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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To be fair, not knowing how hurt he was had made it easier. Now that Adrien knew he'd lost more than one bit of his skull, he was more inclined to be gentle with himself.

But wait, woah, back up there.

"You can lift me?" he asked, slightly alarmed and very impressed. "I don't want you to hurt yourself-"

"I can lift you," Marinette confirmed with the beginnings of a smile tugging up at her lips.

That's right. He didn't know she was Ladybug; heck, he probably didn't even know there was a Ladybug. She tried not to think about that too deeply as she adjusted her hold on him, hooking one arm below his knees and keeping the other securely around his back.

She braced herself, then stood, taking an easy step toward the door. "See? Nothing to it. I've got you."

The adjustment in blood pressure about did him in, but he clung to her, feeling a wave dizziness and nausea as Marinette lifted him up off the ground.

It was no small feat. She wasn't a very tall girl, and he probably outweighed her by a good fifty or so pounds (even with his injuries, and having lost some weight he probably couldn't afford to) but she'd deadlifted him like he was nothing.

Adrien felt a very badly-timed drop in his stomach that had nothing to do with how hurt he was.

... okay.

...so maybe she was showing off a little.

At least she had a decent excuse - growing up in a bakery to start with, hauling around mannequins as she got more into designing - to explain away the strength without delving too much into the superhero thing.

She slipped through the bathroom door and crossed the room back to his bed, walking slowly and carefully to keep from jostling him too much. She was gentle as she leaned over and eased him back into bed.

"You okay...?"

He'd been so quiet.

"I'm okay."

Adrien hurt and was lightheaded, but okay was relative. He was okay enough to answer her, but not much else. He eased down into the sheets with a sigh, reluctant to let go of her but relieved to be horizontal. His cheeks were a little bit pink.

Clearing his throat, Adrien lifted one hand.

"... you're strong."

"My parents own a bakery," She explained. "I've been lifting bags of flour since I could walk."

It was an echo of a conversation she could vaguely remember having once, a long time ago, but she did her best to ignore the sharp pang in her heart. That he didn't know why she was so strong was nobody's fault but Hawkmoth's.

"Comes with the territory, you know?"

It did trip something. A truck, the sound of a rough-idling engine. The smell of flour, petrol and sweat, and a large, gentle hand patting Adrien's shoulder.

He caught his breath, blinking a few times, staring off into space, trying to chase that feeling. It slipped away like sand through his fingers.

He cleared his throat instead, lifting an eyebrow. "Bags of flour, huh?"

"That's right," Marinette answered, sounding and looking a little more cheery than she had felt in the last week or so. This conversation was going... Well. Amazingly well, considering that it had started with her finding him half-collapsed on the bathroom floor.

She pulled back a little, then held up her arm so that she could flex.

"Nothing better for building up muscle strength," she joked. "Not even actual weights."

Watching her made it easier to forget the uneasy shift in his stomach that came from not remembering. He wanted to reach for her, make a show of feeling her bicep, but he wasn't sure he wouldn't accidentally smack her instead due to his lack of coordination.

"Have you lifted me before?" he asked, a little playfully, intending to suggest that he help her with a few reps.

"Probably not the way you're thinking," Marinette replied, thinking back to winding her yo-yo's string around him as Ladybug and pulling him over a streetlamp, or literally throwing him off her when they'd gotten tangled up in a fight.

They were superheroes. They led interesting lives.

"Why," She asked with a tilt of her head and a bit of a mischievous sparkle in her eyes, "Are you interested in being lifted?"

Someone really needed to tell her to stop flirting with the invalid.

Well, that wasn't where his mind went. Adrien's mouth opened, and for a moment he just stared at her, before a very Chat Noir grin spread across his face.

"I might not be a bag of flour, but if you knead me, I'm sure I could rise to the occasion."

... there he was. And apparently even brain damage couldn't stop him.

...did he really just—

That was Chat Noir. That was pure Chat Noir, and she knew that Chat and Adrien were the same person, so it was pure Adrien, too, but he'd seemed so subdued (and understandably so) that she'd honestly been worried that the traces of her partner would have to be coaxed back.

But no, they'd been there all along. As what he'd said sunk in, though, her cheeks flushed pink and she looked torn between laughing, jumping for joy, and crying.

"You haven't lost your rye sense of humor," She finally managed in a whisper. "I'm so glad."

As Marinette's face flushed, Adrien wondered if he'd made totally the wrong call, but she didn't look uncomfortable. If anything, she seemed to find it a little too familiar.

He paused for a moment, then reached out for her hand, taking it in both of his, running his thumb over the back of it thoughtfully.

"Hey," he whispered, tugging gently. "Come up here."

Honestly, she looked like she needed a hug.

He managed to take her hand without smacking anything. Progress. Marinette's lips curved up a little at that.

"What is it...?"

Did he need something? She wasn't sure. But she scooted forward, just next to his bedside, and reached over with one hand to brush some of his hair away from his face tenderly.

