A/N: To everyone who has read/reviewed/ or left favorites-thank you for your support!
[Three Years Ago]
Marinette sits cross-legged atop her covers, hands resting in her lap. She studies her hands, notes the sharp curve of her palms and the smooth, manicured edge of her nails. They're scattered with light scars, physical memories of her clumsiness and poor stitching skills, but overall her skin is smooth and soft. Free of calluses. Free from harm.
They don't look like a hero's hands, Marinette thinks, and drags her eyes up to meet the strange flying creature fluttering before her.
"Kwami?" she says doubtfully, and her smooth, soft fingers link together. "Is that what you are? What does it mean?"
The creature—Tikki, apparently—just smiles. "It's complicated," she admits. "The important thing is what it means for you. You've been chosen to be my wielder, of the ladybug Miraculous." She stops, and two bright spots on the creature's cherry-red skin glows bright pink. Marinette stares, fascinated by this alien display of embarrassment. "I know it's a lot to take in…"
"Um," Marinette says, and blushes herself. "Well, uh, not that I'm not honored—but, um… I'm not sure if you have the right person? For hero-ing, I mean. I'm—I'm a fashion designer! I'm not really…" she hesitates, and looks down at her hands again. Smooth skin. Managed nails. Hands that have never seen true work before in her lifetime.
"I'm not really hero material," Marinette offers, but all Tikki does is giggle.
"Maybe not by your standards," she agrees. "But you're kind. You're selfless, when it comes down to it. You follow your dreams and make them a reality. You help people without a second thought." The kwami smiles at her, teeth unnaturally white and eyes glittering with sincerity. Marinette is struck into silence, her eyes wide and cheeks flushed, awed by this flattering portrayal.
"You sound a lot like a hero to me," Tikki finishes gently, and slowly, tentatively, Marinette smiles back.
"Okay," she says, and curls her fingers around the earrings. The metal backing digs into the soft flesh of her palm. It is the first scar of many to come. "I guess I'll give this hero thing a go."
[Present]
Marinette doesn't really remember what happens after she leaves the Agreste's mansion.
Maybe it's because nothing happens at all. There are no robberies, no akuma, no Lantern to distract her. Just Ladybug and her burning eyes and the cold December wind biting her cheeks, her burned fingers sore from handling her yo-yo and her breath caught in her throat.
She doesn't know when she gets back home, or how long she's been gone. All she knows is that she is tired, and hurting, and all she wants to do is sleep.
She pries open her bedroom window with frozen fingers, and stumbles inside like she hasn't done since she was twelve years old, clumsy and unsure and just learning how to be a hero. She catches herself on the balcony door and manages to keep her feet, the night air swirling in after her like a vengeful spirit.
Her mother looks up at the noise, and belatedly Ladybug realizes she's been waiting for her to return. For a moment she is terrified that her mother will try and confront her, that Chat's heart isn't going to be the only broken one tonight, but all her mother does is reach out a hand and say, "Marinette?"
Ladybug swallows, and lets the transformation fall. She doesn't see Tikki duck out of sight before her mother can notice—she doesn't see much of anything, because the burning in her eyes has finally transitioned to tears.
She feels her mother's arms wrap around her, a soft hand against her hair guiding Marinette's tearful face into a welcoming shoulder. She clutches her mother back tightly, choking back a sob, and manages to stifle any leftover traitorous tears. She feels as if she has spent the past few days doing nothing but cry, and she hates that. Marinette's the one falling apart, even as she breaks everyone else.
She pulls away after a long moment, blinking through tear-dropped lashes at her mother. "Sorry," she whispers thickly, sniffling hard and wiping at her nose. "'M sorry."
Her mother—her wonderful, understanding mother—just takes one look at Marinette's face and guides her towards her bed without a word.
Marinette lets her. Maybe she's too old to be babied or tucked to sleep, but for now Marinette just wants to be the child she's supposed to be. So she lets her mother lead her to the bed and coax her into pink-striped pajamas, lets her smooth back Marinette's hair and pull the warm covers up to her chin.
"Mom," she says, as her mother calmly tucks in the sheets and arranges the pillows like her hands aren't shaking. "I…"
Her mother shushes her, gentle and kind, and the hand she smooths over Marinette's hair is soft and soothing. She smiles like nothing is wrong and her daughter isn't a hero, but her eyes are as fragile as glass.
"Not now," she chides, eyes shadowed but clearly relieved. "Later. Much later. We have the all the time you need. Sleep, now." She pauses, and something regretful and sad enters her gaze, twists her soft smile. "You look… very tired."
