"My 'Brazilian fan club'?"

"Hm?" said Marinette languidly through the remains of her sleep. "That's the strangest sweet nothing I've ever heard."

Adrien chuckled. He'd woken up before Marinette in the bed they now shared. He'd lain silent for a bit, just watching her, but as she began to stir, he couldn't resist any longer. "Years ago, Ladybug dropped off a present for me. I caught her before she made her getaway, and she claimed it was from my Brazilian fan club." He gave her a pointed look that was visible despite the weakness of the early-morning sunshine.

She sighed. "Why do you have to ambush a girl with something like that first thing in the morning?"

"That's not an ambush," he said, and rolled atop her. "This is an ambush."

"Behave," she chided, though without much conviction. "I'd tell you to keep it in your pants, but I see you're not wearing any."

"Neither are you."

"It's a lot hotter with two people in this bed than just me."

"That's what I'm saying—"

"Okay, okay, out of my way," she interrupted, her mood changing in an instant.

He frowned in confusion, but rolled off to free her. As soon as he was out of her way she bolted for the bathroom. Sounds drifted back to him—sounds of someone making a valiant effort to throw up on an empty stomach.

He laid back, stretching out his arms, basking in his surroundings. He'd been here all of one night, and in some ways it already felt more like home than his room in the Agreste manor. Oh, sure, he missed some of the manor's trappings—he was painfully aware of how few outfits he had, and he was quietly nervous about what Marinette's bathroom might be like. The feel, though, was worlds apart.

He actually wanted to be here. That was new. The retching sounds nearby didn't diminish the sensation at all. Maybe it was just because the woman he loved was here, but still.

It helped that he was surrounded by the smells of Marinette and sex—his two favorite smells in the world.

Marinette staggered back into the room, face drooping so much Adrien fancied it might slide from her skull. "I feel bloated and fat," she moaned.

"I promise that you're beautiful," Adrien said.

"Shut up," Marinette replied insincerely.

"Really. Take two steps left."

Curious despite herself, she complied. Adrien sighed as the light fell over her body, bathing her in a golden glow. "That's an amazing sight."

"I don't get how you can say that when I'm so fat," Marinette said.

"Take my word for it?"

"If you insist. But I'm not gonna keep standing here."

"I've seen enough to survive for now."

She walked over to her desk, still not bothering with clothes. Adrien watched her go. There was nothing in the world more interesting than this, nothing he'd rather be doing or thinking about.

So wrapped up was he that he missed her first sentence. "Sorry, what?"

"I said, I was just planning out our day," Marinette repeated.

"What's on the agenda?" Adrien said gamely. "Hopefully none of it involves pants."

"Some of it does. Don't pout, it can't be helped." She picked up her phone. "At ten, we'll be meeting my mom to talk about wedding plans. After lunch, we'll be working on a letter to send your father, asking for a meeting. From three until dinner I'll be doing design work while you do damage control."

"Damage control?" said Adrien, puzzled.

"Yeah," said Marinette sheepishly. "I… kinda blurted out that we're pregnant at school on Friday, and then I ran off. I was in such a funk about it on Saturday that I shut everyone out, but that just made them crazy. It looks like I have…" she pushed a button, "fifteen unanswered phone calls and a hundred and thirty-two unanswered texts."

"Wow."

"Yeah, wow. Just what I was thinking. Half of those are Alya and Alix, so that cuts the number down. I still need help answering it all. That's where you come in."

He snorted and passed up the easy dirty joke. "Does that make me your public relations now?"

"I don't know. Would you prefer to do that, keep modeling, or retire from public life to focus on raising the kid?"

That startled him. "I… guess I hadn't thought about that," he admitted.

She smiled indulgently. "Well, you don't have to decide now. But I would appreciate your help today."

"Anything I can do."

"Then," she said, getting back on track, "after dinner we'll do some chores around the house, play an hour of video games with my parents, then catch up on some school reading to help us transition to bed."

A guilty look fell over him. "I… uh… left all my school stuff back… you know… there."

The corner of her mouth twitched. "I think I'll be okay sharing with you."

