Robin, showing up to a crime scene with Red Robin and Red Hood to find Ladybug force feeding an apprehended Riddler danishes:
Robin: . . .
Robin: Ladybug, you cannot solve every problem with pastries.
Ladybug, shoving a scone into Riddler's already over stuffed mouth: *gives Robin a flat look*
Ladybug: Watch me.
Red Robin: Honestly, I've yet to see it not work for her.
Red Hood: She bribed a whole gang last week with croissants.
Ladybug: It's called diplomacy.
Robin: It's called bribery.
Ladybug, considering Robin: *holds out a macaron*
Robin: *stares at it a moment before taking it*
Robin: ... I won't tell Batman.
Red Robin, munching on a muffin: This is how Gotham falls.
Red Hood, nodding with a cookie: Pastry bribes.
___
I picture Riddler quietly choking in the background as Ladybug smothers him with more and more pastries. She's not bribing so much as threatening death by overconsumption.
I like to imagine in a world of Daminette, when Talia finds out her boy is dating she might, possibly go on a "no one is worthy of my child" streak and then she meets the girl and its like:
Talia:*on a far away rooftop, staring through the rifle
Marinette:* in the distance, walks into a lamp pole repeatedly
Talia: why my child, are you trying to spite me in some form or fashion?
Also
Marinette: what the fuck does the LoA want with me
Talia: why do you even know who I am
Marinette: hi my name is Marinette and my cult is your neighbour
Talia: what
Marinette: behold, the celestial guardian, nice to meet you
Talia:*who just saw her drop a bag of flour on herself
Bruce Wayne's Headache Classification System Chapter 5
You can read it on ao3 here!
A/N: *Strolls in three and a half years later.*
You would never believe the traffic on the way here.
I rewrote this chapter five times!! Every time I thought I had something, I found out that I hated it. Finally, FINALLY, found a version that I liked.
Is it perfect? No. But it's done, and if the urge to ever write the follow-up where Damian and Marinette get together, Marinette wins over the family, and the whole Gotham curse situation gets resolved ever grabs me by the throat, I'll have a much better jumping off point than the limbo it has existed in for the last three years. Now, without any further ado!
Chapter 5:
Bruce lasts all of an hour - a frustrating, hair-pulling, concerning hour driving him to a state of manic paranoia, and opening three more case files alluding to the magical events happening in Paris he had worryingly missed - before he concludes that his sons vastly underestimated the amount of trouble Paris, and one Miss Dupain-Cheng, happened to be.
Concern is an understatement of the utmost kind. And that migraine he drove away remerges with a vengeance on par with his own mission.
Paris was essentially besieged by a magical terrorist for years. And no one knew. Not a peep from the UN, or the EU, not a call to the Justice League, not a contemporary mention on social media. Nothing. It’s like Paris became a sinkhole for all information regarding the situation for years. All the tourists never mentioned it, and none of the citizens ever complained.
And then, a year ago, the information slowly leaked out. Fits and bursts, seen as an internet joke, but with enough evidence to prove it true, if you knew where to look.
And it was hard to look.
If Bruce were not overwhelmingly familiar with how magic could fool the mind, directing it away from certain modes of thinking, knowledge so obviously right there in front of you, he would have missed it. But he worked with the impossible every day. Trained his mind and his body to look past the obvious into what lay hidden beneath. The magic, and he doubted it was anything but magic, at play here lay quiet and hidden until it needed to obfuscate, and then it showed itself with force.
Too bad he knew how to fight back.
Already, he could tell that the focus of attacks circled Collège Françoise Dupont, the very school Dupain-Cheng attended. Attacks continued on through the years, varying wildly, always seeming to circle a core group of people. People who, through the few social media posts Bruce could find on the girl, were in the young woman’s social circle.
Frustration bit deep as, at every turn, the internet refused to give him the answers he sought. His head pounded, trying to make sense of what had happened in Paris for the last six years.
An alert cut through his research-induced fog.
Tim: Patrol ended early. Jason and Damian are fighting in the cave
Tim: Damian has his swords out
Tim: Might need some backup
Tim: pls
Bruce sighs. Heavily.
Like clockwork, a pain at the base of his neck builds into a fever pitch, his why-did-I-think-children-were-a-good-idea headache hitting full force. Heading for the hidden entrance to the cave, he preps himself for breaking up a fight between his two volatile sons.
Clanging metal hits his ears the second the elevator doors open. Angry yelling registers next.
“That the best you can do, demon brat?”
“Come closer and face me like a man, Todd!”
“What? Like how you trapped me after your little girlfriend made me think you were dying!?”
Bruce grits his teeth; why are they acting like untrained children? Racing to the cave's open area, he finds Jason dodging away from furious sword strikes. Tim sits over by the computer. Amused, concerned, and filming on his phone. While Dick stands off to the side, looking three seconds away from jumping in. “What in the world is going on here!” he yells. Four heads swivel to face him.
“Damian attacked me!” Jason’s eyes shine a bright, toxic green, glinting in the cave's dim light.
Damian growls, face twisted in anger. “I told you to cease your baseless slander of Marinette. You continued to do so, and I demonstrated the consequences of such a poor decision.”
“Aww, are you sad because I’m being mean to your little girlfriend?” Jason mocks, grin jagged like spikes. “Grow a pair, Dami.”
“How about I take yours for recompense,” his youngest hisses.
