting, he finally managed to talk.
"I'm sorry. Some akumatized person was wrecking havoc at the Centre Pompidou. There was traffic. I—"
Nathalie frowned, glancing at the window.
"I don't see the car."
"I jumped out of the back seat, came by subway." It was only half a lie and he turned to run up the stairs with it, giving Nathalie a pleading expression halfway up. "Please, don't tell Father."
"Adrien…"
"Please, Nathalie. You don't have to lie, just—Pretend you don't know?"
He could see it in her expression. The way two sides of her were clashing. In the end, she sighed.
"He won't hear it from me."
"You're the best! I am just going to leave something upstairs!"
"You can leave it—"
Here, became lost as he dashed for the top floor, two steps at a time, to burst inside his bedroom, let Plagg out of his pocket and dart back from where he had came.
"You have the room to yourself, don't eat all the cheese, okay?" he threw back and in the general direction of the very confused black kwami flying over his bed.
"Where are you going?!"
The door hadn't finished closing yet and he was already out, running down the stairs, leaving Nathalie behind, his chest twisting painfully as he watched her making her way to father's atelier. Then, turning to stop in front of the dining room door.
This was it.
Taking a deep breath to compose himself, he knocked… and waited.
There was no answer. If anything, he didn't feel brave enough to find out if Nathalie truly had entered the atelier, instead, he knocked again and opened the door, eyes firmly set on the floor, his heart pounding.
Be brave.
If he found this room empty it would hardly be the first time. He had spent the last months dining alone almost every single day.
Be brave.
He raised his eyes. The dining room was as he expected, clean, spotless and with the table set. All was as in every other night—except for the man waiting inside, leaning against the dinning room table, a pair of dull blue eyes dropping from the portrait over the fireplace to him.
"You are late."
He wouldn't have been able to stop smiling even if he wanted to.
"You waited."
That had been ten minutes ago.
-/-
Meals were usually livelier than this, even if, being completely honest here, not by much. Nathalie's effort to keep him company, which meant she stood at the side of the table, calm and composed—and he suspected, keeping an eye on what he ate, on father's orders—not really doing much for how lonely he was when she only ever talked if he addressed her, which he normally ended up doing… to inquire if his father was coming.
He is here now.
And Adrien seemed to have been so anticipating this moment, he had all but forgotten what dining with him was actually like after the questions of "How is school?" and "How is work?" had received twin, brief answers of "Good."
Silent.
Awkward.
Uncomfortable.
It made him miss Plagg and his incessant talking—even if his grinding down of cheese tended to ruin his appetite. It made him miss his friends, the school cafeteria and Marinette either fishing some of her father's cakes from her bag or running out of the table after having forgotten them in her locker—again. Above all it made him miss his mother, this room when there were still three of them, and he still knew what to say—when he could still think of something to say.
Well, think of something now!
"You didn't tell me how you got the book back, Father."
The clicking of cutlery ceased the same instant a groan of "Not that" went through Adrien's mind and he looked to the side, the closed expression he was faced with telling he had just plunged into very murky waters.
"The book?"
"Mother's book," Adrien clarified, the hurt immediately flashing through the blue eyes leaving him hanging there, unsure if he had been the cause of it, if he should continue, until he was forced to either drop the subject all together or push forward— "Did one of the teachers find it?" And was hit by a wave of hurt himself. "Did you go to school?"
His father had gone back to stare at the family portrait over the fireplace, his expression so distant Adrien was not expecting him to be listening, much less for him to put aside his pain to quench his own.
"No. It was delivered to me," he said, returning to his food. "At the house."
"One of the teachers came by?" There was something that made little to no sense in that and Adrien was scratching his head. "One of my colleagues?"
"It's of no consequence."
His chin might as well have hit the floor.
"Wait, was it one of my friends? Who was it? Chloe?"
If 'eye roll' was anything to go by it surely had not been her, but that didn't mean that she wasn't neck deep into this, so—
"Was it Sabrina?" he pressed on, suspicious. His next question being met with raised eyebrows. "You know, Chloe's friend?"
"She calls her that?"
"She does." A derisive snort left Adrien frowning. "You saw them once."
"I saw them enough."
And, seemingly, Adrien was not getting any more 'eye rolls' to help him with his answer. Not that he cared to know it. But them talking, he cared for that and they hadn't talked—or at least, his father hadn't been listening—since mother had disappeared.
"So, if not Chloe… How about Alya? She runs the Ladyblog." And, of course, father didn't know what that was. "She makes videos about Ladybug. She is a huge fan."
"An increasingly common flaw," his father stated, a slight edge on his voice. "I will try not to hold it against her."
Ah… Was that a joke? For a moment there it had sounded exactly like—
He has no sense of humor, remember?
Which lead to—
"Marinette?" He wanted to laugh for even entertaining the idea. If there was someone who would never take the book from him, it would be her. "She is—"
"The young lady with the ponytails. I remember her."
"You do?! I mean—" He cleaned his throat repeating in a less surprised tone. "You do?"
"Her hat is on my fashion show."
Right. The one with the feather. He shivered just to think how many days of non-stop sneezing he would have to endure for thirty seconds down a runway with it and how easy it would have been to avoid another run-in with that particular allergy. He just had to tell her. Why hadn't he told her? It wasn't as if he hadn't known from the beginning that his father would be attracted to her work like a magnet. In fact—
"It was a very good craftsmanship," Adrien put forth, quietly, playfully, repeating something that had been on his father's lips not that long ago—he snapped his head so fast in his direction there was no way he could unscrew his mischievous grin on time.
"If you are going to tell her I said that, Adrien, make a point to remind her it would be in her best interest to keep her projects under lock and key. It will spare her much trouble in the future." He pressed his lips at his expression. "And try not to ruin your friend with praise."
"I don't think I can."
"You would be surprised," he told him, darkly, only to glance to the side and point at his plate. "That is getting cold."
What? Oh! The fish, right. He went over several of the roasted potatoes before talking again.
"So…" Adrien raised his fingers as he counted. "Chloe, Sabrina, Alya, Marinette, Nino…" His smile fell as did his spirits, the lifeless eyes going back to him. "Not Nino. You never liked Nino."
"I don't see any reason to like most people these days, Adrien. Don't take it personally. More importantly, are you done going over all your classmates?" he seemed to read the 'No.' straight out of his face. "Will you start to go over the entire school next?" And the 'Yes' as well. "Exactly how many students does your school have?"
"Quite a lot."
Too many judging by his father pressing the bridge of his nose and sighing.
"This person came while you were out, alone, to return the book personally. I admit I wasn't even expecting to get it back, much less that it wasn't just dumped in the mailbox—It doesn't matter. This so called friend of yours made, at worse, a silly decision. It wasn't meant maliciously. There is nothing more to it."
There was no way he could keep a very Chat like smile from spreading all over his face.
"You are covering for one of my friends."
"Adrien—"
The slightly aggravated tone was cut short by a grimace. Glasses being laid on the table, he went to press his temples.
"Are you alright, Father?"
"I—yes." A penetrating sideways gaze was thrown his way. "Where were you this morning?"
It came back in a flash. All of it. The sound of crashing and breaking coming from inside the atelier. Nathalie blocking his way inside. His disbelief when finally seeing the almost entirety of it destroyed. And then, what the akuma had made of the familiar face at his side. A black and white fiend, standing in the stairs landing, just like father did, only grinning and gloating, a notebook dancing in one hand.
