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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"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."

"Yeah, they didn't want me to do as many duets, just solos. It was like, what's even the point? So I quit."

Chloé rolled her eyes. Means to an end, it always had been - even as a child she'd figured out what kind of a man Gabriel Agreste was; it wasn't hard to do when she was surrounded by politicians from the time she could walk and talk. He was the kind of man who wanted his son to succeed, so she'd had to make herself into the kind of person who could help him along on his path to success. Learning to play an instrument was a small price to pay for being one of the few constant presences at Adrien's side.

"You didn't, though. You kept at it. They even had you play in an important recital a couple years back." She shrugged lightly. "When you can sit up, you should try playing. I bet you'll be surprised at the kinds of things your fingers remember. I still remember how to play the cello and it's been years."

It didn't make sense. Chloé was talented, loved the limelight and attention. Why would she just quit, when-

... oh.

Sometimes, things made a lot more sense without years of details getting in the way. Adrien had known for years that Chloé liked him, but he hadn't realized what their duets meant to her. Enough to quit when they stopped playing together?

Adrien looked down at his hands again, frowning slightly. Chloé, even now, had utter faith in him. After so much doubt, it was heartening.

Later, when he was better healed and thinking clearly, he'd realize what Chloé was really trying to do. While she might have wanted to play with him, she had also gone out of her way to find something to help him, something familiar that he wouldn't have to think about. Right now, he was in desperate need of exactly that.

(Maybe he was giving her too much credit.)

"It couldn't hurt to try. And I can sit up. And walk."

Yeah, if you ignored how Marinette had to carry him back to bed.

"It just hurts to do it for too long."

Edited 2016-05-16 07:42 (UTC)

"We'll give it a try when sitting up and walking hurts you a little less."

We.

Apparently, she would be lugging her cello over - or rather, having some hapless delivery guy lug it for her. Even now, Chloé really didn't do her own dirty work. That was part of the rationale for waiting until he was a little better, too; if he did fall, she really wasn't equipped to carry him back to bed (her muscles weren't strong enough for that, even if he had lost weight while in recovery) and she didn't want some nurse hovering around at all times, waiting in the wings to swoop in if something happened.

She wanted it to be perfect when the two of them played together again. He had enough cruddy memories of being laid up. It was time to give him some good ones.

The smile was sudden, like a reflex that turned his lips, softened his eyes as he stared down at his bedspread. He often had that reaction when someone was kind or considerate when he wasn't expecting it.

Very few people would ever understand their friendship, and Adrien would never expect them to, but the moments like this were the ones he remembered best.

"If you're not afraid of breaking a nail," he said quietly, giving her that tiny smile, the one that said he knew what she was up to, and appreciated it.

"The g- my bodyguard can carry your cello up."

"I'll schedule an appointment with my manicurist for right after," Chloé replied breezily with a dismissive wave of her hand.

She mostly took issue with breaking her nails when she didn't have a surefire plan for correcting the problem. If she could plan ahead, it was fine. Nobody but Adrien would see her less-than-perfect manicure anyway. He, having known her for years, was the only one she could really trust to see her when she was less than perfect.

And besides, if she didn't actually break any nails while they played, the appointment would just be an excuse to get pampered. She wasn't opposed to that in the slightest.

"It's a plan, then. You be sure you tell me when you feel up to it."

Or she could, you know, stop by every day and see how he was doing, but agreeing to just tell her would probably help avoid any more catfights with Marinette. If the girl knew when Chloé was coming, she could make herself scarce.

"Smart."

He was smiling openly now, his eyes tired but warm as he settled up against the pillows. With Marinette, he was fussy about his appearance, but Chloé had known him since he was tiny, and she'd seen him much worse. Sick, broken arm, crying... you name it. He even knew what her hair looked like when it wasn't brushed.

(Still gorgeous, but try telling her that.)

"I promise I'll take a shower before then," he added, setting the glass on the bedside table. His hand was a little shaky, but at least he didn't drop it.

Chloé's nose wrinkled.