Regret is an ugly look on her mother, Marinette thinks, but simply closes her eyes and leans into her mother's hand. "I am," she admits quietly. "It's been… a long day."
Her mother huffs a laugh and kisses her forehead. "I imagine so," she murmurs, and Marinette pretends not to hear the way her voice hitches, just barely, over the words.
"Sleep, darling," says Sabine Cheng, and Marinette views her through half-lidded eyes, sees her stiff lip and strong shoulders and well-hidden grief, and remembers very suddenly that once upon a time she'd viewed her mother as the strongest person in the world, and had wanted to be just like her. When had she forgotten that? When had she viewed her mother as weak, as something to be protected?
"Don't go," Marinette pleads, because she is tired and sore and she's as good as lost one of the most important people in her life, and she doesn't want to lose another.
Her mother smiles and rests her hand on Marinette's head, fingers brushing through her hair. Soft, soothing, calm. She always did this when Marinette was younger—sit by her side and stroke her hair until she fell asleep, until the simple rhythmic movement chased away whatever nightmare lingered in her head.
"Of course," her mother says, and with that reassurance ringing in her ears, Marinette finally dares to close her eyes.
She sleeps fitfully, waking at odd hours, feeling either overheated and feverish or unbearably cold. Her dreams are a haze of color and familiar voices, ringing in her head like white noise.
At some point, Marinette finally slips off into a restful doze, and when she next opens her eyes it's to glaring sunlight. She takes a moment to reorient herself, rubbing the gunk from her eyes and sweeping stiff, sweat-soaked hair from her forehead. Her body aches with the low, dull throb of numerous bruises, her nosed blocked and a tentative burn settling in the back of her throat.
"I think I overdid it," Marinette says to the room at large, her voice a thin croak.
Tikki flickers into view, her form cherry red in the morning light. "I think so too," she agrees, quietly fond and just a touch exasperated. "How do you feel?"
Marinette considers this. "Crappy." She remembers Adrien's face, and the familiar weight returns. "Guilty."
Tikki doesn't look surprised, and gives Marinette a regretful look. For the first time, she offers no advice. Some dramas, Marinette supposes, are beyond even the knowledge of a 2000-year-old kwami.
Marinette clears her throat and distantly regrets it when the threatening burn erupts into a full-blown sear. "Is my mom…?"
Tikki takes the subject change gratefully, though the worry doesn't leave her wide-eyed gaze. "Downstairs," she offers. "You missed school; it's almost eleven by now." She pauses again, and sighs. "Marinette…"
Marinette eyes her warily. "Yes…?"
Tikki bites her lip. "Your… your dad knows. I heard them talking about it this morning. They're… they're waiting downstairs."
Marinette stares. "Oh," she says, and slowly leans back against the pillow. She gazes up at her white, shadowed ceiling, as if the purity of the color can burn away her sudden swell of tears. It's hard to breathe, and it's not entirely because of her sore throat. "Oh."
On one hand, this isn't very surprising. Marinette's parents are not secretive people. They are trusting, confiding, and most problems are tackled together with a joint effort. On the other…Marinette hasn't considered it. She had never wanted to tell her parents, but if she had been forced too, her mother alone would have been her first choice. Marinette's father is kind, caring, and supportive—but stress and fear have always hurt so easily. Out of the two, her father is the most breakable.
She presses her injured arm against her face and keeps it there, breathing shallowly. She feels like kicking something, or screaming, neither of which is a good idea, so she settles with this. An arm across her face and deep, slow breaths. Almost mediation, except it is indefinitely more difficult to focus.
She slides the arm off her face and blinks blearily at the light again. She remembers her mother's worn, breaking smile from last night, and decides maybe her father knowing isn't so bad after all. They'll have each other for comfort after they learn the true extent of Marinette's troubles.
Carefully, she slides off the bed, shrugging on a bathrobe to keep warm and shuffling her feet into slippers. She ties it on with careful trembling fingers, and waves Tikki away when she tries to help. The throbbing of her arm has faded to a dull ache, and it doesn't hurt nearly as much now. She'll be able to fight again soon.
It's a depressing thought, especially with the looming conversation she has resigned herself to, so Marinette pushes it out if her mind and makes her way downstairs.
Both of her parents look in when she enters; she gives them a careful, fragile smile. They return it, and even if her father's hands are trembling and her mother looks a moment away from collapse, it is a start.
