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Chapter Text

Damian was in the zone. He had elected to spend his free period in the art room, working on his latest masterpiece. He was doing a landscape study of Nanda Parbat from memory. The vantage point was high in the mountains, overlooking miles and miles of stone and desert. The sunrise in the background was exquisite. Now, though, Damian was working through the valley’s shadows rapid-fire, making sure the acrylics stayed wet and fresh enough for blending while he put on the base coat.

His mind was practically singing. His hand flew across the canvas. Damian was single-mindedly focused and relishing it, coasting off the creative high. The rest of the world had fallen away. There was only him and his painting.

That was how they were able to get the drop on him.

Sharp edges of ice and a rain of water rushed over his head. Several students gasped. The teacher looked up from her desk, and her mouth fell open.

The painting was ruined. Water smeared and diluted the paint. It dripped down, pooling on the easel ledge and onto the floor. Already the canvas was warping.

It was ruined.

Damian’s head was buzzing.

“Oh man, the look on your face!” Jacobs crowed behind him. He was still holding the bucket. Feldstein, his partner in crime, was grinning ear to ear beside him. “That was awesome!”

“Boys!” Mrs. Eberly said, standing up. “To the principal’s office, right now! This is completely unacceptable behavior!”

“Aw, come on, Mrs. E, we were just having a bit of fun,” Feldstein said. “Little ice for the Ice Prince, right? Get it? Because Damian’s such a hothead?”

The mountains of Nanda Parbat looked like they were bleeding shadows.

Suddenly, Feldstein had a broken nose.

All three of them were given out-of-school suspensions for a week.

Feldstein’s parents wanted to press charges. Father intimidated them out of it. The Wayne lawyers had a fearsome reputation. And in the worst case scenario, Barbara Gordon had gotten a juris doctorate from Harvard, just in case. She had only offered to represent once so far, when David Cain had framed Father for murder.

Damian’s brothers called her “the big guns.”

But she certainly wouldn’t concern herself with a schoolyard fight. No, for that, Father made vague threats and threw his name around, and then quietly told Damian he was grounded on the way home.

The drive passed in silence.

He was patrolling with Father that night.

The streets of Gotham were quiet. It didn’t suit. Robin wanted to beat someone to a pulp. He hadn’t gotten to earlier, after all.

And usually patrol was filled with people who even Father agreed deserved it.

He yanked the pair of flexicuffs tight around a criminal’s wrists. Batman eyed him carefully. The two of them moved out of the alleyway.

“You were a bit rough there,” Batman said.

“So I was.”

“Robin, you have to control yourself. Being a vigilante is a massive responsibility. You have a duty of care to the people of Gotham,” he said. “If you wish to continue down this path, that is.”

“You know that I do.”

“As you know that mugger didn’t deserve that last kick. And your classmate didn’t deserve to have his nose broken by Robin at full force. I didn’t train you so that you could use unnecessary force against civilians.”

“You didn’t train me at all.”

“Robin,” Batman halted. “This is serious. You either learn restraint or you’re benched.”

“Understood.”

He stalked off ahead of his father.

And that was when the night went to shit.

“I didn’t kill him,” Robin said.

The would-be rapist was snow white on the ground, eyes open. A growing pool of blood spread around him.

“Isn’t that your sword?” Batgirl (Stephanie) asked carefully.

The sword in question was indeed Robin’s, and had very clearly severed the man’s subclavian artery. The blade had pierced at just the right angle underneath his collarbone. The whole affair had taken seconds.

The sword was still in him.

“He was flung into the fire escape. The sword fell down on him from there,” Robin said.

“What the hell was your sword doing on the fire escape?” Red Hood asked.

“It was knocked from my grasp earlier in the fight and thrown up there.”

“You lost your sword in the middle of a fight?” Batman asked, doubt clear.

“It was ten against one. And while my katana is a useful tool, any weapon that you cannot fight without is not truly a weapon, but a crutch.”

Batgirl whistled. “You’ve made that pretty clear. I don’t think we’ll ever see any of those guys again.”

Red Hood snorted. “The ones who lived, anyway.”

“It was an accident,” Robin snapped.

Hood held up his hands placatingly. “Not saying it wasn’t. But yeesh, this scene is rough.”

“Robin, are you telling the truth about what happened here?” Batman asked.

He bristled. “Of course.”

“There is a camera on this alley, monitoring the club’s back door. I will be checking the footage.”

“I did not kill this man. His death was an accident.”

“He said he didn’t do it. Leave it go,” Hood said. His hand hovered above his holster.

“It would be… understandable, given the extenuating circumstances, if this death was not fully accidental. I need to know the truth. Robin, you won’t be sent away, but we do need to address this.”

“What, you’re gonna bench the kid for an accident?” Hood asked. “And since when is murder ‘understandable’ to you? Are you accusing him or not?”

“I’m not accusing anybody. I am simply trying to get to the bottom of this.”

“No, fuck you! He said he didn’t do it! Kid’s been Robin for five years now; you’d think he’s earned a bit of trust!”

“Since when do you give a shit?” Batgirl asked.

“Since B pulled the exact same shit with me on the Garzonas case and I ran away and got killed over it. You can’t keep making kids your partners for years and then forsaking all trust the second it’s tested. Damian’s already died once—”

“Names.”

“—I won’t see you pushing him away to get killed a second time. Listen, I’d be first in line to justify killing this guy, but hasn’t Damian lived by your code all these years? Half the Justice League doesn’t do that! Cut the kid some slack!”

“I can’t just ignore murder, Hood—”

“Oh, so you are accusing him?”

“—and now is not the time nor the place to debate ethics. We need to call this in and decide what to tell the commissioner.”

A drunken clubgoer stumbled out the backdoor into the alley, saw four Bats standing over a dead body, and turned around and went back inside.

“This looks bad,” Batgirl said.

“Looks are the last of our problems right now,” Batman said.

“I can get rid of the body,” Hood said.

“We will be handling within the law,” Batman said.

“I did not kill him,” Robin said quietly.

“Right. Your sword killed him on its own,” Batgirl said.

“It is the truth. He fell back into the fire escape—”

She waved him off. “I don’t know if I believe you—not to say that I blame you, because I don’t—but I do know that no cops are going to buy that story. Not when it comes to Robin.”

Everyone went silent at that.

“I will tell the cops an alternate version of events,” Batman said. “A more believable accident. Robin, we will be discussing this, and I will be reviewing the footage.”

He nodded.

Six years. Six years and they didn’t trust him.

Ladybug swung from the streetlights and roof fixtures. She flipped in midair before landing in a crouch. Viperion was already there, of course. Apitrix flew in seconds later, followed by Chat Noir and Ryuuko.

“Okay,” Ladybug said. “So our akuma is Gauthier Dujardin, an EMT who was unjustly fired. He’s calling himself the Emergencier, and he’s… causing people to need an EMT.”

Viperion grimaced. Never a good sign.

“Viperion, you should stay here, keep an eye on the fight, be ready to time travel and transform as needed. Use your best judgment. There’s an alcove in rooftop stairwell that should offer you some privacy.

“Vesperia, your target is the Emergencier. We need to stop him from hurting more people. He has been using projectile weapons, so be careful. Chat Noir, the akumatized object is his first aid kit. It’s where he’s getting all his tools from. Ryuuko, try to keep people away from him. I’d like the Emergencier to be at the eye of the storm. Does anybody have any questions?”

Viperion ran into the stairwell to detransform and retransform.

“Already?” Vesperia muttered. “That’s not good.”

Ladybug set her jaw. “Let’s go.”

Viperion swapped in and out eleven times. Over the course of the eight hour battle, 26 people died and 153 more were injured.

One of the deaths was Vesperia.

The Cure brought everyone back, of course.

Like it never happened.

Viperion's eyes were just as hollow and haunted after as they were before. Vesperia hardly seemed affected by her death at all, even though she briefly went to Hell, and remembers it.

It wasn't the first time, after all. They had been doing this for so long now. In another two weeks, Marinette will officially have been Ladybug for three full years. For three years now, Hawkmoth has reigned undefeated.

They don't even have any suspects. It took eight hours to defeat a civilian paramedic. Alya had livestreamed most of the battle, and poor Gauthier had had a breakdown when he checked the Ladyblog. The worst day of his life immortalized forever, for millions to see.

Over 181 Parisians have been akumatized.

Marinette vows then and there it won't get to 200. She'll do whatever it takes.

Gauthier keeps watching the video of him slaughtering people, using the tools of his first aid kit. He's sobbing. He'll likely never work again.

It won't get to 200. If Marinette had her way, it wouldn't even get to 182.

“Yesterday, we received an official request for assistance from Paris,” Batman said. He pressed a button on the clicker and the big screen behind him switched to a thumbnail of a video. Another click and it played.

A winged, masked teenager stood in an office beside tall, portly older gentleman in a suit and a sash. The teenager was floating in midair, wings thrumming like a helicopter. She even had antennae.

“Oh, so like a bug-bug,” Captain Marvel said.

“Heroes of the Justice League,” the teenage bug said over the recording. “My name is Ladybug. For the past three years, my Court and I have defended Paris from the villain Hawkmoth. In light of our most recent battle, however, we have come to realize we need help. My team and I are young. Our mentor is a non-combatant. Despite our successful operations the past three years, I believe we could benefit from guidance. Specifically, combat instruction. Our magic can only take us so far. Thank you for listening, and for your time.”

She fluttered backwards and the older gentleman took her place. “I am Mayor Bourgeois and I can verify that this is, in fact, Ladybug, the Hero of Paris.”

The message clicked off.

“Question,” the Flash said, raising his hand like he was in school. “Why exactly is Paris being defended by magical teenagers?”

“Because they are facing a magical villain,” Wonder Woman said. “I am familiar with Ladybug’s Court. They do not fight typical street-level crime or forces of nature. The situation in Paris is deeply embroiled in the magical politics of kwamis.”

“What are kwamis?” Flash asked.

“Ooh! I know this one!” Captain Marvel said. “Imagine if you crossed fairies and gods and genies all in one, but they were like, super cute. Each one represents a different force. Like creation and destruction are the big two, but there’s also the elements, three-dimensional space, illusions, stuff like that.”

“And there are no magic adults in Paris?” Hal asked.

“Only evil ones.”

“Ah. Of course.”

“Why haven’t we gone to help them before now?” Superman asked. “Is this too small-scale of a problem? What is Hawkmoth trying to accomplish?”

Batman moved to the next slide in his presentation. “This is the Justice League Dark’s file on the Paris situation. As you can see, the whole city is marked as a no-fly zone. Hawkmoth is a mind-controller, to a degree. The last thing anybody wants is for all of us to get mind-controlled again. Especially when it would involve fighting children.”

Everyone winced at that. Superman rubbed the back of his neck.

“Hawkmoth apparently preys on any and all negative emotions and uses them as a gateway to enter a person’s mind. From that point, he offers them magical powers in order to achieve their greatest goal at the moment—typically whatever emotional situation pushed them to that stage—in exchange for Ladybug and Chat Noir’s miraculi. Miraculi are gems that are the source of their powers. Apparently the kids have been wearing them as jewelry.”

“So he gets their miraculi, and then what? Uses them to take over the world?” Green Arrow asked.

“Unclear. The report states that the miraculi of creation and destruction together can grant any wish, but with a cost. An equivalent cost.”

“So even if Hawkmoth wishes for world peace—”

“—another world would have to be enslaved,” Green Lantern finished. “Well shit. I think we can safely say this is the most high-stakes attempted robbery any of us have ever dealt with.”

“You know nothing of my missions,” Wonder Woman said cryptically.

“Multiple worlds could hang in the balance on the job of protecting some jewelry; what the hell attempted robbery did you work that was worse than this?”

“In Themyscira, at the heart of a volcano, there is an ancient, mystical sword forged from the souls of 10,000 righteous warriors. When wielded by a sufficiently powerful being, it is capable of cutting the very fabric of reality itse—”

“If we could return to the matter at hand,” Batman said.

“But I wanna hear Wonder Woman’s story!” Captain Marvel said.

“You can hear the rest after the meeting,” she promised, laying a hand on top of his. The captain beamed.

“Whoever we send should be non-powered,” Green Arrow admitted reluctantly. “Sending any metas in is too risky.”

“I agree,” Superman said. “Sorry.”

“The humans who keep pace with metas are significant threats all on their own,” Black Canary said. “Emotional vulnerability is also a factor to consider.”

“So we need to said in someone who’s a skilled fighter, has no powers, and is good at suppressing their emotions,” Flash said leadingly.

Silence rang like a bell.

“I resent your implication,” Batman said.

“Nobody said anything,” Green Lantern pointed out.

“Nevertheless,” he said.

“Really, those are all positive traits,” Superman said.

Batman grunted. “You could learn to be less emotive if you put the effort in.”

“Not all of us have the time to dedicate to studying stoicism with monks in the Himalayas like you did,” Hal said.

“I studied stoicism with the League of Assassins,” he corrected.

“Alright. Great. We’ll take that under advisement, Batman,” Superman said.

“Do not reach out to the League of Assassins.”

“Will do. Won’t do! Definitely won’t do that.”

“They are terrible people.”

“Noted. Thank you for taking this case, Batman, it means so much.”

“Didn’t you marry one of those assassins?” Flash asked.

“We got divorced.”

“Meeting adjourned.”

Chapter Text

“Before we start patrol,” Batman said. “Some things came to light in today’s Justice League meeting that we must discuss.”

The Bats gathered. Once a month, all of them patrolled Gotham together, regardless of where they were currently stationed. The only exception was if someone was benched for an injury. The date this all-Bat patrol fell on was always completely unpredictable, what with how chaotic it was trying to coordinate ten different people’s schedules.

Criminals lived in fear of that one night a month.

This was that one night.

“As I expect that you all know, the city of Paris has its own local heroes and villains.”

Duke looked like he definitely didn’t know that, but he didn’t say anything.

“Their leader has requested the Justice League send someone over there for the purpose of combat instruction. Given the unique magical nature of their villains, the League has determined it would be best to send a non-meta skilled in emotional suppression.”

“And you thought, right away, ‘that’s me,’” Red Hood said.

“Our team was volunteered unanimously—”

“Oof,” Red Robin said.

“—and I am now asking for volunteers,” Batman finished.

“I volunteer Tim as tribute,” Red Hood said, yanking his brother’s arm up into the air like he was raising his hand. Red Robin scowled and elbowed him.

“As much as I love Paris—”

“I vote we stop sending Tim to Paris. It’s bad for him,” Nightwing said.

Batgirl (purple edition) nodded. “Even setting the Lady Shiva incident aside, some people online are starting to argue Red Robin should be considered a Parisian hero rather than a Gotham one.”

“As I was saying,” Red Robin said. “As much as I love Paris, I can’t go. I have responsibilities in San Francisco, both as a vigilante and as a civilian. I just got permanently settled in there. If I left now, it would raise eyebrows.”

“Understood. Anyone else?” Batman asked.

“I’m not leaving Gotham for anything. Last time I was gone too long, I came back and the city had been leveled and cut off from the United States as a whole,” Red Hood said.

“Excuse me, do you mean when you were dead?” Nightwing asked.

“No, most of that time I was alive in the League of Assassins. Keep up, Dickiebird.”

“The audacity to assume you could have single-handedly prevented No Man’s Land…” purple Batgirl said.

Red Hood nodded. “I would have stopped it.”

“The earthquake?” Signal asked.

“Yup. Would have stepped in. Prevented it.”

“How—”

“Is anyone available to go to Paris?” Batman cut in.

Batgirl (spooky edition) raised her hand.

“Great. Robin, you’ll go with her.”

“What?!” Robin squawked.

“Your performance lately, both in the mask and out, has been abysmal. A break from Gotham will do you good.”

“B, are we sure that’s a good idea?” Nightwing asked.

“Yeah, aren’t we supposed to be sending someone unemotional? Robin is the most volatile Bat we have,” Red Robin said.

“It will be beneficial for Robin to work with other heroes his own age, in an environment that requires calm,” Batman said.

“Oh, he’s gonna get mind-controlled so fast,” Red Hood said.

“I will not get mind-controlled, as I am as skilled in the art of stoicism as any of you, if not moreso,” Robin said.

“Yeah? Wanna bet?” Red Hood folded his arms. “One favor that you get akumatized within the first month.”

Robin stepped forward to shake his hand on the deal, glaring up at his brother the whole time.

“Akumatized?” Batgirl (Cass) asked.

“Does no one read the briefings?” Red Robin asked.

Batgirl (spooky) shrugged. “I’m dyslexic.”

“It’s okay, Cass, I’ll get Steph to read it to you later,” Oracle said.

“Hey, what?” purple Batgirl asked.

“You were going to do it anyway,” Oracle said.

“Still…”

“Robin just needs to stick it out in school. He’s starting to make connections. I recognize names from some of his stories now. He has school stories now!” Nightwing said.

“You recognize last names, you mean,” Red Robin said.

“This I gotta hear,” Red Hood said. “What does Demon Spawn tell you about his days at school? How many were decapitated?”

“That’s your thing,” purple Batgirl said.

“I have decapitated many enemies before,” Robin said. Several people grimaced.

“The other day you were telling me about your new art project? For your acrylics and oils class? You were really excited about it,” Nightwing said.

“That doesn’t have anything to do with human connection,” Oracle pointed out.

“That project was destroyed,” Robin said.

“What?”

“Feldstein and Jacobs dumped a bucket of ice water on me while I was working on it. Mrs. Eberly believed it could be salvaged, but I refuse to submit subpar work. I scrapped the project and am starting over.”

“What?”

“I thought Father informed you.”

Batman held up his hands in a gesture of peace. “It just happened today. I was going to tell you in the morning.”

“I thought Feldstein and Jacobs were your friends,” Nightwing said.

“I have been very forthright about their status as my enemies.”

“Yeah, but you call everyone your enemies. I thought… I’m sorry that happened to you, baby bat.”

“I am sixteen, Richard. I am hardly a baby. And I am above needing coddling over an inconsequential little school project,” he squared his shoulders. “Father, I believe I would be perfectly suited to this mission. I will feel absolutely nothing about leaving Gotham Academy. For good, even. I believe I most excelled in my studies when given the freedom of homeschooling.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Well, this got fucking sad,” Red Hood said. “You’ve been here six years and you haven’t made a single friend?”

Robin glowered. “I do not need friends,” he hissed. “I am living a life of purpose.”

“Jon is your friend!” Nightwing said. He was starting to sound desperate.

“Jon got magically turned into a twenty-three-year-old,” Red Robin said.

“We still talk,” Robin said.

Nightwing stared at him. He looked sad. Robin wondered a bit what he was seeing.

He sighed. “Maybe Bruce is right. Maybe a new school is the best option for you. Fresh start, right?”

“I do not need a new school. I should be homeschooled.”

“You’ll be attending a regular school,” Batman said. “You need an ear to the ground. For the mission’s sake.”

“I see.”

Red Robin rolled his eyes.

“This’ll be good,” Red Hood said. “No one there will remember how you acted when you were ten. None of them will remember your middle school years; trust me, that can only be a good thing.”

Batgirl and Robin arrived in Paris thirty-two hours later. They moved into a fully furnished penthouse with little fanfare, each having packed only a single bag.

And then they went to meet Team Miraculous.

Ladybug’s Court had six members, aside from herself. There were apparently other supplementary heroes who were granted powers on an as-needed basis. The most frequently used was Pegasus by a large margin, then Bunnyx and Polymouse.

The heroes’ base was apparently an old abandoned warehouse. They didn’t even own it; they were squatting.

“Alright, team, today we’re gonna be learning how to fight!” Ladybug said. “Our guests here are Batgirl and Robin. Batgirl, Robin, this is Chat Noir, Rena Rouge, Vesperia, Ryuuko, Carapace, and Viperion. I am Ladybug. It is a pleasure to meet you both.”

“Likewise,” Robin said.

“I thought Batgirl was a blonde?” Apitrix asked.

“Two Batgirls,” Batgirl said. “We share a name.”

“Why?” Chat Noir asked.

“Soulmates. United.”

Robin rolled his eyes. “They are unforgivably sappy about it. ‘One soul, one name’ and other such drivel.”

“We’re romantic as fuck,” Batgirl said. Ladybug’s eyes widened.

