Chapter Text
“Marinette, I need you in my office.”
She looks up to make eye contact with Nino. There’s some type of humor playing in his eyes, like always, like he’s on the cusp of cracking a smile but knows better than to try to make her laugh. She looks down at her cubicle, and then to her purse, raising a brow in his direction. “Now?”
“Two seconds ago.” Because Nino is impatient. He gives her a pat on the back of her chair, too, as if that’ll get a pep in her step, starting to turn away and head back from where he came, knowing that she has no choice but to follow.
So she does.
She follows as quietly as she can, smoothing down the front of her dress pants, making sure her red coat stays firm across the back of her seat, attempting her best to curb the habit to nervously twirl a lock of her hair. She’s stronger than this. Nothing’s wrong— everything’s fine— Nino doesn’t make it a habit to call her to his office unless he needs her to do a specific mission, and she can count on one hand how many times she’s seen the inside of that massive room, with the most uncomfortable couches and the meticulously cared-for cactus. And yet— and yet— she can’t seem to stop herself from spinning one of the many rings on her fingers.
His ring.
Their ring.
That one.
The one he’d kissed at the first opportunity he could, at the altar, eyes like velvet on her skin as he looked at her with promises to love her forever. The one she can’t seem to get off of her fingers, no matter how much she wants to put it away and leave the past years behind her. The one that has delicate little diamonds dotted along the band, adding just enough flare for it to pass for a stack ring and not the wedding band they both know it is.
She keeps it on her. She keeps spinning it. Just for strength. It’s a beautiful piece of jewelry, after all.
Nothing more.
She doesn’t give herself the luxury of thinking about it too hard. She doesn’t have the time. She doesn’t have the time or the opportunity to keep thinking about him— about her— about them and the things that they are, and the things that they aren’t, and how she’s too much of a coward to do anything about it.
She is losing him. It’s for the best.
She is losing him. She can’t afford to breathe.
She stops herself, switching her thumb to another finger to spin another ring instead, disappointed in the way this second ring refuses to calm her down. It’s not the same. It doesn’t feel the same. The weight of this ring is completely different than the other one— but she doesn’t want to play favorites. According to everyone around her, all of her rings are equal, and no one knows that there’s a wedding ring hidden with the group.
The walk to his office across the bullpen is rather short, and her heels click against the light grey ceramic floor— she tries not to make eye contact with anyone who looks up at Nino’s jauntful walk and her crisp clicks, but Alya’s there, just ahead, already tilting her head to the side in a silent question, and Marinette can only blink at her impassively. She knows that the moment she leaves the office, Alya will squirrel her away with a FOMO of a thousand suns, desperate to get as much information out of her as possible. It’s the researcher brain who must know, and must see, and must be aware of everything, she’s sure of it, so she doesn’t blame her in the slightest— but there’s nothing that she has to offer her now except a smile. It’s a soft one, but it is enough, and that worry in Alya’s pretty, dark eyes disappears.
The world hushes once Nino closes the door behind her with an audible click. It is the equivalent to the safety of a gun being flicked off— and it makes her stand a little straighter. Heart beat a little quicker. Eyes move a little faster.
She takes in the windows at the far end of the long executive office, wondering if she would be able to break through the glass and jump if she needs to. Nino is good, and kind, and is Alya’s long-term boyfriend of ten years who has tried on multiple occasions to ask her in marriage but who Alya, for some reason, continues to refuse— but something about today makes the hair on the back of her neck stand on edge. Nino’s hiding something behind that worried grin of his, which startles and worries her, and makes her all that more aware of how much force she’d have to use with her heels in order to puncture through the glass of the building. She’d have to figure out the rest from there.
She turns to him, no worry or suspicion in her face, doing her best to look unaffected. Nino’s worrying his lip raw in an attempt to stop shuffling on his feet.
“How do you feel about going on a mission?” he finally asks her, and all at once the worry starts to lessen. Not by much— she’s not sure why Nino is the one asking her that instead of a briefing team slapping a folder on her desk and telling her to meet up with them in ten minutes. It concerns her all the more as she watches Nino drum his fingers along his thighs as he continues to worry.
Something’s wrong.
“Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it,” she replies softly, trying her best to avoid sitting down on one of the sofas in his office. If he’s smart, he’ll ask for them to sit at his desk, where she can see the two neatly-arranged manilla folders— the office chairs in front of the desk are so much more comfortable than the pleather loveseats. Stiff and barely tolerable, the sofas are nothing more than decor in the large office space— the illusion of a relaxed business office, as if no one notices just how much of a potpourri his desk is with all of the scattered folders and papers starting to populate the surface space like a petri dish left behind.
He gestures for her to sit down on the sofa.
Marinette doesn’t grimace, even as her fingers prickle against the armrests, and her posture shifts in order to get comfortable. It’s impossible. She ends up sitting on the edge of the loveseat, her feet resting on her delicate heels against a plush carpet, leaving her hands to rest against her lap as she waits for him to speak.
“You won’t be going alone,” he provides, sitting on the larger sofa across the coffee table with a jovial grin, dark navy slacks a smudge against the cream fabric. “I’ll be sending out a pair. I don’t trust our briefing team to handle this specific mission correctly— it needs a little bit more care, and you’ll understand why in a moment— so I’ve decided to take the initiative and brief you both myself. That’s why I called you in here.”
She’s worked with others before, so this won’t be too bad. Maybe it’ll give her a chance to stop thinking about it, give her a chance to breathe— but it’s highly unlikely. Every time she comes back from a mission and flips the switches in the apartment only to hear silence and smell stale air, she hurts a little harder. Cries a little louder. Drowns a little faster. “What do you need us to do?”
“He’s grabbing the last folder for us, first, because some of the documents didn’t finish printing— and I know you leave for lunch crazy fast so I decided grabbing you before you left was more important than waiting— but I’ll explain all of it soon. Do you want a coffee while we wait? He might take a little long.”
Anything to get out of drinking coffee. “No, thank you. I don’t make it a habit to drink caffeine during lunch.”
“It’s bad for digestion, isn’t it? Alya’s been telling me the same thing—” The door opens again. Nino glances up with a smile. “Ah! There you are. You find it?”
“They gave me two more copies, actually. Here.”
The voice makes her throat tight, but she refuses to show it.
Nino has no idea that the air has gone completely stiff inside the office room.
Because Adrien’s already noticed her. Adrien is more perceptive than anyone will ever realize, because he hides it and pretends he isn’t, because it’s what he does. No doubt the moment he’d opened the door, he’d checked his corners and the rest of the room with his sharp emerald eyes, and he’d seen the back of her head, and had thought of everything. Everything.
Because that is what he does.
He is silent. He is the night, and the shadows that follow— he is the exact opposite of what the public eye thinks he is, with his perception and his quick thinking and his intelligence— and she knows she risks nearly everything by keeping her back turned to him.
She is exposed.
It’s far easier to hide her emotions on her face than her body— and he can always read her for filth when she is turned away from him— but she needs to commit to not giving into the instinct that everyone feels whenever near this man: the instinct of turning, and watching, and praying that his eyesight doesn’t fall onto them.
There is something dangerous in Adrien’s gaze that startles people and makes them wary of being in his presence, like they’re one step away from getting a knife pulled on them. The tabloids and magazines claim that he is the hottest man in Paris, but always fail to mention how being near him is almost a punishment when he makes eye contact. Because he’s always reading, always calculating, always pulling people apart, stitch by stitch, with a simple look in his eyes.
She’s watched him enter holding cells with nothing but a smile on hand and leaving them with all the information the office requires. Those emerald eyes send anyone on edge.
For her case specifically, those emerald eyes put her on edge because she knows that if they make eye contact she’ll be one step closer to irreparably breaking, like a colored glass mural showing every little crack and splinter before being nothing but shards.
Nino thanks him with a grin, taking a manilla folder out of his hands, frowning at the way Adrien pivots on his heel to leave. “Wait, wait, hold on— why are you in such a rush? Don’t leave. Sit”—he gestures to the sofa—“because I need to speak to you both. This mission is for the both of you. Pass her one, too.”
