Natalie's heels clicked the floor in a steady rhythm in the hallway outside of Adrien's room. He cringed and stood up to greet her at the door.

"Mr. Glasson will no longer be in our employ," she said without preamble. She spun her tablet around to show a man in his mid forties. His hair was short cropped and graying at the ends, and he had not one sign of humor or compassion on his face. A cigarette sat between his lips, a leather jacket over his shoulders, and squinting blue eyes. "This is Mr. Dupord. He will be taking over for Mr. Glasson."

Adrien blinked. "Who is Mr. Glasson?"

Natalie rolled her eyes, one of the few shows of emotion she allowed anyone to see. "Your bodyguard you call the Gorilla?"

"What!" Adrien yelled. "Why are we firing him? He's a great bodyguard, and he's been with me for-"

"Irrelevant," Natalie looked down at her tablet and used her stylus to tap the screen a few times. "He has recently shown great incompetence when it comes to your care. As such, he will be fired."

"He asked for a raise, didn't he?" Adrien frowned when Natalie didn't respond. She turned and started down the hallway. "The least you could do is answer me!" He yelled after her, but silently closed the door, knowing she was not going to turn back.

"The Gorilla got sacked?" Plagg came out from under the covers of his bed. Adrien nodded mutely, walking back into the room. He plopped down next to the black cat and shoved another twinkie at him. Plagg reluctantly ate it before he started grooming himself, like an actual cat.

"What are we going to do now?" Adrien moaned. "We're getting a new bodyguard!"

"What's the big deal? It's not like you two shared any sort of special connection or anything. He wouldn't even answer when you said the weather is nice. Strangers in a grocery store would talk to you more than he did!"

"Sure," Adrien said. "But at least he was there. He was always there. I haven't had a day without him since Mom disappeared. Now, he's leaving, too." He closed his eyes, trying to remember a day without seeing the big man. He couldn't. It was easier to recall days without either of his parents than a day without the Gorilla.

"Come on, maybe you'll really like the new guy!"

"That's another problem," Adrien closed his eyes to think. "He's going to be new on the job. He won't allow himself to cut corners, or slack off at all. Do you see where I'm going with this?"

"Uh oh." Plagg said.

"Yup. No more sneaking away during Akuma attacks. Until I figure out a way to get this guy fired, Ladybug is on her own."


"Louis the sixteenth was married to Marie Antoinette. He was the last king of France, and basically the reason the French Revolution started because he sent aid to the American Revolution and funded his efforts by taking out international loans which put France into a lot of debt," Tikki continued to summarize Marinette's notes, but it was almost impossible for any of the information to register. The kwami floated over her desk while Marinette spun lazily in her chair across the room. She could hear Tikki talking, but she couldn't pay attention to listen to the words. It was like her brain sensed Tikki was talking about something boring and was doing its best to protect Marinette from the pain of having to listen to it.

"Did you get all that?" Tikki asked.

"Louis the...fourteenth was married to Marie Antoinette and-"

"The sixteenth, Marinette!" the kwami groaned in frustration. "The same number of times we've been over this!"

"I can't help it!" Marinette groaned. "The number and the years just don't stick in my head! I don't know how I'll be able to get all this memorized by Friday,"

"At least it's only Tuesday," Tikki tried to say encouragingly. "There's a chance you'll remember something."

Marinette spun in another circle before standing. "Ok, time for a break." Tikki flew up and rested on Marinette's shoulder.

"Where are we going?"

"I think...the park. It'll be nice to have some fresh air."

The two of them left the house together, Marinette sporting a light purple dress with white accents, and Tikki hiding in her matching white purse. In her arms, Marinette held onto a sketchbook in case she came across any inspiration. For the most part, though, her plan was simply to wander through the park.

The park wasn't as beautiful as it had once been. The ground had been broken up and destroyed by a Makara a few months ago, and the grass was still patchy. A few trees lay on their sides, and kids found it fun to climb through their exposed roots. Most of the flowers in the park had died, and the few which remained were in sad, sparse clumps. There were a lot of weeds now, and unruly bushes, but the city spent every spare cent it had towards the construction of bunkers, or fortification of existing buildings, so no one had come to take care of the greenery.

