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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...she'd hecked up.

Adrien's distress was written all over his face, and her stomach churned as she looked up from their hands and saw it. She should have been gentler about it, somehow; eased him into it.

Maybe Gabriel had been right. Maybe she should have played along until he was recovered.

"Adrien," She whispered, shifting her hadn to give his a light squeeze. "Shh. Don't push yourself."

It wasn't her fault. It was Hawkmoth's fault.

Adrien shook his head, pressed his lips together, holding it back as best he could, squeezing her hands, struggling to contain the rising panic. Trying to take deep breaths only made it worse because it hurt.

Breathe. Breathe.

He couldn't really get a full breath. His heart was racing, and he felt vaguely lightheaded.

Adrien.

His fingers twitched in hers, and slowly, he squeezed back, holding onto her voice, following her back like a lifeline.

"Keep talking?" he asked, shutting his eyes. "Anything. Doesn't matter."

"Alright," She mumbled, mentally grasping for something, anything, she could talk about at length. Telling him stories about school wouldn't work; the disconnect between what he remembered and what she had brought up had helped to trigger this.

Marinette shifted in her seat to allow her to hold onto his hand more easily, and her foot nudged her sketchbook, which was on the floor just next to her seat. It hit her in a flash.

Something simple, mundane, normal. She could do this.

"Your dad is sort of a slave driver," was what she started with, which in retrospect might not have been the best of starts. Oh, well. "Sometimes he comes in here and has me color in patterns with him. I'm not sure if he's actually going to use them or not. Probably not, because they're not very good. But you know - I gotta wonder. Do you think that's his way of charging me rent? He's probably not going to come right out and ask me for money but I have been staying under your roof so you know, billable hours and all..."

She was babbling, but if he just needed to hear a voice to keep him grounded, she'd keep at it.

It took a moment for it to sink in, but it brought him back, let him focus. His bright eyes found hers, and for a moment, he was all there, a growing smile as she spoke about his father.

"He's giving you things to color?" he asked, amusement settling in his voice.

"Probably, he never even let me do that with his patterns. You must be really talented."

"I dunno if I'd say talented," She said, trying to appear modest and failing miserably. She was talented, when she was on her game. It was just that, as of late, she couldn't be more off it. "I think he just knows a good deal when he sees it. Letting me crash in a chair next to your bed is a small price to pay for getting some of his work done."

She tilted her head to one side and studied him. Good - he seemed a little more focused.

"...he can be a little scary sometimes and a little distant, but he means well. He's been here every night to see you."

Modest or not, she was making him smile. It hurt a little, but it was the most human he'd felt since waking up, and just for a little bit, he could forget the pain, forget the hole in his head.

Her voice was familiar, and he hung on her every word as if he could read a cipher of their past in the syllables.

"Scary is what his interns usually say," Adrien chuckled. "But it doesn't sound like you're all that intimidated by him."

Which was no small feat.

"I'm not," Marinette replied with a shrug.

Yes - she was a little afraid he might decide that, being Ladybug, she posed a danger to Adrien, and she was a little afraid he might come to the conclusion that she needed to leave, but...

The man had saved her life. She wasn't actually intimidated by him.

(Which was a feat, considering he was her fashion idol and all.)

"I'm intimidated by him."

Adrien admitted it freely, no apologetic smile. His dad could be really hard to stand up to, and when push came to shove, he usually would give in if his father gave him a direct order.

"So- a secret. He kind of likes it when people stand up to him."

People that weren't Adrien, of course.

She thought about it and came to the conclusion that he was right.

"He's probably used to people doing whatever he says just because he's the one who says it," Marinette replied after a moment. "It must be refreshing when people tell him no."

Refreshing and probably a little aggravating, but Gabriel Agreste was someone who didn't get where he was by just following orders. She imagined he probably enjoyed seeing the same kind of spark that had driven him to where he was, when he saw it in others.

If there was ever a time when Adrien could get away with standing up to Gabriel, it was most likely now. That was a little bit of a morbid thought, so she kept it to herself.

"That's how he fell in love with Maman," Adrien explained with a smile, lifting one hand as if it were self-evident truth. "Whenever he forgets what's important, it's her who reminds him, guides him back."

Deliberately, Adrien looked away from Marinette's face, out the window.

He didn't want to see it. Didn't want her to confirm what he already suspected.

"She's wonderful, you know." He sounded strangely breathless. "She taught me how to play the piano." Adrien stared at a fixed point on the window, concentrating on the dust motes, trying to ignore how they were blurring at the edges.

"She's never missed a recital."

Adrien blinked, very fast, the words catching in his throat.

"She never misses anything."

It was good that he looked away. Marinette wasn't able to hide the way her expression flickered, and as his gaze settled on the window, she looked down at her lap. She wished desperately that she had something encouraging to tell him.

Your mother comes to see how you're doing every night too, She wanted to be able to say. She comes with your father.

But that would have been a lie.

"She sounds wonderful," She said softly, the only thing she could say that wouldn't be dishonest or distressing. When his breath caught in his throat, she reached over to very gently lay her other hand on his shoulder - she hoped it was a gentle, comforting touch, but she didn't know what to say to him. There was nothing anyone could say that would make this better.

Too late, she realized that talking about his father was the natural lead-in to talking about his mother. She'd chosen poorly for her topic, and regret made her heart clench uncomfortably.

"She's gone."

Saying the words felt hollow, but it made them real. It shattered that last bit of denial.

