This story is heavy on the angst because who doesn't love crying, right? It was inspired by the song Heather by Conan Gray (hope I spelled that right) so you know it's gonna be sad.
oOo
I've tried to put my feelings for Chat into words. You would think it would be easy, given that I play around with words every day as a hobby, but no. I've found no string of syllables that can accurately describe that maelstrom of emotions. But then, I shouldn't be surprised. Chat Noir, himself, is indescribable. No, I don't mean psychically. I mean emotionally. I mean his soul. It could never be reduced to a couple lines of ink on a piece of paper and even if it could, I could never be the one holding the pen. I have no place trying to define what is undefinable, what is unattainable. What isn't mine.
Sorry, I'm getting ahead of myself. A bad habit of mine. I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is… well, I guess my civilian name doesn't really matter. I can tell you what name I don't go by, though. Ladybug. My name is not, nor will it ever be, Ladybug. I could never measure up to the beauty and courage and glory that name holds. Trust me, I've tried. It's impossible.
How about I compromise with you? I'll tell you my alternate persona's name. The name that was plastered all over the front pages when I arrived and didn't disappear for what now feels like only a few minutes. Ruby Rue. Ruby for the suit color and Rue for… I don't know. I never really had any reasoning behind that part; I just thought it sounded cool. I've always been a sucker for alliteration. It was also my great aunt's maiden name, coincidentally.
According to the dictionary, rue (in lowercase) means to regret or show remorse. I suppose that's fitting. Because I sincerely regret ever becoming Ruby Rue in the first place.
Imagine I hadn't accepted the role. Imagine I hadn't met Tikki. Imagine those infamous earrings had never been placed in my hands and I had never gotten that sudden, strange swell of courage upon receiving them. Such a dangerous trade. A soul and all its freedom and innocence for a pair of earrings. Imagine I hadn't traded.
Then again, you probably can't imagine it away, given that you don't exactly know what is being imagined away in the first place. I guess I should tell you how this all started. I'll warn you, though, that my story isn't one of a hero. It's one of a little girl who hid behind a confident ruse and prayed to God no one noticed she had a heart.
It was two months after Ladybug's death. Oh. Didn't you know? No, you didn't. Of course you didn't, because I never told you. I'll back up a little more for you. On March 14th, Ladybug, Paris' own Lady Luck and angelic savior, died. Or rather, she disappeared.
I remember the day as clear as anything. I was sitting in my bedroom at the time, leaning on my desk and procrastinating schoolwork. My mother was downstairs, my dad was at work. My cat was curled up on my bed, dozing. My phone was on the right of my overheated laptop. It was raining.
I got a notification from a friend of mine. A good friend. It read DUDE CHECK THE NEWS RIGHT NOW with no context or exclamation points. So I, of course, went to my preferred news site and clicked on the most recent video, which was a livestream. I don't remember what street it happened on, but I do know there was a grocery store in the background. The video was blurred footage of panicky voices and a clouded sky and an akuma attack. Chat Noir was there, fighting the victim, soaking wet. His motions were aggressive and messy, edging on desperate. And he was alone. No Ladybug.
I rewound the video to a couple minutes prior, not knowing it would change my life forever as I clicked play. I watched. Chat Noir was fending off something that looked like a tangible shadow, looming and shudder-inducing. He didn't see the complicated mechanism held by the akuma victim at his back, nor the tip of it aimed right for him. Ladybug did. With a cry of his name that haunted my dreams for weeks and still occasionally does, she lunged for her partner, shoved him to the ground, and took the blow in his place. She disappeared in an inky haze, leaving only her earrings behind. And that was the last time anyone ever saw her.
I still remember the look on Chat Noir's face. Shocked. Sick. Like his insides had been kicked out and his lungs wouldn't work anymore. I do recall my reaction somewhat, but not as well as I remember his. All of Paris had memorized his expression at that moment, as well as the blind, seething rage he released on his enemy moments later.
Paris buzzed with questions and was given absolutely no answers. Where had she gone? Was she okay? Why were the police keeping so quiet? Why wouldn't Chat Noir provide any comment for the press? And where was he in the first place?
After a week, Ladybug was pronounced missing and after a month, pronounced legally dead. And it was two months later that an elderly man lost his footing and collapsed in the middle of the road, outside of my house, on my street.
I was either alone in seeing him or just plain crazy, but I was the only one who darted out into oncoming traffic and lugged the man back onto the sidewalk. I don't know what would have happened if I hadn't helped him. I guess nothing. I try not to think about it too much. He thanked me profusely and, as a favor returned, handed me a small black box with little red engravings on the top. He told me it would bring me good luck. I hadn't believed him at the time. I never did.
I didn't open the box for a while, not until I got back from school that afternoon. I was bored and curious and didn't feel like doing homework, so I pried the lid up and, in a flash of light and a blur of red, I met Tikki.
