"Fine, you cheap bastard. But I'm expecting the best if you're gonna hold it over my head like this."

"Then it's us against the world."

"I like the sound of that, Gabriel."

Past

In recent times, Defect thought of himself as a budding jazz fan. That was a genre that knew how to get inside your head and turn you into a tap-dancing puppet. Gabriel had never wasted his time on the stuff though, so Defect only learned of it offhand, settling for hearing snippets of it from the boy's room the few times Gabriel passed it. Gabriel would look positively sick, as if hearing anything that wasn't a sophisticated, depressing melody twisted his stomach in knots.

Gabriel's the only sad bastard who could moonlight as an eccentric supervillain and still be a boring stick in the mud.

Naturally, when Defect started his new, improved life, he tracked down a few albums and listened to whatever music he damn well pleased.

As such, he couldn't help but hum a fine olde ditty about how good he felt today. The birds knew it. The sun knew it. The breeze knew it. Sadly, the citizens of Paris were the exception to this feel-good state of mind. In fact, judging by the disturbed and weary looks they shot him as he skipped down the pavement overlooking the river, they weren't feeling good at all.

"You know, if we were in New York, a cowboy with bandages would get people grinning. They'd think I was a druggie, but they'd find it funny." He said to himself, slipping his hands into his pockets.

To be fair, he couldn't exactly complain about all the staring and the sudden b-lines to avoid him. As long as they were focused on not seeing him, they remained completely ignorant of the little brown pest perched on his shoulder, who'd break out into nervous hives if she saw people staring at them.

Who knew mini gods could have stage fright?

"Shouldn't we be heading back to the hide out, Boss?" The kwami, a light feathered head poking through a lion's maine that Defect had come to know as Maggni, yawned, lightly prodding Defect's cheek with her beak.

"We're taking the scenic route." Defect replied gruffly.

Maggni floated up to hide under the shelter of Defect's hat, beady little eyes nervously looking out at the crowd. "But won't we draw attention?"

"We can handle it." Defect waved her off, "We have at least a minute or two until the news breaks. 'Till then, I'm just another freak; and Paris has plenty of 'em."

"I don't know about this. The Boss-Lady hates when you're late."

"I just wanna stretch my legs while I can, okay?" Reaching up, Defect tugged on a loose bandage fluttering by his chin, tightening back behind where his ear would be. "We ain't gonna have much hope of walking freely soon enough. Not when our stunning entrance hits the web."

The kwami rolled over in the air, her stomach letting out a loud growl. "But Boss…"

Defect shook his head, "Ah, you glutton. That's what this is really about, ain't it?"

"Have a heart, Boss! You worked me to the bone, you did." Her tiny arms reached as far as they could, desperately trying to grab onto his head as her stomach growled louder. "When all that fire was cooking us red, all I could think about was that special tub of Ben and Jerrys I reserved just for today. If I don't get some subzero goodness in my belly in the next five minutes, I'm gonna die!"

He inclined his head to imply he was glaring at her, tapping her beak with his pinkie figure. "Kwami's don't die, you damn drama queen."

Suddenly, she dropped back on his shoulder, her body falling stiff and her voice dying between overly dramatic gasps. "Are you really gonna torture me like this, Boss? Is this because I poked your eye thingy out? It was an accident, and I told you I was sorry!"

Maggni… Was curious.

When Defect had first uncovered the power of his miraculous, he'd expected a need to implement more forceful persuasion methods to get the kwami to comply, to take part in what he and his illustrious partner had in mind. Kwamis were supposed to be beings of balance, as far as he knew, that would resist those who seek to disrupt the natural order. They could be forced to aid selfish and terrible ends by a selfish and terrible holder, but even the most delinquent of kwami personalities valued life to a degree and sought to protect, even the famed kwami of destruction and chaos.

Maggni showed no such desire. She was a used car salesman in a tiny, furry body. As long as she got her cut of the deal, in this case being cream-based treats, she didn't care one way or another if the car had the break lines cut and was careening straight into oncoming traffic.

Then again, according to Nooroo, it was foolish to think of Maggni as a real kwami. Much to Maggni's protest.

Defect shook his head. Really, he shouldn't get hung up on semantics. It didn't change a damn thing about his miniature side kick.

Scooping Maggni up in his hand, his massive fingers easily stowing the tiny creature away in his front pocket, Defect rolled his head back and forth. A circular motion, trying to give the impression of rolling his eyes. "Quit your whining, there's an ice cream man up ahead."

Maggni stuck her bulbous head out of his pocket, large eyes growing even wider as she spotted the cart, an elegant contraption with 'Sweetheart's Ice Cream' written on the bumper, just ahead of them and the portly man operating it. "Cream!"

The man didn't notice them until Defect was towering above him, a ratty looking cowboy staining the natural beauty of Paris and its populace. The white blouse with dark stripes under his apron made the man look like a sailor. His body lurched back in surprise, narrow eyes looking over the old bandages. "Hello there, I am Andre- Oh my, are you okay, Sir?"

Without an ounce of etiquette, Defect propped his elbow up on the edge of the cart, his weight causing it to slump at a slight angle. "Just peachy, Partner." Defect didn't know the man's name, Andy something, but he did remember hearing about some famous and illusive ice cream guy who roamed Paris at random. "But I'm also mighty famished, and the sun ain't doing me no favours. I'd appreciate a few scoops of the good stuff."

The hesitant smile the man assumed was one Defect was quiet familiar with. That nervous twitch in the corner of their lips when someone was looking for the politest way to tell you to bug off. Andre clasped his hands together, eyes glued to Defect's dangerous looking arms. "Uh, I'm afraid I can't serve you."

Defect rose to full height, his hand falling on the side of the cart and, with one swift motion, crushed the metal under his aggravated grip. "'scuse me? What, you got a problem with me? Don't like the bandages?"

