"YOU CAN DO THIS, MARINETTE," Tikki said. "I believe in you."

Marinette was sweating, and it wasn't even warm. The back of her hand came away sheening after she ran it across her forehead. She knelt atop the duvets on her bed, sitting on her haunches and leaning back against the pink wallpaper.

"Tell me again how to do it."

"I don't know exactly," Tikki answered. Kwamis couldn't read the encrypted codes of the grimoire—which was back in the Guardian's rightful possession—but after knowing hundreds of wielders, Tikki had a trove of wisdom about the fully matured powers of the Ladybug Miraculous.

"Your adult powers will let you use your Lucky Charm as many times as you like, without de-transforming in between. When you feel that pull back into your civilian self, try to ground yourself."

Past wielders had told Tikki that it was like discovering a muscle that they had never used before—and flexing it the first few times was painful and exhausting, until they built strength and control became second nature. Since kwamis had no control over the transformation process, if Marinette wanted to master her full powers, she would have to find that technique herself.

Tikki placed a comforting hand on Marinette's knee. "It's all about self-control and inner strength, Marinette. Remember, there are no limits to the Miraculous other than what you place on it."

Marinette nodded but said nothing, panting throughher mouth. She had so many commitments vying for her time—overseeing the team of Miraculous investigators, running the student body council and juggling shifts at her parents' bakery. Still, for the last week, they'd set aside small chunks of time to practice.

Tikki was equally proud of her strength and worried about her well-being.

At length, Marinette picked herself up from the wall and whispered, "Tikki, spots on."

An invisible current of magic swept Tikki into the ruby earrings, the familiar shadowy, comfortable realm of her Miraculous welcoming her with open arms. Ladybug called her Lucky Charm. She had nothing to do but wait out the five minutes. And the first thought that came was the usual one this week: curse Plagg.

Curse him all the way to the home dimension.

She hadn't wanted to watch Marinette—one of the kindest and most innovative wielders she ever had—grow up so soon. Even when her wielder was carrying the weight of the city, there was ample room in her heart for laughter and love and fantasies. Tikki had seen previous wielders become neurotic and inconsolable and isolated under the pressure of the Ladybug Miraculous. She never planned to teach Marinette new abilities, never planned to load another burden—the heaviest of them all—onto her wielder's shoulders. It wasn't the right time.

Then Plagg happened.

There she had been, sharing her kwami powers with Ladybug on a moonlit rooftop, when she saw a new wielder of the Black Cat's Miraculous. And then he spoke. And then he spun his staff with that practised familiarity. And then Ladybug had made a terrible pun and there had been an imperceptible twitch at the corner of his lips.

Tikki saw all these things through a blended consciousness with Marinette. Because she was a kwami, and one of the most powerful, the Miraculous quantum masking worked less on her experienced eyes. The absurd conclusion: Cat Walker was really Adrien Agreste.

Considering Tikki had known that living embodiment of a stinky sock for as long as she'd known herself, Plagg had gone and pulled the dumbest Miraculous stunt since his disaster with the dinosaurs. (Maybe that was an exaggeration. She didn't know how to gauge the stupidity of Plagg's actions. She had been too upset.)

Poor Adrien.

Marinette had come from her intended rendezvous with Chat Noir carrying the grimoire and a grudge—ranting about this new wielder and his stupid hair and his awful sense of humour. Now that she believed Chat Noir was AWOL, safe but unavailable, she thought she needed to be a one-woman army. She'd asked Tikki to help her learn. To become stronger.

Because of what Plagg did to Adrien, Tikki had to lie. She told Marinette about how the quantum mask became more effective with time. She told Marinette that she could use her Lucky Charm without transforming back. And that was where she had to stop.

She couldn't tell Marinette that she would no longer need an elemental potion to change the capabilities of her suit and body—she would simply have to concentrate‌ harder, envisioning the environment she needed to combat.

That would require explaining that a Miraculous wielder could mentally manipulate their suits, and that was too close to the truth about Cat Walker. Adrien Agreste really was talented to have learned such a skill so quickly.

Still. Marinette over-exerting herself and Tikki having to lie to her beloved wielder. This was Plagg's fault.

After five minutes had elapsed, Tikki felt like the outside world was zooming in towards her, sharpening in focus at every step.

The invisible current pulled her toward the world, but it was slowing down, stretching out, becoming sluggish rather than ferocious. This was Marinette holding on, trying to immobilise every thread of fading magic with her willpower.

Then, almost like a snapping rubber band, the magical wind returned in full force and yanked Tikki back into the delicately scented air of Marinette's bedroom. She picked up another cookie from the floral-rimmed plate on the blanket, rejuvenated by the sugary sweetness.

Marinette collapsed on the mattress and placed both palms to her eyes. "Ugh! Why is this so hard?"

She really had done much better than the last attempt, but she didn't seem to agree when Tikki congratulated her.

