Chapter by Maerynn
Gabriel Agreste's death had been sudden, and unexpected.
Only a few months before the premiere of his first-ever women's apparel collection, the famous fashion mogul had succumbed to a violent stroke at his home office in the early hours of the morning, apparently while busy reviewing the latest designs that had been submitted to him.
Few could state without lying that they would miss their boss. Gabriel had proven on more than one occasion to be solely driven by results and success, with no consideration whatsoever for his employees. Even fewer could say honestly that they would miss the man, for his late years had only cemented the cold and heartless facade he had forged throughout the years, setting the image of an implacable leader in stone despite himself.
Over the years, he had even alienated his very own son, with whom he had fallen out of touch as soon as Adrien had been old enough to stand up for himself and make his own decisions. Persistent rumours throughout the years suggested that Gabriel had disowned his son as a result of his desertion of the company, but seeing as Adrien found himself the sole owner of Gabriel following his father's sudden passing, either those rumours were wrong or Gabriel had forgiven his only heir somewhere along the way.
Which could have been fine if the company had been left in capable hands, which, unfortunately, wasn't the case. Gabriel Agreste had never entrusted anyone with his company's well-being or any important decision regarding his brand. Even his almost lifelong personal assistant, Nathalie Sancoeur, had been merely blindly obeying orders without ever questioning them for most of her employment with Gabriel, and yet, she probably would've been the most qualified person to assure a smooth transition.
Coincidentally, Nathalie had gone into a well-deserved retirement only a few weeks before Gabriel's ultimate demise, around the same time Gorilla hung up his luxury sedan keys and moved away to the seashore, admittedly to catch up with his growing-too-fast grandkids.
That meant that the week following Gabriel Agreste's passing was pure chaos as far as Gabriel's remaining staff and stockholders were concerned.
The artistic team was left without a leader to guide them, ideas and designs going nuts and wild without anyone to organize them and separate the wheat from the chaff.
The accounting team was going crazy dealing with the sudden and massive increase in resignations, the suppliers' incessant calls wondering if they'd ever get paid, and the stockholders demanding answers about the uncertain future of the company.
The company's lawyers were for the most part completely unreachable, busy as they were trying to figure out what exactly were the ramifications of their CEO's sudden death. Who would take over the company if Adrien Agreste chose to surrender his notoriously unwanted position? Would he choose to sell the company to a third-party? And if he did, what would that entail? What would happen to the collections already out? The works-in-progress?
Above all, as the head designer of the upcoming brand new women's line, Marinette Dupain-Cheng was probably the most sleep-deprived, stressed-out, and overall most exhausted employee amongst the entirety of Gabriel's staff. The young woman had spent the better part of the past week trying to coax any ideas out of the designers working under her with mixed success, only to discover that by Friday night, all but her and her assistant either quit or transferred to the men's department, leaving Marinette to work on her collection alone.
The rational part of her brain wanted to leave as well, bury herself beneath a pile of luxury fabric and only come back up once everything had been cleared out and dealt with because as things currently were, everything in her life was going to shambles.
At twenty-five, a rising star yet a dropout from ESMOD due to an unexpected exclusive apprenticeship under Gabriel Agreste himself, she was sharing a pitiful two-bedroom apartment with Alya and Nino, desperately trying to gather enough savings to get a place of her own. Her salary as Gabriel's head designer of the upcoming women's department was more than decent, but it still wasn't enough to live on her own in the centre of Paris close to work. Mostly because the line she was heading was experimental and any salary raises were dependent on its success at Fashion Week at the end of summer that year.
Going back to her parents wasn't an option Marinette entertained, and so she had no choice but to put up with the ups and downs of living with a very in-love young couple, whereas she had yet to go on a second date, let alone have a boyfriend. Alya was relentlessly picking on her about that, pointing out mercilessly how she was married to her job, and wondering how in the world "fashion" would give her children. Usually, Marinette would shrug and effortlessly shift the conversation to another topic, but lately, the dangerous cocktail of exhaustion and anxiety for her future in the industry brewing up within her, coupled with Alya's growing irritation toward her friend's numerous disappearances and secrets, had sparked more than one nasty argument between the pair of best friends.
As a result, Marinette was carefully avoiding going home as much as she could.
She had spent the week running up and down every corridor, making sure the collection would come out without a hitch despite being carried over by a boat without a captain. She worked herself to the bone, overcompensating for the huge loss the team had just suffered. Marinette spent her days putting out fires, avoiding catastrophe after catastrophe, and devoted her evenings to working on designs, bringing them to completion, going home way past any decent hour every single day, making sure every design was on point, that every garment was sewn up to par.
It had truly been a week from hell as far as she was concerned.