“So you know each other’s identities?” Chat Noir asked.

“Of course. We’re a team.”

“Huh. Fascinating,” he said, staring pointedly at Ladybug. “Almost like it’s common sense for teammates to back each other up like that.”

“Chat Noir, it’s been years. You know who I am now. Get over it.”

“I will not get over it. I will never get over it. I was right, and you were wrong, and I’m going to tell everyone ever until the end of time.”

“Awesome. That’s so great. Anyway,” Ladybug said. “What’s our first step?”

“Know how to fall?” Batgirl asked.

Ryuuko, Chat Noir, and Ladybug raised their hands.

“You should take fencing, like a normal person,” Ryuuko said to Carapace.

“You all fence?” Robin asked. The three of them nodded. “Excellent. Any other styles?”

“Kenjutsu,” Ryuuko said. “I’ve looked into HEMA, but I have not taken any classes on it.”

“I’ve used a jian before, but I’m not an expert or anything,” Ladybug said.

“My staff is my main weapon. For… civilian reasons, I am not currently taking escrima classes. But I know the word!” Chat Noir said.

“Congratulations,” Robin said flatly.

“How to fall,” Batgirl said. And then she shoved Robin to the ground.

Robin picked himself up gracefully. Vesperia snorted.

“Your turn.” He shoved her. She fell flat on her butt.

“Hey!”

“You can’t shove her!”

“This is a learning exercise,” Robin said.

“Now you shove him,” Batgirl said. “Make it fair.”

Vesperia didn’t hesitate. Robin, once again, correctly demonstrated how to fall.

“This is fun. I love learning,” Vesperia said. She made to kick him, and Robin grabbed her ankle and flipped her.

She fell wrong.

“For someone who loves learning, you don’t seem to be doing much of it,” Robin said.

“Oh, it’s on.”

Robin beat her. Then Ryuuko and him clashed swords, using the Japanese style.

Ryuuko won. She faced off against Chat Noir, won again, and then Chat Noir faced Robin in the French fencing style. Robin won that match—easily.

Ryuuko was not an opponent to be underestimated. Robin’s skill with a sword was considerable. Ryuuko, noticeably better, was easily world-class. She could be an Olympian as a civilian.

Carapace wasn’t a challenge. Rena Rouge was, but Robin quickly discovered the tactic of delivering a small blow to every single person and object he could see, whether they were in the ring or not. A single touch was enough to dispel an illusion. He eventually closed his eyes to filter out unnecessary input and defeated Rena that way.

Then Batgirl faced Vesperia, and used a nerve pinch to immobilize her before she could use her Venom. Then she faced Viperion. It took six seconds. Chat Noir—Batgirl chose to remain unarmed while he kept his staff. Then she stole his staff and beat him with it.

Finally, Ladybug.

She lasted 17 seconds.

It was impressive; not that Robin would ever say so.

Ladybug didn’t seem to realize her feat. She looked increasingly frustrated, disappointed in herself.

“You did… good,” Batgirl said.

“No I didn’t,” Ladybug said. “My magic gives me powers. I can jump to the roof of a building from the street, I can carry a person for hours, I can cross Paris in minutes. I just… I just can’t beat you.”

Batgirl hesitated. She was stiff and awkward. “No one can beat me. Don’t feel bad.”

“What? That’s not possible,” Chat Noir said.

Robin rolled his eyes. “Statistically, every field has to have one person in the world who is the very best in it. When it comes to single combat, Batgirl is that person.”

“How can you even prove that?” Chat Noir asked.

“Nobody answer!” Viperion said. “Nobody answer that.”

“You did well for having faced Batgirl,” Robin admitted. “The all-time record against her is nine minutes and thirty-three seconds. It is held by Lady Shiva.”

“Who’s that?” Viperion asked.

“Tt.”

“I still won,” Batgirl said.

“You died,” Robin said.

“And then I got better.” She looked directly at Ladybug. “Never lose. Don’t accept it.”

Ladybug nodded seriously, as if that was advice that actually made any sense at all.

“My turn,” Robin said, unsheathing his sword. “Time for a real fight.”

Ladybug snorted. “I doubt you’ll be more of a challenge than Batgirl.”

“But you will learn more than you would be simply getting tossed around the mats for ten seconds.”

Vesperia whispered something that made Viperion sputter out laughter.

The two of them circled each other. Ladybug was graceful. Short. Pretty. Her outfit was very different from a traditional super suit—a spotted red cheongsam that fell just short of her knees, with black tulle frills peeping out from underneath. It was paired with sheer black tights, flats with bows on them, and lacy fingerless gloves. All in all, it looked like nothing so much as streetwear rather than combat gear.

Not that the rest of the team was much better. They were all very fashionable, however. Well-dressed. Just not for battle.

This should be easy.

Robin struck.

Ladybug met him match for match, blow for blow. She was fast, she was strong. Like fighting a meta.

Robin had fought many metas in his time. His best friend had been was Superboy. Every day since his training began at age three, he fought opponents who were bigger, stronger, and faster than him. He was used to it.

Ladybug was not.

“Whoo! Kick his ass, Ladybug!” Rena Rouge yelled.

“He has a weak back! Target it!” Ryuuko shouted.

Batgirl nodded approvingly, the traitor.

“Good eye,” she said.

“Don’t praise my opponent,” he said. He swiped his sword low, and Ladybug flung her yo-yo around it, the string winding taut around the blade. She yanked, and the sword went flying. The Court ducked out of the way.

“Hand to hand, then,” Robin said.

“For you, anyway,” Ladybug said.

“A yo-yo is hardly a respectable weapon.”

“And yet, you’re still getting beat with it.”

“You’ve hardly beaten me.”

“Oh, I will.”

“Doubtful.”

She swung out her yo-yo again. It looped up towards his shoulder and down. He pulled out one of his batarangs and swiped at the string.

It didn’t cut.

“Should’ve gone for my throat,” he said.

“You should’ve known better than to try to destroy a magic artifact.”

“It’s foolish to ever assume strengths in your enemies until they’ve been tested.”

“I don’t know. I’m pretty lucky.”

“Luck will only take you so far. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”

“Well, that’s why Batgirl’s here.”

He lunged at her in a flying tackle. By pure chance, he ended up slamming straight into her outstretched fist as she whirled around. It hit his throat and knocked him down.

“Told you,” she smiled beatifically. “I’m pretty lucky.”

He flipped onto his feet. “We aren’t done yet.”

“If you say so.”

She swung her yo-yo again and this time Robin caught it, pulling it—and her—towards himself. Ladybug stumbled, and it was just the opening Robin needed to put her in a headlock. She kneed him in the gut, but he ignored the blow.

1, 2, 3, and Robin won.

The two teens stepped back from each other.

“Good fight,” Ladybug said. She held out her hand. Robin eyed it.

He supposed it couldn’t hurt. She was a fairly interesting sparring partner. Certainly more tolerable than his brothers.

He shook her hand.

“I appreciated it as well,” he said.

Batgirl’s eyes on them were piercing. Robin firmly ignored her.

Chapter Text

Two Waynes officially arriving in a new city—especially to stay indefinitely—meant an official first public appearance was required. The whole family was invited to Chloé Bourgeois’s debutante ball. Only Damian and Cassandra would actually be attending, of course.

Cassandra swirled a shot of bourbon around in her mouth in the limo ride there, and Damian braced himself. She was going to pretend to have been “pre-gaming,” which meant her infamous Wayne heiress persona would be in full force tonight.

Cassandra, as Father’s only daughter, had certain expectations set upon her by the press. She played into those expectations, which fed them and made them get worse and worse in turn. Cassandra Wayne was spoiled. Cassandra Wayne was an airhead. Cassandra Wayne was bratty.

Cassandra Wayne was the ultimate party girl, famous for being famous. She wore high heels and short dresses. She laughed even when she didn’t get the joke. She was unapologetically rude and Bruce let her get away with everything. She only had to ask, and it was hers.

Part and parcel of being the next Batman. Or so everyone said, anyway. Damian was certain the role could be filled without such a persona. He had never been able to stomach acting like that, himself. It took years for his family to convince him that secret identities mattered at all. It wasn’t like his mother wore a mask.

But things were different for vigilantes. They didn’t just wear masks, the Bats created completely separate identities who were wholly different people. Damian, ten years old and freshly arrived in America, hadn’t understood the purpose of that. Within weeks of his arrival, there were memes about him being the holder of the Wayne family’s single brain cell. How the family had saved up all their intelligence stats to pool them all on “the baby Wayne.”

Curse him for having a decent vocabulary, he supposes.

His siblings did nothing to discourage this. Richard had quit the police force years ago to bounce from job to job at a whim before settling on modeling—mostly because that was Koriand’r’s civilian job as well, and it allowed them to work together. Thomas is following in his footsteps, and even Drake, majority shareholder and board president of Wayne Enterprises, plays an idiot. He openly skateboards in the office. He falls asleep at his desk. He never misses a chance to bring up how he dropped out of high school and was handed his position by his rich father. Everyone at WE hates it.

Which meant Damian was doomed to suffer and cringe while his family acted like fools.

Cassandra tripped and giggled getting out of the limo, swaying as she held onto the door. Cameras flashed. Paparazzi shouted questions. Damian sighed deeply and followed her.

The ball was being held in the Grand Paris Hotel, owned by Mayor Bourgeois himself. The ballroom was opulently decorated in white and gold. Candles sparkled in chandeliers and braziers. Light music from the string quartet filled the air. People mingled in their very finest clothes.

Damian adopted a cool expression. He had a persona of his own, by now. It was largely based on how he had acted when he first arrived in America, minus all the violent tendencies.

He had been raised to be a prince. He knew how to act the part.

The Bourgeois family came up and greeted them personally, as was only proper for people of their station.

“Mademoiselle Wayne. Monsieur Wayne. A pleasure to meet you both. Will you be staying in Paris long?” Mayor Bourgeois asked.

“Yes,” Cassandra said, pretending to sip from her flute of champagne.

“Father thought it best for me to finish my education abroad,” Damian said.

The mayor nodded sagely. “Paris has many fine institutions for young people. He could not have chosen a better city. I have no doubt you’ll enjoy an exemplary educational experience while you’re here, Monsieur Wayne.”

Damian peered about the room, gaze imperious. “I’ve always found Western education to be quaint in comparison to the private tutors I had in Pakistan.”

The mayor bristled, just slightly. “Well,” he said. “I do hope we measure up to your standards, Monsieur Wayne.”

“Let’s hope so.”

“Cassandra, darling, you simply must tell me who made your dress,” Madame Bourgeois said.

“Gabriel Agreste,” she said.

“Oh? I discovered him, you know.”

Cass raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. The second insult of the night down.

“This is boring,” Chloé declared. “Wayne, come dance with me.”

He rolled his eyes, but allowed her to pull him along. It got him out of that conversation, at least.

Damian drew Bourgeois into a waltz and took a moment to appreciate the silence. To his surprise, Bourgeois made no attempt to fill it.

It was nice.

The dance ended, and Bourgeois immediately flounced off. Damian spotted Cassandra across the ballroom, in the center of a crowd of young women. He certainly wouldn’t be welcome over there. With a sigh, he trailed after Bourgeois.

Bourgeois was chattering away excitedly to a mousy redheaded girl, clinging to the arm of some boy. An Asian girl was there as well, and the second Bourgeois daughter.

Damian entered their circle and nodded to Chloé. “Miss Bourgeois,” he greeted. “Others.”

“Wayne,” Bourgeois said. “This is Sabrina, Adrien Agreste, and Kagami Tsurugi.”

Sabrina wasn’t important enough for her family name to be worth mentioning. Good to know.

“A pleasure,” he said.

“Same to you,” Agreste said. Sabrina nodded. Tsurugi gave the slightest of bows.

“Wayne as in the Gotham Waynes?” Tsurugi asked.

“Of course,” he said.

“Hm.”

Chloé examined her nails. “So how are you enjoying the ball, Wayne? Is it anything like the debutante balls in America?”

“They are not so common there. Though cotillion balls are,” he said. “My sister, of course, had her own debutante ball many years ago. It was… extravagant.”

“Many years ago? Isn’t she just in her twenties?” Agreste asked.

“Yes, well, I was eleven at the time. It certainly has been many years from my perspective.”

“That’s right, all your siblings are way older than you, right?” Sabrina said, then blushed.

“Aside from Thomas. He is the newest. Before Father took him in, there was a seven year gap between myself and my next closest sibling. There are fourteen years between myself and Grayson.”

“I’m so glad I’m an only child. It gives my parents more time to focus on me,” Chloé said. Her half-sister stared at her.

“Indeed. I quite preferred it myself.”

“What do you mean?” Agreste asked.

“I lived with my mother for the first ten years of my life. I did not meet my siblings until I moved to America to live with my father.”

“Ooh, where did you live before?”

Sabrina elbowed him. “Pakistan, duh.”

“Sorry. I don’t really keep up with celebrities,” Agreste said.

Damian frowned. “You are a celebrity.”

Agreste waved a hand dismissively. “My father tries to keep me away from all of that. If he had his way, I still wouldn’t even be in school.”

“You want to attend school?”

“Of course! How else would I make friends?”

Damian stared at him. “We are very different people.”

“No friends, Wayne?” Chloé smiled sweetly.

“I have found too many people to be simpering sycophants and desperate social climbers.”

Chloé glanced over at Sabrina, briefly. “Oh, I don’t know. A sycophant can be a useful tool.”

“Chloé!” Agreste said.

“What? It’s true,” she said. “The world needs underlings, Adrikins. How else would powerful people stay powerful?”

“So you agree, then? It’s all a social construct?” Zoé said.

“Just because something is a social construct doesn’t mean it’s not a real force in the world, Zoé. Money is only valuable because people say it is but I dare you to live without it.”

Both girls rolled their eyes. Neither caught the other doing it.

“They love each other,” Agreste said.

“We so don’t,” Chloé said.

“How long will you be in Paris?” Tsurugi asked, redirecting the conversation bluntly.

“Indefinitely,” Damian said. “I will be finishing out my schooling here.”

“That’s great! Do you know what school you’ll be going to?” Agreste asked.

“Francois Dupont.”

“That’s our school! Well, except for Kagami. But otherwise! All of us go there. Chloé, Sabrina, and I are even in the same class.”

“It is apparently an excellent school for the arts,” Damian said. That was the official story for why Damian was going there. Unofficially, the school—and Damian’s class in particular—was a statistical hotspot for akumatizations.

Many of which were attributed to Chloé Bourgeois.

Damian had been instructed to… befriend her.

“Yeah, lots of our classmates are artists in some way. My best friend, Nino Lahiffe, is a DJ and a filmmaker!”

“Fascinating,” he said flatly.

Chloé snorted.

Mission success.

“What about you?” Damian asked, against his better judgement. “What is your medium of art?”

“Oh, I just go there because Chloé goes there,” Agreste said.

“And I go there because I’m going to inherit my mother’s fashion empire someday,” Chloé said.

“You design?” Damian asked.

“Please. Of course I don’t design,” she said. “I critique.”

That’s right, Damian reminded himself. The Style Queen was a fashion critic; a mogul but not a creator. She judged, and it would make or break the designers who worked for her approval.

“So you intend to study journalism, then?” he asked.

She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Of course.”

“What about you, Damian? What are you going to study?” Zoé asked.

“Art.” Of course.

It was the logical choice for a cover story when enrolling in a school for the arts. In reality, Damian would, of course, study business in college, in order to one day inherit Wayne Enterprises. He would be expected to get an MBA.

“Since I’m going to be Chloé’s assistant when we grow up, it doesn’t matter what I study. But I plan on majoring in English!” Sabrina said.

“You want to grow up to be an assistant?” Damian couldn’t stop himself from asking.

“Of course! Chloé’s my soulmate, after all, so we have to work together.”

He looked over between Chloé and Agreste. “I was under the impression that the two of you were keeping company?”

“Oh, we are. Adrikins and I are dating. Our parents set us up.”

“Ah. I see.”

“So who’s your soulmate, Wayne? Show us your mark,” Chloé said.

“Excuse me?”

“Show us your mark.”

He vibrated with rage. It was all he could do to keep from slapping her. He turned on his heel and stalked away. He crossed the ballroom in a beeline.

“Cassandra.” He tapped her on the shoulder. “I request that we leave now. I have been gravely insulted.”

Cassandra straightened, eyes glinting. Her crowd of young women fell silent, taking her cue. “Who?” she asked.

“Chloé Bourgeois. She requested that I unclothe myself to display my soulmark.”

Several girls gasped.

Cassandra nodded. She grabbed his hand and marched them both over to the elder Bourgeois couple.

“Monsieur Mayor, we will be leaving. My little brother was just talking to ‘your’ daughter. I am shocked at her forwardness.”

“Forwardness? She’s dating the Agreste boy,” Madame Bourgeois said.

Cassandra raised an eyebrow judgmentally. “Maybe you should remind her. She does not seem aware.”

She whirled, skirts flaring out. Damian followed after her.

All in all, a fairly standard ball.

“Okay, class, today we’re going to have a new student! His name is Damian, and I expect all of you to be on your best behavior and make him feel welcome. Are you ready to meet him?” Mademoiselle Bustier asked. Several students murmured their agreement.

As if on cue, a boy with a medium skin tone and dark hair walked in. His clothes were clearly immaculately tailored.

His eyes were piercing.

He went to go sit in the very back row with Lila.

Mademoiselle Bustier took roll, and then—horror of horrors—said, “Now is the time for our daily class tradition! Every morning, we turn to our seat partner and give them a compliment, so we can start the day off with a bit of sunshine.”

Fear sank its claws into Damian’s heart.

The girl sitting next to him had long brown hair and a low-cut top showing off her soulmark. She beamed and leaned in close, causing Damian to back away.

She pouted and drew back. “Hi! My name is Lila Rossi. And my compliment for you is you have really pretty eyes!”

“Thank you. I am Damian Wayne. You have respectable… shoes.”

“Oh! Damian Wayne? I think we’ve met before! At the fundraiser gala for Prince Ali’s charity?”

“I meet many people. You clearly did not make much of an impression.”

She laughed. “You’ve always been so hilarious, Damian! It’s so good to see you again!”

She hugged him, and Damian shoved her away. Lila landed on the floor with a thud.

He hadn’t thought he shoved her that hard.

“Damian!” Mademoiselle Bustier snapped. “We do not roughhouse in the classroom!”

“She invaded my personal space,” he said. His heart was pounding. It had been instinct. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. He hadn’t meant—

“That is no excuse for violence! Apologize, right now!”

“I apologize, Mademoiselle Rossi,” he said numbly.

Violence.

He was still instinctively violent.

It was the same song as ever, just in a new country.

“I’m fine,” Lila said, voice cracking. She stood up on shaky feet and dusted herself off. She sat back on the bench, now as far away from Damian as possible. “I’m sure it was an accident.”

“He accidentally pushed you?” a girl asked dubiously.

Lila gave a watery smile.

Damian felt like scum.

He would not make that mistake again, he vowed. How many times had his father lectured him about not fighting civilians? About how a fight between him and them was always inherently imbalanced? How it was a gross misapplication of his training? How it paralleled a police officer using excessive force?

He made himself sick.

She had just been trying to hug him.

Chapter Text

Lila was in Marinette’s next class of the day, because of course she was. Damian wasn’t, and so he didn’t get to hear her “subtly” implying to everyone that he was her soulmate.

“…I just felt this instant connection between us, you know? He approached me after literature and apologized so sincerely. He was nearly heartbroken at the idea that he might have hurt me,” Lila said. “I told him it was fine, of course. I just… I don’t know. I feel like he’s going to be someone important in my life.”

“Maybe he’s your soulmate!” Rose, ever the romantic, said.

She always hung off the edge of her seat for Lila’s stories.

Lila blushed, and Marinette had a moment to wonder how the fuck she did that on cue. “Maybe… I don’t know,” she sighed. “There would be no way to know. Americans hide their soulmarks. And the Waynes especially have to be careful—to prevent fakers.”

Marinette bit her lip to keep from saying anything. She had more self-control than anyone in the world.

“Are you good?” Nino asked.

“Fine,” she grit out.

“Then how do they find their soulmates?” Alix asked skeptically.