“Enough!” Bruce orders, using the voice his kids knew meant business. All four straighten up in an instant. “You both are acting like children.”
Jason shakes off the reprimand first and blanches, “But he-”
Damian quickly bristles, “I’m just-”
“Cease.”
Reluctantly, both boys settle, tension still suffusing the air with the promise of violence yet unwrought. Bruce grunts, walking down the steps to the platform, the occasional wrong movement a jar to his broken ribs. “You are all trained vigilantes, professionals. And yet you can’t complete a simple patrol without devolving into pointless bickering.”
Jason and Damian refuse to meet his eyes, staring at the ground as if it will save them. It won’t.
“What happened?” The order barely bothers to be a question.
“I made the decision to cut the patrol short,” Dick answers, jumping in like his eldest clearly wanted to from the start. “Low chatter on the police comms, no rouges out of Arkham-”
“Besides Harls and Ives,” Jason mutters.
Dick waves him off. “They hardly count these days, besides, they’re vacationing in Brazil this month-”
“Which means they’re terrorizing deforesters in the Amazon,” Tim points out blandly. And, yes, he is likely correct. But Bruce long gave up on containing Ivy, and she kept her destruction to industrial equipment and scaring the living daylights out of reckless loggers. Compromises.
Whatever kept her busy enough to stop her from besieging Arkham to get at the Joker.
Dick continues without missing a beat. “Which is not here, and thus not our problem. So, I said we’d all do one last check of our areas and call it a night because we could all use the sleep-”
“Because someone was up early primping and preening for his little date,” Jason says, sneering in Damian’s direction.
“It was not a date,” Damian shoots back. “It was an enjoyable outing, with. A. Friend.”
“That’s not what the pictures Stephanie sent look like,” Tim says, scrolling through his phone. Nose scrunching in disbelief. “Did you really pull out her chair for her?”
Damian’s face turns a vibrant shade of red, turning to face Tim. “What?” he growls, body tensing like he was set to pounce. Bruce brought himself closer to block the easy path from his youngest to Tim.
“Damian,” he intones, putting as much disapproval in his son’s name as possible. “Stop acting like a child and control yourself.” Damian breathes deep. Had he been a dragon, there would be sparks thrashing in the air, barely leashing his anger, tension radiating off him. Bruce nods to his eldest to continue his report.
“Right, yeah. So everyone circles out, when Jason-”
“Don’t put this on me, Dick. I didn’t start this.”
Tim scoffs. “Yeah, you kinda did.”
Damian sneers, bearing his teeth. “To instigate conflict in the field demonstrates the foibles of the weak and inferior.”
“I’ll show you inferior, ya little piece of shit.” Jason makes a lunge for Damian, who flips onto the railing. Bruce barely restrains Jason from engaging, to the detriment of his ribs. With an inch on him and the raging strength of a pissed-off bull, Bruce hates feeling his age, and tonight is a damn good example of that.
“Anyway!” Dick yells, gathering the attention back to himself. “Jason insults Damian’s new gir-”
Damian’s scowl deepens.
“Damian’s new friend. Damian challenges him over the comm. Jason threatens him back. I say no chatter on the comms-”
“Oracle said no chatter on the comms,” Tim corrects.
Dick throws up his hands, exasperation pouring off him. “Whatever! Can I stop getting interrupted? Babs tells us off, we all come back here because interpersonal fighting has no place in the field,” he stresses, looking pointedly between Damian and Jason. Both of whom are turned away and barely engaged. “Then, Jason insulted Marinette again. Damian pulled his sword, and the rest is as you saw.”
“So, behavior I taught you all better never to bring into the mission,” Bruce glares. Dick raises his hands again, as if washing himself of the responsibility, which was exactly the opposite of what Bruce expected of him when he asked his eldest to take point on patrol.
“Don’t look at me,” says Tim, swiveling back to the batcomputer. “I’m just the messenger.”
Jason wrenches out of Bruce’s hold and hisses out a stinging, “Fucking narc.”
Damian ignores it completely. “This is harassment! I am attempting to cement a civilian connection, which you all have badgered me to do on several occasions, and these worthless wastes of oxygen-”
“Wow, that’s a little harsh,” Dick mutters.
Damian glares viciously, “-are turning the entire affair into a vaudeville side show!”
Jason scoffs loudly, bringing the attention back to himself. “Yeah, no way, I don’t buy girlie pop as a civilian. She knows way too much magic and way too many tricks not to be a plant. And what’s concerning is you don’t fucking seem to care, Demon brat.”
“She is not a plant.” Damian shoots back, pacing above while the rest of them look on in shocked amazement. His youngest is rarely this demonstrative, especially in defense of another. “She is not a trick from my mother, or a floozy trying to use our family status to raise rank. She is a fashion designer from Paris who knows magic, that’s it!” Damian’s voice grew higher and more frantic as he belabored his point.
Bruce grunts again as the pain in his head grows from mildly problematic to throbbing; a prime example of his something-is-wrong-here-but-I-don’t-know-what-yet headache. He powers through, trying to bring reason to the conversation. “Damian, your brothers explained the situation, and further investigation has proved sparse. She’s a ghost. You’re allowing your judgment to be compromised.”
Damian’s jaw ticks, furious green eyes narrow, and Bruce holds back a wince at how much he resembles his mother in this exact moment. “I have run myself through the magical influence protocols. Richard ran them on me a second time. I am functioning with a perfectly sound body and mind-”
Snort. “Debatable,” mutters Tim.