Marinette didn't mind. She liked to look at the scenery, to remember what it had once been, and to imagine what it would look like once the Makara and Akuma were defeated once and for all-once she and her partner defeated them once and for all. She wasn't the only one who still visited the park. Families with young children often visited, as did groups of teenagers who wanted to get out of the house and couldn't find anything better to do, and, as Marinette discovered, professional photographers for famous fashion houses.

There, in the middle of the park, was a full-blown photo shoot. The photographer was out-spoken, directing his model to 'work it' and encouraging them to continue 'just like that' because they were 'marvelous' or 'perfect.' Everyone who worked for the photographer seemed to be humoring him, and rolled their eyes behind his back. The poor model didn't have a chance to do anything like that. He was stuck right in the photographer's eyesight the entire time, forced to 'feel the clothes and express them' with no break. Marinette wandered closer and joined the small group of people who shared her curiosity. A man in a dark leather jacket sat off to the side, inside of the barrier dividing the public from those working on the photo shoot. He sat on a small stool, munching on a sandwich and constantly checking his watch for the time.

This was an Agreste shoot, as advertised by all the signs around the photographer and his workers. The clothing, though, left much to be desired. The colors were standard, the patterns were fine, the imagination was that of a first-draft design. It was all very blah and Marinette couldn't believe that this was to be in the Agreste magazine.

"Hey, Marinette!" The model waved from his position. She waved back. The photographer yelled out a few profanities, angry about missing the perfect shot. Marinette shot Adrien Agreste an amused smile. She knew her aunt had warned her of him-something about his father being a thief? She couldn't do that, though. He was an individual, and he deserved to be judged without having to worry about his father's shadow hanging over him.

"Hey," she greeted as he made his way towards her, moving closer to the boundary so she wouldn't have to yell to be heard. The people around her noticed the familiarity she had with the model, and though some seemed as though they wanted to join her, to be close to Adrien as well, they stayed a respectful distance away. The photographer sputtered, and a woman with a bottle of water suggested a ten minute break. Marinette glanced at the poor man. "I think you broke him."

"Nah, he came out of the box like that." Adrien accepted a bottle of water from one of the workers and offered it to Marinette. A tall woman stayed next to Adrien, but she seemed to be busy with something on her tablet. Marinette ran her eyes down the woman. Her jacket and pencil skirt were tailored to perfection-not too tight, not too loose. The color was a rich gray, the type of color which only came from expensive material. Marinette didn't have nearly enough extra money to buy such luxurious fabric, and if she did, she certainly wouldn't waste the money on gray. Her shoes were sensible black pumps, completely professional and almost too appropriate for a day at work. The entire outfit was incredibly boring. The only flash of personality of color Marinette could glean from the woman was her hair. It was short-cropped, and a bright red hue lined the edges of it, almost like a blood-red halo. The professional woman didn't offer an introduction, and neither did Adrien, so Marinette didn't push for one.

"Thanks," Marinette nodded, grabbing the water bottle from her classmate. Adrien stretched, obviously tired from staying in the same position for however long he'd been posing. Off to the side, Marinette noticed the man was looking at her, chewing his sandwich a little more aggressively than she thought necessary.

"What do you think of the clothes?" Adrien asked. Marinette flinched as she heard his bones crack. She opened the bottle and took a sip. She didn't like the clothes, actually, but they were Agreste designs. There was probably something in the designs which she wasn't seeing-something she wasn't sophisticated enough to notice yet.

"Why do you ask?"

"You gave me one look and it kind of seemed like you ate an entire lemon. With the rind. My face is too pretty to get a reaction like that, so it had to be the clothes."

Marinette raised an eyebrow, and even the woman standing next to him gave Adrien a look. "You're pretty full of yourself, huh?"

"Not full of myself," Adrien corrected. "Full of facts. I'm handsome. Why else would I be the coverboy of the Agreste brand?"

"Maybe because you're the son of the founder and lead designer?"

Adrien was about to respond when another man joined him. The man who had previously sat in the corner. Evidently, he had finished his sandwich. He stood next to Adrien, but somehow seemed to angle himself so that he was between Marinette and her classmate. Adrien rolled his eyes.