“Well, in the movies, there’s always a big scene where there’s some horrible accident or fight and everyone’s shirt gets dramatically torn… But in my travels, I’ve found that lots of Americans use online soulmark matching sites or apps.” Lila laughed.

Penny Rolling once told her most Americans waited to reveal their soulmarks until they were intimate with their partner, wanting to build a relationship first. In contrast, people in France often used a photo of their soulmark as their online profile picture. It was fashionable for clothing to be designed in such a way to display them. Shirts often had jagged collars or circular cutouts to bare the skin right over the heart. Lower necklines were common for both men and for women.

She wondered if that affected how many people found their soulmates. Or when they found their soulmates, at the very least. Surely if there was a negative impact, people would mention it, right? Or did it not matter, because soulmates were soulmates, and they were destined to at least meet once no matter what? Did Americans have lower rates of soulmate marriages? How did that—

By noon, the entire school had heard. Damian Wayne was cemented in everyone’s mind as Lila’s unofficial soulmate. Marinette heard one girl call them star-crossed lovers. People were talking about how big an event the wedding would be. They were already the school’s new power couple, and Lila was a future Wayne.

Damian got swarmed at lunch. Lila’s entourage and other social-climber students were surrounding him within seconds.

“How can she possibly expect to keep this up?!” Marinette raged. “It’s so easily disproved! What, does she think no one’s going to say anything to Damian?!”

“She hasn’t technically actually said he’s her soulmate,” Zoé said. “It’s kind of brilliant actually. He’ll never reveal his soulmark to the general public. I really thought he was going to slap Chloé when she asked to see it on Saturday.”

“Ugh. Girl, you’ve gotta start taking me to these galas. I’m missing all the drama. Deets, now,” Alya said.

“Okay, so,” Zoé set down her yogurt cup. “Me, Adrien, and Kagami were talking when Chloé and Sabrina came up to us, just to be rude, but then Damian Wayne followed after them. Conversation takes a sharp left turn and everyone is on their best behavior now, just asking about his childhood and life in Gotham or whatever. Then Sabrina brings up how her and Chloé are soulmates, and Damian’s all confused, because he heard from someone else that Chloé and Adrien were dating.”

Adrien thumped his head on the table. Alya made a ‘continue’ motion.

“We explain the bullshit that is their relationship, and then Chloé asks to see Damian’s soulmark. She was actually pretty polite about it. But Damian flies off the handle and goes gets his sister, who immediately snitches to our parents that Chloé’s making “advances.””

“No!” Alya gasped.

“Yeah! She also implied that Chloé isn’t actually Dad’s daughter.”

“Well,” Nino said.

“Don’t say it,” Adrien begged.

“You and Chloé look a lot alike, that’s all. Like. It’s just a similar face shape. And also—I mean, your dad and their mom—”

“They wouldn’t be forcing us to date each other if that was true!” Adrien said. Desperation tinged his voice. Marinette grimaced.

She personally thought Nino and also the tabloids were right about this theory. But she would never say that. It was really gross.

Not that Adrien and Chloé actually did any “couple” activities together. It was a show relationship. They were required to be seen in public with each other and no one else once a week at least, so that they could be photographed. It had done a lot to promote the business relationship between Style Queen magazine and the Agreste fashion house. All without either company having to pay a cent in marketing money.

“Did your dad say anything about when you might be allowed to break up?” Marinette asked.

“I still haven’t talked to him about it,” Adrien said.

“Still? Dude, it’s been two months,” Nino said.

“He’s been really busy lately. We haven’t had time to talk,” he said. “Nathalie has me penciled in for lunch with him on Friday, but we’ll see if that pans out.”

Marinette patted his arm consolingly. Adrien didn’t like it when his friends got mad on his behalf, or spoke badly about his father, so they were limited to providing comfort and support. Even though every single one of them would gladly punch Gabriel Agreste in the face.

To think, Marinette used to look up to that man. At one point, her dream in life had been to become a designer for the Agreste fashion house.

She wouldn’t work for him for all the money in the world.

Luka cleared his throat. “So, Lila Rossi,” he said. “Any predictions on when this particular lie goes down in flames?”

“Uh-uh. I’m not making bets against a time traveler,” Alya said.

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“Still.”

“There’s gotta be a way to prove she’s lying,” Marinette said.

“Not one that won’t get you hurt in the process,” Alya said.

Nino nodded. “She’s the master of spin. Every time you try to expose her, it backfires on you, big time.”

“This one’s an obvious lie. Time will expose it,” Luka said.

“See, it’s you saying things like that that makes me wary,” Alya said. Luka shrugged.

Marinette slumped back in her chair and seethed.

Across the cafeteria, Lila rested her hand on Damian’s arm. The boy stiffened, but didn’t pull away.

“I’m just glad she has someone new to focus on,” Adrien said. “Maybe she’ll forget about me now.”

Nino snorted. “Someone finally came around with a bigger name than Agreste.”

Luka looked over at the crowd at the center table. “I just feel sorry for him. He has no idea what he’s in for.”

Alya waved a hand. “He’s a Wayne. And the Ice Prince of Gotham, to boot. I’m sure he’s dealt with hundreds of Lilas back home. He’ll know how to handle her.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Marinette said.

Luka looked her in the eye. “No,” he said. “It doesn’t.”

There was an akuma attack an hour after lunch. Alarms blared through the school intercom system and every person’s phone. Monsieur Leclair directed everyone to evacuate to the akuma shelter in the school’s basement, and Marinette was able to slip away in the chaos.

“I am the Cheater, and I’m going to make everyone betray their dearest love!” the akumatized person shouted. She had a magic staff and started zapping people. Some raced off, as if on a mission. Others turned to the person they were next to and attacked. One mother glared at the baby in her stroller, picked up a rock, and—

Ladybug yo-yo’d her wrist and pulled her up onto the rooftop. “No!” the woman shouted. “I have to kill him! That baby ruined my life! He’s nothing but a—”

“Stay here, ma’am,” she said. She jumped off the rooftop, leaping back into the fray.

She pulled a comm out of her yo-yo and slipped it into her ear, shooting off a quick message on her bugphone for all active Court members to do the same. Chat Noir and Viperion were already on the line.

“Rena Rouge is causing a distraction as a civilian,” Viperion said. “Should buy us some time before anyone notices we’re missing.”

Chat Noir snickered. “She’s demanding to be let out of the shelter to go film the battle. She’s got a whole speech and everything. She’s calling out Principal Damocles for censorship of the media.”

“Stay focused,” Ladybug said. “Any ideas on what the akumatized object is?”

“Her staff seems pretty important,” Viperion said. Ladybug shook her head, even though he couldn’t see her.

“It’s unlikely, unless it was originally a cane. My gut says no. She clearly just found out she was being cheated on. Does anyone see a phone?”

A blast and crash echoed through the line. “That’s a no on the phone, my lady,” Chat said.

“This is Robin, reporting in,” a new voice chimed in. “Batgirl is here as well.”

“How did you find this frequency?” Ladybug asked.

“We’re Bats,” he said.

“But we’re magic,” Chat Noir said.

“Your radio signal is still just a radio signal. Sitrep,” he said sharply.

“Sitrep? What does that mean in French?” Ladybug asked.

She could practically hear Robin grinding his teeth. “It is short for ‘situation report.’”

“Ohhhhh. Oh, that’s cool. Like a spy!” Chat Noir said.

“What’s happening,” Batgirl said. She sounded pissed, too.

“The akuma is calling herself the Cheater. She has energy beams that make you attack and betray the person you love most, so don’t get hit. We need to find the akumatized object and purify it in order to free her,” Ladybug said.

“Any leads?” Batgirl asked. Ladybug spotted her down below trying to intervene with the angry mob.

She kept running. Getting to the akuma was more important than preventing civilian casualties. She needed to stop the problem at the source, or the toll would just keep rising.

“It’s not her staff, her beret, her belt buckle, or her purse,” Viperion said.

“She still has her purse?” Chat asked.

“Can we focus,” Robin said.

“No, that’s important,” Ladybug said. “No one brings their purse into battle with them. It’s just not practical. Hawkmoth wouldn’t have let her keep it unless it was important.”

“So you’re thinking the akuma is in the purse,” Viperion said.

“Exactly!”

There! She was finally within sight. Why was Paris so big? She swore half the battle was just tracking down these damn akumas. Luckily they all seemed to spawn around the center of the city.

Ladybug engaged.

Within seconds, Robin joined her on the rooftop.

“Ladybug, on my five. Get that staff away from her,” Robin said. He drew his katana.

“No! Don’t get too close, she could hit you!”

“She will not. Get the staff.”

“Robin, fall back! Lucky Charm!”

A chess piece fell in her hand. A rook, specifically. She glanced around. Robin. Chat Noir approaching. A rook.

Castling.

One of the more obvious ones, for once. Thank god.

“Robin, fall back! Chat Noir, take his place! Robin, I need you to—”

“I am a bit busy right now, if you haven’t noticed,” he spoke through his teeth.

“Listen to me! You—”

He got shot with the energy beam. The lenses of his mask glowed brilliant green, and Robin went completely still. Then he grappled off the roof.

Headed straight towards a news van.

Fuck.

And that was when Chat got hit with the energy beam too. He turned to face her slowly, a sinister smile on his face.

“I’m going to kill you, my lady.”

“I need backup over here! Anyone who’s available!”

“Carapace on the scene! Now three minutes out!”

“Great.”

“You don’t respect me,” Chat said. He swung his staff out, and Ladybug just barely ducked. “I’ll never be your equal. All those years pining after you. I was just a joke to you.”

She went low and swept his legs out from beneath him, but Chat was up again in a second. “Kitty, you know that’s not true. I love you. You’re my best friend.”

“You spent all that time lying to me. Hiding the truth!” The staff hit her hard in the head. Her vision went black. “Best friends don’t keep secrets!”

“It was for your own safety!” she shouted. She couldn’t just scream out for the whole world to hear that he knew her identity now. Or that he had come out as gay last year. Common sense seemed to be in short supply, but she certainly wasn’t going to make the situation worse by blabbing personal details.

A news chopper circled in closer. Ladybug felt her face twist.

She hated fighting Chat. If only he didn’t get mind-controlled every other week.

That was when Batgirl dropped in onto the rooftop.

“Batgirl, I need you to find Robin, I can handle Chat! But Robin’s headed to the news crews and I think his method of betrayal is going to be a bit less direct than what we’ve seen so far.”

Batgirl nodded, and just as quick, she was gone.

A hit to the ribs refocused her. Chat was grinning, looking feral.

It was going to be a long fight.

Ladybug called an all-hands meeting immediately after the battle ended. School was long since past its scheduled end time; it wasn’t like they had to return to class.

“What the hell was that?!” she demanded.

“Tt. To what are you referring?” Robin asked, folding his arms.

“You disobeyed a direct order! The fight went on for two hours, and that’s because of you!”

“It is not. No one could have foreseen—”

“Could and did!”

“Regardless, I acted as I saw best. I was the most skilled combatant on the scene. It made the most sense for me to engage while others provided a distraction or backup.”

“I had a plan and you didn’t! And I don’t care what your thought was best; I’m the hero in charge here! You two are guests in Paris. I did not invite you here to take over, and if you cannot take direction, then you can leave. Today, you were more harm than help.”

“Tt. I stand by my actions. Your plan had little chance of working. In the heat of battle, it is always best—”

Batgirl held up a hand, silencing him. She went to go stand next to Ladybug and folded her arms.

Robin’s jaw dropped, just slightly.

“I did nothing--!”

“Will be telling Dad,” Batgirl said. “So that he can yell at you.”

Robin snapped his mouth shut. “Fine.”

He turned on his heel and stalked out of the warehouse.

Chapter Text

Father lectured Damian for three hours, which was longer than the actual battle had lasted. In his opinion, the punishment absolutely did not fit the crime.

Apparently, he was supposed to treat Ladybug as his superior officer, not the untrained child that she actually was.

She was basically a civilian.

It was humiliating.

Father wanted Damian to apologize as well. And he had told Cassandra this so it would actually be enforced.

Indignities stacked upon indignities.

He had stalked out of the penthouse to go clear his head, with no particular destination in mind. It was still daylight, and he wasn’t particularly worried about street crime. Everyone knew that Damian Wayne was a swordsman. He was the only one of them who could get away with properly defending himself in public—save Todd.

Todd’s cover story that he had been in witness protection for years after a kidnapping gone wrong gave him a lot of leeway. He even implied that he had done work as a government agent of some kind. He made almost no attempts at acting like a normal civilian whatsoever. And he got away with it, because Father was a weak man prone to guilt.

All Todd had to do was call Father “Dad” and he literally got away with murder, whereas Damian—

“Damian!” a voice called out. He turned, and there was Lila Rossi.

He didn’t roll his eyes, but it was a near thing. People should not be so cheerful about seeing him. It rang as obviously false.

“I was just on my way back from volunteering at the soup kitchen! Those poor people are always so grateful to see a friendly face. It’s so sad how they’re treated. What are you doing here?”

“Walking.”

She laughed. “I know that, silly. Where to?”

“Nowhere. I’m just walking.”

“Ah. I get that.”

She started walking alongside him. Damian frowned.

He couldn’t just tell her to fuck off. He was already in hot water with his father over his rudeness. There was no need to make the situation worse over something so trivial. He would just have to grin and bear it.

He hated all people.

Lila reached out and twined their fingers together. That was where Damian drew the line. He gently pulled his hand away, but she kept a grip on him, and he didn’t want to use any true force. She could fall again.

“Miss Rossi, please let go of me.”

“Call me Lila! And is it okay if I hold your hand? It’s just—I get these dizzy spells. I just don’t want to fall.”

Great. Of course.

“Perhaps you should invest in a walker.”

She reeled back. “I don’t need a walker!”

“So you can walk on your own, then?”

“Well,” she said. “It’s only an occasional problem. I don’t want to get a walker for something so little. It would change the way people look at me, you know? I really only have a few spells a day. And my friends are so supportive! Literally!” She laughed at her own joke.

Damian resigned himself to his fate. So much for a peaceful walk to clear his head. Now he was enduring a social interaction, and physical touch.

He felt his skin crawling. Rossi’s closeness was pinging his paranoia, making his traumatized hindbrain scream out ‘DANGER!’

Pennyworth was always saying they should all be in therapy. Perhaps his viewpoint had some merit. She was just a civilian classmate. She was harmless.

She could break his arm in two places with the way she was currently gripping it.

Damian focused on his breathing.

He had to be normal. That’s what this whole endeavor was about, right? He failed to act like a normal child in America after six whole years and so he was shipped off to France to try again. All he had to do was behave like a normal, civilian, non-traumatized teenager. One who had no memories of torture endurance training.

Anti-interrogation resistance, it had been called.

Lila Rossi’s head was too close to his neck, to his throat—

She was just leaning her head on his shoulder. It was perfectly fine. Safe. Not an attempt to rip out or slice his carotid at all, because that would be ridiculous, because Rossi was just a civilian girl.

All the same, Damian started them down a path that would take them back towards his apartment building.

The Birdhouse

Drake: lmao look at this (link)

Thomas: snkljskajf

Grayson: wow @Damian how come you didn’t tell us???? Im hurt

Damian sighed and clicked the link. It was to a tabloid website. Clickbait.

The feature image was of him and Rossi walking down the street, bathed in sunlight. Rossi had both hands wrapped around his arm and her head resting on his shoulder. Damian was looking down at her, seeming subdued, or in thought.

WAYNE CHILD FINDS SOULMATE?
By Élise Jacquinot

          PARIS—Yesterday the youngest Wayne heir of the illustrious Gothamite Wayne family, Damian Wayne, was spotted taking a romantic stroll down the streets of Paris with up-and-coming model Lila Rossi. Mademoiselle Rossi has been rumored to be the secret muse of Gabriel Agreste himself, appearing in a number of photoshoots alongside the designer’s son and face of the Agreste brand.
          Mademoiselle Rossi had no comment when asked what her relationship to Monsieur Wayne was. “Ian and I are taking things slow,” she said. “For now, it’s important that we be really great friends. I always wanted to be friends first with my soulmate.”
          Damian wouldn’t be the first Wayne heir to have a model for a soulmate. Richard “Dick” Grayson found his soulmate in supermodel “it” girl Kory Anders, AKA Starfire. Monsieur Grayson later went on to join the profession himself. With such a sure footing in the industry, Mademoiselle Rossi’s career is—

Damian clicked out of the article. If it could even be called that.

Drake: are you seeing this shit? (screenshot)

Drake: “corporate chatter” smh i literally sent out a press release about us starting a fashion division

Thomas: yeah but you still have no designers tho

Drake: :(

Drake: my own brother doesn’t believe in me

Cassandra: hire steph

Drake: I tried, she doesn’t have time

Todd: How dare she go to med school

Drake: I know your mocking me but forreal

Todd: *you’re

Brown: NERD

Brown: hi, heard my name

Grayson: gusy we r not talking enough abt dami’s new girlfriend

Todd: She called him Ian lmao

You: Grayson, your attempts at typing are an affront to the English language.

Grayson: HE SPEAKS

Grayson: tell us about herr!!!

You: Rossi is not my soulmate nor my girlfriend. That picture was misconstrued. I was assisting her with walking through a bout of dizziness.

Brown: awwww

Todd: And her quote? What’s your spin on that, Demon Brat?

You: It is not a spin. It is the truth. She means nothing to me.

Todd: Sure

You: She thinks we are friends but we are not.

Grayson: dami you don’t have to be ashamed of having feelings. She seems nice!

Todd: Don’t fuck it up

Drake: can we go back to the whole ian thing?

Brown: it makes him sound British

Drake: IT DOES

Damian rolled his eyes and clicked his phone off. Clearly no one wanted to listen to him. Why speak if no one would hear?

“Hi Ian! I like your outfit today!” Rossi said for their daily morning compliment.

“Thank you. I like your… hair,” he said. It was long and straight and brown. Aside from the unusual style, it reminded him a bit of his mother.

Rossi touched one of her foxtail locks. “Thank you! I know lots of people think the cut is weird.” She laughed self-consciously.

“Hm.”

Rossi bit her lip. She opened her mouth to speak, but Bustier interrupted. “Okay, class! Today we are starting a group project! We will be doing research and a presentation on an influential piece of French literature! You get to pick which book you present on. Now, I want everyone to pair up into groups of four. We do have an odd number in the class, so there will be one group of three.”

Rossi immediately grabbed Damian’s hand and pulled him out of their bench seat. “Come on, Ian! Let’s go find our partners!”

Damian tried and failed to disentangle himself. Rossi kept grabbing his hand anew whenever he got loose. He settled for raising his voice. “Mademoiselle Bustier,” he called out. “As there is an odd number of students, I would like to volunteer to do the project on my own.”

“Absolutely not,” she said. “No one will be working alone. Group projects are a very important way of learning teamwork and social skills, Damian. Plus, it will allow you to bond with your classmates. If I let you work alone, then when would have one group of two instead of a group of three, and that wouldn’t be fair to those two students who would have to do more than their share of work, now would it?”

“I suppose not.”

Bustier beamed. “Great! I’m so glad you understand, Damian.”

Rossi dragged him along down the steps to where the rest of the class was. “That was so generous of you to offer to work alone, Ian! You’re so noble.”

“Tt.”

“Tell you what, how about we be the group of three? I don’t mind doing a bit more work than the others. Especially if it keeps our classmates from having to.”

Less people was always desirable. “That would be acceptable.”

“Great! Kim! Do you wanna be our third?”

Lê Chiến Kim glanced up at them. He shot them a thumbs up from across the room.

“This is gonna be the funnest project ever!”

Rossi slid into the seat next to him in the cafeteria. “We should start our project for literature after school today. I know the cutest little café we can work out of!”

Damian’s brow furrowed. “Shouldn’t our first destination be the library? In order to choose a book?”

“No, silly! Everyone will be going to the library! There’ll be a billion people there and we’ll be totally unable to focus. We can choose our book by reading reviews online.”

“That makes sense.”

“Great! Meet me at the Busy Bean Coffee Bar at 3:15. Bring your laptop,” she said. Damian nodded curtly.

Was this friendship? Did he have a friend? Rossi was very different from Jon, but seemingly just as optimistic and determined to connect with him. Of course, Damian had also been… acquaintances with Mia ( or “Maps” as everyone called her) and Colin. But their relationships had been almost professional in nature. If anything, they were friends with Robin, not Damian.

