Chapter Text
The boings of Alya and Nino playing Super Penguino only somewhat muffled the soft and mellow strums of Luka’s guitar. It was a nice melody, Adrien wouldn’t deny. He’d thought the same thing a week ago, when they’d all sat by the Seine with André’s ice cream in hand.
But back then, he hadn’t known Luka had composed it just for Marinette. That it was supposedly her song.
How could he have known?
It was soft, but not nearly sweet enough. And laidback, rather than lively. And while it was pleasant, it lacked the passion befitting of his friend.
Her passion for sewing.
Her passion for helping others.
Her passion for standing up for what she believed in.
Adrien watched as she drew out a breath from her freckle-dusted nose, as her pink lips curved into an easy smile, as her bluebell eyes fluttered shut. Her elbow brushed his own as she tipped her head against Luka’s shoulder.
He felt pressure on his hand—a reminder that he still held Kagami’s. His eyes met hers, and the question that clouded her gaze was enough to spark surprise in his own. Someone had squeezed the other’s hand, but that someone hadn’t been her—
A gasp stole his attention. “Dudes!” Nino’s left hand clutched half of Alya’s iPad, while his right jabbed toward the TV. “Check out the news!”
Adrien did just that.
And sucked in a breath at the sight he beheld.
The concerned face of Nadja Chamack filled the screen. Live footage appeared of an offensively coloured tower that soared into the sky, its abstract surface jarring against the bygone architecture of the buildings around it.
Adrien knew the area. At least five minutes away by baton.
Alya lunged at the coffee table. “Unmute!” she screamed, snatching up the remote with a crazed look in her eye. One fierce jab of her finger—
“—in Montparnasse, where a new villain is turning Paris into an abstract nightmare!”
The screen flicked to a series of clips. Fleeing Parisians. Multicoloured beams. Anything they touched – people, buildings, buses, pigeons – transformed into an eye-achingly colourful and contorted version of its former self.
“As always, authorities advise all Parisians to stay indoors until Ladybug and Chat—”
Zap!
Colour swarmed across Nadja’s body. Her lips swelled. Her nose went freakishly thin. Her left eye bulged and climbed a good three inches up her face. And although her body was off screen, Adrien had a sneaking suspicion it looked just as ill-proportioned. With a gasp, she stumbled out of frame.
A figure dropped from the sky, his body as obnoxiously bright as the tower that loomed behind him. He skulked toward the screen, a sneer scrunching the enormous, triangular nostrils on his severely misshapen face. “I am Putricasso!” The footage faltered at the hands of an unseen cameraman. “And soon, all of Paris will be as breath-taking as Picasso’s fine creations!”
With narrow eyes, Putricasso aimed an oversized paintbrush at the screen.
The TV went static.
Adrien’s knee bobbed. Their first akuma in a week. Of course, it had to happen mid-group gathering. His eyes zipped around the apartment. He needed an excuse—
Marinette flew to her feet. “Actually—” A wince warped her face as she reeled back onto the sofa, hunched forward with her hand around her ankle. “I’ve – uh – changed my mind.” She stood again, this time slowly and with greater success. “I should definitely see a doctor. Just in case.”
He sprung up beside her. “I’ll take you!”
“NO!”
By the sheer desperation in her voice, one might’ve thought he was dragging her into danger right along with him.
“I mean YES!” She slapped her hands together. “Take me now!” Her eyes flew wide. “To the doctors! Take me now to the doctors. Please.” He didn’t miss her limp as she looked between Nino, Kagami and Luka, an apologetic smile at the ready. Her eyes lingered on Luka especially.
Alya was too busy frantically tapping her phone screen to pay them all any mind.
“Sorry I couldn’t stay longer, guys.” Marinette’s fingers drummed against her pink, flowery clutch. “Injury aside, it’s been fun!” She was already hobbling toward the front door.
Adrien scooped his grey messenger bag off the floor, threw it over one shoulder, and turned to Kagami. He was met by a question:
“Can I come along?”
His shoulders shot to his ears. “Err – No need, Kagami! I’ll, uh, be quick.”
