"Vulnerability is one of the many reasons why some cannot love. No one wants to look or feel vulnerable; it's the reason why people build up walls in the first place."

— Forbidden Love

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

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When Chat Noir sprung awake, his first and immediate intensions were to search for Marinette.

But when he tried to sit up, his body relented. In fact, Chat Noir couldn't feel anything from his shoulders down. There was an odd tingly feeling in his neck as he lifted his head up, and although he knew he should probably remain still, it didn't stop him from looking around. Immediately, he realized he was no longer in the priest's chapel...

He was in his own bed, in his own cottage.

How had he gotten here?

Again, Chat Noir made another failed attempt to sit up. But it was almost as if his body was incapable of obeying his silent command. He looked down himself beneath the covers, and instead of trying to sit up once again, he tried to turn himself over onto his right side.

Chat Noir's body remained stilled; and because of this, he began to panic.

He should be able to move! Why couldn't he move?

Somewhat frightened, Chat Noir wondered where his hand was, so that he could simply wiggle his fingers to prove his eyes that he was alright. But as he went to wiggle them nonetheless, he realized that he could not feel anything—as if his body had simply gone numb during the period of his unconscious state.

And that's when Chat began to hyperventilate.

There weren't very many times in Chat Noir's life where he had ever recalled being this afraid. Sure, he once feared for his mother's life as a child, and as an adolescent, feared to take his father's place as king one day. Even when Marinette was kidnapped by Nathaniel, Chat Noir had been afraid. But this. This was a different kind of fear.

Though Chat Noir had never been able to control any of those situations, he had always thought that at least he could've tried to fix them. As a child, he tried to save his mother... and failed. As a young man, he tried to find another alternative for the throne... and failed. As a man today, he tried to protect Marinette from her enemies... and failed. But at least he had tried.

But now, as Chat Noir lay absolutely still, he had tried to get up... and failed. But this failure outweighed the rest, merely because he realized that there was no way to fix himself if he was the one who was broken.

He squeezed his eyes shut, willing to pray if it meant he could keep his mind off of the obvious.

This couldn't be happening... it was simply a bad dream...

His eyes shot open again, and with a groan, he turned his head to his right side. He wasn't expecting to find anything, nor did he know if his voice would aid him now. But he planned to cry out for help nonetheless.

But instead, he held back his tongue when he realized who laid beside him.

Marinette slept peacefully next to him, curled into a ball and snuggled into his side. His anxiousness rose even higher when he realized she had probably been laying there this entire time, and he hadn't once noticed because he couldn't feel her warmth. As far as his neck willed him to go, Chat Noir turned to study his love intensely, frowning slightly when he then noticed her tear stained cheeks.

She also wore a frown in her sleep; something he did not like seeing at all.

He opened his mouth, and with all his effort, rasped out, "M-Marinette."

Immediately, she stirred. It didn't take her long to peek open an eye, and when their gazes locked, both of her eyes widened and she turned to face him fully. "Chat Noir," She whispered, bewildered, as she reached out for him and placed her hand against his cheek, caressing him softly. He immediately leaned into her touch.

"Marinette." Hrasped out again.

"H-How are you feeling?" She whispered in response, her thumb gently wiping away the tear he hadn't even noticed streaking down his cheek. He could tell, from the way she studied his face closely, that she was incredibly worried for his sake.

Chat tried to assure all was okay with a small smile. "I've been better."

Marinette choked back a watery laugh. "I'm sure."

As troubled as Chat Noir felt, he wanted to enjoy this moment with Marinette. This is what he had been fantasying over for as long as he could remember—way before he had admitted that he loved her. He now knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, if she would have him.

When Chat Noir noticed another tear stray down her cheek, however, his smile slowly began to fade. He could tell now that she struggled to contain her smile, and that it now looked more pained than delighted. "What is the matter?" He asked her, his voice hoarse.

Marinette choked back a sob, and if it were even possible, pulled herself closer into his side. "I have some terrible news to tell you."

"What is it?" He asked her, somewhat worried when she quickly hid her face in the crook of his neck, leaving his urgent question unanswered. Though the rest of his body was unmoving, he could feel more of her hot tears pattering his neck, and her depressed state rose his anxiety.

"Marinette, what is it?" He urged her. "What has happened?"

This time, her sobs became audible, and she cried into his shoulder, hiccupping as she tried to formulate her thoughts into words. Chat Noir had never seen Marinette so distraught before; only once had he ever seen her shed a tear, when she had run away from home and had asked him for a place to stay. Marinette had always been strong, stubborn, determined and willing to do the impossible.

But now, as she cried beside him, she was none of those things but vulnerable.

"Marinette please," He begged her, his own eyes watering just by the sound of his love's pained cries. He didn't understand why she mourned, and it worried him greatly. "Please, tell me what is wrong. You are worrying me."