“Your days are numbered, Drake.”
“Dami…” Dick sighs, tentative chiding, lacing his words. It only serves to irritate. Damian bristles at the mollifying tone.
“No, this was your fault we all ended in this mess, and now you blame me for doing all that I could to win!? Marinette did nothing more than follow my requests and utilize her skillset. It is not illegal to have magic-”
Bruce is not a fan of any interference in the city - metas or magic, all of it could turn on a dime. Even the best-trained supers could fall to influences that occurred all too often in his city. “There is a strict no metas in Gotham policy, Damian. And for good reason.”
Damian actually rolls his eyes. “A policy which, beyond the super community - a community Marinette is not a part of - you have no actual way of enforcing beyond financial enticement to leave, disguised as charity from Wayne Enterprises. Marinette chose to attend school here-”
“Suspicious,” Jason sneers, and Bruce resists the urge to groan; he does not need further commentary riling Damian up.
Defensive and on edge, Damian sends another withering glare in Jason’s direction. “No, it’s not. She had no wish to remain in her country after the actions of the magical terrorists that besieged them. That is rather common from what I hear.”
“Yeah, but normal people don’t jump out of the frying pan and into the radioactive acid bath,” Tim says, leaning over the railing with a contemplative look on his face. A comparison Bruce finds quite salient. For all that he loves his city, finds purpose in protecting it from the dregs of humanity, it is not a safe city. If you want a break, and he couldn’t blame the girl for wanting a break if even a little of what he found about the situation in Paris was true, then Gotham was a frankly ridiculous choice.
“Why would you escape a city with one terrorist to a city hosting a dozen, plus gangs, and the occasional alien invasion!?”
“Find me a major city on earth that has avoided having one alien invasion in it by this point,” Damian sneers back.
“Damian-” he starts again, his head aching with the clear pain of why-is-stubborness-genetic but his youngest remains a bulwark of refusal, stiffening his shoulders with a determined edge that triples the pain in Bruce's head.
“No. I proved I am under no outside influences twice. There is no compulsion to steal, reveal information, or engage in self-destructive behavior. Marinette openly and fully admitted to using magic; she is not trying to hide anything. Your suspicion is needless.” Here, he turns to Jason. “And your words are vulgar and untrue, and if you persist upon this course, I will demand retribution.”
He needed to nip this in the bud yesterday. “Damian, you attack your brother, and you’re benched.” Damian’s jaw flexes as he fights to hold back whatever he clearly wants to say. Restraint it may be, but Damian clearly wants to throw caution to the wind and lose it on his older brother.
Meanwhile, Jason leans back against the wall with a dark smirk. “You, demon brat, are letting your dick think for you for the first time, and I’m gonna laugh and say I told you so when this blows up in your face.”
“I am doing no such thing,” Damian hisses, hands clenched on the cave railing, white and leaking rage. “You may allow your base feelings to run rampant, but mine are thoroughly subjected to reason. Which is why all of you are wrong.”
“You have no proof, Damian.”
Damian’s smile turns haughty and cold. “Well, neither do you.” Huffing, he draws into himself, walls slamming down, cutting himself off from anything else they might say. “I see that no amount of words will sway you from your preconceptions. I find it galling, Father, that you would let bias overcome reasoning.”
“Your actions aren’t doing much to persuade me otherwise, son.”
“Tt. I see.” Bruce wishes to cross the gorge that's wrenched open between them, but Damian is already turning on his heel in the shower's direction. “When all this plays out as I have said, I will expect an apology for your mistrust.”
“Yeah, when hell freezes over,” Jason shoots back, but Damian doesn’t reengage. The door to the lockers slams with a definitive clang.
Silence lingers; the hum of the Batcomputer and the occasional rustle of wings do little to alleviate tension so thick they could swim through it.
“Well,” says a clipped, clear voice from above. Bruce turns to see Alfred, standing on the stairs, quiet as a mouse. “I do believe that went down rather like a lead balloon,” Alfred’s wry comment can’t even bring a bit of levity to the situation for Bruce, who, on top of his headache, is battling a deep fear that his son is in over his head.
And how odd is that? Damian is his one child he knows can handle matters of an interpersonal nature with the distance their job requires. But this? Battling between believing the best in a person and the danger they might pose?
That is never a fight Bruce wished for his children.
“Bruce, that was the exact opposite of talking to Damian separately. He has an entirely different perspective on this whole situation than we do,” Dick reprimands. And while his eldest is correct, after his own research on the case, Bruce finds himself increasingly agreeing with Jason and Tim that the girl is hardly what she seems.
“Well, I didn’t see you jumpin’ in to defend the girl, golden boy,” Jason sneers. “Come on, do we really believe that this chick isn’t dangerous?”
“There is a distinct difference between dangerous,” Alfred cuts in. “And a danger to us.”
“A distinction that doesn’t matter if we can’t find any information to tell us which she is, Alfred,” says Tim. “Especially when she’s around Damian, who is hardly the most subtle person regarding our skills and occupation.”
“You mean the fact that we run around at night in suits and beat people up?” drawls Jason. “Or the fact he’s a recovering cult assassin?”
