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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"We were in the same class from the time I was eleven until we graduated from lycée," Marinette sighed, taking her cue from him and at least trying to be tactful instead of just muttering Dunno if you've noticed, but your friend is kind of a bitch or something along those lines. "She's never liked me all that much."

Honestly, the feeling was pretty much mutual.

"I'm not even really sure what started it anymore."

But they were both far too stubborn to just let bygones be bygones and let it go.

"Can't imagine why."

Later, it would be clear exactly why, and Adrien would kick himself for never noticing. For now, he shifted a bit awkwardly, squinting at the hallway. They wouldn't have much time before she came back.

"I wonder how she got in. How did she find out I was hurt?"

The look Marinette shot him was slightly incredulous. Then again, he did have amnesia; she had to make some allowances for being oblivious here...

Her brows furrowed at his question.

"...you were in the hospital for maybe a day. The police did talk to your father and me..." She hated to say it, but... "A reporter probably caught wind of it somehow. People are interested in your family, you know?"

As for how Chloé had managed to get in -

"She probably just walked up to the gate and didn't take no for an answer, though."

Adrien sank down into himself a little more at the mention of the media. It was nothing he didn't expect, but they had...

"Vultures," he sighed, reaching up to rub at his forehead. His head was pounding. Still... if no one had told Chloé he was hurt, and she'd had to find out through the media, she must have been worried for him. Worried enough to come over here and see that he was all right for himself. He could understand her anger at finding Marinette here -- Marinette, who apparently knew all about the situation, had access to him, while she was left out of the loop.

Chloé thrived on attention, was easily jealous. If he liked Marinette, it was no wonder Chloé hated her.

It was sad to say, but... he knew his friend.

"... she was probably worried. I'm sorry, I know how she can get. But we might need a few minutes."

Marinette would be more inclined to make disparaging remarks about reporters in general if Alya hadn't been on track to becoming one herself. As it was, she had some very strongly-worded descriptions of specific reporters, but...

"My roommate once said that only the worst reporters focus on stuff like this - because they aren't good enough to capture the public's interest with anything short of a tragedy," She sighed. "I'm pretty sure she's right."

And that was putting it diplomatically.

"...no, I know she was worried about you. No probably about it." Chloé was selfish, but even Marinette had to admit that she cared about Adrien. She just had a really funny way of showing it sometimes. "I'll step outside once she gets back - take as much time as you need. She's your friend, after all."

"Your roommate sounds like she gets it."

As much as Marinette and Chloé clearly disliked each other, it was almost a surprise to see how well Marinette understood. He thought she might have been at least a little bit hurt by being asked to step back.

Adrien's heart gave a twinge, and he smiled, small and grateful.

She'll understand, a voice said in the back of his mind, one that sounded far too much like Marinette's to make sense, but he couldn't decide on whether it was a memory or not. He'd just have to take it as it came.

Reaching up on impulse, Adrien grasped Marinette's hand and squeezed. He couldn't hug her, but at least they had this.

"Thank you."

"She always does," Marinette said with a shrug and a small smile. "Sometime, when you're feeling better, I'll reintroduce you to her."

As she recalled, Adrien and Alya had been friendly with each other too. His social circle really had expanded from what he could remember right now. ...she'd have to make sure Nino came by at some point as well, when he was up to having visitors that weren't forcing themselves in.

...and speaking of Chloé...

She squeezed Adrien's hand back. "You're welcome," came her reply, soft and gentle, but footsteps echoed from the hallway and she glanced at the door before pulling her hand free of his grasp. "I should get going, though."

Seeing them hand-in-hand would only set his friend off all over again. She didn't really want to leave his side, but she knew she had to, and so she headed for the door to slip out into the hall.

Chloé entered through the door in almost the same moment, constraining herself to just shooting Marinette an aggravated look instead of yelling at her, since she was on her way out. Once the door shut behind her, she made her way to Adrien's side and took a seat, holding the glass of water out to him.

"Here you are, drink up," She cooed. "Oh, I'm so glad to see you awake. I guess your doctors know what they're doing after all."

She'd been on the verge of having her father call in leading specialists from other countries. Gabriel Agreste had undoubtedly snatched up the best in Paris, but she wanted to make sure he had the best in the world.

... more things he didn't know. More people. It was terrifying, in a vague, otherworldly sort of way, reminded him of his swiss cheese memories and the way he couldn't trust his own head. He didn't want to feel like this. The best he could do was try.

