Imitatrice II

Adrien is losing his mind with worry, he's sure of it. First, he finds out Mari has been akumatized, then he finds out it's because of him. That's the only explanation for it, for her calling him out on the news like that. It's his fault. He'll be happy to spend the rest of forever making it up to her, of course, but right now he was supposed to find her and – and fight her.

He's not sure how he's supposed to do that, because the idea of raising a hand against Mari, especially Mari who looks like Mari just in a costume, her pretty face on full display, makes his stomach churn. Again, it's different than it is with Nino, and not just because Nino had been akumatized in a way that completely changed him. With Mari, it was like she wanted her real face plastered over the news, as though she wanted him to know it was her without a shadow of a doubt.

Adrien trusts Ladybug, and not just because she is the only one that can actually help Mari and purify the akuma that's taken over her. He trusts her, but this – fighting Mari – feels wrong.

It's too late though; they've already put out the bait. He has no choice but to wait for Mari to show up and hopefully this will all be over quickly.

I can tell Chat isn't in the right headspace just by looking at him, but I don't know what to do about it.

I let out an impassioned plea via the news based on playback of the video footage of Imitatrice, who I was dead certain was the sculptor simply because how many other people felt so strongly about Ladybug and had an opportunity to talk to Chat Noir and possibly misconstrue things with him at this exact time today? My 'plea' consists of basically asking Imitatrice to meet me at the station to tell me the truth I didn't know about Chat Noir (because Imitatrice has been running around screaming about knowing Chat's secret, Ladybug deserves better, etc, on camera).

I confess, it's a relief to know that we're at the news station – so I'll be able to clear my/Marinette's name once Imitatrice turns into the sculptor for all to see on everyone's favorite Parisian news station.

No one would miss a chance to catch Ladybug and Chat Noir in action, at any rate, so clearing my good name is all but assured.

I wait, feeling confident in my plan, nodding to Chat when we hear a door open…

Imitatrice is here to spring our trap, but we're ready and while I don't know where the autographed photo is, exactly, I am 99% sure that that's the item the akuma is in. Chat looks ready to fight, which eases my anxiety a little. We've got this. Everything is fine.

(I hate waiting.)

"Ladybug!" Imitatrice cries out dramatically, entering center stage with her shoulders squared, Marinette's face, my face, twisted into a self-righteous sneer as she takes in Chat's presence beside me.

"Imitatrice," I greet, keeping my voice even, compassionate. "Thank you for agreeing to meet us here. I'm ready to listen to what you have to say."

Seeing my cheeks pink at, well, me, is downright weird. It's like looking in the mirror and blushing at myself. Only this version of me is wearing what looks like a sexy Chat Noir costume. The sculptor, I think, has a very low opinion of me, and it's evident in the skin tight black leather bodysuit, the way it's unzipped to tease my nonexistent cleavage. It's absolutely inappropriate for someone of my age and I feel irrationally angry looking at it up close. The scarf helps, but that's beside the point.

This grown ass man gets himself akumatized and takes the form of a teenage girl he has decided is some kind of hussy because he has a thing for Ladybug and evidently thinks Chat is two-timing her with a school girl.

I am so angry I want to break something.

"Mari-" Chat begins – if he had a tail, it would be swishing back and forth anxiously. "You don't have to do this. Just give us your scarf and we'll take care of everything. Please."

He steps closer and I have to scramble to pull him back.

"Imitatrice has something to tell me, Chat, I promised to listen to her," I remind him, and if my tone is a little bit shrill, it's merited. He can't just deviate from the plan like this!

"That's right, Ladybug," Imitatrice says, sneering at Chat. "Chat Noir isn't who you think he is."

I can't focus on Chat right now, I tell myself, because I need to find the akuma – a difficult thing when I can't find any visible pockets on my evil twin's skin tight costume.

"Chat Noir is leading you on, Ladybug," Imitatrice says loudly, fixing me with an almost imploring look. "You're devoted to the wrong man… Chat Noir is seeing me behind your back!"

Chat looks like all of his theories have been confirmed.

"It's not like that at all, you're wrong," he says desperately, "please let us help you."

"Chat Noir and I are not together," I say mildly, my mind working a mile a minute.

Copycat had been a literal copy of Chat Noir, complete with his powers. Imitatrice, I realized suddenly, hadn't shown evidence of any power. What if… her power was the transformation?

"You waited for him!" Imitatrice accuses. "You wouldn't give m- Théo Barbot the time of day! All you could think about was Chat Noir and he didn't even go after you when you left!"

