Gabriel's hatred for waking up, Nathalie had to admit, was fully warranted. If her mornings had begun by barely suppressed panic attacks, she would have avoided sleep too.

When her phone had started beeping, at a late and well needed half past seven, Gabriel had stirred in confusion. Nathalie, her back turned to him, had reached for her glasses, eyes still closed, every muscle painful. It was late but still too early for someone who had slept four hours.

Then she had heard him strangle a gasp. He had started hyperventilating - one breath, two breaths, three breaths - before swallowing that down too. He had forced himself to take deep, controlled breaths, getting to his feet and out of bed and nearly out of the room before Nathalie had managed to catch up with him and grab his wrist.

She had not mentioned therapy because there was no point beating a dead horse.

He knew.

That being said, being seen like that had been enough to snap him out of the anxiety attack. He had retreated into cold fury instead, which was just as healthy.

Nathalie had kept his hand on his shoulder, waiting for the wall of rage to crack, and for him to reach out for her.

He had.

Her day, after they had arrived at the mansion later in the morning, had been busy enough. Monitoring Adrien's nearly botched photo shoot had taken too much of her time, and so had babysitting Jagged Stone and his pet. Then, her work had started.

It had been a bit underhanded, a bit illegal, a bit expensive. Not out of the ordinary.

"What would you rather do?" she had said at one point. "Take the five-thousand euros and pretend your leg is broken, or have my friend here break it for you?"

Boxes had moved and stretched on Gabriel's calendar.

Boxes had moved and stretched on Adrien's.

If the day had been ideal, Nathalie would have cornered Adrien after his Spanish lesson, to brief him on his revised schedule and responsibilities. Unfortunately, Marinette Dupain-Cheng had showed up and not only monopolized the boy for most of the evening, but also managed to reconcile with Gabriel.

It gave Nathalie cold sweats and nightmares about blue scarves.

Eventually, however, Adrien escorted his classmate out, and Nathalie joined Gabriel in his study. She found him scanning his newest piece, which she recognized from having read the requirements email.

"I thought you wouldn't start on Aria Rossignol's dress until October," she commented, joining him next to the scanner. Gabriel did not turn, too busy slipping the sketch into a plastic sheet protector, but he relaxed a little.

"I know, but I was inspired," he replied. "What was that ruckus with the children earlier? I heard some squealing."

"One of them broke miss Dupain-Cheng's phone, but they could not agree on whom. I provided a replacement paid for with Adrien's allowance. I trust they will sort it out between themselves. I see you got her to apologize?"

Gabriel chuckled and shook his head, turning to Nathalie with an amused smile.

"I'm as likely to get apologies out of her as the rest of the world is to get apologies out of me. No, I did not. As a matter of fact, I did not bother trying. Calling for a truce was simpler."

"Should we expect more frequent visits from her?"

"Apparently. She is coming tomorrow to spend the afternoon with Adrien, and bringing the juvenile delinquent and the obnoxious blogger with her. You will be supervising. Make sure they do not destroy the house before I get back from my lunch with Stone."

He was getting better, she mused. Barely a month earlier, the mere suggestion of inviting some of Adrien's friends would have been met with disapproval and scorn.

"Very well, sir," she said.

He mouthed that 'sir' with a little roll of the eyes, but did not comment further. Nathalie let him put his artwork down, then pressed herself against him, placing a hand on his chest and letting it slide up to his shoulder.

He melted . There was no other word. The ever-present tension in his every muscle vanished as he arched a little closer. His shoulders, that she had never seen other than squared, relaxed.

Her heart skipped a beat.

"This sure is an interesting change of dynamics," he murmured, placing a hand on her lower back.

"I was about to go home," Nathalie said, getting a set of keys out of her pocket.

She shook them under Gabriel's nose until he took them, then watched him blink and scowl.

"Those are my spare keys," she told him. "If you feel like dropping by tonight, please do, and let yourself in. You know your way to my bedroom, by now. Just know that I'm going straight to bed and that if you wake me up an an ungodly hour, I will murder you."

She could not flat out offer him not to wake up alone, but the meaning was clear enough, wasn't it?

"Are we at the 'keys' milestone already?" he drawled, raising his eyebrows.

"That is a moot point," Nathalie retorted, pulling away. "I have every single key to your home."

She adjusted her jacket, straightening up, trying to pay no attention to the hand that had slipped from her back to her hip. Gabriel left it there, considering her offer. He ended up pocketing the keys.