Andre let out a nervous laugh to cover up his gulp, eyes on the new dent in his cart. "No, that's not it."

Letting go of the cart, Defect curled his fingers into a fist, cracking his knuckles against his palm. I didn't take this disrespect when I was human, I'm not gonna tolerate it now. He savoured how precisely Andre's eyes followed his movement, the fear that flickered there. He wondered if Andre was thinking of looking around for that spotted brat to come to his aid. Oh, he was in for such a shock. Your hero ain't commin', ain't ever commin' again, Mr. Neapolitan.

"So, you think I'm a cheap skate that can't afford your fancy ice cream? I get it."

"No, no, nothing like that!" Andre threw his hand up, the fake laugh coming out in full force. "My ice cream is not your regular treat, you see. It is made from love, from the cold comfort of romance, bringing people together. It is for the blossoming companionship of those in love."

Defect just stared. He wasn't even offended, just dumbfounded. "You only sell ice cream to people who are dating?"

"Not only dating, good sir, but those who have a place in their heart waiting to be filled by that special someone. It is my duty to add just the flavour that defines that connection."

"And they don't even get to choose their own flavour?" He knew it was the city of love, but that did not seem like a sustainable business tactic.

Defect crossed his arms. Either way, he wasn't gonna get Maggni a date just to appease her monstrous ice cream cravings. "What's your problem with single people? A guy doesn't deserve to eat because he hasn't found the woman of his dreams yet?"

"I didn't mean to offend you."

"Tough luck, ya did." Defect slammed his fist down on the cart, easily punching a hole in the lid and ripping it off to reveal the various flavours underneath. "Now listen here you bloated puffer fish, I've got a stomach about ready to keel over and start waving the white flag."

His towering form only need to lean a few inches forward to cross the distance between them, his hat blocking out the sun and leaving Andre in shadows. "And we all get a little, well, let's just say unreasonable when we're hungry."

Andre snatched up his metal scooper, the utensil loudly clanging in his trembling grip. "Y-You know what, I think I have just the perfect combination for you." Defect leaned away, gratefully tipping his hat like there was any respect or manners left to show.

He watched as Andre piled three perfect scoops atop a cone, resembling a little snowman with two spoons stuck in the second scoop to make arms. "Cherry for your explosive 'determination', blackberry for you black- I mean 'relentless' heart, and salted caramel with extra salt for the, uh, 'passion' that drives you."

He didn't know why Andre needed to lay on the colours and meanings like that, it all looked the same to him. And that was being quite literal. Colour, as well as most sensations that seemed so integral to life, had been denied to him. Defect could only tell the difference between them by the slight shift in shading. There was no colour in Defect's world after all, the lens in which he viewed everything painted the world in shades of black and white.

"Was that so hard?" He grumbled, snatching up the cone and turning away, positioning the treat in front of Maggni. "Damn Frenchmen, everything has to have some sentimental, lovey-dovey crap behind it."

Maggni couldn't wait a second more, head lunging forward and sinking into the cherry base. Less devouring the ice cream and more drowning in it. However, she did stop mid-feasts, not even bothering to swallow her food before saying "You forgot to pay for the ice cream."

Defect shrugged, "We just declared war and murdered the city's favourite hero, why the hell would we pay for anything?"

A loud, disgusting sucking noise followed and suddenly the cone was completely clean. "If you don't pay for your meals, doesn't that make you a cheap skate, Boss?"

Defect paused mid-step. He glared down at the kwami. He sighed. He ripped coins from his pocket and hurled them at Andre's cart.

"Keep the change." He grunted, powering forward until he reached the nearest bench.

As he settled down into his seat, gazing off into the bustling crowd rushing to their daily responsibilities, he heard Maggni pipe up again. "Why did we stop?"

"We're waiting."

Maggni floated in front of his face, peering sceptically at the crowd, letting out a light, confused groan she failed to find anyone of interest. "For what?"

To Maggni, it was just a whole lot of bodies sticking to their routines. To Defect, it was the ignorant sheep, so enraptured by their daily lives that you could hardly tell that, as far as they knew, an akuma attack was still underway. A giant slime monster drowning a couple city blocks had become such an old dull routine that life simply didn't stop to point it out anymore. They were safe, so comfortable, knowing that their great hero was handling it all.

So, yes, he wanted to be here at ground zero. He wanted to see that moment, maybe a minute or so from now, when their phones light up. When the news broke out. When the illusion shattered. When they learned their perfect protector was still as the grave. He wanted to see the chaos.

"To see the moment everyone realizes it's all gone to hell." He plucked his hat from his head, resting it against his chest, saying one last silent prayer for the recently damned. "It's a new day, a new dawn, Buddy. And for the first time in five years; I'm feeling good." If he were capable of smiling, he'd grin so hard he'd bust his cheeks.

The pre-recorded tune of a banjo cut through his observation session, the corny soundtrack burst from his pocket. He turned into the nearest alley way for some privacy, taking longer than he cared to admit to get his large, thick fingers to wrestle the phone from his tiny pocket. He still wasn't used to these overly complicated modern phones, where some mad man decided that plain old reliable buttons were too much and decided to replace them with an infernal, barely responsive touch screen.

He swiped the green phone icon (which he had trouble remembering the position of considering he couldn't see either red or green in general) five god damn times before it decided to work.

"I wasn't expecting a call."

"You were running late." She probably meant to sound direct and terse, but the slight squeaky twang to her tone made Defect remember how she looked when she was pouting like a child waiting to open their Christmas gift.

He leaned against the brickwork, not entirely sure where to hold the phone considering that he had no ears. He just… Processed sound. "Ain't like you set up a deadline, Brat."