“Damian is an adult; he’s been keeping our family secrets quiet for his entire life. He’s not gonna drop the information to a girl he just met, even if he is crushing on her,” Dick says. “I do worry whether he’s trusting her too quickly, though, because of that…”
Alfred would never dignify shrugging, but Bruce imagines this would be a moment where he would. “I hardly think it matters at this point whether that is a wise choice of action or not, Master Dick. Master Damian has set his course and is not to be deterred from it.” The look he pins Bruce with speaks volumes about where he thinks that tendency stemmed from. Bruce would like to counterpoint with Talia’s… everything. “A rather common trait in this family, I do believe.” All three of his boys find elsewhere to look at, while Bruce stands against the accusation alone.
Traitors.
Even still, the situation pings all of his internal alarms, and he’s not gonna let his youngest’s safety rely on a feeling of trust. “As much as I would like to believe in Damian’s judgement, the situation is concerning enough that I believe our worries are justified and not simply paranoia. We’ll have to remain vigilant if Damian doesn’t approach the situation with the caution that a foreign unknown agent requires.”
Alfred’s sigh carries a disappointed air, but the man merely nods. “Very well, sir. Merely keep in check that your worry does not turn into an unfounded witch hunt, lest you alienate a woman who may be innocent.” Observing them all with a discerning glance. “I see that all your limbs are attached and unmarred. Are there any injuries that I can not see?” he asks, pointedly glancing in Tim’s direction.
Tim huffs. “I’m not the only one who hides injuries.”
“No, but you are the only one lacking a spleen, Master Timothy.”
“Patrol was quiet, Alfred, we’re all good,” confirms Dick.
“Then I shall bid you all a good night.”
Bruce grunts as Alfred heads back upstairs, massaging the side of his head as it goes from aching to throbbing with the distinct edge of I-don’t-know-how-to-solve-this, which is a sensation he utterly despises. He’s Batman, solving situations is his entire job.
“Tim, have you or Barbara found anything on Dupain-Cheng or the Paris situation in general?” he asks. Maybe they had better luck than him.
Tim’s demeanor darkens. “No, and I don’t know if we’re going to find anything, either. It’s a communication blackout and seemingly citywide psychosis. It’s an acknowledged fact that attacks happened in Paris from 20XX to 20XX, but nobody else knew about it at the time.” Tim sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “As for Dupain-Cheng, and any sort of social media the girl may have had in that time period, is sparing at best, and outright glitched at worst.”
“Contact Diana, Paris was her home base until recently; she might have more insight as to what happened there than we do.” Bruce hesitates, thinking of the pain this next request will bring. “And see if you can pin down John Constantine for a chat. He’ll be better versed in magical methods of obfuscation.”
Jason scoffs. “Good luck with that, old man. Constantine’s a mindfuck on a good day.” He strides over to his bike.
“And where do you think you’re going?” he asks.
Jason waves him off. “To go beat someone up, or blow something up, I’ll decide on the way.”
“If it’s the latter, be sure it’s condemned and fully abandoned,” yells Tim.
“If the former, anyone from Penguin’s current goon pool would be great,” Dick chimes in. “I think they’re smuggling heroin in through the harbor to Blud. If you get any info, text me.”
Jason grunts, kicking the stand on his bike and shoving the helmet over his head. Bruce wishes for the right words to say, but with how on edge his second son looks, he fears saying the wrong thing will send him tumbling into a rage. Soon enough, it’s just Tim, Dick, and him in the cave.
Tim stretches and suppresses a yawn. “Well, if Damian is gonna make his lack of judgment a public issue, I'd better prepare our PR people to engage in damage control.”
“In the morning, Tim,” he orders.
Tim narrows his eyes. “But-”
“Send the messages to the Leaguers, but leave PR alone. They won’t be awake at this hour anyway, and neither should you. You’re still recovering after forty-eight plus hours awake.” Tim grumbles but obliges, which is good because Bruce is suddenly hit by his own wave of exhaustion that barrels over him like a hurricane. Getting old sucks.
“In the meantime, what should we do about Damian?” Tim asks.
Bruce sighs. “As Dick said, he’s an adult. I can’t ground him or restrict his movements.” Not that he could do that easily when Damian actually was a child, but there was an attempt. “All we can do is keep an eye out and be vigilant.”
“Aren’t we always?” Tim yawns. “I’m crashing here tonight. I don’t feel like driving back to the city. Are you coming in to work tomorrow?”
“I’m still technically out on leave for a few more days.”
“And your ribs are still healing,” says Dick. “Take the time, Bruce, the company can handle itself.”
“You would say that,” grumbles Tim as he leaves. “You’re not the one making sure it doesn’t collapse out from underneath itself, when it’s left alone for two minutes like an understimulated toddler without an iPad.”
“Night, Tim,” Dick calls out. Tim waves back halfheartedly, disappearing through the elevator.
“Staying the night, chum?”
Dick nods, stifling a yawn. “Bruce, you’ve gotta be careful with this one. Alfred’s right, Damian’s not in a state to be persuaded, and if we push him too far…”
“The situation could spiral before we know how to handle it.” He hoped Diana, or even Constantine, would have answers to give him. A direction on how to approach the situation. Because his current method was only alienating Damian. “I wish I could have gotten a chance to speak with him before all this happened.” Poor planning on his part; curse his migraine. Now his son sits against him, even if he brings valid points to the table. While Dupain-Cheng may have remained pleasant for the brief time at the store, that did not mean she always would be. And she had far too much power at her fingertips for them to remain off guard.