The newcomer was a little taller than Marinette herself, but much broader. His frame was covered by a leather jacket. It was thick, had multiple pockets, and a few of the edges were frayed. His jeans fit well, and his shoes looked like they were made for running. His fingers were covered in a few silver rings, one of which had a green stone in the center. Around his neck hung a silver linked chain. It was a genuine style-more authentic and interesting than the clothes Adrien was wearing for the photo shoot.

"Ma'am, you're too close," the man said, blue eyes glinting down at her.

"Is your necklace from France?" she asked, opening up her notebook. "I would love to get one just like it. I love your whole style. Do you mind if I use it as inspiration for a design?" The woman next to Adrien looked up from her tablet, suddenly very interested in whatever Marinette was doing. Adrien tilted his head. He leaned over the man's shoulders and glanced down.

"Is that your notebook? For designs?"

Marinette nodded. "I try to keep it with me at all times, in case I'm inspired, like right now."

"Ma'am, I must insist," the guard said, moving closer, slightly pushing Adrien back. An assistant made a dismayed sound and rushed over to make sure the clothes were in no way damaged, stained, or wrinkled.

"Would you mind if you just stood there, and didn't say anything for a while?" Marinette asked. "I like your style, and I want to design something which evokes the same feeling, but when you talk I feel a little annoyed." Adrien turned away, trying and failing to hide his laughter. The woman next to him was nowhere near as amused.

"Impossible," she clipped. "This is Mr. Berhorst. He is Adrien's bodyguard. If you wish to use him as inspiration, you will have to stand by me to do so. Mr. Berhorst, not another word to this young woman, she is my guest."

The man's teeth clicked as he closed his mouth, and he nodded. The photographer was getting worked up again, and Adrien sighed, moving back to his place in the photo shoot. Mr. Berhorst made to follow, but Natalie bid him to stay, to allow Marinette her inspiration.

"Why are you doing this?" Marinette asked. "I didn't think someone-especially not someone who works for a major fashion house-would do anything to help me."

"You're the girl who won our last competition, aren't you?" The woman asked. "Don't look so surprised. Gabriel-that is, Mr. Agreste-had me look into everyone in Adrien's class. I-we know how talented you are. Doing anything to impede that creativity would be a crime."

Marinette smiled, pleased, and continued to glance at the bodyguard. The actual articles of his outfit were simple-just as Adrien's were-but they all had an ounce of character, of actual use, attitude, and personality. She just had to figure out how to impart those characteristics in a design without the use of aged materials. The attitude had to come from her use of fabrics, stitches, and layering. Her pencil scribbled furiously over the page.

"You there!" The bodyguard barked, storming over to the barrier once more. "What are you looking at?" The innocent bystanders stared at the man, confused.

"It's an open photo shoot," one of the men said. "We've been here for close to twenty minutes; no one's said anything before you."

"I was on my lunch break," the bodyguard growled. The photographer started shouting again, and Marinette could see Adrien's cheeks flush with embarrassment. "Now leave. You're all safety threats."

"You're in a park, in Paris," A woman voiced, sounding irritated. "There's people everywhere, and you can't force anyone to leave. This is public property."

The bodyguard's eyes narrowed. "You have a point."

"So we can stay?" The woman sounded victorious. That didn't last long.

"No. We are leaving. Young Agreste!" The man's voice echoed through the area, and the photographer shot him a dirty look. "Change your clothes. We are leaving in ninety seconds!"

"Ninety seconds?" The model seemed incredulous. The assistants looked at each other, wondering if they were to take the man's words seriously.

"Eighty, seventy-nine, seventy-eight...," The bodyguard kept counting, and Adrien scrambled to change. A few of the assistants moved towards the bodyguard, attempting to tell him how ridiculous he was being, but he didn't even seem to hear them, instead opting to keep counting down. The photographer stalked over to the man and yelled in his face.

"Do you know how difficult it is to book me? I am the most talented photographer this side of the Seine! You have to know me for years to even think about booking a shoot with me, and it costs thousands of dollars to get my work looking as it does-do you understand exactly how much you're costing your employer?!"

The woman next to Marinette seemed to freeze, and rushed off to the bodyguard.

"Mr. Berhorst," The woman clipped. "The man is right. You were hired to keep Adrien safe, not to cost Mr. Agreste thousands when Adrien is in no danger."

