Adrien

Adrien was watching the clock, attention following the ticking seconds pointer as it went around the display, his frown getting deeper and deeper at each passing moment.

It was 6.15 p.m. right now, the TV was on and the telltale piece of flying cheese arching over the sofa said quite clearly Plagg really wasn't that concerned with the fact both of them were running late—again. Still, and despite how much being late haunted his mind, Adrien sat at his desk, the Miraculous he had on his finger gleaming pure white under the light of the desk lamp, this prickling sensation going up his finger leaving him eyebrows knitted and waiting. Waiting for—

"Ouch!"

Adrien jerked his hand at the stab, hitting the lamp in the process, the fact that he had been waiting for this for quite some time doing exactly nothing for how much it hurt or, Adrien might add, for how confused he got once he picked his mechanical pen and wrote down the time at the end of this long sequence at the edge of the page. This long sequence of times he had hoped would bring him some clarity—and that made no sense at all.

"Really, what is wrong with you?" Adrien asked the Miraculous, the music from an ongoing car commercial slightly muffling his words as he raised the ring to the light and pulled it slightly out of his finger. The skin under it was unblemished. Just like nothing had happened. "If you want to tell me something, I'm listening."

He stared at the Miraculous after that. Studying it. Trying to coach some answer out of it. The realization of what he was doing, that he was trying to get some kind of clarity out of a piece of jewelry, leading Adrien to drop his head on the desk, cheek going to rest on his math textbook, the prickling sensation again going up his finger making him sigh.

Really, some times it was a good thing he was left mostly alone. It would be quite something to justify what he was doing talking to a ring if anyone had been here. However, just for the sake of having a try at justifying this—

Adrien took a deep breath, sat up straight and stopped, crossing his arms.

Okay, this was difficult to justify even to himself. And it was not that much better to look at Mom's photo and try to tell her. So to look at the ceiling, to these colorful shadows the car commercial was painting all over his room, and—

"My Miraculous has gone insane," he confided to the slowly approaching night. "It's trying to bite my finger off."

It felt releasing to say that. Even if no one was hearing. Even if there was no one to help. Even if it didn't even scratch at the surface of what was going on. The truth was that ever since that mess with Medusa back at Gabriel's headquarters one week ago, ever since waking up the next morning still wrapped on Father's jacket, Adrien's Miraculous had been behaving weirdly. The prickling sensation he could feel right now following him everywhere he went. The periodic stabs driving him insane. This tingling sensation on the back of his mind filing him with concern. He had brought this to Plagg, of course, but—

A new piece of cheese arching on the other side of the sofa made Adrien sigh.

"Don't worry about it!" Plagg had said some two days prior and while stuffing his mouth full with Camemberg. "That happens to every holder! It will stop soon enough!"

It hadn't stopped. If anything it was getting worse. But—another stab to his finger made Adrien study the Miraculous—if there was nothing he could do about this, then maybe Plagg was right and it really was better not to linger on it. As things were, there were a ton of more urgent things he better focus on right now. And those started with—

Adrien went back to the clock, the mechanical pencil he still held on his fingers going to tap on the math exercises as he nodded at himself.

"Half past six," Adrien said, determined. "Allons-y."

The mechanical pen was put down. The distinctively feminine left-handed writing that peeked from the midst of his own penmanship—the same one that said he hadn't spent the entire afternoon alone with his math studies—getting a somewhat remorseful glance before Adrien hit the lights, grabbed the deodorant that had been inconspicuously sitting on his desk, and practically glued himself to his bedroom wall, sneaking towards the door, his hand doing this very slow job of turning the handle before he peeked into the atrium.

It was already dark down there. Darker still with all the chandeliers being off and the sun having made its way below the buildings on the other side of the house. Nothing of that really mattered, however. In fact, Adrien's attention remained still very much inside his bedroom. And he listened. Waited. Tried to figure out if—

"What are you sneaking around for?" Plagg queried, excited, his head appearing over Adrien's shoulder as he too went to peek into the atrium. "What is going on? I want to be part of this too!"

An ominous grin flashed across Adrien's face.Well, well, well.

"Don't worry," Adrien purred, while closing the door, finger moving to the firing position on the deodorant he was hidding against his chest. "You are a huge part of this."

"Great! So what is—?"

Plagg turned to him, bright green eyes immediately doubling in size.

"A–Adrien?"

It was not the most dignified of noises that made it through Plagg's lips after that, Adrien turning on him, grinning like a maniac, the words Axe Body Spray shining menacingly from the can on his hands, seeing the kwami flee into the bedroom, a scented cloud of deodorant blasting behind him.

"My natural musk!" Plagg screeched as he went, running his hands over his black fur, smelling them and almost causing Adrien to trip over his own feet when he came to a screeching halt."Oh, I like that one! It's cheese scented!"

"Cheese scented?"

Comprehension hit them both at the same time. Plagg's pleased expression giving way to horror as Adrien started to sprint full speed, deodorant at the ready.

"Get back here, Plagg!" he shouted, following after the again fleeing kwami, both of them going over the bed, then across the room, then by the pinball machines and fencing posters and climbing wall, clouds of scented air left in their wake. "Stop running away!"

"Not in your dreams!"

"Chat Noir—!"

"Smells delicious!"

Adrien rammed straight into the piano at Plagg's exclamation, the kwami's sharp turn making him vault and dive head first on top of the soundboard.

"Oh, yes! Delicious!" Adrien tossed at Plagg, voice muffled by being almost upside down, a glance around the room once he managed to get his feet back on solid ground, showing him this black bolt going over the cheese plate near the TV, hands grabbing hold of a slice, small teeth sinking right into it.

"Plagg!" Adrien exclaimed, outraged, and running his way. "Stop it! Ladybug must be thinking I live in a cheese factory!"

"That's the dream!"

Adrien jumped over the sofa's back, a snort robbing him of both breath and momentum as he landed on the pillows.

"I'm serious, Plagg," he nevertheless managed to wheeze, jumping back to the floor to see the kwami peeking from behind the TV. "Come here. And stop hugging that cheese!"

Plagg gave him a deeply offended look, holding the cheese closer as he rose a few centimeters over the large TV.

"This is what gives me my natural musk!" he said and Adrien could but press the bridge of his nose.

"Le Pavin d'Auvergne is not your natural anything," he rebutted while trying to find an angle from which he could spray Plagg—which, by the way, would be a lot easier if he would just. Stay. Still! "You are just making this harder on yourself!"

"No, I'm not!" Plagg replied, still evading Adrien's efforts.

"Three seconds, Plagg!" Adrien announced, going to raise his fingers. "One. Two—"

Adrien jumped forward before he finished the countdown, trying to reach Plagg over the TV and then running after him, spraying now stop, as Plagg fled to the right.

"I thought you were studying!" Plagg shrieked while forcing Adrien to run up the spiral stairs to the room's top floor. "Why aren't you studying?! Where is Nathalie?!"

"She went down!" Adrien announced, sprinting after him, Plagg diving for the ground floor right when Adrien was in the middle of the upper floor's walkway leaving him and the kwami to shout at each other over the railing whilst Adrien ran all the way back down. "Also! Nathalie said that what I didn't learn during the afternoon wasn't magically starting to make sense during the night! So I'm done!"

"Nathalie said nothing about allowing you to terrify a poor kwami with your father's cologne!" Plagg shot back, looking everywhere for an escape. "It is disappearing fast enough with you using it!"

"This is not Father's cologne!" Adrien retorted while reaching the bottom of the stairs, eyes locked on to his already fleeing target. "I bought something just for you!"

"Why does that sound like a threat?!"

"Stop running away!"

Adrien finally managed to corner Plagg between his desk and bed after a few more moments of running, skidding, falling and avoiding the piano, the grin again taking over his face leaving Plagg to cower against the wall.

"Do you really want to do this?" he shrieked, staring down the Axe Body Spray that was being pointed straight at him. "Really really want to do this?"

"I am rather sure I do," Adrien panted, finger back in firing position. "Now, hold still—"

"I didn't mean this!" Plagg cut through in desperation. "I meant that!"

A tiny finger pointed straight behind Adrien. Towards where the TV was. Towards this lively voice that was filling the room. Towards the images of Ladybug, Chat Noir and this young reporter that always accompanied the now familiar announcement. Plagg pointed away from himself and against his best judgment Adrien looked. He looked for no more than a pair of seconds, but it was all that it took. The moment he turned back, Plagg was gone.

"Plagg!" Adrien groaned, despaired, but it was the same as nothing. Nadja's voice had drowned his. It rose triumphant on his bedroom, covering all other sounds.

"Tonight, for the first edition of 'Face to Face' you will have the opportunity of a lifetime!" she announced. "The chance to talk live with Ladybug and Chat Noir along with me, Nadja Chamack. We will be revealing some sizzling hot revelations about your favorite superheroes—"

Adrien hit the mute button on the command, shaking his head as he hanged head down over the back of the sofa. He couldn't believe he had just fallen for this!

"Plagg, please, come out," he now pleaded, raising his head to look towards the carefully made bed and the desk that lied somewhere under his math studies. "The two of us are not going to national television smelling like that!"

"It's TV!" Plagg retorted, his croaky voice coming from—Somewhere. "Nobody can smell Chat Noir on TV!"

Adrien crossed his arms.

"I don't care!" he stated, looking around his room. "And I wouldn't have to resort to this if you hadn't fled from the bath!"

"Kwamis are not meant to take baths!"

"I'm rather sure they aren't meant to roll around in cheese either!"

Adrien could have just sworn he had heard something like "Shows what you know" being thrown his way but—

"Please come out," he begged. "This is serious!"

"Of course, it's serious," came the incorporeal reply. "Ladybug and Chat Noir giving an interview on prime time... Is it just me or that sounds like the worst idea ever?"

Adrien tossed the TV remote he still held on his hands back to the sofa. It jumped on the pillows as Adrien turned back and forth, and then finally shook his head.

"Ladybug wants to reassure the city that we are doing our best to stop Hawkmoth," he justified, starting to make his way to search the cabinets next to his bed. "She wants everyone to know we will stop him."

"Oh yes," Plagg scoffed. "We go up on television and—Wait! Are we provoking Hawkmoth into attacking?"

Adrien was brought to a halt with the pillows from his bed one on each hand, deodorant held between his neck and chest.

"What?" he stuttered, mind taking a few seconds to connect the dots on what Plagg had just said. "No!"

"Oh… I thought we might be trying to make him step out in the open or something," Plagg mused, disappointed. "Turns out this is really just a very bad idea."

Adrien rolled his eyes, making his way back across the room, to the glass wall, and looked up, making sure Plagg wasn't speaking from the other side of the open panel before peeking outside.

The lights in the small back garden were already on, washing a pale light over the path, the pale marble statue of Mother and the large white tomcat deep asleep on its lap. Plagg, however, was nowhere to be found.

"You are only saying this is a bad idea because you want to stay here and eat cheese," Adrien observed, turning his attention back to the room, the glass panel closing over him when he touched the control panel.

"I do," Plagg concurred, unapologetic. "But more importantly, you have cameras in your face all through the day, not to mention that pile of them that has been waiting by the gate since last week, I can't understand why you would want more!"

Adrien sighed, the deodorant falling to his side for a moment.