There came the breathless scoff that usually came after she had her cheeks puffed up. He'd bet she was pacing back and forth, debating when she should call. It was an odd dynamic at times, that until he heard her voice again, he'd forget that the woman he's dealing with was only considered an adult by a few months. She wasn't a child though. She could be petty, she could be childish, but she'd never been a child.

"No, but I had hoped you'd rush over to give me the good news, instead of harassing poor, innocent ice cream vendors." Behind the sweetness of her voice, under the pleading edge of her words; there was a vindictive, cunning, ruthless little mind that far eclipsed his own even in his prime.

He supposed that was why he was the muscle, and she was the brains.

Defect lifted his head up, gazing outside the alley towards the city rooftops, wondering where she was watching him from. "What? You didn't stick around to watch the show?"

She sighed, "I lost contact with my akuma before the climax." He could just hear the sound of her feet smacking against stone repeatedly, the girl literally bouncing in place, desperate for her present. "Come on, Scruffy, tell me how it went. You know how long I've been waiting."

Scruffy had always been an odd nick name. She never called him 'Defect', seemed to treat it as almost distasteful to say, like a vile slur, yet Scruffy sounded just as insulting if Defect cared enough to be offended. Maybe it was because Defect wasn't a name that she gave him.

He scoffed, "You think I'd miss my shot? The Bug's facing early retirement."

Chrysalis, as she'd come to call herself, let out a relieved groan; the type of pure, overwhelming satisfaction you'd express after taking the first bite of your favourite food. He could hear her hands shaking, the vibrations sending quiet, shuffling buzzes through his phone's speaker. "Oh, I never doubted you for a second. But you know how frantic and frazzled I get when it comes to scheming, so much nonsense can come out of nowhere and… Ruin everything."

Defect nodded, they both knew quite well how easily a well laid plan can fall to unknown variables. "I think you overestimated Paris' finest. Ladybug practically gift wrapped herself, and her so-called buddies sent her in without a second thought."

After a few seconds of silence, apart from listening to her jump down somewhere, she spoke again. Her voice dropped to a softer note, one that almost sounded genuine. "And the new body? Is it working okay?"

He shrugged, "It got the job done."

"Is it comfortable?"

"It got the job done." He repeated in a gruffer tone, reaching up to readjust his hat. "Trust me, that old bag ain't gonna try and stiff us."

She sighed, and he knew full well that he wasn't answering the question she actually asked, but she knew he wasn't going to waste his time with it. "Just remember that you only have one, so I better not see you on the news being reckless with it."

"What, afraid you'll lose out on your investment?" He chuckled.

Another sigh, heavier than the last. This time he could picture her frowning. "The world is scary." And here comes the monologue and crocodile tears. "This is a world where one of our most trusted heroes is hiding a villain's secrets from the public she claims to protect, who will turn a blind eye to injustice simply to suit her personal agenda."

"I don't want to be alone in such a world, without anyone I can trust, without the only person I can trust." She finished, her breath slowing to a pitiable crawl.

It was a longer silence this time. With Defect's body growing stiff as a statue, it was like everything had stopped, like he was dead again. He shook himself out of it, replying curtly. "I'll be fine, you can count on my word, can't ya? After all, it's you and me against the world."

Adrien remembered the day his mother died, when he first experienced loss. Of course, his father always insisted that she disappeared, but Adrien always knew the truth, that she was never coming back.

Ironically, it had been her birthday at the time. She'd insisted on a small personal gathering, Adrien even got to help with decorations and the cake (which meant he got to pat the decorations to make sure they were extra secure and lick the chef's mixing bowl). Gabriel had been delayed by a road accident cluttering up the roads, leaving Nathalie to suffer the eager little boy's fascination with face painting. Even his uncle, Colt, had made an appearance, though as was always the case with Colt's relationship with Emilie, the visit was fleeting and tense.

Her condition was always in flux; one day she was wasting away in bed with skin paler than a corpse, the next you couldn't even tell she was sick. She knew and accepted before everyone else that her time was coming, that's why she made every effort to make those last few days a bright, optimistic memory Adrien could look back on.

In a way, Adrien knew what was coming too. That didn't make it any easier. He'd turned around for just a split second to pick up the last present from the pile, the one from him, only to hear her body hit the ground.

His father retreated into his denial, leaving to procure some 'special' medicine. Nathalie retreated into the emotionless mask, standing guard over his mother's body. His mother lay there, the liveliest she'd ever looked – it was easy to assume she was just sleeping. And yet, when he gripped her hand, he could feel the truth. She was hollow, emotionless with no dreams to sooth her or nightmares to terrorize her – dead in every sense that mattered.

He was alone, and he spent years after that night convincing himself that it got better.

The next day, his father would insist upon his mother's body being taken to a private hospital, only to mysteriously vanish along the way as the week continued. His father and Nathalie, the only family he had left, were lost to that grief, erecting a wall of stone and ice that pushed him out and yet trapped him in. He accepted his mother's death, he let go of the grief in good time; it was the abandonment that broke him.

Years later, he experienced loss once more. The flight back from London, from where his father had imprisoned him in some mad scheme to solidify a contract with Kagami's mother, he had been steadily cultivating his anger. Pawning him off like he was just another item in Gabriel's collection to be traded and sold, it was the first time his father had ever truly hurt him. Grief stuck Gabriel with some nasty habits, had made him distant, had made for many moments of frustration and betrayal between the two; but this was different.

Missing out on parts of Adrien's life because work was Gabriel's failed coping mechanism. Adopting a cold, dominating demeanour because that's what the fashion world had taught him was the price of success and fulfilment. Being unable to express himself, being distant, being dismissive. Adrien didn't like it, it sure as hell ticked him off, made him sad; but he could accept it. He could understand that Gabriel Agreste was an old-fashioned man who climbed to the top from the gutter and was kicked down every step of the way. He was trying, even if he failed.

