Marinette

'That's it! I quit!'

The sudden outburst caused Marinette to jump from her position crouched over her designs, sending her marker pens flying as her knee collided hard with the underside of the table. She looked up to see Leoni, her personal assistant, standing agitated in the doorway. The woman looked dishevelled, flushed, and clearly shaken by something.

'I - um - is everything okay?' Marinette stood up, rubbing her knees as she stumbled forwards, only to be stopped by the raise of Leoni's hands.

'I'm sorry, Miss Dupain-Cheng, but I just can't stay, not when—'

The sound of leather-soled shoes pounded down the hallway, followed by the booming voice of her boss.

'Why are you still here?' Johnny's authoritative voice, laced with anger, vibrated from the hallway.

Johnny Monroe, ex-American model and Chief Operating Officer of New York's fashion line Monroe, came and blocked the doorway, his presence dominating the room. Marinette looked between them, unsure what was happening.

'Leoni?' she asked, turning back to her assistant. Leoni seemed to love her job, and she was good at it. Why the sudden change of heart? Marinette looked at Johnny, hoping his face could give her a clue to what was happening. Blank.

'I'm sorry.'

Marinette's stomach churned. That wasn't an 'I'm sorry' for leaving you. That was a sorry for something else, something she didn't understand. She looked at Johnny again. His face was slightly pink, hair finger tousled as he continued to stand blocking the doorway. Leoni turned, glaring at Johnny as she made her way out of the office and to her desk. She grabbed her bag, slamming it down, before emptying the contents of her drawers inside.

She attempted to follow Leoni, wanting to talk to her and figure out a way to make her stay. But Johnny placed an arm out to stop her, leaving her standing there staring at her assistant. He leaned in close, his voice low as his lips brushed against her ear. 'Let her go, honey. You know she wasn't that good, anyway. How many times did she mess things up, and who ended up fixing it? You, because she couldn't handle even the simplest tasks. If she had stayed, you'd have just ended up stressed and exhausted again—all because of her incompetence.'

Frozen, Marinette watched as Leoni glanced back with a faint frown, her expression unreadable.

'Come on,' he said, gently yet firmly guiding her back into her office. After closing the door, he turned to her, a faint look of exasperation on his face. He walked towards her, his hands framing her hips as he pulled her closer. He lowered his head, allowing his nose to skim over her neck as she wrapped her arms around him. She took a deep breath, taking in the familiar scent of spicy vanilla and amber, and trying to find comfort. This was her third assistant this year. Was she that horrible to work for?

'Oh, honey,' he said, sighing as he brought a hand up to cradle the back of her head. 'I told you I'd handle the hiring this time. But no, you insisted on doing it yourself, and look what happened. Do you realise how much easier this would be if you just listened to me? You keep picking people who only drag you down, and I end up being the one who has to save you.'

Marinette sank into her chair, rubbing her temples. Johnny was right. Every PA she'd hired had either left or made mistakes. Maybe she really was bad at this; maybe Johnny was just better at handling these things. When his mother, the CEO of Monroe, had hired her as a lead designer, Marinette had wanted to do everything herself: from hiring her assistant to having her own office, even if she was dating the COO, and son of the owner.

She could still hear his voice in her head, telling her she'd be so much happier if she just let him take care of everything—maybe even just work in his office with him. He always said it would be a lot more convenient than trying to "fix" all her mistakes. Maybe Leoni leaving was just another example of how much he sacrificed for her.

Johnny cleared his throat, bringing her back to the present. He let her go; the warmth evaporated from her, along with her confidence. He walked to the table, skimming his hand over her designs, every nerve on edge as he picked one up to study it. 'Have you even finished these yet? I told Mother you'd have them by four. She has an important meeting with Chanel at five to present them.' He laughed. 'I remember back at university. You were so driven, you would have created three or four variations of each design. Maybe all this pressure is just too much for you, even though I've done everything I can to make this transition as easy as possible.'