"You are doing really well. Don't strain yourself," Tikki said comfortingly, after chewing and swallowing. "We don't have to keep practising if you're tired."

She would really rather Marinette have a full night's sleep than keep draining herself.

"I'm not tired." Tikki widened her stare suggestively. Marinette raised one hand from her face to peer upward with a single stubborn eye. "Okay. Even if I was tired—which I'm not—I still need to master my adult powers."

Tikki attempted a calm smile, but it might have looked pained. Curse Plagg.

"Who knows how long Chat Noir is going to be away for, or if the Peacock Miraculous has fallen into the wrong hands? Or if Gabriel or Nathalie still pose a threat? Whatever happens, I need to be ready," she insisted, pushing herself to sit up.

"Okay, Marinette. Let's try again."

It was decided.

She was going to eat her weight's worth in macaroons after Marinette went to bed tonight.

Tikki could already envision it, almost smell the sugary goodness and feel crumbs sticking on her face. She knew about the emergency stash in the bottom drawer of the desk. Sass would scold her for the illicit stress-eating—again—but he would still take a bite of his own. She would sleep with a full stomach and a heavy heart, having shamefully succumbed to her appetite once more.

You know what? So be it.

Did Plagg not care about his wielder's wellbeing?

Did he not care about the damage he could cause if Adrien couldn't handle his full powers?

He was Hawk Moth's son. Being a supervillain's son and being a superhero would be two very difficult identities to reconcile. She completely understood why Chat Noir had gone on 'vacation'. But to shove the very same boy into a new costume?

Recklessness. Cruelty. Idiocy.

This was always Plagg's problem.

He called himself the most free-spirited kwami, but he could be so hard-headed about retaining his independence, never admitting mistakes, never asking for help, never accepting that there were some things a being couldn't do alone. Tikki tried to stay white-hot angry about it, but Marinette had the same problem sometimes.

And it couldn't have been easy looking after Adrien. Tikki's irritation melted and leaked down in drips, settling into her belly as persistent concern. The sensation worsened when she noticed the dark circles under Marinette's eyes, fire burning within them.

Her wielder took a long drink from her water bottle and squared her shoulders. "Tikki," she stated, voice determined. "Spots on."

This was going to be a long night.

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Even the growing autumn cold couldn't drive Adrien from studying on the balcony.

Heloise's office gave him the impression of freedom—someone to fetch him groceries or expensive consumer goods or school supplies—but he knew he was a prisoner in the hotel. Until the court hearing where he would either be charged with a crime or definitively cleared of suspicion, he was playing golden boy.

He could not invite guests over or have packages delivered to the premises. When he had to leave to consult with people—either investigation staff, or the auditors of Gabriel, the brand, or accountants trying to establish his very first bank account separate from his father—he was patted down, disguised, and shuffled out of the back door of Le Grand by armed police officers.

Adrien was not even allowed to publicise his location with his friends.

The place was suffocating him. High ceilings and glorious views, but whenever he was inside those opulent walls for too long, the nape of his neck would tingle like the ceiling was inches from slamming into it.

So he continued to work outside, weighing down his papers and layering on sweaters and scarves. The classes at Francois Dupont had always been recorded—for the correspondence students, and for general posterity—so it was no trouble to log into the student portal to watch them. After a week, Adrien got sick of it. Before he even blinked, he'd gotten his first C on an essay. The teacher offered to let him resubmit, but Adrien declined.

He had started the semester with an A+ in most classes, but did it really matter if he had passed?

Who fucking cared?

On another day of studying in particularly windy weather, a silhouette landed across the bistro table. Adrien glanced up at Ladybug, balanced neatly on the railing.

"I hope I'm not distracting too much from your studying," she said by way of greeting. She was, but he wouldn't say it.

This would be their second interview. Even though the encounters were a short fraction of his week, Adrien spent so much time obsessing over her impending visits that they lived much longer in his mind than his lectures or his meetings, like a pressed bruise that lingered in colour.

They moved inside. He was sober this time—thank fuck—freshly showered and spritzed with his own cologne. (Personally, he didn't like Adrien, the fragrance, as much as other products on the market, but asking the hotel shopper to buy another option felt disturbingly dystopian. With a father in prison, limited freedoms and the city's eye on him, his primary concern was smelling nice?)

Ladybug perched gracefully on an ottoman, separated by the full breadth of the coffee table. "I've had a look at the schedule you sent me. Did the times I suggested work for you?"

Adrien nodded, ankle crossed over knee. "They do."

He'd somehow become less busy now that he was at the centre of a criminal investigation. No more Chinese lessons on Monday, basketball practice on Wednesday and fencing on Friday. No more photoshoots and press releases. No more TV appearances—not for lack of offers—or soirees.

Instead, he was with the one person who inexplicably made the claustrophobic room feel more spacious while sucking all the oxygen out of it.

Ladybug sounded exactly like Roger did as she notified Adrien of the video recording, positioning her Bug Phone so that the back lens faced him. "Alright. Interview commenced," Ladybug said, rattling off a date and timestamp.

