Chapter Text
Sabine Cheng’s POV
There was a little boy openly staring at her through the window.
He was around 1.4 meters tall, possibly Arabic, and staring at her with recognition in his eyes.
Not the various baked goods, or her large, eye-catching husband, or even the other regulars that milled around.
Her.
A boy she’d never seen before.
Sabine risked a better glance at the boy, restraining herself from thumbing the knives in her hidden pockets as she rang up another customer.
He looked… tired. Maybe hopeful. His clothes were stiff like they were new, like he’d gotten them right off a shelf. He was squinting a bit, like he needed glasses. Nothing about him was particularly threatening, other than his hidden hands, balled up in his pockets. The old her would have killed him anyway, just for that look of recognition.
A large hand pressed itself on her right arm, and she didn’t startle. Sabine knew these hands, knew the purposefully loud footsteps that matched it.
“Sabine, are you okay?” Her husband whispered behind her. “You look a little tense.”
Sabine smiled up at him, her shoulders instantly relaxing. Her heart beat for her husband, untrained to spy but so observant of her. She leaned closer into him, her mouth near his ear as he bent down to hear her. “I’m alright, dear. Do you mind taking over the register for a moment?”
“Of course, darling. Take all the time you need.” Sabine felt herself smile, the corners of her lips stretching upward as she gave him a thank you kiss. It felt less familiar than usual, with the potential threat watching outside.
She slipped away, leaving Tom to happily greet a regular behind her.
“Hello,” she greeted the boy softly. “You seem to be interested in my bakery. Do you like sweets?”
The boy gave her a hard look in return, and for a moment she fought a fighting position as he shifted into a familiar stance. He’s from the League .
Then it smoothed out, his posture softening into one of a typical child. His eyes blinked at her curiously, as if he truly was a small child interested in the pastries of the corner bakery.
She hissed, untrusting. The knife closest to her palm called to her. Sabine did not want to kill anymore, but she would do so to protect her new life.
“Sorry, madam,” his French was hesitant, stilted rather than the natural flow the League would have enforced. Was this not for an official mission? “I’m not the biggest fan of sweets, but I have a friend that’d love to learn. Do you think you can help her?”
A rescue mission? Sabine looked at him with inward shock, taking a harder look at him. His back was too tense for the casual look training should have given him, and his pocketed hands were clenched around nothing. He was anxious. Fearful. This was no assassin of the League. He was a runaway.
Like her.
And he was asking for her help getting another one out. Most likely one his age.
Sabine hummed thoughtfully. She was no saint, there was a reason she ran alone rather than help anyone else escape the League.
But …she looked at the boy again. So young. She hadn’t realized the softness of youth until Tom had brought in a stray teenager for a few days. A teenager that lit up at the promise of video games and cookies, even after all they had gone through.
Softness was as dangerous as it was a blessing in this world.
Sabine stifled a laugh as she watched the boy glance behind her, briefly but intentional. Ah, maybe not so soft after all.
Well, even if she couldn’t help his rescue mission, she could certainly pull a few favors for the two children talented enough to escape the League, couldn’t she?
“Come in, I’ll prepare some snacks for the two of you.”
Sabine turned around, laughing lightly at the sound of panicked stuttering behind her. Oh, to be young .
The other one was just as young. A smaller girl with mid length, blonde hair and wide, blue eyes. If she were a regular citizen, Sabine would call her the picture of innocence, her hair in short, cute little pigtails and her face pulled into a shy smile. Instead, the innocence looked as real as it would on an American doll, a simple painted exterior to hide the inner workings within. This girl was a warrior, she could tell.
“Let’s start simple,” Sabine said, setting a plate of ham and cheese croissants on the table, “what are your names?”
The children looked at each other, a silent discussion between them. Then the girl reached out and grabbed the croissant with a triumphant hmph , biting into it after a careful inspection. The boy looked more resigned, grabbing his own croissant after nothing happened to her.
“My name is Rose and he’s Nino. We’re here because we need your help.” Hm, her French was more fluent. Not natural, but closer to it.
“And your croissants are really good… madam.” Nino added awkwardly, pausing mid-bite.
“You need help breaking someone else out, I presume?”
