It was days, after. Almost a week, now.

Hawkmoth's identity had come out. He was in hospital, and was yet to wake up - Adrien wasn't sure if he cared (this was a lie, but one that helped him to sleep at night) - at the very least, Adrien was yet to visit him. What do you say to someone like that? After that? He hadn't left his father to die. The doctors had gone to retrieve him soon enough. But the tunnel had caved in on itself when Chat had had him pinned against a wall, and the last thing Gabriel would have remembered was that when Chat Noir (his son) dove out of the way, he did not think (was that the truth?) to pull Gabriel out of the way, with him. There was so much Chat had to say about that. So little, too.

Like there was all this space for words, a gaping maw the size of a collapsed tunnel, and all of the words were just… crushed, by rock, and stone. Impenetrable.

Marinette had asked if he was okay, before. In the days since, he remembered several instances - and she had reached up to pat his hair, and kiss his temple, and as easy as it would have been if she had been angry, she was not. Adrien was staying at the bakery, now, because the media were camped out in front of his apartment building, ready to ask if he had had any idea - did he know - why did he let his father do it - why didn't he say anything?

The Dupain-Chengs were good enough to let him stay in his room. Ladybug - Marinette - dragged him out to do the exercise regimen, and brought up food to eat with him so that he did not break down physically while he processed everything that had happened.

Adrien had never been a very angry person. He had never seen the point in it, much. He wondered, thinking back on it (the rage in the man, when he had realised Adrien was Chat Noir, had been Chat Noir all along), whether Hawkmoth had taken that anger, from him. Borrowed it, and made it his own. Maybe Gabriel hoarded pain, grip viscerally tight, like he could choke suffering into love, again; maybe his father had not accepted that loving someone could turn into losing them.

It seemed oddly fitting, that that was the sort of man who Hawkmoth had turned out to be, but Adrien didn't know how he had missed it. As well as not having any idea whatsoever how he could not have noticed, being Paris' superhero, how he could have overlooked the fact that his own father was The Actual Evil Supervillain, Hawkmoth - as well as that he did not know how he had not … seen the way that Emilie's death had torn his father to shreds. He had known it had hurt (it hurt them both), but how could Adrien not have known that it could have driven Gabriel to this?

How could he call himself a superhero? A son?

The lungs he was using were tight, when he thought about it too long, and he often had to blink something misty away from his eyes. For the record, he thought to himself, if the Dupain-Chengs had not taken him like this - if Marinette did not still sneak into the living room late past midnight, to slip onto the couch beside him and let him finally rest - he would have made it through. He had survived the theft and transplant of a new pair of lungs, hadn't he? He could breathe cool air that burned on the way down, but it got there. He did not, would not, suffocate, in this. He just choked. The Dupain-Chengs helped, but he could have risen above this, because the only thing he had ever known to drag him down was anger (he hoped never to be angry again), and he could not find anger, for his father. He was lying in the ICU, right now. He was not a threat to anyone. He was dying, the hospital had said he was probably dying.

Anger wasn't something he felt, though Adrien wondered if maybe he ought to.

"What are you thinking about?"

Marinette put the little tray down. It had a pot of Chinese herbal tea, one of those low, ceramic things - Adrien had always thought they were very pretty. The little cups could fit into the palm of his hand, if he wanted. She knelt down beside it - beside him - and poured the tea, trying to pretend she was not nervous, only she was his partner and had always been his partner.

He knew.

Adrien took the steaming cup she offered him with a polite, "Thank you."

Marinette came to sit beside him, with her own.

They each started speaking at the same time ("I don't-" from Marinette, and, "Just -"). They stopped. Marinette blushed, and plopped herself down a little bit harder than she probably meant to, legs crossed, waiting for Adrien to continue. He swallowed. He watched the steam rise in swirls from the cup of hot tea - Sabine's recipe. It was strong.

"I'm thinking about," he started, again, meek, because Marinette had asked. She nodded, quickly. Marinette did not know how to help him - she did not know what to do for him - and it was getting scary, that Adrien had not come down to join them for after-dinner games of scrabble, all week. When had he ever not wanted her there, with him, before? She didn't know how to not be wanted.

Adrien said, "There's this… I'm thinking about this old, um -" (when did he ever say 'um'?), "spiritual thing, I guess. I don't remember where it's from, it's just - something I picked up when I was learning about .. cultural things. For my languages. I think Japanese." He offered his cup over, so that Marinette could 'cheers' it. He had to lean into her space to do it, and she did nothing to discourage him. The cups clinked. "It really helped, when mum died. It was this idea that… the story goes, just before you're born, you have an audience with God, or several Gods, or some - all-powerful conglomerate of beings. And they say, 'You're going to go on a journey, in life, and then you will return to us. To make sure that it is a happy life, we will grant you three wishes - you will not die before each of these wishes comes true.' And you know - people can wish for anything. Some people want to become famous. Some people want to have…" he breathed out, "a son. A happy family." Did it count, for his mother, if that fell apart after she was gone? Did the wishes count if they were temporary? He shrugged, "And most people, well, you know. They end their wishes with, their third wish is, 'I wish to die in my sleep, peacefully, in my old age, surrounded by my loved ones'. But there are others -" his voice broke, and he had to swallow over it, the immediate flush of embarrassment. This was only Ladybug; he loved being here with her; he didn't know what it was, that made him embarrassed to be feeling this, now, here, but she reached out and put a hand on his shoulder and he continued anyway, past the lump in his throat. "There are some people who say, 'I want to die, giving others a chance.'" He swallowed, again. "And my mum, she stayed - longer than she wanted - because they could test. And see what worked. And what didn't. And the girl I took these lungs from -"

"That wasn't you, Adrien."