Bingo! Théo Barbot, that was the sculptor's name. It is him – meaning that the akuma is definitely the autographed photo.

"It's not like that," I try, and apparently that is the wrong thing to say because that is when Imitatrice loses it and attacks us.

"You're not listening!" Imitatrice cries out, fists clenched, nearly shaking with rage. "But you will! You'll listen when I take your miraculous and expose Chat Noir for the liar he truly is!"

She lunges for me – without powers, I note.

Imitatrice is strong and fast like any other akumatized villain – but she doesn't have a power. Meaning that shapeshifting into a recognizable form of me is her power.

Meaning that the akuma item is likely only reachable in her base form.

"Chat!" I cry out, leaping backwards, away from her. He understands what I need without me saying it, jumping into the fray to keep Imitatrice busy in close combat while I use my power. "Lucky Charm!"

A spotted red pen appears in my hand, much to my confusion.

I don't have the time to wonder what it's for because Chat is suddenly thrown into me, bowling us both over as I struggle to catch him.

"Sorry, Milady," he apologizes, sounding winded. "She's stronger than she looks."

I worry as I wonder if that's true or if he's pulling his punches because she's wearing my face.

"It's in her scarf," Chat tells me distantly as we separate, his gaze fixed on Imitatrice. "I just know it."

To be fair, if it really was me, he'd be right. But it's not – but how to prove that to him?

Imitatrice comes at us in a full attack, and – and Chat dodges, deflects her movements with skill I couldn't match, and… doesn't strike back.

"Chat, focus!" I say, and then because I need to buy time while I figure something out say, "the scarf!"

I have no good reason to share my suspicions yet, so I don't. It wouldn't make sense for me to doubt him without giving his theory a chance unless I somehow knew Imitatrice wasn't the real Mari. Which I do, obviously, but letting him know that risks my identity.

Anxiety rolls in my stomach and I push it away. Chat knew it was the sculptor in the show because… of the lollipop stick. Imitatrice has a lollipop in her mouth. Why isn't it clicking for him?

I focus on getting the scarf, trying to divide my attention between fighting Imitatrice and figuring out what the spoon is for. I'm coming up with nothing so far and my earrings are counting down…

"Cataclysm!" Chat shouts, making me miss a step, turning only to see him lunge for the edge of the scarf with his hand outstretched-

But Théo Barbot has done his homework and knows everything about us. Imitatrice lets Chat's cataclysm connect to the scarf, grinning maliciously as it is destroyed, an expression that looks so, so wrong on Marinette's, on my face that I feel sick for a minute.

"What?" Chat starts, looking almost helpless as Imitatrice leaps at him-

I glance around desperately searching for the key items I need to pull a crazy plan together to utilize the pen my lucky charm gave me, and the unthinkable happens.

Imitatrice successfully pins Chat. He's pulling his punches, scared to hurt someone wearing my face. It's becoming a real problem, really fast, but it makes sense.

Imitatrice grapples with Chat for his ring. That is what Hawkmoth wants. This, too, makes sense.

I tackle Imitatrice off of Chat, engaging in, for lack of a better expression an ugly cat fight. We roll across the floor together as she tries to grab my earrings, babbling about how it will be better this way – how I will be better off without Chat – and I gain the upper hand. Coming to Chat's aid, this struggle, it all makes sense.

"Chat, help me!" She cries, her voice full of fear and pain that I know is contrived - and this is where stops making sense. "It hurts!"

I am tackled off of her by a blur of black.

Blood rushes in my ears.

My heartbeat is a painful hammering against my chest.

I stare at Chat, mouth slightly agape, the first, biting sting of betrayal dawning painfully slowly across my face.

This doesn't make sense. I don't understand.

I am an inch from hyperventilating, and losing it fast.

I don't register the pain until the tip of the spotted red pen in my hand bites so deeply into the skin of my palm that it bleeds-

And just like that, it comes to me.

I need to pull myself together. I need to pretend that I'm alright.

Chat can't look me in the eye, torn between checking on that false Mari and saying something, anything, that might help me make sense of what has happened.

I can pretend that this is alright. And that's the key – I need to pretend.

"Chat, I can't take this anymore," I say slowly, as though pained by the words. I feel nothing. I feel everything. I don't know what I am feeling but its ugly and sits heavily on my shoulders like the weight of the world. "You should be happy with her. The truth is, I'm in love with the sculptor who made that beautiful statue of us!"

