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Chapter Text

The cacophony of night that most coastal cities had was entirely lost on the quiet, lonely streets of Gotham. It wasn’t a silent city by any means, but its citizens had learned a long time ago that nighttime was not their domain, and as fantastic as some of those night-liers were, Gotham knew it was best to leave the night to its own, and let the bats do their hunting.

Most of Gotham knew that, anyway.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng, President of the class in the French foreign exchange program, fashion genius, and proud owner of at least 3 brain cells, was lying wide awake at 2:30am in a bed in a luxury hotel room at the heart of Gotham City, desperately trying to figure out if cereal was a soup and feeling remarkably as though she had been lied to her whole life.

The hotel room, which she was finding she disliked more and more the longer her brain went without sleep, was a mess of creams and browns and golds when the lights were on, but in the dark, with only the faint street light filtering through the balcony doors’ curtains, everything was the same vague gradient of grey to black. She much preferred it like that.

Marinette lay on her back, sheets tangled at the corners of her bed after hours of tossing and turning, her arms and legs splayed out in a manner not unlike a starfish that had been asked for a high-five, and her black hair flopped out of the two now virtually-useless buns perched atop her head, loose strands sticking uncomfortably to her wide-eyed face.

She had half a mind to wake up her roommate, Chloe Bourgeois, who had been asleep for the last hour and a half, and ask her opinion on the matter. Even considering what ‘the wasp’, as Alya had taken to calling her, was going through physically at the moment, and that she’d put Sabrina in a choke-hold for almost a full minute last time she was disturbed–with precise details of how she would personally destroy anyone who dared bother her nap again–and only let go after she’d given Sabrina and everyone who saw the incident one (1) more chance to live.

It probably wasn’t worth it.

Unfortunately, Marinette was about to die from over-internalization, and she was genuinely considering putting her life on the line for answers.

Mari shifted to her side and stared at the gap in the curtains, one of the narrow slices of light that leaked through them leaving a stripe of color down her face and abdomen, illuminating her plain black sports-bra and green basketball shorts she’d stolen from Adrien after accidentally ruining her own fuzzy Pj bottoms mere hours before. If anyone else had been awake, they would have also seen the light glinting off the peculiar, vein-like markings that spiraled around her torso, their lines intertwining with themselves and leading up to two small marks just above her shoulder blades.

Marinette openly scowled at the double doors to the hotel balcony.

'I’m going to go insane.’

With a sigh as quiet as she could manage, Mari sat up, climbed to the foot of her bed, rifled under her dresser for her suitcase, and fished out her specially altered red-and-black hoodie, the matching pair of black leggings with red spots, and a pair of sneakers. Sliding into them in almost total silence–she doesn’t count the muttered French that may or may not have been cursing when she stubbed her pinkie toe on the end table–she opened the glass doors at the end of the room and slid outside for some fresh air.

Stepping out onto the small balcony, Mari inhaled deeply and stared at the city. The lights were loud, even though the noises weren’t, but the colors outside felt better, and she found she could think more clearly without the suffocating blackness of the room surrounding her, glaring at her with thinly veiled chartreuse and belly-hair-brown.

Mari looked up, the waning crescent moon sending a crooked smile her way as she did so, and she smiled right back.

The sky looked different in America.

She turned, mouth twisting into a knot, and stared at the 'french’ doors that led back to her room, having half a mind to just go back inside… but her designer’s heart craved a better view, and the stifling heat of her bed was exactly the kind of thing that would keep her awake longer.

Nodding resolutely, Marinette marched toward the doors, and leapt up precisely as high as she needed, fingers gripping the ledge above it with a strength that belied her small stature. Hooking her foot over the top of the door frame, she hauled herself up and began scaling the building, using every ledge and window she could. Her seemingly delicate hands were covered in calluses after years of sewing accidents and other… extracurricular activities, so the rough concrete and brick was nothing she hadn’t dealt with before.

Chloe liked to 'joke’ that she probably didn’t have fingerprints anymore, and could definitely get away with murder. Marinette snorted, smiling to herself as she pulled herself over another window ledge, her brain temporarily distracted from cereal soup by that particular conversation that had kept the three of them awake far past curfew.

Chloe scoffed from her perch on the largest bed, tossing her head to flip her white-blonde braid over her shoulder as she dipped the little brush back into the fingernail polish container.

“Oh course I’m not talking about actually murdering anyone, Bumble-Bug.” She said, delicately coating her pinky fingernail in pearlescent midnight-blue polish. “All I’m saying is that if, hypothetically of course, somebody, nobody in particular, at say… the school, happened to end up dead in a ditch somewhere,” she dipped the brush again. “And there happened to not be any fingerprints, the police couldn’t pin a thing on you. Ask Sabrina, she’s doing an internship at her Daddy’s place.”

Shaking her head, and biting her lip to keep herself from laughing, Mari turned her attention back to applying her own rose-gold polish.

A few specks of Gotham’s finest hotel were unintentionally scraped off the border of a window and tumbled to the pavement below. Mari grunted, adjusting her grip on a gargoyle-like figure near the edge of the roof to better secure herself so she could find another foothold, unintentionally scraping her palms in the process. She grinned.

“Y'know Ladynette,” said Adrien, his mop of sunshine-blond hair coming into view as he sat up from where he had been lounging on the floor, still waving his hands in an attempt to dry the sloppy black and green nail polish he had insisted he do himself. 'We just have to take it off before I go home! Father won’t know if we don’t tell him!’ “Bee’s got a point. I’m not saying I would appear as Chat to give you the best alibi in history, but I’m also not saying I wouldn’t.” He tapped the side of his nose, effectively smearing the nail polish on his index finger all over the inside of his eyelid. “You’re the star student, after all.”

Marinette couldn’t take anymore, and collapsing into a giggle-fit, accidentally spilling the rose-gold nail polish all over her fuzzy pajama pants in the process. It took far too long to calm down, but when she did, Chloe and Adrien had already found replacement pants for her.

Mari returned to the present as she, with a final shove, found herself on the roof of the very prestigious hotel her class was staying at during their 3 month exchange program. Her entire class.

'No one in particular my foot.’

Mari stood near the opposite edge of the roof from where she’d climbed up, letting the cool, damp midnight breeze play with her hair, as she breathed a deep sigh.

Cereal was soup.

…

Kwamiis, she’d been hanging out with Adrien too much.

Her thoughts stilled for a moment, though her mind continued at breakneck speed as memories of her loved ones filled her up to bursting. She closed her eyes and let the images chase themselves in circles for a little, drinking in the feeling of the night and the faint smell of coastal rain that sank into her bones.

Gotham was officially her second favorite city.

The mood was briefly soured as her brain, still dutifully chugging along as the speed of light now that she had nothing else to think about, began turning to darker subjects. Mari sighed, her whole body sagged in exhaustion and her fingers twisting around the ponytail that was wrapped around her wrist as said darker thoughts began playing on repeat in her head, the face of at least two thirds of her misery laughing at her misery, though she wasn’t on the roof to laugh at her.

‘Lila.’

Marinette’s fiddling with the ponytail ceased as she began bouncing her leg, her hands moving up to readjust her buns in a vague hope of making them slightly less disastrous.

‘Oh boy, Lila…’

Liar and life-ruiner extraordinaire.

The reason her only friends were suddenly transferred to new classes even though she herself had tried a dozen times over to do just the same.

Mari sighed, tugging at a nasty tangle the ponytail-holder had somehow created with her bun.

At least she still had Alix and Kim. As much as she loved Chloe and Adrien, Adrien couldn’t do anything to rock the boat without his father forcing him to quit public school, and since Chloe’s father had finally been replaced as Mayor, she didn’t have nearly as much power as she used to. Besides, the class was against her to begin with, and it had only gotten worse as Lila began to spin her web.

Alix and Kim on the other hand, while they couldn’t convince many people of Lila’s schemes, they could punch people in the face. Mari actually cried when they told her they both got suspended for a week after doing just that the day they found out Lila was nothing but a liar, (Alix did the punching and Kim cheered her on) and while she insisted they never do that again, she brought them 'thank you’ goodies every day for six months after that.

Her thoughts cheered up significantly after a few forceful topic-changes and as they continued to wander, a tune bumbled its way to the surface and, having nothing better to do at the moment, she began humming it. What the song itself was called she didn’t remember, maybe it never existed to begin with, but the melody was quiet enough to be soothing, and it was calming, if a little haunting.

A few measures into her strange melody, Mari found herself half dancing-half fidgeting to the beat of her imaginary song, incomprehensible words playing through her mind as the night dragged on and Gotham continued on in semi-silence.

Mari was midway through one of the ballet moves Chloe had dragged her to classes to learn, when the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Mari cut her movement off mid-flow and stood stock still.

Someone was on the roof with her.

Years of constantly living life on the edge of both a mental breakdown and a life-or-death battle was the only thing keeping her from blindly round-house-kicking whoever it was in the face and running off into the night. Fight and flight instincts could fudge a delicate situation, and whoever was up here could simply be getting some air, like her.

Maybe she should have let her instincts run the show.

She barely had time to register she was still humming–being forced to communicate in the most dire of circumstances had made the moments where she couldn’t shut herself up more often than she’d care to admit–when an arm that felt as though it was made of steel and iron was pinning her left arm to her back as a knee, which she assumed belonged to the owner of the steel and iron arm, slammed into the middle of her back and began forcing her to the ground.

In the split second before her face made contact with the gravel on the rooftop, Mari had one single thought racing through her head.

She knew this hold.

She’d done it a thousand times in the back alleys of Paris on odd nights.

This was the hold that would break your arm if you struggled.

The hold designed to keep the victim still and in pain.

The hold to intimidate and contain.

The hold made for criminals.

Hah.

No.

Faster than even she expected, Mari twisted her body completely around and successfully out of his hold, eyes narrowed in determination.

C R A C K

‘Well.’ Mari rolled away from her attacker, clutching her broken arm to her chest. ‘That’s going to be hard to explain to Mlle. Bustier in the morning.’ Mari recovered quickly–She’d felt more pain than a broken arm and won a fight before: and a non-functioning arm wasn’t going to stop her now.–and regained her footing just in time to see a young man, probably about her age, in a truly shocking outfit with the most bizarre color coordination she had ever seen– Okay not the most bizarre. She’d fought Akuma after all, and some of those deserved to be taken down on their fashion sense alone–pull out a katana from seemingly nowhere.

‘Wait…’ She thought as she dodged the katana swipe and dropped to the ground in attempt to swipe his feet out from underneath him. ‘Him and his traffic-light costume look familia–’

“Robin!”

Marinette froze as none other than Batman–The Actual Honest To Goodness Batman–swung onto the roof just behind her attacker.

Mari would’ve fangirled if she wasn’t so high on caution juice.

“Father,” apparently-Robin said, not breaking eye-contact with her, the blade of his katana less than an inch from her throat now that she wasn’t fighting back.

‘Wait… wait, isn’t that called adrenaline?’

“Robin, why were you attacking a civilian.”

‘Oh glory Batman is speaking to Robin, he’s speaking with Robin and they’re talking right in front of me–’ Mari blinked. ‘Civilian?’

“Tch,” Robin’s lip curled slightly, though otherwise he didn’t move. ‘Oh. Right. I’m not wearing my mask. “Father this isn’t another civilian.”

‘I mean he’s right, but I’m right here–’

“She’s clearly a villain.”

‘Okay WHAT?!’

“And what makes you say that?” Mari’s mouth moved in her own defense before she’d formed a proper argument.

‘FrICK.’

Silence.

Silence punctuated by Batman’s stare.

Which of them he was looking at was a mystery, but he punctuated the lack of noise nevertheless.

‘I’m sorry Batman: One of us is going to die tonight and it’s probably going to be me if your son doesn’t say something soon.’

“Tch.” Robin’s head rolled slightly to the side; an exaggerated eye-roll if she’d ever seen one. “You’re up here, alone, ballet dancing, and humming a stupid creepy tune.” Mari blinked at him incredulously. “It’s highly unusual in Gotham for anyone to preform their own… musical theater routine, at 4 in the morning mind you, unless they’re extremely unbalanced and have a bomb planted sixty feet below the mayor’s office.” 

“You…” She took a deep breath in, moving her broken arm as carefully–and casually–as she could. “You tried to knock me unconscious, fight me, and potentially take me to a police station for questioning… because I was awake at 4am.” Well, if Batman’s stare wasn’t burning holes into Robin’s head before, it sure was now. Robin, to his credit, relaxed his defensive stance slightly, even as a scowl darker than any she’d expect on his face dragged whatever hope she had of reasoning down with his mood.

“Robin?”

Batman had said 9 words since his first appearance, and somehow Mari knew he was on her side.

She and her motor-mouth could learn from him.

Robin snorted softly and stuck his nose in the air, though any fool could see it was over a sense of wounded pride rather than genuine haughtiness. Or, anyone who’d been friends with Chloe for more than a week, anyway. He finally relaxed his fighting stance, however, and stood with his back ram-rod straight and his arms crossed over his chest.

“It isn’t my fault she was being stupid.”

“And it isn’t my fault you couldn’t just use basic human communication to inquire as to my true intentions.” Being starstruck is overrated.

“If you were really a villain you’d take advantage of that.” He snapped, glaring at her.

“If I were really a villain,” Mari retorted with a scoff. “I wouldn’t be stupid enough to dance out in the open in celebration of my latest unfinished scheme.” Mari crossed her arms. ‘Owowowowow no that’s bad don’t move broken arm that hurts–’ “Especially not when it’s nighttime and the Batman Squad are out and about. Besides, you can be physically prepared for an attack while still brokering a deal. It’s how being a superhero is supposed to work, isn’t it? Get the villain talking so you can assess the situation and the threat without potentially risking any civilians in the way?” ‘I just back-talked Robin. And by extension, Batman.’

Mari could feel her blush burning her skin to ash.

‘Batman please take your son and leave so I can die in peace I’m–’

“You’re very correct, Miss.”

‘S a y  f r e a k i n g  w h a t n o w.’

Mari whipped around, her loose hair smacking her in the eyes as she did so, to see The Actual Freaking Nightwing standing on one of the rooftop gargoyles and grinning at her. 

Her heart had stopped functioning a long time ago, and it appeared her lungs were now bent on doing the same.

“Being a superhero is about more than just punching crime in the face. Though I gotta admit that’s the fun part.”

“Until crime punches ya’ back,” the ghost of Marinette’s soul replied through her somehow still-living body. “Then you just have a black eye, injustice, and a whole lotta paperwork.” Nightwing burst out laughing, and slid off his gargoyle to walk over and give her a clap on the back.

“It’s official,” he said, his grin wide and friendly. “You’re my second-favorite civilian.” Mari’s soul transcended to the next dimension. “What’s your name, kid?”

“I-I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng, monsieur.” ‘I’m Freaking Nightwing’s Second Favorite Civilian. How in the ever-loving hECC, did I end up here? How has my life come to this? Is this where I die?’

“A pleasure to meet you Marinette,” Nightwing said with yet another grin, as he stuck out his hand to shake. “I’m sure you already know who we are, but based off your French accent you probably aren’t from ‘round here: I’m Nightwing.” He gestured to Batman’s looming figure. “The silent Night is Batman, and–”

“I suppose Traffic-Light boy is Robin, then?”

‘MOUTH WHAT THE HECK YOU CAN’T OPERATE WITHOUT EXPLICIT PERMISSION FROM THE BRAIN WHAT ARE YOU DOING GOING ROGUE LIKE THAT YOU’RE OFFICIALLY ON PROBATION–’

“No– wait I’m sorry I didn’t mean it like that I swear–”

It was too late.

Robin had frozen in place, his face a mixture of shock and an emotion she couldn’t place.

Nightwing was doubled over with laughter.

Batman’s face seemed to always be an emotionless, impenetrable mask in the short time she’d known him, but Mari could’ve sworn she saw the faintest of smiles. It was gone in a moment, but it was there.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng had made Batman, actual honest to goodness Batman, smile.

Well, if she wasn’t dead before, she was now.

“We’re sorry for the trouble Miss Dupain-Cheng,” said Batman when it seemed like Nightwing wasn’t going to recover anytime soon. “I hope Robin didn’t hurt you too badly.” Marinette welcomed the distraction, though she was still redder than her hoodie. She waved her non-broken arm dismissively.

“He didn’t, Monsieur Batman. Je–err, I, am perfectly fine. I’m sorry to have disturbed your patrol.” Batman gave her the tiniest of nods. “Now, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll get back to my room. It’s very late after all.”

“Enjoy your evening, Miss Dupain-Cheng.”

“You too, mon–err, Sir.” Marinette started walking toward the side of the building to climb back down, when a door in the center of the roof caught her attention.

Oh.

She paused halfway to the entrance, gnawing at her lip.

Mari turned around sharply.

“Robin?” The three caped crusaders paused. The boy in question gave her a sidelong glance, shooting her a quizzical look that may or may not have been laced with faint distaste. Not that she blamed him. “I’m sorry for any trouble I may have caused.”

He stared at her for a moment, his face expressionless for a moment.

“I’m sorry too. I hope I didn’t hurt your arm too badly.” he nodded to her curtly. “Have a good night, miss.”

And then they were gone.

A wave of exhaustion hit her like a truck, and she had the sudden realization she was supposed to be asleep at 4:30 in the morning.

She turned and opened the rooftop door, thanking anything and everything that the door was unlocked, and closed it softly behind her, leaning heavily against it and biting back her groan of pain.

Hiding a broken arm was painful.

Mari stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, absorbing everything that had happened.

Her face split into a joyous beam.

Adrien and Chloe were going to go berserk tomorrow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BONUS:

Nightwing: “Hey, B-man. Bat-guy. Bro-man. Bat-dad. Can we please keep her? Please?”

Batman: “Not that it’s up to me, but we can’t. At the very least not unless she can fight.”

Robin: “Father, she broke her arm getting out of my hold and didn’t bat an eye at it.”

Nightwing: “The bean did what now.”

Chapter Text

Turns out it’s a lot harder to sleep with a broken arm than Mari had thought. The first problem she found, was opening her door with her key-card (thankfully it was in her hoodie pocket before she climbed onto the roof like an absolute idiot) without waking someone up to ask for help.

‘Well.’ Mari thought, grinding her teeth to keep herself from wincing as she adjusted her arm. ‘Maybe asking someone for help when you have a broken arm is justified…’

Not only did it take her four hours longer than it should have to get to sleep, but the entirety of those four hours were spent in the year-long-limbo that was falling into a doze. Every time she thought she saw the sunrise and dragged herself back into consciousness, it was always, always, always, a line of cars stuck in traffic. She finally fell asleep for about an hour when the hushed pestering of her teacher, Mlle. Bustier, woke her. Shockingly, she came to do morning rounds and noticed Mari’s arm looking a little… less than ideal. Namely she noticed the slight bump and bruising so colorful it could’ve been a Van Goph painting.

After spending forty-five minutes struggling to change into something more comfortable, she was now seated in the lobby of the hotel she still couldn’t remember the name of at precisely 9:37 in the morning, waiting until some adult was deemed responsible enough to watch the rest of the class while Mlle. Bustier took her to the hospital. Unable to take pain meds due to the unknown, or more accurately forgotten, policies of the foreign country’s hospital, was in a lot more pain than she’d admit, Mari had taken to criticizing the lobby’s color choices to entertain and distract herself.

It wasn’t working very well.

Mlle. Bustier’s red hair and light blue pantsuit seemed to flash like a warning beacon amidst the predominantly green and silver of the lobby, occasional golds and reds in the form of throw pillows or the odd chair stood out like sore thumbs. The help Mari’s teacher was snapping over was long and circular, sitting smack dab in the center of the room. 

‘Kwamii, this hotel is boring…’

“Dupain-Cheng.” Chloe’s sharp voice interrupted her thoughts. Mari felt her face brighten into a weary grin, and turned to see her one of her closest friends, silken bathrobe loosely draped over her wasp-themed-MDC-original pajamas, blonde hair frizzy and tangled, designer-eye-bags on her make-up free face, and a six-inch tan high-heeled shoe in her hand–because apparently she thought the fuzzy cat socks she currently wore weren’t sufficient enough weaponry–was storming out of the elevator doors. Mari blinked a couple times, her brain slogging through the last four days of near-sleepless misery, and, when she finally caught up, she shrank a little in her seat.

“Last name,” Mari said faintly, giving Chloe a tiny wave as the blonde stormed across the lobby in a rage. “I suppose this means I’m in trou–”

“We are far passed trouble Dupain-Cheng,” Chloe’s voice was laced with power that belied her bedraggled appearance as she shoved the particularly sharp heel less than an inch away from Mari’s face. “I will actually murder you if you don’t straighten yourself out. I swear to the Ladyb–Kwamii. I swear to the Kwamii, because apparently you don’t take yourself, or your… Your job, seriously enough to wake me up so you can ask for help when you have a mother f– a mother of bee-keeping broken arm.”

There was a good five seconds of silence with nothing but Mari blinking at her, before Chloe threw up her hands in exasperation, effectively decreasing the odds of her using the shoe as a shank significantly, her robe fluttering around her dramatically. “It’s ridiculous. Utterly RIDICULOUS.”

“Bee, it’s not so bad,” Mari began gently, reaching her good arm out playacting toward her. “I mea–”

“What do you mean ‘it’s not so bad’?!” Chloe’s eyes burned with a poisonous fire rarely seen in mortals, and there was enough venom in her voice alone to insta-kill a bull elephant.

Mari, in all their years of friendship, had heard that tone only once before.

And after the fact, they had both agreed to never speak of That Night again.