The man stopped counting and looked at the woman. His mouth thinned, and he grit out, "You hired me because your last guy couldn't do the job. You might have been able to scare him off with talk of money, but not me. I'm here to keep the boy safe, and no one will stop me."

Marinette watched as the people working on the photo shoot looked to the photographer for guidance. He glanced at the woman in the business suit, whose lips were pursed and whose ears were turning red. She stayed silent, and Adrien cautiously stepped out of the tent set up for him to change his clothes in. Mr. Berhorst walked over to him and apologized.

"Sir, I am sorry for not noticing the inherent dangers of such a public photo shoot earlier. For now, I will do the best I can to rectify the situation. I have called the car around, and we will be safe soon."

Adrien blinked and followed the man out of the park. Marinette glanced at the people around her. Most of them had their phones out, recording the scene in front of them. Some of the people just stood there, curious to see what would happen next.

The photographer stomped to the refreshment table and flipped it over, sending cookies and juice flying everywhere. He ranted and raved, and Marinette felt more than she saw all the phones focus on his display of temper. One of his assistants went to calm him down, guiding him away from the shoot. A few more started slowly disassembling the set up, glancing at each other and murmuring about the strange day. One assistant started cleaning up the soggy chunks of sandwich and cookie that the photographer had sent throughout the park. Every once in a while, the assistants would glance down the path of the park that the young Agreste had walked down, almost as if they were hoping he would come back.

Marinette wordlessly shook her head and made her way back home. "Well, that was something," she mumbled as she glanced at the sky. Still plenty of daylight. She could easily work on her design for a while before continuing to study for her history test.

After recounting the entire story from the park to her mother, and helping her father prepare a batch of bread for the morning, Marinette headed up to her room, too excited with new ideas of her design to even think of the French revolution.


"Father," Adrien barged into his father's study without knocking. Gabriel didn't so much as look up at the intrusion. He continued to stare at the computer screen in front of him, cradling his jaw in his hands to support the weight of his head. By his right hand was a notebook, and he casually twirled a pencil through his fingers. "I don't trust my new bodyguard."

That got Gabriel's attention. He straightened and turned towards his son. He squinted, and Gabriel took his glasses off, rubbing at his eyes for a moment.

"Why?" He asked his son. "Has he done something to you? Or allowed you into dangerous situations?"

"It's easier if you see what I mean," his son said grimly. His eyes were a bright green, just like his mother's, but the set of his jaw and shape of his nose were all from him. Adrien-his little boy. Gabriel would do anything to protect his son. He stood up and nodded.

"Very well, let us go and see him."

Adrien blinked, then nodded, a slight smile curving at his lips, his eyes shining bright. How long had it been since Gabriel had seen such an expression on his son's face? Almost two years now, since Gabriel's wife had disappeared.

"Ok," Adrien said, almost bouncing on his feet, stuttering with excitement."Let me go get a jacket!"

Gabriel turned back to the email he had been studying. It was from Natalie, and had a few images of very inventive designs. They were rough, still in the very earliest stages of design, but the creativity behind them was inspiring. How long had it been since Gabriel had been inspired enough to create something as innovative as the images in front of him. Natalie hadn't named the designer who had made the sketches, but told him that she worked in the company, still a new designer. It was heartening, to see such talent from a young designer in his company.

Gabriel sent Natalie a response, telling her to encourage the designer to keep working at it, that there was real promise in the designs. Then the door opened, and Adrien rushed in, his bodyguard now behind him. Gabriel studied the man closely, then looked back at the rough sketches on his computer. Though the designs on the screen were different from the clothing he could see on the man in front of him, they seemed oddly similar.

"Are you ready to go?" Adrien asked, his voice oddly flat. Gabriel nodded and stood up.

"Where shall we go?" He questioned as he led the way outside. He noticed the bodyguard, Mr. Berhorst, continuously tried to squeeze his way in front of him. It was annoying, to be sure, but nothing truly dangerous-nothing to actually put his son in danger. Gabriel hoped that his son was overreacting, that Gabriel hadn't exchanged his old, faithful bodyguard with this new German fellow due to a false complaint from Natalie. He hoped that Mr. Berhorst would prove to be capable, able, and reliable. Something in his gut, however, made him fear that was not to be the case.

"I think we should go to the park," Adrien said, and Mr. Berhorst stiffened.

