Chapter Three: The clock is ticking.
The unexpected shock surprises Adrien and leaves him a bit dazed. His hands slide along the glass; it's cold and hard, and the lifeless touch leaves a bitter taste inside of his mouth while the hopeless realization painfully sinks in.
It's nothing like hugging her. Nothing like feeling the smooth curves of Marinette's body molding perfectly against his in a redeeming embrace. Nothing like feeling her warm skin against his as he draws soothing circles on the back of her neck with his fingertips. Nothing like feeling her breath settle and slowly fanning his neck. It's just nothing like feeling her.
Adrien's hand clenches. He bangs his fist against the clear wall, hard and sharp. He knows the punch is juvenile and that Marinette has never seen him react so violently, but he's fed up and this is clearly the understatement of the year.
Eventually, he finally brings himself to let go of the anger and to look through the glass—to look at her. The sight of her suddenly redoubles the bile gathering in his throat. Marinette is pale—so pale! Not that she usually has a tanned carnation; the woman has the fairest and purest porcelain skin he's ever seen. But here, it borders on the white of a ghost made of immaculate sheets, winning a Halloween costume contest.
He actually hates what he's seeing through the glass and starts feeling guilty about her current condition. He can't help but think that being wealthy and famous, he's probably the one who was first targeted by the kidnapper who deprived them of their freedom; it wouldn't be the first time someone has been akumatized because of him or to go after him. Marinette, though, is probably collateral damage, able to put more pressure on him—or he thinks so since he's what Nino would call: head over heels for his just a good friend and it's as greatly visible as the nose in the middle of Bozo The Clown's face.
Truthfully, it's the only explanation he finds for both their presences here; there must be a fanatic out there who would like to put their hand on the heart, which is no longer up to take, of Adrien Agreste.
Dammit. He knows he's spiraling, but what else can he do when the woman he loves is looking at him with such fear and weakness in her gaze?
He racks shaking fingers through his hair. Ugh… his hand is clammy and a bit sticky, and he can almost use the sweat as styling gel. Actually, it even pulls at his hairline. It pulls so hard that as he moves his hand to rub and ease the pain away, he finally realizes Plagg's pulling on the hair at the nape of his neck, bringing his soaring mind back to terra firma. Back to Marinette whose lips and hands are currently moving as she obviously tries to grab his attention.
"Adrien for God's sake please, answer me; is everything okay? Are you hurt?" Marinette's concerned voice eventually reaches his ears.
He blinks at her, his eyelids fluttering absent-mindedly as he slowly catches up with her question.
"You're asking me?" His gaze is stern, almost reproving—how can she still think of him before her when she is almost as sheer as the glass before him? "I can't be any worse than you."
Smooth Agreste, very smooth.
"I mean, you look so pale, Marinette… are you sure you're okay?" he amends, resisting the urge to slap himself straight in the face.
"We don't all look like a model straight out of a magazine even after a workout." She takes the piss off, folding her arms over her chest and he gulps, seeing the reflection of a hundred Marinettes glaring sternly at him. "For the umpteenth time, I'm fine. It's just—"
"—a reaction to the anesthesia. Got it. I'm sorry for being so worried, I won't ask anymore," Adrien apologizes. Lowering his head, he looks at his feet in dismay—is he being overprotective with her? She must think so.
"Don't get me wrong; I do appreciate your concern, Adrien."
His eyes shoot up at her; he sees her slowly move one of her hands, raising it as if seemingly touching his own if the glass hadn't been in between them.
Their eyes lock and a long silence settles between them. Well, except for the torture score still playing in the labyrinth. Although, as they intensely stare at each other, Adrien is surprisingly able to shrug the creepy melody off, completely lost in the pool of blue of Marinette's bluebell eyes. So lost, he can almost feel himself floating in the ocean, the slow movement of the waves breaking on the seawall, reassuring and calming. It's crazy how Marinette can hold such a soothing power over him.
After a while, Marinette coughs loudly, and Adrien feels his heartbeat picking up its pace. But before he can argue any further, he hears this weird mosquito-killer-lamp buzzing–like sound again, and the light goes off once more in the labyrinth.
"Marinette!" Adrien's skyrocketing level of concern manifests in his voice, the lack of eye contact bringing back his previous state of anxiety. All he sees now is black with a hint of The Black Bride dancing to her freaky melody in his mind like a ballerina in a music box with a haunted twist.
"Still here!" Marinette coughs before scratching and clearing her throat.
As Adrien sighs in relief, the light switches back on, and the first thing that catches his eyes is Marinette's petite silhouette framed by hundreds of mirrors, reflecting another creepy red lipstick–masterpiece.
«The clock is ticking»
Adrien's face mirrors Marinette's, both their features creasing; of course, through the transparent glass, she's seeing the words written all around her reflecting in the mirrors behind Adrien.