"They are just doing their jobs," he simply stated. "Also, there is a really big difference between Nadja and the people camping outside."

Plagg's silence spoke volumes about him seeing no difference, but Adrien really didn't have time to explain it to him. He needed Plagg to be the one doing the talking. He needed—

"Look," Adrien announced, stopping right in the middle of the room. Focusing. And frowning. And listening. "I won't be the talk of the studio because of how you smell."

"Do you want to be the talk of the city for sneaking out of the house?" Plagg retorted and Adrien snapped his head to the left, towards the door to his walk-in closet. "Nathalie asked if you would see that 'Face to Face' program and you said yes. Don't you want to stay and—?"

Adrien pulled the door to the walk-in closet wide open, the grin immediately taking over his face at finding Plagg's hiding place, being met by this horrified look from the kwami right before Adrien pressed the spray's button and a cloud of strongly scented perfume hit Plagg square in the chest.

"Sorry about that, Plagg," Adrien said while making his way back to his desk, a very betrayed looking kwami making disgusted noises behind him. "It is kind of an emergency."

"But cheese smells so much better!"

That was not only debatable it was downright false, still, if it made Plagg happy—Adrien stopped near the pinball machines and looked back.

"It's just for today."

Plagg stopped sniffing himself long enough to throw this incredulous look at him.

"Are we really going?"

Adrien blinked.

"Were you serious just now?"

"Did it sound like little old me was joking?" Plagg replied, crossing his arms and looking deeply offended. "Don't you ever take me seriously?"

Not really, no. But just this once—Adrien went to lean against the nearest pinball machine, eyes never leaving Plagg's.

"Okay, let's say I'm Ladybug. You are her kwami," he said, pointing to himself and then at Plagg. "What would she be saying to me right now?"

Plagg tilted his head.

"Tikki, you mean?" he asked and tapped on his chin, pondering for a moment, then sticking his tongue out.

"If I am here being all responsible—" Plagg gave a very theatrical shiver at the thought. "She is being all mushy and saying she trusts her holder."

That kind of put it in perspective.

"We are going," Adrien decided, back at making his way to his desk.

"You are listening to Tikki instead of me?" Plagg exclaimed, rushing behind him, hands pressed to his heart. If that was a try at hurt feelings, however, all guilt Adrien might have felt feel right through the cracks the next instant. "I mean, sure I would much rather listen to Tikki too—"

Adrien rolled his eyes, stopping with his hands over the back of his desk chair.

"We are going, Plagg."

"But it is such a bad idea," Plagg replied, landing in the midst of Adrien's math exercises. "And this is me, telling you, about bad ideas."

"Bad idea or not," Adrien replied, sitting down. "Ladybug is counting on us and we—the four of us—are a team. Can you imagine how weird it would be if Ladybug and Tikki end in that program alone?"

Plagg crossed his arms, unmoved.

"Take this for weird," he said, pointing to his left. "Your Father gets through that door and you are not in your room."

Adrien took an exasperated breath.

"Like that ever happened."

"Christmas," Plagg put forth in a penetrating tone. "You ran out of the house thinking he didn't want to celebrate the holiday without your mother. Turns out he did want to. He was just late. For what I remembered you scared him half to death."

Adrien locked the Axe inside one of the desk's drawers, his forehead going to rest against his hand.

"We had agreed never to talk about that part of Christmas," he whispered, not that Plagg was in any mood to be done with him just yet.

"If I remember correctly, your father thought a Santa Claus had kidnapped you," Plagg, in fact, was now saying, nodding his head at his own words. "And then Ladybug thought—How did it go again? Hawkmoth had akumatized someone into Santa Claus to kidnap you? Was it something like that?"

Adrien cringed, head still on his hand. That was exactly what had happened.

"Well, Ladybug and your Father were mostly on the same page, weren't they?" Plagg observed. "And so was Hawkmoth, because then he reeeeally turned that nice Santa Claus into an evil Santa Claus. That was—" Plagg stopped for a moment. "Really unimaginative. Anyway, your Father did come. You were the one who didn't wait for him. Just because he isn't here now—"

Adrien tossed his arms in the air.

"Why are we back at this?" he exclaimed in utter despair. "Ever since that illusionist attacked the house, you are always taking Father's side!"

"No, I am not! I just—!"

Whatever Plagg had been about to say in a very sulky tone seemed to become stuck in his throat. He stood there for a moment, among Adrien's math exercises, eyes just as lifeless, just as haunted, as Father's.

"Plagg?" Adrien called out to him after a moment, visibly concerned. "Is something—?"

He didn't get to finish. Plagg had pinched himself. Hard by the looks of it. And he was turning back to Adrien, eyes shimmering like green fire.

"What is so difficult about going downstairs, knocking on that office door and asking your father if he wants to watch the evening program with you?" he asked, serious. "What are you so afraid of?"

Adrien bit his lip.

"That he will say no."

"And what if he does?" Plagg questioned. "You asked. You said it wasimportant. He knows. That is better than—"

Adrien wouldn't know what Plagg meant to tell him next. Neither did he want to know. Or to listen. And so his hand snapped forward, catching the kwami, keeping him still over his math textbook.

"Open your mouth," Adrien asked, taking out a small flask of natural breath freshener he had been hiding in his pocket, then rolling his eyes when Plagg gave this wide-eyed look to it and shook his head. "Come on, please. You can't go without breathing forever."

"Yes, I can," Plagg said through the corner of his mouth, rapidly turning to speak through the other corner the instant Adrien tried to stick the natural breathe freshener tube through there. "You will never get me!"

And now, Plagg was holding his breath. Or he was pretending to be doing that while still breathing through his nose. There wasn't anything that Adrien could do but shake his head.

This was childish. And how utterly childish it was became suddenly incredibly embarrassing when Adrien found himself with this very clear image of himself sitting on his mother lap years ago, holding his breath, lips pressed and all of that just not to take his medicine.

"You can't go without breathing forever, peek-a-boo," she sighed with that gleam to her eyes that said she knew exactly how he had been holding his breath for the last half an hour. "This will be over in a flash if you just take a brave breath and—"

Her hand dived for his side, tickling him non-stop. If that normally would make Adrien burst into laughter, however, now he just twisted in her lap, lips sealed. The tickling strategy, however, was not what was leaving present-day Adrien frowning as he faced the holding-his-breath-kwami sitting among his studies. No. Instead, he watched Father rise from where he had been sitting at the foot of the bed, and make his way to the ongoing tickling match, the book he had been reading left behind.

Being diplomatic had already failed, so—Very well. Time for the hands-on approach. Adrien's hand snapped forward the same moment Father's did, Plagg's nose getting caught between thumb and index finger much in the same way that of Adrien's much younger self had, both him and Father going to loom ominously over their respective prey, a steel-like gleam taking over their eyes.

"There is no way around this, young man," they said at the same time, in the same tone, and while leaning forward. Their answer? Both Plagg and Adrien's younger self puffed their cheeks. From where he was standing today, sitting at his desk, looking at Plagg, Adrien felt a sudden and overwhelming sympathy for Father.

Puffing cheeks? Really?

This isn't happening.

But it was. And so both him and Father loomed closer still, the corners of their mouths curling down.

"I can do this the entire day," they went on to say. "Can you?"

Somewhere in the past, Mom had taken to hold her head in one hand, massaging her temples, looking like she was sinking into the deep depths of despair. In the present, Plagg might as well have turned into Adrien's five-year-old self. His mouth fell open, the natural breathe freshener Adrien immediately aimed inside his open mouth making Plagg flee from the desk the very same instant Adrien let go of his nose.

"Who are you?!" Plagg exclaimed, pulling his tongue out to try to scrap the breathe freshener off it. "What did you do to my dear sweet Adrien?!"

Adrien returned the tube to his pocket, unmoved.

"It would have been easier if you had helped, Plagg."

The kwami didn't seem to care. Not for that anyway. In fact, the only thing that seemed to matter to Plagg was salvaging his tongue.

"Can I bave my bolder back?" he asked, words barely understandable now that he was holding his tongue between two fingers and trying to access the damage. "Can I bave bim back right bow?"

Adrien shook his head, getting back to his feet.

"That was me, you know?" he sighed and marched all the way to the sofa, picked up the remote control and turned the TV volume up until he was certain it was audible in the atrium. A few more moments of going over the buttons and the countdown that appeared on the top of the screen gained a nod. "The timer is set. We are leaving."

Holding on to his tongue as he still was, Plagg stared at him, then rushed to his side, putting himself between Adrien and the glass wall he was walking to.

"But—!"

"Father won't come, Plagg," Adrien sighed.

"You don't know that," Plagg replied, still trying to block his path, arms wide open. "Just because he isn't here now doesn't mean he won't come. He must be working."

"He was working the entire week," Adrien reminded him. "If he wanted to be here, he—"

The Miraculous bit into his finger so hard Adrien found himself holding his hand, the stabbing sensation climbing up his arm, however, was not as painful as the wave of guilt washing over at his mind, making him turn to the door and wait—A minute. Two. And then just a little bit more—before turning back to Plagg.

"Look, Father must have his reasons," Adrien said while trying to hide his disappointment and then pointed outside, towards the large tomcat still sprawled on the lap of Mother's statue. "Now, please please, get your lookout out of there and into the front courtyard and let's go!"

Gabriel

A pencil was rolling down the desk, it's pale purplish body picking up speed as it got further and further away from the metal case it had escaped, the sound of the rest of its companions being shuffled around covering its leap for freedom as it went right over the table's edge and hit the floor, an infuriated "Tsk" following in its wake.

"Oú est—?!"

The infuriated question turned into an eye roll. Reaching out for the small pen knife he had forgotten was right at his side, Gabriel laid the blade against the pencil he held on his hands, frowning in concentration before going straight into work.

The blade slid easily under his touch. Long wood shavings raining over a pair of discarded designs. The hand that held the pencil rotating it until Gabriel raised the now carefully sharpened pencil to the light and picked up his notebook.

The soft scratching of lead against paper filled the atelier now. The pencil going over the elegant curve of a hip, the exquisite details to the back of a black nightgown, the careful turn to the charcoal model's torso that made it look so much like she was about to look back, skirt wrapping around her figure, the line of her neck already in view.

It was an unnecessary detail. A clear sign of an artist indulging himself. But Gabriel wouldn't have time to dwell on it. To chastise himself for losing time. Instead, the notebook hit his legs, a sudden commotion coming from the front courtyard making his head snap up, a watchful look being thrown to the street beyond the iron gates, anger distorting his face at what he already knew was there.

The vultures—or, should he say, those blasted journalists with their microphones and cameras and questions that had set camp at his door for a week now!—were pilling on the other side of the gates, cameras pointing at the front door, the clicking of the lenses breaking the quiet afternoon. Whatever disturbance had first caught their attention, however, whatever had happened that made them believe someone was going to step outside, whatever that was, it left them with nothing but disappointment at what they had actually caught.

A pigeon's sloppy landing on the front courtyard, a piece of bread held in its beak.

A group of sparrows sweeping in to try and steal it.

One of the city's large tomcats coming out of the bushes and scaring all of them away.

They should make the headlines those photos. Nearly fatal crash landing on a Parisian courtyard. Mugging near the Champs-Élysées. Break-in on famous fashion designer's grounds.