"Mom," she says, and then, "Dad. I—"
"I made waffles," her father blurts suddenly, fumbling with his words and speaking over her. She blinks at him, surprised, and he smiles again. This time his hands do not shake. "I made waffles," he repeats, voice steady. "Let's eat. Talking… can come after."
Marinette stares at him, and slowly dips her head into a nod. Her smile curls at the edges, and something tight eases in her chest. "Okay," she agrees, voice small. "Let's eat, dad."
The waffle is still warm when he places it before her, dripping with golden syrup and garnished with fresh sliced fruits. Marinette eats slowly, savoring the sugary flavor and the crunchy edges, her fear and tension easing with every bite, with every beat of companionable silence.
Her father hands her the juice, her mother steals the fruit off of her husband's plate. The usual chatter isn't there, but the silence isn't nearly as oppressive as it was the night before. It's as if the truth about Marinette, while placing a new weight on her parents' shoulders, has eased the old wounds away.
Despite Marinette's attempts to prolong it, the meal comes to a close too soon. Before she knows it her hands are empty and the plates cleaned off in the sink. The sun is high up, now—it's nearly lunch—so Marinette sits the chair directly in view of the window, in case she needs to stare at something other than her parents.
"So," Marinette says finally, her parents' patiently quiet beside her. "Ladybug."
Her father nods, suddenly hesitant. "You never told us."
"I wanted to."
"Your mother said."
"Oh," Marinette says, and sure enough, brings her eyes up to stare right at the sunlight as if it can burn her tears away. "Still. I… I wanted to, I just…"
She trails off, grasping for the right words. Her mother reaches over, small hand covering hers, and rubs a soothing circle on Marinette's calloused palm.
"You just?" she prompts, voice soft. "Please, Marinette. This isn't… it's not an interrogation. We… Your father and I, we just want to know the truth."
"I know!" Marinette says, because she does know, more than they can guess. "It's… it's hard, is all. Being Ladybug… it's fun! Really! I've met so many interesting people, and done so many amazing things…" she trails off, wistful. Those first months as Ladybug had been the best of her life, and after that it had all been downhill. "It's just, it's dangerous too. I didn't… I was afraid if you knew…"
"You thought we would get hurt," her father murmurs to himself, quietly astonished. It's rhetorical, but Marinette responds anyway, relived the words have been said for her.
"Yeah," she admits. "That."
Another silence falls over the family, her parents considering; Marinette wary and afraid and trying not to show it. Finally, her mother sighs and pulls Marinette into a tight sideways hug.
"I still don't like this," she admits to her daughter, words muffled into Marinette's silky hair. "I don't think I ever will. But if it's what you've chosen to do… then I won't stop you."
Marinette breathes in deep, blinking rapidly against the tears pooling in her eyes. "Okay," she says, soft and threadbare. She clears her throat and tries again, but her voice still wavers. "Okay."
A large hand, heavy and comforting, comes to rest on her head, pulling them into her father's warm embrace. "I'll admit," he says, and squeezes them tight. "It terrifies me, the idea of you being Ladybug. But… It's too late to stop you, I think. So I'll support you as best an old baker can."
Marinette sniffs hard, and finally buries her face in her mother's shoulder, the fabric growing damp. "I'm sorry," she says, and her voice cracks on the words, as delicate and as fragile as glass. "I'm sorry I kept it a secret. I'm sorry I never told you. I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm so sorry, Mom. Dad. I'm so sorry."
They hold her tight and rock her between them, and maybe they cry too, but Marinette keeps her face buried in her mother's shoulder and does not see it. She feels her father stroke her hair and hears her mother's soothing words, and every condolence just makes her cry harder. It hurts, but it's a good kind of hurt. A healing hurt. Her secret has been found out, the heaviest weight taken from her shoulders by her parents' dependable hands, and she hasn't felt this light in years.
"My beautiful daughter," her father murmurs, "my brave little girl. It's okay. It's okay."
"We love you, Mari," her mother whispers fiercely. "We love you. Let us help."
Her father's hand strokes through her hair. Her mother rubs soothing circles into her back because she cannot reach Marinette's cheek. Their voices are thick with tears and fierce with sincerity.
"Okay," Marinette chokes out, chest hitching and hands curling and so very relieved. "Okay."
It takes a while for things to calm down after that, their emotions rubbed raw and their routines disrupted. Marinette is not used to having people know, and her parents have just found out their daughter fights super-powered crime in her spare time. It is a morning of awkward motions and stilted silences. No one knows how to act.
