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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"Mmmh? No, I've just..."

Adrien paused, frowning at the blankets. Had he been feeling better he might have realized how crazy this sounded, but for now, he was rolling with what he had.

"... thought I saw a butterfly."

He sounded vaguely confused, and very tired. Still, he attempted to pull on a smile for her and was mostly successful.

"Thanks, Marinette."

"A butterfly?" Marinette repeated. She was confused at first, but then she got it a moment later - the look of realization stole over her face as he frowned down at his blankets.

Nooroo.

It had to be Nooroo. There wasn't any reason for it to be anything else. Hawkmoth was gone, there weren't any more stray akuma to come fluttering in here. It could only have been the kwami, wanting to check that Adrien was okay. She made a small mental note to check up on Nooroo later and see what his thoughts on Adrien's recovery were.

"Huh? Oh, you're welcome..." He didn't need to thank her, but she knew better than to say so. Instead, she slid an arm around his shoulders. "Okay, let's get you sitting up a little... we'll take it slow. Let me know if you get dizzy."

"Yeah, a light purple one."

Adrien mumbled it, feeling a little stupid. It clearly wasn't here now. Was it some kind of impression of memory? It felt so familiar...

He settled as she reached out for him, bracing himself as best he could, accepting her help this time. They went slowly, and while he felt a little less than perfect, it wasn't anywhere near what had happened when he tried to get up.

Adrien figured that if he had the presence of mind to worry about how bad his breath was, he was probably fine.

"You think my hand-eye coordination is good enough for a toothbrush?" he asked, only partly joking.

Yep. Definitely Nooroo.

...and thank goodness, he had an easier time sitting up than he's had trying to stand. That was wonderful. Marinette had been worried that moving him so soon might not have been a good idea.

Had Nooroo used his powers to help him? She hoped so.

"It's a distinct possibility," She said with a small smile as she slid him the cup of water. "I'll go grab one, and if it looks like you might stab your eye out with it, I'll take it from you. Sound good?"

"Let's consider the water a dry run," Adrien answered, smiling before he knew it.

A not-so-dry run, Chat might have said, If this goes badly.

It was hard to say whether he was still hiding his identity, or he didn't actually remember. His quick wit had been slowed by his hurts, but some things were reflex.

Initially he missed his mouth with the straw, but he at least got it in the vicinity of his lower face. After a moment he managed to catch it with his lips, staring down at his bedspread. He was too thirsty to be flustered.

"Remind me to never get shot again," he murmured, when he finally took a breath. It almost sounded like a joke, but it was a bit more gallows-humor than he normally went for.

...that joke was downright macabre.

Marinette could practically feel her face falling, and so she ducked her head to try and keep him from seeing. Hopefully the water was a distraction. She didn't want him to feel badly about it - that he was making jokes about it at all was a good thing, wasn't it...?

But she couldn't get the image of his eyes losing their light out of her mind. Couldn't get Hawkmoth's voice out of her mind...

"Bien joué."

She flinched.

Never get shot again was the one thing she would not allow Adrien to forget, under any circumstances.

"Nobody with a gun is going to get anywhere near you," She said softly. "Not ever again."

Had Adrien had more of his wits about him, had he been entirely there, he might have mistrusted his instincts. But when Marinette's smile fell away, he almost felt her flinch, and he knew that he'd tripped over something huge.

Adrien reached out, fingertips brushing her cheek. They were cool from the cup, but steady. Remarkably steady.

Not for the first time, he felt a comfort, a kinship, a connection with her, this virtual stranger who had been there when he woke up. She'd been alone at his bedside, no one here to comfort her.

"... I'm sorry." He pressed his lips together, then cupped her cheek. "It must have been awful. I shouldn't have said that."

Edited 2016-05-01 01:20 (UTC)

When she felt his fingertips brush against her cheek, she looked up, her eyes wide. She hadn't... expected that, but maybe she should have. Her partner was still her partner, no matter what he did or didn't remember. Slowly, some of the tension went out of her shoulders, and she brought up a hand to rest over his.

When Marinette spoke, her voice was a whisper.

"You don't need to apologize to me."

I should be the one apologizing to you, She thought, but she couldn't bring herself to say it. Not yet, not when the explanation wouldn't make any sense to him at all.

Adrien had no idea what she meant by that, but the look in her eyes promised it couldn't be anything good. He ran his thumb over her cheek, tried not imagine what it must have been like.

Just thinking about it made his head hurt, his chest ache with some kind of distant pain he couldn't remember, but still felt the echoes of. It felt like he'd awakened from a dream, unable to attach emotion to reality.

He had no idea what had happened, but he couldn't believe for a moment that it was her fault.