“Dupain-Cheng, somehow, between the time I fell asleep,” Chloe her hands about a foot apart, her eyes wild. “And the time I woke up to you insisting you were ‘totally fine’ to Mlle. Bustier, which is not only absolute crap but also is… what…” she stared off into the distance, her eyes thick with exhaustion and frustration, her temper only growing as the silence wore on. “SEVEN!” The shoe resumed its use as an accessory to attempted murder. “Seven hours. You somehow, somehow, were exhausted enough to wear an outfit that isn’t color coordinated, broke your arm, and look like you haven’t seen the sun in eight days. In the time I was asleep–” she cut herself off and pursed her lips for a moment, squeezing her eyes shut at the same time. The shoe’s height wavered. “In the space of seven hours, seven Plagg Made hours, you somehow broke your arm so bad even Tikki can’t–” she took a sharp breath in through her nose, and opened her eyes. Mari couldn’t look away, but she also couldn’t quite meet her friend’s burning, sorrowful gaze. “You broke your arm so bad that Mlle. Bustier noticed.” Mari bit her lip and finally tore her gaze away.

“Tikki could fix it…” Mari muttered, the carpet’s poor color choices were suddenly much more interesting as she traced small circles on her hand that sent unpleasant tingles shooting up her arm. “It would just be too suspicious. I asked her.” “But, it would take too long. People would still see bruising. It would take a week or more to heal, and I can’t use it in all that time. They’d ask questions.”  ‘But then I changed my mind.’ went unsaid.

“Mari…” Chloe’s voice fractured slightly, and Mari squeezed her eyes shut. Her chest felt vaguely like it was caving in on itself. 

It shouldn’t be this hard to breathe.

Chloe’s hand rested gently on her shoulder, as though she was afraid one of them might shatter if she wasn’t careful enough. “Mari, you wouldn’t have bothered me. I swear you wouldn’t have bothered me.” Marinette finally looked up at her, and found her best friend’s sky-blue eyes brimming with tears. The anger was gone, replaced with hurt and desperation.

Her heart cracked.

“Mari… Bumblebug…I know, that you know we’re struggling. And I can guarantee I would’ve snapped at you… I’m not exactly in a great mental or physical situation myself.” Marinette snorted in half-hearted amusement. “But if you can trust us with your life, you can trust us with your struggles.” Marinette wrapped her good arm awkwardly around Chloe’s shoulders, clenching her teeth to keep in the tears she didn’t realize were threatening to release.

“I’m sorry, Chloe…” She finally choked out, voice thick. “I’m sorry.”

“Bumblebug… please wake me up next time you break your arm, okay?”

Mari nodded, unable to speak, a watery smile on her face.

They stayed like that for a while. Just the two of them, holding each other up by their own frayed threads and finally taking a break from the winds that threatened to cut them.

Chloe finally withdrew, the snap back in her eyes.

“Now, just who in the hell did you want to hide this information from?”

Mari swallowed nervously, though the warmth in her chest didn’t quite fade, and her tired gaze flicked to Mlle. Bustier’s back, who was still arguing with the poor attendant at the help-desk. It was only for a moment, but by the time her traitorous eyes returned to looking at Chloe, Mari knew the gig was up. Chloe’s face was covered by her trade-marked rage-mask, and her voice held just as much venom as it had when she first marched up.

“That sniveling bi–”

“Chloe!”

“Am I wrong?” She hissed. Her tone left no room to broker an argument, and really, as much as it pained Mari to so much as think it… She wasn’t.

Negligence of duty was the least of her teacher’s crimes, and to be honest Marinette wasn’t exactly in a position to defend her. She tried, of course. For years, she’d been desperately trying to regain that sunshine-view of Mlle. Bustier she’d had the first year or so of class with her, but, try as she might, nothing seemed honest anymore.

And that cut so deep it no longer stung… It just ached.

“Still,” Mari said, tugging several locks of loose hair and tangling them around her fingers, her gaze unfocused and wandering. “You shouldn’t say it.”. Chloe opened her mouth to respond, but Mari was faster, voice a half-hushed whisper. “At least not where you could be heard…”

Chloe’s mouth snapped shut.

Her scowl darkening, she sat primly in the black-and-gold seat beside Marinette, her arms crossed and her fingers tapping impatiently on the shoe she still held, her foot gently pressed against Mari’s own.

“Okay.”

They sat in companionable silence for a moment.

Mari stared at Mlle. Bustier’s back.

‘Kwamii, I’m tired…’

“…seven hours I swear if you don’t tell–”

Faster than if she’d been shot, Mari sat bolt upright, her eyes wide and her face paling.

“Oh no…”

Chloe mimicked her posture, eyes sharp as ever.

“What?” She asked, her voice low and her eyes flicking back and forth from Mari’s face, to scanning the room around them. Mari slowly turned to her, grey eyes wide and her already-pale face rapidly losing more and more color.

“Adrien…” she whispered. Chloe collapsed with a loud groan of defeat.

“Kwamii, Dupain-Cheng,” she said, slowly dragging her hands down her face. “Are you incapable of thinking of yourself for once? I thought you noticed a threat or–”

“No, Chloe,” Mari cut her off, pausing running her hand through her hair to grip the top of her scalp with white-knuckled fingers. “Adrien’s going to wake up and I’ll be at the hospital–”

“‘We’ll’ be at the hospital. Litter-brain can deal. No ‘if’s, ‘and’s, or ‘but’s about it.”

“Okay, we’ll,” Mari said, flashing Chloe a small smile before instantly descending back into panic-mode. “Be at the hospital. Who’s gonna tell him what happened?”

“Ladybug’s Earrings, Marinette, you shouldn’t use your kitten eyes like that… still…” Chloe looked thoughtful for a moment, her eyes scanning the lobby. “Well,” she whipped her phone from her robe pocket, the yellow-and black honeycomb pattern on her phone case a little worn around the edges. “What are phones for anyway?” Marinette took her hand out of her hair, staring at her friend in disbelief.

“Chloe are you seriously going to text Adrien that I broke my arm?”

“Why not?” The blonde didn’t look up from her phone, typing something away furiously.

“My gosh Chlo–for the same reason you can’t break up over text,” she began, breaking off to scowl at her. “Which you wouldn’t understand–”

“You can’t change my mind, Bumblebug.” Chloe glanced up from her phone. “It’s easier and significantly cleaner to break things off like that. You’re telling them, and this way they’re in private so they can cry it out.” She shrugged, a tiny smile playing at her lips. “No big deal.” Mari let out an incoherent mumble as a retort and slouched in her chair, sitting up rather quickly as that sent pain shooting up her arm in the worst way possible.

“When i find the words to explain it to you,” she groaned. “Promise me you’ll actually listen.”

“I always listen.” Chloe said, looking pointedly up at her over the top of her phone.

“Not when I ask you not to text people hurtful things.”

“Special occasion.”

Mari scoffed, though she was smiling too, and settled back into her seat.

They fell into a comfortable silence for a minute.

“Chloe?”

“Hm?”

“I’ll do better next time.”

“I know, Bumblebug. And I trust you. You know that.”

“Yeah…”

Silence.

“Oh wait, did I mention I was up on the roof last night, and Robin was the one who broke my arm?”

“W H A T ? !”

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

Mari looked through the taxi’s window at the dismal, foggy, morning streets of Gotham, the grey and grey-ish brown buildings slowly slipping by as their taxi rolled through the mid-morning traffic.

Every single person they passed, or who passed them, was wearing some shade of black somewhere on their person. Maybe it was in honor of their superheroes, maybe it was a city-wide showing of pride, but for whatever reason the city seemed to be mourning, and Marinette was itching to design something other than a villain’s suit that had more cheerful colors.

The cab slowly pulled to a stop outside a large building with massive red English letters she had to focus on to read.

GOTHAM  GENERAL HOSPITAL

She blocked out Mlle. Bustier’s reprimands–again–and climbed numbly out of the taxi that smelled of hot candle-wax–even though the heater didn’t quite work–and woodland nights–if you’d never been outside–and clutched her arm close to her chest, clenching her teeth and refusing to whimper.

Gotham was much colder when she was just wearing an over-sized de-saturated purple Jagged Stone t-shirt and black leggings. Her red tennis shoes from last night, which she’d taken almost fifteen minutes to get off once she got back to her room, were securely tied to her feet and her hair had been returned to two neat buns, both things courtesy of her best friend, who was following her out.

Chloe had ditched her recently-slept-in pajamas in favor of purple yoga pants, dull gold track shoes, and a black hoodie, a massive white sweater that took up an extra seat in the cab–”I refuse to let you freeze, Dupain-Cheng. You’re worse than I am with cold, and that’s saying something.”–held securely in her arms, and her hair in a loose side-braid.

Mlle. Bustier–who had taken an extra half-hour of not speaking enough English to be coherent to finally realize she could get a very tired and snappish Mlle. Melendiev to watch the rest of the class while she left–was quick to exit the cab after them, chatting amicably with the driver as she passed the last of her change through the driver’s window

“Ridiculous…” Chloe mumbled as she draped the fluffy white mass she called a sweater over Mari’s shoulders. “Utterly ridiculous…” Mari snorted softly, but couldn’t quite find the energy to reply properly as she slid her good arm into one of the sleeves and then preoccupied herself with staring up at the white, steel-grey, and red building before them.

It was easily 10 stories, though its true height was obscured by the fog, and while that gave her some reassurance that it shouldn’t be too long before her arm was tended to–lots of floors meant lots of nurses, right?–it made every cell in her body that wasn’t focused on the rather pressing issue at hand scream for a good roof-top exploration. Mari glanced at Chloe and smiled.

“I’m going to take a wild guess,” she whispered, too tired to speak at a normal volume. “And say you really want to go for a run here.” Chloe was looking straight up at the fog, as though the sheer force of her gaze could make it disappear.

She snorted, tearing her gaze away from the misty heights and putting a hand on her cocked hip, a mischievous grin on her face.

“And you weren’t?”

Mari giggled faintly.

“Don’t talk back to the invalid.” She teased, voice never higher than a whisper, though her smile had grown. “It’s rude.” Chloe snorted again.

“I’m rude. I’ll do as I like.” Chloe’s smile disappeared in an instant, and she moved closer to Mari, eyes burning holes into something behind her. Mari turned around curiously, and felt her smile start to fade. Mlle. Bustier had finally managed to get away from the cab driver and was marching up to the pair of girls. She gave the two of them a smile that only made it halfway to her eyes and put her hands on her hips as she surveyed the hospital’s front.

“Well, isn’t this place intimidating.”

It was meant to be friendly.

Neither girl was in an accommodating mood.

“Come along girls,” she said after a few seconds of awkward silence. She began climbing the steps and nodding her head for them to follow. “I called ahead on the way here, but the wait list is astonishingly long for today. I honestly don’t know how long they’ll keep us waiting, but hopefully we’ll get you checked up before noon, Marinette.” She gave them a smile that just reached her eyes. When she was met with more silence–and a piercing glare on Chloe’s part–she checked her watch. She started in alarm. “Goodness is that the time? We’d better check in soon–Pick up the pace girls!” She snatched Chloe’s wrist as she sped up the steps glancing back.

She probably thought she’d grabbed the right girl.

She probably thought grabbing ‘the rebellious one’ would be a better idea.

But Marinette, poor, exhausted, pain-stricken, barely-functioning Marinette, did not pick up the pace. Or rather she couldn’t. She stared at the steps and took them one at a time, putting one foot in front of the other, not bothering to look where she was going.

Today already felt like it was a hundred hours long, and it had barely even begun…

T h u m p.

Mari stumbled back a half-step, catching herself on the hand-rail that went up the center of the steps.

She’d run into something warm, probably human, and very much not the concrete pillars she was used to. Could a column be warm and made of humans? Oh kwamii that sounded horrifying, though not as horrifying as that one akuma that–

“Hey!” A deep voice cut off her brain’s rapidly deteriorating ramble.

‘Oh gosh I haven’t said anything yet…’

“Je suis desole, monsieur, Je–”

‘Wait…’ She blinked, staring at the chest of the person she’d offended. ‘That’s… That’s French, not English.’

“Je am de–non.” Mari squinted unseeingly, her entire face zoning out to the ‘what’ zone as she desperately searched for the right words. “Je desorro–non.” She was fluent in both English and French, but right now it looked like she was fluent in stupid and that wasn’t exactly something she could put to everyday use.

Well. Unless she talked to her classmates…

“I suis sor–nON!” ‘DANGIT MARINETTE: YOU’RE CLASS PRESIDENT BECAUSE YOU HAVE MORE THAN ONE BRAIN CELL.’ “I AM SORRY!” ‘Oh good, you can speak…’ “I’m sorry, sir! I wasn’t looking where I was going!”

She finally looked up at the person she’d unwittingly offended.

‘He’s going to punch me in the face.’

The man standing in front of her was at least a foot and a half taller than she was–unsurprising, as she was barely five foot three–and was built like a panther and a Panzer tank had a child.

Weird metaphor but her point stood.

‘This man has died before.

…

Wait, where did that thought come from? I mean we’ve all died on the inside, but still.’

He stared at her for a moment–’He probably hates me oh gosh i just bumped into him then spent who even knows how long rambling in two languages at once and failing to communicate one phrase he SHOULD hate me i’m SO-’–and a crooked smile worked its way onto his face. Though it was mostly hidden by amusement, his eyes held the exact same kind of hyper-perceiving, analytical look she, Adrien, and Chloe all shared.

The same look superheroes and soldiers shared.

“It’s fine.” He shrugged one shoulder. Mari blinked blearily at him. He had a white streak in his hair. It was a toss up as to whether it was natural or dye. Interesting. “I wasn’t either: I should be the one apologizing.”

‘This man would kill for people, whether they want him to or not…’

“N-no it’s my fault,” Marinette began, her superhero algorithm running steadily in the back of her mind while her 2-hour-slept-in-the-past-72-hours-self took the wheel. Self-consciously stepping away from him she reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear.

With her broken arm.

Pain, though she’d experienced it and worse a hundred times or more before, was very noticeable when she hadn’t slept.

Mari hissed, and yanked her arm back down.

That was a Mistake™.

It was as if needles made by the god of thunder were being stuck into her arm: sharp and aching and lancing up her arm like they were made of electricity.

“Hrrk…” Marinette grit her teeth and clenched her fist, squeezing her eyes shut to hold back tears.

“Miss?” ‘Well,’ she thought as her soul left her body in shame. ‘That was a terrible idea. So glad you’re in charge of your group of friends. Very capable. Much responsible. Such leadership…’  “Miss are you alright?”

“Wh…” the pain increased tenfold as the kindly man put his hand on her arm. She hissed and bent over double, clutching her arm to her chest and whimpering softly.

“Kid–aid–re–right?”

Sounds were secondary to the pain, and anything anyone was trying to communicate was lost in a vague fuzz.

“Kid, I said–…–you alright?!”

She took a sharp breath in through her teeth.

Report.

She could do a report.

“My–” She choked out, teeth still clenched in pain. “My arm’s brok’n.” She paused, loosely moving her elbow to display the nasty break more fully. It had gotten worse when the taxi went over a slightly-larger-than-expected bump in the road, and now there was a slightly-larger-than-expected bump on her inner forearm where there really shouldn’t be. “And I haven’ slep’ more th’n six hours inna pass’ four days…”

A vague buzzing noise pressed the edges of her senses but nothing had meaning anymore.

Marinette squeezed her eyes shut and breathed in deeply.

A familiar, if unexpected, warmth flooded her chest.

Her pain flickered to embers for a moment, and the fog in her head was blown away for a brief moment of clarity.

The buzzing became clearer.

“…want me to help you get inside?”

Oh he was speaking.

With a small jerk of her head as consent, the man helped her to her feet and took her good arm. ‘Thank you, Tikki…’

“Sorry about… well. Me, I guess.” Mari chuckled ruefully under her breath. “I’m usually much more coherent I promise.” The man gave her an odd side-long look but said nothing. They slowly began climbing the steps.

One at a time.

“I’m Marinette,” she said after their eighth step and the sleek, rotating glass doors were in reach. “What’s, ah… words… I swear I’m better at English when I am awake– ah yes, your, what’s your name?”

The man stopped short for a moment, causing her to jerk back, pain spiking up all the way up to her shoulder. He was staring with the strangest look on his face, and Marinette truly didn’t understand.

She blinked at him.

‘Oh gosh what if asking that too early is rude here and I didn’t look it up am I being too forward he probably hates me already i’m sorry stranger I–’

“Jay…” he said after a moment, continuing up the stairs. Another crooked smile was on his face. It was softer this time. “It is a pleasure to meet you Marinette. I’ll be honest, i’m much better at English when i’m awake too.” They shared a cheeky grin.

“I say that about French all the time.” Step up, step over, step down. “but no one ever believes me.” Step up, step over, step down. “Something about never making sense.” Step up, step over, step down. “Ask me and that’s just absolute uh… there’s a word for it but i don’t remember…”

Jay snorted. Mari counted it as a victory.

“Why were you in the hospital, Jay?”

“My brother was stupid on a run around the city.” Jay said coolly as they drew closer the doors. “Broke his thumb on a lamp-post.”

Marinette blinked.

“I would ask how someone breaks their thumb on a lamp-post but then you’d ask me the same question and I don’t know if–” Mari paused. “Actually I don’t know how much…” she side-eyed him. She shook her head, as if to clear it. It didn’t do much of anything except make her dizzy, but he didn’t need to know that. “On an entirely unrelated note, would you be able to reasonably tell me about Gotham’s hero–”

Jay’s snort of laughter cut her off. She blinked up at him.

“Kid, I…” he snorted again, his free hand pressed over his mouth. Mari narrowed her eyes. Jay held up a finger. “Kid, whatever it is, I highly doubt the Dark Knight and his Bird Band are gonna care what you say. They’ve got a hashtag on twitter and everything.”

“Oh…” Jay’s eyes took on a sharp quality she wasn’t sure she liked.

“They didn’t have anything to do with this did they?”

“I mean…” Mari hesitated, gnawing at her lip. “Yes? It is a complicated situation…” Tikki’s clearing magic could only do so much when Marinette made her promise she’d never do it for long. Her brain was once again falling into mush and she didn’t have the emotional capacity to stop it. “I scaled up side the hotel building onto the roof for some air,” Jay’s eyebrows shot up but he stayed silent, his eyes still glittering strangely. “And ended up singing a song, I don’t remember all the words?” She waved her good hand dismissively. “Regardless, i was singing, and then, Robin came onto the roof too! I heard him land and I got ready to kick whoever it was in the face, but I wasn’t fast enough.”

Jay’s eyes were slowly becoming darker and he looked toward the looming hospital doors. Why, she couldn’t exactly say, but Mari couldn’t back out now…

“Then he put me in a… I do not know the English word for it…” She tapped her chin. Her eyes lit up and she gestured loosely with her good arm, trying to demonstrate. “You hold the criminal’s arm in such a way they ah… like, like this, and well, moving would cause pain, and escape causes… worse effects.” She said simply, gesturing to her arm. “I escaped.” She turned to Jay, her eyes glittering mischievously. “Kicked him in the knee also. Would’ve gone between the legs but I didn’t have the room.”

Jay was silent for a moment.

A boy about her age with dark hair exited the hospital, and Jay shot him a dark look.

Marinette felt her breathing stop.

‘This is exactly what Lila would say in this situation. But it’s true! So? How does that make it any better? Gloating about meeting Robin and–’

Jay’s face suddenly burst into a wide grin and he finally opened the hospital doors.

“You should’ve kicked him in the nuts, Kid.” Marinette, caught completely off-guard snorted, covering her face with her good hand to hold back laughter.

“I wouldn’t have.” She rambled thoughtlessly as she entered the hospital. “I saw his costume. Very bad color choices… He was pretty though. Very nice jawline.. Boys with black hair and a good jaw are solid tens,” ‘Marinette what are you doing. StopstopstoPSTOP–’ “and mon deiu did Robin have black hair and a good jaw.”

Someone just outside suddenly began having a violent coughing fit, but the door shut before she could look for them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BONUS:

Alfred: Master Bruce, shall I prepare another bedroom for our latest recruit?

Bruce: *deep sigh* I’m guessing Dick told you about her then…

Alfred: Actually it was Master Jason who informed me of our newest Nightingale.

Bruce: …

Bruce: how long do we have until he finds out Damian is the one who broke her arm.

*Distant sound of screaming, crashing, and cussing*

Alfred: Not very long, Sir, I should think.

Chapter Text

Under ordinary circumstances, awake-and-aware-Marinette would’ve blushed fire-engine-red at telling a dark-haired man with a sharp jaw that she had a type and that type described him to a T, but two-hours-of-sleep-in-the-last-four-days-Marinette had only internal freak-outs and external ramblings that had no bearing on anything relating to her thought process.

“That came out wrong di’n’ it.”

Jay raised an eyebrow at her, his mouth twisting into something between amusement and… was that anger? Had she made him upset?? Oh gosh she’d ruined everything she’d insulted him hadn’t she? Oh gosh he was probably going to file a restraining order against her because she said creepy things, and then Batman would kick her out of Gotham, and she would live on the streets of Metropolis because everyone would find out that Ladybug got a restraining order from Batman, and even Superman would reject her and–

“Kid?” Marinette snapped out of her spiral and stared at Jay. His hand was on her shoulder and he was staring at her very earnestly. ‘Oh no I’ve offended him again I zoned out ohnoohnoohno–’ “Ah sh–crap, dangit. I’m losin’ you…” Marinette blinked at him. “Kid, hang in there.”

Mari’s brain slogged through her seventeen trains of thought and settled on her gazing distantly at the floor tile, her nose scrunched in discombobulated concentration. ‘I’m not hanging, though. I’m standing… oh no what if i’m actually hanging somehow–WAIT ARE MY FEET TOUCHING THE GROUND DID I BREAK PROTOCOL BY ACCIDENT–’

“Everyone’s gonna be mad at me…” She hadn’t meant to say anything, but then again she hadn’t meant to break her arm either.

