Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Marinette walked three circuits around her room, at the end of each the blank page was still on her desk. She yanked her chair back and dropped her butt into it, picked up her pencil… and froze.

“What am I doing ?”

She glanced at the time. She knew what she was doing, and the clock was ticking. Her parents were out and Tikki was downstairs wolfing down an entire platter of macarons. There was no one to stop her; no one to talk her out of this hare-brained idea. No one was looking. She could be a little insane.

She touched the tip of her pencil to the paper while the last year and more importantly the last month roiled inside of her. Many pairs of eyes floated in her memory, asking, questioning, some filled with pain. She needed to let it out, or she’d explode. The most poisoned of wells was the only one she dared drink from though. Anyone else, and they’d want to do something .

Marinette’s shoulders sagged, because there was nothing to do. It had already been done. Her pencil made a faint mark on the page. Not even a letter, it was enough to break the plane of white. Things always got easier once you took the first step. For better or worse.

Her pencil moved.

Chére Chloé,

I will wonder if you even opened this. It doesn’t matter I guess no it does. I have to write even if you don’t, but in the end, I do hope you will. You can see I’m leaving it all here, all my thoughts and warts. I won’t recopy this. It won’t be perfect, but I am coming to hate that word. Maybe I’m being ridiculous , but you know me. Utterly ridiculous, right?

God that            That might be a good place to start.

I’m sorry.

What I said on the phone. It wasn’t wrong, and some of it needed to be said, but I was mean. I was hurting and stressed, and I let it all blow up. I don’t want to be someone who is mean, even if others might forgive me. So, I’m sorry for that.

I gotta stop. . . . . .

How is New York? That’s what people ask in these things, right?

I hope you’ll reply. If not though, I get it. I have more to say, just… I need to know a bit more first I guess.  Sorry if this sounds all kinds of confusing.

Cordialement,

Marinette Dupain-Cheng

Marinette wiped her sleeve across her wet eyes, then folded the paper -crooked- and stuffed it into the waiting envelope. She dashed for the trapdoor and down the stairs. If Tikki said anything as she blew past it was lost to the pounding of blood in Marinette’s ears. She shouldered into the front door before remembering to unlock it, fumbled with the latch, and pushed out into the street. It was only a block to the public mailbox, but Marinette took it at a dead sprint.

She shoved the letter in.

It was done.

It was gone.

She couldn’t take it back.

Her chest hurt, and not just from the run. Nightmare scenarios reared their heads. The choice that has prompted this was still a burning hot coal behind her ribs. The biggest choice she had ever made, about the most important person. A choice no one could help her with. The need to scream was overwhelming. She couldn’t scream though. She was Marinette. She was Ladybug.

Marinette walked slowly back to the bakery. She waved off Tikki’s concerned look from the empty platter. She mounted the stairs; all the way up, and flopped onto her bed.

Maybe it wouldn’t go anywhere. Maybe she’d be safe in her misery. That was something she couldn’t control anymore. It was terrifying. It was freeing.

A week flew by. Marinette lost herself in the minutiae of day to day things. It was easy at times. Summer might be free from classes but it was a busy time at the bakery. Adrien… Adrien . She was still awash with happiness, but like an unseen bee the truth would sting her. She would be back in that blank room. She would be standing in that hidden basement. Marinette tried to keep herself twice as busy to defeat the demons with exhaustion.

“This came for you today.” Her mother’s voice was gently curious as she held up a thick manilla envelope.

Her expression remained as Marinette took it. It had a New York return address but no name. EXPRESS was stamped all over it. It could only be from one person. Marinette handled it gingerly, as if it might explode. 

Her mother’s eyebrow arched.

Marinette fumbled, “Oh it’s probably from Jessica, or Maybe Aeon! You know, the girls I met during our trip to New York. We talked about being pen pals, but I thought maybe things got in the way. I’m going to go open this right now!”

She pounded up the stairs.

Safely ensconced, she stared at the envelope for a good minute. She’d pulled her trunk over the trap door before grabbing down all her blankets and cocooning herself on her desk chair. It was just an envelope. It was proof that what she’d done was real. It meant she’d probably have to do it again. It meant consequences, risks, and choices.

Maybe I’ll get lucky and it’s just roaches .

She grabbed a pair of scissors from her desk and cut open the envelope. Out came a second envelope, folded up, and pages along with it.

Ridiculous Marinette,

I have included an envelope for your return letter. Really Marinette, regular mail? I know you aren’t rich, but we have to have standards. Think nothing of it. I’ve got more than enough money to cover both ways.

How is New York? New York is amazing! Why wouldn’t it be? I have absolutely everything here I could ever want, and no one to bother me. I don’t even have to scream. There’s a button I press and someone comes to take care of me. It’s amazing. You might not know this, but mommy values my comfort very highly. As she’s said, ‘If you don’t have it, you don’t need it.’

I’ve thought about exploring the city, but really where would I go? I mean, where would I go that fits my high standards? I can’t be seen just anywhere. Mommy was very clear about that too. ‘I don’t want you out where the public can see you.’ See how much she loves me? She doesn’t want me subjected to the masses, and she’s right!

I can see everything I want to right from my window. There are so many lights and all the buildings are so tall. It’s like La Défense, only the old buildings are right in with the new. At night they shine so bright, I have to wear a sleep mask.