"If even my father doesn't blame you," he finally said, "I don't think you have grounds to blame yourself."

Marinette really wasn't sure about that.

Ladybug was supposed to be the one with a plan, and she'd had one; the plan had just gone pear-shaped and managed to get Adrien shot. She was pretty sure the only reason Gabriel wasn't actively blaming her was because it was easier for him to blame Plagg and Tikki.

But she didn't want to disagree with Adrien, either. Not now.

"...maybe you're right," She conceded. "But it doesn't really feel that way, sometimes."

It might be easier to accept once he was able to sit up without help.

"—but we're not here to talk about my problems. Is the water helping? Do you need more?"

Adrien was far from knowing everything, and there were certain things he'd never get back, parts of his memory that would be obliterated forever and always. He would never remember the gun, or the immediate aftermath. Fighting Hawkmoth at all would be a blur.

But he knew her. At least... he felt he did.

He wished he were in a better place to argue the point, but he let it go when she changed the subject. He had no ground to stand on.

"Yeah, please." He tilted his head down.

"Okay," She whispered, and brought a hand up to brush some of his hair away from his eyes. "I'll be right back."

Marinette eased the cup out of his hands, backed away from his bedside, and turned on her heel to head for his bathroom. It was closer than the kitchen, and a little tap water wouldn't hurt him. Water was water.

When she returned, she took a seat next to him again and put the cup back into his hands. "You still good...?"

Marinette's small touches were quickly becoming his new normal, and he leaned into her hand with a half-smile.

As Marinette turned, Adrien reached back and fumbled a pillow or two up so he could lean against them. Nothing wrong with his arms, just shaky. Probably low blood sugar. Small wonder, if he hadn't eaten anything.

He looked around the room, taking in the supplies close at hand. The tubes, the syringes, the machines... all of it looked deactivated now, but he imagined it all hooked up to his body, what a horrifying sight it must have been.

His arms were still terribly bruised, taped up with bandages from lines run under his skin. He peeked beneath his pajama top, found the livid, fading bruises all over his chest. His forearms were covered in them, like someone had tried to beat him with a bat, and he'd done his best to protect himself.

All of a sudden, he was glad he didn't have a mirror.

"Still good." He half-smiled, carefully reached up for the glass, but he looked worried.

"Just confused. I feel like I was having a really... vivid dream but I can't remember what it was about."

"I did some reading, and that's pretty normal," She assured him, watching carefully as his hand came around the glass. "Well... as normal as anything can be after what you went through."

Marinette didn't want him to worry, and her policy when it came to him was honesty. She wished she could say he'd make a full recovery and remember everything as it happened, not as if it was a dream - but she couldn't. The best she could do was to reassure him that what he was going through was within the scope of the normal recovery from injuries like his.

"If you ever think it might help to just... talk things out, I'll listen," She offered. "Or if you have any questions about before, and you think getting answers might help you sort out the pieces... I'll be glad to answer them for you."

Adrien listened, and all he could think about was that black and white movie about the tornado, a girl with ruby slippers and a little dog, and he was so tired-

"It just that... I can remember things," he whispered, watching the window, the growing, pale morning light.

"I can remember things. Like movie references and... and how things made me feel. But I can't put it in any sort of context. I know you. I know you and I are..."

He paused, pushing against some invisible wall. It felt like navigating in the dark, missing turns.

"But I can't remember how we met, or what your last name is, but-" he shut his eyes, breathing in. "... you... make me feel... happy, when you're here."

With the context as muddled as it was for him, she knew that we're partners would give him the wrong idea. She also knew she couldn't say they were best friends (Nino was his best friend) or anything more; anyone else would be able to confirm they simply hadn't been that close in the months and weeks leading up to the confrontation with Hawkmoth.

"We're friends," She said gently. "And if you're happy to have me here, then here's where I'm going to stay."

...maybe her actions would speak more loudly than her words. Friends, yes, but not every friend would stay by an injured young man's bedside for a week before he woke up and indefinitely after he did. She, of course, was in love with him, so that accounted for why.

"Any time you want me to provide context for you on something... just say the word. If I know, I'll answer you."

Friends.

Something stung, deep in his chest, and he settled back against the pillows, sipping at his water. He didn't think she was lying to him, but somehow, he didn't feel like she was telling him the whole truth, either.

On the one hand, if it was anything like the news about his mother, he could sort of understand. On the other... this was his life. This was important to him, and he didn't like being sheltered. The way she touched him was intimately familiar. The way he responded to her couldn't be denied.

"... what kind of friends?" he asked, giving her a searching sort of look.

Her cheeks flushed and she looked down, which was... pretty much an answer in and of itself.