"Young Agreste," the man said. "As I noticed and advised you this morning, the park is an open area, full of potential danger and threats. It would not be safe for you to go there. Perhaps we could go to the backyard, if you wish to be among trees."

Gabriel raised a brow. It was interesting, to say the least, for a bodyguard to attempt to dissuade their charge from going somewhere as mundane as the park. It was even more interesting that Adrien chose the park if he had already been there that morning.

"You were in the park this morning, Adrien?" Gabriel asked, moving towards the front door and waiting for the car to arrive.

"Yes, we had a photo shoot for the Agreste catalogue scheduled."

"Ah, yes," Gabriel smiled. "With Monsieur Couture, correct? How did it go? Did the pictures end up as well as they always do, or better?"

"I wouldn't know," Adrien shrugged as the three of them entered the car. "The photo shoot got interrupted, and I had to leave early."

"Adrien," Gabriel's eyes narrowed. "It took months to even get an appointment to set a date with Monsieur Couture, and thousands of dollars to secure his time-and you threw all that away because one of your friends came and distracted you?" His words were sharp, but they seemed to bring an air of joy into Adrien's face. On his other side, Mr. Berhorst shifted. Gabriel paid him no attention. His face was beginning to heat up, and a tension headache threatened to pound his temples within an inch of their lives. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you this, Adrien, but this was no simple photo shoot. It was a photo shoot for the spring catalogue of Agreste-it takes months of work, even after the photographs are taken, edited, and sent to us. It is what defines our brand, it gets us into the public on an annual basis. I will not have you laughing about this matter as though you were a mere eight year old!"

"Oh, I wasn't the one who interrupted the photo shoot, Father," Adrien did his best to look like he was suppressing a smile. "Mr. Berhorst got in an argument with a few of the bystanders, determined we were in a compromised location, and ended the photoshoot early."

There was silence in the car. At one point, the driver had to cough, but he attempted to suppress it. Gabriel felt a vein in his forehead throb.

"Mr. Berhorst," he began, but he found it difficult to continue. There wasn't much Gabriel was good at, and he'd easily admit that. But fashion was his life. Agreste was his legacy, it was his entire life's work, and it was what kept food on the table and highly sought after clothes on Adrien's back. He had run Agreste for a long time; he knew how to keep it going, and how to make it succeed. He had poured years of his life into this company, and now it seemed that a mere bodyguard thought he knew better than Gabriel. The fury that encompassed Gabriel made it hard to think, let alone keep himself from shouting at his employee. So he said nothing, and the tension in the car thickened. On his left, his son gazed out the window and hummed a happy tune.

"We're here," the driver coughed. All the passengers stepped out.

"Woah there, sir," Mr. Berhorst pushed a civilian back. Gabriel's jaw fell to the floor. He had been in plenty of crowded situations before, where crowd control was necessary. He had been to TV show recordings, cinematic releases, and red carpet events. He'd, of course, had bodyguards present to keep him safe. He'd never, though, seen one push a civilian away for no seeming reason. "You're too close," Mr. Berhorst reasoned and pushed the man away again. The Parisian landed on his behind, and looked confused for a second. Then, like any good Frenchman, he was furious.

"How dare you!" He yelled, springing up. A woman stood by his side, hands on her hips. "What kind of buffoon thinks he can step out of a car, shove a respectable man to the ground, and get away with it? Who do you work for?!"

Gabriel's ears burned, and he couldn't believe this incident would soon be tied to his name. The man continued his tirade, and the woman yelled alongside the man, who seemed to be her brother. Mr. Berhorst did not offer so much as an apologetic look.

Adrien stood by his father's side, and Gabriel looked down.

"Put that away," he snapped, snatching the phone out of Adrien's hands and attempting to delete the video his son had been recording. He couldn't figure out how. He handed it back to his son. "Delete that video."

"I can't," Adrien shrugged. "I'll need it to convince you to rehire the Gorilla."

"That video won't be necessary," Gabriel seethed as he pushed his way towards his bodyguard, who was now trapped in the center of a curious and slightly indignant crowd. "Mr. Berhorst," Gabriel called out. Said man turned away from the red-faced, furious man he had, once again, shoved to the ground. "You are terminated from your position. Contact Natalie for your paycheck."