Leaning against Nathalie's desk near the windows overlooking the front courtyard, the design he had been working on being put next to the supplies that rested at his side, Gabriel clenched his teeth. The truth was he might actually have found some pleasure on his malicious outtake on his present predicament if an entire week of this hadn't soured his mood to the point the only thing he could see while glaring outside was the striking resemblance he shared with the cat now sitting directly under his window. Blue eyes surveying the front courtyard. Seeming to wish to sink its claws on the pests by the gate about as much as Gabriel did.

Suffice to say, however, the white feline actually had a better chance of doing it than Gabriel as of now. The only claws Paris had offered him the entire day was this distant feeling of loneliness, of doubt. And it was too weak. Too unstable to fuel the akuma. Not that it would have done him any good even if it was at full strength. As things were, Gabriel had his hands tied. And not because the thing behind the emotions left him feeling troubled. Something in the back of his mind telling him it was too dangerous. That it was better to leave it alone. No, the reason why he couldn't act was because he had his house permanently under siege. Because there wasn't anyone in his household—not even the damn bodyguard—that could move without being shot on sight. And what was Gabriel any good for in this scenario? What was he any good for if he couldn't do anything?!

The desk slid back when Gabriel pulled himself away from it, the low metallic groan going through the atelier seeing him pick up the supplies he had scattered all over Nathalie's desk and make his way back to the one in the center of the atelier, to the sketches and designs covering the entirety of it, to—

"Master is still angry, isn't he?" a small voice pointed out, words rising from the small pile of thread reels Nooroo had gone around collecting and where he was now nestled in. "Does Master—?"

A glare hit Nooroo that same instant, its coldness, however, was not enough to stop the kwami from gathering his courage again and finish what he had been saying.

"Would Master wish to talk?" he asked, watching Gabriel as he went down the stairs near the console and started to walk along the table. "I can listen. I know how to."

There was hope to those words. Just as if Nooroo wanted Gabriel to pour his heart out, to share. It was a hope that gained him little but disappointment for Gabriel sat, put his supplies and sketchbook down, and went to rub his bruised right wrist. If he truly had thought he would be spared Nooroo, however, he was mistaken. The kwami was not only determined, he was now very much with him, having taken flight from his nest to stand in front of Gabriel, studying the design he had just put to the side, his head softly titled, the wonder filling his eyes slowly being replaced with concern.

"Is—" Nooroo swallowed, fearful. "Is it an akuma?"

Gabriel's lips turned into a tin, harsh line, the nasty retort he could feel boiling deep within his chest making his gaze fall on Nooroo. Spiteful. Bitter. Cold enough that the kwami actually backed away. And yet, the instant the blue eyes fell on Nooroo, Gabriel was no longer seeing him. Instead, he gazed at his own sketchbook, at the sheet under the kwami, at this one piece that was to be the center of his entire collection, attention running up and down the tight fit strapless bodice, the long skirt with its slit, the intricate burst of tulle flowing elegantly down the gown's back to the floor.

This—

Gabriel picked the sketchbook, incredulous.

This was a butterfly.

A black butterfly.

The entirety of Paris falling on its hands and knees over their Lords and Saviors Ladybug and Chat Noir and he had been about to put an akuma on the runway. Had—Had he lost all manner of good sense? Of self-criticism? How on earth had this escaped his notice?! How?!

"Can Master not use one of these?" Nooroo's voice cut through his thoughts, his gentle offer, followed by this surreal sensation one of his many discarded designs had just jumped out of the bin, lead Gabriel back to reality, back to the kwami that had just landed on the desk and the crumbled piece of paper he was struggling to smooth out. To this small kwami who was smiling at the utter garbage that was inside.

"I think these are beautiful too," he whispered and Gabriel grinded his teeth, watching Nooroo dive back down, towards the overflowing paper bin near Gabriel's legs, talking non-stop.

"Is Master going to be making the clothes?" he queried, now back to the table with a second crumpled sheet. "Can I see them when they are done? Will—?"

Anger had just reached its boiling point. That same instant Gabriel turned, grabbing hold of the ball of paper Nooroo had on his hands, blue eyes staring him down for the half a second it took for Nooroo to drop his head, to let go of the crumpled sheet, to retreat, head hanging low, and go stand near the window.

"Can't Master do anything about them?" he now asked, landing on Nathalie's desk, near the computer display and keyboard, attention on the group outside. "This is Master's home. If the people with the cameras wish to harm the people he cares for, Master should be allowed to do something."

Ripping the sheet with the black gown out of the sketchbook and setting it aside, Gabriel pressed his lips, bent on going back to work, bent on ignoring him.

It lasted three seconds.

"If Master isn't allowed to do something," Nooroo said, turning back to him, a determined gleam to his eyes. "Hawkmoth is."

Gabriel's hand closed so tightly around the pencil pain blasted all the way up his arm. The furious gleam to his eyes, however, had nothing to do with that.

"You must think this is a game," he growled.

"No!"

A tremor had taken over Nooroo's voice, still he took flight, the fading daylight coming from the windows drawing the delicate outline of his wings as he caught sight of something and made his way to the floor.

"I have tried to tell Master," Nooroo said, coming back up a few seconds later, a pencil that was exactly his color in his hands. "Miraculous are meant to be used for good. And Master would be protecting his son."

A shocked silence befell the atelier. The retort that had been on the tip of Gabriel's tongue dying away as he stared at Nooroo, feeling the kwami's eyes bore into his.

"They hurt Adrien before, didn't they?" Nooroo asked, gently, never releasing Gabriel's eyes and searching—searching for something within. "The people with the cameras."

Gabriel sat straighter, the pencil he had on his hand pressing so hard against the white sheet in front of him it was all but ripping through it.

"That is why Master is so angry. Master feels like he failed to keep Adrien safe—!"

He wouldn't get to finish. Gabriel was on his feet. Furious. The sight of Noooroo's eyes doubling in size, of the kwami trying to flee for safety, the last thing Gabriel was aware of before he hurled the sketchbook across the atelier and, with a knock, Nathalie made the very unfortunate decision of stepping inside. It was—It was like watching a disaster in slow motion. The notebook Gabriel had sent zooming for the kwami was heading towards her instead. And it was nothing short of luck it never reached her. That instead it bashed violently against the door, failing to hit Nathalie by mere centimeters.

Still—and as if Gabriel was in need of more guilt to top this one up—Nathalie took a step back, towards the atrium, eyes searching Gabriel's face. Alarmed. Frightened. Clearly expecting to find someone who was not entirely him inside. It seemed to relieve her immensely that, in the end, the sketchbook remained on the ground, face down and sheets crumbled, rather than fly back to Gabriel's outstretched hand.

"My apologies, Sir," she said, professional as ever and leaning to pick up the sketchbook. "Had I known you were this eager to hand over your work, I would have come earlier."

Gabriel pressed the cane of his nose at the note of humor in her tone, attention following Nathalie as she made her way to his side, smoothing out each of the sketchbook's pages, the surprised look she went on to give the designs over the table, leading Gabriel to follow her gaze—and immediately curl his lips.

He hadn't noticed it beforee but the sheets over the desk were organized. Lined next to each other in these perfectly spaced rows. They hadn't been like that when she had left. This was not remotely the way Gabriel kept his work. Which meant only one thing. Nooroo had kept himself entertained the last few hours. One of the few times he allowed the thing out of the Observatory and it was already messing around. Was he dealing with children now to have to tell the kwami not to—?!

"Is this final?" Nathalie queried, cutting through Gabriel's mental rant, his sketchbook being put over the table so she could pick the design she had mentioned. The one with the black gown. "Do you wish for it to be sent to—?"

Her eyebrows knitted the same instant she took a closer look, attention moving up and down the design, lingering on it, then on him.

"I know what it resembles," Gabriel replied, sharply.

"Should I archive it?"

Gabriel pressed his lips, raising one hand to receive the design… and to crush it as soon as he had it back, the way Nathalie's gaze kept following the discarded sheet even as it fell on the bin a mere side note on his mind.

"I will be retiring," she informed after a moment, attention now back to him. "Do you need something?"

Gabriel frowned at the fading daylight coming from the exterior, fingers diving for the phone over the table, running down its display, irritation taking over his pensive expression the very instant he looked at the clock.

"You should have retired three hours ago."

"Adrien was studying," Nathalie simply informed. "He needed help."

"Adrien," Gabriel retorted, starting to make his way around the table to get to the atelier's upper level. "Needs to remember tutoring him is no longer part of your job. Rest assured I will raise the subject with him."

Nathalie's sharp intake of breath, her irritation, made the Miraculous stab at Gabriel's chest.

"Would it be possible to break your fasting on talking with him with any other subject?" she countered, sternly. "It has been a week since you were in the same room."

"A privilege he should be grateful for as you yourself can attest to."

"A privilege for which he isn't," Nathalie replied as Gabriel stopped in front of the windows, staring outside. When she again talked, her voice was back to her usual neutral tone. "This interview you will be watching tonight, the one with Ladybug and Chat Noir—I inquired Adrien after it. He said he would be watching."

Gabriel pressed his lips, silence settling around him, eyes meeting his own reflection. What he saw there made him clench his fists.

"Will you go to him?" Nathalie even so insisted. Her reflection telling him she was making her way up—and stopping near the console. "It was you who said it wasn't safe to send akumas out during the day while the press remains outside. There is little reason for you and Adrien to be on opposite ends of the house."

"There is plenty of reason," Gabriel retorted.

"He misses you."

Gabriel closed his eyes, clasping his hands so hard his knuckles turned white and yet, when he opened them, it was still there. Staring back at him from the window. The angry creature wearing his face.

"He doesn't need to deal with this."

"No," Nathalie agreed, her disappointment making the Miraculous shiver against Gabriel's chest. "But, I am sure he would rather."

She dropped her eyes to the floor with those words, stepping back towards the console, connecting it, a gentle "Goodnight, Sir" left in her wake as she stepped outside, closing the door. Her absence made the atelier feel empty. At least, until Nooroo returned to stand with him near the window, extending the now crumpled sheet with the black gown back to Gabriel.

"The Lady likes it," he told him, gently. "She was sad when Master tossed it away. I thought Master ought to know."

Gabriel glanced at the gown, then at the door, only to turn his back on all of it a moment later, the announcement of the "beloved guardians of Paris" coming from the console leading him straight to it. He never noticed the sad look Nooroo was giving him. He never noticed he had stayed behind, trying to smooth the sheet. Instead, Gabriel focused on studying the two self-proclaimed 'superheroes' being made fools on prime time, compromising picture after compromising picture leaving the bug rigid and increasingly outraged. As for the cat—

"We are not a couple!" Ladybug insisted, leaning forward in the sofa, looking back at her partner for support.

"But hopefully one day!" he teased.

"Chat!"

Gabriel's eyes bored into the feline, studying Chat Noir as he remained sprawled on the sofa, smiling and in good humor, his initial shock at the pictures rolling over him like a passing wave and leaving him chuckling at what was happening. Always charming. Always polite. And behaving like he had been taught how to do this.

"Master?"

Gabriel had stormed into the dark atrium. Attention on Adrien's door. The voices coming from inside the atelier and his son's bedroom following behind him as he marched to the stairs. The certainty he was about to find the room empty, making his anger boil.