She doesn’t look him in the eyes when he gives her a freshly-printed folder. She doesn’t look at him when he sits on the armchair next to her. Instead, she spins her not-wedding-ring using her thumb. She thanks him silently for the document she props on her lap, staring straight at Nino from across the coffee table, waiting for the inevitable explanation with a quirk of her brow, channeling all of her efforts to look complacent and not overwhelmed.
Adrien has his cologne on.
She hasn’t smelled that in a long time. His pillow has long since washed out the scent. Waking up in the first weeks with her nose pressed up against it and her hand smoothing the fabric made her long for him in ways she’d never thought possible.
Nino stares at them both with hardening brown eyes for a long moment. She’d squirm under that stare, if she were any less used to men looking at her with unreadable eyes, so she matches it with a soft stare of her own— daring him to explain himself before she goes digging through the folder on her lap for answers.
He’s not the only impatient one.
Nino folds his hands in front of him, on top of his folder, looking between the two of them, like he’s waiting for them to start confessing something he knows of. Just before the pause stays for too long, he jumps at the opportunity to start talking.
“I’m aware that the press is convinced you two are newly married,” he starts, eyes glinting. She can’t read him at all, not like Adrien can, but she doesn’t swallow spit like her nerves are telling her to do. Instead, she blinks impassively, mirroring Nino with the way she folds her hands, nothing of recollection passing in her eyes. “And I am aware that people in the office speculate about your relations with each other.”
“Do they?” She speaks just as softly as ever, no visible cracks in her voice.
“Not only is the public attempting to place you two together, but your colleagues as well.” Oh, so there is a smile in his eyes starting to show. How interesting. It makes Nino’s face sweet, with soft, childish brown eyes that are made even softer with the thickness of his brows. He has an approachable face, with a well-kept scruffy beard and short cropped hair that adds to his youth— always on the edge of slipping his tie off and taking out his colleagues for a round or two of beer. Even when working as the chief in an intelligence agency, there’s still vitality in him— she’s never bothered to pay attention for too long, of course, because she doesn’t make it a habit of learning things about the people she works with just in case she gets attached. She’s learned her lesson already. But today’s different. “There is a betting pool amongst your coworkers, speculating if you two are together.”
“I wasn’t made aware.” Lies. As if it took any effort at all to see people whispering behind her back whenever she makes her way to the bathroom, or leaves to go collect her supplies for her next mission. The brief times Adrien had talked to her in front of their coworkers had sent the bullpen into a frenzy of hushed tones and knowing looks. They salivate and hunger like dogs.
Adrien’s always loved egging them on. Smiling whenever Marinette’s name is mentioned in conversation— always making sure to call her sweetheart in front of others with an annoyed tone in his voice to indicate he’s being sarcastic— looking up at her with amused eyes whenever she comes by his cubicle to drop off a packet that had been put on her desk by accident.
Dogs.
All of their coworkers.
“Oh, interesting. What side are you on, Nino?” Adrien asks their boss with a smile in his voice.
“I don’t think I should tell you, honestly.” Nino breaks out into laughter, hiding his smile behind a large hand. They’re soft, though. Virginial. Nino’s never shot at anything besides the moving targets they have set up in the shooting range. He’s a good shooter, but has the common weakness of having bad ankles. Nino will never be fast enough to hit, shoot, and kill if he ever needs to.
She hopes it never comes to it.
“Oh, don’t be shy.” Adrien’s grinning, now, that smooth and rich voice making her toes twitch. “What do you think? Tell me, I’m so curious. Do you think Marinette and I are married? Be honest. We’d make a beautiful couple, don’t you think?”
“I don’t think it’s polite to speculate on my employees’ love life,” Nino argues, but it’s weak, because he loves taking benign baits. It’s easy to entertain him. “I’m going to err on the safe side and say that I’m confident in my choice. But, either way, are you aware of what they say about you in the magazines, Marinette?”
“No,” she lies again, thinking back to how the two of them would argue about it every time there was a new magazine cover with her face on it. Name calling. Gossiping. Conjecturing. News articles stopping at nothing to claim that she’s simply trying to expedite getting her permanent residence card to reside in France by marrying the most attractive bachelor in the city of Paris. She remembers the way Adrien would apologize for it, over and over, with his lips on her knuckles and his fingers trailing down her spine. “I don’t bother to see what gossip surrounds Monsieur Agreste.”
Nino’s eyes shift left. “What about you, Adrien? Do you bother to see the gossip that follows Mademoiselle Cheng?”
Mademoiselle.
Of course.
“I’ve read some of the articles once or twice,” Adrien lies just as easily. There is no laughter in his voice, not yet, but she knows he’s on the cusp of finding it funny. Mademoiselle. Preposterous. No doubt Adrien would be dissolving into laughter if he had the chance. “They’re entertaining to read. But are you speaking about something specific?”
“Well, according to The Gala, you two recently got officially married,” Nino opens his document to peruse for a specific item. He’s completely unaware of how Marinette spins her not-wedding-ring, then, doing her utmost best to not flinch. He slaps a magazine cover onto the coffee table in front of them, and she leans forward to look at the cover— it’s from last week, and they’re together, walking side by side, being caught by paparazzi. Her lips are red, her eyes are dark, and Adrien looks at nothing but her. Almost as if he’s consumed by it. “Like, officially. Big wedding. But secret, somehow. I don’t know. Apparently, it upset your father very much— he called you a disgrace, according to this one.”
“Good,” Adrien’s voice lowers into something satisfying, and dark, and smooth, and oh. She hates that she knows what face he’s making. She hates how it stirs something in her stomach— how his voice makes for a perfect silk on her skin underneath her turtleneck jumper. It’s been so long since she’s had any action in bed that even the smallest of things are sending her on edge. “What a lovely wedding gift. Who needs a food processor on your registry when you can make your father hate you instead?”
“And you two didn’t even bother to invite your own boss to your wedding.” There’s an exaggerated sigh in Nino’s voice as he leafs through the rest of his files for something or the other. He ends up tossing another front cover page onto the coffee table, one where Adrien is smiling, and bright, looking down at his ring like he’s the happiest man in the world. Marinette can’t stop looking at it— she’s always been weak to the way Adrien lights up.
“We should’ve realized you were just as important in this relationship as the two of us are,” Adrien teases. “We should’ve told you before this sprung up on you like this. How inconsiderate of us.”
“Oh, yeah. You know, I would’ve been your best man if you had just asked.”
“A huge wedding like this article is saying? We’d need more than just one best man. Two best men.”
“You should’ve asked your cousin.”
“Oh, as if he’d ever leave England for it. You know that at this point he is the British government.”
Her eyes snap back up when she sees the words ‘Bachelor is taken! Finally got married?’ at the bottom of the front cover, with an obnoxious zoom done on their fingers to show the many stacks of rings she always wears, claiming that the one on her pinky is the true wedding ring. Idiots. “So why did you call us in here, Nino? To ask us the truth?”
The two of them quickly sober.
Nino takes a deep breath as if he’s preparing himself for confrontation, so she has no doubt that he’s unnerved by the way she looks at him, but he surprisingly keeps his cool. As if he’s practiced for this. How many peptalks did he have to get from Alya in order to look at her like he’s facing death head on? “No. I know you two have always been incapable of being near each other.”
A year ago that would’ve been comical.
Now all it does is make the knife dig harder into her chest.
“And yet,” she goads lightly, showing no emotion as she regresses back into herself to keep from crying. She taps her fingers slowly against the ironed seams of her pants, and he follows the movement with wary eyes.
“And yet,” he repeats back. “Since everyone around us is convinced you two are married, including your father, we’re going to use this to our advantage. I want you two to go on a stake out for me in order to find someone. Open your folders— I don’t want to stall a second longer, so let’s start talking strategies.”
Adrien sits back into his chair. She watches, in the corner of her eyes, as he folds his thick arms over a defined chest, easing into a comfortable position as he finally lowers down his guard. “Alright, okay. Sounds reasonable. But you haven’t exactly explained anything.”
“I’m getting there. Just trying to approach this cautiously. Like I said, I’m not convinced our briefing team would’ve done a good job with this one. And, honestly… with the way you’re looking at me, Mademoiselle Cheng, I don’t think I’m doing any better.” He glances back down to his lap, playing with the edge of one of the papers that stick out, twitching his mouth as he thinks. “Marinette, you’re going to have to convince the entire world that you are in fact Marinette Agreste. We’re going to need you to prove the papers right. All of them. Can you do that?”
