genevrier | 💀 pour oublier ma peine immense

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💀 pour oublier ma peine immense

It had been a long and hard three years.

Ladybug had run out of fingers with which to count the sticky situations she and Chat Noir had been in because of Hawkmoth. But finally, finally, she and her partner had him dead to rights. As time went on, they had grown desperate, and they'd made mistakes - but nothing they hadn't been able to fix. He'd made mistakes, too, and that was how the two of them had managed to track him down.

Heart pounding, she cast her gaze down at the man that had been their adversary for so long. Hawkmoth stared back at the both of them with a dark glare full of loathing. There were a lot of things she had wanted to ask him when she finally caught up to him, but there was only one question she was actually able to form.

"How could you?" She whispered, her voice ragged. She was breathing heavily - the fight had taken a lot out of her. Out of her partner, and out of their enemy, too; had it gone on much longer, they all might have dropped dead out of exhaustion. "You hurt so many people."

Hawkmoth's eyes glittered, and he pressed his lips together into a thin line. Ladybug felt something roll down her cheek - sweat, she hoped, and not blood or tears, but she'd taken a hit to the temple earlier and she couldn't be certain that it wasn't bleeding (and in fact it was). But she was in better shape than him, at least. He was beaten down, he had lost.

All that remained was to take his Miraculous and make sure that Nooroo's power never, ever fell int the hands of someone like him ever again.

His refusal to answer stirred anger in her where there had once been pity.

"Men. Women. Children. You used them all - and for what? What on earth could have been worth it? I don't understand. Explain yourself, Hawkmoth."

He didn't answer. He looked between the two of them, seething. Ladybug scowled and knelt down in front of him, curled her fingers around his brooch, and yanked it away from his suit.

The magic holding his transformation together fell apart, and Nooroo emerged from the butterfly Miraculous at long last. Ladybug cradled him in the crook of her arm and watched as the facial features of their nemesis became clear.

A well-dressed man, middle-aged. Nobody she recognized. Without his Miraculous, he should have been powerless. Defeated. Done for.

She didn't catch his smirk until it was too late.

His hand darted into the suit jacket that hadn't been there before, and his fingers closed around something she couldn't see. "I'll make you understand," He snarled, and the next thing she knew his hand emerged from the jacket and the crack of a gunshot split the air. "Perhaps now we'll share the same wish."

There was a gun in his hand, Ladybug realized, as a dull roar and the man's twisted, bitter laughter filled her ears. He hadn't aimed at her. She turned toward her partner with dread.

He had aimed at him, and his laughter was not the laughter of a man who had missed his mark.

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Tears threatened, but he was too angry to let them have him, and he caught his breath at Marinette's words.

Though he didn't have the thought process to voice it, her faith in him, her support, made all the difference. She was not going to do this for him, she wasn't going to pity or ply him with kind words about how he needed to be gentle with himself right now. How he would get his strength back, someday, eventually.

She didn't try to tell him that it was okay, because she knew it wasn't. He didn't have to explain.

A few slower breaths later, he fixed his eyes on the counter, fixed itself in his mind. Getting up would be the worst part. Slowly, he got his feet under him, reached out to grip the door frame.

It was excruciating, getting to his feet, and by the time he did, he was winded and reeling from the pain, but he didn't stop. Three steps later, and he was at the counter, had his comb in his hand, a fierce grin of triumph flashed across his face. It was visible in the mirror.

"Nailed it," he whispered, winded, and reached out to her with one arm.

Now that he had, he would allow himself to ask for help.

"Back to bed?"

Nailed it, indeed.

Adrien was so stubborn. She wasn't sure that anyone else would have been able to bounce back the way he had after an injury as traumatic as this - it was both painful and inspiring to see him trying so hard.

Marinette couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief when he finally reached for her, when he allowed her to step close, to arrange her arm around him in such a way as to be mindful of his aches and pains, to help support him.

"You did great," she said quietly. "Next thing you know, you'll be marching yourself down to the kitchen whenever you want a snack."

It wasn't an empty platitude. She really believed that - truly, honestly thought that Adrien would be able to do anything he put his mind to, even if the odds were completely stacked against him.

Adrien breathed out as Marinette wrapped her arm around him. Gentle as she was, it still hurt. But with her, it was a good ache, reminding him he was here and alive to struggle through it at all. She was here to do it with him. He took it one step at a time, feeling faint and sick, but didn’t lose his feet, didn’t pass out again.

He settled heavily into bed, trembling with the effort of getting his feet back up, underneath the sheets. That little of an effort, and he was sweating and exhausted. It was frustrating, but he’d done what he’d set out to do.

He flashed Marinette a small, thankful smile, got his breath back, and stared down at the comb in his hands. Soon.

