Thirteen: Entangled

I stared at the wax figure of Chat Noir in the Heroes and Villains Room at the Grevin.

It was exactly as it had been when unveiled some twenty years earlier; while I knew I had more grey than blonde in the mane now, for the most part I looked pretty much as I did back then – though definitely taller, and filled out with the muscles the younger version of me had only hinted at. I smiled at that; the kids had insisted on watching The Incredibles and its amazing sequel last night, and I had to admit I was privately thankful that my continuing exploits as half of the Heroes of Paris prevented me from letting myself go the way Bob Parr had. For the Chat Noir costume still left nothing to the imagination.

Shifting my gaze slightly, I took in the beautiful vision that was Ladybug. My eyes were, of course, biased, but I thought she looked as lovely today as she did back then. More so, perhaps, as she had grown into the mantle of being the leader of our team. And leader she was; I knew she liked to think of us as partners, and we were, but in truth, she called the shots. Two decades into our lives as superheroes, I was still more than happy to follow her wherever she led.

I sighed and shifted the backpack carrying the snacks our eight-year-old insisted on, no matter the outing. Our two teenagers had long since stopped officially demanding food be provided at all hours, but I still secretly continued to keep their snacks on hand to hand out on the sly. It was one more item in a long list of things I did for my own kids that my father had never done for me; a family outing such as this one would never have happened when I was their age, for I'd have been too busy modelling or trundling off to whatever extracurricular he'd felt I needed to be exposed to.

About the only legacy he'd handed down to me that I'd accepted was running House of Gabriel, although I made a conscious effort to ensure my duties as the face of the organization never interfered with my ability to be a significant part of my kids' lives. It also gave me the freedom to ensure my wife could pursue her own dreams as well, which made me incredibly happy.

And, somehow, I'd still managed to find time to prowl Paris and keep it safe each night.

To be sure, we'd beaten the original Hawkmoth years ago; and as hard as it was to deal with who Hawkmoth had been, we'd found that nature truly abhors a vacuum and had consequently dealt with (and dispatched) three of his replacements in the years since. The current supervillain appeared to have learned all of the lessons of the first four, and was proving to be more troublesome – and far more difficult to defeat – than any of them.

But today had been a quiet day, and one we'd promised the kids for some months. I was glad we'd managed to get out and do a family event without being interrupted with an emergency.

I sighed again, looking at my partner; then I smiled as I first heard and then smelled her enter the room. The older I got, and the longer I was Chat Noir, my feline enhanced senses had become much more pronounced when not transformed. I was finding the night vision especially helpful for avoiding LEGOs that the eight-year-old had not returned to their storage bins. "Milady," I said as I felt her hand slide into mine.

"Kitty," Marinette said as she snuggled into my side. "My God, were we really that young?"

"I don't know about you, but I still feline that young," I quipped.

"There are days, I guess," Marinette rolled her eyes as she leaned her head into my shoulder. "Sadly, the kids have had their fill of historic figures and are waiting at the entrance. However," she said, and a playful smile appeared, "I feel duty bound to report that Juliette says younger you looks fake." *

"Juliette would be right," I replied, leaning down to kiss my partner of two decades and wife for fifteen. "You remember that akuma we fought here? At the Grevin?"

Marinette looked into my green eyes. "How could I not," she said. "It's been top of mind since we arrived." She looked away. "And what happened afterward."

I drew her into a hug. "It was a mess, for sure. But like everything else, we got through it. Together."

"I know, kitty," she said. "Still—"

I put a finger to her lips. "No regrets, Milady. I won't hear of it."

Marinette laughed. "As you wish," she said.

"Isn't that my line?" I asked, eyes narrowing with humor.

"We've been together a long time, now, kitty," she said affectionately. "Some of your best lines are rubbing off on me."

"And my worst ones?"

"The kids use them on social media."

"Lovely," I rolled my eyes. "All right, let's get back home."

"Look," Marinette said suddenly, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I'm going to drop the kids off with Aunt Alya for the evening," she said as she deftly slid the backpack from me. "Meet me on our rooftop in an hour," she whispered into my ear, "and bring Italian."

