A/N: ALERT: WE ARE OFFICIALLY MOVING PAST THE EXPOSITION. I REPEAT: WE ARE OFFICIALLY MOVING PAST THE EXPOSITION. I am super excited, folks ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
Marinette sat sprawled in her chair, watching the people stream past along the sidewalk with unseeing eyes.
"I. Am. Exhausted," Alya moaned, face-down on the café table. Marinette barely had enough energy to muster a slow nod in response.
"Two chai teas?" a waiter asked, stepping up to the table.
"That's us," Marinette said, managing a weak smile. Alya didn't even bother to try to sit up. A portion of Marinette's brain—the portion that sounded like her mom—scolded her and told her that they should be more polite and lady-like at a café. The rest of her mind told that voice that it could kindly shut the fuck up.
She gratefully picked up her tea, its warmth almost uncomfortable in the surprisingly warm June afternoon. Marinette sighed deeply as she took a sip. They had trekked all morning and into the early afternoon looking at apartment buildings and meeting with various landlords. Her feet felt ready to fall off.
"Why are the apartments in the seventh arrondissement so expensive?" Marinette whined unceremoniously, putting her cup back down on the table.
"Because you had to pick one of the most expensive, competitive industries in the world," Alya replied. Slowly she pushed herself off of the table. Marinette giggled at red pattern pressed into her cheek from the table's surface, and Alya shot her a frown.
"I mean, I just left New York City," Marinette pressed. "I didn't think anywhere could be more expensive than that."
Alya made an annoyed noise in the back of her throat. "Oh come off it, you know it's not that we're more expensive, but that you're taking a pay cut."
Marinette's shoulders slumped. She had known this, of course, but hearing Alya say it…
"Oh god, Alya," she said quietly, feeling hollow. "What if this was a mistake?"
"No," Alya said firmly. Surprised, Marinette looked up and met Alya's unwavering gaze. "It might be difficult, and it might not be glamorous, but this is what you've been dreaming about for as long as I've known you." All traces of Alya's weariness were gone, and her eyes were pinning Marinette in her seat. "You just need to take a deep breath, square your shoulders, and make it work."
Heart melting, Marinette couldn't help a small smile. Still, she couldn't completely beat back the uncertainty pooling her in middle. "Yeah, but what if I was wrong?" she asked. Lips twisting into a wry ghost of a smile, she added, "It's not like I have the greatest track record recently."
"Sh-sh-sh," Alya replied, shaking her head. "Shush. Maybe you've put your trust in some people who didn't deserve it recently, but that doesn't define you. You trust me, right?"
Her smile grew. "Yeah, of course," Marinette told her.
"Good," Alya said decisively, "because you should. And I am telling you this, so listen close. You are amazing. You can do this. You are going to blow their socks off. Got it?"
Laughing, Marinette nodded. "Alright, alright."
Alya's stern gaze suddenly cracked into a smile, and she settled back into her chair looking satisfied. "Good."
Marinette took another sip of her tea, sighing a bit. "I do wish finding an apartment weren't going to be such a headache, though," she added. "All that walking and listening, and we found nothing."
Alya rolled her eyes. "Mari, were you actually expecting to find the perfect place in one afternoon?"
"No," Marinette said defensively. Not really, anyway. Of course, she had hoped... "But—"
"You know, what your mom said yesterday was true," Alya pressed, interrupting Marinette's protests. "It's going to take a while for you to find a place that works for you, and to do it right. Until then, try to relax and let the rest of us help you."
"I…" The words died on her lips. Taking a deep breath, Marinette looked down at her hands. "I just… For the last seven years, I've done everything myself. I did the class work, got the grades, paid rent, worked my butt off, but I did it. I'm not..." She paused, looking at Alya beseechingly, straining to find a way to convey what seemed to apparent in her mind. "It's hard to accept that I'm at a point where I can't do that."
"Oh, Marinette," Alya said, shaking her head. To her surprise, Alya stood up and walked around the table to wrap her in a tight hug. "We want to help you, girl," Alya told her, giving her a small but forceful shake. "Can't you just let us?"