My window, oh! You should see our apartment. Well, it’s not an apartment, it’s a house, a penthouse .  It’s the entire top of a building! I still haven’t seen what’s in all the rooms. I can walk around forever and still not see mommy or the servants. Why, I think We could fit your entire house inside the solarium. Do you know what a So-La-ri-um is, Marinette? It’s a big room where all the light comes in through the windows. There’s a button I can press to turn some of the windows clear too. That’s Depolization. It means I can tan without even going outside!

I saw on the news that Ladybug finally beat Hawkmoth. Look, I know you like her, but ugh. She took all year just to catch some lame bald guy. You can’t tell me that’s not a little sad, right? She would have done it in half the time if Queen Bee had been there. Did you know I almost took out Mayura once all by myself? No one knows that. Well, now you do! Consider yourself privileged, it might feel strange to you. Maybe let it slip to that Cesaire girl. She can slap it up on her blog if anyone still cares.

What’s Ladybug even for anymore? Is she going to retire? There’s lots of heroes here. Maybe we could buy one and send them back to Paris to take over. Ha! Nerdy Max wouldn’t have to give up on his studying time then, I bet he’d like that. He was always a dweeb.

Oh, this talk of dweebs reminded me. Be sure to check in on Sabrina. She’ll be completely lost without me there anymore. The poor girl can’t think for herself. You’ve seen how she dresses. Useless utterly useless without having someone to tell her where to go and when. You’re good at bossing people around, just give her a few instructions daily to keep her in shape.

Oh and Adrien. I guess you and him are a thing now. Whatever. I don’t care. You’d better pay attention though. I was there when his mother died, and now I’m here. I don’t expect you to be able to be half the friend I was, but I expect you to do what you can for him. 

Lyceé! So, you all are going to Lyceé right? Is it still the same school? Is everyone going to be all together? It figures Bustier blows up classes and grades and everything right after I leave. I would have just told daddy to do that long ago, but no one told me it was an option! I haven’t heard what I'm going to be doing here yet, on account of the public thing. Whatever it is I’m sure it will be better, and will prepare me for taking over mommy’s company when she retires.

Can’t you just see it? Me, in charge of fashion for the world! They think they’ve seen a Style Queen, I’ll show them a Style Empress! Play your cards right, Marinette, and maybe you can get a good review for your little boutique thing. I can be a generous ruler! It’s certainly better than being in a movie, or whatever. Who’d want to be an actress anyway right? All those people fawning over you, writing to you, wanting to meet you.  Gross, right?

Oh, I guess I should write about your apology thingy. Don’t think anything of it. It didn’t affect me at all. I’m above all that petty collège nonsense now. Still, don’t you be mean to me again. Not that I’m not tough enough to take it, but I definitely don’t deserve it! I’m letting it slide this one time. We’re even, as the peasants say. If you can’t handle that, then you can just tear up my envelope, because I don’t need to hear back from you. I’m fine where I am. I didn’t write to you, you wrote to me. You know what? I’m done with this stupid letter. No one tells you how to stop writing once you start.

Whatever,

Chloé Bourgeois

Chapter Text

Chloé shuffled through the main hall, still in her workout clothes. She was on the way to the kitchen for a morning meal. It had been two whole days. TWO! How slow were planes? How lame were letters? Who did that? Dorks, that’s who. Stupid Marinette was probably not even going to answer. She’d probably just posted it in a group chat or something. 

Whatever. I’m not going back anyway. Who cares about the-

The yellow envelope sitting neatly in the letter holder by the door stole all her attention.

Chloe’s feet thumped on hardwood, flapped against warm marble, and then were swallowed up in plush carpeting of her room.

*riiiip* *crinkle crackle* A small stack of glossy pages behind a plain pink sheet.

*pantpantpant*

Chére Chloe,

I am so glad things are going well for you out there. Maybe New York will be a new start! Fresh starts are important, and people deserve do overs and extra chances, don’t they? You can’t look back, you have to look forward. Even if someone might seem lost, you need to look on the bright side, right? That’s especially true when they can’t possibly cause any more harm. You want to hold onto the good, not the bad, right?

Adrien- Thank you for understanding. It’s still so fresh and weird for me too! I love him with all my heart though, and only want the best for him. You can be sure he’s in good hands with me! I promise to protect him, always.

Lyceé, ha, it doesn’t feel real. We’re going into a whole new world; finally striking out for what we want. I want so many things. That’s not selfish is it? I want things for others. I want to help my community. I want to create new fashions for people, to help them express themselves. I want to be a leader, a fighter, a mother, a partner, and a friend. That’s normal right?

We will all be together I think, even your sister is going to be in this new school system Ms. Bustier is using. It’ll be weird without you. That sounds lame coming from me doesn’t it? I can just hear you ‘Ridiculous Marinette!’ or maybe ‘Of course it will be weird. How will you all function without me?’ Haha. Oh god, that’s funny right? Not bad?

It’s true though. We spent so long fighting. I spent so much time thinking of you at this one obstacle to everything in my life. Now you’re gone. I beat the dragon, and it didn’t solve all my problems. If you’re not the cause of my problems, then who is? What is? I don’t like not knowing the answers to that.

You though, you’re a person, not just a dragon, or an ogre, or even an ugly toad (Ugly never fit as an insult) I’m… I’m coming to terms with that. Does that matter to you? You don’t have to answer, but I would like to know.

Here’s something fun- I included a bunch of recent fashion clippings. What do you think? Give me your honest opinion! I can take it!

Have you ever regretted something you couldn’t take back? Something stuck and locked in the past? Something you couldn’t change, couldn’t even acknowledge? How do you move on past that?

