p styleIt was raining heavily outside, when Adrien opened the door of his own home.
He was greeted by silence.
After toeing off his shoes, Adrien walked down the hall. The little house he and Marinette shared was probably smaller than his room in his father's mansion, yet it was in this little cottage where he felt most alone now.
It had been over two weeks since they had buried their dead, stillborn daughter, yet Marinette's mood was not improving. It had not changed. Adrien was at an impasse, and didn't know what to do, or if he even should do anything. Sabine, Alya, even Nathalie all said to wait, to give her time and space, that it was hormones, that Marinette would be bouncing back in no time.
But Adrien was losing hope.
Marinette had taken to sleeping in what should have been their daughter's room, lying on the ground at the foot of the crib and staring at the periwinkle walls for hours on end. Marinette didn't leave the room, as far as Adrien could tell. He brought her food, brought her water and tried to coax her out, but could never get much of a response. Sometimes Marinette cried, sometimes she shook her head weakly, sometimes she slept, but usually she lay there, present in body but not in mind or soul.
Adrien hated to admit it to himself, but he was reaching the end of his line.
Certainly, it must be different, feeling your own child die inside you, knowing your own body is rejecting your child and not being able to do anything. Yet, Marinette wasn't the only one who lost a child. And now Adrien had lost a daughter, and a lover. The Marinette he knew, and loved so deeply, the Marinette who was Ladybug and stood up to Chloe, that Marinette was gone, replaced by an empty shell. And Adrien hated how Marinette was unresponsive to everything he tried, hated that he couldn't do anything to help her, hated that he had to deal with everything on his own, hated how they were coping separately, how she wouldn't lean on him, and he couldn't lean on her.
Reaching up to loosen his tie and undo the first few buttons of his shirt, Adrien walked past the room where Marinette continued to lie on the ground. He turned his head to look into the room, checking that Marinette was still there. Adrien stopped mid step, in the doorway, when he realized the scenery had changed.
Because today, Marinette wasn't lying on the ground anymore. Marinette was sitting up, her back resting against the bars of the white crib and blanket thrown off to the side in a tangled heap. Her shirt was lifted to reveal her no longer bulging midsection. With his hands still at his throat, Adrien stood there in the doorway, watching Marinette run her fingers over the loosened skin of her belly.
This was the most responsive Marinette had been since, and Adrien's heart pounded as he walked into the room to kneel beside Marinette.
Marinette looked at him, tears and sorrow in her eyes, but also a glimpse of relief and love behind all the tears.
On his knees, Adrien gently removed Marinette's hand from her belly, holding her hand as if it would shatter at any moment, and placed his other hand on her belly. His fingers stroked up and down the same path where Marinette's had been moments earlier. Adrien followed the raised, redenned skin, where the scalpel had cut into Marinette, and from where their daughter's dead corpse had been removed.
The scar was smooth and straight, a thin line running from above Marinette's belly button, down to the top of her cervix.
It was just one of many marks marring Marinette's pale skin, but it was without a doubt the most painful.
Without removing either of his hands, Adrien forced his gaze away from the scar and looked at Marinette's face. The corners of her lips curled up ever so slightly, carrying the hint of a sad smile.
Neither of them moved any closer to each other, but Adrien's thumb stroked a soothing pattern up and down against the scar marring Marinette's pale skin. Still looking at Adrien, Marinette squeezed Adrien's hand with a surprising amount of strength in her fingers.
"I'm sorry." Marinette said, her voice just barely above a whisper. But Adrien heard her words, loud and clear, and squeezed her hand back.
"It wasn't your fault," Adrien said in response, just as quietly.
A tear escaped from the corner of Marinette's eye and Adrien pulled Marinette in close, wrapping his arms around her now much smaller figure. Marinette's body was tense, her muscles in knots, but as Adrien's hand rubbed up and down her back, she could feel the tension ease. She revelled in Adrien's closeness, because she had missed him. Oh, how she had missed her dear chat. For days, weeks, Marinette couldn't bring herself to face dear, sweet Adrien because she had killed their baby. Because it was her fault she couldn't keep their child alive.
But Marinette needed Adrien just as much as he needed her, and as she wrapped her arms around him she realized that he too had lost weight.
They didn't share many words; actions were enough.
Marinette and Adrien sat on the ground together, wrapped in each other's arms and taking solace in each other's company, despite their loss. For now there would be no baby catbug, but at least they still had each other to lean on, to love.
Though Adrien was doing much of the comforting, rubbing the knots out of Marinette's back and whispering loving nothings in her ears, he found the weight on his own shoulders falling. In his arms, he held a shaking and tearful Marinette, but he was finally able to hold her, to comfort her. She was finally returning to life, and tears of joy slipped down Adrien's own cheeks because all was not lost.
Because they needed this emotional release, together, if they wanted to be able to move on together.
And so for seconds, minutes, hours, they simply curled up together, on the ground of the nursery, healing each other.
With her ear pressed against Adrien's heart, she could hear the organ beating steadily and she whispered, "I love you."
Laying soft kisses all over Marinette's face, Adrien whispered back, "It wasn't your fault."