Maps had made no attempt at disguising the fact that she was in love with Damian’s grapple gun. Combined with her detective club that she led, it was a wonder she hadn’t been the next Robin after Drake herself. If Damian hadn’t come along, she surely would have been.

And now the position of Batman’s partner was vacant in Gotham. Perhaps Damian should speak to Father about training her. He needed someone whose sole duty in the city was to operate at his side, not as a soloist. Batman needed a Robin.

Rossi was still chattering on inanely as their table filled up with other students. Damian tuned the conversation out, his mind in Gotham.

If this was friendship, he could do just as well without it.

Chapter Text

Two days later, Rose came into school waving around the latest copy of Teen Heartthrob Magazine, with Damian and Lila splashed across the cover.

“Look!” Rose said. “Isn’t it so romantic?”

Juleka muttered something. Probably agreement, given the way Rose reacted to it.

“Let me see that,” Alix said, snatching the magazine. “’Yesterday, Damian Wayne, the mysterious and aloof heir to Wayne Enterprises, was spotted in a romantic French bistro with rising star model Lila Rossi, the daughter of the Italian ambassador to France, Madame Tarsilla Rossi…’ Wow this is a long article… Not the first sighting… Lotta stuff in here about the Wayne family and Lila’s travels and stuff… Aha! ‘As Damian Wayne has never shown significant romantic interest before, many speculate that Mademoiselle Rossi is secretly his soulmate.’”

Lila blushed. “Oh. You guys saw that?”

Alya rolled her eyes. “Girl, everyone saw that. Teen Heartthrob is a big deal.”

“Psh. Not that big a deal. I’ve been featured before, of course, but so has even my half of a sister,” Chloé said.

“Really? What for?” Rose asked eagerly.

“They wanted to know which of us would be inheriting Maman’s fashion empire, of course. Me, naturally.”

“It was a puff piece,” Zoé said.

“It’s Teen Heartthrob. It’s all puff pieces,” Alya said.

“Right, because your blog is such hard-hitting journalism,” Chloé said.

“That’s right, it is. I’m covering news that matters. I’m gonna work at the Daily Planet someday. I’m the Lois Lane of Paris’s superheroes.”

Marinette stifled a giggle. Alya stood proud.

It was just so ridiculous, putting Ladybug on the same level as Superman. Superman saved the planet at least once a week. He prevented natural disasters and alien invasions and fought the evil president of America. Ladybug played catch-and-release with butterflies. She was just a hometown hero at best.

But Alya insisted that wasn’t the case. As if they didn’t have to call on the Justice League for help with basic combat training. She was sure she was a laughingstock to the big leagues like them.

Three years to fail to catch one villain?

She was a joke, even in her own mind.

But not to Alya.

Chloé and Alya’s argument was now being ignored by the class at large as they all ooh’d and ahh’d at the article. Lila took questions and gave political non-answers, demurring at every turn. Damian finally arrived, and Alix immediately tossed the magazine to him.

“Hey, Damian! Heard about your date!” she said.

Damian glanced at the front cover. Him and Lila, sitting together at the bar table of a café. Lila was leaning in close and visibly hanging off his every word while they spoke. The shot had a vignette haze around it, making it seem like the pair were in their own little world of nothing but each other.

“It was not a date. We were working on our literature project,” he said. He handed the magazine back to Alix, who passed it onto Rose.

“Then where was Kim?” Alix asked.

“He had a dental emergency,” Damian said.

“No I didn’t,” Kim said. “I didn’t even know you guys were gonna be working on the project. I was swimming.”

“Oh, were you? I must have told Ian the wrong thing. I’m so sorry, Kim!” Lila said.

“It’s fine. I got some extra laps in, so that’s really all I care about.”

Damian frowned. He looked like he was about to say something, but at that moment, Mademoiselle Bustier walked in. Everyone took their seats.

The magazine was stuffed into Rose’s backpack, forgotten.

Batgirl was supervising their training.

“No powers, no gadgets, no suits. Workout clothes and wrapped knuckles,” she said. “Learn to fight this way to learn the basics. You have to walk before you run.”

“Great idea, except the masks and the suits are kind of a package deal for us,” Rena Rouge said.

“Brought spares,” Batgirl said. She reached into her bag and began dispensing dominoes.

“This is so cool!” Chat Noir said. “Look! I’m a Gotham vigilante! I am the night!”

“Tt. You wouldn’t survive a day in Gotham,” Robin said.

“Thought the struggle was to survive the night,” Carapace said. He and Rena high-fived without looking.

“First match,” Batgirl said. “Viperion and Vesperia.”

The two teenage heroes took their places on the mat. A ring had been outlined with white tape. Batgirl went over the rules of sparring, raised her hand, and brought it down.

It was quickly apparent that Viperion sucked without his powers. Vesperia had him down in three minutes flat.

“Next match,” Batgirl said. “Viperion and Carapace.”

“Shouldn’t it be the winner facing someone new?” Viperion panted.

“No. You have more to learn than she does. Begin.”

Viperion swore and danced out of Carapace’s way.

Carapace won. Next, Batgirl had Carapace face Vesperia. Then Vesperia against Rena Rouge. Rena against Carapace. Chat Noir against Ryuuko. Ryuuko against Viperion. Chat against Rena. Rena against Ladybug. Ladybug against Chat.

“No offense, Batgirl,” Ladybug said. Chat lay flat on his back on the mat. “But we’ve all sparred each other before. I was really hoping you could bring something new to the table.”

“Need to know what you’re bad at before I know what to teach,” she said.

“Yeah? What are we bad at?”

“Everything,” Batgirl said. “Robin. Against me.”

He groaned internally. There went any respect these heroes might have held for his capabilities. Also, no one likes sparring against Cassandra in the first place. Except for Brown. Todd says that what they do is not truly sparring, but foreplay. Damian, frankly, doesn’t see how. Cassandra tosses Brown around the mats just as harshly and without mercy as she does any of her brothers.

Todd says the difference is that Brown enjoys it, which, again, Damian does not understand.

Perhaps he will when he meets his soulmate.

Ladybug gave the motion to begin this time, and Damian spent the next several minutes making desperate attempts at defense. He got his ass kicked, of course.

Fucking Cassandra.

Batgirl moved back to the position she had taken up as referee. “That is how a fight is supposed to go,” she said. “Now you do what I did. Chat Noir versus Robin.”

Robin glared at her. Chat Noir was the best fighter of the Court. Ladybug was fierce, but she lacked basic training. Ryuuko was exceedingly well-trained, but operated only within the rules of official martial arts. Chat Noir, on the other hand, had both the experience of Ladybug and the training of Ryuuko. Not as great as either one in those areas, but the combination was lethal.

Or could be lethal, anyway.

His weakness would be his over-reliance on his staff. Damian assumed a fighting stance.

Batgirl dropped her hand, and the two clashed.

Two minutes.

“What did Chat do wrong?” Batgirl asked.

“He fell down and got kicked repeatedly,” Carapace said. “Really brutal.”

“Why did he fall?” Batgirl asked.

There was a beat of silence. The young heroes looked at each other.

“He left his left side open to attack,” Ryuuko said. “It was not defended.”

“Correct,” Batgirl said. “Watch. Robin, be Chat Noir.”

He made a face. Nonetheless, he went back up to the mat and took up the stance Chat had been in before he made his mistake. Batgirl matched how Robin had been positioned.

She swept her leg towards his ankle in a slow-motion version of what he had done. Robin demonstrated a fall, landing in the same ill-defensible position Chat had.

“Now do it better,” Batgirl said.

They went through the motions again, slowly as before. This time, Robin kept form in a proper kata so that his side was not exposed. The sweep did not occur. Batgirl had them play it through one more time, now with the sweep again, but this time, Robin demonstrated how to correctly recover from it and keep the fight going.

Batgirl had Robin fight every single member of the Court in rotation, with cool-down time in between as she explained exactly what each member did wrong. About halfway through the continuous matches, Robin yanked off his sweat-drenched tank top. He had a soulmark patch on underneath; it was fine.

Batgirl saved Ladybug for last.

She brought her hand down.

Ladybug struck. Robin blocked, twisting and striking back. They both fought at full force. Ladybug seemed just a bit angry, a little bit less the cool professional she usually presented herself as.

It occurred to Robin that he had yet to apologize for his behavior during the akuma attack.

Best get that over with.

“I apologize for my behavior on Monday,” he said. He executed a throat chop. Ladybug reeled back, nearly kneeing him in the groin in the process.

“Good,” she said. A roundhouse kick towards his abdomen. Robin caught her leg and flipped her. She hit him with a wicked right hook. “Will you do it again?”

“No,” he said. A swing and a miss. Ladybug’s eyes sparkled. “I recognize that you are the hero in charge here. I will follow your lead as long as I am stationed in Paris.”

“Good,” she said again. She lunged at him in a flying tackle. A hit to the eye socket before he grabbed her wrist and twisted. Robin used her distraction to flip them. “You do what I say and we shouldn’t have any problems.”

“Agreed.” Robin sat on her stomach and wrapped both hands around her throat. “Concede.”

“You wouldn’t actually choke me in a real fight.”

“I would, temporarily,” he said. “It is perfectly safe to get your opponent to the point of gasping but not passing out, in order to more easily subdue them. The move is valid.”

Batgirl nodded. “Robin wins.”

He stood up and offered his hand to the lady. She hauled herself to her feet with a smile. “Thanks,” she said. “Good match.”

“You as well.”

“What did Ladybug do wrong?” Batgirl asked.

The rest of the Court gaped.

“Um,” Chat Noir said. “Was it the talking?”

“No,” Batgirl said.

“Really? Because Ladybug always gets on my case for telling puns during fights.”

Damian vowed then and there that Chat must never meet Nightwing.

“Talking during a fight is distraction. Distraction is a tool. There’s a time and a place to use it,” Batgirl said. “It can be a weapon, if you make it one. Robin tactics.”

Chat Noir’s eyes widened comically. A huge grin took up his face.

Ladybug sighed.

“Any other guesses?” Batgirl asked.

“She had him pinned on the ground and was punching him… I don’t… see what she did wrong?” Rena said. “The wrist grab seemed unavoidable.”

“Robin?” Batgirl asked.

“She should not have been punching me in the first place,” he said. “The priority must always be ending the fight, not furthering it. When Ladybug was on top of me, she should have used both hands to pin my shoulders and force a tap-out. In a real fight, this would be the opportunity to destroy the akumatized object or call in an ally to do so.”

“Longer a fight goes one, bigger chance you lose,” Batgirl said. “Goal should be to get in and out as fast as possible. Prevent injuries, prevent casualties, prevent losses. Always keep your mind on the goal.”

“No distractions,” Ladybug said.

“No emotions,” Batgirl said. Ladybug nodded.

Saturday morning held another akuma alert.

Almost the entire team was able to show up. The only ones missing were Chat Noir and Ryuuko.

“I am Hellblazer, and you’re all going to burn for your sins!” the akuma shrieked.

“Copyright infringement,” Batgirl said. Robin snorted.

Whatever that was about. Marinette twirled her yo-yo speculatively, looking around. Most of Paris was on fire. Every firefighter in the city was out trying to subdue the flames. Water wasn’t working. Foam wasn’t working. Fire breaks were ineffective when the root cause was an arsonist with a flamethrower.

The heat was rising. Soon, even the rooftops wouldn’t be safe.

Those that were left, anyway. This was reminding her keenly of Syren. Almost the entire city was engulfed.

Her Court looked to her expectantly.

“We need an upgrade,” she said. “Bring out the fire suits.”

The Court cheered, each reaching into various bags and pockets to bring out their magical snacks.

“Fire suits?” Batgirl asked.

“We have environmental variations of our suits. We use them when the akuma changes our environment drastically,” she explained.

“What does this have to do with the snacks?” Robin asked.

“They all contain magic potions,” she said. “Pyro-Tikki, spots on!”

Her suit transformed from her typical cheongsam to one with a fiery gradient to the fabric. Pantyhose changed color to have glinting metallic flame decals, spiraling red and orange and yellow up her legs. Her pigtails flamed out into larger plumes, red at the tips. The spots on her suit and mask were now ringed with shining gold.

The rest of her Court underwent similar transformations. Ryuuko’s change was the most minimal. Viperion’s and Carapace’s were the largest, with a complete color palette shift. Chat Noir looked like burning coal, like fire was trapped just underneath his suit, shifting and trying to get out. Rena Furtive was in flame-based camouflage. Vesperia was crackling orange at the seams, all of the black on her suit and her replaced with brilliant red.

“Useful,” Batgirl said. “Instructions?”

“Are your suits fireproof?” Ladybug asked.

“To a degree,” Robin said. “But the people underneath aren’t.”

“Okay. We can work around that. Can you two handle liaising with the firefighters? I need someone to coordinate between their efforts and ours.”

“Consider it done,” Robin said.

“Great. Ryuuko, you’re our ace in the hole for this fight, so save your power until my signal, okay? Viperion, now. Carapace, I need you to get us close to the akuma without being burnt. Vesperia and I are going to get that staff from her. Even if it’s not the akumatized object, we need it out of play. Chat Noir… you’ll be our distraction.”

Her kitty grinned. “At your orders, my lady.”

“Let’s go!”

The akumatized object was easy to figure out, this go round. It was very clearly the woman’s Bible. Ladybug did feel a little bad tearing it up in front of her. The akuma’s devastation was probably a little more than just the loss of her powers, even if the Cure did restore it in less than a minute.

It was the only sympathy that Ladybug felt for this particular akuma.

She gave a speech about the power of love and how it strengthens her before handing over the charm.

“How did you know to do that?” Robin asked.

“The speech? Someone needed to say it. That was the most polite way I could think of phrasing it,” she said.

“No. The Lucky Charm,” he said. “It was a bottle of laundry detergent. How did you know to pour it into the fire hydrant, or to tie the hose in a knot?”

She shrugged. “It just came to me. I’m a quick thinker.”

“…Indeed,” he said. Marinette stifled a laugh. It had to be the language barrier, right? That was why Robin spoke like an eighty-year-old man? So formal and stiff.

He straightened. “You performed admirably today. I am sorry that I doubted you during our first battle.”

“Robin, you already apologized. You don’t have to say it again.”

“Yes, but this time I mean it.”

“What?”

His eyes widened and his face paled. “I…”

Ladybug laughed. “It’s okay. It’s kinda funny, actually,” she said. “In the future, though, please don’t lie to me.”

“It was not my intention to lie to you. I was forced to by my father.”

“That’s an excuse and you know. Next time, just tell me your dad is making you apologize. I really hate fake sentiments.”

He nodded. “I will keep that in mind. Though, hopefully, I will have no cause to apologize to you again.”

“Oh, I doubt that. Part of having relationships with people is admitting when you’re wrong. Nobody is perfect all of the time. I have to apologize to my friends all the time, but it just means I’m learning to be better.”

“Truly?”

She nodded, smiling.

“Well. Keeping that in mind, know that my next apology to you will be sincere, and coupled with an effort to fix my mistakes.”

“That’s all I ask. Thanks, Robin.”

He nodded awkwardly. Then he pulled out his grapple and shot off into the night.

Chapter Text

Damian insisted their next meet up for the group project happen in the library. Rossi dragged him to a table in a secluded back corner.

At least it was private.

“I think we should do our report on Dangerous Liaisons,” Damian said, pulling up a stub article on it.

“Really? I was leaning towards The Princess of Cleves,” Rossi said. “It just sounds interesting. But whatever you think is best, Ian!”

He nodded curtly. “I will procure three copies. Where is Lê Chiến?”

“He ditched us to go swimming again,” Rossi wrinkled her nose. “I have a feeling that’s going to happen a lot throughout this project.”

“…I see,” he said. “I’ll speak to him about that.”

“No, don’t bother. He’s not worth it. Besides, I’m sure we can do the work just as well on our own, if not better.”

That was… true. Obviously, the ideal scenario would be for Damian to do the project himself to ensure it was done well, and everyone else stayed out of his way.

Perhaps he could convince Rossi of that.

“I have no doubt I am fully capable of completing the project satisfactorily by myself, and in less than a day,” he said. “Is there anything you would rather be doing, Mademoiselle Rossi?”

She leaned in, trailing fingers up his forearm. The light touch made his skin crawl. He was too well-trained to visibly cringe, however. “Call me Lila.”

She continued leaning in ever closer, eyes hooded, until her lips were just centimeters away—

Damian bolted.

The Birdhouse

Brown: GUESS WHO JUST GOT FEATURED ON THE COVER OF TEEN HEARTTHROB

Brown: (link)

Thomas: omg

Drake: this is the greatest day of my life

Drake: Damian I am literlly NEVR going to let you live this down

Todd: Steph you read teen heartthrob?

Brown: I saw it in the store at checkout jackass

Brown: pulled out all the stops when I saw my *favorite* brother in law on the cover

Drake: how am I not your favorite

Todd: you guys literally aren’t even married yet…

Cassandra: <3 will be

Brown: luv u too!! <3 <3 <3

Todd: no PDA in the groupchat

Cassandra: >:^(

Cassandra: @Steph<3 <3<3<3

Grayson: dami when are we going to meet lila?

Todd: yeah brat. I can’t wait to meet the girl who calls you Ian to your face

Thomas: ppl call dami ian all the time at galas. its just usually old money racists who wanna pretend he’s fully white

Drake: ^^ true

You: Not that anybody cares, but Rossi is not my soulmate.

Grayson: that’s okay!

Grayson: not everyone ends up with their soulmate but that doesn’t make the love any less real <3

Todd: he might just be dating around, ever think about that?

Grayson: that’s fine too! Most of us did the same thing

You: I am not dating Rossi.

Brown: smh you guys clearly aren’t even reading these articles. she SAID theyre taking it slwo

You: We aren’t. We aren’t anything to each other. At all.

Todd: heartwarming.

Todd: probably a good thing you aren’t soulmates. I can’t imagine that going well

Drake: LMAO

Drake: demon spawn would be the world’s worst soulmate for sure

Grayson: guys don’t be mean

Todd: Whatever. Kid’s like 12 anyway. Don’t girls still have cooties at that age?

You: I am sixteen.

Todd: for real?

Todd: huh

Gordon: I have some concerns

Drake: OH SHTI BABS IN THE CHAT

Brown: hi babs!!

Gordon: I did a deep-dive background check on Lila Rossi

Thomas: as you do

Gordon: It seems that a lot of stories about her are fabricated. The sources all trace back to her own social media accounts, but the paper trail doesn’t line up. Prince Ali has a completely different schedule than what she’s been claiming. Jagged Stone famously doesn’t have a private jet for environmental reasons and is always taking his crocodile on regular planes. Her school didn’t close down for half a semester and she wasn’t traveling with her mother either. She has eleven weeks unaccounted for because of that.

Grayson: what

Gordon: She has multiple social media accounts on every platform she’s on and each tells a different story

Grayson: dami did you know this???

You: I did not.

Drake: is the modelling shit real?

Gordon: Yeah that’s legit

Gordon: though her being hired on by Agreste was… sudden. She never went on an audition, not even for him. She was just suddenly his “muse”

Thomas: creepy

Todd: I’m looking into Agreste. Fuck that

You: You suspect impropriety?

Todd: I dunno wtf is going on but I’m gonna find out

Todd: and then kill someone over it

Grayson: jase…

Thomas: cmon man

Todd: creepy old fuck

You: Agreste’s son goes to my school. I could inquire with him as to the relationship between his father and Rossi.

Brown: don’t do that

Grayson: DO NOT DO THAT

You: Why?

Grayson: it’s not exactly a polite question dami

Grayson: it’s actually extremely rude and accusing

You: I see.

Gordon: Ask Rossi how she got her start in modeling instead.

You: Understood.

Grayson: you got this dami! I believe in you

Drake: yeah don’t worry we’ll save your little girlfriend

You: She is not my girlfriend.

Brown: lmao okay

Damian kept himself covered as much as possible in both gym class and the locker room. His scars always raised eyebrows and questions. It always led to him deflecting and saying he acquired all those injuries before he came to live with his father. Which led to unfortunate assumptions about his mother and sometimes the Middle East as a whole, depending on how racist the person was.