I'll never forget how hard she tried to appear cheerful and excited about getting a new holder, how patiently she had explained matters to a shaking girl on the verge of a panic attack. I'll also never forget the shadow that fell over her eyes when she thought I wasn't paying attention. I always thought- hoped- that, in time, Tikki might accept me as her new holder. But the wound was still fresh and I was the salt. Still, she was a good kwami. I loved her with my whole heart. She was always there for me when familial problems arose, when I didn't feel quite up to getting out of bed in the morning, when I started crying and wouldn't tell her why for fear of upsetting her. She did her best. I did my best too. I guess we all did.
oOo
Meeting Chat Noir had been painful, nerve-racking, but still not as bad as it could have been. Tikki had suggested I not message or call him, lest he be given false hope that she was back, so I simply waited around to catch a glimpse of him before donning my mask and climbing the roof I'd seen him leap onto last.
Upon finally catching up, I found Paris' own Chat Noir sitting on the edge of a flat rooftop, staring out at the horizon line. It was a strangely hot day, but I felt cold from the inside out. I was the new Ladybug. The lookalike. The replacement. I had heard the rumors regarding their relationship going far beyond friendship and couldn't imagine the turmoil he was enduring. How would he react?
I expected resistance and possible anger, but I was, of course, met with neither. Chat isn't like that.
Creeping up behind him, I said, timidly, "Chat Noir?"
He turned his head, just a bit, enough to see my feet. And I think that for one fleeting moment he thought I was her, but upon meeting my gaze, it was impossible to tell from his expression.
He stared up at me for a long time. His eyes looked haunted, as if he had been through a war and come back home with nothing but black memories and even blacker nightmares. He made no move to stand or speak, so I elaborated.
"I'm Ruby Rue," I explained, trying to steady my shaking hands and voice.
He took a slow, sweeping scan of my costume, no doubt noticing all the little and big differences. The sleek black boots, the golden accents, the high ponytail as opposed to low pigtails. I do have her hair color. And my eyes are very much like hers. Looking back, I wish I had gone blonde.
"I knew he would pick someone," he finally muttered, voice much hollower than I had ever heard it on TV interviews. He let out a dry, void laugh. "I guess I just didn't expect it to be so soon."
Nerves swapped for empathy and my stomach twisted, which led me to take a seat at his side. I clasped my hands tightly together and took a deep breath.
"Just so you know," I replied, "I'm not here to replace her. Because there's no way I ever could. I'm only here to… fill in. Until she comes back."
Nobody I knew truly believed Ladybug had died, especially Chat. We all had faith that maybe, some day, she would appear just as suddenly as she had disappeared and everything would be set right again. We hoped. We hoped until we ached.
Chat mused over my words, eyes tracing over my expression. I don't know exactly what he saw there, but whatever it was set him at ease. So he offered me a weak but genuine smile (one that I would get very used to seeing) and held out his hand.
"Nice to meet you Ruby Rue. Can I call you Ruby?"
I allowed my palm to slip into his, watching a little light return to the green of his gaze.
"Only if I can call you Chat," I returned, and that was that. A simple, subtle introduction and my entire world was flipped upside down with a single handshake.
oOo
It was strange to be thrown into the spotlight. Everyone wanted to know who the infamous Ladybug's replacement was. Every time Ruby Rue showed up to (albeit clumsily at first) save the day with Chat Noir, news reporters rushed at me with their aggressive cameras and microphones and incessant questions like gunfire. I wasn't at all comfortable with the sudden rush of attention because wasn't used to it yet. Chat Noir knew this and did what he could to divert their attention, but even he squirmed under their brutal integrations. It got so bad that Chat consulted me about gathering a press conference to explain things to the citizens. I think he was getting tired of being beat over the head by the phrase "new Ladybug." I was too, so I agreed.
He walked me through the whole thing and told me what to say and how to stand and smile and project confidence, all skills I had no idea I would need so often in the future. He even went as far as taking my hand in his behind our backs when I suddenly froze up mid-sentence in front of everyone. He took over for a few minutes, allowing me time to figure out how to breathe again. I suppose I did alright. At least it answered their questions and got them to leave me alone for a little while.
Still, Ladybug was a shadow that I couldn't escape. Everywhere I turned, there she was. Newspaper headlines, the whispers of strangers, hanging off the lips of everyone I encountered. I could hear it in the rare quaver of Tikki's voice. I could see it imprinted all over Chat, etched into his movements, lacing every word he spoke, even if he wasn't talking about her. Her shadow was there, haunting me, chasing me, watching me, waiting for me to slip up and prove to the world that I wasn't as capable as their Ladybug and never could be.
Time doesn't heal wounds. It just makes people forget about them. And in the moments when Paris- when I- forgot about Ladybug, I was able to breathe and reorganize myself. I worked hard, harder than I've ever worked at anything, to keep my city safe. I pushed myself to my very limits to be the great heroine that she was, coming up with convoluted plans, studying video footage of previous akuma battles to learn tactics, smiling and waving to the press, taking pictures with little kids, ensuring I checked with each and every victim to see if I could help them. After a while, I started to enjoy being a savior, a hero, a household name. Unfortunately, there were still sour moments.
