Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Marinette fixes her boot just before her taxi stops in front of the hotel. Despite the many complaints from Tikki, she needed to get away from Paris and the last thing she wanted was to disappoint her favorite, although not biological, uncle.

Jagged Stone is holding a birthday party in New York, and while it’s mostly to promote his new album and tour, the man has been insistent on wanting to see his favorite niece. She could never bring herself to say no.

She put on the puffiest, cutest red dress that she has ever made, and curled her hair to look even better. However, looking at the celebrities and singers entering the building, she can’t help but feel like she’s nothing special.

Luka holds his hand out and helps her get out of the taxi. He is wearing a black shirt and a pair of dark bluish-green pants, and is looking much more mature than the last time she saw him: she blushes slightly, thinking that she must look so young standing by his side. He shows a sincere small smile.

“Hello, Ma- Ma- Marinette,” he says, before hugging her tightly.

She closes her eyes and shakes her head. He is never going to let go of that, is he? “I missed you.”

She takes his arm and finally walks towards the entrance. A thousand flashing lights suddenly overtake her vision, almost blinding her. She forces herself to keep a pleasant expression, but she wants nothing more than to hide. Luka beside her feels exactly the same.

Marinette was not expecting so many paparazzi, and she can feel the judging and questioning stares of many of them. She is not famous whatsoever, why would she be here? A woman in the crowd is looking at her with an unreadable expression, and Marinette would be lying to say that it doesn’t give her the creeps.

As another person comes to the front of the entrance, Marinette and Luka finally move inside the building, where everything has been set up and decorated grandiosely. There are chocolate and wine fountains, tables upon tables of themed pastries, and all sorts of decorations, from balloons to guitar-themed garlands. It screams Jagged Stone.

All around her, there are people that she never thought she could have te chance to meet: Clara Nightingale, Prince Ali, famous bands from Japan and Korea, influencers, models, and actors. It feels nauseatingly similar to the Diamond’s Dance she attended a year ago, she can feel the wealth and snobbery fill up the room. It’s awful.

Juleka waves from the other side of the room, where she’s listening to Penny Rolling talking. Marinette smiles, but she is quickly pushed away by a rude group of idols, who don’t even bother uttering a word of apology.

She walks over to the chocolate fountain, where she is tempted to try to dip a strawberry, but she stops: knowing how clumsy she can be, she is sure that in doing so she will ruin her dress and embarrass herself in front of these snobs. So, she turns around and stuffs her mouth with a salmon cream puff. It’s good, not to the same level as her parent’s baked goods, but very yummy nonetheless.

She leans on one of the columns on the outskirts of the room. As she tries to pinpoint someone she knows, or an emergency hiding spot, she is graced by the sight of her mom’s friend, Nadja Chamack. She’s talking with Alec Cataldi and a dark-haired woman she can swear she has already seen somewhere, probably one of the journalists that Alya loves to gush about.

Manon, dressed in a frilly purple dress, so full of paillettes that it’s almost blinding, rushes to her as soon as she spots her. “Marinette!” loudly says the little devil, making several guests turn around in astonishment.

Marinette lowers down and takes her in her arms for a hug. “Hello there, little rascal,” says the older girl, flicking her nose. As she puts the child back on the ground, the trio of adults has come to her side.

“Dear! You look stunning,” comments Nadja, while taking her child’s hand back. Alec nods in agreement, while the dark-haired woman smiles, looking at her with curiosity.

“Like you always do, Nadja,” she replies, noticing the radiant smile that popped thanks to the tight periwinkle dress she had on. 

“Don’t flatter me!” The TV presenter looks around and asks: “Have you already seen Jag?”

Marinette shakes her head. "Not yet, though I'm sure he's making a grand entrance somewhere. For now, though, I’ve only seen a few people I know." 

As if that comment sparked an idea in the woman’s mind, she turned around toward the other guest. “God, you’re right! I haven’t even introduced you yet!” She puts a hand on Marinette’s shoulder and looks at the unknown woman. “This is Marinette Dupain Cheng, Jagged’s designer and honorary niece, she also babysits Manon from time to time. Marinette, this is Lois Lane, she’s a journalist here in America.”

Marinette is sure she’s having a stroke. Pulitzer Prize winner and Alya’s inspiration Lois Lane? “Uh… Nice to meet you,” she tries to say so as not to embarrass herself too much, failing miserably.

Lois Lane extends her hand towards Marinette, her eyes sparkling with interest. "It's a pleasure, Marinette. You look familiar, have we met before?"

“I certainly have seen you… N-not because we ever met, but you’re like my best friend’s idol, so…” she stutters, becoming the same red as her dress.

Lois laughs lightly. “It’s a shame that we haven’t met before, then. But you remind me of someone I know, that’s for sure.”