She'd been very deliberately not breathing through her nose the entire time, mostly because she could tell just by looking that he probably didn't smell all that pleasant. Now that he'd mentioned showering, though, she couldn't help but notice.

...ick.

"You'd better," She instructed. Her gaze flicked briefly to his hand, which was shaking, but she was gratified to see that he didn't drop or knock over the glass. "I'll have a gift basket with different body washes sent over for you."

He might come out of it smelling sort of like a girl, but Chloé was okay with that. She'd be sending him her favorite scents, after all.

Adrien smiled sheepishly. It wasn't that bad, but his hair could use a good wash, and he was a teenage boy. Normally he was absolutely fastidious about it, so the contrast was all the more stark for it.

"Thanks, Chlo," he mumbled, but she'd be able to spot the smile through the sarcasm. As long as she wasn't actually sending him perfume, he'd be fine.

Adrien caught his shaky hand, rubbed over the back of it, lingering on the bruises. His attention seemed to waver for a moment before he looked back up.

"I'm sorry for worrying you. And that you had to find out the way you did."

He hadn't had time to tell her himself, but he would have liked to. But she knew the way his family was.

If she found out anything else from the tabloids instead of from him, she would absolutely send him perfume. And then she would come over and spray it on him when he was too bed-bound to stop her.

They'd known each other long enough by now that she didn't have to say that out loud - it was all there in her expression.

"Well, whatever. At least I was able to see you in the end."

She crossed her arms.

"I'm going to come back, you know," She informed him. When she got like this, Chloé Bourgeois was a force of nature. Neither gates nor bodyguards nor even Gabriel Agreste would be able to stop her. "So, you know, be ready for that."

That was her way of saying get well soon, so she wouldn't have to see him and worry.

Adrien's smile only grew more sheepish, because he could sense more or less what she was thinking. He wouldn't exactly blame her. He didn't suppose he was off the hook just yet, either. Chloé never let anyone off easy, and he was no exception.

"I know," he answered, and beneath the healthy fear was an old, easy warmth, like he was comforted by the thought of her being a predictable part of his life.

"I'll tell you when I can sit up. And they'll know to expect you."

He'd make sure of it. Even his father had to see that he needed things to do, if he was going to get better, and Chloé could only help to keep him busy.

A busy Adrien wouldn't wander off.

"When do you think that will be?"

It was hard to say, and logically, Chloé knew that. A doctor could make that kind of assessment - she might have an easier time asking one of them, patient confidentiality aside. (She knew ways around it, after all.) But Adrien also knew himself better than almost anyone in the world, and she'd take his word for it over a doctor's any day.

...he'd made pretty decent progress so far, though. Even she had to admit that. After looking at his medical records, she could scarcely believe he'd woken up already.

Adrien was more hurt than he'd ever been in his life. His foray into the bathroom had taught him that, driven in just how serious this all was.

But he'd also been hurt before. He'd gone to school with cracked ribs, fenced with hairline fractures in his arms. Adrien was better at pushing himself than most grown men. It wasn't something he should be doing, but it was something he knew how to do.

"A week," he said firmly, almost immediately. He was already making good progress with staying conscious, and by then his ribs shouldn't be troubling nearly as much. He could have Marinette get his binder from where he kept it in the back of the closet, and he'd feel even better.

(... the binder. How had he known? What had he been doing? Why did he need it? Later, the questions would catch up with him. For now, it was simply something that made sense.)

Edited 2016-05-21 21:49 (UTC)

"A week," She repeated, and then she nodded. One week. Seven days. It wasn't that long, but it wasn't that short, either, and Chloé would probably be back in three or four days to check up on him.

...well, she'd try to come back every day, but she wouldn't really put her foot down about being let in if someone tried to turn her away until the third day.

"Fine. I'll have my cello sent over then."

She'd leave it to him to tell Marinette not to be around that day, if the girl insisted on lingering. If she was even still allowed to be there. Chloé's next stop on her way out would be to seek out Gabriel and try to get him to listen to her about how Marinette shouldn't be there, and only time would tell how disastrous a conversation that would be if she really pushed it.

"Sounds perfect."

He hoped he could remember. He was losing track of days, but if he got hold of his phone (the other thing he'd ask for) he could start to keep track of things.

