Sterility. It was a word that Adrien had become more than familiar with as the years went by. It was a feeling that all models knew intimately, the heat and brightness of the studio lights which washed away all of the dirt and flaws-all of the creeping shadows. Yet, somehow, it always felt cold and spiritless instead. Those bright lights didn't give any life; they merely kept death at bay. They were a stopgap measure-something that people needed yet nobody wanted.
Kind of like a hospital.
Adrien's footsteps echoed around him as he continued down the long hallway. Fluorescent lighting illuminating the path of the unknown ward and floor he had nearly sleepwalked to. While the nondescript backdrop failed to change around him, a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach continued to build as he pressed down the hall. He needed to reach his destination…but the thought of what laid in store for him once arrived there terrified him.
A young girl with chestnut hair exited the room just ahead of him and Adrien knew he had reached the end of the line. She looked haggard and forlorn, as if she hadn't slept for a few restless nights. She continued to face the door she had just closed, hand resting on the knob. Her head moved in response to Adrien's final footstep before coming to a stop. Her eyes met his and he could see just how extremely bloodshot they were. Adrien doubted his looked much better.
"Thanks for coming." croaked Alya.
"I wouldn't be much of a friend if I hadn't."
"A friend huh?" she smirked, "Who knows how she'd react to that?" said Alya as her gaze drifted back towards the room she had just exited.
The girl began to speak again after a silent moment had passed, "I wish she wasn't sleeping, I would have loved to see what she'd do." Alya's eyes met Adrien's again before sinking down towards the floor, "I meant…if she was awake…I don't know if this counts as sleep."
Alya's voice trembled. Adrien could see the tears begin to form in her eyes but hesitated to do anything to comfort her. What would be the point? Nothing would cheer her up, just like nothing would cheer him up.
Alya bit her lip and forced her gaze to meet Adrien's, "I'll be on my way." she stated curtly as she began to walk down the hallway Adrien had traversed just a moment before. Adrien turned his attention towards the door as her footsteps began to fade.
"Oh! Adrien!"
He turned towards Alya one last time before she rounded the corner.
"I'm sure she would be really happy to see you right now!"
Adrien allowed himself a grim smile before turning to face the door once more. His hesitation grew as he reached out for the handle-but he pushed back his anxieties and opened the door all the same.
The room he now found himself in was equally as sterile as the hallway, with the exception being an incongruous display of flowers on the table in the corner. To the right of this table was a bed, and slumbering within was the room's occupant and Adrien's goal.
Marinette Dupain-Cheng.
The young girl was in bad shape. Broken bones, contusions, bruised ribs, and a concussion were the cause of this according to the official hospital report. Adrien had heard from some of his classmates that she would come in and out of consciousness for hours at a time. The fluctuation of her condition puzzled the nurses and doctors. They claimed it was like a miracle being cut short. As if miracles had anything to do with this place.
Her shiny hair and smooth skin had lost their vibrancy. Adrien wouldn't have been able to fault a stranger for not knowing just how peppy and energetic the girl could be. This wasn't the Marinette that had lectured Chat Noir or made cupcakes with him. This wasn't the girl that had helped him battle Evillustrator or stood up to Chloe. The girl in front of him was a shadow. A small, fragile facsimile of the person Adrien remembered.
For the first time Adrien processed just how much shorter she was than him-how much less she must have weighed than him. Adrien knew that if the akuma had gotten a direct hit on him it would've been serious even with the powers of his suit. He couldn't begin to imagine how much damage Marinette had taken. But he could hear it. He could hear the dull sound of the impact, the creaking of her bones, the shattering of the glass.
Every. Sordid. Detail.
And why wouldn't hear?
He was there, after all.
It was Chat Noir's fault.
It was his fault.
Tears pricked at Adrien's eyes as his breath became ragged. She had told him to protect himself. She had told him to value his own safety. She had told him not to sacrifice himself for others.
What a bunch of bullshit.