When she didn't respond to his request right away, he then asked her, "Has it something to do with Nathaniel? Has he hurt you again? Because I swear—"

"N-No," Marinette croaked out, sniffling. "No, it is by far worse."

Chat Noir raised a worried brow. "Then what is it?"

He watched her closely as she raised her head, using her palm to rest her chin in and her elbow to keep her head upright. Her eyes met his again, her gaze tear filled, and with her other hand, she reached up to caress his cheek. "Do you remember what you did, Chat Noir?" She asked him softly.

His brows came together confusingly. He remembered a lot of things that he had done over the years... mistakes he wished he had a second chance to redo.

"No?"

Marinette's lips quivered under his gaze, and he realized that she was struggling to maintain a calm composure. "You crossed onto my side of the world, Chat." She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. "Do you not remember that?"

"Of course, I do." He said, still confused as to what she was trying to say. "But I do not understand why this causes you sadness... I am here, aren't I? Alive and well?"

Marinette opens her eyes again and he can see the guilt behind her pained expression.

"Alive, yes." She whispers.

When she doesn't elaborate, his anxiety begins to rise once again. Something in her tone of voice left him to worry on what was wrong. "What do you mean, Marinette?"

"Y-You are not well, Chat Noir." Marinette whimpers out, removing her hand from his cheek to wipe the tears that spilled against her command. "When you crossed over, you left your only source of life behind..."

Chat Noir didn't like where this was going. "What... what are you saying?"

She doesn't quite meet his eyes. "I am saying that things are going to be a lot... different now."

He knew she was going around the topic, as if holding it back from him a little longer would somehow lessen the blow of the news. He furrowed a brow, slightly irritated. "Tell me what has happened to me, Marinette."

His tone was stern, unmoving, and he hoped it hadn't sounded too harsh. Marinette seemed to react immediately though, quickly meeting his concerned gaze once again. "B-Because you went so long without the magic in your veins, your body has become..." she choked back another sob, lifting her shaking hand to cover her trembling lips.

"... paralyzed."

Her words only confirmed his unfortunate suspicions. Chat Noir internally winced, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to refrain from crying in front of his already distraught lover. Marinette's sobs grew louder after she watched his reaction, and he felt her fall onto his shoulder once again, burying her sobs into the crook of his neck. He wanted to comfort her; to tell her that he could have landed himself in a situation far worse, but truthfully, he was hurting just as much as she was. He was paralyzed. He would never be able to walk again. He would never be able to run through the meadows he had once showed his beloved and had once frolicked through with his mother as a child. He would never be able to rightfully take his father's place as king (though he wasn't too distraught over that). And what of Marinette? He would never be able to provide for her what a man ought to provide for his love. He could no longer work. If his entire being from his shoulders down would never be able to work again, he would never be able to have children of his own.

In other words, he no longer had a purpose to live.

He found his tears spilling beyond his consent, and for the first time in many years, Chat Noir cried. The last time he had ever shed a tear for anything, or rather anyone, had been when he was simply a seven-year-old boy losing his mother. He had become stone cold after that—a trait he had unfortunately picked up from his father. But Marinette had opened up his heart, showing him the importance of freedom and happiness, and what it meant to be truly living.

Maybe his purposed in life was only meant to be short lived.

At least, he wouldn't live his remaining years lost behind his father's deceptions.

"W-What will I-I do now?" Chat Noir's words tumbled beyond trembling lips, and he titled his head closer towards Marinette, attempting to soak in the warmth and comfort she had to offer. He would have reached up to press her body closer to his if he could, but his arms would forever fail him from today on. "If this is what the rest of m-my life will entail, then perhaps someone might as well s-strike me dead."

Marinette's head lifted from his shoulder in a heartbeat, and she reached over gently to tilt his head towards her own. "Do not say such things, Chat Noir." She tells him, eyes locked with his own. "No one wants you to die."

He shakes his head and averts his eyes from hers, scoffing bitterly, "I am sure my father would not mind."

He feels her hand come back to caress his cheek, and he's obliged to tilt his head again to meet his lover's eyes. "Your father was just as distraught as I was."

Chat Noir raises a brow. "He was?"

Marinette nods. "He was very worried. He thought that you were not going to make it."

"And what does he think now?" Chat Noir challenges.

At first, Marinette hesitates, and he knows that she struggling to formulate her words properly. "I-I am not sure." She finally says, "I have not spoken to him since a few nights prior, when he looked me in the eye and uttered 'what have you done?' and then said, 'let us pray that we are not too late' when I asked if you could be saved."

Marinette paused — pondering over another thought, before she exhaled deeply, "I do not know if god truly exists, but I prayed until I was sure my teeth bled, Chat Noir. I thought... I thought I was going to lose you."

