Chapter Text
Adrien shifted in his seat in his office, balancing the pad of paper on his lap. Across from him, his final counselling client for the day was staring at his lap. Jean – a boy with dusty blond hair hanging in his eyes, hiding his face so Adrien couldn’t see him cry. A child of just fourteen years, like Louis and Emma.
Fourteen. There was a time when that age had sounded so grown up. But after living in this crazy world for forty-five years…the boy looked so small.
He lifted his eyes, daring to meet Adrien’s. His pale skin was splotchy with emotion and the muscles in his arms strained as he gripped the sides of his chair. ‘I just…I’m not even sure how to face my dad next time I see him. The fight was so bad. Not just the things he said, but….’
The agony in his voice made Adrien wince. Even after all this time – after all the work he’d done on himself – he still remembered feeling like this boy. Hell, eight years ago, Hugo had probably felt like this too. Perhaps when this boy was twenty-two, he would be as settled and mature as Hugo now was. But for now….
‘I don’t understand,’ Jean said, his voice wavering. ‘Y-you know how years ago Cat Noir did that crazy magic thing and – and wiped away everyone’s darkness or whatever?’
Adrien kept his expression neutral, anticipating the boy’s point. ‘Yes?’
‘Why didn’t that make my father…you know…happy? Why is he so fucking bitter?’
Aaaaand there it was.
Adrien rested his pen on the pad. ‘I can’t speak for Cat Noir, but…I don’t think that’s how his magic works. I don’t even think that was his intention.’
‘Then what was his intention?’
‘To give everyone another chance.’ Adrien sighed. ‘It was your father’s idea to attend therapy. He really cares about you. He’s just…. He’s getting a divorce, Jean. He’s carrying his own pain. And that’s not what Cat Noir erased. Maybe you’re too young to remember the experience in detail, but…when he connected to our minds, he spoke to us and explained. He erased bias, not unhappiness.’
‘But doesn’t unhappiness cause bias?’
‘It can, but…. Look, people suffer tragedies all the time. For one person, their experience might fuel rage or even bigotry. For another, the same experience might inspire them to do charitable work, to support other victims. We can use our pain to do great things.’
‘And if we don’t? What if I’ve done everything I can to connect with my father, but he isn’t interested in connecting with me?’ Jean looked at him with large, round eyes, rimmed with tears.
‘Then…you might have to make some tough decisions.’ Adrien leaned forward on his knees. ‘You know, when I was your age, I had a hard time with my father too.’
‘…you did?’
‘Mm-hm. Honestly, I sort of…. Yeah, I hated him.’ The words came with ease.
Surprise clouded the boy’s eyes. At last, someone was too young to know Adrien’s history. ‘Do you…do you still hate him?’
Adrien opened his mouth to reply, then closed it, a question running through his mind.
If I’d been allowed to see a therapist at fourteen, what would I have wanted to hear?
‘To be honest, Jean, I’m not sure how to answer that. All I know is when I was younger, I used to have these dreams. I’d be shouting at my father, telling him everything I was angry about. Then he’d react, and I’d grovel at his feet for forgiveness – or I’d scream louder. Ever had any dreams like that?’
Jean gave a jerky nod.
‘Well, maybe it will comfort you to know it’s normal. But I didn’t know that at the time, so I was devoured with guilt. Then I’d wake up and remember my father was…. He’s no longer in this world. I’m never going to see him again and I can never tell him how I feel. Sometimes…sometimes we never get the closure we were hoping for.’
Jean’s mouth slowly fell open, and Adrien hurried on.
‘The thing is, no matter what happens with your father – or with anyone we’re angry with – in the end, we’re the ones who carry that anger. If we’re not careful, it will haunt us and consume us. The healthiest thing we can do is find ways to accept what we can’t change. If we keep fighting, we’re just beating our heads against brick walls.’
The boy pressed his fingernails against the pads of his thumbs. A tear slid down his cheek.
