Summary: Nathaniel realizes that there is something bugging Chloe just before Christmas, and decides to do all that he can to help. (All characters are aged up to their last year in lycée, and the "main six" all have Miraculous.)
This one-shot is my Secret Santa gift for krzed.
Nathaniel peered at Chloe's pinched expression and rigid posture and frowned. She certainly wasn't the warm fuzzy type, but she hadn't been quite this prickly since sometime around the beginning of lycée. Yet here she was, glaring for all she was worth (which was a lot) at Mylene, who'd done nothing worse than bump into her after closing her locker. And that had not been an isolated incident, either. Chloe had been snarling at people all day. Even Adrien, who usually had a Midas touch when it came to handling Chloe, hadn't been spared.
"Any idea what's up?"
Nathaniel started, and turned to see that Adrien had stepped up next to him and was watching Chloe with concern. Speak of the devil. "Oh, Adrien. Hey." He returned his attention to Chloe, who was now slamming things around in her own locker. "I wish I did. I haven't seen her like this in ages."
"Me neither. Shall I try to talk to her again, or do you want to give it a go?"
"I will." Nathaniel sighed, and cast a wry glance at his companion. "She's likely to snap your head off if you try again."
Adrien nodded gratefully. "Let me know if you find out what's wrong?"
"Sure." Nathaniel watched Adrien walk over to join Marinette, who had waited for him by the door, and returned her wave when she saw him looking. Then he turned back towards Chloe, took a deep breath, and blew out the breath on a wince when Chloe's locker slammed shut.
Time to face the dragon.
He trailed her towards front of the school, jogging in an effort to out-pace her angry, ground-eating strides. "Chloe! Wait up!"
"Go away, Red," she bit off without slowing or turning. "Don't think I didn't see your sweet little pow-wow with Adrien."
"Ugh, Chlo, it's not—"
"You can run along and tell him that I'm fine, and consider your errand complete."
"Ugh. Chloe!" He got close enough to grab her arm, and he pulled her around to face him. "Just hang on a second, geez."
She slanted a look at his hand on her arm and then speared him with a frosty stare. "You can either take your hand off of me, bird brain, or I swear on my Miraculous that I will scream bloody murder and have you arrested for assault," she hissed sotto voce.
"That won't be necessary," he replied just as quietly, returning her glare with one of his own. His grip slackened, and she yanked her arm away. "But I swear on my Miraculous," he continued, "that if you don't sit down and talk to me I will sic Alya on you."
Her eyes flared, but he was unaffected by her ire. She wilted. "Ugh, fine. You can ride back to the hotel with me and we can talk there." She turned and resumed walking to her car, where her driver stood waiting with the door open, and Nathaniel fell into step beside her. "There was no need to resort to nasty threats."
Nathaniel chuckled. "Threatening to have me arrested wasn't nasty?"
"Anything is better than being the focus of one of Césaire's hunts," she said dryly before ducking into the car.
He followed her into the car and settled himself comfortably against the seat. "Yeah, but that doesn't come with a police record."
"Whatever." She rolled her eyes at him, then crossed her arms over her chest and turned her head to stare out the opposite window, effectively ending the conversation.
Nathaniel merely gave a mental shrug. He could stand to wait a few minutes, until they arrived at the hotel and made it up to her suite of rooms. The driver could hear everything they said, after all, and he didn't blame her for not wanting to talk about—well, whatever it was—with an audience. He took the opportunity to text his mom that he was going to be studying with Chloe rather than going straight home, and then spent the rest of the drive staring out of his own window.
Chloe proceeded to ignore her uninvited guest for the duration of the ride and the whole of their trek through the hotel. Even after the door had closed behind them and they were safely within the walls of her private rooms, she strode wordlessly to her bed and dropped her things to the floor so that she could remove her shoes. (One does not simply kick off Jimmy Choos, no matter how shitty the day.) She put her shoes away with a sigh. Chloe knew that she should say something, but she felt torn between guilt over her behavior that day, irritation at Nathaniel's dogged interference, and gratitude that she hadn't been able to chase him off as she had everyone else. If she opened her mouth she had no idea which feeling would make it out. So, she said nothing, closed her eyes, and flopped backwards onto her bed.
"Chloe."
"Red."
The bed dipped near her legs, and she knew that he'd seated himself on her bed. Presumptuous tomato.
"You can't ignore me into leaving. It's not too late to call Alya."
"It's not too late to have you arrested. For breaking and entering."
He snorted. "You escorted me up here."
"Attempted kidnapping, then."
"I haven't attempted anything, Chloe, and if I did, it would not be kidnapping."
"Rude," she scoffed, and rolled to her side, facing away from him.
"Chloe." His voice was soft, warm, and full of both frustration and concern. He shifted on the bed, and then she felt something—his hand?—brush her shoulder. "What happened?"