His breathing hitched. He waited several moments, through long, drawn-out breaths, to be able to speak without breaking; he knew how to do this. He had had formal training on how to make himself disappear, all his life. "The idea is they were finished." He laughed at himself. Meek. "That some people live more in 20 years than others do in 80."

"That's really nice," Marinette said, voice so soft it was barely above a whisper.

"I'm afraid he's going to die," he gasped - managed - choked, "and what's it going to be, I - I wish to die when I finish making people suffer, I wish -" a sniff, and some miserable laughter, "I wish I can die while I'm in the middle of trying to destroy -"

"I wish I could protect the people I love, or die trying."

"I shouldn't need that!" great, gasping protest, but at last - at last - Adrien turned into Marinette's shoulder, and let her hold him, and put her fingers through his hair, and for the first time in a week Marinette felt like she could breathe. For the first time in days she felt like she had her partner, back, again, and no longer doing his best to hide. "I shouldn't need that to be over this, he's Hawkmoth, I shouldn't care-"

"Chat Noir, when have you ever not cared about the people of Paris?"

So he cried on her shoulder even though he had no right to, because she didn't tell him off.

"Thank you all for coming out, tonight."

He put an arm, around Marinette's waist - to have her close - she slipped an arm around him, as well. There was something unfailable, about their partnership, something that made him stronger than he was without it. He did not worry he would not be able to stand, with her there beside him, even though his voice was weak, and his eyes were sunken, and his hair had seen better days.

Cameras flashed. People were whispering amongst themselves, because his voice was too quiet to be chattering over - Adrien did not have a microphone. He was just out in front of the hospital, here, with Marinette beside him.

"I want to answer some of your questions. No, I had no idea. Ladybug and Chat Noir will both attest to that." He breathed. "I know some of you were good enough to track down the owner of these lungs. I don't want that name circulating. I don't want to cost that family anything more. And no, I have no intention of visiting her grave," murmurings, in the crowd - Adrien took a moment to breathe. "I don't think it would be fair."

Marinette squeezed him, a moment. Just a short reminder that she was there. (She would not have been capable of a tall reminder.) (Because she was so short.) (He tried hard to find humour, these days.)

Adrien swallowed. He opened his mouth again. "My father, Hawkmoth, passed away a short time ago, in his hospital bed."

The crowd of media surged to its feet, all at once. It was only because Marinette was there that Adrien did not flinch, though she did - Marinette had never been a natural in front of the cameras - he was reassured, somewhat, that this was not just overwhelming for him. This was a shared experience. If they could tackle akumas the size of the Eiffel tower and wrangle would-be supervillains, they could do a media conference in the dead of night, in their pyjamas. Adrien's turn to squeeze her, now, and he felt Marinette steel herself beside him. He was, again, wildly grateful to have this girl, this remarkable girl, as his partner.

"I wanted to make that announcement as soon as I could. Paris deserves that closure."

Marinette wrapped her arm tighter around his waist, reaching, so that she could interlock her fingers with his. He held her hand, there, and turned to kiss her cheek, just because he could. Because he was glad to have her there. Because he would not have felt whole, with somebody else's lungs in his body, if he had not had someone to remind him that he still was. He still counted. Even like this.

"I might have plans to stay in the fashion industry -" they could make a label together; he had not spoken to Marinette about this, yet, though - "but I will not be keeping the Agreste corporation. Once the estate has been distributed I will be taking steps to liquidate assets and distribute this year's profits to a number of charities interested in the rebuilding of Paris. You can find a full list of nominated recipients on our website. That money will be distributed as transparently as we can manage it."

There were more murmurings, in the crowd. Adrien breathed. He took a deep breath, all the way in, and all the way out.

"And I am sorry for what my father has done to this city. I know how it has suffered. I know what it is like to be scared, and to not be able to breathe. I did not know, and it is not my fault," repeated, again, like yelling into the abyss and hoping it might not open wider to swallow him whole, "but I would not wish that on my worst enemy. Much less a city that I love."

Marinette kissed his cheek, back. He almost smiled.

"I'll be stepping out of the limelight for a while. I haven't ever really had a chance to - you know - be a kid. With the people I love." He swallowed. "That's an opportunity I don't take lightly. I love this city, and these people -" shaking his head, no, "and I don't agree with how I got it, this opportunity, but while I have it I can breathe. And I am going to fill my lungs up."

Adrien breathed. He breathed all the way in, and all the way out.

"Thank you again for coming out. I won't be taking questions, I'm sorry, I'm keeping the staff waiting." On arrangements, for the body. "The only thing we're sure of right now is he will be donating. I hope it brings somebody else everything that these lungs have brought me." For better and for worse. The bad bits of life were non-negotiable - sometimes life was going to suck - but it was not lost on him, that at least he was still breathing.

"Good night."