Five Years Later

... And done.

Marinette threaded her fingers together and stretched up to the ceiling, her back cracking from the uncomfortable but unavoidable position she'd been sitting in for the past two-and-a-half hours. She arched a little more, popping that last uncomfortable vertebra before relaxing down with a sigh.

She looked at the now joined material on her work surface and allowed the corner of her mouth to pull into a smile. Excellent! This month-long creation had worked out perfectly. Exactly how she wanted it to look, and hopefully worthy of its new home.

Standing up, she headed towards her newly erected stationery cupboard and pulled out a flattened cardboard box, moving it around and turning the once flat object three-dimensional. Next, she took the tissue paper from where it lay flat and neat in a drawer, folding it just right before placing it into the box.

Her monthly trips to IKEA really were a favourite part of her adulting life. Though she couldn't exactly afford to decorate the tiny one bedroom apartment how she wanted, she made sure she replaced at least one piece of furniture each month. She was starting to think maybe she should add 'must know their way around the IKEA aisles' as a statement on her Tinder profile.

Smiling to herself, and with a little hum, she headed back to the sewing machine for the garment and placed it into the box; wrapping it up carefully in the tissue paper, and placing her personalised sticker over the joint. She studied the new creation, making sure her logo was perfectly positioned on top and in prime position for all to see.

Another successful order was fulfilled and she couldn't have been prouder. She completed the shipping process — a packet of sweets, a personalised postcard and the printed address label — before turning back to her work station.

She closed her MacBook and headed over to her wardrobe. Tuesday night meant quiz night. Every Tuesday for the past three years, she and her close friends would meet at the local bar to participate in a pop quiz of random knowledge; one they epically failed time and time again.

She was lucky, really; she had managed to keep hold of many of her childhood friends, even with life pulling them apart and sending them off in different directions. She'd had the same group of friends since collège, she'd had the same crush on the same guy for the past five years...and she enjoyed croissants—who in France didn't?

Collecting the box containing her latest commission, she moved it to the side of her room and placed it into the baskets containing the other items she needed to ship. It had been a rather busy month. Late nights and coffee highs were the only things that had gotten her through it — that plus the desperate need for money.

She opened her personal app and noticed she had another couple of orders, so she added them to her calendar and made a note to order the specific materials. It was a slow process but, after relaxing off it for a few years, she was determined to finally bring MDC designs to the main stage and, eventually, open her own store. She just needed the backing of happy shoppers to keep it going, and luckily for her she still dealt with a lot of lucrative clients. Thank you Jagged Stone — rock icon and her ex-boyfriend's father.

With a quick look at her watch, her lips twisted. She placed her phone in her bag and scurried out of the apartment. She was running late — as usual!

The bar where the gang met was only a fifteen-minute walk from her apartment, and luckily both were set in the heart of a tourist trap. With people constantly roaming around, taking pictures and asking directions, it gave her a small sense of security to walk the short distance. After all, she was only young and this was one of the busiest cities in the world. Her father was rather vocal about such a young woman walking the streets of Paris... at night... alone. He didn't have a clue she could easily take someone down with a little bit of luck and a fork.

She made her way out of her apartment and onto the street, stalking her way towards the bar, only being stopped twice on her journey — one person heading for the Louvre, the other attempting to find André. A sense of pride came over her as she guided them in the direction of Max's app. The couple left, incredibly happy with their newfound gadget, and an additional enthusiastic thank you from the male. Marinette was certain he was going to propose. 

Finally, she pushed open the door and stepped over the threshold of the Bar and Grill, set up a side street, just off the busy streets of Paris. The friendly smile of the regular doorman greeted her into the establishment.

She strolled her way towards the bar, considering different words to sum up her life. Even if she'd had the world's greatest thesaurus at hand, the only words she would be able to find were 'plain' and 'boring'.

She ordered her usual rosé wine (shock horror), before making her way to the same table (double shock horror) and found (shockingly) the same people.

Same bar, same drink, same table, same people — same old Marinette.

"Hey Nette." Kim was first to greet her, standing and engulfing her in his big bear arms.

At six-foot-four the man was a real life giant, especially as she was over a foot smaller than him. Lê Chiến Kim had become one of Marinette's closest friends since leaving lycée, a confusing feat for everyone. Yes, they'd been at collège together, before venturing to lycée, but he was also one of the few classmates left in Paris.

As much as she adored Kim, he was also a constant reminder that her life really was shit. Kim had been an athlete for as long as Marinette could remember, and considering they'd met at the tender age of ten, that was a long time. Now, they were 23 years old and he was one of France's most decorated athletes, winning Gold in not one, not two, but in three Olympic swimming events – in addition to numerous World Championships, World Records and anything else going on in the swimming department. And to make the comparison between their lives even worse, he was in the most amazing relationship with his girlfriend, Ondine — sweethearts from the tender age of 14.