His words, those three seemingly innocent little words spoken in his soft tenor voice, succeeded in finally tipping her over the edge. She curled in on herself, trying to hold in the burgeoning ball of grief in her chest, but it would not be stopped. The tears that she'd been fighting all day gathered behind her lids and the sob escaped her throat and then it was as if a flood gate had opened.
"Jesus, Chloe, what is it?" She felt his hand on her shoulder again, but he didn't shy away this time and she was glad. "Fuck, I'm sorry," he said, rubbing his hand from her shoulder to her elbow and back as she shook with the force of her tears. "I'm so sorry. Come here."
His hand left her shoulder, and she felt him shift again. Then he was sliding one hand beneath her shoulders and the other beneath her knees, turning her back towards him and lifting her against his chest to cradle her in his arms as if she was precious.
"I still can't believe that he would just abandon her like that. And at Christmas, no less!"
"Maman."
"You know, I never liked that Bourgeois fellow. I most certainly didn't vote for him."
"Maman!" Nathaniel put a restraining hand on his mother's arm and squeezed gently. "Please, she will be here any minute, and the last thing she needs is to hear you bad-mouthing her father."
His mother's expression softened, and she put one plump hand over his to squeeze him back. "Of course, dear. I know. I just can't believe anyone could be so heartless."
"You should meet Adrien's dad," Nathaniel muttered darkly.
"What was that, dear?"
"Nothing, Maman." He cleared his throat, but the doorbell saved him from needing to say anything else. "I'll get it!"
His mother's chuckle followed him from the kitchen to the apartment door, and he blushed, knowing what his mother must think about all of this. But it didn't matter. All that mattered was making this holiday special enough to keep the shadows from her eyes.
Nathaniel stopped at the door, gave himself a moment to ensure that he didn't look like he'd just raced across the apartment even though he absolutely had, and then opened the door. "Hey, Chloe. Merry Christmas."
"Hey, Red." She shifted from one foot to the other, and hitched her bright yellow designer bag higher on her shoulder. "So, are you going to invite me in, or are we celebrating Christmas in the door way?"
"Oh!" Nathaniel felt his face heat and mentally berated himself for being an awkward idiot right off the bat. Smooth, Kurtzburg. "Uh, right. Yeah, come on in."
"Thanks."
She swept past him and moved from the small entry way into their living room, and looked around with interest. He'd been to her rooms many times, but this was her first visit to his home.
Nathaniel stopped next to her and looked around as well, trying to see it all through her eyes. He'd always loved this apartment, small though it was. It was cozy, homey, and there was nowhere else that he felt more comfortable. But now, with Chloe Bourgeois standing in the middle of it, looking beautiful and polished and classy, his home suddenly seemed shabby.
Merde, what the hell had he been thinking, inviting her here? He should have talked with Adrien, should have—
"Oh my goodness, aren't you lovely? You must be Chloe. Nathaniel has told me so much about you, you know. Welcome to our home."
Nathaniel groaned softly, and both women shot him warning looks.
Chloe turned to his mother and gave her a bright smile. "Thank you, Mrs. Kurtzbug. Thank you for allowing me to intrude on your family's celebration—"
"Nonsense, dear. It's Christmas. The more the merrier, and all that."
Chloe smiled again, but this time it was brittle. Nathaniel swallowed his embarrassment and tugged the bag from her shoulder, drawing her attention back to him. "Come on, I'll show you where you'll be sleeping."
"Make yourself at home, dear," his mother said, waving them off. "I'll go and check on dinner."
"You mother seems nice," Chloe offered as she followed them up the short hall to the bedrooms.
"She is," he agreed, opening the door to his room and gesturing for her to go in. "You'll be sleeping in here, so you can leave all of your things here."
"This is your room?" she asked, turning slowly in place to take it in.
He blushed again, knowing that she was sure to find the pictures of herself scattered among the art tacked on his wall. "It is."
She looked at him with a slight frown. "Don't you have a guest room?"
"Ah, no, actually." He moved past her to set her bag on his bed, grateful for the excuse to hide his burning face from her. Then he turned to face her again and leaned against his mattress. "We just have the two bed rooms. I'll be sleeping on the couch tonight."
Her frown deepened. "Nathaniel—"
"Not all of us live in a hotel, Chlo." She drew back, hurt, and Nathaniel kicked himself for letting his embarrassment prompt him to say something thoughtless. He cleared his throat and tried again. "You'll be most comfortable in here, and I'll be just fine on the couch. I fall asleep out there half the time, anyway."
"I wouldn't have accepted your invitation if I'd known I'd be kicking you out of your bed, Nath," she said, her lips pressed into a pouty moue.
"Then it's a good thing you didn't know." She humphed, and he smiled, then changed the subject. "Where is Pollen?" he asked quietly.
"I'm here!" The little yellow and black kwami popped her head out of Chloe's purse. "Is it safe to come out?"
