Butterflies were fragile.

Those who wielded their power were never meant to be fighters.

Of all the kwami, Nooroo was the gentlest. More than that, he was utterly selfless. The little God sought only to bring joy to those around him, empowering his companions to live up to their potential, even at the expense of his own. His wielders were never blessed with the fantastic power he so freely bestowed upon others.

That was why, when the Akuma broke the leash binding her to his will and she turned to hunt him down, Hawkmoth had no choice but to flee from her wrath. Even in his transformed state, he was little more than an ordinary human. No match at all for his own creation.

Having been driven from his hidden sanctuary, he soon found himself cornered atop a roof in full view of a mob of spectators, facing down his archenemies, Ladybug and Chat Noir.

The young heroes' expressions were grim, their eyes shining with determination. They were eager to take the chance provided to them by the rogue Akuma to finally defeat the supervillain who had been terrorizing the city for almost two years.

They'd talked of this often, this final showdown. They'd always known defeating him would be hard – harder than anything they'd faced before. And so, when Hawkmoth transformed his cane into a blade to launch a desperate attack on Ladybug, Chat Noir held nothing back in defense of his Lady.

But butterflies were fragile.

They were not meant to withstand the fury of Destruction.

The staff connected in a clean hit. Hawkmoth's rib cage shattered.

It was Gabriel Agreste who fell dead to the ground.

"I didn't mean to."

Chat's words were barely above a whisper, so unlike his normally boisterous voice. Ladybug raised her head, which had been resting on the knees she'd drawn to her chest, and spotted him above her. Just like his voice, his body language was all wrong. His shoulders were hunched, his claws digging into the support beam he perched on, and his brilliant green eyes didn't meet her gaze.

She shouldn't be surprised that he'd sought solace here, too. As cliché as it was, the Eiffel tower was considered the heart of Paris for a reason, and nowhere did she feel more connected to the city she was sworn to protect than here, at its peak. This was their spot. It was here that they'd truly become the heroes and partners they were today.

"I know you didn't, minou." She swallowed heavily, bottled up that helpless grief and anger because she knew she shouldn't blame him and that the words she was speaking were the truth. "It was an accident. It wasn't your fault."

It wasn't Chat's fault. It wasn't her fault. She had to believe that because if she didn't believe that then that meant that Adrien was an orphan because of her and he would never, ever forgive her.

Adrien.

He wasn't picking up his phone or answering her texts. But then, she was just Marinette, and they weren't that close, and he probably had all the press of Paris hounding him. But he wasn't answering Nino either, and if he wasn't answering Nino, who was his best friend, that meant Adrien was going through this all alone and he was in pain and it was all her fault.

"It wasn't our fault," she repeated, louder and more forceful.

"Then whose was it?" Chat's voice was still so small, and it wasn't supposed to be like that. Her kitten was playful and flamboyant, and he never let anything shake his confidence. No matter how dire the situation or how grave the danger, she could count on her partner to lighten the mood with a silly pun and a wide grin.

"It was an accident, Chat. No one's fault." But even as she said them, the words burned her throat like a lie. Hawkmoth. Gabriel Agreste. Her idol. Her enemy. He'd chosen this path for reasons he'd taken to his grave. It was he who'd set these events in motion. "No one but Hawkmoth's."

Her partner's cat ears flattened against his messy blond hair and he blinked rapidly. The metal screeched under his claws as they dug in deeper and he leaned forward, crouching even further to put himself at eye level. His lips moved soundlessly as his gaze met hers for the briefest second, and then he withdrew, seeming to reconsider what he was about to say.

"Hawkmoth's gone," he said at last. His voice was still shaking, but there was something else there, now, like he'd snatched onto that thought like a lifeline. "So there's… there's no more danger, right? We won." He swallowed heavily. "Nobody can invade our minds anymore and steal our secrets when we're vulnerable. We're safe."

"Chat…" she said, slowly shaking her head at the direction his reasoning was headed, and his words grew frantic, tumbling all over each other as he rushed to convince her.

"We don't have to hide from each other anymore. Right? It's over, and we can – we can be honest and you don't have to if you're not ready, but I really want to – I really need to." He took a deep, gulping breath, "I need to talk to you, my Lady. Please. I've waited so long and I've been patient but I really… need to show you who I am."

"Hawkmoth's not the only threat we'll ever face." She made her voice soft and gentle and soothing. Chat was upset, and she didn't want this to sting more than it had to. But with her nerves as frayed as they were, she couldn't help the small undercurrent of annoyance as he again forced her into the position of having to reject him. She was so, so tired of having to be the responsible one.

