Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Marinette swears this is the start of her villain origin story.

Or rather, it would have been, had the most unlikely of persons not stepped in to intervene in what was turning out to be her unluckiest day since moving to Gotham. Although the end result may have left her in a worse situation.

. . .

Okay, this still might be her villain origin story.

If Marinette's being honest, her whole life could be justification for turning to the dark side, seeing as she never asked for any of this. She was forced into it and has just been doing her best to keep going, to survive , to the point that she's lost most of herself along the way. The bright, optimistic girl she had been at fourteen is still there. . . but she's a lot more hardened and cautious.

Today though. . . today everything has pushed her to the edge of her sanity, namely as her luck has taken a significant turn for the worse, which is saying something. Given the severity of the day, the girl is convinced that this would have finally broken her and, as stated previously, would have been the start of her villain origin story. . . had it not been for Damian Wayne.

(Again, it still could be, but for now, somehow, he's the one keeping her sane.)

Marinette's luck has been fickle since moving to Gotham. Years of being Ladybug had messed with her luck outside the mask – or rather, the magic embedded in her entire being had. As it turned out, the only place that could balance her is Gotham, hence her move from Paris at nineteen, when Adrien had retired. And yet, even after years of living in the most chaotically engrained city on the planet, Marinette's luck remains unstable. Yet, the former heroine being inconvenienced by that luck is better than the natural disasters that would have occurred if she had remained in Paris.

Over the last six or so years, Marinette's life has been a series of sacrifices. Her dreams of fashion design, her home, her family, her friends, her general autonomy – all have been stripped from her for the sake of the greater good, all because Fu had picked her from the crowd for being kind.

Yet, Marinette knows she had been the correct choice, and she proved to be one of the most talented Ladybug Holders that the Order of the Miraculous has ever seen, but that doesn't make any part of her situation easier. No one expected there to be such lingering effects after defeating Hawkmoth. Neither had anyone expected that Adrien's decision to retire would place such devastating limitations on his former partner and best friend.

Unlike Marinette, Adrien had been kept balanced by his partner and the natural, excessive creation energy that Paris exudes. Marinette, on the other hand, had been relying solely on Adrien – on Chat Noir 's energy. Needless to say, they had never been perfectly balanced, and Marinette bore the brunt of the side effects because of it. Still, so long as Adrien was active as Chat Noir, there was no detrimental need to do anything other than have Adrien continue patrols on his own for the next decade or two. But with the aftermath of the Miraculous War, with the revelation of who Hawkmoth was and why he was doing it. . . Marinette couldn't hold it against Adrien for choosing to forget everything. She loved him too much to see him suffer like that.

That isn't to say Marinette wasn't broken by Adrien's decision. Over their six years together, both Adrien and Chat Noir had become irreplaceable to her, and that feeling was only magnified after she learned they were the same person. Whenever Marinette considered her future after defeating Hawkmoth, she expected to at the very least have Chat Noir by her side and the love she felt for the boy she'd fallen for in the rain over an apology and a broken umbrella.

Now. . . she has neither. Now, Marinette's dreams of design have been coloured by Gabriel's greed, her friends don't understand why she has 'abandoned' Adrien in his time of need (as he recovers from 'amnesia' after his father's 'plane crash') and have since cut her off, and her family seems to think she's going through some sort of crisis in an attempt to find herself after Hawkmoth's reign of terror.

No longer able to remain in Paris, Marinette ended up packing and retreating to the Order's Temple, hoping that the Guardians might have a solution to her magical build up.

As it turned out, they did.

And Marinette hated it.

The Order, in their sage-like wisdom, informed Marinette that she could potentially stave off the majority of the negative side effects of said magical build up if they assigned her a new partner. It wouldn't be as effective in comparison to Adrien remaining Chat Noir, but it could make it so that Marinette wouldn't be too restrained by the magical residue embedded within her.

Needless to say, that conversation hadn't gone well.

Marinette nearly brought the Temple down a second time in her anger at such a suggestion. She – with the full support of Plagg – had donned the Cat miraculous and locked the miracle box. As she did, she threatened to cataclysm the entire place and then disappear on her own with all the miraculi if they dared to try to assign her another partner, all while shouting that she would make the submerging of Atlantis look like child's play.

After her outburst, Suhan and the other Guardians backed off but were quick to remind her that not doing so would mean tremendous sacrifices on her part. She would need to remain in a very specific location filled with chaotic, destructive energy until her magic faded from her system, which would at the minimum take decades. She would also need additional protection to ensure that both she and the miracle box are properly concealed, as the rest of the Temple and the Guardians are too preoccupied with rebuilding the Order to remain with her for such a long period of time (the League of Assassins had been poking their heads where they shouldn't since Hawkmoth's defeat, and subsequently, Marinette's safety was a top priority).

And so Marinette's dreams officially came to a screeching halt – and she ended up in Gotham, New Jersey, USA.

Which is also Batman's territory.

Batman – the Justice League member who hates magic .

Batman – the vigilante who has a ban on meta and magic for his city.

Marinette, however, wasn't going to give up just like that. Knowing that the city was the only option for her to remain in the civilised world, the young woman went straight to Wonder Woman for help in facilitating her move, circumventing the Order's protests about revealing secrets to outsiders. Diana, having immense respect for the Ladybug holder, privately put the young woman in touch with Batman to ensure that Ladybug – that Marinette could take up residence in Gotham and establish herself in his city, as well as ensure her protection should any issues arise.

While initially sceptical due to the Order's previous secrecy with the Justice League, Batman had been surprisingly eager to take Marinette under his wing, especially when Marinette insisted on him knowing her civilian identity – something the Order had been decidedly against her revealing. The tight-lipped Guardians only relented to Marinette's insistence when Batman promised that he alone would know the girl's true identity (not that Marinette believed he would keep that promise, but she appreciated the lie).

Batman quickly proved to be an invaluable sponsor and patron with more financial connections than the Parisian girl had anticipated. Not only had Batman facilitated Marinette's transfer to Gotham University seamlessly via his apparent connection with Bruce Wayne (she had thought the dating rumours were just rumours up until that point), but the Head Bat had also convinced the billionaire philanthropist to set Marinette up with housing and a generous meal plan, and somehow managed to get Marinette a spot in a work-study program at Wayne Enterprises, something that from what Marinette had heard, is something especially difficult to do.

Batman and Bruce Wayne's generosity and efficiency made leaving behind her family, friends, and dreams more bearable, even if no one else understood her move, and hence chose to distance themselves. After all, who would think anyone who gave up the City of Lights for the City of Crime is mentally stable?

. . .

Marinette is choosing not to think too hard on her mental stability after years at the mercy of an emotional terrorist. She's fine.

She needs therapy.

Even with the two men's help, the initial transition to Gotham was jarring. Everything about the city is staggeringly different from Paris and just about everything that Marinette grew up with. The infamous city is gloomy, violent, and standoffish – and that's just a well majority of the people. The general dark and Gothic ambience varies depending on where you are and the dissonance between the wealthy and the poor is staggering. The entirety of the city is crime-ridden and just so. . . used to it – the same way Paris grew to be after years of Hawkmoth's terrorisation.

Yet recognising that similarity is how Marinette first began to feel at home in the city. It was familiar. For her, that constant wariness was safe. And all of that helped Marinette adjust. Despite the growing pains of establishing herself in a new city – a new life – practically alone apart from the help of the ever-elusive Batman and an unhelpful Suhan (and her kwami, who have just barely learned to control themselves over the years), Marinette can't help but find comfort in the chaos, in the anonymity, and the distance between her, Paris, and her memories of heartache.

And so it was in Gotham that Marinette first began to breathe easy again.

No longer bound by her duties as Ladybug, Marinette was able to focus on herself, on healing , even if it did make her a bit closed off. Still, it seemed to be the norm in Gotham to be closed off and antisocial and Marinette felt more at ease because of it, even if it was so opposite to how her life was in Paris. She still isn't really ready to open herself up and establish personal relationships after everything that happened with everyone in Paris. The only non-work relationship she has end up making is unconventional at best and not one she can actively talk about.

Becoming friends with a former crime lord because she almost attacked him in an alley isn't exactly something she was able to talk about with the girl she sat next to in a 'history of polka-dots' or Jason from the WE security office – although it had been a bit awkward explaining why the notorious Red Hood had high-fived Marinette after apprehending Polka-dot Man trying to crash their final. A lot of people gave the French transfer student a very wide berth after that incident.

Eventually, Marinette graduated with honours and various accolades (with the help of some intense English tutoring from said former crime-boss), and once again, she found herself indebted to Bruce Wayne, who without hesitation offered her a promotion right out of university as the junior assistant to Timothy Drake-Wayne, under the direct supervision of one Tam Fox, who had been handling both Wayne Enterprises CEO's for the last few years and desperately needed help.

At that point, Marinette thought her luck had turned. The job was a perfect fit for the near-OCD former heroine and after years of managing her chaotic life in Paris, managing a single, self-destructive, insomniac genius was as easy as breathing. Marinette excelled at her work and actually enjoyed it. Tim was fun and had a similarly obsessive personality, which she felt complimented their work-friend relationship, even if she made sure to keep everything professional and strictly within the walls of Wayne Enterprises.

Threatening Tim with confiscating his soda and glitter pens had proven to be a very effective means of managing his behaviour. That, and scheduling him with unavoidable meetings with people Tim would rather avoid. The power dynamic between them is definitely unusual and non-traditional, but Tim has accepted it and is seemingly relieved by it as his workload has decreased.

Marinette spent two years as Tim Drake's assistant. Four years content with the rather dull, undramatic life she's made for herself in the City of Crime.

And then Bruce had to go and mess up the comfortable life Marinette was making for herself.

Marinette still remembers the day that she met the 'Ice Prince' of Gotham, Bruce's only biological child, and possibly the most infamous of the Wayne's: Damian al Ghul Wayne.

The one currently keeping her from entering her villain era.

Who she might have just stupidly fallen in love with him.

Which is shocking in itself as when they first met, Marinette hated him.

It had been a meeting – a brief introductory meeting to introduce Damian to the staff. Despite being younger than Marinette, he had just received his second Masters, this time in business management, and was looking to take over the Charitable Ventures Division of Wayne Enterprises.

When Damian had walked into the room, Marinette had done a double take. She'd seen pictures here and there from Tim, but they were usually in passing and Damian rarely appeared in the press. He wasn't one for the camera, usually turning his head to avoid the lens. Seeing him in person had been a shock; Damian Wayne is breathtaking : tall, muscular, with dark tan skin and brooding emerald eyes, coupled with the immaculate bone structure of his father.

Tim had been quick to introduce Marinette to Damian, gushing over how Marinette had changed his life in the office, that she is brilliant and an incredible asset to Wayne Enterprises. He had spent ten minutes trying to explain her colour-coding system and how she helped him glitter-bomb Peters from the board of Trustees (it was a reward for Tim finishing his paperwork early).

Damian had taken one look at Marinette and scoffed, clicking his teeth before turning back to Tim and asking why in the world he would be interested in meeting some gold-digging leech attempting to attach herself to the Wayne name.

Hence, Marinette's awe at the young man's looks and aura had cooled.

And then Bruce had to go and 'temporarily' reassign her to the icy menace.

The transfer in itself had been a hard pill to swallow. Marinette liked her work with Tim. She really didn't want to be moved under someone who had called her a 'gold digging leech' and afterward, hadn't even bothered to remember her name.

But, Marinette is a professional. She is only able to work at Wayne Enterprises because of Batman's relationship connection with Bruce Wayne. She could not under any circumstances jeopardise her position here without significant cause, and the bratty brother/son of the CEOs becoming her direct boss was not enough to deter her. Plus, while Damian is, as Tim likes to put it, 'a feral gremlin with a knife fetish,' the youngest Wayne isn't nearly as intimidating as everyone – including himself – thinks he is.

Compared to Hawkmoth, or even compared to some of the akumas Ladybug has faced, Damian is more like a pomeranian nipping at her fingers; annoying and testing the bounds of human patience, but tolerable most of the time.

However to her bewilderment, Tim took the news of Marinette's transfer harder than she did.

Wayne Enterprise's Timothy Drake-Wayne – the nearly thirty year old co-CEO – had clung to Marinette's leg and cried actual tears in the middle of her new department and all her new coworkers. The young woman had had to physically pry the man off her leg and promise that she would be back eventually and that no, Damian would not scare her into resigning.

In response, Tim had pulled out a contract for Marinette to sign to force her to keep her word about not leaving the company. It was extreme and eccentric (and borderline illegal), but honestly not the worst that could have happened. She'd half expected him to sabotage the whole thing by locking her in a storage closet in his office or bash Damian over the head with his skateboard, or even threaten to quit his position as co-CEO. He'd threatened all three when Bruce first informed them of the temporary transfer.

All in all, it was a spectacle, and while Marinette appreciates that she will be missed, the public display left her mortified – especially when rumours that the CEO Tim Drake-Wayne is head-over-heels in love with his assistant to the point of tears began circulating not only through the office, but through Tim's social circles and – to Marinette's horror – the press.

Needless to say, Marinette became somewhat grateful for the temporary distance with her boss, who may or may not have become way too reliant on her – even if it did mean that she had to put up with his aggressively beautiful aggravating younger brother. Plus, her job within the new department was to be event coordination and social outreach – two things she excelled in as Ladybug and Marinette back in Paris.

And yet, a few days after transferring into Charitable Ventures, Marinette quickly found that despite being an extremely abrasive and way too arrogant for his own good, Damian Wayne is extremely competent – and is more like a stubborn, grumpy wet cat who likes to claw at things that annoy him (which may or may not be in the form of letter openers ending up embedded in the mahogany desk) than someone to be frightened of. In a lot of ways, he reminds her of Felix, which has made working for him much more tolerable. Despite the bite that seems to accompany his every word and the fact that he really doesn't care for any one else's opinion, Damian is incredibly passionate about helping the community and making Gotham better.

Over these last few weeks, Marinette has begun to notice how Damian spends countless hours planning and perfecting his research and proposals, how he is often the first one in in the mornings and the last to leave, how despite his cold and icy demeanour, he has a bleeding heart for those who are truly in need – and animals. Always animals.

All of this has made working for him bearable, even with their mutual distaste for one another.

Soon, Marinette found that while frustrating, she enjoyed working for Damian and his department. Despite vastly preferring working for Tim, she's grateful for the chance to give back to the city and the community that has taken her in. Even with the daily spats with her boss and the fact that it is clear to everyone in the office that the man loathes her and her 'impertinence,' Marinette is thriving and the department is finally not being kept out of the red by the youngest Wayne's 'pocket-money.' In only a few weeks, Marinette has proven herself to be an asset, even if there is still some discontent with her older coworkers.

Marinette can't blame them; the young woman has definitely benefited from Batman's connection with Bruce Wayne, which has just pushed her to prove herself by excelling in the office. No one can deny that Marinette is excellent at event planning and community outreach, even if none of that is in her original job description.

But of course, just when Marinette thinks things are looking up, as soon as she starts growing content with her life, her luck turns and ends up being about as good as Monsieur Xavier Ramier's – but with a lot less pigeons.

Today is the prime example of that; it's barely the afternoon and the day is shaping out to be a rather unlucky Tuesday, and as she scrubs away at her shirt in the bathroom, trying (and failing) to get the mixture of blood and coffee out of her clothes, she can't help but wonder if Plagg is laughing at her back in the apartment. Even though Tikki swears the kwami has very little influence over her luck, the young guardian knew she should have just gotten him the expensive cheese he'd been nagging her about, even if it did cost her more of her paycheck than she was willing to give up.

Glancing at her appearance in the mirror, Marinette can't help but groan. She looks horrifying; her hair is falling from her plait in disarray, her nose is bright red and speckled with blood, her eyes are red rimmed and glassy with dark circles beneath them, and her nice pink, button up blouse is stained and sticky with blood and coffee; Eric threw open the door of the copy room too quickly and nailed her in the face, spilling the coffees she'd been carrying over her as her nose began gushing blood, ruining the paperwork she'd been carrying in her other arm. She'd also missed lunch , which with the way her stomach is protesting audibly, she is starting to regret.

Resisting the urge to collapse against the sink, Marinette grimaces as she dabs at her face with a paper towel, trying to clean off the last of the blood trickling from her nose.

She's too tired for this. This latest incident is just the icing on top of a day Marinette had already started at a deficit. She spent most of the night revising three different proposals on how to approach outreach in Crime Alley and even when she did manage to sleep, she'd dreamt of Adrien and their last fight against Hawkmoth. She woke up crying and hadn't been able to calm herself for nearly an hour before she was able to fall back asleep, and even then, it was fitful.

To make things worse, the kwami had messed with her alarm clock, meaning she was late and hadn't had time to make her 'special coffee,' and had still missed her bus. That landed her in a taxi that got gum embedded in her favourite coat. To add insult to injury, Damian had been barking orders at her all morning, insisting that every paper that came across his desk was incorrect and demanding she fix it, whether it was her work or not.

After such a horribly unlucky morning, Marinette really isn't in the mood for the meeting she is about to be walking into. Explaining to her team members who are not only older than her but have also been with the company for nearly two decades why their suggestions don't work is never easy, but with her head throbbing, her nose raw, and her shirt soaked with coffee and specks of blood, she really isn't in the mood for the push back and sceptical looks she knows she is about to get – especially from Damian. She's already fighting back tears from the pain and the memory of her dream from the night before, so having to defend her opinions in front of her team and Damian feels like going into an akuma fight without her miraculous – like the time she had to fight in a helmet and Adrien had dressed up like a banana.

The memory of Adrien running around dressed in the banana costume causes a giggle to spill from her lips, however it quickly catches in her throat, coming out like a strangled sob. Gripping the edge of the sink, Marinette fights against the tears that have sprung up again.

She misses him. She's not in love with him anymore – she's long since left that feeling in the past – but she can't help but miss her best friend and partner. He would know exactly how to cheer her up.

Oh come on, Milady! Who cares about some stuck up billionaire brat with a stick shoved sideways up his butt? You're Meowfic! You can take him!

Swallowing, Marinette smiles shakily at the thought and rights herself in front of the mirror. Taking a breath, she fixes her hair and removes her blazer to take off the button up underneath, leaving her in an only slightly stained pink silk and lace camisole before slipping the blazer back on. It's a bit more flirty of a look than she usually wears in the office, but it's not inappropriate and at the very least it's better than being covered in blood and coffee.

Checking her appearance in the mirror again, she makes sure there is no more blood on her face (there's nothing she can do about the dark circles under her red rimmed eyes at this point). While not her best, she at least looks well enough to lead a team meeting.

Or at least, she thought she did.

Twenty minutes later, Marinette stands at the front of the board room, the table before her filled with every department member with their head at the other end of the table. She's halfway through an explanation of why they need to make sure that the vendors they are using have the appropriate means of getting into Crime Alley – and that they are willing to go into Crime Alley – when a loud sigh echoes through the room.

Marinette falters, turning to glance back at the source, unsurprised to find that it's Janice .

The young Department Lead has to resist the urge to purse her lips. Despite the fact that Damian is so dismissive of Marinette and is vocal about not wanting her on his team, Janice Kercharski, the senior event planner who has been with Wayne Enterprises upward of twenty two years, has taken the crown for making Marinette's life miserable in the new department. Unlike Damian, who tells her to her face when he has a problem with her, Janice uses subtle sabotage and passive aggressive comments to undermine her – the same way Lila used to.

Needless to say, Marinette does not like the woman, which is why the familiar, overly exasperated sigh immediately sets the young woman's nerves on edge.

Marinette forces a smile onto her lips as she turns back to the screen behind her. However before she can say another word, another sigh echoes through the room, followed by a disapproving tutting.

Clenching her eyes closed, Marinette schools her features before turning to address the woman.

"Yes, Janice? Is there something you don't understand?"

The woman feigns surprise as all eyes turn to her. Even Damian shifts his calculating frown on Janice.

"Oh, it's nothing, dear," Janice replies in her usual crisp tone, her tight, practised expression of fake care and sympathy settings Marinette's nerves on edge.

"If that's the case, if you could remain silent until the en–"

"It's just that I can't help but voice that, perhaps, you shouldn't be the one leading this meeting."

A beat passes as Marinette attempts to process the woman's words.

". . . Pardon?" The young woman questions, disbelief shooting through her as she and the rest of their team members stare at the woman wide-eyed, except for Damian, who is watching them both with that same calculative gaze.

"Oh sweetie, we're all thinking it," she continues, looking around to encourage the rest of the team to agree with her before barrelling on. "I just think this might be too much of a responsibility for someone. . . as inexperienced as yourself. I mean look at you – you can't even dress yourself appropriately! Personal connections can only get you so far no matter how you dress it up."

Shame shoots through Marinette like a punch to the gut. The middle aged woman's voice, high and sickly sweet, grates at Marinette's nerves, but even more so at her insecurities. It reminds her so much of Lila and the years of torment the former heroine suffered until the Italian was exposed. For a moment, Marinette feels like she's back in school, fourteen and newly carrying the mantle of Ladybug and Guardian, feeling alone and abandoned by her friends, her mentor, and her crush.

In this moment, after the day she had had, Marinette can't help but feel small and undeserving being publicly humiliated like this. Worse, it's making her question herself and her abilities.

Maybe she isn't worthy of this job.

Maybe Bruce had put her there out of pity.

Maybe transferring her to work under Damian is some elaborate means to get her to voluntarily leave the company.

Any other day, Marinette might have fought back, ignored the woman, played things off and continuing on with her presentation, but today. . . she couldn't bring herself to do anything. She's tired, raw, and on the verge of breaking, spiralling and catastrophising with self doubt.

What's worse is the silence that has overtaken the room. Marinette's colleagues, whom she is still just barely getting to know, seem to be holding their breath, neither calling out Janice for her behaviour nor voicing their agreement with her claims. A few have dropped their gazes to their hands in discomfort while others continue to watch her carefully, as though waiting to see how she will respond – and Marinette can't blame them. After all, Janice is the eldest on the team, the one with the most tenure and experience, whereas Marinette is a young and pretty recent graduate who has seemingly worked her way up the company ladder due to her connections. . . or perhaps, like Janice is not-so-subtly putting forth, through other unsavoury means.