I can recall one specific incident that made me feel all kinds of strange. Chat and I had just saved a victim, a little girl with red braids, and I asked if she was okay. She gladly talked about her problems (something about a mean kid on the playground at her school) and I gave her a little advice on how to handle the situation. Then, she smiled wide at me and said, clear as could be, "I think you're the best. The best Ladybug ever."
Chat Noir, being only a few feet away, had overheard. His eyes got that shadowed glaze to them, the expression he always wore when someone brought up Ladybug. More specifically, when someone brought up Ladybug and compared her to me.
I tried to force a laugh and said, "No, no, you can't think that. I'm just a filler. The real Ladybug will be back soon."
To which, the girl replied with a confused frown, "But you are the real Ladybug," before spotting her mother and rushing over to her.
That always stuck with me. Maybe because I didn't (because I wouldn't) accept the praise. Maybe because Chat had suddenly looked sick. Maybe because that little girl had finally said what I was truly afraid of: Becoming the real Ladybug. Having to live up to the legacy she left behind. It was a lot of pressure. I was just a kid. Technically, Ladybug was also a kid, but she didn't seem like it in the slightest. She was a goddess. And now I had to be a goddess.
oOo
As weeks passed and I slowly but surely grew into my role as a heroine of Paris, Chat Noir and I began to form a sort of friendship. We talked for longer periods of time during patrols, grew more in sync during battles, and even stuck around after akuma attacks for a few minutes to chat about random nothings. I knew things about him, personal things that one friend should know about the other. I learned that his favorite color was blue. I learned that he laughed when he was uncomfortable or nervous and had a tick of rubbing at the back of his neck. I learned that he was horrible at Tic-Tac-Toe, that he was a good liar when he needed to be, and he had an affinity for black cherries (which always stained his bottom lip a specific shade of red when he ate them). He also had a seething hatred of Camembert cheese, of all things. I learned he had a golden heart and a hot temper when properly provoked. I learned he didn't have a mom anymore. I learned his father was a terror. And I learned just how much he adored Ladybug.
He talked about her in the present tense, like she was still there, somewhere in Paris, living her life like absolutely nothing had happened. When he spoke of her, it was either dreamy and fond and ended in laughter or quiet and reserved and ended in his gaze darkening and dropping to his lap. Even though I felt like a traitor wearing her spots in his presence, I listened in earnest to his stories and offered comfort when needed and, after a while, he allowed himself to cry around me. I was glad he cried, not just because his tears on my shoulder were a symbol of trust, but because he so desperately needed a release.
I never cried in front of him. I never told him about my problems, my frustrations with my family, my crippling fear of failure, my discomfort living in Ladybug's shadow. It was better if I bore my burdens alone, given that he already had so many to carry. When he asked if I had any issues that I'd like to talk about, I merely shrugged and said, very casually, "I don't think so." He told me I was lucky. Everyone told me I was lucky.
Chat needed someone strong, so strong I became. I flashed a smile for everyone and only cried silent tears when I was absolutely sure I was alone, in the dead of night, when Tikki was asleep. But I was glad I could be there for the city and for him. And I was fully determined to be the best heroine and friend I could be. I was determined to be perfect. To be invincible. To be Ladybug.
But somewhere along the way, things went awry. Awry in a very specific, very personal way. I should have predicted it. I should have seen it coming from a mile away. He was sweet and funny and compassionate and all the things a good guy should be. It was inevitable I would fall in love with Chat.
Look, I didn't mean to. Honest. Over the course of a mere few months, in between heartfelt midnight talks by the river and overwhelming bouts of wheezing laughter on the Eiffel Tower, it just kind of happened. He was beginning to heal from his loss and had accepted me as his partner, as well as a shoulder to lean on, and... I don't know. One day I just looked over at him, sprawled out in the sunlight, hands tucked behind his head, that obscure smile playing at the corner of his mouth, and I recognized the sincere warmth and fondness welling up in my chest as love.
It was the worst realization of my life. He had no room for romance in his life, let alone with the girl who had replaced his lost love. But no matter what stern, sharp words I said to myself, I couldn't strangle my feelings for him. I noticed the little things more often, the way he pursed his lips to the side, blew his bangs away from his eyes, drummed his claws against his knee when he got bored in interviews. All his little quirks and habits were suddenly all too endearing and I couldn't resist watching them. I noticed the big things, too. How kind he was to strangers, how pouty and petty he could get when irked, how his core values and beliefs shaped him as a person and a hero. Despite not knowing his real name, I knew him. I knew Chat better than I knew myself. And I loved him from the inside out.
My feelings grew and grew until I couldn't even look at him too long without an unbearable ache seizing me by the throat and shoving me underwater. I hated it, but it was clear there was nothing I could do to change the facts. Chat Noir held my whole heart in the palm of hand. He didn't know it. And he never could.