It is Marinette who suggests TV; after her parents make it clear they don't intend to let her run out to school. Part of it is a way to calm down—morning TV is a daily ritual, a way to find out what's going on in the world. On the other…
It's been three days since Marinette's battle with Lantern. She doesn't have much time left, not that she had much at all. Three days of quietly attacking, of gathering her strength…if Marinette doesn't face the Lantern soon, soon she won't be able to face her at all.
Notably, she doesn't inform her parents about this. Some things take time, and this is most definitely one of them.
With a bored sigh, Marinette flips through another channel. Her parents have already retired to the rooms above, and she is left alone with the repetitive droning of the broadcasters. So far, she hasn't heard much of anything. There's all the usual stuff—weather, traffic reports, little stories on other's daily lives… but nothing on the Lantern. If anything, it just sets Marinette on edge.
She flips to the usual news channel, where most of Ladybug's—and by extension, the akumas'—stories prominently figure. The lady on the screen is dressed in neat, finely pressed clothes, hair curled and set in place with gel. Marinette sets the remote beside her and settles down with a sigh. If she just keeps flipping through she'll probably miss any reports, if one shows up at all.
She listens with half an ear as the lady murmurs on, something about global warming or an issue on the political side of things. Mostly, she just focuses on the lady's clothes. Neat stitches, neutral blue fabric. It's pretty, how the dark blue contrasts with the pale cream of her shirt. The style of the cut is something she's seen before… what brand is it? She's certain—
Oh. It's an Agreste style.
Interest muted, Marinette sinks down further on the couch. Go figure. She tries to relax, and the world magically decides to remind her of her mistakes. Haha. Hilarious.
A sharp buzz fills up her apartment, drowning out the soft words of the announcer with ease. Marinette cranes her neck at the sound of her doorbell, feeling ready to cheer despite her confusion. Any distraction is a welcome one, right about now.
"Who is it?" she calls out, and can't quite hide her shock when the door opens to reveal a beaming Alya and Nino standing awkwardly behind her.
"Guys?" Marinette asks, peaking over the couch, incredulity wrapping around her words. "What are you doing here? Don't you have school?"
"Don't you?" Alya returns, practically bouncing through the door. "Besides, it's lunch. We have an hour."
Marinette blinks at her, bemused by her good cheer but grateful to see her. "Well, Mom and Dad thought it would be too stressful… Ah!" She jolts, and slaps a hand to her head. "I forgot to text you! Sorry, Alya."
"See?" Nino pipes up, giving Alya an amused glance. "Told you that was why." He turns to Marinette and waves hesitantly, other hand looping around his neck in a nervous gesture. Something in his shoulders has eased since she saw him last, a brightness having returned to his face. "Hey, Marinette. How's it going?"
"It's going all right," Marinette says truthfully. It's not perfect, not by a long shot, but she's finally started fixing her mistakes rather than making them, and that more than anything has made her feel more at ease than she has all week. "You?"
He gives a crooked smile in response, hands shoving back into his pockets. "Better, honestly." He tilts his head. "Thanks to you, at least. I mean, I'm assuming, but…"
Alya huffs a laugh, flinging herself down on Marinette couch with a grateful sigh. "Hah! Probably, right?" She turns to Marinette, a smirk playing across her face, eyes alight. "Should've known that look was for something. I just can't believe you didn't include me in on it! For shame, Mari."
Marinette blinks at them both, baffled beyond words. "Huh? Wait, what?"
Alya just laughs, slinging a careful arm around Marinette's shoulders. "So?" she asks gleefully, eyes glittering behind her wireframes. "What'd you do? Call their house and rant the old man out? Knock at their doors until they listened? Blackmail?" She leans closer. "If it was blackmail and you didn't involve me, I'm going to very sad, Mari."
"Blackmail?" Marinette repeats, incredulous. "Wait, I don't—what?"
"Adrien!" Alya says. "I mean, it was you, right? I'm assuming it was you."
"I don't…"
"Adrien called me today," Nino reveals, rolling his eyes at Alya's deliberate vagueness. "Apologized for being late, et cetera. Said he fell down some stairs, apparently…?" He shrugs. "Either way, he contacted us. Said his father was just being protective, which was why he didn't text earlier, but… well, considering how closed off they were before, it was weird."
"We figured you did something," Alya jumps in. "I mean, you had that look, you know? The one that says, 'I've got a plan!' So I figured it was you."
"Oh," Marinette says, mind whirling. "Um, well, I don't think I really did anything important…?"
The last part comes out a bit like a question, a bit like a squeak. Nino raises an eyebrow. Alya gives her a suitably unimpressed look, with an expression that screams her disbelief.
