Adrien turned off the light to the restroom, ready to return to bed, when small form creaked the door open. As he looked, he recognized Emma holding a ladybug plushie.

"Emma?" he looked at his daughter worriedly, "Did you have a nightmare?"

In the low light, she made a look of confusion. "Who are you? I came in for Mommy."

His heart skipped a beat. "I-I'm your Daddy, Emma. Don't you recognize me?"

Emma looked angry now. "Mommy says that you never have time to spend with us. Mommy says you're too busy at work to see us."

No. No. No. This could not be real. It couldn't be real. Could it? Memories of lonely meals and echoed rooms, of sounds of destruction behind closed doors, each clattering shatter another jab at him personally, briefly flashed before him in the space of a second.

Just then, a vaguely familiar chant echoed through the open window. "The Sandboy has checked in! Now nightmares can begin!"

Adrien relaxed somewhat. An akuma. Not his real daughter.

He shook his wife's shoulder. "Ladybug, we need to go."

Instantly, she was up, almost headbutting her husband's face. "What's the situation?"

"Daddy, why don't you spend time with me?" NotEmma asked.

"Sandboy. Nightmares come to life."

Marinette nodded, processing the information with a grimace. Finally, "Tikki, spots on!"

"Plagg, claws out!"

As the two heroes left the room, there was an unspoken understanding of a conversation in the future.

As a silvery-white butterfly flitted off, Chat Noir shot Ladybug a frantic look. She nodded, smiling sadly.

As Ladybug comforted the young victim, arranging for him to get home, Chat Noir bounded across the Parisian rooftops like a pack of wolves was after him--no, like he was the pack of wolves.

A quick landing on his balcony, followed by a muttering of detransformation, he rushed to his daughter's doorway.

He stopped, looking at her sleeping form. Her almond eyes were obscured by the blond-black mix of hair that had managed to make its way over her face. She held her large black cat plushie in a death grip by her, and was surrounded by far too much Ladybug and Chat Noir merchandise--sheets, curtains, a night-light, and, again, plushies--for a little girl with both superheroes as her parents. He smiled softly at the sight.

Distantly, he heard the zip of a yo-yo and the sound of detransformation before his wife joined his side, hugging his waist.

"Do you want to talk about what happened before I woke up?"

He didn't, but he spoke anyway. "I just got out of the bathroom, and Emma was standing in the doorway."

His throat tightened. "She--she didn't recognize me. I told her that I was her Daddy, and she told me that...that I--"

"That you were too busy with your work? That you never spend time with her?" Her voice was soft, but certain.

His voice cracked. "Yeah."

Her one-armed hug became a two-armed one. "You know that you're not your father, don't you?"

He did, but remained silent.

"You know that Emma loves you, and loves having you around. We talked about career opportunities and daycare costs, but we both know that the real reason you're a stay-at-home father is because you wanted to spend time with Emma.

"You are a terrific father, and a great dad. You've done fine with Emma, and I'm sure you will be for our little one on the way." Her hand drifted to her barely swollen abdomen.

"Now, let's head back to bed. We're due to have an energetic six-year-old in a few hours that wants to go on a picnic at 8 in the morning."

Adrien chuckled softly, kissing her hands as he gently removed them, but not completely letting go as they walked back to their bedroom, where the kwamis had already decided to return to bed.

Even still, it took until that little girl woke up and fulfilled Marinette's prophecy for his mind to be completely set at ease.