... and suddenly have access to a lot of contacts he'd never realized he had.

Adrien could feel the exhaustion creeping up again, but this time he welcomed it as a good excuse. When he felt the yawn bubble up, he didn't hold it back, covering his mouth pitifully.

"Nnngh... sorry. Just tired."

"Get some rest," Chloé suggested.

On the one hand - it was because she wanted him to recover. There was a gentleness in her eyes that almost nobody else ever got to see, a concern that she guarded herself too much to really show in the company of others. Adrien could see it, because selfish as she was, she did care about him.

On the other, she did have ulterior motives. Even Marinette wouldn't wake him up if he was sleeping. If she lingered here until he drifted off, and the girl came back in here before she could have her thrown out, at least Adrien wouldn't actually have to spend time with her. What harm could she do to him while he was fast asleep?

"Thanks."

He tried nodding, but stopped quickly. He'd need frequent naps to get his head back on straight, and it would only help with the healing if he got a lot of rest. It would stop him from being too active, too.

Even if he'd meant it partially as an excuse, his eyelids did feel heavy, and he ended up closing them, his breathing going soft and even. His color had returned, and even the bruises were healing. He still looked awful, but he was definitely getting better.

He'd improve dramatically by the next time Chloé saw him.

She watched, waiting for him to drift off, and only got up from her chair when she was satisfied that he was indeed sleeping - or at least feigning it well enough for her to be fooled. Her footsteps echoed on the floor as she walked herself out of his room, but she didn't go for the exit.

Nathalie and Marinette were both nowhere to be seen. No time like the present - she was going to do it. She navigated down the halls until she found the door leading into Gabriel's office.

When she was younger, both she and Adrien had lingered outside it, stared at it, never really had the nerve to just walk right in. She had the nerve now. Without bothering to knock, she opened the door and stepped inside.

"We need to talk," Chloé said without preamble.

Gabriel was probably regretting leaving his door unlocked right about now.

Gabriel was at his desk, working at his sketchbook, and he didn't immediately look up when Chloé let herself in.

He knew immediately that it wasn't Nathalie or Marinette. The footsteps were different, sharper, more pronounced. Though he didn't know them well, he knew enough to guess who had managed to bully her way through security, who would be brazen enough to walk directly into his office without knocking, who would check up on Adrien and find out what had happened.

He fought the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. With the exception of Marinette, he would never understand his son's choice in companions.

Instead of looking up, he set his pen down, closed the book, and go to his feet, folding both hands behind his back as he stepped away from his desk. Though it had been years since he'd seen her, he'd more or less watched this girl up. Even if she was considered an adult now, she still looked painfully young, same as Marinette did.

(Had they ever been so young, so ignorant of the world?)

"Mademoiselle Bourgeois," he addressed her, almost mildly, flatly.

"Do we?"

Chloé narrowed her eyes at him.

Oh, sure, calling her mademoiselle was polite. But this was the father of her oldest friend. Even her own father didn't refer to Adrien as Monsieur Agreste, and the way Gabriel's manner of speech kept her at a distance - as if she hadn't been a visitor to this manor for as long as she could remember - left her feeling a little insulted.

Not that she really wanted him to call her by her first name, either, but that didn't lessen her irritation.

"We do," She said firmly. "You need to get the Dupain-Cheng girl out of this house and keep her out."

Yeah, because telling him what to do was going to go exceedingly well. Certainly there wouldn't be any consequences to this. Nope.

"I need to," Gabriel repeated, calm and stilted, parroting her own words coldly back to her. They sounded ridiculous, even more so in his voice, childish and demanding.

She never changed, did she?

"And why have you broken into our home to tell me this, Mademoiselle Bourgeois?"

Because Nathalie most certainly did not let her in willingly. Chloé must have forced or snuck her way inside, avoiding notice until this moment... and if she'd had access to Adrien, which he suspected she had, given this conversation, he'd need to have words with the household about security.

... though, to be fair, Marinette herself was here to serve as one of Adrien's protectors.

💀 pour oublier ma peine immense

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