But he could not admit that he was Robin. He could not admit that his more recent injuries were, in fact, recent.

Helena was still a minor. The state could take her away.

Damian would not be the one who provided cause.

So his typical gym wear was a t-shirt and long sweatpants, no matter how hot it was. He also always wore an undershirt underneath—to keep his torso hidden while changing. He gravitated to the far corner of the locker room every time and kept his back turned, encouraging everyone to ignore him.

He felt eyes on him anyway.

“What do you want?” he barked.

“Why do you bother with a soulmark patch?” Agreste asked. “Everyone’s seen Lila’s mark. So everyone’s seen yours too, transitively.”

Damian stared at him. Agreste shifted on his feet.

“We do not have the same mark,” he said finally. “Rossi is not my soulmate.”

Butterfly Hunters United

Puss in Boots: GUYS

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle: what

Puss in Boots: Damian Wayne just told me straight up that Lila isn’t his soulmate

Puss in Boots: said her mark doesn’t match his

Lois Lane #1 Fan: guys we knew this

buzz buzz: Not technically for sure

Lois Lane #1 Fan: ppl on MARS knew this

Puss in Boots: but I confirmed it tho

Puss in Boots: so now its official

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle: people on Mars may have known it but nobody in Paris does

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle: Max told me its effecting the stocks even

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle: like Tim Drake’s idea for a fashion division is super popular rn and that’s becasue of Lila

You: I cannot fucking believe this

Puss in Boots: :0

You: her lies are literally disrupting the global economy now

You: she HAS to be stopped

musssssic: she’s afftecting the global economy but she isn’t harming it

musssssic: so there’s that at least

buzz buzz: yeah ida thought youd be thrilled about a WE fashion division. thats like. your thing

You: OBVIOUSLY im excited about the new fashion division. but tim drake was planning that before Lila engaged in stock market manipulation

musssssic: it has to be intentional to count as stock market manipulation. Legally anyway

You: and how do we know she didn’t start this whole rumor specifically with this goal in mind? What if she reveals the whole thing is fake just to tank stock prices next? What if WE goes out of business then and Lila buys them out? What if this whole thing triggers a global recession and its all just step one of Lila Rossi’s plan for world domination?

Lois Lane #1 Fan: okay let’s dial it back a bit

Lois Lane #1 Fan: she probably just started it for attention and didn’t think of the consequences

You: she’s lila. She always has a plan

You: she has to knwo the truth will come out eventually

Puss in Boots: yes! It definitely will

Puss in Boots: we just need to sit back and let time do its work

You: im gonna expose her

Puss in Boots: marinette please don’t do this

You: why.

Puss in Boots: because it backfires on you every time and you always get hurt. I don’t wanna see you get hurt again

Puss in Boots: remember that time she framed you for cheating on a test, stealing from her, and pushing her down the stairs all in one day?

You: yes, my dearest kitty cat. I do remember that.

Puss in Boots: that was over you calling her out on a fake sprained wrist. So she could have boys carry her books for her

Puss in Boots: the stakes are so much higher this time and her revenge will be so so much worse. She has a lot riding on this lie. I’m scared of what she would do to you if you ruined it for her

You: well I’m not scared

Puss in Boots: I know, that’s the problem

Lois Lane #1 Fan: girl you know I support you 100%. Let me gather evidence and we’ll take her down the right way

You: ugh

You: fine

Doing things the right way sucked.

Marinette was a big enough person to admit she may have been impulsive, in the past, when it came to debunking Lila. Confronting her in the park had been basically a guaranteed akumatization. Chloé Bourgeois type behavior. Getting mad and throwing a wad of paper at her had been asking for trouble. Lila had so smoothly paved the whole incident over, too. It only served to make Marinette look like a bully.

A vengeful and kinda stupid bully.

In the two years since then, multiple call outs had been attempted. Lila had dodged every one. Marinette was now seen as having a vendetta against her, and everyone thought it was because of her former crush on Adrien.

(Revealing their identities to each other had killed that almost instantly. When Marinette first heard ridiculous cat puns coming out of Adrien Agreste’s mouth, she was hit with the blinding clarity that she didn’t know him at all and had constructed an entire parasocial-relationship-pedestal to put him on. The shame was mortifying.

They were so much closer now.)

Lila claimed to be an international supermodel. Marinette, known fashion afficionado, calls bull. Lila is in an Agreste shoot with Adrien the next day, and a month later, it appears in Style Queen magazine.

Lila claims Jagged Stone wrote a song about her. Marinette, who has personally heard Jagged caterwauling through every single one of his songs on the houseboat far too many times, calls bull. Lila claims to be the unnamed girl in Jagged’s top hit from seven years ago. When she would have been nine.

Pointing this out led to a three-week-long, class-wide debate over exactly how sexual the song was. Marinette lost.

Lila claims to be an award-winning philanthropist and inspiration to Prince Ali. She names a specific awards gala for advocates but lists the wrong cause. Marinette points this out, and Lila produces a selfie of her and Prince Ali both in formal wear, and cites memory problems.

Lila claims to have spent five weeks in the deserts of the Congo giving food to the starving children of Africa. Marinette points out that Congo is a rainforest, and Lila claims she doesn’t actually know which border she was across, as the situation was so fraught with war and they all changed places so often. Marinette calls bull, and Mademoiselle Bustier shuts the conversation down for getting too political.

Lila claims to have spent a year abroad in Tokyo teaching English to underprivileged children. When a foreign exchange student from Japan shows up, she further claims to have forgotten Japanese entirely, due to repressing the traumatic memories of her run-ins with the Yakuza there. The Yakuza, apparently, want to assassinate her to send a message to her mother and therefore Italy.

Lila claims to be the youngest person ever to have been awarded a Nobel Peace Prize. When Marinette Googles the list of Nobel laureates, Lila continues to say she turned down the prize privately so as to not take attention away from the humanitarian crises of the world.

Lila claims Marinette threatened to beat her up after school if she didn’t stay away from Adrien, and the next day she comes in with a black eye and a split lip.

Marinette got suspended for a week for that one.

All of this has led to division within the class. Her Court stands by her, of course. But almost no one else does. Not after the reason her suspension was revoked was declared confidential—medical privacy and all. Not after the near-weekly arguments. Not after the visible injuries.

Marinette has a reputation around the school, and it’s not a good one.

They say she’s as bad as Chloé. Worse, even, but just much more particular about her targets.

So yes, she does understand that her Court has a point. That this literally never goes well for her, that she always loses and Lila always comes out on top. That even proving a definitive lie wouldn’t hurt her now, not with her “compulsive lying disorder.”

Which is not an official mental illness in the DSM, by the way.

Not that anybody at the school administrator’s office ever bothered to check. Lila’s mother is an ambassador, you know, and doubting someone’s disability treads a fine line. They wouldn’t want to get sued.

Or worse, end up in the papers.

But how the fuck does Lila expect this one to end?

“—And then… Well. I’m not one to kiss and tell,” Lila said. The girls around her giggled and smirked on cue.

It was their Civics & Government class. Damian wasn’t in it. Not during the same period as them.

Adrien managed to look uncomfortable on his behalf.

Just like he had for the past two years.

Marinette tightened her grip on her pencil. She’s not going to say anything. She’s not.

Juleka said something that Marinette couldn’t hear. Lila grinned and cupped her ear to whisper something to her. Whatever she said made Juleka blush and her eyes widen.

Marinette drummed her pencil against her desk in a steady rhythm.

She didn’t need to say anything. Time would tear this lie apart for her. Her best friend was working on gathering proof. It would actively be a bad idea to say anything.

Lila always had a plan. Marinette didn’t need to get caught up in it.

“We’re thinking of going back to meet his family. Either that, or having them come here. I’ve already met his dad, of course, from going over to his house,” Lila said. “Monsieur Wayne simply adores me.”

Damian was living with his sister in Paris, not his father. Chloé’s debutante ball had confirmed that one. Marinette didn’t even think Monsieur Wayne was in the country.

“Already?” Mylene asked. “That’s such a big step.”

“I don’t want to speak for Damian here, but I think we’re both pretty serious about each other,” Lila said. She rested a hand over her soulmark. Subtly, you know.

Marinette took a deep breath. It was none of her business. None of her business.

“It would be so exciting for all the Waynes to come here! They always hold such fancy events,” Rose said.

“I don’t know,” Lila demurred. “Christmas in America? With all the snow?”

The girls ooh’d appropriately.

“Besides, it’s so much easier for me to come to them than the other way around,” she said. Marinette chose to interpret this as meaning that Lila would be dropping off the face of the planet for a few weeks, as she frequently did. God knows where she actually spent all that time, but it certainly wasn’t where she said.

She once again wondered what the hell Lila’s mother was like. Was she as gullible as their classmates? Entirely absent? Was it another Audrey and Chloé situation, where her mother was the whole reason she was like this? Maybe Lila was secretly an orphan and there was no diplomat mother.

No, she’d use that to her advantage. Lila would never shut up about being an orphan if she was one.

Maybe she had a completely normal home and Lila just spawned like this. From the depths of hell, probably.

“I just feel like there’s a reason Ian wants me to meet his family,” Lila continued.

“Like what?” Alix asked.

She bit her lip and glanced around for eavesdroppers. Almost the entire class was visibly listening in. Lila continued anyway. “Don’t tell anyone this,” she said, semi-hushed. “But don’t be surprised if I come back with a promise ring.”

“That’s it,” Marinette said. Fuck it. She was Ladybug. She couldn’t just sit by and listen to this; she wouldn’t be herself if she could. “Damian is not your soulmate, Lila!”

“What are you talking about?” she asked, looking hurt. Rose placed a comforting hand on her arm. Juleka glared at Marinette.

“I mean that Damian himself confirmed it! You’ve been lying to everyone! Adrien asked him about it because he saw him wearing a patch in the boys’ locker room, and—”

“The boys’ locker room?!” Lila said shrilly. She was so loud. Madame Chausson finally looked up from her grading. “What were you doing in the boys’ locker room, Marinette?!”

“I wasn’t! I just said, it was Adrien—”

“That’s enough,” Madame Chausson said. “There will be no shouting in my classroom. Both of you to the principal’s office.”

Chapter Text

Marinette’s parents were called. Lila managed to finesse it so that her own mother wasn’t. Principal Damocles looked frankly terrified of the possibility.

“Our daughter is not a peeping tom,” Papá said. Maman nodded firmly.

“She said! She said that my Ian was wearing a patch in the locker room! How would she know that—”

“I told you—Adrien was the one who saw Damian wearing a patch, and then he told me about it! I was never anywhere near there!”

“Don’t interrupt me!” Lila said, distressed. Or seeming distressed, anyway.

“Marinette, please be civil. I know you two girls don’t like each other, but that’s no excuse for disregarding manners,” Monsieur Damocles said.

Ugh.

“I’m sorry, Lila,” she muttered.

“If she wasn’t there, then how did she know?” Lila asked, sounding even more distressed. “How does she know what my Ian’s body looks like? Were there—Are there cameras?”

“No! Of course not! Adrien told me!” Marinette waved her arms wildly.

“Should we search the locker rooms?” Lila continued. “Or is that something we should leave to the police?”

“The police?!” Maman said.

“There’s no need to call the police,” Papá said.

“Are you sure?” Lila asked, eyes wide. “I mean. You are the adults. Whatever you think is best.”

“There is no need to make this a bigger cause for concern than it already is,” Principal Damocles said. “A camera is much less likely than having a friend relay information. With that said, Marinette, these are serious allegations. And no matter what, you should not be asking about private information regarding other students’ bodies, especially things that are only seen in the locker room.”

“I didn’t ask! Adrien just told me! Unprompted!”

“Perhaps we should call Adrien in here as well,” Papá said.

“No! He didn’t do anything wrong either!”

“Our students have a reasonable expectation of privacy and you violated that. Because of that, and in light of the public nature of this violation, Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng, you will have detention for a week. Dismissed.”

If he had a gavel, he would have banged it.

Marinette followed her parents out on numb legs. They walked out of the school and down the street to the bakery in silence.

Papá rested a heavy hand on her shoulder once they were inside. “Marinette,” he said. “Why don’t we all go sit down.”

Dread settled into her stomach. They had done this song and dance before.

“I was telling the truth,” she said.

“Marinette, do you like this boy?” Maman asked. “I know you get very excited over your crushes.”

“We’ve never even met!” she said. “He’s in a few of my classes but we’ve never spoken to each other.”

“Even so,” Maman said.

Her jaw tightened. It seems her boy-crazy reputation is still intact. Nevermind that Marinette has been literally so normal lately. She had a fling with Marcuise from math class last year and was very normal the whole time, and ended it as soon as he started asking too many questions. After the Court all shared their identities, she asked Luka if he wanted to try dating again, and was so normal about it when he said that he had finally moved on.

She could do chill and casual. Marinette was the epitome of calm. A regular smooth operator.

“No,” she said. “I do not have a crush on him. Can I go up to my room now?”

“Not yet, Marinette,” her Papá said. “We still have to talk about your recent behavior. Between the suspension and now these detentions, I think we have a right to be concerned.”

Marinette settled in for a long night. This wasn’t the first time her parents had tried to talk to her about Lila. It wouldn’t be the last, either.

Her explanation that Lila had a vendetta against her had been believed, at first. But then the incidents kept happening. Marinette kept getting called into the office, always framed as the instigator. In fairness, she usually was. Her parents had started trying to talk to her about ways to mend bridges. About forgiveness and tolerance. It left a sour taste in her mouth.

She was pretty sure they were starting to think that she had just as much a vendetta as Lila did, if not more. Why couldn’t she just leave the lies be, after all?

Marinette’s parents had always taught her to be honest and stand up for the truth and for others. Until she reached lycée, when they decided to start teaching her to keep her mouth shut and stop starting drama. For her own sake, at this point.

They didn’t know that she was already Ladybug and doing things “for her own sake” had stopped being a factor years ago.

“You seem unsettled,” Robin said on patrol that night. The two of them were paired up together on Batgirl’s orders. They were currently taking an ice cream break on top of a roof.

Ladybug had been a bit surprised that Robin would permit an ice cream break. She supposes she should know better than to put people into boxes like that. Even Bats will take a break sometimes.

Plus, they were new to Paris. Ladybug simply had to introduce Robin to André’s famous ice cream cart. It was her duty as a hero.

“Just some nonsense in my civilian life,” she said. “It’ll be fine.”

Robin nodded. “You seem to be a fairly capable person. You should be able to think your way out of problems with ease.”

“…Thank you?” she said. What a weird way to call her smart. Marinette didn’t even particularly think of herself as smart. “But I don’t think this particular problem is going to go away that easily. I’ve been stuck with it for years.”

“Perhaps you could tell me about it. With identifying information redacted, of course,” he said. “Nightwing says that talking about your problems is always beneficial even if you don’t come up with a solution. Red Robin calls it “rubber ducking.””

Programmer term. Ladybug knew that from Max. It wasn’t exactly surprising. Of course at least one Bat was a computer whiz. Didn’t necessarily reveal anything about their identities.

She hoped. She was carefully not thinking about any notable American programmers that Max had mentioned over the years.

There had to be millions of American programmers. Hundreds in Gotham. Of course the Bats coded their own tech. It meant nothing.

“Maybe,” she said. She sighed. “Worth a shot. Okay, so there’s this girl at my lycée.”

“Ah. A romantic issue?”

“No. She is my nemesis. I swear, she’s worse than Hawkmoth.”

“What are her crimes?”

“She’s a serial liar and a manipulator. She has the entire school wrapped around her finger, even the administrators.”

“So you wish to expose her.”

“Yes!” Ladybug said. “Everyone always tells me to take the high road and just ignore her, but I’m like, physically incapable of doing that or something. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“There is nothing wrong with a desire for justice,” Robin said.

“Yeah, but I should just let her cause her own downfall. It’s all gonna catch up to her eventually.”

“Not necessarily, not if she is as skilled as you say. And there is no telling how far out such an event would be, even if it did occur.”

“So what do you think I should do?”

He shrugged. “A battle is a battle. She has chosen words as her weapon. Pick yours already.”

“You’re suggesting I fight fire with fire.”

“Well, has ignoring it worked?”

“No, but neither has trying to go against her.”

“So pick another angle.”

“How?”

“The truth is too blunt. Sew doubt instead. Be subtle.”

“Sounds snakey,” she said. “There’s gotta be a ‘water’ solution to this. Some other way.”

“…I admit I am not a skilled manipulator,” he said. “I was not with the League of Assassins long enough to begin that aspect of my training.”

“Robin, that’s a good thing.”

“Hm.”

“Oh,” she said. “That was your home. Do you miss it?”

Robin turned to face her, startled. “I…” he started. “Sometimes, yes. I know I shouldn’t.”

“You’re allowed to feel however you feel.”

“Many believe otherwise. The League of Assassins are not good people. I should hate them.”

She shrugged. “I feel like that’s complicated. They were still your people, for however long. Your family and community. I think it would be only natural to miss them. No matter what they’ve done.”

Robin stared out over Paris. “They did not treat me well,” he said carefully.

“But they probably loved you. And you loved them. So it’s okay if you have complicated feelings about that.”

They were both quiet for a moment. Ladybug finished her ice cream. Robin already had about a minute ago.

The sun was setting. Patrols in Paris were much earlier than patrols in Gotham, with nighttime akumas being vanishingly rare. Hawkmoth operated in the light of day.

“Thank you,” Robin said.

“What for?” Ladybug asked.

“For… what you said,” he said. His cheeks were red in the fading light. Ladybug grinned and elbowed him.

“Of course,” she said. “What are friends for?”

On the last Saturday of every month, the entire Court got together for a game day and team bonding. It was always at Marinette’s house, because she had the goldmine combination of both chill parents and no siblings. Plus, she lived above a bakery. Ideal hangout location.

Nino’s place was the backup, and Alya’s was third on the list. If none of those options were available, they just straight up cancelled the day. It was not worth it to attempt to have fun at any other Court member’s house.

Adrien was allowed to have his once-a-month day off as his reward for agreeing to publicly date Chloé. Kagami had threatened to start throwing fencing matches in order to be allowed to come over. There was very little Madame Tsurugi would not do to preserve her family’s legacy.

This was in sharp contrast to Zoé, who spent as little time at home as possible.

This month, they were at Nino’s. Marinette’s parents were still mad/disappointed in her, and so it had created a kind of tense atmosphere even if she wasn’t technically grounded. The vibes were off.

Plus, Chris would be at a friend’s house all day and was having a sleepover that night. There were no annoying siblings around at all. Zoé had even blocked Chloé’s number for the day, as a treat to herself.

“Alright,” Nino said, leading them all into his bedroom. “We have video games, we have snacks, we have uno. We have everything set for an awesome day.”

“But do we have ludicrous amounts of pop?” Adrien asked.

“Enough to give your old man a heart attack if he knew the calorie count. And energy drinks for Marinette.” He tossed her a can. She made a happy noise and popped it open.

“Girl, you have got to start sleeping,” Alya said.

“But I have responsibilities!”

“Least fun reason to stay up all night ever,” Nino said. “And because of that, you don’t get a vote. Everyone else, what are we doing first?”

“What?” she cried.

Zoé snickered and Kagami smirked. “I vote we play absolutely no luck games today.”

“I second that brilliant idea,” Zoé said.

“This is discrimination!” Marinette said.

“This is the consequences of your own actions,” Zoé said.

“Marinette, do you wanna take a nap? We have plenty of time. We’ll be here all day,” Luka said.

“I am not sleeping on team bonding day!” she said. “And for your information, I got five whole hours last night.”

“It’s supposed to be eight,” Adrien said.

“Yeah, well my usual is three. So there,” she said.

“Really not the burn you think it is,” Alya said. “I agree with punishing Marinette. Anyone up for charades?”

And so they played charades, followed by Cards Against Humanity, followed by Monopoly. Finally, her Court caved and allowed video games, but not Ultimate Mecha Strike III. No, they stuck to different Mario games.

They broke for lunch and that was when Marinette pulled out the jackets she had made everyone.

Zoé gasped. “These are gorgeous! You don’t think it’s a little on the nose, though?”

Marinette shrugged. “Everyone has Court-themed merchandise.”