"Yeah, you're good in here. Duusu has a nest in the top of my closet, and I made you a little hidey-hole up there as well. "
Pollen's eyes widened, and she darted into the closet with a muted buzz. "Honey!" She zipped right back out and made a beeline for Nathaniel's face. He flinched, but she only nuzzled his cheek. "You got me honey!"
"Oh, yeah," he chuckled. "That. I wanted you to have a nice Christmas Eve dinner, too."
Chloe rolled her eyes, but Pollen squealed in delight. "We should come here a lot more often, Flower! I guess he's not such a bird-brain after all."
Chloe sighed. "Go eat your honey, pest."
Nathaniel choked on a laugh. "Come on, Maman was nearly finished with dinner when you got here. I'm sure it's ready now."
Chloe sank into the ludicrously comfortable couch with a happy sigh and snuggled into the afghan that Nathaniel's mother had insisted on wrapping around her. When she'd accepted Nathaniel's invitation to spend Christmas Eve at his house, she'd thought that it would be nothing more than a decent distraction from the fact that his father had abandoned her to spend Christmas alone so that he could run off to Italy with a woman half his age. The reality was proving to be so much more than that. Both Nathaniel and his mother—Annette, as she'd insisted Chloe call her—had gone out of their way to make her feel both welcome and included even though Christmas Eve was something that they had shared, just the two of them, since Nathaniel had been a small child. Annette had stuffed her full of good food, entertained her with stories of Nathaniel's past scrapes, and then bade her a warm goodnight after dessert.
For his part, Nathaniel had taken his mother's story telling with good grace, even going so far as to embellish the stories with details his mother had forgotten. His earlier anxiety had melted away, thankfully. He'd been so awkward when she first arrived that she'd very seriously considered calling her driver to come right back and pick her up. Now, sitting snug and warm in the dim living room with Nathaniel at the other end of the couch and Christmas tree lights twinkling in the corner, she was very glad that she hadn't. She sighed again, perfectly content with the way things were going, and smiled when she realized that the afghan smelled just like Nathaniel.
"Is everything okay?" Nathaniel asked suddenly, his low voice seeming loud in the quiet of the room.
She blinked. "Yeah, why?"
"You keep sighing."
"Oh, no, I'm—I'm fine. I'm just full. And warm. And, maybe a little sleepy?"
Nathaniel laughed, and nodded. "Sounds like Christmas Eve to me."
"It's always like this?"
"Yeah. Mom and I work all day on getting things ready, then stuff ourselves silly and go to bed early." He looked at the Christmas tree, a small smile lighting his features, and his eyes grew distant. "It started out when I was little, and anxious for Christmas morning, and Maman told me that it would get here faster if I went to sleep." He shrugged, and looked back at her. "Over the years, that turned into this."
Chloe smiled in response, but it was bitter sweet. It was wonderful that Nathaniel had such sweet traditions and wonderful memories, but it drew the absence of her own traditions into sharp relief. She swallowed the lump in her throat and willed herself not to cry.
"Damnit, I'm sorry, Chlo. I didn't mean to upset you."
"You didn't."
He gave her a dry look, then leaned toward her with his hand outstretched. She held still, unsure of what he was doing, and kept her eyes on his as his fingertips slid over her cheekbone and her ear. Then his thumb swept over the delicate skin beneath her eye. When he pulled back, the pad of his thumb glistened wetly in the shifting light of the tree.
She stared at it in confusion.
"You're crying," he said simply. Then he held his arms out and wiggled his fingers beckoningly. "Come here."
Chloe hesitated only a moment before obeying. She didn't think about what she was doing, or why. She just crawled forward, taking the afghan with her, and nuzzled against his chest, accepting the comfort he offered.
"Should we wake them?" Duusu whispered, his eyes on the slumbering pair before him.
"No," Pollen replied. "Let them sleep. They're comfortable, and my Flower, at least, is better off where she is than she would be if she were alone."
Duusu nodded his agreement, then swept down to the end table with a soft flutter of feathers. "Can you help me with this?" he asked, gesturing to Nathaniel's phone. "They don't know it yet, but at some point they're going to appreciate having a picture of this."
Pollen grinned gleefully. "Clever bird," she said, lifting the phone so that Duusu could take the picture.
"Helpful bug," he replied. "There, what do you think?"
Pollen returned the phone to the table, and looked at the photo on the screen. There wasn't a lot of detail, given the dimness of the room, but there was enough to recognize Chloe sleeping peacefully on Nathaniel's chest, her hand curled in his shirt and a soft smile on her lips. Nathaniel's arms had probably been around her earlier, but he'd relaxed in his sleep and his hands had slid down to rest at her sides.
"I think it's perfect." She grinned at Duusu, and then texted the picture to all four of the other holders—just to make sure that someone saved it. Then she looked back at her own holder, and her smile softened. "Their first Christmas together."
"Perfect," Duusu agreed.