It had been many years since Paris lost the miraculous duo. Whether or not Ladybug had died or been captured was unknown. She was simply…gone. Chat Noir personally feared death for her. Despite being either overlooked or ignored by the media, Ladybug was unwell the last time he saw her. He hadn't thought much of it back then. Naturally he had been concerned about her health, but at most she seemed tired and stressed. There was no doubt she was young enough to attend school like he did, so he chalked it up to heavy assignments or perhaps low grades she was trying to raise.

And then she was gone, just like that. It wasn't something he or anyone else had ever seen coming. They had been fighting side by side for three years and had grown very close during that time. One day she didn't show up for a battle. It was the same day he discovered he could hold off on his cataclysm and use it at the end to destroy those corrupted akumas instead of purify them like his better half could. Destruction and Creation were yin and yang, the perfect balance. But Hawkmoth hadn't been defeated yet. Of all times for Creation to abandon her duties…

He wanted to believe it was for a good reason. He wanted to believe she hadn't necessarily abandoned her duties so much as been unable to fulfill them. But in the end, wouldn't that be worse than abandonment or neglect? Surely so. He'd stopped imagining the possible reasons a long time ago. The biggest one was that she had died of her illness roughly a decade ago, and his black cat luck lived up to its superstition in that he was never informed. If she hadn't died…what had she been doing all this time?

Sometimes he preferred to believe she'd lost her miraculous but Tikki was always with her. There was no way. Sometimes he wished he could catch some small glimpse of Tikki, if he couldn't of Ladybug, so he would know Ladybug was safe or at least alive somewhere. Plagg hadn't been any help with that.

Maybe Ladybug had given up her miraculous. But, that didn't make much sense. It had been a very long time, there would've been another Ladybug by now.

It wasn't like he spent countless nights thinking of her though. Even catching—or destroying—akumas had become so much easier over the years. He'd grown used to fighting alone. He still thought about Ladybug, but not nearly as much as before. Strategizing in battles had never quite been his thing but simple and straightforward was working just fine for him. He could technically use multiple cataclysms now, he just preferred to use it once for the akuma—there was an "incident" with two tall buildings once that made him a little more responsible with the raw destructive power of the cataclysm.

He watched as the corrupted little butterfly began to brown from the edges in under that same power. Its struggle was over in seconds. Its wings stop flapping as they began to take on a crusty texture. He merely watched as the rest of the body grew as physically corrupt as it was spiritually. He'd been doing this to these once beautiful creatures for years yet the sight was still saddening. He couldn't purify and release this akuma. He could only deprive it of life.

The akuma slowly broke apart and crumbled in his palm. It always seemed so symbolic to him—like they were showing him what kind of death he had left in his wake each time he had to fight without innocence by his side.

He turned his hand over and dumped the akuma's powdery remains on the ground. He dusted his hand off and walked away as if he hadn't just destroyed one of the purest creations to exist.

He couldn't fix any of the damage done but he had worked with scientists to combat the kind of magic used to affect real people. He'd taken care of the hard part. It was up to them to slather that magical orange goo on the victims and return them to normal. Then the task of repairing buildings, cars, and whatever else affected was up to still other people. The city was truly kept working together through Ladybug's absence—ironically bringing people closer in this way.

He extended his staff and dropped from the roof of an office building using his staff like a pole. It retracted into itself when he was on the pavement and he fixed it into his belt. Not that it mattered or anything but…he was expected for a special news interview. It was like Paris had to torture him each year with the same questions and expected him to answer them all with this huge smile on his face, acting like everything was okay and he was supposed to be so happy to be a hero making all the sacrifices while they scurried away from trouble and rarely tried to help out.

He walked straight into the studio, ignoring the mass of reporters that had gathered to crowd and follow him through the streets. But he wore a smile anyway and pretended to like the attention.

The first thing he did when he got inside was duck into the nearest bathroom and lock himself in a stall.

"Plagg, claws in," he said.