Her gaze swerved to Marinette, then back to him. “Okay.”
“Hey, Marinette?” Luka’s voice drew Adrien’s focus. “Are we still on for tomorrow?” The musician smiled at her from the sofa, guitar propped in his lap.
She was halfway to the exit, but stopped to beam at him all the same. “Of course! No way am I letting my clumsiness ruin our movie date.” For the second time today, she winked at Luka.
Adrien’s smile felt forced.
Until her attention turned to him.
“Ready, Adrien?”
He nodded and, after a brief farewell to his friends, rushed to her side. “Let’s go.”
As she continued to limp toward the exit, he identified a glaring flaw in his escape plan. He needed time to take her to the doctor’s. And time was something he had none of right now.
…
…
…
Crap.
Adrien could think of several reasons as to why he couldn’t ditch her.
Reason one? It’d be a terrible thing to do.
Reason two? It’d be awfully suspicious after offering to take her in the first place.
Reason three? She really did need his help.
But damn it, so did Ladybug. And all of Paris for that matter. Maybe he could speed things up somehow—
“Hold the fort, Nino!” Alya, who Adrien was sure had been on the sofa just a second ago, flashed by them in a blur of orange and blue. “Your girl’s gotta bounce!”
“Babe?!” Nino sputtered from his seat. “You’ve – You’ve got guests!”
Alya swung the front door aside, revealing a public stairwell of wooden steps and copper railing. “Montparnasse is, like, a twenty-minute metro away. If I jet now, I might make the end of the battle!” She threw Marinette a one-handed finger gun. “Rest that foot up, girl!” And with that, she was off.
Marinette frowned at the front door, still ajar. “I swear she has no sense of self preservation.”
“With Ladybug protecting Paris, at least we know she’s in safe hands.”
She met his smile with one of her own. “You mean Ladybug and Chat Noir.”
His lips parted, a merry “thank you” at the ready, until he realised that’d be a pretty odd response from Adrien Agreste. “You’re right,” he said instead, following her through the front door. “I’ll be back soon, everyone!” (He hoped.)
While he clicked the door shut behind him, Marinette limped up to the first set of steps in their way. With her fingers around the handrail, she put her right foot forward, gauging her weight on step number one as though testing the temperature of a swimming pool.
Hold up.
Did she plan to scale these stairs on her own?
He stepped forward. “If you’d like, I can—”
“No.” Her answer was short, but not impolite. More like she was on a mission. “I’ve got this.”
“You sure?”
The front of her ballerina flat touched the first step. Seeming satisfied with the level of pain, she ventured forward.
“Yeah, I’m—”
Her ankle buckled.
He lunged after her.
One hand clutched the curve of her waist.
The other gripped her shoulder.
“—totally in need of a little assistance.”
A little giggle followed her words and he couldn’t help but smile. He levelled her onto her feet. “Say no more.” Knees bent, he eased one hand across her back, while his other reached down to loop behind her legs.
A thought made him pop back to full height.
Was it socially acceptable to carry her bridal-style?
“Err – With your permission?”
The question hung in the air. And was it a trick of the light? Or were her cheeks a little rosier than usual? Maybe he needed an ice breaker. The kind of comment she’d expect from Chat Noir. He’d carried her bridal style on more than one occasion.
“No altars, I promise.”
“I – I – Uh—”
Mistakes were made.
Her eyes darted every which way. None of those ways crossed paths with his own. And— Oh no! Her cheeks were definitely rosy now. Had he just made her more uncomfortable?
“Sure,” she squeaked, much like the sound that had inspired the nickname ‘Marimouse’ last night. “Fine. Totally fine. Like, one hundred percent A-OK.” She placed her right hand across the nape of his neck, emphasising her words.
With a quiet sigh of relief, Adrien lifted her from the stairs into his arms, and her left hand slid behind his neck to join her right. He hadn’t started out his day expecting to sweep a cute girl off her feet, but here he was. That joke rode the tip of his tongue, barely withheld, because jeez, his last attempt at ice breaking had gone just splendidly.
As he began their descent down the stairs, Marinette spoke up again. “Sorry if I’m heavy...”