He shook his head. "You're amazing, did you know that?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said with a blush.

"All this planning you've come up with," he said. "You've gotten a handle on our problems and you're fixing them, improving our lives in the process. It's like you're in full Ladybug mode, without the spots."

Her blush intensified. "You're just trying to get in my pants."

"You're not wearing pants."

"Touché."

"Although," he said thoughtfully, "I did see one gap in the plan. It starts at ten. What are we doing before then?"

"Before then," she said, rising from the desk and returning to bed, "you're going to snuggle me until I feel human again."

"I think that may be the best part of the plan," he said. As she crawled face-down into bed, he threw the covers over her and wrapped his arms around her.

"'Best' isn't the word I would use. Not the way I'm feeling."

"It'll pass," he said soothingly… though he couldn't help himself for long. "In the meantime, you can tell me about what Ladybug was thinking when she imagined my 'Brazilian fan club'."

"Oh, gosh, I'm happy I'm hiding my face," she replied. "It was the best I could do in the heat of the moment, okay?"

"If you say so," he said generously.

"Hey, hey, Mr. 'I made sure Adrien is okay'," she said, turning her face enough to give him a baleful look. "Your cover stories weren't exactly Camus, you know?"

"Fine by me. I always preferred Verne."

"Oh, you would!"

He raised an amused eyebrow. "Are you judging me for my taste in novels right now?"

Her reply turned into a moan, and she turned back into the pillow. "Not right now," she groaned. "Maybe later."

He got the hint and didn't pursue the topic. Instead he just concentrated on being near her. Not too near, he didn't want to crowd her, especially as she was feeling nauseous, but near enough that she would know he was there, and be comforted by it.

Which, he was finding out, was a tricky and indistinct line to follow. He fumbled it a few times, earning grunts of disapproval from Marinette. Eventually, he just settled on his side next to her (but without touching!), with one hand across her back.

After a few minutes of it, he found himself smiling uncontrollably. A few minutes later, he was chuckling. Marinette noticed. "What's so funny?"

He took a deep breath as he tried to figure out how to put it to words. "I feel like… maybe this is real life," he said.

"Of course it's real life," she said, turning her head to look at him.

"No, what I mean is… fighting supervillains, and rooftop rendezvous, and stolen moments of passion… those are all part of our lives. They're fun, and they matter. But they're not what we spend most of our lives doing, are they? Mostly it's going to be more like this. Small. Together."

She gave him a look of blank incomprehension.

He was making a hash of this, he knew. He reorganized his thoughts and tried again. "Right now, I'm trying to make you feel better. Even if it doesn't really work, it's still more of an accomplishment for me than half the trophies in my trophy case. It means more because it's for you, and you value it."

She was frowning slightly, but her gaze never wavered from him.

"None of this is coming out right," he said, dropping his head. "I guess I'm not cut out for big speeches or romantic talk. I tried to make some as Cat Noir, and those always fell flat."

She smiled. "They fell flat because I was saving myself for Adrien, silly kitty."

He gave a pained grin. "Can I just say I love you, then?"

"That's what you've been saying all this time," she said. "By being here with me. That's what it means. My mom always says that acting love is more important than saying love, and you've done that."

"Wow," he whispered.

"But don't let that stop you from saying the words, too," she added slyly.

"In that case, I love you."

Her expression changed again, once more without warning; she was appraising, scrutinizing. Adrien felt anxiety rising despite himself. "What is it?" he asked.

"Don't move," she said. She slumped out of the bed with the grace of a bowling ball, a process he nevertheless found enormously interesting, and went to her desk again. He recognized her sketchbook as she drew it.

She turned her chair so that she could see him and began to draw.

He recognized what was happening. She was using him as her model.

Training kicked in. He kept himself as nearly still as he could manage, while letting his eyes and mind stray. They strayed mostly to her. He watched her intent look, and the way her own eyes would go back and forth between him and the book. He watched the flowing of her hand as it traced and raced.

