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“No!” Chloé screeched, pounding her fists against the wall around her. The wretched white wall, pale and lifeless. Waiting for a chance to drain the life right out of her.
There was a fifty percent chance that wasn’t just a metaphor.
An entire room had erupted around them when they’d been caught in Russian Roulette’s beam, smack dab in the middle of the street. Four white walls that would soon be splattered over, grey linoleum floors that would do nothing to soak up the blood, a single flickering lamp hanging from a cheap-looking, corkboard ceiling. And of course, the one-way mirror which Chloé pounded against.
“Let me the fuck out of here!” she tried again. An entire lifetime of getting exactly what she wanted hadn’t exactly prepared Chloé for this moment.
But she wasn’t the only one the Akuma had trapped.
“Chloé,” said a voice, maybe the only one that could have made Chloé do what she did next—close her mouth, drop her hands, and turn towards the speaker. She did her best to ignore the way it made her knees a little weaker to hear it. Because the one thing that might have been worse than being trapped in the first place was being trapped in here with her.
With Marinette.
“What?” Chloé tried to snap. It came out more like a whimper, which pissed her off. All of this pissed her off, but maybe that was a good thing. Better pissed than shaking with fear. Chloé could at least pretend she wasn’t also quaking in her Louboutin boots.
“That’s not going to help,” Marinette said.
“I know that,” Chloé hissed. That was so obvious that it was, quite frankly, utterly ridiculous that Marinette had thought to say it at all. Downright insulting, even, considering what they’d seen over the last fifteen minutes or so. But when Chloé forced herself to turn around to face Marinette she saw a softness there.
“It’s alright to be scared,” Marinette said. But she didn’t seem frightened. Her eyebrows were pinched in concentration, her hands poised on her hips. She looked like she faced down death every day.
It made Chloé’s heart stumble. Ridiculous. Like when she’d nearly walked into a wall yesterday, distracted by the sound of Marinette’s laugh. Marinette was the one who was supposed to be falling over the place, unable to walk in a straight line. Then again, Chloé was turning into such a useless lesbian that she couldn`t exactly walk straight either.
“Scared?” Chloé managed, her voice shaking. Scratch that, her entire body shook. “You wish, Dupain-Cheng.”
“No I don’t,” Marinette said. She took a step closer. Chloé wanted to back away from her She couldn’t let Marinette crack through the shell she hid her insecurities beneath. Chloé had held tight to those for years. She’d molded them into a tight ball that bounced around constantly, deflected by her pride, and her fears, and her mother’s failure to notice her. Chloé took the ball out only in the darkness of night, but even then she studied it with detachment. Polished it like a pearl, but never let it fall apart. Now, she was frozen to the spot as Marinette closed the rest of the distance, little by little. Moving at the speed of a turtle, as though Chloé was a rabbit she didn’t want to spook.
Well, the hare always lost, didn’t it? How fitting.
Because Chloé could feel ithe ball rattling around like she was being shaken, and she was. By Marinette’s eyes, filled with a kindness Chloé didn’t deserve. By Marinette’s hands, which were softer than Chloé expected when they grabbed Chloé’s.
Maybe Chloé shouldn’t have bashed her hand cream on their lunch break last week, but in her defense, Marinette had complimented Chloé’s lip gloss that morning, and she couldn’t have that. And the jab had only made Marinette had snort and tease Chloé about not having any better insults.
Three months ago, this wouldn’t have been a problem. If only Chloé hadn’t been caught stealing that necklace, even though getting caught had been the whole point. If only the stunt had actually worked to catch her mother’s attention, instead of making her father decide that for once she actually had to live with the consequences of her actions. If only she hadn’t been forced into a stupid community service gig all summer, which of course Marinette had actually volunteered for.
If only…then Chloé wouldn’t even be here.
“Why are you being nice to me?” Chloé asked.
Marinette had the audacity to laugh, but she dropped Chloé’s hands. Chloé missed the feeling. “Maybe I just want something from you.”
“You’re not like that,” Chloé said instinctively, then bit down on her tongue. Why the hell had she said that?