"I called them… and called again?" Marinette tries weakly, grasping desperately for a response that will, hopefully, not contradict whatever answer Adrien will give when they finally track him down. "So… they probably got annoyed?"
There is a beat of silence, in which Nino bites back a laugh at the image these words produce, and Alya mulls over the excuse, eyes narrow and sharp behind her frames. Marinette fidgets, then immediately tries to appear as if she did not.
Then Alya laughs, sharp and clearly amused, and her toned arm comes around Marinette's shoulders to squeeze in a tight one-armed hug.
"That's my girl!" Alya crows, and her eyes are laughing in tune with her voice. "Wore them down with that charming personality of yours, did you?"
"The magic number is five tries," Marinette offers, grinning herself, and even that comment has Nino snickering aloud.
"Well, it clearly worked," Alya says, and ruffles one hand through Marinette's hair. "So congratulations on the success of your plan! We thought," and here Alya jerks a rough hand between her and Nino, "we should let you know the good news, especially after you didn't show up at school."
"It's good to know," Marinette admits, smiling gratefully. "And sorry about that, by the way. I, uh…" she laughs nervously, one hand coming up to twist the end of her hair. "I may have pulled my injuries…?"
Alya looks disproving, so Marinette hastens to explain. "An accident! It was an accident! The bus trip had nothing to do with it."
"Hmm," Alya says, still not convinced, but to Marinette's relief, Nino comes to her rescue.
"C'mon, Alya. If she says it wasn't the bus, then it wasn't the bus."
"Hmph," is Alya's only response, but her shoulders relax and Marinette bites back a smile. She knows she's off the hook.
Nino throws himself on the couch beside Alya, the cushions sagging under their combined weight. He nods at the TV screen with a smile quirking his lips. The darkness from yesterday has left him, and Marinette is cheered to see Nino is back to usual self at last.
"Anything going on out in the big wide world?" he asks, a smile quirking his lips. Marinette smiles back and shakes her head, leaning against her own cushion with a heavy sigh.
"Not that I've seen," she admits, and shakes her head. "It's so boring! All about politics and stuff."
"C'mon, Mari," Alya says. "Politics are important."
"Yes," Marinette agrees. "But I've seen Chloe's dad say the same speech so many times I think it's ingrained in my mind."
Nino buries his head into his arm and laughs, while Alya just shakes her head. "You're ridiculous, you know that?" she says fondly. Her eyes draw back to the screen. "Oh, wow. Look like there's some news after all."
Marinette turns to the screen as well and feels her heart sink. The volume is too low for her to hear the words, but behind the reporter, numerous images flicker across the screen—blurry gray images of crowds fleeing down the streets, a girl in a long pale dress blasting light from her gloved fingertips. The camera pauses, the picture zooming in on the Lantern's face, casting her cruel, wicked smile in full view.
Alya grabs the remote and turns up the volume, and even Nino leans forward in interest.
"—he police have tried and failed to apprehend this new villain, with numerous casualties. They have warned civilians away from wandering alone and after curfew, as the Lantern is still at large since her appearance three days ago."
Nino grimaces. "She's still active? Damn."
Marinette ignores the comment and the guilty half-glance he gives her, raptly fixated on the screen. The image has changed to a map to highlight just what areas the attacks have been most frequent, and Marinette tracks the intersecting lines with her eyes, trying to see where they all connect.
Then the screen focuses on an image of one of the victims, and Marinette flinches away. Chat's sightless eyes are burned into her memory, and the frozen picture of the man on the screen with his empty irises and drawn expression brings every one of those bad memories to the surface.
Alya leans against her shoulder, taking her hand and squeezing it tight. "It's horrible," she mutters angrily. "Those poor people. Why haven't Chat Noir and Ladybug taken care of this one yet?"
"Maybe they're out of commission too?" Nino offers. "This… Lantern seems really strong."
"Still," Alya insists, and her nails dig slightly into Marinette's skin as her fist clenches in righteous anger. "It's horrible, what that girl's done. And it's probably going to get even worse. All those people…"
"Yeah," Marinette echoes hollowly, watching the images flicker over the screen of her TV. Unseen by the two beside her, her free hand slowly clenches into a fist. "Horrible."
Marinette tilts back her head, letting her eyes flutter closed as winter wind brushes by her face. Her coat and scarf keep her warm, but at this darkening hour no amount of cloth can keep out the brisk cold winds.
Her parents hadn't wanted her to go.