Adrien set his notepad and pen on his desk. ‘Ah, Jean. I don’t think it will come to that. Like I say, your father cares. The truth is, parents get insecure and frightened too. We learn from our children, not just the other way around. And like you acknowledged earlier, you had a hand in that fight too. So maybe…maybe your homework this week can be to think of new ways to try talk to your father. Give him that reassurance that you haven’t quit on this relationship and you hope he hasn’t either.’
‘…and if he doesn’t respond the way I need him to?’
‘…let’s worry about that next week.’
The boy gave him a long, solemn look, then nodded slowly. ‘I…I’ll try.’
Maybe the sweetest words in any language.
When the session finished, Jean left his office with a smile. As soon as the door shut, Plagg flew out, resting on the desktop. ‘Listen to you, making all those fancy speeches like you know what you’re talking about.’
Adrien rolled his eyes. ‘Thanks so much for your support, Plagg.’
‘Ah, you know I’m only teasing. You must know what you’re talking about, or you wouldn’t have cleared all those senti-soldiers off your client list. Remember when all those idiot politicians and protestors insisted they’d never be able to integrate into society?’
‘Not all of them have. Most of them moved out to remote settings and established temples.’
‘Yes – because that’s their calling. And you helped them find that. Thanks to you, there are Guardians all over the world now, protecting the people. I’d call that a win, Adrien.’
He smiled to himself. ‘When you put it like that…I guess I am pretty amazing, aren’t I.’
‘You are. But you know what’s more amazing? Marinette’s mac ‘n’ cheese. Please pack up quickly so we can go home.’
Laughing, Adrien started putting away his things. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Plagg tucked into hiding, and Adrien locked up his office. He headed for the stairwell, hurrying down three flights of stairs, to the ground floor.
Outside, the sky was bright and clear, the street packed with pedestrians moving in and out of offices, shops and cafes. Quickening his pace, Adrien pulled out his phone, replying to his unread messages as he began the fifteen-minute walk back to the apartment.
Marinette: When do you think you’ll be home?
Adrien: I’m just heading back now. Plagg’s looking forward to mac ‘n’ cheese.
Adrien: Or maybe just cheese with a side of macaroni.
Adrien: Or maybe just cheese.
Hugo: I wish this art exhibition were open to the general public and not just art critics. I could really use your support tonight.
Adrien: You have nothing to be nervous about, Hu. You’re the most talented artist I’ve ever seen. That’s why your work was chosen.
Hugo: More talented than Maman???
Adrien: Shit. That’s not what I meant. Do NOT show her that message.
Adrien: The most talented PAINTER. Your mother’s a different type of artist.
Adrien: You DO know that’s what I was thinking, right???
Adrien: Damn it, Hugo, don’t leave me hanging here!!
Hugo: Sorry, I was just forwarding a screenshot to Maman.
Adrien: Don’t make me cataclysm your phone!!!
Nathalie: I finished crocheting my amigurumi miraculous hero dolls. I’m quite pleased with Cat Noir’s hair.
Adrien: We need to get you some other hobbies.
[Incoming photos]
Adrien: Wow, his hair DOES look good.
He ran a hand over his head and let out a wistful sigh. If only his real hair still looked that golden.
Tucking away his phone, he turned a corner and carried on to the apartment. When he let himself in, the sound of Emma chatting on the phone hit his ears, despite her being down the hall and in her room. He had to strain to hear Louis, no doubt playing a video game with some friend online. Amid this was the metal clang of a utensil in a pot in the kitchen.
Marinette. Even after three decades together, the thought of her still made his heart skip a beat.
Plagg flew out again, sniffing the air. ‘That is definitely cheese.’ He zipped away, disappearing through the kitchen door.
Shaking his head, Adrien set down his bag and headed for the hamster tank below the window. He bent down to study the adorable creature. Before he’d owned hamsters, they’d all looked pretty much the same to him. But there was no question that He Who Must Not Be Named was a totally different animal from the late Loneliness.