Chat looks like he can't believe what he's hearing, like he is completely blown away.

Imitatrice stops, looking wildly in my direction.

"Do you really mean that?" She asks, stepping towards me.

"Yes, I do," I say evenly, "Your name – Mari, is it? I want you to be happy with Chat Noir. I could never love someone that wasn't devoted to me. And Théo Barbot – you can see his devotion in every line of his work! The man is a genius! I wanted to write 'will you be mine' on the photograph he gave me to sign… I only hope he feels the same way."

"I do!" Imitatrice shouts, and then she is morphing into a green-skinned monster that vaguely resembled Théo Barbot. "I do!"

Chat looks shocked. I don't care.

"Théo?" I gasp in false surprise. "It was you all along?"

"Yes!" He says, fumbling in his pocket for something – for the photo. "Ask me, Ladybug! Write it here!"

"Oh, Théo," I return dramatically, "of course I will."

I click the pen, gazing at him with false love-sickness.

He hands me the photo – and I promptly rip it in half.

The rest of the affair passes by in a blur. I capture the akuma, I purify it, I release it and use my power to return everything to normal. The cameras, unfortunately, weren't rolling, but once the sculptor is himself again, crews come in and film the end of everything, clearing my name. I leave. On my way out, Chat looks like he desperately wants to say something but I can't look at him right now. Just… just for now.

Instead, I make my way to Théo Barbot's studio, my nerves rattled from what happened, where, after letting myself in through the window, I promptly dial 17 for the police, acting like a scared, clueless school girl explaining that I was kidnapped by a green man that turned into me and knocked me out. I need an alibi for my parents, after all.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng is a brief blurb on the news that night, a teenage girl, whose name is not released to the public because she is a minor, being 'rescued' from a profusely apologetic sculptor's studio by police. Emergency medical services check me out and believe that Ladybug's power healed any bumps or bruises I might have gotten during the kidnapping. They diagnose me with shock, which is both laughable and worrisome.

My parents, who were worried sick, are relieved to have me back. They keep me bundled up in the blanket given to me by the paramedics all the way home, my mom's hand remaining a gentle touch on my shoulder, my dad straight up holding my hand the whole way.

I tell them I am tired because I can't bear their loving concern, it's suffocating, I need to breathe, I love them (I love them, I really, really do) but I can't. I need-

"Tikki," I try when I am upstairs, when it is safe – and that is when I lose it.

"Shhh," Tikki tries, fluttering anxiously by me as I tug the shock blanket they'd let me keep closer around myself, tears welling up in my eyes as I let out one, two great sobs and start crying in earnest. "Oh Mari, no… it's okay, Mari. It's okay…"

I cry my eyes out because I trusted Chat and he – he chose who he thought was me over me. It stung. I had trusted Adrien as Chat before I even knew him as Mari, he had been the second person after Tikki that I had formed a tenuous bond with in this world and today he-

He'd thought I was hurting his friend Mari, so he had stopped me. I should be flattered that he thought so highly of me as myself that he would go against Ladybug, but instead I felt betrayed…

"What's wrong with me, Tikki?" I ask, hiccupping. I furiously wipe my tears on the back of my sleeve.

Her little face is full of sympathy.

"Nothing is wrong with you, Mari," she insists, zipping close to my face to stare right into my eyes. "Chat Noir put your civilian self over Ladybug. Not because he doesn't trust Ladybug, but because he is so attached to you, Mari, that he wasn't thinking straight. Just look at how many messages he's left you on your phone."

It's true. Adrien blew up my phone after the news station and I… I hadn't replied.

"It hurts, Tikki," I whimper, hanging my head low to avoid looking her in the eye as hot tears threaten to spill over onto my cheeks again. "I don't know why I'm overreacting like this."

"Because you trust Chat Noir," Tikki states factually, leaving no room for argument. "He trusts you, too. He was just confused because Imitatrice looked like you. Adrien cares for you very much, Mari. In both forms. He just doesn't know who you are."

I cry. I can't help it.

"You're right, Tikki, and I know that. I do," I repeat, as though saying it again will make me believe it more than I do now. "I just – I thought – why doesn't he trust Ladybug like I trusted him before I even met him as Adrien?"

Tikki is silent. I realize after a moment my error, my hands flying up to my cover my mouth in horror.

"Oh, Tikki, I didn't mean it, of course I still trust him," I babble, my breath coming in quick, short pants. "I trust him, I do. I didn't mean-"

Like I trusted him, I had said. I want to be sick.

