Get ready, because here's another long'un. Maybe a little melodramatic at the beginning but whatever. I've literally only just finished writing it, so sorry if it's a bit rough in places.

Thank you for all of your continued support. I may not reply to reviews because...I suck. But I love waking up in the morning to read all of your lovely comments and thoughts.

The song mentioned at the end is one of my personal favourites: Queen of Argyll by Silly Wizard. It's a cracking tune; go check it!


Day Ten: Baked Goods

The weekend saw Marinette confined to her bed with a rather stuffy cold, owing to the fact she'd slipped on the icy gangplank when disembarking the Liberty and fallen into the river. Fortunately, Luka had been quick to fish her out and give her a change of clothes before walking her home. But it wasn't enough, and an hour after stepping out of her warm shower she was sneezing up a storm. A shivery, snotty storm.

She was so ill that she refused to have anyone come to her room for fear of infecting them. When Alya tried phoning her to ask what on earth had gone on that day, Marinette rejected the call, instead sending a quick text about her illness and that she'd explain everything when the new school term started on Monday.

She'd also messaged the girls' group chat to confirm she was okay and that there was a reason she'd called the plan off, and that she'd tell them more later when she was less sick.

Luckily, by Monday morning, her cold had all but cleared. Her throat was still a bit scratchy and she suffered the odd sneeze, but she was well enough for school. Thanks to her mother's prompting, Marinette managed to make it to class early for once. She found Alya, Alix and Juleka loitering on the front steps with—Marinette paused to groan—Lila.

Nonetheless, she approached the group with as cheerful a wave as she could muster. "Hi, guys…"

"Oh, Marinette!" Lila simpered, tossing her hair as she turned to smile a little too sweetly. "I haven't seen you since the dance! It's such a shame what happened to your dress! I would have stayed to make sure you were okay but I had to go to Italy the next day and then when I was there mamma had an emergency with the English ambassador which I managed to solve but I ended up breaking my leg when I fell out the window saving the ambassador's baby."

Lila's stories were growing more ridiculous by the day, but that didn't stop the others from gasping and asking for more details, which Lila happily provided. Marinette frowned and folded her arms, digging her fingernails so hard into her coat sleeves that she was sure the material would rip under the pressure.

Then something pressed lightly against her stomach. Tikki reminding her to stay calm. Marinette breathed in through her nose for eight counts, held for eight, out for eight. Repeat.

"Can your dress be salvaged?" Lila asked, smiling at Marinette again, but her eyes betrayed a sly gleam.

Breathe in, hold, breathe out.

Try to smile.

"It doesn't look like it," Marinette replied. Her smile quivered. "But that's okay. I can just make a new one."

"If you like, I can help you," Lila offered. "I can help you make it even better with those advanced techniques I told you about!"

Marinette's heart thumped when Alya, Alix and Juleka turned to stare at her expectantly, waiting for her to fall to her knees in graciousness and thank the heavens for sending this angel of sewing to teach her.

Unfortunately for them, Marinette had no intention of thanking anyone for anything, so she coolly dropped her hands to her hips and raised an eyebrow. "And what techniques would they be, Lila?"

"Marinette!" Alya snapped. "Can't you just be grateful that Lila's offering to help you? What's your issue with her?"

They were glaring again. How was it their attitudes towards her could change so quickly at the mere presence of Lila? Maybe she was a permanent akuma with brain-cell destroying powers? What to do? Stand back, become the doormat they expected of her? Or stand tall and defend her pursuit for truth. The choice sounded obvious in her mind, but…

"It's okay, Alya." Lila giggled and waved her hand. "Marinette's obviously just having a bad day. You know, after being ill and finally giving up on Adrien to start stalking that poor Luka boy."

The change was instantaneous. Alya, Alix and Juleka blinked, their eyes blew wide, their mouths dropped.

"Wait, you've dropped Adrien for Luka?" Alya repeated incredulously. "Since when?"

Lila gasped—it sounded fake, not that anyone noticed but Marinette. "Oh! I didn't realise you didn't know, Alya! Unless Marinette hasn't given up on Adrien yet. Maybe this is another of your plans? What do you call them, operations?" She giggled again; her eyes were hot ice. "You're using Luka to get Adrien jealous! I mean, I don't approve of your methods, Marinette… I'm worried you'll end up hurting both of them."

"What!" Marinette yelped, her face burning cold. "I'm not—I would never—"

"What the hell, Marinette?" Alya growled. "You can't just use Luka like that! We would have helped you come up with another plan if you didn't like the other one."

"Come on, Marinette." Alix shook her head. "Not cool."