He turns around briefly; this is strange… while all the mirrors around him still have the words Out of reach plastered on them, the new words seem to only adorn the mirrors on Marinette's side, as if the message was more for her than for him.
Something begins to shift inside of him as his patience reaches a very new level of unprecedented indignation. His fists clench at his sides, tighter and tighter, until he can't hold back anymore as he loses it. "If you want to play, at least give us real rules!" Adrien shouts as he glares at the camera above his head, his jaw clenching in a teeth-breaking grip.
Sweat is starting to drip from Adrien's forehead—an early sign of his growing wrath. He briefly looks down at his right hand, pondering whether or not he's going to lose whatever self-restraint he has left now. He knows he can't, but if somehow their time is actually running out, he might have to make up his mind to make a move. He closes his fist and relaxes it, repeating the action a dozen times, his fingers cracking in the process, while weighing pros and cons as he seeks to reconsider the situation. His head is getting lighter now that the anesthesia effect has completely gone away, but the spooky tune, plus Marinette's concerning state, makes it all the more harder to stay focused on the matter.
Adrien releases a visceral groan, almost tiger-like, which rises on his throat as he ends up clenching his fist one more time and banging it against the transparent wall with all his might. The impact makes Marinette back off with a startled look, her shocked gaze locked on his clenched fist holding so much strength and power—more than she can know.
Great. Now he's scaring her because he's starting to lose it and can't keep it together.
He must not show her that he's getting into a frenzy. He needs to calm down and think. Think along with her. Because Marinette is smart, and he knows that they can work it out together. They can make it. They have to.
"I'm sorry, Marinette. I'm not usually so jittery and out of control. I didn't want to scare you," he apologizes, relaxing his fist before mechanically racking his fingers through his sweat-covered hair.
"It's okay, there's a lot to be worked up about. We both have a lot to be nervous about… I don't hold it against you, and if it helps you to release some pressure, you can hit the wall as many times as you need to." She somewhat mimics his gesture, combing her fingers through the ponytail that now replaced her childlike pigtails.
"Thank you but I should be fine now." He tries to smile at her. It's not the wide, bright smile he's used to giving her, but it somehow does the trick as she smiles back.
Just like that, he's back in that quieter bubble where Marinette keeps him afloat, keeping him from sinking into his personal downward spiral of frustration, self-doubt and misplaced guilt.
After a short while, Marinette coughs once again but before Adrien can worry furthermore, she breaks the silence, deflecting the subject from her sudden fit of cough.
"Still, any ideas why we're here?" she asks as she's clearing her throat. "If we could find that out already, it might help us negotiate a truce."
"Well, you know what? Let's ask. Maybe we can't have proper rules, but at least, perhaps we can have the outline of the big picture." Adrien looks up at the camera, his gaze stern as he speaks again. "What do you want!?"
The next moment, the lights flicker a tick for a second.
"It's pretty clear they want us," states Marinette matter-of-factly.
Adrien sighs heavily. He may not have tangible explanations yet; who, how, and most of all, why? However, one thing is sure: if Marinette is here, it's either because of his celebrity status as Paris' handsomest, his bailed out bank account, or…
Or because he's a superhero prowling around in a skin tight catsuit… but in this scenario, he would be the one—and only one—used as bait for Ladybug to chew on, so this one last explanation makes absolutely no sense. Chat Noir does not fit the current jigsaw. That's why he has to be careful with his identity and the urge to use his power to free them since there's no clear indication that Chat Noir is the one targeted by the trap.
"I might know why but—" He pauses, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as his cheeks flush. It only leaves the first two alternatives, both linked to his feelings for Marinette, and there's no way he can confess her feelings for her here and now, right? This is neither the time nor the place. Although, if it was his feelings for her that brought them here in the first place, she has a right to know about it... but…
"I think I know the reason why we're both here."
Marinette's statement and conviction drags him out of his upcoming downward spiral.
Crap. He feels heat spreading all over his face up to his ears. Has their captor turned on the heater? Because it feels like it, and he's afraid he's going to break the thermostat anytime soon.
She can't already know, right? Is he that easy to read? Is the smitten look on his face he desperately tries to hide when she enters a room so obvious? He knows for a fact that he does a poor job hiding his feelings—Ladybug can attest to this—but what else can he do? There's so much love he's ready to give welled up in his heart…
Well… time to take the plunge and stop brooding anyway.
"Y-you k-know?" Adrien stammers. It's not usual for him to lose his means, but she's taken him aback, and his pulse is actually skyrocketing, giving Han Solo and his Millenium Falcon a run for their money.
"Yes," Marinette breathes out. He can't even hear the word, but it shows clearly on her lips—yes, she knows.
Her hand slowly moves over the glass as if she wants to reach his ring. Her thumb lingers there, intently stroking the outline of the silver band which adorns his ring finger.
The silver band which adorns his ring finger.
His Miraculous.