“No one’s mad, see?” Jay held up both of his hands placatingly. Mari found herself blinking owlishly at him yet again, her mind still distantly wondering if she was somehow suspended in the air. “I’m not upset. Just concerned as to why you’re so calm about all this is all, okay?”

‘Oh. Makes sense.’

“I break my arms’a’lot.”

“Well… alright then.” He recovered quickly. Nice. Good for him. He would make a good superhero. Or police officer. Very nice person, recovered quickly; both excellent qualities in saving the day. “Exactly how long has it been since you’ve slept…”

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng!”

A blonde and black blur completely obscured Mari’s vision for a moment and she suddenly found herself in a very warm hug.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, I swear on Gabriel Agreste’s future grave if you don’t stop wandering off I’m going to make you wear a tracker.” A shaking voice whispered in French.

‘Oh, it’s Chloe.’

“Bo’jour, Chlo.” Mari mumbled into her friend’s shoulder, her eyes half-shutting in the warmth of the hug and the gentleness it brought. For the second time that morning the two girls stood together in a fierce hug that brought nothing but safety and shelter from the cold.

“Now,” Chloe’s sharp voice signaled her withdrawal, but Mari was too tired to let the warm thing her slush-of-a-brain qualified as safe escape so easily, so instead she just flopped against her friend, barely standing on her own two feet. Chloe took this in stride and half-supported, half-side hugged her as she turned to face someone Marinette couldn’t see. “Who, precisely, are you and why, exactly, were you seen entering this building with Marinette.”

“Chlo I don’ un’erstan’ when you ‘peak En’lish…” Mari mumbled, in English, into Chloe’s shoulder. When she didn’t get a response, she blearily looked over her shoulder at whoever Chloe was talking to. “Heyo, Jay… Fergot you were there…” Jay was watching the two of them closely, one hand covering his mouth and the other crossed over his chest, resting in the crook of his elbow. He seemed to be shaking. How odd. His face was blurry–Mari was sure it was because she had fluff from Chloe’s hoodie in her eyes and not because she couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept through the night–so she couldn’t quite make out his expression, but still she could see enough to tell he was… looking at them.

Friendship progress.

Chloe shifted once again, and Mari found, to her dismay, that she was accidentally being shifted in such a way as to deprive her of warmth.

“Jay?” Chloe’s voice was sharp, but a little less hostile. “That’s your name, yes?”

“It sure is, kid.” Jay said. Mari squinted tiredly at Chloe.

“He’s nice. Brough’ me inside… very helpful.” Her French was slurred and likely pronounced as though it were a different language altogether, but, if her defeated sigh was anything to go by, Chloe seemed to understand. Mari took it as permission to move back into the warmth of Chloe’s shoulder.

Chloe gave her another hug.

“Bumblebug, you can rest in the waiting chair, okay?” Mari groaned in protest, but Chloe’s voice remained firm. “Mlle. Bustier’s already asked the staff to bring out a blanket so you can get some rest.”

“No’ withou’ you too.” Mari mumbled, rapidly losing consciousness. “You nee’ sleep too. Both sleep. Sleepover. Hospital sleepover.”

“Mari…”

“Jay’s nice.” Mari rambled, voice even more distorted while her face was pressed into Chloe’s shoulder. “Good pers’n. His broth’r broke thumb on light post… s’funny.”

“You met his brother, too?” Chloe’s shoulders tensed slightly.

“N…” Mari sagged heavily against her friend, the world fading to warm bliss.

…

……

“Ladybug’s earrings,” Chloe’s voice startled her back into semi-consciousness. “Mari, are you falling asleep on my shoulder?!” Mari shook her head slightly, pulling back to rub her eye with her good arm.

“Mno…” She mumbled. “M’ jus’ tire…” Chloe rolled her eyes and gently wrapped an arm around Mari’s shoulders.

“Come on,” Chloe said gently. “Let’s get you to that gurney.” Mari nodded blearily, not fully registering her words. She felt Chloe’s head turn sharply, but she didn’t bother looking up too. “And you.” English again. Huhm. “You mess with Marinette: you mess with me. I can and will kick you and your absolutely ridiculous jeans to the next dimension if you ever cross either her or me: I don’t care who your family is.” Jay snorted, and Mari looked up blearily a tiny smile on her face.

Another friendship victory.

“I just helped her get to the doors without passing out.” Jay’s hands were held up in a placating manner again, and Mari nodded at Chloe before settling back into their half-hug. She’d officially spent all her emotional-investment-juice. “Anyways, I gotta go skin Demon-Spawn.” Mari didn’t need to see Chloe’s face to know she was scrunching her nose in a vaguely disgusted manner.

“Well, good luck with that.” Chloe began leading Mari away, one step at a time. “Americans…”

The next few hours were a blur of fading in and out of consciousness, one trip to the x-ray room to ensure there weren’t any other breaks–there weren’t, aside from the hairline fracture in her wrist–and then an extra hour and a half of Mlle. Bustier trying to translate Marinette’s paperwork without enticing some legal incident.

Thankfully for the diplomatic repercussions of a transfer student under the watch of the embassy getting her arm broken on the first day of arriving, Chloe misinformed the doctors–with Marinette barely conscious and leaning heavily on her shoulder–that Marinette had broken her arm when she fell out of her chair on the balcony outside their room and the break had worsened on the drive there. Honestly, driving through alleyways like that should be illegal; she’s sure her spine will never properly recover.

The neon-pink cast she got to choose was the closest Marinette felt to any form of emotion aside from ‘sleep is important’ during their entire stay at Gotham General. Three separate painkillers and an aggressively pink cast later, and Marinette found herself in yet another taxi and on the road back to the hotel.

The ride was shockingly quiet, or maybe her sense of hearing had finally disappeared, but after a million years that was somehow condensed into fifteen seconds, Marinette was curled up in her bed, two red Kwamis curled into the crook of her neck and a silvery-grey on settled comfortably in one of her buns. Adrien and Chloe were curled up beside her: a little black Kwami flopped lazily atop Adrien’s mop of sunshine blond, and the other yellow-and-black-striped one lying elegantly atop Chloe’s platinum blonde sock ponytail.

The three of them lay in a dreamless rest for ten straight hours, and when the two blondes awoke they left the smallest of the trio to rest for another eight before she finally stirred.

___________________________________

Mari woke to the gentle rumble of purring. She inhaled the clean hotel air, taking a small moment to fully regain consciousness, and peeked one eye open, wincing slightly at the golden light that illuminated the room. The source of the purring, she found, was the small black Kwami that lay on her chest, his acid-green eyes closed and his face at peace, completely missing its normal ‘I’m-about-to-end-this-man’s-entire-life’ smirk.

Mari smiled.

“I’m not saying I would’ve hired a private driver for the whole of our trip if I’d known about how bad their taxi drivers are…” Faint whispers caught her attention and she turned her head to see two of her favorite people sitting on the other bed, muttering to each other under their breath and playing a card game. “Except I am, because they’re all terrible.”

“Wow, Chlo, way to speak well of the locals.” Adrien held up three fingers and Chloe shook her head slightly. Adrien drew a card.

“They’re the ones with offensive roads, not me.” Chloe signed ‘King’ in french sign language. Adrien rolled his eyes and shook his head. Marinette suspected the eye-roll had less to do with the card game and more to do with Chloe’s comment. “When daddy was mayor at least he kept the roads working.” Chloe drew a card from the pile and grinned wickedly as she triumphantly placed her king of hearts in a neat pile with the three other kings. Adrien’s face crinkled in distaste.

“The roads here aren’t healed by magic every other day.” Adrien whispered, scowling at his cards for a moment, before holding up the sign for 7. Chloe huffed, taking two cards from her deck and handing them over with a pout. Adrien’s victory-beam lit up the room and Marinette’s smile widened. ‘Dorks…’

“Yeah,” Chloe put her cards down for a moment and signed 6. “But they could try harder to keep them manageable.” Adrien shook his head. Chloe’s lips bunched into the corner of her mouth, her nose crinkling as a byproduct, and picked her cards back up again.

“They can’t very well rebuild the city every night, Chlo,” Adrien said as he reached over to the side table and snatched a croissant. “Who knows, maybe that alley is actually really quite respectable usually but, like, it got blown up by a villain or something? It would explain why your driver thought it would work best.” He signed ‘Jack’ and Chloe once again shook her head.

“Or, he could simply have been trying to take the shortest route.,” Chloe stretched over the card piles and just beside Adrien, picking up a flaky cube of what Marinette assumed to be baklava with her fingernails and popping it into her mouth. “And it didn’t occur to him that road could cause worse problems to his passengers.”

Adrien twisted his mouth into a knot and picked up another card.

“Yeah…”

“Hey…” Mari whispered, her voice heavy with tiredness but still clearer than it had been in days. Adrien and Chloe started, snapping around to stare at her in precise unison. Without a word they simultaneously launched themselves off the bed, their carefully piled cards flying every-which-way.

Marinette didn’t even have an extra second of wait-time before she found herself in the middle of a group hug that made it hard to breathe.

“Guys,” Mari wheezed, smacking their arms repeatedly in half-hearted desperation. “Guys I can’t breathe…” Chloe huffed, but released her. Adrien however, squeezed her tighter.

“That’s payback for making us worry, you absolute gremlin!” Adrien declared. Mari giggled. “You can’t just… Do That, Mari!”

“I didn’t mean for you guys to worry…” She squeezed him back as tight as her awkward position would allow, swallowing back the lump that had rather suddenly appeared in her throat. “I’m so sorry, chaton.” She paused. “I still can’t breathe…”

“Neither can I.” Grumbled Plagg zipping out underneath the sheets Adrien was sitting on. “I’m going to sit in the fridge and eat and you can’t stop me.” Marinette laughed as Adrien sighed heavily and loosened his death-grip, though his hands remained on her shoulders as he sat back to half-scowl at her, the effect completely ruined by the face-paint cat whiskers on his face. Marinette smiled at him and shook her head, leaning in for another, significantly less crushing, hug.

The hug was long and quiet as they sat in the nastily colored bed-sheets together and swayed gently back and forth, the motion comforting both each other and themselves.

“I’m sorry I worried you,” she whispered after a while. “I just… I was so tired. I wasn’t thinking straight.” Adrien nodded, his face pressed firmly into her shoulder.

“You really scared me.” He said, his voice wobbling. “It’s… it’s different when we’re not fighting… And to be frank it’s bad enough then.” Mari tightened the hug, ignoring the pain that shot up her arm. ‘The painkillers must’ve worn off…’ “We’re not mad–”

“Speak for yourself.” Chloe scoffed. Mari snorted, the both of them shifting for a moment to send her half-hearted glares, their hug dissolving to Adrien simply holding both of her hands securely in his own. It meant just as much.

“What I was saying,” Adrien continued, staring at their hands, his thumbs rubbing a tiny circle on the neon-pink cast. “Was that we’re not mad at you. We were scared. Still are. Well.” He sent Chloe a lopsided grin. “I know she is.” Marinette smiled faintly, glancing at her friend who merely inclined her head to him, smirking.

“And proud of it.”

Adrien snorted, but his smile faded slightly. “Just… promise not to break your other arm while you’re here?” Marinette wrapped him in a bone-crushing hug of her own. Almost literally. Ow. Once again swallowing down the lump in her throat.

“I promise.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BONUS:

Rina-Rouge @ KataClysm

Yo, I was at the hospital bc my my idiot bestie (@thequeenofthe_shrimps) broke her ankle sk8bording and who should walk in but JASON-FLIPPIN-TODD (@IlivedBruce) escorting what looked like a new Wayne?? Black hair, blue eyes, tired as all-hell. Yeah that’s a wayne. #onlyingotham #waynebrothers #notevenkidding #ihopeweseemoreofher #shessocute #littleroundface #ohgoshsheshavingananxietyattack #someonehelpher  #NewestWayne

Champion-Princess @ thequeenofthe_shrimps

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Holy?? Crap??? this like, maybe 5′7′’ blond french girl just CHEWED OUT Jason Todd @ the GGH (@gothams_finest_healers)and honestly GO OFF, girl. 10/10 frenchie would listen to again. #poorwaynegirl #onlyingotham #waynegirlwasabouttocollapse #someonehelpher #atleastwereatthehospital #NewestWayne #cutestlilbeaniveeverseen #gotmyanklepatchedup #stopasking #wewereatthehospitalwhywouldwe #notgetitfixed

Chapter Text

“What do you mean it’s seven thirty in the morning?” Mari demanded, her bare feet cold against the chocolate-brown hardwood floors, which honestly were the best thing about the room. “That’s… that’s illegal! I never wake up in the mornings when I nap, and I just passed out for, what… wait, how long was I out?”

“You were working on nineteen when you woke up,” Adrien said, leaning his elbows on his knees, his face twisting contemplatively. “So… roughly eighteen hours I think? Does that sound about right, Chlo?”

Chloe snorted. “If you don’t count her literally falling out of the cab and peeling her face off the asphalt to ask, in Mandarin, ‘who’s there’ as being asleep: Then yes.”

Mari shrank slightly, her face flushing. “Oh gosh… did–did I really…”

“Yes,” Chloe said, leaning her back against the wall and grinning. “You also, very politely, told me that you couldn’t understand me when I spoke English. In English.”

“I… oh…”

“And you muttered something to the cab driver in I think three different languages at once, which when I asked you to translate, you mumbled something in what Tikki said was ‘guardian speak’ and continued to slump against the window.”

“Oh no…”

“And that’s not to mention–”

“I get it…” she groaned, her head falling into her hands. “Ugh… if I say I’ll never do something like that again will you believe me?” She could feel the awkward glance her best friends exchanged with one another. Mari sighed, dragging her good hand down her face and letting her cast-arm fall to her side. “Nevermind…”

“Well…” Adrien said, leaning one arm on his knee. “To be fair, if we knew you were that tired and you didn’t act like that, we would probably freak out more, because that means you’ve had nothing but caffeine and sugar in the last sixty hours and that doesn’t bode well for anyone.”

Mari snorted weakly. “Alright…”

“Now that we’ve got that settled,” Chloe said, her hair floofing dramatically as she took it out of its placeholder ponytail. “We have approximately four and a half hours until we have to leave for the Wayne Enterprises tour…

“What are we going to wear?”

The next three hours were spent throwing the contents of their suitcases all over the room and arranging and rearranging different outfits so the three of them could match. Because if there’s one thing a socialite teen, a model, and a budding fashion designer can all agree on; it’s the importance of a cohesive color scheme.

The main problem they encountered, of course, was finding anything in their collective wardrobes that would work with Marinette’s obnoxious cast. Suffice it to say that the three hours they spent on the matter weren’t a waste in their eyes, as they ended up with a shockingly cohesive color scheme that carried over well, and while it didn’t quite mask the glaring visual assault of the neon-pink cast, it did seem to mellow it out fairly well.

Adrien ‘cat-walked’ down the length of the room the second the girls gave him the all-clear; proudly displaying his MDC-original pale-green and silver hoodie, faded distressed jeans with magenta gradients around the rips, and greyish, desaturated-pink graphic-T with a power-puff-girls-style art of Ladybug, Chat Noir, and Yellow Jacket proudly–and obnoxiously–displayed.

Of course, after that Chloe had insisted they all take turns flaunting their clothes and sending flirty, over-the-top winks or blown kisses at their ‘audience’, who naturally took their cue to cheer and declare their undying love for whoever was strutting through the abhorrently colored hotel room barefoot.

Well, they were going to be barefoot, but a certain someone strode confidently out of the bathroom with her jet-black boots situated very securely on her graceful legs. Mari whooped as Chloe strode confidently through the room, blowing kisses at the upholstered chairs on one side of the room.

Marinette was particularly proud of Chloe’s outfit. The forest green turtleneck-thermal, paired well with the pinstripe gold-and-black winter leggings, and knee-high boots. The zipper of the boots were lined by a centimeter of pastel-pink, that trailed just under the side of the snug, waterproof cloth, giving a hint of a line to differentiate the sole from the rest of the shoe. The sole itself had the faintest hint of opalescent green if viewed in the right light.

Her white trench coat trailed about a foot off the ground, a pomegranate-pink gradient from bottom hem of the coat, the cuffs of the sleeves, and the hood, fading elegantly into the rest of the piece, tied together by the dark-green buttons. Chloe’s black handbag with a gold chain and detailing hung stylishly off her right shoulder.

The second Chloe was finished flaunting her style, Mari was shoved hurriedly into the bathroom, her clothes placed neatly inside with her on the counter.

“Five until we walk!” Adrien called as Chloe closed the bathroom door, his voice perfectly mimicking his photographer Vincent. Mari snorted. 

“Let’s get a move on, people!” 

Mari rolled her eyes and started getting dressed, her arm an awkward and uncomfortable stumbling block that she’d mostly forgotten about until then.

‘Well,’ she thought, stretching her leg above her head to get her foot through the leg of her leggings. ‘At least I’ve got experience with this…’ The winter-grade pitch-black leggings slid on fairly well, and were quickly followed by a pair of light blue jean-shorts with gold embroidery along the (very deep) pockets. Mari glared at the gold button on the shorts for a moment.

The war went on for a total of two minutes but, at last, she heaved a great sigh of relief as she finally managed to get the button to fasten, thoroughly convinced that going back to the drawing board on the whole ‘’buttons’’ idea was an excellent strategy. Regardless, the deed was done and she could finally move on to the important accessories. Sliding on a white Jagged Stone tank top (to anybody passing on the street, your fashion sense was only whatever your topmost layer revealed) to act as a buffer layer, Mari finally got to her favorite part.

The sweater.

The thick, cable-knit sweater was made of a soft, light-but-warm alpaca wool that was stylishly too large, its cuffs hanging to her middle knuckle when her arms were flat by her side. The material itself was a pinkish-silver, a slightly bolder pink along the cuffs, turtle-neck collar, and hem that was barely distinguishable from the rest of the sweater. And it was warm. Taking great care with her wrist’s newfound immobility, she looped a sheer, black scarf with acid green vine embroidery along the ends around her neck, piling it elegantly so it rested on her chest and shoulders in light ripples. And finally, finally, as a finishing detail, she slipped her feet into mid-calf smokey-grey cloth boots that she had made to complement Adrien’s converse-style sneakers to a T. The loose, slightly baggy, velvet-like waterproof cloth was pitch black with neon green accents along the edges of the boot, a small paw print insignia on the inner ankle. The sole of the shoe was tinted red and had a ladybug shell with five spots carved into the bottom. No matter where she stepped, the symbol would follow.

With a final once-over in the mirror, she dramatically threw open the door and sauntered into their private suite.

Adrien clapped so loud she was sure whoever was rooming next to them could hear, but somehow she couldn’t find it in herself to care.

“THAT’S MY BEST FRIEND!” he cheered, wiping fake tears from his eyes as Mari strutted to the other end of the room, twirling once or twice before she began marching back again, winking coyly to Adrien and Chloe. 

Adrien pretended to swoon into Chloe’s lap. Chloe was too busy half-catcalling, half-cheering to shove him off.

Marinette grinned. ‘Cat’s Ring, I love my friends…’

“Yeah, work it, Mari!” Chloe called, hands cupped around her mouth, a broad grin on her face.

“Yeah!” Adrien rolled back into a sitting position, a mischievous grin on his face. “Make Zac Efron jealous of your SASSY WALK!”

Marinette burst out laughing. “Oh my gosh, Adrien.”

His grin widened. “Fierce.”

Chloe z-snapped and somehow held a straight face for a few more moments, before they all collapsed into laughter.

When they had all finished their collective giggle-fit, Marinette begged them for pictures so she could refine the outfits in question for a possible spring line. Sadly, as she had designed most of the clothes, Adrien wasn’t technically allowed to model for her, since his modelling contract was with Agreste and doing free promo would be very bad for Mari’s reputation when Gabriel Agreste eventually found out about it, ‘for a friend’ or no.

So the three of them settled for spamming their group chat with Kagami, Luka, Alix, Max, and Kim with hordes of selfies. Their obnoxious poses and colors standing out against the hideously monotone interior of the hotel like a sore thumb. They spent a good twenty minutes just giggling and taking selfies, occasionally making a Miraculous inside joke, and Mari, for a few moments, completely forgot about her classmates.

Knock knockknock knock knock

“Yo, Adrien,” Alya’s muffled voice called from the other side of the door. “We’re leaving in, like, ten minutes. Are you ready?”

And then she remembered.

Adrien shrank a little, staring sadly at the door.

“Hello?” Alya’s voice asked after a moment. “Adrien, are you in there?”

Marinette’s eyes were glued to the door, her heart in her throat.

“Yeah, sorry.” he replied, his foot beginning to tap a small rhythm on the floor. Mari could feel his gaze on her. “We’re all ready! Mari, Chlo, and I will be right down!”

She still couldn’t look away from the door.

“Would’ve asked if I wanted to know about them…” They weren’t meant to hear it. But knowing that made its sting turn sharp and cold.

Chloe’s face soured.

Marinette thought she heard Alya’s retreating footsteps echo around the room for a moment, even though, logically, she knew echoes wouldn’t be possible given the room’s soundproofing. Marinette stared at the door for a long moment, her heart in her throat, lumpy and pulsating and so, so broken. So ugly, and grotesque, and traitorous, because even after all these years of Alya refusing to be anything but at best passive-aggressive… She missed her.

Mari had stayed caught up with the LadyBlog, watching every video she put out she could stand, even putting up with some of the videos with Lila just to see her former best friend smile at the camera–to smile at her, again. To smile at her when she wasn’t wearing a mask. To smile like they were friends.

To smile like she mattered.

When the echoing, like the chimes of a grandfather clock, finally stopped, Mari sagged against Adrien, her head falling on his shoulder.

“Not even 1:00 p.m. and I’m already tired…” she muttered, finally tearing her gaze from the door. She knew Adrien and Chloe were doing ‘The Sad and Worried Friend’ look, but… she was tired. She was so, so, so terribly tired.