“Is it necessary for the mission?” she asks, already knowing the answer by the way her boss’s eyes glint with laughter.
“You’ll understand in a moment.”
“I’m sure it won’t be too hard. How difficult will it be to be Agreste’s wife if people are already under the assumption it’s true?”
“Good. I knew I could count on you.”
“Well. All things considered, it’s an honor to have you as my wife,” Adrien attempts to joke with a smile as he opens up his own document. She looks to him, finally, truly in the eyes for the first time today. It’s only for a split second— she knows that any longer will be detrimental to her facade that already feels like splintered glass— and finds herself captivated by him like she always is.
Not even in her own thoughts could she ever be able to convince herself that the sight isn’t lovely. She knows the shape of his mouth too well, as well as his jawline that she was constantly putting her fingers on when pulling him close for a heated kiss. High, structured cheekbones, model-ready edges of his face always sharp enough to cut through stone— he’s so polished.
She’s kissed it all.
All— and has even sat on it more times than should’ve been allowed with how perfect he is.
She knows that shape of his smile, knows the shape of his eyes, and knows the shape of his broad shoulders in that ridiculously-sized button down shirt that fits him just well enough for his form to be evident. A form she’s spent countless hours tracing with her hands and fingertips when underneath him, gasping out his name, forgetting about all of their fighting and all of their problems and all of their worries for just an hour or two longer.
His tie is skewed. Like always.
Except this time she wasn’t able to get to him and fix it before he showed up at work.
She takes in his hair and how that specific hair strand is sticking up again, because he’s never in his lifetime managed to get it to stay down unless she was the one to comb through it for him.
His eyes are tired. There is nothing glinting in them. There is no humor in those green eyes, in that thin smile, in the way he holds himself in front of her. He’s tired, and she can tell— and she can pinpoint exactly which nightmare has affected him over the course of the night with the way his mouth twitches when her eyes flicker just briefly down to look at his lips.
Adrien… doesn’t look like he’s been sleeping.
For a long, long time.
She wants to console him. She wants to reach over and fix that lock of hair. Run her fingers through soft, golden strands that she knows feel like silk from all the times he would steal all the conditioner in their bathroom even though she’d tell him he didn’t need it. She wants to tuck him close, rub circles and shapes and nothings across his back, and apologize for everything she’s done. Beg for forgiveness on her knees, and pray for him to look at her like he always has.
She doesn’t deserve it. She doesn’t deserve him to come back.
But it’s impossible to stop wanting it.
It’s impossible to stop wanting him.
How could she stop? How could she ever stop wanting him? The man she used to wake up pressed up against in bed, the sheets tangled at their ankles, with a large palm drawing sweet stars into the skin of her back, nuzzling into her hair. His morning voice deep and low and silky on her skin like her pajama set— tickling her bangs with laughter as she nuzzled closer and closer into him until they were one. Until she was practically straddling him from how her leg hooked high on his hip and stomach. Every time the strap of her nightshirt fell down her arm, he’d fix it with a single finger, emerald eyes never leaving hers— those days where nothing existed except him. Except her. Except the laziness of his fingers as they traced her skin.
She misses him.
She misses them.
Why did she do this? Why did she ruin what they had? How many times is she going to keep doing this to him until he finally gives up on the two of them and moves on? Afterall, it’s not like there is a lack of suitors— the moment he’s finally disinterested, it’ll be easy for him to find someone new. It doesn’t help that she’s never made an effort to stop pushing him away.
Oh, but the thought hurts…
The thought makes her fingers twitch, and makes her spin her ring harder, trying so hard to get comfort in it without succumbing to spinning the actual wedding ring. It makes her want to yell and scream and start crying all over again.
Can he tell how disheveled she is? Can he tell how little sleep she’s been getting? How she always feels like she has a low-grade fever from the low quality of her sleep? She’s starting to go mad in their apartment.
Her apartment.
It’s not his anymore.
As far as she’s aware, he still has his key to it— to the place they picked out together, because the kitchen island made out of cement had caught his eye, and the covered balcony with the strange bathroom tiles had caught hers— the place that they’ve covered with a clutter of her greenery and his stacks of books— the place that feels empty and alone without him. She waits for the echo of his bike to purr down the road and into the building’s private garage every night, wondering, waiting, if he’ll finally get fed up with their agreement and show up, and let her apologize— but the nights are long, and starless, and empty.
There is nothing stopping her from working longer hours, so she spends fewer hours at home.
She buries herself into work.
She leaves the country as frequently as is allowed for her missions, doing everything in her power to stop thinking of the man that used to be hers.
“Will I have to get documentation of my name change?” she asks, looking back at Nino. All of this has lasted for barely a second. But it’s enough.
“No. You won’t have to do any of it.”
Adrien cuts in. “Is the briefing team on this, too?”
“God, no. I don’t trust anyone to touch this mission except the four of us.”
“The four of us?”
“Alya will be here soon to give you your identification card, your ring, your new residency status— all of it.” Ah. Alya. Alya already knew about the mission, after all. Marinette makes sure to keep that in mind for later, when she’s sequestered to the side by the famished researcher, asking why she’d been taken into Nino’s office. “She’s already got your ring size, and you’ve already spoken to her about your dress size. We’ll be providing the both of you the necessary outfits for the show you will be attending, as well as the proper gear.”
“Something’s not adding up,” Adrien replies simply. “Why did the research team tell me to collect three packets and two more folders? Are we missing a third?”
“Yes. Well, no. We’re not missing a third— I’ve made the executive decision to amend the mission. Sort of. The original plan was that you’d go on ahead in front of Marinette and Luka. We were going to have the two of them hide as a couple honeymooning, and you were going to be their backup in case they needed it.”
“Her and Luka?” Adrien sours. The effort it takes her to not roll her eyes is almost enough to make her consider quitting the mission before she’s even opened her folder. “Thank god you hadn’t. The man would’ve never survived.”
Oh.
Oh, what a god damned liar. It’s so painful to know that she has to physically bite her tongue in order to not snap back, but there’s nothing she can say that wouldn’t just immediately reveal the truth— but damn does it take a lot of energy to stop herself from responding. Luka wouldn’t survive being with her, sure, but it wouldn’t be her doing. She’s seen the way Adrien’s eyes turn into liquid fire whenever someone approaches her— undoubtedly the reason why the office started wondering about their relationship in the first place— but Adrien almost loses himself entirely whenever he sees her talking to their fellow field agent.
She remembers those nights. He’d always kiss her harder. Hungrier. Desperately wanting to mark the skin of her neck with flat teeth, but knowing not to, instead hiding all of the evidence of his affections underneath the lace and smooth cups of her bra. Her legs parting willingly to wandering fingers, in a rush to make her cry out his name instead of whoever she had spoken to hours prior. Adrien’s always been a jealous person— always filled with the dark desire to keep her away from anyone and have her for himself. Not like she’s any better.
She’s probably worse.
Adrien would sing from her fingertips whenever the magazines started cycling through their campaign to prove each other wrong. Whenever he was photographed with another woman, be it a field member, or a friend or colleague— the envy would be enough to make her want to keep him in bed for days. Mark him and claim him, so that no one tried to take advantage of him. It was a shame there weren't many places that could hide bruises; unlike her, he had no bra to keep them from showing— but she always made do with the golden skin beneath the band of his underwear instead.
Because he is hers.
Was.
He’s not hers anymore.
“Honestly, Nino, you’re doing that man a favor by not putting the two of them together— Marinette is a menace.”
“Careful,” she speaks cleanly, no hint of humor in her voice as she speaks to him for the first time in weeks, “this menace is now considered your wife.”
“And we’re happy together,” he smooths over the annoyance that brews inside of her. “I’ve never been happier in my life than I am being wed with you.”
Nino has no idea he’s being genuine. Nino has no idea that there’s a knife in her chest starting to carve the more Adrien talks. A knife curling and curving and digging its way through her heart and making her bleed.
“You look exactly the same.” She turns to him, propping her chin under her hand as she looks him over. He won’t be able to tell that she’s cracking if she looks him in the eyes. There’s something simmering under his skin, like he knows the two of them will continue to burn themselves to the ground if they continue this little dance around the issue. “You’d think a happier man would look different.”