"This interview is so over," the bug was now saying, her voice echoing on the atrium alongside Gabriel's footsteps, her angry words giving way to the cat's confused exclamation.

"What's the rush?"

"There is an alert."

"Wait you two the show is not over yet!" a third voice, the one belonging to the reporter, Nadja Chamack, trembled on the white and black marble, the steady pulsing of the Miraculous turning into one sharp stab at her words. "Your fans will be disappointed if they don't get an answer!"

It was as if time had stopped. Standing on the first step of the stairway, one hand over the cold stone railing, attention still on Adrien's bedroom door, Gabriel waited, furious but listening, the dark sky hanging over the press weighing on his mind about as much as what he could sense in the distance. Hope and despair all in one. A swaying pendulum hanging on the bug's answer. Just like his chance. A chance the night would finally allow him to take.

So, what will be it, bug? Speak!

And Ladybug did. Her clear, determined voice echoing on the high ceiling of the house's entrance.

"If they are true fans they will understand."

"Milady is right."

Gabriel had to laugh. He was still laughing as the butterflies rose around him and the akuma left his fingers, disappearing into the night, attaching itself to his prey.

"Prime Queen, I see Ladybug and Chat Noir have denied you the answers you deserve," he said, softly. "Steal their Miraculous and you will get your scoop."

Hawkmoth stepped towards the circular window with Nadja's answer. His grin, however, died the same moment he looked outside to find the press making its usual rounds around the house. The ever-present memory of returning home, on the countryside, to find Adrien sitting on the stairway, waiting for Emilie, eyes rimmed red and trying to whip away his tears, coming to the forefront of his mind so clearly, Gabriel was left looming high over that group, Nooroo's words haunting his thoughts.

"Masterfeels like he failed to keep Adrien safe—"

Gabriel's hands closed over the cane, hatred taking over his mind.

Prime Queen, was it not?

Very well, he would let her do as she pleased.

Adrien

"Do you think Nadja will be alright?" Chat Noir was mumbling to himself, one hand running through his hair as he laid belly up on a roof, eyes closed. "Do you think—?"

Adrien's present exercise of stressing each of the words on that sentence was cut short by a yawn, Ladybug's query—the one she had made shortly before disappearing into the night or, should he say, before she dashed away in a panic, telling him to keep an eye on Nadja and leaving Adrien to stare at her back utterly bewildered—hanging among the sounds of traffic, before the conversation flowing softly out of a window two floors below Adrien threatened to take center stage and Adrien cleaned his throat, trying to muffle Sabine Dupain Cheng's quiet voice with his own.

"Am I missing something?" Adrien pondered, the hand that had been running through his hair, now hanging limply over the drop to his left, a cloudy sky opening in front of him as he peeked from behind heavy eyelids. "I must be missing something. I mean—"

"Chat."

This must be karma for running after Plagg with deodorant. Sprawled as he was over the tiles, bored, tired and, he feared, closer to dozing off than he would ever admit to, Adrien didn't so much jump back to action as he very literally dived into it. The girl who was standing on the small terrace under him, the girl his mind had perceived as a threat and who most definitely was not one, being left to stare at him as rolled and yelped and crashed through the air headfirst. How he managed to land on all fours after that—rather than on his nose, he meant—was a mystery Adrien didn't care to see solved as much as one more of the many surrounding the blue-eyed girl leaning down and offering a hand to him in help.

"Could you be any more like a cat?" Ladybug sighed, pulling him back to his feet as soon as his hand closed over hers. "You just made that twisting midair thing they do, you know?"

Running one hand over his hair, pulling it off his eyes so he could stare at Ladybug in disbelief, Adrien took a pair of seconds to find his voice.

"Where on earth did you just come out of?!"

"Never mind that," Ladybug shrugged and her attention moved away from the small terrace they stood on, away from its plants and chair and a math textbook that laid open on a small table, her right hand raising to point his attention towards the street, towards this young woman making her way across the sidewalk and towards her parked car, a small child deeply asleep against her shoulder.

"Nadja is leaving," she said. "We have to go!"

Ladybug was off before Adrien could say anything, before he could ask anything, including what the two of them were supposed to be doing, what he had been doing ever since Prime Queen had gone back to being just Nadja Chamack and Chat Noir had discretely tailed her all through Paris. First back to her workplace. Then to pick up her daughter from what turned to be Marinette's house. Now—

"Chat! Come on!"

Adrien took the staff out, running after Ladybug just as she tossed the yo-yo across the street, wrapped it around a nearby chimney and jumped away from the terrace, the mouth-watering smell of pastries and bread still following behind them even as the car took a turn away from Place des Vosges and the Dupain-Cheng's household was left behind.

"Out of curiosity, Milady," Adrien finally managed to ask as the two of them landed on a nearby roof, keeping track of the car, the black tiles they were running over clanking against each other, naked trees and lit street lamps falling behind them. "Why are we following Nadja? What are we keeping an eye out for? Muggers? Stalkers? Enraged fans?"

A red street light brought Nadja's car to a stop on a long line of traffic. Both of them dropping for cover, belly down, on the opposite side of the roof's incline, Adrien found himself frowning at the hand Ladybug had risen his way. A hand and three very imperative gloved fingers that started going down in tandem with her words.

"Runway metro. Plugging sarcophagus. Locked freezer."

Right. Adrien nodded, peeking over the moss-covered tiles to the long line of traffic, keeping one eye on Nadja's car, before turning back to Ladybug.

"Should I be on the lookout for those?"

Ladybug rolled her eyes.

"No," she groaned, stealing a glance at Adrien. She had only to take the huge Chesire Cat grin on his face for her forehead to go rest against the tiles.

"I am not making any sense, am I?"

"No, not really, Milady," Adrien smiled, but the traffic light had gone green and they were on the move before he could continue, back to following the car, back to jumping from roof to roof and this time they didn't stop for a very long time. When they did stop, they were on the opposite side of the city, surrounded by modern buildings, having crossed the Seine, La Tour Eiffel far off in the distance. And to be honest, while landing on top of a 10 or something floor building, walking by row after row of AC units, feet sinking into this large pool of water one of them was dripping all over the place, Adrien was rather sure they had lost Nadja. Or he was sure, until he joined Ladybug after she jogged away from him, moonlight washing over her bright red suit, and went to lean on the parapet, pointing his attention downwards.

"She is home now," she commented and Adrien had to frown.

"You know where Nadja lives?"

He was shushed, attention being pointed to the street again.

Under them, beyond the naked trees and lit street lamps, standing at the precariously lit doorstep of one of the street's many modern buildings, Nadja Chamack was not so much 'at home' as she was searching for the keys that would get her there, her daughter so deeply asleep against her shoulder she didn't even stir despite Nadja's going over her bag or, Adrien might add, when she let out a triumphant exclamation and fished the key from inside, put it to the building's door and, a short struggle later, disappeared inside with the sleeping Mannon. It was only when the light was turned on in one of the top floors sometime later, that Adrien turned back towards Ladybug to find her drumming her fingers against the cement parapet, looking up and down the street rather than the building, her cautious expression such Adrien was left mimicking her gesture. Searching the night. Frowning. And, as it would happen, at a loss.

"Am I missing something?" he asked her much in the same way he had asked himself, all the while trying to read Ladybug's expression. "What's in your mind? You know, apart from school tests, homework, and all those pesky little things I am sure are crawling all over your room too."

Ladybug snorted, aiming a friendly punch at his arm.

"Stop that," she said, again turning to the street, the cars going up and down it being completely ignored as she instead searched the sky over the city, relief finally putting a smile on her face. "Nothing. We can go home now, Chat!"

Having jumped to sit on the parapet only to see Ladybug dash back the way they had come, running by row after row of AC units, feet sinking into the puddle, Adrien didn't think he had ever been this confused in his life.

"Wait!" he shouted as she took out the yo-yo. "We are leaving?!"

"Turns out I was wrong!"

"Wrong about what?! Milady!"

She had—She had jumped already! Her yo-yo cutting through the sky, the bright red suit being draw on the glass facade of the building on the other side of the street as she swung, landed on its roof and Adrien moved to follow after her, using the staff to propel himself over the street and land on a terrace that, going by the sheer number of AC units, wasn't all that different from the one he had just left.

"A little heads next time?" Adrien asked upon rejoining Ladybug on her jog across this new building, a sea of lights opening in front of them as the two of them took a left and La Tour Eiffel appeared among the sea of smaller buildings in the distance. "What's gotten into you?"

"Butterflies," Ladybug said, shrugging at Adrien's raised eyebrows. "I thought Hawkmoth might come after Nadja again."

What?

"Why would he do that?" Adrien asked and they both jumped off the building, soaring through the sky before landing several meters down and right on top of one of the city's buses.

"I don't know," Ladybug said, holding on to the top of the bus, the traffic going by them as she spoke. "I just thought what happened today seemed personal."

"Not wanting to sound dramatic," Adrien started to say, the vehicle they were riding taking a turn on the wrong direction forcing them to jump off it and again aim for the rooftops. "But it's always personal with him," Adrien continued as soon as they landed. "I get this feeling he kind of hates us."

"I meant personal against Nadja," Ladybug simply stated and they stopped, her hand going to grab the metal ladder on a nearby chimney as she turned to him. "Prime Queen was completely out of control. I just thought, you know, Hawkmoth usually runs a really tight ship, so—"

Adrien had to snort, crossing his arms, the night breeze playing with his hair, staff tapping against his shoulder.

"He has a one person show!" he couldn't resist saying, a huge grin filling his face as the two of them started running again. "It can't be that—!"

Hard, was lost to this sharp stab of pain that sank into his hand right at that moment. The loud exclamation that Adrien couldn't help but make startling Ladybug so much she tried to both aim her yo-yo and turn to him the same moment. It went—Well, it went as expected. She slipped. Starting to go down the roof before managing to stop herself halfway down and climb her way back up, stopping near Adrien, concern written on her face.

"What happened?"

"I have no idea," Adrien groaned, opening and closing his hand, before dropping to sit on the tiles, a comfortably cold breezing going by him. "But, I have been meaning to ask, Milady, has your Miraculous developed a vendetta against you this last week?"

"A ven—?"

Ladybug looked between him and the hand he was holding, immediately dropping to grab hold of his wrist and raise his hand against the pale moonlight. She was turning it back and forth now. Frowning and squinting.

"No," she said, blue eyes, sinking into his. "Why?"

"Mine has. I think it's trying to bite my finger off," Adrien tried to joke. "It's either that or trying to tell me something."

Ladybug's face filled with alarm.

"I really hope not," she whispered, back to studying his Miraculous, then grimacing at Adrien's questioning gaze.

"Bad luck, Chat?" she reminded him, proceeding to point at the black ring. "That is what that Miraculous is supposed to stand for, right? If it is telling you something…"

Adrien hadn't—He hadn't thought of that.

"You think it's something bad?!"

Ladybug tilted her head, pragmatic as ever, the sounds of traffic and honking vehicles rising around them as she talked.

"Have you spoken to your kwami?" she asked, crossing her arms, the nod Adrien gave her make her frown. "What did he say?"

"That it's normal. That it isn't anything important. That it is supposed to happen due to affinity between holder and Miraculous or something of the sort. It was not that helpful to be honest."

Adrien sighed, shaking his head.