"I'm not Gabriel Agreste."
There had been malice to that declaration, malice and a kind of deep, unburdening joy that had been much harder to hear.
"I'm the Collector."
His fingers grasped at the jeans, eyes still on the blue ones.
"Do you remember anything?"
"I remember you were not in your room," was his reply, blue eyes hardening.
He was not getting away from this. Not when his answer had not been what father had wanted to hear and he looked suspicious… or maybe that was just his guilt over getting inside his safe, the certainty in glimpsing its now empty interior that he had broken a trust that had been implicit between the two of them and that he was not sure he would ever be getting back.
"I—I heard the commotion downstairs and did what you told me—" Adrien ended up saying, eyes dropping to his lap. It felt wrong to lie about this. "I hid."
There was a sigh. Risking a glance, Adrien was still in time to see his father raise his attention to the portrait.
"You are exactly like your mother," he said, looking—almost smilling at her, even if still massaging his temples. "Acting like it is the end of the world when—"
The tirade came to a halt, fond exasperation fading into silence alongside the first of the choked words. He was pressing his eyes now, seemingly having forgotten his son's presence until Adrien closed one hand over his shoulder and he was forced to return to his side.
"You did well."
A knock made both of them jump, then turn to the opening door in time to see Nathalie step inside.
"My apologies."
Letting go of his father's shoulder, Adrien returned to his suddenly tasteless food. He knew Nathalie well enough to know that apology had been mostly meant for him.
"Mr. Agreste. The manager of Mademoiselle Selene is on the phone. About the—"
"Blue chiffon dress," his father finished before Nathalie had a chance to. "I assume her client is in the middle of yet another temper tantrum," he continued, ruthless, putting the glasses back on. "What is the problem now? The seams? The length?"
"It is better if you take the call yourself."
Sadness washed over Adrien's expression, the chair at his side being dragged leaving him to watch his father as he walked to Nathalie, received the phone from her hand—
"A word of advice, Sir—Don't put it close to your ear."
—and went to stand by the window, Nathalie's warning heeded.
"This is Gabriel Agreste."
Adrien could hear it from here. This—he didn't even know what to call it—coming from the other side of the line, leaving him to look at the half finished meal on his father's plate and then at Nathalie. Their eyes met for the tiniest of instants, still it was enough for her brow to furrow as she again took to follow his father's back, watching him as he paced back and forth, speaking in that unwavering courteous tone he reserved for his clients.
"My creations don't malfunction. If it hugs the figure much more, your client won't be able to breathe," he was saying, sighing and pressing the bridge of his nose. "The award ceremony is in full swing, I am no miracle worker—I know what my contracts state. Yes, I have read them, I believe I even wrote them."
A gentle smile rose to Nathalie's lips at those words, only to disappear under her distant, professional expression the instant his father's present round of pacing lead him straight back to her, the still screeching phone in his hand forcing the two of them into a silent exchange of words that ended with her giving him a firm headshake. One that Adrien, suddenly at the edge of his seat, couldn't help but notice.
Had she—?
"It's final."
Had he—?
Please…
"Red," The phone was returned to Nathalie. "She wants it red."
"I have been informed."
"She could have thought of that before—"
He stopped. Abruptly. A strange, pensive expression going over his face. It took a moment before he took a forceful breath and continued.
"There is some kind of tear in the fabric that is compromising the corsage functionality. I'm rather sure she put it there, even so I will not be making the headlines by having it falling apart in the middle of a gala."
"Should I send someone from headquarters?"
"No. Get the driver, I—"
There was a moment, no more than a second, where Nathalie was caught completely unprepared. Yet, that heartbeat was enough for his father's eyes to hawk over her unusually open expression and jump straight back to him.
"Adrien. Where is the driver?"
Oh boy…
"I'm sorry, Father! We were coming back from the photo shoot, got caught on the traffic and there was the dinner, I—"
There was no way he would go further than that or that he could be more grateful to Nathalie when she spared him the need to.
"Is leaving the house necessary?"
"Someone has to explain to Mademoiselle Selene that I can make that dress red as much as a chef can undo a steak," he stated, only to add in a lower voice: "Or she can make up her mind for more than two seconds."
"Can't that message be delivered through phone?"
"I can hardly deprive her from the pleasure of being strangled by her dress."
No… he couldn't, could he?
"Adrien, after you finish your meal, you will go to your room. I expect you to stay there. No nighttime excursions through Paris. I have told you more than once of how dangerous that is."
"Yes, Father."
"And we will talk about this new propensity of yours to ditch both your ride and your bodyguard." He returned to Nathalie. "Get the car, wait outside, I shall not be long."
He was leaving. This was it. The dinner was over and in a stroke of desperation he was up, he wanted to say something, to run after him, to stop him—what he ended up doing, however, was nothing of the sort.
"Thank you for your time, Father."
He hesitated. Adrien wanted to believe he did. Then he walked out, Nathalie in tow, the door clicking behind the two of them leaving Adrien behind in the silent dining room, the portrait of his parents as they stood, forever frozen in a better time, smiling down at him.
Sometimes—Most of the time, he felt he had lost them both.
Gabriel
"Father!"
The calling was still clear in his memory, what at some point had become his name being spoken in a child's excited voice before the sound of struggling with the atelier door gave away to a smiling boy, stopping at the entrance, hesitating—
"Are you working?"
—and a woman, warm and radiant in white, bearing a smile that was nothing short of mischievous.
"Are you wearing your mean face?"
He probably had been. Thirty seconds earlier. He doubted he was now that she was making her way inside, encouraging their son to run to him—down the stairs, like he was the one the furniture had to fear—and kneeling behind both of them, peeking from over their shoulders as Adrien went to sit on his lap, scanning the drawing Gabriel had just set aside, before presenting him with one of his own… of what clearly were meant to be the three of them.
"Do you like it?"
"I—" Had he ever given the impression that he didn't? "Yes."
That seemed to embolden Adrien enough, he was beaming, pointing at the first person on the row.
"This is mother."
"A remarkable resemblance."
That gained him a friendly smack on the back of the head.
"That was sincere."´
As was him straining his mind to figure out what family gathering the drawing intended to show.
"Was this last weekend?"
There was a moment of silence where Adrien giggled, excited enough to jump on his leg, and Emilie stared at him, wide-eyed and disbelieving, dropping her head in defeat.
"How did you know?"
"Your dress."
"How can you remember what I wore last weekend?" she sighed, incredulous, getting to her feet and going around the table. "I can't recall what I had on yesterday. Don't you two start!"
Gabriel smiled, laying his head on the top of his son's, pointing his attention back to the drawing.
"And the other two?"
"This is me. And this is you."
He looked back at that and then to the drawing, giving it what was clearly a critical look, expression falling. From his vantage point, Gabriel couldn't see what the problem could possibly be.
"It looks like me."
"Give it here."
The paper slid all the way across the table to where Emilie stood, ready to catch it and nod at it.
"Oh, I see the trouble."
Adrien's face fell further.
"You do?"
"But, I—" she announced in dramatic fashion and to the delight of the child present. "Can also fix it."
"Emilie… What are you doing?"
"You have to match the drawing, dear."
In what way did that mean she had to drop her shoes?
"Adrien, grab him!"