“I’ll continue being a happy husband, so long as Luka is nowhere near this mission.”
“Jealous of other men looking at me, Adrien? You’re acting as if I’m even worth that much effort.”
“I’m just looking out for a fellow fieldman.” He doesn’t correct her. She reads between the lines. She is worth the effort, according to him.
“Of course.” She glances down, not letting her voice splinter. Giving the illusion of disinterest.
“Of course,” he repeats. “I would never let a coworker walk into danger without knowing what’s up ahead.”
“This is going to go great,” Nino speculates to himself, tapping his fingernail against his open folder. “You two are already warming up to each other. Maybe. Is this you actually enjoying yourself, Marinette? Or are you being serious?”
Ah, now that makes her crack a smile. Even if it’s weak. Even if it’s not a real one. “If you can’t figure out, Monsieur, then it’s for the best that you don’t guess.”
Nino is a smart man, and does not try to assume. “After the idea of Luka had disintegrated before it even began— because we knew that you have particularities with working with others, Marinette— I had thought of maybe placing Adrien with Kagami instead. I was going to have Marinette come in later and actually do most of the stake out while we kept you two as backup, just hiding in front of paparazzi in order to give you two an alibi. Maybe have you two convince—”
“Are you out of your mind? Kagami is a lesbian,” her eyes snap back up and bore into Nino’s. He falters, the words dying from his mouth, like he wasn’t expecting her to try to argue a case against him so quickly. “She would’ve never have survived pretending to be in love with Adrien, either. At least I have a better chance.”
She has nothing against Kagami. She’s a wonderful field agent who is quick on her feet and quicker to shoot— her shots are the closest in terms of skill to Marinette’s own. The woman is intelligent, and brilliant, and she’s done many missions with her that wouldn’t have been successful had she gone on her own. She considers Kagami a valuable team member, and would even consider her a friend if it weren’t one glaring issue.
She doesn’t like it when Adrien is with her.
And she definitely doesn’t like it when Adrien has to go with Kagami on the field. If she can pull strings so that he goes alone, or goes with her instead, well… she’s always so much happier. The days that she can’t get either of those two options are the days Adrien knows he has a timer ticking down till she drags him to bed and makes sure he knows how much she’s missed him— she makes sure to use him until her cunt feels full and abused.
“And you can do a better job at convincing people you’re in love with me?” Adrien raises a brow.
She needs to extend an olive branch or this briefing will never finish. “You’re not difficult to love.”
“Oh yeah? Are you quoting something like ‘you’re a lot easier to love than to hate myself’? That sort of thing?”
Marinette really does her best not to roll her eyes. “Maybe Luka should be going instead.”
But he isn’t even wrong. It is always so much easier for her to love him, to truly love Adrien, than it is to hate herself and hate everything that she is. It is so much easier for her to think about what she wants out of him. He is the love, and the sweetness, and the commitment she needs, but continues to push away. She’s driving the two of them apart, even though all she wants to do is the opposite. Why? What’s the point of keeping him away instead of loving him like she desperately wants to?
Is it worth it?
“Like he would be easier for you to love,” Adrien huffs.
“I was talking about him going with you,” a thin brow makes its way up her hairline. “You could’ve gone with Luka. Or, a better idea, would’ve been me going with Kagami— at least then I’d know that this mission would be completed with no question.”
There’s a twitch in his eyes. It’s imperceptible to anyone else, but she knows better by now. “Luka wouldn’t have fit into this equation.”
Oh, Adrien’s really annoyed with the idea of her giving Luka any sort of attention, isn’t he? What a delight. She loves it when there are storms brewing in those emerald eyes of his— that slow crackling of possession that always ended up making them burn their dinner because he was too busy taking her against the kitchen counter he loves so much. It makes her smile curl at the edges, almost teasing. “You could’ve pretended he was your husband. I’m sure that would’ve started even more news and attention around you, which would’ve left me free to do my job.”
“No.”
“It’s an easier option.”
“I’m not going to put you and Luka in a room together, for the sake of this man’s health.” For the sake of their health, he means, but Marinette doesn’t even have to place the thought together before she turns to him with enough exasperation to fill the room.
“Will you stop acting like I’m that horrible of a person? You’ve never even seen me talk to him before.”
“Good. Keep it that way.”
Ugh. “You think I’m going to kill him, or something?”
“No. But you might fall in love, sweetheart,” Adrien grins easy, like he’s won the argument. “And we can’t have that, can we, wifey?”
She doesn’t blink at his sarcasm. “God forbid I’m happy with someone.”
“Ha! Like you’d be happy with him.”
“Why? You think he wouldn’t be able to handle me?”
“I’ve been a witness to your sex drive, sweetheart.” The both of them ignore the way Nino makes a noise of confusion and Adrien’s voice gets deeper and deeper. “Luka wouldn’t leave you satisfied.”
“I can prove you wrong on that one.”
His emerald eyes almost cut through her as they sharpen. He’s calling her bluff. “No, you wouldn’t. Even if you spent weeks with him, it wouldn’t feel the same.”
He’s… right. Adrien is the only person she knows that’s been able to satisfy her in the way she loves the most. She’d be happy, and would love whatever orgasm Luka ripped out of her, no doubt, but it wouldn’t be the same. Nothing matches the way he feels underneath her. Nothing matches the way Adrien sings under her fingertips.
But she hates losing arguments, so. “You’d hate that, wouldn’t you? Me being happy with someone who isn’t as annoying as you? Someone who doesn’t drive me fucking crazy every time we make eye contact? Someone who doesn’t look at me like he’s won an argument even though he hasn’t made any points?”
Oh, he doesn’t even flinch. In fact, his smile seems to get wider, infuriating her all the more, and she does her best not to pinch her brows. Adrien’s gaze falls down to her lips, his smile turning into a smirk. His canines almost look menacing. She tries not to think about that mouth against the inside of her thigh. “You’d be willing to use a coworker like that just to forget about me? For shame, sweetheart.”
She raises a brow. “I’ll admit, it’s hard to forget about someone who makes an insane amount of effort to make me think about them exclusively.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” It isn’t. It’s never been a bad thing. Days and nights consumed by this man? Oh, what a dream. Just the idea of being in his lap again is enough to make goosebumps start prickling up her arms. She’s so thankful for the turtleneck with long sleeves— she can hide her skin from the world, and she’s thankful for the wide-legged black slacks she wears— they hide all the evidence of her arousal.
She's aching.
She’s wanting.
It’s been a solid few months since they’ve been together, since she last had that swollen cock between her hands and him whimpering for release— she misses his intimacy. Their intimacy. The idea of having him sheathed inside of her is almost enough to make her shiver.
She blinks to get the thoughts out of her head. “But what do you have against Luka being my husband? Share for the class, Monsieur Agreste, I’m curious as to what you have to say.”
“Honestly? I’m just thinking about how he’d be a worse husband. Your particularities are hard to handle, and anyone with eyes can see that. Even Luka, who seems to have no problem with anyone or anything, wouldn’t be able to handle you. Besides, I’ve never heard of a field agent who exclusively only listens to 70’s rock and roll.”
Oh. Oh. What a god damn liar. As if his playlists aren’t filled with the exact same music selection! As if he hadn’t spent days humming Jagged Stone songs under his breath when they used to eat breakfast together at the kitchen table, one broad hand on her bare thigh— rubbing little circles that felt so quaint and so domestic and so sweet— his other hand on the coffee mug he would always forget to wash out before they left for work. “Are you serious? Is that the deal breaker for you?”
His eyes snap back up when he registers he’s been staring at her mouth for too long. He’s always loved it when she pouts— always told her that it was one of the hottest sights he’s ever seen. It sends shivers down her spine when they make eye contact again and recollection sparks in his eyes. Does he know how much her body is awash with heat? Surely he does. That grin is telling enough. “Is it not to you?”
“That’s stupid. Why would someone’s music preference be an issue?”
“Of all the things you don’t have an issue with, it’s music choice? Good to know. You won’t be upset if I only exclusively play Soft Cell, will you?”