Even without her less than ideal housing situation, she still would've stayed late every day. Her mentor, her boss, was six-feet-under, but Marinette couldn't envision letting him down. Even if Gabriel definitely lacked warmth in his social interactions, he had taught her so much over the last few years, she felt that the least she could do was to hold down the fort for him. He had given her an unexpected opportunity by putting her in the head designer's shoes, had believed in her against all odds, and the very idea of betraying his trust, even if he wasn't there to witness it anymore, was making her sick to her stomach.
Even if staying instead of leaving the boat meant encountering Adrien Agreste in some corridor sooner or later.
Pushing that idea as far away as she could, Marinette knelt in front of her dress form, carefully hemming one of the designs she and Gabriel had been working on last. They had talked about this dress only a few hours before his unexpected death, and she wanted the final result to live up to his expectations; an homage of some sort.
Refusing to look at the clock, knowing it was already way later than what would be deemed reasonable, Marinette took a step back, admiring her work. The dress was gorgeous, flowing nicely around the dress form, but it was lacking that little playful flair Gabriel had been envisioning for it.
Struck with a sudden idea, she promptly rose from her work station and marched to Gabriel's office, as she had done countless times before. She knew for a fact that he kept a nice assortment of satin ribbons in there, specifically a pretty pink velvet one that would add just the perfect touch to the garment.
What she hadn't expected, though, was to find another living being in Gabriel's office.
A familiar mop of blond hair was sprawled out on her late boss' desk, broad, muscular shoulders slumped, accompanied by a loud and desperate groan.
Marinette paused on the threshold for a second, her heart caught in her throat, wondering if she could get away with picking up the ribbon she needed without being seen. That brief hesitation was her demise. As if feeling her presence in the room, the man looked up, and green eyes bore into hers, widening in surprise.
Marinette couldn't hold back a gasp at the sight of the man that had haunted her dreams for so many years. Sure enough, he had aged a bit since the last time their paths had crossed, but the years had been kind to him. His face had shed the roundness of his youth, bringing out a sharper, more angular jaw. His hair was a bit darker than it used to be, with a low fade haircut that accentuated his older, more mature appearance.
A single word kept replaying in Marinette's mind at the handsome sight in front of her: danger.
Realizing she was gaping at him, Marinette mentally slapped herself across the face and promptly slipped back into her professional shoes. "Oh, I'm really sorry, Monsieur Agreste," she said, hoping her voice wasn't shaking as much as she heard. "I hadn't realized I wasn't alone in the building, otherwise I would've never barged in like that. I just need some supplies and then I'll show myself out."
With a quirk of an eyebrow, Adrien silently watched Marinette tiptoeing through the room with the ease of someone who was more than accustomed to her surroundings. She opened a nearby cabinet without hesitating and foraged within, her entire torso disappearing into the apparent mess of fabrics and various sewing furniture. Less than thirty seconds later, she emerged victorious, holding a roll of the needed ribbon.
She looked at him again. His face was glazed over with a mix of sleepy confusion and disorientation.
"I—Sorry for disturbing you, Monsieur," Marinette whispered. "Goodnight."
Turning her back on him, she walked toward the door, failing to escape before he called.
"Marinette? Marinette Dupain-Cheng?"
With a sharp intake of breath, she spun on her heels, facing him again with widening eyes. "I'm sorry?"
Adrien rose from his seat, rounding the heavy desk promptly to close the distance between them. "You're Marinette, aren't you? We went to school together, back in Mlle Bustier's class, with Nino and Al-"
"I remember you perfectly well, Monsieur Agreste."
He stared at her in silence, matching her guarded expression. "So you ended up here after all?"
She sustained his gaze, her voice cold and professional, "Yes. Despite you, Monsieur Agreste, being a major ass toward me. Can I, please, get back to work now?"
His whole expression tensed as he carefully eyed her. For a moment, he looked like he was trying to figure out what to say, but then he deflated, sighing pitifully. "Very well. I still have these fabrics to pick anyway, and not a single clue about what I'm doing. Have a nice evening, Marinette."
Marinette froze, her heart stilling in her chest.
Deep down, she knew she shouldn't care.
Adrien's problems weren't in any way her own, and if someone had seen fit to put a physics teacher in charge of an entire fashion house, well, so be it. She had no say in the matter. Someone probably had decided to give him that menial task to keep his sheer incompetence away from what really mattered, an initiative she could only applaud.
But on the other hand, Gabriel had always been a man she admired greatly despite his cold facade, and the years she had spent working by his side hadn't changed that. He was a brilliant designer and had literally dedicated up to his very last day to his art. She couldn't stand the thought of letting Adrien ruin his father's hard work—even if it was only ordering lousy fabric—not if she could help it. She had worked too hard to let him get in the way, and if she had to help him to earn herself the freedom of running her line like she wanted to, then she'd do it.