He then grabbed his son, sat in his car, and texted his instructions to Natalie. This was ridiculous.

The driver stopped in the center of the road, and streams of people rushed away, towards the nearest bunker. The city-wide alarm system rang out. Adrien sprang out of the car, dragging his father with him.

"We need to get to safety!" His son said, following the flow of people. Gabriel couldn't think of anything to say, but Mr. Borherst did.

"Stand back!" He followed two generations of Agrestes, trying his best to push the crowd of people away from the father and son. "You are too close!"

Adrien rolled his eyes, and Gabriel felt the grip Adrien had on his arm loosen. He was immediately pushed away from his son by the crowd of people. Gabriel hated to admit it, but there was a sense of relief that they were separated. He headed towards the nearest alleyway, now sure to be completely devoid of human life.

"Mr. Agreste!" Mr. Berhorst's strong grip clamped on Gabriel's shoulder, and he turned, shocked to hear the man's voice.

"Mr. Berhorst? You're fired,"

"It's my duty to keep you and Young Agreste safe."

"Stop calling me 'Young Agreste!'" Attached to Mr. Berhorst's right arm was Adrien, looking very much like a petulant child. A woman holding her young child bumped into the boy, and Mr. Berhorst barked at her. She was gone before two words had left his mouth. The crowd around them continued to flow, and the three of them went along with the pulse of the people.

The bunker was full by the time the three of them arrived, and Ladybug was fighting the Makara. Some people pointed out that there was no Akuma this time. Strange. Very strange. Adrien kept looking up at the sky, continuously struggling to keep out of Mr. Berhorst's grip. For a man of relatively short stature, Gabriel noted begrudgingly, he surely did have a surprisingly strong grip.

Ladybug and the police of the city continued their fight with the Makara, and Gabriel, Adrien, and Mr. Borherst continued their quest to find a bunker with space enough for them.

In the end, they just ran around the city until the Makara was defeated. Gabriel was so tired and out of breath that he couldn't find the energy to do much more than call for a car, and ignore whatever else came out of Mr. Borherst's mouth. If the man would not leave until he was paid, Gabriel would be sure to instruct Natalie to give him his money first thing in the morning.


Marinette stared into space, trying to mentally revise for the history exam the next day. All the names and dates blurred together into a strange, boring, flavorless smoothie in her head. That, in a nutshell, was what history felt like to her. And here she was, hour four, still trying to figure out the basic timeline of the French Revolution, and what was so significant about the major players in it.

"Marinette!" Tikki's small voice sounded desperate, and she jumped to the side, just as the Makara smashed its arm into the space she had been just moments before.

"Ladybug!" Her partner landed next to her. He was out of breath, and his dark hairline seemed almost greasy with sweat. "What's the matter with you?" He asked, apparently too tired to have any common courtesy. "You could have been killed!"

The police shot at the Makara, and the two heroes jumped so that they stood behind the officers. A few weeks ago, they hadn't thought to move, and a bullet had lodged itself into a building uncomfortably close to Ladybug's leg. Since then, they had made a point of standing behind the officers as they fired. Ladybug's mind spun.

1788 was the beginning of it all because France was poor, she spun her yo-yo for speed and looped it around the Makara's horns. Oddly enough, they stuck out of the creature's hips. 1789 was the year the Revolution began. The rulers of France at the time were...she ran up the Makara's spine, doing her best to keep balance as it writhed like a snake beneath her. Louis the fourteenth... she ignored the little groan Tikki gave inside her head, and his wife, Marie Antoinette. She used her yo-yo to clamp the creature's mouth shut.

The police continued to shoot at the creature, and Cat Noir was at the base of the Makara, doing his best to keep it from moving forward at all. It was particularly different with this one because there were no legs to tie up-it was one long, worm-like creature.

Marinette kept recounting all the facts she could recall from her history textbook as she abandoned the creature's mouth. Instead, she wrapped her yo-yo around the creature's tail and pulled. The Makara started, and started to topple over. Cat Noir used his staff to get all the cops out of the way of the Makara's massive body. Police then began to move in, firing shot after shot at the creature's eyes and mouth. Marinette's arms shook with the effort it took to keep the tail from moving at all and allowing the Makara the freedom of movement again.