As if he hasn’t already. Every time she hears Tainted Love she thinks of the collection of vinyls they used to have stacked in their living room, and how he’d always tell her that vinyls were better than streaming the music services available to them. A music snob.
“Is this why you’re still considered a bachelor at the age of twenty-seven? Because of your aversion to listening to anything that isn’t 80’s synths, you heathen?” she rolls her eyes. “How has no one snatched you up yet? You’re just begging to be married.”
“I am married,” there’s a twinkle in his eyes, like he’s half joking, yet half serious. “And if you think I’m obnoxious, I’m grateful you haven’t met my wife.”
Relatively speaking, it should be offensive to hear that. It absolutely should. It’s the age-old problem of having a man talk badly about his ball-and-chain of a significant other he is married to— and normally, the idea would fill her with enough irritation to actually go through an entire argument— but that’s not what’s happening here.
Adrien’s trying to make her laugh.
In the stupidest, dumbest way possible.
She can feel the way her lips are starting to twitch, just at the very corners, as she tries her utmost best to not give into the lunacy of this briefing. She has never been able to survive arguments with Adrien without dissolving into laughter, because he has this thing about him where he knows exactly how to unravel her. Sometimes it takes a couple of nips against her jawline and two long pianist fingers sliding inside her. Sometimes it takes him situating himself between her legs, slotting their hips together, pressing the head of his feverish cock into her.
And sometimes it takes just a ridiculous argument about being married and about musical preference to get the tension in her shoulders to start disappearing. She hates how proud he looks of himself. She loves how easy it is for him to recognize her discomfort.
“Okay, okay. Enough.” Nino looks close to pinching the bridge of his nose. “You two are insufferable. You know that, right? Practically no one wants to work with either of you.”
“Good,” they respond in unison, turning back to their boss.
Nino ignores them with flat eyes. “You, especially, Marinette— you are impossible to read.”
“I don’t let people get to know me too often.”
“Except Alya.”
“I have a soft spot for her.”
“It’s your only soft spot. You’re made out of kevlar.”
“My job is to spy on people,” she raises her brow in a silent question, “and sometimes more. Do you want me to be accessible?”
“I want you to be friendlier with your associates, Marinette.” Nino’s mouth quirks downwards. “Adrien is colleagues with everyone in his department, including Luka. I thought Adrien didn’t have a problem with the man, but I guess I was wrong— but that’s because he makes an effort to hide his disdain for others and is a good team member. Meanwhile, have you been able to talk to anyone that isn’t Alya without staring them down like you do with me? It’s like you’re daring them to offend you.”
“Are you scared when I look at you?”
“Terrified,” Nino replies honestly. Is he sweating? Had that tiny little argument she had with Adrien really been enough to scare this man shitless? “If it weren’t for your perfect track record, and if it weren’t for the fact that Adrien has never been afraid of you, I honestly wouldn’t know what to do with you.”
Oh? “Explain.”
“Did you not notice how Adrien kept up with you just now? When was the last time you had this type of argument with anyone?” Nino crosses his arms. “Not recent, I guess. No one can approach you, Marinette. Everyone’s afraid of you.”
She shifts in her seat silently.
“You are completely radio silent when you’re not in the office,” he continues. “No one knows anything about you, not even Alya, who clearly is the closest thing you’ve had as a friend in this place since you began working here. I haven’t heard you speak this much before in my life, and you’ve been working for me for years. I don’t even know what your last name really is.”
Huh. Interesting. “Do you think Cheng is a false name?”
“Yes. What’s your real last name, Mademoiselle?”
“Agreste, apparently,” she has to stop herself from laughing, but Adrien fills in the gaps for her with a chuckle. She shifts in her chair again, finally sitting back and resting against the back of her seat. She crosses her legs too— one sculpted leg over the other, showing the top lip of her black stilettos. Nino can’t find out just how upset she is if she plays this to her advantage. “There isn’t much you need to know about me.”
“Try me.” That youth in Nino’s eyes is almost playful as it is serious.
“On the condition you change these stupid sofas,” she responds without even thinking it through. “Burn them, chuck them out of the window— give them to the pound to give the unfortunate animals a change of scenery. I’ll trade information if you listen to Alya when she decides on what furniture to put in here.”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you have a deal. Decorate the whole office, if you need to. Start talking.”
Of course her smile comes out now. She can’t help herself from crinkling her eyes. “I’m Marinette Cheng. Married to Adrien Agreste.”
He sighs. “You’re not taking this seriously.”
“Oh, on the contrary, Monsieur. I am. Marinette Agreste exists and she’s in front of you. I just never bothered to change my last name, I’ve always been attached to the Cheng family name ever since I was little. No one can change that core part of me— even it feels wonderful to be referred to as an Agreste.” She watches with a wolfish smile as Nino’s face drains of color. Good. “There’s power in that name, you know. Everyone knows who the Agrestes are. Wealthy, powerful, they are their own sermons on the mount with how many people beg to hear them speak. Adrien blinks the wrong way and the stock market for a particular brand goes down. One phone call— one click of his thumb— and Felix puts the entirety of the British government on lockdown. The only people who could genuinely survive a negative comment from an Agreste is none other than an Agreste themself. Do you know what it’s like to be consumed with the idea of being wealthy enough to dominate an entire economy?”
“Marinette Agreste is your real name?”
“Oh, yes. We’ve been married for two years. Our anniversary, should we want to celebrate it, is next Sunday on the fifth. We married at Saint Chapelle at three in the morning with the priest and the parish priest as our two witnesses.”
Nino looks torn. He has that look in his eye where he looks as if he can’t make up his mind whether to believe her or not. “You’re fucking with me.”
She tilts her head to the side. Just enough to let a lock of her hair fall over her shoulder, black hair on black jersey knit fabric. “Am I? Go on, call my bluff. Or do you think I married just for money? Because I guarantee you I didn’t.”
“I mean— well— two years? Married? Without telling anyone? That’s not possible.”
“Oh, it’s possible. No, the reason why I said yes was because of the sex. Who cares about money when you have him? Two wonderful sex-filled years being married to him.” She’s all teeth when she smiles. Nino looks horrified, looking between the both of them, trying to get Adrien to refute the claims. Oh, perfect. Her favorite way to get someone to shut up is to overload them with information so that all they can do is stick to one point and ignore the others— she wonders what part of all of this Nino will attach himself to and try to pull apart first. “Adrien took one look at my mouth in the red lipstick I’m never caught not wearing, and decided to wife me, because he has a mouth kink of some kind. The amount of times I’ve given a blowjob to this man exceeds a thousand times—”
Adrien shifts in his seat with a snort.
Nino blinks. “You—”
“Which, yes, is more than once a day for three years. It takes me all of twelve minutes to get him off if he’s feeling exceptionally frisky. Which is often. Because his libido is higher than a teenager’s, and the highest I’ve ever been a witness to. He loves it.” She’s having too much fun teasing him. The both of them. She can tell that Adrien’s shifting in his seat because he’s thinking about all the times she used to drag him to bed at the smallest inconvenience. “Claims that I’m cheating somehow, but it’s not my fault he’s a quick study. He bleeds from a papercut and remembers how human he is and then decides to remind me too, but making sure that I feel sore in the legs the next day. I don’t even have to do any type of cardio workouts because of this man.”
“I—”
“And he still married me, even though I’m his ‘worst nightmare’.” She uses air quotes at that, watching for any brain matter leaking out of Nino’s ears. He’s close to it. A minute or more and he’ll leave the room, she’s sure of it.
Nino pauses enough for Marinette’s brows to raise up in a silent question. “There are holes in your story. You can’t get married at Saint Chapelle, it’s a tourist church. There’s not even an altar. And you two would’ve slipped up, at some point, and mentioned it to someone. How do you not mention being married to a coworker for two years?”
She snorts softly. “Two spies being good at their job? Imagine the consequences of that, Nino.”
“But—”
“The ring he got me presumably cost around twenty thousand euros,” she continues, blinking softly and speaking to him like all she’s doing is crunching numbers and relaying it back to him. “I asked him to return it because twenty thousand is ridiculous, to which he said ‘no Agreste should expect less than the best, least of all you, Princess’.”
“Twenty thousand?”