Adrien was the one with the Miraculous, one of Paris' heroes! He should've been able to do something! If Marinette could've been spared somehow then it was his responsibility to make that happen.
"WHAT THE HELL'S THE POINT OF PROTECTING MYSELF IF YOU GET HURT INSTEAD?!"
"I wonder…what's the tone of this scene supposed to be?"
Adrien whipped around at the sound of the voice. He had thought himself to be the only conscious person there…but clearly he was wrong. The person standing behind him was short and androgynous with baggy clothing and a bowl cut. Adrien had never seen this person before in his life-and hadn't an inkling as to why they were here.
"Most characterize cats as more solemn and melancholy as dogs, but I think you're taking your method acting a bit far."
"What?!" Okay…what the hell was going on?
"Normal people tend to view superheroes as strong and infallible. I wonder how they'd feel at the sight of you-sitting here and wallowing over a teenage girl."
"Who said anything about superheroes?"
"You can spare me the act. One of the key premises at work is that Adrien Agreste is Chat Noir. It's simple really. You take an oppressed character and give them and outlet with which they may express themselves. It practically writes itself."
"What the hell are you-?!"
"If you think about it a bit harder it all falls into place. Many of the things that people value contradict each other. Competence and position are important traits for many people-but they can get a bit boring. Spontaneity, humor, improvisation…these are also desirable things to have. Combine both into one person and you could certainly write a story or two."
"…"
"You don't have to take my word for it if you're not so inclined. It's not like I have feelings or anything. I'm just viewing it as if I was one of the masses."
"The masses?"
"Yes. Your character is appealing to them. Combine Adrien and Chat and you have everything interesting. It doesn't matter that you both come off as a little flat."
This wasn't good. Whatever this thing was, it wasn't something to take lightly.
"Plagg! Claws-!"
"That won't do." The new arrival snapped their fingers and Adrien's ring disappeared.
"What!"
"I didn't come here for a fight or anything of the sort." The person wagged their finger. "The purpose of this scene is for dialogue, not action."
"What did you do with my ring?! Where is it?!"
"It's not anywhere right now. Don't worry. It'll be returned to you in a few paragraphs."
"You…" Adrien snarled. "Are you the reason why Ladybug's magic didn't work?"
The figure giggled before flashing a wide smile. It was a taunt-an implication that it knew but wouldn't tell. "What do you think?"
Bastard!
"I haven't been able to get into contact with Ladybug for the past few days either…do you have something to do with that?"
The figure ran a hand through its hair in a lackadaisical manner and chuckled. "The explanation for her absence may surprise you."
The wailing of sirens in the distance distracted Adrien from formulating a reply.
"Unfortunately for you I don't count as a typical akuma. It looks like your old nemesis finally figured out he can manifest one besides me. But don't worry, I gave you your ring back!"
Adrien felt a pressure on his finger and looked down. The Chat Noir ring was back with Plagg sitting on top of it, looking dazed and confused as to what had happened to him. Adrien turned his attention back to the figure only to discover that it was no longer there. As the sirens grew louder he looked at Marinette one last time before exiting the cold hospital room.
He couldn't afford to fail again.
Based spaghettiluver. Most authors would tease you with a week-long gap between updates, but I gave you guys an entire year. This story has been the bane of my existence-a little niggling feeling that keeps me awake at night. I've had the entire thing plotted out since early 2016 and it still hasn't come to fruition. Hell, this chapter has been sitting in my disc drive completed since last October. With a little bit of luck, I'll finish this story before the show airs its grand finale.
If anybody who started reading in 2015 is still here, thanks for coming back! I appreciate you guys and whatever little bit of feedback you have for me. This story may soon make its way to AOOO because I like the site's look a bit more, but I would be sure to keep updates consistent between that and the version.
Please review, even if it's to chastise me for taking a year to provide y'all with 1500 words. Getting email notifications whenever this story gets some traffic keeps the guilt fresh in my mind.