Rose’s eyes brightened. “Yes! Her name is Marinette and she’s very kind and really good at cooking and-”, Sabine held up a hand, stopping her.
“Hold on, slow down. Finish your food first.”
Sabine refrained a sigh as both children looked at her in protest. This wasn’t the time to discuss life-changing plans, not when the adrenaline of two League members had not yet faded. She needed a moment to recuperate, to ground herself before she showed weakness.
Sabine forced her hands on her hip, rather than near her knives again. “Look, how long has it been since you last saw your friend?”
Guilty looks were shot in her direction. “A little longer than eight months. It took us a long time to get any League members off our tail, and then find anyone who could help us save her.”
“Eight months without contact?” Both of them nodded.
“Well then she can wait a few more hours for you to eat and rest. There’s a guest bed upstairs the two of you can use.” Sabine glared as they tried to protest again. “If you want me on your side, don’t fight this.”
She went downstairs and then up again, taking a small assortment of savory goods and a steadying breath. “Now eat up, I have a bakery to run.”
It was well past noon now, the crowd thinning to a few individuals browsing the remaining goods. Quickly, she walked toward her husband, stopping to unprofessionally lean into him, her face pressed against his broad back. Immediately, she felt herself relax, the beating of her heart slowing to its normal tempo. If Sabine were to lie to herself, she could call this an awareness exercise for him. He hadn’t even flinched, a small pause the only sign of his notice.
“Is everything okay?” Tom asked, reaching one hand back to grab hers.
She nodded into his back. “I just need a moment.”
Her husband hummed in agreement, rubbing soothing circles in her palm. “Do you want me to close early? The couch upstairs might be more comfortable.” She squeezed his hand tighter, touched. He knew she didn’t like vulnerability in public.
“No, I want to do something,” near you, was left unsaid.
“Oh good! I just got a new special order! One box of passion fruit macarons for the Agrestes.”
She nodded again, letting the scent of sugar and fruit calm her restless fingers.
_ _ _
“There are two children upstairs,” Sabine started as they closed shop.
Tom whipped around with a gasp, leaning toward her with his eyes alight. “ Children? Mrs. Dupain-Cheng! Don’t tell me you’ve picked up my fostering tendencies!”
Sabine gave a small laugh, pressing his nose lightly to push him back. “No Monsieur, no new foster today. They just need a little help for the road.”
Her husband looked toward the upstairs, and she could see his excitement grow. With a sigh, she held an arm out before he could run up.
“Just hold on a minute.” She said to his questioning look. “These kids… they’re not normal. They’re… they’re like me. ”
A cheesy grin spread across Tom’s face. “Like you? You mean amazing? Perfect?” He kissed her palms, and she rolled her eyes at him with a small sigh of exasperation.
“ No. They’re assassins, you silly Baker.”
“Silly Baker husband ,” he corrected, earning another eye roll. “Besides, I’ve already met one assassin and she turned out to be amazing, I think I should continue this trend.”
“Just… just stay out for now? I don’t want to lose you to a pair of children. ”
“As you wish, Mrs. Baker Wife,” he responded, kissing her forehead. His eyes lit up again. “Does that mean I’m in charge of food?”
Sabine snorted. These children would be spoiled with Tom in charge. But well… perhaps they deserved to be.
“Go crazy.”
Sabine stared down at the two assassins, sleeping peacefully sounded by the assortment of colored and textured blankets she and Tom had collected. Or so it appeared.
“How long will you continue this farce?” She asked in English, staring at one in particular. Slowly, a head moved, and hazel eyes peaked over a particularly large plush of a sheep.
“Will you help us?” Nino asked. He was reading her openly now, waiting for a sign of repulsion or pity.
She still did not know. Sure, this was a child, but children entered and died in the League all the time. This Marinette was no exception. Still, she wavered at the thought of turning them down.
She’s good at cooking, Rose had said. And kind.
A servant, then. For no other role in the League allowed such traits to be shown.
Such loyalty for a servant?
“Who were you?” She asked him carefully. It was strange for an assassin and servant to bond, but not impossible if the assassin was of unimportant blood. She herself had had a short-lived connection of her own.
Yara, a thought whispered to her. Sabine pushed it away.