Yet, Marinette doesn't end up needing to respond at all.

After roughly two minutes of quiet, Damian's low baritone suddenly cuts through the room, not loud or angry, but imposing, calling all eyes to himself.

"Kercharski, pack your desk and see yourself out," the department head abruptly orders, his eyes narrowing as he regards the elder woman with distaste. "You are no longer needed in my department. HR will be in touch regarding your termination."

Marinette blinks in shock as silence rings through the room, heavy and so tangible one could hear a pin drop. Out of everyone, she had assumed he would be the least likely to come to her defence in any way – and from the looks on the rest of the group's faces, they are just as surprised. This is especially true as while Damian is known for being harsh and uncompromising, requiring perfection from everyone, he hasn't fired anyone since he took over nearly a year before, long before Marinette joined the department as his second on command.

None is more confused and taken aback than Janice herself.

For a moment, the woman simply stares at Damian with wide, disbelieving eyes. Never had Damian put a stop to her criticisms of Marinette, however this is the first time she's done so so blatantly.

". . . Sir?" Janice eventually manages, blinking as though she hadn't heard him correctly.

"Leave. Get out of my department," Damian repeats in a rigid tone, his emerald eyes flashing from his position at the head of the table.

Janice pales.

"But – but sir, you can't –"

"Don't dare try to tell me what I can or can't do," Damian's voice tears through her protests lowly, icy and daring as he slowly rises to his feet. A shiver runs down Marinette's spine as she watches him stare the woman down and brace himself against the table, his hands splayed out so that his gold and emerald ring on his right hand flashes in the florescent light. "You are an insufferable, incompetent social climber who uses passive aggressive verbiage to manipulate perception of those you view as a threat. I don't need or want you in my department. Get out."

Janice's jaw falls open, her pallor draining before turning a bright, indignant puce.

"Well, I never! I'll have you know that I've been with the company for almost twenty-three years! You selected me for this department yourself –"

"I only kept you because I had to," Damian cuts her off, a vicious scowl marring his features. "You are relatively efficient with your work, do not possess a criminal record, and have connections within city hall that I needed. However Dupain Cheng has managed to make ties that are significantly more desirable and her organisational efficiency outperforms yours ten times over. As you are not nearly as competent as Dupain-Cheng and have the audacity to suggest otherwise out of such obvious jealousy to the extent that you intend to sew discord within my department makes you a liability and a waste of resources. Now get out, pack your desk, and wait there quietly for security to collect you." He pauses, his scowl deepening threateningly. "Or I will remove you myself."

Pale faced and stuttering in quiet, fearful outrage, Janice scurries from the room in a panic, scrambling over her paperwork, muttering under her breath about injustice and lawsuits.

However Damian wasn't done. As soon as Janice is out of the room, the young department head turns to the rest of the room, glaring at each member of his 'elite' team with venom – all except Marinette.

"I will no longer tolerate any discrimination based on rumours within my department," Damian declares, a sneer pulling at his lips. "Drake is a whiny, co-dependant idiot that can't tie his own shoes without Dupain-Cheng, however that does not mean that he is sleeping with her. Dupain-Cheng is here because my father decided her abilities were needed within my department and while she too is insufferable, she at least has more capability than the rest of you combined. I will not hesitate to replace this entire department if any of you cannot control your prejudice." Damian pauses to look every member of the department in the face before striding from the room with an aggressive, "This meeting is over. Dupain-Cheng, come see me in my office when you are done here."

And just like that, Marinette is left staring after him at the front of the board room, surrounded by her stunned, palpably terrified and similarly frozen colleagues.

After a moment, Marinette's face floods with heat and her heart swoops uncomfortably in her chest. Blinking rapidly, the young team lead tries not to burst into tears at the sudden rush of emotions washing over her.

Turning to the rest of the room who have turned their attention to her, Marinette struggles for words, stammering as she does.

" Je. . . Je vais résumer le reste de – ah, pardon , I meant, um – I'll summarise the re-rest of the presentation and. . . and email specific points. . . If you have any questions feel free to reach out. . ." The young woman trails off as she gathers her things and all but runs from the room.

Damian had asked to see her, but before she heads to his office, Marinette passes the still-outraged Janice packing her desk and rushes back to the restroom, locking the door behind her. There, she turns and faces her reflection in the mirror, a sense of dread and elation and so many other feelings sending her into a state of emotional turmoil.

Tears start falling from the Parisian's eyes as the impact of the previous scene washes over her. She watches as her face continues to redden as Damian's words replay in her head. With horror, she notes the way something inside her has broken, only to soften and leave her warm and tingly all over.

Before today, Marinette would have said her type is someone kind and gentle, someone who is capable of listening and exuding compassion and forgiveness – someone like Adrien or Luka. But that was before Damian defended her with such passion, precision, and fearless intensity, without worrying about repercussions or stirring conflict. He spoke with bold authority, refusing to take the high road or encourage her to ignore the insults and lies. No one had ever done something like that for her. No one had ever been so final and unabashed in her defence for something so seemingly insignificant – especially not someone who had literally called her a 'gold-digging leech' the first time they met. Yet, Damian had defended Marinette's character and abilities with such sharp, fierce, and public intensity, against all reason. The moment his words reached her, something inside her had shattered. The wall she built around her heart had begun to crumble, replaced by a feeling she thought she had buried long ago.

The realisation of what that feeling is terrifies her.

Staring at her crying self in the mirror, Marinette can't help but think about how she couldn't remember the last time she felt so protected – that she allowed herself to be the one in need of protection. And the last person Marinette would ever have expected had been the one to step up and do just that. And he is the last person she should be feeling such an emotion for.

Pursing her lips, Marinette wipes at her face and tries to regain control of her breathing.

No. She's wrong. It's a momentary thing. There's no way she'd be so stupid. It's simply the heat of the moment after a really unlucky, draining day.

Once she manages to get control of her breathing, Marinette exits the bathroom and heads over to Damian's office, hesitating only a second before knocking.

"Come in."

Marinette's stomach does a pleasant lurch which she quickly pushes down as she enters the room.

"Yo-you asked to see me, Monsieur Wayne?"

Marinette inwardly curses herself for the stutter, dread eating at her as she closes the door behind her. As soon as the door snaps shut and she turns her gaze on her boss, heat rushes back up her neck and her stomach does yet another lurch. She'd forgotten how handsome he is – something she thought she'd gotten used to over the last few weeks.

Luckily, (and as she had half-expected) the man doesn't look up from his computer at his entrance.

“Just a moment,” Damian states as she approaches his desk.

Shifting her weight between her feet, Marinette hovers awkwardly, her nerves raw and on edge. Eventually the silence becomes too much for her.

“Monsieur Wanye, I want to thank –”

"Don't thank me,” Damian cuts her off, pointedly avoiding looking at the young woman as his fingers race across his keyboard. “I didn't do it for you. I still believe your presence here is unnecessary,"

A pang of hurt shoots through Marinette's heart – a reaction she tries to ignore.

"Still. . . I wanted – I just feel that I should – you deserve to know ho-how much I apprec–"

"Go home, Dupain-Cheng," Damian interjects, causing Marinette to falter in confusion and a tinge of uncertainty. However that feeling is quickly forgotten as he continues, "Kercharski was right about one thing – you look as disreputable as Drake on decaf. You even smell like him, which might be a greater offence. Go home, shower, and rest. Come back tomorrow with the quarterly finance allotments finalised or I'll fire you too, your contract with my brother be damned."

And just like that, Marinette knew she was a goner. There's no denying it.

Normally, Marinette would argue or take offence at the man's accusations, even though she can't deny the faint smell of Tim's signature blend of stale coffee and blood clings to her. But instead, she fights back hysterical giggles at the empty threat. Not because Damian lacks the authority to fire her, but because she begins to see the man beneath the grumpy, aggressive facade. She recognises someone who cares in his own unique way, indifferent to how others perceive his actions. He doesn’t seek approval or feel obligated to act in a certain way; he acts simply because it’s the right thing to do. In that moment, it truly sinks in Marinette that the youngest Wayne heir perfectly embodies the phrase 'not nice, but kind.'

And just like that, Marinette is faced with the realisation that she is positively smitten with Damian al Ghul Wayne – as well as the fact that there is no way he will ever feel the same. And so, as per usual, Marinette's luck in love has failed her.

So yeah. This could be her villain origin story.

Chapter Text

Resigned

*

Marinette thought she would never pine after someone the way she once did for Adrien. The weight of her first real crush – her first love – had been intense, something that, between the ages of fourteen to sixteen, she had obsessed over. It was unhealthy and because of that and Adrien's general obliviousness, she'd had her heart broken over and over again. She had loved him deeply and when she found out he was Chat Noir, that feeling had only intensified. She had been in a love square with herself and her best friend and the fact she had fallen for the same boy twice had seemed like a cosmic joke at the time.

It made losing that love even more heartbreaking, to the point that Marinette never thought she would be able to love like that again.

However after the last five months since that day in the office, Marinette's assumptions have proven otherwise. If anything, her feelings for Damian are more intense and have only grown since that day.

Which they really shouldn't have.

Damian is probably the worst person in her life she could have fallen for: her boss, who is also her other boss's brother, her patron's boyfriend acquaintance's son, and the one person who actively hates her guts.

Yes, Marinette is hyper aware of the absurdity of her feelings.

No, she can't seem to get those feelings to go away.

However, the fact that Marinette knows her affections for the man are hopeless has made all the difference in how she conducts herself around him, because she knows that any attempt at attracting Damian's attention is useless (and would more than likely get her a restraining order rather than a date), Marinette has been able to stay singularly focused on her job and maintain a (mostly) professional attitude with him. Unlike with Adrien, she's not constantly trying to figure out ways for them to cross paths or some means to make him like her. There's simply no need, or rather, there is nothing she thinks she could do to endear herself to him when she knows he cares for her about as much as Adrien does feathers.

Marinette is no longer a naive fourteen year old working off a fantasy of true love and marriage and children and hamsters. Marinette is in her twenties, a retired heroine, a Guardian of little gods, and is currently one of Batman's wards – a 'civilian' one without the cape and traffic-light suit. In terms of her life within Wayne Enterprises, in her professional life, in terms of her relationship with Damian, she's his employee and nothing else, nor does she try to be any more than that. She doesn't hope for more. Marinette is resigned to the fact that she's had her heart broken before she had the chance to embrace her own feelings, which again, is for the best. If there's anything she learned how to do under Hawkmoth's reign of emotional terrorism, it's how to push down her emotions, mask and conceal and ignore them. . . until forced to deal with the build up, that is. Resignation – defeat – is a lot healthier in her opinion. It has allowed her to remain grounded and not caught up in daydreams of a future with Damian Wayne.

Unlike her crush on Adrien, when Marinette was often turned into a stuttering puddle in his presence, the realisation of her feelings for her boss hasn't stopped the young woman from butting heads with the man on a daily basis. It has, however, led to her complaining to her only confidant in the world nearly every time they meet about the tragedy of it all.

And to put it lightly. . . her self proclaimed older brother getting sick of it.

"Pix. . . I swear to god, if I have to listen to you whine about that feral ass of a boss ya got one more time, I'm going to lose my shit."

Marinette raises her head from the pillow she's been screaming into for the last two minutes to glare at Red Hood, who is splayed out lazily on her plush cream-coloured couch by the window, the moonlight shining down on him. In one hand, he holds a battered paperback of Pride and Prejudice, dog-eared and well-loved, and in the other, one of Marinette's delicate mismatched china teacups, steam curling lazily from the fragrant brew (that is not magically enhanced, thank you very much). Beside him, an empty plate bears the crumbs of Marinette’s latest stress-baking creation – her papa's macaroons that the man had fallen in love with years ago.

Still riled up from venting, Marinette stands nearby, arms crossed, a mix of frustration and exasperation painted across her face. She'd just spent the last fifteen minutes regaling the vigilante with how she had somehow managed to take out a white board and a filing cabinet due to her clumsiness that morning right in front of Damian. The man had scowled at her and asked if she really knew how to walk properly or if she hadn't met that milestone as a child. It had been mortifying and at this point, she's beginning to wonder if her clumsiness is getting worse as she ages or if her bad luck is making it so it only ever happens in front of the person she likes.

Currently, it is late on a Thursday night and Red Hood had finished patrol early to stop by for a few hours before he heads back to wherever (or whatever) he calls home. His Tuesday or Thursday visits have become a rough routine ever since that day in university, soon after she arrived in the city, when she nearly assaulted him in an alley at three in the morning. In the process, she had somehow gained an English tutor and a self-proclaimed older brother from the encounter – in exchange for her baking, that is. As such, Marinette shut the kwami away on those nights (she hadn't explained that little detail about where her magic came from to Batman and had no plans to do so in the future) and was able to spend a few hours unloading all her problems onto the only human friend she has – the local (formerly) gun-slinging vigilante whose name she doesn't even know.

Unfortunately for her, Red Hood has not taken kindly to Marinette's persisting crush on the youngest Wayne. In fact, for whatever reason, it disgusts him. But then again, all the Wayne's seem to be on Red Hood's shit list, so she shouldn't be surprised he has issues with her acting all twitterpated over the most volatile of the children (she half assumes he might have issues between Bruce and Batman dating but she's never had the courage to ask).

Resisting the urge to chuck his helmet at his mask-clad face, Marinette purses her lips, pissed off with his attitude. For a few minutes, she paces the length of the room, occasionally stopping to glance out the window before eventually spinning back towards the vigilante, unable to help herself.

"I just mean – how crazy do I have to be to fall for someone who literally hates me?!" She blurts, her voice high pitched and ringing with anguish.

Despite his obvious annoyance, Red Hood snorts, setting down the book and teacup with a soft clink. He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, his expression blatantly exasperated despite the fact that the majority of his face is obscured by his domino mask and the red baseball cap he wears around the apartment whenever he takes his helmet off (something about his hair being too distinctive of his civilian identity, which she has kept her word to Batman not to pry into).

"Pretty fuckin' crazy," he agrees wholeheartedly, palpably tired of this song and dance. "Seriously, what the hell has you moonin' over that feral brat? You just said he completely ignored you today. You've been putting in all that work for that retirement gala shit for that Dick-head Grayson and he just blew you off!"

Ignoring Hood's usual disdain for the Wayne family, Marinette throws up her hands and stomps over to the couch, shoving his feet aside and sinking down beside him.

"Because I'm self destructive?!" She cries, threading her fingers in her hair while throwing her head back and staring at the ceiling. "Because I'm a sucker for sweet, emotionally unavailable guys with green eyes? Because I'm cursed?!"

Red Hood snorts.

"Well that's dramatic. And potentially masochistic," he remarks dryly.

Marinette turns an accusatory look at the masked man.

"You know I'm right," she points out, inwardly wondering how much Batman had told him about bad luck clinging to her. It might not technically be a curse, but to her, it might as well be.

She's trying not to think about the masochistic part because with her track record, it could be true.

"For the last time – you need to get over him," Hood insists. "He was nice to you once and ever since you've been all strung out over everything he does. You seriously need higher standards than someone who left you stranded at a Batburger on the other side of town just 'cause you managed to force him to attend a press conference."

A flush rises up Marinette's neck as the truth of his words hit her. Without warning, the young woman grabs a nearby pillow and presses it to her face, muffling yet another frustrated scream. The sound is raw, a release of something pent up and tangled inside her that takes the edge off her emotions; it's something she'd done often in Paris to keep from having emotional breakdowns every other day.

Red Hood watches quietly, an eyebrow raised.

"You’re going to wear out all your pillows at this rate," he remarks again, his face impassive.

Marinette's response is to scream again, although less raw and more irritated by the vigilante than her circumstance.

Red Hood purses his lips.

"Okay. No more jokes. Be real with me, Pix. What do you see in that kid?" He asks, genuinely confused. "He's awful to you. Awful to everyone. He might as well be your complete opposite and I know for a fact you're not into that 'bad-boy – I-can-change-him' shit. You don't tolerate rude people, so why the hell are you really into the Wayne brat?"

Slowly, Marinette pulls the pillow away from her face, her cheeks flushed.

"It’s just. . . I know he's awful. He has no regard for anyone's feelings and is objectively violent and callous and – and he has no respect for anything I do –"

"You are really selling the attraction, Pix."

Marinette purses her lips and chucks the pillow at the vigilante's face, earning a sting of curses from the man as he tries not to spill his tea.

"What I'm trying to say is that. . . despite the fact that he can't stand me, I just know that there's so much good to him. I've seen it. He’s so passionate about what matters to him." Her eyes soften as she continues, words spilling out like a confession. "He’s sure of himself. . . he doesn’t care what people think and speaks his mind without hesitation. He’s smart – and not just – ah, what did you call it, um, 'book-smart?' He understands points I'm trying to make before I even finish speaking and sees problems before anyone else does. And even though he acts like he couldn’t care less most of the time, he shows kindness in these little, almost invisible ways, but treats it as though they were always the only option – like it wasn't kindness, but. . . logic." Marinette pauses, murmuring with a dreamy smile, "Et ses yeux . . . J'adore la couleur de ses yeux–"

Disgusted, Red Hood feigns a mock gag, jerking his head back dramatically.

"Stop, I can’t take this anymore! I do not need to hear about your obsession with the kid's eyes!"

Flushing, Marinette snaps her mouth shut, smacking his leg beside her. "Non, but I’m serious! Damian is. . . complicated, but in a admirable way. He's actually a great person once you get to know him."

"But still a feral brat," Hood affirms, raising another brow at her.

Marinette sighs. ". . . Oui. . . But. . . ah, um, what is 'attachant?'"

"'Endearing,'" Hood supplies with another look of disgust.

"Ah, oui, merci, he is an endearing brat. . . and my boss. . . who hates me. . ." She groans into her palms. "Kwami cakes, what is wrong with me?"

"Ever thought about therapy?"

Marinette turns and glares at him again.

"Have you?"

For a moment, Hood just stares at her before sighing and sitting up to really look at Marinette.

He leans closer, voice low and challenging. "If you’re so hung up on the kid, why don’t you just do something about it already? Ask him out?"

Marinette stills, her face falling as she clenches her hands in her lap, already resigned to her fate.

"For one thing, he's my boss. For another, he's Tim's younger brother and Bruce Wayne's son. And most importantly, even if he did defend me that one time, it doesn't change the fact that he clearly can't stand being in the same room as me," she explains before her voice grows soft and final. "He already accused me of trying to parade him around like a show horse for profit. The last thing I need is another reason for him to hate me."

She exhales deeply, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on the couch fabric. "No, I just need to survive the time Bruce wants me working with Charitable Ventures. Then it’ll be back to Tim, where my biggest stress is making sure the idiot doesn’t accidentally kill himself."

Red Hood chuckles, shaking his head.

"Repla– that Tim guy is hardly an upgrade from the 'Ice Prince.' I'd argue he's worse. At least the feral brat hasn't ever ended up in the hospital for a caffeine overdose."

Marinette shoots Red Hood a tired, playful glare before letting out a dry laugh.

"Yeah, well, the Wayne's aren't exactly known for being conventional. At least I'm not in charge of Bruce. From what Tam's told me, he sounds like a nightmare to manage."

Red Hood barks out a laugh. "You don't even know the half of it," he mutters before shoving the pillow he'd been holding at Marinette, who catches it with a short grunt and huffs at him reproachfully. "But seriously Pix, you should just let me fix you up with someone. I'm telling you I gotta lotta friends for you to pick from –"

"I don't need a blind date," Marinette cuts him off, already knowing where he is going with this. "And I have no interest in starting a relationship anyway. I just need to get over this crush and move on with my life."

Red Hood purses his lips and stares at Marinette from behind his domino mask.

"Probably for the best. I'd feel weird having my little sister date my friends anyway. Assholes, the lot of them."

Marinette breaks out in laughter. "And you wanted to set me up with them?!" She asks accusatorily.

Red Hood shrugs. "You'd be good for anyone. Whether any of them are worthy of you is yet to be seen."

Marinette smiles wryly and leans her head against his arm.

"You're a pretty great big brother, Red. Even if you do eat all my food."

"Yeah well, someone's gotta look out for you," he breathes. "If I left you alone, who knows the kinda shit you'd find yourself in."

"I'm not that bad –" Marinette starts, only for Red Hood to cut her off with a look.

"Your track record is horrifying. Do you not remember how we met?"

Marinette purses her lips.

"I was new to Gotham! I didn't know my way around yet!"

"You were in Crime Alley at three in the morning! Wearing pink overalls and pigtails! I thought you were a little kid someone had acting as bait–"

"One, it was a romper, and two, I was handling the situation perfectly well before you turned up –"

"Whatever you say, Pixie Pop," Hood cuts her off before catching the time on the clock on the wall. "Shit. I need to get back," he curses before reaching over the couch and smoothly replacing his hat with his helmet.

Seeing the man is right, Marinette sighs.

"Oui, it's late. I have an early meeting tomorrow so I should be getting to bed anyway," the young woman agrees, clutching the pillow into her chest again.

Standing, Red Hood slips his copy of Pride and Prejudice back into his leather jacket and stretches before turning and climbing over Marinette (purposefully obnoxiously, she might add, pushing at her face and leaving a large boot print on her white couch) to slip through the window into the gathering dusk.

However before the vigilante leaves (and before Marinette can complain at him for getting dirt on her furniture again), he reaches down from the sill to ruffle Marinette’s hair, shooting her a resigned smile.

"I'll see you later, sis. For what it's worth, that brat doesn't realise how lucky he is that you're in his life in any capacity. He doesn't deserve someone as sweet as you, so don't torture yourself over him and get some actual sleep."

Pushing away his gloved hand, Marinette pouts, but there’s an unmistakable warmth in her chest as she watches him disappear into the night without another word, the sound of his grappling hook lost to the dull city noise.