'These are better. I think your mother will really like them,' Marinette said, gathering a couple of designs from a second pile on the table and handing them over, hopeful. She'd poured so much of herself into them, imagining the way his face would brighten in approval.

He was so flawless, always seeming so composed and put together. He was only a couple of years older than her, but somehow everything just came so easily to him. Why couldn't she be more like that?

He took them from her, barely looking at the designs, before tossing them back onto her desk with a sigh. 'I mean… yeah, they're better. But you could have pushed them further. It's like you're coasting suddenly.'

Her heart sank. Tensing her jaw, she fought back the hurt rising in her chest. She knew he hated when she got emotional—he'd told her many times it was "just too much" for him to deal with. She forced herself to breathe, picked up the designs, and studied them again. They were good, weren't they? She'd thought they were her best yet… but was she just fooling herself? Maybe Johnny was right; maybe she was losing her touch. She held one out in front of her and looked it over. Maybe the colours weren't right.

Her phone vibrated aggressively against the wood of her desk, jolting her from her thoughts. Johnny's brow lifted, eyes narrowing as he glanced at the screen. She picked up the phone, feeling her pulse quicken.

'It's a number from Paris,' she murmured, a faint tremor in her voice. It had been so long since she'd seen an unknown caller from her home country. Ever since she met Johnny three years ago, those calls had dwindled until only her parents occasionally contacted her. She couldn't remember the last time she'd heard from Alya, or Luka — or anyone else.

She continued to stare at it, feeling Johnny's gaze like a weight on her shoulders.

'For god's sake, Marinette. Are you really just going to stand there, or are you going to answer it?' His voice was cold, the irritation unmistakable.

With a shaky hand, she pressed the green button, her heart pounding as she brought the phone to her ear.

'Bonjour?' The word slipped out like honey, smooth and delicious. God, she'd missed speaking in her native tongue. Johnny glared at her. He always hated when she spoke French. He'd always tell her how rude it was to those around her who didn't understand, but she loved her language and would use it whenever she could.

'Bonjour, is that Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng?'

'Yes, yes, it is.' She studied Johnny as he continued to pick up her designs, a frown on his face.

'Hello, this is Jean-Luc Dubois, Mr. Fu Wang's attorney. I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but Mr. Wang passed away last week. We, as Mr. Fu Wang's attorney, are currently processing his affairs, and his will mentions you. We'll need you to come to Paris for the reading. I know this is tough news, and I'm here to help with questions.'

Her heart dropped. Master Fu. Gone. 'Oh, yes. Sure. W–when is the funeral?'

'Monday. The sooner you can make your way to Paris, the better.'

She turned to look at the calendar on the wall of her office. Six days. 'I'll be there as soon as I can get a flight.'

Ending the call, Marinette didn't hesitate for a second before beginning to look for flights back to Paris—back home. Master Fu. Dead. She'd never fully grasped the idea that he could die; she'd always believed he was immortal.

'Who was that?' In her frantic search, she'd forgotten Johnny was there.

'It was an attorney.'

'What have you messed up this time?' He threw the designs back on the table and paced her office, one hand rubbing aggressively against his forehead.

'Nothing,' she said, walking towards him. She wrapped her arms around his waist, not overthinking the time it took for him to respond to her.

'If it's not to do with the business, what is it?'

Marinette sighed, closing her eyes and burying her head into his chest. 'It's one of my old mentors. He died.'

'Oh! I'm sorry.'

He gently placed his hand on the back of her head, softly stroking her hair with his fingers, welcoming her to nuzzle in closer, his hand continuing its gentle caress as she spoke into his strong, muscled chest. 'I'm heading back to Paris.'

His fingers stopped mid-stroke, pulling her hair a little as he struggled to untangle them and move back. His hands grasped onto her shoulders and pushed her slightly away. 'When?'

She gulped down the anxiety blocking her throat. This wasn't going well. 'As soon as I can get a flight.'

