It's been a year.
A year since she her life ended, a year since the world took her husband suddenly and unfairly, a year since that fateful fight with Hawkmoth.
A year since Adrien died.
And a year since she felt like she'd never really live again.
But she was wrong.
She was so wrong.
And if he was here, he'd laugh and sad I told you so.
Smiling sadly, she lays her bunch of Forget-Me-Nots in front of the tombstone, lovingly running her fingers over the engraving in the cool rock. The air is crisp in the autumn, not cool enough to warrant a heavy jacket, but enough to give a slight bite.
"She has your eyes" She begins. "Her hair is black like mine, but it's so fluffy and soft like yours." She thinks back to when she first saw her after the nurses had cleaned her up. She already had a full head of hair (and a definitely functioning set of lungs) and a tuft of it had fallen in front of her face in a way that reminded her so much of Chat she almost cried.
"And she's already such a troublemaker. I've had to clean up so many messes because of her" She teases, smiling. Despite being only a few months old, she seems to find anything that can fall. Glasses, plates, pictures, there's almost nothing delicate in the house that she hasn't kicked at or pushed over. She also seems to be almost ridiculously strong for her infancy. She can already roll over by herself, and hold her head up for extended periods of time. Just the other day, Marinette caught her sliding herself along the floor with her arms, so now she has to worry about her wandering, even if she can't quite crawl yet.
"She's just as needy for attention as you were." It's not a surprise, honestly. The baby seems to have a set limit for how long she can spend apart from her mother. If that limit's surpassed, she'll start babbling, mewling, and eventually crying (though she calms down suspiciously quickly when Marinette finally notices her). She's such a loudmouth, babbling her baby nonsense unceasingly as if anyone can actually understand her. It doesn't matter who's near her, or even if anyone actually is near her, she'll entertain herself for hours just cooing and giggling at nothing and everything.
"Luckily, she seemed to inherit our sound sleeping habits. I can get almost a full night's sleep most of the time." She's so cuddly, just like her father. Whenever Marinette ends up bringing her to sleep with her (which is more often than not), she'll always end up curled up under Marinette's chin, or under her arm, or even, once, draped across her face (And she most certainly was not a featherweight baby). Marinette never really minds, even if her neck aches and creaks for the rest of the day.
"But she's already given me more than my fair share of scares." Born almost a month premature, she spent a week in intensive care in the incubator before she could be taken home, Marinette a nervous wreck all the while. Even when she came home, she seems to gravitate towards high places. She's taken tumbles off of the low couch, the one step from the living room to the kitchen, and once (terrifyingly) the countertop before Nino caught her. And even if it never fazes her, even if she never seems to be hurt, it does nothing for Marinette's nerves and her poor, poor heart. She's far too young for her heart to go through what it's been through.
Smiling sadly, she closes her eyes, and she can almost imagine him with her, cradling their child to his chest while he hugs her, but she quickly shakes it from her mind, lest she start crying again. "She reminds you of me so much, every day. She has more than your eyes, or your hair, or your recklessness. She has your laugh, your smile, she's four months old and she already has your kind nature and curiosity. And she's so gentle with people, and so friendly. She's perfect."
She laughs "Although I definitely wouldn't have been able to do it without everyone's help. Alya and Nino have been godsends, and they're the best babysitters I could ask for. Plagg and Tikki always keep an eye on her and play with her, and Plagg in particular is so protective of her, almost as much as I am. Mama and Papa have been helping me with feeding her and changing her, and keeping her calm. And she's already wormed her way into your dad's heart. He adores her, even if he isn't as open about it. She loves him, always playing with his tie and his hair, and he spoils her so much; I have more stuffed animals at home than I know what to do with. She only ever wants the little black cat, anyways."
She strokes a hand over the smooth marble. "Thank you, Adrien. For protecting me, for protecting the city, for always respecting whatever I wanted even if it didn't make sense to you. Thank you for always having my back and listening to me, thank you for giving me confidence when I needed it most. Thank you for putting up with me and my stubbornness, and thank you for giving me such a beautiful daughter. Thank you for everything."