He almost laughed.
That hadn’t even crossed his mind.
His thoughts drifted a day into the past, to the puns they’d cracked in her kitchen. “Must’ve been the cheesecake. I’d batter be extra careful while carrying you down these stairs!”
Eager for her reaction, his eyes flicked from the steps to her face. She didn’t disappoint.
No, she rolled her eyes.
He smirked in record time.
“I swear you’re like a walking punpedia.”
“You’re meant to egg me on, Marinette. Have I tarte you nothing?”
Banana puns. Baking puns. He was on a roll today. Punning against an artsy villain would be a piece of cake.
“Gosh, I pun with you once and suddenly, we’re pun buddies.”
Had his hands not been preoccupied, Adrien would’ve placed one to his heart. “Why, I hope you’re not planning to dessert me?” This time, she groaned, but he didn’t miss the slight upward tilt of her lips. “Because that would mousse definitely make me sad.”
With a shake of her head, she finally cracked a smile. Briefly, he wished he didn’t have to watch where he was going, so he could freely enjoy the fruits of his labours.
A few seconds ticked by, the thumps of his shoes against wood filling the silence. He reached a stair landing, strode by two doors, then continued down another set of steps.
Marinette sighed. “I feel kinda bad about leaving early.”
Adrien’s brows curled. If either of them should feel bad right now, it was him. He’d invited Kagami, after all, and here he was leaving her despite knowing she wasn’t at ease around acquaintances.
“Don’t feel bad, Marinette. Your health comes first. Any one of our friends would say the same.”
She was silent.
But one glance at her face revealed lips pursed by thought.
“Is this about leaving Luka?”
From the corner of his eye, Marinette nodded. “I just feel so lame for ditching him.”
Adrien shrugged. Well, as much as he could with her in his arms. “I’m sure he understands. I know I would if I was in his shoes.”
A quiet pause.
“You’re right.”
Adrien didn’t need to peel his eyes from the steps to know she was smiling. “So, uhh”—he cleared his throat—“did he really compose that song just for you?”
Another nod on her end.
“That’s pretty cool.” Even if it didn’t suit her as well as it could’ve. “Maybe I should compose a song for you,” he thought aloud, already sifting through piano pieces he knew for inspiration. Something bright. Strong. Resilient. Joyful! Playing it needed to make him as happy as being around her did.
“I, um… I should probably text my parents.” Her left hand dropped from his neck to pull a smart phone from the front pocket of her pants. “I’m sure they’ll be happy to take me to the doctors, so you don’t have to.”
“Oh. Well, I…” It sure made transforming easier, but he still had to ask, “If that’s not too much trouble?”
With a shake of her head, Marinette held her phone near his shoulder. “‘Course not.” It clicked as she typed. “And this way you don’t have to leave everyone.”
Little did she know.
While Marinette tucked away her phone, he scaled the last of the steps and approached a wooden door, its surface scuffed from years of use. “Could you—”
Sure enough, she was already reaching for the brass knob.
They exchanged a smile as he planted his back to the door and reversed his way into an open-air corridor. “Nice work, team.”
That got a giggle out of her.
With Marinette still in his arms, Adrien strode by rows of beige mailboxes, a letter half hanging from one of the slots. She extended a hand and pushed it the rest of the way in.
“In case it’s something important.”
“Very typical of you,” he said with a wink.
Her eyes fell to her lap, but not before she smiled.
As they approached an iron gate, he recalled her earlier advice that it was never actually locked, and coaxed it open with his back. The street was fairly quiet. A few pigeons. A couple of motoring cars. And an old lady walking her sausage dog.
He glanced back at the entrance corridor beyond the iron gate. It’d make a good transformation spot. Well, as long as Marinette didn’t see him race inside, only for Chat Noir to leave a second later.
With that in mind, Adrien rounded a nearby corner to be met by an equally quiet street. Bending his knees, he set her down on the sidewalk and placed his hands on her shoulders, ready to catch her at a moment’s notice. “You okay to stand, Marinette?”
Her answer, as it turned out, was to press her petite fingers flush against his chest.