Okay that’s all from me for now! I have to get going. I’ll be sure to check up on Sabrina for you. She seems okay to me, but we need to be sure it’s not just a facade. You never know what people might be hiding just under the surface, right? Haha.

Bien à Vous,

Marinette

Chloé sifted through the glossy pages, all cut from magazines.  

They were pictures of the latest fashion. Over most Marinette had carefully taped cut outs of her own designs. Clothing done in faded color pencils dressed models in place of plastic haute couture. 

Leave it to Marinette to have designed each piece with a little hinge to be able to flip up so you could see the original look underneath. Some were creased and folded from the packing and travel. Chloe flattened them out with a ruler. There were twenty full outfits altogether. 

As Chloe squinted at them, everything else fell away; where she was, who she was, who they were from, what anyone else might think.

Chloé picked up a pencil.

*Sktch sktch sktch*

By the time she put it down again her stomach was twisting in emptiness and she had begun to smell her lack of shower. It didn’t matter. She stuffed several newly full pages under an empty one.

Salut Marinette,

I have sent back your fashion ideas along with my excellent commentary. You are… not without talent. Some of those ideas though-

I can see what you wish to do, but some are just so gauche . Who are they for? What is your market? Critics will tear you apart and bury you. Trust me, there is no coming back once you are labeled unworthy. Never forget who is watching.

Ugh, I have heard so much about ridiculous school, and ridiculous green. No cars? How will people know you are rich without limos? It’s so totally-

No. Enough of that. Instead I should warn you: all this talk of the bright side. It is foolish! People do not care, unless they want something. If you lower your guard and trust, they will stab you in the back! You must admit, I at least had the courtesy to stab you in the front .

That… I guess I should say I am sorry. Don’t you dare show this to anyone! I will deny it! Everything though… it was pointless. It was ridiculous . You are a peasant Marinette. I am supposed to keep you in your place. I must have gone about it all wrong though, because here we are. There is nothing more useless than an aristocract who cannot even do that properly.

So as a useless aristocract I can say, I do not know who I will be without the rest of your little herd, and especially you. Don’t take this as blubbering!

I will be exceptional! I have so much talent. I just never bothered, because it was all so boring, obviously. Here it will be different. I am at the heart of the business and fashion world. I am so busy, you are lucky I even had time to write this!

And of course I am not ugly! Don’t think you can butter me up Marinette. Alix of all people is no judge of feminine beauty. You could do with a tip or two yourself. Perhaps if I am in the mood I shall help you.

………

Oh! I have to go! So much to do, you see. I have to go with mommy to several meetings today. Did you know I am going to be her understudy?  Or, maybe her V.P. in charge of teen fashion. It’ll happen soon! Keep your ears perked. You will see my name in lights!

Bien à vous,

Chloé Bourgeois, fashion icon.

On that last thing, maybe. Why?

Chloé folded the letter slowly, creasing it between her nails. She set it down, worked at stuffing the extra pages into the envelope, got up and got a drink of water from her bathroom, came back and stared at it a few minutes more, then shoved it quickly in with the rest and sealed it.

Silent strides, slapping footfalls, thumping sprints; she shoved the new envelope into the mail holder then fled from it back into her room. With the door closed and locked she was secure. A new sheen of sweat graced her brow, too fresh to be from her workout. Something was-

Yoga wouldn’t cut it. Instead Chloé cranked the hot water to max and let it scald away the itching under her skin. Pumice and terry cloth finished the job. The statue was ready for its paint. Paint was like armor. It wasn’t flesh and blood people would see, it was an image . Chloé exited her room the picture of dominance, something she had learned to cultivate over years.

She turned left instead of right. The carpeting changed from room to room, thickening like a layer of snow, only colder. The rooms themselves changed too. Chloé had learned to simply accept it. 

A sitting room that was austere and white was now violently blue with plush couches -untouched- where before a dining set had been. A hallway lined with pedestals that had a rotating array of sculptures on them; this time the sculptures were the same, the pedestals had been replaced. Chloe ascended a spiral staircase up two floors. It had gone up three last week. The last flight had to be somewhere, she would find it.

She didn’t.

“Mommy?” She called once. Not even her echo paid enough attention to respond.

She found the solarium, but it was too early and the sun had not risen far over the nearby skyscraper. There was a sliver of yellowed light at just one end of the room. Chloe spent some time watching it creep across the floor. There was an intercom in this room, but they wouldn’t come when you called. They just wanted to know what you wanted. They showed up to deliver, and then were gone again.

She found the main entryway by accident. She fled as fast as she could until she fell on a still-wrapped lounge, out of breath. She didn’t know why.

She ran into a work crew that was installing a new wall that would incidentally seal her into her room. One worker explained they were opening up a new doorway across the hall. No one had told them to start with that part first. They shuffled off to open her new egress before continuing. 

Crouched in her chair once more, Chloe returned to the small world in her phone. It held millions of people, and when she used the limitless names on offer instead of her own, sometimes people talked to her.

Chapter Text

“Bye guys!” Marinette waved while taking off her helmet.

Kagami peeled away on her red vespa, a mirror of Marinette’s own. Felix clung to her from behind with his head scrunched down on her shoulder. Nino and Alya both waved before Nino took off on his bicycle, pedaling like mad as if he could catch up to Kagami. Alya stood on his bike pegs, one hand on his shoulder the other held out wide like a mahogany figurehead.