"Please." He leaned forward, only inches from her face now. His eyes were shining, the cat-like pupils dilated so wide they looked almost human. "Please, I need… I need someone to talk to. As me. Real me."

Never having seen such raw emotion in her partner before, her resistance faltered.

He raised his hand, his claw gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The touch lingered, and it burned. Something unspoken passed between them and he shuddered, exhaling a breath she hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"Ladybug," he whispered, "My Lady. I need you."

And then his lips were on hers. It was clumsy and desperate and tasted like salt and despite all of that, for one blissful moment, it was the best feeling in the entire world.

Adrien.

"No!" Marinette shrieked as her traitorous body thrummed with pleasure, remembering the boy she was supposed to be loyal to, the boy who was alone in the world because of her, because of them. Unthinking, she scrambled back, pushing Chat away from her, and it was only his catlike reflex that saved him from tumbling off the narrow ledge.

Regaining his balance on the railing, he drew himself to his full height, towering over her. His chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, he balled his claws into fists, and then seemed to will himself to release. He stared at her, his jaw working.

"Chat, I'm so, so sorry, I wasn't thinking–"

And Chat Noir smiled.

It wasn't the broad grin she knew so well, it was something new, and it just… didn't fit his face. At all. There wasn't anything wrong with the smile, really, it wasn't mocking or cold. It was quite a nice smile, all things considered, the kind one might use to pose for a picture. But something about it just made her skin crawl. Maybe because it had so suddenly wiped away and hidden the anguish that had been plainly written on his face.

"It's alright, my Lady. I shouldn't have tried that. You've made your feelings quite clear."

"O… okay." She paused, still unnerved by the sudden change in demeanor. "What do you need to talk about?"

"Civilian troubles," he said, that pleasant smile still firmly etched on his features. "I really can't talk about it without revealing myself." For a moment, the smile waned, and he shrugged, as if it did not matter at all. "Your choice."

She hesitated for a long moment. "I don't think… that'd be wise. We can't afford to make rash decisions like this, chaton, we have to consider our security in the long-term. Even more so now that Hawkmoth is," her breath hitched, "defeated. We don't know what we'll face in the future and…" She trailed off when he nodded and kept smiling and didn't argue at all. The whole sales pitch on Why We Need Our Secret Identities seemed kind of redundant and beside the point. It wasn't like he didn't know all these arguments; they'd talked about it many times before.

So Ladybug shook her head and reached for his hand, squeezing his fingers. "Whatever it is that's troubling you, Chat, I know you're strong enough to handle it. You're my partner and I believe in you."

He didn't squeeze back.

But he did raise his hand, bringing her fingers to his lips to press a very gentle kiss to her knuckles.

He flashed her that enigmatic new smile, and then he was gone.

The days passed in a daze, an endless string of adults sitting him down for Very Serious Conversations About His Future.

Nathalie was uncharacteristically gentle when she told Adrien that the sizable inheritance he'd always taken for granted had been frozen by federal agencies. Even though Gabriel Agreste had made most of his fortune through building a fashion empire, having been revealed a supervillain had prompted the French authorities to scrutinize his business dealings for signs of criminal activity. Sales had cratered in the wake of the scandal, sponsors and partners cut ties, and the brand struggled with the loss of its creative visionary. An army of lawyers had descended upon the firm like locusts, seeking to reimburse the city of Paris and its citizens for all the damage Hawkmoth had caused over the years.

Legal battles of this magnitude took years to resolve. And, even with Nathalie's most optimistic estimates, it was quite likely that if anything was left for Adrien to claim one day, it would be only a small fraction of what he'd grown up with.

Thankfully, the small but respectable fund Adrien had earned for his own modelling career was deemed outside the scope of the investigation into his father's activities. Nathalie assured him it was enough to last him a few years into adulthood, to university and beyond.

Sixteen was young for emancipation, but it was his best option, seeing as he had no close relatives who could take him in. She promised she would handle the paperwork for him, it would all be arranged, he had to worry about nothing. If he signed the dotted line here, please, she would act as his temporary guardian.

The words washed over him without sinking in. Adrien made vague noises of agreement whenever a lull in the conversation coincided with their eyes on him, and that seemed satisfactory. What the hell is 'escrow', even?

It was only when the words private school fell that he jerked awake.

"No! My friends, in school, they're here, I want to stay!"

Nathalie and the man who Adrien knew he'd been introduced to but couldn't remember – a lawyer, maybe? – exchanged a long glance, and then sighed in unison. "Adrien. You can't stay in Paris," Nathalie said in a clipped voice, as if they'd already been over this point. But surely Adrien would remember agreeing to that.