But sending Adrien to London, locking him in a sterile, white chamber like some sort of lab rat, dismissing the love of his life as some unworthy peasant; all for some stupid marketing stunt for the brand. It was the first time Adrien truly asked himself if his father loved him, or if his Father saw him as anything more than an extension of his mother.

He was angry when he stepped off that plane. A fire had been lit in his belly, a fuel of indignation that gave birth to the many bitter words he'd prepared to slap his father with. He was ready to fight for his freedom for once in his life, break the chains of his father and tell Gabriel that he wouldn't accept his father meddling with his life any longer. For once, it wouldn't be Marinette, Nino or even Nathalie acting in his stead, acting as his shield; he would face down his father himself.

Gabriel Agreste had left this family broken for too long, and it was about high time Adrien demanded Gabriel either help fix it or-

He never got to the or part. It died on his lips when he and his bodyguard were greeted at the runway not by his father, not even by Nathalie, but Nino and his parents. They hurried him into their car with solemn frowns and insistence that explanations would come, that everyone is waiting for him down by the waterfront. Even as Nino gripped his hand tight, Adrien could feel no comfort, could find nothing to stifle the unsettling anticipation building in his stomach.

After the simple question of if Adrien had seen the news on his way, to which he silently shook his head, there were no more words exchanged. They drove down to the waterfront, where Luka's family's ship, the Liberty, was docked. As soon as he exited the car, he could feel his classmates' mournful, sympathetic gazes baring down on him. He could no longer deny that something was wrong, so wrong.

At that time, he didn't know why Marinette was the first person he asked about. He knew Monarch had launched a terrifying assault on Paris, something on such a scale that heroes from other countries joined the frey. He knew Plagg had taken his miraculous to Ladybug, and that Plagg had yet to return to him.

On the plane, he avoided looking into the news, terrified that any number of names would fill the screen, names he'd have been able to save if he hadn't been trapped in London. Yet still, his first thought, his first instinctual fear, was Marinette's safety above all else. Not his father, not Nathalie; not even Ladybug, the partner he'd left to fend off Monarch's assault alone.

He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think, he couldn't get his heart to start. Not until she came bursting out of the ship's doors and threw herself into his arms, whispering confusing apologies as she buried her head into his neck. However, at a later time, when he thought back to that moment, he realized that maybe he did ask about Ladybug. That some small part of him was already suspecting the truth.

His father was dead. Nathalie was in the hospital. Monarch's reign of terror was over, and Ladybug presumably had all the kwamis back. The rage he felt towards his father didn't fade, it was only pushed back, made shameful and despicable of him to consider. Loss had struck him again; it tore him apart and left him limp.

But Marinette caught him, Nino came from the back to hold him together, and everyone else stood by him to hold him steady. This time, he wasn't alone. This time, there was no one to deny him his pain. So, he wept – not just for his father, but for the mother he thought he was never allowed to cry for.

Marinette couldn't hold him anymore.

The sight that unravelled before him as he burst through what remained of the back entrance was one that played out in his dreams many times. The landscape of utter ruin bare before him, the raging flames painting the world in a hellish glint, and under the rubble the body of a woman he loved more than life itself, who wouldn't have been there if it wasn't for him.

It was like Nighttormentor's vision had been a prophecy rather than a paralyzing nightmare.

"Marinette!" He howled, dropping to his knees before the rubble that entombed his partner, desperately clawing away at the pile. He was out of cataclysms for the moment, even with his matured limit, so he had to settle with brute forcing his way through the fragments. He wasted too much energy on that damn slime.

His hands, raw and bloodied despite the material protecting them, tore through the debris with a fervour fuelled by desperation. His breath came in ragged gasps as he frantically unearthed pieces of broken concrete and twisted metal. The acrid scent of dust and debris filled his nostrils, but he pressed on, driven by the singular purpose of reaching her.

He sent her in there alone. He told her he had everything handled. He told her she didn't need backup. He abandoned her. He let this happen.

Each movement was a symphony of anguish and determination, fingers scrabbling against the unforgiving rubble. The air was thick with tension, the only sounds the desperate scrape of his nails against the wreckage and the uneven rhythm of his breath. His eyes, wide and wild, darted between the fragments searching for anything he could use as a lifeline. A hair, a foot, a dash of red, her yoyo; anything.

For a second, he thought he found a scrap of hope. A rock tumbled out of place, revealing eyes blinking rapidly up at him, but he realized all too soon that those eyes were too big. Tikki phased through the rubble, her lips trembling and her eyes already giving in to defeat.

"Adrien… I'm sorry." She whispered.

The transformation had fallen. The person now buried under the crushing pressure of the rubble was a normal, unenhanced human girl.

He ignored Tikki, ignored the knowledge of a centuries old being who'd tested the limits of human endurance, ignored the fact that Tikki would know her holder's condition better than anyone else. He ignored everything. He had to. He couldn't break now, they always found a way out of this, found a way to fix everything. They always did!

"No, no… Marinette, answer me! Marinette! Please!" His voice cracked as he called out her name, the sound a fragile plea against the silence. His movements became increasingly frantic, driven by the fear that lingered in the air like a heavy fog.

Time blurred as he tunnelled deeper, treasured moments playing over and over again in his mind – her blushing cheeks as she got lost in her overcompensating babble, her eyes overtaken by innocent shock when he thoughtlessly said out loud that he was too busy staring at her, the passionate fire in her voice as charged forward to uplift and defend her friends. Each one only fuelled his desperate struggled. He couldn't lose her, her family couldn't lose her, Paris couldn't lose her.

