Marinette sat down in front of her computer, a mug of tea and plate of cookies on the desk beside her. It still didn't feel right to spend a couple of hours fighting supervillains and then immediately start on homework, but that could be because she didn't like writing essays on French monarchs before becoming Ladybug, either. Maybe she could write it at lunch instead – as she began to weigh the benefits of yet more procrastination, her phone chimed with a text from Adrien.
"Sorry, looks like I can't meet you tomorrow evening after all – want to work on vocabulary at lunch?"
Mundane, completely and utterly normal - except that they hadn't been planning to have a lesson on Wednesday. Instead, Marinette had promised to keep Alya company while she babysat her siblings, leaving no time for Chinese. Something was wrong, and if Adrien, who had never been what one would call a master of subtlety as a civilian or Chat Noir, was being so careful… She showed the message to Tikki, who frowned from behind her cookie.
Tuesdays. What was it with Tuesdays?
Marinette opened a new word document and began to type. She always had worked better under pressure.
She was only fifty words into the introduction when her phone began to ring again. Alya. For a moment, Marinette contemplated letting the call go to voicemail – she wasn't sure she was ready to deal with the reporter's blow-by-blow account of the fight earlier, any concerns for her girlfriend's safety brushed off with a joke or blithe comment. To be honest, she wasn't sure that she wanted to talk to Alya at all right now. The anger from earlier was tempered with shame, but it still bubbled beneath her skin, ready to seep through at any moment.
No. She wasn't going to hide.
"Hey, Alya." Instead of a torrent of sound, the syllables tumbling over each other in their rush to escape from the stuffy confines of her mind, the line was silent. "Alya?"
"Hi, Marinette. Uh. You know about the attack earlier."
"Yeah." Despite her best efforts, the word fell from her lips like it was made of lead. Another pause hung in the air, filling the spaces between the crackles of static.
"I'm sorry."
She finished her paper and printed it, still in a haze of shock. Her earlier rage had dissipated into mist during Alya's teary phone call, apologizing for worrying Marinette by putting herself in danger. It was, to say the least, not what she'd expected. The girl was sweet, caring, and smart, but not exactly self-aware, or completely in tune with others' feelings. Alya had a tendency to dismiss anything she didn't deem important, or anything that fell outside the scope of her laser-focused determination… or perhaps obsession was a better word.
Still in a fog of surprise, Marinette pulled out her last assignment. Physics, of course. It wasn't that she didn't like physics – she did, most of the time – but it took so much energy. She groaned to herself at the thought; that was a pun worthy of Chat Noir.
As if on cue, her phone began to ring again. She jumped, startled, when it buzzed loudly, vibrating against the desk and empty cookie plate. Tikki, who had been napping on the warmth of her computer monitor, started at the insistent sound and retreated to a more peaceful corner.
"Adrien?" Marinette hoped desperately that this wasn't about the situation earlier, and he was calling to say that the situation had gone critical. Or that his father was holding him hostage unless she gave up her miraculous. Or –
"Marinette!" He laughed, giddy. She could feel his smile through the phone. It wasn't his model grin, but the one that was so bright and genuine anyone looking at him squinted instinctually, like they were trying to peer at the sun. It was the same smile he'd worn the after his birthday, her scarf draped around his shoulders despite the warmth of the day, and when she had given him her lucky charm when they were preparing for the Mecha Strike III tournament.
"Marinette, have you read the Ladyblog today?"
She fumbled for the keyboard, holding her cell phone between her shoulder and ear as she typed in the address.
"No, not yet, I'm looking now." The screen loaded slowly, pixels flickering into color one at a time. Finally, the website coalesced into a cohesive image. A message was pinned under the header.
Hey Ladybloggers -
As you have probably heard by now, Ladybug has informed us that Chat Noir will not be joining her for a while. Past that, I don't know any more than you do – and I'm not going to ask. This is going to be a difficult time, whatever's going on, and we need to be there for them – after all, they've always been there for us. Returning the favor is the least we can do.