He looked over her body, drinking in the sight. As often as they'd had sex, being naked around each other was still a novelty. Most of their moments of passion had been quick, stolen things, with one or both of them still partially clothed. Nudity was a luxury.

"Sit up," she said, startling him out of his reverie as she turned to a new page. "Turn thirty degrees."

He obliged her. She gave a few further instructions until he was arranged to her liking. "There we go," she said at last. She started with quick, broad lines on her pad, then looked back. "You know," she said, with less than total professionalism, "you'll be a lot of fun to work with if I ever try designing swimwear."

He allowed himself to smile.

Time passed as she sketched and drew, and he remained still or occasionally shifted as she requested. And this, he thought, was real life.

"You know," said Rose, "aren't we a little early in our careers for concept albums?"

"Never," said Luka, clicking his way across the screen.

"What are you doing now?" she asked.

"Rearranging the filler songs," he said. He pursed his lips. "Filler is the wrong word," he added before she spoke. "They're our best songs that aren't part of the concept. But they're the ones that I can move around to manage the mood and tempo of the album."

"Most musicians just do singles now," said Juleka timidly. "Or… well, I mostly download singles now, but who knows, I'm probably not a source to pay attention to…"

"You're not wrong," said Luka. "Which is why we'll have a few ways to do this. We'll release it as an album, and a quintet for the main songs, and individually. But this is how I want it. It's the truest form—like a superhero's secret identity, you know?"

Rose and Juleka shared a look. Whatever he said would probably end up going. Luka was The Talent, and they knew it. They were just along for the ride.

"Voila," he said. "The track list for our new album."

Rose and Juleka drew close to look it over; Ivan stayed back, waiting his turn. Several songs they recognized as their standards, and those were scattered around the list. Five new ones had pride of place at the beginning, end, and middle of the album. They were:

Denial ("Don't Tell Me It's the End")

Anger ("It's You, Not Me")

Bargaining ("I'll Wait for Your Call")

Depression ("The Depression Song")

Acceptance ("Wishing You the Best")

"Um… I think the titles might need a little work," said Juleka as diplomatically as she could.

"'The Depression Song'?" said Rose more bluntly.

"Ugh, tell me about it," said Luka, covering his face with his hands. "I worked on it, but everything I came up with sounded too maudlin."

"Hopefully the song isn't too maudlin," said Juleka.

"Yeah," agreed Rose. "'The Depression Song' is one thing, but 'The Depressed Song' is another."

"It isn't!" insisted Luka. "The song is good. It's just the title that's a bit rough."

"How about, 'My Lost Marinette'?" suggested Ivan.

"Ugh, no!" said Luka, holding out a hand as if to stave off the thought. "First, that doesn't match the lyrics at all. Second, this isn't about Marinette."

The band members shared A Look.

"It's about how someone feels when they know someone like Marinette and it goes bad."

Another Look.

Luka sighed. "If I use any real names, it'll start a massive fight, and I don't want to deal with that, especially since I'm trying to stay in 'Wishing You the Best' mode. Fair?"

"Fair," said Juleka. "I was way too close to the last massive fight."

"Maybe you all can help me with the title," Luka said as he reached for his guitar. "We'll play it a few times and then see where we are. Let's get to practicing."

Shrugging to each other, the rest of the band got into position.

School was ahead of them. Breakfast had been awkward—Marinette's dad was still not fully up-to-speed with having a new permanent resident in his household—but it would be nothing compared to this.

"So, what's the plan, milady?" asked Adrien.

They were familiar words. There was comfort in familiarity. "It's a simple one, this time," she said. "No props, no elaborate timing requirements."

"Color me shocked," said Adrien.

"All that texting yesterday made sure the people we care about understand," Marinette said. "Alya vouched for me—I guess kissing and telling paid off—and you did, too, and I'm more credible than Lila. But the rumors will have flown all over school by now. There's really only one thing we can do about them."

"I wait with bated breath."

Marinette reached to the side as the two of them were walking and clasped his hand with hers.

Adrien gave her hand an answering squeeze, then did a double-take. "That's it? Just… hold hands?"