As soon as he said the words aloud, he knew they were true. Missing, dead, absent, gone. It all meant the same thing. The fact that he couldn't remember didn't make it any less certain.

Marinette's hand touched his shoulder, grounded him down to earth, and a moment later, Adrien's cheeks were wet.

He didn't cry. Not out loud. He'd done his crying. His mind may not have remembered, but his heart did. He'd reached acceptance years ago.

He lifted his hand to cover hers.

She nodded, and realized a moment later that since he was looking away, he wouldn't be able to see it. But it took her a few seconds to be able to find her own voice.

"I'm so sorry..."

He had probably heard those exact words many times over the years, even if he couldn't remember the specific instances. I'm sorry for your loss, my condolences, and so on and so forth - standard fare for people who had lost a loved one under any circumstances. Marinette wished she had something more heartfelt to tell him, but she'd never met the woman. His mother had been gone long before they'd even laid eyes on each other.

She turned her hand when she felt the soft touch of his own, and curled her fingers around his, squeezing gently.

Marinette's hands grounded him, and he squeezed them back. It kept him from wiping his face, but also gave him permission to take a moment and let it sink in.

She'd known.

"... thanks for not... y'know. Lying to me about it," he murmured, tipping his head back into the pillow. He couldn't quite meet her eyes yet.

Though he felt hurt that his father had misled him, he also understood why he had. Gabriel only wanted to protect him. Sometimes, that extended to treating him like he couldn't handle the real truth of things.

He knew he should be angry, but he couldn't bring himself to be.

"I would never want to lie to you," She whispered, and it was the absolute truth.

There had been enough secrets and omissions between them to last a lifetime, and even taking herself out of the equation, too many people hadn't been entirely honest with him. He deserved the truth, even if it was hard to handle.

She knew he could handle it. And if he couldn't... well, that was what he had her and Gabriel for - to support him when things were hard.

Crying hurt, but more than that, it was exhausting. Adrien's breathing deepened until he was drifting off, but he blinked himself awake, still holding onto her hands.

He shook himself out of it suddenly, blinking back awake, and let go of her hand against his shoulder to wipe his face, clearing his throat.

"... am I okay to get up?" he mumbled. The IV's had been taken out after he woke up, and he wasn't hooked to anything any longer. It was technically possible.

That was... a good question, actually.

Marinette was not a medical professional. It probably wasn't her place to say whether he was or wasn't okay to get up - but no one had told her he couldn't. If it was imperative that he stay in bed, wouldn't someone have told her he was on strict bed rest...?

...what Adrien wanted, Adrien got. If he wanted to get up enough...

"If you feel up to it, I'll help you up myself," She replied. "But if you're feeling weak... you shouldn't push yourself, okay?"

"I just... really want to get a drink," Adrien admitted. "And brush my teeth."

Partially, he wanted to see if he was capable of standing up. He figured he had a good 50/50, but he really wanted his mouth to stop tasting like death.

Before she could protest, Adrien squeezed her hand, then reached out for her. He would... probably need some help even sitting up, actually. He felt a bit dizzy.

"...okay. Let's try this, then."

When he reached out for her, she put out her arms to support him, one arm sliding around his back to prop him up and the other staying on his arm to guide him into a sitting position. She watched his face anxiously.

"How are you feeling so far...?"

The room swam a little as he sat up, but Adrien didn't puke or pass out. He felt lightheaded, but he took this as a good sign.

"Still here," he said breathily, going for a lightheartedness that Marinette probably wouldn't feel. He flashed a half-smile, then inched his legs over to the side. Thank goodness he was wearing pajama pants. This could have been so much worse than it was.

When he was facing her, Adrien put both of his hands on Marinette's shoulders and looked up at her, offering a triumphant smile.

"So far so good."

She didn't feel it, no. But even half a smile from him made things worlds better, and although she was no less anxious, she managed to smile back.

It was progress. He was recovering remarkably quickly, wasn't he?

"Moment of truth." She shifted her hands to offer a more stable support for when he actually stood and put his weight on his feet instead of sitting on the edge of his bed. "Let's get you back on your feet."

Adrien shimmied forward, feet on the floor, and looked up at her face.

It was reflex. He said it unthinkingly, with a devil-may-care smile that showed his teeth, ready to take on the world.

"Don't worry. Cats always land on their feet."

Adrien stood up.

... and was immediately taken by vertigo. His cheeks went pale, his eyes rolled back in his head, and the pain washed over him. It caught him and dragged him violently under. He lost his footing and most of his consciousness.

And then he fell.

She didn't even have enough time for the joke and the smile to register on her - he got to his feet and his knees buckled, and she let out a sharp gasp.

"Adrien!"

Her reflexes were good, at least. She caught him, hooking her arms under his armpits and bracing herself to keep him standing upright, and then eased him back onto his bed with as much care as one might afford a newborn. Her cheeks had paled for a different reason. She might not have been injured, but she was sick - sick with worry that by not stopping him from trying, she'd allowed him to get worse.

Her hands fluttered over him anxiously, tucking him back in and smoothing his bangs away from his eyes.

Adrien came back gradually, blinking himself back awake from the pull of vertigo. His heart had raced, and it left his hands cold and trembling, his breathing shivery. Marinette's hands and voice were grounding, and he came to with a slight frown of confusion, like he couldn't figure out how he'd gotten there.

"... that went much better when I imagined it," he groaned, and shut his eyes.

He was trying to laugh it off, but the dismay settled visibly into the corners of his mouth.

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