“Well,” Adrien said, resting his cheek on the crown of her head. She could feel his smile through her hair. “It’s not like that’s anything new.” Mari scoffed, a tiny smile worming its way onto her face. They sat in silence for another moment.

“If you two are done being supportive and wholesome,” Chloe said suddenly, snapping to her feet and holding out her hand for Mari to take, “I think we’re right on time to be fashionably late. Shall we?”

Mari snorted and grabbed her hand, allowing herself to be hauled to her feet. “Whatever we’d do without you, Bee, it wouldn’t be nearly as interesting.”

“You’re quite right, Bumblebug.”

Adrien followed her up, loosely flopping his arm around her shoulders. “It would be interesting. Just not quite as… entertaining.”

Chloe flipped her hair as she scoffed. “Oh hush, you know you love me.”

“Yeah,” Mari said, playfully smacking Adrien’s chest as they walked over to the door, their respective Kwamis flying into their bags, the five of them unusually quiet. “Don’t be so rude to the bluntest person on Earth.”

“I believe that honor goes to our favorite fencer.”

Adrien’s face crinkled in a mix between hurt and gratitude. “Hey, I’m not that blu–”

Chloe smirked. “Kagami.”

Mari snorted.

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

The elevator ride was quiet, the trio preferring to evaluate the situation in their own thoughts. ‘Well,’ Mari mused, glancing at her elevator-companions and smiling faintly in gratitude. ‘One of us prefers to mull through their thoughts internally. Like it’s a time-limited Rubik’s-cube bomb that will go off if the wrong words are spoken, only you don’t know which words they are.’ Truth be told, she would 100% start rambling if she hadn’t already worked on keeping her thoughts internal. That’s where they were supposed to be, right? Ladybug kept all her thoughts to herself, so Marinette could too. It didn’t make her slower, it made her less of a bother.

The elevator doors signaled they were about to open with a soft pterrng, and Mari braced herself for the worst.

Oh, how unprepared she’d been.

The lobby had a grand total of Ten (count ‘em, 10) Françoise Dupont students in it. And all save two were happy to see her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BONUS:

Champion-Princess @thequeenofthe_shrimps

omg omg omg cryptid sighting!!!! #NewestWayne was spotted @ the corner of 4th and broad w the rest of her class!! She’s on the move to WE building!!!?? Is she like, ACTUALLY a new wayne or..??? also @KataClysm i thought you said she had blue eyes??? they’re silver/?? are we blind????#NewestWayne #onlyingotham #canyouthinkthatarandomstrangerwith2similarqualities #canbetheresidentsunshinebillionaresnewestadoptedchild #whatismylife #sawthatblondeagain #nationalicon #idcifshesfrench #herFRIENDSQUADTHO #THEYWASALLDRESSEDUP #INMATCHINGCOLORS #FORHERCAST #ITWASSOCUTE #LIKE #CANIMEETTHESELEGENDS #PLEASE #SUNSHINECHILDREN

Rina-Rouge @KataClysm

@thequeenofthe_shrimps i thought they were blue bc i was confused how ANOTHER Wayne got into the hospital??? ALSO SHE LOOKS LIKE SHE GOT SLEEP AND I THINK I MIGHT CELEBRATE TODAY AS A NEW HOLIDAY HELL YEAH SLEEP CHILD alsoalso i 100% am going to scour the web until i can get a trenchcoat like blondie #okayokay #butdidyouseeNWsoutfit #shessocuteandfashionable #ineedtobeherfriend #orhermom #please #imcrying #herlittlefriendsquad #wasalldressedup #withtherightcolors #tomatchhercast #thisissowholesome #onlyingotham #NewestWayne #GETYOURSELFFRIENDSLIKETHAT #SUNSHINECHILDREN #WHICHEVERONEOFYOUVILLAINSMESSESWITHHER #ORTHEM #YALLAREGONNAFACETHEWRATH #BCSHEISSOADORABLE #ANDIFSHECRIES #IWILLPERSONALLYDESTROYYOU #FITEME #PROTECTTHECHILD #PROTECTTHECHILDREN

TheFlyingGrayson @WEsLifeblood

Replied to your Tweet:

👀👀👀 Am i gonna have another little sister? @tired_dad ???? #sunshinechildren #NewestWayne #pleasedad #everyoneknowsmybadjokes #alsosame #protectthechild

BONUS-BONUS:

Should Be In Rehab: what all the buzz about a new wayne and why is twitter disturbing my cold-case-questing

Hotdog-Helmet: (link)

Should Be In Rehab: … 

Should Be In Rehab: is she that one girl who broke out of demon spawn’s grip and broke her arm and also ran on 0 sleep for 4 days

Should Be In Rehab: and her only response to your questioning was

Should Be In Rehab: “i would’ve kicked him in the nuts but there wasn’t any room”

Hotdog-Helmet: yes

Hotdog-Helmet: also for your information she’s my tiny sister

Trap-sneeze: hey i claimed brotherhood first

Hotdog-Helmet: we’re related dipwad

Should Be In Rehab: dick you have 2 hours to file the adoption papers or i’m doing it myself

Should Be In Rehab: and i would need to break my coffee-free streak to do the paperwork on my own

Trap-sneeze: already on it.

Hotdog-Helmet: if you tell her bad jokes i’m going to teleport into the room and strangle you

Trap-sneeze: aparate-ly you don’t have a good sense of humor.

At the sound of a new notification from Jason, Dick turned off his phone. The class would be arriving in T-minus-10 minutes and he was prepared. He was so prepared to be the older brother she never had. Because if she had half the spunk when she was awake and aware as she did when she was tired, he was going to adopt her himself if Bruce still refused to.

“She has parents already” be darned, Bruce. He had new jokes to tell and no one listened anymore.

Chapter Text

Mari stared at the faux-gilded lobby doors, her gaze slowly refocusing on the 10 people between her and freedom. Her knuckles white on the elevator railing and her heart suspended and pulsating in the back of her throat, barely keeping her stomach on the inside, all the courage she’d had that morning disintegrated more completely than Spiderman did in Endgame. Maybe she didn’t need to leave the building today. That was an option, right?

Chloe’s gentle squeeze on her left hand solidified the fluttering in her chest. If only for a few more moments, she would be brave.

Mari squeezed back and, with a quick reassuring glance at Adrien, the trio left the elevators and made their way into the room.  The elevator door closed behind them with a gentle rumble and a sharp mechanical dtingg and they knew very well just how cornered they were. as a near-dozen eyes ate their confidence away like piranhas after fresh meat.

Mari tilted her chin, pretended she was wearing her spots–even the non-magical ones would help today–and strode with as much confidence as she could into the maroon-carpeted lobby and whatever fate lay within.

“Marinette!” a high-pitched, girly voice that sounded like pink glitter piped up from the other end of the room. Mari turned around, her finger tapping Chloe’s thumb. ‘Not sure about these two.’ the taps said. Rose and Juleka approached them from the other end of the lobby, the former practically dancing with all the grace of a ballerina jacked up on pixie-sticks while the latter followed at a more leisurely pace, her slim black ballet shoes the only hint she was equally as able, if not quite as willing, to dance beside her partner. “Marinette, we heard about what you did to get us the scholarship!”

‘Wait… what? Who told them??’

“Heh, yeah!” Kim said, looking up from stirring his protein shake and pointing at her with his still-dripping spoon. “Saw the whole video thing, it was great! My favorite part was the shark! Ah-hah, awesome special effects on its teeth.”

“I…” Mari blinked a few times. ‘The… the shark…??’

“Kim,” Max’s nasally voice piped up. “I believe you are confusing Marinette’s video essay with the American movie Jaws, which we saw last night.” 

Kim paused partway through squirting a mustard packet into his drink. “Oh. huh.” He squinted at the wall for a moment, as if piecing together the most difficult math problem of the semester. “Yeah you’re right, Max.” He emptied the rest of the mustard into his abomination of a protein drink and took a confident swig.

Max’s sigh was felt rather than heard.

Mari smiled and nodded her acceptance of the compliments, though she never let go of Chloe’s hand.

‘Who told them?’

Mari’s grip tightened on Adrien and Chloe’s hands as the trio walked through the lobby, chatting with the students and accepting the compliments on the scholarship, and while she was happy they knew, she couldn’t have been more confused.

Who told them she’d been the one to submit the scholarship letter and video essay!? They wouldn’t believe Chloe if she had actual physical proof in sparkly Vegas-style neon lights larger than the Empire State Building, and Adrien’s judgement was cast into doubt wherever Marinette was involved. (‘Oh sweetie, did she tell you she did that charity work? Honey, you know you’re no good at social interaction! Lila did that and Mari was late, so she tried to take all the credit.’ ‘What do you mean she invited everyone to her birthday party? Honey, she probably just wants to get you alone. You don’t know her like we do.’) And Alix had sworn by her skates to stay as their double agent as long as possible to keep a record of all Lila’s lies, so who told them?!

“Nette.”

Mari froze. She slowly, slowly, turned to see Alya standing a couple yards away, glaring at the bellhop’s brass baggage cart that sat a few yards away, her face contorted into a disgusted glare that read ‘I don’t want to be here, but I have to get this over with or I won’t be able to look my reflection in the eyes for the rest of my life’. Mari knew that look very well. That was the same face Alya made way, way, way back when Chloe refused to admit she was just as liable to bleed red as anyone else.

“Cesaire.” Chloe said coldly, tightening her grip on Mari’s hand.

Alya cast Chloe a cold look. “Can I talk to Marinette alone?”

Adrien’s scoff was drowned out by Chloe’s outraged cackle.

“Oh so you think–”

“Bee…” Mari whispered, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Just… it’s just for a moment, okay?”

Chloe opened and closed her mouth a few times, glancing between Alya and Mari before she pursed her lips and glared at the reporter.

“Fine.” She said shortly, stalking off with slightly more spoiled-rich-kid-stomping than she would ever admit to.

“You too, Adrien.”

“Are you sure?” His voice was soft, but that was the same tone he used to use in akuma attacks where they played the bait-and-switch.

She really, really hoped one day he’d never have to use that voice around their classmates again.

Mari nodded, eyes locked on Alya’s face.

Adrien gave her hand one final squeeze and walked off.

Knowing those two, they’d probably be sitting in the nearest chairs or loitering threateningly near the closest employee, prepared to call management the second things got ugly.

“I just… I wanted… to say thanks.” Alya said through gritted teeth, still glaring at the baggage cart.–The early-afternoon sunlight was why her eyes were glistening, Mari told herself.–“Your essay was good. And the editing was top notch.”

‘Did… did ALYA tell them?!’ Marinette’s heart lifted slightly, even as her confusion mounted with it.

“I figured they ought to know ‘cuz at least you did something right.” She bit her lip and turned around completely, arms stiff by her sides. “I guess I should thank you. Maybe now you’ll see this had nothing to do with me thinking you were jealous.”

Mari’s heart lurched forward like a drunken sea captain during a storm as Alya stalked off, not bothering to glance over her shoulder.

If only she had, Mari would’ve seen the tears that streamed down her face.

But she didn’t turn around.

Instead…

“I hope you’re happy, Marinette. I hope you’re really freaking happy–because at least then I’d know the girl I once loved like a sister is dead.”

Marinette couldn’t move.

For a whole beautiful, shining, wondrous ten seconds she thought maybe, maybe, Alya would take a deep breath and realize Mari wasn’t being malicious. Maybe she would see the video and read the essay and understand that regardless of how she felt towards the class right now, she knew they were still good. They were wrong, and acting in a manner which certainly wouldn’t be tolerated at a lot of schools, but they hadn’t broken any laws, her body, or really anything other than her spirit. And that only counted when she was on school grounds.

And then that shining moment was the split second of silence after a nuke was detonated before the shockwave destroyed everything. That shining moment was ground beneath life’s diamond encrusted heel by the three-second slow-motion shot of the main character’s best friend dying.

A part of her wished things could be that simple.

Marinette whirled around and dashed for the nearest bathroom, the toes of her shoes catching on the carpet snags and making her stumble. She slammed the single-bathroom door shut as fast as she could and curled in a ball on the floor, clutching her shoulders as thick fat tears streamed down her face and ruined whatever makeup Chloe goaded her into wearing before they left.

Tikki zipped out of Marinette’s bag and buried her face into her chosen’s neck, tiny arms wrapped as far as they could go in a hug. Her warm presence smelled of sugar cookies, fresh clover flowers, and hugs.

Mari couldn’t speak, but they both knew how much that meant to her.

‘Why.’

They stayed like that for all of fifteen seconds before a familiar and unwelcome knock echoed off the plastic and porcelain walls.

“Marinette?” Mlle. Bustier’s voice resonated through the bathroom like the cries of a hundred and one furies out for blood. Her tone was half-sweet, laced with blame and condescension. “Marinette, come out of there so i can talk to you.” Marinette hated it.

Mari couldn’t bring herself to move. Her body shuddered with half-silenced sobs.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, come out this instant.  You’re making a scene.”

She still couldn’t move.

Mlle. Bustier sighed heavily, disappointment as clear as though she’d screamed it in Mari’s face. “When you’re ready to come out and talk like a person and the adult and star student I keep hoping you can be, feel free. We’re leaving in five minutes, so be out by then or I’ll have to go and get the hotel staff to bring you out.”

Tikki bristled and the smell of clover overwhelmed Marinette for a moment.

Silence.

The faint, constant pressure on her throat from Tikki’s warm hug was all that kept her from spiraling.

Their reverie lasted just under a minute this time, before a much gentler and far more welcome knock echoed softly off the linoleum floor.

“Mari…?” Adrien’s soft voice called through the crack in the door. It was a lifeline.

She looked at the door, her knuckles white on her sweater, eyes puffy and rimmed red.

“Mari… we’re right outside. You don’t have to come out yet.” His small sigh was muffled, but it was full of heartbreak. “We’ll always wait for you.” The faintest sound of Chloe having a mini-argument with Adrien mumbled its way into the bathroom.

The sound was like a lullaby.

Normal.

…

‘Breathe in… hold…’

‘Breathe out… hold…’

…….

Okay.

Mari took another deep breath and wiped her eyes with the handkerchief in her purse.

Tikki began gently stroking her Chosen’s cheek and wiping away her tears.

Another breath.

Mari stood, shakily, and gripped the door handle. She took another breath, and turned it.

She could do this.

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

The bus-ride wasn’t quite the living nightmare it usually was–she had Adrien’s careful maneuvering towards Lila’s own talking points and interests to thank for that–but her former-motor-mouth was clamped firmly shut and refused to open under any circumstances on their ride to Wayne Enterprises’ main building. Alix, Kim, and Chloe were texting each other in the group chat at the speed of light, and Mari had to put her phone down to keep herself from laughing and drawing unwanted attention. She found herself fiddling with her lucky keychain Adrien had given to her for her 14th birthday, the beads click-klick-clacking against one another as they slid between her knuckles and chased their ends in fervent, dispassionate loops.

It helped.

The bus’s brakes made a horrible hydraulic ‘cKcRRRRIIIEEPHHH’ and the whole vehicle slowly, slowly, slowly veered to the right. Some of her classmates cried out in dismay as their assorted thermoses and lunch boxes began rolling away, others–mostly just Kim and Alix–whooped and leaned into the turn, consequently falling out of their seats and into the walkway in the process.

“Students!” Mme. Bustier’s cheerful voice carried through the shifting mass of enclosed, hyper, high-schoolers. “We’re arriving at Wayne Enterprises, so please find your travel partner and keep your things with you!” The bus half-quieted, everyone’s conversations devolving from full-volume to half-hearted whispers as they tried to finish their conversations without disturbing the ‘Best Teacher Ever’. “For those with lunches, your bags will be brought to the cafeteria, so please leave them here. Remember everything you have on you will be searched when we arrive, so please don’t carry anything that isn’t necessary!”

“So we leave Marinette then.”

Mari couldn’t tell who’d said it, the noise level was too chaotic for her to process much, but she heard it. Most of the bus snickered, their mocking laughter permeating her once-peaceful bubble of solitude. Once again the dull ache of loneliness began clawing at her throat.

Mari put her lucky charm in her purse.

Swallowing heavily and huffing out an attempt at a steadying sigh that was far too shaky to be effective, she looked out the window, staring at the sleek, black, towering building, that cut into Gotham’s seemingly endless soup-like fog and eventually into the barely-visible, ever-present cloud layer.

“Kwami,” Chloe whispered, leaning on Mari’s shoulder slightly to stare out the window. Mari relaxed slightly. “If this is what they have in Gotham, I wish you’d agreed to go with my mother to New York…” Mari snorted and gave a short, jerking nod. Chloe’s hand slipped into her own and the gentle pressure on her shoulder grew a little more steadfast. Neither looked away from the window. “Filthy peasants.”

Mari snorted, shooting a jokingly reproachful look her way, and squeezed her hand a little tighter. “No more filthy than a peasant-baker’s daughter?” She teased, looking at the doors of the building and wondering just how many layers of security the supposed most secure building on the planet held.

“Their filth isn’t on the outside, Bumblebug.” Chloe said simply, her eyes scanning for the non-visible top of the building. “The kind of dirt they have is even more disgusting than the nastiest food your baker hands have touched.” Chloe’s hand slipped out from her grip, and Mari missed it for a moment, before the sting of Chloe’s sharp, manicured nail flicking her ear nearly gave her a heart attack.

“Hey!” Mari’s hand snapped to her offended ear, and she whipped around to pout at Chloe. She was met with a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

“And you’re a princess, Marinette.” Chloe said shortly, crossing her arms and somehow giving her face even sharper edges. “Don’t lower yourself to their level in an effort to put humanity into them where none exists.”

Mari blinked, opening and closing her mouth a few times.

“I…” she hesitated for a moment, and then hugged Chloe as tight as she would allow herself to. “Okay.”

Chloe returned the embrace.

For the fourth time in two days, Marinette felt like she wasn’t truly alone.

It was still a foreign feeling.

“You’re wrong about them…” she said, pulling away. Chloe opened her mouth, eyes sharpening once again, but Mari cut her off. “They haven’t been great.”

“Understatement of the century.” Chloe muttered, scowling at the back of someone’s head. Probably Lila. The bus continued its usual noise level.

“But we’re all still teenagers. They’re being dumb, and horrible, and reckless, and stupid, and–” Mari took a deep breath, closing her eyes. “My point is,” she said after a moment, looking straight into Chloe’s eyes and lowering her voice. “They’re making mistakes, like we all have… theirs are big and stupid, but I know they’re still good people. Look at what they’ve done for Paris without Lila’s input!”

“And my point,” Chloe said, returning Mari’s gaze. “Is that it’s not your responsibility to make them better people. It’s theirs.” 

Mari sighed. A deep, bone-tired, exhausted sigh, that only comes when you’ve lived through hell and somehow made it out the other side with your humanity intact. She sagged against the seat, staring at the window, the same weariness of carrying the world on her shoulders peeking through her calm facade.

“I know…” she whispered, her gaze slowly drifting around the bus at the people she once thought were her friends. “And that’s the worst part. That’s why I can’t give up.”

Chloe leaned against the seat beside her, staring at their classmates. “They don’t deserve you, Mari.”

Marinette smiled sadly. “I don’t deserve you.”

Chloe snorted. “Uh-huh. And I wasn’t a despicable brat for the first fourteen years of my life.”

Mari smiled, and this time it reached her eyes.

The bus shriek-hissed again as it reeled to a stop in its designated spot.

“Mme. Bustier!” Alya called from the front of the bus. Mari’s smiled evaporated. “Mme. Bustier, Lila’s got a headache, and the bus is kinda making it worse–do you think it would be alright if she got out first?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to cause any trouble,” Lila’s wheedling voice pierced through the cacophony of a bus full of high-schoolers like a hot knife through soft butter. “It’s just after my last checkup, the doctor said I might have chronic migraine and I was a little worried about overexciting my inner ear with all this noise.” 

Mari’s face soured, and she turned back to the window. 

Chloe scoffed. 

“Excessive noise aggravates my condition.” Lila continued. “Sometimes my headaches get so bad I pass out.”

“Because apparently tinnitus wasn’t good enough anymore…” Chloe muttered, examining her nails, her face contorting into an expression Mari could only describe as ‘wondering how accountable she’d be for murdering her classmate in front of everyone’. Biting back a smile, Mari secured her bag around her shoulder and prepared to be the last one off the bus, and almost definitely the last one in the building. She began worrying small circles on her cast with her thumb, bouncing her heel on the slightly sticky floor, while the scratchy neon-pink material rubbed the pad of her thumb slightly numb.

“Oh I’m so terribly sorry to hear that, Lila,” Mme. Bustier said sympathetically. Mari could hear her teacher’s brain grind to a halt and switch gears from ‘responsible teacher’ to ‘surrogate mother for the poor disabled girl’. “Will you need Alya to go with you?”

Mari’s leg bounced faster.

“I don’t know…” She was a good actor when she really tried to be, Mari had to give her that. “I don’t want to inconvenience her…”

“Psh,” Alya scoffed. “Girl, of course I’ll go with you. Don’t want you fainting before you meet you-know-who~” There was a time when Mari didn’t have to struggle to remember just exactly how Alya’s face would squish into a beaming smirk, her eyes still wide and her eyebrows raised suggestively; when she knew exactly just how her nose would wrinkle when she winked. That time had long gone, but something Mari had never forgotten was the tone of voice Alya used whenever she was talking about a boy, or the spark in her eye whenever she got excited about her friend being happy.

“Oh, thank you Alya.” Lila’s voice carried to the back of the bus, and Mari had to hold back a gag by biting her tongue and making a face at the back of the seat in front of her. “He almost definitely doesn’t remember me, we haven’t seen each -other in…” The viper’s voice faded as she left, and once again the bus erupted into chatter as people filed off of the bus.