“Doubling down on the warnings when he was already riled did not help.” Bruce turns away, grunting. His son was right, but he didn’t have to say it. Dick sighs. “I’m gonna get some sleep. Don’t stay up too late.”
Bruce sits at the computer. Finding what little Barbara and Tim have compiled, he reads over their findings. Opening a new file, and ignoring the lingering ache shooting up the back of his neck - the same one whenever he’s staring down the barrel of a dangerous situation, he starts fresh, maybe this time he’ll find what he didn’t before.
His family and city might depend on it.
A/N: This is for everyone who has commented, kudos, shared, and recced this story. Thank you. Thank you for loving it as I have loved it. It was never far from my mind, and I always wanted to complete it. I'm glad that I could finally put words to a page, and I only hope they are a somewhat fitting end to this story.
Do I ever see myself continuing in this world? Maybe. Never say never. I finally finished this story, didn't I? For now, though, thank you once again, and see you later.
The year continued to pass at an alarming rate, though Bruce no longer got in Marinette’s face about not belonging in Gotham - or with Damian, if that was the issue. Whether he was biding his time or he truly accepted that she was stubborn enough to stay was anyone’s guess but she hoped it was the latter, if only for Dick and Damian’s sakes. Before she knew it, Damian’s birthday was fast approaching and she and Dick were colluding with Jon to make the day extra special.
The previous year, when they’d still been dancing around each other, she had only made him a cake and bought a pair of cufflinks she thought would suit him. This year? They’d been together for over six months and she had already sewn several articles of clothing, crocheted a few plushies, and planned to make an entire feast of his favourite foods. Let it not be said that she was taking this relationship lightly.
The other part of her plans…she wanted to share her secrets with him. Tikki had been locked safely back in the box since her first semester at université but she was going to bring her out so that she could get her advice and inform her of her decision. As the grand guardian of the miracle box it was her choice alone but that didn’t mean she didn’t still want her kwami’s input when she was making big decisions. Besides, a short trip outside the box would probably make the god of creation extremely happy, so she was going to bake a whole batch of macarons for Tikki to take back for the others.
The day before Damian’s birthday, Jon showed up to spend the day with him, the plan being that they would have fun before returning him home. Then, Jon would stay the night so that after Damian had opened his gifts he could take Dick over to Wally’s house for a sleepover, leaving the soulmates blissfully alone for the night.
The plan went off without a hitch, and Marinette set up their candlelit dinner on the roof on the evening of Damian’s birthday. She took a deep breath before trying to cram her nerves into a box so she wasn’t impeded when explaining this part of her life to him. Gotham vigilantes were well known for disliking all who practiced magic, and magic wasn’t something she could just give up without destroying her life, so she had every right to feel nervous but she wished she didn’t. Damian had been the perfect soulmate over the past months and she felt secure enough that he wouldn’t just dismiss her the moment she said or did something he didn’t approve of or like.
“This looks wonderful, Starling,” he murmured when he finally arrived, and she almost leapt out of her skin at his sudden appearance. He seemed half-amused, half-concerned by her jumpiness and held onto her upper arms loosely to keep her steady. “Are you alright?”
“Fine!” she squeaked, blushing when he raised a sceptical eyebrow, though he didn’t press her for information. “I’m fine, just a little nervous.”
“What is making you nervous? Surely you do not think I would be anything but charmed by your efforts to make my birthday memorable,” he said softly, hands sliding down to her own before bringing one up to kiss her fingertips. The gesture had become familiar quickly and it soothed the part of her that wanted to run, just enough that she could breathe again.
“I was a superheroine,” she blurted, completely unable to take the pressure building within her anymore. When he blinked at her, eyes firmly on hers and hands remaining in her own. “And, um, I kind of, maybe, have the responsibility of watching over more than a dozen little gods because the alternative is losing all my memories from the time I was fourteen, and I’ve been nervous about telling you because I know you hate magic users but there’s nothing I can do about it and that’s kind of terrifying and I really like being with you and-”
“Marinette, breathe,” he instructed, placing a hand on her cheek and keeping her close. “I do not hate magic users, and I especially do not think I am capable of hating you. More than a dozen little gods?”
“We should sit down,” she said begrudgingly, hating the thought of him releasing her so they could eat their dinner. Thankfully, he kept hold of her hand as he maneuvered them to sit down at the table, twirling her before seating her in his lap. Highly impractical but she relished the contact as he picked an hors-d'oeuvre from the table and ate it.
Over the course of their dinner, she gave him as much information as she could, and he was receptive to it all. He was curious about the tiny gods, obviously, but his questions leaned more towards how it would affect her in the future. If she had doubted at all that telling him was the right decision, that assured her it was. It was a relief to tell him everything and, when she finally ran out of things to say, he let silence fall between them.
“Thank you, for sharing this with me,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to the crook of her neck. “I am unsure whether I am worthy of knowing it, and I am honoured that you believe me to have earned the privilege. My only concern is that you do not know my entire past and I worry that it will change your perception. I do not want you to regret sharing this with me but I cannot imagine you will be pleased that I did not share soone-”
“Damian,” she interrupted firmly, twisting in his hold until she was looking him in the eye. “Whatever’s in your past, it’s past. And just because I’m sharing this with you doesn’t mean I expect you to tell me everything you’ve been keeping private. I’m telling you this because I’m ready to tell you, not for any other reason, okay?”
