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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On the one hand, yes. They had, when he was Chat Noir and she was herself. In her room where it was safe, when they hadn't thought there was anything between them, when they'd both accepted the casual touches, the way they gravitated toward each other, as merely platonic.

On the other, as Adrien, he had never seemed at all interested in being this close to Marinette, and she didn't know how to answer his question without telling him that he was Chat Noir.

Gabriel wouldn't want her to. And Adrien... she wasn't sure he would even believe her.

"Not exactly," she whispered, not quite meeting his eyes. "Like I said awhile back, it was... things were sort of complicated."

...

Oh, god.

Was she going to have to be the one to tell him he'd been in love with Ladybug?

Nothing made sense.

He only knew that he was comfortable with her, that he wanted to be close to her, and that she genuinely cared for him, but there was so much that didn't fit together correctly, so much that didn't add up.

"How complicated?" he asked, worried.

He was so tired, he hurt so badly, and he wasn't sure what was up or down any longer, but she was there, and in the end, that was what mattered most, wasn't it?

This probably wasn't the right time to be having this conversation - not now, when he was so tired, when they were both so mixed up.

But it hadn't come up before, and she had approximately no idea how they would ever bring it up again, at least as naturally as it had come up here and now. She bit her lip.

...Marinette would have given anything for it to be less complicated than it was.

"I liked you. ...I still do. But you..." she hesitated. "...there was someone else that you liked. Someone who wasn't me. So I - I'm not sure if we should... be..."

Well.

Sleeping together, honestly.

The whole mess of their identities was tangled enough even when they were both wholly themselves. With the gaps in Adrien's memory now... she had no idea how to even begin explaining.

But the one thing she was certain of was that he, Adrien, had not liked her, Marinette, the way she'd always wished that he would.

Adrien's eyes widened, first shock, then despair, and finally hurt. He didn't pull away from her. His fingers closed on her shirt, gripping it in what seemed like a want of comfort, not anger.

If he liked somebody... he hadn't seen a single whisper of them since he'd been hurt. No contact, not even a phone call or a text.

If he liked somebody... then it was clear they didn't give a damn about him.

"Then it's a good thing I don't remember," he said softly, his voice catching a little about the edges. He made himself smile. "Because they clearly don't return my feelings."

Edited 2017-04-01 23:36 (UTC)

...oh, god-

That hadn't been what she was trying to say. Marinette absolutely wasn't trying to hurt him, and as his expression shifted, hers did too, settling on horror as the hurt settled itself over him like a well-worn mantle.

He wore that expression too well, had been hurt too many times already.

"That's not-" Marinette's voice was pained, and her stomach churned. What could she do? How could she make this better? God, she wished she could take the words back. "Your dad's trying to keep this as hush-hush as possible, it's possible they don't know... o-or that they think you're safer without them."

...

That didn't make sense at all if he had a normal crush. Damn it, why did she just keep digging herself deeper and deeper into a hole?

No, it didn't.

Adrien looked up at her, mind spinning, unsure, hurting -- up until now she'd been so honest with him, but now it seemed like she was deliberately keeping something back.

But why...?

Adrien drew his hand back, laying his head down on his pillow, looking away.

The more she talked, the worse it got.

Marinette drew her hands back, too, brought them up to cover her mouth, so that she wouldn't be tempted to blab out something else that might hurt him.

This was the worst. The worst. Part of her wondered if she should just get up and go, since he was upset, but - the fact that he was upset was what made her want to stay. How would leaving him make him feel any better about feeling abandoned by someone he liked...?

God, this was such a mess.

"You want to start over?" he asked, and it came out a little harsher than he meant it to.

He was surprised by how much it hurt. He knew Marinette was trying to protect him, but he hated feeling misled or lied to, and by her it was even worse. He'd trusted what she said until now.

He wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. He wanted to believe it had come out wrong, not that she was deliberately keeping something from him.

"Because it sounds like you know a lot more than you're saying."

Keep your mouth shut, Marinette, just keep your mouth shut-

"You liked a superhero-"

...failed step one.

She covered her face, mortified. He was exhausted, and this was way too complicated to get into now, and he was upset and she was upset and...

She had one job. One job. Why couldn't she do it right?

Failed step one, indeed.

Adrien's eyes widened, and he turned to look at her so fast he made himself dizzy.

A superhero.

Red. Red and black and blood and fire and pain and...