“Soon I’ll be combing my hair without poking myself in the eye, too,” he added, and looked up at her. He hesitated, hated to ask for help with this, but it was going to end up a mess right now. He was just so tired.

“Make me pretty?” he asked, trying to be playful as he held out the comb. He wasn’t entirely able to look her in the eye.

Soon. Eventually.

They just had to keep telling themselves that - if they could keep holding onto hope until it became true, then they would be just fine.

She took the comb from him and looked down at it for a few moments, then looked back up with a gentle smile. "You're already pretty," she assured him as she lifted the comb to his hair, reaching up with her other hand to take a few strands. When she started combing, she was careful to not pull it through too firmly, and kept a close eye on his expression, on the set of his shoulders, to see if she was hurting him.

"But I'll get you cleaned up, don't worry."

It was supposed to be a joke, but she was so sincere it warmed his heart. She’d seen him bleeding out with a hole in his head, bedridden, without a shower for days, and she still wanted to be close to him. It wasn’t about being pretty, it was about being himself, and they both knew it.

It chased a real smile out of him, and Adrien closed his eyes, relaxing into the gentle strokes of the comb. His hair was thick and had been tangled, but conditioner had done a good deal of work. Though a few times it did ache a bit, she was careful. By the time Marinette was done he was sleepy and warm, and actually felt relaxed.

Though Adrien wasn’t exactly combative, he had difficulty accepting help. Marinette, somehow, had bypassed that.

By the time they'd finished with his hair and he was more fully relaxed, Marinette had started to relax, too. At first, she'd been worried that she would hurt him, but...

Adrien was strong. He'd been strong enough to haul himself to the bathroom; he was strong enough to have someone else brush his hair.

She set the comb aside and without really thinking about it, brought her hand up to gently brush some of the stray strands of hair away from his face. ...it really was getting long. How had she not realized that Chat Noir's hair had grown at the same rate Adrien's had...?

Then again, after school had ended, they really hadn't seen much of each other.

Marinette didn't realize that her expression was a little melancholy, just as she didn't realize her fingers were still in his hair.

The small hurts were easy enough to shrug off, if that was the price of her touch.

Adrien couldn't say what it was, but he felt relaxed when Marinette was close to him. He missed her when she was gone, and she'd made sure to stay close when he needed her the most.

Her hand felt natural on him, comforting, and he didn't want to think too much about it. He didn't have to.

He couldn't remember, but the feelings were there.

The comb becoming her fingers was a gradual realization, and his eyes slowly opened, sought hers out, steady and searching.

"Penny for your thoughts," he said softly.

It took her a moment for the fact that he was looking at her to register. A moment later, and she realized what he must have seen on her face - pulled her hand from his hair, tried to play it cool.

"...I..."

She didn't know what to say.

None of what had happened was Adrien's fault. She wanted to apologize to him for getting him hurt, for not listening to him sooner - he'd even pointed out how silly it would be. You're gonna let him villain monologue? Really?

There had been so much that she'd missed. So much that he couldn't recall, now, that he might never recall again.

Even if she tried for the rest of their lives, she might never be able to make this right.

"...not sure they're even worth a penny," she said softly. "How are you feeling?"

Adrien's heart sank a little, and just like that, they were out of sync again. He got that she didn't want to burden him when he was ill, but... he wanted her to be able to rely on him, too.

"Tired," he answered, and reached out, slowly. His hand hovered about an inch from her face, not totally steady, but solid. "But I'm here."

Awake. Alive.

Slowly, he reached until his unsteady fingers touched her cheek, stilled, and he was able to brush the hair back from her face without poking her in the eye or anything. If she didn't want to talk, he could at least be there for her.

His fingers brushed against her cheek, and he would feel her skin warm under his touch as her cheeks flushed.

"You're here," she agreed, reaching up with her hand to mirror the gesture, to brush her fingers against his cheek, and held her hand there as she met his eyes.

"...I'm glad you're here," she managed after a moment, her voice breaking.

She'd been so scared that he wouldn't be. Most of the time, it was fine. Sometimes, like right now, it just crept up on her, hit her out of nowhere.

Adrien watched the pain cross her eyes, the color in her cheeks. He didn't know what had happened, but he could understand that she'd been terrified. That she'd waited at his bedside for him to wake up, only to find him broken to the point of not knowing her name.

With as comfortable as he felt with her, as much as she was willing to go through to be by his side, it must hurt unbearably to have him forget.

"It must have been..." he trailed off, searching. There weren't words for this.

"Awful."

"...it was."

She couldn't deny it. It had been terrifying, and how badly it had frightened her was written all over her face. There were still some moments where she was afraid he might fall asleep, might take a turn for the worse and never wake up.

It wouldn't do him any good to hear that, though.