“He’s rich,” she shrugs. “We both know that. And far be it I tell a man where to put his money. Even if it’s the one I’m marrying. If he’s willing to spend that much money on a jewelry piece, well, I guess I’m okay with it. I have to admit, it’s attractive when a man spends money on you. Is he gifting me a jewel to show the world that he owns me? Or is he using his money to please me? I don’t know which one is better.”
“Uh huh.”
“You should think about that when Alya—”
“Nope. We’re not changing the subject.” Oh. Good catch, Nino. She’s impressed, actually giving out a laugh for the first time today. It catches him off guard, of course, like he wasn’t expecting that type of noise to leave her. “Which one of the rings on your fingers is it, then? You don’t seem like the type of woman to put it on your actual ring finger.”
She glances down to the ring on her pinky, the one that the magazine claimed to be the real ring. It would be cruel to laugh again, but it does make her want to try it out, just to see if it would be a good idea— this whole situation is going to send her into hysterics. But she keeps making eye contact with Nino, batting her eyes, speaking softly, her voice feeling like silk.
“Adrien and I are happy together. I’ve never wanted something more in my life, but I am cruel, and I am indecisive, and I push people away when I need them the most so that way no one sees how human I am, so we haven’t been in the same apartment for the past six months. Which is even worse. The quietness is so much worse than the actual arguing.” She picks invisible lint off of her pants, glancing over to her right where Adrien has that look in his eyes that means he’s pensive and not irritated like she thought he’d be. “It’s why I am one of your top field agents, and it is why Adrien consistently says that I’m impossible to handle, and it is why I am lonely in this office. It’s because everyone is afraid of me, and my opinions, and the only one brave enough to talk to me ends up being my only friend here. Alya is the only person in this office who isn’t a field agent that wouldn’t back away from the loaded barrel of a gun, and you know that.”
Nino stares at her for a long time. As the moments pass and Marinette does nothing but stare back, daring him to pick her story apart, those expressive brows of his crinkle and pinch in the middle. It’s a good thing Nino is not a field agent— he would be terrible at it. “So you’re telling me I’m sending an actual couple on a mission.”
“I’m not telling you anything at all,” she blinks softly, hiding her smile away to look more complacent. “You can believe me, or you cannot, but it’s up to you.”
“And you, Adrien? You’re awfully quiet for someone who just got outed as married to the person you can’t stand. And… other things. I heard something about a kink somewhere in this mess.”
His eyes glint. “We’ll ignore that part for the sake of your sanity.”
“Jesus.”
“The only person who’s ever loved me in my life is the woman I married. And she does a terrible job at it.” Adrien tilts his head back to their boss. “Marinette is one of the most frustrating women I’ve met in my entire life, and I’m constantly stressed to levels that shouldn’t be healthy if it weren’t for my profession. She makes it up to me with the mindblowing sex— I have so many scratches on my back from her that I don’t think I’ll ever heal correctly.”
Nino’s eyes get flatter. “You both are having too much fun with this.”
“But she pushes me away harder than anyone else, because she’s trying to convince me not to love her. But I do anyway,” Adrien bounces his leg against the rug, ignoring their boss. “I do love her. I’ve never loved someone more in my entire life. The sex is great. Her love is better.”
Maybe she should buy Nino a beer. Or Alya. No doubt she’s going to deal with Nino tonight, who is going to be torn about talking about this to someone else. Two beers. A shot of whisky. Does he drink whisky? He needs to start drinking whisky.
“Where’s your ring, then?”
“I’ve never liked it being on my left hand,” he lifts his right, instead, to let the light catch and flicker against the polished white gold. “I like keeping it on my trigger hand. It’s for good luck.”
“For fuck’s sake. I thought you said that was a family ring.”
“Marinette is my family. My dad is a piece of shit, and my mom is dead. My cousin is too busy, running the entire English government to be my family, unless it’s convenient for him. My aunt’s amnesia makes her forget I exist at all and when she does remember me, she thinks I’m Felix. Somehow. We look nothing alike. Anyway, Marinette’s all I’ve got.”
Sometimes she forgets how honest Adrien is.
“Do you believe us?” she asks when Nino wipes at his eyes from stress. “I’m curious.”
“I don’t know. I have no idea,” he groans into a laugh. “Married. Married. You two have completely lost your minds. Is this a joke?”
“How many euros did you just lose in the betting pool?”
“This isn’t leaving the office,” Nino hides his eyes again with his thumb, “I’m not going to be saying a word about this. Because I can’t tell what’s the truth with either of you— because you two are playing games. You’re both treating your shit relationship like a joke.”
They both respond at the same time.
“You’re scolding us for being good at our job?” she asks.
“What else is there to do with this relationship?” Adrien snorts.
“Okay, I’m ignoring you for a second, Adrien, I’ll focus on one thing at a time.” He drums his fingers on his lap. “I’m scolding you for not being close to your colleagues, Marinette. This needs to work— we need you both on your best behavior— which, fine, if you both are actually married everything is going to sail like a breeze. Maybe even better. It won’t be intrusive to ask for a pregnancy test when you come back, would it?”
She narrows her eyes just a fraction. “Won’t work, because I have an implant. Adrien is allergic to latex. Nothing serious, but he hates the itch—”
“Okay, that”— Nino pauses, starting to pull out more magazines from his document and letting them land on the coffee table with a dull thunk—“is not the focus right now. But, if you’re not married, and the both of you are pulling this stupid stunt just for laughs against your boss, some weird retaliation that you two are in sync with that I’ve totally missed, that means that you’re actually going to have to open up to someone. Even if it’s just a little bit. And I’m sorry that you’re going to have to do it with the man you have had a track record of not liking— but I’m getting desperate with these stupid rules you both have and can’t break.”
‘Who is mystery woman?’ the first magazine reads.
‘Hottest bachelor with femme fatale?’ the second one gossips.
‘Gabriel and Adrien Agreste fight over son’s newest suitor?’ the third one screams.
The public has always been aware of them. And yet, it only seems like now they’re starting to put it together. She lets her eyes track over the magazines, gaze hardening over every new word that she reads, helpless to the way she pulls up her brows as she mocks the pages in her head. She’s never cared for the magazines. She’s never liked them. The only times she’s ever enjoyed them are when the paparazzi capture photos of them together and Adrien has that look in his eyes that tells her there’s nothing in his head except her.
“I don’t care about your relations,” Nino continues, tapping a finger against his jawline as he talks. “You two are adults, and far be it for this office to have ethics and morals at a time like this when I know you two are full to the brim with red stains written all over your history and life.”
“You think this would go against company policy?” Adrien tilts his head.
“What, you two being married? In a relationship? Kind of, yes! There are loads of paperwork you two would have to fill just in order to be put on the same mission.”
“You and Alya have been together for years,” she remarks.
Nino pauses. “Stop. Stop it. Both of you. Oh, god. I think I’m starting to see everything in a new light, now. I hate that the both of you are tilting your heads in the same direction, quit it. Both of you need to stop acting like a power couple. Behave.”
“It’s not the end of the world to find out your best friend is married, Nino. Come on.”
“It is. But I’m still calling your bluff. You two absolutely can’t be married. You’ve— I mean— you’ve never—”
“You’re just trying to get out of losing five hundred euros.” Adrien laughs. “Sorry, Nino. You shouldn’t have bet something you weren’t one hundred percent sure of—”
“I was one hundred percent sure!” Nino hisses. “Completely and totally sure! You’ve never said anything about being with Marinette! Aside from the whole ‘she’s pretty cute, isn’t she?’ line you would always say whenever she would leave a room. How was that enough for me to know that you were married?”
It’s oddly satisfying to hear that Adrien has never talked bad about her in the slightest to their boss. It makes something stir in her gut at the idea. She’d always imagined that he would’ve said something— anything— that would’ve given it away that they had been together for years.
“You think I’m cute?”
“You’re having too much fun with this,” Adrien’s eyes cut through hers. He’s smiling, softly, but it’s not exactly humorous. Slightly to the left of comfortable. Maybe the topic is getting on his nerves.
“Anyway, anyway. Regardless of this whole HR problem, I need you both to guarantee to me that you’ll do it— and do it well— or I won’t know what else to do with either of you.”
“Tell us the job, then, Nino. Who are we looking for, and where do we need to go to find them?”
“Promise me you two will behave.”