"Nettie." Alya raised an almost empty wine glass in welcome. Kissing the glass, Alya threw her head back and downed the remainder of her liquid.

"Hey Al, are you drunk already? You do realise it is only Tuesday," Marinette said with a slight chuckle. She found a seat next to the redhead and settled down, placing her wine glass gently on the mat, before turning to her friend and kissing her on the cheek.

"I've got the morning off. I'm flying out to Germany tomorrow afternoon. Something about fake fur and possums... I don't know." Her words were slurred and slightly higher pitched than usual. She was definitely in the danger zone between tipsy and blatantly drunk.

Alya's role as a journalist for one of Paris' most prestigious magazines took her to far off dream locations, always with something interesting to report on, or something exciting to see. She'd only just returned from a week-long safari in the depths of Africa. She'd covered everything from factory slavery to bulimic models. A lot more exciting than grabbing coffee for an ungrateful, stuck-up boss.

Awkwardly, Marinette attempted to shrug out of her jacket, only to get trapped halfway with her arms stuck behind her back. A laugh met her ear as warm hands came to help her – removing the jacket and placing it on the back of the chair.

"Hey, Melody." Luka Couffaine leaned over and placed a kiss on Marinette's cheek, leaving his lips lingering a little too long to be taken as a 'friendly' kiss. He kept an arm draped over the back of her chair as his body angled itself towards her. "I think your boss wants you to cover the illegal use of real fur on avant-garde coats, Alya."

Luka was still in his work clothes. He'd obviously come straight from his classes at the local arts school to the bar, and the smell of sawdust hit her senses as he moved closer. She looked down at his hand and noticed a couple of new bandages wrapped around his fingers.

"Splinters?" she asked as she placed her bag on the table in front of her.

"You know it." He waved his fingers at her and she let out a small giggle.

As she settled into her chair, she noticed Luka had moved closer to her – a position which made her slightly ill at ease.

It wasn't that he made her feel uncomfortable, per se, it was just that...no, actually, sometimes he did. Over the years, his laid-back attitude had started to dissolve. Whether it was age or just sheer determination, she didn't know, but no longer was Luka riding life. Now he was firmly situated in the driving seat. And after their short-lived, failed attempt at a relationship (twice), they'd been stuck in this awkward friend zone.

She coughed, picking up her wine glass and placing it against her lips. She took her first swig of the evening, but it didn't seem enough. She had a slight temptation to down the entire glass and go purchase a bottle instead — not that her funds would allow it.

Whilst she contemplated sitting at the table like a drunken sailor swigging from the bottle, the squeal of a microphone had everyone in the bar grimacing. The group of seniors at the back were checking their hearing aids for any glitches, one even telling the lady next to him to turn hers down.

Through the speakers, the quiz master announced the start of the quiz to the room, "Ladies and gentlemen, pens at the ready."

Kim dived across the table, finding the pen and throwing it full throttle at Marinette, zoning in on her face like the Bull's Eye on a dartboard.

"Your writing is neater," he said, indicating that she was, once again, writing the answers, and, once again, it was just another normal Tuesday.

Marinette stretched forward to place her glass down, before hunching over the piece of paper, pleased to see that the start of the quiz had caused Luka to remove his arm from around her and lean it on the table. Her body released the tension she had been holding, and she focused on the task in hand: winning this godforsaken quiz.

"I'm here, I'm here." The sudden breathless voice of Nino approached the table, his lower half jumping onto the seat beside Alya.

Alya grabbed her boyfriend, placing a rather wet sounding kiss to his mouth. They were repulsive, and Marinette craved exactly what they had — each and every disgusting display of affection. They'd been together for seven years and engaged for one, and she couldn't deny she was jealous. Ridiculously jealous!

As Alya continued to try to eat Nino, Marinette prepared herself to write, removing the cap from the pen and placing it on the end, nib poised over the paper, ready to scribe. Maybe, just maybe, this time they would win. Who was she kidding?

Not that she contributed in any intelligent way. When it came to general knowledge, Marinette didn't know Leonardo Da Vinci from Leonardo DiCaprio, embarrassing really for someone who had lived in Paris for most of her life.

It was fair to say, even with each of their different skill sets, they were crap. The questions came and went only for them to end in a blubbering mess, or an argument about the answer. The best they'd ever done was a grand 8th position out of 10. 10th place had forgotten they were playing, and 9th place had been a bunch of extremely drunk Englishmen there on a bachelor weekend — apparently none spoke French.

And here the group was once again trying, and failing, to win the quiz. But their luck had to change one day, right?

"Now onto our physics questions."