Chloé, in her own way, was a relief. He remembered her. They had a history he could recall. He knew how she would act. She was familiar.

He desperately needed the familiar.

Adrien smiled for Marinette again as she left, letting her go with a soft "see you soon". He edged himself more into a sitting position to see Chloé, leaning back against the pillows and accepting the drink with a grateful sigh.

"Thank you. ... and yeah, I guess they do. To tell the truth, I don't know how bad it was."

... and Marinette hadn't given him any details. What did Chloé know?

"...it was awful."

Predictably, she'd bullied and wheedled her way into seeing the records of his hospital stay. So it was a teeny, tiny bit of an invasion of privacy, but André Bourgeois had quite a bit of political clout in Paris, all things considered, and using his name was a surefire way for her to get what she was after.

She'd seen his x-rays. She'd seen how badly he'd been hurt when he came in. She'd seen, written clear as day, that his chances of recovery had been low, and his chances of waking up had been even lower.

It had scared the shit out of her. That fear was written all over her face now, and she reached for his hand, squeezing his fingers a little too tightly. "I forbid you to go and die on me. Don't you dare get yourself hurt again, Adrien."

The squeeze hurt, but he swallowed it back before it could show on his face, tucking it carefully away so he could curl his fingers back around hers. (His knuckles were bruised, why-?)

"I'm not planning to."

Adrien smiled, but underneath, this scared him. He'd never seen Chloé so shaken up.

It probably should have bothered him that his first instinct was to pry.

"... how much did you find out?"

"Enough," She grumbled, the fear on her face being replaced by anger as she remembered exactly what she had found out, "to know that you getting hurt was all that girl's fault, and I'm not just saying that because I don't like her. Seriously, if your father doesn't kick her out, be careful around her."

Not enough to know Marinette was Ladybug and he was Chat Noir, though.

"The doctor's notes said that if- when you woke up, you were likely to have some memory problems, but of course you remembered me because I'm your best friend," Chloé said with a shrug, completely ignoring Nino's existence. Sorry, Nino. "What blanks do you need filled in?"

What blanks was he ready to have filled in?

Adrien's head jerked up, eyes widening.

Marinette had told him very little about the accident, his father less than nothing. She clearly felt guilty, but he hadn't believed it was her fault.

So what did Chloé know that was so damning?

"What are you talking about, her fault?" he asked carefully. He knew to take his friend with a grain of salt, but this was the best lead he'd had so far.

...hah. She knew Marinette hadn't told him everything. And the girl still had the audacity to crawl into bed with him...?

Forget waiting for Gabriel to do it, she'd throw her out herself.

"Well obviously it wasn't your fault," She said with a roll of her eyes. "Your father found the two of you in a part of the city that none of your classes or appointments or anything would take you to. She, on the other hand, had clients down there."

Chloé had done more than her fair share of sleuthing when she found out Marinette had also been involved in whatever incident had gotten Adrien injured.

"Not to mention, you two barely saw each other after starting university, and then suddenly the day you do hang out, you both get attacked? Nobody was out to get you before that night. Obviously she had something to do with it."

... a lot of things weren't adding up at all.

Adrien's first instinct was to protest that Chloé was massively wrong. He and Marinette were clearly close. She knew him, and he knew her. Even his father trusted her to be alone with him, and to call Gabriel overprotective was a massive understatement.

She had to be wrong. She had to be.

"... clients?" he asked, groping for answers, confused. "What do you mean?"

"She's been doing commissions," Chloé explained with a wave of her hand. "Supposedly, it's how she's paying her tuition at ESMOD, but nobody's going to pay that much for clothing from some no-name design student."

Never mind the fact that Chloé had been surreptitiously commissioning outfits from her for the better part of the last six months, ever since she'd found out the girl was offering commissions.

"There's got to be more to it. My guess is you got caught up in some kind of a deal gone wrong."

ESMOD?

And she was missing classes to take care of him?

Adrien squeezed the blankets, took another gulp of water, and tried not to feel the slowly growing weight in his stomach. No wonder his father was giving her projects. It wasn't just to keep her busy. She clearly had talent.

He wished he could refute her accusations, but he didn't know what had happened. It could have been anything at this point, and his already-destroyed memories didn't know how to sync with this information.