"My friends–"

"Your friends can stay in contact through the internet." She adjusted her glasses. "I know you think you know how to handle fame, but your experience is with being a model, Adrien. Interesting to only a few select demographics of professionals, fashionistas and teenage girls. This… what we're dealing with now is different. You're not famous anymore, you're infamous. In all of Paris, and likely all of France. If you stay here, neither you nor any of your friends will have a moment's peace."

"But–"

"It's not forever," she said, her voice warming a few degrees as she gazed down at him. "Only until the scandal dies down and the press moves on to something else. I'm sure by the time you're ready to enroll in university, Paris will welcome you back."

Nathalie's warnings proved prescient when Adrien tried to meet his friends to say goodbye in person, only for them to be surrounded by a mob of overeager paparazzi. He could barely hear Nino's voice over the roar of too many vultures crowding into a too-small bakery.

When Alya was shoved into the counter by a stray elbow, it was Marinette – shy, gentle Marinette – who roared back like a fierce lioness. The hum of conversation quieted down after that, and they were given some space.

Adrien's eyes lingered on Marinette as he awkwardly said his goodbyes. He wanted to say that he was sorry for not being braver, for not pushing himself to get out of his comfort zone, and that he'd squandered the chance to get to know them – her – as well as he'd wanted. That he would treasure their time together for always. That they were the first ones to show him what it was like to laugh so hard that his stomach hurt and tears stung his eyes.

That he was so afraid of being alone now.

But he couldn't risk embarrassing himself by projectile vomiting those feelings now when strangers' eyes were crawling all over him, so his farewell speech ended up the blandest speech that ever blanded. I really had fun with you guys. I hope you'll write. I'm gonna miss you.

Nino pulled him into a hug, and didn't let go for what felt like ages. Burying his face in his best friend's shoulder and trying to keep it together, he caught a glimpse of Alya whispering fiercely into Marinette's ear behind Nino's back. The black-haired girl shook her head, staring at the floor. Her response seemed to exasperate her best friend, who cast her a scathing look, but then she reached into Marinette's backpack to pull out a book.

Nino disentangled himself – no, wait, I wasn't ready – when Alya cleared her throat and thrust the book toward Adrien.

"It's from all of us," she said, as he opened the gift to its first page. He swallowed heavily as he spotted Max' neat and tidy script, telling him the name of his Steam account so they could have that Ultimate Mecha Strike rematch online. Nathaniel's looping signature was accompanied by a little sketch of his stylized alter ego waving goodbye. Ivan and Mylène had opted for joint well-wishes, evidently in an effort to save space because every last inch of the page was filled up and it really was from everyone, and they cared about him, and don't cry, don't cry, THERE'S CAMERAS, DON'T DO IT.

He quickly flipped through the rest of the scrapbook, filled with candid shots of him and the others at various school events, culminating in the class photo which had taken so much effort to get everyone into frame.

"Thank you," he said hoarsely. They must have put this together on such short notice, and yet, looking at the immaculate collages, one would never suspect that it was a rush job.

"Thank Marinette, she's the one who stayed up all night," Alya said and then not-so-subtly pushed the girl in question toward Adrien, who caught her by the upper arm before she fell. She blinked up at him, froze, and then made a distressed sound so high-pitched that it could only be described as meep.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice barely carrying over the bustle of activity humming all around them.

Adrien laughed softly. "For giving me the best gift of my life?"

"N-no! I mean, the – the best, really? – no, that is to say – YOUR FATHER!"

And just like that, the beautiful, fuzzy warmth that had been growing inside him was doused with ice water. Reality re-asserted itself and the thing, the Thing, That Thing That Couldn't Be True that he'd done such a stellar job of not ever, ever thinking about burst to the forefront of his mind. Marinette inhaled sharply and slapped a hand over her mouth, her yell having caused a hush to fall over the crowd as everyone turned to stare.

But then, they'd already been staring at him anyway. Everyone was staring at him. The son of Hawkmoth.

The ice spread from his chest and Adrien smiled for the cameras.

He made his smile gentle and a little wistful, to show Marinette he did not begrudge her the faux pas. She was already so anxious and prone to stumbling over her words in everyday interactions, it was no surprise that she'd fumbled her condolences. He refused to make her feel worse for meaning well.

"It's alright, Marinette," he murmured.

"I'm so sorry," she said again, and the shame and guilt would not leave her eyes.

Adrien left Paris.

It was after several weeks of patrolling on her own, waiting, hoping and just plain living in denial that Ladybug was finally forced to confront the possibility that Char Noir had chosen to retire.

Her kitten had come to give her a kiss goodbye, and she had pushed him away.