One day, I decided to try and describe all the mixing, mangled feelings swirling around in my chest. I dabble in poetry as a hobby and have always had an affinity for words, so I figured it would be easy. It wasn't. Each and every line was almost right, yet never completely right. Even French, the language of love, failed to truly describe how I felt. Maybe I was just never meant to be a poet, but I don't think that was the problem. Chat was a wonder, a miracle, and I just couldn't find the words to sum him and the overwhelming magnetism he emitted up.
I did try, though. I remember doing my very best to immortalize my longing for him in ink and even went as far as bringing my little poem to patrol one day. There were no names, no psychical descriptions, just pure, raw, unfiltered feelings that anyone could have experienced. My intentions were innocent. I just wanted to see his reaction. Ultimately, after I shook some sense in myself, I resolved not to show him, but Chat has a way of sticking his nose in other people's business and spotted the folded paper tucked into my belt. He inquired about it and when I confessed that it was merely a silly piece of writing I was working on, he lit up like a kid on Christmas and begged to see it.
Charmed by his eagerness to see something I'd created with my own two hands, I caved. He unfolded the paper very carefully, eyes tracing over the words with a certain slow reverence that made me think, for one horrible moment, that he knew what it really meant. But he didn't make the connection. He raved over that pitiful poem like it was a work of Shakespeare, complimenting the style and word choice and saying that it was like someone's heart had bled out on the page. It was a funny way to phrase it, because it was true. I had bled on that page. That was my heart laid bare before his very eyes. And he called it beautiful. I think, if possible, I fell in love with him just a little bit more because of that.
oOo
Sometime in late summer, Chat came to me with an epiphany. He looked stunned and sad, like he wished he hadn't made the connection in the first place. With a little prompting, he confided that on the same day Ladybug was hit, a very good friend of his from school had gone missing. She hadn't come back. And he was beginning to think that Ladybug and the girl from his school were one in the same.
He felt guilty about discovering this. He was sure Ladybug would be upset, given that she had always been so adamant about secret identities being kept. I didn't say the obvious. I didn't say she might not come back and therefore his discovery might not matter. Instead, I sat by his side and shared his pain and rubbed circles in between his shoulder blades, assuring him that Ladybug would understand and that I was sorry he had to find out this way. I did my best to ignore the painful knotting of my stomach as he confessed to being happy they were the same person. I knew that if- when Ladybug returned, they would be closer than ever, since they were friends as civilians. They might even become more than friends. She would come back and claim him as what he truly was. Hers.
Chat never asked to know who I was behind the mask. Of course, he took interest in hearing about my life and personal interests and hobbies and family and friends, but never once did he explicitly express interest in getting to know the girl I was without spots and spandex. He had always wanted to know who Ladybug was, but never me. It was only natural, given their extensive shared history, but I couldn't help feeling a bit... excluded. Like Ladybug and Chat Noir together were an entire symphony and I was merely the echo.
oOo
It took a while (and I really mean a while) before Chat didn't tear up when he talked about her, but it eventually happened. Sometime in autumn, I think. It must have been autumn.
"You know," he said one evening, in that pensive, daydream-like tone of his. "You kind of remind me of Ladybug."
If anyone else had said that, I would have been irritated, perhaps a bit tense, but it wasn't anyone else. It was Chat.
"Why?" I asked, sparing him a sidelong glance and a slight smirk. "Because I look good in red?"
He laughed at that, which made me happy. I tried to make him laugh when I could. He deserved to laugh.
"Well, you do look amazing in red," he agreed, tugging recklessly at my heartstrings, "but it's not that. When you first showed up, you were shy and timid and a little afraid. A scared-y cat, if you will."
I shook my head in disapproval of his pun. My smile gave me away.
"She was the same way," he went on. "But then, as time wore on, she realized her true ability and grew comfortable in her own skin. And sure, she can be quick to fall into self doubt, but she's always ready to face any battle head on. She's brave." His head tilted in my direction, green eyes shining. "Like you."
His description probably fit Ladybug to a T. But me? I didn't know. I never felt confident or comfortable aside from the rare moments of solace found by Chat's side. Yes, I smiled and waved, but internally I was quaking, terrified of messing everything up.
My ever-present grin slipped, which was rare enough to catch Chat's attention. I couldn't meet his eye, so I turned to watch the sun dipping below the horizon.
"I don't feel very brave," I stated, trying to sound noncommittal or joking or nonchalant or anything other than the shaking little girl I really was. I didn't succeed. It was one of the only times I can recall my picture perfect shell cracking.
I didn't know when he put his hand on my shoulder, but it was there all the same. He was sitting up, leg against mine, and he turned me to face him.
"Hey," he coaxed, drawing my gaze. He looked so honest and concerned. "You don't have to feel brave to be brave, you know. You make a great hero, one of the best I've ever known, and Paris definitely agrees. And I'm glad... I'm glad I got you as a partner. You've got a big heart and a good moral code and a strong sense of empathy for people. You're doing better than you could ever know. You've helped me through this whole thing, and I'm so, so thankful for you. You're... amazing, Ruby."
That speech, that moment, was the closest Chat ever got to truly seeing me for who I was. It was the closest he got to the unnamed girl beneath the mask. But in hindsight, I truly wish he hadn't said it.