Marinette walked her scooter up beside the bakery and locked it up. Her whole body ached in a good way. Whoever had the idea to try and compete with Adrien on his climbing wall… was it Felix or Kagami? They had clearly not realized just how much her boyfriend actually used that thing. Even after gouter, she was still buzzing from the exertion.

She was proud of her placement though. Behind Kagami and Felix didn’t feel too bad. She wasn’t sure she was going to get higher than Alya though. Her best friend’s ability to cling by fingertips was astounding. It had taken a leap of faith for Marinette to make the final hand hold. It had been easy enough to do, she knew Adrien would catch her if she fell.

“Marinette, Honey! Back already?” her father called when she entered the shop, as if she hadn’t been gone all day.

She crossed over and pecked his cheek when he leaned down. “Sorry dad, we got carried away. I’m ready to help now though. Please don’t tell me you and mom have gotten everything done for the weekend catering already.”

Her father smiled but shook his head, “Baking is done, but there’s plenty of decorating to do. Your mother’s in the back right now, and would probably love some help. There’s a letter for you, too.”

Those words sucked the air out of the room. 

Sounds and smells so vivid seconds before were compressed and flattened, happening to someone else kilometers away. Marinette had neatly separated what was happening in those letters with what was happening in the world around her. Shoving all her fears into that yellow rectangle had let her breathe again. 

Opening one might see them all come pouring out again.

She pushed it down, “Thanks, papa! I’ll help mom for a bit before dinner.”

It would be a stay of execution.

For her at least, her mother less so. 

Marinette tried to focus. She could make rosettes by the score when she was on, and her life with Adrien as a part of it was cause for more flowers in the world. She was ruined for it right now though. Mistakes plagued her; too many petals, too few petals, bursting the piping bag.

It was when she was proudly admiring a perfect row of frosting flowers that her mother gently took the bag from her hands. “Honey, maybe you should go upstairs and rest.”

Marinette blinked in confusion at her mother, then reexamined her work. She had planted her perfect flowers expertly between the pastries they were supposed to adorn.

She surrendered, “Yeah, I think maybe I should. Sorry, mom.” Marinette passed the piping bag to her mother’s waiting hands.

A gentle pat on the back sent Marinette on her way. She trudged up the stairs with her letter in hand. It was thick, surprisingly so. She tore it open and let the contents spill onto her desk like entrails to be divined.

The notes she attacked first. Her own designs were redrawn with surprisingly good detail, and notes scrawled in every available space and at every conceivable angle. Simply sorting one from another took time and required blessed concentration. Marinette recopied them in a more organized manner, then absorbed them.

She wasn’t sure what she had foreseen, sending her designs to Chloé. It might have been another form of penance, exposing her cherished children to a flensing that Ladybug would never receive. This wasn’t brutality though, it was dissection. It was clinical and professional. Marinette might rail against some of the critiques on a personal level, but she couldn’t declare them wrong .

The recurring theme of ‘who is this for?’ and ‘why are you doing it this way’ stung in ways Chloé couldn’t have intended. They stayed with her as she read over the letter itself. They stayed with her as she climbed up to her bed. They danced in her vision as she stared up at the ceiling, the letter held to her chest.

‘They will stab you in the back’ ‘Peasant’ ‘No coming back’ ‘label you unworthy’ ‘I do not know who I will be’

‘I’m sorry’

‘Why?’

Marinette couldn’t tell if the thoughts were coming from the paper or her own. The wound was open now, and bleeding. She needed this. She hated this. This letter was from someone who had tormented her. It couldn’t have been anyone else. Why .

Why.

Why.

She knew the answer to that didn’t she? Why she had lied. Why she had to do it.  Why she kept it all inside. She had good reasons; the best!

Then why was she stuck? Why did the paper feel like fire against her chest? Why did the memory of Adrien’s smile hurt so much more than his sadness had? It was just one little word:

Why?

Marinette fell asleep at some point. She hadn’t even been tired, it was simply stress overload. She woke up to a pitch black room and fumbled down her steps. Further down her parents were cozied up on the couch watching late night T.V.

“I saved you a plate, honey. It’s downstairs in the warmer.” Her mom was the best.

Food was warm. It filled the hole she’d hollowed out inside herself. It made her brave enough to climb the stairs once more and face a blank sheet of paper.

Chloé,

Why? Because I have. I did. I know things I shouldn’t. Things that impact people close to me. Adrien, I mean Adrien. I want to protect him, like I said before. I want the best for him, and for him to be happy.

The things I know… they won’t make him happy. They won’t make anyone happy. I’ve hidden the truth away where no one will find it, but I can still feel it there, lurking.

It’s eating me up, but I think I can endure it, if it’s the right thing to do. Is it the right thing to do? You’ve got no reason to coddle me, so, tell me the truth. Please.

I can’t share what I know. I’m sorry about that. If I tell anyone, it will be Adrien first. If I tell no one, then at least I’m consistent in my misery. 

I want to tell him, but I can’t tell him. He deserves to know. He shouldn’t have to know. Everything gets harder if he knows. It’s pointless. It’s useless. It’s the most important thing. I’m sitting here dying inside with a smile painted on my face.

It must sound dumb, or weird, or ‘Dupain-Cheng’ hearing me ramble. Who am I right? I’m just a peasant. I’m a baker girl who shouldn’t even be caught up in all this. I’m nobody, but I can hold so much power to alter Adrien’s life in my hands right now.

I used to love having a sense of control. Life is terrifying. Being the one who shaped things gave me some semblance of security. Now I just feel sick.