Marinette would love to ask what she’s referring to, maybe so she can get any useful information about her biological parents’ identity, but her tongue is stuck to the roof of her mouth. And as she tries to muster up the courage to speak, the lights dim.

From the marble stairs, the only lit-up part of the room, Jagged Stone is making his entrance with Fang at his side. He’s looking like a rock king, and the photographers are going crazy on the front lines.

She tries to get closer to the spectacular scene, but the compact crowd prevents her from getting any nearer than her awkward position. That is, until she hears a voice calling for her.

As Luka gestures for her to get to their spot, since she basically counts as family, she is once again blinded by a single flash, in her direct direction. When she turns around to understand what happened, she notices the same woman as before, who was once in the crowd of paparazzi, smugly smiling as if she had just conquered the biggest scoop of her career. Marinette runs to Luka’s side, perplexed by what just happened.

“Damn, Marinette. I didn’t know that you had become that famous!” Comments Penny under her breath.

“Neither did I…”

As she keeps looking in the direction of the paparazzi, Jagged snatches her by her arm and makes sure she gets all the public attention as he initiates the party. The pale girl’s face becomes tomato red.

“Good evening Rockers! I hope you’re having a really fantastic night so far!” Cheers and applause echo through the walls. Marinette hides in his uncle’s arms.

“Tonight we are all gathered here to celebrate my fiftieth birthday! Thank you all rockstars for being here and celebrating with me, and now: let’s get the party started!”

Music becomes loud, and everyone starts dancing, chatting, and moving around. Marinette tries to disappear in the background, but she finds out soon that she’s not alone there.

As she goes, her back accidentally hits someone else’s. She turns around to see a boy with longish blonde hair who’s holding a half-filled champagne flute.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” she says, bowing down, and blushing to the tip of her ears. “I’ll go and grab another one, I’m sorry.”

The boy looks at her as if she has just grown a second head. “Wow. An apology. So, there is still someone who is not a selfish prick around here.” His gray eyes glisten in the lights of the room and his hollow cheeks make him look almost ghastly: if she wasn’t sure he was a physical entity, she would think he was a ghost.

“I try, at least. Unfortunately, I can’t help with the clumsiness,” she says lightheartedly, and smiles softly.

He tries to take a second look at her face, and Marinette is not sure whether she should be flattered or creeped out. “You look really familiar,” he comments with a calm tone of voice. Another person who thinks they’ve seen her before: she’s starting to be scared.

“I promise I’m not famous. I’m just a close friend of Jagged, Juleka, and Luka,” she says, and then an idea pops in her head. “Maybe you know my boyfriend. Well, ex-boyfriend. Adrien Agreste, he is… was a model.”

“No. Doesn’t ring a bell,” he says, with an unreadable expression. “You are Marie?”

“No, Marinette,” she corrects, feeling a weird sensation in her stomach. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

“I’m Felix Crowne,” he politely holds out his hand to her, and she shakes it lightly.

“How do you know Jagged?” she asks, now curious as to why someone who looked straight out of a period murder mystery or a runway would come to such a frivolous event.

“I was in one of his music videos. He’s a nice guy, always invites me out for the wildest things and I have to remind him that technically I’m still a minor,” he says sipping his champagne nonchalantly.

She laughs, remembering the time Jagged offered to bring her to get a tattoo for her birthday when she was fourteen. “Yep, Uncle Jagged is one of a kind.”

After a few seconds of chuckles and silence, Felix turns around with his ever-stoic face. “If you happen to come around Gotham, give me a call.” He hands her a small piece of paper: a business card with his personal number neatly handwritten on the back. She gives it to Tikki in her purse.

Felix disappears into the crowd and Jagged calls everyone to one side of the room to blow the candles out. Looking at the rest of the guests in the room, she prays that the rest of the evening passes quickly: she can’t wait to be back in bed.

Chapter Text

Tim is tired. But, in all honesty, when isn’t he? It’s way too early in the morning to be woken up on a Saturday, especially when you have slept barely three hours. Okay, maybe two and a half.

As he enters the kitchen, he sees Bruce already working on his tablet and Dick enjoying a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He collapses on the table and pushes a mug, that Dick quickly fills with coffee. Tim takes out his phone, hoping that the blue light from the screen can help him wake up a bit more.

As looks at his notifications, he seest that he received a message from Steph.

Hey, isn’t this that one singer you said Bernard likes?

Under it, is a link to an article on the site of one of the most popular gossip magazines. He taps on it.

Dick gets curious and tries to peek over his head to see. “What are you reading?” he asks, seeing the unfamiliar page.

“Nothing important. A singer Bernie likes has thrown a party,” he takes a closer look at the head of the article, then snidely remarks: “Apparently, Vicky Vale attended it too.”

That is enough to gain some attention from the oldest member of the family. Bruce raises his head and gently pushes away his device. “Must’ve been demoted again, if she ended up in society news.”