Marinette leaned into the hug, letting her eyes fall closed. "I'll try," she promised, meaning it.
"I know you're going to do great," Alya told her, finally pulling away and returning to her chair. "I've interviewed several people at Attitude for stories, and I think you're going to love it there. It's a really fun atmosphere, filled with people who are just as passionate about fashion as you are."
"I am really excited," Marinette admitted, grinning.
"Make sure you talk with Hélèn, okay?" Alya told her firmly. "She works at the front desk—she's impossible to miss. You can tell her I say hi."
"I will, I will," Marinette promised, laughing.
"Have you decided what you'll wear for your first day?" Alya was watching her carefully over the rim of her cup, as if intentionally downplaying the question.
Marinette scoffed. "Is that even a question?"
Alya broke into a big grin. "I'm guessing it's a Dupain-Cheng original?"
"One of my best," Marinette confided.
Even just thinking about it made her feel a little giddy. She had spent the last several years working in New York's fashion industry, but for the first time she was going to walk into a company as a designer, rocking her own style and working every day to create new designs. She'd been dreaming about it for so long—had held herself back while nervously wringing her hands. No more. It was scary, and exhilarating, but Alya was entirely right: she needed to walk in there with her head held high and just do her thing. She could see how the cards would fall afterward.
"Alright," Alya said, pushing herself back from the table. "I need to get going, and I'm sure that you're ready to get home."
"Yeah," Marinette agreed, taking out some bills for the tea and tip and gathering her purse. She turned to Alya, and gave her another tight hug. "Thank you," she told her, for what felt like the hundredth time. "So much. I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Be far less fabulous, probably," Alya told her with a wicked grin and a wink. Then, smile softening, she added, "We always have each other's backs—what else are friends for?"
Marinette was fairly sure she had never done anything to deserve someone was wonderful as Alya for her best friend, but she merely smiled back and waved as they headed their separate ways.
…
After she got back home, Marinette went up to her room, intending on starting to unpack. She woke up hours later to her mom knocking on the trap door.
"Marinette?" her mom called. "It's getting late. Why don't you come down and have something to eat?"
A glance at the clock showed her it was already nearing ten o'clock. Groaning, Marinette let her head fall back down onto her bed. "I'll be down in a minute," she called back.
Marinette listened to her mom's footsteps retreating down the stairs, silently cursing herself. She had avoided getting coffee at the café, worried that she might keep herself up too late. Only now did she realize how stupid that was—her day had been exhausting, of course she'd be tired. Now, however, she had basically sealed her own coffin. Her unintentional nap had only served to further throw her off from any semblance of a normal sleep schedule.
Annoyed at how awake she felt, Marinette pushed herself off of her bed and over toward the stairs.
"Are you feeling okay?" Tikki called from her desk, surprising her. Marinette felt a stab of guilt—she had been looking forward to talking with Tikki while she unpacked, but instead had left her friend with nothing to do while she snored away the rest of the afternoon.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Marinette assured her. "Just upset with myself for falling asleep."
"It's been a busy couple of days," Tikki told her kindly. "You need your rest."
Marinette nodded. "I know. But I also need to be able to get up for work on time next week."
Her mom had set aside a big plate from dinner for her, and was heating it up as Marinette trudged downstairs.
"Where's Dad?" Marinette asked, wiping the last traces of sand from her eyes.
"He went to bed already," her mom replied. "Tomorrow's Sunday."
"Oh…" Marinette replied, feeling shocked. "Of course." How could she have forgotten? Sundays were their busiest days, and her dad always went to bed early to leave extra time in the morning for baking. It was unsettling to think she could so easily have forgotten something that had always been ingrained in her.
Her mom took the plate from the microwave, then headed towards the couch. "I was just watching some TV," she explained. "Why don't you sit with me while you eat?"
"At the couch?" Marinette asked, flabbergast.
Her mom pressed her lips together. "As your father so kindly pointed out last night, you're not a kid anymore. So I'm making a special exception for tonight. Now come eat."