Marinette had expected that, of course—it was why she'd waited so long to tell them. She hadn't wanted to give them time to talk her out of it. They'd tried in the hour she'd given them. Her mother had pleaded for one more day. Her father had tried to argue for letting the police handle it. But in the end they'd acquitted, and watched her go with worried eyes.
Which is ridiculous, if she thinks about it. She's not planning on facing the Lantern now—tomorrow, maybe, and only because if she waits much longer they'll all be in trouble. She probably can wait another day after that, all things considered. But then, it's like what happened with Chat all over again. She'd told herself she could wait to get away from Chat before turning to Ladybug, and the result had been blindness and the reveal of her greatest secrets.
Marinette could wait. But she thinks waiting will do more harm than good. Better to face the Lantern soon, before she gains too much strength. Better to face her before the akuma decides to take out her rage on the city as a whole, not just the unlucky few who have stumbled across her.
However, that doesn't mean she's going to face her without a plan.
Marinette adjusts her coat's collar, shivering slightly, stepping lightly from the path of a hurried shopper. The eastern half of the Île de la Cité, crammed full of locals and tourists alike, is cast in long reaching shadows, spindly fingers cutting into her path in jagged angles. The dusk air is crisp and cold, burningly cool with every inhale, and every exhale has her breath misting into the air. Even with the sun about to set, it's as crowded as ever, the cafes full to bursting and the line for Notre Dame reaching all the way into the streets.
Tikki bumps against her cheek, hidden from view by the long curtain of Marinette's unbound hair, her voice soft. "Are we getting close?"
Marinette leans heavily against one wall, absently rubbing her injured arm. "Soon… it's a bit past here, on one of the emptier streets—at least, that's what I figure."
She can't see her small friend, but she can hear the smile in Tikki's words, warm and proud. "I'm certain you're right! You did a really good job of tracking her down, Marinette."
Marinette smiles back, pride a warm glow in her chest. "It wasn't hard," she whispers back, unable to keep the silly smile off her face. "I just looked for where there were the most accidents…" She shrugs a shoulder. "Besides, I'm best friends with Alya, you know? She's a good teacher."
Tikki's silence is broken only by the soft sound of her giggling, and Marinette bites her lip to keep from laughing aloud herself as she checks her phone again. Only a few more blocks to go, and then she'll be able to scout where the Lantern might be hiding. She can't get too close, not if she wants to avoid a fight, but if Marinette wants to win their next battle, she needs to be prepared. Injuries don't go away nearly as quick as she'd prefer, and that's not even counting the fact she won't have Chat there to back her up.
"Two more to go," she murmurs, and stuffs her phone—and chilled fingers—back into her pocket. Pushing off the wall, she heads back into the crowd, watching her feet as she maneuvers her way through the street. The street lamps will light soon, and even with all her layers and the people surrounding her, the oncoming darkness sends new waves of cold to rattle her bones.
Perhaps it is this reason—that chill, unstoppable wind swirling relentlessly around her—that allows her to notice so quickly. Because the wind is cold and biting, and the winter snow is coming very soon, and the sudden burst of heat at her back is so startling she can't help but notice it.
And when a burst alight slams into the street, sending people sprawling and starting the screaming anew, she can't deny the logical conclusion.
No, Marinette thinks, no, please, not today. Not now. Not here.
But the Lantern does not care for Marinette's wishes, and her laughter rings loud and clear above the sudden screaming of the crowd.
"I'm done waiting!" she howls, as Marinette whips around to stare up at her, hidden in the faceless mash of the crowd. "If you won't come to me, Ladybug… then I'll make you come out!" She pulls back a hand wreathed in light, her yellow dress all but swamped in what must be hundreds of beads. "Your time is up!"
Marinette doesn't allow herself to hesitate. She ducks the oncoming wave of light and scrambles to the nearby café, bursting through the doors and running straight for the bathrooms. She won't allow this to be a repeat of last time. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how many wounds this gains her—she refuses to let even come close to that.
She accidentally knocks into another woman on her way in, and the slippery tile nearly sends her crashing on the floor. Throwing an apology over her shoulder, Marinette ducks into a stall and latches the door with shaking fingers.
"Tikki," she whispers, harsh and furious. "There's a camera on that side, can you smash it? We can't let them see who comes out."
"On it," Tikki whispers back, and for a breathless moment Marinette is alone but for the terrified, sobbing people in the stall beside her and the drip-drip of the sink taps.
Tikki flits back to her side, her large eyes wide and worried. For a moment, Marinette thinks she's going to say something—but the kwami just presses her lips together tight and says, very deliberately, "Be careful, Marinette."
Marinette doesn't grace her with an answer. Of course she's going to be careful. She has a promise to keep, after all.