Once Marinette knows he's far enough away she reaches over, shuts the window, and closes the curtains. As she does, her expression slips and she presses her forehead against the fabric, her shoulders fall. The faint hum of the city seeps through the cracked window, but inside, the silence feels heavier than the night outside. The melancholy hits her like a brick to the sternum and she takes a staggering breath.

After a few moments, Marinette straightens and moves to her bedroom, where the miracle box and its inhabitants are hidden in a large doll house in the corner. Due to the late hour, most of the kwami are already asleep in their little cubbies. The only two who float out to greet Marinette are Tikki and Plagg.

"Ugh, finally!" Plagg groans as he flits out the window of his little room before collapsing dramatically on her pillow. "I'm starving, Pigtails! Do you got any more of that fancy gouda?"

"Plagg! Don't be such a glutton! You ate an entire block of pepper-jack an hour ago!" Tikki scolds, a worried expression on her face as she flutters over to the young woman. "Are you alright, Marinette?"

As Plagg scowls at his counterpart, muttering about the kwami's audacity to compare Gouda to pepper-jack, the young woman offers the kwami of creation a small smile.

"I'm fine. Just a long day at work," she sighs with a weary smile, trying not to worry her.

It doesn't work.

"We heard you talking to Red Hood," Tikki presses, her large blue eyes shining in the warm light of Marinette's floor-lamp. "Your meeting with Monsieur Damian didn't go well?"

Marinette's smile falls, her shoulders sagging at the memory of Damian's words, each one more cutting than the last.

'So you plan to use me as a show horse? A circus act to ‘draw in’ a crowd?'

'You host frivolous, elaborate parties and demonstrations.'

'These insipid ‘parties’ you seem to enjoy hosting – for the preying sheep who think themselves wolves when they are really the leeches of society, I might add – only furthers the city’s corruption.'

'Your naive fantasies are not my responsibility,'

'I have never been in favour of having you here in the first place.'

The young woman flinches at the recollection. As if she needed more evidence that he can't stand her.

". . . . I'm not sure that meeting could have gone worse if I tried. . . . I couldn't get him to agree to attend the retirement gala for his brother's family circus. I really thought I'd be able to get him to at least show up for an hour or something since it's for Dick, but. . ." Marinette sighs, pressing her palms into her eyes as she throws herself onto the bed beside Plagg. "I didn't even get a chance to really talk about it. . . He cut me off and called the whole thing a 'frivolous party that panders to the social leeches of society.'"

Seeing the young woman's despondent mood, Tikki shares a look with Plagg across the pillows. Although the kwami is lounging with a disinterested air, the concern in his electric green eyes betrays him.

"Ah, he doesn't know what he's talking about," Plagg declares, rolling his eyes dramatically. "He's just a kitten with an attitude. You know how important you are to that company – that older one sure does. You should go back to him – the one who always has those crazy energy drinks and raccoon eyes."

Resisting the urge to correct that Tim had switched to coffee under her management, Marinette frowns and raises a brow at the kwami of destruction.

"I thought you liked Damian. You said he would be fun to have as a holder."

Plagg waves her off.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean he gets to use you like a scratching post," the kwami of destruction retorts. "It's only fun when he does it to people who deserve it. Karmic balance. Humans nowadays are too into keeping the peace. . . but even I can tell he's going overboard when it comes to you."

Biting the inside of her cheek, Marinette sighs. Even with the respect and admiration she has for Damian, discounting her romantic feelings entirely, she can't deny that she's growing tired of being constantly dismissed.

Above her, Tikki floats closer and lands beside Marinette's head. She hesitates a moment before speaking, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Marinette, maybe Red Hood is right. I think you need to move on. Your feelings for Damian are eating you up inside. . . and with the way he treats you. . . this isn't like the crush you had on Adrien. This is actively cutting you down."

Unwilling to make eye contact with her kwami, Marinette fixes her eyes on the ceiling, her lips pressed into a thin line as she considers her response carefully.

". . . It's not that easy, Tikki," she murmurs, her voice thick with emotion. "I can't just turn my feelings off. . . besides, what I feel for Damian is different from what I felt for Adrien. My feelings for Adrien were based on a perception I had of him at fourteen. I fell for an image – a fantasy, and after that, it was because he was my best friend first.

'My feelings for Damian. . . It's the opposite. I fell his kindness, yeah, but I also fell for his venom. I fell for him because doesn't hesitate to do what's right even if it's unpopular or conventionally 'nice.' . . After working for him for so long. . . I know him, Tikki. I know just how deep his kindness runs beneath his sharp exterior. . ."

Marinette pauses, realising yet again the absurdity of her situation. "Kwami, I'm hopeless. This is so toxic, isn't it? Maybe Hood is right. Maybe I should see a therapist."

Plagg snorts from his pillow beside her head.

"At least you're not lying to yourself,."

"Not helping, Plagg," Marinette deadpans, although the crack in her voice betrays her amusement.

"Marinette. . . I think you're lonely," Tikki continues, ignoring her kwami counterpart. "You've been living in Gotham for almost six years now and your only friend is a vigilante you only see once or twice a month. You don't have a social life and work is consuming your life. Maybe if you got out more –"

"I do too have a social life!" Marinette cries indignantly. "Just last week I went out to dinner with Patrick and Kelly and –"

"A team dinner," Tikki corrects, giving the girl a pointed look. "A team dinner that you organised in an attempt to get Damian to socialise better with his employees. A dinner you sulked over because he refused to attend."

The young woman's mouth snaps shut, her cheeks heating as Tikki continues.

"Marinette, the only people you interact with are your coworkers and a former crime lord. Back in Paris, you had a thriving social group. You were involved in the community doing things you enjoyed, not just things that help Wayne Enterprise's public image. You were an extrovert and a leader, but here. . . here, you've isolated yourself. You don't go out with friends, you don't go on dates. . . You're not obligated to cut yourself off from the rest of the world. It's not healthy."

Marinette chews on her next words.

". . . Tikki, it's not the same," she begins, melancholy tainting her tone. "I've never been that much of an extrovert. I just had to be as Ladybug. . . I had to be because my friends and family – because Paris needed me to be in and out of the mask. I still have to be to make sure there's some sense of unity within Charitable Ventures. Yes, I'm a lot more outgoing than I was as an awkward teenager, but I'm still the same girl who would spend hours designing in my bedroom alone."

Marinette pauses, clenching her eyes shut. "I do miss my friends and my family and going to events that aren't work related, but. . . I'm okay with my life the way it is. I can handle being a little lonely."

There is a pause as Marinette's admission hangs heavy between them. Even Plagg's ears have drooped, all too aware of the sacrifices both she and Adrien made during the War. The sacrifices that Marinette is still making.

Tikki sighs and presses a small paw into Marinette's cheek.

"I'm not condemning you for your choices, I just think . . maybe you should let Red Hood set you up on a date. Or perhaps see about making friends outside of the office and a former crime boss." The kwami pauses, her worry palpable. "I just don't want to see you lose yourself even more than you already have."

Tears prick at the young woman's eyes. How could she be lonely when she has such a loving and caring friend in Tikki?

". . . Maybe someday," Marinette replies, her voice steady despite the ache in her chest. "But for now, I'm. . . content with where I am. . . or at the very least, I'm resigned to it. I have Red Hood and you two and the rest of the kwami. That’s enough for me. I’ll be fine."

Tikki’s gaze sharpens and she raises a small brow. "You say that, but what about your feelings for Damian? You're being tormented by them and you just said they're stronger than what you felt for Adrien. Would you be able to put them aside to try with someone else?"

Marinette lets out a bitter laugh, shaking her head.

"No," she confesses, rising to sit back up on the bed. "But it's not like I'm holding onto any hopes that my feelings might be returned. Not like I did with Adrien." Marinette grimaces. "That had made me crazy. Alya let me get away with way too much when we were kids. . . No, just give me some time. I'm sure I'll be able to get over him eventually."

The kwami share another look before Plagg interjects, ignoring Marinette's last few comments.

"If you’re so sure Damian won’t return your feelings, why not try for someone else?"

Marinette purses her lips, a stubborn defiance flickering in her chest. "I already said I'll think about it. Whatever the case, I’m not in a place to be in a relationship right now, so it doesn't matter. If I do ever decide I need a relationship, I'll take him up on the offer of setting me up with someone, but not right now. Right now I have other things to worry about – like the fundraiser for Haley's circus."

Ignoring Marinette's attempt to dismiss the subject, Tikki sighs. "You’re going to be in Gotham for a long time, Marinette. You deserve a life beyond work and being a Guardian. You deserve to find yourself again. You deserve to be happy, not just content with the status quo or resigned to your fate." The kwami forces Marinette to look her in the eye. "You deserve to have someone who makes you feel alive."

Silence stretches between the kwami and their Guardian, thick and uncertain. Marinette’s heart pounds with the weight of Tikki’s words, but she can’t seem to voice the emotional turmoil swirling inside her, the conflict and reservations and fear of being hurt again. She knows her kwami is right, that she means well but after everything she's been through. . .

After a few minutes of silence, Marinette rises from the bed without addressing Tikki's point. Striding across the room, her gaze falls on the sticky note clinging to her sewing machine in the corner.

'Don't forget: Pick up fabric order from Mademoiselle Lennox!'

The young woman frowns before turning to glances at the clock on the wall. She'd completely forgotten about her order of a roll of exquisite grey silk for the dress she wanted to make for herself. The material was pricey, but she figured that it was worth it if she could bring the design in her head to life. However, with the gala coming up in a few weeks, she'd been busy and hadn't had time to pick up the fabric, and the phone calls from Mademoiselle Lennox have been getting more frequent. She'd asked Marinette to pick it up before the weekend, which she'd completely forgotten.

Biting the inside of her cheek, Marinette purses her lips, making a face. The shop will be closed all weekend, and unless she goes now, the fabric will sit waiting until Monday, which even then, Marinette can't promise she'll have time to pick it up since she has a meeting with the Guardians at the Temple that day.

However, Mademoiselle Lennox is usually up late on Thursdays – she likes to watch jeopardy as she reorganises her buckets of fasteners and buttons. There is a chance, maybe, if Marinette leaves right this moment, to drop in and pick up her silk before the woman closes up for the night.

"I need to go," the young woman breathes, pointedly keeping her gaze on anything but her kwami. "I have drop by Mlle. Lennox's for my order. I'll be back in a bit."

Tikki shoots her Holder a look. "Marinette, you can't avoid – "

"Ooo, bring me back some cheese!" Plagg calls out as Marinette grabs her coat, fingers trembling slightly as she steps toward the door.

"The grocery stores are closed!" Marinette calls back as she slips her kitten heels back on at the door, shutting it behind her before the kwami can protest any further.

Turning the lock behind her, the young woman pauses to lean back against the door. She's tired of justifying her choices to everyone. She's tired of being told to move on. She's resigned to her fate, so why does everyone seem so set on upsetting it?

Why can't anyone just let her complain about her useless crush in peace?

After a moment, the young woman lets out a breath and heads down the stairs.

"Let's hope Hood is already done with patrol for tonight," Marinette grumbles to herself as she steps out into the cold. "The last thing I need is more nagging bout my life choices."

Chapter Text

As Marinette swings her very expensive roll of silk into the nearest thug's face, she starts to think that maybe she shouldn't have left her miraculous behind. Maybe then she wouldn't be ruining a whole paycheck's worth of fabric bludgeoning a man in a dark alley.

Or rather, seven men.

Really, her yoyo would be so useful right about now. Or a baton. Or a sword. Or a horseshoe. Crepes, Trixx's flute would be less emotionally devastating than ruining this beautiful material, but when she saw a group of men aggressively shoving a mother and son between vans, talking loudly (the audacity, really) about pricing and auctions, she couldn't exactly hesitate.

Marinette should really look into getting some non-magical weapons to carry around – something easier to reach than the large hunting knife Hood had given her for emergencies. It really isn't doing her much good sheathed at the bottom of her purse, which had been the first thing she'd thrown at the closest man's head.

Magical weapons are so much more convenient. Batman should give her a special dispensation to use her miraculous in extenuating circumstances.

Then again, Marinette probably shouldn't be pushing her luck. According to agreement with Batman, she's not supposed to be calling attention to herself, intervening in Gotham crime, or actively using magic, which if she were in possession of a miraculous, she knows she would be three for three tonight. Asking for special treatment after all this probably isn't in her best interest.

But it's not like Marinette meant to break her promise with Batman. She didn't go out looking to intercept the kidnapping of a mother and son, but again, considering they had the audacity to try it right in front of her, as Ladybug (retired or not), she couldn't just let it happen – even if it did come at the expense of her really nice, very expensive silk.

. . .

Marinette really misses her yoyo.

But as she grabs the closest man's jacket and pulls it over his head before kneeing him in the groin, Marinette can't help but reason Batman couldn't possibly be that mad about this, right? She's not making that big of a scene. She's in a dark alley in the middle of the night and there's only seven kidnappers. It's not like she's trying to take on a Rogue in broad daylight or anything. The only witnesses are the victims themselves, who seem quiet enthused at the former heroine's intervention.

"Kick his ass, baby girl!" The mom shouts as Marinette manages to slam the end of her fabric roll into the face of the thug on her right, sending blood spurting from his nose as he falls back into the wall, screaming and cursing. The next moment, another man comes up behind her and tries to put her in a head lock.

Big mistake.

Reaching behind her, Marinette grabs him and throws him over her shoulder into the nearest wall, where a sickening crunch echoes through the alley.

Marinette can't help but smirk at the ease with which she is handling these men. She hasn't lost her touch.

A gunshot rings out, but by 'chance' it misses its target (aka, Marinette), allowing the former heroine to rush the man and take advantage of his improper distribution of weight to sweep out his legs, and then bash his face in with the fabric roll.

With that hit, the bodies littering the floor are now five and Marinette can see the remaining two kidnappers beginning to panic, their van all but abandoned at the other end of the alley. Which they can't get to because they need to get through Marinette first – the young five foot tall woman dressed in kitten heels and pink pastels who had just taken out the other five of their associates without breaking a sweat (even if her clothes are in a disarray and said shoes are hanging on for dear life).

The altercation between Marinette and the kidnappers doesn't last much longer after that. The last two men go down just as easily as the five before them, and as she elbows the last attempted kidnapper in the sternum and uses the roll of fabric to catch his face with an uppercut that has him collapsing onto the ground unconscious, Marinette feels a rush of accomplishment wash over her. It's a familiar feeling, except this time there wasn't any need to be gentle, no need to worry about pulling her punches because the akumas were victims themselves – these men were evil and not having to hold back feels good. Marinette had almost forgotten what winning a fight like this felt like.

Trying not to focus on the rush that's running through her veins, Marinette remembers the mother and child in the corner and is about to turn back to check on them when a presence drops down from above right behind her – a presence Marinette assumes is an eighth accomplice she hadn't clocked.

Scowling (and getting a bit exasperated because did he really think he could take her after seeing what she did to hid friends), Marinette turns and, with just a slight manipulation of chance, grabs the new arrival over her shoulder and throws him furiously into the asphalt at her feet. She's about to reach around with the roll to smack him in the face as well (broken noses are so distracting, after all), only as soon as she gets a better look at him, she freezes. Horror that feels a lot like dread dripping in acid washes over the young woman when she sees who sh'es just assaulted, causing her to lose her grip on the roll of fabric, sending it tumbling to the rain-soaked ground at her feet.

The iconic red, yellow, and green suit is anything but subtle and is so inaesthetically recognisable that Marinette's stomach lurches, ice filling her veins.

She just attacked a vigilante. And she may or may not have been influencing luck in order to do so.

Burnt souffles, she messed up.

She messed up big time.

Staring down at Robin laying prone on his back, Marinette is beginning to regret ever coming out; she's just been caught red handed by the last vigilante she'd want to be caught breaking the rules set out for her – other than maybe Batman himself. Despite living in Gotham for six years, Marinette has only ever met Batman and Red Hood, but Hood regularly complains about Robin – namely about the stab wounds the former crime lord's ended up with whenever he pisses the 'kid' off, which is apparently often.

Raising her hands above her head, Marinette quickly scrambles over her apologies.

“Monsieur Robin?! I’m so – I’m so sorry, I did not see you there, I didn’t mean to do that, I swear! I was still on edge and I didn’t see you and it was really just an instinct and – oh crepes, please don’t tell Batman I attacked you, it really was an accident and I swear I didn’t use any mag –”

“Stop spiralling,” Robin cuts off her lie, his voice gruff and low as he quickly rises to his feet with a surprising amount of grace for his large frame, causing Marinette's mouth to snap shut. Without looking at her, he brushes the asphalt from his uniform. As Marinette begins to panic, waiting for him to blow up at her, she can't help but note that he's a lot taller than she had expected him to be from Hood's descriptions.

Knowing she might have just tossed her steady life in Gotham into the blender and hit puree, tears begin to prick at her eyes, her thoughts spiralling fast. For a moment, Marinette holds her breath, watching the man as if he's a ticking time bomb wrapped in a (strangely familiar) grumpy scowl.

Marinette can't help but grimace inwardly. That scowl might as well be a physical representation promising eviction from the city she's only just begun to consider her home. A nagging voice in her head asserts (very annoyingly) that Hood might have been right – Marinette's track record of her night time adventures in the city is proving to be testing fate like juggling flaming torches on a unicycle: spectacularly doomed from the start.

Marinette frowns internally at the thought.

Okay.

Her research for the upcoming Circus Gala might be starting to get to her. But she still insists the comparison stands.

Still waiting for Robin's response, Marinette tries to control her breathing (read, not break out into tears). For whatever reason, the vigilante continues to glower at the former heroine silently for what feels like forever, his expression calculative and unnerving. Behind her, sniffles echo through the now quiet alley as the little boy stifles his lingering sobs in his mother's arms.

Marinette's instincts are to go over and comfort the boy and his mother, but she forces herself not to look away, to keep his attention on her. The young woman can practically feel the rage pouring off the vigilante in waves, growing more and more intense as he takes in her and the situation and there's no doubt in her mind that the other two can feel it too. The last thing she wants is to traumatise them even further.

Eventually, Robin does end up turning toward the mother and child cowering beside the dumpster.

“What is the situation here?” The vigilante asks almost accusatorily, his eyes seemingly raking over their frames and injuries – or at least, Marinette assumes that's what he's doing. The domino mask makes it difficult to tell.

Under the intensity of Robin's scowl, the mother and son flinch back, trembling. The boy's sniffles quickly transform into all out sobs under the vigilante's scrutiny, clinging to his mother as she tries to console him.

A prick of irritation spikes in Marinette and she moves to place herself between them and Robin. While she is certain the man isn't trying to be intimidating (she thinks he just does that naturally), the two don't deserve to be traumatised any more than they've already been – and Robin doesn't exactly have the reputation of being empathetic.

“I believe they are victims of a kidnapping,” Marinette quietly interjects, trying to get the vigilante to focus on her instead. “They need medical attention. I think they are still a bit ah. . ." The Parisian falters, trying to remember the right English word. "'Stunned?” She tries, knowing it's not quite right but figuring it's close enough.

At her words, Robin immediately reaches up to his ear and turns his face to the side, muttering under his breath. “I need assistance at my location; I have seven men with probable connections to the trafficking ring apprehended and a mother and son in need of medical attention.”

After a moment, the vigilante turns back to Marinette. “How did you become involved in this?”

And there is it – the point Marinette had been dreading having to explain.

Guilt churns Marinette's stomach as she smiles awkwardly up at him.

“Luck,” she admits pointedly, hoping Batman had explained how she really doesn't have a lot of control over the magic seeping from her person a lot of the time – hence her presence in Gotham. “I lost track of time talking with Miss Lennox at the fabric store. On my way home, I came across them being transferred between vehicles. They came at me when I tried to intervene and I was able to – how do you say. . . ah, give them what was coming to them? It’s karma, yes? As you know, I have a bit of experience because of the akumas in Paris and these men were much less capable,” she adds with a laugh, hoping to keep the man from getting too mad at her.

To Marinette's relief, Robin nods quietly, studying carefully. The rage that had been radiating off of him when he had first arrived has dissipated completely. If anything, he seems anxious – especially, to her bewilderment, over Marinette. It gives her pause, wondering why that would be. As she studies the man and his behaviour, she realises that there's something oddly. . . compelling about the man. Despite her original apprehension (and fear he might physically remove her from Gotham), she feels. . . safe with him, even more so than she does with Red Hood.

Before Marinette can ruminate on this surprising realisation, the vigilante in question nods slowly, oddly approving despite his stoic demeanour.

“. . . You are definitely capable. However, I am obligated to insist that next time, you leave this to the professionals. This is Gotham – not many get this lucky.”

Marinette’s next words catch in her throat, stunned silent by how effortlessly the young vigilante seems to be embracing the casual insinuations of her identity. Instead of the tension she anticipated, of the man being disapproving of her play on words – or at the very least, annoyed by it – Robin has for some reason played into it with a casual grace, his matter-of-fact tone catching her completely off guard.

Amazed, Marinette presses her lip between her teeth, struggling to hold back a smile as his dry remark about 'luck' lands a beat too late with unexpected wit. A gentle wave of amusement and surprise washes over her, her laughter attempting to bubble up from deep within her chest and threatening to spill free. Robin’s humour is subtle and unanticipated, and Marinette can't help but note that he is far more genial and composed than Hood had led her to believe. Red Hood had made it sound like Robin didn't even have a sense of humour.

Before Marinette can compose herself enough to respond, the sound of sirens echoes through the alley, reminding the young woman that the mother and son are still cowering in the corner, no doubt in need of medical attention. A bit annoyed at herself for being so distracted, she turns back to the two, consoling them as three cop cars and an ambulance turn down the dark alley, illuminating the group in red and blue light.

A little while later, Marinette is standing awkwardly beside the ambulance, having already made sure that the mother and son are properly taken care of by the EMT's and providing her statement to the police (who seem highly sceptical of the fact that Marinette has somehow taken out seven men on her own). With a tired gaze, she watches, waiting patiently to be allowed to leave as Robin confers with the police and helps load the unconscious men into the back of vans, only stopping when the EMT's inform her that they are taking the woman and child to the hospital.