"Mari-" Tikki starts, and never gets the chance to finish because right then the trap door to my room opens.

"Marinette, sweetheart?" my mom calls out gently-

"I'm here mom," I reply, sounding stuffy and shaken and miserable.

"Oh, Marinette," she murmurs, voice laden with sympathy. "I'm coming up, sweetheart."

She sets down a hot cup of some kind of sweet smelling tea and lets herself in as I wish the earth would open up and swallow me whole. I wipe at my face but nothing I can do in this instant will disguise the puffiness there, the redness of my eyes and nose.

She sits with me, for how long, I don't know, but long enough for the tea to cool to a drinkable temperature, long enough for me to drink it in slow, little sips – it's good to calm the nerves, she tells me gently, so, so gently – long enough for me to fall asleep to the sensation of her fingers carefully brushing my bangs out of my face…

I don't deserve Marinette' parents is the last, guilty thought I have before I fall asleep.

I wake up the next morning to a missing cup no longer on my nightstand and my mom (Marinette's mom) long since gone. I sleep in, actually, long past the start of school and honestly, I am relieved. My parents obviously don't mind if I stay home today, which is for the best because I can't stomach the thought of seeing Adrien.

Adrien, Adrien… He's left me several new texts since this morning, but I don't dare even look at them to see what they're about. A glance at the message preview on my phone tells me that he's trying to be casual about everything and failing – leaving me to wonder when I got to know him so well that I could pinpoint his floundering from a mile away.

I stay in bed that day, only leaving the sanctity of my covers when my dad brings me up some late breakfast, knowing my fondness for croissants. He sits with me while I eat, chats lightly with me about video games and school, gently suggests that if I'm willing, he'd like to move my next appointment with my therapist up as close to today as possible so that I can talk about the kidnapping stuff, and…

And it makes me feel warm. Loved. I agree to therapy – not because of the kidnapping, of course, since I staged that, but… it might do me some good to talk about things with a professional.

I give Tom the biggest hug-

"Love you, dad," I say, and I mean it. It's the first time since I've arrived here that I've been able to say it, been able to mean it, and I do. "I love you and mom so much."

They've been so kind to me, so understanding and patient. How many parent would let their kid skip school, understanding that depression is a sickness that needs help to fix?

There are tears in his eyed as he hugs me back, fiercely, determinedly.

"A classmate of yours dropped by during lunch today," he said after a moment, instead of the myriad of things he could have said in response. He was trying to find some even ground to tread on. I couldn't blame him for that. "Asked how you were. Said he had notes for you."

Adrien.

My heart skips a beat and this time it's not a pleasant feeling. It's the all too familiar cloying thickness in the back of my throat of anxiety, making it impossible to answer, to say anything.

"I don't want you to think that I'm encouraging you skipping school, but since you have an appointment tomorrow, if you don't feel ready to face your friends, you can stay home," my dad offers kindly, but firmly. "The day after, though, you're going back to school. And I fully expect you to keep up with your schoolwork."

I am reminded, again, that I do not deserve Marinette's parents and in a paradoxical way feel guilty for holding them in such high esteem because it's a betrayal of my own, in my heart of hearts, against the parents I can barely remember.

"Thanks, dad," I return quietly, and give him a brief but no less sincere hug. "I'll text Adrien to let him know I'm okay."

I will. Eventually.

"Adrien, huh?" Tom says lightly, chuckling as I fix him with an embarrassed look. "Alright, alright. If you're up to it, your mom will be happy to see you downstairs."

"Yes, dad," I respond sheepishly – and he leaves me to my thoughts with a brief tousling of my hair.

I end up thinking about Adrien without even meaning it. It's not fair of me to ghost him like this, to leave his messages of concern unread for no apparent reason. But I can't – I can't bring myself to just… reply. I don't know how. I don't know what I should be saying to soothe him because he's Adrien but he's Chat and right now the hurt is Ladybug's and I don't know how to separate Ladybug from Mari because I was Ladybug first.

Still, it's not fair to Adrien, so I tentatively pick up my phone to make the effort because he doesn't deserve my silence, especially not for something that was between Ladybug and Chat.

I take the plunge.

'Mari, I saw you on the news tonight are you okay?'

'Saw you weren't in class today. I stopped by your house, but your parents said you weren't feeling up to visitors. I hope you feel better soon.'

'I know you're probably busy with all that's happened, but text me when you get a chance, ok?'

'Hey Mari, last text of the day, I promise. I'll drop off notes for you after school, hope to see you then!'

