"You're not the Owl."

The Owl winced, the reaction fortunately hidden behind his face-covering mask, looking down at the little boy sitting in the hospital bed with his arms folded and staring up at him with a pouting expression. The Owl's stomach clenched uncomfortably under the boy's scrutiny. The boy's eyes narrowed suspiciously, completely ignoring the Owl action figure in his lap. The Owl squatted next to the bed, balancing himself carefully with one hand on the cart next to the bed. Mustering as much confidence as he could, he asked, "Oh, and what makes you say I'm not the Owl?"

"Your voice," Pierre answered promptly. "And the outfit – the Owl doesn't hide his whole face like that. And he has more color. See?" He finally picked up the action figure and held it out toward the Owl as if to compare, pointing back and forth between the Owl and the figure. "The Owl has this, um, pattern. You don't."

The Owl grimaced, taking back the action figure and turning it around to take a closer look at it. Even in miniature, M. Damocles' confident grin shone out plain for him to see, the eyes behind the mask staring back at him accusingly. The Owl swallowed. Why had he agreed to visit the children's hospital today? Why had he agreed to become the new Owl in the first place? He should have known it was all a mistake, that he could never live up to M. Damocles' legacy. His stomach clenched, and he rolled the figure around in his hand before turning it away from him and glancing up at Pierre. "Well, maybe I'm the Owl, but I have a different suit," he suggested. "Have you thought about that?"

"No." Pierre shook his head firmly. "The Owl's suit has changed a couple of times, but he always has that same pattern."

"I knew I should have kept the cardigan pattern," the Owl muttered under his breath. Pierre's eyes narrowed. The Owl sighed, holding the action figure back out toward him. "Look, do you want the toy or not?" Pierre snatched back the action figure and held it tightly. The Owl shook his head ruefully. "That's what I thought." Letting out a resigned breath, he stood up, nearly toppling backward when he stepped on his cape, and held out a fist for Pierre to bump. "You stay strong, okay, dude?"

Grudgingly, Pierre bumped his fist, frowning. "Fine."

"Tough crowd," the Owl grumbled to himself. He had been here at the Paris Children's Hospital for almost an hour already with a couple of other heroes, going around from ward to ward to meet as many of the kids as they could, and the story he'd heard had been the same everywhere. The Owl had visited here almost weekly. The Owl had known so many of them by name: their diagnosis, their family, even their favorite ice cream flavor. The Owl was absolutely beloved… and he wasn't the Owl.

A small part of Thierry was even inclined to believe them.

But M. Damocles wasn't here; he was – he and his cart of Owl toys. Nervously, the Owl pushed his cart down the aisle to stop at the next bed, where another boy was staring at him with wide eyes, his face pale and drawn. "Um… hey, there, little buddy…" the Owl began, trying to relax. His hands felt slick in his gloves. The boy's eyes widened to the size of saucers. "What's your name, kid?"

"H–Henri," the boy mumbled, almost too quietly for the Owl to hear, pulling his knees up to his chin.

"'Henri'?" The Owl glanced down into his cart. "You're a brave boy, aren't you?" Henri gulped but nodded. The Owl reached into one of the bags and pulled out a plastic mask with two small ears poking out of the top and an elastic band on the back. "Would you like a mask? That way you can be as brave as a superhero!" Hesitantly, the Owl started to slide the mask over Henri's head, but he froze as Henri held his breath, staring up at the Owl through the mask's eyeholes in fear. "Um… are you okay?" The boy sat rigidly still, staring at the Owl without moving. His breathing was coming in raggedly; he could hear the hint of a sob. The Owl sighed heavily and stepped back. "Um… uh… well… stay strong…"

Letting out a breath, the Owl backed away from him and glanced up and down the ward at the half-dozen boys in this room. Pierre continued to watch him suspiciously, his action figure clutched in a tight grip. Henri and one of the other boys were sitting rigidly upright in their beds, staring at the Owl without moving. The Owl clenched his jaw. When M. Damocles had mentioned his weekly children's hospital visit and how much he wanted the tradition to continue, Thierry had jumped at the opportunity, and Ladybug had offered him anything he could possibly use. The Heroes of Paris had whole rooms full of old merchandise, even some featuring the Owl when he had first joined the Heroes of Paris, and she had given him his pick of it, as much as he might want. This morning, he had picked out a whole pile of Heroes of Paris action figures and toys and masks and shirts, enough to fill his cart to the bursting point. He had hoped that the kids would be happy to see him, that they would enjoy the toys. A few of them had been happy, but not all of them – or even most. In fact, half the kids were scared of him, and the other half thought he was a phony. He frowned under his mask. It didn't exactly help that he still sort-of felt like an imposter…

"Well, um… you be good, guys," he called to them, directing his cart toward the door at the end of the ward. "And, uh, I hope you feel better…" The Owl's voice trailed off halfway down the aisle as he reached Pierre, who folded his arms, staring at the Owl. The Owl swallowed anxiously.

Suddenly, the door at the end of the ward opened and Nabatala poked her head inside. "Hey, Owl!" she called cheerily. "How is it going in here?"