The soft schhrrrrr-clck-clck-shrr-clck of skates on rubber floor signalled the arrival of one of the most perceptive people Mari knew. Alix Kubdel flopped into the now-empty next row, her windswept, bubblegum pink hair poofing around her face. Her overall windswept-just-finished-skydiving look was helped by the baggy Jagged Stone t-shirt tied at her hip, overlapped by the ripped jean-shorts slid haphazardly over the black leggings she always wore. The black-and-green ponytail holder she had–somehow–never once lost in the seven years Mari had known her was, as always, loosely wrapped around her wrist.

“Hey dweebs,” she said, grinning wickedly as Mari stood and slung her small carry-on purse over her shoulder. “Wanna know something funny?”

“Not particularly,” Chloe said, her mouth pinching into a little button, and her movements stiff and slow in barely-disguised pain as she stood up as well. “But you’re telling us anyway so why bother with my opinion.”

Mari hummed noncommittally, though she would be lying if she didn’t say the slightly masochistic part of her wanted to know, if only so she could roll her eyes at Lie-la’s antics without feeling as though it was unfounded.

“Wanna know which two famous Wayne kids the witch-incarnate is lying about knowing since childhood this time?” Alix’s grin turned manic.

Mari half-scowled, eyes slowly losing focus as her mind began chasing down long-lost information she learned years ago. Or perhaps it was last week. “I’m sorry, Bruce Wayne has too many kids–”

“Tim Drake.”

“The CEO?” Chloe interrupted, eyes wild.

Alix nodded. “The mother-freakin’ C. E. O.”

“Does…” Mari held up a finger in protest, and slowly lowered it, her face contorted in confusion. “Is she saying she dated him??”

“He’s 25 though,” Chloe continued, nearly smacking Mari in the face as she gesticulated wildly. “That Witch cannot be that stupid.”

Alix chuckled gleefully. “Oh no,” she said, eyes gleaming with amusement. “She’s saying she knew him when she was little and he was her hero, and oh how terribly dreadful that he doesn’t remember her because they fell out of touch.”

Chloe exhaled very slowly, and ran a hand down her face.

“You said two kids though,” Mari said, still completely lost. ‘I suppose one power-nap of 18 and a half hours isn’t enough to catch up fully on 4 days without sleep…’ “Who else did she supposedly meet?”

Alix’s eyes took a devilish glint as she leaned forward almost conspiratorially. “Damian Wayne.”

“No.” Chloe said, her expression saying ‘utterly ridiculous’ for her, her hand pressed over her heart in complete and utter offense. “She did not say that?!”

“She did.”

“Oh my Kwamis.”

“Oh it gets better though,” Alix snickered, her entire body lighting up with pure, sadistic glee. “She says she’s known him since they were five.”

“And that’s important…?” Mari could feel a headache coming along.

“Ugh,” Chloe’s lip curled in disgust. “If you’re going to slander an entire family name at least do research on them first.” 

“I don’t understand–why is that so relevant?”

“Alix, Chloe, Marinette!” Mlle. Bustier’s voice reverberated through the empty bus like a death sentence. “Come on out, we’re going inside!”

“Because,” Alix said, ignoring her as her eyes took on a wicked gleam. “He was only brought into the Wayne family officially when he was 10.”

Blinked.

Once.

Twice.

And then she laughed.

“T-ten?!” she asked, breathless.

“Like I said,” Chloe said dryly, rolling her eyes and mincing up the aisle between the seats, adjusting her purse strap slightly and decidedly ignoring her hysterical best friend. “The least she could do was research.”

“I wasn’t–” Mari snorted. “I wasn’t aware you felt so strongly about the Wayne family, Bee.”

Chloe scoffed, not pausing in her march toward the exit.

“Felt strongly–as if. I just know about them because my mother once tried for three whole years to make Bruce Wayne hire her to make a suit. I kept up with them because to be perfectly honest, I was looking for some dirty trick, or juicy skeleton in his closet, or dirt that got him where he was…” She paused in front of the bus door, shooting Mari a small smile. “And then I looked at them as an inspiration.” She minced her way off the bus, heels click-clicking on the bus’ floor. “Ugh, this mascara is terrible quality. I’ll have to…” The rest of her comment was indecipherable as she finally left the bus.

“I’ll never be used to Chloe being sentimental.” Alix said bluntly, standing up fully and gesturing to the doors. “Ready to go?”

Mari nodded, and with a final check to make sure no one else would come back onto the bus to mess with Mari’s lunch, they marched into the crowd of bustling, rowdy students, excitedly milling about. 

‘Deep breaths, Marinette.’ She ran her thumb under her purse strap, chewing on the inside of her lower lip, gaze transfixed by the way the leather would fold and bend to the movement as the group made their way up the sidewalk towards the imposing building, though her mind was on an entirely different planet. ‘Just remember everyone is with you, and listen to the guide. Deep breaths and listen to the guide, deep breaths and–’

“Excuse me, miss?” Mari started, and whirled around to see a femininely-dressed person standing a few yards away, her face a mix between distraught and hopeful. “I’m completely lost, and my phone died… Would you mind if I borrowed yours to make a quick call to my boyfriend?”

“Of course not, mademoiselle!” Mari said, fumbling to unlock her phone. “Are you new here too?”

The woman nodded. “My boyfriend works here with Wayne Enterprises, and we were supposed to have a lunch date but my phone died before I found the place, and I got… turned around, I suppose.”

“I get turned around all the time, so I completely understand.” Marinette said, handing over the phone, contacts app already open and prepared for dialing.

“Thank you so much, my dear.”

“Oh, anytime!”

Alix’s elbow jostled Mari’s side slightly as the woman began typing in a number on the keypad.  “Are you sure we should trust her?” she whispered in French, her voice barely rising above the ambient sound of the city. “This is Gotham.”

“I’d rather she try to steal my phone than abandon her.” Mari said simply, eyeing the woman more carefully. She was above-average height, and slender. Her black pixie cut complimented her elegantly simple silver shawl and black turtleneck. Her fingernails were long, sharp, and painted black. Mari liked her. “If she genuinely does need help, who’s going to help her if not me?” She said as the woman finally seemed to manage to get through to her boyfriend. “Like you said, this is Gotham.”

“Hi darling,” the woman said into the phone, a small smile that was just the faintest hint devilish on her face. “I got a little turned around on Third Street. Where did you say your office was again?” Her grin widened. “I see.” She nodded slowly, glancing at the Wayne Enterprises building. “I’m afraid I’ve been rather a bother then. Thank you, gem. See you at lunch. Bye, love.” She blew a kiss into the speaker and ended the call. “Well, it appears as though I’m not near as lost as I was afraid of.”

“Do you need anymore help, Mademoiselle?”

“No thank you, kitten,” she said, handing the phone back. “Thank you so much for being so generous with your phone and time. Most people in Gotham would think twice before giving me so much as the time of day.”

Mari scoffed, a teasing smile on her lips as she slipped the phone back into her purse. “Good thing I’m not most people, nor from Gotham.”

The woman laughed. “It was a pleasure to meet you, kit,” she said with a wave as she slowly began stepping away.

“And to meet you as well!” Mari waved, making her own way back to her class.

“Well,” Alix said the moment the woman was out of earshot. “At least you didn’t get robbed.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “I was aware of the risks, Alix.”

“I know,” Alix said, her skates clicking as she rolled over a crack in the sidewalk. “I just feel like someone has to be pessimistic around here, since you obviously aren’t capable of it.”

Mari laughed.

The two of them caught up to the gaggle of their classmates who were standing in front of the large revolving door and waiting for both their guide and the girls. The second Rose noticed them–and loudly said hello–the majority of them pointedly ignored her or sent half-hearted venomous looks her way. Lila must’ve been spinning again.

Mari’s smile slipped slightly.

“Out of the way, Kubdel.” A sharp, iridescent blue fingernail stuck Alix in the shoulder. “Go race Kim or something equally ridiculous; it’s my turn.”

Mari turned and gave Chloe a half-cocked cheshire grin. “Oh, so you’re taking turns now? What alternate universe have I landed in where you’re willingly taking turns?”

“The same one where she doesn’t mysteriously find makeup remover on all her tissues.” Alix slung her arm over Chloe’s shoulder. “Because muscle-head and I are gonna stick to the two of you like freakin’ cafeteria cheese does to the back of your throat on mac-and-cheese day.”

Chloe’s face soured. “Can you get a more disgusting metaphor, Kubdel?” she said, peeling Alix’s arm off her jacket.

Alix’s eyes gleamed, and she opened her mouth to respond. 

“Don’t answer that if you value your life.” Alix pointedly ignored Chloe’s remark, and looked very much as though she didn’t much value her life, but–

“Hey Squirt!” A loud, boisterous voice, echoed around them. Kim, his glorious and slightly stained red sweatshirt showing beneath his sports jacket and glaring its aggressively bright colors into their eyes as he flung an arm around Mari’s shoulders. “You tell Space-buns about the plan yet?” Mari smiled at him, giving him a tight side-hug.

“Hey, Kim.”

“Hiya, Space-buns!”

Mari giggled.

“You have a plan…?” Chloe crossed her arms, her nose wrinkling. “Is it to smell like the ‘AXE Body Spray’ factory?”

Marinette burst out laughing.

“Hey!” Kim put a hand over his chest in offence, his gaze flickering between Mari and Chloe. “Come on, it’s not that bad!”

“Nah,” Alix said smoothly, gliding backwards over the concrete in a lazy circle around them and blatantly ignoring Chloe’s comment. “It was to be your bodyguards.” Chloe closed her eyes, her eyebrows scrunched together in the most pained expression Mari had seen on her in at least 20 hours, and pursed her lips.

“For the love of Chanel..” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Please don’t scare away any potential clients with your unbearable stench.”

Kim sagged slightly. “It’s not… that bad, is it?”

Mari, still enveloped by his (very potent) arm, patted his back sympathetically.

“Chloe’s got a nose for this kind of thing, but it’s not half as bad as she’s making it out to be.”

“Mari,” Chloe said impatiently. “‘Being nice’ is only going to perpetuate his delusions. Breaking it to him now is better than when he’s on a date with someone who has both a sense of smell and fewer manners than you, which, need I remind you, is simultaneously very easy, and very possible.”

“Students of Françoise Dupont Highschool!” A voice called over the din of chatting young adults. Mari perked up, peering around Kim’s chest to see a friendly looking young man with neatly combed black hair, a casual business suit, and a clipboard under his arm, waving at them as he approached from the direction of the glass doors.

‘He looks familiar…’

“My name is Richard Grayson,” the man continued. “And I’ll be your tour-guide! It’s an honor to have such a highly recognized class visiting our company building today, and if you’ll wait just a few moments longer, I’ll call you each by name, and you’ll come up and collect your visitor’s badge!”

“Thank you so much for being with us today, Mr. Grayson,” Mlle. Bustier said, a genuine smile on her face, holding out a hand for him to shake. “It’s truly an honor to be given a tour of your facilities.”

Mr. Grayson shook her hand firmly, beaming the whole time.

‘Something about that smile… I’ve seen that before, I know it.’

“Admiring the view, Space-buns?”

Mari started and stared quizzically up at Kim. He had the audacity to waggle his eyebrows at her. Oh gosh.

“Seems to suit her tastes well,” Alix said, and threw her a wink. 

‘I mean, it’s not like you were staring at some stranger who’s at least semi-attractive for at least 30 seconds or anything, or barely blinked, or vaguely ignored all stimuli for a while or–oh gosh they totally think I have a crush on him…’ Marinette groaned, her head falling into her hands.

“Can’t you guys just let me live?” She knew her already half-mumbled words were difficult to understand without the ‘Embarrassment Muffler’ most people called ‘hands’, but she couldn’t find it in herself to be bothered.

Alix snickered.

Mari was going to die.

“I just thought I recognized him, okay? I’ve seen his face somewhere before but I can’t place it, and it’s frustrating.”

“Yeah,” Kim said, grinning like the idiot shipper he was. “Like in your dreams!” He high-fived Alix.

“Hey!” Chloe snapped. “Back off!”

“Cool down, Miss Gold-Plated-Toilet,” Alix said placatingly. “We’re just teasing.” Chloe’s eyes narrowed, and she opened her mouth to say something, but Mr. Grayson began calling out names, temporarily silencing her inevitable tirade.

She sidled her way next to Mari, and squeezed her hand. Mari smiled gently and squeezed back.

Adrien, Alix, Alya–Mari swallowed hard when she heard that name–Chloe, Ivan, Juleka, and Kim all went up to receive their nametags without a hitch.

Even Lila’s turn went suspiciously unceremoniously.

But then Rose walked around in front of the crowd to stand beside Juleka, and someone tripped her. The poor pixie-blonde crashed right into the small bin of nametags, which promptly went flying in all directions. Lila gasped, horrified, shocked, appalled, and bent over to help pick up the badges as most of the class started swarming around the fallen Rose, cooing, asking if she was alright, the works.

Mari seemed to be the only one who noticed a certain Manipulator-Extraordinaire slip something rather like a badge into her sleeve as Rose was being hoisted off the ground by Ivan and Nathaniel.

She had the strangest notion she knew whose badge it was.

She could feel Chloe, Alix, and Kim grinding their teeth as Lila cried apologies and ‘teared up’ as she was escorted away from the badges scattered on the ground, proclaiming it was probably all her fault and oh she was so terribly sorry.

Mari sighed. “I’ll be right back.” She walked over to a discouraged Mr. Grayson, who was currently crouched on the ground, picking up the badges before the wind swept them away. “Monsieur Grayson?” Mari asked. “Do you need any help?” 

His head jerked up in surprise, and a smile that only irritated the familiar feeling in the back of her mind spread across his face.“If you wouldn’t mind, I would appreciate an extra hand very much!” He said, holding out the small box the badges had been neatly sorted in before Lila ‘accidentally’ spilled them.

Mari smiled, took the bin, and began chasing down the runaway IDs. In a few moments, they had the loose ones gathered and placed safely in the box. 

“Thanks for the help.” Mr. Grayson said, taking the box back. He counted the IDs, pursed his lips. “Not to badge-r you,” he said. Mari snorted, and he paused for a moment to grin victoriously before continuing. “But I believe there were seven missing. My count is six.”

Mari nodded. “My count was six, too,” she said. “I’m not sure where the last one went.” ‘Liar.’

Mr. Grayson frowned at her thoughtfully for a moment. “Well,” he said, his oddly calculating gaze evaporating in an instant. “Let’s see who’s missing. Thanks for the help!”

“No problem!” Mari said, nodding. ‘I think I already know which nametag isn’t going to be there…’ She slipped back into the crowd.

One by one, her last six classmates were called up to receive their badges.

And–surprise, surprise–her badge was the one missing.

The shock of her life, really.

Mr. Grayson seemed… tired.

She couldn’t blame him.

“Did anyone happen to pick up any extra badges?” 

A chorus of ‘no’s answered and Mari knew for certain that at least one of those ‘no’s was a very blatant lie. Their guide’s mouth twisted into a knot. He checked his watch. 

“Don’t worry guys, we have extra badges for this sort of thing!” His smile was back, but something about it was off. Not… dangerous… but something about the way his eyes hardened told Mari he knew exactly what had happened. And he was furious. “Everyone stay out here just a few minutes more while I go inside to get Miss Dupain-Cheng’s ID badge for her, I’m terribly sorry for the delay everyone, I promise this won’t take long!”

The revolving door gently spun shut behind him and the class exploded into chatter. A few students shot annoyed glares at Mari, but she paid them no mind.

Because an adult in her life who had actual power over the situation knew what was going on.

Perhaps there was hope after all.

Mr. Grayson returned only a few moments later, proudly displaying her badge as though it was the final piece of proof needed to convict a terrible criminal.

It really was.

Mari very happily slipped her badge around her neck and slid back into her place beside Chloe, Alix, and Kim.

“Alright everyone,” Mr. Grayson said, clapping his hands and gesturing to the rotating glass doors behind him. “I think we’re all ready to head inside and out of this wind!” Something was off about his face and voice still. His manner was cheerful and welcoming, but in the very smallest crevices in his face something about him seemed livid. Mari prayed it wasn’t directed at her as she followed at the the rest of her classmates into one of the most charitable organizations on the planet.

Everyone had their assigned travel buddy or, in Lila’s case, buddies, and Mari had never felt more terrible for Adrien in her life.

As soon as the safety system was announced, Lila declared she and Adrien had already talked about being grouped together for the trip, and of course Alya would want to go with her boyfriend! So naturally the class nearly rioted when Adrien tried to say he didn’t, and insisted he didn’t need to be embarrassed he got to be Lila’s buddy because of his crush, really they all understood.

So naturally, the second the class was no longer in single-file, he was dragged away by a frustrated Lila, eager to try to take her anger out on someone after her failed attempt at kicking Mari off the tour.

‘Well…’ Mari thought as Mr. Grayson began the tour. ‘Today is going to be very interesting…’

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

The majority of the class listened to Mr. Grayson as well as a 6-year-old listens to his parents past his bedtime on Christmas Eve: interrupting constantly while retaining just enough information to get simple statements half-wrong.

Mari, Adrien, Alix, Max, Kim, and occasionally Chloe (who knew most everything about W.E. by heart) were the only ones who paid consistent attention.  Sweet Kim tried his hardest to pay attention, but he learned much better through trial-by-fire and… well, lectures sprinkled the occasional joke didn’t work well with that. Mr. Grayson was surprisingly okay with some of the interruptions, and he was incredibly patient with Kim, whom he simply handed a W.E. branded fidget and directed them to a small app with trivia they’d find along the tour. Both boys were much more attentive after that.

Alix had issues focusing but she’d already brought her yo-yo to help, so she struggled much less than Kim did, and Mari had her sketchbook to keep her hands and eyes busy, fervently taking notes on things she knew she wouldn’t remember and doodling outfits whenever the topic was something she already knew. Marinette had done a truly shocking amount of research into W.E. before applying, so she knew the majority of the trivia during the tour.

Mr. Grayson was a surprisingly good storyteller and teacher.

Even something as hideously boring as business heritage was somehow interesting and funny while he was at the helm, and Marinette felt horribly frustrated at her class for not listening to him. She knew for a fact that Rose would’ve loved the legacy Mr. Thomas Wayne and Mrs. Martha Wayne had established before they died.

Juleka would’ve been enraptured by their policies for all their employees.

Ivan would probably try to chase a career as a nightguard if he heard Mr. Grayson’s fantastic tales of the benefits and drawbacks of working at W.E.

Marinette’s patience evaporated completely the moment the first half of the tour ended.

At 1:45 p.m. they were supposed to break for lunch, but the tour ran a little longer than expected, so with growling bellies and heads full of Lila’s half-truths, the class made their way to the mess hall at 2:03 p.m. precisely.

And they complained the whole way about how dull the tour was.

Mari sat with her small group of friends in the very back of the cafeteria, trying very hard not to grind her teeth on her rou jia mo that her Maman had made with her since she was little. Chloe’s face soured even more than usual as she sat with her back very pointedly to, as she kept calling them, the sheep and their poisoned well.

“Honestly,” said Lila, delicately unwrapping her seven-layer-thick-sandwich. “If he weren’t so nice to look at, I probably would’ve called the management.”

Marinette froze and slowly clenched her teeth so hard they squeaked, fire in her eyes. Chloe pursed her lips and drank her 1% skim milk–”I have lactaid and I want my milk.” “Chloe no–” “CHLOE YES.”–as wrathfully as she could while still being elegant. Mari tried very, very, very hard to calm down. ‘It’s fine, it’s fine, this is Lila of course she–’

“Well,” Rose piped up from the far end of the table. “I’m sure he didn’t mean to be boring. He can’t help if you’re just better at telling stories, Lila!” 

Mari put her food down as carefully as she could so she didn’t drop any of the precious calories onto the table.

Lila giggled, covering her face as though to hide a blush. “Oh you guys. I’m not that good. I just like telling you guys about my life!”

Mari slammed her hands on the table and stood up so violently she nearly knocked over everyone’s drinks.

The entire cafeteria went dead quiet.

Marinette noticed.

Of course she did.

But she didn’t care.

“Lila,” Marinette said, glaring at the most self-centered creature since Narcissus. “I am giving you one chance to tell me one thing he talked about before we got in here before I personally vault this table and bring Mr. Grayson over here so you can tell him just exactly how boring he was.”

Lila blinked at Marinette for a moment or two, shock very clearly present on her face, before a wicked gleam in her eye alerted Marinette to her ploy.

Tears welled up in Lila’s eyes, and she looked away. “M-M-Marinette, I can’t believe you w-wo-would be s-so mean I was just stating my op-opinion!”

Not. Today.

Marinette stepped out from the bench and loomed over the table, her gunmetal eyes silvery chips of ice. “Then name one thing, ONE SINGLE THING that Mr. Grayson talked about.”

Lila blinked at her for a moment.

Marinette was fighting her.

Marinette never fought back.

But that didn’t mean the little weasel couldn’t work with this.

“W-well he was so dull I can’t remember!” she stuttered, head in her hands. “W-why don’t YOU tell them one thing you–”

“Gotham was founded in 1635 and the Wayne family was one of three main families that basically owned the area. In 1976 after he took over the company, Thomas Wayne founded the majority of the monetary compensation projects designed to get people more jobs and out of poverty.” Lila opened her mouth, probably to spout some nonsense, but Mari wasn’t done by a long shot. “After he and his wife were shot and killed in an alleyway, his son Bruce Wayne, current CEO and lead shareholder of the company, established over 700 charities and organizations funded wholly by the profits of his business, the most notable of which, and the one that Mr. Grayson said was one of Mr. Wayne’s proudest achievements, being the E.C.D.E. foundation otherwise known as the Every Child Deserves Education foundation where they personally fund the education of over 16 MILLION CHILDREN WORLDWIDE.” Marinette was breathing hard, her fists clenched and her cast cutting into the fingers on her left hand.