Ladybug and Chat Noir have dedicated so much of their lives to helping us, to saving Paris. Every time something goes wrong, they're there… and I know they do it because they care. A hero isn't just a person with a cool suit, it's someone who has enough love to take the entire city, maybe the entire world, into their heart, and protect it with everything they have.
Like I said, I don't know what's going on, but I want to be there for Chat Noir and Ladybug. I would like to invite you all to send your stories and photos to the Ladyblog to let Chat Noir know that we're thankful for everything he's done, whether it was saving us from fire-breathing pandas or helping your grandparents with their groceries (true story, my grandpa talked about it for weeks).
And finally… be kind to each other. Be kind to yourselves. We will always hurt each other and make mistakes, but together, we are strong.
Love, Alya
…
The intercom buzzed: time for dinner. Adrien bounded down the steps, his mood astonishingly light. He was no longer dreading the upcoming meal; he wasn't looking forward to it, either, but it wouldn't be unbearable. He and his father would sit at opposite ends of the table, Gabriel flicking through emails on his tablet while Adrien toyed with his food. Beyond a few pleasantries, they wouldn't speak, and Adrien could pretend everything was normal and he wasn't living with his archnemesis, just a preoccupied and distant, but well-meaning, father.
He almost ran into Nathalie as she exited the dining room, and as he skidded to a halt on the smooth marble floor he had the sensation that he was seeing her for the first time. She'd worked for the family for years, usually the first person Adrien saw in the morning and the last before he went to bed, but he still didn't know her. Nevertheless, there was a bond between them. They were both bound by the whims and principles of his father, whose silent figure haunted their every move. He had been so wrapped up in himself and his problems for the last several years, but maybe he should try harder to talk to her.
"Hi, Nathalie. How are you?"
"I am well, thank you." Nonplussed, she held the wide oak door open behind her, waiting for him to enter the room.
So far, so good. Initiate advanced conversation maneuvers. He suddenly recalled the elderly Golden Retriever that had accompanied her during her transformation into La Défenseure. "And how's Peg- your dog?"
Nathalie raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow, which arched delicately over the heavy black frame of her glasses. "I don't have a dog."
"Oh – um. I'm sorry, I thought I saw you with one when…" His voice trailed off. It was bad manners to mention a person's time as an akuma victim, in addition to raising the question of exactly when he saw her afterwards. Officially, Adrien had been hiding in a storage closet in the school basement.
"Your father is waiting for you."
"Yes. Of course. Thank you." Mission: Friendly Dialogue hadn't gone exactly as planned, but as he entered the cavernous hall with its long wooden table and uncomfortable chairs, he decided that it still counted as progress.
Adrien's cheerfulness faltered as he approached his usual seat, noting the distinct lack of a place setting. He glanced up at his father, who shifted his fork a fraction of a degree until it lined up perfectly with the ornately folded mauve napkin. A second setting was laid out next to Gabriel's position at the head of the table.
"We have both been so busy recently. I thought we could make the most of our time tonight." Gabriel smoothed invisible wrinkles out of the cotton placemat. Adrien crossed the thick carpet, his stomach sinking further with each step. By the time he lowered himself into the stiff chair his heart was beating hard enough that he was sure it was echoing through the room.
His father tutted. "Really, Adrien, I had hoped you would at least try to make yourself presentable."
Embarrassment and disappointment stiffened his muscles; his face remained neutral, thanks to years of modeling, but Adrien's fists clenched until his fingers cramped as he looked down at his clothing. Jeans stained with dirt from his fall during the akuma attack, a comfortably worn Jagged Stone t-shirt, and his customary white button-down, the elbows and hem visibly smudged. Normally the boy would have tried on and discarded a dozen outfits before dinner in an effort to mollify his father's keen eyes, but today he had been completely absorbed in the Ladyblog messages until Nathalie called him downstairs.
"I'm sorry, Pére."
"I am sure you were distracted by today's excitement."
Adrien nodded; his father's eyes narrowed. He pried his fingers from the stiff denim, now damp with sweat. "Yes, sir. It won't happen again."
"Your attendance has improved recently."
"Yes, Pére."
"I was becoming concerned that you were not sufficiently devoted to your decision to attend public school."