"But it must be worse to be... experiencing it yourself. I... I wish I could do something to help you."

More than she was doing now, anyway.

Adrien couldn't very well deny that he felt like utter hell, but how he felt didn't mean that how she felt didn't matter.

He searched her eyes again, looking for something he couldn't name, and rubbed his thumb against her cheek.

"You let me get my comb."

It had been a small thing, but it had meant the world to him. She was willing to let him push himself. She was willing to believe in him. To help him, but not baby him. He needed that now.

"Huh...?"

Marinette blinked, startled.

Letting him get his comb didn't sound like it was that big of a deal, to her. She knew how capable he was, maybe more than anyone, having worked alongside him as a superhero for three years. She had faith in him.

Letting him feel out what his limits were came as second nature to her.

"Of... course I did. You said you wanted to comb your hair..."

"You're not treating me like I could break," he said softly. She protected him, yes, but she wasn't smothering him either. "You're not treating me like I am broken."

A deep breath.

"You aren't giving up on me. Even though I don't remember anything, you still..."

He trailed off. "You care about me so much, and I have no idea what I did to earn it."

She stared at him.

"To... earn it?"

Marinette had to repeat it to be sure that she'd understood, because it just sounded... odd, to her. They were friends - no, more than friends. Partners. It was only natural to stick by someone you cared about, and earning it had absolutely nothing to do with it.

"You've been yourself. That's... all you should ever have to do."

Edited (i can't spell) 2017-04-01 05:17 (UTC)

It should have been reassuring, but instead, Adrien's heart sank, the fear creeping in.

That was it, wasn't it...?

What if, with his mind damaged, with his memories scattered, he wasn't the person she remembered? What if this was permanent? What if he didn't get better? What if he didn't live up to what she knew?

It wasn't something he had the courage to say aloud. Instead, he touched her cheek, felt her warmth, and drew it in.

Let it keep him in the now.

She leaned into his touch, kept her hand on his cheek, brought her other hand up to gently brush away some of his hair as she looked into his eyes.

...nothing about this was easy. They had each other, at least, but still -

"Penny for your thoughts?" she asked, her voice soft. Gentle.

She'd never once worried about him not being the same person she remembered, because memories or no memories, he was still Adrien. The thought came so naturally to her that she didn't even think to reassure him.

Marinette's hand felt good on his skin, and he shut his eyes, the better to appreciate it. (Not to hide, or so he told himself.)

"I'd like to get back to feeling like myself," he confessed. Never mind that he wasn't quite sure who that was. He knew this wasn't right, knew that his mind was fragmented, that he couldn't remember things that meant the world to him.

"I don't like feeling helpless."

He opened his eyes, looking around the room, and made himself smile, even if it was a little wry.

"Or trapped."

"You're not helpless."

That, she firmly believed. Even if he was feeling weak, dizzy, and sick, Marinette was absolutely sure that he could do anything he put his mind to - and that included breaking out of here, if he was so inclined.

...something about his wry smile made her chuckle.

"And, I can believe that." A pause. "...when Chloé came to visit you, did she... tell you about how you ended up going to school with us? I could tell you the story, if she didn't."

The fact that they'd met in the first place because he'd snuck out of his house spoke volumes about how little he liked feeling boxed in.

Adrien finally met her eyes, then settled to lay back on his pillows, though it put him out of immediate reach, if she didn't move with him.

He lightly touched her wrist, as if he wanted to stay in contact with her.

"No, she didn't?" Chloé had talked a little about how things used to be, but... only the stuff he remembered. Not what he didn't. "How did I ever convince my Father?"

She didn't move with him, because she wasn't sure he wanted her to, but when he touched her wrist, her lips twitched up into a smile and she shifted her hand so that she could lace their fingers together.

Friends hold hands.

"You... didn't, exactly. At least, not at first."

Marinette gave his hand a light squeeze.

"On your first day of school, you snuck out of your house and beat Nathalie and your bodyguard there. You were really determined."

Adrien relaxed as Marinette took his hand. The pillows were soft, and as irritated as he was, as much as his head was pounding, he felt grounded by her grip, her warmth, and her voice.

Already, the story was making him smile, showing the edge of teeth.

"Father must have been so angry."

"From what I heard, he was upset, but..."

She smiled. Adrien had convinced him, some way or another - Nathalie had something to do with it, too, but Marinette didn't actually know that.

"You kept coming back to school after that, and he let you. So even though he was angry, you did manage to get through to him."

Adrien's eyes and face softened, warmed. He didn't exactly remember, but his father was far from all bad. Apparently, Marinette understood that, at least a little. He'd taken an interest in her (Adrien ignored the twinge of jealousy) so it made sense.

"Is that how we met, then?"

She'd mentioned they'd gone to school together, and it made sense... but it seemed so simple.

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