"See you later, then," he said, leaning down for a quick kiss, barely more than a brush of the lips.

Nathalie adjusted his tie to stop herself from removing it.

"Good," she replied. "Good."

She took a step away, then another, then another. Then she nodded and walked out of the study, making her way down the stairs to the main door.

Adrien was sitting with his back to the door, lost in thought, his cheeks red enough to serve as a traffic light. He jumped to his feet when he saw her.

"Is everything alright?" Nathalie asked, though she needed no explanation on what was troubling him.

She had a feeling they would be seeing a lot of Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

"I-I am fine. I'm sorry. I. Were you leaving?"

Nathalie nodded. Adrien stuttered some more, stepping to the side to get closer to the dining room door.

"Oh. Good night. Have a nice evening. S-see you tomorrow," he finished, waiting to be dismissed.

"Have a good evening," Nathalie replied, walking out.

As the door closed, she heard him run off.

###

Companies did not manage themselves. Meetings did not attend themselves. Faxes and emails did not answer themselves. Designs did not create themselves, fashion shows did not organize themselves, business relationships did not manage themselves, interviews did not give themselves, quarterly reports did not review themselves, and Gabriel loved to work. The harder the task, the better.

He had gotten much more efficient once no longer distracted by the roofs of Paris and nightly patrols.

The more he had worked, the more work he had to do - which had been good , even if Alice could not see that - and the more focused he had grown. And sometimes - sometimes - he had pretended not to hear the words he had heard the most in three years. How hard was it to understand that he had work to do? But Alice could not give him a break, could she?

She would insist, and insist, and insist.

"Gabriel. Look. At. Your. Son."

###

Adrien had retreated to his bedroom in the hopes that he would get some quiet to sort through his thoughts. No such luck. Plagg had reappeared right after he had closed the door, and started swirling around him.

"She's learning," the Kwami announced. "I did not believe she could."

"Plagg!"

"It's true, isn't it? That girl can be a bit obtuse. I'm glad she is making some progress."

"Would you mind not insulting my friends? Also, really ? Don't you feel a bit like a pot here, Plagg?"

"Pot?"

"Calling the kettle black."

The black cat stared at him for ten solid seconds.

"I was just saying those new developments make me happy ," he retorted, huffing. "I don't like it when my heroes are not treated right."

"She was just worried for me, Plagg. She could have gone about it differently, but… It's okay. She's sorry."

"I didn't mean you ," the Kwami replied, in what had to be his first - if indirect - reference to Gabriel.

"Oh," Adrien gasped. "Oh."

He extended his hands for Plagg to land on. The Kwami spun one last time, then floated down, sitting cross-legged on Adrien's palms. He raised expectant green eyes to his charge.

"I think Father can handle a teenage girl," the boy told him, in a patient tone.

Plagg yawned.

"I think teenage girls should not meddle in matters they don't understand," he drawled. "But water under the bridge. If my chosens like her, who am I to judge?"

He kept his words generic, using plurals rather than names, and Adrien wondered what the cat would have said if he had been able to discuss Gabriel directly. The boy smiled.

"They definitely get along," he replied, scratching the top of Plagg's head. "In their way. It's a bit scary."

It was a loose definition of 'getting along', applied to two people at war, but the way they were able to play each other boded well. Or so Adrien hoped.

"Well, birds of a feather flock together," Plagg mumbled.

The teenager chuckled.

"Come on, they are not even remotely alike."

The Kwami snorted, but did not answer. He most likely could not.

Adrien put him down on his desk.

"I need to go thank him. He… invited? Marinette and Nino and Alya tomorrow, I didn't think it would ever happen."

Plagg tilted his head to the side.

"You are bringing me cheese on your way back, aren't you?"

The blond sighed.

"Of course I am. You know that you can phase through the fridge door, right?"

Plagg's eyes grew wide. He started laughing.

"It's chilly in there. You weren't too happy to be locked inside a fridge the last time it happened to you, were you?"

"I… guess not," Adrien admitted, chuckling. "Alright, I'll see what I can find."

"Camembert."

"Camembert," the young hero promised, before walking out of his bedroom.

###

When Gabriel tried to recall four year old Adrien, the first thing that came to his mind was hands . Tiny little hands and a tuft of tousled blond hair. That, and yellow plastic giraffes.