“Thank you,” he murmured again before kissing her languidly and pushing all other thoughts away.
_ _ _
Dick arrived back home the day after Damian’s birthday and immediately started gushing about his sleepover at Wally’s place to Marinette. She grinned at his enthusiasm, listening as she prepared their lunch and started the sauce for dinner. Damian had gone to visit Jason, his father and Tim for the morning as he hadn’t bothered to see them the day before. Jason had understood his desire to have his actual birthday for the family he had chosen for himself, even if Bruce had practically pouted about being treated as lesser than Marinette.
“And then, Barry said he could take us for a run - but Walls said it was a bad idea if I didn’t want to end up eating a bunch of bugs, so we just watched him race around the garden doing tricks and stuff,” Dick laughed, leaning forward and snagging a couple of the carrot sticks Marinette was preparing. “But I might ask him to take me around some time, just for fun. There aren’t all that many people who can say the Flash gives them piggybacks, you know?”
“Oh yeah, even if you only ever do it once it would be an experience,” she nodded sagely, tossing him another carrot stick before he could reach for one again. “I should ask Damian to take me out with the grappling hook, I’ll bet it’s way different to the old Miraculous team’s transportation. Chat’s baton was…interesting.”
“Is that a euphemism?” asked Dick, wrinkling his nose in disgust while Marinette started laughing outright. “Oh, gross, if you tell me you hooked up with one of the Parisian heroes-”
“You’ll what?” she shot back, raising an eyebrow. “I was a person before I became your maman, Dick. But what I was referring to was his actual baton, a magical weapon he used to be able to extend at will and used to leap tall buildings. I doubt it’s anything like a grappling hook, so it would be nice to compare it.”
“No, you didn’t exist before Damian conjured you up to be my mother,” Dick said stubbornly, scowling again when she giggled again, and pointed his finger at her sternly. “Look, I can pretend you and Damian are just making out occasionally if you don’t burst my bubble with logic and I would appreciate it if you let my delusions stand. God, why are you trying to traumatise me? Haven’t I been through enough?”
“Isn’t it kind of my job to traumatise you?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. The look he gave her was enough to make her giggle again, throwing him another carrot stick as appeasement when he looked offended. “Dick, mon cher, if the idea of me having a life traumatises you then we should probably get you therapy because that’s not normal. My parents raised me to be very aware of their lives before they had me and I’m just fine.”
“Well that’s different because you’re French,” he argued, just as the apartment door opened and Damian walked through to them. “Dami, tell Maman that it isn’t normal for parents to suggest they had sex lives before they knew you.”
“I would not say that I am the benchmark for a normal childhood,” Damian mused, stepping around the counter and kissing Marinette hello. “Why are we discussing sexual encounters in the kitchen?”
“Not important,” smiled Marinette, continuing her vegetable prep and supplying Dick with more carrot sticks. Dick scoffed and she narrowed her eyes at him but he was undeterred.
“You just don’t want Dami to know one of the Paris heroes gave you a good time with his magic stick,” he muttered, making Marinette flush slightly and Damian raise an eyebrow at her. It didn’t look like he was offended by the insinuation but they hadn’t really discussed past relationships beyond what he already knew from her background check.
“I think we should make all conversations about sexual activities off limits where we prepare food,” offered Damian, pressing his hand to her side in a way that comforted her. “What we should probably discuss is our plans for Christmas this year. Father brought it up when I visited and suggested we should all gather at the manor.”
Nodding and listening as Dick and Damian began outlining pros and cons for having Christmas with the rest of the Waynes, Marinette couldn’t help but smile. Only Damian could so swiftly derail a conversation in a completely nonchalant way. She was slightly concerned about the comment on his childhood but didn’t want to draw attention to it before he was ready so she let it go.
Damian strained his eyes in the darkness of his apartment. The atmosphere was unusually quiet for this time of day. Normally Marinette would be buzzing about, still somehow full of energy despite a day spent submersed in a creative cloud. He didn’t even hear any of the soft music she played when she was having a particularly difficult day.
Just silence.
Concerned, he made his way through the empty rooms until he came to the door of her studio, shut tight, a dim light glowing from underneath. He knocked, and though no answer came, he could hear her crying softly on the other side.
“Marinette?”
He pushed on the door, concern growing as he met resistance, until he was finally able to get through.
The studio was a wreck, and not in the normal Marinette way. Instead of scraps of fabric and paper tossed aside in a haze of careless creativity, the room looked like a tornado had gone through. Spools of thread, pencils, paper–anything small enough–had been thrown from its place. Pages of her design sketchbook were ripped out and her mannequin was tipped over, white fabric pooling around it on the floor.
He rushed over to where she sat, curled up against the wall and knelt next to her.
“What happened? Are you hurt?”
Damian reached out gently to stroke her hair, turning her face towards him.
“Please, darling, tell me what’s wrong.”
She sat up, wiping her eyes, and handed him a card that had been on the floor next to her. A wedding invitation was clipped in the middle, and he set that aside before reading the handwritten message.
Dear Marinette,
I know you said you didn’t want to hear from me, but Adrien, and Maman and Papa, thought it would be good for me to write to you. After all, it has been three years since everything that happened.