"Are you just using my brother?" Juleka demanded, surprising them all with how loud, how clear, her voice was. "How could you?"

"But I didn't—" Marinette tried again. Her eyes pricked; the wind made them sting. But the words got jumped up in her gaping mouth.

"Oh no! I'm sorry, I didn't realise Marinette hadn't told you!" Lila gasped again, her fingers flying to her mouth. "I thought she told you guys everything! Especially you, Alya. Aren't you always there to help with her love life?"

"Don't you trust us?" Alix asked before throwing up her arms with a grunt. "Whatever, I'm going inside…"

"Good idea, Alix." Alya sent Marinette a hostile glare that cut right through her chest, through her heart, out the other side like a spear. "I can't believe you'd go so low, Marinette. Don't bother sitting with me in class today."

Marinette's knees shook. Her heart crumbled like chalk. "Alya—" she whispered, but the girl had already turned away, arm hooked through Lila's, to follow Alix inside. Then Juleka.

The disgusted sneer she received turned her insides into the cold slush still lining the pavements.

With the girls gone, Marinette took off running. Down the stairs, around the school, to the little nook tucked behind the bikeshed, where she threw herself to the ground and caught her tears in her coat sleeve.

"Marinette?" The voice came from her coat pocket. "Are you okay?"

All she could do was shake her head, press her face harder into her arms, so hard she thought she might press herself out of existence.

"Will this help?"

She sniffed loudly, wiped her nose on her sleeve, and looked up. Tikki was holding up a cookie, her eyes large and sad. Marinette managed a watery smile.

"Thanks, Tikki, but I'm okay. You might need it later."

"If you're sure…" Tikki floated down to return the cookie from wherever she'd secreted her stash then came back up to sit on Marinette's shoulder. "You have to be strong, Marinette. We can't risk Hawkmoth akumatising you."

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. Repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat.

"Okay," Marinette murmured. "I'm fine. It won't get to me. It can't get to me."

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.


By the time Marinette managed to move, sure she had calmed down enough to not burst into tears in class, sure akumas would no longer be after her, she was already late. She sprinted into the class, yelping a garbled apology to the teacher as she passed her, and nearly fell over when she saw Lila sitting proud in her seat.

"Don't bother sitting with me in class today."

Oh. Right. Marinette picked herself up, ignoring the way her skin prickled under the class's stares, and made her way to the spare seat at the back. Alone again.

At least no one could glare at her here.


At lunch, Marinette went home. The lunch rush had just begun for the bakery, but Sabine still managed to spot her on the shop floor and call her over.

"Are you alright?" she asked between customers. "You look deflated."

"I, uh, yeah," she mumbled. "Just...still feeling a little sick."

"Oh dear. Do you want to call in sick for the afternoon?"

"I think that's probably best."

"Okay, you hurry upstairs. Get some rest. I've left your lunch in the fridge."

"Thanks, maman."

Marinette had a quiet lunch in her room with only Tikki for company. After eating her sandwich, she scrolled through her laptop for some decent music to play while she wallowed in her despair and disappointment. She hovered over one album in particular. Luka's Christmas present to her: a short playlist of instrumentals he'd recorded and edited himself. She remembered his nervous smile when he presented her with the memory stick.

"It's not much, I'm afraid, but I remember you saying you found some of this soothing so I thought you'd like to have your own copy. If you need soothing and I can't be there to help you."

Well, she certainly needed soothing now. She hadn't listened to the full playlist yet, but now was as good a time as any.

There were only six tracks. The first two she recognised immediately as pieces he'd played for her before, so much so that she found herself humming along as she doodled in her sketchbook. The third and fourth pieces were the soothing ones. Slow, gentle. A guitar's cry sweeping and gliding like a wandering feather.

The fifth, was more light-hearted. Drum beats, quick notes, major chords. Like a warm rain; distant thunder; the smell of grass and earth; running down a wet street with laughter tearing from grinning mouths. Marinette managed a smile, closed her eyes, tried to taste raindrops on her tongue.

But the sixth… Spring petals; pencil scratches; the wind sighing through a tree. Moonlight on the water; star-shine; a street lamp's halo. Pink crescendo-ed into red, faded to blue. The last lingering note was turquoise, glistening in the air like light caught on glass.

It was over too quickly.

Luka hadn't named his tracks. Not properly, at least. The one with that cool guitar solo; Not sure what I was going for here but it's kinda fun; Trying to make a guitar sound like a violin is hard; Trying to make a guitar sound like a cello is harder; Dun dun dun daDUNDUNdaDUN.

Played on heartstrings

She put it on again and the music nearly made her forget everything that had gone wrong that morning.