The ice in her eyes had turned to fire, and she was one ‘aware-of-consequences’ braincell away from punching Lila Rossi in the face. 

“Well you could’ve read–”

“E.C.D.E. also has a policy where the parents and families of every single child who’s been given schooling are completely financially compensated. Another organization supplies food and running water to villages around the world and they’re working with their top scientists to learn the best native crops to plant to ensure the soil can grow food again in the long run.”

“But–”

“W.E. has sponsored over half the cancer and foster charities worldwide and has only backed a corrupt city mayoral candidate ONCE since Thomas Wayne took over.” Marinette stood straight, flashing her teeth in a bared snarl. “How’s that for One Thing, Miss Lila Valentina Rossi?”

Silence.

Absolute silence greeted her.

Not a single human person in the whole cafeteria spoke a word.

Good thing Chloe wasn’t technically human.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BONUS:

Trap-sneeze: BEAN IS MY FAVORITE SIBLING

Hotdog-Helmet: we already knew that

Hotdog-Helmet: w8 since when did we start calling her ‘bean’?????

Should Be In Rehab: since forever?

Hotdog-Helmet: y’idiots her name is Pixie.

Vegan-mom: her name is Marinette what is wrong with you

Trap-sneeze: GUYS SHE LISTEND TO MY LECTURE

Hotdog-Helmet: wow

Vegan-mom: i’m impressed she survived.

Vegan-mom: *listened

Trap-sneeze: aslo

Vegan-mom: *also 

Trap-sneeze: don’t order a hit

Trap-sneeze: but there was this one girl who stole her badge before we even got into the building

Trap-sneeze: thought she was all slick 2

Trap-sneeze: she got upset when bean got in anyway

Hotdog-Helmet: …

Hotdog-Helmet: i’ll do the hit myself, how’s that sound

Should Be In Rehab: Jay if you try to take thief girl down without me i’ll burn your weapons stache

Vegan-mom: *cache

BONUS BONUS:

Champion-Princess   @queenofthe_shrimps

#NEWESTWAYNE IS ON A CLASS TRIP APPARENTLY????? DOING MY SHIFT @WAYNE_ENTERPRISES_GOTHAM AND SHE JUST??? SHE HERE????? WIT HER WHOLE FRIENDSQUAD????? SHE’S LIEK A LIL FAIRY??? #BLESSED #shessosmall #ohlordshessosmall #gotabigoljockfriend #andapinkhairedgirlinskates??? #idontunderstand #whyskates #INDOORS #friendsquadlookinonpOINTtho #NewestWayne #GothamsFairy #dearheavenslookithersquishyface #idontunderstandhowitspossibletobethatcute #lookither #babie #SUNSHINECHILDREN

@Rina-Rouge   @KataClysm

Replied to your Tweet:

@queenofthe_shrimps OOOOHH TEA GET REKT SAUSAGE HAIR OOOOO #HELLYEAH #YOUGOHUN #NEWESTWAYNE #GOTHAMSFAIRY #OOOOOO #GETREKTTT #SUNSHINECHILDREN #SHESMYHERO #DONTEVEN@ME #STOODUPINTHECAFETERIA #WHILETHEYWASTRASHTALKINMYBOYDICK #ANDSTRAIGHT #UP #OWNED #THEM #ULTIMATEDESTRUCTION #NOSURVIVORS #OOOOOHHHH

Champion-Princess  @queenofthe_shrimps

Replied to your Tweet:

@WEsLifeblood SIGN THE ADOPTION PAPERS NOW OR @KataClysm  AND I WILL #NEWESTWAYNE #GOTHAMSFAIRY #SUNSHINECHILDREN #IWOULDDIEFORTHEMOKAY #HEELLLL #YEAHHH #TINYOTHERPIXIEGIRLWASTRYNNASTARTSMTH #ANDMYGIRLWASNTHAVINIT #DEAD #NOSURVIVORS #SHESMYHERO

TheFlyingGrayson @WEsLifeblood

Replied to your Tweet:

@tired_dad pleeeeeeessssseeeeeeeeeeee i WISH i could sign the papers. #thoughtshewasgonnapunchherinnaface #NOSURVIVORS #DADPLEASE #NOTASINGLEPUNCHTHROWN #NOFIREINVOLVED #BUTPLENTYOFBURNS #WHOOOOAAAABOY #DADIMBEGGINGYOU #SHELAUGHEDATMYJOKETOO

Chapter Text

“THAT’S WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU CHALLENGE A QUEEN, IDIOT!” Chloe’s gleeful, shrill laugh seemed to shatter whatever spell had the entire cafeteria silenced.

The entire place erupted into chaos. People stood in their chairs, someone had collapsed to their knees, a lady behind the food bar had her phone out. She was crying.

Marinette had absolutely no idea what to do, so instead of moving, she stood stock still, staring at the people around her in confusion, heart fluttering in her throat and silvery-grey eyes wide in awe. ‘They’re on my side… ’ She blinked, staring at the crowd, and suddenly her entire chest felt light as pixie dust. ‘ They’re on my side. ’ Marinette’s heart swelled and she spun in a quick circle, taking in everyone around her, hope and glee filling her up from the tips of her toes to the top of her scalp in a showering tingle.

‘They’re on my side.’

It felt so much different when it wasn’t just her closest friends. It felt so much more satisfying to have people she’d never met before cheering her on.

But the best part, the absolute best part, was Lila’s dumbstruck face.

Her mouth hung open in a gape that would’ve made a snake jealous, her eyes blown wide open. The only indication she hadn’t died was her occasional baffled blink.

The entire room had erupted into anarchy, but for a split second the only two who existed were Marinette and Lila.

‘How does it feel, Lila? How does it feel to finally be outnumbered?’

And for perhaps the first time in the four years Mari had known her, Lila was well and truly speechless.

“Students!” Mlle. Bustier’s voice faintly cried over the warring din of her class.  Several of them—mostly just Kim and Alix—climbed on their chairs and shrieked their contributions that were made completely indecipherable by the cacophony of Gotham’s finest business minds. 

“Students, please calm yourselves!” Mlle. Bustier’s voice was growing increasingly desperate. “Alix Kubdel, get down from there this instant—”

Marinette’s glowing smile was unparalleled.

“Employees of Wayne Enterprises!” Mr. Grayson’s voice called, loud and booming, a victorious grin overtaking his face and voice. “Please settle down! Lunch will be over in 30 minutes, and I don’t want anybody to lose their leftover food to the night shift again!”

“You mean Tim?” a lady with dyed blue hair behind the bar shouted. A couple of scattered laughs rang through the crowd.

Mr. Grayson snorted and gave an exaggerated shrug, still grinning widely. “Who else?”

“Marinette!” Mlle. Bustier’s voice finally had some weight, now that the majority of the noise had died down. “Marinette would you come with me for a moment? We don’t want the crowd to get so riled up again!”

That happy bubbling in Mari’s chest fizzled down to a tiny spark as her teacher squeezed her way through the crowd towards her. “Of—of course, Mlle. Bustier.” Marinette had been through this song and dance enough to know exactly what kind of lecture she was about to get. She mustered up a smile anyway. ‘Well… I guess the victory wasn’t going to last much longer anyway…’ She knew that was a lie… but right then it was the only lifeline she had to keep from falling. 

“Miss Bustier, if you don’t mind?” 

Mari whirled around. Mr. Grayson stood a few feet away, and the warning glint in his eye was back. “I would like to go as well. Security is standing right there to calm the crowd and chaperone the kids, and I’d like to learn about your teaching process whenever possible.”

‘Why is he acting like he knows and can do so much more than he’s letting on? Where have I seen his face before?! ’ 

“Oh!” Mlle. Bustier said, her face practically glowing with a radiant smile. “Why—thank you! And of course! I’m doing my best to spread my method of teaching wherever I can!”

“Really?” Mr. Grayson said, the warning gleam in his eyes somehow increasing the ‘ Run Now ’ factor tenfold. “Fascinating. In that case, I’m very glad you’re letting me come along.”

The hairs on the back of Mari’s neck stood on end.

Mlle. Bustier, the same oblivious teacher as always, simply smiled wider, and gently nudged Marinette in the direction of the office hallway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dick was furious.

It was one thing to try and separate Marinette from the crowd in an attempt to get people to calm down, it was another thing entirely to shove the blame onto her, as though she had any control over how others acted. As if Miss Rossi’s disrespectful comments were her fault, or she was wrong for standing up for both herself and the right thing.

But maybe Miss Bustier wasn’t aware of the true cause.

Maybe Miss Rossi was a model student in class, or a teacher’s pet whenever the teachers were around. Maybe she sat at the head of the table and no one bothered to see that her chair was made of others’ successes.

He was beginning to see why Marinette lied about the badge that morning.

“Miss Bustier,” he said the moment they got into the hallway. “Would you mind if I talked to you a moment?”

“Oh… well…” She glanced from Dick to Marinette, then back again. “I… I suppose. Please do make it quick, M. Grayson, I don’t want to be kept too long from my students.”

Dick nodded. “I understand, and this won’t take long at all.”

“Marinette,” Miss Bustier said with another smile. “Please sit in one of those chairs by the door while we talk.”

Dick frowned and glanced at Marinette, who was watching the two of them with sharp, cautious eyes. She seemed pensive, but an odd spark of hope—or was that curiosity?—showed on her face. She didn’t say anything, simply nodded to Miss Bustier and left for the chairs, lightly tapping the cast on her left arm against her hip.

Dick turned back to Miss Bustier, filing away Marinette’s behaviour for later. “Miss Bustier, I wanted to take a moment of your time to talk about the badge incident from this morning.”

“I don’t know what you mean, M. Grayson.” Miss Bustier said, frowning slightly and tilting her head.

“I’m not sure if you’re aware, ma’am,” Dick said, hoping beyond hope that she wasn’t, “but Miss Rossi stole Miss Dupain-Cheng’s badge this morning, which is why we couldn’t find it and had to bring out the backup.” ‘Should I mention her tripping Miss Rose Lavillant?’

Miss Bustier gasped, eyes wide in absolute horror. “M. Grayson, are you quite sure? Have you been talking to Marinette?”

Dick frowned. Nope, he should not, under any circumstances, mention that Rossi had tripped Lavillant. “I beg your pardon, Miss Bustier, but what does Miss Dupain-Cheng have to do with Miss Rossi stealing her name badge?”

Miss Bustier sighed, her mouth twisting into a little button as she fixed her gaze on her clipboard. “Marinette was my star student for such a long time, and I know deep down she’s still the good student she was four years ago, but…” She shook her head, lowering her voice slightly and glancing at Marinette’s solitary figure. “Ever since Lila arrived she’s been slowly isolating herself from the rest of the class, acting out of jealousy, refusing to accompany anyone but Chloe or Adrien anywhere... I’ve told her countless times how she must be the example to help Lila recognise her own problems and try to change, but she stopped listening to me just over a year ago. She’s so alone, M. Grayson. Adrien says he’s her friend but he stays with Lila so often, it’s plain to see it’s simply out of pity.” She looked back at Dick, her face twisted into a thoughtful, disappointed expression. “I’m especially disheartened by how she sees Chloe now. Chloe used to have some attitude problems, and was very jealous of Marinette and her ability to make friends…” she sighed. “Marinette’s dedication to being the bigger person paid off in the end, and now they’re very close, but if Marinette would only open her eyes, she would see her own best friend is proving the exact principle I’ve been trying to get her to use with Lila this whole time. If she only thought about it, she’d realize that perhaps if she showed Lila the same kindness it would carry over.” She shook her head again. “But she never does… She’s stopped talking to me except to ask about lessons. I’m very worried about her.”

Dick chewed on the inside of his cheek, mulling over his possible courses of action. None of the reasonable ones included not chewing out this teacher and teaching her about a little thing called victim-blaming. So instead, he crossed his arms, nodding slightly for her to continue. ‘If only I’d thought to record this conversation, she would’ve never been able to teach again...’

“I am unbelievably proud of how she acts most days,” Miss Bustier continued, seemingly completely oblivious to Dick’s growing anger. “She’s setting such a good example for the rest of the class with her kindness…” Her small smile faded into the disappointed knot again. “But then… there are days like today. They’ve been few in number, of course, though she’s still learning about acting out in such matters, but on occasion…” She shrugged slightly, eyes weary. “If only she acted toward Lila how she acted toward Chloe all those years ago. If only she would open her eyes and see that setting an example has already worked…” Miss Bustier finally fell silent, shuffling the papers on her clipboard, face drawn into a vaguely worried knot.

Dick’s fingernails dug into his crisply ironed button-up shirt sleeve, every ounce of energy dedicated to keeping himself from shouting. “I still don’t see quite how this impacts Miss Rossi stealing her badge this morning.”

“Oh,” Miss Bustier said, looking up with wide eyes. “Well, what I’m trying to say, M. Grayson, is that I’m sure whatever she told you about Lila is quite far from the truth. She’s a very talented and exceptional young lady in almost all fields, except where Lila is concerned. Honestly with the sheer number of times she’s tried to feed the faculty lies about Lila to get her in trouble are truly shocking, especially considering Marinette’s own upstanding record.”

“Ah.” Dick said, pursing his lips and breathing out slowly through his nose. “I see.”

“Please don’t punish her, M. Grayson,” Miss Bustier pled, a worried frown on her face.

“...What..?”

“I can see you’re upset,” the oblivious teacher continued, concern and condescension clear on her face as she clutched her clipboard closer to her chest. “But you must understand, she’s quite the wonderful student, and while what she did today to Lila was horrible, I don’t think it warrants more than a lecture and a nudge in the right direction.”

“Ma’am…” Dick said through gritted teeth, “I have not talked to Miss Dupain-Cheng at all since she helped me pick up the nametags, and even then, she never once mentioned Miss Rossi.”

Miss Bustier blinked, standing up to her full height, eyes wide as she frowned. “Oh… But then how did you come to your conclusion about Lila stealing Marinette’s badge?”

Dick took a deep breath and shook his head. “Miss Bustier, I saw —”

“No,” Miss Bustier cut him off, shaking her head. “No, you must be mistaken. Lila would never! Perhaps she dropped her own badge and was picking it up again, or she intended to hand it to Marinette afterward!”

“I saw her pick it up and hide it in her sleeve, Miss Bustier.” Dick said, praying for his father’s patience during board meetings. “And even if that were true, why didn’t she hand it over when I asked?”

“Well,” she said in a condescendingly patient tone. “If she did take it, then she didn’t realize at the time!”

“... What?! ” Dick half-whispered, doing everything in his power not to loom over her. His patience was wearing as thin as Jason’s during breakfast hours.

“She has a condition, M. Grayson, where she does things and lies about them. Sometimes her brain doesn’t log any of the information during the time of theft or what have you, and so her tales aren’t lies, per se, simply accidental misinformation!”

Wait.

Alright, if she had a genuine medical disorder that would explain most of her actions. It didn’t excuse them, and it didn’t explain Marinette’s obvious distrust and borderline fear of her (unless there were a good many more issues with Marinette than he’d first thought), and it definitely didn’t help that—judging by the frequency of these occurrences—she seemed to be untreated, but it was still something.

“I see. What’s the name and nature of her disorder?” he asked, making a mental note to do some research into the medical benefits provided by Françoise Dupont. Judging by the symptoms Miss Bustier had mentioned, it could be a combination of kleptomania and compulsive or pathological lying.

“Lilainitis,” Miss Bustier chirped. “She’s the first case in over a hundred and fifty years, they first diagnosed her when she was fourteen, and they officially started treatments once they confirmed her disorder. They even named it after her since she helped with some of the research!”

“Uh...uh-huh…” Dick said, frowning slightly. That sounded… suspicious. But he wasn’t a medical professional, and whether or not it was fishy, he had the wonderous power of Medical Professionals on Speed Dial. “Is her disorder listed in her file? Wayne Medical is one of the top research facilities in the world and I’m sure they’d be more than happy to help with research and development for treatments and possible cures.”

“Oh! Well, that’s very kind of you. But due to the nature of the disorder, we decided against listing it in her file. No school would take in someone who couldn’t tell the truth! She seemed especially grateful for it.”

Dick’s brain ground to a halt. All he could do was blink stupidly.

Now it was true, he did not know every disorder. He would never pretend to. And he especially wasn’t up to date on every single disease and disorder that was being discovered.

However.

This particular situation stank wholly of complete. Crap.

He couldn’t actually prove whether the disorder was real or not, so he’d have to look into that more, but if it was real? This woman and whoever else on the board of directors at Françoise Dupont knew about this, and they had just doomed this girl to eternally suffer under her illness. If it wasn’t real? They had bought her story with no research to back it up. Either way, they should be fired, and Jannet Hillsborough of Wayne Medical was getting called about a ‘new illness’. Either way, this woman was an idiot. He could barely form cohesive thoughts.

“Is… is she... medicated ?” He was going to be working with this woman and her class for the next eight months. He almost wanted to die. Not quite.

But almost.

“Oh yes, she’s been prescribed by the top doctors in the world. Though with regards to today’s slip-up, it’s quite possible she forgot to take her medicine this morning due to the time differential.”

Dick wanted someone to die, and it didn’t have to be him.

“I… see.”

“Well,” she said, as cheerily as if she had just solved world peace. “If we’re finished, I think I’ll call Marinette back over so we can talk to her.”

Dick was so beyond angry he could probably be told he had literal smoke coming out of his ears and he would be disappointed it wasn’t fire.

He wished he could retreat to the gym to take out his frustrations on a punching bag or a mannequin, but instead he had to witness what was rapidly dragging his mental state from ‘I want to break something’ to ‘ I am seconds away from pulling a Jason ’ as Miss Bustier called Marinette from her chair and began lecturing her about what was ‘proper behaviour’ and how they ‘were in a new country, couldn’t she just let Lila be’ and how she had to ‘lead by example’ and how disappointed she was in Marinette.

In all honesty, Dick heard every word the ‘teacher’ was speaking, but he registered very little of it, and if he were asked to repeat the conversation he would probably devolve into ramblings about how he wished Miss Bustier was never born, or at least that she’d never become a teacher.

He was seconds away from screaming.

And Richard Grayson didn’t scream. (Except that one time when Jason, wearing a cheap Starfire mask from some local costume shop, kicked down his door while he was getting dressed and shouted at the top of his lungs, asking Dick when they would be bat-having bat-kids, but to be fair, most people would scream in that situation.)

Marinette looked even more tired than she’d been the night she busted her arm, and as the conversation— Lecture.— continued, she deflated, picking at her cast with her right hand. Her teeth were clenched and her eyes had lost the spark she’d had during her whole thirty second victory over Rossi. Now, her eyes were dull, almost hollow, and so horrendously tired that he’d be willing to bet a week of meetings that she received these lectures a lot more than Miss Bustier would ever let on.

Dick wanted to just walk out and take Marinette with him, maybe genuinely sign custody over her to get her out of this class... But he couldn’t, legally, and he didn’t need another member of his family breaking the law with no regard for consequences. He was responsible for the class, but he wasn’t technically in charge. The only power he had was a general authority over them if they got too rowdy, or if Miss Bustier left the group for some reason.

And the woman was almost as much of an unrepenting leech as she was an idiot.

When Miss Bustier finally walked away, saying something about needing to check on the damage Marinette had caused, it took everything in him to keep from shouting at her. He inhaled a supposedly cleansing breath, but it only served to fuel the fiery rage building up in his chest.

He was going to go insane.

Dick forced another breath, and looked down at the tiny girl beside him. The stifled light in Marinette’s eyes was shining just a bit brighter than before as she gave him a tiny, tiny, smile and a miniscule nod, and walked into the cafeteria and all the wolves that lay within, her head held high as she went back, a noose made of gaslighting and feigned concern wrapped tight around her neck.

Dick snapped out his phone and began furiously texting everything to Bruce. If he called him, Dick would have to go to a sound-proof room so he could yell, because there was  no way on ANY Earth he would be able to keep his voice down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

30 minutes later, Dick sat in the corner of the cafeteria, the diluted stormy light from the rain-covered floor-to-ceiling window casting the world in shades of grey, still texting Bruce in a private chat. He didn’t need Jason busting down the door to kidnap a girl who didn’t even technically know him. That would be illegal, terrifying to Marinette and anyone else involved, and illegal. Not that it would even cause much of an uproar in the class, given their reactions to her in the very short amount of time he’d seen them interact with her.

Dick sighed heavily, closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair. He’d cooled down a bit since the lecture, but he was still furious beyond belief, and Bruce wasn’t much better.

The moment Dick had finished his first text-essay—text-ay, if you will, Bruce had started doing research on Marinette’s class, and apparently they had been the biggest source for akumas in Paris for the entirety of Hawkmoth’s reign. 

The League had been unable to do anything about ‘Bird-er-fly’—as the Flash liked to call him—during his rule due to the nature of his powers and the pleas of the already-overworked French heroes, but they’d done their best to help Team Miraculous whenever they could. Dick had never met Ladybug himself, but he’d heard she was a wonderful and very sweet person. Wonder Woman had trained her and the rest of Team Miraculous on and off for the last two years since Hawkmoth’s bizarre resignation and so far, she’d had nothing but good things to say about them.

The reign of one of the worst (and stupidest) villains aside, it seemed that Marinette’s class was a hotspot for akuma activity and every single member of her class except for herself and Adrien Agreste had been akumatized. That in and of itself was a bad sign for both the school and Miss Bustier, but the fact that no other classroom would accept Marinette’s transfer application, even insisting they had never received it, was the biggest red flag since Communist China.

A little more digging into their public files revealed that Marinette’s personal applications to change homerooms were never sent to the teachers responsible for those rooms. No, they never made it past Principal Damocles.

They were actively imprisoning her in the classroom of their worst teacher.