Grinning, Marinette plopped down on the sofa next to her mom and accepted the plate. She was surprised to realize how hungry she was—aside from the tea, she hadn't eaten since her and Alya had grabbed a quick lunch early in the day.
As she chowed down, she watched the game show that her mother had on. It was a familiar experience, hanging out on the couch late on a Saturday night, but one that she hadn't experienced here, on this couch, for a long time. And yet, despite the strange feeling it left in her limbs, Marinette had to admit that it was nice to just sit in peaceful silence, her mother by her side.
Eventually, her mom stood up. "Alright, I'm heading to bed. Don't stay up too late." She gave Marinette a kiss on the head.
"I'll try," Marinette replied, truthfully.
For a while, Marinette continued to watch the TV and the various game shows that were aired. But the longer she watched, the more awake she felt, until she finally snapped off the TV, turned off the lights, and marched frustrated back up to her room.
"Night, Marinette," Tikki said quietly as Marinette joined her on the bed.
"Night," she mumbled.
She stared up at her ceiling, attempting to breathe deeply and coax herself back to sleep. She had heard a number of times that consciously breathing in a certain rhythm could help you fall asleep. It had never worked for her before, and with frustration she found that it wasn't working for her now.
Trying to take care not to jostle Tikki, Marinette looked around her room. Nowhere in the house was the subtle, unsettling feeling of change quite so strong as it was here. Somehow, her room felt smaller, as if she had long ago outgrown it and only just realized. The feeling only made her more anxious to get her own place.
Alya had been right: it had been foolish to think she could find an apartment in the span of an afternoon. But Marinette couldn't help herself. She wanted to have her own place again, like her tiny flat back in New York. Sure, Bryce had always teased her—
Marinette's thoughts stumbled, face flushing. Quickly, she mentally corrected herself. All of her New York friends had always teased her about her hole in the wall apartment. Her parents had worried themselves sick thinking about her in such a cramped little room. But it had been home to her, cozy, and she had never needed anything bigger. Sure, she had quickly run out of room for all of her sewing supplies, and she had had to be creative in order to find enough room to store all of her outfits. And it would be nice to try to find a bigger place here in Paris.
But that didn't change the fact that she felt all adrift, as if her lines had been cast, her anchor drawn up, the wind yet to fill her sails, leaving her hesitating and motionless.
Marinette glanced at the clock, its red 12:24 burning through the dark room. The shadows seemed to press in on her, the walls inching ever closer, cutting off the air. She struggled to breath, her grip tightening on her blankets.
She sat up suddenly, forcing herself to take a deep, harsh breath.
"Marinette?" Tikki asked groggily, looking up from the pillow.
"I need some air," Marinette said quickly, shoving her covers off and heading toward the roof.
As she stepped onto the tiles, the air danced across her face. It was still an unusually warm night for June, but the fresh wind brought a rush of relief, cooling her.
"Are you okay?" Tikki asked. Surprised, Marinette whirled around to her.
"Yeah," she replied quickly, feeling bad. "Don't worry. I didn't mean to wake you."
Tikki frowned in concern, coming to sit on Marinette's shoulder. "Can't sleep?"
Take a deep breath, Marinette relented. "No, I can't." She sighed dejectedly and slumped against the railing. "I just feel so … trapped."
Tikki was silent, and Marinette did her best to calm down a bit as she looked out over the city. Her city. Or, more accurately, what used to be her city. Paris didn't want her anymore. And the worst part was, she really couldn't blame them.
But for the first time, Marinette allowed herself to acknowledge just how much she missed it. She was glad that Hawk Moth had been defeated all those years ago. Paris hadn't been safe with him causing havoc. But there was no denying how exhilarating it had been, how wonderful to just leave all of her concerns behind and swing unbounded through the night sky.
Hesitantly, she asked, "Do you think we could…?"
"No." The steely force of Tikki's tone took Marinette completely off guard, and she stood up straighter in her surprise. "We can't, Marinette. You know that. Remember last time?"