“Zil - Zil Yusuf,” he answered cautiously. Sabine refrained from showing any shock, even if it was all she could feel. Yusuf was a powerful name within the League, known as a family of loyal guard dogs for the Head. For an offspring of theirs to defect was unimaginable, and yet here he was. How could a mere servant be connected to the likes of him?
“And Rose?”
“Kore.” A pair of blue eyes now stared at her.
“Family name?”
“Unimportant, they were completely wiped out by the League,” she replied, her voice toneless.
“But you survived?”
“Marinette… she saved me,” Rose explained, going from toneless to near sobbing. Her hands reached toward Zil and then away, an aborted attempt to seek comfort. “She took me in and taught me how to survive.”
In front of her, Nino nodded, eyes gazing at the pillow instead of her.
Suddenly, Rose shot up, hands wringing a thin, pink blanket made of wool. “We were supposed to escape together except… except she didn’t - she just let herself get caught so we could - so we could -”
“So we could escape without her. Even though we would have rather aborted the mission that leave her behind, she sacrificed herself so we’d have no choice but to leave or waste it.”
Her palms were aching from the effort it took to stop them from shaking. All she could hear was Yara, Yara, Yara .
A high-rank’s child, a new-born assassin, and a servant.
A talented, apathetic assassin and the servant stupid enough to care for her.
“Who… is this servant?” She grinded out. This new Yara - she needed to know her.
Nino looked at her hesitantly, and she shot him a look rarely given since her assassin days. He shivered. “If I’m to help you save her, I need to know her level of importance. If you lie, any chance of rescue may fail.”
“Her preferred name is Marinette. But her birth name is Khadima Al Ghul, sole servant of the heir to the League - Damian Al Ghul.”
Sa mère.
Tom Dupain’s POV
Tom fumbled in the kitchen, shifting his feet nervously as he messily stirred tomato soup in a large pot. It was unusual, for the man to move so gracelessly in his favorite space, but his nerves got the better of him.
How could a man not be a little clumsy when just upstairs his wife was alone with two baby assassins!
He wasn’t even sure whether to be more nervous for his wife or about getting the children to like him. Tom glanced anxiously at the stairs again. Oh god, what if they’re allergic to tomatoes?!
No, no it’d be fine… because even if they were, he had a backup plan! Tom took the pan of gratin dauphinois out the oven, stirred his pot of beef stew, then flipped around his wok of fried rice, vegetables, and fish.
Just… just in case.
He ran over to the nearby counter, where grilled chicken sandwiches were half-made, ingredients scattered over a cutting board.
Practiced hands put together perfect, consumer-ready sandwiches as Tom eyed a nearby box of pasta. Should I try to make that too?
A small but shrill alarm shook him from the idea, as he rushed over to a different oven. Inside was left-over sourdough bread from the day, prefect for any soup or stew dinners.
Perfect, he thought with a smile. With this level of preparation, nothing could go wron-
The door upstairs suddenly opened, and Tom’s head snapped in that direction, only to snap back as bread started to slip off the pan.
He juggled with it in a panicked motion, until finally he just grabbed the bread with a bare hand, the heat barely registering through toughened skin.
“...Sabine?” He called out, concerned. “Are you okay?”
The blank face of his wife greeted him when he turned, clenched hands the only sign of her distress.
Slowly, he put down the bread so he could hold both her hands, rubbing small circles on her fingers to open them up.
“Hon? Do you want to cuddle in our bedroom?”
Sabine shook her head, heading toward their bedroom. “No, I just…I just need a moment alone. Go give the kids their food,” she urged, lightly pushing him away. AKA, look after them while she rests.
Okay! I can do that! Tom barely stops himself from humming. If she’s letting me look after them, that means they’re safe!
Renewed with determination, Tom stacked platter after platter of food on their dining table, careful not to let any of it touch lest it contained an allergen. He took careful, light steps up the stairs to not alarm the children, knocking on the door before entering slowly.
Inside are two children sitting upright on the bed, staring at him. He waited for a feeling of danger to come, but there was nothing - they just seemed like regular children. The blonde one had a cute sequin unicorn shirt on, while the brunet wore the same t-shirt and jeans combination most kiddos his age seem to prefer.
“Hey guys, I’m Tom,” he started off. “What’re your names?”
“You should know our names,” Nino answered with a suspicious frown. “So why are you asking?”