A second later, he froze as she slapped her hands to her face. “Sorry!” She peeked up at him from through her fingers. “I – Uh – The designer in me! She felt bad for creasing your dress shirt!”
That made sense.
Adrien placed a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Marinette. I’m a fashion model, remember? Unannounced crease correcting comes with the territory.” He chuckled. “Besides, I prefer you doing it as opposed to some stranger.” After two light pats on her shoulder, his hand returned to his side, and his fingers drummed against his thighs. “So, err…” As much as he needed to scat, leaving her alone felt a little impolite. “I can keep you company until your parents get here?”
Marinette toyed with the hem of her cardigan. “That’s, uh, awfully nice of you, Adrien, but there’s really no need.” She tapped her fingers together as she peered up at him. “I – I mean, not that I don’t want your company. Your company’s great. You just… umm… probably wanna get back to everyone else, right?”
Well, not exactly.
He slipped a hand behind his neck. “Are you sure, Marinette?”
“Adrien.” The boldness of her tone alone made him still. “Gateau of here.”
Did…
Did she just…
The smile that swept across her lips was answer enough. Man, she was awesome!
“How can I say dough to that?” With a broad grin, he took two steps back the way they came. “Take it easy on that ankle, okay?”
“Uh – Yeah! Will do.”
“And I guess I’ll… see you Monday?”
“Yup. Monday! That’s when you’ll next be seeing me.”
“Great. See you then!”
With a two-fingered salute, he ducked around the corner and backtracked through the gate, rows of mailboxes affixed to the wall on his right.
Plagg zipped out of his messenger bag. “Finally!” By the way he snickered, he wasn’t really bothered. “Parting with your girlfriend is such sweet sorrow, hmm?”
Nope. Definitely not bothered.
“You said the same thing yesterday, Plagg.” He fiddled with the cuff of his dress shirt. “You know she’s just a friend.”
His kwami floated closer. “Don’t you mean a pun buddy?”
Adrien gave a wry smile. “Speaking of which”—he launched out his fist—“Plagg, claws out!”
In a flash of blinding green, Chat Noir stood where Adrien Agreste once had. He approached the gate, scanned the street for any onlookers, then raced out onto the sidewalk.
One tap of his baton launched him heavenward—and with a highly essential flip, he dropped to a nearby rooftop. In the distant cityscape, Montparnasse Tower stood like a sky-high circus.
“Good thing I’m wearing my clown costume.” He tapped the glowing paw on his staff, revealing its screen. “No messages from M’Lady? Well colour me shocked.”
A few taps brought up the latest akuma update. No heroes on the scene yet. He glanced at his Bugabeacon. By the looks of it, she hadn’t transformed yet. Seemed he wasn’t the only one running fashionably late.
Chat gripped his staff tighter.
This was their first battle since his reveal.
Ladybug’s first battle with Adri—
No.
Her second battle with Adrien.
And an agonising reminder of his desire to prove himself.
Sure, Chat Noir had done so for over a year, but he wasn’t just Chat Noir anymore. No, he was also Adrien Agreste, who’d failed to save her as Aspik for three months straight. Adrien Agreste, whose nightmares had been haunted by Desperada ever since. Adrien Agreste, who longed for redemption.
And today was his chance.
Marinette tottered into a nearby alleyway and propped her back against a weather-worn wall. Two painkillers, a dollop of anti-inflammatory cream and twenty minutes of ice-pack time, yet somehow her ankle throbbed more now than it had right after her fall.
Tikki whizzed out of her pink clutch, concern swimming in her eyes.
“Our first akuma in a week and I’ll be spending it stumbling through Paris.” Marinette pushed off the wall to test out the injury. A little weight was wince-worthy, but bearable. Anything more active was another story. “Will my transformation do anything to ease the pain?”
Her kwami shook her head. “I’m sorry, Marinette! Injuries you get while de-transformed are out of my control. You’ll just have to be extra careful.”
So it looked like she’d have to keep anything too jarring to a minimum. Well, try to. Running and jumping were kind of necessary when it came to yoyo swinging and dodging dangerous projectiles.