"I mean, I went the entire week trying to give him a bath and spraying him with perfume, so he would be unhelpful, but—"

Ladybug's eyebrows had just jumped up, she was looking up and down him, head going to lean against her right hand.

"I wondered what that smell was," she whispered, thoughtful, while sniffing the air. "I mean it's nice, but I think you went a little overboard there, Chat."

"Believe me, I didn't," Adrien replied, ominously, and then sighed looking at the now ominously calm Miraculous.

"Sure would be useful to know whoever gave us these," he said. "At least, we could ask, right? As it stands we have a better chance of going to Hawkmoth and ask him."

Adrien had to snort at imagining how that would go down, Ladybug's very uncomfortable expression not even registering on his mind as he leaned back, going back to the city shining bright around them and their original conversation.

"So you thought Hawkmoth was trying to make Nadja look bad or something?" he asked, seeing Ladybug shrug, head still on her hand. "That was why we were following her?"

"Kind off?" Ladybug said, a cloud going passed the moon leaving darkness to settle around them. "I mean, can you imagine what would happen if she had actually defeated us? How much people would hate her? She was broadcasting it all on top of it. So I thought that she must have done something. Maybe Hawkmoth knew her and—"

"She interviewed him with some scandalous pictures?"

It was like a bomb had gone off. Ladybug was up the same instant, arms crossed, this outraged gleam to her eyes.

"I was not kissing you!"

Adrien tossed his head back for a heartfelt chuckle.

"I would much rather remember when you do," he teased, good-naturedly, the distant tolling of a church bell making Ladybug spring back to action, not to say across the roof, while glaring his way.

"I have to get home!" she announced, taking the yo-yo out and tossing it across the street only to come to an abrupt stop with one foot already over the parapet and turn back to him. "By the way, I read about Medusa and the Minotaur."

Adrien's eyebrows jumped.

"You did?" he asked, astonished, getting to his feet as soon as he saw Ladybug start to take balance to leave the roof. "Wait! Don't! What did you think?"

"That you have some very interesting literary taste, kitty."

Adrien had to chuckle, facing Ladybug as she stood surrounded by the city's lights.

"That's not me," he admitted with a fond smile, right hand running through his hair. "I had someone reading them to me when—"

His head caught up to his mouth too late. The sound of a door opening inside his memory, the clicking of high heels replacing the calm voice that had been reading to him, leaving him staring at Ladybug so fearful of what her reaction might be, so certain of what was to come—for he had heard it all before—that the same words that had been on Father's voice when Mother stopped at his side, reaching for the book on his lap, had found their place in his voice.

Sad.

And awkward.

And pleading.

"It's culture."

"It makes for some weird bedtime stories," Ladybug pointed out.

He—He must be staring at her. He was staring at her. At her smile. At that small dimple that always appeared on the left side of Ladybug's face when she really meant it. At the teasing gleam to her blue eyes. This wasn't—This wasn't at all what he had expected. It wasn't how Mother had reacted. She hadn't smiled. She hadn't found it funny. And he didn't know… He was too dumbstruck to know how to react.

"Well, I-I mean," Adrien stuttered, suddenly not knowing what to do with his hands—and all other parts of himself actually. "The person who told them to me is rather weird too!"

Adrien pressed his temples at that. What was he saying?! It wasn't as if it was untruth but did he have to go around and describe Father like that?

"When I said weird, I meant—"

"That this person is kind of like you, kitty?" Ladybug put forth leaving Adrien to stare at her.

"Am I weird?"

Ladybug's teasing smile looked like a chuckle. This time, turning back to the bright city lights, she really took balance.

"I will read about some guy named Pantheon and a Sun Charriot tomorrow!"

"You will?"

"I like those stories, Chat!"

Adrien froze. Those words—How easily Ladybug had spoken them, like they were no big deal at all, haunting him as he watched her jump off the roof, land across the street and dive into the night, getting smaller and smaller, turning into this distant red dot—and then into nothing at all.

How long did he stand there after he lost her from sight? How long until he convinced himself to go back to the house? Minutes? Hours?

In the end, he only knew that he was still not back to his room when the sun broke over the city. That, instead, he sat and gazed at the chateau from one of the nearby roofs. Watching the press as it remained at the door. Seeing Father's bedroom light being turned off. Dropping his eyes as Nathalie appeared at the door to meet the delivery truck that always brought the red roses he left near Mother's statue in the garden.

It was only when she left the courtyard, disappearing inside the house, that Adrien found it in himself to take that one final leap, to land inside his room and go down the stairs.

"Will you talk to your father now?" Plagg insisted, arms crossed and peeking from inside Adrien's shirt.

"I have to do something first."

And he made his way into the silent living room. To the family portrait over the mantelpiece. He made his way to Mother.

"I—"

Adrien took a deep breathe, facing those green eyes that were so much like his own.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," he said. "But you got so angry with Father, I—"

It felt like she was waiting. Her head tilted, that small smile she used to listen to him with touching her lips. It felt just like she was here and thinking that, what Adrien had wished he had been brave enough to tell her all those years ago, the words that might have stopped whatever she had said after Nathalie had caught him with his ear pressed to the living room door and taken him away—the words that might have stopped whatever Mom had told Father that had made him never return with his stories and his monsters no matter how long Adrien waited for him—those words found their place in the solitude of the living room, his heart opening for a confession Adrien wished more than anything his mother could still hear.

"I liked them too."

Nathalie

"I am not at all sure this is a good idea," a croaky voice was stating, the not so quiet words rising on the marble atrium just as the sun appeared over the buildings, a rare warmth making its way inside. "I am all for the rebellious streak, you know? But if your father finds you here you will get to be a rebel in your room."

"I won't get to be a rebel anywhere," Adrien replied, obstinate and with his voice slightly muffled. His position, kneeling in front of the atelier's door, made it clear he was trying to look through the keyhole. "And Father won't catch us if you help."

"The only reason why he won't catch us," the first voice started to say. "Is because I won't be here for him to catch. I hate to be the voice of reason, but—Did you hear that?"

"Stop. Trying. To scare me!" Adrien hissed, ear now pressed to the door.

"But I just heard thissplash!"

"There was no splash! There is no one here! It's just me, Nathalie and Father in the house and they both live here! Why would they hide?!"

Silent, back pressed against the stairway on the opposite side where Adrien stood, Nathalie shook her head at herself. Why she was hiding was actually a pretty good question. Why she was hiding with a vase that had very nearly slipped from her hands, and her feet in a puddle of water was probably a better one. Still, she remained where she was. Looking over the railway to the place where Adrien stood. Listening to that strange voice. Taking her chances with the family crystals. Suspicion finally getting the better of her and making her step across the atrium, listening in as Adrien and whoever he was speaking to kept at their argument, words muffling her footsteps.

"Can you see something?" the croaky voice asked.

"Not with you talking."

"How does me talking hamper you from seeing?!"

"I didn't say it made sense!"

Nathalie cleared her throat, stopping right behind Adrien, crystal vase still in her hands, this very clear memory of catching a much younger Adrien doing the exact same thing spilling into her words.

"I thought we were passed this."

Adrien almost hit the ceiling, his startled gasp echoing loudly in the atrium as he tried to scramble away from the door, to get back to his feet, to face her and instead was catapulted backwards, falling arms flapping at his sides and ending up sprawled belly up at her feet, a half-relieved, half-embarrassed smile filling his face when he saw who it was that stood over him.

"I thought you were inside," Adrien admitted pointing at the atelier's door, his words being met by Nathalie's raised eyebrows.

"What gave me away?"

Adrien snorted, hand remaining firmly closed over his shirt pocket as he went to sit. There was something to that gesture—something that made Nathalie frown.

"Who were you talking to?" she queried, eyes searching the green ones, then falling on the phone Adrien had on his hand. The same one he was rising to show her.

"Nino," he clarified, pulling the phone back down. "He is going to Marinette's birthday party too. We were just deciding where we would meet."

Nathalie tilted her head.

"By listening at the door?"

Adrien's expression fell, this glance being given behind him—towards the atelier's dark door—before he turned back to her, eyes downcast.

"I knocked but Father didn't answer," Adrien explained, a sad note to his words. "I just wanted to say goodbye. I haven't seen him the entire week."

Nathalie's fingers closed tighter around the crystal vase, her lips turning into a thin harsh line when she looked at the atelier door and stepped forward, walking right by Adrien.

"Give me a moment."

A blast of cold came from inside the atelier when she opened the door. Stopping by the entrance, however, her hip being used as leverage to keep the door open, Nathalie hadn't been brought to a stop by the Arctic-like temperature. No. Instead, she stood squinting at this thick wall of darkness, the blade of light coming from behind her allowing her to see the first of the stone models and her own desk to the left but little else.

It made little difference, though. At this point, she knew this room by heart and—even if that in no way meant she would risk navigating the atelier in complete darkness considering the pit running around the center desk—she stepped inside all the same, making her way along her desk, towards the roses—Emilie's roses—that laid over it, the jar being carefully dropped next to them.

She would be lying if she said she expected this. The atelier hadn't been in this state when she had left. And she didn't have the courage to look back at Adrien and see what he thought of this. As it was she could almost picture him. The wide-eyed stare. The way he must be biting his lip. One hand running through his hair.

This wouldn't do.

Too much was enough.

And Nathalie went around her desk, fingers hitting the AC commands that were right over the scanner, then the shutters' controls at their side. Light washed over the atelier the same moment she did, touching the stone models and the black and white designs behind them, rushing all the way along the center desk, the warm torrent of air cutting through the cold making the designs over the desk flutter.

It should have made things better. But none of it made that much difference given Gabriel's present mood.

"I thought I had made it clear," he said speaking from the other end of the atelier, from where she expected him to be, his back turned and facing Emilie's portrait. "That I don't want to be disturbed."

Back to the jar she had brought with her, Nathalie laid the roses gently in the water, fingers running over the crimson-red buds before she turned back to the atelier, back to Gabriel, eyes facing his back.

"I am afraid this concerns work, Sir," she said finally glancing at Adrien, a discreet gesture telling him to wait before she went back to his father and proceeded. "Your PR Department called. It has several fashion magazines interested in interviewing you. Bernhard has sent the information to your e-mail, he asks—"

"The answer is no."

Nathalie remained impassive.

"To all of them?"

Gabriel's lack of answer was an answer in itself.

"I will call back and inform Bernhard," she therefore said and, allowing a moment of silence to go by, she turned back towards the atrium, this time signaling Adrien to join her.

"On a more important note, Sir," she then announced, hands closing over Adrien's shoulders. "Your son is here. He wishes to speak with you."

Gabriel's shoulders visibly tensed. Standing at her side, attention moving between her and his father, Adrien seemed to notice it too. He hesitated. He hesitated for an incredibly long moment. And then gave this weird jump, a gasp going passed his lips.

"I am leaving for Marinette's party!" he exclaimed, massaging his chest in the exasperated fashion of someone who had just been pinched. "I—"

He hesitated. Again. And in a second, he had jumped. Again.

"I made Marinette a gift!" Adrien now blurted out, right hand snapping shut over the same pocket he had been holding some minutes earlier and really, Nathalie would have gone ahead and asked what on earth was going on if Adrien wasn't rummaging through his shirt inner pocket now, a pink box being taken out. "Do you want to see it?"