Before Marinette steps out of the ambulance, the mother stops her, thanking her for her help – for saving her and her son. Her words stick with Marinette, filling her with nostalgia and a strange sense of loss. It reminds her too much of comforting akuma victims after she purified them, something she hadn't realised she missed.

As the young woman steps off the ambulance, exhaustion pricks at her consciousness, reminding her that it had been late before she left her apartment hours ago. Biting back a yawn (and a grimace), Marinette recalls the early schedule she has today and the meeting she never had a chance to prep for.

Glancing at her phone, she sees the time and frowns. She is so not getting any sleep tonight, and she's honestly surprised Red Hood hasn't shown up to nag at her again. She's been low-key waiting for him to turn up and drag her home by the ear like a child for the last hour, and she has to admit, she's extremely grateful he hasn't. The idea of Hood chewing her out in front of Robin and a bunch of cops is mortifying.

Looking around, Marinette realises that she's now the only one left apart from Robin, who is standing off to the side, observing as the ambulance exits the alley and the officers begin to clear out. No one had technically said she was free to go, but at this point, she doesn't think it matters anymore. Still, she should probably say goodbye instead of just taking off, especially since it doesn't look like he's going to snitch on her to Batman (hopefully).

Stepping up to the man, she offers him a tired half-smile.

“I'm sorry, Monsieur Robin, but I really need to get going. I have a meeting in a few hours to plan a ‘party’ and my boss will be seriously upset with me if I'm late.” Marinette resists the urge to grimace at the lecture she's bound to receive from Damian. A pang shoots through her heart at the thought as she sighs before muttering under her breath, “He already hates me enough as it is.”

Marinette hadn't meant to voice the last part and regrets her words as soon as the admission leaves her lips. She doesn't know why she's voiced it, especially not to Robin, but she's just so tired and something about the man's presence seems to have loosened her tongue. It's a dangerous thing, but her instincts seem to be screaming at her that he is trustworthy – that she and all her secrets and grievances are safe with him. Since becoming Ladybug, Marinette has learned to trust her instincts, even if they go against common sense, and right now, they are shutting down every sense of apprehension she has.

To the young woman's surprise, Robin stiffens at her words, however the next moment, the vigilante huffs and takes a step closer to her.

“I will assist you home,” the vigilante declares in a firm voice, not a question or an offer, but a statement of fact.

Gobsmacked, Marinette's jaw nearly falls open. She really hadn't expected to be walked home by Robin of all people. If anything, she'd half expected him to call Red Hood and tell him to come collect his self-proclaimed little sister.

Not wanting to cause any more inconveniences for the night, Marinette shakes her head and waves her hands in front of her.

“Oh – no, that’s not necessary! I don’t live too far from here,” she quickly assures him, how ever she is quickly dismissed by Robin shooting her an unimpressed look.

“Miss, your shoe is broken and you’ve already gotten into one deadly situation for the night. I’d rather not test your luck.”

Yet again, Marinette has to resist the urge to laugh. Again with her 'luck.'

Smirking, the semi-retired heroine crosses her arms and raises a brow at the vigilante.

“You seem to really doubt my luck, Monsieur Robin. You should know better."

Negating Marinette's words with a sharp shake of his head, Robin ignores the young woman and moves to collect her things from the corner. She watches in confusion as he hooks her things to the back of his katana before turning back to her.

“Luck notwithstanding, it’s best if I escort you home,” he counters with a blank expression, holding out his hand to her. “I assume you are not afraid of heights?”

Recognising his intentions, Marinette nearly cackles.

Red Hood is a big fat liar. Robin has a fantastic sense of humour and is seriously playing into the pretence that he has no idea who Marinette really is.

Biting the inside of her lip, the former heroine smirks before stepping close into Robin's arms and snaking her arms around his neck. With a hop, she jumps up to lock her legs around his waist the same way she used to with Chat Noir – although she offhandedly notes that Robin is significantly larger than Adrien, both in height and muscle mass. However, he's not nearly as obnoxiously large as Red Hood, who might as well be a walking fridge in leather.

For a moment, Robin stills, seemingly taken aback by Marinette's actions before instinctively wrapping his hand around her waist. His breath seems to catch and he stares at her blankly for a good ten seconds before clearing his throat. After confirming her address in a quiet, oddly strained voice, Robin raises his arm with the grappling hook and takes off into the night.

Flying through the air in Robin's arms is exhilarating. Marinette had forgotten the sense of freedom flying through the air gave her, even if it was a bit disconcerting not being the one in control. The swooping feeling in her chest, Robin's grip on her waist, the Gotham night air whipping through her hair – all of it reminds her so much of some of her favourite parts of being Ladybug, of the fun times she had in Paris, messing around with Chat Noir while flying across the rooftops. . .

The biggest difference is that instead of the scent of magical leather and Adrien's signature cologne 'Adrien,' Robin smells more like a mix of kevlar, cinnamon, and something fresh-smelling that for some reason reminds her of something from the Charitable Ventures division.

Before Marinette is ready, Robin lands atop the same fire escape Red Hood uses to slip into her apartment on his sporadic visits. As soon as her feet hit metal, disappointment washes over her. She wasn't ready to leave the air.

Not sensing the woman's reticence, Robin wordlessly releases his hold on her, his gaze locked on the young woman's expression as he does.

Blushing lightly, Marinette takes a tentative step back as Damian hands her back her things.

"Thanks for taking me home," she murmurs, breathless, longing for a way to ask to be swept through the skies once more without sounding needy or imposing. After all, they've only just met, and she's not supposed to draw attention to herself. Surely, being seen cradled in the arms of a Gotham vigilante would do just that.

Then again, maybe she could get Red Hood to do it? More people are likely to ignore the vigilante who uses guns than a katana. . . Right?

As Marinette muses over this point, a beat passes before Robin responds.

“It’s my. . . pleasure,” the vigilante replies hesitantly, his gaze still trained on the young woman's face in the low light. “You are an agreeable transport.”

The somewhat awkward compliment takes Marinette off guard and to her surprise, heat rises to her cheeks. Without warning, a laugh escapes her and she can't help but beam at the vigilante, finding his words cute.

Oui, Red Hood had lied. Robin is just adorable – not the unsociable demon spawn her self-proclaimed older brother and the rest of Gotham seem to think he is. Or at least, it seems like he's actively trying not to be.

“I’m honoured,” Marinette replies with a soft laugh as she turns and unlocks her window, leaning in to place her bag and the tattered roll of fabric on the bench below. When she turns back to Robin, she finds him seemingly struggling for words.

“. . . I’m sorry that your fabric doesn’t seem to have made it,” he eventually comments, nodding in the direction of the soiled silk.

Not having expected the concern for her personal property (Red Hood never seems to care about the mud he tracks around her apartment and her white couch), Marinette raises her brow and graces the damaged silk with another wistful once over.

“Ah. . . yes, well, it was worth it,” she laughs lightly, her eyes lingering on the blood soaking through the pretty grey sheen. “I’ll just have to order a new one in a few weeks.”

'When my budget isn't tied up in cheese,' Marinette internally adds, a bit irritated at the thought. Adrien hadn't been kidding when he warned her that the kwami of chaos and destruction would eat her out of house and home. She makes good money with WE, but even then, she's probably going to need to do another private commission for Jagged soon. Plagg's taste is expensive.

Lost in her thoughts, Marinette is startled when Robin continues.

“I wasn’t aware a roll of fabric could be used as a weapon,” the vigilante admits, seemingly begrudgingly impressed with her creativity.

Pride and amusement fills Marinette and she raises her chin with a smirk, thinking back on the ridiculous things she's had to use as weapons in the past. Tikki seemed to have a propensity for creating the most random Lucky Charms and then just expecting Marinette to wing it.

“You’d be surprised what strange objects can be used to get the job done," she replies with a laugh.

Seemingly intrigued by her response, Robin tilts his head to the side like a cat, once again considering his words carefully before admitting, “. . . This is Gotham, so there is not a lot that surprises me at this point. However, a roll of fabric. . . that is a first, even for me.”

“Really? I’ve used them quite a few times, in fact,” Marinette replies, her smile growing.

For a moment, Robin's gaze travels over Marinette before he nods, his tone low and serious. “In that case I’ll be the first to report you should there be a series of fabric related crimes.”

Stunned, Marinette's smirk falters, however she quickly notices the slight lilt to his lips, hinting at a half smile. It hits her that Robin is teasing her. Robin – the stabby, feral Robin – is teasing her. The abrupt and deadpan delivery startles the young woman and instantly sends her into a fit of uncontrolled giggles that leaves her gasping for air. She's not sure if it's because she's exhausted or because it's nearly five in the morning, but for some reason that one attempt at humour has all of the tension leaving her body in one burst.

When she finally does manage to catch her breath, she realises that Robin is visibly preening at her. The sight sends a familiar lurch through her chest that she pointedly chooses to ignore.

Instead, the young woman shakes her head in amusement.

“You know, you’re a lot funnier than your reputation suggests,” Marinette informs him breathlessly, holding at the stitch in her side as she smiles up at the man.

Robin merely hums in response, but Marinette can see how pleased he is at having made her laugh. She can even make out the faint blush at his ears.

The realisation that she can see the tinge of colour in his cheeks so clearly gives Marinette pause. Glancing up at the sky, she realises that it's not as dark as it had been earlier. Dawn is probably an hour or so away.

Heavy-hearted, Marinette lets out a sigh, realising she's barely going to be able to get any sleep tonight – maybe an hour at best. She's going to have to make her 'special' brew and deal with the nagging from the kwami about sleep schedules and using 'creation' magic when she's supposed to be weaning herself off of it.

Turning back to Robin, Marinette offers the vigilante a half-hearted smile. “Alright, I should get to bed. I can probably get an hour or so of sleep before I need to start getting ready for work.”

Her words seem to startle the vigilante, who had been staring at her yet again (she's starting to think she must look worse than she feels if it's that distracting).

“Right, yes. . .” Robin trails off, yet instead of moving to leave, he remains there, seemingly unwilling to leave just yet.

Warmed at the man's hesitation, Marinette falters a moment before daring to make the young man an offer.

“Um, just so you know, you’re always welcome to stop by if you need a midnight snack, or if you just want to take a break. . . Batman knows I’m pretty well-versed with the pains of hero-work. I’m pretty sure he’s okay with you all dropping by from time to time. He's been pretty gracious with me, after all. . . and I kind of miss it, you know? It’s hard being out of the game. It’s sort of nostalgic talking with you vigilantes.”

Blushing to her roots, Marinette waits for Robin's response. Inwardly, she really hopes he'll stop by from time to time. Something about him sets her at ease and she'd like to get to know him a bit better – and maybe have a friend that isn't a former crime lord who keeps going on and on about the benefits of carrying a gun. A vigilante who uses swords has got to be a step up in the eyes of the kwami, right?

Even so, Marinette braces herself for a rejection. After all, she's not even sure Red Hood is supposed to be visiting her at all, but Batman hasn't exactly said anything about it during their quarterly check-ins. Given Red Hood's apparently tumultuous relationship with Batman, it wouldn't surprise her if Red Hood's been visiting her to spite the head bat and the former's just been letting it go to not cause any more tension than there already is (or he knows Marinette is lonely and is being kind and letting her keep her only friend).

Still. . . Marinette hopes Robin will agree.

What she doesn't expect is for Robin to stiffen at her words, the genial air to his expression vanishing.

“. . . what do you mean by that?” The man questions her with a wary, confused air. “Are you acquainted with Batman?”

Jared by the questions, Marinette falters, blinking in confusion before she realises what he's getting at. She has to resist the urge to roll her eyes at the man's theatrics.

Stifling a giggle, Marinette rolls her eyes, shaking her head. “Of course I am. You don’t need to pretend you don’t know – I never actually believed that he wouldn’t tell your team.”

Contrary to Marinette's expectations, Robin’s frown deepens further and his hand twitches toward his katana.

“What don’t I know?” He hisses lowly with the same edge to his voice he had had when he first arrived in the alleyway. “Batman has never mentioned you to the team. Does he have a reason to?”

A beat passes as Marinette tries to make sense of Robin's words – and then it hits her, causing ice to shoot through her veins.

Marmalade scones and blueberry tarts.

Batman had kept his word.

Batman had kept Marinette a secret from his team.

The ice that had engulfed her melts into a warmth that Marinette hadn't expected, leaving her holding back tears. Out of everyone in her life, there are very few people she is able to trust at face value – no one really, not even Red Hood – and somehow, Batman had proven to be one such person.

Affection and panic wrestle for dominance in Marinette's chest as her words begin to tumble from her lips, trying to explain herself to Robin – because of course she would have this revelation in front of a vigilante she hardly even knows.

“Oh – oh kwami – I – I really didn’t expect – I mean, I know he promised not to say anything but I thought that was just to shut the Order up and well, I’m practically his ward at this point so I didn’t expect him to be able to hide it in the first place considering how tight-knit you all are! I mean, Batman’s the one who allowed me in the city even knowing about everything and he’s the one who facilitated my transfer to Gotham U and set me up with Bruce Wayne for a job. I thought it was an obvious connection that I just assumed you all knew.”

As the words leave her, conversations she's had with Red Hood come flooding back to her, ones where he was confused as to what she was talking about, to just an hour ago when Robin was making comments about her luck. He hadn't been insinuating anything – the vigilante had been genuine in his concern for her.

Heat rushes to her face as mortification sets in.

“Oh crepes, that’s why you all seemed so confused by – kwami, I’m so stupid!” Marinette groans into her hands, internally wishing she could dissolve into a puddle right this moment, to redo her day – redo the last six years. Exhaustion hits her like a brick to the face and she feels her shoulders sink under the weight of emotional whiplash she's currently experiencing. “Scones, I’m too tired for this right now. . .”

Neither speaks for a moment, until Robin eventually breaks his silence. When he does, his tone no longer has that edge to it. It's merely curious and cautious, as though he is just as confused as Marinette is baffled.

“Are you implying that you're a meta?”

Biting the side of her cheek, Marinette sighs and raises her head to face Robin. He's standing in front of her, oddly calm despite the information she's apparently just dumped on him, not knowing it's only the surface of what amounts to magical witness protection.

The young woman offers the vigilante a tired frown and shakes her head, rubbing at her eyes.

“I’m sorry, but I’m exhausted and I just don’t have the energy to explain it all right now. If you’re really curious, you’re welcome to track me down again when I’m not sleep deprived. . . or you can just ask Batman about it." Marinette pauses before adding, "Just tell him I said it was okay and that the Order will get over it. I trust you to keep my secret.”

As the words leave Marinette's lips, she's shocked to learn that they are true – she does trust Robin not to speak about her identity as Ladybug. Crepes, for whatever reason, she's excited about it.

In response, Robin stares at her, palpably taken aback.

“. . . You’ve only just met me. How can you trust me?”

Well, isn't that the question. However, it's also one she technically has an answer to.

Smiling weakly, Marinette stares the young man down meaningfully. “I’ve had a lot of experience learning to trust my instincts.”

And without allowing him a moment to respond, the Parisian takes a step closer to the vigilante, until she is nearly as close as she'd been while grappling across the rooftops in his arms.

“Goodnight, Monsieur Robin,” Marinette breathes before gracing each of his cheeks with a gentle la bise. “Thank you again, for everything. I’ll see you around.”

And with that, the former heroine turns on her heels and slips back into her room, locking the window behind her.

For a few silent minutes, Marinette lingers behind the closed curtains, shrouded in the darkness of her living room, acutely aware that Robin remains utterly still, seemingly frozen on her fire escape. As she waits there, she braces for the familiar surge of anxiety, the inevitable spiral of panic from the events of that night to hit her – of the mistakes she's made and their potential consequences. Years of living quietly in Gotham, never uttering a word of her true identity or her pact with Batman, she's somehow managed to break every one of Batman's rules for her as well as the Guardian's most sacred one – not to reveal her civilian identity to anyone. Yet, to her astonishment, despite the sudden, raw unveiling, despite the weight of revealing herself to Robin, Marinette is strangely calm – no trembling unease or hyper-fixating on each mistake, each word that had left her lips.

For reasons she can't quite grasp, despite the fact that they've only known each other a few hours (if that), Marinette is certain Robin is safe.

And as she manages to make her way into her bed before the sun begins to rise, she can't help but hope that he'll come back.

Chapter Text

Hindsight is a funny thing. It's worse when you're sleep deprived and running on magically enhanced coffee.

Marinette should have known she was pushing her luck going out at three am, especially without a miraculous.

Especially after Red Hood had warned her about frolicking around the edges of Crime Alley.

Especially after Batman had requested she not call attention to herself while living in Gotham.

Especially after she had sworn not to intervene in Gotham crime.

No longer full of adrenaline, Marinette has to acknowledge that she has managed to mess up all that in one night. Now she's starting to think Damian may have been right when he'd called her a 'defiant upstart' in a meeting a few days prior.

At the time, everything had felt so reasonable. Necessary. And afterward, she'd been so calm.

That lasted exactly two hours. Two hours of feeling the rush of a fight – of taking down a villain, of protecting those who needed to be protected, of swinging through the air with another vigilante. Two hours of once again being a heroine.

And then Robin dropped her off in her room.

And then she took a quick nap.

And then the spiralling began – and more than anything, her devolving thoughts were troubling on so many levels.

Now, a few hours later, as the overcast Gotham morning light streams through the large windows of the board room of the fourteenth floor of Wayne Enterprises, Marinette can't help but fret anxiously, second guessing her actions and motives, each moment of the night before replaying through her head with unsettling clarity.

Hence, hindsight.

Looking back, Marinette has to admit she had been stupid. Impulsive. Emotional. She'd known the potential consequences and had stepped in any way.

Yet, despite knowing how monumentally she'd screwed up. . . Marinette can't help but believe she still did the right thing. Interrupting human traffickers had been a necessary, urgent exception to at the very least Batman's rules. Sure, she wasn't supposed to be out, she wasn't supposed to interfere with Gotham business, and she definitely wasn't supposed to be throwing around vigilantes (accidentally!), but she couldn't just stand by and watch as a mother and son were trafficked right in front of her. She may technically be 'retired' from hero-work, but at her heart, she is still Ladybug and as such, has a duty to uphold what is right and good.

Besides, it's not like it was a difficult altercation – not like a Rogue or anything. There were only seven men and they obviously hadn't expected someone like her to be a threat, which had made it that much easier to take them down. She'd already taken care of the threat by the time Robin had arrived on the scene. Really, Batman should be thanking her.

Or at least, that's what she's trying to tell herself. She's adamant that it's not her fault bad people had decided to do bad things right in front of her. And really, those thugs are the one's who had interrupted her night and destroyed her very pretty and expensive silk, so the fact that she was out so late despite Hood's warnings and intervened in a kidnapping should be overlooked. After all, if she hadn't, she wouldn't have been able to save a mom and her little boy from being trafficked, so all in all, she considers the night a win and that she cannot and should not be reprimanded for her actions – especially not by Batman.

The real trouble is what happened afterward, namely that Marinette had potentially broken the Order's and Batman's rules about keeping her identity a secret in Gotham and using magic – specifically, creation magic, which is the magic Marinette is supposed to be avoiding if she ever wants to exist outside of Gotham in her lifetime. That isn't even mentioning the manipulation of luck, that she may or may not have accidentally channelled some of her excess magic into her surroundings. . . accidentally.

Not on purpose.

Accidentally.

Total fluke.

Inadvertent.

. . .

Okay, maybe a little bit on purpose, but she swears it was only a slight manipulation of probability, and it wasn't completely within her control – it just sort of came out of her, her instinct after years of fighting Hawkmoth. The fact that she's actively leaking magic is the whole reason she's in Gotham in the first place, so she really can't be blamed if probability just so happens to tilt in her favour at crucial moments – like when vigilantes decide to drop down behind her when she's literally mid-fight.

Yup. Perfectly reasonable.

. . .

She hopes.

Marinette resists the urge to bury her face in her hands and scream. Magic notwithstanding, the former heroine had still accidentally assaulted the current Robin and she knows Batman isn't going to be happy about it when he finds out. She seriously hopes Robin doesn't share last night's escapade with the Bat, but if he does, she just hopes the man doesn't kick her out of the city. . . or keep Robin and Red Hood from visiting her.

Strangely enough, that part is just as concerning for the young woman. Red Hood is her only close human friend apart from maybe Tim, and Robin has something about him that makes her want to be around him. It's another reason that Marinette's kind of hopeful that Robin doesn't go to Batman and will come to her for answers.

Honestly, the fact that Robin needs answers at all still has her reeling. The fact that he didn't even know she is Batman's ward, her identity as Ladybug. . . She really thought Batman was just humouring the Order with his promises to keep her identity a secret from the rest of his team. The fact that he had kept his word has exponentially affected the respect and appreciation she has for the man. It wasn’t just that Batman kept her secret, although that in itself was a revelation. It's that Batman had truly kept her identity hidden, which made her feel seen in a way she hadn’t anticipated – something she really hasn't experienced in her life. Within the Order, Marinette's requests are rarely granted, and here was this foreign vigilante who hates magic and the Order especially, respecting her wishes without subversion.

Yet at the same time, the young woman has this weird, lingering disappointment mixed in that has nothing to do with Batman. No, Marinette's disappointment is linked to the fact that for the last six years she'd thought she was having all these meaningful conversations with Red Hood and this whole time he's been in the dark about it. The man probably thinks she's weirdly superstitious about luck and jewellery. It's no wonder that he's been so worried about her mental health all the time. She was really starting to get annoyed at all the recommendations for her to attend therapy, but now it makes a bit more sense.

Truthfully, Marinette had always assumed Red Hood's confusion over some of her comments was an issue with the language barrier (specifically, that Hood's French wasn't as good as he thought it was) but now she realises he really didn't know about her past – which also explains why he's always been so against her going out on her own anywhere; he didn't know she's one of the last people anyone should go up against in a fight. The realisation makes her nervous and agitated, not only because of Batman and the Order, but because she is somewhat worried that should he find out about it, he'll be mad at her for hiding this from him – especially since she has reticence about cluing him in to her identity even now. It was one thing when she thought Batman told him, but now. . . It's not that she doesn't trust him, but this feels like it's something that should be discussed with the Order.