His genuineness mixed with the sweet autumn air and the lack of distance between us must have done something to mix up our minds. Because somehow, the small gap separating us began to, ever so slowly, shrink. The line between right and wrong was suddenly watered down and blurry and my head wasn't in the right place. Neither was his, I guess.
The kiss was brief, a mere few seconds, but I remember it like it lasted hours. It was innocent and tentative and electrifying and exactly how I'd imagined, in my idle midnight musings, a kiss from Chat would feel like. It gave me hope, vain as it might have been, that perhaps it could truly be us in the end. Perhaps he could heal from his loss and finally see me.
In the years to follow, I would remember that kiss with mixed feelings. I regretted letting my rouse slip. I regretted getting caught up in the way he was looking at me. I regretted allowing myself, just for the moment, to forget about Ladybug. But I didn't regret the kiss itself. It seemed that it was worth it for just a small taste of what I could have had. What might have been.
When the kiss broke, he lingered for a moment, nose brushing against mine, before pulling back. He looked surprised at himself. Guilty.
"I... I'm sorry," he stammered, drawing back further still. "I don't... I-I didn't mean to-"
Immediately, my soaring heart crashed back to the ground, where they belonged.
"No, no, it's okay," I rushed to say. "It was my fault, really."
I still have no idea how I managed to speak, what with the knife that had just been plunged into my chest.
"No, it was mine," he insisted, shaking his head. A hand raised to his forehead, fingers raking through his bangs. "I'm so sorry, I just... I haven't been thinking straight recently."
He said it like he had committed a crime. Like I was a crime. Any hope I'd previously had that he just might become mine dissolved in a second. Just like that.
I told him that it was completely fine, told him not to beat himself up about it, brushed it off with some kind of joke. With such an earnest look on his face, one I could never say no to, he asked if we were good. I smiled my famous smile, the one in all the newspapers, and said we were.
I had tried so hard to live up to Ladybug's legacy that somehow, along the way, I had become her. Outwardly, at least. I had the confidence, the stance, the skill, the demeanor, but there was one thing she had that I never did. Him.
It was petty, I know, and a bit melodramatic, but I resented Ladybug after that kiss. I resented her as if it was her fault for disappearing, for leaving Ruby Rue to take her place, for letting me fall in love, for keeping Chat's heart as hers and never letting it go. It wasn't. I knew that deep down, but it felt good to pretend that I wasn't an echo. It felt good to pretend that I truly did own the earrings, that Chat really was my rightful partner, that I was meant to protect Paris, that I was crossed in love not because I was an afterthought, but because Ladybug was the true outsider.
One cannot scorn a goddess and expect good fortune.
I oftentimes wondered afterwards if Ladybug somehow knew about me and my private thoughts and feelings. I wondered if she thought I was getting too comfortable with Chat Noir, too protective of her earrings. I wondered if she knew it all and that was why she decided, exactly a week after the kiss, to return.
oOo
It happened in early October, well into the night. Maybe nine or ten pm. The air was biting cold. Out of costume, we would have been shivering like two leaves in the wind. Chat and I were discussing something of little importance by way of mumbles and mutters, leaning against one another on a park bench and dozing off to the sounds of nature at night. The park was fairly empty aside from one or two people, so we didn't garner any attention. I wish I had enjoyed that simple, domestic moment just a little more than I did.
A bright light flashed, turning my eyelids pink. At first, I thought it was lightning or maybe a flash of a camera, but it was much bigger. Chat and I shifted in place, eyes lifting open, and there she was. A girl, standing in the middle of the park, with disheveled dark hair, a soot-stained face, tattered clothes smudged with dirt, and the bluest eyes I'd ever seen, brimming with tears of diamonds.
I didn't know what had happened or who she was at the time, but given that I was a proclaimed protector of Paris and a young girl had just appeared, looked beaten and terrified, I sprang to my feet and rushed over. Tiredness forgotten, I grabbed her by the shoulders to steady her, given that she looked ready to collapse at a moment's notice.
I asked her if she was okay, if she was hurt, who she was. These questions fell on deaf ears. She just stared at me for a long, agonizing moment, taking in my entire expression, eyes skimming over my hair and suit, before a withering look crossed her face.
"Wrong one," she muttered, shaking her head I'm tired agitation. "Another wrong one."
I had no idea what those words meant. She moved her arms up and knocked my hands from her shoulders in one, fluid motion, before raising a hand to her right wrist. There was a device, a bracelet, something of the sort, strapped there with a dial and a few buttons. It looked just as beaten and bruised as she did.
And then, Chat whispered, "Marinette?"
His voice came from behind me, unsteady, shaking with disbelief. I turned to look at him. Chat was standing now and staring at the girl, suddenly three shades whiter, looking as if he was seeing an illusion or a ghost.
I remember the girl's face then, the one he'd called Marinette. She looked withdrawn. Aching. Like someone had ripped her heart out of her chest long ago and she had yet to find it again. She shook her head, stumbling back a step.