“Ours is just a thousand percent better made,” Alya said. She slipped on her fox-themed jacket and wrapped Marinette in a side-hug. “Thanks, girl! You’re the best.”

“You guys are the best. I don’t know what I would do without any of you.”

“Not sleep,” Nino said. Adrien snorted.

“Seriously. Before we shared our identities… it was so rough. I felt like I was breaking apart at the seams. You guys are my rock, and I appreciate you.”

“You’re so sappy,” Zoé said, but she was smiling while she said it. She went over to join their hug, dragging Kagami in with her. Adrien did the same with Nino, and then Luka joined as well.

Marinette loved her Court so much.

Chapter Text

Group project presentations were on Monday.

Lê Chiến had done none of the work. Lila and Damian presented while he just stood there. Damian couldn’t help the flash of resentment towards his classmate. He may prefer to work alone, but at least he actually contributed when forced to be a part of a group. Lê Chiến hadn’t shown up to work with them once.

Damian, personally, had done the lion’s share of the work. Rossi had been completely unable to focus, no matter when or where they met up. She always wanted to talk instead of work.

And there was the attempted kiss incident, but Damian was doing his best to block that out of his mind.

Regardless, he was simmering with a low level of rage by the time class ended. He had no proof whatsoever, but he suspected Rossi had a hand in Lê Chiến’s lack of involvement. She had always been the one to arrange their meetings. She had been the one to address his inattendance. She had been the one to handle it all.

Which only went to prove that you should never rely on another to be competent. If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.

And by god, did Damian do the project himself.

So when Rossi approached him after Literature, he had little patience.

“Ian!” she called out. Damian quietly screamed inside his head. “You did such a good job presenting! I mean, of course you did, being an important future businessman and all. I was wondering if you wanted to come over to my house today after school?”

“No,” he said.

“Are you sure? Now that the project’s over, we can just hang out and get to know each other. It’ll be fun!”

“I said no.”

“Come on, Ian, don’t be a stick in the mud. It’ll just be a few hours! Or does today not work for you? You can come over—”

“I do not want to come over,” he snapped. “I do not want to visit your house. I do not want to spend time with you. I am not your friend, Lila Rossi, and the sooner you get that through your thick skull, the better. Now leave me the fuck alone.”

Her face was pale, jaw loose.

The entire class was silent.

And then Rossi burst into tears and ran out of the room.

“Damian!” Mademoiselle Bustier said. “Come with me. We’re going to have a talk.”

The health classroom was abandoned at this time. The perfect location for a dressing down.

It wasn’t the first time a teacher had taken Damian to task over his manners and it wouldn’t be the last. He had no regrets. Especially if it got rid of Rossi.

“Now, I don’t know how things work in America, but here in France we treat our soulmates with respect. The way you just spoke to Lila was very far out of line. I know Chloé and Sabrina are the only other soulmate pair in class, and they don’t set a very good example, but I expect better of you, Ian. Lila is just trying to connect with you. You at least owe her a chance.”

What the fuck.

“Mademoiselle Bustier,” he said slowly. Carefully. “Rossi is not my soulmate.”

She looked disappointed at his response. “Ian,” she said softly. “Denial won’t change the facts. Maybe it’s time you opened yourself up to love. Give Lila a chance. She’s your soulmate.”

Damian didn’t know what to say.

Why did everyone believe this? Precisely no one had seen his mark. His mother had killed all the nursemaids who had cared for him when he was younger. Not even his own family had ever seen him without a patch. There were absolutely no witnesses. The only people alive who knew what Damian’s soulmark looked like were himself and Talia al Ghul, Princess of Demons. How had Rossi got it into her head that they were soulmates?

It just didn’t make sense.

Damian was in art class, where at least Rossi wasn’t. Apparently the vixen had arthritis. Without a project, she literally wasn’t allowed in the door.

So Damian was painting the sunkissed mountains of Nanda Parbat, in the back corner of the room, in peace.

He was making sure to keep a weather eye on his surroundings this time.

The girl at the station next to him was quietly humming while arranging fabric on a dress form. And then she layered on a patch she had already made.

The patch was two birds in a nest, one black and one white. The birds were curled into each other in a way that resembled the yin yang symbol, with their eyes in the place of the dots even. The surrounding nest and the birds themselves had the simple, distinctive art style of a soulmark.

Damian’s soulmark.

“Where did see that design?” he asked. He hadn’t meant to say that. He hadn’t meant to speak.

The girl just looked agitated. “I come up with all of my designs myself,” she said. “I don’t care what anyone else told you, it’s the truth.”

“Not the clothes.” He felt close to snapping. He tried to rein himself in. Be polite. Be nice. “The symbol.”

“Oh, that?” she asked. “That’s my soulmark. It’s my signature on everything I create. See?”

Without so much as a by-your-leave, she pulled out the side of her jacket, revealing the handsewn tank top underneath, with her soulmark on full display. It was the same as the symbol. It was the same as Damian’s.

He had found his soulmate.

Cold fear washed over him like ice water.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t clean up his supplies. He simply stood up from his stool and left the room.

It was all he could do not to run.

“Cassandra!” he yelled, banging the door to the penthouse open. Cassandra sat up on the couch, removing one ear bud. “It’s an emergency! I have found my soulmate!”

She blinked.

“Good,” she said. “Lila?”

“No!” he said.

And in that moment, he realized he did not know Art Girl’s name.

“I have made a grave mistake,” he said. “I do not know her name. I ran away. I am a fool and coward. Drake and Todd were right. I am a terrible soulmate to have.”

Cassandra raised her phone to check the time. “You are ditching school right now?”

“Yes,” he said. “As I said, I ran away.”

She stared at him. “Hug?”

“No, thank you.”

She looked relieved.

“Wait,” she said. “Do you like Lila?”

“No. I despise her. She is just another conniving social climber,” he said.

Cassandra stared intently at him, the way she stared at everybody. It was incredibly uncomfortable. Many members of their family call it her “autism stare.” Damian is unsure what her diagnosis has to do with it. If anything, she makes far too much eye contact.

“Beat her up for you?” she offered.

“I can fight my own battles.” He frowned.

“Shouldn’t have to.” She flexed. “I’m your big sister. I can take care of it.”

He rolled his eyes. “Drake will kill you if you make our collective image seem threatening.”

“I’m a girl. A catfight won’t hurt my reputation. I can fight whoever. You can’t, though,” she said. “So. Do I beat her up for you?”

“Can we focus on the actual crisis here?” he said instead. He wasn’t quite sure how to feel about her offer. His cheeks felt warm. He wasn’t sure why.

“Right. Soulmate,” Cassandra said. “What’s she like?”

“Pretty,” he said. His face burned. Cassandra grinned, because she was evil. “Um.” Her grin grew even larger. “She was sewing something. In the art classroom.”

“So you’ll see her tomorrow.”

“…Yes.”

“So this isn’t a crisis.”

He would see her tomorrow. That’s right. His soulmate wasn’t lost to him forever. They shared several classes together, he was pretty sure. He had definitely seen her around in the background numerous times at school.

How many times had he walked past his own soulmate without knowing?

…She didn’t know they were soulmates.

It was up to Damian to tell her. He would have to reveal his mark, most likely.

What if she hated him? What if she rejected him right away, because of his horribleness? It wouldn’t be the first time that had happened. What if she laughed in his face? What if she cried, because fate was cruel to her?

What if she ran away screaming because he was a monster, descended from demons? What if she got to know him first and then that happened? That was far more likely. Damian only got worse as people grew to know him.

He had to be sent away to Paris because no one in Gotham liked him. Statistically, the common denominator is Damian. He is fundamentally unlovable. Grayson pretends at loving him, because being a loving, family-oriented man is part of his self-conception. But Damian knows the truth.

His brothers know the truth. He will be—is—a terrible soulmate to have. Art Girl has the worst luck in the world.

Suddenly Cassandra was shoving a phone at him. Grayson’s face was on it.

“Baby bat! Cassie told me everything. I’m so happy for you! Meeting your soulmate is a big deal.”

“Mm.”

“So what’s your plan?”

“Plan?” Oh god, was he supposed to have a plan? For what?

“Yeah. Are you gonna be friends first, or just ask her out immediately? Does she know you’re soulmates?”

“She does not.”

“Great! That means you can do a big romantic reveal. Wait, I’m getting ahead of myself. Do you even want to pursue your soulmate? Because it’s fine if you don’t. Not everyone ends up with their soulmate and that’s okay.”

As if that wasn’t Damian’s brand-new greatest fear. “…I am interested in her.”

“Awesome. Let’s talk tactics.”

Something in Damian’s chest eased.

He could do this. Grayson was knowledgeable about such matters. He had successfully married his soulmate and produced a child with her. Before that, he had dated several other people, and ended on good terms with all of them. He was a charmer and a romantic. Half of the capes in their generation had a crush on Nightwing. If anyone could talk him through this, it would be him.

It would be fine.

And even if it wasn’t, Damian Wayne was not a goddamn coward.

Marinette was on her way to study hall, bouncing along to the song stuck in her head, pointedly not worrying about that commission deadline tonight and patrol tonight and homework for four different classes tonight. It wasn’t a problem, because she just wouldn’t sleep. Then she’d have a breakdown and cry like an adult, and then move on and keep working.

What she really needed to do was drop out of lycée. Without classes, she would easily have enough time in the day. In fact, she’d be able to take on more commissions, and help her parents out more, and spend more time with her friends and attending to her Guardian duties. That’s essentially her plan for adulthood. More commissions = more money = no other job = more time. All of which adds up to Hawkmoth in jail. Wait. That wasn’t how math worked.

She just needed more coffee and then she’d be fine. She’d only gotten two hours of sleep last night because of the aforementioned commissions and their impending deadline.

She hated deadlines. Wasn’t it enough to say a project would be done when it was done? But nooo, stupid clients always had to have specific events they wanted their outfit for.

Which made sense. Unfortunately. She just didn’t like it.

It was while she was deciding between getting more coffee and banging her head into a wall that Damian Wayne approached her.

“Excuse me,” he said. “My name is Damian Wayne.”

As if the entire world didn’t know that.

“I’m… Marinette. Dupain-Cheng,” she said warily. A couple people in the hall were watching. People had been whispering about Damian ever since yesterday’s incident in Literature class.

“Marinette,” he said. She frowned. She had specifically heard someone complaining earlier about Damian calling everyone by their last name. People had very strong negative opinions about that, and now that Damian’s status as a decent guy was in question, it was all being aired out.

“I was wondering if you would be willing to accompany me to the park this afternoon,” he said. “As a date.”

Someone who definitely wasn’t a part of this conversation actually gasped.

Marinette’s brain was blaring warning alarms.

This was not good. This was very not good. This was so public, and oh god, Lila was actually going to kill her. Here lies Marinette Dupain-Cheng, stealer of soulmates, may she rest in broken pieces.

She could see it now. Lila’s revenge would be slow-burning and brutal. She wouldn’t just be expelled this time, she might somehow actually get banished from all of France. Blacklisted in the fashion industry. Name smeared across every tabloid. She would go down in history as the world’s worst homewrecker. The bitch ever.

Her breath started coming faster.

“Marinette?” Damian asked. Voice full of soft concern.

Lila was going to kill her.

“Um, no thank you! Bye!”

She practically sprinted away.

Chapter Text

Damian stood in the hallway, shellshocked.

He supposed it wasn’t that surprising. He was not a desirable soulmate. But Grayson had assured him that his soulmate literally running away from him was an unreasonable fear. Grayson clearly didn’t know shit.

Damian should assume that all of his previously dismissed fears were, in fact, reasonable.

His soulmate being disgusted with his very existence? Reasonable.

His soulmate somehow being a plant from his grandfather ordered to spy on him? Reasonable.

His soulmate fostering a relationship with him in order to betray all his secrets to the public? Reasonable.

His soulmate getting close to him in order to literally stab him in the back? Reasonable.

His soulmate being terrified of the monster fate had paired her with? Happening right now.

This was what he deserved for the crimes against humanity he had committed while in the League of Assassins. This is the least of what he deserved. He knows that now. His father’s family has taught him morals. And he had learned, as a side effect, that just about every action he had taken the first ten years of his life had been deeply immoral.

…Grayson had made asking her out sound so easy. Though of course if would have been for him. But Damian was not his brother. He needed to remember that.

He was not like his father’s family. Neither was he like his mother’s family. He was somewhere caught in between, not fitting in anywhere. He couldn’t think like an al Ghul or like a Wayne. Too soft for one side and too harsh for the other. The heir that nobody wants.

He wouldn’t inherit the League. Grandfather wouldn’t let him even if he wanted to, at this point. The only use he has for him would be to replace his decaying vessel.

He won’t inherit the cowl, either. Cassandra will. Everyone has always known that. The family business will go to Drake and leadership of the Justice League will go to Grayson. Todd will take over the Wayne Foundation when he inevitably gets legally resurrected.

Helena asks every night if she’s old enough to be Robin yet. Damian is the temporary holder of a mantle he is quickly outgrowing, but has no new shell to go to. Who is he if not his father’s heir? Who is he if he isn’t the next Demon’s Head nor the next Batman? Who is Damian Wayne supposed to be once he’s too old to be Robin anymore?

He’s sixteen. He vowed when he was young that he would not embarrass himself and cling to the mantle past his time like Drake had. The man had still been Robin at 21, sharing the mantle part-time with Damian. Everyone had let him know how “cringe” they thought that was. And then he moved back into the name of Red Robin, which was still incredibly embarrassing for the same reasons, and also some new ones.

Damian is sixteen. Grayson became Nightwing at seventeen. Todd died at fifteen. Brown was Robin for exactly one month while sixteen. He is nearing, or at, the cutoff point.

People are going to soon notice his uselessness. Only born to be an heir and now the heir to nothing. The outsider of his family and rejected by his soulmate. Friendless and unlovable.

Though Jon had been was? is? his friend. Maps, Colin, and Ladybug were friends, of a sort. He was passably civil with most of the Titans. So it wasn’t impossible for someone to like him, it was just extremely unlikely.

But shouldn’t his soulmate be one of those exceptional people? Isn’t that what it meant, to be soulmates? He does not know why she said no. Maybe there were extenuating circumstances. Maybe the manner in which he asked displeased her.

Maybe she was waiting for her soulmate. There were plenty of people in the world who refused to even entertain the idea of a relationship with anyone but their soulmate. Damian hadn’t explained their dynamic to her, after all.

But conversely, idiotically, he does not want Marinette to date him just because he is her soulmate. He wants her to want him.

That’s decided, then. He is going to have to woo her.

By lunch, the entire school had heard.

And Marinette had thought she was a pariah before.

Apparently, Lila had had a breakdown in math class so bad that she had been excused to go to the guidance counselor. Everyone was comforting her. Everyone was on her side. People were giving Marinette dirty looks. Someone had tripped her in the hall, sending all her books flying. Someone else had hissed “skank” while she walked past—she never found out who.

This was her life now. Marinette Dupain-Cheng was a soulmate-stealer.

The Court was subdued at their claimed table. Even alone, the oppressive atmosphere was hard to escape. There were still eyes on her.

Which meant targets on her Court members’ backs, too, she thought guiltily. They’d be better off giving her a wide berth.

“So,” Alya said. “What actually happened?”

“Damian Wayne asked me out.” Marinette laid her head in her folded arms. She just wanted to sleep.

“What’d you say?” Zoé asked.

“No, of course. I’m not an idiot,” she said. “Most of the time, anyway.”

“I didn’t know you even actually knew him,” Adrien said.

“I don’t. We’re in a few classes together, but we don’t talk. He had to introduce himself before asking me out.”

Zoé snorted. “Did he know your name? Or did he have to ask?”

“He had to ask.”

“Oh, you shoulda given a fake name,” Nino said. “It would’ve been hilarious. And also, like, maybe prevented this.”

“Yeah, okay. Next time a cute boy approaches me, I’ll be sure to lie about my identity.”

“Cute?” Alya asked.

Marinette groaned loudly. She buried her face in her arms. “I’m so tired. Can’t believe we’re only halfway through the day.”

“How much sleep did you get last night?” Alya asked.

“Eh…”

“Girl.”

“I have commissions! It’s not my fault!”

“Close your commissions!”

“I did! Three weeks ago! This is all stuff I should have finished a bajillion years ago,” she said. “Anyway, we’re not talking about my sleep schedule right now. We’re talking about Damian Wayne and what his game is.”

“He’s got game?” Nino asked cheekily. Marinette tossed a tater tot at him, but he just caught it in his mouth.

“I’m almost hesitant to ask, but what do you mean, ‘what his game is?’” Zoé asked.

“Why did he ask me out?” she asked.

“Um. Because he likes you?” Zoé said.

“No, that can’t be it. We’ve never spoken before today. I think Lila put him up to this.”

“You have to be kidding me,” Luka said.

“I’m not,” she said.

“Girl, people can like you aesthetically and want to get to know you better. People ask out strangers all the time,” Alya said.

She shook her head. “This is a trap, I’m sure of it.”

“Yesterday you were treating Damian like Adrien, and today he’s a shill for Lila?” Zoé said. “Make up your mind. He can’t be a victim and in cahoots.”

“Never underestimate your enemy,” Marinette said. “Anything is possible, especially when it comes to Lila.”

Nino rubbed at his eyebrows. “Marinette,” he said. “In the kindest way possible. You sure this isn’t, like. A self-esteem issue?”

“What do you mean?”

“Guys can like you and that’s normal,” Alya said. “You’re freaking hot! Not everything is secretly an evil scheme! You shoulda said yes just to rub it in Lila’s face!”

“What? You guys are always telling me to take the high road!”

“No, we tell you to not call her out because she always has some convoluted story that’s just close enough to ‘proof’ to pass. Girl, you could’ve actually one-upped her this time!”

“What?” she glanced around at her Court. They were all staring at her like she was the one they couldn’t believe. “You guys have to be joking. Damian Wayne does not like me.”

Luka balled up his napkin. He stood and gathered up his tray. “I’m out,” he said. “I’m going to go play some music. Alone.”

“Luka!” Marinette called. “Luka, wait!”

He did not wait.

Her Court was still staring at her, but now slightly angry.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she said.

“Admit you’re being weird about this,” Alya said.

“I am not!” she said. “I have very reasonable concerns!”

“You kinda just implied that Damian Wayne was too good a guy to ever be interested in you, to your ex’s face. After you dumped him and he spent months hung up on you,” Zoé said.

“He knows I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that it didn’t make sense for any boy to like me. There has to be an ulterior motive.”

“You understand that that’s not better, right?” Zoé asked.

Marinette opened her mouth to protest. Closed it. “…I’ll apologize to Luka.”

“And?” Alya said.

“And? And what?”

“You’ll be normal about Damian?”

“Yes. Of course. I’ll be so normal. The most normal girl in our lycée. No stalking whatsoever. I don’t even care about him.”

“Stalking? What are you talking about?” Adrien asked.

“No, Marinette. The other direction of normal. You won’t accuse him of being an evil plant or Hawkmoth or an assassin or anything, right?”

“…Right,” she said. “I will be normal about Damian Wayne. In all ways.”

That night was the Agreste Foundation Annual Fundraiser for the Arts. Everyone who’s name was worth mentioning in Paris would be there.

The perfect place to make an announcement.

He had conferred with Grayson again that afternoon. Apparently the likeliest problem had been the public nature of his query. By putting Marinette on the spot, he might have embarrassed her. A more private location would have allowed them to speak at greater length, as well. He could have told her they were soulmates.

Grayson said a public question also put pressure on the askee to say yes, which was unacceptable. When Marinette says yes to him, it will not be because of social pressure. It will be because she is interested in him as an individual.

Damian will not make the same mistake twice. From this point forward, Marinette will have her privacy to make her decisions. He is determined to keep her out of the press as well.

Her name and face, anyway. It was imperative that everyone know that Damian Wayne was no longer a free agent. He had found his soulmate and was waiting for her.

He had contemplated the most efficient way to do this. Interrupting the gala itself to make an announcement would be uncouth, and Damian was not his siblings. Going around individually to groups of people would be tedious, and involve far too much unnecessary talking.

The red carpet it was.

Every Agreste event always had a red carpet, of course. And the annual fundraiser gala for the arts was known as the place to show off the wildest fashions. Designers were made at this gala.

“Monsieur Wayne! Monsieur Wayne! Who are you wearing?”