Another short search into their Public. Files. showed that Miss Bustier and Principal Damocles had sent public emails to the whole school system, with a few targeted comments towards Marinette’s parents, saying that they were relying on Marinette to keep her class under control, and that they trusted her to handle the responsibility as the class representative in more ways than one. If she left that class, they were sure akumatizations would increase exponentially, and while they may not have been wrong, they had essentially guilt tripped and blackmailed Marinette’s family into keeping her in the school.

That, coupled with the fact that all of Paris seemed to know that this class was an akuma hotspot, ensured that any application to any school that called themselves legitimate would be instantly denied. It didn’t matter if the applicant had never been akumatized, they were in That Class, and therefore could be either working with Hawkmoth, susceptible to frequent akumatizations, or able to ‘spread’ volatile emotions or situations that would increase the akumatization rate in their own school. Even after Hawkmoth’s disappearance, the feeling of ‘what if’ lingered.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was stuck in perhaps the worst class to be stuck in, one that was holding her back six ways to Sunday. Unable to leave, unable to complain, unable to fight… it was a wonder she was still sane.

Dick was about ready to drag international affairs into this convoluted mess, but they technically didn’t have any grounds for it, and instead were stuck gathering evidence to fire her for a mayor who would most certainly not give a flying pig’s tail about any of this. Worst comes to worst, they would present the evidence to France’s national education board and pray they weren’t as corrupt as Paris’s leadership. Françoise Dupont was the top high school in France at the moment, and Miss Bustier’s class was, academically, the cream of the crop. But not a single other school would touch them.

To be frank, Dick was worried about all of these kids’ futures.

How would any of them get a decent college if literally every school in Paris—and many throughout France—refused to harbor ‘the akuma class’? Technically, their numbers were only slightly higher than average, but people remember when one person has turned into a technicolor rage-monster six times. The record had gone to one Miss Chloe Bourgeois for a solid two years with a total of five, and then Lila Rossi beat that record to a pulp with her eighteen akumatizations during the last three years of Hawkmoth’s terror.

She was the main reason the class was so reviled.

She had to be.

It made all her twisted promises to get everyone a leg up in their lives settle like a thin sheet of ice over a lake in early winter. Pretty, but if you try to support yourself on it for more than a moment, you’re plunged into ice-cold water that’ll drown you if you don’t get out in time.

She was no better than the fame-hunters who ceaselessly barraged his family with promises to help their company prosper.

And she was only 18.

And worse than that, they’d scanned the entire medical database for any mention of a ‘’Lilainitis’’ and come up with nothing. The team of medical professionals who had their fingers in every pie the medical community had to offer had come up empty and confused when Dick asked them to look into it. They were doing more research into different possible names for the condition, but given the vague description and the symptoms Jannet had texted him for other known and documented illnesses that Rossi could’ve renamed for the sake of her own fame, the fact that Rossi fit none of them only strengthened Dick’s suspicions.

They were still looking into it, and doing research into any doctor she could’ve had or who could’ve done research on the issue—if she truly did have something approximating this new compulsive-lying disease, there was no way they could rule out her disorder simply because she said the top medical professionals worked on it. She could be lying about anything, and they didn’t know where to start looking if they didn’t find what they needed on their first go—and even when they found somewhere to start, they would have plenty of doctors, patients, forms and treatments to look over. The investigation could take months.

But from where he stood? She was a liar, a manipulator, and a dirty cheat six ways from Sunday.

Dick sighed and sat up, sending a final text to Bruce before leaning his elbows on the table and staring at the metallic surface. It was going to be a long eight months.

“Excuse me, Mr. Grayson?”

Dick looked up to see Marinette Dupain-Cheng standing by his table, fiddling with her purse strap and looking a good deal happier than she’d been when she returned to the cafeteria.

He smiled. “Can I help you?”

Marinette shook her head. “You’ve already done all you can. I just wanted to say thank you. For not believing her, I mean.” 

Dick blinked. “You… want to thank me for not believing the biggest load of manipulative crap I’ve heard in a long time?”

She laughed, but it was tinted with a hint of doubt. “Yes? Sorry I don’t… have many people who like, I mean, like it’s just Alix, Kim, Chloe, Adrien, and I who know there’s more than one person in our classroom who’s absolutely horrid, and like, I-I mean I wasn’t trying to, insult your intelligence or—or anything I-I just meant…” She clenched her teeth and let out a stabilizing puff of air.

Dick wasn’t sure whether to be amused or worried.

“You’re one of the first and only adults I know who knows about this and recognizes it as a problem,” she said finally, chewing on her lip. “So… thank you.”

“What about your parents?”

Marinette shrugged. “I haven’t told them.” She seemed to be growing more and more uncomfortable. ‘Nice going, Grayson. Fabulous job. You’re freaking out the kid with anxiety.’ “Mlle. Bustier was a good teacher for a while… or I thought she was… and they already knew about Lila. We couldn’t get into any school, or even transfer classes so I didn’t… really think of telling them.”

“I see…” He cleared his throat. “Well, just so we’re clear, I didn’t think you were insulting my intelligence, I was just baffled you have to thank people for having common sense.”

Marinette’s laugh was laced with relief.

Victory.

“I would be baffled too, monsieur,” she said, her hand resting on her purse strap instead of fiddling with it, “if I weren’t the one living my life.”

Dick burst out laughing. “I need that on a t-shirt.” He said.

Her eyes lit up. “I bet I could arrange that.”

“Well,” he said, still chuckling slightly. “Whenever you do, I'll order the first one.”

Marinette held out her left hand to shake. “Deal.”

Dick, a little surprised but still grinning, took her hand and was abruptly reminded of her cast.

Hm.

Nightwing knew exactly how she broke her arm, but Dick Grayson didn’t, and Jason’s test at the hospital wasn’t entirely fair, given her mental state.

Just to be safe…

“Oh,” he said, frowning slightly at her aggressively pink cast. “How did you break your arm?”

Marinette withdrew her hand a little faster than what Dick would consider normal and shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “Well… I’m, uh, I’m kinda clumsy, and I, uh, I broke it in the hotel falling out of a chair on our balcony.” She waved her free hand dismissively. “I’m a huge klutz—it happens a lot more often than you’d think.”

“Uh-huh…” He frowned a little. “Sorry to hear that. My brother recently busted his hand on a run, so I get it.”

Marinette let out a short burst of laughter, eyes wide with wonder and amusement. She seemed a little nervous still, and reasonably so, but again relief laced her tone. “I’m sorry,” she said, waving a hand to emphasize what she was saying. “But I met someone at the hospital with the same story! I wonder, would you know a J...?” she frowned for a moment. “Sorry, I was barely conscious at the hospital… His name starts with a ‘J,’ I know it…” She squeezed her eyes shut, her entire face twisted into a knot of concentration. “JAY! That’s his name! I don’t think he gave me his last name… He said something about the ‘Bats’ being stupid or some—”

“HAH,” Dick interrupted. “He would! That spiteful leather zombie!”

Marinette blinked, a small, confused smile on her face. “I take it you know him then?”

“He’s my little brother!” he said, smothering his gleeful cackle. “Never mention the ‘little’ part to him though, or he’ll punch you in the face.”

“I’d like to see him try.” She snorted. “Plus if he hits me, he’s got my entire squad of angry teenage nerdeliquents to fight off.”

Dick genuinely stopped breathing for a moment before he wheezed, the mirthful tears in his eyes completely blinding him as he almost fell out of his chair.

According to sources he wouldn’t name—Marinette—it took him three minutes to calm down. 

“Ahem, so, how serious was the break, anyway?” Dick asked once he’d composed himself enough to speak like a normal human, still barely holding back a chuckle. “Also, can I please tell him you said that.”

“Sure!” Marinette seemed incredibly pleased, despite her mild confusion. “Hopefully he’ll laugh too.”

“Thank you, Miss Dupain-Cheng, you just made my week,” Dick said, taking out his phone and messaging the group chat.

She smiled again, rocking back and forth on her heels. “No problem! And it’s Marinette to all the adults I like. Or used to, anyway.”

Dick let out a final breath to compose himself as he hit send and put his phone back down. “You can call me Dick, most of the students I tutor at Gotham Academy do.”

Marinette blinked, eyes widening. “Are… are you sure..?”

“Full name is Richard. And before you ask, no, it wasn’t on purpose. Anyway, you didn’t answer my question, though.”

She blinked. “What... OH, you mean how serious was the break?”

“Yeah, was it bad?”

“Well, it wasn’t… super bad at first, just a compound fracture, I believe the English term is, but the taxi ride kinda aggravated it. Like I said, I wasn’t super conscious for the whole thing. I didn’t sleep for like, four days straight beforehand and the pain wasn’t doing much to keep me lucid.” She snorted. “Chloe almost killed me when she found out how long I'd been awake. Probably would have if my arm wasn’t broken.”

Dick stared at her. It had really just hit him that this tiny, tiny, mouse of a girl had been awake for four days straight. “Would you, by any chance, happen to be related to a Tim Drake?” There was no such thing as too careful.

Marinette shook her head. “No. Why?”

“Another relation.” Dick waved his hand dismissively. “Sleeps about as often as Batman does interviews.”

“Does he walk around on roofs at four a.m. because he can’t decide if cereal is soup or not?” she asked, stifling a snort.

Tim had done that.

And it was while he was Red Robin.

And he also went out on rooftops at four a.m. regularly.

As Red Robin.

“Y’know, he has done that a couple of times… Last week we were… out, and he posed the question. Spent almost an hour arguing with Jay about it.”

“Hey!” someone, Dick remembered hearing them ask questions during the tour but couldn’t provide a face or name to the voice, cried from the other end of the cafeteria. “What’s that thing on the window…?”

Dick frowned, looking up at the massive, wall-to-wall window at the other end of the cafeteria that overlooked the dismal grey fog of Gotham’s skyline. Small grey objects were stuck to each of the clear, stained-glass-like panes that made up the window, and the glass itself seemed to shiver.

Dick was on his feet in an instant, adrenaline sending an electric shock through his body, just as all the Gotham natives began shouting various colorful variations on ‘ get away from the window .’

He bolted for the other end of the cafeteria, calling for people to take cover as he made his way towards the French class. Marinette was right on his heels, shouting the same in French, her eyes wild with an unexpected mix of determination and deadly calm as heads ducked under tables, sheer panicked confusion on their faces—

TTSHHHH

The window exploded inward, thousands of tiny glass nuggets raining down on all the screaming civilians who hadn’t gotten to cover in time, as dozens of men armed to the teeth rappelled into the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marinette reeled away from the window; her feet slipped on something wet and sticky, and she was suddenly on the floor. Something slammed into her temple, and the world went white.

A warm tingling on the side of her face signaled Tikki’s healing as the cafeteria slowly came back into focus.

Struggling to regain her bearings, she clambered to a sitting position to take stock of the room, the blurry corners her vision slowly regaining clarity. Cold rain spattered in through the window, coating the floor in a slick layer of rainwater, the masked mens’ breath fogging in the October air, and overall making everything seem about ten times more ominous than it had any right to be.

‘This is not good.’

Something hard and round was shoved roughly into the base of her neck, and it didn’t take five years of experience to know that was a gun barrel. She glanced at Mr. Grayson, who was being dragged to his feet by a masked goon holding a rather unpleasant looking machine gun.

‘This is not good.’

Blinking away the brain fog and the pulsating headache that was quickly forming, Mari raised her hands and stood, surveying the room as she did so.

Roughly 50 armed men trooped around the room, their faces obscured by blackish-purple all-environment masks, green-tinted goggles, and ski masks as they dragged people out from under tables and held the small group that was already gathered at gunpoint.

‘This is not good.’

A faint zzzzzzzzzzzz echoed in the now almost-silent room as a tall, lanky man slid down the wire into the cafeteria. Marinette’s headache increased tenfold.

He landed with a click on one of the cafeteria tables, his poison-green suit with purple question mark patterns slightly damp from the rain.

“Welcome, everyone,” said the Riddler with a broad grin, sitting his plum-purple velvet bowler hat crookedly on his head, “to my recruitment center!”

‘This is not good.’

No one spoke, the sounds of panicked breathing the only noise other than the rain.

The Riddler merely laughed, eyes gleaming as he snapped his fingers. One of his goons tossed him a question mark cane catching it smoothly, and swinging it a large, dramatic circle over his head. “If the correct person answers my riddles correctly, they get a free ride with me to meet my compatriots! But if the incorrect person answers incorrectly, they get a one-way ticket out the window we just opened for you.” His cane echoed on the tabletop as he let it slide through his fingers to land with a cLANgg on the table below. Leaning on it and looming over the huddled hostages cowering together in the middle of the room, his grin turned downright gleeful. “Who wants to go first?”

Silence. Someone in the middle of the room choked on a sob.

“Oh goodie, you’re going to make it fun .” The Riddler, his gleeful, knowing smile never waning, motioned to one of the men standing at the doors, who promptly began corralling off some of the hostages into groups of two.

Tables were overturned and thrust aside to form a makeshift barrier; people were kicked and cuffed into place. Mari didn’t put up a fight as the frigid gun barrel was thrust more violently into the base of her neck. She walked as calmly as she could into the middle of the room, gritting her teeth against the steady throb of her forehead.

The more cooperative you were, the less people looked at you. The less they noticed you. The more of a surprise it would be if you did strike back.

The goon who seemed keen on keeping Mari at gunpoint shoved her abruptly to her knees, just next to the table barrier. The glass nuggets on the floor cut through her leggings and into her knees. Holding back a glare, she put her hands behind her head, gritting her teeth as the end of her cast rubbed uncomfortably against the inside of her arm. Her elbows jutted out awkwardly, nearly poking Mr. Grayson in the eye as he was shoved to the floor by her left, his face twisted in a mix between pain and discontent.

Not fear.

Not worry.

Just… general displeasure with the faintest hint of ‘this shouldn’t have happened today’ annoyance.

‘Who IS this guy?’

Mari squinted at him.  He half-shrugged in reply, cutting off his own indifferent action as his eyes widened and he stared at her forehead for a moment, worry finally overwhelming his face. She probably had a cut or something.

“Ow—” a familiar and entirely unwelcome voice hissed.

“Shut it, Frenchie.”

“I am Italian you—”

“I said shut it. ”

Marinette could hear the pursed lips and death-glare at the wall. ‘...Why.’ Casting a pained glance to her right, she prepared herself for a hissing argumentative girl who never seemed to realize that Hawkmoth was gone and these situations were very real, when she instead felt her stomach freeze for a moment. Alya’s signature floof of hair half-covered the new cuts and bruises on her face as she was plopped a couple yards away. Lila was right beside her, almost completely unharmed.

Alya was going to bear the brunt of the goon’s anger if Lila had her way. And that anger was going to mount fast if Lila’s previous record was anything to go by.

Mari’s heart-rate spiked, her eyes darting around the room, scanning the table-barriers and doing her best to move her head only the tiniest amount in the process to avoid getting the butt of a heavy-duty gun to the head.

Several words which she never would’ve said in front of a news crew ran through her head at the speed of light. Hostages being kept in groups of two, at least one armed guard to each group, on the inside of the table-barriers and around the rest of the hostages clustered together in the middle.

They’d made a hostage wall.

No one could get in or out without the hostages suffering.

Even if Riddler got who he wanted, he had the power to kill anyone and everyone who tried to be a hero. One false move on their part, or on the police department’s, and anyone in the room could be shot.

‘This is NOT good.’

“Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone in between,” Riddler said, opening his arms wide, the hook of his cane loosely hanging off his right hand. “This meeting shouldn’t take too long! All I need is for one of you to answer a couple of questions.” He lowered his arms and snapped his fingers. A skinny goon walked up to his table and handed him something. “Now, since you didn’t speak up when I asked, I’m happy to say we get to play a few simple riddle-games to pass the time until you show yourself!” He held up a phone, three simple phone-charms dangling from its casing. An orange foxtail, a green turtle shell, and a little red ladybug.

Alya’s phone.

“One of these things is not like the others!” the Riddler said, his smile even wider than before. Mari swallowed heavily. He wasn’t talking about the phone charms. “Let’s begin, shall we?”

Mari felt what little blood was left in her face drain away.

Having nowhere to transform was nothing new.

Having to defend a bunch of civilians with no way to ensure her own safety was nothing new.

A hostage situation was nothing new.

Heck, being held at gunpoint while acting as a human meat-shield was nothing new. But none of that mattered because she was being taken hostage by a villain who knew someone in her class was Ladybug.

And he very likely suspected Alya.

“Riddle number one!” Riddler said, his finger resting on the power button as one by one his goons began forming a more solid line around the main group, leaving each hostage pair with only one guard. “My beginning is sweet as honey, but give me an end and the shell I grow is tough as nails. What is my name?”

“Beetle,” Mari whispered after a moment, her voice so quiet no one could hear. She needed brain-space to think of a way out, and riddles were too distracting. She had to get the answer out so she didn’t have to think about it anymore. She scanned the cafeteria wall, considering the ins and outs of ventilation, air ducts, and escape-hatches. The Wayne family was infamous for getting kidnapped by villains, so much so that nearly every building had ‘Bat-Tunnels’ built into the walls to help the caped crusader in times like this.

“No one? Not even a guess?” The Riddler’s voice was just as loud as before, but Mari ignored him, since it was ‘ get the FLIP OUTTA DODGE’ hour and she was keen to keep things on schedule.  “A pity. The answer was ‘beetle!’”

Mari was doing her best to not pay attention to him. She honestly was. But good glory was that not working. He was so. Freaking. Loud.

“Which, until I’m corrected, will be the name of my unspecified friend.”

Marinette’s heart stopped beating, and she slowly turned her head to stare at him, doing everything in her power to keep her expression as unpanicked as possible.

“Well, Red Beetle would be much more… fitting, given what I know of them, but that’s neither here”—he put the phone in his pocket, twirling his cane as he did so—“nor there.” His gaze slid from face to face around the room. “Riddle number two: Fire, blood, and scars-let me appear; / From my head to-my-toes, I a-rose right here. / The hood of a cardinal's a cardinal thought; / As the first in a rainbow, I'm rarely forgot.”

Mari looked back at the wall she was supposed to face, her vision fading in importance as noises and thoughts overwhelmed most of her senses. ‘ If I try to draw attention away from Alya and make a break for it, I’ll get shot, which means that Chloe and Adrien are on their own.’ Mari’s distracted gaze wandered over to find Chloe and Adrien. Adrien was held with Max, and Chloe was held with the blue-haired girl from behind the food bar. ‘They’re more than capable, but we need all our chips down.’ Mari’s teeth creaked in her skull as she ground them together to keep from fidgeting. ‘If I admit I’m Ladybug, he might not believe I’m the real deal, and who knows if he’ll try to take Alya to make sure no one else tries to follow, but if I sit and do nothing he’ll just take Alya anyway, and heaven only knows what he’d do with her…’

A dark shape slid down the wall near a tall plant.

Marinette’s gaze snapped to it, her back shuddering slightly in preparation for a new threat. But instead of another goon, the shadowy figure was wearing dull yellow, albeit obscured almost entirely by a pitch-black cape and a black hood drawn over the top of their head.

And in a split second, like a distant clap of thunder, a plan formed in Mari’s mind. She smiled.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alya was not freaking out.

She’d been taken hostage a million times or more back in Paris, and all those times she’d been fine. She’d been almost sacrificed a couple times, died once or twice—which was trippy, she didn’t like that—and once she was nearly turned into part of a gigantic flesh-monster. But every time that happened, she knew Ladybug and Chat Noir were on the way to save her. Every time that happened, she believed deep in her very soul that she was going to be okay, because even if it took them a while, they’d fix everything. Especially Ladybug. Chat was wonderful, and you’d never hear Alya complain about him, but Ladybug was unequivocally her favorite.

They weren’t in Paris anymore, though.

And a supervillain who wasn’t an akuma controlled by a magical supervillain with too many butterflies was throwing around the least subtle hints she’d ever heard implying that Ladybug was in her class. Alya was a lot of things, but obliviously stupid wasn’t one of them, and if those riddles Nette made her… If those riddles she’d been forced to memorize because it was common sense with akumas everywhere were any indicator, Mr. I-Totally-Have-An-English-Degree was convinced that Ladybug was here.

Logically, the only way that would be possible was if someone from her class—or someone else in this room who just so happened to be visiting from Paris, France at the same time as Françoise Dupont—was the one and only Lucky Charm of France.

Alya would almost be convinced it was Lila, if not for her frequent akumatizations. Poor girl had a heck of a life. But no, she was going to think this through more carefully than she had when she was fourteen. A lot more carefully.

“A pity. The answer was beetle,” Riddler was prattling on. “Which, until I’m corrected, will be the name of my unspecified friend. Well, Red Beetle would be much more… fitting, given what I know of them, but that’s neither here nor there.”

Alya held back a disgusted shiver as his gaze flicked around the room. Poor Rose was seconds from tears, though they seemed to be tears of Justice rather than fear. She’d become a lot more confident and calm over the last few years, which was good, but she was still Rose. Which was also good, in Alya’s book.

“Riddle number two,” Mr. Looks-Up-Riddles-On-The-Internet continued, still grinning like he knew everyone’s secrets. “Fire, blood, and scars-let me appear; / From my head to-my-toes, I a-rose right here. / The hood of a cardinal's a cardinal thought; / As the first in a rainbow, I'm rarely forgot.”

“Red.” Nette’s barely discernible whisper came right after Riddler finished speaking. Alya forced herself not to look at her. She’d done enough already, and now she was trying to get caught.

‘Overwhelmed and sorting her thoughts,’ the part of her that thought she knew what Nette was like said. ‘She’s whispering them anyway.’

‘ Trying to prove how smart she is,’ the rehearsed whisper sneered back. ‘And she’s saying them out loud in a hostage situation.’