Unlike Red Hood, however, Robin knowing her identity. . . Marinette stands by her decision to let him in on her truth – or at least, the same amount of truth she's been able to share with Batman. Something about Robin knowing everything about her and her situation just seems right. That feeling is the same kind of instinct that is vaguely similar to the gut instinct she used to get as Ladybug when she would finally figure out the purpose of a Lucky Charm. It's the same kind of instinct that often has her seeking out Damian.

Frowning, Marinette considers the parts of Robin she had found compelling, realising with a lurch that they are the same attributes that she admires in her boss – aka, the person she's stupidly been pining after for months. The comparison between his and Robin's personalities is impossible to ignore; Both are sharp, witty, and have a dry sense of humour, and both care for others in brash, insensitive ways. The biggest difference apart from the fact that Robin wears a cape (and that Damian would never be caught with his hair so out of place) is that Robin lacks Damian's disdain for her mere existence.

Faltering in their thoughts, Marinette considers the implications of such a discovery – or rather, she can't help but wonder if Robin might be one of the people Red Hood had mentioned setting her up with to get her mind off Damian. With a lurch of her stomach, she realises that she might not be as opposed to the idea as she should be.

Marinette shakes her head, pushing the idea away. She doubts Robin would have been one of the people Red Hood was talking about setting her up with anyway, given the fact that Red Hood constantly goes on about how the young man is prone to violence. There's also no way that she can even consider dating a vigilante; she hadn't ever agreed to date Chat Noir for that exact reason and even then, she doubts Batman would ever give her the go ahead to learn Robin's identity out of the mask.

With a sinking feeling in her chest, Marinette recognises that Batman giving the go ahead to date one of his team members is still more likely than Damian waking up one day deciding he doesn't hate Marinette.

The young woman purses her lips, resignation washing over her. These thoughts are useless and she is majorly getting ahead of herself. It's not like she and Robin had had this big moment or anything. They were chatting politely and then she basically unloaded parts of her past on him. It's no wonder he had been staring at her as though she were crazy before she retreated into her apartment.

Embarrassment rushes up the back of Marinette's neck that she quickly pushes down.

What is she doing daydreaming like this at seven thirty in the morning? In the middle of work, no less? Marinette doesn't have the time (nor the energy) to be slacking off, lost in her daydreams. She needs to get as much work done as she can before the effects of her 'special coffee' wears off – the mere consumption of being something the kwami had berated her about as she was rushing out the door that morning. Marinette had still ended up bringing more for later, but she is hoping to put off drinking it as long as she can.

The kwami aren't wrong to warn Marinette about drinking too much of it; the side effects of over consumption for her in particular are not great seeing as she's still bursting at the seems with magic most days. The side effects of overindulgence on what is basically magical stimulants hits her harder than most – as in, at all, seeing as she's the only one it would ever affect. Unlike literally everyone else in the world, her body is already brimming with magic day after day and with her 'special circumstances,' the small amount of magic causes bad luck to cling to her even more than it already does.

And in Gotham, extra bad luck is the last thing anyone wants.

However Marinette believes today is an exception. Exhaustion has left her distracted, which combined with her lack of sleep, has led to her straying thoughts to the handsome vigilante from the night before and the boss she can't seem to stop pining over.

Sighing, Marinette turns away from the large window she'd been staring out of.

She needs to stop.

Focus.

The gala for the retirement of Haley's Circus is a few weeks away and given Damian's refusal to be involved with the planning of a gala in any way shape or form makes getting the proper authorisations very difficult. Additionally, she has that meeting with Damian and a potential vendor for an upcoming homeless outreach event in less than an hour, meaning she doesn't have time to be daydreaming about reliving her life as a heroine in Gotham, fretting over Batman kicking her out of the city, or the fact that her type has apparently changed to aggressively sharp men who are deceptively kind.

Marinette doesn't have time for her troubled head and heart.

Sighing, the young woman attempts to redirect her thoughts to the upcoming gala, refocusing on the chatter around her. As she does, Patrick's voice cuts across the room and he rushes toward her, seeking her opinion on the plans for the waitstaff's attire. Throwing the plans across the desk, he turns to her with a panicked expression.

"The designs still don't look right!" The man frets, his brow furrowed anxiously. "I don't know what it is, but everything that's come from the design department is off! I don't know if it's the design itself or if the theme is too difficult but –" Patrick pulls out a particular design and waves at it emphatically. "– tell me this doesn't look absolutely ridiculous! I don't care if this is supposed to be a circus theme – if our waitstaff shows up looking like a circus tent threw up on them, we'll be a laughing stock! And not the good kind!"

Wondering what kind of laughing stock would ever be good, the young woman steps toward the table with a frown.

"Ah, non, non – calmez-vous, s'il vous plaît," Marinette tries to calm the man who looks about ready to cry.

"Yes, ma'am," Patrick murmurs, stepping aside to let the woman work her magic.

Glancing down at the designs, Marinette sees what has the man up in arms. Just looking at the drafts has her forcing herself not to flinch in disgust disbelief. After years of battling Hawkmoth's akumas, Marinette never thought she'd be more appalled with someone who calls themselves a fashion designer, yet here she stands corrected.

The young woman closes her eyes and rubs at her temple, trying to push down the migraine pulsing there. She knew she should have just designed the uniforms for the waitstaff herself.

"I see what you mean. This won't do at all. . . they can't be tacky, sure, but they also have to allow for ease of movement," she insists, her voice steady but tinged with exhaustion as she takes a pen and begins to sketch over the original design. "This isn't a runway. It needs to be fashionable, remarkable, sure, but it also has to stay true to the theme and, most of all, it has to be wearable. . . The staff will be running around all night and they'll be tripping over their skirts if we put them in this. . . Voici, if we cut the hem of the skirt entirely and switch the bell sleeves for something tighter. . ."

For the next few minutes, Marinette continues to sketch, adding her notes and ideas and suggestions of potential fabrics alongside the margins, completely engrossed in her work.

In fact, she's so engrossed in her work, it takes Marinette a few minutes to realise that the room has fallen completely silent and that Patrick has stopped responding to her.

Unnerved by the sudden quiet, Marinette lifts her gaze from the designs in front of her to find that Patrick is no longer looking at her, his gaze frozen on something – or rather someone on the other side of the room. Brows furrowed, Marinette follows her colleague's gaze before turning to find their boss framed in the doorway of the boardroom, unmoving and visibly distressed.

For a moment, time seems to still; the usual rush of the office has faded into complete silence as they all stare wide-eyed and wary at their boss – or rather, the strange state of him. Damian Wayne – the same twenty-two year old who has never been less than impeccable in his appearance – looks as though he has just had a bad bout with Sandboy.

Marinette stands frozen, stunned by the sharp contrast to his usual immaculate appearance. A wave of disbelief crashes over her as she tries to reconcile this dishevelled, sleep deprived figure with the meticulously polished man she has worked alongside for the past six months. The composed, irritable demeanour she knows so well has vanished, replaced by a disarray – internal and external – that unsettles her deeply. Confusion and concern swirl within her, but what troubles her most is his ghostly pale complexion and the intense, unblinking gaze that is locked onto her, sending a chill through her very core.

Seeing Damian so out of sorts causes goosebumps to erupt down Marinette's spine and her breath catches, her heart tightening in her chest with an ache so sudden it nearly sends her knees buckling beneath her. She’s never seen him like this; this is not the composed, unapproachable man she knows. For whatever reason, this Damian is palpably vulnerable, fragile, and on the verge of breaking in a way that tugs at something deep inside her.

Around them, Marinette is vaguely aware of the heavy weight of her colleagues frozen mid-task as they study the strange behaviour of their boss, their eyes darting between the silent figure of Damian Wayne and the woman caught in his gaze – aka her.

Eventually Marinette clears her throat and asks him a tentative question from her place at the table.

". . . Monsieur Wayne, are you feeling okay?" She manages, trying to keep her concern from her face. However to her absolute shock and confusion, instead of brushing her off with a scowl the way he normally would have, he remains silent. No, contrary to her expectations (to everyone's expectations) a flush blooms across his cheeks, fierce and undeniable, as if her voice alone has startled him.

Marinette's eyes grow wider.

Alright.

Something is definitely wrong.

Blinking in disbelief, the young woman abandons her reworking of the botched designs and snatches her purse from the chair without hesitation. Her fingers tremble slightly as she approaches Damian, offering the most professional smile she can muster as she does.

“. . . Monsieur, may I speak with you in your office?” She inquires pointedly, placing her hand on his lower back. Her touch is tentative, respectful, but firm enough to guide him away from the crowd and into the quiet sanctuary of his office. He moves stiffly, his body rigid, but he follows her lead without resistance, silent and still.

That is enough to confirm that something is absolutely, potentially detrimentally wrong with Damian Wayne.

Once inside Damian's office, Marinette shuts the door behind them and locks it before getting to work. The young woman’s hands move quickly, closing blinds and dimming the harsh lights until they are completely cut off from the rest of the office. Once she is done, she gestures toward one of the chairs in the centre of the room, urging Damian to sit, before rummaging through her purse with practised ease.

After years of working with Tim Drake, Marinette is used to this sort of thing. What she is not used to is being in love with the man on the other side of such care, which somehow makes it that much harder.

Pushing aside the blush that threatens to overwhelm her, Marinette sets to work fixing the young man's appearance. Without a word, she presses her Ladybug-themed thermos (a gift she'd kept from Chat Noir back when they first became heroes) filled with her 'special brew' into his hands, watching as he accepts it just as silently.

The fact that he hasn't said a word to her since arriving in the office is not lost on her, only managing to increase her worry.

Has something happened to the man? Had he been attacked by a Rogue on the way here? Has he been drugged? Mugged?

Marinette doubts it; Damian had a reputation for being the least 'kidnappable' of the Wayne's aside from his sister Cassandra. Plus, Marinette would have heard if there were a Rogue attack near by, especially if a Wayne had been caught up in it, and there is no way that Damian would have been taken unawares by a mere thug. She'd watched him break a wannabe thug's nose just two weeks ago for threatening him outside an animal shelter. The mugger hadn't even gotten to the actual 'mugging' part.

Distracted and absorbed with her concern, Marinette instinctively reaches out to smooth a stray lock of hair from Damian's forehead. When she does, she glances down and watches as his eyes widen in silent surprise, but to her absolute disbelief, he doesn’t pull away.

Marinette takes this as a positive sign. She doesn't hesitate now, running the brush through his hair while strategically adjusting the locks with her fingertips. The sensation of his hair – soft and silky and not weighed down with product the way it usually is – sends a confusing, heart-wrenching flutter through her chest, which she fails to forcibly push down.

Now is not the time to be fawning over the man she's in love with.

The man who hates her.

The man who is letting her touch and fawn and care for him the way she's been desperate to –

Marinette swallows.

Kwami tarts.

She's not sure she can do this.

As Marinette tries to reel in her conflicting emotions, her mind races, a chaotic mix of heartache, elation, and anxiety. She’s dangerously close to him, closer than she’s ever dared to be, and every detail – the scent of his cologne, the delicate sweep of his lashes, the deep, stormy emerald hue of his eyes – is mesmerising, nearly intoxicating.

Marinette knows that this is too dangerous a proximity for her heart. She’d sworn to guard against getting to close to Damian to avoid further hurt, to avoid getting her hopes up for something she knows will never happen, yet right now, she can't bring herself to stop. Her concern for Damian's obvious distress overrides her hesitation – because against all rationality, she loves him, and she knows she can't just leave him like this, for his sake and the sake of his reputation.

Filled with determination, Marinette's fingers continue to move with the careful precision of someone used to seeking perfection in runway models, a skill honed during long days interning with professionals in university. She smooths his hair, adjusts the collar of his shirt, and then, reaching to fix the misaligned fabric, she begins undoing the buttons, deftly and unthinkingly.

This is where her attempt to force herself not to focus on the fact that Damian is the man she is fussing over comes to bite her in the cinnamon buns.

Marinette is so focused on her task that she's gobsmacked when Damian recoils abruptly, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief as a vivid blush colours his cheeks. As he stares up at her, actively gaping, the realisation hits her like a slap in the face: she'd just attempted to undress her boss.

Okay. She might be getting fired, her contract with Tim be damned. She's pretty sure this would be considered sexual harassment.

Mortified, Marinette immediately begins stammering her apologies.

“Oh – crepes, I’m sorry, Monsieur!” Marinette squeaks, pulling her hands back to her chest, hyper aware of the fact that her face must be the same shade as her Ladybug suit. “I just – It’s a habit and your shirt – it’s buttoned wrong! I wasn’t – I’m so sorry –”

“You’re fine!” Damian all but shouts at her as he attempts – with a surprising amount of dexterity – to re-button his shirt while juggling the Ladybug-themed thermos she'd shoved into his hands a few minutes before.

At Damian's outburst, Marinette's mouth snaps shut and she takes a step back, her mortification growing.

How in the world is she supposed to come back from this? From sexually harassing her boss?! Screw her worries about Damian hating her – she'll be lucky if he doesn't get a restraining order.

As Marinette struggles with her devolving thoughts, Damian stares at her, visibly trying to make sense of her words.

“You’re. . .” The man starts before clearing his throat when his voice cracks. “You have a habit of undressing people?”

“What?! No!” Marinette cries, flushing anew as she waves her hands in front of herself. “I just – I – it’s a habit from universi– from studying fashion in university!” She quickly clarifies, her words spilling from her lips.

Marinette internally grimaces.

Way to make it sound like you went around randomly undressing people in your youth, Marinette.

The young woman braces herself, waiting for Damian to retort, to scold her for her actions – only to be shocked when it never comes.

“Ah. . . yes. Um. Thank you for taking care of that,” the young man mutters as he rubs at the back of his neck, avoiding her gaze as he hesitantly sets the thermos aside. “I – I didn’t realise I was, um. . . dishevelled.”

Marinette stares at Damian a moment, trying to process the fact that she isn't being insulted or condemned for her actions. However that feeling is quickly overshadowed by a pang of nostalgia and hurt when she catches the way the young man is awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck. . . the same way Adrien used to.

A chill washes over Marinette as she drops her gaze. She can't be comparing Damian to Adrien. She can't. That's the last thing she needs.

Swallowing, Marinette attempts to regain her composure.

“I’m happy to help. . . It was sort of nostalgic, actually,” she admits, struggling for words as she turns away and places her brush back in her purse with trembling hands. “I. . . really miss that world.”

Marinette smiles self deprecatingly into her bag, noting the slight tremor in her voice, but deciding it doesn't matter. It's not like Damian ever actually cared about her personal life, which is why she wasn't expecting Damian to respond.

“Why leave it, then?”

Marinette whips around to stare at the young man, nearly knocking her bag to the ground in the process.

Never, in the six months that Marinette has worked for Damian Wayne, has he ever taken an interest in Marinette's life. Never has he spoken to her with such a soft and genuine tone, as though he is actually interested in something about her – about her past – something integral to who Marinette is as a person. Crepes, she's never heard him talk to a human that way before – it's a tone he usually reserves for animals and Dick Grayson's little girl.

Flabbergasted, Marinette can't help the way her heart betrays her in that moment, beating erratically and filling with a hope that Damian might actually see her – her, Marinette, and not just as Tim's stubborn and frivolous PA, but as a person.

For a moment, the young woman gapes, trying to make sense of the situation.

Is he acting like this because he's sick? Is he a clone or something? Is this a fever dream?

Is this some new side effect from her 'special brew?

Frowning at the thought (and resisting the urge to pinch herself), Marinette gives Damian another once over, noting the way that his gaze is fixed on her without the usual annoyance or a general air of distaste. Despite the dishevelled state he had been in earlier, he now looks significantly more put together (thanks to Marinette's efforts with her brush) and less ghostly. However the biggest change is that compared to the stunned, glazes, sickly look he had had earlier, Damian seems much more focused, even if he is still quite red in the cheeks.

Most troubling, however, is the fact that the question Damian is asking from her isn't an easy one. It's not something she's really ever actively discussed with anyone – it had taken her three years to explain her reasoning to Red Hood, and he's her best friend apart from Tikki.

Yet. . . There is a certain calm that has grasped Marinette's heart at the thought of sharing this piece of herself with Damian. She's unsure if it's her feelings for the man or her instincts as Ladybug, but considering the fact that she'd potentially sexually harassed the man, she figures she can't do any more harm in pouring herself out to him.

Watching him carefully, Marinette slowly moves across the room, careful not to startle him as she takes a hesitant seat in the chair opposite him.

Her heart tightens in her chest as she struggles to find her voice.

“. . . One of my best friends used to be a model," she admits quietly, if not a bit too casually as she avoids Damian's gaze. "I interned with his dad for a bit in college and used to help touch him up before shows. He and I had a bit of a falling out and. . . I lost some of my love for the business side of fashion. I still like to make my own clothes and I’ll do the occasional commission for an uncle of mine, but. . . It was another life. I’m happy where I am right now. It was a stroke of luck that your dad took an interest in me as a young college student,” she muses, her eyes shifting out the window in the direction of the rooftop where she usually meets up with Batman every few months to check in, trying not to grimace at the lie in her words.

Pushing aside her mixed feelings on the matter, Marinette continues, “I’m actually really good at managing people's schedules and big events so my work here is kind of a breeze. . . when my boss isn’t being stubborn and playing off all my work as ‘frivolous parties,’ that is,” she adds with a wry half-smile, finally meeting Damian's unflinching gaze.

Or, what she had assumed would be an unflinching gaze, which is why she is battled when as soon as she meets his eyes, Damian blinks and turns a vibrant shade of pink before dropping his gaze to his hands.

Luckily, Damian is spared a response as Marinette continues, her expression shifting to concern by his reaction.

“However, right now, I need to know if my stubborn boss is okay enough to attend this meeting,” she tells him just as pointedly. “It’s not like you to come in so. . . out of sorts. We can always reschedule if you’re not feeling well enough, or I could always attend and pass along what happens.”

Marinette watches as Damian scowls, his usual pride flashing in his eyes.

“. . . I –” The man begins to speak but falters as his voice breaks, a sudden flush colouring his cheeks. The sight stirs something deep within her, a tender pull at her heartstrings. He looks every bit the young man on the cusp of twenty-three, vulnerable and real. For a moment, he hesitates, his defeat shadowing his expression. “I’ll be fine, I just – I feel. . . I’m not sure what’s going on with me. . . I think I might be sick.”

A swelling feeling claws at Marinette's throat from the growing concern currently gripping her. No matter how endearing this peculiar version of Damian is, it's so unlike himself that the young woman can't help but fret.

“Monsieur, I think it’s best that you take the day to rest,” Marinette presses, her expression soft and insistent. “There’s nothing so important today that requires your personal attention. I can handle things – it’s what I’m here for.”

Damian quickly shakes his head and runs his hands over his face. “No, I – I’m really okay. I just didn’t sleep well last night. . ."

'Lack of sleep,' her croissants. Marinette knows sleep deprivation and this –

Marinette pauses.

No. . . actually, this could be just that. Tim sometimes got like this after a couple days of no-sleep too.

Marinette purses her lips, casting Damian another careful glance. Unlike the pale, glassy-eyed man she’d found in the boardroom, Damian’s cheeks are flushed and his skin feels clammy. Yet, he normally would never falter in his speech, and he certainly would never admit to feeling unwell.

Frowning, Marinette moves closer, her heart thudding irregularly in her chest as she steps into his personal space yet again. Hesitantly, she reaches out and gently removes Damian's hands from his face, replacing them with her own as she tries to get a gauge on his temperature.

Marinette's stomach lurches when she sees him flush even deeper shade of red at her touch. That, along with the shallow nature of his breathing doesn't do anything to convince her that Damian is in any way shape or form 'okay.' While his temperature is not especially warm, he's still flushed and clammy. In her opinion, this man is sick and needs to be in bed.

". . . I think you might have a fever, Monsieur Wayne," Marinette whispers, a twinge of frustration curling inside her. She curses herself silently for not carrying her usual purse – the one with her first aid kit tucked inside. It holds a fever reducer which she desperately could really use right about now. However, the last time she wore Plagg's ring, the kwami had stashed his camembert in that very purse, and no matter what she’s tried, the lingering smell refuses to fade. Since then, she’s been relying on her smaller backup bag, which is coming back to bite her (there's that bad luck she was worried about).

And now, with Damian burning up with a fever, she's left at a loss, especially since she knows the man keeps no medicine of his own in this office. He's too stubborn to admit he needs it, let alone keep it handy.

“I don’t think so,” Damian denies the possibility of a fever, confirming Marinette's assumptions.

“You’re not warm, but you just. . . don’t seem right,” the young woman breathes, keeping her voice soft.

The next moment, Damian reaches out and gently removes her hands from his face, his own hands lingering a moment before he releases them. His gentleness surprises her; She'd half expected him to hit them away.

“I’ll be fine. I’m not Drake," the man breathes, a scowl half-pulling across his lips. "I don’t make a habit of working myself past my physical limitations. I can handle working on one night of poor sleep.”

Despite his denials and the fact that he's acting just like his brother, relief washes over her.

Alright. At least he's acting mostly normal again. Maybe he's not as sick as she first assumed.

Still, why does he have to be so stubborn about his own health?

Sighing, Marinette resists the urge to shake her head in exasperation.

“Alright. . . but you have to drink this – the whole thing," Marinette instructs as she shoves her Ladybug-themed thermos back into his hands. "We can’t have the caterers thinking we aren't taking them seriously if you decide to nod off in the middle of the meeting," she tries to joke.

To her relief, Damian scowls and shoots her a scathing glare. She ignores the fact that she should not be so happy at being scowled at.

“I am not so affected that I would –”

“No offence, Monsieur Wayne, but you have no room to talk when not a half hour ago you walked into the office looking like a zombie that just rolled out of bed,” Marinette cuts him off, raising her brow as she bites back a smile.

