from the center of the earth (i have loved none but you) ⋆ ch 1: little girl gone
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ao3
Marinette is a full-time designer and, somehow, also a full-time hero. Jason has settled comfortably into his role as a vigilante and is not going through a quarter-life crisis, thank you very much. When the two collide after Marinette’s arrival in Gotham, they’re forced to redefine the parts they each play in their complicated lives—and learn what it means to love.
Jasonette July Day One: Little Girl Gone @maribat-calendar-events
Unfortunately, no amount of waking up at 2 A.M. the night before a physics exam to fight a possessed, pigeon-obsessed civilian with a partner who was allergic to feathers would make Jagged treat her like any more of an adult. (The answer, by the time they’d defeated Hawkmoth 1.0, is 492 times—time travel notwithstanding.)
“I’ll be fine, Jagged,” Marinette insists, hands on her hips. The rockstar is somehow more concerned for her than she is for herself, which has successfully quashed any anxiety she’d been feeling about the night.
“I know you’re worried about me, but I can handle myself! This may be my first public appearance as MDC, but I’ve dealt with cameras before. Besides, Adrien and Chloé made sure to give me lots of tips on how to handle this sort of event.”
She fixes Jagged with a firm look to show him she means business. He hadn’t shown any sort of concern until Luka had called in sick the previous night, and now Jagged was acting like she would keel over without his presence.
“I know, Rockette,” he says with Fang cradled in his arms, “but this isn’t like that time you were running from that model’s fanclub in your pajamas!” Jagged nuzzles his face into the alligator’s stomach as if he hadn’t just reminded her of her horrible online footprint.
“Oh my god,” Marinette groans , running a hand down her face. “I thought I told you to stop bringing that up!” The unfortunate part of designing for Jagged since she was fifteen years old is the fact that she’s designed for him since she was fifteen.
Before Jagged can respond, Penny clears her throat and steps forward. “Sorry, Marinette,” she smiles understandingly, “Jagged is just a little worried about Luka right now. He’s never seen him get sick before, so he’s a little… disoriented.”
Ah. Luka is normally unflappable—Marinette doesn’t even think she’s seen him sneeze before—so Jagged’s behavior is a little more understable, especially since he’s only been in his son’s life for a few years. She sighs fondly. “Luka will be fine. I think it’ll take a lot more than a common cold to knock him out. Besides, aren’t you excited to see your old friend again?”
He looks up slowly with an expression far too lost for someone at his age, honestly, before breaking out into a smile. “Right you are, Nette!” he crows, his attitude completely turned around now. Fang makes a strange, almost-growl when he’s dislodged from Jagged’s arms so the man can gesticulate wildly. “My boy is one tough rocker. That cold won’t know what hit ‘em! And neither will ol’ Brucie. You’re gonna do those lads in, eh?”
Marinette isn’t quite sure what Jagged is imagining when he says do them in, so she settles for a snort, shaking her head fondly in response. She hopes the night won’t end in some kind of bodily harm, but considering the kind of luck she has and the kind of place Gotham is… it’s more likely than not, honestly.
“Jagged,” Penny interrupts, typing on her tablet with her violet-tipped nails, “the limo is scheduled to take you to Wayne Manor in an hour. Fang’s babysitter is already here, so I suggest you drop him off now so you can finish getting dressed. We don’t want a repeat of your concert last year, hm?”
Thank Kwami for the work of personal assistants everywhere. Marinette shoots a relieved look in Penny’s direction—she did not want to experience a repeat of that fiasco. During the penultimate concert of last year’s tour, Jagged had insisted on letting Fang hang around backstage; expectedly, it had resulted in terrified workers, shredded pants, a distraught Jagged, and a very unhappy Marinette.
“Fine,” Jagged says, looking very put-out. “But tell ‘er not to give him too many treats, ey? He’s starting to get a little chunky. Might start eating my assistants next,” he adds with a full-bellied laugh. Penny rolls her eyes, but Marinette can see the corners of her mouth twitch into a smile.
At least they’re not in the company of the other assistants right now—they’d definitely believe it.
ཐིཋྀ
In the end, they get to Wayne Manor without a hitch.
Marinette steps out of the limo and is met with flashing lights, which is her first real reminder that this event is kind of a big deal. She feels a little bit like how she images Adrien might—actually, scratch that. She feels a little bit like her fifteen-year-old self, running through the streets of Paris in her pajamas while trying to avoid his rabid fans. Marinette can practically see the sponsorship banner ripple the air: Special thanks to Jagged Stone for the reminder!