Don’t mind the spots. Saltwater dries fast. Just more ‘Dupain-Cheng’ I guess. Spots on everything these days.

I want to keep writing. I want to make it make sense. If one person understands then maybe I’m not crazy. I can’t really do anything until I get your answer though. I’m powerless, ha! You’ve got one last chance to put me in my place. I’ve fallen flat. I’ve spilled the croissants. I’ve got nothing left.

You deserve answers for your feedback. I’ve read it, I swear! I’m just sick to my stomach right now and my head won’t go anywhere I want it to. I’ll put them in the next letter, no matter what your answer is.

Amitiés,

Marinette

Marinette didn’t eat until the letter was in the mail. Even then she subsisted on crackers and water for another day. It was surreal how life just kept moving. People kept smiling, customers kept coming, and her friends lit up her phone as if everything was normal.

She wanted to smile with them, but it was hard. She plastered on a smile but it didn’t sit right. Alya was the first one to notice. Less than a day of mopinette and her friend was shooting her knowing looks.

Alya roped in Nino. Nino roped in Adrien. Soon all of Kitty Section followed. They each asked her what was wrong in their own way, but when she mumbled an apology they left it at that and proceeded to simply show her how much she was loved.

Adrien was slightly more persistent, catching her alone on the second day.

“Marinette, did I do something wrong?”

“What? No! Of course not. You’re amazing. You’re perfect . I’m just in a mood. May- maybe it’s just Lyceé jitters.”

He stepped closer, taking her hands in his. “Is there anything I can do? Anything at all? You’ve been here for me, through everything. I want to be here for you.”

How could she ever even think of shattering his happiness?

How could she ever think of hiding anything from him?

Marinette smiled to keep from crying. Her heart was full but that just made the ache worse. “You are here Adrien. You’re here, and that makes everything better. I can’t imagine-”

She choked and covered it with a cough. She could imagine; vividly. Not just Cat Blanc, but the thought of a single snap… She could still remember the shock and pain on Sentibug’s face.

Marinette dove into a hug, and that was enough to end the conversation. Adrien held her until she let go, then suggested they try to find a new cafe they hadn’t tried yet, a task that was rapidly becoming more challenging by the day.

She managed to hold it together as more days passed and the summer began to dwindle.

However, the moment the postman came in with a yellow envelope mixed in with the usual mail, her mask broke. She dashed from behind the counter, traded a creme puff for the mail, and dashed upstairs with a ‘gotta go bathroom!’ trailing behind her.

Her mother came out from the back to find the befuddled postman staring down at the confection in his hands. 

True to her word, and much to her chagrin, Marinette ran straight to the bathroom. She locked the door and sat on the seat with the mail still in hand. She tossed the remaining letters up on the sink then ripped into the yellow envelope like the starving soul she was.

Marinette,

Your stomach, my head. This is not fair, you know, not fair at all. What is though? Nothing!

I have thought about your problem. Let that tell you how seriously I am taking it. I am not going to tell you what to do (for once!) I threw out so many letters getting this right, some of them had this exact sentence on them too!

Here goes:

He knows. Well, he probably knows. People always know. Not like know know, but it’s there. It’s in the back of your head lurking. All that not telling him does is let it keep lurking. It’ll be there in the back, tinting everything but you don’t know why. He’ll come up with every excuse, every reason to ignore it. It doesn’t work though.

When you know, you know, even if you don’t really understand what you know. You can spend every waking minute trying to disprove a shadow. It won’t work.

All telling him will do is turn the monster under the bed into a spider on the wall. It’s still freaky and it’s going to take every shoe you can throw, but you know what it is, and what it isn’t.

It’ll hurt. Oh it’ll hurt. Finding out for real hurts. It’s like… like being sick forever vs being hit in the head. When you’re sick it sucks and who knows when or if you’ll get better. People don’t want to be around because they might get sick, and there’s nothing useful they can do anyway. When you’re hit in the head OWwwwW! But who kicked that ball? Get me some ice! Get me a doctor! People see, they can help, and you can do something.

Maybe I should burn this one too.

Look, all I’m saying is, if whatever this is will hurt Adrien, then it’s on that thing. That is what is going to mess with him, and is probably already messing with him. He was acting so strange at the end! The person who shows you what’s wrong isn’t the person who made it wrong.

It’s not Zoé’s fault that her showing up made it clear how much my parents suck.

Stop beating yourself up. That’s my job. You’re no good at it.

Help Adrien. You want to protect him? Protect him from what’s going on in his head. He’ll curl up in a corner, but only when no one is looking. He knows how to fake a smile.

I’m mailing this before I tear it to pieces.

Oh, and there might be something big happening soon. Is it my turn to freak out?

Amitiés,

Chloé

Chapter Text

Chloé’s room was neat, immaculate even. The less it changed the more real it felt. She might open the door to anything, but on this side of it things were certain. Change did happen though. 

Four stacks, carefully organized, were an intrusive presence. Chloé did not look at them if she could, and every time one caught her eye it was a sharp jolt. They pushed her to leave her room often since they had arrived.

They were not the worst thing though. That honor was reserved for what was hidden under three cardigans. The sweaters were sloppily thrown, and garish in their disorder. It spoke to the haste with which they were thrown into place and the fear of disturbing them.

Under them was the small stack of yellow manilla envelopes still waiting to be used. They had been briefly a window to the world, but after her last letter they were a reminder of being too free with words. They taunted her weakness. They forced her to relive what she had written; what could not be taken back.