They both stood there. Next to her desk. Waiting. But there wasn't a word, a movement, not anything to say Gabriel was even paying attention, much less interested, and, for a moment, Nathalie feared, she truly feared, Adrien might leave. She feared it even more when she felt him slip from her fingers. But that wasn't what he meant to do. Instead, Adrien stepped forward, making it all the way across the atelier to stand at his father's side. Then, he opened the box and showed him the gift.

It got little but a glance.

"What is it?"

"A lucky charm."

It was the worse thing Adrien could have said. Gabriel's shoulders stiffened. His entire body did. And, next to her desk, Nathalie closed her eyes, returning to the pair on the other side of the atelier to find Adrien staring at his gift.

"Is it that bad?" he whispered, going back to Gabriel, apprehension spilling right into his words. "Do you think it's weird? It's not horrible, is it?"

He was heading towards an explosion. Judging by the way Gabriel raised his eyes to the painting, to Emilie, what Nathalie could only conclude was a very accusatory look being thrown her way, he was already halfway down that path and Adrien was not giving an inch. He stood there arms crossed and sounding outraged.

"I'm not being dramatic!"

"What is this about then?!" Gabriel snapped.

"Do you like it?"

Nathalie stood straighter. It looked—It looked like Adrien had just doused Gabriel with cold water. He turned. The way the grayish eyes run up and down Adrien's face seeming to imply he was just now becoming aware of what "Your son is here" meant. And the moment he did see Adrien, it receded. The blue fire in his eyes. It receded until Hawkmoth was but a shadow and Nathalie stepped back to the atrium, not noticing that split second when Gabriel looked her way, never looking back until the door clicked behind her and she leaned her forehead against it, a plea in her mind.

Please, let this work.

Adrien

"You made this?" Father was querying, fingers reaching out to take the amulet from inside its box, eyebrows raised in an arch. "Alone?"

Still standing next to the golden painting, attention moving from the amulet to Father, Adrien changed his weight from one foot to the other, right hand running through his hair.

"Yeah, I… That is the right way of doing it, isn't it?" he asked, uncertain. "It was what Marinette did. What you did with your gift on my—" He stopped himself from saying 'anniversary' right on time. "What do you think?"

"It's—"

Father seemed to be at a complete loss for words right now. In fact, he was hanging the amulet from his fingers, watching the asymmetric stones spin, and frowning in such a way Adrien had to sigh. Well, he knew what that meant.

"It is horrible, isn't it?" he concluded all the while watching Father go over the strap that kept the amulet from falling apart. He had no idea how that was even possible but Father's frown actually deepened. And to make matters worse he was marching straight for the atelier's console, fingers flying over the display.

Adrien shook his head. Crestfallen.

"Should I get her something else?" he asked Father's back. "I still have time."

Stepping down from the console, making his way to a niche that was opening right in the center of the atelier's inner wall, Father simply rolled his eyes.

"You are not getting her something else," he snapped. "And it is not horrible. It's pink."

Father stopped near the niche as he said that, fingers tapping on the adorned arm of an antique sewing machine Adrien hadn't seen in years, attention roaming over the many small drawers the rolling panel had revealed. It didn't take long, however, for Father to give up on trying to remember where he kept what and start to search, a glance going to where Adrien stood.

"I had never noticed you had any sympathy for pink," he commented in a softer tone and while opening the first of the drawers, fingers rummaging through its contents. "Or any reds for that matter. Navy, greens, white. I was lead to believe those were your preferences. Not that it is in any way surprising. Your mother—"

Adrien was rushing across the atelier that same moment. The words having turned into a sharp intake of breath sending him marching by the center desk, the many designs that were over it barely registering in his mind as he stopped next to the niche. He had meant to grab Father's shoulder—his hand was halfway there already—but he never got to do it. The instant Father saw he was here, the moment he understood why, he clenched his teeth and soldiered on.

"Your mother," he forced himself through. "Also suffered from a strong aversion to anything that didn't come from those palettes. Red, black, purple… One might think they had given offense."

Father closed his eyes at that, forcing himself to breathe—and barely giving himself any time to before continuing.

"That is not to say a simple suggestion means I am unable to understand preferences," he put forth, now sounding annoyed. "I know quite well there are such things as complexion. Personality. Temperament—" He had gone back to opening and closing drawers in tandem with each word and now he stopped, fingers still holding one of the knobs, a sigh bringing a melancholic undertone to his otherwise passionate speech.

"Still, it was a shame. It is rather limiting not being allowed to work a full palette. Or less than a third of it. And far as experimentation goes—"

Father turned, the toolbox he had just pulled from inside one of the bigger drawers in hand, his attention falling directly on Adrien. It stopped him right in his tracks. As it did his words. The silence taking over the atelier when Father shook his head and walked passed him, leaving Adrien to open his mouth.

You were not annoying me, he wanted to say, but Father wouldn't believe even if he had, so Adrien just followed him, going to stand next to Nathalie's desk, watching the toolbox and this small metal piece that looked a lot like the end of a necklace being put over it, then frowning at how strained Father's movements became when he took upon himself to carefully pull out the end of the amulet.

"Is your hand better?"

Adrien knew it wasn't just by glancing at it.

"Are you not getting that looked—?"

"Pink."

Adrien stood straighter, crossing his arms, this belligerent expression that would have looked a lot more natural in the face at his side taking over his features only to be replaced by resignation a second later. His arms fell back to his side. He wouldn't win this. And, really, he didn't want to start an argument right now.

"Pink is Marinette's favorite color," Adrien explained, watching Father put the piece that had closed the amulet over the table and raise the amulet itself to the light. The pink stones shone as he did so. And for some reason, doubt suddenly crept its way into Adrien's mind.

"At least, I think it is her favorite color?" he trailed off, eyes widening and going to count through his fingers. "I mean, it is in her school bag and her purse and pencil case and this magic box she keeps her diary in—"

Father snapped his head his way, eyebrows knitted.

"A magic box?"

"Yeah, it snaps shut if someone tries to steal the diary," Adrien explained, seeing the grayish blue eyes flee from him just as he tried to meet them. "It is really cool actually. Marinette built it herself."

Father reached inside the toolbox, pulling out a side cutter.

"And you know this—"

"Sabrina once ended up with her hand locked inside it for most of the day."

There was a slight tilt to Father's head now, a harsh curl to his lips. Using the side cutter to trim the edge of the amulet, small bits of thread falling over the desk, Father looked—and worse sounded—utterly unimpressed.

"I didn't believe that young lady so silly she would take her diary to school," he said.

Adrien let escape this long exhale.

"She didn't do anything of the sort," he replied, watching Father going back to search for something inside the toolbox. "There was this class representative thing going on. Kind of an election. She decided to run against Chloe."

"How courageous."

"My classmates seemed to think that it was," Adrien told him, the sound of tools being shuffled against each other raising alongside his words. "It wasn't as if anyone else stepped forward other than her. They were really excited that she did."

"And the excitement lasted—" Father stopped, studying the pliers he had just taken out of the box. From where Adrien was standing he could almost hear the words "Pause for effect" going through Father's mind before he continued. "Five, ten minutes?"

Adrien massaged the back of his neck.

"Well—"

Father glanced at him, frowning, pliers in hand.

"It took longer?"

Adrien almost choked while trying to suppress a snort. That, for the record, hadn't been a joke. No matter if it kind of sounded like one. Father was serious. As always. If Adrien started laughing right now the only thing he would get was a very bewildered look.

"It lasted until recess," he finally managed to clarify, a trace of laughter in his voice. "Chloe went around trying to buy votes and to get dirt on Marinette. That was how Sabrina ended diary hunting in her bedroom. I have no idea how she got in there, but when she returned she had this polka-dotted box closed around her hand. Nobody could take it off. Actually, I think Sabrina would still have her hand in there if Marinette could have her way—Father?"

He blinked the same instant Adrien called out to him, the burning fire that had taken over his eyes, this curl to his lips that seemed just short of turning into a full-sized grin, fading into nothing as Father went to rub his chin, frowned, and left Adrien to stare at him.

"What are you thinking?" he queried, curious.

His answer was a head shake. A head shake and having his attention called back to the amulet Father had on his hands, one he was raising Adrien's way, alongside the pliers he had just taken from the box. If Adrien had, just for a moment, gotten the impression Father had goaded him into telling him about Marinette's diary box, that impression crashed and burned right at that moment. He had both the pliers and the amulet on his hands now. He was looking between them and Father.

"Close the crimp bead," he instructed and Adrien wasn't sure he wanted to know how lost he looked to get that big an eye roll. "The metal piece."

"Right."

He returned the amulet after finishing, attention going over the bruise on Father's wrist when he stopped to frown at Adrien's work. It looked–Actually, now that he got a good look at the wrist, Adrien had to grimace. It looked a lot worse than a week ago. It was black. Swollen. And Adrien had just opened his mouth to comment on it when he was expertly cut off.

"Your idea?" Father asked, back to work on the amulet and leaving Adrien to press his lips. As much as he wanted to speak what was on his mind, however, there was really not much to do other than follow Father's lead.

"Marinette's," Adrien informed, his heart giving this sudden excited jump. "Wait!"

It was a bit of struggle to take Marinette's gift from where he usually kept it and, come to think of it—and at this Adrien had to seriously cringe—it was probably nothing short of a miracle he wasn't made the latest victim of Father's three hour-long lecture on "The Aesthetics of Trouser's Back Pockets and How They are not Meant to Carry ANYTHING ." He didn't think he could survive another instance of that. Not without Nathalie picking her notebook and pen and starting to take notes on what Father was saying. That had left Adrien in stitches the first time it had happened. More so for Father's double take at the breakfast table upon finding his own article on Gabriel's monthly publication.

"Either I hit the jackpot with hiring that girl," he had muttered, skidding through the paragraphs, actually looking quite impressed. "Or I will come to deeply regret it."

He obviously hadn't. Nathalie was still here. Four years on. And sometimes it felt to Adrien she was the only thing in his life that remained constant over that period. After all, Mom was gone and Father—Father was taking the amulet Marinette had made from Adrien's fingers and studying it behind lifeless eyes.

"Blueberry," he commented going over the amulet's end. It seemed to get his seal of approval for he returned the amulet to Adrien, attention back to his present work. What he had meant by saying 'Blueberry', however, didn't get pass Adrien.

"That's my favorite color," he clarified, watching the pliers and side cutter being tossed back inside the box. "But you know that. It is the same color as your gift."

There was something strange to Father's expression all of sudden. In the way he had just glanced his way. But before Adrien could pinpoint what it was, Father had closed the toolbox, picked it up and returned the pink amulet to Adrien's hands without a word. There was little Adrien could do but march behind him as he made his way along the table and back to the open niche.

"So it's not horrible?" Adrien asked again, just to be sure, attention going from the amulet to Father's back. There was a hint of apprehension to his next question. "Do you think she will like it?"

He was back at Father's side now. Watching as he put the toolbox back next to the sewing machine, fingers lingering over its handle for a moment.

"It would be rather silly not to," came the quiet reply. "It's—"

Adrien would never know what Father actually thought. The quiet of the atelier had been shattered. There were voices. Shouting. The clicking of cameras. And right when Adrien turned to the windows to see what on earth was going on, Father's hands closed over his shoulders, pulling him back, the door to their left opening right at that instant giving Adrien the distinct impression Father would have pulled him behind him if the person stepping inside had been anyone other than Nathalie.