I blinked. "Did I miss our anniversary?" I asked, knowing full well I hadn't. "And what about that meeting you have tonight? The one going through the spring designs?"

"You didn't forget, kitty," the Head Designer for House of Gabriel smiled as she ran a finger along the side of my face, about where the mask edge usually sat. Mask or not, the thrill of her touch was electric. "And the meeting was a placeholder on my calendar. Let's just say I decided we needed a night out." She leaned in for another kiss, before pulling back to whisper, "Just the two of us."

"You won't get an argument from me," I smiled as I leaned down to kiss her one last time.

"Off with you," she laughed. "And don't eat all of the cannoli before I get there."

"No promises, Milady," I said with mock seriousness as she turned and quickly made her way toward the exit and our waiting brood.

Suddenly needing to pick up dinner for two, I started toward an unremarked door I knew led to the storage areas of the museum. Having been cast more than once for exhibits over the years, I was rather familiar with the floorplan, and quickly eased my way into a darkened corridor. As the door sighed shut behind me, Plagg floated out of my shirt. Even after all our years together, he still preferred hiding out there than anywhere else.

"I thought she'd never get around to telling you," he said, his small face scowling,

I arched an eyebrow at my kwami as I dug out my phone to place a to-go order at my favorite bistro. "And how long have you known?"

"Tikki told me this morning while you were… otherwise occupied with Marinette."

Surprisingly, he could still make me flush slightly at my age. "Ah," I coughed as I confirmed the order and then carefully slid the phone back into my jeans. "Ready, my little friend?"

"Cheese," he demanded.

I rolled my eyes. Some things never changed, like having to keep a supply of super-smelly camembert on me at all times. I fished out a piece, which I tossed to him. Per usual, he snatched it out of mid-air and downed it in a single gulp. "Now can we go?"

After demanding a second piece of cheese, he deigned to transform me; once the green glow faded, I slipped into the stairwell I was close to and vaulted upwards on my baton, popping out on the roof. I took my bearings and then vaulted toward Philippe's Italian Bistro, tail flapping behind me as I soared through the late afternoon. I'd never gotten tired of seeing Paris from that angle and appreciated the sights one more time before landing in the alleyway beside the kitchen's door a short while later.

None other than Chef Philippe himself answered when I rapped my claws against the service door, his wide smile splitting his cheery face. "Chat! I thought that was your order. Only the Hero of Paris orders a dozen cannoli to go as part of our Lasagna For Two package."

I laughed. "Guilty as charged," I said as I accepted the takeaway bags. The smells of freshly made, high quality food wafted past my feline nose and I closed my eyes appreciatively.

"Only you can truly tell me how good my food is," I heard Philippe say as he laughed his deep, infectious laugh. I opened my eyes. "The way you look when you smell your order gives me such satisfaction."

"It's why I keep coming back, Chef," I chuckled.

"And who is the lucky woman tonight?" he asked, eyes bright.

I rolled my masked eyes. Even though our alter-egos were married, we'd managed to keep Paris speculating on Ladybug and Chat Noir; to be sure, we'd dropped a few hints here and there, more so over the last few years, but it was the one area that Ladybug remained adamant needed to remain opaque to the public. "Hope springs eternal," I said cryptically with a half shrug to try and sell the idea.

"After twenty years," Philippe clapped his hands excitedly. "Maybe she'll finally say yes!" he cried. "Tonight! Over my lasagna!"

I tried hard not to give anything away, but in point in fact, Marinette had accepted my proposal over Philippe's fantastic pasta. "I'll let you know," I laughed as I pushed my way up into the night on my baton.

By the time Ladybug arrived on my favorite rooftop looking across to Notre Dame, I'd completely decked it out with my usual romantic bric-a-brac of lit candles, rose petals and pillows; the food had been plated on a checked tablecloth, and I was just using a claw to uncork the bottle of red I knew she loved. She dropped softly to the tile and in two steps was in my arms, kissing me.

Then she pulled away suddenly. "No, this isn't quite right," she said.

Fearing I'd done something wrong – it had happened over the years – I started to pre-emptively apologize. "Milady—"

"Tikki – spots off."