Adrien opened the undercabinet and dug out the box of hamster food, tipping some of it into the tank. He Who Must Not Be Named hurried over, wrinkling his cute little nose, sniffing at the food, and stuffing it in his puffy cheeks.
Smiling, Adrien turned around, his gaze catching on the piano standing in the corner of the room. As usual, Hugo had left his music books strewn all over the instrument. Adrien walked over, neatening the books into a pile, then headed for the kitchen.
Inside, Plagg and Tikki were on the table, gorging themselves on cheese and biscuits. Marinette had earbuds in and was dancing a little as she chopped tomatoes for a salad. A mouth-watering smell wafted from the oven.
Tiptoeing across the room, Adrien slid his arms around Marinette’s waist. She let out a soft cry, then eased back against him. He gently pulled out one of her earbuds and dropped a kiss just below her ear. Then lower down her neck. Then lower again.
She squirmed and made a noise that made his body warm all over. ‘I missed you.’
‘I missed you too.’ He moved back to her ear, murmuring into it. ‘I spent half my day wanting to be alone with you like this.’ He kissed her neck again.
Behind him, Plagg cleared his throat. ‘You are always forgetting us.’
Adrien twisted around. ‘Alright, then why don’t you let us be alone.’
Tikki sighed and set aside the biscuits. ‘Come on, Plagg. We know when we’re not wanted.’
‘So rude.’ Plagg grabbed as much cheese as he could carry, dropping all of it when Tikki dragged him through the door.
Adrien turned back to Marinette. She’d taken to dyeing her hair to cover the greys, and there were tiny creases at the corners of her eyes, but she was still the most beautiful woman on the planet.
He put his hands on her hips, trailing his lips down her neck.
She laughed like he’d tickled her. ‘You’re going to make me ruin dinner.’
‘That’s okay. I feel like I could eat you right now.’
‘Adrien.’ She giggled and pulled away.
With a frustrated noise, he released her. He was hungry.
As she resumed chopping, he went to the windowsill to water Rosemary. Then he stroked her long, needle-like leaves. ‘Who’s the most beautiful plant in the whole wide world? You are – yes, you!’
Marinette muttered something under her breath and chopped harder.
Adrien laughed. ‘Hey, you told me to back off. I need some kind of outlet for my affection.’
She held up the knife. ‘Watch it, or you can eat hamster food.’
He laughed harder. ‘Can I help with anything?’
‘Thanks, but I’m almost done.’
Nodding, he sat at the table, sweeping the biscuit crumbs into a small pile. ‘How was your day?’
‘Okay. You know the good thing about running your own boutique?’
‘You…get to make all the decisions?’
‘Yep. You know the bad thing about running your own boutique?’
‘You…have to make all the decisions?’
‘I knew there was a reason I married you.’ She tossed a heap of tomato chunks into a large bowl. ‘There’s just so much to do and – I’m a designer, not a businessperson. Thank god for Chloe, or I don’t know how I’d manage. Remind me why I went into the fashion industry?’
Adrien put up his hands. ‘Don’t look at me. I’m the last person to convince anyone to do such a thing.’
She threw him an apologetic look and moved onto the cucumber.
Adrien leaned on one of his palms. ‘You know…speaking of the fashion industry…I found myself telling one of my clients about my father today.’
She paused, then carried on chopping. ‘Is that…normal for a therapist?’
‘…I guess it’s a little unorthodox, but…you can look all of it up online anyway. And sometimes it’s just…. It’s good to be honest. To remind them I’m a real person.’
‘It’s a relief to hear you now know that, too.’
They shared a smile.
She dumped the cucumber in the bowl, then went to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of dressing. ‘So, what did you tell them?’
‘Not much. I was talking about closure and…you know. Not getting it.’
‘Ah.’ That single syllable held so much weight.
She poured dressing into the bowl, then carried it to the table, setting it down in the middle. A thoughtful look crossed her face. ‘If you could speak to your father one last time…what do you think you’d say?’