Rocks tumbled past him, letting out one last gasp of dust, and the tragedy was bare for all to see. His mother's body had been pristine, no wounds, no stains, not a hair out of place and a smile on her face. He could imagine it as a peaceful passing.

Marinette was given no such privilege, her limp form lay before him in a tangled heap; battered, bruised and burned. Her clothes were nothing more than patches of cloth barely clinging together by thin threads. Her hair was singed at the fringe, splayed across the rocks and looking as if it were spilling from inside her head. Under the crimson lighting, it brought far more horrifying images to mind.

He couldn't take his eyes off her face, no matter how much it pained him to witness, as he pulled her from the rubble, letting her fall against his chest. It was contorted in pain and horror, she had faced the end broken, alone and scared.

He wasn't shocked to see Marinette. He'd been quite sure who was behind the Ladybug mask for a while. It was unclear what specific moment triggered it, he just knew that one day everything started to click in his mind. He'd look into her eyes, hear her voice tickle his ears, feel familiar rumblings in his stomach and heart in her presence; and he'd think of his lady. And it made sense, it always made sense, but he never entertained it.

You can't go. You had something to tell me, right? His trembling fingers gently tucked her loose hairs behind her ear, afraid that one wrong touch would shatter what was left of her. You were gonna tell me you were Ladybug, right? You were agonizing over not being able to save my father, weren't you? It's okay. He choked back another sob. It's okay. It wasn't your fault; I know you'd have done everything you could. I never would have blamed you. You know that, right?

Cradling her on his lap with fresh tears streaming down his cheeks, he screamed into the void. He wouldn't accept it. This couldn't be the end. "Plagg! Tikki! Unify!"

Tikki turned her eyes away from him even as she was sucked into his ring, unable to bare witness to whatever decision he was about to make.

The transformation wasn't pleasant, it passed in a blur, but it felt as if his skin was crumbling against the might of something else bursting through it from the inside. His regular costume was overcome with a new red colour scheme, with dark slashes across his body acting as his version of ladybug spots.

"Lucky charm!" He cried. The pink glow overtook his hand, something dropping into his palm. He didn't look at the item in question, it didn't matter what it was, he just threw it back into the air. "Miraculous Chatterbug!"

Energy exploded from the lucky charm, sweeping over the area around him, over the rubble, through the flames, like an echo carrying a healing song passing through the building.

Nothing.

The rubble shifted but did not return to their shape as a wall. The fires continued to burn. The love of his life still lay still in his arms, ravaged by the battle, terrified of what lay ahead.

"Lucky charm!"

He did it again, stuttering over his lucky charm this time. He glanced down when a soft texture grazed his fingertips. A spotted towel. Throw in the towel, Tikki was telling him.

"Miraculous Chatterbug!"

She stared up at him, disappointed, pleading, just asking him why he let this happen.

"Lucky charm!"

A CD cover depicting a fat woman belting out the final verse in an Oprah.

"Miraculous Chatterbug!"

Her skin paled, the patches where his tears fell now shimmering as her touch turned to ice. No matter how tightly he held her, he couldn't heat her up.

"Lucky charm!"

A white flag.

"Miraculous Chatterbug!"

By the time Rena caught his wrist in a tight grip, staring down at the boy through tender eyes, his voice had cracked, each word heavy, defenceless and choked out through coughs. "Chat, you have to stop…"

"No!" He screamed, attempting to rip his arm away from her only to find his energy too low to manage anything more than a pathetic shrug. "I can fix this! I can save her. I just have to keep trying."

"She's gone Chat."

His head turned on her, his eyes baring the same burning, murderous edge they'd carried back when he first thought Scarabella had hurt, possibly killed, his lady. It was enough to make Rena jump back, her guard up as if Chat were about to show his claws and pounce. How dare she doubt Ladybug. How dare she stop him from trying everything in his power to save her. Did she want Marinette to die? Was she already blaming him for the deed? Why couldn't she understand?

The protective anger grew to full on predatory hissing when he heard the blades of the TVi News helicopter approaching. He soon spied the vehicle over Rena's shoulder, turning on it's side to let a camera man hang out and peer through the gaping opening in the building, zooming in on the scene.

Those heartless, gutless vultures. He'd dealt with them all his life. He'd seen them relentlessly pester his father about his mother's disappearance, he'd watch them sling disgusting lie after lie at Nathalie for daring to stand by her boss and friend, he'd fled from them when they'd interrupted his birthday to see if he'd grown into his 'model bod' yet.

"After all she's done for them, they're gonna drag her corpse through the morning paper." He spat, protectively throwing himself over her body, hoping he could at least preserve her dignity and identity in death.

"Pegasus. Portal. Now." Rena said firmly, though a quiet sob betrayed how much she was shaking underneath. "Everyone else, go… Just go and process all this. I'll take care of Chat."

There were murmurs of agreement. All short. All distant. All straightforward. And they were gone.

Chat didn't realize Rena had dragged him into the portal until the familiar scent of freshly baked macaroons reached his nose. He closed his eyes tightly, inhaling the smell, telling himself how it smelled like Marinette on Wednesday mornings. For just a moment, he could imagine she was still there, clinging to him, just happy to know he was there.

"The bakery."

Rena sighed, letting herself crumbling next to him, but unable to look at the body. "She deserves to be back home."

"Her parents are downstairs." He stated through a wince, his super hearing picking up Tom's boisterous laughter. "How are we… How could we ever… This is their daughter."

Rena's face struggled, tensing and releasing, tensing and releasing. It hurt her to talk, to think, to act, but she knew nothing good would come from sitting back and letting things play out. "We tell them the truth." Her lips wobbled, Chat having to reach out and grab her arm to keep her steady. She finally managed to look at Marinette, immediately parting her lips to release an unwelcome sob. "That she was a damn her- Is a damn hero."