"I think that says it all," she said, looking at him with satisfaction. "If I said something horrifically embarrassing and you're holding my hand anyway, it must be okay, right?"

"Yeah, I suppose," he said, frowning. "What exactly did you say again?"

"That I was pregnant with our child."

"I don't mind people knowing that," he replied. "Not anymore. I'm proud."

"Also…" she winced, "…that we'd never used condoms."

"Okay, that tidbit could have stayed private."

"Yeah, I get it," she said, not relaxing.

"Well…" he said, taking a deep breath. "I guess we treat today as just another photo shoot."

"Just another photo shoot?" she repeated.

"My early modeling career was a little rocky," Adrien said. "Not unlike my early school career. It bothered me when so many people were around, paying attention to me. We worked our way through it, though. Photo shoots usually went the same way, and they weren't personal. Nothing scary about them. And when they were different in a way that made me nervous, I'd calm myself with, "just another photo shoot"."

He grinned and started walking forwards, tugging her along with him. "So that's how we're going to get through the day. This is just another photo shoot."

Marinette's eyes were growing steadily wider. "Um… Adrien? I have a little problem with that mantra."

"What?"

Her head snapped in his direction. "I've never done a photo shoot!"

Before he could respond—or, really, think of an adequate response—someone noticed their approach. "There they are, the happy couple, look at them!" That call drew all the attention.

It wasn't just their schoolmates. It was, seemingly, half the population of the school, the occupants of the surrounding buildings, and a substantial portion of the Paris press corps.

Marinette's smile became rather fixed. Adrien did his usual bashful-withdraw-into-myself routine. But neither retreated. They were holding on to each other, after all.

"Hey, hey, give 'em space!" said Alix, moving in front of them and spreading her arms, as if to keep people from getting too close. "Not everyone all at once, they're still our friends, give them a chance."

"Thanks, Alix," whispered Marinette gratefully as most of the crowd took a step back.

Alix looked over her shoulder and winked. "Don't worry. Auntie Alix is here for you."

Marinette didn't know how she felt about that.

"And if you have any questions, ask them through me," Alya said, flanking the group. "I'll answer them, give the lovebirds a break!"

Marinette felt marginally better about that.

It was an ordeal getting through the crowd, and the babbling around them hadn't ceased by the time they made their way to the classroom. They answered only some of the many questions that they were bombarded with; even with Alya handling her share there were far too many, and some were far too personal, to get them all. Most of the crowd followed them in even so.

Adrien felt Miss Bustier's resentment at the size of the fuss they were bringing to her class. He shot his teacher a sympathetic look. It was not returned.

"Miss Bustier," said Marinette, taking a step towards their teacher. "Do you think we could revise our seating assignments?"

The class gave a collective "ooooo", punctuated by laughter. Alya and Nino broke from the pattern by shouting, as one, "We approve!"

"No," Miss Bustier said coldly. "I think all four of you would find each other entirely too distracting. You'll retain your old seats. In fact, please take them now. The bell will ring any moment."

There was more laughter at this, and Alya clapped Marinette on the shoulder. "Maybe next time," she said, steering Marinette back towards her seat. Marinette gave an encouraging look to Adrien. He only half-noticed; he was distracted by the emptiness of the seat across from his.

"Where's Chloe?" Marinette asked Alya.

Alya shrugged indifferently. "Haven't seen her. And after all she said, fuck her. Why?"

"Nothing," said Marinette, before frowning and looking down as guilt bubbled up. "Well, maybe. I… think I hurt her feelings on Friday."

"Ya think?" Alya replied. "Girl, you hacked her feelings into bits, set the bits on fire, and threw the ashes into the Seine."

Marinette goggled at Alya. "That's both graphic and oddly specific."

"I do my best," grinned her friend. "Honestly, I'm amazed she wasn't akumatized on the spot."

"Me too," Marinette lied. She knew why Chloe hadn't been akumatized—the Biological Imperative was doing its job—but she couldn't say that to Alya.

"In fact," Alya said, growing thoughtful, "I've been wondering about that. It's been a while since the last supervillain attack. No Ladybug or Cat Noir sightings, either."