“I have an announcement to make,” he said instead. Cassandra had already answered the same question. Obviously they were both wearing Agreste designs; it was the man’s own gala, for god’s sake. “I have found my soulmate. We are not together yet, but I am making every effort to court her.”

The reporters exploded into a frenzy. Damian continued down the red carpet.

Mission success.

He found the same group of teenagers as last time inside. Familiar faces. Better than speaking to strangers.

Perhaps he could convince his family they were his friends.

No, Cassandra would rat him out.

Nevertheless.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hi, Damian,” the younger Agreste said. Others murmured their greetings. Bourgeois and Sabrina were not present. He absently scanned the ballroom to see if he could spot them elsewhere.

There, by the balcony. Yet another success.

Tsurugi inclined her head. “I have heard tell that you are an accomplished swordsman. Perhaps we could have a match sometime.”

“That would be agreeable,” he said. (“Oh god, there’s two of them,” Lee said, to Agreste’s snickers) “What style do you prefer?”

“Fencing,” she said instantly. “I am also passably familiar with kenjutsu, if you are more at ease with an Asian style.”

“I am,” he said. His mother had made it a point to train him in the traditional martial arts of the Middle East and Asia before moving on to those of Europe and Africa. He had always gravitated towards katanas. They were still his most preferred weapon. “Name your time and place.”

“Tomorrow. Parc Monceau. 1600 hours.”

He shook her hand, and that was that.

“Wow,” Lee said, delighted. “Can I also come? Just to watch.”

“Me too!” Agreste said.

Damian’s brow furrowed. “I have no objection.”

“Awesome. This is gonna be so great,” Lee said. “I literally can’t wait.”

“You two are gonna be great friends, I can just tell,” Agreste said.

“You do not know me well enough to make such an assertion,” Damian said. Tsurugi nodded. Lee and Agreste seemed thrilled with their response.

“It’s like talking to two Vulcans,” Lee said.

“OMG, it is!” Agreste agreed. Damian rolled his eyes.

It was not the first time he had been compared to a Vulcan. Drake had forced him to sit down and watch the entire Original Series, throughout several months’ worth of family movie nights.

Secretly, in a way Damian would never admit, not even on pain of death, he related to Spock greatly. He too felt torn between two worlds with conflicting values. Also he was clearly smarter and stronger than all those around him.

Spock was an admirable hero for his time.

“What is a Vulcan?” Tsurugi asked.

“You’ve never seen Star Trek?!” Agreste practically shouted.

“I don’t watch TV.”

The conversation spiraled from there. Lee and Agreste were appalled and vowed to show Tsurugi all the wonders of Star Trek. Something about the next group bonding day?

“We’ll start with TNG, obviously. It doesn’t have any Vulcans, but it’s the best series,” Agreste said.

“False,” Damian said. “TOS is the best series.”

“What?! But it’s so cringy!”

“You cannot beat the original. It is considered iconic for a reason.”

“Okay, but—”

The debate lasted fifteen minutes. Everyone had a different opinion, save Tsurugi. Lee preferred Discovery, because she had excellent taste. Everyone’s second favorite was DS9, and no one liked ENT.

The movies were a divisive topic.

“Damian—Wait. Do you prefer Ian?” Agreste asked.

“No,” he said quickly. “I request that you do not call me that.”

“Oh. Okay. Do you want us to call you something else, or are you not a nickname guy?”

“’Damian’ is sufficient. My family calls me ‘Dami,’ but no one else does.”

“Got it.”

In Middle Eastern cultures, it was common to refer to loved ones as one’s own organs, as a pet name. To show that they were literally a part of you. ‘Dami’ happens to mean ‘my blood’ in Arabic.

It would be unforgivably sappy, if Damian were not certain that it was a coincidence. Despite the fact that his family all speak Arabic. It just… It is a coincidence.

Regardless, no one else is allowed to refer to him in such a familiar manner. If he is going to be called the very blood of someone, then they had damn well better mean it.

“So did Lila just never ask, then?” Lee asked, folding her arms.

“Rossi rarely listens to me when I tell her my preferences.”

“You call her Rossi?” Agreste asked, eyes lighting up.

“Of course. We are not friends,” he said.

“Oh my god,” he said. “Do you know the entire school thinks you’re soulmates?”

“I am aware of that misconception, yes,” he said. “I am taking steps to clear it up.”

Lee shook her head. “I don’t know how she gets away with it. It just doesn’t make sense.”

“’Gets away with it’?” he asked.

“Oh,” Lee turned to face him. “Damian. Lila is a liar. She’s the one behind the rumor. She’s using you.”

He paused.

Lee continued. “She did the same thing with Adrien before you came around. She has the entire school wrapped around her little finger. She’s a manipulator and a con artist.”

“In a better world, she’d be on Broadway,” Agreste said. “But this isn’t a better world.”

“She also has a vendetta against Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” Tsurugi said.

“She what?” Damian snapped.

Tsurugi nodded. “They are sworn mortal enemies. Marinette refuses to sit idly by while Lila spins her tales. Lila takes issue with this.”

“They’ve hated each other’s guts for two years now,” Agreste said. “Um. So this is a delicate question.”

“Ask.” His blood was boiling. He was learning so much.

“You asked Marinette out in school today. In front of everybody.”

“What’s your question?”

“You didn’t do that on purpose to hurt her, right?”

His jaw fell open. “Of course not!”

“Good. Just checking.”

“Hurt her? How did it hurt her?”

Oh god, Damian was truly the worst soulmate in the world. How has he already harmed his soulmate?

“Well, it was pretty public,” Lee said. “And everyone thinks you and Lila are together. So now people are calling Marinette a slut and a homewrecker. A soulmate-stealer.”

His heart dropped out of his chest.

He doesn’t remember the rest of the gala.

But apparently Rossi was there, and somehow they wound up photographed together. Both at the refreshment table. Damian’s eyes had been blazing. Rossi looked soft and abashed.

Damian’s rage looked a lot like passion, without the context.

They hadn’t even spoken.

But his announcement about courting his soulmate had been blasted across every society page in France, in Europe, in America. The reporters paired it with the photo of him and Rossi. They all cited the other articles about the two of them, the rumors, the other photos of them together, several (?) anonymous sources. None outright called Rossi his soulmate. But they all referenced the speculation.

Chapter Text

Father: Damian. What’s this about you and Lila Rossi

You: She is the devil and my soulmate’s nemesis, which makes her my nemesis by proxy.

Father: Why have I been sent eight different articles about the two of you being soulmates

You: Because people are idiots.

Father: Are you being harassed by this girl?

You: Yes.

You: I can handle it on my own, however.

Father: Does Cass know about this

You: Yes. She offered to beat Rossi up.

You: I declined that offer as well. I am perfectly capable of fighting my own battles.

Father: Damian, you don’t have to put up with harassment. Let me handle this for you. We can pursue a legal avenue.

You: That is hardly necessary. Rossi is an annoyance, nothing more. I am perfectly capable of dealing with her myself. I will let you know if she becomes a real threat.

Father: Promise me

You: I promise.

Father: Alright

Father: Now what’s this about you having found your soulmate?

You: Her name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She is one of my classmates and I am going to woo her.

Father: That’s amazing, Dami. I’m happy for you

Father: But why didn’t you tell me this yourself?

You: I told Grayson. I assumed he told you

Father: He did not

You: I also told Cassandra

Father: She didn’t tell me either

Father: Damian, meeting your soulmate is a huge development. In the future, please tell me things like that directly

You: Alright.

Father: Also tell your sister to call me. She should have informed me that you were being harassed.

You: Okay.

Ladybug and Robin were patrolling together again. Batgirl was alternating her own assignation, working her way through each member of the Court. She had started with Ladybug, of course. She had also made the executive decision that Ladybug would patrol with Robin whenever she wasn’t with her, in order to maximize her combat education. As the team leader, she was the highest priority. But that still didn’t mean Batgirl could or would neglect patrolling with the others.

Robin kicked a stone. “I expected Paris to have more gargoyles.”

“Why?” Ladybug asked.

He shrugged. “It’s old and European.”

She smiled. “Paris has a very distinct aesthetic. Gargoyles don’t particularly fit it.”

“Makes grappling harder.”

“Yeah, but free running is easier, because all the rooftops are level. So we don’t even rely on grappling that much.”

“Hn. I suppose.”

“What’s got you so agitated today?”

“I have recently acquired a new enemy.”

“Oh?”

“Indeed. I met my soulmate, and she has a nemesis who is preventing us from being together.”

“What? How’s that even possible?”

Robin waved a hand dismissively. “I won’t get into the details. Just know that she is a snake.”

“That’s an insult to snakes. Viperion would never.”

“…You’re correct. Snakes are noble animals and should not be disparaged,” he said. “She is a demon. She would fit in with the League.”

“The Justice League?”

“No, the League of Assassins.”

“Oh,” she said. It was weird for her to think about a league of assassins just existing out in the world. It seemed so disconnected from her own experience. Though, she supposed, a magical order of kwami-guardians was pretty disconnected from Robin’s existence.

“Well what are you gonna do about it?” she asked. “Fight fire with fire?”

He shook his head. “I have a plan. I shall woo my soulmate. I will put an end to her nemesis’s deceit. Then, she will have no reason to reject me anymore.”

“Whoa, this girl rejected you?” she asked. “Don’t you think you should respect that?”

“What?”

“If she said no, then she means no,” she said. “I mean, how would you like it if someone wouldn’t take no for an answer and kept harassing you about it?”

Robin froze.

Ladybug supposed she had phrased that a bit harshly. She was sure someone as honorable as Robin wasn’t actually harassing his soulmate. But still. She had learned a lot since her embarrassing fixation on Adrien. She liked to think she had grown as a person since then. Matured.

“When we first started out, Chat Noir used to confess his love for me all the time. It made me really uncomfortable, because I didn’t feel the same way but he kept on bringing it up. So it put me in this position where I was the bad guy for constantly turning him down. It sucked. It made me feel guilty when I hadn’t done anything wrong. It was a year before Chat got the message and stopped.

“The thing was, though, I used to have a similar crush on this guy who was completely unattainable. I was really over the line. I was being obsessive and invasive and creepy. The guy even found out, and he didn’t have a problem with it, but that still doesn’t make the way I was acting okay. It wasn’t even about him. I was in love with the idea of him that I had built up in my head, not the actual person that he was.”

Ladybug stopped talking. Robin frowned. He stared down at the rooftop as they walked.

“I understand your point,” he said. “But she is my soulmate. We are perfect complements. It seems to be a special circumstance.”

“So what if you’re soulmates?” she said. “You still aren’t entitled to a relationship. This girl doesn’t owe you anything. Being soulmates isn’t a guarantee you’ll be together. My parents aren’t soulmates. Are yours?”

“Yes,” he said quickly. “…But they are divorced.”

“See? It happens. Just because you’re made for each other doesn’t mean you’ll be together forever. You still have to put in actual work into the relationship. You still have to treat her right,” she said. “And that includes backing off when she tells you to.”

“You are seriously suggesting I give up on my soulmate? Just like that?”

“Well. Don’t give up. But give her space,” she said. “Now might just not be the right time.”

He shook his head. “We cannot be one of those couples who get together practically on their deathbed.”

“You might be. Deal with it,” she said. “You still aren’t entitled to anything.”

Robin’s face soured.

But he looked like he was thinking, so Ladybug counted it as a win.

Damian made sure to approach Marinette in private the next day. He lurked around school until after her detention ended in order to speak to her without any witnesses.

He tapped her on the shoulder, and Marinette shrieked and spun around, books going flying. Her face was bright red.

“Damian! What the h—What are you doing here?”

He may have miscalculated.

“Allow me,” he said. He bent to help her gather her things. “I wanted to apologize.”

“Huh?”

“I wanted to apologize,” he said, louder.

“No, I heard you. Um. What for?”

“I have been made aware of the fact that asking you out on Tuesday caused an uncomfortable social situation for you. It was never my intent to make your life harder. Or to invoke any negative feelings in you. Since I have, I must apologize.”

Marinette rested her stack of books against her hip. She looked at him.

She had promised to be normal about Damian Wayne. No assumptions, negative or positive.

“Can I ask you something?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said.

“Why did you ask me out?”

“You are my soulmate.”

“What?!” The stack of books fell to the floor with a loud bang. They both stooped to pick them up, and conked their heads together. Marinette felt her face heating up all over again.

“Here.” Damian passed her the stack. She clutched it to her chest this time.

“How do you know that we’re soulmates?” she asked.

“When I saw your mark in art class. You use it as your signature,” he said. “It matches mine. And it cannot be a fake, as only my mother knows what my mark looks like.”

“Seriously?” she asked. How was that even possible? Marinette couldn’t imagine a whole lifetime of hiding her mark. Soulmarks were meant to be celebrated, not covered up.

Damian nodded, though. “…I admit I am hesitant to reveal it in person.”

“No, sure, makes sense. Don’t wanna take your shirt off,” Marinette said absently. Then her brain caught up with her mouth. “I mean! Not that I have any problem with what’s under your shirt! Agh! Please pretend I didn’t say that! I have no problem with you taking your shirt off, you can do that whenever. Wait that’s worse! Oh my god kill me now.”

“I will not kill you,” Damian said, fixating on the weirdest part of her rambling. “I will never kill you.”

“…Great?”

He blanched. “I realize in hindsight that that may have been construed as a threat,” he said. “That was not my intention. I only meant that I will never harm you and that those who do will taste my blade.”

“That kinda seems like overkill.”

“My family does not believe in overkill, and neither do I.”

“Okay, well don’t kill anyone for me.”

Damian said nothing. The silence was extremely ominous.

You know what, maybe they were soulmates. The universe had finally found someone who was just as awkward as she was. Together, they could make the entire world uncomfortable.

“I have said my piece. I will leave you now,” Damian said.

“Wait!” Marinette said. “Just like that, you’re just leaving?”

“Yes,” he said. “Clearly my advances have been nothing but inconvenient to you. I do not wish to burden you further.”

“I didn’t know we were soulmates before. I thought you were…”

Fragile hope took hold in Damian’s eyes. “Does knowing that we are soulmates change things?”

…No, was the horrible answer. Lila still existed. If Marinette publicly dated Lila’s “soulmate,” then she was screwed.

Except Damian wasn’t Lila’s soulmate. He was Marinette’s. She wasn’t the soulmate-stealer in this scenario.

She wished she could be mad about it, but she just felt tired. This was just another one of life’s joys that Lila had stolen from her. Little by little, her happiness at school, at home even, was slowly being chipped away. It had only been a matter of time before Lila went after something big.

…She couldn’t have known that Damian was Marinette’s soulmate. And arranged this whole thing on purpose. Could she?

No, Damian said only his mother knew what his mark looked like. Probably to prevent circumstances just like this one.

“It doesn’t,” she said. “It doesn’t change anything. But. But give me some time to think about it, okay?”

“Anything.”

Damian went to the park prepared to lose the swordfight. Tomoe Tsurugi had been an Olympic medalist in her heyday, and was personally training her daughter to be her successor. Damian Wayne was frequently seen carting around a pair of katanas as a child, but that did not mean he could justifiably be on Kagami’s level.

Lee, Agreste, and four others were there to spectate. Including Marinette.

Damian schooled his reaction carefully. This was fine. This was completely fine. He was capable of throwing a fight in front of his soulmate (his first fight in front of his soulmate) and not freaking out about it. Even though it would permanently alter her perception of his fighting skills. Which didn’t matter, because normal people did not care about that in their soulmate.

Marinette waved. She was beautiful. “Damian! Come here!”

He obeyed.

“I know we all came out to support Kagami, but then I got here and realized no one was here for you. You should have someone supporting you. So for today, that’s me!” she said. “Oh! Wait a second.”

She untied the pink ribbon holding her left pigtail back, revealing a plain black band underneath. She handed him the ribbon. “For luck.”

Damian was internally screaming. It was a very medieval gesture—a lady bestowing her favor upon a knight before a tournament. Did she know that? Was this a coincidence? Or was she specifically asking Damian to fight and win for her?

He tied the ribbon around his wrist. In a bow, so as not to wrinkle it with a knot.

Did it matter what her intention with the gesture was? She would be cheering for him. She would be the only one cheering for him.

Fuck his identity. Damian was going to win this.

He drew his blade. Tsurugi did the same.

“Allez!” Agreste shouted.

They began. Tsurugi was both swift and strong. Damian suspected he had greater knowledge of kenjutsu, however. And knowledge was, as always, power.

He soon knocked Tsurugi’s sword out of her hand. He held his own blade against her throat. For a moment, everything was still.

Damian lowered his sword. “You are a worthy opponent.”

Tsurugi sheathed her own weapon. “You as well. I am honored to have fought you. Perhaps we could make this a weekly tradition?”

“That would be acceptable.”

The other teens leapt off their seats on the benches and ran over. Tsurugi was quickly enveloped in hugs.

“You did so awesome, Kagami!” Lee said.

“Thank you,” Tsurugi replied.

“And you too, Damian!” Agreste said.

“…Thank you,” he said. He hadn’t been expecting that. He had thought they would all rally against him in support of Tsurugi, their real friend.

He touched the ribbon around his wrist, and pondered.

Chapter Text

Marinette picked at her dinner.

“Is something on your mind, sweetie?” Papá asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “Someone asked me out at school the other day.”

“Oh? Who was it?”

“Damian Wayne.”

“The same Damian Wayne you were accused of snooping on?” Maman asked.

“Yeah.” She twirled around her fork.

“And now he’s asked you out?” she asked. “I thought you said you didn’t have a crush on this boy.”

“I don’t!” she said. “We’ve only spoken once before this. He actually had to ask my name before asking me out.”

Papá frowned. “What did you say?”

“No, obviously. The entire school thinks he’s Lila’s soulmate, and I don’t wanna get in the middle of that,” she said. “But then today he came up to me again and said that we were soulmates.”

“What?” Papá asked. “But then why does everyone believe that he and Lila are soulmates?”

“I don’t know, Papá,” she said. She was so tired. “I just don’t know what to do.”

“Do you believe him? That he’s your soulmate?” Maman asked.

“I do. But. What does it change? The entire lycée thinks…”

“It changes everything, mon chou,” Maman said. “If he is your soulmate, then forget what everyone else thinks. Ignore them. Your relationship with your soulmate is between you and him. No one else gets a say.”

“But…” she said. “But what about Lila?”

“What about her?” Maman asked. She frowned. “Are she and this Damian dating?”

“No.”

“Then how is it her business? Why does her opinion matter?”

“Because she’ll get revenge!” she said. “She hates me, Maman, and she has everyone convinced that they’re soulmates. She has so much invested in this lie. I just… I don’t want her to… to…”

Papá covered her hand with his. “Let us handle it,” he said. “We will help you, Marinette. We’ll stand behind you. I promise.”

“Okay,” she breathed. She felt like crying. “Okay.”

Marinette gathered her courage and approached Damian at the start of art class the next day. He was already in the room, of course—it was the one class he was always early for, rather than precisely on time.

“Hi!” she said. “So, um. I was thinking. About what you said, yesterday. That we were soulmates, and you wanted to know if it changed anything, and I said that it didn’t. And I was thinking, well, maybe it does. I mean! If you still want it to! If you don’t, that’s okay, I totally understand. I mean, I’m such a spaz, and this is totally ruining your reputation around school, so you should really just cut your losses—”

“Marinette,” Damian said. “Are you saying you would like to date me?”

“Um,” she said. “Yes!”

Damian’s eyes widened. “That is… good,” he said. He cleared his throat. “So. Shall we, then—Would you like to go on a date?”

“I just said—”

“Yes, I know, but I meant—”

“Oh! You meant—”

“Yes, like—”

“An actual date,” they both said. Marinette laughed.

“I could pick you up at six?” Damian asked.

“Yes, that would be—good. Great. Thanks.”

Why did she say thanks? Ugh, why was she like this?

“Good,” Damian said. He turned awkwardly back to his art project. Marinette smiled, ducking her head and turning back to her own art.

“Richard!” Damian yelled into the phone. “It is an emergency of the highest order!”

“What? What is it? Is everyone okay?”

“My soulmate has agreed to go on a date with me!”

“Oh.”

“Don’t say ‘oh’! Our date is in three hours and I have no plan!”