They all groaned. Kim slammed his head down onto the table, only to raise it again with a peanut stuck to his forehead. The sight caused Alya to almost wet herself laughing.

"Hey, peanut brain!" she howled, Nino stifling his own laughter as he looked at Kim.

"Question twenty-three," the voice boomed through the speakers. "When can a sonic boom be heard?"

"Isn't that what Guile says in Street Fighter?" Kim asked, causing an array of heads to turn and glare at him. "That's a no, then, I take it?" He rubbed a hand over his forehead, finding the peanut and plucking it off before popping it into his mouth.

Marinette cringed, quite sure he'd just put a vast amount of worrying germs in his body.

"It's quite simple, it's when the speed of sound is surpassed." Nino said, matter of factly.

"That's my man." Alya cupped his chin with her thumb and forefinger, lifting it to be level with her own before guiding his lips forward with a not so gentle tug.

An uncomfortable churn once again mixed up Marinette's stomach, the mammoth ache in her heart calling out for the one who got away. She took another swig of her wine, trying to block out the lovey-dovey display happening beside her.

She quickly glanced again at Alya, who had pretty much mounted her boyfriend, and felt an uncontrollable need take over. She couldn't help wondering if she'd ever have this with anyone, again. The type of love where you can't keep your hands off each other – where you were addicted to your partner's touch and taste. A partnership like she'd had with Chat Noir.

In her head, she couldn't help but replay their stolen moments on their rooftop. They'd been unstoppable in battle, but that didn't touch their need for each other away from it. She missed him so much, a hole in her heart unable to be filled by anyone else.

Finally taking some action towards her own mental wellbeing, Marinette stood up, grabbing  her bag, and excused herself from the table. She needed some air. If she had to sit through this for another couple of hours, she needed a break; a respite from the PDA in front of her.

Both Kim and Luka stared as she walked away, and she prayed neither would follow her. She couldn't be dealing with this at the moment. She didn't want anyone to ask if she was okay, or come up with an idea on how she could feel better. Worst of all, she couldn't cope with another announcement from Kim that he had a  "friend" he thought would be a good match for her. His friends were after one thing and she wouldn't be caught out by that again.

This time of year was always the worst. It was always full of memories from that final night before they'd split ... The end to their relationship, and a daunting feeling that it was an end to their partnership too...

Where was he? What was he doing? It had been 5 years now. Did he have a whole new life? Was he with someone? The thought made her feel physically sick. Not that she'd been a saint since he'd left, but...there had been nothing more than half-hearted relationships and small flings – a means to try and scratch an itch that couldn't be reached.

Without stopping, she marched her way to the alleyway and rested her back against the cool wall, allowing the back of her head to collide with it a few times before closing her eyes and feeling the dull ache left in its wake. One she was glad had moved from her chest.

"It can't be that bad? I mean the question was only about a sonic boom." Luka's soft voice echoed through the alleyway, his boots causing ripples of sound as he moved closer towards her.

Damn, she was not in the mood for this at the moment. To be fair, she hadn't been in the mood for him for over a week now, dodging most opportunities to meet up with excuses and fake headaches. He knew well and true what this week represented. But he was a friend, and her next-door neighbour and he cared about her — a little too much.

She truly loved and appreciated Luka (as a friend), but sometimes she felt like she needed a break – for someone to see her and not be able to read the hurt and the pain radiating from her so easily, then put it into a musical metaphor she didn't really understand.

"I just needed some air. It's been a busy week." She kept her eyes closed as she spoke, praying that Luka would take the hint and leave her there.

"How many nights have you been out?" he asked, his voice filled with concern and care. Since finding out her identity and Chat Noir's disappearance, Luka seemed to have added an additional layer to their friendship — the one of protector. Just another person not thinking she could look after herself.

"It would have been more if I hadn't been caught up with commissions twice this week."

She heard his intake of breath, quickly being  followed by the speedy impact of his soles hitting the concrete. "Marinette, you need to stop this. It's making you ill." He'd been saying the same thing, time and time again, since she returned from New York — a repetitive conversation which would, once more, be a waste of his breath.

"I'll never stop." Her words were solid and final. She'd go out late at night and wait on their rooftop for hours at a time, hoping and wishing that he would transform and head there himself – but he never did. Fortunately, she had yet to be spotted, she wouldn't be able to handle the questions about her absent partner. It was only an ill-timed transformation in her apartment that had alerted Luka to the fact himself.

The night stake-outs, mixed with commissions and work, were wearing her out. She was rarely sleeping, grabbing an hour or two in bed before heading out and falling asleep on the rooftop. But it was worth it. She would never forgive herself if she missed him.

What she had with Chat Noir was real. It was deep and it was meaningful. They were a duo in every sense of the word. And she missed him so damn much!