I blinked, and the red glow faded away to reveal Marinette, smiling. "This is closer to what I was thinking," she said, leaning back into me for a kiss as Tikki quietly floated into her purse.

Now thinking she'd intended for dinner to be between Adrien and Marinette, and not Chat and Ladybug (not that there was a difference, mind you), I started to call out myself as she pulled away from our kiss: "Plagg –"

"No," Marinette said simply, pressing a finger to my lips.

Still confused, I raised my masked eyebrows at her. "Mehlwaydy?" I asked around the finger.

"This was how I fell in love with you, for real," she smiled. "You always told me Chat was more you than Adrien; that was true back then, of course." Marinette looked at me mischievously, as she ran a finger through some of the silvery locks of my wild mane. "And, I have to admit, you still look pretty sexy in black. If you don't mind humoring your wife for bit."

"You know I'd do anything for you, bug," I said, burying my face in her hair. "I'm happy to stay transformed."

"I was pretty sure you'd say that." She laughed, and pulled away from me to dig something out of her purse. "Here," she said, placing a small item into a paw.

I turned the item over – it was a small ball of Marinette-pink yarn. I looked back at my wife, arching a masked eyebrow questioningly.

"Two decades ago, you told me you wanted to be my friend. Nothing more," she said. I could see her eyes glistening with the memory.

"I did," I said. "No strings," I added, masked eyes looking back at the yarn.

"No strings," she repeated. "Which, of course, was another lie." She paused. "For from that moment forward, kitty, you managed to tug on every string in my heart. And still do, today."

I looked at Marinette, my masked green eyes meeting her vibrant blue just as they had nearly every day for the last twenty years. I'd loved her from the very beginning, and even today, my heart sang out in joy at the special way she looked at me.

"No, Princess," I said as I drew her into an affectionate hug. "It's my heart that was captured by you."

Burying my face in her hair once more, I saw the slight strands of silver that had started to appear, reminding me that time did pass for everyone – even the superheroes of Paris. To be honest, I was a little surprised that Master Fu had allowed us to keep our roles as protectors of the city we loved; magical crime-fighting did seem to be the province of the young. A nagging voice in the back of my head warned me that when I hit the next milestone birthday, the wizened Guardian may well appear on my doorstep.

If it did happen – and I would always remain in denial about giving up Chat – I knew nothing would really change between us. For the partnership I had with Marinette went well beyond our superhero personas; I was reasonably certain this one aspect of us was why Master Fu had chosen us originally, and had yet to come calling. We protected Paris in a way other holders before us hadn't been able to.

I looked at the yarn in my paw again, remembering all of the pain and anxiety we'd gone through in the aftermath of the Grevin akuma. With time and distance, it felt more like a tragic comedy now; still, I was old enough (and maybe wise enough) to allow for some level of introspection. There were so many ways I could have handled the situation better; I knew Marinette felt the same way. And yet, in the end, it had the net effect of the two of us growing far closer.

No strings indeed; in my mind's eye, I could clearly see the thread that bound me irrevocably to Ladybug running across all those years, leading to us standing there, together, on that rooftop.

Completely satisfied, I felt myself start to purr. My deep rumble of contentment triggered a smile from Marinette. She looked up at me, and stretched a hand higher to run it along the edge of one of my feline ears. "I don't care what anyone says, I love a man who can purr."

I closed my masked eyes to savor the sheer bliss of her touch, knowing my purring was getting louder. "And the reality is, Milady, you do."

"I do," she laughed. "And will. Furrever."

Author's Note: Thanks for reading along with me! I enjoyed writing this, and have left myself an option to revisit these two as middle-aged superheroes. My personal thanks to the amazingly excellent LyraMaeArcher for inspiring me to even think of these two as grownups with kids of their own (see her excellent entry from Adrien AUGreste 2019).

I'm considered re-writing this entirely from the perspective of Marinette/Ladybug; it feels like an interesting story, seeing these events unfold from her side of the fence. Should I? I honestly don't know, so let me know what you think.

* I will leave it to the reader's imagination as to whether Juliette was referring to the wax figure of Adrien as seen in Puppeteer 2, or Chat Noir. ;-)