He had been working (on Grace Ouillette's costume for Comme un poison dans l'eau , more precisely), and he remembered being vaguely aware of his son wandering around in his office. Every now and then, the designer had heard a hushed "tadadam!" or a mumbled "dududum", in the quiet and distracted voice of a very focused preschooler. Adrien would trot to his father, slow down as he approached, and tiptoe up to the desk. Then, very silently, the tuft of blond hair would inch closer. A tiny hand would appear, and place a plastic animal on Gabriel's desk. Mostly giraffes. He had a whole set.

Gabriel had paid very little attention to the whole process, only peeking from the corner of his eye when it looked like his son's hands got to close to his Ecoline bottles or to the glass of water sitting on a platter at his left. Whenever Adrien had attempted to place one of his plastic animals on Gabriel's sketch, his father had picked the toy up and put it down farther away, with a little 'clack'.

The boy's comings and goings had gradually slowed down. Still, he had tried to get Gabriel's attention, flattening himself against the desk and picking two giraffes up to make them gallop on the border of the desk. Hesitant green eyes had glanced up at the stylist. The next "dududum" had been a little louder.

"Adrien, dad is busy," Gabriel had said, dipping his paintbrush into a bottle of blue ink and testing the tone on a spare sheet of paper.

Adrien had not answered.

A minute had gone by, then the boy had started to make his giraffes walk, with caution, so their plastic hooves would make no noise on the surface of the desk. He had shuffled them around in perfect silence for… a while.

Then Gabriel had felt another presence and turned to the door, to find his wife standing there with her arms crossed. Their eyes had met. Hers held nothing but seething hatred. That coldness and rage had vanished in a split second, of course, as soon as Adrien had noticed his mother's arrival.

The child had looked up and beamed.

"Mom!" he had exclaimed, abandoning his giraffes to run to Alice and hug her leg.

"Hiii there sweetie," his mother had greeted him, picking him up effortlessly and squishing him against her. "What's up?"

Adrien had lifted himself up to her ear and whispered something. Alice had raised her eyebrows.

"I can see he is. Why don't we go to the kitchen and find some candy to eat?" she had suggested. "I hear someone came home with gummies ."

The child's grin had grown wider. His mother had kissed his forehead and carried him out.

Gabriel had focused on his drawing and waited .

He had known what was coming, and seeing the door slam open thirty minutes later had not surprised him. Alice had stopped under the doorframe, collected herself, and closed the door in a quieter fashion.

A second later, all hell had broken loose.

"How HARD would it be to look up from your work every once in a while to HUG YOUR SON?" she had screamed.

The question had not been a new one, nor an uncommon one.

"I have to finish this, Alice," Gabriel had retorted. "I am late as it is. Filming starts next month."

"You have never been 'late' in your life, Gabriel. What you mean is that you are not weeks ahead of schedule like you like to be."

" Filming starts next month. "

"Cry me a river. You didn't need that contract."

He had raised his chin and steeled himself, keeping his tone cold.

"I can't just turn down a rising superstar because you want me to babysit ."

Silence had fallen. Gabriel had turned back to his sketch, coloring the dress night blue. Alice had glared at him for an eternity.

"You don't get to do this," she had finally yelled. "You don't get to withdraw inside yourself, you don't get to withhold love! You wanted children! You , emphasis, wanted children , plural! I'm sorry reality doesn't measure up to your perfect 'heir and spare' scenario, I am sorry it is not as easy as you expected, but YOU DON'T GET TO DO THIS."

He could have sworn he had heard a whisper from Tikki, the slightest hint of her voice, in a pleading, appeasing tone. He had not seen the Kwami in four years, but she had still been with Alice at all times.

"What I am doing," he had explained, meeting her glare with cold eyes and a colder expression, "is make sure that our son has a bright future ahead of him, where he will lack for nothing, where you will lack for nothing. And I am not up for having this discussion again , quite frankly. I believe you made your point the first twenty times."

He had inspected his paintbrush and dipped it in his glass of water, to have an excuse to look away.

Alice had shot daggers at him, standing there with her jaw clenched and her hands balled into fists, before crossing the room and grabbing the green beach bucket Adrien transported his toys in. Wordlessly, she had started to collect the plastic lions and the plastic rhinoceroses from Gabriel's desk, dropping them into the bucket. The zebras. The elephants. The giraffes.

Her husband had waited for her to resume her rant. He had known her arguments and accusations by heart, by that point. There had been some truth to them. Mostly, though, their respective notions of parenting were as compatible as their respective notions of entertaining guests. Alice was a dreamer. One of them had to attend reality.