Johnny grabbed his head in his hands. 'Come on, Mare, I know it's sad, but it's been years since you've seen anyone from Paris apart from your parents. He can't be that important. Plus, what will my mother say about cancelling the party tomorrow? I can't be there without my beautiful girlfriend now, can I? Not when everyone's expecting an engagement soon.'

Her heart sank. Was he actually putting this over her now? When someone had just died? 'You could come with me? I'm sure my parents would like to see you again. It'll look good if we go together,' she said hopefully. The break would do them good. Everything had been so intense recently she felt like she was losing herself in fabric choices and crystals.

'I need to be in the office for the unveiling of the new designs — something you should be thinking about, too. This, Mare, won't impress mother. It wouldn't look good for us to take over the business if we just up and leave for someone you haven't seen in years. You know Mother's ready to announce her successor and we're a package. Don't let the team down.'

She shook her head, something inside her sparking life again. 'Master Fu meant more to me than any of these things. I'm going back to Paris.'

Johnny sighed. 'You can go next week. Let's just make sure mother gets her party. She's spent enough on it.'

Marinette took a step backwards away from him. 'I'm so sorry Master Fu didn't consider your mother's Christmas party at the time of his death. How inconsiderate of him!'

'That's not what I meant.'

'Then what did you mean?' Her mind was spinning, and she couldn't quite control what she was saying. But this was Master Fu. A man who'd opened her up to new opportunities, he'd made her into something—and she hated how disappointed he would be to see what she'd become.

'This is a big deal for us. What would it look like you running off to the other side of the world? We have dinner with the CEO of Versace Saturday night too. Are you telling me now that you won't be able to make that, either?'

'Next time someone I know dies, I'll make sure they check your schedule. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going home to pack.'

'What about the designs? They need to be with Mother in the next hour.'

The small flicker inside her chest grew in size, the flames burning into something warmer — stronger. 'They're fine.'

The scoff which left his mouth wouldn't have been out of place in a cartoon. He grabbed her arm, stopping her from moving any further. 'This isn't a good idea.'

She yanked her arm out of his grasp and continued on her way to the door, calling back after him. 'Thanks for the support.'

As she made her way down onto the bustling New York street, stretching an arm out to flag herself a taxi, the flames inside her began burning into an inferno, and for the first time in months she felt something rekindling inside her. She felt almost herself.

Anger simmered in the flames, and she could feel the tears prickling at the back of her eyes as she tried to maintain some composure.

Almost five minutes had passed without signs of an available taxi when a grey Mustang pulled up in front of her, the passenger window rolling down and the familiar face of her boyfriend looking out the window.

'Get in the car,' Johnny said with a sigh. He leaned over, unlocking the door and flinging it open, almost hitting her in the legs.

'I don't –'

'Stop being so stubborn. Just get in the car, Marinette. I don't want you out and about in this state.'

She looked around to see if there were any taxis nearby, only to fall short. There was no other option. Marinette climbed into the seat, wincing as Johnny leaned over and kissed her, harder than needed, on the cheek.

The drive to their apartment was relatively short, yet in the New York traffic the minutes seemed like hours—or at least it felt that way. She spiralled with the news she received. Fu was dead. Dead.

As her mind remembered every moment with her mentor, she became lost in thoughts upon thoughts. She'd need to speak to Tikki, and possibly the other kwamis. Then there was Chat Noir.

Chat Noir. But he wasn't all. Returning to Paris would be the return to the past she'd run away from. The person she'd run away from.

Another loud exhale left her mouth, Johnny stretching over to take her hand in his. It was warm against her coolness, almost sending her out the car like an ejector seat.

'You do know old people die, honey? That's the way life works. What is important is that we move on with our lives and live.' He threaded his fingers through hers, giving her a quick squeeze, before letting go and resting a hand on her thigh. His thumb traced lines up and down, and she wasn't sure if this was to console her, or distract her?

Marinette shuffled away from him and peered out the window. Returning to Paris would most likely mean seeing Adrien, and she wasn't sure she could take that at the moment.

Being lost in her own thoughts, she missed them turning-off into the underground parking and almost fell out the door as Johnny opened it for her.