She glanced at the papers scattered on the desk behind him and frowned. "Don't buy anything from Cosetti; he holds the weirdest grudge against your father for refusing to incorporate chiffon in the 2015 winter line. There's a good chance he'll try to scam you. Berkley's might be more expensive, but I've seen swatches of the silk and it's severely lacking in quality. Zinya's cheaper, better, and their seller is a real sweetheart."
Adrien stared at her, dumbfounded, and it took him almost a full minute to find his voice again. "But—but, why would you help me? After—"
Marinette walked past him, shoulders tensed and a determined spark in her eyes. "Believe it or not, some of us actually rely on this company for a living, and I'm not letting it sink without putting up a fight. What else do you need to make a decision on?"
The young man blinked, and his professional persona kicked in. He joined her on the other side of the desk to show her the supplier submissions, tentatively pointing out what little progress he had made. Her tone toward him was cold yet polite as she effortlessly picked up where he had left off, giving him cues on their current relationships with various suppliers and broadly showing him the ropes of managing a fashion empire. Soon enough, Marinette pushed the last submission toward Adrien for a signature, got up, and grabbed her spool of ribbon.
"Marinette?" A little awkward but he looked at her as if she'd just saved him from a sinking boat in the middle of an ocean. "Thanks, I wouldn't have made it without you, and—"
"Don't," Marinette cut him off. "I helped you only because my job is on the line. Good evening, Monsieur."
She left Gabriel's office in tense, stubborn silence, neither of them willing to acknowledge the elephant in the room.
Later that night, Ladybug landed atop the Eiffel Tower, sitting beside her partner on one of the higher beams with a soft sigh.
He peered at her, surprised. "I thought you said you were going to lay off on the patrols for a bit?"
She stared at the horizon for a minute, a comfortable silence falling between them. His question still hovered, unanswered, but he knew her well enough to figure she was trying to organize her thoughts. Nearly a decade of knowing each other meant that most things could go unsaid between the pair.
Eventually, she scooted closer to him on the beam, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, a comforting gesture that had become customary between them. She lay her head on his shoulder, sighing again.
"What's wrong, Bug? Won't your roommate be mad at you for disappearing again?"
She scoffed, reaching for his free hand and lacing her fingers through his. "I'll get an earful once I get home for sure, but I needed this. I need a breather with my best friend, my safe haven."
He tensed a bit, hearing those words, "That bad?"
"This last week has truly been hell, and I missed you like crazy." Ladybug sighed softly.
Chat Noir groaned inwardly, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "This boss of yours is some special kind of a jerk if he left you guys with so much trouble upon quitting."
Ladybug wasn't sure if she was insulting Gabriel Agreste's memory by letting her partner tarnish his reputation freely like this, but with news of his sudden passing all over Paris, and the fact that Chat Noir knew fairly well that his partner was working in fashion, there was no way she could set the record straight without giving away some compromising clues.
Instead, she settled on answering quietly, pressing a reassuring kiss on his cheek, "It's not like he had a choice. He had urgent personal matters to attend to, and we'll be alright… eventually." She trailed off, her eyes following his to their very own private view of Paris. "How's your relative?"
Chat Noir squirmed uncomfortably beside her, and she instantly regretted asking the question that had been burning on her lips for the past week. But ever since he had shown up unfashionably late to a patrol because of a mandatory trip to a hospital, she had been worried about that relative of his who was close enough to the superhero to warrant an immediate visit at the hospital, but in the meantime far enough that he was barely fazed by the whole ordeal.
"He…" Chat Noir began slowly, carefully avoiding her gaze, and in a sudden flash of clarity, she understood. The sick/injured relative wasn't part of their world anymore, and her dear kitty was grieving in his own very personal way.
"I'm so sorry, Chaton. Can I do anything for you?" she cried, twisting in his embrace, so she sat in his lap instead of beside him.
He gave her a forlorn smile that looked every bit a fake on his handsome face. "Don't worry about me, my Lady. I'll manage. Get back to your roommate, things are bad enough between you two as it is. I'd like for you to survive the week, you know."
She hated to admit it, but Ladybug knew he was right. If last week was any indication, they would probably get in an awful fight as soon as she set foot in their apartment.
But this?
Chat Noir's unwavering support, his kind words, and reassuring presence over the last decade? The familiar warmth of his arms wrapped around her?
It was worth it, and a thousand times more.
Smiling softly, she eyed him playfully, "And when did you become the voice of reason between us two?"
"Ever since you started to believe working eighty hours a week was healthy. Go home, and get some sleep. You're barely able to keep your eyes open."
She leaned on him for a second, taking in his warmth. "Alright, silly cat. See you around?"
"Of course, my Lady. Now, go before she snaps at you again."
Ladybug quickly pressed her lips against Chat's cheek, and with one last small smile and an all-too-brief hug, she took off into the night, leaving her counterpart to his silent musings on the tower.