He felt the power flow out of him as his suit disappeared into his ring. Plagg separated from the miraculous and moaned in exhaustion. The little kwami was definitely being a drama queen this time but at least Adrien had an idea why.

"Time to recharge," he told Plagg, tossing him a kwami-sized slice of camembert cheese.

Plagg caught the cheese and didn't hesitate to bury his face in it.

Adrien leaned against the side of the stall and sighed heavily.

"Why did all of Paris have to make a holiday of this?" he grumbled.

"Well," Plagg started through a mouthful of camembert, "you humans are weird like that. You celebrate some myth about a guy driving all the snakes out of Ireland, why does this surprise you?"

Adrien rolled his eyes. "Just eat up. The interview starts in a few minutes and I want to get it over with."

Plagg happily obliged and shoved a good portion of the cheese into his mouth.

Adrien remained silent, his mind going over the questions he would probably be asked so he could give himself a script to answer them, not at all unlike an actor performing on a stage. It was sad that he had to memorize lines rather than answer naturally. But every year he gave people what they wanted to hear to keep the drama to a minimum and to avoid any questions outside of interviews.

Somewhere outside the bathroom he could hear muffled voices of people asking about Cat Noir's whereabouts.

"You have five seconds left before Chat Noir has to get back out there," he told his kwami.

"Right."

Plagg somehow forced the rest of the cheese slice down his throat before going back into the miraculous.

Power flowed through Adrien again and he felt the fabric of his clothes reconstruct themselves into the more durable fabric of Chat Noir's outfit. Two ears clamped down on the base of a few locks of hair. A mask overlayed normal human vision, making it sharper and more alert to movement, and going so far as to morph his eyes.

He took a deep breath before heading back out, where he was immediately noticed and ushered into the studio.

"Ah, Chat Noir!" Nadja Chamack greeted. "Please, have a seat over there."

He grinned widely and sunk back into a couch slightly angled towards the camera and directly across from Nadja. He threw his arms onto the back of it and spread his legs in a relaxed manner.

"You ready?" she asked.

"Born ready."

He glanced over at the cameraman, who was moving the camera into the optimal position for this annual little tradition of ask-the-cat.

With one swift wave of someone's hand, Nadja cleared her throat and smiled that classic newscaster smile.

"And we're back with Chat Noir joining us for this very special day," she said to the camera—to her vast audience.

She turned to him. "So today marks the eleventh anniversary of Ladybug's death."

Probable death, no one had any concrete evidence and until they did he couldn't bring himself to fully believe she'd died, even though she was clearly sick when he last saw her.

"You two have been an inseparable team for years before her disappearance," Nadja continued. "Tell me, did Ladybug pass nobly protecting Paris during an akuma attack?"

"I'm not completely certain she's dead," he said. "I wouldn't go jumping to that conclusion."

Honestly he went through these same questions, or similar ones, each year. He was starting to think the media was simply using him as a history textbook for the kids… Who wouldn't love hearing this kind of tragedy from Ladybug's closest partner? Someone who was right there? Right beside her?

"Reports say Ladybug appeared ill before her disappearance, do you know anything about this?"

"She had trouble keeping up the last time I saw her. As soon as everything returned to normal, she left. I never saw her again."

"And you don't think that might be sufficient evidence?"

"It…could be, I guess."

Ladybug had managed to assure him her sickness wasn't anything to worry about, so he took her word for it and never probed further. He should've. Most of Paris suspected that Ladybug, never known to give up on them, had died. Once news of her sickness became more obvious and widespread with photographic evidence and video footage available to the public eye, people took that as confirmation—she had succumbed to her health issues. Nobody ever gave it a second thought. Now, all these years later, the world moved on without Ladybug and often pretended she didn't exist in the first place. The younger generation got older and the interest in Ladybug was lost with their lingering obsession with Chat Noir. He'd been forced to take all the attention and responsibilities that he used to share so Paris thought of him as indestructible. The only reason he agreed to these interviews was to keep Ladybug's memory alive, otherwise he would've kept avoiding them and chosen to lock himself up in his apartment each year on this wretched day.