"Maybe they called a truce?" suggested Marinette weakly, staring determinedly at her books.

"Maybe," Alya said, with an expression that implied she didn't relish the idea. "I wish they'd tell someone if they did. I've been running light on content for the Ladyblog, and it's killing my ad revenue."

"I'm sure Ladybug keeps your ad revenue at the front of her mind," was Marinette's cool reply.

Alya laughed, as though Marinette's words had been a joke. "I wish she would! If she has made peace, maybe she'll use the Ladyblog as the way to announce it. What a scoop that'd be."

The bell saved Marinette from having to respond. Miss Bustier stood, drawing the attention of the class. "Good morning. Please take a few minutes to put your phones away."

There was a flurry of movement. Miss Bustier's sigh carried. Before she could speak again, the door opened. It was Chloe. She was dressed normally, with one spectacular exception: a large yellow scarf around her neck.

"I was held up," she said in Miss Bustier's general direction, which, Marinette noted, was less than an apology. Chloe's nose remained upturned as she strutted to her normal seat. Even once there, she paid no mind to Sabrina or anyone else.

Marinette frowned. "Is she cold or something?"

"She can't be," Alya whispered back, "she's wearing capris. Maybe it's just her neck that's cold?"

Maybe it's just her neck that's something, Marinette thought. Before she could talk any more about it, Miss Bustier was getting the class started, and Marinette's attention was drawn to her.

The class seemed to drag on more than usual. Despite that, Marinette found herself much more engaged than before. Perhaps her life had stabilized enough that she could pay better attention.

If this was stable, she scoffed at herself, then what was unstable? Maybe she was just getting used to it.

Library period came upon them, to the class' (and Miss Bustier's) relief. The moment the bell rang, Chloe was gathering her things and sprinting for the door. Marinette watched the concern rise on Adrien's face. He stood from his seat, as if to follow—then he stopped.

He looked to Marinette.

He's asking permission, she understood without words, and her heart melted. His instinct was to look after someone who was obviously suffering. Six months ago, he would have just went, automatically, and Marinette would have burned with jealousy watching him go. Now, he wanted first to spare Marinette's feelings.

Chloe really can't hurt me anymore, Marinette thought. Adrien is the best.

She jerked her head in the direction Chloe had taken. Adrien flashed a smile and followed.

Nathalie grabbed the doorknob with trepidation. Gabriel was intensely private; he did not suffer intrusions on that privacy. Even she, who was in on the dark secrets of his Hawk Moth alter ego, knew there was more he'd never shared with her. She was not such a fool as to pry.

And yet…

Something was wrong. No contact by phone, text, or video. He'd missed three meetings so far and was about to miss a fourth. Nor did she think he was distracted by his mission as Hawk Moth—with the Imperative in place, how could he be?

Did it have to do something with Adrien's desertion? It was Gabriel's prerogative to shut his son away, and Lila Rossi's information certainly justified it. Adrien breaking free didn't just put him right back into danger, it was his biggest act of defiance yet. Gabriel would surely take it personally.

Personally enough to shut down?

She had to check on him. If he chose to punish her for it, that, too, was his prerogative. She opened the door.

The smell hit her immediately, a fruity, alcoholic smell. Wine. Strong wine.

Gabriel was slouched back in a chair, one hand wrapped around an open bottle, his eyelids heavy and his eyes glazed. His hair was mussed, and more than a shadow of facial hair was showing on his normally clean-shaven face. "Wha' 're you doin' here?" he said.

His voice was so slurred and heavy with drink Nathalie could barely recognize it. She closed the door behind her to maintain his discretion—she found that very important all of a sudden. "Sir," she said, "the day is going on without you…"

"…An' it'll keep on without me," he interrupted. "I can 'fford it."

The lax attitude was almost as disturbing to Nathalie as the intoxication. "Sir, what happened? You are… well, you're a mess."

"Am I?" he said, sounding puzzled. He looked himself over. He might've been trying to be critical, and he took his time doing it, but Nathalie could see no thought behind the actions. "I don' think I'm too bad."

