Chapter Text
Never does life truly feel complete.
Stories are allowed to feel complete. Are supposed to in most cases. You’re supposed to turn that final page or watch the credits roll or watch the stage lights dim… and you’re supposed to be content with how the story ended. Whether the ending is happy or sad, it’s supposed to be an ending. All of the arcs, all of the themes, should be tied up with a nice little bow.
And Marinette… well, she would admit that she had expected something similar. She watched as Gabriel Agreste was stuffed into a cop car – the tall fucker hit his head on the top of the door – and, even from a distance, she could hear the fervor with which the cop slammed the door. And she waited. For that single sigh of relief, for the tension to drain from her shoulders, for that complete feeling that was supposed to come with a job well done. The door had closed with a ringing sense of finality. She could finally rest.
The tips of the butterfly pin dug into her palm.
Chat Noir ran a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face, and he gave her a hesitant smile. “It’s over,” he said, and she could tell he meant it.
She bit her lip. “Not quite.”
His eyebrows knit together.
“It’s… his son, Adrien Agreste. We don’t know if he was in on it.”
It was a surprisingly good point despite the fact that she had made up on the spot. Maybe they should have taken that into account before they had arrested Gabriel. If Adrien was involved in this, then he was definitely going to be more cautious from now on. It would take ages for him to drop his guard, they would have to continue working for what could be months – decades, even.
She tried to ignore the way the thought made something that might have been elation bubble in her chest.
But humor tugged at the corners of Chat Noir’s lips. “Oh. No. That won’t be a problem.”
It was her turn to frown at him, but he waved her off.
“I’ll explain when the reporters get here,” he said.
He bumped his shoulder against hers, and she gave him the best smile she could.
“I can’t believe you’re making me wait,” she huffed, giving up on trying to smile in favor of an overexaggerated pout. It was much easier to do that, anyway. “Aren’t I your best friend?”
He laughed and ruffled her hair, pushing her head down slightly with the force of his half-noogie. “Oh, hush.”
She did not, in fact, hush. She batted at his hands and continued to complain about how he had messed up her hair until the reporters came.
(And maybe for a bit longer than that.)
~
She sighed as the pair of them leaned over the railing of the Eiffel Tower.
Detransformed in front of each other for the first time. But not strangers.
Marinette’s eyes scanned over the skyline, looking for akumas (habitually or hopefully, even she didn't know).
“You know that you can’t keep the ring anymore,” she said carefully. “Now that you’ve broadcasted your identity to the public.”
He winced. The pleasant smile that had come over his face as he watched the parades, the fireworks, the people of Paris finally getting their conclusion… it faded slowly. He cast his gaze upwards. “I know,” he said, and his voice came out shaky. “But…”
“It’s dangerous for you to have it,” she reminded him.
Part of her wondered if she was punishing him. For revealing his identity, for being a coward when it came to helping her out while Lila isolated her from all of her friends but brave for the sake of the city and his own ego, for ruining her chances of continuing on with this life with a simple detransformation. She certainly had reason to, and she would never deny that she could be petty.
But whether she was doing it to punish him or not, she still had a point.
Still, her eyes landed on her partner, on the person that had once been her friend, the person that still was in some ways, and he had tears spilling down his face, and that part of her ached.
She pulled him into a hug. He slotted himself against her perfectly, burying his face in the crook of her neck.
“It wasn’t healthy for you, anyways,” she mumbled, absently playing with the tiny curls on the back of his neck. “And you’re free, now, you don’t need Him anymore. You can be yourself, as yourself.”
He sobbed harder. His nails dug into the back of her shirt, but she paid it no mind. Neither of them had been allowed to cry in years, it was no surprise that he was pent up. It had been inevitable, really.
She rested her chin atop his head and closed her eyes.
They stayed like that for a long time.
~
Marinette blinked out of her stupor when she felt a hand tap her on the shoulder.
She craned her neck to look at her mom, still absently working the dough in her hands. It wasn’t quite the right texture yet, but it was close.
“Head up front,” her mother said, swatting at her arm lightly to get her to move so she could take over.
Marinette yelped and backed up, grinning as she evaded the hits, her hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, okay mom, I’m going!” She dusted her hands on her apron. “Is there someone I need to scare off?”
Her mother rolled her eyes with a fond smile. “For the last time, Marinette, you don’t need to get rid of every person you deem a ‘Karen’.”
“But I wanna!” She huffed. “They’re evildoers! I must vanquish them!”
“So dramatic,” Sabine chided lightly, and swatted Marinette again. Marinette gave an offended screech that went completely ignored. “Someone’s waiting for you at the counter.”
Her eyebrows knit together, the playfulness disappearing from her expression in favor of pure, unadulterated confusion. Adrien was in therapy at the moment – he wasn’t stupid enough to skip, and he was definitely not stupid enough to let her find out he was skipping this easily – but it couldn’t be anyone else.
She poked her head around, and only ended up more confused when her eyes landed on the only person in the store. Audrey Bourgeois stood at the counter in clothes that were far too warm for late summer, with a white trench coat to compliment her signature large sunglasses and even larger hat. She probably didn’t want to get infected by the ‘poor’ness of the bakery… though that begged the question of why she was visiting her parents’ bakery at all. Surely, she could get food catered to her by her private chefs back home in America?
She slowly made her way over to the counter. “Mme. Bourgeois,” she said, tipping her head forward respectfully. “What brings you here?”
The woman crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re MDC,” she said, and it wasn’t a question.
Her eyes widened and she backed up a half step. “What? How do you –?”
“If you have money, you can find out anything,” Audrey said shortly.
Marinette gave her a flat look. “Jagged let it slip, huh?”
It seemed the woman had spontaneously gone deaf. She continued on with her point: “I like what you have made so far, and I would like to buy you.”
Marinette opened and closed her mouth several times without managing to say a word. What could you even say to that?
Oh, right.
“I’m not for sale?” She said slowly, sounding more unsure than she probably should have. But give her a break, she was very confused.
She tilted her sunglasses downward so she could peer directly into her eyes. “Aren’t you? You’re not going to get far in this industry on your own – your designs are amazing, but fashion design is an industry that even I will admit is heavily affected by nepotism. You need backing. I can help you.”
“And if I don’t care about being ‘world famous’ or whatever?”
She scoffed. “Don’t you get tired of standing around here, baking all day? Will you really feel happy when you inevitably take over for your parents after they retire? Do you not have any dreams of your own? Don’t you want more?”
Marinette’s mouth went dry.
Because she did want more. Desperately. She had been puttering along after Hawkmoth’s defeat, unable to find anything that gave her anything more than momentary happiness. But the thing she missed so much was no longer an option, not really.
She bit the inside of her cheek, quietly considering.
“What would change if I did this?”
Audrey’s lips curled into a victorious little smile. “I would like to relocate you to America, to be closer to me.”
She nodded slowly. But something poked at her mentally, and she ran over the words a few times in her head until she figured out what exactly had thrown her off.
“Where in America, exactly?”
Audrey’s smile lessened just slightly. Clearly, she had been hoping that that wouldn’t come up. She sighed. “Gotham,” she admitted.
Marinette’s eyes widened.
Gotham?
Something sharp flickered over her expression but she was quick to tamp it down. She reached a hand across the counter, the grin on her face just barely off. “I think I can handle living in the most crime-ridden city in the world if it means I get to take advantage of this incredible opportunity you’re offering.”