"No," she said, almost snappishly, a single diamond tear sliding down and making a track through the soot decorating her cheek. "No, stay there. Please, I... I can't take this anymore."
Chat didn't heed her words. He crossed over to us, to her, face painted over in fear and awe and hope and every single emotion that girl had ever made him feel. Still being blissfully ignorant of what was going on but getting the feeling that I was in the way, I took a step back and allowed him to close the distance between them.
Gazing down at her, he whispered so low and so full of thick emotion, "M'lady?"
He held his breath as a change overtook her expression. That hardness in her eyes began to soften.
Her hand moved away from the device at her wrist and reached out, suddenly trembling, towards him.
"Chat?" she breathed, diamond eyes going wide. "Is it really...?"
He grabbed her outstretched hand in his, firm, tight, afraid she might fade away if he let her go. Both were shaking. They looked at each other in a way that only two souls entwined can.
She promptly threw herself into his arms and they fell into the happiest reunion known to mankind. It was like the sun seeing the moon after a thousand years of darkness. Two halves becoming whole.
It was at that exact moment, as she sobbed against his shoulder and he clung to her for dear life, whispering her name over and over again, that I realized it was all over.
My stomach dropped like a rock. I knew who she was, this practical stranger in Chat's embrace. Ladybug. Paris' Ladybug. His Ladybug. The legend, the girl, the goddess who had followed me for almost a year, was back. She was standing there, in a city that had always been hers, holding onto a partner that had never been mine, breathing and blinking and very, very alive. She was here and I was suddenly invisible.
They talked in rushed, rasping voices, hands running over one another to solidify the realism of the moment, forgetting that I existed. I never blamed them for it. After all, they were a symphony. Grand, regal, harmonic, perfectly in sync, meant to be. It was beautiful to watch, even if I was, once again, reduced to merely an echo. After eight months of turmoil and suffering, they were finally together again. But I was alone.
I had backed away considerably, allowing them room for their heartfelt moment. There was a gap between me and them, a canyon worth of distance. It felt like an eternity before I was spotted on the other side.
Chat waved me over, grinning, glistening with tears of joy and relief, completely unaware of how my world had just shifted. Somehow, I managed to cross that canyon in a few steps.
"M'lady, this is Ruby," he introduced, stretching out a hand to my shoulder. "Ruby Rue. She's been holding down the fort for you, and wonderfully at that."
Her eyes turned on me. It must have been strange to see someone wearing her spots, her earrings, her mask, fighting alongside her partner, protecting her city. I swallowed tight, feeling like an imposter.
"I... you..." I stammered out, grasping for any words I could get at. "You're Ladybug?"
She released a dry laugh, which came out strained and breathless. Her legs were weak. When I truly looked at her, there was a certain familiarity about her eyes. They looked haunted and overshadowed. A lot like how Chat's eyes had been when I'd first met him.
"It feels so good to hear that name again," she said, enraptured, exhausted. "Yes, yes, I'm Ladybug. It's good to meet you, Ruby Rue. So Master Fu chose you to take my place while I was gone?"
I didn't know Ladybug personally and yet, in a way, I did. I knew her from news broadcasts and TV interviews. I knew her from Chat Noir's stories, the fond, the comedic, and the tragic. I knew her at that moment as a trembling heroine who had just pulled herself through the trenches of a war I knew nothing about. And something stirred within me. I had stood in her shoes during my time as Ruby Rue and because of that, empathy for her welled up. I didn't resent her anymore. I couldn't.
I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but found myself choked up. I couldn't help but wonder how much she'd truly been through. I thought of how much Chat had ached for her, for the girl who held his heart, the girl he was now embracing. The girl who had returned to take back her crown.
At seeing the concern invading the expressions of both heroes, I quickly plastered on my picture smile. It was scary how good I was at hiding an entire tsunami of emotion behind a simple flashing of teeth, but I had to do it. My job was to mend things, to help people, to be invincible. I had to smile. I had to be okay. I had to pretend.
"Yeah," I replied. "Yeah, he did. I... I can't believe this. I'm just so happy you're back. We missed you so much. Chat, especially."
I glanced at him as I said this, at his beaming expression. That light that had died the day Ladybug disappeared was back now. A light that I hadn't been able to spark no matter how hard I tried.
"I did my best to hold things together," I went on, still pretending, "but it just wasn't the same without you. Paris will be glad to hear their rightful heroine has returned."
I don't remember the rest of the conversation. It's all patchy. I recall Ladybug explaining something about alternate dimensions and the time space continuum and a scientist. I know that Chat shared a bit about what she had missed. He told her about me, never once loosening his grip on her. I think, at some point, Ladybug asked me a few questions, but I don't remember what they were about or what I said as answer. I just remember feeling sicker than I'd ever felt and praying to the heavens that I didn't burst into tears.
"Oh," I said after a pause in the conversation. "Oh my gosh, I can't believe I forgot. Tikki is probably dying to see you."
Her face lit up at those words, but soon deflated.
"But... won't that mean you'll have to de-transform?"