There should be some sort of question as to why there’s a red carpet at a charity event, but Marinette’s pretty certain it’s because of the simple reason that people, especially those in high society who are preoccupied with their reputation, will do a lot for their image. She certainly wanting to present oneself well, but there’s a difference between that and making a charity gala more about appearances than raising awareness for the cause at hand.
Marinette won’t question Monsieur Wayne’s methods, though. She hadn’t intially known of the man before Batman had informed her that he was a trusted civilian ally, but she’d done her research and concluded that he seemed… not entirely evil and actually quite fatherly. Low standards? Maybe, but between Adrien, Chloé, and Kagami, she’d learned that they were still too lofty for rich parents to reach.
Marinette’s personal assessment of the man is cautiously positive. She’d met with him a few times after Diana and Batman had assured her that Monsieur Wayne operated under a ‘no-questions-asked’ policy and could be trusted to offer assistance to her civilian self without prying. To his credit, he had been nothing but helpful, but there was something about him that made her intuition prickle whenever he was around.
It’s not like she doesn’t trust the word of her mentor and the greatest detective in the world, but Marinette can tell that there’s something more to him that she hasn’t figured out yet. For now, she’s chalked it up to the juxaposition between his ditzy public persona and the serious, perceptive man she knows as Bruce Wayne. Even if the theory doesn’t feel complete, it’s close enough.
…She still thought it’d take longer this to be reminded of it, though.
Within a few seconds of stepping into the ballroom, Marinette is met with the sound of racuous laughter cutting through the live orchestra, drawing the attention of everyone in the room like Batman’s honing beacon in the depths of night.
“Mon dieu,” she mumurs, feeling vaguely disturbed at the sight of Monsieur Wayne with a concerning amount of empty wine glasses. She may be French—not to mention friends with Chloé, who knocks back far too many drinks for someone of her stature—but even she knows that can’t be healthy.
The chorus of laughter that follows reminds Marinette of the American sitcoms she watches with Alya, and she holds back a grimace.
“Ol’ Brucie’s always the life of the party, ain’t he?” Jagged exclaims, slinging an arm over her shoulder. “Bit of a stiff when he’s not in the mood, though. Strange man.”
“He’s something, alright,” Marinette agrees, laughing a little.
They linger by the entrance and watch the guests mingle for the next few minutes. Marinette idly smooths down her dress, letting her hands run over the cool fabric. Jagged’s bluntness is a refreshing reminder that she doesn’t have to be so preoccupied with secrets all the time, even if she doesn’t always have a choice in the matter.
She wonders if Monsieur Wayne ever gets tired of acting like someone he’s not.
The thought is gone almost as soon as it comes, though, lost within the music as Jagged prods her further inside the ballroom. It had already looked intimidating from the entrance, but as they make their way towards the crowd, Marinette quickly realizes that she had underestimated the sheer size of the room. It’s massive, and they don’t get very far before her attention catches on the beautifully sculpted pillars and sparkling crystal chandeliers.
Marinette’s fingers itch to reach for her sketchbook, but she knows they’d come up empty since she had made sure to leave it behind for the night. Before she can linger for too long, Jagged clucks at her. “You can look at the walls for inspiration later, little lady! This night is for you to make some connections.”
…Either she’s embarrassingly transparent, or he’s suddenly gained the ability to read minds. She hadn’t even stopped to look for that long!
“Right,” Marinette flushes, following his dark purple suit tails before they can leave her sight. Some habits never change.
ཐིཋྀ
Despite feeling more than a little out-of-place amongst the people who possess years upon her youth, wealth older than her Grandpa Roland, and familiarity with the English language where she does not, Marinette manages to make the most of the opportunity she’d been given. By the time she decides to retreat, she’s collected a few contacts for prospective commissions and feels thoroughly worn-out.
She hadn’t talked to that many people, but it had felt like a little like dealing with an army of Audrey Bourgeouises—or one very pissed-off Chloé Bourgeouise, and Kwami knows she’d already gotten that lecture when the blonde had caught wind of her plans to stay in Gotham. So while none of the conversations had left Marinette feeling particularly satisfied, she finds relief in the fact that none of them had gone wrong.