He did. Tossing his arms around his neck only to break down laughing at his mother coming not around the table but sliding over it, not giving any of them time to get out of the way before she was on them, sinking her fingers into their hairs and ruffling around until somehow Adrien managed to slip from her grasp and make it for the door.
"Where are you going? I am not finished!"
She was up, preparing to hunt down her slippery progeny down the house, only to stop and turn to him at the last moment.
"Gabriel—You are not locking yourself in here the entire day, are you?" she queried, a harsher note in her voice, green eyes meeting blue. "We do miss you. He misses you."
"Does he?"
"Why always the disbelief?" She stretched a hand to him. "Will you come?"
A muffled giggle made both of them turn their attention towards the door.
"I saw you there, peek-a-boo!"
Emilie looked back at him, hand still outstretched, still waiting… and then was off, walking passed the door where she disappeared—where they both did. Alongside everything else. There was nothing left of that day, of them, except for the drawing.
And why had he even brought this with him? He didn't remember putting it anywhere near the sewing machine, much less the bag. Breaking it, yes. Alongside every single thing that had been inside his atelier—everything he had been sure would be fixed the moment the Bug lucky-charmed all woes away… but that wasn't to be. The frame was still very much broken. The glass had fallen apart. A tear ripped the paper right where their hands connected, cutting him from the pair at his side.
The part of him that hadn't been mindlessly trying to fix that ever since the frame had followed the sewing machine out of the bag, couldn't restrain from a derisive snort.
Fitting.
It was fitting. A reminder of everything that had gone wrong and kept going wrong. Of all he was taking far too much time to fix!
His fist slammed against the rickety table he was working at, sending the box at his side crashing to the dust covered floor, the carefully organized thread reels that had been inside rolling away in every direction as he buried his face in one hand and a mauve kwami descended from the spider web infested rafters, stopping over his shoulder to gaze at Adrien's drawing and then at him. Then, and only then, did he land on the black and gold sewing machine, quiet words doing little more than darken Gabriel's mood further.
"How old is he?"
Gabriel reached out for the drawing, slamming it face down on the table, the sheer amount of anger on the gesture making Nooroo lower his eyes.
"I understand how important this is, Master—"
"I don't require your understanding of anything."
"—but this will be the fifth attempt today," he pushed forth, quietly, respectfully—fearfully, the note of something akin to worry on his voice making Gabriel's anger boil. "This is not safe. If—If you keep overstraining your powers the akumas will become unstable, they will turn on you—"
"And wouldn't you love that, Nooroo?"
The kwami raised his eyes. For a moment, scared as he was, he held his gaze.
"No," he said, voice tremulous. "You are my holder. I have a duty to protect you."
This—This was laughable.
"Truly? And what part of that duty gave you permission to start questioning me?"
"I—I wasn't—"
A sharp knock made the kwami dive behind the sewing machine, peeking from under its adorned arm as the door opened, his lack of alarm telling enough as to who had made its way inside.
"Close the door."
He needed not have spoken. It clicked back in place, the sound of something being dragged making him glance over his shoulder to find Nathalie blocking the door with a chair, then looking around at the butterflies and the broken furniture inside the storeroom, looking none too sure.
"Couldn't this be done—?"
"I won't risk a new attack on the house while Adrien is there," Gabriel replied, curtly, fingers pulling on the hand wheel, making it spin. "This should be safe enough."
"Not if I remember this morning correctly."
The clicking of low heels joined the sound of the sewing machine, the pricking of the needle as it reinforced the hand-sewed tear leaving Nooroo gazing at the process in such wide-eyed fascination he had to be swapped under the table when Nathalie appeared at Gabriel's side. Still she looked around. A nervous twitch he hadn't seen her fall back to since that utter failure with Simon Says had allowed a mob to reenact the Storming of the Bastille on the house, making her tug the fingers on her right hand.
For all his present frustration, he would be lying if he said this, on top of Adrien's concerned glances, didn't worry him.
"What did I do?"
"I can hardly know," she said, leaning to pick the box and thread reels lying near his feet. "I was in front of the first door you kicked down."
"My apologies."
Blue eyes glanced up.
"You could have told me."
"I needed to make it convincing."
"It was convincing." The sharp edge to her words was something she clearly hadn't wished to be there for it was gone when she continued. "What if you had succeeded in that form?"
"The Collector would have known to use those two Miraculous to turn back." Bitterness crept into his voice. "He should have enough left of me for that."
Getting back to her feet, the hand with which she had been holding one of the blue thread reels against the flickering ceiling light dropping to her side, Nathalie pressed the box to her chest, the rhythmic sound of the sewing machine filling the space, before she talked again.
"Did he see you?" she queried. "Adrien."
"He says he hid."
"You don't believe him?"
The piercing question made the vein of betrayal, the very same one he had used to create the Collector, pulse inside him. Fingers stopping the hand wheel, a dark note going back to his voice, he got up.
"Yesterday, I would have."
The dress was set on a hook by the door, flowing down to the ground like it was made of water. Watching Nathalie as she frowned at it, her eyes flying over the stitched tear and then focusing on one of the white butterflies as it came to rest on her sleeve, he turned his back on all three of them, satisfied. It was not obvious, then. All the better. He had not come here for this.
"Nooroo."
The white butterflies closed around him, answering his calling before he even finished speaking, before the always reluctant kwami remembered to fly from behind the sewing machine and they blasted off, spreading out, taking flight amidst the broken and dusty furniture around him.
A grin going over his face as the butterfly inside the cane's top spread its black wings, Gabriel raised it to the light, watching it phase out of the small dome and fly towards the window, towards the dark alley outside and down the fire escape, then back inside the theatre—
It should not get lost this one. Not with the feast he could sense a few floors below. Not if Nathalie's phone ring giving way to a loud—what was the word?—the instant she took the call was anything to go by.
This should be enough. Selene should make for a capable enough weapon. There was no reason this should fail.
His attention fell on the table, the drawing still lying face down calling him to it and the two vibrant crayon figures standing to his side—the cane sank to the floor with such strength that the slab underneath cracked.
"What would you call that, Nathalie?" he queried, the bite to his tone seemingly having gone unnoticed for Nathalie's serious expression turned pensive.
"Madame Selene's demands?" She looked at the phone, competent as ever. "Wailing?"
An unpleasant smile spread over his face. And the instant the now familiar electricity bolt went through his head, the emotional turmoil on the other side of the phone blasting into his mind without mercy, he had his name.
"Wailer."
Nathalie almost dropped the now ominously silent phone, glancing his way before opening a path through the butterflies to take cover on the opposite end of the room, fingers so firmly pressed over her ears, he doubted she could hear any of the rest.
"My name is Hawkmoth. I can grant you the power to bind everyone to your whims. In return, I ask you only for a favor in return: Ladybug and Chat Noir Miraculous. Bring them to me and no one will be able to tell you no ever again."
Adrien
His head was ringing from all the shrieking, the so-called Wailer's continuous demands still echoing inside his mind making Adrien pull at his left earlobe as he tight-roped across the building's parapet, unconcerned over the long drop under him or the ominous beeping coming from the ring, eyes set firmly on the previously mind-controlled crowd and press reentering the theatre below, searching for a speck of pale blond hair, a white suit, a known face…
Where are you Father?
"Keeping an eye out for someone?"