It did mean that, but it meant so much more. It meant Tikki and her true holder would be reunited at long last. It meant my faithful little companion would finally have an unbearable hole in her heart mended.
So, right in front of the two, in the middle of that park, I said with a shrug, "I guess it does," and dropped my transformation.
Chat Noir's reaction to seeing me out of costume was subtle. He didn't recognize me. We didn't go to the same school, didn't work together, weren't connected in any way whatsoever, just as I had suspected. He didn't know the girl who wore a black hoodie and green converse, the girl who wore her hair down instead of up, the girl who had too many bracelets and scribbled pretty words and their meanings on the backs of her hands. I was a stranger. He was surprised by my readiness to reveal my identity more than my identity itself.
I don't know exactly what I had expected his reaction to be, but it always disappointed me, just the tiniest bit. It was stupid. The odds of us knowing one another out of costume was astronomical. It would've had to have been written in the stars, and it had been made painfully clear time and time again that the stars didn't care two bits about me.
Tikki was over the moon to see her Ladybug again. It warmed me to see them together almost as much as it ached.
I was going to miss her. I was going to miss him. I was going to miss running across rooftops and helping those who couldn't help themselves and painting the entire city red. Midnight conversations and inside jokes and making little kids light up and fighting for a cause that actually mattered. I was going to miss everything.
Trying to keep my hands steady, I reached up and undid my earrings, holding them out to Ladybug, to Marinette, to that goddess in red, in the palm of my hand. She looked at them, then at me, a little hesitant. I smoothed things over quickly.
"Take them," I insisted, smiling away as if I hadn't a care in the world, as if my stomach wasn't in knots. "They're yours. I was just holding them for you for a little while."
Tentative and overwhelmed, her fingers brushed against mine and she took back her crown, her kingdom, her prince. She took it all back, and away from me.
Tikki floated over to me just then. I always wondered if she knew just how torn up I was in that moment, how torn up I had been for months. I like to think that she was clueless, that I had spared her my burdens, but Tikki was Tikki. She always managed to pick up on things and the only way you would ever know she had was through her eyes.
"I'm gonna miss you," she murmured. "I really am. You're a strong hero and an even stronger girl, Ruby Rue."
I swallowed down the tears that threatened to rise up and strangle me, giving her a fond, sad smile.
"Thank you, Tikki," I whispered, unable to get any louder. "Thank you for... for everything, really."
She nuzzled up to my cheek and we said our goodbyes. Then, after what felt like centuries, I looked at Chat.
It seemed he had finally realized what was happening. He had finally caught up. This, all of this, wasn't just a reunion. It was a goodbye. After that night, things would go back to normal, but those months of trust and friendship had still happened. Chat had a habit of getting heavily attached to people he cared about, and it was resonating with him that I had to go away.
He stepped forwards. Even a single step in my direction was too much. He was so wonderful. So beautiful. I couldn't help the wave of memories that crashed down, shoving me underwater with no way back up to the surface. Even at three feet apart, he was slipping away from me and there was nothing I could do to stop him. I loved him so much. So much that I couldn't breathe. But he wasn't mine. He never was.
As emotion crept up my throat, thick and tight, my smile stretched, farther and bigger and broader, because that was all I knew how to do. Smile. Laugh. Pretend. I opened my mouth, to crack a joke or pick on him for getting all sentimental, but found that I couldn't speak. Not for the first time, he had rendered me speechless.
With little warning Chat threw his arms around me and pulled my body flush against his, holding onto me with something a lot like protectiveness.
As my arms wound around him so tight that I was afraid his ribs might bend, my resolve cracked, just the slightest bit. I buried my face against his shoulder and allowed two tears to slip out, just for him. It was really a miracle that it was only two and not an ocean's worth.
"I'm gonna miss you so much," he whispered against my hair, fingers winding around the fabric of my sweatshirt. "Thank you for always being there for me. Thank you for being so... unselfish. So kind. So... wonderful."
He was warm and solid and smelled faintly of black cherries. I thought of all the times we'd held one another, realizing that none of them had been quite like this. This was tight, fearful, clingy and desperate.
There were a million things I could have said about him in return, but I knew it would only end in choking sobs.
So I whispered, hardly breathing, "I'll miss you too, Chat."
Drawing back from him was hard. His emerald eyes were glossy, shining in the moonlight, his lips trying so hard to turn up for my sake. I recall wanting to remember him like that always.
"You're so cheesy," I teased, though my voice came out queer and heavy.
He chuckled at that, a single tear slipping down his cheek. I reached up and brushed it away.
"Hey, don't do that," I coaxed. "Everything's gonna be okay. You have Ladybug now. And I... I'll be around."
He took in a shallow breath, heat emanating from his hands and seeping into my arms. "You promise?"
He was a kid at heart, and I knew this was tearing him apart. He hated goodbyes. He hated people leaving. And it would crush him if I cut ties between us so abruptly. So I promised him.
If pulling away from his embrace was hard, fully letting go and feeling our fingers slip away was pure agony. My heart had surely split in two. Still, I forced my smile to look okay, to look put together and composed.