Fingernails dug into the soft skin of his inner wrists as he fought to keep his voice low and polite. "N-no, I was just –"
The door opened, saving him from having to answer. The chef's assistant entered, balancing a basket of fresh bread – the rich scent of yeast and flour floated through the room, a pale echo of the Dupain-Cheng bakery – and two plates of salad.
"Thank you, Dariel," Adrien murmered, smiling gratefully at the young man as he placed the dishes on the table. Dariel winked back at him from behind Gabriel, rolling his eyes as the designer did deign to acknowledge the sudden arrival of the entrée.
His father did not approve of speaking while eating, and Adrien relished the period of silence, which was punctuated only by the gentle click of silverware against china. He shifted until his knee was covered by the long tablecloth, obscuring the most offensive patch of grime. Adrien ate slowly, mechanically, trying to postpone the inevitable conversation, but a hungry teenager can only make a piece of bread last for so long. He eyed the remaining rolls – the chef always sent out a dozen – but his father cleared his throat quietly. The message was clear: one piece of bread was permitted, no more. The diet of a model was strictly enforced.
Finally, his father set down the silver salad fork. "It appears that akuma attacks may be more dangerous now that Ladybug is working alone."
Adrien bit his lip until he tasted blood, desperately trying to calculate the appropriate reaction. His father knew he was – had been – Chat Noir. He knew his father was Papillon. His father did not know that he knew either the former or the latter little details… at least, as far as Adrien knew.
This is way too complicated. He cast his eyes down to his empty plate as Gabriel continued speaking.
"Therefore, you must be more cautious. If there is an attack, you will call Nathalie and come home immediately, if it is safe. Otherwise, you will seek shelter instead of attempting to help others or getting in the way."
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as irritation sparked. "Yes, sir. But Ladybug's cure will fix everything if something goes wrong, won't it?"
Gabriel's face reddened. "Adrien, ensuring your safety cannot rest solely on Ladybug."
Ah, there was a response. Chat Noir whispered from the back of his mind, urging Adrien to push it further, and then keep pushing. "Do you think she's going to lose? That's not fair. She's been protecting us from Papillon for a year, we have to support her!"
"She is one girl, no matter what powers have been granted to her." His voice had risen. It wasn't quite a shout, but it couldn't be categorized as simply talking either.
"Don't worry, I'll be careful. But I think we should let her know that we support Ladybug." His father's eyebrow twitched, the movement almost imperceptible behind his thick glasses. "How so?"
Adrien continued, caution thrown to the wind as weeks of hurt and confusion came to a head. "Well, it seems kind of crude to have a butterfly as the Agreste Company logo, what with Papillon attacking the city and all. Maybe you should change it until after she defeats him."
Adrien's heart beat a staccato rhythm against his ribs. If he hadn't been sitting across the table from Papillon himself, Adrien would have looked for a pair of purple wings fluttering against the frosted windows. His father was breathing heavily, every ounce of his self-control devoted to maintaining a calm exterior.
"Thank you for your suggestion. I will bring it up with the marketing team this week."
As if sensing the tension, Dariel entered the room again with the main course. Adrien barely noticed as a piece of braised salmon with hollandaise was scooped onto his plate, and his expression of gratitude was automatic, coming out several decibels louder than he intended, making his father wince at the breach of the special brand of Agreste etiquette. Adrien didn't care. His hands were shaking as he reached for his glass of water, struggling not to spill it over the table. He felt as if someone else had taken over his body, or he was Chat Noir taunting another anonymous villain. He raised his fork, too dazed to smell or taste the fish, when the unthinkable happened.
His father, who had not touched his food, murmured, "Do not put too much faith in Ladybug, Adrien. Her miraculous will take as much as it gives, and more, until it has left her with nothing."
He tried to swallow the bite of food. It stuck in his throat, and he took a sip of water to clear it. "What do you mean?"
Gabriel's eyes were nearly closed, his face taut. "Paris has always had heroes, and they have always fallen.
"You never knew why your mother left. I did not think it kind to tell you then, but perhaps now… It's time."