Marinette winced, guilt eating away at her stomach. The last time she had been home—the summer before her senior year at FIT—she had persuaded Tikki to transform so they could have a late evening stroll across the rooftops.
"I was careless that time," Marinette argued, fighting back her own inner voice. "It was too early, and I made too much noise."
The city had been in an uproar for two days, everyone angrily denouncing the supposed return of the long lost superhero. Luckily, the media had eventually decided that it had merely been an enthusiast—one of the last few fans clinging to their idol and stupidly causing a ruckus in the night. But Marinette would not soon forget the pure, unbridled anger that her appearance had produced in the city.
"Just a quick swing around the block?" Marinette asked. "I won't walk on any roofs, and I'll keep to the residential streets. And besides, it's well past midnight now, not like last time."
"And what if you are seen?" Tikki demanded. "What if you're caught this time? Is that what you want?"
"I don't know what I want!" Marinette was surprised at how loudly and forcefully the words came out. "I can't sleep, I can't think, I can't breathe! I just feel so helpless."
Tikki was silent, and for a moment there were only the sounds of Marinette's harsh breathing and the usual nighttime echoes.
"Please, Tikki," Marinette said, far more quietly. "I just need to clear my head."
Tikki loosed a strained sigh. "Just once," she said sternly.
Marinette looked up, not quiet believing her ears. But the little kwami wore a resigned frown that reaffirmed what she had heard.
"But you need to be careful!" Tikki added. "Just a quick trip, and then let's go to bed."
"I will be," Marinette promised, barely hearing herself through the excitement whirling through her head.
Carefully they crept back into the bedroom. Marinette closed her eyes, took a long breath, then looked to Tikki. "Ready?"
"Ready," Tikki replied, looking determined.
"Spots on."
The words were barely a whisper, but they instantly snapped the earrings to life. Marinette watched as Tikki was drawn inwards. Then, with a muted flash of light, the costume stretched into existence, rippling down her arms and legs.
Carefully, Marinette unslung her yoyo from her waist. She gave two quick bobs, smiling at its familiar weight and pull. Confidence growing, she quickly climbed back up to her roof. She stopped at the railing, surveying the city anew.
She would have to be careful to avoid any attention. But if she stuck to the sleepy residential streets, she likely wouldn't have any problems.
Exhilarated energy suddenly coursing through her veins, Marinette quickly scrambled up, until she stood on the railing. For a fleeting moment, her heart wavered uncertainly. It had been so long. What if she slipped up, or fell, or—
Ruthlessly she shoved those thoughts aside. Then, a smile itching across her lips, she wound up and threw.
Not giving herself a moment to doubt, Marinette leaned out over the street and fell forward, grip tight on her string. She fell down, down, down, until suddenly she wasn't moving downwards, but forwards, and then up, up, up…
Nearly whooping with joy, she wrenched her arm forward again, her yoyo zipping toward another eave.
It was like she had never stopped. With each swoop her muscles shook off their sleep and awoke their long remembered forms.
Streaming through the sky, the air became almost cold, whistling past her and flinging her bangs back from her face. Her hair, which she hadn't thought to tie back, whipped wildly behind her. She knew with certainty that it was going to be an utter mess to deal with in the morning. She didn't care.
Marinette couldn't remember the last time she had felt so free. Even before she had left for the US, her final months in Paris had been wrought with worried nights over taking Hawk Moth down. It had been ages since she had simply enjoyed the freedom and wonder of flight.
A high pitched scream tore through the night, ringing from several blocks over.
Marinette stopped instantly, landing on the street and pausing in an alley, heart hammering. By this point, she had worked her way closer to the commercial area, where the night life was somewhat more active. But even so, she was well within the residential streets.
She heard a muffled thump echo between the buildings, but there were no more screams. Even so, Marinette hesitated. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe—
The excuses were pathetic. Concern rising, Marinette quickly crept down the alley and across the street on the other side. She couldn't be seen—she knew that. But if someone was in trouble, there was no way she could simply pretend not to hear and walk away.