A voice—her voice—returned him to the roof where he was standing. Smilling, making one of the ends of the staff touch the tiles and enlarging it so that he could flip over and land a kiss on the hand of the girl standing at its very top, Adrien looked up at her, the expression of fond exasperation Ladybug gave him only making his teasing grin grow.
"I only have eyes for you, Milady."
"You are impossible."
"You wouldn't want me without all this irresistible charm."
That might not work for anything else but it did just well in making her laugh—and he would take that, as small a victory as it was, more so when remembering the unconquerable battle he was fighting—and, he feared, losing—at home.
"Found who you were looking for, kitty?" Ladybug queried, pointing at the crowd, his concern seemingly becoming obvious enough for her to aim an extremely clumsy punch at his arm. It reminded him of someone this, even if could not put his finger on whom. Whoever it was, however, raised a smile to his face about as much as she did. "Come on. We defeated Wailer. Stopped Hawkmoth. Everyone is fine."
Both Miraculous gave out a new ominous beep and she ran to the edge of the roof, preparing to disappear into the night.
"And we should both get going before—Chat!"
He still had time to turn. To glimpse the tall figure standing behind him, before a cane came crashing down on him and he lost his footing, slipping on the moss covered tiles, falling and rolling down the roof, ending up hanging by one hand on the edge.
"Up! Get back up!"
She was over him. Kneeling, stretching a hand to grab his as he swung to get to her and then pulling him back to the rooftop, the urgency in her gesture barely allowing him to understand what was happening before she got hold of him and tossed the yo-yo to the other side of the street, pulling them both off the roof, sending them flying over the busy street and away from—
"Is that him?" Adrien asked, looking back over his shoulder, flabbergasted, truly not needing Ladybug to answer when an illustration on an ancient book flashed into his mind and did it for her. "What is he doing out in the open?!"
"Ten to one the same thing he always does!"
"I didn't mean it like that. I meant—Ladybug!"
The cable snapped, whatever it was that had been sent flying their way sending them crashing into the traffic below, the sound of breaks squealing and metal breaking echoing around them as they hit the floor, getting up amidst a mass of crashing cars—
"Is anyone—?!"
He grabbed Ladybug's hand, pulling her behind him before she had a chance to disappear from his side. The figure dropping from the top of the building where they had been standing mere seconds ago, landing on the sidewalk between a mass of rapidly fleeing passer-bys, making Adrien extend his staff, just as the man marched to his fallen weapon, put a foot under it and kicked it back to his hand.
Hawkmoth. This was him alright. Even if those dark purple garments he had first glimpsed on father's book seemed to have changed about as much as whoever it was that hid underneath. There was nothing of the bearded, muscular, stern looking man the book showed on the approaching—and grinning—Hawkmoth. Also, that wasn't a cane he was carrying. It never had been, judging by the empty sheath the man already had on his left hand. That was a rapier and why—
"Why does he get a rapier?" Adrien queried, slightly annoyed and glancing back. Not that Ladybug would know the answer. "I could handle a rapier."
"Is that what you are worried about?"
Both Miraculous beeped, another part of the paw on the ring going dark calling his attention to the insanely huge crowd that was gathering on both sides of the street or getting out of the bumped cars, to the mass of phones raised to capture what was happening, to Hawkmoth as he approached, and back to Ladybug's blueberry eyes.
"Maybe at another place, Milady?"
He lodged the staff on the ground, propelling them up, away from the crowded street and the cars, back towards the roofs. It won them no more than a pair of seconds. Their frantic run on the roofs, trying to get away from the cameras and the older miraculous holder before the countdown hit zero, ending with a small white butterfly flying in front of them—and its master casually strolling from behind the chimneys, a grin distorting what little of his face could be seen.
"How—?!"
They hit the floor, the sword cutting the air high over them as they tumbled down opposite sides of the roof. Getting hold of himself halfway down, Adrien sent the staff bursting towards Hawkmoth, seeing him dance away from the blow and then try to raise the rapier to block a tile being tossed at his head from the place Ladybug had disappeared to.
It wasn't perfect but nearly so.
For all it mattered, it gave them much needed time to escape when Hawkmoth's unbalance to avoid the staff made him unable to keep his footing to defend himself from the tile. He slipped. Hitting the roof. Starting to go down it, only to grab the nearest chimney and pull himself back to his feet.
Looking over his shoulder, Adrien ended up clenching his teeth. He knew that expression. The one Hawkmoth had just given them as he got back to pursuing them. The mistake he had just made? He wouldn't be making it twice.
"We have to think of something!" he shouted at Ladybug, as they both fled the scene. "We won't be losing him! He is going to find out who we are!"
I'm going to find out who you are, the tiny, hopeful voice that was always on the back of Adrien's mind chirped in—for once to be cast aside. This really wasn't the time!
"What do we do?"
"You are not going to like it."
"You are the brains, Milady."
It seemed to throw a wrench into her thoughts that, the steely expression in her eyes softening.
"You also come up with good plans."
"Well—" Adrien shrugged, squeezing the space between his thumb and index fingers until there was barely any air between them. "A tiny amount."
She was going to fight him on this. Cute. But not really helpful given the sheath very nearly missing her feet, forcing her to flip over a chimney, turn and pull him so both could take cover behind it.
"So, what's the plan?"
"One of us has to de-transform and come back."
Oh good. Who might have guessed, he really didn't like it.
"You go first."
"I have more time than you."
"You are unarmed."
"I can hold him. Go!"
He didn't like this. He didn't have to like this! And yet, the beeping coming from the ring was getting more and more urgent. He had seconds. And clenching his teeth, Hawkmoth's shadow being drawn against the tiles by the pale moonlight, he propelled himself the farthest he could from the roof, a strained—
"Be careful."
—left in his wake.
It was in the nick of time. The second he hit the floor he was back to himself, pressing his back against the alley's wall, an exhausted looking Plagg hanging from his shoulder, attention overhead, on the clash between Ladybug and Hawkmoth and what "I can hold him" had truly meant. She was dodging. She seemed able to do little else but dodge!
"This is bad. This is so so bad," Plagg muttered, as she jumped and pirouetted between two chimneys. "You have the cheese?"
Rummaging through his pockets, a moment of panic rushing through his mind when he failed to find anything at first, Adrien ended up pulling a carefully draped napkin from his shirt pocket and extended it to a now very disappointed kwami.
"So little."
It would be way more if Plagg's appetite for cheese wasn't taking ever growing and concerning proportions, but this truly wasn't the time to argue about that.
"I will give you all the cheese in the world if you get us out of this, Plagg."
Apparently it was the time to make it worse!
"Starting with the stinky ones."
If ever any piece of camembert had been swallowed so fast—In a moment, he was jumping back up, getting back in the fray just in time for Ladybug's Miraculous to give one last ominous warning and for her to drop from the roof, disappearing into the streets below, her transformation already fading off.
Moving to follow her, only to find his path blocked by Adrien, Hawkmoth twirled his sword, tossed it and making it sink into the brickwork covering the chimney a meter or so to Adrien's left. Casually leaning against it, he couldn't hold back the jest.
"Miss me?"
Judging by the way Hawkmoth's lips twisted, he hadn't, and he was still going for Ladybug, clearly aiming to follow her, barely glancing at him.
He is not here for the miraculous, he suddenly understood. Or at least, he wasn't here just for them. This was about their identities.
You are so not following me home.