'Let's get you inside, then we can discuss it.' He spoke so matter-of-factly, yet she couldn't even grasp what she was actually planning to do. Would she even be welcome back in Paris? Who would she stay with? What would she do?

With a tug, Johnny directed her into the elevator and up to their floor, letting them both in and grabbing his phone from his pocket. 'Let's have a rest, then meet up with the others. You need to let your hair down tonight. We'll go have a few drinks, and you'll feel better about things in the morning.'

She stood staring at him. He couldn't be serious. Marinette turned, destination: their bedroom. She walked inside and slammed the door shut, sitting down on the bed and covering her eyes.

After a short time, she'd calmed herself enough to think about what would be the right thing to do. She needed to go to Paris. She needed to say that last farewell to someone who'd given her so much—even with the downsides too. He'd given her something to be remembered by. He'd given her confidence, and most of all, he'd given her Chat Noir. And she missed him more than words could say.

Marinette moved to the cupboard, trying not to make too much noise. She didn't want Johnny to come in now and see what she was about to retrieve. She'd kept this a secret for three years and intended on forever. At least with him.

A deep sigh came with the appearance of her old friend, one she had betrayed almost as much as she had her partner.

'Marinette?' The rare sound of her kwami came from just in front of her. Eyes watering, she reached out for the kwami, unsure of the exact reason for the tears. Maybe it was Fu, thinking of Chat, or seeing her confidant again.

Tikki flew down into Marinette's outstretched palm, each reflecting the other's sorrow in their eyes. It had been a long time since they were this close, and just holding her already made Marinette feel one hundred times stronger. 'It's Master Fu. He's…' Marinette took a deep breath before delivering the news. 'He's dead. I need to go back to Paris.'

'I know.' Tikki's lip trembled. 'We feel the death of our masters as though it were happening to ourselves. I'm so happy you've come to me, Marinette. We can get through this together.'

She nodded. 'W-will Plagg know? Will he tell Chat Noir?' She knew Chat and Fu didn't have the greatest of relationships, but that didn't mean he shouldn't know. Chat had cherished his time as a masked hero, so it would only be fair that he could say goodbye—even if that meant revealing their identities. A long time coming really.

Tikki nodded, the silence an obvious state of mourning.

'I'll — I'll put my earrings back in, and you can travel with me. If that's okay?' She took the earrings from her box and placed them in her ears, the confidence which had started to simmer in her chest, bloomed with the addition of her Miraculous. She should have never taken them off.

'Sure, I would like that,' Tikki said as she turned and flew back towards where the Miracle box was hidden, most likely to remain out of sight.

But Marinette couldn't let her little friend go just yet, not without saying something more. 'Tikki?'

The kwami of creation stopped, slowly peeking over her shoulder, her eyes filled with grief Marinette wished she could erase away.

'I've missed you.'

A small smile tugged Tikki's lips as she turned and continued her journey, leaving Marinette alone. Johnny hadn't even come to check on her. Marinette peered at the doorway and sighed. She shouldn't be placing this on him. She was in a bad mood and not being fair. There was so much going on at work, and after what happened with Leoni, it wasn't surprising Johnny was at the end of his fuse. She'd hired a dud as a personal assistant again, messed up his mother's designs again, and then tried to guilt him into coming to Paris with her, when he knew it was a crazy time for the company. She really was selfish.

This didn't involve him. Something she always seemed to forget. But weren't they meant to be a partnership? They'd been dating for almost three years. That had to count for something. She ran her fingers over her earrings, her stomach plummeting at the thought. Partnership. How could one word cause her so much pain?

A small knock came on the door. Finally, Johnny checked on her. 'Honey, are you ready? Roger wants to discuss what's happening with the summer line whilst we're at the bar.'

Removing her hands from her earrings, she stalked to her wardrobe and pulled out the suitcase, knocking the Miracle Box out at the same time and sending Tikki spiralling to the ground. She was going to Paris. 'No, babe. I'm packing, remember!'