"There's no way," he insisted after a moment, frowning. "Even that wouldn't make it her fault."

"If she's been up to something shady and you got caught in the crossfire because of it, it's definitely her fault!"

Chloé's voice was firm. Maybe if she'd been here from the start, she wouldn't be so set in her opinion, but she'd had to find out about this from the tabloids, and then she'd had to look into things on her own. She hadn't spoken to Gabriel or Adrien; she could only draw her conclusions from the limited amount of information that she had.

"And for that matter, why were you two even together that night? You don't go to ESMOD, and if you need clothes, you can get them from your father. There's something weird going on and I know she knows more than she's telling. You can't trust her, Adrien."

Hell, for all Adrien knew, he was the one up to something shady.

"Maybe I was sneaking out," he spit out, defending Marinette without realizing it, then pushing on ahead as he did. It wasn't her fault. It wasn't.

"The tabloids are always wrong, you know that. It could have been fan. It could have been a kidnapper. Maybe we were mugged."

And despite himself, he was getting angry. The more he spoke, the more he knew he was right, and he was the type of guy who went with his gut.

"Why would you be doing that?"

Oh, gee, maybe because Gabriel Agreste was a massive control freak. But Adrien, being university-aged now, wasn't really under his thumb the same way he'd been in high school; he didn't really need to sneak out so much anymore. He could just go.

"Look, I'm just saying, people around here are keeping secrets from you and you need to be careful before something else happens! Don't get mad at me just because I'm pointing it out when no one else will!"

"They're not keeping things from me!"

Points for him, he sounded convinced, but a moment later, the angry expression slid away, and all that sure, righteous anger trickled to a standstill. His father kept everything he could from him.

Marinette... Marinette hadn't lied, but she was still holding things back. He'd told himself it was because he needed to remember on his own, but was that all it was?

He had to admit that if what Chloé had said about Marinette was true, about them not seeing each other... things were not adding up. Adrien caught his breath and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose, trying to drive away the pounding headache, take a few deep breaths.

"... look. I know you're trying to protect me. But I barely remember anything at this point. I just... I need to put it all back together again."

Slowly, he looked up again, watching Chloé through a few stray locks of hair. "But I do remember you."

"They are too," Chloé huffed, continuing even as the anger bled out of his expression. She didn't notice, not right away. "Or did they not tell you that even though there are fingerprints on the gun you were shot with, they haven't actually been able to track down the person who shot you? There's something really weird happening!"

...then she noticed. She noticed the way his expression had changed, she noticed the way he'd brought his fingers up to the bridge of his nose, and she squirmed uncomfortably before crossing her arms and looking off to one side.

How on earth was he supposed to piece everything back together if no one was telling him anything? If there was a chance that the little they were telling him wasn't even the truth?

"Of course you remember me," She mumbled, still partially put-out, but also partially appeased. "We're close. We always have been, even when you were too busy with other things."

It wasn't unusual not to be able to find the person, he told himself. Paris was a big city. It was probably a mugger, or...

Something.

But Chloé dropped it, and the chance to ask more was gone. He tried to tell himself that she'd said all she knew. Part of him didn't want to ask at all. One bit of information stuck, though, wriggling under his skin, burrowing in deep. They couldn't track down the person who shot him.

Did that mean they'd try again? Was that why Marinette was staying here? Was she in danger?

Adrien tried to breathe, tried to think. Shut his eyes.

"... tell me more," he urged her, gently, as he leaned back into his pillows. She could take that any way she liked. More about the incident, more about what he didn't remember. Anything at all.

"What, about us?"

She glanced down at her nails. It was maddening, but there really wasn't a lot to say. He spent most of his free time with Nino when he could, and these days, mostly saw Chloé at society functions.

We're close was her way of saying We were close once and I want us to be again.

"I'm your oldest friend, but it sounds like you remember that." She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "Do you remember when we used to play duets together?"

The pillow felt good on his neck, helped with some of the pressure. The pounding in his head started to chill out, until he didn't feel sick. He still felt kind of awful, but it was quickly getting to be his new normal. He could deal.

The edges of Adrien's mouth twitched a little as he tried to think back.

Duets.

"Right... we stopped." He frowned slightly, moving his fingers. They felt clumsy and weak, and he wondered if he still played. Memories of his mother bubbled up, fuzzy and fractured.

"You didn't..." he trailed off, trying to remember. "You didn't want to play anymore."

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