The Collector had been enough and that had been father. He was not putting him and Nathalie in danger again and no way was he allowing Hawkmoth to follow Ladybug down.
His hands closed firmly around the staff.
You are staying right—
Wait… Was he not forgetting something? Oh, right… The rapier!
If only the thing would come out of the wall! But no! He was diving and rolling out of harm's way the next instant, seeing Hawkmoth rip the sword out of the brickwork like it was nothing to write home about and moving to engage.
If there was one thing those mixed-style events his fencing school took part on had taught him was that he should have this fight controlled. He had been on a match very similar to this one, only on the other side and been taught that quite clearly. He should be at an advantage with the staff. He should, but Hawkmoth or his kwami or both clearly knew what they were doing. There was no defensive card being played here. They were on the attack about as much as him and Plagg were and always, always out of reach.
He is good.
Kind of rusty if some of those attack-parry transitions were anything to go by… it kind of felt like he hadn't touched a sword or practiced in years—
So this is Hawkmoth, not the kwami.
—but at one point he must have been a force to be reckoned with.
And the last thing I need is for him to get back in peak form, Adrien groaned internally.
Even if, being completely honest here, having to keep himself firmly rooted on spot, back towards where Ladybug had disappeared towards, was not working much—or anything at all—in his favor. Had he taken this long to return? Was she alright? Was her kwami—?
Focus!
He reminded himself of that a little too late. His next strike came too high, too predictable—and Hawkmoth had slithered inside his defenses the same instant, sheath raised—
CRACK!
That was—
He tried to run. They both tried to run. The wood groaning and snapping under them seeing them trying to flee the site only for the roof to collapse under them, taking them down not one, not two but three floors before they managed to jump for safety and it crashed all the way to the basement.
That was close!
Also close was Hawkmoth as he rose over the broken tiles to his left, rapier and sheath seeming to have followed the roof all the way down. And Adrien was not staying here to see him getting them back. He was out and back to the—a hand closed over his heel just as he jumped, slamming him back into the very dingy, very rundown, completely derelict appartment both him and Hawkmoth had fallen into.
Well, great!
This would not be written down as one of Chat Noir's greatest moments! No instant in which he was on the ground, forced to retreat from an enemy, his staff now on the other side of the room, had ended on anything—!
There was a creak above. Like someone had landed on top of the building. Attention snapping away from Adrien, Hawkmoth retreated, fleeing through the broken floor, disappearing just as a red bolt landed inside.
"Where is he?"
Adrien was on his feet, running to pick up the staff, grabbing Ladybug by the hand and pulling them inside the nearest thing that looked remotely like a different room.
"You made him flee, but he is coming back!"
The door slammed behind them, both of them pulling an empty bookshelf in front of it, blocking it and then sprinting in the opposite direction. If there was one thing he would be eternally grateful for was not being on this hero-thing alone.
"Are you alright?" Ladybug threw at him, looking around, attention going over the long, door filled corridor with its sealed windows and whinning floor and for some reason giving all of that a pleased smile. "This should do."
"I have no idea what that means, but I am always better for your presence, peek-a-boo."
"Not really the time, Chat."
"Agree to disagree." He glanced at what she had over her shoulder, the sheer randomness of it telling him that had come right out of her Lucky Charm. "Is that a butterfly trap?"
This truly wasn't the time for jokes, but—
"I don't think he fits inside."
There was this long suffering glance from Ladybug and she was back on her game, making them turn a corner and pointing at the stair now on their sight.
"Use the staff. We have to put this on that hole on the roof."
"At your command, Milady," he said, lodging one of the ends on the wall and holding her by the waist as they started to go up. If only he had known about this before—
SNAP!
The staff wobbled under them, sending them smashing into the stairs and then rolling down them, the pair of purple shoes appearing at their side making Adrien jump to get Ladybug out of the way just as clarity flashed through Hawkmoth's eyes on sight of the net and he stroke at it, cutting it in half.
"He understood what it was for?!" Adrien snapped, Ladybug pulling at his hand forcing him back to his feet. Why am I the only one who never does?!
They were fleeing again. Running through the derelict corridors. Ladybug muttering something that sounded a lot like "intelligent but cold" as she kept tabs behind them, making the same wave of defensive anger he had felt in the morning rise to champion the person that accusation had been previously aimed at.
"You still think that is Gabriel Agreste?!"
"No!" She sounded aggravated, which meant he wasn't the only one feeling defensive right now. "You know it made sense! He fits!"
"You think he fits with that?"
"He has the brains for it!"
"That doesn't mean he would do this!"
"Look, I already said I was wrong!" She gave him a confused glance. "Why are you still angry?"
"I'm not angry." He was not. "I just—"
Know him, became lost in the sound of the door they had just closed being kicked down. It wasn't the right thing to say come to think of it. He didn't know him. He didn't think he had known his father before mother disappeared and certainly didn't after he cut himself from him for months, but–
I used to run to him when I was scared.
Nightmares, thunderstorms… All things embarrassing beyond belief to remember and yet, despite everything, it didn't change a thing.
He is still Father.
This Hawkmoth—Adrien was moving in front of Ladybug as he watched him entering the room—didn't feel like it was him at all.
"What do we do?" he asked over his shoulder, the heavier end of the yo-yo, swirling in a carefully controlled circle at her side, making him hold steadier to the staff. If anything her weapon made for an even worse defense than the staff in such a small and confined space. "We can't run away. We can't risk him tracking us home."
"Keep him occupied, I will think of something."
The window shattered behind her, her jumping outside leaving Hawkmoth and him alone, facing each other. Or, at least, he was facing Hawkmoth. The man himself had kept his attention on Ladybug, the intense blue eyes following her as she dissappeared and then flying over Adrien, cold and uninterested, like he wasn't even there. Then, he was turning his back on him. Sheating the rappier. Putting the cane over his shoulders. Marching for the door.
Adrien had to sigh–This again. Then twirled the staff, sending it rushing forth, making it slam against the door, an easy gesture closing it shut.
"How about no?"
Gloved fingers tapped on the top of the cane, then sent it crashing to the floor as Hawkmoth turned, grinning in such a malicious way Adrien actually felt a shiver going down his spine.
He wouldn't know who took the first step into what followed, only that they were weapons locked and back on the stairs when he managed to somehow break into Hawkmoth's defenses and saw him twist the cane over his head to stop the blow, the familiarity of the gesture, the hours he had spent doing it or watching others do it, leaving him staring for a moment.
Wait—
"You know fencing?"
He ran up the stairs before the cane could be used against him, enlarging the staff so that it hit the walls on both sides of the corridor he was now at and jumping to stand on it, the stab coming at him and forcing him to back flip to the floor, cleaning his mind of all doubts.
"You know fencing."
And he was not excited about this. Not at all. He really really wasn't—Okay, so maybe he was just a little bit. But only because that meant he had a foot to stand on here. He knew what to expect. Even if he was losing terrain like crazy, mostly fleeing up a new flight of stairs and really not seeing a way to stop Hawkmoth from getting to the upper floor any time—
Soon?
One of the gloved hands had just closed over the handrail, the way it seemed to be holding the entire of Hawkmoth's weight making something harsher take over Adrien's mind. He looked tired. Judging by his breathing he was tiring. That was strange, but sent him flying at him anyway. The next moment they were falling down the stairs, rolling, fighting, both trying to reach the cane Hawkmoth had dropped and—
Oh boy… Time to run!