He had made efforts all the same - look at your son - but it was never enough, and his work was important. So maybe it had not involved saving lives. That had not made his accomplishments meaningless.

Alice had dropped the last giraffe into the bucket.

"I'm done," she had told him. "I'm… done. I tried . I waited. I gave you every chance I could. And if it was just me, I would not care, but Adrien comes first. I'm done, Gabriel. We're over."

He had stilled, only raising his head after running that sentence over in his mind.

"Are we?"

"We are," his wife had repeated, wrapping herself in steely resolve and looking very much like her soldier self.

He had clicked his tongue and dipped his paintbrush in deep blue ink.

"I see. Where do we go from here?"

"It depends. What do you want?"

###

As Adrien made his way across the house to go see his father, the mental blur caused by Marinette's unexpected visit finally faded. The rest of his day came back to him and, when he finally peeked into his father's study, he was mentally replaying his conversation with Anne-Laure Lenoir. Her revelations - a story that he should have suspected, really - had left him reeling. While he was reasonably sure of what he felt, he did not know what to think. He knew his father. Maybe Adrien still had secrets to discover, but Gabriel's essence was not hard to grasp. Following the thought process that had led him to attacking Hawk Moth was easy when you had all of the variables. Handle the root of the problem and not its symptoms. Sometimes, you have to take hard decisions. Gabriel had trusted his Ladybug to handle herself. If it had been her and only her in danger, Adrien did not think his father's actions would have been so drastic. A baby could not keep himself safe, however. Faced with the prospect of years of danger - here we go again, give me your Miraculous - and confronted to the exact picture of what that danger was, it was no wonder Gabriel had decided to eliminate the threat permanently.

It was so very him.

It was so very wrong. Still, while Adrien could not accept that solution, he could understand the mindset that had let to it, so the boy only felt overwhelming sadness instead of disapproval and anger. Sadness, and foreboding, because he knew that Gabriel was still in a place where such choices felt justifiable. Whatever goodness he had in him would always be swept away by cold practicality, unless Gabriel decided to fight that penchant.

It was a choice.

When Adrien entered the study, he found his father at his desk with his laptop, busy typing at a speed only Nathalie could match. While, during dinner, he had managed to appear full of energy, that facade was cracking. The exhaustion that had been there for days was clear on his face.

Worry flooded his son.

"Father?" he called.

Gabriel raised a hand, eyes riveted to his screen, and kept typing for a few seconds. His eyes glazed over for an instant, then he turned to Adrien.

"Do you need something?" he snapped, eyes widening when he heard his own tone.

He pursed his lips, looking distinctly abashed.

"I'm sorry," he said, pushing the computer away. "Tense conversation with miss Spotlight. Did you and miss Dupain-Cheng ever decide who was responsible for the death of her phone?"

"Not really. Do you plan to work late? You look tired."

His father breathed in and adjusted his glasses, staring at his screen, then stood and pushed his chair under the desk.

"No. No, I think I'll call it a day."

Adrien smiled, relieved. He crossed the room, stopping next to his father and smiling a little wider, before throwing himself against Gabriel to hug him.

His dad tensed like a bowstring, instinctively shrinking away, but he caught himself. He relaxed - though it clearly took some effort - and wrapped an arm around Adrien. He patted his shoulder, clearing his throat and muttering a "what brought this on?". The teenager could hear his smile.

"Thank you," Adrien mumbled, nose buried against Gabriel's shoulder.

His father replied with a noncommittal hum.

"Now," the boy muttered, "I think it was quite blatant, but I have to ask. Were you playing matchmaker? With Marinette?"

"Where would you get such a silly idea?" Gabriel said, his tone overly theatrical.

Adrien looked up.

"Oh my god you were," he exclaimed.

His father raised his eyebrows. The boy pulled back, blinking.

"That… I, uh, that's… nice of you? I suppose? But…" - He grew serious. - "I kind of like someone else."

"Oh," Gabriel replied. His expression flickered between the surprise and the frown. It settled on the frown. "It's not that Chloé girl, is it?"

"What? No!"

"That Nino boy, then?"

" What? "

"Because no son of mine will be dating a rapper!"

"What?" - By that point, Adrien was getting irritated. He took a step back and scowled. - "It's not Nino. It's not someone you know. And it doesn't matter, because you don't get to decide who I like."

His father glared back, just for a second. After that, he sighed and looked at the ceiling, only mildly annoyed. Then he met his son's eyes with a reluctantly sorry expression.