'Marinette, be reasonable.' She could feel a growl bubbling in her throat. This was important to her. Why couldn't he see it?

After slamming the case on the bed, she grabbed her phone in her hand and viewed flights to Paris. Bingo! One was leaving in five hours with seats available. She found their joint credit card, not giving a care and purchased a one-way ticket to Paris — first class.

'I'm packing. My flight leaves in five hours.' Happy with the few bras, pants and tights she'd put in, she headed for the wardrobe, grabbed a few outfits (hangers included) and slammed them on top. She added deodorant, perfume, and her toiletry bag on top of it, before she zipped it up and placed it on the floor. She stormed to the door and ripped it open, Johnny standing there already in his shoes and coat. He was actually going out.

He looked down at the case before lifting his eyes, the intensity burning into her. 'You're serious about this?'

'Yes, I am. Now, if you'll excuse me.' She pushed past him and into their home office, finding her laptop, tablet, and passport.

With sheer determination, she made her way into the hall and grabbed her bag, shoving her things inside. She headed back to the case, opening it up before finding one last jacket and throwing it on top, foregoing the folding.

Johnny gasped. 'Marinette, that is not how you treat silk!'

'I thought you were going out? Obviously, Roger is more important than I am.' She didn't even look at him as she continued to check her essentials. She had things in Paris, and it wasn't like there weren't any shops there. Whatever she had forgotten, she was quite certain she could buy there.

She heard a huff through her rather destructive packing, which was swiftly followed by the sound of the front door slamming shut.

He didn't even say goodbye.

Marinette placed her hands down either side of her case and closed her eyes, hanging her head low and breathing deeply. She wasn't changing her mind; she was going to Paris. She wanted to say goodbye to Master Fu, and she wanted to spend time with her parents. And if she bumped into Chat Noir whilst she was there too, then so be it.

She'd had a few deaths in her family before, but this one felt worse. Master Fu had brought so much to her life (both good and bad) and now he was gone.

Adrien

The phone beeped in Adrien's hand as the caller disconnected. Master Fu. He brushed a hand over his head, trying to piece together all the feelings currently running wild in his body. Disbelief. Shock. Sadness. The thought of Master Fu dying was just hard to believe and even though he hadn't had a lot to do with him, not as much as Ladybug did, to hear he was in the will…it just didn't make sense.

'Adrien, you're needed back on set.'

He turned to glance at the director, suddenly confused about what day of the week it was. How could he go back and pose like nothing had happened when, once again, someone had metaphorically pulled the rug out from underneath him?

He peeked quickly over to his bag where Plagg lay, not at all surprised to see the worried stare of his kwami looking back. He knew. Everything on that small creature's face told him he knew what had happened. He threw a small reassuring smile in his kwami's direction before continuing onto the set.

Adrien took a slow, steadying breath as he stepped back into the frigid air of the Alps. The harsh mountain winds stung his face, but the smell of pine and fresh snow was invigorating. The set was sprawling, a blend of high-fashion glamour and the raw, untouched beauty of the alpine wilderness. White snow, rolling hills, and jagged peaks surrounded them, but all the attention was on the set itself.

He walked past crew members adjusting lights and equipment, toward the heart of the shoot—a cabin built for the occasion, warm and rustic, contrasting sharply with the icy landscape outside. Inside, a crackling log fire roared in the stone hearth, sending flickering shadows across the room. The fire was the focal point of the shoot, casting a soft golden glow over everything, making the room feel like an oasis of warmth and comfort in the otherwise cold and unyielding landscape.

The logs crackled and popped as flames licked their way up, sending bright orange sparks spiralling into the air. Thick, dry pine and oak had been carefully stacked in the fireplace, and as they burned, the scent of woodsmoke filled the room, mingling with the fresh scent of pine needles from the forest outside. The flames danced in a mesmerising rhythm, sending reflections of light that flickered off the polished metal of the camera equipment and the soft matte surfaces of the furniture around the room.