"Of course, sir," Nathalie said, trying her very best to be sincere. At the same time, she spotted two other bottles on the floor. Both were open. Both were empty.

"'S been years since I was this drunk," Gabriel blurted out. His torso bobbed forward, like he was trying to sit up or get up, but he abandoned the effort and slumped back again. "No' since my wife… my…"

He scrunched up his eyes, concentrating hard. It brought Nathalie's attention to just how bloodshot and shadowed his eyes were. "Sir, when was the last time you slept? Or ate?"

"'S liquid lunch," he said, lifting the bottle briefly. It thudded back to the table and almost escaped his hand; a small amount of wine slopped out its top.

"That doesn't count," said Nathalie crisply. This, at least, was a problem she could solve. "I'll have the chef prepare something for your lunch, and I'll be back…"

"N-no," slurred Gabriel. "Don' need it."

"I truly think you do," Nathalie disagreed.

"I'm too happy to eat," he said, spreading his arms wide (more wine slopped out of the bottle). "See? Happy, happy, happy."

"Why are you so happy?" Nathalie asked, desperate for some foothold.

This time he succeeded in pulling himself up. He lurched up until he was bent as far forwards as he had been backwards. His voice dropped to a loud whisper. "I foun' out who Ladybug 'n Cat Noir are."

Nathalie's eyes popped wide. "You did? That's… that's tremendous news." She looked him over again. "This is celebration, then?" she asked dubiously.

"No' 'zactly." He pulled the bottle up and gave it a contemplative look, then took a swig before Nathalie could reach forward and stop him. "Ah," he exhaled fruitily, before reaching onto his desk. "Take a look," he said, rotating the monitor.

Nathalie had thought nothing could surprise and disconcert her more than seeing Gabriel Agreste slobbering drunk. She thought wrong. At the top of the screen were pictures of Ladybug and Cat Noir. At the bottom, pictures of Marinette and Adrien. In between, altered pictures of Marinette and Adrien to put them into Ladybug and Cat Noir garb.

"No," she breathed.

"Tha's what I said a' firs'," Gabriel said. "Bu' I couldn' keep sayin' that with that lookin' me in the face."

"You're sure?"

"Positive. Adrien knocked his bitch up, didn' he? An' the Imperative is to protect Ladybug while she's pregnant. Well…" He waved vaguely at the picture.

"It just seems impossible," she said, looking from one picture to the other. "Right under our noses, all this time… But this is good!"

"Is it?" he said, cocking his head as though thinking that way hurt it.

"Of course! If we know who they are, we can find a way to take their Miraculouses..."

"Wouldn' work," said Gabriel, shaking his head. "Adrien 'scaped 'cause he can still pull off a Cataclysm."

Nathalie's eyes shot open. "Even through the Imperative?"

"'pparently," said Gabriel. He took another drink of the wine; Nathalie didn't think to stop him until it was already at his lips. He wiped his face with his sleeve (Nathalie knew the price of that jacket, and knew that was an extremely expensive napkin) and sank backwards in the chair.

"Well… there must be something we can do," she said. "Some pressure point we can squeeze. We can withdraw him from school…"

"Not anymore. 'S all paid for already, an' he's eighteen, he can enroll himself."

"We can cut off his accounts…"

"His bank accounts 've been empty, and I canceled his phone before he ran away. You think he's coming back for a phone?"

"We can blackball him from modeling work," she said.

Gabriel gave her a dirty look. "An' here I thought you were smart," he accused. "I'm doin' all that jus' to try and get him to come back. You think he'll give up a Miraculous for that? 'Specially since the momen' we ask he'll know who we are?"

She nodded. "I see. Then I'll go."

He frowned. "Go?"

"And steal the Miraculouses."

"No you won'," he said. "He can use their power, you can't. She can, too, I bet. You'd lose, like all my other villains lost, an' this time they'd know it was me behin' it. Checkmate."

"Never," she said with a shake of her head.

He huffed. "'Sides, they'd ne'er forgive me. If they knew I was Hawk Moth, that I'd been trying to… to…"

He swallowed hard, and said, "I'd never see my son again."