Nearly.

Halfway through the song, her phone rang. It took Marinette a few moments to gather the courage to check who was calling, but to her relief it was Luka. She answered.

"Hey…"

"Hey, sickie." She could hear his grin. "How are you feeling?"

"Um, oh, you know…"

"What's wrong?"

Marinette stared at the phone in shock. How had he known? "What do you mean?"

"Your voice is a little empty," he said. "I thought something was wrong…"

Trust Luka to pick up on her feelings from just her voice. She tried to smile; it felt foreign on her lips. "Have you talked to Juleka today?" she asked, because she had to know if Lila's lies had spread yet. Of course, she thought to herself, no doubt they already have. Just as long as they haven't reached him…

"Not since this morning," he replied. "Why? Has something happened to her?"

"No." Unless you count being taken for a sucker by a sly, conniving

"Do you want me to come by after school? You sound like you need cheering up…"

Her smile turned a little genuine at his sweet offer. "No, that's okay. Your songs are cheering me up already. Besides—" she sighed— "I'm not going back to school today. Maman's phoning in sick for me."

"Are you still sick?"

"No. I just… I can't go back. Not after this morning."

"What happened?" he asked. Then, when she didn't answer, "Marinette?"

"I…" She squeezed her eyes shut; tears leaked out. "I'm sorry. I can't...I don't want to talk about it." But if I don't, you'll hear the lie. Will you believe it?

"Hey, hey, Marinette. It's okay, you don't have to tell me. Do you want me to come by now?"

"Don't you have school?"

"Nah. Mostly free periods this afternoon. Well, apart from Music Theory. But who cares about that. You're far more important."

"But Luka…"

"I'm coming round, okay."

"No! I...my parents think I'm sick and they don't let people see me when I'm sick. I'll come to you."

"Oh, so when you're sick, your parents don't let you have visitors, but do let you out?" he teased.

"No, but I can always sneak out."

"Well." Luka chuckled. "Between you sneaking out and me ditching Music Theory, we make quite the rebellious pair."

Marinette laughed wetly. "I'll meet you at yours."

"I'll be ready with everything we'll need to cheer you up, m'kay?"

"You'd better. I'll see you soon."

Marinette arranged a few pillows beneath her blanket to give the impression of a sleeping body, in case her parents stuck their heads in to check on her, then grabbed the clothes Luka had lent her before when she'd fallen in the Seine before climbing up to her balcony. "Tikki, Spots On."


Luka ended the call and sighed. He figured he had twenty minutes before Marinette arrived, maybe longer if she walked slow. Twenty minutes to stew over what could possibly have happened to upset her. It had to be more than just 'first day back blues'. Chloé, maybe. Or Lila. And why had she mentioned Juleka?

Well, whatever the reason, he was determined to cheer her up. And, with the boat vacant as Anarka was out working, he knew exactly what he wanted to do.

The kitchen, like the rest of the ship, looked as though a storm had blown through recently. So, his first task was washing up all of the dirty dishes and reorganising the cupboards. However, he had barely got half the kitchen done when he heard Marinette's footsteps just outside. Moments later she peered through the doorway and waved when she saw him.

"Do you want some help?" she asked, stepping inside and approaching the sink. "I thought your maman didn't approve of tidying up."

"Ma's not here right now," he replied, twitching his eyebrows up, pleased when he got a giggle.

"Such a rebel," she said, but her smile was forced and didn't reach her eyes. Her heart sounded not sad, but empty. "So, what do you have planned to cheer me up?"

"First—" he deposited the stack of bowls he was holding on the counter then opened his arms out to her— "I'm going to give you hug."

She stared at him, as if in a trance, and for a horrible moment he thought she was going to reject him. But then her smile warmed her eyes and she fell forward into his chest. She didn't hug him back as such, but instead tucked her arms between his body and hers, hands gently clutching the front of his shirt.

Marinette sighed; her body slumped in his arms, and it took all of his willpower not to press his face into her hair. Instead he rested chin on top of her head and began to sway slightly.

"Is this helping?" he murmured.

"Yeah," she mumbled. "Thank you."

"Good. Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

She didn't say anything, just shook her head.

He held her for a while longer, delicately sliding his fingers across her back like a pick across a guitar, until she sniffed loudly and pulled away slightly. Her cheeks glimmered softly beneath raw eyes. But she smiled, and her hands were still resting on his chest, and her face was so close to his…

Luka coughed quietly and stepped backwards lest she feel the way his heart suddenly sped up and crescendo-ed. "Sorry, it's still a bit of a mess in here," he said awkwardly, turning away to survey the kitchen. Long and narrow, freshly-cleaned dishes still trailing soap on the counter, an assortment of bowls and utensils lining the surfaces. "I thought I had more time...how did you get here so fast anyway?"