The fire illuminated the set with a soft, almost intimate glow, casting long shadows across the floor, making the whole room feel alive with warmth. A few scattered logs, some still waiting to be placed in the hearth, added to the cabin's rustic charm. Heavy, well-worn leather chairs were arranged in front of the fire, their rich browns and deep tans blending seamlessly with the golden-orange hues from the flames. A thick woollen rug covered the wooden floor, its intricate patterns giving the room a sense of old-world luxury.

In front of this setting, Adrien stood, eyes briefly taking in the scene. The fire's warmth seeped into his bones, a stark contrast to the cold chill that still lingered in the air. But it didn't matter. He had learned long ago how to separate himself from the world around him. To put on the mask and become whoever the world needed him to be—whether it was a model in front of a camera, or a son trying to keep a carefully crafted smile.

The photographer called his name, and Adrien snapped back to the present, his gaze shifting to the camera. With a deep breath, he straightened and assumed his pose, the familiar chill of the shoot cutting through his blood again, the mask sliding into place. It was time to smile, to shine.

'Are you okay?' his co-model asked, her eyes filled with worry.

'Yeah,' he said, 'yeah, I'm fine.'

She nodded, not believing a word he said as she wrapped herself around his body and turned him towards the camera lens. 'Just a couple more photos, and we can escape out of here.'

As though he was numb from the cold, he didn't even realise she was pressing herself into him, her lips on his cheek as her hand positioned provocatively on his stomach.

Master Fu.

The Master Fu.

'Adrien, you have a beautiful woman wrapped around you here. At least look a little interested.' Smiling, he shook his head and apologised to the photographer, going back into professional mode and doing what he did best…well, sort of.

As Ivy continued to dance and move around him like a glorified pole at a strip club, there was only one woman in his mind. Ladybug. Would she know? She must. There was a thousand percent chance of her name being one on the list to contact. Fu was about five hundred years old, okay maybe not quite that old, but he was old–there wouldn't be anyone else. Not since Marianne died five years ago. He wondered if Ladybug come back to Paris. Maybe they could meet up? He'd missed her so much. Adrien knew she'd had issues which had caused her to take this break, but maybe it was time to come home? He could only hope.

'And…perfect.' The photographer handed his camera to his assistant and walked over to them both, shaking Adrien's hand and pressing a quick kiss to the back of Ivy's hand. 'That last smile, Mr. Agreste.' He kissed his fingers and lifted them into the air. 'Bravissimo! This beautiful lady really knows how to bring out the best in you.'

He didn't have the heart to tell him it wasn't Ivy. Instead, it was a woman he didn't know and hadn't spoken to in four years who wore a mask and swung around on a magical yo-yo. But, he'd keep that to himself.

'So,' Ivy said, slipping a dressing gown over her, barely-there lingerie. 'Where are you going to take me tonight?' She brushed her hair out of her face and smiled at him. She was such a beautiful woman. Pure skin. Perfect hair. Amazing model. Any man would go crazy to date this woman.

They'd been out a few times over the past months, and he couldn't deny it was nice to get out with someone his age. She was his first attempt at something for almost four years, and as Félix explained to him, everyone else was moving forward with their lives. He needed to as well.

But right now, he needed to think about getting home. He walked over to his bag, throwing it on his shoulder before sending her an apologetic smile. 'I need to get home early in the morning. Can we take a rain check?'

Her eyes dropped as did her thousand euro smile. 'Oh!'

How could one syllable make you feel like the world's worst person? 'I'm sorry.'

She waved him off; the smile reappearing as she stepped forward and pressed a kiss on his cheek, along with pressing something else into him. 'I'll call you when I'm back in Paris.'

Responding with a kiss to her cheek, he smiled. 'I'll look forward to it.' As he took his phone from his pocket, he sent a small smile to Plagg before focusing his attention on his phone. Hopefully, there was an earlier flight back to Paris, allowing him time to process yet another death in his life, and prepare himself for a possible reunion with his partner. The smile appeared again.