“We’re professionals,” Adrien answers cleanly.
“Putting you two together is like putting matches and gunpowder together,” Nino deadpans. “Everyone knows that both of you are volatile when in a group for these types of missions, and I never understood why. I thought that maybe this could be an exercise, or a bonding experience, to get you two to stop looking at each other like you’re going to start a shoot out— but now— what in the absolute hell—”
“We’ll get the job done,” Marinette speaks softly, folding her humor back into herself so they can focus on the task at hand. She’s had her fun, however briefly, but now they need to focus. Nino’s shoulders relax.
“Okay,” he says, as if that’s all he needed as confirmation. “Okay. Good.”
“How many euros did you actually lose, Nino?” Adrien asks as she starts to open her own folder.
“No. Nope. None of what either you said was a confession, and I am not going to answer that question. Focus on our mission that I’m attempting to debrief you for.”
“You’re doing a great job,” Adrien offers. “I think you would just be doing a better job if you told us how many—”
“Okay! Here we are. I need you to find this man.”
A fourth slap makes its way to the table, and she peers at the fuzziest photo she’s ever seen in her lifetime. It stops her in her journey of unraveling classified documents out of her folder and peering through them, her eyes catching on the grainy photo. She can’t make out anything aside from a profile, tucked away into a hat and an umbrella, as if the subject knew someone was taking a snapshot of them.
Adrien chuckles. “Yikes. That’s one terrible photo, Nino.”
“Have you looked into my application for the position of chief in our media department? Because I can take better snapshots in my sleep.” Marinette makes a face at the photo. “Please tell me I’m being, at the very least, considered.”
Nino sinks back into well-charted territory, focusing solely on the picture in front of them, lowering his chin into his hands as he thinks. “It’s not an ideal photo. But not everyone’s good at taking these types of snaps like you are, Marinette— yes, your application is being considered. Which is why it’s imperative you go.”
“I can tell,” she muses, trying to look for anything distinguishable in the photo.
“This man’s name is unidentifiable, no matter how hard we’ve tried. He’s impossible to reach and find and get any information on him, but we’ve been deciding on calling him Hawkmoth.”
“Hawkmoth?” Something about that name sounds familiar.
“The man only comes out at night, really, like an actual moth. The bigger the prize he’s after, the brighter the flame is when he burns the place to the ground. No one has any clue as to who he is.”
She looks back up. “Then how do you know he exists at all?”
“You exist. Don’t you, Madame Agreste?” Nino’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “Or whoever you actually are. You’ll always be Madame Cheng to me.”
She gives a brief smile. “Do you want us to figure out who he is?”
“And his associates. He has a couple of people that kind of follow him like a swarm— all with different nicknames. The Mime, Mayura, and Volpina— three highly secretive team members that can snatch practically anything off of anyone without anyone noticing.”
What about those names are so familiar to her?
“So they’re thieves.”
“Jewelry thieves,” Nino answers him. “And our informants tell us that he’s been going after some jewels called the Miraculous. He’s been collecting them for a couple of decades now, but only after the previous heist in Budapest—”
Wait a minute.
“The Miraculous?” she all but jumps for the photo again, looking for a crumb of recollection to the man’s face. There’s nothing. “You mean— do you mean the Miraculi?”
“The plural is Miraculouses.”
“No. The plural for these is Miraculi.” She narrows her eyes at the photo. “Nino, where was this photo taken?”
“Prague. Why? Do you know of something, Mademoiselle?”
Adrien folds his hands in front of his chest, all but ignoring the way she scrutinizes the photograph, talking over Nino’s question. “So you want us to play cops with petty jewelry thieves.”
“Oh, no, not at all. They’re not petty in the slightest— if they were, we wouldn’t be concerning ourselves with them. And, no— we want them to steal the jewelry.”
“So they’re fake?”
“Oh, they’re real alright,” she answers for Nino, looking back up with alarm. Prague. Prague. They’re getting closer. There’s lots of ground for them to cover, still, on their way from Prague to Paris, but that’s not enough. “Each jewel is some of the most expensive pieces you’ll find on the market. They’re— I mean— they’re literally priceless. Families have died for these earrings, for these necklaces, for these rings.”
“I didn’t know you were interested in jewels,” Nino raises a brow.
“These aren’t just jewels, Nino. They’re the Miraculi.” She makes a face. “They’re the most famous jewels to have ever existed, hidden away by the family that owns them, making it all the more impossible for them to be tracked when they’re inevitably snatched.”
“How do you know that?”
She doesn’t pause. “An uncle of mine used to be obsessed with them. Had photos and pictures of them everywhere plastered on his walls. It’s how I learned how to develop photos— my uncle had a darkroom in his house.”
“Huh. Interesting.”
“And they’re beautiful,” she supplies. “I’ve never seen such exquisite jewelry before in my life— I would kill to wear even a single one of them.”
“Would you? Even with your pristine and polished record?” There’s a smile in Nino’s voice, she knows it, and she doesn’t even bother to look up to see it.
“Without question,” she responds, tracing Hawkmoth’s face with her thumb. She looks back up from the photo to see Nino looking at her skeptically, and Adrien’s eyes narrowed on her. She ignores it, pointing to the photo she holds against her chest. “I mean, look Nino. These are coveted. This jewel that this man is after? They’re exquisite. What girl doesn’t dream about being covered in priceless jewels?”
“I suppose you’re right,” he sighs.
“So what is it that do you need us to do? Do you have any dupes you need us to use as bait?”
“We have something better, actually.” Nino lifts up from his chair to make his way to his desk. She tracks him with her eyes, following his movements as he presses his thumb and pinky into a scanner on the side of the sturdy furniture, opening up a thin drawer she can’t see from her side. She stiffens in her seat as a seal opens on the barren wall, something out of a dream.
“Holy shit,” Adrien leans forward in his chair, trying to peer inside. “I haven’t seen that vault open in years.”
“I didn’t even know there was a vault in here,” Marinette replies, holding the photo close, trying not to let her hair fall over her shoulder when she leans forward as well. The two of them watch their boss disappear into the corridor created by the partition, looking at each other with calculative gazes.
Adrien looks conflicted over something. She can read it in the way his eyebrows tick together, expressive and full, the green in his eyes almost punishing when they lock gazes. She doesn’t falter, not like many do, because she knows better than to hesitate or second-guess herself as he narrows his eyes at her in suspicion.
She matches it with a glare of her own.
He doesn’t flinch. “We’ll talk about this later, won’t we, sweetheart?”
“Won’t we be busy?” she responds without giving him a second glance, digging through her folder for reading material. There are pages upon pages of information and confirmed kills— speculation of what weapons were present with each individual that are a part of Hawkmoth’s team— and many more.
Her eyes catch on a certificate of their engagement.
They married last week, according to one of the documents provided in the file. A winter wedding. At least they got that part right.
“Oh, I sure hope not.”
She glances back up to him. “We’ll have to pack at some point.”
“You don’t have your priorities in order, Marinette.”
She can hear Nino whistling to himself as the sound of a heavy locks open from fingerprint scans and keypad configurations continues to perforate the air, going about the process like nothing short of a civil war is happening behind him.
“We need to get this job done,” she whispers sternly, keeping her head and tone low so that Nino can’t hear them both. It’s probable he’s not paying attention to either of them. “All we need to do is get this job done.”
“And how are we going to do that if you’re holding a card up your sleeve?”
“I’m not.”
“You aren’t as good of a liar as you think you are, sweetheart.”
Her head snaps up, her hair spilling across her shoulders. “Focus on the job.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I will. If you share with the class the information you’re hiding, Mademoiselle Cheng.”
She glances to the vault. Hopefully Nino isn’t on his way out of it, but there’s no way for her to tell at this angle unless she moves forward— so instead, she does the more logical thing, and looks for any faults in the vault’s structure.
The vault must be blast-resistant to the max— lined heavily with concrete on both sides. She’s done her fair share of cracking into strongrooms and stealing whatever was necessary inside, so the empty and vacant walls lined with LED strips isn’t all that unfamiliar— it should’ve been obvious to her beforehand that there would be a vault similar to what she’s encountered in her own work.