Marinette blinked. Then again. Then she paled slightly and looked away. "Uhh…" she said eloquently. "I...ran?"

He smirked as he began grabbing things to put away. "That eager to see me, huh?"

"I always like seeing you," she said, so matter-of-factly that he nearly dropped a plate. "So, what are we going to do?"

"I thought we could make something I used to have as a kid," he replied, desperately fighting down the warmth on his cheeks and neck, wondering if she could hear his still-thumping heart.

"Not hot squash again…"

Luka laughed, opening the bottom cupboard to extract a few paper bags. "Not unless you want some."

"No way."

He grinned and set down flour, caster sugar, brown sugar, and oats on the counter. "Don't worry," he said. "This is a Scottish staple. Highland shortbread. Don't ask me how that makes it different from normal shortbread because I don't know."

"Okay," she said, picking up the oats with a curious frown. "Well, let's get started. What do we do first, Chef Luka?"

"First, Apprentice Marinette—" he grinned at her puff-cheeked pout— "we turn on the oven."

It had been years since he'd made shortbread. The last time was when he was eleven and his maternal grandparents had been visiting from Scotland. He was worried he wouldn't remember the recipe, but to his relief as soon as he opened the ingredients, releasing the pungent scent of sugar and oats into the small kitchen, and heard the hum of the oven, he knew he would be alright.

First, they measured their ingredients. 200g of flour, 125g of butter, 50g of sugar, 30g of oats. Then they creamed sugar and butter together, slowly at first to combine the two ingredients without sugar spilling out, until Marinette took charge of the bowl and began beating with a ferocious intensity.

Once the oats were mixed in, Marinette starting rubbing in the flour. "I'm not letting you touch it with those nails," she said, eyeing his black nail polish.

"Probably wise," he conceded then held up his left hand. "Some of it's already starting to flake…"

As she mixed, Luka pulled out his phone to play some music while they worked. Usually he'd go to his normal playlist of every song he owned, but today, this recipe, he picked a different playlist. Soon the high pitched blaring of bagpipes sounded around the room, causing Marinette to pause and give him a baffled look.

"What is this?"

"Art."

She snorted, shoved him lightly, and squeaked when he bumped her back. Once the dough was finished, Luka rolled it into a large sausage and, with a sharp knife, cut it into discs. Then he poured brown sugar into a plate and began rolling the edges of the dough slices in it. Just like grandma used to do.

"So," Marinette said, copying his actions. A baking tray was already set up next to them, lined with parchment. "Scottish shortbread? Bagpipes?"

"Yeah, didn't you know? I'm a quarter Scottish. Ma's only half-French."

"Oh, I had no idea."

"Not many people do," he said, shrugging. "It's not something I tell everyone. Not that I'm not proud of it. Just...it doesn't come up a lot."

"I get that," she replied. "I don't tell a lot of people I'm half-Chinese. But that's because most people can work that out from my surname…"

Soon enough, the biscuits were ready for the oven. As they baked, Luka and Marinette set about tidying up the mess they'd made. The playlist was more than just bagpipes, but a selection of songs by Scottish bands and artists from rock to folk to indie. Some obviously Scottish, some not. It was a private playlist really; he didn't play it for many people as all of the songs were in English. But January, set between New Year and Burns Night, always made him long for his Scottish roots. Deep as gorse, clear as mud.

A quiet humming pulled him from his thoughts.

Marinette smiled as she wiped down the surfaces. There were still sad lines on her face and in her heart, but they were softer now, fainter. And when he listened, her soul sang a fuller tune. Minor chords, but brighter.

The current song's chorus came around again, and Marinette's humming strengthened as Luka quietly sang the foreign words in as good as Scottish accent as he could.

"The swan was in her movements, and the mornin' in her smile.
All the roses in the garden, they bow and ask her pardon,
For not one could match the beauty of the Queen of all Argyll."

The best thing about shortbread had always been the moment it came out of the oven, when the door was opened and unleashed such a great whoosh of heat that he was sure it would sear the skin from his skull. And then the sweet-scented blast of freshly baked biscuits, so strong he could already taste it melting on his tongue, already planning how he would steal an extra two or three to eat in his room before dinner.

But today, the best part was just before. The weak smell permeating the kitchen, the merry trill of a tenor banjo.

Marinette grabbing his hands, smile pushing into her cheeks, pulling him into a spirited dance of spins and sways and laughs to the beat of his thunderous heart.