That seemed to sober Marinette. “Actually…” Her eyes flicked to the side. “I might need something, but…” She nibbled on her lip. “You’re right, that’s not why I’m being nice to you.” She scrunched up her face, and the emotion that played across it wasn’t something Chloé could name, but it seemed an exact reflection of the turmoil Chloé felt herself. “I guess I just can’t help it.”
Chloé didn’t know what to make of that. They’d been dancing around something for the past few weeks. Or at least, Chloé thought they had been. She wasn’t quite so delusional as to believe that Marinette felt the same way, but…she could at least hope for that.
Still, this wasn’t exactly what she’d meant when she had thought earlier that she was dying to know how Marinette felt.
She didn’t have much chance to process though, because the next second there was a whirring sound in the wall. How ridiculous. The Akuma’s effects were supposed to be magic, so why did it sound like old electronics? A panel in the wall opened, and a revolver popped out, fixed to a swivel so that no matter where the two girls moved, they wouldn’t be safe. Two chambers. One bullet.
It might not have been so terrifying if they’d been caught in a larger group—only one person died in each room, and Chloé frankly wouldn’t have minded knowing a stranger would die. She should have, maybe. Marinette would have. In fact, Marinette had, when they’d seen people drop during their attempt to get away from the Akuma. But Chloé had mastered detachment. She wouldn’t take pleasure in watching someone die, but better anyone else than her.
At least, until now. Now, knowing Marinette could be seconds away from death instead, she wasn’t so sure.
A ticking sound started from above—there were only minutes left now before one of them would die, though Chloé didn’t know how many. It seemed to vary, depending on the room, and they hadn’t stuck around long enough to watch any of the proceedings to determine a pattern.
“I don’t want to die,” Chloé whimpered.
“I know.” Marinette stepped forward even closer. It blocked the gun from Chloé’s view, but it was impossible to forget it there. Pointing at the back of Marinette’s head. Chloé wiped sweaty palms against her jeans. Gross.
“I don’t want you to die.”
Marinette’s eyes widened. Just a bit, but Chloé couldn’t blame her. Of course she’d be surprised to know that the girl who’d bullied her for years suddenly cared. Hell, Chloé was surprised too. Nausea curled in her gut at the thought of Marinette’s body going limp. Chloé wasn’t a fucking hero. She wasn’t sure she’d take the bullet for Marinette if she weren’t in a magical room with a bullet that couldn’t waver from its intended target, but she was fairly sure she’d feel awful if she didn’t even try.
Ugh. Was this how it felt to have a conscience? Chloé hated it.
Marinette studied Chloé. “I don’t want you to die either.”
Chloé laughed. “Geez. You don’t have to sound so surprised. I thought you were supposed to be the nice one.”
Apparently Marinette didn’t find it funny. “I meant, I really don’t want you to die. Even if I can—I mean, even if Ladybug can bring you back…” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I can’t imagine watching you die. And I don’t…I can’t figure out what changed.”
Chloé knew exactly what had changed for her, but she wasn’t ready to admit to it. She wasn’t ready for all the responsibility that would come along with it. She had…
And Chloé was still Chloé. She knew what she did want, and she was selfish enough to ask for it. Or at least…selfish enough to try and trick Marinette into asking for it. Chloé’s pride was still at stake, after all.
“Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for me, Dupain-Cheng.”
Marinette’s eyes flew open, and there was a challenge dancing in them. Chloé wanted to reach for her, but she was suddenly paralysed. “Maybe I have.”
Blood pounded in Chloé’s ears. The room kept ticking. “I don’t suppose you want to kiss me, too.”
“I don’t suppose I do,” Marinette said. She took a step closer, though Chloé hadn’t realized there was still space for that, and reached up to tuck a hair behind Chloé’s ear. Her hand lingered, thumb brushing Chloé’s cheek. “Can I try anyways?”
All Chloé could do was nod, and Marinette rose up to press their lips together.
It wasn’t some earth-shattering kiss. It didn’t make time stop or bend the fabric of reality. Chloé couldn’t even sink deep enough into it tune out the incessant ticking sound that echoed around her. But Marinette’s lips were gentle and sure. Her fingers dug into Chloé’s shoulders and tugged her in closer. She tasted of the stupid cinnamon hearts Chloé had seen her snacking on earlier, and Chloé hated those things. Somehow, they tasted sweeter on Marinette’s tongue.