He wouldn't have to. The very same moment, a speck of red came flying from up above, crashing into Hawkmoth's wrist. The cane he had just picked was sent flying from his hand, falling to the ground, spinning.
"Perfect timing, Milady!"
He was back into the fight the same moment, being intercepted by the man's left arm and sent to the floor just like he knew he would—a grin covering his face as he set his eyes on Hawkmoth's now unprotected Butterfly Miraculous.
This was it. Their chance. They could put an end to this now. Ladybug just had to—
Ladybug?
She hadn't moved—or she had only too late and just in time to come to his aid. The yo-yo cable wrapped around his ankle, pulling him away from Hawkmoth as he reached back for his cane and kicked it back up, grabbing it with his left hand.
The moment had passed. Hawkmoth might not be winning this, but neither would they and, rolling and sinking his fingers into the whining wood, Adrien didn't like the smile Hawkmoth had plastered on his face when Ladybug finally moved to join the fight. He didn't like that smile at all!
"Don't!"
She reacted in the nick of time, tossing the yo-yo backwards, outside, her rapid flight meaning she all but destroyed the net she had tried to cover the broken roof with before landing on top of one of the chimneys. Putting some safe distance between him and their enemy, Adrien remained on the lower floor. Hawkmoth standing in front of him, right arm immobile at his side, blue eyes for the first time actually looking at him, studying him, pondering.
"Time is up, Hawkmoth," Ladybug announced from over them, making the man look up at her. "Give back the Miraculous you stole!"
There was this shadow of surprise on the silver covered face, then mirth, then laughter, cold and loud and exploding on the small attic, a first speck of white flying passed his shoulder leading Adrien to look behind, towards one of the wood-sealed windows on the floor.
What?
"Stole?" Hawkmoth repeated and his laughter turned louder still, the white specks flying to him, hitting the dark purple suit, beginning to cover it as if in light.
"Ah, Ladybug?"
There was no way she wasn't seeing this. There were more. Dozens more. Hundreds—thousands!—of white specks moving at a quick pace, entering through the windows, through the roof, hitting the walls and the ceiling, making Adrien dive to the floor, a strike of fear making him lie over the ring as whatever this was filled the house, blinding him, the laughter the only thing that could be heard over the sound of flapping—before silence set in.
The swirling, blinding mass around him was breaking apart. Departing from where it had come. Serenity took over the derelict house as he returned to his feet, looking over the empty room, finally seeing the white specks for what they were.
"Butterflies?"
But more importantly—
He looked up in a sudden panic, to where Ladybug had been, to where—to his relief—she still was with hands set protectively over her ears, eyes opening to look at what was around her.
It would come to him later, this.
Her rising among the white butterflies. The way they had covered her hair and clothes. For a moment, she didn't seem real, more like something out of a dream. It was beautiful and a part of him would come to regret how quickly his concern had made him break the spell.
"Are you alright?" he asked, jumping up, one hand closing over her shoulder, concerned eyes on hers. "What happened? Are you hurt?"
She blinked, the butterfly she had been staring at taking flight from her fingers, joining the hundreds of its companions as they flew away, breaking apart, disappearing into the night sky, leaving them alone in the rooftops, the awe with which Ladybug had been staring at them turning into something akin to anger. One that was entirely directed at herself.
"He has to be somewhere," she told him, aiming the yo-yo to the other side of the street and jumping off the roof before he had time to stop her. "Split up!"
Gabriel
Beige shoes hit the theatre roof a short distance away, the light enveloping the tall figure still allowing for a glimpse of a dark purple suit before it washed over altogether and the man underneath turned for a short while, gazing at the rooftops and the two figures in the distance, the distressed expression of the small butterfly-shapped kwami at his side a sharp contrast to the blue eyes intense gleam—and their darkness once that light died out.
"Move."
The fire escape whined as Gabriel started to go down it, a blade of light appearing on the alley under his feet, the voices rising from the now open door, making him press his back against the wall as he looked down through the laced metal, holding his right wrist.
The pain was bearable. A distraction if nothing else—or so he had hoped. At least, until Nooroo came zooming after him. Until the damn thing took upon itself to open its mouth.
"Master, I beg you to listen to me," Nooroo whispered, the door closing under them sparing him an irate glare as he moved to follow Gabriel. "Kwamis were created as a whole; we are not supposed to fight each other! You can't—You can't keep going down this path!"
If the thing was wise it would shut up and leave it at that, instead—
"Miraculous are meant to be used for good!"
"And what might that be?" Gabriel snapped, attention on the carefully closed window in the platform below. "Should I help old ladies cross the street? Keep an eye out for the fire brigade? Or has that vacancy already been acquired by that Owl-person?" His lips twisted with disdain. One would think there were limits to how ridiculous some people could get—but no. "What is this higher purpose kwamis aspire to?"
"To protect people."
Gabriel came to a stop, the ghost of a smile, of a touch, of his name being whispered by his ear making him grasp the metal handrail.
"Such pretty lies, Nooroo."
"Lies? I—I don't understand."
"You wouldn't, would you? But continue. I will indulge you just this once. What is this that you intend to help me protect?"
There was a hesitation, something of dread as Nooroo found himself caught in his gaze, and then hope, a sudden inspiration.
"Your son."
"Then you failed me already."
There was a disturbance. The sound of whining wood and shutters being opened giving Nooroo a chance to dive for cover inside his jacket just as a voice, a woman's voice, put an end to words he regretted already.
"Sir."
Nathalie. And he was back where he had started, inside the dusty storeroom, attention going over the blue dress hanging from the hook in the corner of the room, the already packed sewing machine, the broken furniture—his assistant now holding her phone to him.
"Would you prefer to call or should I?"
"Call?"
"Adrien," she clarified. "He is bound to have seen the news."
"It's past midnight. He is asleep."
"He is fifteen."
"Fifteen and with classes in the morning," he retorted, stepping away from her while taking the carefully folded silk scarf—this one red and the only trace of color he had allowed himself on his otherwise very discreet and utterly boring beige suit—from one of the jacket's pockets. "I expect some discernment on his part considering how he insisted in going to this school—"
A sting of pain turned the last word into a hiss, the scarf falling from his hand and drifting to the floor making Nathalie step forth, taking his hand in hers, fingers moving carefully over his hand, then the wrist. The same instant, she grimaced.
"It feels broken."
"It will be fine in the morning."
The thing hiding inside his jacket was at least good for that—even if so called 'magical solutions' were not, it seemed, good enough for Nathalie.
"It's your drawing hand."
"I know that."
"Adrien will worry."
"Adrien doesn't need to know."
"He will notice."
"So will the press. Five minutes into a hospital, and I would have the house surrounded by—"
A movement outside, some kind of dot bolting over the roofs to land on top of the theatre, made anger flash through his eyes.
"Them!"
And he had risked too much, sacrificed too much to blow everything up over something as unimportant as—Nathalie squeezed his hand, a metallic groan making her step closer and lower her voice.
"Did they see you come here?" she asked, attention on the closed shutters.
"That's extremely unlikely."
And yet, there was indeed someone coming down the fire escape. The groaning metal told as much. He dropped to pick the silk scarf the same instant Nathalie did, both rising back up, the stabbing pain forcing him to let it flow through his fingers and watch as Nathalie folded it, a stain of red—the bug—appearing just outside, making her brows furrow.