And before Chat Noir could respond, Marinette was already throwing herself back into his loose embrace. He wanted to reach for her; cradle her; and when he whimpered in response, Marinette seemed to understand his silent plea. He did not feel it, but he watched as Marinette sat up again and ventured under the covers, pulling out one of his arms free from his side. He watched with a heartbroken stare as she laid back down, draping his arm over her waist and around herself in a loose embrace. He choked back a hoarse sob; the unfair horror of reality dawning on him.

He would never get to hold her in his arms.

What good would he be for her now? Chat Noir was now nothing more but a sitting duck; waiting for people to care for him and cater to him because he could no longer do things on his own. And what good would that do for anyone? He was merely a burden now, and it reminded him distinctly of his mother's last days, where she too remained motionless and sentenced to bed arrest.

The only difference between he and his mother was that Chat Noir wasn't dying. He was alive.

But would this really be living?

"I am not giving up on you." Marinette whispered softly in the crook of his neck, gently stroking her fingers through his blonde locks and against his tender scalp. "Maybe there is a way to cure it—"

He shook his head. "Marinette—"

"Or maybe the magic has not fully affected you yet—"

He knew the undying truth. There was no denying what his reckless actions had landed him in.

"Marinette—"

"Maybe this is just a side effect—"

"Marinette, this is permanent." Chat Noir interrupted her, whimpering further when her fingers gripped at his blonde locks, tightening her hold. He wouldn't say that the action necessarily hurt, but in their current position, he couldn't deny either that her actions were causing feelings to rile up in his stomach—feeling that could not be addressed in his current situation. His body may have been paralyzed from his shoulders down, but a certain body part of his was still springing to life somehow, in the worst possible moment.

Damn his stupid heart.

Marinette didn't seem to notice his distress either. "How can you be so sure?"

Chat Noir sighed. He wasn't sure; he wasn't sure at all. But he had heard stories; tales of unfortunate souls who had crossed over the wall and had lost their lives due to the absence of magic from their bodies. And it wasn't an immediate death either. Surely a minute or so on the other side wouldn't cause any deathly damage, but to spend more than thirty minutes without the essence of magic—their very life source—would surely bring them death. Chat Noir had apparently been the lucky one.

But of course, all wrong deeds came with consequences.

"I am not sure." He shook his head. "Not at all."

When Marinette dropped the topic entirely, leaving the silence to fill the void, Chat Noir's thoughts wandered back to his current—embarrassing—predicament. In his current state, the last thing plaguing his mind should have been how much he wished he could have her entirely.

Instead, it was now the first and only thing he could think of, and he could not get it out of his head.

And Marinette seemed to notice that he was lost in his thoughts. "What are you thinking about?"

He quickly shook his head, immediately dismissing the idea of actually telling her what was going on inside of his head in that very moment. As much as he wanted her, Chat Noir feared that Marinette would not fully accept him in that way, considering what she had recently gone through with Sir Nathaniel. The recollected memory of that bastard's scent inside of his love brought unwanted, riled up feelings inside Chat, tightening his chest. No one else knew of the deeds that had been done behind closed doors, but Chat Noir knew. And he knew none of them were of Marinette's consent.

Instead, the feline frowned. "Did that red-headed asshole really do what I think he did to you?"

It wasn't a question he had meant to ask so bluntly; but they were here; together, and no one was going anywhere anytime soon. Chat Noir's nose had never been wrong before, and he knew that scent was not just of his imagination, but he somehow prayed—internally prayed, that maybe he could have been wrong in that chapel. That maybe, his nose had played a trick on him, just this once.

Marinette's expression quickly changed, and when he noticed the frown that resided on her lips, he realized the undying truth before she had even answered: his nose had been right. "Yes," she whispered, so softly that he almost couldn't believe her voice had even been audible. Guiltily, she refused to meet his gaze, but he would have never blamed her for any of it. If anything, it had been his fault for leaving her alone in those woods—which is what gave Nathaniel the opportunity to take her in the first place.

And to think, this all could have been avoided if he had simply stayed by her side.

"I knew it." Chat Noir growled out, his teeth clenching together. "I could smell his sick, disgusting scent inside of you."

Marinette didn't seem too disgusted by the confession, and instead, helplessly gazed back into Chat Noir's eyes. It was then where pleading eyes met concerned ones. "But that was not the only thing I picked up on..." Chat Noir said softly, though it was barely over a whisper. He watched as new tears found their way over her lids, and he wished—in that moment—that there was some way that he could reach out to her and wipe them away. Instead, he lay motionless, watching her sadly as he then pleaded, "Please tell me it is not what I think it is..."

Marinette lifted her hands to her lips, choking on a sob from behind them. Her tears flowed freely afterwards, and behind her cries, she whimpered out, "I-I am s-so s-sorry, C-Chat Noir. But it i-is t-true..."

His chest rumbled in a low growl, and his teeth clenched together in anticipation.

"... I-I am pregnant with Sir N-Nathaniel's child."

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