Chloé hated them. She needed them. She had banished them from her sight.

They lurked.

Three more days she spent; three days! She sat in her room. She sat in the solarium. God help her she even thumbed through the stacks. She spent hours scouring the internet and got back a new and conflicting answer for each one put in. Finally, a new envelope showed up, and Chloe savaged it to get at the doom inside.

Chere Chloé,

*Deep breath*

I will. I will tell him. Maybe not just yet. I need to prepare myself. Your letter made me think. I might be avoiding my own pain in a way by not telling him. That’s not fair to Adrien. I still need to psyche myself up. When it all comes out, I hope people will understand.

Forgive me for waiting?

About… the stuff you said. This isn’t all about Adrien, is it? You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to, but I guess I just wanted to say: I opened this little communication, so I am here.

Is that the big thing happening soon? You can freak out all you want. You can ask my friends, I am the Queen of freaking out. I might not have the lung capacity you do, but I can flail enough to generate my own wind currents.

I hope I hear back soon.

Amitiés,

Marinette

Chloé sat back in her chair. She felt a strange sort of tingling, an expectation. Something was missing, something was different. It was like tensing a muscle against an impact that never came. She felt light. It was scary.

Rejection.

The tickle up under her ribs gave it away. She had been bracing for being fobbed off, pushed away. That’s how it always worked. Be it a harsh word or a pretty gift, it was the same effect: Don’t bother me.

Marinette… hadn’t done that. Chloé didn’t know how to feel about that. The last person to do that was Lady-

Chloé bit the tip of her tongue. That had ended poorly. Acceptance only because of need. Marinettte wasn’t Ladybug though. Marinette didn’t need Chloé for anything, she’d already got her answer.

Chloé stood up. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t like feeling this way. It was dizzying. Where was the distance? She needed to lash out but there was no one and nothing here. She paced. She bit a five hundred dollar manicure. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know what to do .

She slammed herself down in her chair and threw the cardigans across the room. She grabbed an envelope then attacked paper with pencil.

Chere Marinette,

Why is this so hard? What have you done to me with your letters? No! No it’s not about Adrien. It is, but it isn't too. I don’t understand what it is about, and I DON’T WANT TO!

But.

I don’t have a choice, I don’t think.

It’s my life, I’m stuck with it.

Or maybe not, ha!

The other thing. I am going to school in the fall. Going, yes, but where? Mother has picked out four possibilities for me. There are clothes, books, pencils, everything for each all sitting here beside me.  None are  in New York of course, I lied about all that. I hope you didn’t believe me. I’m bad enough at it that you should be embarrassed if you did!

San Francisco, as far as I can be while still being in the US I think. San Paulo, Brazil, I have no idea why. Singapore, the other side of the world! Lastly… Paris.

I know you probably don’t care if I end up in any other other places. What happens if it is Paris though?

Don’t worry about my sister or her daddy. I’ve seen the paperwork. If I go to Paris I am living alone, in an apartment smaller than my suite used to be. Not that you need much when there is no one to impress.

What happens about this though? I know you wrote to me because I was far away. We both did. This isn’t real. If I end up back there, I’ll be in Ms. Bustiers weird school thing and we’ll probably cross paths. What happens then?

There was a time I wouldn’t ask, I’d just tell you. I can’t do that anymore. You’re the Queen now. You tell me.

What happens?

I’m running out of energy. I had too much when I started this stupid letter, now it hurts to breathe.

Forgiveness? We’ll trade. I’ll forgive you if you forgive me. Then if neither of us deserve it, no one is being cheated.

Je suis désolé,

Chloé

Chapter Text

Marinette walked down the street in her new blazer. The sun was shining and all things considered, life was good. A subtle shift in her stride, a bit of unnoticed inconsistency in her stride, and the crinkle from her inside pocket focused her thoughts. Chloe’s letter. Marinette had been walking since she read it, walking or talking.

She needed to walk. Her head was racing so if her feet didn’t move she’d end up doing somersaults. She’d walked to Le Grand Paris first. She’d talked to Zoé. Circling the very simple question had taken a while. Marinette hoped this time she really was being circumspect for someone else, not herself.

Zoé hadn’t spoken to Chloé. It was easy to bring her sister up in a ‘What do you think is going to happen?’ scenario. What hadn’t been easy was how instantly crestfallen Zoé looked. Zoé had seemed happy all summer, but in that moment she related a whispered tale of shouting heard in the halls. André on the phone with Audrey, and her voice almost as loud through the speaker as he was standing only a handful of meters away. It was all bad, if the way Zoé’s eyes searched the corners of the room as she talked was anything to go by. It was bad enough that Marinette gave her friend a hug and didn’t let go until she was done talking.

Some of it had been about Chloé. Audrey was sending her somewhere . Zoe hadn’t been able to put together just where. André was against it, but wasn’t offering any alternatives. Marinette saw the last vain hope for a full family die in those powder blue eyes. She had hugged tighter and apologized for bringing it up. What else could she do?

One more person with hurt hiding under the surface. One more problem she had missed; hadn’t even conceived of! It stung. The ache that had spawned Marinette’s first letter welled up and threatened her again. Adrien .

Marinette was passing the park again. She sidestepped into the shade of a guiltless tree and leaned against its trunk as she wrestled inside herself. It was different, now. The sadness, fear, and uncertainty were all still there, but committing to the truth had halted the infection. She had taken steps, real ones. She hadn’t written anything down this time. It wasn’t something Marinette could know. Ladybug had to be the one to confess-

Ha, not the confession I ever dreamed of.