He shrugged heavily. ‘I wondered that myself, today. But the truth is, I have no idea how I feel about Gabriel anymore.’
She nodded. ‘I know what you mean. He caused a lot of suffering for me and so many people I love – not to mention the people I was sworn to protect. I was angry for a long, long time. But now…I’m just not sure anymore.’
Silence fell between them, a thousand painful memories hovering in the air.
Then the oven beeped, and he got to his feet. ‘I’ll get that.’
He put on the oven mitts and opened the door, pulling out the most gorgeous smelling pot of mac ‘n’ cheese she’d ever made. He set it on a hot plate and shut the oven door. ‘This looks incredible – like the chef.’
She grinned. ‘What time are you meeting the guys for Games Night?’
‘Seven. I’m walking down to Fe’s maybe fifteen minutes before, so we can catch a cab together. Maybe the twins will want to walk down with me.’
‘Great. I’ll tell the girls to come at seven, too. Speaking of the twins – could you call everyone for dinner?’
‘Can do.’ He removed the oven mitts, then headed into the living room, where the kwamis were watching cartoons on the TV. ‘Dinner,’ he said, and they leapt from the sofa, flying into the kitchen.
Adrien switched off the TV, then walked down the hall. He stopped outside Emma’s room, knocking before opening the door.
Emma was so absorbed in her phone call that she ignored him, her back to him while she all but shouted down the line. ‘Seriously, he is gorgeous, Izi. How can you not think that? His eyes – and his arms!’
Adrien did his best to tune out her words, casting an eye over her room. For some reason, he still kept expecting to see the twins’ room, when they were kids and used to share – before Louis took Hugo’s old room and Hugo moved into the former storage room. But this was definitely a teenage girl’s bedroom. The walls were covered in posters of male celebrities. A little like how Marinette had wallpapered her room with pictures of him.
But that was different. He married her. This was his daughter and –
When the hell had he turned into Tom Dupain?
Weredad was making a lot more sense, these days.
He cleared his throat, drawing Emma’s attention. She turned, her dark hair swept into a messy high ponytail and wisps framing her beautiful face. She was the spitting image of Marinette at that age – apart from the green eyes she’d inherited from him.
‘Sorry, Izi, my dad’s here, one sec.’ She pulled the phone away from her ear. ‘Yes?’
‘Dinner.’
‘Oh, right. Izi? I need to go to dinner. Oh my god, really? But you said….’
He left the room, leaving the door open to remind her where she was supposed to be. Then he moved on, knocking on the next door down the hall.
Louis’ voice came softly through the door. ‘Come in.’
Adrien entered, fighting to get the door open with all the stuff on the floor. The room couldn’t have been more different from Emma’s. It looked more like Hugo’s used to, before he’d covered his living space with art supplies and sheet music.
Louis was in his gaming chair, an island amid a sea of discarded clothing. On his bed was a stack of perhaps ten books, all easily a thousand pages each, with bookmarks stuffed in the middle.
He stared at Adrien, one ear covered with a pair of gaming headphones. ‘Is it dinnertime?’
Adrien nodded and climbed over to the stack of books. He picked one up, while Louis said his goodbyes to whatever friend he was speaking to. It was an anthology of English Romantic poetry, in the original language. Smiling, Adrien scanned the table of contents, recognising titles from when his mother used to read to him.
A strange ache filled his heart, and he put the book back, almost falling over as he made his exit.
Back in the hall, Emma had shut her door, her voice carrying through. He didn’t bother knocking this time. ‘Emma. Off the phone.’
‘Okay. I have to go, Izi. I’ll see you later.’
He shook his head and carried on down the hall, warmth flooding within despite his frustration. If the kids felt able to rebel, it meant they felt safe with him. He’d made the family he always longed for.
Marinette’s question came back to him, sharp and crisp in his mind.
‘If you could speak to your father one last time…what do you think you’d say?’
This time, an answer formed.
I did it, Father. I got everything I ever wanted.
What about you?