Adrien took a deep breath, and his head hurt. His head hurt so much he wanted to throw up. He had to. Oh shit, he had to throw up. He put his hand over his mouth, starting to dry heave, already dreading it. This was going to hurt, but thank goodness the bin was next to the bed-

Oh shit.

Marinette sucked in a breath, then twisted to grab the bin from the side of the bed, bringing it up quickly so that he wouldn't have to move too far to throw up. She'd rather he didn't have to at all, but -

"Sorry. I'm sorry-"

Why couldn't she have just kept her stupid mouth shut?

It wasn't her fault.

Throwing up hurt so much he wanted to pass out. He was sure it undid all the healing he'd managed with his ribs, and it left him shaking and dizzy, sick all over again from the smell- it was lucky there hadn't been much in his stomach, lucky he was still on a liquid diet.

It was mortifying, doing it in front of her, but she'd seen much worse by now.

He blinked back the tears in his eyes, tried to breathe, tried to clear his mind.

Super... hero.

A superhero.

"Ladybug," he whispered. His voice cracked with the pain of it. He breathed. Dry-heaved, but thankfully nothing more came up.

"Is-is she okay?"

She hadn't realized he would have such a violent reaction, just to the word superhero.

But he remembered Ladybug's name, without her having to tell it to him. That stung, just a little, but she suppose it was only to be expected - her alter-ego was much more memorable than her. Dazzling. Bright.

All the things she wanted to be, but wasn't, yet.

"She's okay," she said softly, rubbing circles into his back to try and soothe him as she wrestled with whether or not to pull the bin away. On the one hand, the smell probably wasn't helping. But on the other, if he did get sick again...

Finally, she just eased it a little further from his nose.

"She's fine," Marinette repeated. "Paris has been... quiet... for awhile now, but she's okay."

Ladybug had been the person he'd been in love with for years.

It was still fragmented. Bits and pieces. Everything jagged, sharp and painful. Adrien coughed, his mind spinning, and Marinette edged the bin away, which helped. His mouth still tasted foul, but it was better, not smelling it.

He shakily wiped sweat from his forehead, pressed his hand to his face.

... it was more than a crush.

He knew that now.

He'd been...

The pain came again, and he needed to slow down but he didn't know how.

"How do you know?" he said softly. He was terrified, and he had no idea why. It was like coming awake from a nightmare, still in a panic, heart racing, but details murky and rapidly slipping away. "How can you be sure?"

Because I'm her.

She couldn't tell him that now. Not now, when his mind was still fragmented, when he was struggling to put the pieces together. She had to let him draw his own conclusions, let him figure out how he felt without her influencing him.

Trying to nudge him her way would be unfair. Wrong.

"Someone spotted her," she said quietly. "People were talking about it online - they saw her scaling a building the same day you got hurt, or... maybe a day later? Alya thought for a minute that she actually lived in that building and she was all excited about figuring out who she was, but..."

It wasn't strictly untrue. She had transformed, to get back into her apartment to grab her things. She was sure at least one person had seen her after she'd emerged from the alley.

"My point is, she's been seen recently. So... she's okay."

And, now that Adrien knew about Ladybug again... she was going to have to make sure she was spotted one more time. Maybe pay him a sickbed visit from behind the mask, but if just hearing superhero and saying her name had made him so ill, what would showing up do...?

Adrien didn't yet remember everything. He didn't know what kind of danger they'd been in. What had happened to get him shot. Why Ladybug was involved, but he knew that she was. He knew that she was close, was special to him.

Knew that she'd been in danger. A lot of danger.

Still trembling, Adrien caught his breath, shut his eyes, and accepted her words. Marinette wouldn't lie to him about someone being okay or not. She wouldn't.

... but it made everything so confusing.

If Marinette wasn't the person he loved, then... why did he feel so comfortable with her? So safe? Why did he trust her so much?

He'd been going purely with his gut, but was it wrong? Was he somehow mixing things up? Was he more broken than he thought he was, overlaying his emotions and fragmented memories onto someone else?

Adrien felt ill all over again. Nothing made sense, and it was all jumbled together. His mind felt made of swiss cheese.

... cheese.

Something was... missing. Something else. Something important, but what?

"... water?" he forced out, softly.

She started to reach for him, to smooth down his hair, to soothe him - but before her fingers brushed against his skin, he forced out a request for water, and she drew her hand back.