She presses a kiss to the smooth marble surface, before standing up and clasping her hands in front of her. "I love you Adrien. And I miss you. And I wish you could've been here in person to see her grow. She's going to grow up to be even more like you, I know it. And I wouldn't have it any other way. It's like my own little piece of you to hold on to even while you're gone. And I swear, I'll love her, I'll protect her, I'll raise her with so many puns that she'll be able to speak them fluently. And I'll make sure she knows how great of a man her father was. I promise."
She hears someone call her name, and she turns to see Alya waving at her, smiling.
"Her first tooth poked through!"
Marinette claps her hands together in front of her face, grinning behind them.
"That's awesome! Let's go back and see!"
"Are you done?" Alya sounds gently concerned.
She smiles, turns back to read the tombstone one last time, before turning back and nodding, taking Alya's offered hand.
And she walks from the cemetery, head held high and with her grief overridden by the hope of new beginnings.
And behind her, a slight wind ruffles the flowers lain across the grave, falling leaves fluttering across the inscription on the stone.
In loving memory of Adrien Agreste
Dedicated Son
Dependable Friend
Devoted Husband
Hero of Paris
Loving Father
They arrive to find Nino sitting on the floor with the baby, who's cooing and giggling and grabbing at Plagg as he darts around her, laughing. Nino looks up, stuffed cat in one hand and pacifier in the other, and smiles at the two young women, who easily return it.
Sabine's voice carries from the next room as they shrug off their light coats, slip out of their shoes. "Marinette? Alya? Is that you?"
"Yes, mama!"
"Oh good. Dinner's just about ready, your fathers' just taking it out of the oven. Go wash up."
"Alright!"
She turns to Alya. "Do you think you and Nino can wrestle her into her high chair?"
Alya laughs "We can try"
"Oh please, if you could it would make my life so much easier. I have to go drop of my stuff in the studio"
"Alright, but make it quick. I'm not waiting on you to eat. Your mom's cooking is too good to wait."
"I'll be fast"
She turns, darting up the stairs and into the design studio attached to the master bedroom. Dropping her purse onto the chaise, she hangs up her coat in the closet. Reaching up, she lets down her hair with one hand, the other absentmindedly flipping through a random sketchbook. They turn to one specific page, she stills. Picks up the book.
It's the dress she wore to his funeral, sketched out on paper and surrounded by scribbled notes and measurements. She still remembers how excited he was that she actually designed something with him in mind, even if it is a dress. He had jokingly promised to try it on if she decided to go through with the design.
(Of course she was going to go through with it. She'd been planning the dress for years, scrapping numerous designs before she was satisfied. Not that he needed to know that; his ego was big enough as it was)
She smiles wistfully, running her fingers along the smudged lines. Placing the book back down, she reaches down to play with the ring on her right ring finger. She thumbs it, spinning it around the digit. (It was always a touch too big for her; luckily the magic prevented it from accidentally slipping off.) She preferred to carry it for safekeeping, rather than run the risk of losing it to a break in. She'd never used it; the thought of doing so somehow seemed like an insult to his memory, though she doubts that he'd mind. He'd laugh, joke about how absolutely ravishing in his suit. She'd roll her eyes, complain about the ears and tail, and he'd laugh harder.
She shakes her head sadly, returning the ring to its original position before closing the sketchbook and putting her hair up into a simple ponytail. She hears Alya call for her, her father is serving dinner, and hears the unmistakable sound of a babies gurgle.
And she smiles.
Later that evening, when everyone's gone home and she's put herself to bed, she reflects on her time with Adrien, reminiscing memories, both good and bad. A certain memory in particular comes to mind, and she looks down at the infant lying on her chest.
Little Emma Agreste.
Pressing a soft kiss to her head, Marinette strokes a hand up and down Emma's back, and softly sings
"I'll love you forever
I'll like you for always
As long as I'm living
My baby you'll be"
Emma only gurgles softly, pressing her face more into Marinette's neck, and Marinette smiles, wrapping her arms around her and letting sleep take her.
She rests.
And she dreams.