That he might try to give her a hug was the last thing she expected... it wouldn't be at all unwelcome, though.

Adrien had been about to scoot over to make more room for her, but her fingers brushing his hair back from his face felt too good. Now that he knew what he looked like, he was even more appreciative of her total lack of hesitation.

A smile peeked out, but then he reached up for her.

"Can't be comfortable in that chair," he finally said, shifting over.

"It's a little more comfortable than it looks," Marinette mumbled, glancing back at it just briefly before returning her gaze to him. "But that's not really saying much."

—it hit her, a moment later, as she processed the space he'd cleared by shifting over. Oh. Was that really okay? Adrien seemed to think it was - he was reaching for her, even - and without really thinking it over, she took his hands and nodded before moving in to fill the space.

What Adrien wanted, he got. She'd decided that a long time ago. And honestly? She wanted it, too. She'd been uneasy, being a few rooms away; sticking close was probably for the better, and if the chair was uncomfortable, then...

It was no time to worry about how clean the sheets were, or if he'd brushed his teeth, or how bad he looked. His heart gave a little thump as she climbed up next to him, and he squeezed Marinette's hands.

Carefully, he arranged himself for the least amount of pain from his injuries, with one exception.

He put his arm around her.

To be fair, Marinette didn't really care about any of that right now anyway. Adrien was Adrien, messy sheets, bad breath, and less-than-stellar looks or no. She loved him.

Sometimes, love meant curling up next to someone to be there for them when they weren't at their best. This was one of those times.

She settled herself on the hospital bed carefully, mindful of his injuries even as she reached over to slide an arm around him in return. Slowly, she breathed out and settled herself on the mattress. Her lips quirked up into a small smile.

"...okay, this is a lot more comfortable than I was expecting," She mumbled. She'd always thought hospital beds would be distinctly uncomfortable, but this one's mattress was actually a lot nicer than the one she had in her own apartment. Was it all hospital beds that were like this, or just the ones arranged for by Gabriel Agreste, she wondered?

It wasn't the most comfortable of things, but Adrien wouldn't have moved her for the world. Her arm resting across him didn't press on his bruised ribs, thankfully, and he was able to take a few breaths. With some determination, he settled, breathing slowly into Marinette's hair.

"Much better than a chair, I bet," Adrien grinned against her, half-closing his eyes to rest against her. He was feeling tired again, but it wasn't the cloying drag of this morning. It felt more like peace.

"I have a feeling I woke you up," he added, just the tiniest drop of guilt mixed in with the warmth. "And I have another feeling that says you haven't been sleeping much."

He didn't blame her. Not when he got up to such trouble.

"Definitely," She confirmed. Marinette could say that with absolute certainty. Some chairs were mega comfy and she could sleep in them all day - recliners, mostly - but the chair at his bedside wasn't one of them.

She reached over with the hand that wasn't around him and gently brushed some of his hair back into place, it having fallen into his eyes somewhat as he got settled.

"I haven't been," She had to admit. "But I sleep a little better every night, now."

Now that I know you're getting better.

The words hung between them, unspoken, but she was pretty sure he would pick up on them anyway.

Adrien had been thinking he'd either have to cut or gel his hair back, but Marinette's fingers on his skin made him reconsider. If it gave her excuses to touch him, he'd keep it like this.

"If you want to take a nap I wouldn't mind," he assured her, counting the beats of her heart as she lay close to him.

He was struck by the familiarity again, the closeness. Moonlight tingled in the back of his mind, the scent of her hair. She'd cuddled up to him like she'd done this a thousand times before.

Had she?

"You're really sure it's okay?"

Marinette might have asked the question, but... her eyes were already starting to droop shut. She was exhausted, and now that the adrenaline that had started coursing through her when Nooroo had burst into her room was wearing off, she honestly felt like she was about to drop.

She probably wouldn't have enough energy to get up even if he said he had changed his mind. He'd have to push her out of the bed.

"...I don't want to impose..."

"Really sure."

Adrien lifted his hand and fumbled a moment, but then managed to tuck her hair behind her ear, palm brushing her cheek. The back of his hand was still bruised from the IV.

"I'm not going anywhere," he added, settling with a warm sigh.

If he tried, she'd feel it... and truthfully, with her there, he didn't feel inclined to get up again.

Her eyelids fluttered shut, and she allowed herself a moment to breathe as Adrien tucked a few stray strands of her hair behind her ear. Being able to see him was one thing. But being this close - close enough to hear and feel his breathing, to be able to reach out and touch him and know he was there...

It brought her peace.

"...wake me up if you need anything. Promise, okay...?"

Her voice had a low, slightly detached quality to it that indicated she was moments away from drifting off.

His response was a mumble, half-asleep already and barely understandable. His thumb ran lightly across Marinette's cheek, and his eyes were already mostly closed. On the edge between sleep and waking, it seemed that the memories came bubbling to the surface more easily.

It was also the place Chat Noir was most likely to peek through, in the twilight of consciousness.

"Cat's honor."

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