For a moment, she waits for Damian to give her his usual dismissal, to refuse to drink out of such a ridiculous cup, to accuse her of trying to drug him (which is only partially true), only it never comes. Pursing his lips, Damian takes the thermos from her outstretched hand and after shooting her what looks to be a petulant pout, throws it back.

And then pauses.

He blinks and then throws it back again, drinking a significant amount before turning to Marinette with wide doe eyes (which okay, cute).

“What is this?” He murmurs in awe, sounding just like Tim the first time he'd tried her 'special brew.'

Marinette feigns innocence.

“. . . Coffee?” She replies, tilting her head to the side, inwardly smirking. “With vanilla creamer?”

Damian frowns and shakes his head.

“No, I meant. . . this is amazing. I feel better already – I’m not even tired anymore. Where did you get it?”

“Oh! I made it myself!” Marinette beams, inwardly cackling because this is exactly how she'd gotten Tim hooked on coffee instead of those kwami-awful energy drinks he used to down like air. “It’s the same stuff that I make for Tim when he’s tried to pull multiple all-nighters. It’s the only reason I was able to double major in university. I try not to drink it too much though since I don’t want to rely on it, but I do use it when I don’t get enough sleep. It’s basically magic.”

Biting back the smile in her voice at that last comment is very difficult – until she sees the wary look Damian shoots her. For a moment, she worries that she's gone too far – the Wayne's are really careful about what they ingest, and the Gotham drug scene is not exactly small. Given his expression, Marinette is about to explain that no, she's not drugging him with some kind of illegal stimulant (although it technically is because magic is banned, but it's not drug-drugs), however before she can, Damian finishes the entire thermos in one swing.

For a minute, Marinette preens happily at the sight of Damian enjoying something she'd made, only when he's done, his expression schools and he hands back the now-empty thermos.

“. . . did you not sleep well last night?”

Marinette pauses, not expecting the sudden change in subject. However the next moment she can't help but smirk thinking about the mere hour she'd gotten before Tikki her alarm jerked her back into reality.

Sleep? What's sleep? I don't know her.

“You can say I had an eventful night," Marinette evades before rising to her feet, knowing they don't have much more time before their meeting. "However, that is neither here nor there as we need to head over to the conference before the caterers think we’re standing them up."

Surprise flits across Damian's face before he schools his features and nods. Taking Marinette's lead, he stands and begins to follow her from the room, his movements uncharacteristically jerky and uncertain. However, his bewilderment is nothing compared to Marinette's when, before they reach the threshold of his office, he turns and, after a second of hesitation, smiles down at her. A half-extremely-awkward smile, but a smile all the same. From barely half a foot away. While looking at her.

Marinette's stomach does a swoop that has butterflies erupting in a crazed flutter, shooting electricity through her veins.

Never in the young heroine's life has her heart thundered so aggressively in her chest. Crepes, the world is lucky Damian doesn't smile often, otherwise so many people would be sent into cardiac arrest from the sheer beauty of it. Supermodel Adrien Agreste has nothing on a partially smiling Damian Wayne.

What's even more startling are the words that fall from his lips in a half-whisper, sending a shiver down her spine.

“Right. Um. . . thank you, Dupain-Cheng. For. . . everything,” Damian breathes quietly, his eyes staring her down intensely, as though to convey the sincerity in his words.

Crepes, scones, and Tikki's sweet tooth. How in kwami's name is she supposed to not fall for the man in front of her when he acts like that?!

Fighting against the weakening in her knees and the blush she knows is encompassing her face, Marinette offers him a small smile in return, praying she doesn't look as besotted as she feels.

“Anytime, Monsieur Wayne. It’s. . . what I’m here for," she manages in a tiny voice.

Seemingly satisfied with her response, Marinette watches as Damian nods and, rather awkwardly, unlocks and opens the door for her.

Blinking, it takes Marinette a moment to step through, a burst of giddiness washing over her at the man's unexpected kindness.

As Marinette leads the way to the board room, she struggles to fix her expression, her mind and heart troubled for many more reasons than they had been earlier.

Pausing a moment before the door of the board room, Marinette turns back to Damian before they can enter.

"Are you sure about this? Because really, I can just email you –"

Once more pink in the face, Damian falters a moment before fixing his expression into a scowl, crossing his arms defiantly in front of him.

"I'm sure, Dupain-Cheng. I can get through one meeting without keeling over from one lousy night of sleep."

Pursing her lips at the man's assurance (and somewhat relieved that he's acting more like himself), she gives him one more anxious look

"I'm sorry – it's just. . . ." Marinette grimaces before meeting Damian's gaze. "I'm worried about you. There is no need to push yourself. If you start feeling worse, promise me that you'll tell me. I just want to make sure you're okay."

Damian blinks at her, a strange expression on his face as he seems to struggle for a response. At his sides, his hands clench and unclench repeatedly before he shuts his eyes with a grimace. A moment later, he sighs and when he opens his eyes, his expression is blank, but somehow intense.

"Oui, mademoiselle. Tout ce que vous voulez," he states lowly in a deep, severe tone, before all but fleeing from her into the board room.

Stunned, Marinette nearly dies internally, not believing what she'd just heard. Or what just happened. Or really, what's been this entire morning.

Is she still asleep in bed? Is this some sort of elaborate dream after the night she'd had? Because this definitely feels like some sort of fever dream.

Marinette replays Damian's words in her head.

'Yes, ma'am. Whatever you want.'

Damian had just dropped that line in French (she didn't even know he spoke French) and then, without looking back, entered the board room with the vendors without her, leaving her frozen outside the door like it's just another Friday. Like he hadn't walked into the office that morning looking like Bruce Wayne the morning after attending the Grammys. Like he hadn't just upended Marinette's understanding of the man.

Vaguely, Marinette recalls Tikki's question of whether or not she'd be able to set aside her feelings for Damian to move on with someone else.

The answer, as it turns out, is no.

And now she might have another problem.

How is Marinette supposed to be able to work with Damian like this? When he has her so baffled and flustered and anxious and concerned and besotted all at once?

How is she supposed to move on when he has her heart so troubled?

Chapter Text

The evening of the charity gala for Haley's circus, Marinette's mood is. . . complicated.

On the one hand, she is filled with anticipation and a certain amount of relief that the day is finally here – that the event that she's been painstakingly planning for the last month has come together so beautifully, so perfectly. It may be the best work she's ever managed for an event like this, which is saying something considering the last formal event she'd hosted received higher accolades than this past Met Gala.

At the same time, the young woman's heart is heavy and her stomach churns anxiously. In a lot of ways, you could say her mood has fallen so deep into the trenches that she might as well be lying in a Gotham gutter – and has been for days – and none of it has to do with the gala unfolding around her.

That's not to say this gala hasn't had her stressed out of her mind. At every turn, she's been putting out fires, mediating arguments, and having to do a lot of the last minute design work herself. She's been running herself ragged coordinating with Dick Grayson, the circus staff, various vendors, and even ended up taking on a commission from Dick himself for his attire for that night on top of making herself her own on-theme gown. She'd spent one night this past week up until the early morning with a book on electrical engineering trying to figure out why the signboard they custom ordered wouldn't light up the way it was supposed to – which is honestly what she gets for ordering from someone in Janice's old contacts. Marinette is starting to think the supplier used to work for the Electrocutioner with the way the wiring had been done. They're all lucky no one died the first time Eric plugged it in – although, Lorelei's eyebrows definitely got singed. Either way, she is definitely going to be talking to Legal about their contract with that particular supplier and she now knows way too much about electrical fire hazards.

And yet, more so than the gala work, Marinette's stomach has been worked into knots over two men she really shouldn't be concerning herself with: her boss and a certain local, bird-themed vigilante.

To the young woman's disappointment, Robin never did come back. For the last few weeks, Marinette has been waiting diligently, patiently, hopefully in anticipation of the vigilante gracing her fire escape, even if it was just for an explanation of her situation – for her presence in Gotham. Instead, not only has she not seen neither hide nor hair of the young man, but even Red Hood hasn't been by. Robin, Marinette gets – she barely knows the guy and just because they'd had one kinda-nice conversation and her Ladybug instincts liked the guy doesn't mean he actually wanted to be friends with her. She'd given him permission to get his answers from Batman, after all, so technically, he has no obligation to visit her. It's disappointing, but not completely unexpected.

However, the fact that not even Marinette's self-proclaimed older brother has dropped by, bugging her for creme puffs or whatever else he's craving that day, is starting to concern the young woman, not because she's worried about his safety (he knows to leave notes for her if he's injured), but because she can't help but fret that Batman has intervened. Her next check in with the Head Bat isn't for another week and a half, but she's been on edge, anxious if he'll be the one to show up on her fire escape to lecture her on accidentally outing her identity to Robin – and for not trusting the veteran vigilante to keep his word.

But that hasn't been the biggest toll on Marinette's mood. No, the largest toll on her from the last few weeks is the fact that Damian is acting weird.

Weird by Gotham standards.

Weird by Wayne standards.

Weird by Marinette standards, which is honestly, such a high bar that she really should be staging an intervention at this point.

For whatever reason, after that day when Damian had walked in looking like he'd just rolled out of bed and been conked over the head with a frying pan, nothing in the office has been the same. Because of his strange behaviour, Marinette's routines have been disrupted and for the life of her, she can't seem to find her rhythm again, namely because she can never figure out which Damian she's getting.

Since that bizarre day, Damian swings wildly between two extremes: avoiding Marinette like she’s a contagious ghost, and stalking her like a disgruntled, menacing duck. It’s hardly subtle either, and Marinette's certain their whole team knows something is up with him – with them. More than once, Damian has stormed into a room, spotted her, and then spun on his heel to bolt from said room as though he were being chased by invisible flames. Yet, just as often, Damian all but materialises wherever Marinette is working, finding any excuse to hover over her, whether it be snarkily nagging her, pestering their team, or rallying against her supposed financial recklessness.

There's also the fact that almost over night, Damian Wayne – the most graceful, surefooted person Marinette has ever met – is suddenly clumsy.

Well, he's not nearly as clumsy as Marinette (no one can compare to her on that front, but that's not the point), but going by Damian's usual standard, the fact that she's seen him randomly drop files, walk into doorways, stumble over his words, and space out on tasks. . . It's such a contrast to his usual grace and sharpness that she can't help but feel a growing sense of concern. She's just about ready to involve the rest of his family in a medical intervention. She's hosted many for Tim at this point, which to her horror, had usually ended with the man being shot with a tranquillising dart, so she's been putting reporting Damian off until she feels it's absolutely necessary.

On the other hand, with the severity of Damian's ever changing attitude, Marinette is half convinced the man might be gearing up to fire her – that he's found some obscure clause in Tim’s contract and is amassing some sort of collection of evidence to deliver the final blow and sever her from the company. It would potentially explain why he's been watching her so intensely, his eyes following her around the room, staring her down unblinkingly in meetings (even the ones she isn't leading) as though cataloguing any and every infraction she may or may not be committing.

All of this has had Marinette's stomach twisting in knots every time she comes into work. It has her second guessing every decision she makes, big and small – especially as for whatever reason, Damian has been agreeing with her a chunk of the time.

At first, Marinette had been flattered, excited almost. At first, she thought that maybe she was starting to get through to him about the value of her work, that they were finally starting to see eye to eye on how to handle fundraising and community outreach, but then he's say something scathing and she'd remember that the man hates her and the majority of projects she approves through their department. The fact that he still hasn't shown any interest in today's gala of all things is proof of that.

Still, right now, as Marinette is surrounded by the fruit of her labour, by the music and the lights and the laughter of the patrons and donors. . . she can't help but think that her mood has lifted, even if only a little.

Gazing around at the ballroom of the Royal Hotel of Gotham, the young Lead can't help but preen with pride and accomplishment. The night has only just started and already she is certain she and her team have outdone themselves. The entire place has been transformed into the most meticulously and painstakingly elegant rendition of a circus that the young woman could have imagined. The line between tacky and sophisticated for a circus themed event had been a hard one to find, but in the end, Marinette is certain they are balancing it perfectly, even if it did end up costing her more sleep than she'd originally allotted.

Marinette herself had spent the majority of the last few days decorating the lobby and ball room of the Royal Hotel with copious gold twinkling lights and red and white cascading fabrics and floral decorations to the point that her fingers are raw from the pins and thorns (she may have also used some magic to keep the flowers looking fresh and voluminous, but that's neither here nor there). The designs Marinette had fixed (and in many cases, hand sewn herself) for the caterers slipping in and out of the ball room look outstanding in their circus themed costumes, appearing elegant and fashionable despite the fact that one of them is dressed as a literal clown. The band that Marinette had managed to acquire have added class to the playful background tunes that Dick had grown up with and insisted were necessary.

An hour into the soirée, the grand ballroom hums with a lively energy, laughter and cheerful conversation weaving through the air like a delicate melody. The space brims with elegance and excitement, with small tables and meticulously curated stalls lining the perimeter, each offering refined carnival games and activities adjusted to suit the sophisticated tastes of the distinguished guests. At the far end of the ball room where a silent auction is to unfold later in the evening, a grand display of circus memorabilia commands attention; vintage photographs, vibrant posters, yellowed newspaper clippings, and authentic props from the circus itself create a nostalgic tapestry that honours the event’s whimsical theme, but most importantly, pays homage to the it's founder Haley, its members, and in memory of John and Mary Grayson. The whole room is alight with the vintage signage (including the one Marinette had reworked in her apartment) the soft glow of crystal chandeliers, corners are adorned with quaint stands presenting timeless treats (golden funnel cakes dusted with powdered sugar and warm, buttery popcorn, and perfectly-fried churros) inviting guests to indulge in sweet, familiar delights amidst the opulence.

Honestly, all the food may be Marinette's favourite part of the entire evening – more gourmet renditions of classic circus comfort foods that have the whole place smelling like some sort of indulgent paradise. Specifically, the funnel cakes (something the young woman had never heard of before this event) have proven to be some of the most sinfully delectable pastries Marinette has ever had and she now understands why American portions are always so large; She can't seem to get enough of the fried pastries, and that was before she found out about the various toppings.

Another point of pride is the dress that Marinette had sewn for herself: a beautiful pink and red gown she'd managed to put together inspired by one of the portraits of Madame Grayson herself. Using a blend of spandex, silk, and satin, Marinette had designed and brought to life an elegant dress that at the top, is reminiscent of an acrobatic leotard accented in rhinestones, only as it reaches just past her hips, the skirt flowed out into a gown, allowing her a free range of movement and a means to disguise the fact that she's tied a rope dart around her upper thigh from security.

After Marinette's last encounter with thugs in the back alley of Gotham, the young woman has been testing various weapons and means of concealing them on her person. So far, the rope dart is her favourite (and is the most similar to a yoyo, in her opinion) however that particular weapon isn't exactly practical in her day to day life. A (traditional) dart rope isn't small by any means and the only possible way she's figured out to hide the one she'd managed to get from the Guardians at the Temple is on her thigh under a particularly long skirt – which is not exactly practical for daily use in he office. However here, in a floor length gown that she herself designed, it's the perfect opportunity to carry a weapon that makes her feel like she could take on the world. Scones, Marinette half-feels like she could take on the Joker with how confident she feels carrying a weapon so similar to Ladybug's.

Despite her wavering mood, Marinette feels radiant, ready to face the tedious chore of entertaining donors and mingling with, as Damian bluntly calls them, 'the leeches of society. She's set aside her usual restrained office look of braids, buns, and headbands in favour of wearing her hair loose, partly held back and adorned with her mother’s elegant black French pin, a cherished heirloom she'd brought with her from Paris. Completing the look are the striking red-drop earrings Chat Noir – that Adrien had given her on their second Christmas as Paris’s heroes. Whether the rubies are real or not he had refused to tell her, but after discovering his true identity, Marinette can't help but suspect that they are genuine.

In addition to those accessories, Marinette has also donned one of the masks she had prepared for the guests, a last-minute touch that she can't help but acknowledge has been a boost to her confidence. She’s always felt more assured behind a mask as Ladybug, and wearing one here, even one as comparatively flimsy (specifically, not magically attached to her face or with the ability to conceal her identity in its entirety) as this, gives her the strength to host the evening without being overwhelmed, nor falter under the pressure of having to explain why Damian Wayne won’t be attending his own gala.

Well, technically, it’s his department’s event, but that distinction is lost on the press and the socialites eager to mingle with the elusive Wayne heir.

The masks started as a small, almost trivial idea, but quickly proved inspired. Damian’s words about not wanting to be paraded around had stuck with her. After so many years of being friends with Adrien, Kagami, and yes, even Felix and Chloe, Marinette is well aware of how many elites lack anonymity in their personal lives, and how it can make some become reclusive and withdrawn. Remembering how her Ladybug mask allowed her to move freely and the feel she had been envisioning for the event, Marinette had thought of offering masquerade masks here as a way to ease the pressure on their attendees. She had also privately hoped that she could even coax Damian to attend the night's event that way, but because he's been avoiding her and had already distanced himself from the gala preparations, she hadn’t managed to corner him to inform him of the change apart from a sticky note left on his computer – which she is fairly certain ended up in the trash with the rest of the reminders she leaves for the man, as is the norm between them.

So yes, Marinette's mood is complicated, which is why she has been choosing to focus on the smile Dick Grayson keeps levying her, thanking her for all her efforts.

"I really can't thank you enough for this," Dick repeats for the umpteenth time that night as he spins one of the masks around his finger, having tracked her down for the eighth time since he arrived. "And you need to know that everyone is complimenting me on this suit. It's truly inspired!"

Warmed at the man's continued thanks (and relieved that he'd stolen her away from Dr. Chandler's persistent questions on the differences between American and French culture), Marinette returns the man's smile.

"I'm honoured you like it so much," she laughs yet again, walking with him in the direction of his parent's memorial wall. "But really, I'm happy to do it. Monsieur Haley and the rest of his troupe are your family, too. They deserve to be taken care of and remembered properly."

The next thing Marinette knows, she's being scooped into the man's arms and is squeezed until her back audibly cracks.

"You're absolutely amazing Marinette. You've made this event so special," he tells her before dropping her back down.

"I didn't do this alone," Marinette tries to protest, but her cheeks are a vibrant red. "It was a team effort – and you're the one who set up the retirement housing for everyone upstate."

Dick huffs with a smirk. "Yeah well, that wasn't that much of anything. Bruce gifted me the land when I turned eighteen and it's just been sitting there ever since. All I had to do was hire the contractors and figure out what to do with all the animals. You're the one setting everyone up with retirement plans and healthcare for the rest of their lives."

Marinette blushes and frowns.

"I'm just in charge of the fundraising and event planning. Lorelei is the one who put together the actual contracts and dispersement plans –"

"Oh, stop trying to deflect," Dick chides gently, rolling his eyes with a fond smirk. "We all know this is all you, so stop discrediting yourself. Seriously, between everything you've done keeping Tim alive, putting up with Damian, and now doing all this for me and Old Man Haley? Our family is incredibly lucky to have you around."

As Dick looks down at her with a warmth that feels both brotherly and almost fatherly, a quiet pride shining in his eyes, Marinette’s heart pounds, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink as a swell of emotion rises – a mix of disbelief and overwhelming gratitude. It’s been so long since she’s felt this kind of acceptance, this sense of truly belonging and being needed. Tears prick at the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill over.

Dick notices her hesitation and quickly adds, "Hey, don’t get all teary on me now. The party's just started!"

Marinette's voice catches, but she manages a small laugh. "I guess it’s just. . . Thank you. It means a lot. . ."

Dick grins, nudging her shoulder playfully. "Well, get used to it. I'm pretty sure that contract Tim had you sign made it that so you're stuck with us forever. Or at least until one of you dies."

Marinette’s smile grows, brighter and more genuine as she lets out a full-bellied giggle. No one can deny that Timothy Drake-Wayne had gone overboard in his desperation to keep her working for him.

As her laughter dies down, Marinette changes the subject (she cannot afford to cry with the amount of mascara she's currently wearing). "Speaking of, did you manage to find new homes for all the animals?"

Grinning, Dick’s expression shifts, amusement teasing his features. "Honestly, I thought rehoming the elephants would be a nightmare, but Lil D’s connections at the Gotham Zoo made it surprisingly easy. The fact that they're so well trained helped a lot too."

"They’re taking the lions too, right?" Marinette asks, her eyes drifting to the pictures on the boards behind them, where the circus' collection of animal exhibits are on display.

"Yep, and the monkeys as well," Dick nods, following Marinette's gaze. "But not the parrots. They’re staying with Madame Kezia, which is probably for the best. I don’t think the zoo would appreciate a flock of birds cursing at their visitors in Romanian."

Marinette bursts into laughter, but before she can reply, Dick’s eyes lock onto something behind them. In an instant, his face lights up with a mix of excitement and disbelief.

Following the man's gaze, Marinette freezes in place, not believing her eyes. If the woman had been holding a drink, she would have spat it out, because there, standing a short distance away is Damian, impeccably dressed with his eyes trained on her. A rush of emotions crashes over her. Despite having hoped for this exact situation, she hadn't actually expected the man to show up.

"Damian! You made it!" Dick exclaims, rushing forward to pull his little brother into an overly exuberant bear hug as Marinette trails behind, her eyes wide with awe. “Way to be fashionably late! We didn’t think you were going to make it!”

As the Parisian studies the youngest Wayne, confusion and disbelief swirl inside her. Damian al Ghul Wayne is undeniably one of the most breathtaking people she’s ever encountered – it's something she's been forced to endure on a near daily basis and has not made it any easier to move on. Formal Damian Wayne is just as, if not more captivating, all elegant lines, regal styling, and prominent angles. While not exactly circus-themed, the attire manages to blend in with the surrounding elegance.

Yet, it's not the young man's sharp look that threatens to bring tears to Marinette's eyes, filling her with electric delight and bewilderment – it’s simply that he's shown up at all.

As Marinette comes to a stop beside the two men, she's hyper aware of the fact that Damian is once again staring at her unblinkingly, quietly nodding at her in greeting.