"You will be late," she told Adrien and the way she said that sounded like an apology. To whom, however, Adrien was not sure. "Your bodyguard is waiting outside."

"Thanks!" Adrien beamed and he would have jumped back to action right then, he would have been in the car and out the front gate without a second thought and maybe he would never have looked back. The thing was Father still had his hands locked over his shoulders. He hadn't moved an inch. And so Adrien did look back to see him staring at the windows. Towards the press standing on the other side of the iron gates. His expression so dark Adrien was overwhelmed by guilt.

Oh no.

No no no.

Not this.

"Father?"

The calling reached him. Somehow. Even if it took forever. Even if it took even longer for Father to struggle himself into releasing him, for him to step awayand for the Miraculous in Adrien's finger to decide this was the perfect moment to come back to life and tell him just how right Ladybug had been about what it had been trying to tell him all throughout the week. This horrible sensation of dread, of foreboding, washing over his mind, forcing Adrien to bit his lip to be able to keep his focus here, in the atelier and with Father.

"Go to that party of yours," Father was now saying as he stopped near the windows, hands locked behind his back, and maybe it was the Miraculous going insane, but the way the bright morning light washed over Father's beige suit gave Adrien this horrible sensation—that he was fading.

"You will be here when I come back, right?" he found himself asking, words suddenly forceful. "You will be here."

"I'm always here."

Adrien bit his lip. Did he—Did he actually believe that?

"Then, can we do this again?" Adrien asked, taking a step forward, towards the windows, towards Father, trying to ignore the Miraculous biting desperately into his finger if just for a moment longer. "I like talking with you."

Father didn't budge. He remained as he was. Immobile. Furious. And staring down the press.

"Schedule it with Nathalie."

Adrien wouldn't pretend that didn't hurt. It hurt no matter how many times he was dismissed like that. This time, however, he barely had time to drop his head, to stare at the black and white floor, to wonder what he should do, before the glaring difference between all other moments he had been told to 'Schedule it with Nathalie' and the present one, stepped forward. Efficient. Professional. Tablet in hand.

"Your schedule is open for tomorrow, Sir," Nathalie informed and Adrien blinked, watching as she frowned at the display, her index finger moving what must be both his and Father's schedules up and down.

Adrien had completely forgotten she was here.

He couldn't be more grateful that she was.

"As for Adrien's—" Nathalie continued. "School will run late tomorrow but there is still some time once he gets home. Furthermore—" She returned the tablet to her side, going on to face Father's back. Inflexible. "I will like to remind you about the dinner Mlle. Selene interrupted. If I remember correctly, you wished to reschedule it."

Adrien was stunned beyond all words. His chin hanging limp before this thought he must be looking like a fish crossed his mind and he snapped his mouth shut, attention going from Nathalie to Father and back to Nathalie. He wanted to hug her. He wanted to hug so much he didn't care if Father went forward and said no. And he couldn't believe that while he was thinking that, Nathalie could turn his way and misinterpret his expression as much as she did.

"If it is fine by you," she offered, searching his face, sounding uncertain. "It would be after your fencing class."

Adrien didn't get a chance to answer. Father had turned that exact same instant, a penetrating gaze falling on both of them.

"Now there is fencing on Mondays?"

It was the strangest thing. The moment Father turned, the moment he was back with them, frowning and impatient and with that dark expression falling away from his eyes, the Miraculous fell silent. It rested on Adrien's finger just as if nothing had happened. Like everything was fine.

"One of my colleagues changed schools," Adrien stammered, bewildered, and trying not to look at the ring. "M. D'Agencourt wants to have a strong team for the tournament so we are holding tryouts. He is hoping someone will appear."

Father gave out a scoff. It sounded a lot like 'hoping'. It sounded exactly like 'hoping'. But Adrien didn't have time to dwell on how weird that reaction was. Nathalie was frowning at him, still waiting for her answer and it wasn't until Adrien started nodding with such conviction his head seemed to have been momentarily stuck on a shaker that she went back to Father, locking her eyes with his.

"Afterwards, Sir?" she queried.

Adrien was back to him too. Pleading. He didn't dare to hope, but—

Father let out this long exhale.

"If it is feasible," he gave in.

It felt unreal. It felt so unreal Adrien had his head looming over Nathalie's tablet just to be sure of what she was tipping. Just to be sure this was actually happening. That Father had said yes. He had said yes!

"You are still late, Adrien," Nathalie reminded him.

"Right!"

Adrien had just stepped through the threshold, the atrium opening in front of him when he stopped. His attention going back to the atelier and to Father.

"Fingers crossed Hawkmoth won't do anything during the party?"

Father had gone back to glare at the press. Still, Adrien waited. Hand raised and with his fingers crossed. He waited until Father mimicked his gesture.

"Fingers crossed."

Adrien smiled and stepped outside, closing the door behind him before looking between it and the his Miraculous, confused, worried, his bodyguard's head appearing at the door some moments later sending him marching for the car. He would be crossing Place des Vosges, the garden near Marinette's house, alone, when he finally risked letting Plagg out of his shirt.

"Please, tell me that was you."

His query was met by a very innocent looking kwami.

"Me what?"

Adrien crossed his arms. He wasn't talking about Plagg pinching him, but he wouldn't have a chance to go ahead and tell him that. Alya and Nino had just turned the corner and Sabine Dupain-Cheng was marching passed all three of them, broom in hand. Adrien would still see her stop menacingly in front of a section of trees before his bodyguard appeared and his mind completely veered away from whatever was happening. As long as it wasn't Hawkmoth, he was rather sure G. could handle it. And so, Adrien joined his classmates and waited until Marinette arrived, followed suit by her very own, very akumatized grandmother and a mess that would push the party well into the night.

When Adrien arrived home, finding Nathalie waiting for him at the entrance, the book she was reading telling him she had long retired—even if the light glaring from under the atelier's door told Father had not—that sensation of impending disaster he had felt in the morning, the way it seemed to be related with Father, would be but a side note in his mind. One once again pulled to the side by him having to jump out of his bedroom window not that much time later.

By morning, crashing into bed alongside Plagg, exhausted enough that he didn't even notice Father had never made his way upstairs last night—and much less Nathalie when she actually did and ended making her way back down seconds later, alone and shaking her head—Adrien would have forgotten it altogether.

Nathalie

One of the butterflies was making its way back, the column of light diving inside the Observatory guiding it on its way down, slowly, gently, wings glowing in the pale morning light.

"I didn't see you arrive," Hawkmoth said, raising one hand to the light, how impossibly white the butterfly was all the more obvious now that it rested on his gloved fingers. "You are early—Nathalie."

Waiting by the Observatory's lift, at first uncertain if those words were meant for her or the arriving butterfly, Nathalie straightened, that last declaration, the exasperated way in which Gabriel seemed to became aware of how ambiguous his words were, making her smile.

"I could say the same," she told him, concern replacing what little of her smile still remained when Gabriel turned away from the window and she got a glimpse of the features hidden by the silver mask. "Have you slept the passed few days?"

"As little or as much as I saw fitted."

Nathalie's eyebrows drew closer.

"Which of the two?"

The question was waved away, the torn expression Gabriel had been supporting long before he noticed she was here returning to his face, his lips parted—only for a derisive smile to take the place of his words. Nathalie had seen Gabriel disappear far too many times behind this same expression to hold her silence now.

"You were going to say something," she pointed out, watching the butterfly take flight from his fingers and join the rest of its companions flying overhead. Hawkmoth's cold smile, when she returned to him, had given way this pained gaze. She could see his lips parting, but—

"Sir?"

He had turned his back on her, the rooftops around the house and the more distant structure of Le Tour Eiffel falling again under his gaze.

"I was going to ask if you could sense that," Gabriel informed, gesturing at something outside. "But it is about as pointless a question as the answer you would be forced to give."

Eyes having followed his gesture, Nathalie returned to him, squinting in suspicion, brow furrowed.

"And the that you mention, is—?" she even so chose to say and she could see Gabriel close his eyes through the reflection, then, clench his teeth, determined, cane twirling so it would rest on his shoulder.

"That is what I wonder," he mused, starting to tap the cane against his shoulder. "I have been sensing this for weeks. I know what it feels. At night. Alone and overthinking. Asking itself if it will ever find a place. But what it is—"

Gabriel fell silent, her next question making his eyes dart to her reflection.

"You can't transform it?"

"It is not a question if I can, as much as if I should," he told her, eyebrows knitting together. "Animals, people, the ones I have transformed in particular, I can tell those apart. However this, it thinks, it feels… differently."

Nathalie tilted her head, a note of curiosity reaching her voice.

"You don't think it's human?"

"And yet what else could it be? A machine?" Gabriel scoffed at his own hypothesis, turning back to her, the light coming from the round window falling around him. "This thing has potential. A push in the right direction and it will fall right into my hands. It might be the key to all of this. It might be the way to finally fix everything and yet—"

The butterflies seemed to have stopped over them, hanging on every word, watching Gabriel's expression twist with fury.

"I almost used it yesterday," he snapped and Nathalie took a step forward, her heels echoing softly on the dome around them, her expression one of visible concern. "If Adrien and you hadn't been insisting on scheduling that dinner, I would have done it and I wouldn't have cared what happened to me. I wouldn't have regretted it. I wouldn't regret any of—!"

Nathalie had closed her hand over Gabriel's arm, the abrupt end to the rant leaving them with their eyes locked.

"This isn't about the Miraculous, is it?" she observed, squeezing his arm tighter when she felt him shiver in answer. "This isn't what you wanted to say."

Gabriel's lips curled.

"I have sometimes wished you weren't that perceptive," he snapped.

"Have you?"

The grayish blue eyes never left hers, they didn't even as their belligerent expression fell apart, something that might have been regret taking its place.

"No," he told her honestly. "Not once."

The shutters slid to cover the window at those words, the fading transformation leaving only Gabriel here with her, attention following the butterflies as they landed around them, eyes closing for a second.

"The press was there yesterday," he finally found it in himself to say. "At Place des Vosges."

Nathalie was left staring.

"They followed Adrien to the party?" she stammered. "I was under the impression—"

"That they would leave a child alone?" Gabriel finished for her, back to gazing at the butterflies now resting around their feet. "To frequent public parks is hardly illegal. They are not interacting with him, not touching their cameras—" He stopped for a moment, taking a deep breath. "Apparently, my earlier refusal on granting an interview has them convinced the best way to secure one is to shadow my son and wait for me to appear."

Nathalie's hand closed tighter over his arm.

"How do you know this?" she asked, only for a shadow of suspicion to go over her face, her attention slipping towards the butterflies. As obvious as what she was thinking undoubtedly was, she hadn't expected Gabriel to shoot it down right away.

"That wasn't the butterflies," he said. "That young lady's mother and that bodyguard of Adrien's were weeding out a pair of photographers from behind the bushes all through the night. They made the mistake of asking them when I was to pick him up."

Nathalie pressed her lips.

"Mdm. Dupain-Cheng called," she easily concluded, taking her phone from her jacket, a glance at the display ending with Gabriel shaking his head.

"It was well passed your work hours. It wouldn't have gone to you."