"Cat Noir!" She called, and he landed next to her a moment later.

"Anything you need," he said, helping her pull the tail back towards the Makara's back. "I'm here."

"What happened in 1793!?"

"What?"

She grunted as the creature jerked in one last effort to free itself. Then it began to dissolve. Both heroes fell towards the ground, landing on their backs. Both groaned simultaneously, and a few policemen and women came to check on them.

"Were you serious about the history question?"

"Dead serious," she felt tears sting her eyes as she rubbed the back of her head. "Is my head bleeding?" Her partner leaned closer and parted her hair.

"A little, but it's not too bad. We'll definitely be bruised tomorrow, though. Why do you want to know about 1790?"

"1793," she corrected, wincing as she stood up. She held out a hand and helped him up. He grunted, rubbing the side of his thigh.

"I guess a lot of stuff must have happened? I think that's the year Marie Antoinette was beheaded, if that's what you forgot?"

Marinette frowned. "Thanks. I think that's what I wanted to know?" She shook her head and turned to go. He held her back, pursing his lips.

"Sorry," he swallowed. "That I wasn't here earlier this week."

"Don't worry about it," She waved him off. "You're my partner, not my employee." She hoped she got her point across. He didn't answer to her, she didn't answer to him. If he did something he thought was wrong, or that he felt guilty about, he'd just have to make it up later, and same for her. By the look in his eyes, it seemed he understood what she wanted to say. Marinette glanced to the side, and grinned. "The Akuma victim is still looking shaken," she gestured towards the ice cream vendor. "Why don't you help him? And while you're at it, you could probably talk to the police, right? Thanks, I have a history test to study for."

And she was off.


"Gorilla!" Adrien called, ecstatic to see the familiar face again. He didn't expect the man to respond, so he plowed forward. "I've missed you so much!" He almost hugged the tall, broad man, but held himself back. The Gorilla nodded towards the door, and the two of them headed outside, towards the car. "It was only for a few days, but I've realized that for the past two years, you've somehow been more present in my life than my father has. And you've always been around more than mom ever was." Gorilla opened the door for his young charge, and Adrien stayed silent until he was seated and settled in the driver's seat. "I know we don't talk, and I know you're paid to watch after me, but I truly mean it when I say I missed you."

The man said nothing, and the drive to school was silent, as always. The joy Adrien had felt at seeing his childhood bodyguard was dimming, slowly replaced by embarrassment and hurt. He opened the door.

"See you when I get out of school," he mumbled.

"I-"

Adrien paused and looked at the driver. This was shocking. He couldn't remember the last time Gorilla had spoken. That was part of the reason his younger self had nicknamed the poor guy 'Gorilla.' Because he looked like a human, but was stronger than six men, and didn't speak a word. Also, Adrien had loved the movie Tarzan, and for a while wished that everyone in his life was a gorilla or animal of some sort.

"I missed you, too." The man glanced back at Adrien, and Adrien couldn't keep the smile off of his face.

"Maybe after school we can grab some snacks before going back home?" Adrien asked hopefully. The Gorilla nodded, and Adrien nodded back, almost giddy with the amount of communication.

He stood up and made his way to class, where he suddenly realized there was a history test to be taken in a few minutes. He rushed to his seat and threw his bag to the ground, checking the time. Ten minutes before class. Like everyone else in the room, he flipped open his textbook and becan cramming every name, fact, and event he possibly could into his brain.


Louis the sixteenth, Tikki whispered in her ear. There were perks to having magical earrings in which a magical ladybug could reside. Marinette had found that, just like in battle, Tikki could rest in the earrings of the Miraculous, just like a pokemon could rest in a pokeball. The difference, however, was that Tikki could actually talk to Marinette, and Marinette would be the only one to hear her.

One more page, Marinette, Tikki said softly. We're almost done. As it turned out, helping Marinette so much over the past week had had one benefit. Tikki had memorized almost the entire chapter of the textbook, and now Marinette was reaping the benefits. It wasn't as if she hadn't tried to study for the test-she had, truly-but Tikki appeared to have had a better time retaining any of the information. If you want a realistic grade, go for an 85%, so make four of your answers incorrect.


(The next week, when everyone got their tests back, Marinette was announced in front of the whole class to have the highest grade.)