“Ah, I see. So you called to consult an expert.”

“I will hang up and ask Cassandra.”

“No, don’t! Cass plans terrible dates; I think at their last one she and Steph were held hostage by Sebastian Blood’s cult. Let me help you.”

He pretended to consider it. “Fine,” he said.

“So a first date is all about getting to know each other,” he said. “You want a chance to talk and bond.”

“I see.”

“Dinner out is always a classic. Typically paired with some other activity, like a movie or something. Though a walk in the park is also nice, it can be a way to wind down and connect more. It depends on how much talking you wanna do.”

“I want to know her,” he said immediately.

“Good. So dinner, walk in the park…”

Marinette was so underdressed. She felt wildly uncomfortable. Damian had taken her to an extremely fancy restaurant, and she felt like she should be apologizing just for setting foot in there. There was probably a charge for breathing the air.

She had worn a new dress with leggings and a three-quarter sleeves jacket. It was cute, it was fashionable, it was appropriate for the weather and suitably semi-casual.

Damian had worn a suit.

Marinette had blanched immediately when he showed up at the bakery door.

“Oh, um, should I change? I can go change—”

“We do not have time. Our reservation is in fifteen minutes.”

“Reservation? How’d you—Nevermind,” she said. Stupid question. Of course Damian was able to get a last-minute reservation at a place fancy enough to require a suit. He was a Wayne. How could she forget?

This was hell.

Maman and Papá had insisted on taking pictures of them before they headed out, like this was an American prom or something. Marinette was certain her anxiety was visible. Damian was stiff as a board and very formal.

This was already one of the most anxiety-inducing dates she’s ever been on, and that includes one where akumas attacked.

They sat in absolute silence after the waiter left the drink menu.

This place had multiple separate menus, one of which was for drinks, apparently. There was a tablecloth and wrapped silverware and a candle. The candle in combination with the tablecloth was making Marinette nervous. What if she accidentally tugged on the tablecloth and the candle fell over and everything caught on fire? There would be no magic Cure to fix everything.

And then the restaurant would want her to pay them back for the damages, but Marinette has no money, so her parents would have to help, and they’d have to sell the bakery and go bankrupt, and then they’d be homeless on the streets of Paris and Hawkmoth would—

“Do you like water?” Damian asked.

“What?” She had totally spaced out. She was caught up in her candle-related anxiety spiral.

“You ordered water. Do you like water?” He was blushing. Why was he blushing? Was Marinette being weird.

“Um,” she said. She had ordered water because water was free. “I guess?”

“Good,” he said. Then he scowled down at his menu.

What the fuck did that mean? Was that some sort of girlfriend-soulmate test, liking water? Was it a weird rich people thing? Should she have ordered something expensive? Like wine? Wait, they were underage. So what—

The waiter was back. “Have you both had enough time to look over the menu?”

“Yes. I will have the cassoulet,” Damian said decisively, handing back his menu.

“Bouillabaisse,” Marinette said.

“I’m sorry, mademoiselle, could you repeat that?”

“Can I have the bouillabaisse?” she asked, louder. This was the worst. This was the actual worst. She was failing at talking.

The man nodded and left swiftly. The table descended into utter silence yet again.

Marinette resisted the urge to pick at her nails. A bad habit. She had repainted them for tonight, and she would not be ruining the nail art.

God, what could she even say? She knew absolutely nothing about Damian. Except that he was filthy rich, bordering on famous because of it. Or—actually famous? Where was the line? Who determines that? How many magazines have to talk about you before you’re flat-out famous?

She took a sip of her water.

That filled about two seconds. Then there was the nothingness again.

“So,” she said. “How’s… school?”

She cringed internally. How did she manage to sound like her father there? God, Tikki kill her now.

“School is tolerable,” Damian said. “I suppose.”

“Right.” Because he was in an awkward position now. A pariah, a cheater, a heartbreaker. All because of Marinette.

She took another sip of her water.

“What do you do for fun?” Damian asked.

“I like to sew,” she said easily. Finally, comfortable territory. “I design, it’s my dream to own my own fashion house one day. I also do some graphic design sometimes too.”

“Really? What is your preferred medium?”

“Oh, for graphics, I stay digital. You work with acrylics, though, right?”

“As well as oils, charcoal, and pastels. I have been trained in watercolors too, but… I dislike them.”

“Same. The speed required to keep up—and there’s no margin for error with water.”

“It is a very unforgiving medium,” he said. “You design professionally, then?”

“Yeah!”

“What about when you create art for fun?”

“Oh, I don’t have time for that. Not anymore,” she said. She closed her eyes for a moment. Why did she say that? Now he’s going to ask—

“Really? Why not?”

“Oh, you know, just stuff. School. Commissions. Helping out around the bakery. Babysitting. All sorts of things, you know? It’s just a thousand tiny little things that add up to a lot,” she lied.

“I see.” Damian frowned. He absolutely did not see; she could tell. “Do your parents force you to work for them often?”

Great. Just great.

“It’s not like that,” she said. “I really just help out every now and then. I just… have a lot on my plate.”

“I see.”

“What about you? What do you do, besides art?”

“I enjoy swordsmanship,” he said. “I am a student of several martial arts.”

“Which ones?”

“Fencing. Kenjutsu. Judo. Krav maga.”

“That’s a lot.”

“Not unusually so. I have an interest in it, which both my parents were happy to foster.”

“That’s nice. I took a few fencing lessons, once upon a time, but I had to drop it. No time.”

“Is your family experiencing financial trouble that forces you to work so much?”

“What?”

“Your commissions and your babysitting and helping around the bakery—all of it is work. I thought—”

“We’re good!” she said. “Totally fine! Um. Kinda don’t wanna discuss this?”

“Of course,” he said. “I apologize.”

“It’s fine,” she said, voice tight.

It was not fine.

When the check came, Damian took it without even a glance towards her, and Marinette was humiliated and grateful all at once.

The walk through the park afterwards went much better.

Damian bought her flowers.

They were pink carnations, delicate and soft, and they smelled delicious. Not that Marinette was going to eat them. These were date flowers, not snack flowers.

They strolled in silence for a bit, but it was—miraculously—comfortable, not awkward. The sun had long since set, as late as it was in the year despite the early hour. Streetlights illuminated the sidewalks, and Paris glowed under the moon.

“So how are you liking Paris so far?” Marinette asked.

“It has been fine,” Damian said. “Not that different from America, truthfully. I had a much more difficult adjustment moving there from Pakistan, truthfully.”

“Why France?” she asked. “Not that I don’t love it here, but…”

“I needed a change,” he said carefully. “My father thought a fresh environment would do me good.”

“Did you have any say in this?”

“To a degree,” he said. “I… I had no objections to moving. All of his points were valid.”

“I couldn’t imagine leaving my entire country behind like that. All my friends. And in the middle of the school year, too,” she said. “Sorry. You probably don’t want to talk about this.”

“It’s fine,” he said. “Honestly? I did not have much to leave behind. It’s a large part of why my family thought a fresh start would do me well.”

“Oh,” she said. That was a very different picture from what everyone had been painting. Damian Wayne, practical royalty, who surely had dozens of friends and girls falling all over him. Damian Wayne, the Ice Prince of Gotham, who must be an expert at navigating the social minefields Marinette kept planting face-first in.

Damian Wayne, who had no friends to miss. Damian Wayne, who was as awkward as she was.

She really didn’t know him at all, did she? No one did.

On impulse, Marinette reached out and took his hand with the one she wasn’t holding the bouquet with. Damian turned to look at her sharply.

“Oh, uh—is this okay?” she asked sheepishly. She started to pull her hand away. Damian held onto her more firmly.

“It is acceptable,” he said.

“Acceptable?” she asked, voice teasing.

“Perhaps more than acceptable,” Damian said in his haughtiest voice. Marinette laughed.

Chapter Text

The Birdhouse

Gordon: [link]

Grayson: omg

Thomas: hey this maybe isn’t cool?

Brown: shhhhhh

Drake: this is paainful to watch

Todd: @Demon Brat you did not seriously ask her if she was poor

Todd: Are you fucking kidding me with this shit?

Thomas: well IM not watching this

Brown: enjoy your moral high ground. You won’t be getting any tea later

Grayson: [screenshot156.png]

Grayson: [screenshot157.png]

Grayson: [screenshot158.png]

Todd: @Dickhead we don’t need 8000 pictures of their date; we’re all sitting watching it live

Grayson: [screenshot159.png]

Grayson: these are for later! ther gunna want these pcituers on their wedding day!

Drake: oh my god

Drake: you are worse than his actual mother

Drake: you know that right

Grayson: [screenshot160.png]

Grayson: [screenshot161.png]

Grayson: bold of u to asume im not sending all these 2 her

Todd: I thought you hated Talia?

Grayson: we hve an agreement

Brown: ominous.

Damian finally finished backreading. He stabbed at the keyboard on his phone.

The Birdhouse

You: All of you are intolerable bloodsucking leeches and I am performing a full sweep of my person and surroundings for bugs.

Drake: chill, baby bat, it was just the security camera feed from the restaurant

Drake: no one saw whatever you two got up to afterwards

Todd: lmao

You: I hate you all. You especially @Grayson

[Incoming Call: Grayson]

Damian let it ring out.

“Tell us everything!” Adrien said over the phone.

Marinette flopped backwards onto her bed. Her phone was on speaker beside her.

“We went out to, like, the fanciest restaurant in Paris. I was so underdressed. Very embarrassing for me. Felt like everyone was staring at me. They probably were, I mean, two teenagers at such an upscale restaurant? That doesn’t happen. Unless you’re absolutely loaded with cash, which Damian is, unfortunately.”

“Yeah, how terrible,” Alya said dryly.

“How was dinner?” Zoé asked.

“Awkward. It was suuuuper awkward. At one point he asked me if my family was struggling financially?”

“What?” Alya asked. “That’s so fucking rude.”

“Yeah, I don’t know. I had to come up with an excuse for why I’m so busy all the time, so I said that I work a lot, doing commissions and babysitting and stuff, and then he got, like, concerned? I guess?”

“Rich people are so weird,” Zoé said.

“You are rich people?” Adrien said.

“I don’t identify with it!” she said.

“So it was just a terrible date, then?” Nino asked.

“No, it got better. It was just a rough start. Um. I learned he really loves animals. He has a lot of pets, apparently. They’re all being shipped over here but haven’t arrived yet. He’s a vegetarian. And an artist!”

“Oooh,” Zoé said. “What kinda art?”

“Acrylics, mainly. Also pastels and charcoal. He says he prefers portraits and action scenes.”

“What’s he like?” Adrien asked. “Like as a person?”

“He’s so awkward. He’s as bad as I am. But… sweet. He cares. And he was trying so hard.”

“He sounds like a loser,” Zoé said. People protested. “What? You’re describing a nerd!”

Marinette decided to keep the fact that a lot of Damian’s art was anime fanart to herself. He had actually spent ten minutes of their date talking about how Death Note was a masterpiece of a detective story. “He’s my soulmate,” she said. “So even if he’s a nerd, he’s my nerd.”

“Aww,” Alya said. “That’s so sweet.”

“He bought me flowers,” she said, glancing to where they now sat in a vase on her desk.

“Ooh, what kind?” Adrien asked.

“Pink carnations. I’m not even gonna eat them this time.”

“Sap,” Zoé teased. “You should press them.”

“Just one, maybe. I don’t want to get rid of them.”

“So I have a question,” Nino said. “Seeing as Damian’s your actual for real soulmate, are you gonna tell him you’re Ladybug?”

She froze.

Everyone on the line was silent.

“Eventually,” she said. “Not right away, though. Ladybug is… Is too important for a one-day relationship. That’s not a first date conversation.”

“Maybe you can ask the Gotham vigilantes when they typically reveal their identities,” Alya said. “They’ve definitely dealt with that issue way more than we have.”

“That’s a good point,” Marinette said. “Maybe they have to pass some weird cryptic Bat-loyalty test first or something.”

“I bet they have a super detailed procedure written down like an official policy and everything,” Adrien said. “Robin told me they have contingencies for everything.”

“Robin was lying to you,” Zoé said. “That’s actually impossible.”

“I bet they don’t have a contingency for killer robot aliens taking over Gotham,” Nino said.

“Didn’t that happen last month?” Adrien asked.

“No, that was just regular killer robots, and it was in Metropolis,” Alya said.

Marinette fell asleep to the sound of her friends talking.

There was an akuma attack the next day.

Animalter was an animal rights activist who was changing people into random animals to make them feel what they feel. Altered people didn’t appear to keep their common sense—they reverted fully into animal instincts.

It was mayhem.

It was a bloodbath.

About a third of everyone was some type of fish. Several whales had ballooned across streets and caused massive pileups. There was a giant squid slowly suffocating on the Eiffel Tower. The people who had it the worst, though, had to be the insects.

Many altered animals were eating other altered animals.

Ladybug coordinated her team skillfully, directing them to triage the chaos as best she could. She was a good general. Robin could appreciate that now.

Chat Noir got turned into a literal black cat. Vesperia got turned into a bee. Batgirl was turned into a frighteningly small cat, almost kitten-sized. A black-footed cat, Robin identified.

The akumatized object was a flyer for a rally downtown. All in all, the situation was handled swiftly and cleanly. People reverted to their humanoid selves, dazed and confused.

Francois Dupont began school after a two-hour delay.

Lila Rossi found Damian after lunch.

At his old school, Damian ate alone every day, at a deserted table that no one ever approached. It was universally recognized as his. At Francois Dupont, however, every day he was swarmed by Lila Rossi’s cohort of sycophants.

Getting away from them was—more difficult than Damian had anticipated.

Lila followed him out of the cafeteria. “Ian!” she said. “I wanna talk to you.”

“Good for you,” he said.

“This is important.” She grabbed his arm. He stopped walking. They were alone in a stairwell. If he moved too harshly, there was a chance she would fall again, and no one would believe he hadn’t shoved his “soulmate” down the stairs on purpose.

“What is it?” he asked.

“We should start dating,” she said.

“No.”

“Hear me out,” she said. “You want to keep your soulmate out of the spotlight, don’t you? Give her some anonymity? Well, no one would suspect whoever she is if you were publicly dating me.”

“I will not hurt her on purpose.”

“Who’s hurting anyone? This would be helping her.”

“Rossi, I am not blind to your tricks anymore. I won’t date you. We aren’t friends and I don’t like you.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Who cares about that? Dating is about publicity, Ian, it’s about seeing and being seen. You have to think about the image you’re projecting. What would you dating some nobody say about Wayne Enterprises?”

“I am not ashamed of her.”

“Yeah? That’s nice. But she isn’t doing you any favors, is she?”

“And neither are you.”

“But I could be,” she said. “Tell you what: I’ll give you a week to make your decision. Just think about it, okay? I know you’re a smart man, Ian. Deep down.”

She sauntered away, swinging her hips. Damian seethed.

He created a string board at home to map out the complicated relationships of Francois Dupont.

“What—” Cassandra said. “What is this.”

“Good afternoon, Cassandra. I am mapping out the interpersonal relationships governing my lycée so that I may better navigate them.”

“This is to make friends?”

“No. This is to destroy my enemies.”

She paused. Looked at the board. Looked back at Damian.

Cassandra shrugged. “Have fun.”

She wandered away to a different part of the penthouse. Damian added another string, connecting Mylene to Kim. He had done all romantic relationships in red, platonic in blue, ambiguous in purple, and rivalries in black. There were sticky notes tacked up under each of his classmates’ photos with bullet point lists of pertinent information.

He tapped at his phone and called Jason. New Jersey was six hours behind France, so he should be awake by now, at least.

Jason grunted over the line in lieu of a greeting.

“Todd,” he said. “I require advice.”

“On what? Didn’t Dickhead give you dating advice just yesterday? I mean, clearly it sucked, but still.”

“This is different. I want advice on vanquishing my enemies.”

“Ah. Okay, what do we got?”

“My soulmate, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, has a nemesis named Lila Rossi—”

“Lila Rossi? That girl we all thought you were dating?”

“Yes, even though I told you that wasn’t the case. Keep up. Anyway, Rossi is evil. She has convinced everyone that her and I are soulmates. I don’t know how. But either way, it is causing social conflict for myself and Marinette at school.”

“Ohhh. This sounds… complicated. Listen, Dami, this conniving social manipulation shit is really more Tim’s alley than mine.”

“So you have no advice for me?”

“Have you considered punching her?”

“I shoved her the first day, and it made everything worse.”

“Welp, that’s all I got. Unless you have Cass punch her?”

“I do not need Cassandra to fight my battles for me.”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t be constantly calling everyone for advice.”

Damian hung up on him. He dialed Timothy instead.

“Drake,” he said. “I require your advice. How do I socially ruin my enemies?”

Timothy yawned into the phone. “Target first. Need to know if I approve before I become an accomplice.”

“Lila Rossi.”

“Oof, terrible idea. This one’s tricky. Um. So we have two basic avenues of possible attack: legal litigation or word of mouth. Are the courts an option here?”

“Father says yes, but the courts are a coward’s method.”

“Why are the courts an option? What are her crimes?”

“She has been sexually harassing me.”

“…This is so above my pay grade. Have you told an adult?”

“You’re an adult.”

“Have you told anyone other than me?” He sounded slightly panicked.

“Of course. Father and Cassandra know. They are allowing me to handle it as I see fit.”

“Oh, of course they are. Why shouldn’t we let a child deal with sexual harassment all on his own? Seems like a brilliant idea. God.”

“Drake?” he asked. His voice had been getting more distant as he spoke, as if he had set the phone down to do something else. “Are you still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here, Dami. Listen. I need you to tell someone at your school about what is happening. That’s how you destroy Lila Rossi, okay? Can you do that for me?”

“You are lying to me. I am not an idiot, Drake, I don’t need adults to fight my battles. I need advice on my quest for vengeance. She is interfering with my relationship with my soulmate and that cannot stand.”

“She is?” he asked. “Can you put Cass on the phone?”

“This is not Cassandra’s responsibility! I am sixteen, I can handle my own problems!” he said. “If you aren’t going to help me, then just leave me alone!”

“Damia—”

He hung up.

Useless. His entire family was useless.

The Birdhouse

Drake: Lila Rossi has been sexually harassing Damian.

You: Stay out of my business, Drake.

Gordon: I don’t think this is a group-chat appropriate discussion, Tim. Have you brought this up to Bruce?

Drake: he knows and hasn’t done anything, apparently

Drake: so I thought maybe it should be brought to everyone’s notice in here

Brown: wtf

Brown: @damidami is this true?

You: Yes.

Brown: @Cass<3 @Dick

Grayson: holy shit

Grayson: did anyone else know about this?

Cassandra: I did

Grayson: anyd yuo did nothing????

Cassandra: dami didn’t want me to

Grayson: Cass is2g

Grayson: your supposed to be his adult rn

Cassandra: ???

Cassandra: respecting his choices

Grayson: you don’t have to and shouldn’t respect every choice a kid makes. Sometimes you need to be the adult and make the decision yourself

Cassandra: sorry

Cassandra: i will beat her up

Drake: okay that’s great. But I was thinking more along the lines of legal action

You: This is completely unnecessary and unwanted. I can handle my own problems and I do not want your “assistance.”

Brown: you should go to the school and yell at the people in charge

Brown: get lila away from dami immediatalwy that way

Gordon: @Tim can you hold off on legal action until we’ve tried the school intervention? Making a bigger deal out of this could backfire

Grayson: it IS a big deal

Gordon: I know, but escalating could hurt Damian

You: None of this needs to happen at all. If Drake had kept his mouth shut, I would be dealing with this perfectly well on my own.

Grayson: okay. what awas yr plan?

You: It is still in development.

Brown: anyone else deeply concerned by jasons silence on this of all topics??

Gordon: He’s in the Cave working out right now. He did read the first few messages. I think he’s waiting for Bruce to get home

Brown: can we have a livestream of that when it goes down too?? =D

Gordon: Sure

Brown: !!

Brown: can’t wait to see bman get punched in the face

You: Your loyalty to the cause is touching.

Grayson: @Cassie can you handle the school thing or do you need me or B to do it?

Cassandra: i can handle it.

Grayson: good.

Grayson: counting on you

Grayson: let me knwo how it goes