…But he didn’t know their names. They were just cute kid 1 and cute kid 2. Was… was he supposed to know? Should he… just pretend he does?
“...You’re completely right, of course I know your names. Your amazing names that I’ve totally been informed about. Right. Welp, it’s time for dinner kiddos, so why don’t we go downstairs?”
The girl gave him a surprised look, tinged with what he suspected to be the usual assassin suspicion. “You - you don’t know our names? The White Viper didn’t tell you?”
His wife’s former title . The room seemed to chill, and Tom repressed a shudder as things began to sink in. These children knew who his wife used to be. A secret so grave that Sabine had once begged him to forget the very words, lest it come back to kill him. And here they were, the title spoken like it hadn’t been buried 20 feet down.
“... Everyone deserves a chance to introduce themselves,” he said awkwardly.
There was a certain… intensity in their gaze now, one he’d only seen on Sabine before. Sabine herself would have called it dangerous , but he preferred a different label: cautiously hopeful. The kind of hope that came from kindness, which Tom knew he had.
“So… what are your names?”
Sabine POV
Sabine dropped onto her bed, exhausted.
Why? Why that child?
Any other child would be easier than the granddaughter of the Demon Head.
She grimaced. Any other child would have stayed dead .
There was a light knock. “The kids were worried when you didn’t join dinner,” Tom said, at the door. He walked closer, slowly lying down beside her. “Are you alright?”
“It’s another Yara,” she answered, eyes closed.
Tom gave a small hum, playing with her hair. She tried not to smile - he always did this when he wanted her to talk. He didn’t even seem aware of the habit.
There was a lot she could say about Yara, things she’d whispered before, in the early mornings borne from nightmares. None of them were kind , Sabine wished they were kind.
“They love their Yara.” Marinette - important, loved, kind, intelligent, and strong. If Yara had even half those words, she may have survived.
But Yara had only ever been one thing: loyal.
A normal, personal servant that Sabine had never once thought of as a friend - not while she lived and certainly not after her death. It would be an insult to reduce her to a friend after all she had sacrificed.
Yara had lived a life Sabine doubted anyone ever bothered to understand - dedicating herself to a younger master who couldn’t look past her disgust at her weakness. The meek servant that followed in the shadows and never fought back, whose work became the only sign of her existence.
They had never once conversed out of leisure, and yet there was always food laid out before asked, clothes prepared when hers were sullied.
The night she finally escaped from her life as the White Viper, she hadn’t even thought to tell her - Yara just knew.
Leave, she had said. I’ll make sure you’re never found.
Sabine had left with no hesitation, and at the time, little regret. Yara was brutally executed a week later for the murder of her master. No one had looked for her since.
“ Marinette - talented chef and a better friend,” Sabine snorted. “I couldn’t even give Yara a decent headstone.” She tilted her head up to look him in the eyes. “I wanted to put smart, because she did fool the League, but she wasn’t smart. If she was, she would have just turned me in instead.”
Tom hummed again, starting a new braid in her hair. “You were seven years younger, right?” Sabine nodded. It was her closest estimate, having never learned Yara’s true age. “Have you considered that she just loved the child she practically raised?”
Sabine froze. “You think she held… paternal affection?”
Her husband nodded, his fingers slowing. “I once asked my maman why she had adopted me, when her life-long dream had been to travel the world.” Tom’s eyes flicked toward her, looking at her intensely. “She told me the real world could wait , because now she wanted to stay to explore my world .” Sabine could see Gina doing that - she'd always been a bit... interesting when it came to love. Whilst Tom's Father had thrown a tantrum over their union, Gina had simply given her a large bag of rice flour and told her: anything in Tom's world is welcome in mine. It'd been a nice gesture, as had the many personal dinner invites over the years.
“But Yar-" her voice failed, "she never told me that she loved me,” Sabine whispered.
“Would it have helped for you to know?” It wouldn’t have , she thought. It was an ugly acknowledgement, but a true one.
“Do you think I should save their Yara?” Sabine blurted out. Immediately, she repressed a full-body shudder at her own words. Even the very thought of the notion filled her with a freezing panic only learned once she left the League. Not a fear for her life , but for the life she’d been given.