Dick scoffs. “Well, if she attended she must have her reasons.”

“Paparazzi are all the same, the only thing they care about is money,” comments the man bitterly.

Richard stifles a laugh. “You’re the one who slept with her, B. I wouldn’t judge her so harshly if I were you.”

“Yeah, still… these celebrities are getting out of hand… a pet crocodile? That’s ridiculous!” Tim turns around his phone and scrolls down through the photo until he finds a picture of a crocodile with a party hat and a faux leather jacket.

Bruce is sure that his brain is fucking with him, but just to be sure, he asks for confirmation. “Wait, can you scroll back up a bit?”

“Sure,” he goes back to the previous group of photos. There she is, amidst the many group photos and location pictures, in a spot of red, with her beautiful black hair and big blue eyes: that is the fifteen-year-old that is haunting his dreams.

Bruce Wayne, the unshakeable, impassive, apathetic Bruce Wayne, pales. Dick notices this and raises an eyebrow.

“Are you okay, Bruce?” asks Tim, not understanding why he would pale at the sight of a five-layered cake. Maybe he’s lactose intolerant?

Bruce nods as if nothing happened. Dick actually bends down to take a closer look at the pictures. He doesn’t find anything particularly strange, apart from a couple of poorly designed dresses. Then he zooms in on a photo.

“Who’s that?” he asks, looking at the girl in a poppy red dress.

Tim shakes his shoulders. “I don’t know, I don’t think she’s famous. But I think I’ve seen her somewhere… maybe she’s a family friend?”

“She looks very young… maybe she could be the daughter of some musician or actor,” offers Dick, as a slow suspicion started to creep into his mind. “Does the article say anything about it?”

“Nothing much, she has taken another pic with the rest of the family. They say she’s his honorary niece,” Tim says amused. That is something that screams extravagant celebrity, to just adopt a niece out of nowhere.

“Try to reverse search the image. I’m sure that if she’s known there will be some other photos of her going around,” suggests Dick, sitting beside him to have a look at his research.

“Why are you so invested in this?” asks Bruce, trying to shift their focus somewhere else, anywhere else.

“Vale must have her reasons for putting her photo here. She’s the only one who is in a candid solo shot, guest of honor excluded,” retorts Dick, planting the seed of doubt in Tim’s mind.

Tim, now fully awake, can’t resist some gossip. He launches himself in the search, but what he finds is pretty underwhelming: she seems like a normal girl, with a normal life. A photo with her parents comes up, one where she is working in a bakery, one with the singer, and the others with her friends. Marinette, a high school student from Paris, seems to be living quite a normal life.

But Dick notices. He notices the color of her hair, and the shape of her lips, the hue of her skin and the way she smiles. It’s all too familiar, and his expression hardens.

Bruce gets up and tries to leave the kitchen, acting like he isn’t interested in the slightest by the two boys’ investigation. He’d have to admit that he knew and that he didn’t tell them because he was scared of their reaction. He can’t afford that.

Dick follows him, taking a last look at the search that Tim is making: the little stalker is going to realize it on his own. As they reach Bruce’s office, Dick slams the door behind him, making a loud sound. He just hopes that Damian doesn’t wake up for a while, or all of this is going to become much, much more complicated.

“Why the theatrics?” asks the older man, peeking out the window, not daring to look him in the eyes.

Dick scoffs. “Spare me the scolding. That girl…”

“Yes, she is my daughter,” Bruce interrupts him, reluctantly sitting down on the couch.

“That’s why you sent us to Paris on a mission! You don’t care about that villain, of course! And how long have you known? Did she just get old enough for you to recruit her as another sidekick of yours?”

Bruce sighs, running a hand through his hair. "No, Dick. Look, I didn’t know about her existence until a month or so ago. I didn’t want to… hurt, anyone, especially since she has no idea I even exist. She got here by accident and Jim… immediately realized that there was something wrong. So he called me, and… well a lot happened. You’ve seen how Paris is right now.”

Dick sits down, trying to process Bruce's words. "So, what now?" he asks, looking at his mentor. "Are we going to tell her the truth? God, this is the second child of yours that just randomly spawned out of thin air."

“For now, don’t tell anyone. I want to resolve the situation in Paris before adding more stress in her life,” he says with a hint of sadness. “She might already encounter some problems if somebody connects the dots and realizes she might be related to me. Journalists are vultures, you know?”

Before Dick can answer, Bruce’s phone starts to ring. The contact of Lois Lane appears on the screen, and he looks at Dick, who gestures to answer. “Hello!”

Her voice is amused and she tries to hide her laughs. “Hi Bruce! Did you intend to tell me that you had a daughter or was I supposed to find out from a birthday party?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake…” As the woman’s erupts in massive laughter, he just wishes he could melt in the couch.