“I’ll have to fight through the pain.” She shifted her weight to her good ankle. “At least it’s just a sprain. Or there’s no way I’d be standing.”
Five storeys up, a blur of black leapt over the alley.
Tikki frowned. “What about Chat Noir?”
A touch of dread rematerialized, gripping her chest as it had upstairs. She’d thought – well, maybe freaked out – about that on the way down. Though observing Adrien’s own ditch attempt had been a welcome distraction. And a fascinating one at that.
“He saw me walking fine during patrol last night.” She cupped her chin. “It’ll be hard to come up with a believable excuse, but...”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
Marinette nodded. “I have to.” Purpose hardened her eyes. “Tikki, spots on!”
Latex washed up her body in a glow of pale pink. Immediately, Ladybug reassessed her ankle, hoping for a miracle.
Alas, Lady Luck couldn’t solve everything.
She flicked up the screen of her yoyo. According to her Kitty Tracker, Chat Noir was already five blocks ahead of her. “He’s really hightailing it over there,” she thought aloud, and hurled her yoyo at the rim of the roof above. One tug sent her skyward.
Her toes touched down.
Her ankle caved.
Her knees slammed against the roof.
Ladybug groaned. “Focus!” The second time in a week she’d said that very thing. She’d let down her friends, her master, all of Paris. She refused to be that useless today.
Never again.
Ladybug hoisted herself to her feet and stared out at the Parisian skyline. Montparnasse Tower reached for the clouds like a multicoloured beacon. It’d already been about ten minutes since that footage had aired. She needed to get there fast.
But how could she do that with a busted ankle?
The Horse Miraculous wasn’t an option. The Miracle Box was stowed away in Master Fu’s old phonograph, atop the chest that housed Adrien’s many birthday gifts. Getting home would take almost as long as stumbling to Montparnasse.
A lightbulb went off in her head.
What if she embraced her inner Spider-Man? Swing more. Land less. Rest her ankle on the way there. Yeah, that could work. It’d be better than pushing her ankle before she’d even engaged Putricasso.
With her mind made up, she hurled her yoyo at a distant chimney. And as she spideyed her way over to Montparnasse, a month-old memory replayed in her mind.
The sinking sun set the sky ablaze, splashing the Arc de Triomphe with its golden glow. Her legs swayed off the ledge of the aged monument in time with Chat Noir’s, while cars hummed underfoot.
“Hey, LB?” He grinned at her, the tiny straw of a juice box brushing his lips. “Has it ever occurred to you that you’re like a female Spider-Man?”
“Y’know, my friends were discussing that very thing this week.”
“Ha! Mine too.” He took a hearty sip. “It makes sense, right? You’re both bug-themed. You wear lots of red. You swing around the city.”
“So if my comic counterpart’s Spider-Man, who’s yours?”
Chat puffed out his chest. “I am Batman,” he rasped, his voice an octave lower.
She snorted. “I was thinking more along the lines of Cat Woman.”
With a pout, he passed the juice box to her awaiting hand. “Why not Black Panther?”
“Who?”
“Wow, M’Lady!” He slapped a dramatic paw to his heart. “That hurts my very soul!”
Through a smile, Ladybug took a small sip of juice. “Well,” she eventually said, “I think Chat Noir’s a much cooler superhero anyway.”
The smile he flashed her could’ve powered all of Europe.
Then he opened his mouth.
“Does this mean I can’t call you Spider-Woman?”
Ladybug couldn’t help but laugh as she soared through the autumn air. She considered telling him their silly talk had come in handy. Maybe she’d even let him call her Paris’ friendly neighbourhood ladybug. He’d get a kick out of that for sure.
Up ahead, Montparnasse Tower was a fast-approaching eyesore—and a reminder that she still needed a reason for her injury. One scan of the area drew her attention to an ice rink. A very familiar ice rink. An excuse bloomed in her brain. A skating accident. One she’d suffered from first thing this morning. It wasn’t her finest cover-up, but her choices were gut-churningly limited. If ever there was a day for her luck to shine through, today was it.