She’d talked it out in her head. She’d crossed out lines and made corrections. She was halfway through her preparations, maybe more. She was close enough to wonder if it would be better before or after the start of school. Give him time to get comfortable with the new class, but also time for more kids to talk about his ‘heroic’ father? Which side of the scales was better? She didn’t want to wait for time to make her choice. She wanted to decide before it was too late.

The acute ache subsided and Marinette stepped out to the sidewalk again. As she walked she looked into the faces of those who passed her by. How many of them hid things under the surface? How many had depths you couldn’t see? I suppose I should have figured this out long ago. Gabriel, Hawkmoth, couldn’t easily get hooks into people who weren’t struggling with hidden emotions. Every unique akumatization was a new pain. How many did Chloe have?

That last thought made her stop dead.

More than anyone else.

Marinette grumbled at Ladybug, at herself, at being fourteen and holder of a box of divine magical trinkets. How did she not see? If she was the best Ladybug, what were the worst like? She started walking again, recriminations mounting in her head. The bell to her parent’s bakery rang in her ears before she realized she’d pushed open the door.

Forgiveness .

The word leapt from the page in Marinette’s pocket and danced with the clapper on the door’s bell. Her mother looked up from the register, but Marinette was already in motion.

Like a lucky charm it had hit her. Connections inconceivable a moment ago threw nets across her racing thoughts and pulled them into order. She was at her desk with a new pen out before things were even settled in her mind. This was something Marinette could know. It was something she had to know. It was something too vital to risk slipping away.

Très Chere Chloé,

Forgiveness, thank you for that word. I needed it, I needed it in a way I didn’t even know. I’m spilling this out just as frightfully fast as my first letter, so bear with me.

The idea that you might come back to Paris, I’ll admit I’d never even entertained it. I did think you were gone for good, or I probably could never have mailed that first letter. You were gone, for good. I probably couldn’t have even told you off at the end of the school year if I had imagined otherwise. Just thinking about it now- It makes the ball inside of me burn.

The ball of pain, of sadness, of memories. The ball of all our interactions. I thought I’d handled it. I bundled all those things up, I sealed them in a thick protective layer and put them in a dark corner to be relegated to my past. The thing is, they’re still there. That hard layer might protect me from the worst of it, but it also means it’ll never go away.

Forgiveness.

That’s the only way, isn’t it? It’s not about balling things up and sealing them off. It’s about peeling them apart and letting it all dry in the sun.

I’d always thought of forgiveness as something people earned. You Forgive someone when the pain ebbs, when it doesn’t hurt you anymore. Forgiveness is a way of signaling ‘I’m done with this now.’

I had it backwards, didn’t I? We have to forgive someone before the pain and fear will go away. We have to let it go, peel off the protective layer and let the air and sunlight in.

Forgiveness is saying ‘I’m ready to be done with this now.’

And that is so scary, isn’t it? Ready doesn’t mean guaranteed success. It doesn’t mean a perfect plan or an outcome you can predict. For me, that’s terrifying. I’m exposed. I want to control, protect, mitigate, I want to be able to stay one step ahead and have the answers. That’s not how it works though, is it? I can’t see everything, and that’s okay.

It’s not just other people, too. I’ve got to forgive myself. If I don’t, I’ll just be dragging my mistakes and insecurities with me forever.

Ha, here’s Ramblenette at it again. You don’t need to worry about my problems, but I think my reasoning is important here.

You want to know what happens if you end up being sent back here. I can’t give you a complete answer, because I don’t know. There are so many factors beyond my control. One thing that will happen though is:

Forgiveness.

I forgive you, for everything. I’m done with hurting. I’m done with pretending it didn’t hurt. I’m done with pretending to be above it all. I’m done with the past. I’m letting it go.

That doesn’t mean I won’t flinch, I won’t snap, and I won’t still get wound up the wrong way on occasion if we interact. It means I don’t want to do those things, and you’ll have to trust me that I am sincere in that.

If we meet in school, or outside of it. I’ll do my best to let the present set the tone. No not THAT present, I know you were thinking it…. Okay that joke was terrible, but it's the best I have right now. I’m burning out too, but in a different way I think than you are right now.

I don’t know if this is what you want. I can’t decide that for you. I can only tell you what I will do. I don’t think these letters need to be for nothing. I don’t think collège needs to rule Lyceé. I think we can choose to be the people we want to be. We might not get there on the first try, or even the tenth. But if we’re moving towards it, it still counts.

So- you’re welcome back in Paris as far as I’m concerned.

What about on your end? I get the impression your mother is deciding this above your head, but what do you want?

Je suis touché,

Marinette

Marinette read and reread her letter. The ideas in it were so new to her it felt like something written by someone else. Reading them felt like learning. She went over it seven times in total, both memorizing it and trying to get it to sink in.

Forgive.

Marinette let out a little breath.

Forgive.

A puff of air.

Forgive.

She wasn’t sure right now if it was Chloe she was forgiving, or herself. Each breath felt like it carried invisible ash with it though; scraps of shadow and pain peeling away.

As she folded the letter an idle thought skittered through her head. All this only had a one in four chance of mattering. No , she corrected herself. It would matter. It did matter. Even if the anticipated event never came about, the act itself mattered. It wasn’t about expecting results. It was about choosing your actions.