"Spots on!" she says, and the glow of her transformation wipes every worry away.
She's Ladybug, after all. She can't afford to lose.
The streets are empty when she reaches them. Even the blinded, with their pupils gone and their sight along with it, have been led into hiding. The courtyard of Notre Dame is unnaturally empty. The usually crowded cafes are abandoned and overturned.
Even the Lantern is missing from view, but the lingering heat in the air tells Ladybug otherwise. She's still here. Just no longer in sight.
"Are you here, Lantern?" she calls, fingering the solid weight of her yo-yo on her side. "I hear you've been looking for me!"
A moment of silence, and then—
"Ladybug," a soft voice coos, danger lacing every word. There's victory there, and enough rage to burn the whole world. "Finally crawled out of whatever hole you were hiding in?"
"Who says I was hiding?" Ladybug challenges, slow to turn towards her enemy. She has gotten much better at mind games, the longer she's run around in this suit, and has to bite back a smile when the action coaxes a sneer from the Lantern.
If there is anything Ladybug has learned to expect from akumatized, it's that they hate being treated like they're not a threat.
"What would you call three days of silence, if not hiding?" the Lantern snarls back, pale light building in her gloved palms. Her dress is mended, clear fabric without a single tear. The beads are back, too, and the sight of them makes Ladybug grit her teeth. So many people without their sight….
"Or perhaps," the Lantern continues, "you heard what happened to your dear partner… and decided to save your own skin."
The confident smile drops from Ladybug's face. It takes effort not to snarl.
"I'd prefer the term 'strategic retreat' myself," Ladybug admits, casually looping the wire of her yo-yo around her finger. She sweeps her eyes around the area in a light, searching gaze, noting every oddity. The pale streetlights. The empty buildings. The broken pole, jutting out of one corner, the other end firmly rooted in the ground.
"But I guess," and here Ladybug pauses, bringing up every bad joke Chat has subjected her too throughout the years, "you just can't see it that way, huh?"
The Lantern freezes, and Ladybug strikes before the woman has the presence of mind to attack, snapping out her yo-yo in one fluid movement. The wire wraps around the pole, and she tugs hard to make sure it won't snap on her…. And then she's off, whistling through the air faster than the Lantern can shoot, a blinding burst of light hitting empty streets as Ladybug plants her feet against the wall of a building.
"Over here!" she calls, and shifts her feet before pushing off with all her strength, her yoyo wrapping around the streetlight next. Again the burst of light hits nothing but the wall, again Ladybug has darted out of the line of fire.
"Too slow!"
This time the Lantern does snarl, the low light of evening casting her pretty face—what Ladybug can see of it, with that masquerade mask—in dark shadows. The woman brings back both arms near her ear, then sweeps out her hands in one fluid movement, a whip of light blasting from her fingertips in a continuous, blinding wave.
That's new, Marinette thinks stupidly. Instinct makes her lash out—her wire wraps tight around another streetlamp, and the momentum of her throw spins her away from the blast just in the nick of time.
She lands heavily, rolling on the rough ground, the cobble jolting every bone in her body. Her arms throb with warning; her bandaged hands have started to ache again. Ladybug pulls herself up with grit teeth and tries to ignore the part of her wishing desperately Chat was here with her.
The Lantern cocks one fist and lets blinding light fly free, the glow betraying her intentions before she can execute them. Ladybug sets her feet and lunges into a tight roll, ignoring the wave of heat brushing at her back. She lets her yoyo fly before she even fully stops rolling, this time striking at the Lantern directly. The wire wraps around the woman's arm, the yo-yo knocking into her forehead, throwing her next blast off-balance.
The light crashes into a vacated shoe store, glass glowing white-hot, the covering catching fire. Ladybug winces at the damage, then yelps when the Lantern takes advantage of her moment of distraction. With one hand twisted up in Ladybug's wire, and the other coated with swirling light, it's pretty clear that the last thing Ladybug wants to be is in range.
She doesn't fight the vicious pull—just moves with the momentum presented; dashing forward faster than the Lantern can gather wire and flipping right over her head before she can shoot. The wire follows her motion, and the advantage turns to the Lantern's disadvantage—the wire-covered hand is yanked up and back behind her, throwing the woman off her feet and forcing her to release it.
Ladybug spares a second to rewind, the twisted wire righting itself midair as the yo-yo smacks into her palm with a steady thump. And maybe it's a mistake, but she allows herself a moment to breathe, to give her injured limbs a rest.