Pierre whipped his head around toward her and gasped, grinning ecstatically. "Nabatala!" Placing his Owl action figure on the nightstand next to him, nearly knocking it to the ground in his excitement, he leaned forward, waving eagerly. "This is so cool! You're one of my favorite heroes!"

A murmur ran down the length of the ward. Behind the Owl, Henri started to relax, watching Nabatala in amazement.

The corners of Nabatala's eyes crinkled in a grin, and she hummed. "Oh, really? Just one of your favorites?" she asked in amusement. "So who are your others? Let me guess… Ladybug and Cat Noir?" Pierre nodded firmly. "Who else?"

"The Owl, definitely!"

The Owl cocked his head to one side, eyeing Pierre in surprise.

Nabatala nodded. "He is pretty cool, isn't he?"

"The coolest!" Pierre agreed, almost bouncing up and down on his bed. He frowned. "I wish he had come."

Nabatala furrowed her brows and gestured into the ward. "But he did come with me. He's right there."

Pierre shook his head, frowning at the Owl. "That's not the real Owl."

Nabatala folded her arms. "Yes, he is," she told him firmly.

"But the Owl–"

"The previous Owl retired," she finished. "And now there's a new Owl. And he's my friend. So…"

Pierre frowned, eyeing the Owl suspiciously. "I still prefer the real Owl."

The Owl shrugged. "Hey," he replied, "I did, too. But hopefully I can live up to what he did. And–" he added, leaning in conspiratorially "–if I can become the Owl, then that means that maybe you could grow up to be the Owl one day!"

Pierre grinned confidently. "I definitely will!"

The Owl held out a fist for him to bump. "Maybe you will," he agreed. "But until then… I guess it's me!"

Nabatala nodded firmly. "You can become anything you want to be," she told Pierre. "And that goes for all of you," she added, turning to the rest of the ward. "You are all so brave; you have the same bravery as the Heroes of Paris do! And that's exactly what Paris needs right now – that's how we survived the Chaos, and that's how we'll rebuild." Her eyes drifted over to the Owl, and she called, "I'll be back in a couple minutes. But I haven't forgotten you!" Raising an eyebrow at the Owl, Nabatala held the door open for him to push his cart out into the hallway before closing the door and turning to fix her gaze on him, her arms folded.

The Owl eyed her for a moment. "Weren't you going to say 'hi' to them more?" he asked.

She sighed, nodding. "I will. But did everything go okay for you in there?"

He shrugged noncommittally. "As well as could be expected," he finally replied, looking down into the cart. "Although I'm starting to wonder if maybe coming here was a bad idea. They expect me to be, well, M. Damocles… and I'm not."

"You know, you are the Owl now," she told him. "Regardless of what they say to you."

"It doesn't exactly feel like it – not when a couple of them are basically afraid of me." He let out a breath.

She hummed. "I suppose I can see their point," she mused. "The mask hiding your whole face is a little off-putting, especially after M. Damocles let everyone see his face."

He nodded in agreement. "I suppose."

"Still, it's up to you how much you want to reveal of yourself," she continued, raising an eyebrow. "I'm always a little nervous any of my friends could recognize me, since that's as much as they normally see anyways."

He cocked his head. "Really?"

She nodded. "But this is who I am. And if that's who you are, then that's how you should dress."

He chuckled humorlessly. "Thanks."

"Not a problem," she replied, glancing back at the door. "They are a rough crowd; the girls in the other ward are a lot nicer – or at least they were for me."

"They would be." He raised an eyebrow under his mask. "I see you ran out of hijabs," he observed, nodding to the empty bag over her shoulder. "You want to restock?" He waved toward his cart. "Those boys didn't take too much."

"Kerchiefs," she corrected him, grabbing a handful of them, along with a bunch of foam-and-plastic harpoons and a pair of Ladybugs, stuffing them into her bag. "Not true hijabs. But almost all the girls wanted one." She froze in place and sniffled quietly. "A couple of them said they wanted to hide their baldness," she admitted, clenching her fist.

He hummed. "I suppose that's one way to use it," he mused. She glanced up at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. He coughed. "Um… I mean…" He groaned, resisting the urge to facepalm. "Sorry."

She shrugged. "I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't have to be." He frowned. "Did you really mean what you said in there? That I'm your friend?"

She examined him carefully and nodded. "You're a hero, right?" He nodded slowly. "Then you're my friend."

"Thanks." He shook his head ruefully. "And… thanks for saving me in there."

She stifled a laugh. "Boys can be vicious!"

"Actually, I guess I'm a little… jealous?" The Owl looked down at the ground. Nabatala cocked her head to one side. "Of how good you are with the kids here," he explained. "I can't say two words, but they love you."

She rolled her eyes. "It's really not that hard," she explained. "I have younger brothers!"

"I suppose that would help," he allowed, nodding. He sighed heavily. "You'd better get in there," he told her, turning toward the ward on the opposite side of the hall. "And I'd better get on with the next room."

"Hey," she told him, grabbing his wrist to hold him up. He started, and she immediately let him go. "Don't try to be M. Damocles. You are the Owl now, right?" He nodded hesitantly. "So… be the Owl – and be yourself."