"Marinette —"

"Don't!" Marinette opened her eyes and pushed out her hands. "Don't come any closer, Luka."

"Marinette – Melody – please, listen to me. All this running around you're doing...it's not healthy. You're barely sleeping, your eating is appalling unless your maman brings you something, and apart from a Tuesday evening, I rarely get to see you anymore."

"Luka, you don't need to baby me." Marinette folded her arms, half to protect from the cold and half to protect her heart.

"I will never stop worrying about you, Marinette. You need to live your life. You're young and beautiful, and I don't understand why you aren't out there living, loving, dating. You're only 23!"

She didn't respond. She didn't want to. Dating meant nothing if it was with someone who wasn't Chat Noir — she'd tried it and she didn't like it.

Her friend sighed, shaking his head in a downfallen response. "He obviously has a life away from all this. There's no reason for him to come back."

"You don't know that!" Her voice was raised and she quickly covered her mouth with her hands. The sheer emotion leaving through such a small sentence was overwhelming, tears springing to life and winding down her face.

Approaching her slowly, as though cornering a stray animal, Luka reached out, grabbing her wrists and pulling them down to her sides — away from her mouth.

"It's been five years, Marinette. You need to move on." He spoke slowly and gently.

The caring attitude of her friend broke her. She collapsed forwards, huddling herself into his chest as she cried. All she ever did was cry. The pain from missing Chat Noir, and the way she had messed up her life, was too much. And she had no idea how to correct it.

A soothing stroke caressed up and down her back as Luka attempted to comfort her. They'd been in this position so many times and she couldn't help but wonder why he was still holding out for her. He was always willing to help, always there when she needed him. He tried so hard to be what she needed, it was just a shame he would never be what she wanted.

When she finally felt her emotions subsiding, she pushed away from him, using her fingers to wipe under her eyes and remove the feral trail of mascara. It was at times like this that she realised how similar she was to Luka – how their paths were travelling parallel to one another, never to cross again. They both loved someone unreachable; hers by hidden secrets, his by an unrequited love.

"He's not coming back, Marinette. He probably has a whole other life somewhere else. There's never going to be a reason for him to return to Paris."

The words hurt, attacking her heart with the force of a thousand arrows. There was a reason for him to return: Ladybug.

A low buzzing sound came from Marinette's bag, diverting her attention to the small item.

Mary.

Great. That was all she needed whilst having one of her many breakdowns, her atrocious boss calling, probably to complain that the coffee wasn't hot enough today, or there was a tiny bit of blood on the documents from Marinette's most recent paper cut.

Marinette was the secondary personal assistant to Mary Humphries of The House of Humphries in Paris. To say it was a job in her dream occupation would be grossly overselling it. She was nothing more than a glorified coffee girl and 'paper filer'. She may not have been trusted with a sewing machine, but she was a dab hand at using a stapler... On some days she would use two in succession.

Pressing the green icon, she answered the call in her usual way. Professional and willing to sell her soul in the opportunity for an upgrade of job.

"Miss Humphries, hello. Is everything okay?"

Her boss's voice on the other end of the phone line was as curt and impersonal as ever.

"No. Lillie's sick. You'll be coming with me to London tomorrow. A car will pick you up at 5am sharp, so for once in your life don't be late!"

Pleasantries gone amiss once more, Marinette stood stock still as she mentally ran through what her boss had just said. London. Tomorrow. The realisation striking Marinette around the head like a baseball bat — the meeting at Agreste.

"Sure, Miss Humphries. I'll be ready and waiting. I won't let you down."

"Good. This is a big deal for us, Marianne, so don't mess it up!" The curt words were followed by the disconnection of the phone line, Marinette too shocked to move the phone from her ear as the final beeps played out. For once, she wasn't even angry that her boss had gotten her name wrong, again.

Lillie was Mary's number-one assistant and went everywhere with their boss. She had an input into whatever Mary was designing, and like the up-and-coming collaboration with Agreste, she got to woo the big clients, sitting in on meetings and having an opportunity to be involved with the whole process.

A thrill ricocheted down Marinette's spine as she considered what this meant — she was finally getting her chance.

Being the second assistant wasn't anywhere near as glamorous as the first; she never got to travel, or sit in on client meetings, or be asked about opinions. It was as though she wasn't there. 'The Devil wears Prada' had never seemed more realistic, Anne Hathaway's role as Andrea Sachs becoming her real life.

Her eyes met Luka's, his own questioning about the phone call, the words following soon after. "Is everything okay?"

She stood still for another couple of seconds, before launching forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. She was as giddy as a school girl, not even regretting the mixture of signals she was giving to her friend. "Tell the others I've had to leave urgently," she said with a rush of adrenaline. "I'm going to London."