Tom shuffled, reaching down to clasp her hands as his eyes met hers. There was an indistinguishable look in his, other than the warmth behind them. “Do you want to save her?”
Sabine… didn’t know. Saving Marinette… was a threat. A risk so heavy it made her head pound.
“It’s an impossible mission,” she answered instead. “We’d have to take down the entire League, to get her out.”
Tom gave her the look, the fond, exasperated one he always gave when she danced around answers. It made her want to kiss the tip of his mustache, just to make his eyes crinkle as he smiled. “That wasn’t a no.”
The old her would have said no.
But the old her let Yara die.
“What about our life here?”
Tom hummed, pulling her into his arms, spooning her. “There’s nothing here we can’t rebuild.”
“You’d risk all of this for a girl we’ve never met?” Like you risked everything for me?
“There is no place worth more than family,” Her husband answers, mustache tickling her shoulder. He paused, hesitating. “And I think she’ll be the perfect addition.”
Sabine closed her eyes, not shocked but tired nonetheless. Of course he’d get attached to her already.
It was foolish, risking everything for a child. The old her would have sooner killed one. But this Sabine had learned to love as Tom did, and so they could do nothing but run toward the fate that awaited them.
For Yara, a foolish rescue in honor of the original fool. Sabine wished she knew whether Yara would have enjoyed that.
She sighed. “I’ll call Audrey tomorrow. She’ll know where to put the kids.”
Her husband snorted. “Maybe she can set up a playdate with Chloe.”
“ Ha, if only.”
Blooper (After the Yara Conversation)
"Hey Sabine," Tom started after a moment of silence.
"Hm?"
“What are the chances that you two were secretly sisters?”
Sabine opened her mouth to laugh, then paused. They'd had the same blue eyes, and possibly the same hair color too, assuming Yara hadn't just dyed hers black.
...Their jaw lines and nose hadn't been that different either.
...And she'd been born physically weak, which would explain why she never endured intense training.
There was no possible way... unless?
For the second time that night, Sabine only had one thought: Sa mère.
Blooper - Sabine has a longer talk with the kids
With shaking hands, Tom took out a second, gluten-free pizza, this time vegetarian as an alternative to the meat one.
It was around… 4 am, the time he’d usually be waking up to prepare for the day’s baked goods. Welp, Mr. Lahiffe would just have to go without his usual baumkuchen today. He simply wouldn’t have the time for it. Not when there was a much more important task at hand - giving the kiddos a good meal!
A scan of the room showed that it had long surpassed a single good meal. The dining table and kitchen counters were absolutely filled to the brim with dishes - from the tomato soup and fried rice he’d cooked at the height of his fervor, to the alfredo pasta and chow fun cooked with a later, more tired determination.
Tom took his periodic glance toward the stairs, listening for signs of Sabine. There was nothing other than the occasion quiet murmur. When will they finish? He thought tiredly, eyes drooping as he skillfully chopped tofu. It’d been…been hours since he’d last seen his wife and he missed her.
Tom shook his head, clearing it of both fog and thought. They could take all the time they needed, he thought determinedly. Afterall, the more time they take, the more time I have to prepare for them all they deserved!
…the only problem was what to cook next.
He glanced around the bakery, a sluggish epiphany coming to mind.
Ah ha! Of course! Dessert!
. . .
Sabine walked out an hour later to see Tom slumped over a tray of salted caramel cookies, still unbaked. There was a mess of… everything in his hair, his white shirt now colored with a rainbow of stains. On the counter around him lay a menagerie of desserts, from chocolate croissants to macarons.
…She should have expected this, but her mind had been preoccupied, planning for the future whilst discussing with the kids.
With a small sigh, she placed a blanket around him and kissed him on the cheek. She didn’t bother waking him up - he was a deep sleeper when exhausted - nothing less than pushing him out of his seat would stir him.
Quietly, Sabine began to restore order to the chaotic mess her husband had created - placing food on plates to warm for the kids, putting on the “closed for the day” sign, and cleaning the rest.
In twenty minutes, with the exception of her slumbering husband, the place was back to normal. With a small hum of appreciation for the blueberry muffin she’d nabbed, Sabine turned off the lights.
“Sweet dreams, Tom,” she whispered.
Oh how she loved her silly husband.