“Monsieur Wayne,” the young woman breathes, blinking up at him in disbelief, unsure what to say. “I. . . thank you for coming.”

Marinette feels her heart sink as he quickly looks away, nodding silently without meeting her eyes. Inside, she lets out a quiet sigh, confused by his distant behaviour, yet a surge of joy and excitement bubbles within her – he’s here, at a function she put together, and that alone fills her with a radiant warmth that she can't seem to push down.

Seemingly unconcerned with Damian's behaviour or the fact that the man isn't scowling, Dick continues on, clapping Damian on the back with a wide grin

“I’m so happy to see you, lil D. But hey, where’s your top hat?” The man asks, giving the young man a once over.

Damian blinks at the question, stiffening as he turns and surveys the room with a frown.

“What do you mean?”

Dick grins widely in response, motioning to Damian’s formal ensemble.

“You’re the ringmaster, right?” He assumes incorrectly, mistaking Damian's coat-tails for a costume. “It’s a nice tailcoat! Although, I gotta say, I think you could have done with some sequins to liven up the look. Oh wait – I think old man Haley’s got a spare hat that would be perfect! Let me go ask –”

“That is not necessary,” Damian abruptly cuts off his eldest brother, unable to keep the grimace off his face as he stares out into the crowd. Following his gaze, Marinette sees Haley in his ultra-bedazzled suit and can't blame the man's palpable disgust. She thinks Damian would sooner throw himself off the top of Wayne Enterprises than wear anything that's been bedazzled.

Then again, she'd thought the same about him attending one of her 'frivolous parties,' and here he is – which really, she's still trying to wrap her head around.

Unfazed, Dick throws an arm around the youngest Wayne's shoulder.

“I gotta say, this is some event, lil’ D. . . I really have to thank you. It means a lot to me that you and your Division put this together to support the circus folk. They don’t exactly have retirement plans, so the funds raised are going to make a big difference," Dick states pointedly, winking at Marinette as he does.

The young woman has to bite back a smile, especially when a look of discomfort flashes across Damian's face and he visibly struggles for a response – no doubt because all three of them know that Marinette is the one running this circus.

Dick is such an older brother.

After a moment, Damian turns his gaze back to Marinette, his expression tight and his tone urgent. “. . . May I speak with you? Alone?”

Marinette blinks at the man, flabbergasted. Given the expression on Dick's face, he is too.

Furrowing her brow, the young woman nods slowly, her heart sinking somewhat. Of course he wouldn't have shown up for the department, because it's his job, or to support Marinette in hosting the fundraiser for his brother's family. There must be something urgent about an upcoming project that he can't delay in discussing with her.

“Of course. We’ll be back in a bit,” Marinette assures Dick, trying to mask her disappointment with a tight smile.

“Take as long as you need,” Dick assures her offhandedly.

Shooting the man another smile, Marinette catches Damian's eye and nods her head in the direction of one of the balcony doors. The outside area is closed off from the event, only meant for staff use and storage. While a little chilly, it's a good space to speak privately, without being disturbed or overheard by the guests (and Damian's nosy older brother) inside.

Once the door shuts behind them and they move a few feet away, Marinette turns to Damian, mentally bracing herself for whatever he's about to unload on her, trying not to focus on how handsome he looks with the moonlight casting shadows across his jaw.

Only. . . His words don't come. For what feels like at least three minutes, Damian simply stares at Marinette, his expression tight and his lips pursed, his hands clasped behind his back as though he is at parade rest.

Nothing about this puts Marinette at ease. Once again, the man is acting peculiar.

Removing her mask, she resists the urge to sigh in exasperation.

“So. . .” The young woman starts, unable to handle the silence any longer. “You look very handsome in your suit. . . I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in one like this before. Although, I’ve never seen you go to a party before either,” she admits wryly.

To her shock, Damian stiffens impossibly further, appearing more like a statue than a twenty-three year old man.

“We–well, uhm. . . you personally invited me. It would be rude not to.”

Marinette resists the urge to gape at the man. Or shout at him. Or strangle him.

That last one is particularly tempting.

Really, it's a testament to Marinette's patience that she doesn't slap him upside the head for such a remark.

“. . . You do realise that it’s technically part of your job to be here, right? It’s important to me that you know that," Marinette states bluntly, just barely keeping her temper in check. If she'd have been in Paris back when Hawkmoth was still active, she'd really be at risk of being akumatised. "Also, I’ve personally invited you to the last eight events. You never seemed to find any of them important enough to attend, so why this one?”

Marinette is all but gobsmacked when all of a sudden, Damian's shoulders sink and his gaze falls to the floor, looking like a child waiting to be scolded.

“My apologies – I – I didn’t mean it like that,” the young man stutters, visibly struggling to find his words. “You are correct. I. . . I decided it was in my best interest to attend this evening because – well, there are many reasons. This isn’t to be a one time thing. I need you to understand that even though I don’t like it, I am willing to do this – Attend your um. . . your events, that is.”

The young woman stares, confused and baffled and unnerved by whatever is happening right now. Is her stuttering somehow contagious? Is he sick again?

“. . . No offence, Monsieur, but I’m not following,” Marinette presses, worry beginning to snake it's way through her chest. At least this time she'd remembered to pack her first aid kit. And worse comes to worse, she's pretty sure Dick has a tranq dart he keeps on him in case Tim ever goes off the rails (the latter hadn't come tonight due to a scheduling conflict of some kind).

Damian runs a hand through his hair in frustration – mostly at himself from what the young woman can tell.

“I – Ma-Marinette, I –” Damian growls at his stutter before trying again. “Marinette, I owe you an apology. Many apologies, in fact.” The man pauses again and lets out a breath, his gaze falling to the ground, unable to look her in the eye. “I have been unfairly cruel to you since you began working for me. I was irritated and insecure about my father’s approval of me and thought he didn’t believe I could do this job. That combined with my own inability to understand my own emotions led me to take it out on you, which was. . . terrible of me. I am sincerely regretful, Marinette. You have been nothing but an asset and your presence is valued by the entire team. . . myself included. Especially me.”

Marinette is certain her jaw is on the floor.

Is Damian Wayne actually apologising?

Is he actually complimenting her?!

. . .

Perhaps the man is sick.

Before Marinette can interject and begin questioning the man on his health (or keel over from the euphoria rising up within her at being appreciated by the man she loves), Damian continues, a self deprecating scowl pulling at his lips as his shoulders slump into himself.

“I know that I am. . . bullheaded and I don’t have a lot of empathetic awareness and my temper often gets the best of me. I may not always agree with your endeavours, but I understand that everything you do is for mine and Wayne Enterprises' benefit, as well as the charitable organisations we sponsor. Even tonight. . . I would never have thought to do something so. . . thoughtful.”

The man pauses, his gaze shifting to the party unfolding inside before continuing, “Richard is arguably the most moved by his emotions in the family. This gesture is. . . significant. Thank you for doing this.”

At this point, Damian finally manages to meet Marinette’s eyes and she nearly forgets to breathe at the intensity there. Heat washes through Marinette, leaving her dizzy and feeling light and airy in her fingers and toes.

Maybe this is why Damian has been acting so weird – maybe she had been right in that he has begun to recognise Marinette's worth in his department.

And then he keeps going, further turning Marinette's world on its head.

“I can’t promise that I will always listen to you,” Damian breathes, nearly rambling as the words fall from his lips in a hushed rush. “In fact, I can’t even promise that I won’t occasionally be too bluntly plainspoken or that I won’t let my frustrations get the best of me. However, I will try to be better. I will try to always treat you with the respect you deserve, and Marinette. . . you deserve so much more than what I can offer you.”

Marinette is openly gaping at this point, her heart in her throat. She doesn't understand what's happening – she barely understands what he's saying – and then he goes and reveals a rose.

Around her, time seems to stop. Her eyes flit between the beautiful pink flower and the young man holding it out to her, not believing her eyes or ears.

What in all that is good and flambeed happening right now?

And then Damian takes a step closer, his eyes boring into Marinette's with an intensity that has her heart thudding aggressively in her chest.

“You asked me why I’m here tonight,” the man breathes, encroaching on her space, his sincerity dripping from every word. “I abhor these events. I loathe having to parade around and make small talk with self important narcissistic imbeciles who can’t even put aside their own luxury to aid their community if not pressured by social convention. In fact, I would normally rather be anywhere else.”

Marinette falters

Okay.

Well, thanks for clarifying?

Really, she already knows all this, so why is he–

Marinette's thoughts stall as Damian's hands suddenly, firmly, reaches out and wraps around hers, slipping the rose into her palm and clasping them together.

Undeterred by Marinette's silence, the man continues, a soft, wistful, strangely forlorn smile playing across his lips that has the young woman about ready to melt into a puddle. “But you have asked me to be here, and I don’t think I have the will to deny you anymore. Marinette, you are perhaps the only person in the world aside from my family and Jon who is able to put up with me despite all my faults. You don’t back down when I’m being a stubborn arse, you still take care of me even when I’ve done nothing but terrorise you, and you are always so frustratingly competent and optimistic. It’s wonderful and irksome and endearing and. . . honestly so confusing.

“Regrettably, I have been under the impression that the emotional turmoil you’ve put me through since I first met you was because I found you irksome in some way, but. . . I’ve come to the realisation that it’s the opposite,” Damian explains, pausing briefly to emphasise his next words. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng, I am desperately, hopelessly, and irrevocably in love with you. I think I have been since the day I met you.”

Marinette blinks once, twice, thrice, as the gravity of the man's words sink in, leaving her perplexed, confused, and most importantly, blindsided.

That's it. Marinette is dreaming.

Or she's hallucinating.

Or drugged.

Whatever's happening, Marinette.exe has stopped working.

Scones, she's practically stopped breathing.

And he just keeps going, putting into existence feelings that Marinette could only ever have dreamed of hearing from the man.

“Marinette, you are everything I’ve ever admired in a person and then some. You are compassionate and kind, attributes that I know I lack, yet your competence remains nearly unrivalled in and out of the office. I am in love with all the little things that you do – your mannerisms, your stubbornness, your ingenuity, your creativeness, and both your inner and outer beauty. There is nothing you do that doesn’t affect me. I honestly thought that the reason my heart races and my palms sweat when I am with you is because I was somehow sick. I believed that the reason I felt empty and disappointed whenever you left a room is because I was annoyed at whatever conversation we just had. I thought that the rush I felt when arguing with you was because I –”

A loud crash sounds from inside quickly followed by screaming, shouting, and an eerily familiar laugh.

“If this is a circus, it doesn't make sense that you’d forget to invite the clown!”

Marinette's stomach drops and it takes everything in her not to scream.

That stupid maniac clown is interrupting her dream confession from the man she's been in love with for six months – the man that is apparently so emotionally stunted he mistook his attraction to her for irritation.

And Hood thinks she needs therapy.

The man's inability to recognise his own emotions explains so much while simultaneously enraging her. As per usual, the young woman can't tell if she wants to strangle him or kiss him – but after everything else he's just confessed, the sincerity and depth of care for her that he's unveiled, she figures kissing him probably won’t get her fired, and that realisation has her itching to do just that.

And this baking clown decided to interrupt Damian's breathtakingly beautiful confession?

Is Marinette's luck that bad?!

. . . Maybe the kwami were right. Maybe she shouldn't be drinking so much magically enhanced coffee.

Either way, none of this is okay. She doesn't care if this is bad luck or just a natural consequence of living in Gotham. She doesn't even care what Batman has to say about it: Marinette is going to kill that clown.

Resisting the urge to scream, Marinette reaches out and grabs Damian, dragging him to the nearest window and shoving him down to keep him hidden from view. Pursing her lips, she peaks through the glass to assess the situation, her stomach falling when she sees the sheer number of Joker's force. This isn't just a few goons in an alley – this is a full raid, and the clown prince isn't playing games. He's already taken a large group of hostages and is placing them strategically throughout the room. Worst of all, Dick Grayson – a former detective who would undoubtedly be an obstacle to the Joker's plans – is being held by the clown himself, a gun being held against his chin as the Joker cackles into his face.

Marinette's stomach churns with fury.

Crepes, her luck is really bad.

Staring around at the room, Marinette's stomach sinks when she seems some children mixed in with the hostages, separated from their parents and no doubt being used as leverage.

Batman's going to have to make an exception to his rules. There's no way Marinette can sit back and watch as Joker and his goons terrorise (and given his track record, most likely kill) those in attendance at her own gala.

“Damian, you need to stay here,” Marinette orders, praying that for once he might actually listen to her. Meanwhile, her mind races, slipping through scenarios in her head and thanking Tikki that she'd hidden that dart rope under her dress. Against the Joker, she's going to need every advantage she can get.

And speaking of advantages.

Marinette glances down at her gown and heels, already knowing what she has to do – and that the dress she's spent so much time on is no doubt going to be ruining by the end of tonight.

Pursing her lips, Marinette slips off her shoes – there's no way these stilettos would survive a Rogue attack, and with her clumsiness, she'd probably end up spraining an ankle. Reaching into the small pocket in her skirt, Marinette pulls out the emergency clicker Batman gave her and flips to cover to activate it before forcing it into Damian’s hands. “I’ll be back soon, but for now take this and wait for me. Do not move from this spot until I come back for you.”

Without waiting for Damian to respond (or rather, protest, as is usual), Marinette rushes toward the door and slips inside, taking cover behind a nearby table. However the next moment, a silent presence appears at her side, leading her to pull back to punch the new arrival – only to falter when she turns and comes face to face with Damian.

The young woman's stomach sinks in horror.

For a guy who just confessed his love to her, can't he just listen to her for once in his life?!

“Damia– What are you doing?!” Marinette hisses as he pulls him in by his lapels, glancing anxiously around to make sure no one had noticed him. “I told you to stay–”

“You can’t do this, Marinette!” Damian pushes back just as urgently, his expression panicked and concerned. “Batman’s magic rule aside, you don’t have the protection of your suit or your magic! This isn’t some thug in an alley – it’s the Joker! You know what he did to Red Hood! He’ll do worse to you if you rush in there without thinking!”

Marinette stills, her heart dropping like a stone in her chest. The blood drains from her face as she stares at the man, trying to make sense of what he's just said.

How the fuck does Damian know that?

Instantly, her thoughts begin to spiral, wondering when she'd screwed up – what had she done that would lead to her identity to being exposed? How long has Damian known? How much does he know? Had Bruce told him? Does Bruce know too? Did Batman not tell his team about her but did tell his boyfriend?! How does Batman get around to telling naive, air-headed playboy Bruce Wayne her identity and not Red Hood or Robin?!

Reeling, Marinette struggles for words, horror and anxiety gripping her chest and making it difficult for her to breathe.

“How do you – what do you –” She stammers, only to falter.

Marinette stares at Damian and something about his guilty expression causes her to pause.

She sees it.

The lines. The angles. The wit. The attitude. The hair.

Puzzle pieces fall into place as she reaches forward and ruffles his hair forcibly. A moment later, the young woman can't deny that the man she's staring at is the same vigilante she'd clung to while swinging across the Gotham rooftops, the same vigilante she'd sparked the beginnings of a potential crush on just a few weeks ago.

Marinette's type hadn't changed.

For a second time in her life, Marinette had managed to fall for the same person twice.

Fury and exasperation clash within her as everything begins to make sense – including Damian's strange behaviour over the last few weeks and why Robin had never come back to her fire escape.

"Tartes Kwami, crêpes et frappichino au poivre du Papillon!" Marinette curses, growing hysterical as everything hits her. “Of course you’re Robin! Which means – kwami, no wonder Batman placed me at WE! He owns the company! Dick must be Nightwing and Tim – he’s Red Robin, isn’t he?! No wonder he’s always so tired! It never made sense that he could still be tired after giving him my special brew! And Red Hood! When I get my hands on him I’m going to kill him! I've been pouring my heart out to him for years! And he's been double dipping on my baking! I bring scones and tarts and macaroons and – and – and so much to the security office! Does he know?! Did Batman tell him?! Did he only befriend me because Bruce – because his dad – and Tim! Does he know too?! Because I swear if he did, the things I will do to his schedule when I get transferred back –"

A low growl escapes Mairnette's lips as she resists the urge to kick the table aside.

"That's it – I'm punching Batman! I've had it! I. Have. Had. It! C'est ridicule! Complètement ridicule! Did he seriously think that I would never find out he was manipulating me like this? Did his ego take that big of a hit from the Order keeping secrets that he felt the need to control my life by keeping me under his thumb?! Is this all a lie? Is my whole career a lie?! Oh, I am going to strangle that wanna-be emo furry with his cape and bury his cocooned carcus in the Tundra–"

The sound of a gun shot ringing out cuts off Marinette's whispered outrage, followed by an earsplitting scream.

Marinette clenches her eyes shut, forced to face the fact that she can't afford to spiral right now. Her anger will have to wait.

Turning back to Damian – to Robin – she purses her lips, barely containing her emotions.

“We can deal with this later,” Marinette hisses, deciding that at the very least, she has backup before Batman – before Bruce gets here.

. . .

Oh that man is definitely getting punched when this is all over.

Preoccupied, Marinette moves and begins to retrieve the rope dart from her upper thigh, wrapping the base around her wrist unthinkingly.

“That was a warning shot," she breathes, her eyes shifting back to peek over the table. "We need to get the hostages out of here before they start actually killing people.”

Silence follows and after a moment, she turns back to Damian, ready to scold him for not listening to her, only to find him staring wide eyed and red faced at her exposed thigh.

Marinette flushes, embarrassment eating at her when she realises she's just flashed the young man.

She blinks, struggling to find her voice before clearing her throat and shifting her gaze to her feet. “. . . It’s not a yoyo, but it’s the next best non-magical thing,” she whispers, her heart thundering in her chest.

Her luck is really lacking tonight.

However, instead of Damian simply ignoring her or brushing her risque action off to spare her embarrassment, or even calling her out on being inappropriate, the man lets out a ragged breath, seemingly at war with himself.

"kayf yumkinuni 'an 'aqae fi hubi malak muntaqim 'akthara?"

Marinette stills. Her Arabic is minimal at best, only the basics that the Order had had her learn as a Guardian, but she'd understood enough to get the gist of the man's meaning:

'How is it that I can still fall further in love with an avenging angel?'

As if Damian's confession could get any more enchanting.

Marinette's face instantly blooms into a fierce blush, so intense she feels like she’s seeing stars. However what truly overwhelms the young woman is Damian's own reaction to his confession – or rather, to the fact that she's obviously understood him: Damian, her usually stoic, sharp, and grumpy boss, looks utterly love-struck and mortified. His cheeks burn with embarrassment and vulnerability, an expression so out of character it stuns her silent. This sudden, tender revelation ignites something deep inside Marinette and before she can stop herself, she closes the distance between them to grip his lapels and pull him into a deep, frantic kiss – one she’s longed for ever since that day in the office when he stood up for her against Janice’s cruel words.

Stunned by the young woman's abrupt actions, it takes a moment for Damian to realise what's happening. However once he does, the man melts into Marinette's lips, his hands reaching around to pull her against him, deepening the kiss in a burst of passion that sends a shudder through the woman's whole body. The feel of his lips moving with hers, demanding and eager, feels electric and more than she could have dreamed this moment to be. Frantic butterflies flutter in Marinette's stomach, leaving her feeling giddy and needy and desperate all at once.

A crash in the distance pulls Marinette from her bliss and she's reminded that there's currently a Rogue on the loose, one that is holing a gun to the head of Damian's older brother.

Frustration and urgency forces Marinette to break their kiss. Seeing the utterly besotted look on Damian's face has her this close to just kissing him again.

Swallowing, Marinette takes an unsteady breath, trying to focus on the fact that she – and Damian – are about to be walking into a fight.

“. . . We can continue this discussion later," she breathes, hoping he doesn't hear the unsteady tremor in her voice. “Come on, birdboy – we need to get the hostages out of here while your brother has the clown’s attention.”

Not waiting for Damian to respond, the (not-so-former) heroine rushes through the shadows in the direction of the nearest hostages, confident that Damian will follow after her.

After a night spent reeling, Marinette steels herself, determined to blindside the the Joker with a vengeance so fierce he’ll regret ever daring to crash her event – and subsequently, Damian's confession.

Chapter Text

Marinette is stunned.

Following her and Damian's intervention with the Rogue, Marinette has come to many conclusions about her life here in Gotham, of her understanding of her personal relationships, and how she wants to move forward. Her sense of self and place in Gotham has been shaken with the night's events, and she's honestly not sure how she's supposed to feel about it.

Truly baffled.

Amazed.

Reeling.

Anxious.

Excited.

Furious.

Petrified.

To put it frankly, she's emotional, and trying to figure out what her next steps are.

The life Marinette thought she had made for herself – a life she thought she was thriving in, even if she was a bit closed off – now seems like a carefully woven illusion by Batman in an attempt to control her the same way the Guardians have. It calls into question every relationship she's built, leaving her to question the very foundations of trust she thought she had rebuilt. She also has come to the conclusion that she really doesn't know how to read people.

Something else Marinette's been forced to confront is a truth she'd been trying to avoid since that night with the human traffickers, when she'd first met Damian as Robin: she misses being Ladybug, or rather, what comes along with it. She misses fighting crime, patrolling, protecting people. Making due with her nostalgia isn't enough – she wants to be involved in protecting Gotham, in keeping her new home safe. Over the last five years, Marinette has kept out of Batman's business, but after tonight. . . after tonight, the young heroine has every intention to make all of Gotham her business – as well as the vigilantes who protect her citizens from the shadows.

And, well, Marinette figures that Batman owes her for trying to manipulate her.

Something else the young woman has decided is that she's definitely cutting Tim off from her special brew, or at least limiting his intake moving forward – especially after the reaction he had when he showed up on scene as Red Robin. When Marinette was talking to a group of EMT's, the man had come up to her to 'check' on her and introduce himself and nearly started crying. The fact that the man was on the verge of tears wouldn't have been noticeable to anyone else, but considering the woman ran his life for years, she'd recognise that thick, wavering tone anywhere. Considering his strong reaction to seeing her after so long (he'd been banned from visiting Charitable Ventures soon after she'd transferred), Marinette's starting to think he's grown addicted to the coffee – which she hadn't known was possible, but she's been wrong before – up until an hour or so ago, she was still firmly convinced that Damian hated her, after all.

