This drabble was written mostly by Fairia.

Isabelle is a little older in this one and in grade school.

"What's a matter with you, kid?" Félix frowned at the young lady sitting next to him.

Isabelle prodded her scoop of gelato despondently, mouth twisting in a grimace. "Nothing."

The odd pair sat together in a small coffee shop, seated next to each other in a booth tucked away in the corner. The two idly watching people pass by the side window, comfortable watching the busy city pass them by.

Over the years Plagg had become Isabelle's Godfather, or pseudo uncle. She usually just called him her uncle, despite there being no blood relation. Félix liked that just fine. On days like this he often took her out for lunch, and listened to her babble on about school and friends.

"Doesn't look like nothing," Félix replied, nodding to the waitress as she handed his café Americano across the table to him.

Isabelle had to contain a smile as her Uncle casually slipped a flask out of his pocket, adding a generous splash of liquor to his coffee before capping the silver container and settling it back into his jacket. Her Mama would be irate if she saw him doing that... The thought of her mother made her grimace again.

"Yeah, that's not nothing," Félix commented, sipping his coffee with a happy sigh. "Spill, Kitten."

"Ugh." Isabelle tossed her spoon with a clatter. She heaved a groan before dropping her head onto her Uncle's shoulder with the familiar dramatic flare of her father. Félix's mustache twitched, but he was otherwise silent as he waited for her to confess.

"There was no swim practice yesterday," Isabelle announced, staring up at him mournfully.

Félix's eyebrow quirked. "Sounds awful."

"It WAS!" Isabelle insisted a bit too loudly. "Because I got home EARLY."

"That's horrible," Félix deadpanned.

"You wouldn't be so mean if you'd gotten the same eyeful I did!" Isabelle hissed. "Mama and Papa were NOT expecting me home. I saw my Papa's BUTT," she hissed the last part in whisper that wasn't really as quiet as she was hoping.

Félix snorted, thinking back to the museum security feed he'd hacked over a decade earlier and the things that had happened in Marinette's office. "Hate to break it to you kid, but you're not exactly alone in that trauma."

Isabelle looked appalled. Gaping at him like a fish, "You've seen Papa's butt too?!"

He shuddered like a survivor of war, "And more."

Wordlessly, Isabelle reached into his jacket pocket and handed her Uncle his flask.

"You're a good kid, Kitten." Félix said, dumping another splash of amaretto into his coffee. Lips quirking, he tipped a few drops of the sweet liquor onto her chocolatey treat before holding the flash aloft in solemn salute. "To trauma."

"To trauma," Isabelle parroted, holding up a scoop of liquored gelato. "You know," she added as she stuck the spoon into her mouth, "Papa is gonna kill you for corrupting me."

"Whatever," Félix snorted. "Sounds like they're doing a better job than I ever could, anyway."