"You are right. My apologies."

Adrien crossed his arms. His resolve was starting to falter, but he was not about to drop the topic.

"And you don't even know Chloé."

Gabriel gave him a pointed look.

"You don't ," Adrien insisted. "There's more to her than what her reputation says!"

"I was not arguing . Do not turn this into a fight." - He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. - "I swear this is your mother and Anne-Laure all over again," he mumbled.

His son let his arms fall to his sides, and softened a little.

"What do you mean?"

"Your mother and Chloé's were best friends," Gabriel explained. "As close as sisters. Inseparable. While I'd like to say I approved of the friendship… Anne-Laure and I did not get along, to put it mildly. There's a lot of baggage there, and I'm afraid I'd find it difficult to judge your friend without bias. I know it's unfair of me. I was not arguing. "

Adrien hesitated.

"Chloé is not her mom," he pointed out.

"I know."

The teenager sighed, lowering his eyes.

"Does the girl ever talk about her mother?" Gabriel asked. "About finding her?"

"Not… Not really?" Adrien replied, trying to remember if her friend had ever mentioned her mom.

She had not. Never. She couldn't spend ten minutes without dropping her father's name, but she acted as if mister Bourgeois was the only relative she had.

"Good," Gabriel mused. "Good."

He wrinkled his nose, lost in thought.

"If she does," he added, softly, "try to dissuade her. It would do her no good to reach out."

All of a sudden, Adrien wondered if contacting the previous Queen Bee had been such a bright idea. He had liked her during that phone call - until that 'who?' at the mention of Chloé, at least - but clearly there was more to her than a no-nonsense approach to life and concern for the resident kitten.

"Is there a specific reason?" he asked. "Is her mother a bad person?"

Gabriel thought about it for an instant, then tousled Adrien's hair, leaving his hand there.

"I trust André discussed those private matters with his daughter already," he declared. "And in the event he has not, you shouldn't be the first to know."

"But is she a terrible person? I mean, if I'm to dissuade Chloé from investigating, I have to know something. "

"Seems to me like you are the one interested in investigating," his father commented, taking his hand away and patting Adrien's shoulder. "Boy, you don't have a sly bone in you."

"Alright, alright. I'm curious."

"Six years ago, I had to bail Anne-Laure out of a mexican jail after she got into a brawl with a drug dealer, and it was not the first time it happened. And by that I don't mean 'bailing her out of jail', but precisely 'bailing her out of a mexican jail after she got into a brawl with a drug dealer'."

Adrien gaped.

"Anne-Laure was… still is a free spirit," his father continued. I could write novels on her and Alice's epic adventures. 'The time someone kicked a light switch and caused an electrical fire that got their school closed for a week'. 'The time two teenage girls came to class in bikinis to protest against the newly introduced dress code'. 'The shoplifting saga'. The 'Gabriel, can you come get us, we were arrested in a foreign country because one of us headbutted a policeman' episodes, plural ."

The corner of Adrien's mouth twitched. A surprised grin spread on his face.

"Seriously?"

Gabriel scowled.

"Yes. Your mother was never the initiator, but she was in no way a saint. She enjoyed those hijinks just as much as Anne-Laure. It's a wonder I never strangled the two of them. By all means, I should have, probably after the first four AM call to beg for a lawyer."

His son stared at him with wide eyes, trying very hard not to laugh.

"You never told me any of that!"

"Of course I didn't! Parents are meant to protect their children from bad influences, not to be said bad influence. To discipline a child, you have to have the moral high ground."

Adrien chuckled.

"So how did that bikini protest go?"

"They met a chilly reception from the school board and the month of February. They got suspended for a week and spent that week in bed with the flu."

The teenager bit his lips not to laugh. He took two steps back to sit at the drawing table. His dad caught the hint and sat at his desk, turning his chair to face him.

"What about the shoplifting saga?" Adrien asked.

"Now that's a long and unpleasant story that started with Anne-Laure buying five thousand francs worth of clothes from Berskha and getting caught snatching a twenty-five francs eye-liner on her way out. Alice was with her, I was right outside the door taking notes on the new collection, and then I saw your mother walk out, looking extremely worried. So she tells me what happened, and that Anne-Laure said we should continue shopping, that she would catch up. Alice wanted to wait, but I still dragged her to Zara's. And we walked in, and the anti-theft detector went off the second your mother got through the doors. So the security guard comes over, makes Alice open her bag and, unsurprisingly , it was filled to the brim with bottles of yellow nail polish and cheap jewelry, courtesy of Anne-Laure. Alice ran through the whole spectrum of human emotion in the span of a second, really."