"May I ask what was that she said?" Nathalie queried, returning the phone to her pocket. "I assume she was worried about her—"

It came in a sudden flash, the memory of a woman with peaceful brown eyes leaning next to the car's passenger window. Nathalie closed her eyes. A pang of guilt tugging at her heart.

"She was worried about Adrien," she whispered.

"She was worried," Gabriel concurred, his voice dropping lower and lower. "Asking if I wished he stayed there for the night. Giving assurances he would be safe—Safe."

He closed his eyes, shaking his head.

"There was only ever one thing I was any good at," he said, his voice so low it was barely there. "Whatever happened, I could always keep him safe. Now—"

Gabriel looked around, towards the white butterflies and the window, towards the cold metal walls, fingers closing around the Miraculous, eyes so hate-filled it was clear he meant to rip it out—

If only he had.

The moment passed. The fire died out. And rejoining Gabriel on the sunny atelier just seconds later, there was nothing Nathalie could do other than quench the remaining flames.

"I doubt Mdm. Dupain-Cheng meant her offer as a slight against you," she put forth, eyes following Gabriel as he picked one of his designs he had been clearly working on during the night, the sorrow her expression was so reluctant to show clear on that of the small kwami she failed to notice peeking from the shelves to her left. "She hardly seems the type."

A glance her way and Gabriel raised the sketch to the light.

"Your justification?"

"Her daughter."

Her answer came in the form of a snort. Putting the sketch back on the desk, Gabriel picked up his usual white and red scarf from where he had left it on the work area.

"Adrien's little admirer, you mean," he said, putting it on, cruel amusement giving way to something sharper. "She has a diary, you know. Locked away inside this 'magic box' she made."

Nathalie raised her eyebrows.

"A magic box?"

"That was what Adrien called it," Gabriel told her, making sure the Miraculous was out of sight before continuing. "Quite the devilish little contraption. A trap of sorts. I wonder—"

The beige jacket slid off his shoulders, being dropped onto the U-shaped sofa running around the desk. Whatever Gabriel might be thinking, however, whatever he meant to say, was cut short by him reaching to unbutton his sleeves and stopping, frowning at his injured wrist, clearly trying to see a way to bypass it.

Nathalie had sighed, gone down the small flight of stairs and stopped at his side before he reached the obvious solution.

"If I may."

She allowed herself a grimace upon taking his hand in hers. The question of how much worse he intended this to get crossing her mind before she shook her head. Having that discussion, again, would get them nowhere.

"You wonder?" Nathalie therefore queried, fingers going over the small buttons. "About the diary?"

She ended up raising her attention at Gabriel's silence, eyes meeting the grayish blue ones studying her, their mute question making her drop her eyes.

"I fear I am about to disappoint you," Nathalie said, back to the sleeve. "Fifteen-year-old-Nathalie is of no help to you for starters. She never had a diary."

"Never?"

"No. She—" Nathalie hesitated, fingers hovering over the small buttons for a moment, then returning to work. "She preferred to keep her heart with the only person it was safe with."

"Who was that?"

Her chest tightened, the quiet curiosity to Gabriel's tone making her fingers close around the fabric of his shirt, holding on to him, holding on to this man who hadn't been with her back then—whom she hadn't even known existed. Her voice, when she finally found it, was little more than a whisper.

"Myself."

They didn't talk for a long while after that. Gabriel's index finger tapping on the red fabric of his trousers as she busied herself with his other sleeve, unbuttoning it, rolling it up. It wasn't until the feeling of warm fingers touching her chin, nudging it up, finally brought her back to the present that Nathalie looked up.

"You haven't changed much," Gabriel commented and the quiet gentleness to his words made her smile, albeit sadly, gaze resting on his.

"I have," she heard herself say, fingers lingering on his hand one last moment, before she let him go. "I changed a lot."

Her attention dropped to the floor, left hand closing over nothing as she made her away back to the atelier's upper level, gathering herself and turning to face Gabriel. Her expression vacant. All emotion gone.

"Still, if I understand your intentions correctly," she told him, starting to make her way to her desk. "I must inform you that in getting your hands in this diary, it is very probable that the only information you will gain is a whole lot of nonsense about boys."

Gabriel's eyebrows jumped up.

"Boys?"

"Possibly one in particular," Nathalie told him, picking up the small pile of papers over her desk and turning to find Gabriel pressing the bridge of his nose. "Is there a problem?"

Gabriel dropped his hand that same instant. Fuming.

"Why would she have her reveries about boys locked away in a high security puzzle box?!"

"It's important at that age," Nathalie simply stated, only to have this look thrown her way while she confirmed Gabriel's signature on the papers.

"You know what this is about," he said.

"I do," she confirmed, dropping the papers on the scanner lying next to the wall, her expression hard when she looked back to him. "You suspect she might have written about being Ladybug on it."

Gabriel had his arms cross now.

"And?"

"It is possible, of course," Nathalie answered, pensive, and all the while double-clicking one of the icons on her computer desktop. "I assume having a makeshift safe would give her a sense of security."

"But," Gabriel pushed through.

"But—"

The scanner jumped to live just in time for her rebuttal.

"It is my opinion," Nathalie said. "That it would be unwise, not to say dangerous, to have something telling of her feats as Ladybug lying around. Worse yet to write them down."

"She is young," Gabriel offered.

"That doesn't have to make her silly or rash," Nathalie replied, offering half an eye to the scanned documents that were popping on the screen. "The Ladybug you describe to me is neither of those things."

Gabriel frowned, pensive, gaze slipping away to the painting at the other end of the atelier and the woman pictured there. His silence left Nathalie to step back, allowing him his time, alone, until he found it in himself to come back.

"You worry I will be disappointed by this diary," Gabriel finally stated, finding her sitting at her desk, typing. "I almost wish that I am. I would much rather have that girl daydreaming about some crush than standing in my path."

Nathalie's fingers failed to hit the keys in any way that made sense. She was staring at Gabriel now, eyes wide with surprise, a small smile finding its way to her lips.

"You do like her," she whispered, softly, hopefully, voice going back to its usual professional tone when Gabriel frowned at her. "And I assume we will get her diary either way."

"If we can concoct some way of doing that," he agreed, a grin taking over his expression. "She borrowed something of mine. It is only right I return the favor."

Nathalie shook her head, going back to writing the e-mail. She would like to say this surprised her, but there was very little that still did.

"Was that the reason for your attempt during the party?" she queried, hitting send and stepping towards the trolley to grab one of the archives waiting on it. "Marinette's diary?"

Gabriel's grin faded, an alarmed expression taking its place.

"How?!"

The answer seemed to run him down the same instant.

"Adrien!" he exclaimed. "I wondered why you were reading in the atrium. I assume he told you the essential, it saves me having to share it."

Nathalie raised her eyebrows, archive on her hands.

"Did you intend to?"

"No," Gabriel admitted and the word hanged between them, its brusque honesty somehow managing to be at the same time better and worse than if he had just simply stood there and lied.

"Yet, for what it's worth," Gabriel continued. "I didn't know whose grandmother that woman was or that she would make a beeline for that party the instant I transformed her. Still, yes. Getting that diary was exactly my intention." His tone became aggravated. "It goes without saying I wasn't successful."

"The butterflies couldn't find this box?"

"No. And I couldn't risk someone going back to the house and finding them in that girl's room," Gabriel hissed. "If she is Ladybug there is only one thing connecting that sort of intrusion and Hawkmoth and Emilie's grimoire would lead her straight back to me. And even if she isn't that bug—"

Gabriel didn't get to finish. The same moment the words left his lips they turned into a sharp intake of breath and Gabriel was on the move up the stairs, his fingers already over the painting combination when he stopped and looked back. Panting. Snarling. Eyes on the press beyond the gates.

"Those blasted vultures!" he snapped, right hand clawed around the white and red scarf, the shudders running down his body becoming as clear as day now that Nathalie had made her way back to his side. "What must I do for them to understand they are not—?!"

Welcomed, didn't make it passed his lips either. The phone beeping inside Nathalie's jacket pocket, her fingers immediately diving to pick it up, leaving Gabriel to press his eyes.

"Who is it?"

"Adrien."

And she would ask him to speak in plain French if he wasn't already. Her confusion as she read and reread the message such that Gabriel pressed his fingers to the top of the phone, making it lean in his direction. The display rotated. He went back to press his eyes almost the same moment.

"The Sous-Plastron is an underarm protector," he informed her, fighting to get his voice back to its normal unreadable tone. "For fencing. The jacket has this seam—"

The phone pinged again. The sound leaving Gabriel to roll his eyes.

"Go put the fire out."

"Of course."

She would remind herself to thank Adrien later. For distracting Gabriel. For occupying his mind with something that wasn't the Miraculous or the press. And for a whole lot more she couldn't tell him. That in no way should he know. Still, the brunt of her cold professionalism allowed for little but a raised eyebrow when she marched upstairs and entered Adrien's room, his absence leading her straight into his closet—and what looked like the Somme.

"I would remind you that school starts in half an hour," Nathalie pointed out, eyebrows raised in surprise, attention running over pile after pile of clothes before it reached the blond boy standing among the disaster. "Regardless of your wardrobe's apparent implosion."

Adrien jumped away from the drawers he was going over, shoving the large pile of t-shirts he had on his hands randomly back inside.

"I swear it wasn't like this before!" he groaned, jumping over what appeared to be crumpled jeans and, for some reason, socks, to approach her. "It is never like this. I can't find my—It's this white protection for my weapon arm. It looks like half a jacket. I swear I have searched for it everywhere!"

Nathalie would be fishing it from the pile of clean clothes to her left in less than ten seconds, and watching Adrien's incredulous growl turn into a sprint when his alarm went off on the bedroom and he ran passed her, Sous-Plastron in hand.

"Your father will be waiting for you at seven," Nathalie called after him, watching him shove the protection inside the sports bag he had over his bed and continue full on sprinting for the door. "Dinner is at eight."

There was this huge smile on Adrien's face as he looked back, right before disappearing out the door.

"I haven't forgotten!"

Nathalie shook her head, moving to exit the bedroom and almost getting run over when Adrien jumped back inside.

"Thank you," he said, stopping for a moment, one hand raised her way. "Fingers crossed we find some new people for the team?"

There was no way she could have kept herself from smiling.

"I'm keeping them crossed," Nathalie said and this time Adrien did leave, stepping into the courtyard with his bodyguard and his fencing bag, looking happy beyond words.

If only Nathalie had known how this day would end. That in less than an a pair of hours, a girl whom Gabriel would call Riposte would be rampaging through the city with Adrien caught right in the middle of her fury. If only she had known what would happen, then maybe...

But Nathalie didn't know. And watching Adrien until the car made its way out of the gates, disappearing beyond the walls, it wouldn't be until much later that this moment would replay in her mind and Nathalie would understand that this was when everything started going wrong.

Author's Notes:

After a long hiatus, we are back! And first off, let me thank you all so much for not having given up on this story. Let's just say RL got in the way of writing big time and this part of the chapter put so much of a fight I become stuck in it for ages. So really, thank you so much for still being here.

But on to the good news! The chapter "The Painted Lady," where we are now, actually has four parts and the next two ones are mostly written ;) so we are on a sane publishing schedule for once and I will see you next time!

(And, of course, any comments will mean the world!)