She paused beneath a doorway, listening for any signs of a struggle. After a moment, there was another thump, across the street from the nearby apartment complex.
Slowly, Marinette drew closer, peaking around the corner. She saw the men first—how could she not? There were four of them all standing around, and in the flickering street light she could see one of them smile smugly.
"Don't fight it, pretty lady," another was saying, voice a disgusting mix of oily syrup.
Only now did Marinette catch a glimpse of a woman huddled on the ground, backed all the way into a corner. From this angle it was hard to see, but her lip appeared to be bleeding. There was no mistaking her posture.
Barely daring to breath, Marinette drew back. She couldn't just go out there. If she stepped into the light in fully spotted regalia, Paris would never let her go. This wouldn't be like some accidental oversight in the night—this would be Ladybug stepping out of the shadows to help someone in need. The police would likely be relentless.
Her next thought was to de-transform. She could go out there and—
And what? Take on four guys, completely by herself? Perhaps, years ago, when she had been in her prime, she could have managed it. Now however, although she was not out of shape, she was definitely out of practice. A move like that would be pure suicide.
Suddenly, it hit her: she should just call the police. Reeling from her own stupidity, Marinette opened her mouth to de-transform—
—and was sharply cut off as two beefy arms wrapped around from behind her.
"Let me go!" she shouted, struggling in vein against her captor as he dragged her forward toward the others.
With growing horror, Marinette realized her mistake: the thugs had left a look out. And she hadn't even noticed.
"Ay, Bay!" the man called, grabbing the attention of the others. "Look what I found lurking in the shadows."
A black-haired man—Bay, apparently—sneered as he looked her over. Then he started to laugh. "What's wrong, little girl?" he asked, walking closer. "Thought you were so big and brave, dressing yourself in red and black?"
For the first time in a long time, Marinette was overcome by fear. Stomach dropping, she struggled even harder against her captor to no avail.
"How lucky we are, boys," Bay drawled. "The Miraculous Ladybug has deigned to join our little party."
The men around him laughed crudely, two of them grinning maliciously as they looked her over.
"What says we show her a little of our hospitality?" he asked, fixing his eyes on her tight outfit.
"No!" she shouted suddenly, desperately kicking against the man's shins. "Let me go! Let me go!"
"You heard the Lady."
Bay stopped cold, staring past Marinette toward the mouth of the alley. Drawing himself up, he asked, "What was that?"
"Having trouble hearing, are we?" The newcomer strode forward. Marinette had only a moment to catch sight of a tight black suit, blonde hair, and a conspicuous pair of cat ears before her mind stopped working altogether.
Chat stopped two paces away from Bay. "Let the ladies go."
Bay burst into laughter, though his buddies shifted uneasily behind him. "What is this?" he crowed, looking back and forth between Chat and Marinette. "Halloween? Or perhaps the two of you just have some strange kink—"
Chat's foot slammed into Bay's mouth, knocking him forcefully to the ground.
"You son of a bitch!" Bay yelled, scrambling to his feet as blood poured from his nose. He rushed forward, his friends quickly following suit. But Chat eased himself back onto his haunches, waiting, waiting until…
He spun, his baton extending suddenly and sweeping two of the men to their feet.
Mind still reeling, Marinette watched as they sparred, Chat's familiar grace easily keeping up with the four of them. Chat.
What was he doing here? She knew from Alya that he had never quite disappeared the same way Ladybug had. The Parisians reserved the full force of their loathing for her alone. But all the same, she hadn't heard any news about him in years.
He had grown a few more inches since they had last fought together, now easily towering over her and most of the men that he was scrambling with. His shoulders were wider, his chest a little broader, his muscles still a sleek ripple down his narrow build. Everything about him was the same, but not. Older, stronger. And, unlike herself, he was very much not out of practice.
Heart wrenching, Marinette forced herself to stop gaping and to think. Chat might have been holding his own, but the other woman was still huddling further back, in the corner. She needed to do something.