And it was over too soon. Marinette pulled away, eyes. wide.
“Crap,” she said. “I shouldn’t have done that, I should have—”
Chloé swallowed the lump rising in her throat. “Fuck you.”
Marinette’s eyes narrowed. “Chloé—”
“You did this. You made me think you wanted this. It’s not my fault—”
“I’m not—”
“—if you think this was a mistake. You—
“Chloé!” Marinette’s shout echoed around the room, loud enough to shut Chloé up. Or maybe it was the way Marinette stormed back up to her, only stopping when they were practically nose to nose. “I don’t regret kissing you, it just wasn’t the right time. Not everything’s about you, so if you want to live, just shut up and listen.”
Chloé opened her mouth to argue, but she could smell the cinnamon on Marinette’s breath again, so all she ended up saying was, “Fine.”
Marinette shut her eyes. “Look, if it’s me who dies, I need you to take my earrings.”
“Jesus. And people say my priorities are—”
“Listen to me. If it’s me, I need you to give my earrings to Alya. She’ll know what to do. Or if you can’t find her, then…give them to Chat Noir. Just don’t…don’t tell him they’re mine.”
“What the hell? Why would I—” Chloé broke off, the truth dawning on her. “No way. No fucking way. You can’t be—”
The gun sounded. Marinette fell. So did the walls, disintegrating as Chloé squeezed her eyes shut. But not before Chloé had glimpsed the flecks of red staining one side of the room. Some horrible sound escaped from Chloé’s throat. Her cheeks felt wet.
Everything was so much easier before Chloé had decided she cared.
Once, Chloé had wanted to play the part of the hero. She’d wanted the city’s love and admiration. Now, she wanted nothing but to curl up in a ball and wait for someone else to make things right.
There wasn’t anyone else.
People’s screams echoed through the street, their figures blurred in Chloé’s periphery as she peeled blurry eyes open, her gaze instantly drawn to the pool of blood beside Marinette’s head. Crimson against speckled grey linoleum. Why hadn’t the floor disappeared if the walls had? What the fuck was the point of that?
Chloé wasn’t really sure how to move. How to breathe. But fuck if she was going to let a walking fashion disaster of an Akuma get the best of her. So she wiped her tears and forced herself to kneel down. She closed her eyes again—she wasn’t about to have her nightmares haunted by meeting Marinette’s lifeless blue ones.
Marinette. Ladybug.
As if there wasn’t already enough to unpack already today.
Chloé blindly fumbled for Marinette’s earrings, biting back tears again as her fingers brushed something sticky seeping into Marinette’s hair. She refused to acknowledge what that was as she clenched the earrings in one fist and removed Marinette’s purse from her corpse. Hardly a fashion statement, especially stained red as it was now, but it didn’t take a genius to realize that was where her Kwami would be.
And then Chloé ran. Her heart pounding in her chest as her feet pounded pavement. Her breath short and her patience shorter. Pushing her way through frantically fleeing bodies—how the hell hadn’t they all found a place to hide, yet? She tasted traces of spicy cinnamon and the acidic bite of her own fear.
She crammed the earrings in as she went, not even caring as her diamond studs dropped to the ground in the process. She found an alley with some cover and crouched down beside a trash bin. She wiped blood streaked fingers against her jeans, suppressing a sob as she opened Marinette’s purse.
Ladybug’s Kwami popped out, wide eyes fixed on Chloé. They were bright blue and trusting. Just like Marinette’s. Chloé had to fight the urge to look away.
“What’s the transformation phrase?”
Chloé half-expected the Kwami to argue. To point out that Marinette had said to give the earrings to Alya or to Chat Noir. Chloé didn’t give a flying fuck about that—there wasn’t time. And frankly, she didn’t think anybody was more motivated than her right now.
“Spots on. And my name’s Tikki.”
Chloé nodded. Took a deep breath. Tried to force her limbs to stop shaking, but they didn’t really cooperate. Maybe the suit would help with that.
Once, Chloé had been certain she could make everything right if she just never had another chance with a Miraculous. Now she didn’t even want it.
But she didn’t really have a choice.
“Tikki, spots on!”