Marinette set aside the letter and picked up her sketchbook. She still wasn't settled inside. If anything she was less so. She’d made a hole in that shell, memories were leaking out. Flashes of Chloé; insults, pranks, tears, some of them belonging to both girls. The last interaction swam up into Marinette’s mind most vividly while her colored pencils slashed avant garde across soft vellum.

The call had been brief, a last stab from Chloe as she was carted off across an ocean. None of Chloe’s words really stood out in Marinette’s memory. They were toothless, powerless, and Marinette had known it at the time. What really stuck out was after she had hung up. Her verbal counterpunch had felt so good in the moment, but turned sour as soon as her phone’s screen went dark. It was cheap, launched at someone being hauled away. If Chloe hadn’t been a threat, then why bother striking back?

Satisfaction.

It had felt good in the moment to see the shock, to deliver the blow. She was the one with the power. She was the one inflicting pain.

I’m not that person. The revulsion had nipped at satisfaction’s heels that night.

Justification had been ready though, to cover this new pain with a new layer: I’m not that person. so if I did it, she must have deserved it.

Here, now, Marinette scribbled over a design gone wrong. I’m not that person, but I did it anyway. I was wrong to do it. I made a mistake, and I forgive myself for it.

Marinette let out a slow breath. More invisible ash drifted away. She chose her action. She picked up a yellow pencil and started a new design.

Marinette mailed the letter the same day. She hung out with friends. She continued to work on her mental conversation with Adrien. Days ticked by. She worked on a jacket in gold lamé. It was a color and sheen unlike anything she had worked before. It was tacky on the face of it, but Marinette thought she could tailor it into something unique and exceptional.

Days ticked into a week. A week followed on a week and it was almost time for the new school year. Marinette had decided to have the conversation after the start of the year. Everyone would be close, Adrien might have enough work to occupy his mind in part, and once Ladybug had broken the truth Marinette could help him with whatever came next. Marinette had also expected a letter by now, signifying an answer to her second crisis. She thought one crisis at a time was perfectly reasonable.

The letter didn’t come, though. The longer it went without arriving the more worried she was it never might. Had Audrey sent Chloe halfway around the globe? Did she have no way to post from Singapore? Did she have Marinette’s number?  Did she even have her old number? Marinette considered calling. She considered asking Zoé again, but that seemed unfair to her friend. Days ticked down and Marinette began to think it really might be over. That felt… wrong somehow.

Here I am with a new lease on life, and I can’t do anything to be sure I’m not the only one.

One weekend left, Marinette was minding the bakery on a slow Friday afternoon. She was texting Alya, who was lazing at home recovering from a trip to St. Martinique.

Marinette : I’m ready now.

Alya: About time! I’m going a little stir crazy here with you telling me about this ‘big thing’ Ladybug has to do, but not giving me any deets.

Marinette : Sorry. She has to break some serious news to someone, and it’s got me in knots working out how to do it.

Alya : Maybe if you told me more…

Marinette : I can’t. I have to break it to the person first… unless…

Alya : Unless? I like unless. Unless gets me info.

Marinette laughed into the empty shop.

Marinette : No, not you. There is one other person who should know too, who deserves to know.

Alya : Are you trying to kill me on purpose here, girl?

Marinette : No Alya, sorry. It’s Cat Noir. He’s been with me fighting the butterfly since the beginning. I could practice this on him. It’d be a shock I’m sure. This would be a shock to anyone, but I think he’ll be okay. He’s resilient.

Alya : Cat Noir?  So it’s hero stuff then. It’s something you’re not even sharing with me. It must be serious, since you’ve told me everything else… You have right?  You’re not holding out some big chunk of lore on me are you? No fair stifling the press!

Marinette laughed again and shook her head at her phone.

Marinette : I’ve told you what I know, which isn’t all that much. You were the one who figured out my protective charms, remember? It is serious. Cat Noir’s stepped up and been a serious partner though lately. I think sharing it with him is a good idea.

Alya : You are killing me here, Marinette. Inquiring minds want to know!

Marinette : Sorry, how about this scoop? I’ve been writing letters to Chloe.

Alya: WHAT?

Marinette : How’s that for a headline? It’s over though I think. I haven’t heard from her in a couple weeks, and we both know she’s not patient enough to let anything go that long. I’m… sad?

Alya : Okay. I need to digest that. If you’re sad though you need me to stop over? Want to talk it out? If you come here I can probably make you something good for dinner. Mom will be back from the store soon and it’s a full refrigerator restock

Marinette considered it.

Marinette : No, thanks Alya. I think I just want to stay in and think some more. I’ll talk to you later. Bise.

She set her phone on the counter and let her head drop for several minutes. Tackling your emotions instead of repressing them was no easy task. They didn’t line up neatly when you weren’t beating them into shape. She sighed a sigh that came up from her toes then levered her head up off the counter, propped up on one elbow. She had to be read for customers, after all.

Her thoughts wouldn’t cooperate. In her mind’s eye that golden lamé blazer rotated. It was ¾ done on one of her mannequins upstairs, but she was still tinkering with the cut. She wouldn’t even know where to mail it. The image became hazier the harder she tried to think about it.

The chime of the door’s bell snapped her eyes back into focus.

Gold became yellow. A sealed yellow envelope, clutched in a hand held tight to a chest in a fitted white blouse. Shocking blue eyes shone even as they darted, topped by a fulsome head of hair three shades lighter than the envelope.

Pink glossed lips parted in a tentative whisper, “I’m back.”

Fin.