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“Why are you here, Marinette?” asks Aeon, leaping back into her civilian form as she lands gracefully on the rooftop next to the French girl.
Marinette doesn’t hear her. Her gaze is fixed on a point so far away, she could see the Statue of Liberty if there weren’t any buildings around. She looks like she’s freezing, trembling, with goosebumps all over her bare shoulders. It’s as if she’s in a trance and the android worries for a second. What is she still doing in New York?
Her human-like hand reaches for Marinette, putting her out of the spell that had been cast onto her, not without a flinch.
“Oh, hi Aeon. Didn’t… see you”
“Yeah, I figured.”
The sound of cars is usually deafening, yet now, as the sun is setting behind gargantuan skyscrapers, it passes off as a soothing, comfortable background noise. Aeon passes the girl her coat, and the girl mumbles a quiet thank in French, absentmindedly, not realizing that the very American android might not be able to understand her.
“My sensors are detecting high levels of stress. What is going on?”
Marinette smiles, bitterly, letting her slightly imperfect canines bite down her lower lips as she speaks. “The usual. My life seems like a neverending thread of messes.”
Aeon tilts her head sideways, curls bouncing slightly around her face like a gentle halo. “Well, I am not yet quite capable of reading your mind, so…”
Marinette sighs, looking down at her hands. “Do you think I look like my parents?”
The android, taken aback, impulsively straightens herself. “Well, you…”
“Spare me the courtesy. Be objective, scientific, tell me the stats or whatever: do I look like them?”
Aeon scans Marinette's features with her optical sensors, comparing them to her database. "Based on facial recognition analysis, you share approximately 23% of distinguishable features with Sabine Cheng and 19% with Tom Dupain. This is... significantly below the average parent-child similarity ratio of 45-50%. It’s also unlikely for a couple that has brown and green eyes respectively to have a blue-eyed offspring." Her synthetic saliva feels viscous in her throat, as if she finds it difficult to go on. “Why are you asking me?”
A mirthless laugh echoes through the air for the briefest of moments. “Of course I don’t.” She takes a breath, trying her best to prevent her eyes from watering. “Damn it,” she whispers.
“How did you realize it?” Aeon asks, unsure of what to do to comfort the girl.
“Akuma. Got thrown around the other side of the world, here in America, on a random night, apparently sent back to my father… It was so strange. I mean, it’s kind of a relief, ‘y know? I don’t have to live with yet another lie on my name. But also… the USA is a big place, I… wouldn’t even know where to start searching for any crumble of truth… but-”
“But?”
“… well, it’s not like I can pretend that nothing happened. I don’t want to go back home.”
Aeon stays silent for a minute or two, and Marinette doesn’t look to eager to break that quietness either. There is a common understanding that passes between them, of two tired and overworked teen soldiers, both veterans at fifteen of wars too big for them.
“Would you like for me to help?” asks Aeon, uncannily cold for such a sweet gesture.
Marinette almost jumps upright. “Wait, you’d do that? Wouldn’t that be like, super illegal?”
Aeon shrugs, her metallic joints whirring softly. "Technically speaking, accessing public records isn't illegal. Besides, I'm curious about this mystery too." She gives Marinette a small, calculated smile. "Let me run a facial recognition scan through the databases I have access to."
Marinette would be lying if she said she isn’t weirded out by the way Aeon looks at her, as if she’s trying to read through her soul. But she stands still, trying to think about anything normal, fearing that she might have lied when she said she wasn’t capable of reading her mind.
“According to my calculation, there are about… 178 people in North America who seem to share above 50% of your features, and if we exclude those that are too young and those who cannot conceive, we end up with… 43 people,” she explains, calmly, before realizations hits her. “Oh, well, isn’t that something.”
"What did you find?" asks Marinette, leaning forward with anticipation. Her heart pounds as she watches Aeon's expression shift into something unreadable, mechanical, and truly uncanny.
The android finds it difficult to find the right words. “Most of these men have between 35 and 45% compatibility, 49 at best, but… there’s one who seems to be 73% like you. So, the name of the man who likely could be your father, with a 98,762% chance-”
“Wait,- interrupts Marinette, with a shout, -I mean, thank you, but… I don’t think I want to hear it… yet, I don’t think I’m ready. It’s enough to know that… well that he exists somewhere.”
“Sure. But if you change your mind…”
“I feel like I’m pretty good at this whole secret identity stuff.”
Aeon is about to place her hand comfortingly on her shoulder when a sound comes from behind them on the rooftop. Before Marinette can realize it, Aeon has already changed back into her superhero persona and floated off into the night.
Jagged Stone pokes his head out of the trapdoor, foolishly looking around like a periscope before finally catching a glimpse of her. “Oh, there you are! I was looking for you everywhere.”
The man’s gentle arms are around her before she can even think of an answer. She finds odd solace in his presence, and all is well until he pinches her cheeks with increasing excitement.
“Oh, pumpkin, do I have a project for you! I cannot wait to show it to you, you’re going to love it!”
“Sure, sure…” she mutters through sore cheeks, following him back in the hotel. Jagged can be annoying, but anything sounds better than brooding over her situation. Or going back to Paris, for that matter.