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Leaving the press on the ground below, Chat propelled himself onto the rooftop of the nearest building and paused, ears twitching and straining for a particular sound. He squinted, mentally shoving aside the sounds of the city in recovery as he listened intently for Ladybug.
Nothing…nothing… And then the merest whisper of sound met his ears and his heart sank.
Ladybug was crying.
Immediately, Chat sprang towards the sound, running closer to the faint echoes of sniffling and choked-off sobs. The mission had begun so simply, routinely even.
“What do you think about sequels?” Chat asked casually, landing on a so-far unscathed scaffolding.
Ladybug landed beside him. “What do you mean?” Her eyebrow lifted quizzically, and amusement tugged at her mouth.
“They’re hit or miss for me,” Chat not-answered. “If they take the same characters and put them in a whole new situation, well, it’s fun to see what they come up with–”
“I guess so.” Ladybug leapt for a new, higher spot, to better see the full extent of Monarch’s concocted chaos.
“But–” Chat continued, following her lead, “when they just rehash the same old plot and conflict again…” He swept his arm out, fanning his claws in a flourish, and gestured to where Sandboy – yet again – was spreading nightmares.
“It gets old,” Ladybug quipped.
“It gets unoriginal,” Chat groaned, “and tired.”
He had become flippant, he shouldn’t have been flippant, he should’ve been on his guard…
“How’s the lucky charm coming?” He bellowed, dodging two rampaging clowns and a clump of sentient broccoli. “I could do with a sword again,” he laughed at the sheer absurdity of the situation, “would you mind if maybe I got the honors this—”
The horrible cry, something between a shriek and a guttural gasp, sent ice through his veins and he spun in place. Ladybug had crumpled to her knees in front of a shadowed figure, struggling to stand up and fight, but trembling so fiercely she couldn’t get her footing.
Ice became fire and he bolted toward her, eyes skimming the ground for red and black polka dots even as he sprinted towards his distressed leader.
The figure stepped into the harsh light of a street lamp, so white under the glare that it nearly blinded him. He blinked away the spots, eyes burning in desperation to see what was happening…and then his heart plummeted into the depths of his stomach.
It was…him.
Or, not-him.
The build was his, the stance was his, the costume very nearly his, stark unnatural white to his well-worn black.
But the smile, twisted with madness and near-malice, he had never worn. And the eyes, so wide and glowing with an intensity Adrien couldn't name but feared, he prayed he would never look with.
Who was that? What was that?
Whatever it was, it needed to be gone. Now.
Chat bent low, growled low and rumbling in his chest, and launched himself into the specter bearing his shape.
The ghostly impressions of the other Chat's claws tingled on his arms and face as he ran through the cool night air. He winced at the sting of it, at the memory of tossing and struggling and wrestling with the other Chat even as he tried to keep an eye on his Lady.
She stumbled upright, her feet somehow holding her up despite the continued trembling throughout her body, and reached for her yoyo. Chat could hear her calling for her lucky charm, hear Sandboy's yelps and shrieks of shock as she bested him, hear the hiss of her yoyo strings as the Akuma was purified. However, all he could see was flashes of white and darkness as he fought tooth and claw against her nightmare.
It was a relief, albeit an anticlimactic one, when the white specter disappeared in a whirlwind of smoke and ladybugs, and Chat sagged to the floor, allowing himself a moment to breathe before he got up.
"Ladybug," he exclaimed thankfully, as he ran out of the alleyway where he'd been fighting to see her standing only a few yards away.
Ladybug turned to face and the ebullience of seeing her physically whole deflated instantly. She wore her usual calm, proud expression, the one immortalized so often in news articles where she assured Paris that everything would be all right – but it was a facade. And he could already see it cracking.
He ran to her side. "Ladybug."
She tried to smile, and somehow that was even worse. Chat placed a hand on her shoulder and the minute trembling in her muscles made his heart ache.
"It's okay," she reassured him, but he had known her too long.
"Ladybug…"
With their impeccable timing, several reporters came running around the corner towards them. Ladybug's business-like smile firmed into place, her trembling intensified.
"Go."
His lady looked up into his eyes, her gaze startled and not quite focusing.
"Go," he repeated firmly, his claws lightly squeezing before releasing her shoulder. "I can handle them."
"But–"
"I'll be with you as soon as I can," he said, "please wait for me?"
She nodded shakily, and he turned to face the onslaught, the hiss of her yoyo reverberating in his ears.
Landing a little harder than necessary to make his presence known, Chat stepped onto the rooftop where he heard the sniffling cries, heart throbbing at the sound. His friend sat against a wall, arms wrapped around her legs, face tucked into her knees.
He had done that to her.
Grimacing, he squashed the voice that sounded like his father. That wasn't true, he hadn't done anything. But the one who did wore his face, and Chat had…questions.
Who was that specter?
Why was that her greatest fear?
Why did she seem to recognize him?
And…why did he look like him?
He wanted to know. He needed to know.
He just…wasn't sure how to ask.
I knew you liked me, milady. Why else would your greatest nightmare be the opposite of me?
No, that was flippant. And dumb.
So, when were you going to tell me about my evil twin?
Also flippant. Also pretty dumb. Also elicited a lot of memories about Felix that were unlikely to ease the tension.
Why did that guy look like me?
Direct, but almost certainly too direct. Maybe a little accusatory, at least the way it played out in his mind. But in his defense, seeing someone wearing your face was a little disconcerting. Especially when he seemed to have history with your friend/leader/person, history that brought her to her knees in terror and why had he never even heard of this?
Chat took a deep breath, calming himself. He deserved to have at least an idea of what was going on, but demanding more than what she was willing to tell him would not help. She didn't know everything about his life, after all.
But this felt different…this felt at least a little personal to him too.
Taking another deep breath, he sat down beside her, far enough to not crowd her but close enough she could lean on him if she wanted to.
"You okay?" He asked softly.
Ladybug nodded, then shook her head. "I will be."
"Want to talk about it?"
She exhaled hard, breath gusting into the air before them. "Not really," she admitted. "But…I think I need to."
"He…" Chat cleared his throat. "He looked a lot like me."
"Yeah."
Chat swallowed hard. "Was he–?"
"No!" Ladybug insisted vehemently, then hesitated. "I don't think he will be."
Chat searched for the right words, but could only manage, "I don't understand. What does that mean?"
"It means," Ladybug sighed, "that I have a lot to tell you."
She turned to him for the first time since he'd arrived, her eyes tear-stained but determined. "Let me tell you about Chat Blanc.