"I don't think I can face them."

"We have too." She grasped his hand, placing both of them atop Marinette's stomach. "For Ladybug."

His expression tightened, softly saying "For Marinette."

"Who's up there?" Came Tom's booming, light-hearted voice as a chorus of heavy footsteps advanced towards them. Alya's loud sob must have been heard. "Marinette, is that you? Please tell me you didn't skip out on your own graduation; your mother was so excited to see the ceremony."

"Oh, I'm sure she just left something in her room, Dear!" Sabine joined him, increasing the pressure on Chat's throat. He might just choke on the tension before Tom could get his hands on him.

The hatch fell open and Tom's head poked over the edge, brows furrowed in confusion. Chat's body was faced away from the man, shielding him from the truth for just a little longer. "Chat Noir? Did something happen?"

Tom's wide figure made him pulling himself through the hatch a lengthy ordeal, leaving Chat to savour every spare second that stopped him from having to explain, from having to shatter this innocent, wonderful couple's world.

Soon enough, Tom and Sabine were standing before the two, their confusion now dropping to fierce concern. It was never a good day when Chat Noir kept his mouth shut. "Where's Ladybug? Why are you so quiet?"

"I'm sorry." Chat choked out.

He turned around. Rena pushed away, seeking the railing for support, sending Chat a quick, apologetic glance for leaving him alone to look the parents in the eye.

Their eyes joined each other in looking over the body hanging from Chat's chest. He watched in real time as the stages of grief took hold, as the information sunk in, as the two relived every moment they had to spare in the span of a second, as they glanced to earrings that were no longer with Ladybug, as every piece fell perfectly and tragically into place.

"No…" Sabine backed away, eyes wide, cracked and unable to leave the stiff, lifeless form of the girl that used to flock to Sabine's bed when she had nightmares. Her mouth opened and shut several times, completely incapable, or unwilling, to form the words the bring this nightmare to reality.

Time itself seemed warped, slowing to a painful crawl as the devastating reality unfolded, the shock rippling across her body. A guttural gasp escaped her lips, a raw, involuntary wail that Adrien could only flinch in the face of. His Father, nor Nathalie, had ever grieved openly. He'd never had to experience their despair first hand. To watch the light leave Sabine's eyes, to see such a kind and gentle soul lose the will to stand as all sense of energy and warmth left her; it was horrifying.

"What did you do!?" Tom roared, lurching forward to rip Marinette from Chat's arms and shelter her in his own. His anger was numbing his grief for the moment, stoked by the protective instincts that made Weredad such a fearsome foe all those years ago.

Under the setting sun, he was masked as a dimly lit, towering figure with arms big enough to snap Chat in two at a moment's notice. The shadows covered his eyes, leaving only that ferocious snarl where all teeth were bared. Even with all his superpowers, Chat was afraid of what this man could be capable of, and yet he did not have it in him to run or cower. These two deserved that much.

Then Tom sobbed, and he was a grieving father again.

Honestly? That was harder to stomach than imagining Tom striking him.

Body slouching over the corpse while his shoulders shook, Tom's form became so small, so suddenly vulnerable. The light, the spark, the heart had been ripped from him. "My little girl… My little princess. What happened to you?" His hand instinctively reached out, fingers trembling as if to grasp the impossible truth, only to land with a heavy weight on Marinette's cold cheek.

Adrien stood there. As a superhero, he had more power than most – could leap over buildings, could survive getting blasted across Paris, could destroy almost anything; but here, before the people he failed, he was powerless. He knew nothing of helping others through grief, he'd never been taught it, so all he could do was what felt right. "I know this hard and, and… I'm sorry."

Adrien stepped forward, a tentative hand reaching out to Tom's shoulder. "Don't touch her!" Tom cried, recoiling as Adrien's touch had burned him. Tom scrambled back, shielding Marinette from him, protecting her from him.

Tom looked at him like he was poison, both of them did. Adrien couldn't bare to meet their eyes, to withstand such horrible stares from people he cared about so dearly, so he looked down at his feet, ashamed. "I'm sorry."

"How could you let this happen?" Sabine's voice, trembling between her ragged breath and her sobs, forced Adrien to look back at her, to see what he was doing to her.

She had crumbled against her husband, relying on his arm to keep her stable while her hand stretched out to point at Adrien. Her eyes trained on Chat, pinning him down with her stare alone. The disgusted scowl radiated a cold that felt entirely alien coming from such a kind-hearted and understanding woman. "She's always saving you, isn't she? You keep running in without thinking, throwing your life away and she… She…"

No composure could survive such tragedy, in only a few seconds her voice was overwhelmed by her tears, losing herself against her husband's sturdy frame. She looked over her daughter's body, all the damage, all the horror, everything that Marinette had not been spared. All she could do was close her hand into a powerless fist and beat it against her own head, silently pleading for this all to be a delusion.

"Now she's paid the price. Hasn't she?" Sabine said quietly, "Leave us in peace, Chat Noir. You've… You've already done enough."

Tom and Sabine had become a second family to Adrien, pillars of warmth and understanding who managed to ground him when his barebone's upbringing left him lacking, who always had their door open for sudden visits whenever he needed them. And now, as far as they were concerned, he was Monarch standing before them, the fresh blood of their only daughter, so innocent and so young, dripping from his fingers.

Adrien wished he could disagree with that comparison.

He turned away from them, readying his staff, no direction in mind, just the distance he needed to put between himself and her body. "For what it's worth: Marinette was a hero until the end." He said as he came to the edge of the roof, so quiet he wasn't sure if they could hear it, or if he was even intending anyone but himself to hear it. "If I could have taken her place, I would have. In a heartbeat."