Mind slowly picking up its pace, she realized that her captor's grip had loosened somewhat as he watched the scuffle unfold. Dredging together the shreds of her confidence, Marinette brought her left hand swinging above her head, fingers splayed, hoping…
Her fingers met something soft and resistant, and her captor bellowed as her nails drove into his eyes. With her limited range of motion she hadn't had enough force to do much harm, but his pain and surprise were enough for him to drop her. She quickly rolled to the side, slinging her yoyo as she went. It wrapped once, twice, thrice around his legs and she yanked for all she was worth. The man—a burly red head—slammed to the ground.
Breathing hard, Marinette flicked her yoyo back into her hand and turned towards the larger battle taking place before her. She quickly sized up the status: one of the men was down, clutching his side, but the other three were closing in on Chat, who had taken up a defensive position in front of the woman. Exhaling in an angry hiss, Marinette rushed to help.
A/N: CLIFFHANGER~~~ Sorry, not sorry ;} And, of course, the return of Chat! I told you things were finally picking up.
In case anyone's worried, we WILL be getting back to Adrien's POV soon. I plan for their chapters to be roughly equal in this story, although Marinette might wind up having slightly more. I really wanted to explain Marinette's reasons for not showing up before we got to her reunion with Chat. And I also wanted to show what things are like in her life right now. She is right on the precipice of major change in a number of areas—new job, big move, and obviously some sort of issue back in New York that prompted all this. Now that that is all laid out, we're going to be buckling down on her relationship with Chat. And then, once that's in place, we'll start getting into more of the details of what's been happening with Adrien over the past seven years and where his life is at right now. (TLDR; soon, folks, I promise)
Marinette's strong urge to be on her own and not have to rely on anyone was kind of accidental. That fiercely stubborn belief that she shouldn't lean on anyone else—both to avoid being a burden and because of her own pride—is actually a trait of mine. Not too long ago, I nearly ran myself into the ground before I finally worked up the courage to go to my parents and confess that I needed help. It seems a little counter to the Mari we know in canon, who is used to relying on Chat as her partner. But between her guilt over Chat and being essentially on her own for so long in New York, I feel like this shift in her character is reasonable. I'm glad that Mari has Alya there to put a firm foot down and force her to reevaluate her stubborn opinions.
I've been a little worried that the public anger with Ladybug doesn't make sense. I really needed it so that she couldn't just reappear and use that as a way to get back in contact with Chat. In my head I kind of equate it to when LeBron left the Cavs, but if instead of that stupid, hour long special, if he had just left without a word. I realize that this analogy probably only makes sense to a small portion of US readers, but that's the best way I've been able to describe it so far. Either way, I can assure you that I lived through the aftermath of LeBron's departure, and the public outrage was widespread. I assume things would be similar with Parisians and Ladybug.
I've been listening to a lot of Coldplay for inspiration the last two chatpers. Marinette's flashback in the last chapter was heavily reliant on Magic. And from the moment she transforms until she hears the woman scream, I relied on Don't Let it Break Your Heart to try to capture that soaring, exhilarating feeling that everything in the world is right.
I've basically finished writing Chapter 5, and I'll try to get it up soon. It seems that my initial assumption was right: these chapters are ending up quite a bit longer than I usual tend to write. However, the next chapter may wind up being on the shorter side (ie, normal for me, short for this story). Also, I know I keep saying this, but please remember that I can't promise that my writing speed will be this quick throughout the whole story. This week wound up being a really good one for me, and I had a lot of time to write. It's not going to be like this going forward, so please don't expect three chapters a week from here on out.
As always, a million thanks to all of you! I'm glad to be hearing such positive feedback, and your comments, follows, favs, and views never fail to make me smile. Again, I cannot thank Sandra (sandrastar66) enough for letting me bounce my ideas off of her and helping me talk through the possibilities. You've helped make sure that this story has so much more potential after the initial few chapters.
Feel free to come squeal with me over on Tumblr (Konekat). Of course, my blog is NSFW, yada yada yada.