"You said you haven't seen her since the day she vanished, but what about contact, if you're truly that confident she's alive?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I haven't heard from her in eleven years now. But if she's watching this, then I hope you come back soon, Ladybug. We all miss you."

It never hurt to get a sincere message in during the one day of the year it was most appropriate, right?

"You once said you hoped that one day, you and Ladybug would be a couple. Did this ever happen?"

"Yeah, for a little while," he answered.

Only for a couple of short years, before she got sick.

"Do you think her initial disappearance may have had something to do with that?"

"What, like a bad way to break up?"

"Something like that, yes."

"She was always so attracted to my natural charm and good sense of humor before and while we were dating. She would never have pulled a stunt like this just to break up," he said. "Besides, even if she did want to break up, that wouldn't have kept her from protecting you—all of you, all of Paris. The world if need be."

"Then why do you think she disappeared?"

This was one question that caught him off guard the first time he had to answer it. The rest of Paris celebrated her "memory" and told stories of her heroics but this was the day he lost her, this was the most depressing day of the year for him. They all seemed to think he was happy to hear of her exploits but he'd been right there with her, by her side at all times. This was not an easy thing to talk about and Paris either didn't care or didn't understand. Then of course, they were so certain she was dead, so certain that her illness got the best of her, that he was constantly faced with the likely possibility of her death anytime someone brought Ladybug up. He didn't need those thoughts and he certainly didn't like having such conversations. Talking about her like she was still alive somewhere only made people pity him more because he was "still in denial."

He did his best to avoid the subject of Ladybug with the exception of this day each year, the exact day she failed to show up for that battle and the first day he ever had to fight alone. It felt awful and wrong. And still, each year he agreed to have this discussion in front of the world. Why couldn't that ever be enough for them?

"I don't know," he reluctantly answered.

"Do you think Ladybug will ever contact you if she is still alive?"

"Probably not."

"Do you think she may have been akumatized?"

"No, not her. She's pretty special that way."

And hopefully she was watching this now and hearing his messages.

"So any health issues definitely did not come from an akuma?" Nadja pressed.

"That's right."

"If Ladybug is alive, where do you think she might be right now?"

"She probably has her own place by now," he said. "Probably has a job too, working for other people's benefits. Once a hero, always a hero."

She probably had a husband now too, maybe even started a family with her husband. He could see her in a nice place, very happy. Maybe the picture no longer included him but if she had traded in Ladybug for a more domestic and less dangerous life, then she hadn't just traded up, she had actually moved on. For all he knew she had to go to the hospital for help and happened to meet someone there. It was a painful thought but the life of Ladybug and Chat Noir was a hard one. He couldn't blame her if she had grown too tired to continue it and moved on with her life. It would've been nice to be informed though…

Despite knowing that, aside from death and many other possible reasons for her to leave, there were times when he wanted to settle down too, and in his mind a long time ago, after dating for two years, he envisioned himself settling down with her. The consequence of finding out her identity, or vice versa, was giving up the miraculous, but she was the guardian and therefore had the power to change that absurd rule—why would they ever put the other in danger and how would them knowing the other's secret be broadcasted to the world? It wasn't like either of them would tell someone else.

But he kind of hoped she had chosen to settle down anyway…even though it would've gone against her nature to do so without telling him anything before leaving. At least she would be safe living a peaceful life.

The rest of the questions were basic, things like his fondest memory with her and of her. More things digging into their romantic relationship versus her prior friendzoning of him. Things that really didn't matter anymore. Things he'd answered eleven times. Nadja never took it easy on him. Maybe she didn't realize he wanted to get out of here and head home.

He answered all her questions with as much enthusiasm and normalcy as he could muster. It all felt so scripted. He was just here for entertainment and treated like a fountain of Ladybug knowledge.