Water. Right.

Of course, he wanted to get the taste of vomit out of his mouth.

Marinette nodded, eased herself up and over the side of the bed, and headed for the bathroom door. "I'll be right back. With water," she assured him, and she slipped through the door to grab the cup they'd kept there. The nurses had thought it better if they kept it on hand, and she had to admit, they were right.

Soon enough she was back with a cup of water and a straw, which she held out to him.

Adrien's head was pounding, his heart going a mile a minute, and he felt like he was going to pass out. He shakily settled back against his pillows, trying to think of nothing. It was so frustrating, so futile, so painful, he wanted to scream. If only it would actually release some of the pressure.

He felt trapped. He felt confused, and his body wouldn't obey him.

The water was just as much something to focus on as it was to get rid of the taste. He managed to take hold of the cup, and after a couple of tries, navigate the straw without dripping on himself.

It tasted like a godsend, cooled the fire in his throat, and even helped with the pain.

Slowly, his breathing evened out.

"... sorry."

Marinette watched him carefully, keeping an eye out for any further sign of distress, for any clue that he might need her to grab the bin for him.

When he spoke, her eyes widened, and she shook her head.

"You have nothing to apologize for," she said firmly.

It wasn't his fault he'd gotten sick. It wasn't.

No more sickness. Just waves of hurt, as things settled, as things made sense. As the guilt seeped in. He'd been so massively unfair to her.

... how could he still be craving her closeness when he knew it wasn't her he'd loved? Was he just so desperate for something to fit?

(But Marinette had stayed. She'd stayed with him all this time.)

He couldn't do this to her. He couldn't. She'd told him point-blank to his face that she had feelings for him, and he-

Adrien shook his head, without looking up, hating himself as he did it.

Her expression contorted with concern, but she didn't draw back. She didn't want to leave his side - and honestly, she desperately wished that she'd just kept her dumb, stupid mouth shut.

Things had been going so well until she'd word vomited enough to make him actually vomit.

"...Adrien..."

Hesitantly, she reached out for him. Her fingertips brushed against his shoulder.

How must his attitude right now be making her feel?

Adrien shut his eyes, breathed, and reached up to lay his hand atop hers. He left it there, realizing by the difference in their temperature that he was fever-warm. Probably from throwing up.

"I'm really confused right now," he confessed, softly.

"I just... need to sort this out. Everything is... it's all a blur. Some things I feel and don't know..." he trailed off. "Some things I know but don't know how to feel."

Finally, he looked up.

"I don't know what happened to us, or how I got shot," he said softly. "But I know you're here. You've been here this whole time..."

This whole time.

"I hope you'll stay."

He was warm. Too warm. She should probably have called for someone once he started throwing up, but she didn't want to leave him alone.

...and he didn't seem to want her to leave, either.

Marinette's expression softened a little, though it was still pained, and she met his eyes when he looked up.

"Take your time," she promised in a whisper. "...I'll be here. As long as you want me to be here, I'll stay."

She hadn't left him yet. She had no intention of leaving him now, not when he was vulnerable, when he needed someone to support him. She didn't know if she was the one best suited to help him, but...

There was nothing she wanted more than to at least try.

Adrien settled back on the pillows one more time, his head pounding, but he no longer felt like he was going to pass out. Instead, his eyelids were just... heavy.

He needed to rest. His mind needed to unpack and label all the boxes that had just spilled everywhere, and try to make sense of everything. He couldn't even properly deduce what the holes in his logic were at the moment.

He set the glass on the bedside table, mostly shutting his eyes, and weighed the guilt with the need for comfort. Weighed how much he risked hurting her now, with how much he risked hurting her long-term.

"Okay."

Running his thumb over the back of Marinette's hand, his breathing evened out. Slowly, his hand went slack, and sleep stole over him, leaving him looking much younger than eighteen.

She kept her hand in his as he drifted off, made no move to pull it away even after he fell asleep. After all, she'd promised that she wouldn't leave him.

...but in order for Ladybug to visit him, Marinette had to disappear.

She sat there with him in silence for a while longer, listening to the sounds of his breathing, watching the rise and fall of his chest. Finally, when it seemed as though he might be waking up soon, she eased her hand out of his, retreated back to the other side of the room, and whispered her transformation.

When Adrien next opened his eyes, it would be to see Ladybug at his bedside.

...

Which, uh.

Was a little creepy.

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