"Adrien told me about this afternoon," she announced in a perfectly clear voice, putting the scarf around his neck, covering the miraculous, both glancing at the closed shutters. Ladybug seemed to have stopped short of opening them. "About your deal. Concerning school."
Why of all the topics, did she pick—There was an edge to his voice when he answered.
"The one you talked me into."
"The one I talked you into, yes," she acquiesced, staidly. Eyes rising to meet his. "You took school out of the conditions?"
"School was what that deal was about," he retorted, trying to keep his irritation in check. "I might as well have tore the thing up."
"You aren't happy with it."
"I'm not the one meant to be happy."
Nathalie stopped, staring at the scarf, before nudging his chin up in order to tie it.
"He was happy," she said in a tone as gentle as her touch. "Why now?"
"It is good for him to be out of the house. To have friends. Or so you keep telling me."
His eyebrows furrowed, a sideways glance to the window and its closed shutters showed the bug was still there, albeit standing to the side, back against the wall—little more than eavesdropping at this point.
"Also," Gabriel hissed, taking over Nathalie to tuck the scarf inside the waistcoat, all the anger and frustration and anguish at his latest failure, all of the things Nooroo had been unwise enough to disturb, that the bug standing outside did little but drive home, starting to build up, to seep through, to turn into outright fury. "I'm not so blind I can't see the damage this is causing. I cannot trust myself not to take him out of that school for every single misbehavior. So it's over. It is bad enough that a fifteen-year-old girl had to come around this time and remind me I am being unfair, to end up doing this again."
Nathalie's expression visibly softened.
"You liked her."
There was this loud crash outside, like the bug had just slipped down the stairs, the spiteful smile immediately taking over Gabriel's expression making Nathalie shake her head and signal outside.
"Should we help her?"
"That would be ironic."
The phone rang, cutting short whatever else Nathalie might have rebutted the nasty remark with. Approaching a broken mirror set to the side, the grimace on her expression still clear to him before she walked out of sight, Gabriel was all but growling—
This. Day!
"What did she want?" he snapped, going over the scarf, the silence behind him telling him Nathalie had disconnected the call. "Has she changed her mind again?"
"Madame Selene seems to have just stopped retelling her story to the press."
"How delightful," Gabriel growled. "She will be unmanageable."
He stepped away from the mirror and towards the table, bent on taking the bag carrying the sewing machine only to find it already gone and ending up turning to see Nathalie approaching the door. Dress draped over her arms. Bag in hand. Somehow still managing to hold her phone despite it all. A little more than year ago, the juggling feat would have amused him, now—
"I'm not an invalid, Nathalie."
It hit him the moment he spoke. What he sounded like. Whom he had taken upon himself to vent his frustrations on.
"That was—"
Unnecessary.
Uncalled for.
Ungrateful, his mind finished for him, unforgiving, and he stepped to take the far too heavy sewing machine from her hands, holding the blue gaze.
"I didn't mean that."
The bag changed hands, the door opening allowing them to step outside the storeroom and into the theatre's service corridors, away from the crowds, from the press, from the spotlights, from the laughter and conversations. There had been a time when he had belonged there–but it all seemed foreign now. Little but a fading dream.
A reddish pink dome appeared on the night sky. Its light washing over the city at the very moment they entered a small green room and he took the blue dress from Nathalie's hands, setting it on the back of a chair, his mind rapidly running away from him, leaving him staring blindly outside… at least, until she approached the window, and Gabriel found himself walking to stand beside her, eyes on the black and red figures disappearing into the night.
"Did you discover who they are?" Nathalie queried, watching him as he leaned against the wall.
"No."
But waiting in the soon to be shattered quiet of a makeshift dressing room, a new glance at the city showing an empty sky, he wondered.
He wondered.
Adrien
"Do you think she got home safely?" Adrien queried, pacing in front of the large glass wall of his bedroom, keeping watch over the distant rooftops. "He might have gone after her. Ladybug, I mean. He didn't come after me, so… She could have given me her phone number or e-mail, right? Just to know she is alright!"
"You have the communicator thingy on your staff."
Right–The communicator. He could turn back into Chat Noir, pick it and—! It doesn't work unless we are both transformed!
"I hate this secrecy thing!"
He let himself fall into the sofa with that, pressing the command buttons so fast Nadia Chammok kept going in and out of focus, her words still possible to be stitched out despite his search for his other source of concern.
"If something had happened it would be all over the news, right?" he asked, keeping watch over the changing channels, Plagg flying belly up over him, looking utterly confused.
"Happened to whom?"
Adrien was up, jumping over the back of the sofa and getting mid way to the piano before Plagg could call after him.
"Where are you going?"
"To the hallway, to wait for Father."
"You can wait for him here! You have everything you can possibly want right at this table. Me. Cheeeeeeese—"
The word was crowned by Plagg descending from what could only be assumed to be cheese heaven and appearing in front of his face with such a stinky piece on his hands Adrien was covering his nose the same instant.
"Plagg! Take that away!"
Still wielding his cheese, the kwami sighed.
"No palate for delicacies."
"I'm the one without palate?"
"I'm sharing my cheese."
"Please, please, don't share it."
Not so secretly that seemed to be exactly what Plagg wanted to hear, the very same moment—and for Adrien's relief—the cheese was gone.
"I don't get why you are concerned," Plagg went on to say, liking his fingers. "What can your father possibly have said that got us into that mess with Wailer?"
Adrien sighed, leaning over the piano, head leaned against one hand.
"You know Father, Plagg."
Floating in front of him, belly up, Plagg was probably having his memory affected by copious amounts of cheese.
"Remember Nino?" Adrien queried, raising one eyebrow.
Still, Plagg shrugged.
"Your father seems like the inteligent sort to me," he said, picking other piece of cheese from the plate and sniffing it dreamly, before returning to normal-people realm. "He is clever enough to know when to flee for safety, right?"
"Yeah, and proud enough not to. Remember that illusionist? The one who completely wrecked the security system?"
"The one that tried to make him throw himself off the roof?" Plagg rephrased, making Adrien shiver at the memory. "He should have learned by now, right?"
"It's Father," he countered, as if that put an end to all discussions. Which thinking about it, it kind of did. "At least, Nathalie should have said something, right? She always does."
Unless something happened to her too.
"They are fine," Plagg said, seeing him running his hands through his hair. "You will see. They will be back before I can eat this giant-sized delicious piece of sweet sweet Roquefort."
Adrien never even got a chance to glimpse said cheese, the minute he turned, Plagg was already mid-way into his triumphant "Ta-Tan!" and spinning to point the room's door—clearly expecting to hear the front door opening on the lower floor.
Worried as he was there was no way Adrien could stop a chuckle from getting through to his lips.
"No one can get to the door that fast, Plagg."
The kwami was unperturbed by the news, picking a larger piece of cheese and hanging it in front of his already opened mouth.
"Before I eat this…"
The brie disappeared faster than the Roquefort and again Plagg turned to the door. Again, nothing happened.
"Well, I have the entire cheese plate to go over." He looked up, trying to sound reassuring. "He will return, you'll see."
Adrien's already tremulous smile wavered further still, nails sinking into his arm, eyes meeting the smiling face on the screen of his still silent phone.
Mom didn't.