Adrien's eyes grew wider and wider as his father talked.

"So what did you do?"

"I seem to recall your mom put both hands on her face and shrieked with her mouth closed for the best part of a minute."

The boy had seen his mother do that a few times, when really angry. It was her version of shouting expletives.

"And then ?" he asked.

###

Alice had packed Adrien's plastic giraffes in a lavender suitcase, along with pajamas, day clothes, his favorite stuffed toy (Maya the bee) and a dozen books.

Gabriel had considered adding a phone, so his son could call him whenever he wanted, but knew that he was unlikely to be available 'whenever Adrien wanted'. It was easier to set appointments with Alice and to try not to miss those.

On a Friday morning, he had watched his child sit on that rolling suitcase as Alice dragged it to the door. It had been the ride of his life. The slightest things made Adrien happy, at that age.

"Will you be coming to Marseilles, Daddy?" the boy had asked when Alice had left the suitcase at the door and joined Nathalie to discuss the details of her 'holiday trip'.

That was what they had called Alice leaving, that time and all of the others.

"Not this time, Adrien," Gabriel had replied. "I have a fashion show to organize. But you will be too busy to miss me, with all the fun you will be having at the beach. Make sure to take plenty of pictures. I can't wait to look at them."

The boy had nodded dutifully.

Gabriel had crouched and picked him up, squeezing him tight against him.

"Be nice with your mother," he had advised, with his chin resting on Adrien's shoulder. "I don't want to hear you gave her trouble."

"I'll be nice!"

"I know you will be," his father had murmured. "You're always a good boy. Dad loves you very much, you know that?"

Adrien's answer had been to hug Gabriel closer. The stylist had kept him like that for a while, rocking from left to right, until Alice had come back from her talk with Nathalie. He had lowered the boy to the ground and turned to her.

She had been looking at him with a clenched jaw, her eyes ever so slightly wet.

"Don't forget to call me when your plane lands," Gabriel had told her, refusing to beg or to break.

They had not yet explained to Adrien that he and his mother might not be returning home after their trip. Alice was planning to stay at her parents in Paris for a while, while she looked for a suitable place to move in. But, before that, she wanted some air. She wanted to think.

"I won't," she had replied, giving him a blinding smile and a quick peck on the lips, the most she could manage.

He had pulled away, nodding, then turned to Adrien to smooth his tousled hair.

"T-the car is waiting for us, sweetie," Alice had announced. "It's time to go, or we will miss our flight. Say goodbye to Daddy."

"Good bye," the boy had said, hugging Gabriel's thigh.

"Good bye, Adrien," his father had repeated, trying to instill some warmth in his voice.

He had watched them go. Seeing the door close had left him with the distinct absence of feelings one only reached when one's emotions were too heavy to process.

He had turned to Nathalie.

"We should go," he had told her. "I don't want to be late for the meeting with Bonneau. You know he likes to arrive early."

###

Nathalie had gone to bed at half past nine, then slumbered. It was hard to really sleep when you were waiting for someone. She stirred a little when she heard a light knock at her apartment door, much later, but was too exhausted to move, so she did not. She listened , however, and waited.

It took a little while, but she heard key turns in the lock. The door opened and closed. Then she heard nothing at all, not even footsteps, until Gabriel slipped into her room. He paused at the entrance. Nathalie did not exactly fake sleep - her body was definitely out cold, though her mind was passably alert - but did not show signs of being awake either. She could not have moved a finger if she had wanted to. She was too old to sleep so little as she had the previous night.

Gabriel closed the door and walked to the free side of the bed. There was some shuffling, the sound of cloth rubbing against cloth, then he sat on the corner of the bed. The mattress shifted.

He waited.

"I'mwake," Nathalie mumbled after a while, feeling observed.

"I know," he murmured, lifting the covers to slip under them.

The mattress creased under his weight and Nathalie rolled towards the middle of the bed, stirring a little more now that she had a reason to open her eyes.

He wrapped an arm around her and kissed her shoulder.

Cuddling. Ugh.

"Good night," he said.

She sighed and nodded, shifting against him until she found a position where his arm did not bother her. It was not as difficult as she remembered.

"Good night," she muttered.

She woke up much later to find his arm still around her, and her black hair tie wrapped around his pinky and ring finger.

###