The reason I’m writing is that Adrien and I are getting married! I was hoping that you would consider making a wedding dress for me. You are the best designer I know, and I trust that you would have no trouble creating the perfect dress for me. Please let me know how much it will cost. Adrien says price is no issue, so don’t even consider a family discount!
Your wedding invitation is enclosed. Please come, and bring your fiance!
I hope you’re doing well in Gotham.
Your sister,
Marisol
Damian looked up, confused.
“You have a sister?”
“She is not my sister. My parents adopted her when I was twenty.”
“Marinette, my love, I know how hard it is to accept adopted siblings–”
“Don’t.”
She pushed him away and stood up, hands clenched so hard her knuckles were white.
“Don’t try to convince me I should talk to her,” Marinette snapped, snatching the letter out of his hands. “This situation is not the same as yours was. You don’t know anything about it.”
She stormed out of the room, cursing under her breath when her foot caught on a piece of fabric she’s thrown to the floor. A few moments later he heard cabinets slamming in the kitchen.
Damian found her there, arms crossed over her chest as she waited for the kettle to heat the water.
“I’m sorry,” she said, staring at the floor. “I took my anger out on you, and that wasn’t ok.”
“I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have said anything until I knew more about the situation. Especially since I know you’re the kind of person who would normally accept an adopted sibling without hesitation.”
She broke out into sobs again. Damian pulled her into his arms, running his fingers through her disheveled hair as she buried her face in his chest. He held her until the kettle was finished, then kissed the top of her head and sent her into the living room while he prepared tea for them.
“I don’t like to talk about her. I’ve told you some of the story already, and wanted to tell you everything. But thinking about her is upsetting. Speaking about it is almost impossible. All my words and feelings get jumbled up.”
Damian put their steaming mugs on the coffee table, then sat next to Marinette on the sofa and intertwined their fingers.
“Start at the beginning and tell me how you got to this,” he said, kissing her cheek. “And remember that I love you, and nothing you’re about to say can change that.”
She stared off to the side, chewing nervously on her bottom lip. He reached up with his free hand and pulled her lip free of her teeth, tapping gently so she would stop. Her blue eyes flicked to him.
“You already know some of this story,” she began after a few moments of silence. “Hawkmoth held me captive, I was rescued, and we were able to defeat him shortly after.”
Her gaze returned off to the side, and he squeezed her hand, hating the thought of her being alone and afraid.
“The whole story is…a lot worse. Gabriel kidnapped me and held me in his basement next to his wife. He even faked a ransom demand to my parents, and then offered to pay it, as a kind gesture for one of his son’s good friends. He created some sort of akuma or sentibeing to study me, to find out everything about me. He took my miraculous and drugged me so I couldn’t fight back. And then after he was done studying me, he created a sentibeing to be a perfect copy of me.
“And she was. Sentinette was exactly like me, as far as anyone could tell, and she took over my life. Any differences, especially in the beginning, were passed off as trauma from the kidnapping.”
Marinette let go and reached forward for her mug, holding it with both hands as she blew gently across the top and took a tentative sip. She was quiet for a moment as she watched the little, swirling wisp of steam.
“Her goal, of course, since she was controlled by Hawkmoth, was to get Chat Noir’s miraculous. He must have learned from Nathalie’s mistakes with Sentibug, because Sentinette played the long game. I mean, I had always told Chat that I wasn’t interested in being with him, and after Sentibug, he would be suspicious if Ladybug was suddenly into him.
“So she started off keeping him at arm's length, and then slowly acted as though she was coming around, and became Chat Noir’s Perfect Woman, and everyone else’s Perfect Marinette. Everyone fell in love with her. She rekindled a relationship with my parents, because it had been suffering from me living a double life. She was everything to everyone.
“The only person who ever voiced any concern about the difference was the girl who had tried to bully me when we were in school. Lila Rossi. Gabriel had hired her as a model and a spy to keep Adrien in check, but with this plan in play, anything Lila had to say fell on deaf ears. He fired her and publicly backed Sentinette. And no one saw anything strange about that.”
She laughed bitterly, her chest heaving with a half-controlled sob, and she pressed one hand to her sternum.
“Adrien fell in love with her, and at some point she also fell in love with him. I don’t think Hawkmoth really saw that part coming, but he should have, because that’s really what was his undoing. She loved them all, and because she was essentially made from me, she felt guilty about it. And Gabriel didn’t know about my pickpocket tendencies, so she was able to pickpocket her amok away from him, and told Adrien her secret identity. Well, my secret identity actually. I think she knew that he wouldn’t trust her if she said she was a sentibeing, so she kept pretending to be me, long enough to work out a rescue plan.
“She rescued me, and then all hell broke loose because at that point Gabriel knew he’d lost. And you already know how that went.”
“Yes,” he replied. “As you know, Wonder Woman forced us to stay out of it. But my father insisted on watching footage of the battle.”
“The hardest stuff mostly happened after Hawkmoth went down. Everyone was totally shocked to find out that I’d been gone the whole time, and that Sentinette–or Marisol as she likes to be called now–had been living my life.”
She took another sip, still clutching the tea tightly in both hands, then scooted herself back. She pulled her legs up and rested the hot mug on her knees.
“I heard apology after apology for people not realizing I had been gone. And I couldn’t really be angry about it, you know?” She scoffed. “Gabriel gave Sentinette everything she needed to be the Perfect Marinette.