"The kind of friends where..." She bit her lip. "...I'm not sure. I mean, I know how I feel - felt... b-but, I didn't really know how you felt... before the accident. Um."

Great. Great. She squirmed, a little uncomfortable with where this conversation was going; she didn't want to set him up with any expectations or make him feel like she was pressuring him.

...Chat Noir had loved Ladybug; she'd loved Adrien. It was complicated.

...

Maybe she could just say that.

"It's sort of complicated...?"

... oh.

That definitely answered things. Adrien felt a smile steal across his face, tried to keep it back at least a little, because he knew Marinette was worried.

Without hesitation, he reached out and took her hand in his, giving it a small squeeze. He didn't want her to stop touching him. Didn't want her feeling weird over it, second-guessing. But he also couldn't honestly reassure her. He had no basis for feeling the way he did, but he... trusted it.

"Then let's figure it out," he suggested. "Just... go with it."

Hopefully, that would relieve some of the pressure.

Her eyes widened when he took her hand, and her gaze snapped to him, searching his face. Whatever Marinette saw there made her expression soften, and she returned his squeeze with a soft, gentle squeeze of her own.

"One day at a time," She said quietly. "But... no pressure, or anything. I mean, I'm not pressured, I just don't want you to feel... pressured..."

He had more important things to focus on than her feelings, and the most important of them was his recovery. If he didn't feel the same way as he had when he was Chat and could remember the things he liked about her... that was fine. She would be there for him, regardless.

In Adrien's opinion, he already had plenty to like about her. She'd stayed by his bedside for more than a week, had seen him as a total wreck and still had no problem touching him, was sweet and encouraging and had already demonstrated an unwillingness to lie to him...

His father had allowed her to stay. He was giving her work to do, investing himself in her well-being. If that wasn't a ringing endorsement, he didn't know what was.

... and Adrien was a romantic. A hopeless one.

He settled back into his pillows, awfully tired, struggling to stay awake.

"How old are we now?" he asked, so he wouldn't ask how they met, what they liked to do together. He wanted to stumble across it on his own.

... and she looked older than what he felt.

Part of Marinette wondered how old he thought they were.

Younger than fifteen, certainly. If he'd thought his mother was still around at first, it had to be younger than that. She didn't want to give him too much of a shock, but the sooner he was aware of it, the better, so she squeezed his hand once more before she answered.

"Eighteen," She replied.

She kept her gaze on him, checking for any signs of worry. If he thought they were younger than fifteen, that would meant he'd "lost" more than three years of his life, and she knew that would have sent her into a tizzy if their situations were reversed. But he was stronger than she was, and he seemed to be drifting off, to boot; maybe he'd just accept it, internalize it, and think about it again the next time he woke up.

Eighteen.

Adrien's memory wasn't exactly linear at this point. There wasn't a perfect moment he went back to, leaving him scattered and with impressions that were clearer, the farther back he went. What he had was still disorganized, still cracked and mixed up with other things, when they appeared at all. It would take some time to heal and get things back in order.

Adrien hadn't had a concrete age in mind. Fourteen, fifteen... somewhere in there. To find that he was missing more than three years was rough. But as she said it, he heard the ring of truth in it.

The anxiety was there, but it was muted. His mind was protecting him from most of the distress by dampening his emotions, leaving him feeling exhausted. Her hand was grounding, relaxing, and when he sighed, some of the tension left. In the place between sleeping and waking, some things came easier than others.

"Then I have a lot to catch up on, Princess," he whispered, lacing his fingers together with hers.

He barely even realized what he said.

Her breath caught in her throat at the familiar nickname.

Princess.

Even when she and Adrien had lost touch after starting university, she and Chat Noir had remained close. She didn't see him as often as Marinette as she did as Ladybug, but they'd still occasionally hung out together.

There was a part of him, however small and subconscious it was, that still remembered her, even if he needed to be reminded of her name and the circumstances of their meeting. Things were going to be okay, even if it took time for it all to come back to the surface.

She smiled gently and squeezed his fingers.

"That's okay," She said softly. "We'll take it slow until you're all caught up."

Adrien smiled as he drifted off, breathing evenly, fingers finally going slack in hers. There was a soft knock on the door, and Nooroo flew up and into the collar of Marinette's overshirt, taking refuge with her as one of the nursing staff came in to check on Adrien, take his vitals, ask a few questions about how he was acting and reasoning. The nurse patted her shoulder and left not long after, and Nooroo was free to creep out from his hiding place.

"I wanted to see him," he admitted softly. "I probably confused him, but I wanted to see him again."

It had been such a long time.

"Are you all right, Marinette?"

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