There would be no one to hold him together, no one to stand by him. His pain was the sum of two identities, the love and mistakes of two lives that no one but Plagg knew.

Once again, he was alone in his grief.

'Masked No More: Ladybug Revealed in Fatal Showdown'

The news report itself was drowned out by the headline. Nathalie already knew who Ladybug was, Adrien had already texted her about the akuma attack interrupting the graduation ceremony; and she certainly had no desire to see the poor girl's corpse strung up for views on national television.

It had always been a possibility, of course. Every akuma she enabled Hawkmoth to unleash, every close encounter with Mayura, every ambitious plan had a fatal risk. Someone would have slipped up, or an akuma would have gotten a lucky shot, or they'd get caught up in the crossfire before they had a chance to transform; death was always on the table when it came to their war.

She'd imagined it happening in so many ways, thought she'd prepared herself for that eventuality. Yet just hearing the news she felt a weight settle in her heart, pushing it down to crush her lungs and leave her breathless.

Maybe it was because their relationship had changed since Nathalie was Gabriel's partner in crime. Marinette had given Nathalie her life back after she had resigned herself to the Peacock's wounds, Marinette ended the obsession that had ruled this household for too long, Marinette had made Adrien happier than Nathalie ever did. Marinette was no longer her enemy.

When they were on opposing sides, and she fully believed in the unique paradox of their conflict (that either Ladybug's lucky charm or Gabriel's wish would undo or negate any unforeseen consequences), it was easier to steel her heart for that eventuality. It was easier to imagine Ladybug dead as an enemy, a stepping stone towards a goal much bigger than them. Easier than imagining the girl behind the mask, who had saved Nathalie, dead with no hope that the new butterfly holder, who would have never came to be without Gabriel's crusade in the first place, erasing this 'mistake'.

"I wonder if you'd have felt mournful, Gabriel." Nathalie muttered to herself, feeling herself melt into her seat as her body lost the will to move. "Or would you just be annoyed that someone else beat you to it?"

She remembered that fateful day, the day Monarch was born, where she saw Gabriel's true priorities. All he had to do was drop a memory stick down a hole, and then the crusade would be over, everything they ever sacrificed or lost would be returned to them and their family would be safe. But chasing Ladybug, making Ladybug pay, making that girl suffer, was more important to Gabriel.

God, it felt like only yesterday that Gabriel had passed. "You wouldn't have even considered how it could hurt Adrien. You'd just be smug that you won."

Adrien. What was she going to tell Adrien?

The thought was enough to get her moving, pushing her palms over her head and heaving an uneven sigh. Emilie. Gabriel. Marinette. Three deaths in the span of five years – no one should be surrounded by such loss so close together, especially not a boy only just starting his life.

She thought back to his brief, almost comically nonchalant text about the akuma interrupting a tender moment with his girlfriend. He was remaining in the care of the school with the other graduates, so he wouldn't be anywhere close to the fighting. The news only just broke out, maybe he wouldn't hear about it yet, maybe she could drive down and get him home, somewhere safe, somewhere she could sit him down.

No, she thought with a bitter frown, breaking news would spread like wildfire. Even if only one person in the school looked up what was happening on their phone, everyone would be rushing over to Adrien, optimistically to comfort him, in due time. Everyone there knew who he was, and who his girlfriend was, and now what his girlfriend was.

Nathalie marched out of the living room with the front door in sight, quickly throwing on her coat and combing through a mental checklist of how to approach this. Emotions, especially those as ugly and exposed as grief, were never her department. Her cold professionalism and reserved nature served her well in her work, but only served to make her a failure where it mattered.

When Emilie fell into her eternal slumber, Nathalie offered no comfort to the little boy by Emilie's bedside, clinging to his mother's hand. She told him there was nothing to worry about, assured him that his father was sorting this all out, but her voice came with no kindness or sympathy, just a robot repeating data.

It wasn't her place, she told herself back then. She was there to stand at the ready, to not let anything get to her, to serve; any emotional outbursts would stand in the way of that. That's how she justified it. In reality, Nathalie knew that if she opened up her heart in that moment, she would fall apart, she would break and maybe never come back together. She couldn't burden Adrien with that, not when she's supposed to be taking care of him. She didn't know how to deal with those emotions without locking them away.

When Gabriel died, Nathalie wasn't even conscious. She had felt Gabriel's absence when she learned of his passing, felt the hole he left in her heart. It disgusted her to mourn him, after everything that Gabriel had done, after all the people he'd hurt, her heart still yearned for him. She didn't even know he was gone, not until she awoke that day in a hospital bed with Adrien at her side, terrified she wouldn't wake up, telling her that she was the only family he had left. His friends had been there for him, had comforted him, had done everything she should have done.

At least, those same friends would be with him now. "Nino, Alya, I'm counting on you." She muttered. Despite how shameful it was for her to admit, their ability to understand Adrien, to act as his emotional anchors in times like these, far outstripped her.

Her first act as the new 'head of the household' (as Adrien had jokingly put it one day) was to welcome Adrien's friends into the mansion, to make his home somewhere he's allowed to have fun, allowed to share with those he cherished. She hated that Nino always forgot to wipe his feet before entering the house, and Alya's ever inquisitive questioning could get a tad uncomfortable, but she could stomach it for how much they brought Adrien out of his shell.

She pulled out her phone, swiping through her notifications, but none from Adrien appeared. "Should I text him?" Just a quick simple text telling him that she was on her way, or that he could stay at a friend's house if he needed to. She shook her head, no, she couldn't. If, by a slim chance, he didn't already know, she'd just have informed him in the coldest way possible. And if she kept it vague, it'd tip him off.

