Chapter Text
Clark nearly spits out his coffee when he sees a face hovering outside the Watchtower. At first, he thinks of it as a figment of his imagination, brought on by the stress of the current crisis the Justice League is facing. But the longer he looks, the more permanent the figure seems: Chat Noir himself motioning for him to open the nearby hatch.
And he does, while pinging a message to the rest of the members on board.
The first thing he notices is that he can't detect the hero's heartbeat with the suit. His X-ray vision doesn't work either.
The second thing he notices is the similarities between the beaming Chat Noir in front of him and wannabe defense attorney Adrien Agreste are so striking, now that they have ID'd the former Parisian heroes.
“Um—”
Before Clark can gather his words, Chat Noir thrusts a box into his hands—a smoothly-wrapped package complete with the Ladybug spot pattern and a black ribbon around it lined with neon cat paws. “What is . . .?”
“Marinette's clear of charges, right?” Chat asks, the grin not faltering on his face.
“Of course she is,” Clark clears his throat. He picks up on a handful of League members standing just outside the door of the room they're in, perhaps unwilling to disturb the both of them. “We're collating the evidence right now and we'll send them soon to the Parisian government. Since we can't expose her identity, we're building an alibi for her as Ladybug's aide, which should explain why she was tight-lipped during the trial.”
“Right, okay.” Chat points to the box. “We decided to make your jobs easier and send you these. They're all the records, written evidence, and photos pointing to the real identity of Hawkmoth.”
Clark gawks at him.
“Ladybug's only condition is that you don't reveal this to the public.” Chat scratches the back of his head. “Her worry is that people might start blaming those associated with his civilian identity, even if he was working alone most of the time.”
“This—this is—”
“Oh, and I'm not sure how you can punish him on your own ‘cause he's in a coma right now.”
“Huh?” Clark mentally kicks himself at his lack of words, but this seemingly cheerful boy just has no filter.
“Yeah, it sucks. In the final battle, I managed to Cataclysm the actual Butterfly miraculous but then he used it—there are serious consequences if you use a broken miraculous by the way—and then bam. Coma,” the Parisian hero narrates, “We're keeping an eye on him right now but I don't think he's waking up soon. I guess that's his punishment in itself?”
“So . . . this Hawkmoth. Who was he?”
Chat pauses. “Do you know Gabriel Agreste?”
“. . .”
Clark stares at him.
“. . .”
Chat Noir stares back.
“But that's your father!” Clark suddenly exclaims in horror.
“I know right?! It's such a small world!”
Clark doesn't know what to feel. He's seen this before; too often in fact, in Bruce's many children—little bunches of young pent-up trauma masked with lighthearted humor and smiles. He now has half the mind to fly this boy to the nearest therapist.
“Well, if you don't have any more questions, I'll be off!” Chat looks around at the interior design of the Watchtower. “Cool satellite base by the way! I've been wanting to see inside since forever. We only have rocks and broken domes in our base.”
In the blink of an eye—before Clark can think of an excuse to make him stay—he opens up the hatch and flies out into space.
Damian steps out into the ruined temple, with Marinette closing the portal behind him. In the daylight, the place looks much friendlier, potentially a historical artwork even if it is half-destroyed. He did not expect to return so soon, but Marinette suddenly visited him in his bedroom, saying that she and the team will be moving soon. She wants to talk one more time as well, since they didn’t have much of the opportunity during the attack.
“What will you do now?” Damian eyes the boxes piled up against the curved wall.
Marinette smiles and stretches her arms. “Now that I’m a free woman?”
“You didn’t do anything wrong in the first place.”
“Killing isn’t wrong?”
“Marinette,” Damian sighs.
“Just teasing.” She smirks. “We’ll be around, don’t worry. There are still links to the Order everywhere.”
“They’re not completely wiped out?”
“You’ll be surprised.” Marinette shakes her head. “It’s a network almost as big as the League of Assassins. They’re not all monks—there are miraculous-adjacent dealers, collectors. All sorts of people. We’ll be infiltrating and destroying the adjacents.”
Damian figures it’s a problem the Justice League can look into too, but she assures him that it’s her responsibility to deal with and she’ll be using her powers for miraculous-related attacks only. He knows the JL is looking to recruit her but they’ll have to be utterly shameless to ask that of her. Fortunately, the heroes are giving their attention to Paris’ rehabilitation instead.
“They haven’t given a formal apology to you yet.” He crosses his arms. “Father will be given my cold shoulder for an entire month for that.”
“That’s because I haven’t responded to their calls,” she laughs. “They can say sorry when they see me by chance but I think they’ve learned their lesson.”
He remembers the JL facing public backlash about imprisoning an innocent when they finally publicized the (half-true) evidence supporting Marinette as an aide and not a villain. He hasn’t seen his father that overwhelmed by guilt, not to mention the other Justice League members. Barbara even reported once that even Constantine is looking for a talisman to guard himself from miraculous magic (which Adrien and Marinette found absolutely hilarious when the news reached them).
“Tt. They have not.”
“How stubborn, habibi.”
Damian feels his cheeks go warm.
He clears his throat. “Will you keep in contact while you’re away?”
“Of course! I can give you my number. Your phone?” She holds out her hand.
He stares at her dumbfoundedly before digging through his pocket to lend her his phone. Marinette chuckles while typing. “What? You think we won’t use phones while traveling the world?”
“N—no . . . I just thought it would have been confiscated when you were arrested.”
“It did, but Kagami and Luka kindly stole it back for me when I was in prison.” She gives back his phone. “It does have classified information after all.”
While Damian tries to control his grin at having her number (which none of his siblings nor Barbara probably have!) he’s suddenly enveloped in a tight hug. He freezes, but instinctively places his hands on her waist.
“You’ve come so far, Damian, I’m happy for you,” she whispers against the crook of his neck. “Thank you for trusting me again.”
“I thought you were gone.”
“I know. I’m sorry. ” Her grip tightens. “I’ll stay this time. I promise.”