“It’s equitable,” she whispers softly, glancing back, watching the recognition morph onto Adrien’s face. Ah. She hates using coded phrases unless she specifically has to, but there’s no time for her to explain anything before Nino turns around and comes back from the vault— it’ll save her a bit of time, of course, and unless Adrien has a change of heart and decides that the loyalty that they have for one another isn’t strong enough anymore, she’ll have until the end of the night to come up with her answer— but this conversation will come to bite her again later.
At least it won’t be in the company of other people.
But now Adrien knows that there’s a lot more than it seems.
She tries not to sigh. This is about to be a gamble to see if Adrien won’t sell her out immediately. He wouldn’t… would he?
He sits back with a large inhale, letting her peruse her folder in silence, waiting for their boss to finish up unlocking whatever it is that he wants to bring them. She keeps staring at the word Hawkmoth.
And she tries her hardest not to fidget.
Fidget under Adrien’s staring, fidget under the prospect of having to hide as his wife, fidget under the concept of having to tell someone everything.
The quietness is almost too hard to ignore— and just as she’s about to wonder why Nino is taking so long, he’s on his way walking back out with a swagger in his step. There’s a velvet box with a difficult looking pinch lock in his hand.
“May I introduce you both to the Ladybug,” he murmurs, as he opens up the box to reveal two red earrings. He speaks softly as if he doesn’t want anyone outside the office to hear, but there’s still that confident smile on his face like he’s under the assumption that nothing can go wrong— that type of arrogance that is indicative of an inexperienced fieldman. Her head snaps up in alarm at the name of the jewel. She takes in the backing made out of solid gold, and the shape of the earrings that remind her of a chandelier from the way it cascades from the two original gemstones at the top— she has to stop herself from gasping or widening her eyes in apprehension.
There’s so much happening. “This is the original, correct?”
“It is,” Nino smiles. He sounds proud.
“How… long have you had this?” she asks, brows pinching together.
“Transferred in this morning.”
What is it doing in Nino’s hand? “The British monarchy gave it to us?”
“Not necessarily. Instead, it was brought to us by a certain British man that we all know and love very dearly.” Nino sighs, sitting down with the velvet box in his lap. She can’t look away from the earrings, boring holes into them, willing for it to catch on fire in an attempt to prove that it’s fake.
“Wait, hold on. Felix?” Adrien tilts his head. “What is the British government doing here in France?”
“Depositing our only advantage into our laps. He said it would be useful if Mademoiselle Cheng had legitimate earrings to wear on the mission.” Nino misses the way her fingers twitch a fraction of a centimeter, but she knows for a fact that Adrien doesn’t. “We will be using these jewels as the bait.”
“We’re playing the long game.”
“All we want and need is the two of you to follow them. Maybe even get close enough to one of them so we can place a bug on them, or at least get audio of their voice. Marinette, if you can take one of your photos of them, we’ll call this a success.”
“Nino,” she speaks slowly, as if speaking at a tone any louder than this will scare away the jewels in his hand. “I need you to give me a list of all the Miraculi stolen by this man.”
“Done.”
“And I need you to promise me that this is the original.”
“I’m not sure if this really is. Felix could be pulling my tail here, and just giving me a dupe to use— but it’s imperative that we find out who Hawkmoth is before he continues to steal them.”
“Sounds like a very low-stakes mission, to be honest, especially for something that Marinette said is incredibly expensive.” Adrien crosses his arms on his chest. He has absolutely no idea at how priceless this jewel in front of them is. Neither of them do. The fact that it’s so easily on display in Nino’s lap is enough to send her body into unease that won’t leave for a long time— she’s ready to start crying.
When was the last time she saw it with her own eyes?
“Well, we need to sell this. No one can get the impression that you’re tracking four of the most dangerous thieves.”
“How are we going to give the impression that this jewel wasn’t just planted on us? Even that’s too far of a stretch. How easy would it be for someone to recognize the obvious of us walking around with one of the other Miraculi?”
“Well, here’s the thing. No one knows that you’re working for us, Adrien.”
“As far as we’re aware,” Adrien shrugs.
“You two are going to be honeymooning, pretending that those earrings are wedding gifts from your cousin.”
“Sure. That’s somewhat easy to convince. But why would we be at the same place they are, taunting them with an item they want to collect?”
“Because our informants tell us that Hawkmoth is going to be at the newest Agreste fashion show.”
The room pauses. Even the sound of the LED strips inside the vault are louder than their collective breathing as the information sinks in instantaneously into their brains. “Wait—”
“And you will be attending.”
“Attending?” she sits back, eyes widening as recollection settles in. “You want us to attend the Agreste show?”
“Correct.”
“But Adrien isn’t a model anymore.”
“He is not. You both will be attending to sit in the audience.”
Adrien looks speechless. “You want us to pretend to go on a honeymoon and smoke out Hawkmoth—”
She finishes his sentence for him. “—pretending that we’re also there to say a big fuck you to Gabriel Agreste by honeymooning in the same city as him?”
“Exactly! All of which will be you pretending— or, rather, actually being— Monsieur Agreste’s wife and being madly in love. He’s given you presents, he’s given you money— that power that you talked about, Marinette, will be yours to command convincingly for this entire mission.”
“Great.” Adrien twitches in his seat. “Oh, that’s just great. Just when I thought I wouldn’t have to see my father again for the rest of my life.”
“It’s not ideal. But, the good news is, if the rumors are false and you two are bluffing— and I didn’t lose money— there is nothing to actually fear meeting your fake father-in-law, Marinette.” That childish grin on Nino’s face is back, full of humor and full of mischief. “But if you are indeed Marinette Agreste, then you will have no problem dealing with the idea of having Gabriel as a father-in-law. Correct?”
She looks back down to the velvet box, hiding everything and anything on her face with a flat look in her eyes. The fear of being found out, the trepidation of Adrien’s scrutiny when the two of them are alone, and in private, and can talk about why she’d pulled a coded phrase on him, the idea of having to actually see Gabriel for the first time in person— all of it is enough to make her start to sweat under her jumper.
But she doesn’t show it. She can’t. Not yet.
Instead, she looks at her boss with leveled eyes, masking her concern behind a placid smile. “Where are you sending us to?”
“Rio de Janeiro,” Adrien cuts in before he responds, sounding sour and bitter and completely distasteful. “His next show is in Rio.”
Of course.
Of course it is.
Of all the places it could’ve possibly have been, and of all the people she could’ve been going with, it had to be Adrien and Rio de Janeiro. Oh, it’s laughable, isn’t it? The urge to go into hysterics is enough for her to cinch her ab muscles tight in order to stop the smile and the giddy laughter from escaping her. Crying or laughing at this point would be perfectly acceptable.
“I want this completed by Saturday.”
She drums her fingers against her pants. “Today is Friday.”
“Next Saturday, Mademoiselle.” Nino paces the room, leaving the velvet box on the coffee table, looking out the windows. “You both have one full week to complete the mission, and I am expecting a full success on both of your parts. You leave tomorrow morning. Do not set the city on fire, please— and try not to get divorced in the process.”
Adrien’s foot moves. It’s all the indication she needs to know that he’s barely holding in the laughter himself.
“Just simply act as if you both are on your honeymoon, pretending to be sticking a big middle finger to your father’s face, and tell me who Hawkmoth is. Make sure to pack clothes suited for the heat. December is rather sweaty in the southern tropics.”
She takes one last look at the photograph on the table, before looking at the velvet box. The Ladybug. The Ladybug. It’s here, within reach— hers, hers— everything is telling her to grab it and flee the country, and never ever look back… maybe take Adrien with her, too, if she can convince him to follow… but instead all she does is get up, tucking the folder close underneath her arm, giving their boss a smile.
“We’ll get everything done,” she speaks softly.
“And this is why you’re my favorite,” Nino grins.
“If you’ll excuse me. I have to go collect my gun for the mission. Will we be penalized when crossing the customs check?”
“No. Everything will be in order.”
“Good. There are a couple of other items I’ll be needing for this mission, then. I’m going to go find Alya.” She turns for the door. “Dinner’s at seven, Adrien. Please don’t be late.”
“Of course, sweetheart. It’ll be equitable of me to not be on time.”
The bullpen is hushed and quiet and barely makes a noise as she walks through it, heels clicking, grabbing her coat to go find her friend at the cafeteria.