She decides to recuperate by stationing herself by the pillars that had caught her attention earlier, tilting her head as she considers the ideas that flit through. She imagines that it wouldn’t be too difficult to use some sort of stiff fabric to mimic the vertical-running flutes. The silhouette of a column dress would be far too rigid for Clara, but Marinette has other clients that would appreciate the simplicity. The chandeliers, on the other hand… those would definitely work for a pop star’s stage outfit. Maybe a dress with colored panels and dangling crystals, or even a stage outfit made of LED strips?
Marinette pulls out her phone to take notes, sorely regretting her decision to leave her sketchbook at home. She should’ve known it would have come to this, but alas, the handbag she’d paired with her blood-red dress is far too small to hold anything other than Tikki and her phone.
She’s so lost in her thoughts that she doesn’t notice the lithe figure that slinks up to her until the sound of someone clearing their throat breaks through the haze.
“Ah, sorry! Wait—Selina?”
A smile blooms across Marinette’s face when she realizes who it is. Selina looks absolutely gorgeous, draped in an black dress and a sparkling diamond necklace that balances her pixie cut wonderfully.
“Hello, darling,” the tall woman purrs. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your presence? Bruce didn’t tell me you’d be here.” She clicks her tongue, putting a fondly annoyed emphasis on her lover’s name.
“It’s my first public appearance as MDC today! I thought it’d be a good opportunity since Jagged was also invited.”
Marinette flushes happily, excited to share the news with a familiar face. She’d first chatted with Selina when the woman had spotted her in the halls of the manor, leaving after a meeting with Monsieur Wayne. By the end of their conversation, Marinette had a list of museum recommendations and a new commission to work on.
“That’s wonderful, dear.” Selina’s painted lips curve into a genuine smile. “I hope you’ve been getting along well this evening. Have you tried the refreshments table yet?”
“Not yet,” Marinette says, glancing at the long tables to the side. There had been waiters walking around with trays of canapés to offer to the guests earlier, but it hadn’t exactly seemed like a socially acceptable time to accept.
“Well, I’m going to steal a few treats from the snack table,” Selina says, her eyes twinkling like she’s laughing at a joke only she’s privy to. The mischievous sparkle reminds her of Chat Noir, which is another thing Marinette likes about her. “Care to join?”
ཐིཋྀ
Selina is great company. Together, she and Marinette rate the food while pretending to be culinary experts (she’s picked up a thing or two from her Uncle Cheng) and critique the formalwear of passersby. There’s a particularly gorgeous dress with a carefully layered skirt that is the subject of their attention for some twenty-odd minutes.
Marinette learns that Selina does have a penchant for trouble (and perhaps a mild case of sticky fingers) when she swipes at least three celery sticks from some man’s crudité tray without his noticing. It takes far too much effort to school her expression when she sees him look from his plate to the two of them in confusion, before offering an awkward smile and reaching for the tongs again.
They part ways after a while, with Selina joining Bruce and Marinette returning to Jagged, until the drinks catch up to her and she excuses herself to go to the bathroom.
When she exits, fiddling with her handbag to make sure that Tikki isn’t too squished, she nearly jumps when she sees a pair of glowing green eyes in the shadows.
They’re the same shade of emerald as Plagg’s, but far too wide and curious to belong to the Kwami of Destruction. The only thing Plagg is ever curious about is cheese.
“Hello,” she says, stepping closer and leaning down to get a closer look. It’s a child, who looks around the age Manon was when Marinette had started babysitting her, so… six, maybe seven. “Do you need help?”
She’s surprised to see a kid at the gala since it’s an invitation-only event, but maybe Monsieur Wayne had made an exception? With the way he talks about his own children, she knows he has quite a soft spot for them.
“I’m playing a game,” the girl whispers, holding a finger to her lips.
“Oh?” Marinette responds, blinking at the unexpected answer. “What game?”
“Hide-and-seek,” she says, narrowing her eyes and looking around. It’s altogether very cute, and Marinette doesn’t bother hiding the smile that spreads across her face.
“Ah. It must be hard to find hiding spots around here. It’s a very open space, no?”
“It’s the worst,” The girl pouts glumly, tugging on a strand of her ponytail.
Marinette giggles at the peeved look. It’s true that the sprawling space of the ballroom doesn’t offer much apart from hiding in plain sight, but luckily, she possesses much more experience in hide-and-seek than the average person would.
“Luckily, you’re talking to a hide-and-seek master,” she smiles. “Are you any good at climbing?”