Guilt churns in my stomach. Adrien doesn't deserve this. He certainly deserves better than me.

'Hey Adrien, sorry for not answering. I'm okay. I won't be in school tomorrow but I'll be back the day after,' I type and then erase what I've written anxiously. 'Hey Adrien, it's me-'

No, wrong again. I briefly see a sign that he's typing – I wonder if he'd been about to text me and saw his messages switch to read – but that goes away. He's waiting.

'Hey Adrien, sorry, I've been really overwhelmed. I'm okay. I'll be back at school the day after tomorrow. Thanks for thinking of me.'

I hit send before I can second guess myself because it's not fair to keep him waiting while I dither about a reply. I quickly exit out of my message app because I don't want to read any replies that might be coming.

My phone buzzes like ten seconds later, from Adrien, the notification helpfully informs me, and I decide it's about time to set my phone down for the day.

Instead, I make my way downstairs to spend time with my family, sitting quietly, perhaps too quietly but I can't help it, in our living room watching the news with them, later helping make dinner and eating with them as unobtrusively as possible, trying to keep my presence light and less dismal than I feel. We talk about random things as they come up, my mom echoing my dad's earlier sentiment that since I have an appointment during school hours, I can stay home tomorrow as long as I keep up with my homework, which I'm grateful for.

I'm sure they're still not convinced I'm not being bullied at school, because they only have the time I spend away from them as a frame of reference for why I am the way I am, which is probably why they're letting me skip again. Keeping up with high school level homework isn't a big deal for me because – it's blurry, my memories of my previous life, but I think that I finished high school, maybe finished some college. I don't remember much anymore, and what I do is disjointed, knowledge without origin, skills without a source. Either way, I'm glad to not have to face Adrien tomorrow.

And it's that thought that brings me back to Chat Noir. I'm lucky, very lucky, that there wasn't an akumatization today. There may be one tomorrow, and I might have to fight side by side with him again while this is unresolved in my head.

"Good night mom, good night dad," I say, retreating to bed early that night due to the mounting headache I'm suffering as I try to figure out how to get over this stumbling block.

"I don't know what to do, Tikki," I mutter tiredly once I am in the safety of my room.

"Talk to him," Tikki suggests lightly, her expression and tone of voice full of encouragement. "If you don't try talking to him, Mari, you'll never work this out."

She's right, of course she is, but I don't know how to address the fact that apparently Adrien feels so strongly about his friend Mari that he would defend her from Ladybug. Because that's what he was doing. He thought I was hurting Mari and in the process of helping his best friend inadvertently betrayed her.

No, I can't think like that. He didn't betray me, that's an intrusive thought. He thought I was hurting someone, of course Mr. White Knight is going to save the day. He thought I was hurting his best friend. It's not about Ladybug at all, it's about Adrien and Mari and Chat Noir and Mari. That I'm Ladybug is unfortunate coincidence at this point, and that's all.

Tikki looks up for a moment, thinking.

"Why don't you get some fresh air, Mari?" She suggests sweetly. "It might help you clear your head."

I draw my blanket closer around me, considering it.

"You're probably right, Tikki," I admit after a minute. I always feel better after sitting on my balcony for a while. It's become my place to think. "I think I'll do that."

It's late by this point, but it's not like anyone's going to be walking the streets below to get a peek of me in my PJs, so I just head on up to get some much needed air.

I realize Tikki has tricked me when it's too late.

Adrien didn't expect to see Mari, honestly, but felt that he had to try. She was withdrawing from everything, from him, even, and he knew why.

He hadn't saved her.

Sure, maybe he'd helped Ladybug stop the akuma (had he really, though? Ladybug's face when he shoved her off of who he thought was Mari haunted him), but he hadn't been there. Hadn't even realized she was kidnapped. He should have been the one to find her, not police, he was her hero and…

And he hadn't been there.

He thinks he can find out what she thinks, if she's okay, how she's taking this as her friend Adrien, but she withdraws from him too so he's back across the street from her balcony and this time he takes the plunge and lands on her balcony directly, intent on knocking-

And, like magic, the one person he wants to see most in the world chooses this moment to appear.

"Mari," he says, and before she can reply, swoops in and wraps his arms around her in a stiff, awkward hug.

"Chat," she says thickly in response, her voice muffled by his shoulder, and though she sounds subdued, without the usual excitement, the usual warmth he is used to hearing there, he doesn't hear accusation in her voice, not accusation or resentment and that's how he knows-

He can fix this.

To be continued in Montre.