I turned to Ladybug.
"You have the best partner in the world," I said to her. "Even if he is a sap."
Chat tried to scoff, though it was with half the energy he usually had. I took Ladybug's hands in mine, meeting her eye-line.
"It was an honor to protect your city, Ladybug," I went on. "But it's yours now. It's all yours."
Something came into her eyes after I said that. Something that still, to this very day, terrifies me. It looked like slow, dawning realization, like I was transparent all of a sudden and she actually understood the true depth and meaning hidden in my words, in my very soul.
Those blue eyes flitted from me, to Chat, then back to me. Her grip on my hands tautened.
"I can tell Chat cares a lot about you," she confided. "Tikki does too. I may not know you, but I can tell you're special, Ruby Rue. I have no doubt you did more than enough for Paris and for my Kitty. I don't know how to thank you."
It felt like a mighty ruler had reached her scepter down and blessed me, a lowly commoner, for keeping her domain safe. But, at the same time, Ladybug looked more human than I had ever seen her.
"No need for thanks," I easily replied. "I just did what anyone else in my place would have done."
That look in her eye deepened, which was why I pulled away when I did. I knew I had to leave. There really was no choice in the matter. My job was done, Ladybug was back, Chat was happy, and they didn't need me anymore.
I stepped back and took one last look at Tikki, then at Ladybug and Chat, framing them both in my mind just the way they were. Raw and unfiltered and happy to be whole again at long last. Then, I turned my back on an entire lifetime, stepping out into a new one that I knew little about, but would adjust to in time.
If my life had been a movie, it would have ended just like that. With me walking away, head held high, emotive music welling up as the credits rolled. Or perhaps someone might have run after me and begged me to stay as the tragedy of a movie transformed into a happy ending. But it wasn't like that.
As soon as I was out of view and earshot of the two heroes, out of the park and on a city sidewalk, I sat down on a bench by the road, beneath a streetlight. I felt hollow, which made sense, given that my heart had just been violently ripped out of my chest. For a second or two, I just sat there, hunched over and staring down at the shadows and light patterns on my shoes. But soon, I hid my face in my hands and cried for the boy I couldn't have, for the faithful little companion I would never see again, for the red suit and black spots that would now be worn by another. I cried for the life that was given me for a few short, soaring, glorious months, and suddenly torn away again. I cried until my lungs ached and my breath came in strangled, desperate gulps, and my stomach rolled. It was all over. It was all gone.
As I said, time doesn't heal wounds, but it can at least dull memories. After a while, I was able to walk down the street with a raised head and dry eyes, no hood pulled over my head to avoid being noticed, no tear-soaked tissues shoved in my pocket. I allowed Chat to see me, to smile and wave, and I waved back. I even allowed him to talk with me occasionally, but always made up some excuse to slip away before things could get too familiar. I could tell he felt a little hurt about the sudden shift in our relationship and he did his best to try and act as if everything was the same, but we both knew it wasn't. It was really better that way. It was better if I kept my distance and he kept his. It made it easier to at least try to move on.
The pain isn't as fresh as it once was, but it still hurts sometimes. When his face pops up on my social media feed, when I can't sleep at two in the morning, when I awaken from a dream about leaping over rooftops beneath the moonlight, when I happen upon that poem I wrote at the very bottom of my left desk drawer. It hurts then. And I do occasionally allow a tear or two to slip for his sake. I never stopped loving him. I don't think I ever will.
So I suppose the question is, do I regret it? Do I wish I hadn't helped up that "poor" man in front of my house, hadn't accepted the miraculous, had never met Tikki or Chat? No. No, I don't. And at the same time, I do. I guess it's just complicated. I don't think I could ever want to undo the day my life intersected with Chat's, not if it meant I wouldn't know him inside-out. I guess my only regret was letting myself slip. I regret, or rather, resent, having a heart so tender and fragile that it had to be kept behind a one-sided mirror. I regret letting myself long for what lay on the other side.
I think I finally realized that in the process of trying to be a goddess, to be invincible, I forgot one, specific detail. Goddesses have no hearts and therefore cannot feel. But my heart was so big, so extreme and overwhelming that it cracked at the center and bled. Goddesses don't bleed, not truly, not as heavily I did. I bled for a boy made of liquid silver and spindling shadows and starlight. A boy who kept his shining emerald eyes fixed on the heavens and never on me. A boy who was unattainable, because he was already owned by another.
He'll always be hers. I know that now. I just pray with all my heart that she's good to him. I pray she rubs in between his shoulders and brings him his favorite croissants and reminds him how strong he is and makes him laugh till he can't breathe. I pray they find happiness in their symphony. Even at the expense of an echo.
oOo
Sheesh that was heavy. And long. Very long. I hope I didn't make you too sad but at the same time I do because that was kinda the whole point haha. I was just thinking about Kagami and Luka and how they must feel being on the outside looking in. It must seriously suck to not be a main character in their world, you know? Anyway, I hope you enjoyed getting to know Ruby Rue. Please, please tell me what you thought!