It was what scared him the most.
Gabriel
"It is mostly everywhere now," Nathalie was saying, her voice cutting through the piano aria on the radio as the car went beneath one of the city's many bridges. "The press is having a field day with it."
There was a moment the words didn't register. The city lights on the other bank of the Seine and the red trails of the cars as they drove by, having lulled his mind into such a comfortable state of emptiness not even Nooroo, nestled as he was on his jacket's collar and peeking at the city, could elicit more than a lackluster annoyance from him.
"The press can have a field day with mostly everything," Gabriel whispered, fatigued, a trace of drowsiness in his voice. "It's of no consequence."
"This is not 'of no consequence.'"
Gabriel glanced at the phone over the car's console, the first tendrils of the present slowly jolting his mind back to work and tossing him straight into a late evening 'scoop' that had been going on for hours.
"What if someone recognizes you?" Nathalie insisted, her serene professional tone breaking through the images of a mass of butterflies blasting through the Parisian streets, the back of the figure the camera had been aimed at disappearing among them. "If they suspect—"
"I'm a fashion designer, Nathalie. There is little that spells 'non-threatening' better than that."
"I beg to differ," she replied, another bridge going by, lights painting the inside of the car yellow. "Madame Selene's dress seemed liable to strangle her after you finished with it."
"Ah, yes. That fits under the Costumer's Prerogative Clause."
Nathalie seemed to choke on something, then she cleaned her throat, still on topic.
"And the red dress? The one you gave her?"
"I gave Wailer a red dress," Gabriel sighed.
"Even so. There are people who knew—"
"Selene is far too self-centered to spare it any mind, that manager of hers is overworked, that leaves—Adrien? I don't think he cares about fashion enough to even notice. As I said it is of no consequence."
Nathalie pressing her lips made him frown. The soft pulsing of the Miraculous next to his chest making him study her closed expression. He didn't need Nooroo for this.
"You are worried."
"I would have preferred you hadn't done that, yes," Nathalie replied, simply, glancing at the rear mirror and the road, then back to him. "Should I refuse any further contracts with Madame Selene?"
"If you value my sanity."
"And the ones already scheduled?"
"Find some work conflict. Cancel them."
Hitting the turn indicator stalk and joining the traffic as it turned to the city, le Tour Eiffel appearing at their front, Nathalie glanced his way, a crease forming between her eyebrows.
"What will you do about the dinner?" she queried. "Adrien—"
"Will understand."
"—had been waiting to spend time with you for weeks."
"Reschedule it. It shall be easy enough without Selene's constant pestering getting in the way of everything."
"There is the fashion show in some weeks."
"Yes. The fashion show." He stopped, pensive. "Has Audrey confirmed her presence yet?"
"She has."
"I will need a favor from you."
"Anything."
Anything…
She could asked what this was about. She should have asked. Instead—
"I believe I may need to change tactics," he found himself confiding in her. "I have been giving little thought to any of this—Not to say hyper-focusing on that bug."
"You said in a worst case scenario it was paramount to get Ladybug's miraculous first," Nathalie pointed out, Les Champs de Mars going by the window before she made the turn towards the house. "She was the priority."
"Yes… on account of her being able to purify the akumas, not the usefulness of her kwami. I would much rather have that cat's Cataclysm at my disposal if worse come to pass than anything on her arsenal." His wrist choosing that very moment to start pulsing, seemed to mock him for dismissing her like this. "Nevertheless, to remove her interference would facilitate operations—"
"But?"
"I might have been underestimating the cat."
Nathalie's glance at his wrist didn't go unnoticed.
"That was her."
And then she froze, he finished, disdainfully, the car starting to slow down allowing him to raise the wrist to the light. Not him, though.
The cat had seen this for what it was. A weakness to be exploited and gone straight for the Miraculous.
"He is not the jabbering idiot he likes to present himself as," he growled under his breath, only to lean his chin against his injured hand, thoughtful. "Also there is this remarkable resemblance—"
"With whom?"
"Adrien."
Nathalie braked so hard the car stalled, climbing up the sidewalk, hiccupping forward, a column appearing dangerously close to its front making them both fall on the handbrake, pulling it and turning on each other.
"You think that is Adrien?!"
"I think there is a resemblance!"
"You engaged them!"
"A resemblance! Try not to smash the car against the gate over it!"
The house was in front of them now. The illuminated windows sending long traces of warm yellowish light over the courtyard. And it was to them Nathalie turned, eyes going up and down the château façade, distress running freely on her face, nails sinking into the steering wheel.
"No."
The forceful, final note to that word was such that even Nooroo moved to listen, peeking from under Gabriel's chin.
"They aren't alike," she was saying, hitting the ignition button. "Chat Noir is this high-spirited boy. Adrien—"
She put the car back in gear, pebbles snapping under its wheels as she maneuvered it into and around the courtyard, her usual distant professionalism setting in again, turning the words into silence, emptying her expression of emotion.
"And Adrien?" Gabriel probed, softly. "What is he like?"
A sad smile rose to his face when Nathalie turned a pair of remarkably distant eyes on him.
"I don't think I know him that well," she said.
The car came to a stop as the large iron gates cut the house from the city, the fresh night air hitting their faces as they stepped into the well lit courtyard and went up the stairs, the hallway lights blinding them for an instant.
"Nathalie, about the dinner—" She already had her hand to the atelier's door handle when he spoke. "I will make it up to—"
The words died, the paleness taking over his face making Nathalie step in his direction and then turn to follow his line of sight, her attention too falling on this figure—His son. On his pajamas—slumbering in the first step of the staircase, head leaning against the railway, phone grasped to his chest. It was all so reminiscent of another time, of the beginning of this never-ending nightmare, that he had moved even before she had a chance to, dropping in front of him, heart sinking in such a way that it might as well have stopped.
"Adrien, what happened?"
He stirred the moment he spoke. The moment their eyes met, he looked like he was about to burst into tears.
"Father!"
Grabbing at the railway as not to lose his balance—which he did anyway the instant Adrien sank into his chest and his injured hand failed to keep both of them anchored on spot—Gabriel sank to his knees, confusion making his attention run all over the atrium in search of he knew-no-what, his instinct reaction to call for Nooroo broken only by Adrien pulling himself off his chest, a surprising ferocity in his eyes.
"There was one of those akumatized people at the Gala!" he pointed out, just short of shouting. "Where were you?! Why wouldn't you say you were fine?!"
The atelier door clicked, Nathalie's quick retreat still giving him time to glance at her back. The truth sounded nothing short of idiocy now.
"I thought you were asleep."
"Why wouldn't you say something anyway?!"
His voice choked, immediately Adrien buried his face on one hand, the gesture sparing him the sight of Gabriel's fingers stopping mere inches from his shoulder, utterly unable to close the distance. And yet, attention falling on the phone Adrien had dropped, on Emilie as she smiled up at him, he understood this all too well.
"It won't happen again."
"It better."
There were still limits, though.
"Language."
A half snort half sob came from behind the hand covering the green eyes and the phone turned to black on the floor, leaving him with Emilie's absence and their son leaning back into his chest, the same question still being whispered.
"Why didn't you say something?"
He hadn't been crying before—He was now. And putting his arms around him, head going to lie on top of his, Gabriel closed his eyes.
"I'm sorry."
He truly hadn't thought there was anything of his heart left to break.