For the next hour his body was on autopilot, only shifting positions to relieve any tightness forming in his muscles. Chances were it was all stress.

The interview finally ended on a pleasant note to the public. He was allowed to drop the smile and instead of lingering to sign pictures of himself or answer unnecessary questions not asked by Nadja, he headed straight home to his apartment. It was just as well, too. Plagg wouldn't be exhausted from a cataclysm but he'd stayed Chat Noir for quite a while and transformed twice, each about a minute or less apart.

His place wasn't too far away. He still went to photoshoots and was by every stretch of the word still a model, but he had long decided to distance himself from his father. Per usual, the man had been monotonous in his replies, demanding his son stay. It was the first time Adrien truly snapped at his father. He hadn't so much as run away as he had moved out against his father's wishes. There was no barrier, nothing was stopping Gabriel from seeing him. But things remained mostly the same since he'd moved out. Aside from a call once every blue moon to criticize something under the guise of "checking up on his son," he had no real connection with his father anymore.

Of course, it didn't help that Adrien refused to buy a huge mansion, easily affordable to him with all the money he had at his whimsical disposal. Being a hero, over time, taught him that he didn't need fancy things to be happy. He didn't have a maid to clean for him or a butler to serve him, he never had a chef prepare gourmet food every meal. His car was nothing sporty or sleek. All the things he used to have, he'd left behind with his father. He only kept a few things that had sentimental value to him. Pictures, clothes, gifts, cards, and music collections. Some movies came with him too. He managed to snag two home videos of his mother before he left and he never heard Gabriel complain about that despite knowing they were gone.

He could proudly say he had comfortable furniture though. Gabriel may have criticized all of his choices but the couch was heavenly.

"Claws in," he said as he rummaged around in his refrigerator.

Akuma attacks had been just as frequent as they had been back in the day and by now he was so used to feeling the transformation between Adrien and Chat Noir that he could and would go about performing everyday activities during reverse transformations, when he went from Chat Noir to Adrien. Somehow those were much simpler and happened more quickly.

Plagg shot out and stretched, wholly expecting as much camembert as he could possibly stuff himself with—Adrien definitely had the money for a camembert buffet and Plagg had no shame in taking advantage of that.

The kwami ravenously licked his lips and held out both arms.

Adrien pulled out a small tray of camembert and handed it to him. For such an exhausted creature, Plagg sure had all the energy in the world to feast upon his well-earned cheese even if he had to carry it himself.

The man then poured himself a moderate glass of red wine from a cabinet and stole a little cheese slice from his kwami's platter, much to Plagg's dismay.

Adrien took his wine and settled into the couch, totally done with the day. Totally done with interviews, with fighting, with Chat Noir, with Ladybug.

"You know how I feel about you drinking today," Plagg said, hardly understandable through his cheese-filled mouth.

"It's just to calm my nerves," he replied. "And it's just one glass."

"Yeah but that's what you told me before…" the kwami muttered.

"That was a long time ago, I'm always careful now. Stop worrying about me."

The day he became all the more responsible with his cataclysms was actually the very first anniversary of Ladybug's mysterious disappearance. They'd been so close that losing her was a heartbreak he still hadn't gotten over. Needless to say, back then it hurt far worse, and the wound was still fresh with that one year mark. It was as if the rest of the year had been spent in denial and torturous worry. Then the word "anniversary" came out of the media's mouth and he erupted. He needed some sort of outlet for that rage and those two tall buildings became the objects of his misplaced aggression. The outrageous amount of alcohol he had consumed prior did nothing to help curb his anger but once those buildings came down, so did his senses, and even a drunken stupor wasn't enough to stave off panic and regret.

He still drank, but never like he did on that first "anniversary" and he had never let so much emotion consume him since.

"I usually don't worry but you just had that interview and I know it's hard for you."

"Yeah, well, life is life. I just want to relax."

A/N

Alright, it's posted, I'm committed. Enjoy the first chapter and let me know what you think! :)