💗 marinette (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bonnechance) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
genevrier2016-04-15 05:13 pm
bonnechance) wrote in genevrier2016-04-15 05:13 pm
💀 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.
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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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."
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... 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."
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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.
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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."
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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.
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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.
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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.
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"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.
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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.
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"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.
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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.
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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.)
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...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.
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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."
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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?
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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.
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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.
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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?"
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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.
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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.
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The way he repeated her words did nothing to make her regret them, and even being called out on forcing her way into his home didn't bring even the slightest expression of chagrin to her face. When Chloé did things, she sometimes didn't think them through, but she committed to them in full.
"Because I know she must have had something to do with his accident," she huffed, "and if you let her hang around him she's just going to drag him into trouble all over again. That girl is a walking trouble magnet and she has been ever since we were kids."
It was a question of safety, as far as she was concerned. That was all there was to it... as long as you ignored her jealousy.
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Instead, he let her speak, let her try to justify her jealousy, fully believing herself to be convincing.
"And what exactly do you know of the accident my son suffered?" Gabriel asked, still flat, still unruffled, still unmoved.
He was obviously not convinced, but apparently willing to listen, even if it was just to find out how much she actually knew.
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That would take actual effort, though. She had more persistence in her than most.
"I know there are things about it no one here is telling Adrien," she continued. "And I know if you don't keep him separated from her he'll ask her and she'll tell him and he'll end up I'm trouble again because that's just the kind of person she is." She stomped her foot. "I found her in bed with him today! He's supposed to be recovering!"
... jealousy.
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It only barely flickered in Gabriel's eyes, but for just a split second, it was there. The girl was prone to dramatics, to be sure, and it likely wasn't quite what it sounded like, but he'd still have to have a word with his son's companion.
"Are they?" he asked quietly, reaching up to touch his chin, tilting his head to look out the window. For a moment he was silent, considering the new information, before he approached her with his hands behind her back.
"I understand your desire completely, Mademoiselle Bourgeois," he said quietly, and though he didn't smile, he deliberately let his face soften.
"Adrien's safety is paramount to the both of us," he began, hesitating, his shoulders just barely hitching upward before he straightened them, deliberately composing himself.
He paused, then looked her directly in the eyes. "If I might be frank?"
"The last thing he needs is an investigation interfering with his recovery."
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"Let's make a deal then," She said after a moment, and her expression didn't soften the way his had. It was true that Adrien's safety was one of her priorities, and she really did think that Marinette was bad news, but that wasn't going to stop her from trying to get what she wanted most - and that was to be the person closest to him, like she had been when they were kids. "I won't poke around," In a way that Adrien will find out about, she added privately, "And I'll use my considerable resources - mine and my father's - to keep anyone else from poking around."
She huffed.
"...if you stop letting that girl spend all her time here."
The truth was, she would most certainly be wielding her father's political clout like a club to keep Adrien safe anyway, but she wanted to see if she could get something in return for doing it, too.
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