Another conclusion that Marinette has come to is that, their feelings for one another aside, she and Damian make a phenomenal team. She's heard rumours about the current Robin being violently precise, but seeing Damian in action had been something to marvel over. While Marinette and Adrien had learned on the job, they were, at the root of the matter, amateurs when it came to martial technique, something that was only vaguely fixed after the Guardians came back and 'trained' them. Sure, Adrien had fencing and Marinette had gymnastics and both learned the basics from Suhan, it's nothing compared to whatever Damian has mastered.

Marinette has so many questions.

What is even more astonishing is their apparent synchrony. Even more so than Marinette had achieved with Adrien, moving, fighting alongside Damian felt as easy as breathing. For whatever reason, she felt as though she could anticipate his every move and act accordingly with hardly a word of warning.

The fight hadn't even lasted an hour. Marinette also found that beating up Joker was oddly cathartic and she bears no guilt over the fact the man's jaw had nearly been shattered because of her. She has always hated him for what he did to Red Hood when he was Robin (the man has gone on many rants about the Joker and their past), but after interrupting the most breathtaking confession of Marinette's life, the woman was ready to bury him six feet deep. This sentiment only increased after Damian had gotten grazed by a stray bullet – the woman is holding herself back from going back to her apartment for Plagg's ring to cataclysm the man out of existence. From the way Damian has been fighting alongside her, she can only assume he feels the same way.

The fact that the two of them might be on the front page tomorrow for their efforts tonight is something she's trying not to think about.

Luckily, Marinette has managed to avoid interacting too much with the bats throughout evening, pointedly ignoring Red Hood's whoops and hollers about her kicking ass and Red Robin staring after her with a sad puppy pout (how in the crepes had this man managed to keep his identity a secret all this time when he's such a child). Although the pointed look she got from Batman – and the glare she's shooting him – suggests that they are going to be have a very long conversation soon about her actions tonight.

However at the forefront of Marinette's concerns is her relationship (?) with Damian Wayne.

Namely, how in the world he'd apparently mistook a crush for abhorrence or being sick. And how soon she'll be able to kiss him again. And what this means for them moving forward.

Which means that she has a certain birdboy to check in on. . . and offer a confession of her own.

So yeah. Marinette is kind of emotional right now.

Pausing in front of the door in front of her, Marinette takes a deep breath. Balancing the small tray of snacks she'd managed to scrounge up, she knocks on the door, entering without invitation.

Marinette's stomach swoops when she sees Damian sitting on the edge of the bed in the centre of the room. Like her, he's a bit roughed up from the fight; the accessories of his suit are gone, stripped away in the fight and by the EMT, leaving him in a bloodied undershirt and dress pants with his bare, bandaged arms on display – as well as the many scars littering them. His hair is in disarray, a few strands falling into his face, and there is a small, butterfly-bandaged gash on his upper cheek.

In Marinette's opinion, he's never looked more beautiful.

The young woman is also suddenly aware that she has no clue what she looks like right now – but that she's definitely a dishevelled mess and there's someone's blood staining her sleeve and part of her torn skirt. She's also still barefoot and her maman's hair pin is handing on by a thread.

Kwami, she should have thought this through.

Pacing herself, Marinette shoots the man a small smile and shuts the door behind her.

"H-hey," she murmurs as she approaches him, trying desperately to focus on not tripping and spilling the tray onto his lap. “I brought you some food. . . I figured you didn’t get a chance to eat.”

Damian stiffens at her entrance, his emerald eyes wide in the low light as he watches her carefully. He obviously hadn't been expecting her just yet and after the tumultuous events of the evening, she can't blame him for being a bit on edge.

“. . . Thank you,” he replies in a quiet voice, his gaze boring into her as though searching for something.

“Do you mind if I sit?” She asks hesitantly.

Immediately, Damian shifts over, causing the plates to clink together as he rushes to move it to the side to make room for her.

Marinette has to bite back a grin at the sight. Even with everything that happened earlier, she had been anxious, but seeing the man so flustered, she remembers the way he had kissed her and that she really doesn't have reason to be so anxious.

For a few minutes, the two sit in silence as Marinette struggles to organise her thoughts. To her mortification, she doesn't know if she can be as eloquent and meaningful in her confession in comparison to the near poetry Damian had spun her – everything except the part that was basically him lamenting about attending her events, that is. Although obviously he'd attended today's gala, which means his care for her apparently outweighs his distaste for events like this, even if the night did end rather abruptly.

Marinette sighs and shakes her head in exasperation at the thought.

"Of course the first gala I get you to attend ends in a Rogue attack," she mutters with a wry smile.

Damian turns to her, blinking in surprise when their eyes meet. He studies her expression for a moment before his shoulders relax. To her surprise, he reaches out and slips his hand into hers, intertwining their fingers and causing the woman's heart to leap in her chest. For someone who had only just realised his feelings, who's been so awkward with her for weeks, his movement is so natural and suave.

This point is emphasised when the man smirks at her.

"If I'm being honest, this is actually much more my kind of party," Damian admits, his expression more relaxed than she's ever seen it.

Blushing, Marinette laughs quietly, resisting the urge to snort. Of course a fight would be more Damian's style.

Then again. . . tonight has been the most fun she's had since that day he took her home with his grappling hook.

“Mine, too, surprisingly,” she realises as the words leave her lips. Without thinking, she moves their hands to her lap and begins playing with his fingers, noting the callouses and scars littering them. She hadn't really thought too hard about them before – she's seen them in the office, but he famously loves swordplay (which now makes so much more sense) so she'd always thought they were injuries from training as a kid.

Little did she know.

It hits her then just how compatible they could be as a couple. Him being Robin definitely makes dating much easier – she'll be able to share so much more with him than she could any one else (apart from a couple hang ups withing the Order, that is), and she would obviously understand the difficulties of his life behind the mask. Kwami, she's now kind of hoping she can convince Batman to let her help out from time to time.

Damian hums in response and leans closer. “I believe we make quite an outstanding team,” he breathes into her ear as his thumb caresses her palm.

A shiver runs down Marinette's spine and it's then that she realises why Robin had smelled vaguely of something from the office: it had been Damian's cologne.

Just how oblivious could she be?

Then again, that had been what she yelled when she'd discovered Adrien's identity too. The boy had been wearing his own name-brand cologne as Chat Noir and she'd never put two and two together.

Flushing deeply, Marinette leans into Damian, her heart pounding loudly in her ears.

“I’m inclined to agree. . .” she breathes back, her eyes briefly falling to his lips, watching as the man swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing.

Crepes, she really wants to kiss him again.

Leaning so close that their noses brush, Damian

“Does this mean that you’ll consider my proposal to court you?”

Pure, unfiltered euphoria shoots through Marinette's veins.

For once, her luck really seems to be looking up.

“. . . I think that’s exactly what it means,” she breathes, her stomach swooping with joy and elation and a hint of disbelief.

A ragged sigh escapes Damian's lips, fanning across her face.

“Thank god. I’m not sure what I would have done if you said no,”

Marinette can't help but laugh lightly at the impossibility of such a situation. “I don’t think that was ever in the cards. I’ve been in love with you since you fired Janice for questioning my ability to oversee a team meeting. Red Ho– Jason’s been making fun of me about it for months. Kwami, that’s going to take some getting used to,” she adds under her breath, trying to figure out how the hell she's going to confront the man – or if she even can.

Marinette is startled when all of a sudden, Damian's hands slip out of her and pull her towards him, one hand gripping her waist and the other nestling in the hair at the base of her neck, holding her in place and keeping her gaze on him.

Kwami Tarts and Crepes –

Marinette's thoughts stall, her heart racing as her breathing grows shaky.

“. . . Say it again,” Damian demands, his emerald eyes flashing with determination. “Please.”

The woman stares back at him, heat coursing through her veins like fire. A beat passes as she realises what he's asking and something melts inside her. A weak, smitten smile pulls at Marinette's lips.

Far be it to refuse the man who is gazing at her as though he were a man starving.

“. . . I love you, Damian. . . I have for a long time.”

At her admission, something flashes in Damian's eyes, something dark and knee-weakening.

Alright. Those might end up being the last words she ever manages to speak considering the fact that the man looks like he wants to devour her.

. . .

Then again, Marinette thinks she'd be fine with that.

And scones would those be some spectacular last words, maybe even famous ones.

The man shudders in response and the next thing Marinette knows, his hand in her hair grips her firmly, angling her gently under him.

“. . . Is it later yet?” Damian breaths in a husky, laboured voice, as though it is taking every bit of his restraint to keep from taking her lips right then and there.

Dizzy with anticipation, Marinette hums her approval, not trusting the steadiness of her voice.

She's barely finished the movement before Damian's lips are on hers and her world explodes into fireworks. Familiar electricity ignites between them the moment their lips meet, a spark that has her whole body shuddering in relief and euphoria. This kiss, unlike the rushed, almost furious kiss from before, unfolds slowly, deliberately, with a tenderness and intensity that has her reeling. At the man's mercy, she melts into the warmth of Damian’s embrace, his strong arms enveloping her petite frame, offering a sense of security that both surprises and soothes her.

As the kiss deepens, the room around them fades into a blur, the world slipping away as they fall into one another. Marinette’s walls crumble as Damian's mouth descends along her neck, nipping and sucking and pulling quiet sighs of bliss from her lips. Each touch, each brush of his tongue, sends waves of warmth cascading through her, unravelling the hurt and anxiety she is usually plagued with. With Damian's lips silent demands for access along every inch of her exposed skin, she surrenders willingly, a quiet surrender to the desire she's been suppressing for months.

Damian’s hand once again weaves through the strands of her hair, fingers curling at the nape of her neck with a possessive tenderness that leaves her breathless and euphorically giddy. The pressure of his grip guides her, tilting her lips beneath his in a silent command that she eagerly obeys.

And then he pulls.

It's a sharp sense of pleasure that takes the young woman off guard, similar to the feeling of his teeth nipping at her neck, however this feels demanding and sends a wave of desire pooling in her abdomen.

As the sensation hits her, a soft moan rises from her throat, a sound so wanting that embarrassment immediately shoots through her – but only for a moment, for as soon as the sound escapes her, Damian stiffens, seemingly just as taken aback as she is. The next moment, the man pressed her more firmly against, him pulling harder at her hair as a low, guttural groan vibrates through him, the sound nearly lost against her mouth as he deepens their kiss, palpably hungry for more.

Their bodies press closer, the heat between them intensifying with every passing second. Marinette’s fingers thread through Damian’s hair, tugging gently as if to anchor herself to the moment, to reality, to him. The mirrored gestures only spur them both on, lost in the sensations of the other and the freedom of giving into their desires. Time seems to slow, each heartbeat echoing in the silence, every breath, gasp, and moan mingling in the space between them.

In this intimate exchange, Marinette is nearly delirious with wonder at the discovery of this side of Damian – one that is tender and unguarded beneath the veneer of his usual stoicism. She feels the weight of his emotions in the way he holds her, in the subtle shifts of his touch, and in the way his lips move with such reverence and urgency and demand. It is a dance of vulnerability and strength, and Marinette can't fathom how anyone could be more perfect.

As their kiss begins to slow, still lingering but not as desperately passionate as it had begun, Marinette’s thoughts drift, carried away by the waves of sensation and emotion washing over her. She marvels at the fact that just that morning, she'd been fretting over whether or not the man hated her, and now he's kissing her so thoroughly she's certain she's been ruined for anyone else. She can't help but inwardly laugh – maybe her luck isn't so bad after all.

Eventually (and far too soon for Marinette's liking), the two still, their foreheads pressed against one another as their breathing slows, with Marinette leaning on Damian for support.

Blinking slowly, Marinette swallows as she struggles to remember how to speak.

“That was. . . wow,” she murmurs, feeling thoroughly and utterly kissed.

“. . . I might be the luckiest man alive,” Damian murmurs in reply, staring at Marinette as though she's hung the moon. “You have me completely enamoured.”

Marinette can't help the giggle that escapes her lips.

“Luck is sort of my specialty,” she quips with a wry smile before nudging him pointedly. “Although, we are still going to have a long talk, birdboy. I’m not sure how well your dad’s going to take me finding out your identities. I sort of promised that I wouldn’t pry into his business.”

Damian huffs in irritation.

“He’ll have to get over it. His fiance has known his identity since before they were dating and she is a reformed cat burglar. You are a semi-retired heroine – he has no leg to stand on.”

Surprise shoots through Marinette.

Selina Kyle? A Cat Burglar?

Well isn't she just learning everyone's identities tonight.

Unsure how to respond, Marinette simply hums. She's too blissed-out to care.

A beat of silence passes as the two continue to hold one another, simply enjoying the other's presence, until Damian speaks.

“The masks were a nice touch, by the way,” he murmurs, amusement lacing his voice. “Although maybe not the best idea moving forward. Unlike you, we don’t exactly have magic to help conceal our identities.”

Marinette resist the urge to grimace and nods, shooting him an embarrassed smile. She's going to need to be more careful loving forward with how she organisers events

“Probably not. Although you’re actually the one who gave me the idea. You made a point about not wanting to be paraded around. I figured it was a way to respect that and give everyone an excuse to be a bit more laid back in a nice setting." She pauses, frowning as she continues, "It’s just a shame that the gala was a bust because of the Joker. I’m worried it’ll affect the events we throw moving forward.”

“You needn’t be concerned,” Damian states with a shake of his head. “This isn’t the first time that an event has been crashed by a Rogue and it won’t be the last. If anything, we usually see an uptick in donations afterward.”

Despite his assurances, Marinette pouts, indignation rising in her chest.

“It’s not just that – I put a lot of effort into planning that gala! That lunatic clown had no right to mess it up! I spent days planning everything out to the last detail and we never even made it to the silent auction! And he beat up my security guards! Not to mention the guests he took hostage! Ugh, I should have hit him harder. I swear, next gala, I’m charming the whole place with protection spells, screw the no-magic rule!”

A beat passes before Damian responds, but the next thing the young woman knows he's beaming at her, his smile relaxed and brimming with affection.

“. . . You truly are remarkable, Marinette Dupain-Cheng,”

Marinette feels a fresh blush wash over her, her heart stuttering in her chest.

Crepes she's in over her head.

Half-smiling Damian had been hard on her sanity.

This?

This might as well be assault with how hard he has her heart trying to beat out of her chest.

At least, that's what she thought before he leans forward and starts running his nose along her jaw. A shudder runs through Marinette's frame as her eyes start to roll back, goosebumps erupting along her arms.

Kwami Tarts, is he trying to get her to jump him turn her into putty?

Blinking rapidly, Marinette swallows and tries to remember how to speak while Damian continues to nuzzle her face like a cat.

“So. . . is there anything else you want to know?” She tries to ask, her voice high and shaky. “You never did show up after that night in the alley.”

Faltering, Damian pulls back an inch, suddenly serious.

“I have many,” he replies quickly, lowering his arms to her waist, seemingly unwilling to let her out of his embrace no matter what. Honestly, she doesn't want to leave his warmth either.

With her heart beating loudly in her ears, Marinette hums and settles into his arms.

“I–I need to warn you – there are limits to what I can reveal in regards to my magic or Hawkmoth, but –”

“Do you miss it?” He cuts her off, vulnerability flashing in his eyes.

Taken aback, Marinette falters, not understanding.

“Miss what?”

“All of it,” he continues, his expression growing tight. “Paris, Chat Noir, your family and friends – the life you gave up. You left your life behind to fulfil your duty. From what I understand, you never had a choice in becoming a hero. Why not retire like your partner?”

Marinette stares back at Damian, her heart twisting in her chest. He really had gotten his answers from Batman – from his father. For the last few weeks, she'd been mentally preparing herself for such questions from Robin, bracing herself for the pangs of heartache that usually accompanied the memories. She just never thought she'd be spilling her heart to Damian.

For reasons blatantly obvious, the fact that it is Damian makes this easier. That Ladybug instinct that had insisted she could trust Robin had been screaming at her to realise why.

Sighing, Marinette considers her words carefully.

“. . . Sometimes I wonder if I will spend the rest of my life wishing to go back, but I know it’s a lost cause. . .There’s no place for me in Paris. My chance at a civilian life ended the day I stood on the Eiffel Tower and declared that I would protect Paris from Hawkmoth.” Marinette pauses at the thought, pride filling her. “. . . And I did. I kept my promise. . . but in doing so, I gave up a chance of life outside the mask. I’m too saturated in magic now.”

She pauses, holding out her hands and playing with her fingers, pulling at the residual magic running through her veins. In the process, a soft, shimmery glow of gold lights the darkness between them. It's pretty, but at its essence, a side effect of the magical build up she's constantly plagued with.

“Even if I retired, the magic would remain in me,” she explains softly. “It’s embedded in me and will be for a long time. . . Paris is the same. It’s been saturated in my energy for so long that it’ll be years before it begins to wear off. Chat’s energy balanced it while we were both active, but now. . . There’s no way I can stay there. I can’t risk the repercussions that might occur if I did go back. I can’t risk living anywhere where there is too much creative energy.”

Marinette purses her lips, her brow furrowing as she continues, wanting to share more with Damian than she had dared to with his father (the fact that Batman is Damian's dad still has her reeling, but she's choosing to process that discovery at a later time).

“But it’s a bit more than that," she admits quietly, returning her hand to her lap. "I never told Batman, but retirement is a bit different for members of the Order, especially Guardians. If I retire, I will lose my memory of most of my entire tenure as Ladybug. . . and given everything that’s happened, I’m not sure I ever want to do that. Chat chose to lose his memory of our time together because of what happened in the final battle with Hawkmoth, but that’s because he is still able to continue his civilian life within the city. I can’t do that, even if I wanted to – I will always need to be aware of myself and the energies that surround me. That chapter of my life is over.”

For a moment, the two sit in silence, the weight of Marinette's words pressing down on them until Damian breaks the silence.

“My father mentioned that your energy is the reason you are in Gotham,” he states, his eyes watching her carefully. “Does that mean Gotham is your next chapter?”

Blushing faintly, Marinette turns and smiles up at Damian, humming quietly.

“Now that I’m working alone, Gotham is the only place I can really live. I can travel and perform my duties as a Guardian as needed, but Gotham is my home now. That’s why it was so important that I got Batman’s permission to stay here. As weird as it sounds, I’m actually really happy here. Maybe it’s because I’ve been immersed in Creation half my life, but. . . the chaos of the city calls to me. It feels. . . strangely comforting.”

As the words leave her lips, Damian shoots her a baffled look.

“. . . You might be the only person to ever describe Gotham as having a ‘comforting’ atmosphere.”

Recognising the absurdity of her own words, Marinette smirks, nuzzling into his chest and wrapping her arms around his back. “I definitely think that a lot of it has to do with the people here.”

The man doesn't hesitate to bring her closer into his chest, his expression soft and vulnerable as he stares down at her.“. . . Does this mean that you’re going to stay?”

Marinette blinks up at the man, thrown by how uncharacteristically soft and – correct her if she's wrong – needy he's become with her, as though he wouldn't be able to breathe is she so much suggested leaving him behind.

Melting inside, Marinette reaches up and runs her fingers through his hair again, marvelling at the feeling and how she ever could have thought he hated her. Meeting Damian's eyes, her hands fall to cup his cheeks, a warm, affectionate smile pulling at her lips. As she does, Damian leans into her touch, his emerald green eyes boring into Marinette's in the low warm light of the room. Without breaking eye contact, he lifts her hand with a gentle reverence, bringing it slowly to his lips. There, he places a feather light kiss at the base of her wrist that lingers, soft and tender, but with a sultry air that has Marinette flushing vibrantly. Her heart races yet again and she feels herself melt beneath his look. A shy, smitten smile blossoms on her lips as she struggles to find her next words.

“I–I think it means that you’re stuck with me. Gotham is my home now. . . and now I have you. I don’t know what else I could ask for.”

Marinette barely manages to breathe the words before Damian’s lips descend on hers again, tender and insistent. The world narrows to the warmth of his mouth, the electric pull between them, and all the emotional turmoil of her heart seems to settle into this perfect, stolen moment.

Minutes stretch on like a dream, the two lost in each other, until a sudden thought hits Marinette about the implications of dating her boss.

Pulling back abruptly, Marinette's chest rises and falls and stares up at him, eyes wide with a surge of sudden panic.

“Crepes. . . who’s going to tell Tim that we’re dating?” She breathes, recalling the melt down he'd had when she was transferred. How is he going to react when he finds out that Damian is dating her? The two can barely stand each other most days.

Damian blinks, momentarily dazed, his usual sharpness softened by the intimacy they've just shared, evidenced by the dishevelled state of his hair and the thoroughly kissed nature of his lips.

The man scowls lightly in response, murmuring, “He’ll get over it.”

Before the young woman can respond, his lips find hers again, deeper, more urgent. Once again, Marinette can't help but surrender, returning his passion with her own as she realises that she wouldn’t trade this whirlwind of emotions, the dizzying highs and lows of the last few months, for anything.

As Damian presses her down onto the bed below them, she thinks that maybe, just maybe, her luck truly is miraculous.

THE END

Yet another few minutes later, Marinette pulls back a second time, a horrific realisation hitting her like lightening.

"Wait a minute – If Bruce is Batman, then that means Selina isn't your dad's beard?!" She questions Damian, embarrassment pooling in her chest. "I thought his engagement was just a front for his relationship with Batman! Oh my kwami – I feel like an idiot! How am I supposed to look him in the eye–"

Damian cuts her off with a growl that sends shivers down her spine.

"For once in your life, stop overthinking everything and just kiss me, Woman."

Marinette flushes, immediately falling weak and breathless.

". . . d'accord."

As Damian's lips descend onto hers once again, Marinette reels from the euphoria gripping her.

Oh yes, this has definitely been worth the emotional turmoil, and whatever more is to come.