"No text. Just get in the car and pick him up. His mood will be easy to read, no ambiguity." She nodded, it almost sounded decent in her head. "Perhaps I'll stop by the bakery, pick Adrien up a cake or-" Her hand froze over the doorknob. She really wanted to slap herself silly sometimes. "The bakery ran by the parents of the girl who just died. Great plan, Nathalie."

She was half-way through the door and grumbling some not so decent insults towards herself under her breath, when a sudden thumping sound came from the floor above.

There was rustling, then the sound of something closing- Something heavy was knocked over. Nathalie placed herself by the foot of the staircase, eyes slowly following the noise past many different doors. That is, until her gaze landed upon the door to Adrien's room.

"Adrien? Is he home already?" A sliver of relief flowed through her, soothing the pain and fear somewhat. He must have bailed on the graduation at some point, or left something here, or whatever and slipped back in while she was occupied. Which meant he didn't know yet. She could still get this right.

Her feet carried her swiftly up the staircase, rounding the empty, sterile halls until she was in front of Adrien's door. She breathed in deep, pushing down the excess hesitation and vulnerability in her face, hardening her expression until it was composed of stone. Be the rock, was her thinking, that when she eases Adrien into what has happened, he'd feel less apprehensive of confiding in her or expressing himself if she didn't betray how weak she felt.

If she was strong, Adrien wouldn't think he had to be. If she was strong, he was free to let it all out. That's how she tried to explain it in her head at least.

She sighed. There was so much to say, that she should say, but she feared that every word would die on her tongue the moment she saw Adrien. And in that weak moment, her natural social preservation instincts would kick in and throw out whatever empty, pleasing buzzwords her position as an assistant had programmed into her. Strength would be mistaken for indifference.

"Adrien, I didn't hear you come in. How was… Have you… I was worri-"

When she opened the door, she didn't see Adrien. Well, at first. She saw a man who wasn't Adrien, who'd she convinced herself couldn't be Adrien. She saw a man of Adrien's height, of Adrien's build, with eyes, and hair, and a face, and so many things that suddenly looked so obviously Adrien in hindsight.

Then there was a flash of light, and Adrien was standing there with a strange little black cat and a red creature floating over his shoulder.

Every akuma she enabled Hawkmoth to unleash, every close encounter with Myura, every ambitious plan had a fatal risk.

It was always a possibility that she or Gabriel could have ended up killing Ladybug.

That they could have killed Chat Noir.

And now, that they could have killed Adrien.

For perhaps the first time in her long career, Nathalie stood there, speechless, mortified and without even her stoic mask to protect her from exposure. Whatever was in her hand dropped to her feet, her arms losing all sensation, numbed by a new, insurmountable weight that pulled down on her fingers. The weight of what she'd done with those hands, quadrupled by a whole new horrifying context.

Adrien stood equally as motionless, his raw nerves shamelessly exposed, his face an open book. The difference was that he simply couldn't be bothered to move anymore. One look into his eyes and all she saw was how tired he was, even his quiet breathing coming out as a wheeze, as if a gentle breeze could drift in any minute and cause him to shatter.

When he finally mustered the energy to simply stare back at Nathalie, she noted the red, wet rims that had formed around his eyes. How his skin had become as pale as porcelain, though the texture, with how his cheeks sagged, was more that of rubber.

She instinctively wanted to ask what happened, as if she didn't know, as if her brain was late connecting the wires and was attempting to gaslight herself into believing Chat Noir had just jumped out of the window instead of transforming into Adrien. So, instead of talking, her lips just fell apart, hanging open like a fish. Nothing she could say would be the right thing to say, nor would anything she could do numb the pain he was experiencing. All her years of training, of service, of fighting; and she was utterly powerless to help her boy.

Emilie and Gabriel's boy, she corrected herself internally.

It was only Adrien's eyes that spurred her into action. They finally shifted, blinking into focus like he only just realized Nathalie wasn't supposed to know about his double life. He didn't move, he didn't speak, hell, he barely even breathed. Everything came through his eyes, the two predominant elements being fear and loss.

It took her back a good few years; when a young, clumsy little boy took a nasty tumble down the staircase and shattered his mother's priceless vase. How, when Nathalie found him, he looked up at her with such fearful guilt, not understanding quite what was so bad about what he did, but knowing it was something that hurt the people around him, that would get him scolded. He was expecting the worst to be confirmed before Nathalie simply asked to look at the bruises he took from the fall.

To see him still baring that look today, it was enough to break her heart in two. He had no idea of her connection to Hawkmoth, that years ago she might have been tempted to snatch the two miraculouses, that there was any reason for Nathalie learning of his identity to be a worst case scenario.

Yet he was afraid of her. He was afraid of how she'd react, that she'd scold him, that she'd condemn Chat Noir.

She gasped, or that I'd blame him.

Her body moved without thinking, her heart breaking even more at how Adrien instinctively backed away. The moment she reached him, she threw her arms around him, unable to stop her own tears from breaking free. "Oh Adrien." She hummed, quiet and soothing, into his ear.

Adrien's body crumbled, no longer able to keep himself together, he unravelled as a heap in her arms. He sank down to his knees, letting out a wretched sob as his fingers desperately dug into the hem of her shirt. Only Nathalie kept him from hitting the floor, kept the cold emptiness from creeping in and claiming him, allowed him to pull himself back together. "I could have saved her…"

Nathalie looked down at him. This boy she'd watched grow into man and become a boy again before her very eyes. Who'd carried the world on his shoulders with no ear to listen to both parts of his story because Gabriel and her never allowed it to be so. Who just lost the only other person who shared his load, who aided him in both sides of his life.

This boy who she had lost the trust of long ago. This boy who she should have done so much better for. This boy she left alone. She held him close, spending hours in that exact spot, that exact position, whispering promises and apologies.

Nathalie swore on her life that this boy would never be alone again, not while she drew breath.