At last Nathalie was able to name what felt so awful about this conversation. It wasn't that Gabriel was drunk, or sloppy, or blowing off his meetings. It was that he looked so defeated.

For as long as she could remember, Gabriel had been an endless font of energy and drive. Every setback made him dig that much deeper; every obstacle caused him to unearth new reserves of patience and strength.

To hear him even contemplate defeat…

It was as if her sun had failed to rise.

She cast about mentally for a solution, an alternative… something. "Maybe… talk to them?" she suggested tentatively.

He looked at her like she'd spoken in a different language. "Talk?"

"They've requested a meeting," Nathalie said. "I have a letter here. It says that Marinette and Adrien want to meet with us."

His head lolled. "What for?"

"It doesn't say, but it can't hurt." She moved towards him. He was trying to bring the bottle to his mouth and not really succeeding. She eased it out of his hand. He moved his mouth towards it, but never got there, and he slumped back in the chair once more.

"'Ey, I was usin' that," he said.

"Of course, sir," she said reasonably, but she tucked it away all the same. "What you need most is sleep."

"No I don'."

"Yes, you do." She moved forward and tried to heft him to his feet.

"Wha're we doin'?" he muttered, more slurred and unsteady than ever.

"We're getting you to bed." With enormous effort, she hauled him up out of the chair. He staggered forward immediately. She tried to get in front and ahead of him.

He didn't fall, but it took everything she had. Gabriel was much bigger than she was, especially with as much weight as she'd lost.

"Walk with me," she said, only just keeping her voice steady. "On your feet, let's go."

It seemed to take about five seconds for the words to penetrate the haze of drink and fatigue. Then he did, in fact, flop one of his feet forward.

"Please, sir," she grunted, starting to lose the battle with his body mass.

It took even longer for him to register these words. Then he started to move. Shuffling steps, each as ungainly and clumsy as the last, propelled him on.

Nathalie, taking pains to keep him steady, moved out from in front of him and over to his side. Hidden amongst her heavy breaths was a sigh of relief. She'd become too frail to carry him or even drag him, but if all she had to do was keep him steady…

Whoops, he almost fell, staggering away from Nathalie and making to topple over. She reeled him back, even preventing him from falling the other direction, keeping him faced forwards.

Step. Step. Back towards his bedroom. It wasn't far from his private office. Good thing, too.

"I tried real hard to beat Cat Noir," he blurted blearily.

"I know," she acknowledged uneasily.

"'ts such a joke," he said, making a laugh-like noise. "What if I'd done it? What if my villains hadn't sucked? Think about it… you thinkin'?"

"I'm thinking," she grunted.

"I hated losin', an' losin', an' losin'… but maybe it was better tha' way… if I'd done it righ', woul' Adrien have surv… survi…?"

He couldn't complete the thought, which was just as well. Nathalie didn't want to answer. Besides, they'd reached his bedroom.

She didn't bother messing with the covers. She brought him to the edge of the bed and let him tumble on to it. She tugged him forward a bit, trying to ensure his whole body was on the bed; he gave the bare minimum of cooperation.

Panting, she looked over her handiwork. He was clothed still, yes, but he was in bed. That would have to do for now.

It occurred to her that she really should have gotten Gorilla to do the carrying.

No, she decided. It was better this way. She couldn't let other people see him in this state. This was her job—her burden to bear.

"There we are, sir," she said. "Go ahead and sleep now."

"Sleep?"

"Yes, sir. I'll take care of the rest of your meetings."

"Don' do anything… I wouldn'…"

"Of course not, sir," she said when he didn't finish the sentence. She turned and walked out.

"Nath'lie," he called as she got to the doorway.

"Sir?" she said, turning crisply.

There was a grumble of noise that might have been speech.

"What was that, sir?"

The noises that came next weren't close to speech.

"Please sleep, sir," Nathalie said firmly.

She closed the door. As a coughing fit came over her, she wished devoutly she never had to see Gabriel Agreste like that again.

Next time: Bridging