Alya’s face soured and she glared at a piece of glass on the opposite side of the room. Six months later and she still couldn’t look Nette fully in the face after what she did .

‘Exactly.’ the bitter whisper said. ‘Think of what she did .’

Mr. Twenty-Gun Questions rambled on about some third riddle, and Nette answered in kind, but her tone was different. Lighter.

Alya couldn’t help the glance at her ex-best friend, and blinked, squinting through the crack in her glasses to be sure… yeah, Nette was smiling.

‘She has a plan! She’s figured something out, we’re gonna make it out okay!’

‘She’s figured out how to get more of the spotlight on herself. She’ll get us all killed in her pathetic search for more attention.’

“Her.”

Alya’s eyes snapped to an approaching guard who had been standing somewhere behind them, as he walked straight over behind Nette, grabbed her by the back of her sweater, and started dragging her towards the Riddler’s table.

“Not happening!” Mr. Grayson shouted, getting abruptly to his feet as he spoke, and punching his guard in the nuts.

Alright, maybe he was cool. Dang.

But the cool lasted only for a split second as seven goons jumped him and pinned him back to the ground. A resounding crAck echoed around the room as what Alya hoped was his nose instead of an eye socket smacked against the floor. She couldn’t see much of him beneath the swarm of goons, but what she could see was blood.

Nette’s choked gasp dragged Alya’s gaze like a magnet. She was still being gripped entirely too firmly by the back of her neck and roughly hauled to her feet.

‘Oh… oh kwami…’

A swollen, jagged, bleeding cut ran across the left side of Nette’s forehead, thick tracks of blood crusted down her head. There were glass cuts all over her face, hands, and legs, and one of her eyes was swollen half-shut, a nasty bruise forming around it.

Alya had been on the opposite side of most of the damage.

She’d had no idea it was this bad…

“Those three as well,” the Riddler said, his purple-gloved finger pointing at first Chloe, then Adrien, and finally Alya.

She grit her teeth and squared her shoulders, standing up to the best of her ability as she was roughly dragged across the room, seeing Adrien and Chloe in similar positions.

The three of them were stood before Riddles McGreen, and he seemed to scrutinize the three of them carefully before his gaze finally fell on Nette, who was somehow still lucid despite her obvious blood loss and was staring him down like he was just another villain of the week.

Didn’t she realize how serious this was? How was she so calm?

‘She finally got her spotlight. And she’s going to cause not only your death, but Chloe’s and Adrien’s too.’

‘She would never! She’s a good person!’

‘Are you sure? Because I’m not.’

“Well, well, well…” The Riddler leaned on his cane, artificially whitened teeth disturbingly bright against the rest of his outfit. “It certainly took you long enough.”

‘What!?’

“You really should keep your whispers to yourself if you know what’s good for you.”

Nette blinked, looking faintly taken aback, but she steadied herself like she always did.

‘Don’t even pretend to be surprised, we both know all that crap about the riddles was for people to notice just how smart you are.’

‘She was just thinking out loud!’

Alya glanced outside. A cloud was rolling in, ominous and cold, sending a shudder down her spine.

“I have one final riddle for you four. Just a test, a little experiment.” He leaned back, a wave of fog rolling in from the window behind him. “If one of you answers correctly, they get to decide which of the three of them dies.”

‘Wait, three? Why do I get the feeling I don’t have the whole picture?’’

“Answer incorrectly, and you get thrown out the lovely window we’ve opened, down, down, down just over two hundred stories and then splat. ” He smiled. “I’ll give you five minutes to think it over,” he said, tapping his cane on the tabletop. A goon stepped forward, and ripped off a squared bag on his back that Alya had assumed was armor. “And one parachute. Guess within a minute, and whoever gets tossed out gets to carry it with them. We’ll have to hope the rain doesn’t wet it too much!”

Alya was going to die.

There was no way Nette would let Adrien or Chloe die, and Adrien would rather jump out without a parachute than say any name.

Alya, though? Alya was old news. Alya was yesterday’s trash. Alya was a dead squirrel you find on the road and drive straight past.

‘Oh, that’s sad,’ you think when you see the corpse. ‘Too bad.’

Out of the other three, not one would choose from among the trio. Chloe had somehow attached herself to Nette, and it seemed Nette responded in kind. No one would vote for Adrien.

And Alya couldn’t vote for Nette.

She pretended she could.

She told herself she would.

She wanted to.

She’d woken up that very morning, convinced that if this situation were to arise, she would, and she’d be stoically happy about it.

But deep down she knew she could never sentence Nette to die, no matter what she’d done. They had been best friends for almost five years. It took more than six months to get over that kind of friendship.

Well.

At least it did for her.

“Time to get your thinking caps on!” Riddler chirped, clicking his heels on the table, the sound ringing through Alya’s head like the chime of a doomsday clock. “My final riddle: Two halves of my name have I, / A pair of wings to let me fly, / A crimson flush, a dash of luck, / Spotted when pests might run amok. / A lady soaring way up high, / A song to sing with morning nigh, / So please betell me, what am I?”

She’d never heard that riddle before.

Alya’s brain couldn’t function.

She couldn’t think.

She could barely breathe.

She was going to die and she couldn’t even solve some stupid riddle.

She couldn’t do anything.

“A ladybug.” Nette’s voice was shockingly clear for having the current health of a dying squirrel.

“Ding-ding-ding!” Riddler said, pure glee written on his face.

“A… a ladybug…” Alya choked out, gaze fixed on a small pile of glass a few feet from her. “It was a ladybug… a stupid, stupid ladybug...”

“Stupid, you say?” Riddler’s voice sounded… wrong. But Alya couldn’t hear anything besides the ringing in her ears.

‘ I should’ve known that. I should’ve known that .’

“Well, my dear.” Riddler’s cane tapped on the table he was standing on. “Too bad you didn’t speak up earlier.”

Alya was violently jerked to her feet as hands like steel pincers fastened around her upper arms. “Hey! Let go of me!”

Whoever was holding her shook her, their grip somehow tightening even more as her glasses clattered to the ground and the world was reduced to a vague grey blur.

“To the window,” Riddler’s cold voice purred.

The blood drained from Alya’s face.

The person holding her lumbered slowly towards the whitish fuzz of the window, and she suddenly found herself being held above a who-even-knows-how-far drop, her back to the remnants of the cafeteria.

Alya felt sick.

“No! What? No! I answered the riddle in under a minute!”

Alya genuinely couldn’t tell if Nette was feigning concern anymore. Something a lot like the rain splashed on her hand.

“Yes, yes you did,” Riddler said. “But I’m afraid your friend broke the rules.”

“You never said only one person could answer, just that the first person who did  chose who dies!” Nette challenged.

‘YOU’RE GOING TO GET ME KILLED. STOP NO, WHY?! WHY???’

“Very true, I did.”

“You also said whoever answers in under a minute gets to give whoever falls a parachute!”

Alya’s mind was screaming but she still couldn’t look away from the dull grey drop. She closed her eyes. Oh. Those were tears.

“Very true.”

“So, I choose Marinette Dupain-Cheng to fall.”

Alya’s eyes flew open. Her gaze whipped over her shoulder to Nette, whose blurry figure, bloodied and leaning heavily on someone blond, was staring the Riddler square in the face, her body rigid. Alya, blinking through her tears, stared at her ex-friend.

‘Nette, what…?’

‘I TOLD you. ’

“Excellent!” His voice carried the creepiest smile. “Which one of you might that be?”

Marinette squared her shoulders, standing on her own, arms stiff by her sides. “Me.”

“HAH!” The Riddler’s laugh echoed through the cafeteria. “I thought so! How novel! You really think I’d throw away a chess piece it took me this long to find?”

“I’ve been in America for three days.  If this is your idea of commitment, I’d hate to see what your relationships look like.”

Someone inside the cafeteria snorted.

The Riddler’s whole body stiffened. His gloves squeaked on his cane’s handle as he pounded it twice on the table. “Come out, come out, bat-boys! I know you’re there!”

Alya glanced from Mari’s strangely fidgety body language to the three black blobs that stepped out from behind random tables. One particularly large black blob vaulted over the bar. Possibly. She had been a part of enough over-dressed hostage situations to know exactly the kind of ominous glare the Riddler was sporting, but her mind was preoccupied with the smallest blob—a bat-boy she assumed—who was practically vibrating with… something.

She couldn’t see his face—it could’ve been with rage, like an akuma, or excitement, like Chat when Ladybug had a plan, heck, it could’ve been nervous jitters for all she knew. But he was vibrating and it was weird.

“Sorry to break up whatever this is,” the tallest blob (whose entire head was maroon, so he was probably wearing a helmet, so he was most likely Red Hood) said, gesturing at the Riddler’s general position, “but I’m afraid your cell at Arkham is getting cold, and you know how expensive heating is these days.” The trio—maybe? Alya thought she saw a fourth, larger figure in the back.—began walking forward. The shortest one still vibrating with some undefinable emotion—and oh gosh the potentially angriest one had a sword.

“Ah-ah-ah!” Riddler tapped his cane again, and suddenly Alya became much more invested in gripping her captor’s arm with all her strength as they let a single finger slip from their grip on her sweater. “One false step and I’m afraid Frenchie takes a rather unfortunate nose-dive to the pavement.”

A lot of American curses were flung back and forth, but Alya was a bit too queasy to pay them much attention. ‘There’s no Miraculous Cure. There’s no Ladybug here to save me… I’m going to die.’ She could barely distinguish between her tears and the rain, her stomach in a solid knot and her heart beating faster than she’d thought possible, but her heart was in her throat and it was beating rather too fast, which her instincts distantly informed her was bad. ‘I’m going to die.’

“One more step and she drops!”

She heard that.

“No! No don’t!” Nette’s voice cried through the cacophony of Alya’s mind. “No please I-I’ll go with you please don’t—”

“Put her down, Riddler,” Probably-Red Hood’s disembodied voice said. “ Inside the cafeteria. No one has to get hurt.”

“Funny to hear you, of all people, saying that.” Riddler’s wheedling tone made her want to vomit. “Riddle me this, bat-brats,” he snarled. “How fast can you run? ” 

Alya’s head snapped around just in time to see Riddler’s blurry figure raise his cane.

Tap.

And then she was falling.

She couldn’t tell if she was screaming or not, but suddenly she was tumbling and her heart stopped beating and her stomach was suspended in the air where she fell from, and oh no this is a long way down.

She never realized how much raindrops hurt when you’re falling.

Two arms wrapped around her chest, and a way-too-heavy something slammed against her upper back.

Instinct kicked in and Alya was writhing in the air, kicking, scratching, wondering whether the noise that was a constant hum in her brain was just her screaming or the wind.

The something that fell on her grabbed her shoulder, and she fully heard her own desperate scream as Alya spun onto her back and—and it was Nette.

Her eyes were huge and her chest was heaving, and strapped to her back was the giant square of the parachute.

Alya stopped thrashing, opening and closing her mouth like a fish.

Nette didn’t say anything as she flipped Alya so she was facing the ground again, wrapped her arms and legs around Alya’s torso and pulled the parachute cord.

Nothing happened.

Time stopped but everything was moving, and Alya couldn’t feel her legs.

Alya couldn’t see Nette’s face as they plummeted, but her fingers increased their desperate speed.

She pulled the backup cord.

Nothing.

Alya could feel her panicked breathing as they fell.

And then it hit her.

No, not the ground.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng dove out of a skyscraper to save her.

Alya had stopped breathing what felt like forever ago, but somehow she found it in her to exhale a long, shuddering breath. Her eyes burned, and not just from the wet air. She opened her mouth to say something, anything—

“Hold on!” Nette called over the wind. And her grip on Alya shifted. Confused and terrified, she turned her head to see Nette... taking off her sweater?

Her face was set, and her eyes were terrified as she continued to strip down her top layers, looping the parachute around her leg. Her scarf had long since flown off, and her now-loose hair was buffeted wildly by the rain and wind, and as Nette whipped off her loose Jagged Stone tank top, Alya noticed some scar-like tattoos she’d never seen before.

They wrapped around her torso, partially hidden beneath her sports bra—that she hadn’t taken off and didn’t seem to intend to, neat, delicate patterns like stained glass panes.

And suddenly the tattoos were shimmering, glowing with pearlescent-pink light and they burst from her back into two glistening pairs of insect wings.

She didn’t have time to react as her stomach felt like it was being shoved through her spine, and then all her support was gone as Nette’s wings caught on the air and abruptly wrenched her straight up and away, violently tearing Alya from her unprepared ex-friend’s hold.

And once again she was falling.

The parachute straps were somehow tangled around her right ankle, some of the smaller straps slapping against her calves. She was crying, somehow, as she rolled around in the air, gasping for breath and desperately grasping for something to hold on to, anything to stop her—and arms wrapped around her torso and lifted... and she was no longer tumbling.

She stared at the foggy void beneath them, taking shuddering breaths, opening her mouth to say something—and suddenly her voice was snatched away permanently, and everything in Alya’s mind snapped into place like a broken bone being set.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was Ladybug.

Alya turned away from the swirling grey of the clouds and the needle-sharp stings of rain to her savior.

Paris’s Savior.

Nette’s face was scrunched, but her silvery eyes were blown wide. Her chest was shaking, but her arms were firm and strong as steel cables, the cast scratching through her sweater under Alya’s left arm.

Alya didn’t have to think to know exactly where she’d seen that same expression, that same body language, those same eyes before.

She’d always thought when she found out Ladybug’s identity she would gasp, run to her all-time favorite hero, and envelop her in a hug that would show Alya’s half-decade of gratitude. She thought she’d at least make a noise, laugh a little, anything.

But instead she couldn’t breathe at all.

Alya was silent. Her ribs seemed to be slowly closing in on her heart, stabbing and curling and twisting, imploding in the slowest, most agonizing way possible. Her throat was sealed tighter than a submarine, and her lungs, which seconds before had been balloons filled nearly to bursting, were now wads of chewing gum spat on the sidewalk.

The rain stung her face, pelting her with little stones of judgement and realization after realization after realization.

‘ What… what have I done… ?’

Nette’s face released some of its tension, a spark of relief in her silvery eyes— ’Did she see something?’ —and she sped to the left.

Alya couldn’t focus on anything besides Nette’s terrified, determined face.

‘How long have I been this dumb…?’

Her brain snapped back to reality as her feet suddenly collided with a gravel rooftop. Sharp, cold, wet rocks were scattering through the air and for a split second as she tumbled forward, the world was ordinary, and she remembered the world outside her spiraling thoughts existed again.

But then Nette’s arms tightened their hold around her torso, her tiny body wrapped around her back, and two pairs of at least partially-magic wings enveloped her, and they were tumbling over the rooftop, Nette’s tiny body keeping her from the worst of the gravel. Alya’s teeth rattled in her skull and for a moment she feared they would tumble off the other side of the building, but then they were sliding to a stop, covered in tiny cuts and soaked through with rain and slick with whatever kind of corporate rooftop mud was mixed with the gravel. The parachute lay a few yards away, the material scuffed and torn, bits of whitish material showing through the canvas-like outside.

‘...Ow.’

Nette groaned.

Scrambling to her knees, heart in her throat as she wiped the rain from her eyes, Alya turned toward her former best friend. “Ne—M-Mari—Lady— URGH I am so stupid are you okay?”

Nette sat up, blinking wearily at her slightly crumpled wings. There was a vicious tear running up from the middle of her upper-left wing, a jagged rip like lightning rising almost to its ’shoulder’ as it pulsated with neon pink light.

Alya stared for a moment, her stomach stuck halfway up her throat. Slowly, her scraped hand reached out of its own accord to touch the tear.

Nette jolted with a small cry and scrambled away from her, pupils dilated and breathing erratic.

Alya’s hand jerked away from Mar—from Nette ’s wing, curling up to her chest.

The rooftop was silent for a moment as Nette deflated slightly, glancing away and clenching her hands into fists. “Sorry,” she whispered.

Alya shook her head.

Ne—no.

No, Nette was the name of a girl who would’ve left Alya to take a nose-dive for the asphalt, shrieking that she would never believe ‘Lie-la’ as she fell.

Marinette was the name of a girl who would’ve jumped out that window after her, even without a parachute. She would’ve jumped through the window to save anyone, even if it was Lila. Marinette was the name of the girl who flinched away from Alya’s hand like she was scared she would hit her.

“I-I saved these for you…” Marinette said, taking something out from her shorts pocket. She offered the thing to Alya. “The goon guy kinda… made you drop them earlier. I picked them up when… when they dropped you.”

Alya slowly took the thing.

Her glasses.

The lenses were even more cracked than before, the left lens was virtually shattered, and the frame was bent heavily, but Alya couldn’t stop staring at them.

She… she’d thought to grab her glasses.

“O-oh no…” Marinette whispered. “I’m so sorry they’re… I-I can fix this.” She reached for the glasses, but paused a few inches away. She slowly withdrew her hand. “I… I… nevermind…” She tapped her cast on her thigh. “I-if you still use the same prescription I have the contacts you left at my house i-in my bag.”

Alya blinked.

Marinette paled, and started flailing her arms around wildly. “I-I’m sorry that probably sounded super creepy I just never threw them away and I always kept an extra pair in my bag out of habit, y’know since you’d drag me out t-to go hunting for Ladybug— NOT THAT I DIDN’T WANT TO GO, I just—I m-mean… n-nevermind you probably have spares anyways I’m sorry.”

Alya opened and closed her mouth a few times, but no sound came out.

‘You… you kept the spares…? You didn’t… you…’

Marinette got shakily to her knees, her wing slowly knitting itself back together.

‘What?!’

“There’s less rain under that overhang,” she said in a whisper. “You should wait there for the police.”

‘How long has— how many times has this happened that she isn’t even noticing her wing fixing itself ?!’

Marinette was standing now, shifting her weight from foot to foot, clenching and unclenching her fists, lightly smacking her cast against her hip. “N-nevermind.”

Alya’s entire body was numb, her chipped-polish-covered fingernails digging holes into her knees, unblinking eyes staring at the roof. She didn’t know how long she spent sitting in the freezing rain, unable to move or think, before a soft whisper that had been mounting for so long she didn’t know when it had started finally broke through her bubble.

“So,” Marinette paced on the roof, muttering a rambling plan to herself, “they know I’m here, but how? They couldn’t know about Paris, the Justice League promised to keep that on the down-low, so how did he know ?” The gravel crunched. Alya could just barely make out Marinette’s pacing boots in the corner of her vision.

‘ How didn’t I know? ’ Alya ground her teeth to keep the tears from her eyes. ‘ How didn’t I know?! ’

“...Underground network?” Marinette’s musing shattered Alya’s fragile bubble of grief for a moment. “Had to have been. Wait, the hotel is near Crime Alley! Some low-life must’ve seen Robin break my arm! Yes, of course! Word travels fast! I doubt they stuck around when the Bat showed up, that would probably be a bad idea, given his connections. So then...”

Alya’s lungs stopped working. ‘ What?! Is… is that why no one knows how she broke her arm?’ Her fingers curled into fists, balling up the hem of her skirt, her eyes wider than she’d ever thought they could be, and yet she still couldn’t blink. ‘ How much of your life have you been hiding? ’ Alya curled further toward the ground, her back bent as though the weight on Ladybug’s shoulders had been dropped on her own, pressing the base of her palms into her temples, hot, angry tears streaming down her face.

‘But that weight HAS fallen on you now too. And Marinette’s share is a billion times heavier.’

Marinette’s rambling stopped abruptly, breaking Alya from her spiral.

She looked up just to see Mari pause, reaching towards her.

Marinette’s bloodied fingers twitched in the slightest flinch and she withdrew her hand, tightening it into an anxious fist. Mari looked away for a moment, staring at the rain.

“You can’t tell anyone about this,” she said softly, looking back at Alya. Her eyes were melting from their usual silver into an ocean blue, and somehow they seemed to stare straight into Alya’s soul, the blood slowly washing off her face in the seemingly ceaseless rain. Her wing was almost completely mended now. “Please. I know—I know you hate me…”

‘I used to wish I could.’

“But please. I can’t have anyone know.”

‘Now I think I should’ve been hating myself the whole time.’ Alya stared at her, mouth dry. “Why—Why didn’t you…”

“Because if Hawkmoth had known, do you really think we’d ever have been safe?” Mari’s eyes were filled with desperate, torturous, silvery-blue fire. “If he’d known, my family would’ve been constantly targeted. If he’d known, you would—” Marinette closed her eyes and inhaled slowly through her teeth, knuckles going white and her cast creaking in protest.

‘What kind of strength has she been hiding all this time?’

“One bad day, Alya,” she whispered, eyes still squeezed shut. “That’s all it would’ve taken. One bad day, and my secret was out. We were fourteen. You would’ve wanted to post about it. You wouldn’t have, I— I hoped. I prayed every single night that if you ever found out you’d know not to tell.” She opened her eyes again and the electric Ladybug-blue shot Alya straight in the face with sheer, raw, open misery. “I wanted to tell you. I stayed up night after night after night, crying, because you were my first Best Friend and Best Friends were supposed to be honest, and… and I couldn’t be.” Marinette looked away. “I don’t know why you… why…” Her voice cracked.

Alya’s chest was suspended in mid-breath, her muscles stuck, paralyzed.

She couldn’t speak.

“I don’t know why you’re so angry with me,” Marinette finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. “If I knew I’d try to fix it. But I don’t know and you never let me try to explain.”

Alya’s heart was thumping heavily in her throat, her mouth full of things it wanted to say but had no words for because Marinette was Ladybug and Alya had practically told her to die.

Mari opened her mouth as if to say something, but she cut herself off.

Her cast creaked again.

“Stay safe, Alya,” Marinette whispered. And like a shimmering pink ghost, she disappeared into the rain, and Alya was left alone with her thoughts.

And for the first time in her life, she was truly, deeply horrified by them.