"Not very bright, are you?" Ladybug calls out, breathless and exhausted. A breathless smile pulls at her lips, wild and fierce. The fight is going to be hard-fought, but she can see a path to victory unfurling right before her eyes.
The Lantern climbs to her feet with sharp, jerky movements, her breathing heavy and labored. She stares out at Ladybug through the fringes of her hair, and for a single moment, the sharp glowing outline of a butterfly rings her eyes.
Ladybug's smile falls away instantly.
There is no time to prepare, or for any regret—just the Lantern's angry, howling cry and her desperate lunge for Ladybug's throat, the eyes behind the mask burning like embers. Ladybug sucks in a sharp breath and stumbles back, her mind blanking out momentarily, instinctively waiting for Chat to step in and give her time to plan, as he always does—
—and Chat isn't there.
There isn't even time for a few well-deserved curses, and definitely not to plan. Ladybug throws herself to the side in a reckless roll, just barely missing being skewered by the Lantern's burning fingers. This time when she throws herself into the flip, adrenaline pulls her past the instinctive pain of her still-healing hands, and her back cracks loud and fast when she drops to the earth, an arc of light sailing over her by a hair.
There is a moment's pause when the Lantern draws back her fist for another simple blast, and Ladybug doesn't hesitate this time. She snaps out her arm with a bone-deep fury at her own mistake, the motion sharp and calculated as the yo-yo secures around the first support she can find. And then—as the blast lands at her feet, and her arm screams from her careless handling—then, Ladybug is flying, and even the Lantern's raging curses are drowned out by the wind in her ears.
Only half-aware, her body moves on its own—back angled, feet first and flat, body braced for impact. She hits the streetlight support at full speed, the sudden stop jolting every bone and sending every injured nerve aflame. Ladybug grits her teeth and ignores the taste of blood—she must have bit her cheek without realizing.
"Stupid," she snarls, and then snaps out her arm again, aiming for the barred windows just behind her foe. She needs to get to the roofs, she needs to get away—three days building power has made the Lantern too powerful for Ladybug to handle alone, and if she wants to win this with herself intact she needs time to plan.
And I don't have Chat here to improvise.
She misses the windows, her injured arm flinching away from the exaggerated throw and casting her shot low. She's lucky enough to catch one of the café's covering supports, a little closer to the ground and the Lantern than she'd have liked, but there's no time to check for stability and no time to hesitate.
She tucks her body in tight, already mapping out her path. Swing past her support, past the storefront entirely—she can still reach her original destination. Use the nearby streetlight to swing herself on the low slanting shade roof. From there, the actual top of the building. Even if the Lantern has somehow figured out to fly, she'll still have a few moments to turn this battle in her favor—
—and then, she can feel her support give.
Not strong enough to support her weight, the metal backing rips away from the wall with a loud screech of rusted nails, sending both pole and Ladybug crashing into the ground. Her momentum hurdles her to the earth, her clumsy attempts to catch herself only throwing her in a twisted, painful tangle of limbs on the ground. Her head snaps against the cobble and her vision swims, colors and shadows blending together in an incomprehensible mess.
Through the tangles of colors and swirling sound, there is light. Burning, blinding, and then doubled, casting into twisted sight a figure warped in Ladybug's eyes, advancing ever closer.
Ladybug stares back at her, dazed and half-blinded, struggling to regain her bearings, and only manages one clear thought from the tangled web of her mind: Oh.
The Lantern raises her hand.
I failed.
A crash. A hurried swear. And a long stream of silver darting from the shadows to slam into the Lantern's hip, casting her aside.
The pole retreats back to its castor, Ladybug following with disbelieving eyes, and she can't quite stop the instinctual cry of relief that makes it past her lips when she sees him.
Chat Noir, his side bulging from bandages and one hand wrapped tightly around his staff, leaning gingerly against the side of the building and yet still smiling that same smile—Chat Noir just smirks, and lets out a soft laugh as the Lantern struggles to regain her footing.
"Light's out!"
A/N: A bit of an explanation for Marinette's parents, since I couldn't find a way to include it in the actual chapter: I honestly see them as the type to support Marinette in her choices, so long as she's thought them through. Ladybug's been around three years in this story; she's clearly aware of her actions. Besides, they know their daughter—they ground her, she'll probably sneak out and do it anyway, just as she's been doing for years already. They don't want to lose any more than they already have. So, they'll support her best they can, no matter how much her being Ladybug terrifies them. ...At least, that's my view on them, haha.
Also, Chat's back! Man, is that going to be an awkward conversation...
Any thoughts?