“She was me. For six months. Lived in my apartment. Slept in my bed, shopped at my market, helped my parents in the bakery like a good daughter. Everywhere I went, she was there. Even in my childhood home. I couldn’t be comforted by my own family because she was there. After everything that happened, my parents still accepted her as their daughter and gave her my old bedroom.
“I came back and I was a stranger in my own life. I couldn’t be in my home, couldn’t sleep in my bed or use my kitchen, or wear the clothes I made with my own hands because she was in everything.
“She took everything. All the people I loved, everything I had. And I couldn’t even hate her for it, because she was a sentibeing, with no choice in any of it.
“Adrien tried to tell me that all the love he felt for her was for me, but I could tell in his eyes it wasn’t true. He never even saw me until she came along.”
He clicked his tongue. Agreste was a blind fool, and Damian felt his ire rise at the mere idea that anyone would think a copy could ever be as wonderful as his Marinette.
“And for all that she was like me, there were some things that were so different, and that’s what makes me so angry about it. She went to my classes at ESMOD, and her performance there was a disaster. If Gabriel hadn’t helped her, she would have completely ruined my education, because somehow he wasn’t able to give her any creativity.
Her free hand waved through the air, sloshing tea on her black leggings. He removed the mug and set it next to his on the coffee table.
“That’s why it hurts so much. In six months she never created anything, and not a single person who has ever said they love me noticed. I was in a cage while she pretended to be me, and they should have noticed! They should have known the difference but they were so pleased with the Perfect Marinette.”
He pulled her to him as tears streamed down her face, rubbing gentle circles on her back. After a moment she pulled away.
“For a little while, I think people understood, and even shared, my reluctance to accept her. She was a sentibeing who helped Hawkmoth. But she is so accommodating. So perfect, and understanding, and none of it was her fault. I almost felt sorry for her, stuck being the perfect people pleaser Gabriel designed her to be. No one except me ever told her that she should try to be different.
“Eventually people tried to push me into accepting her, but I don’t think they ever really understood what it was like to feel like a stranger in my own life.”
She looked down at their hands, twined together again.
“My parents tried to convince me we were sisters, that we were almost twins because she was just like me. She was all for it, of course, but I’ve struggled to think of her as anything other than Sentinette, the person who stole my life. They kept telling me it wasn’t her fault.
“If I call her Sentinette, they all get upset because she chose the name Marisol. And fine, I can understand that, she didn’t choose to be created and she should be called by her name of choice, but she chose a name that is so close to mine. For months I couldn’t even stand to be called by my own name.
“I felt guilty for being angry, and couldn’t be near any of them. So I moved here to Gotham.
“And now she’s sent me this request to make her wedding dress. And please believe me, my love, when I say that I am over Adrien falling in love with her because I am. I hope they’re happy.”
She pointed to the table, where Damian saw the letter, crumpled into a ball.
“But what she’s asking is for me to make her my wedding dress. She wants me to take that one thing that makes me different from her, and use it for her benefit, when she’s already got my whole family. When every time I look at her I am faced with the fact that no one who loved me could see that I was gone.
“And I’m so angry that my parents are still trying to force me to be her sister. It’s been three years and I still don’t want to be her sister. She only exists because someone kidnapped me and put her in my place. She’s not my twin. We weren’t raised together. I don’t want to look at her. I don’t want to be forced to be a family with her. My parents, and everyone are constantly taking her side, because her existence is not her fault, but damn it, it isn’t my fault either!”
“But she’s so delightful, no one ever wants to hear that. They just want me to move on as if none of it ever happened. Be one big happy family, pretend as though they don’t all prefer her over me. And I can’t do that.”
Marinette finally turned to look at him, more tears streaming down her face.
“I have been so scared to tell you, and even more scared of you ever meeting her,” her wide eyes lending credence to her words. “I believe you when you say you love me. Everyone else who has ever met her prefers her over me. She was made to be the Perfect Marinette and I just can’t compete.”
They sat in silence as Damian thought through his response. After a moment, he noticed her breathing becoming a little bit erratic, so he pulled her back into his arms.
“Breathe with me now, Marinette,” he said, gently stroking his hand through her hair and breathing in a deliberate pattern. When her body relaxed into his, he settled her into his lap and leaned back just far enough to see her face.
“My love, I understand why you’re afraid, and your fears are perfectly reasonable considering the extraordinary trauma you experienced. Please allow me to reassure you of several things.
“I love you. I love that you stutter when I fluster you, and the way you turn red when you’re angry, and that despite your tendency towards pleasing people, you never let me get away with any of my bullshit. I have no interest in a,” he raised his hands to gesture, “‘perfect Marinette’ because your imperfections are what make you you, and I like you just as you are, thank you very much.”
He leaned forward and kissed her forehead.
“Based on the contents of that letter alone, she seems exactly like the sort of self-absorbed imbecile that I can’t stand to be around. When I take into account the story you’ve just told me, then I can assure you, without doubt, that if I ever meet her I will never see her as anything other than the person who has hurt you so deeply.
“However true it may be that her existence isn’t her fault, she still hurt you. She continues to hurt you even when her actions are clearly within her own control. And I could never like someone who has hurt you.”
Marinette sobbed, and threw her arms around him.
“I’m sorry,” she said after a few minutes, pulling away to wipe her face. “I got your shirt all snotty.”
“Tt. You’re the one who cares about clothes, not me. You can get snot on all my shirts if it means I still get to keep you forever.”