She was the picture of professionalism, and he suspected‌ she went easy on him.

Ladybug had the most mundane questions on her list. Could he describe his weekly schedule and the things Gabriel asked him to do? She provided a blueprint of the Agreste mansion and asked Adrien to confirm its veracity. Was there anything on this plan that the authorities had missed?

He'd never seen the layout of the mansion from above. At this dimension, squeezed onto paper, it almost looked small. Extravagant, for sure, but in the way of dollhouses. It didn't feel real, talking about his childhood home, his life, his family, in such disconnected terms. The rooms were not houses for memories, but crime scenes. The furniture was not relics of stubbed toes and paint spills, but potential weaponry.

With a stabbing realisation, Adrien's eyes caught on the room plan for his father's atelier. "Did you find the safe?" he asked quietly. "He concealed it behind the painting. Of my mom."

Ladybug said, equally softly, they had. She then drew out an exhaustive list—two lists, actually: one of the regular household staff, another for those hired on his birthday—and had Adrien confirm their identities and interactions with Gabriel. Did he think they were accomplices?

"I swear," halfway through, Adrien chuckled, a stinging warmth in his throat, glancing fondly at his bodyguard. "Harmless. Never hurt a fly. He looks like a brute, I know, but he's a sweetheart. He doesn't speak much, but I know he has a way without words."

Ladybug typed shorthand into her laptop, eye blue eyes skimming leftward over the text.

"What. . . what happened to him?" he wondered.

She placed the laptop on the coffee table. "Nothing, and nothing will." She attempted a smile. "No evidence of complicity. The staff have been asked to seek new enjoyment— employment, gosh, sorry, but they are being subsidised while they apply for roles."

Oh.

More files landed in front of Adrien. "Next question. These are the itineraries of your past trips to Shanghai and New York. The travel agency provided them to us: can you confirm your and your father's movement patterns?"

The whole interview was weird.

He knew her like no-one else did. Maybe he didn't know her name or true appearance, and maybe there were people in her life who would win the Ladybug trivia quiz with dates and weights and numbers. But they didn't know how much the burden of the city weighed on her sometimes. They hadn't been there every time she'd thrown herself into danger. They had no idea how little she had believed in herself at the beginning, how quick she was to believe in others now, even if he didn't want to share her.

Left alone with his thoughts most days, Adrien kept oscillating. It was always one or the other: I hate that I love her, or I love that I love her. But he always loved Ladybug. Meeting her as Adrien instead of Chat Noir, he didn't quite know how to act. He tried to focus enough to mirror Ladybug's demeanour, but he couldn't quite figure that out, either.

She was off, somehow.

Speaking gently, listening attentively and nodding along. Respectful, but nothing like the fiery, brash and playful woman he'd known for four years. Sometimes she refused to meet his eyes, no matter how long he stared. Sometimes she would cough and fidget when he moved too suddenly—like shifting his legs on the couch or fixing a lock of hair that fell into his eyes.

Was she uncomfortable in the hotel room with him? Did she think he was complicit in his father's crimes? Had his bad first impression stained all their future ones with awkwardness? Adrien thought her efforts to remain neutral were valiant, even if he couldn't not catch those imperceptible tells.

He knew what his Lady looked like when she was at ease—and she wasn't.

"Thank you for your time," Ladybug choked out at the end.

They shook hands, and she snatched hers back a touch too quickly. She climbed out of the window, onto the balcony, and zipped away in a blur of red. Adrien huffed a sigh and shed his outer button-up shirt. He was sweating so badly.

Had he fucked up their second encounter, too?

Plagg phased into sight from inside a couch cushion. "I think that went well."

"Did it? I wanted to show her that I'm coping. . . with all of this. I'm not like what she saw last time." Even though he was. At night times. Plagg chose not to comment. "I want to help. I'm good."

"Ladybug thinks you're innocent," Plagg said, after a big yawn. "She is just trying to prove it to the judge lady and the police people."

"Really? You think so?"

"Of course. Remember when she was ready to give you the Snake Miraculous? She believes in you." Plagg floated over to the TV remote and pushed the on button. "But, boy, her interview skills could use work. That was the most boring thing I've ever witnessed, and I saw all your piano recitals. Snoozefest."

Adrien lightly flicked his kwami behind the ear.

"Hey," Plagg whined, scrubbing with his paw. "You know it's true."

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A / N :

A kwami-heavy chapter! With the way I've interpreted canon, both Plagg and Tikki know who the other's wielder is. You can see Tikki worrying about Adrien, and Plagg telling Adrien that, even as a civilian, Ladybug is on his side because he knows Marinette. 

I usually write all my books in advance and then edit/post months later - but this story is fighting to be set free in the world. I am currently 6 chapters ahead, and last night I spent two relaxing hours plotting (in depth) the whole book. 

This is all to say: I really hope to avoid a hiatus with Under Oath.

Aimee x