Archive of Our Own ^beta

“You’re utterly ridiculous, Gabriel.” Audrey’s clamour comes an octave higher than usual. “The assistant? Seriously? If you finally move on, at least do it with style. It's almost disrespectful to Emilie.”

The teeming disgust in Audrey’s words hit way too deep a cord in Gabriel. Foul retorts swirl in his mind and tingle the tip of his tongue, begging to pierce through Audrey’s thickened skin.

Don’t compare yourself to me.

Don’t think I’m using others to make a point.

Just shut up!

He voices neither, but walks away and cuts the scene.

Audrey Bourgeois knows only adultery, and that renders her cutting remarks irrelevant. She is blind to the workings of family, because she has no real one. She knows not the weight of responsibility that threatens to force him on his knees day after day.

But he exists for those he loves, and that is more than enough.

***

 I'm a princess cut from marble, smoother than a storm

And the scars that mark my body, they're silver and gold

The wind carried Emilie’s carefree laughter. She rushed forward to see the scenery Mount Everest offered beyond the rise in front of them, and dragged a reluctant Nathalie with her. With each flip it made, Emilie's plait had come undone more and more, until it melted into a mess of golden locks flying free around her face.

Nathalie had stumbled over the rocks three times because of Emilie, so her hair was less neat than usual, but her chignon was still holding. Whenever a stray lock fell in front of her eyes, she brushed it back behind her ear.

She was not chuckling along with Emilie—she never laughed—but Emilie managed to bring a brighter expression to her face. Gabriel had feared that Emilie's enthusiasm would be too much for Nathalie, but she was taking it better than he could have ever hoped.

As a matter of fact, she took both their manners with grace.

***

Gabriel slowly traced his finger up Emilie's spine.

They got back to Lhasa today, ending a week-long trek among the cold cliffs. The magical pieces of jewellery they found were safely tucked away in Emilie's coat, while the book was in Nathalie's room.

As Emilie rolled to face him, the blanket shifted above his body, cool air brushing against his damp skin. The escape of the heat concealed under the bedsheets reminded him how much he missed Paris, high ceilings and their own bed. And…

His eyes were constantly scouring the room, expecting a dark form's movement from the corner of his eyes. It will not appear. It could not , so he should stop looking.

It was strange how the loss of new patterns could overshadow even the much-anticipated return to the old.

Gabriel twirled a golden lock around his finger. Emilie covered his hand with hers.

"You look so serious, My Love," she chirruped. "What are you thinking about?"

His mouth went dry.

"The book."

"Hmm, the book," she repeated, mockingly. "What about the book?"

The air around them turned uncomfortably hot. The golden lock fell gracefully from around his finger, but a few strands stuck to his skin. When his eyes returned to Emilie, she was still smiling.

"I just want to know what it says about the jewels we found."

"I bet you do," she whispered and slid closer to him. "Don’t worry. I know what we have to do."

***

He always thought they were perfect. Theirs was a steady flame that would last forever.

***

My blood is a flood of rubies, precious stones

It keeps my veins hot, the fires find a home in me

"Don't be ridiculous, Gustave. I think green and gold can make a nice combination."

Nathalie noticed how most eyes in the room followed Emilie’s loud voice. It would not surprise her if that was the intention: Emilie looked like a heavenly creature in her seemingly simple, white cloak.  It looked like a toga; a knot on one shoulder kept the dress in place, while her other shoulder remained bare. There were no intricate decorations on it besides the lamé’s golden shine and the waves ironed into the fabric. The dress was elegant in its simple silhouette, modest in its whiteness and extravagant in its gold powder-like shine. Perfect for a queen with child.

There’s a saying in fashion: 'The clothes always depend on the person wearing them.' Emilie was the living proof of that. Her blonde hair was braided and twisted around her head like a crown and she was clearly aware of how the natural, soft flow of the dress depended on her movements, so her body language consequently became overly refined.

"What do you think of her look?" M. Agreste’s voice made her jump.

She looks like an angel.

"Like the combination of a Greek woman and a mediaeval queen who had to adapt to the seventies. In a good way, Monsieur.”

Agreste stepped next to her and made a sound like he was dousing a chuckle. Nathalie was surprised to recognise astonishment in his demeanour, an emotion she so far suspected he lacked. The wordless compliment directed at her made her feel her body and surroundings too much, and the sudden urge to further impress him flared up in her veins.

She pressed her fingers against the cold marble of a table.

“It’s like a Halston dress, but with more history lessons involved, Monsieur,” she continued.

Agreste's amusement dissipated and dragged Nathalie’s enthusiasm with it.

He wrinkled his nose. “You noticed? In my defence, Emilie came up with the idea only a few days ago. She said it would look elegant with her belly. She was right, but I didn't have time to add my flavour to it."

"Madame Agreste has a natural way of making pregnancy look elegant. That’s a flavour in itself."

“Maybe. But I don’t intend to make a fashion line for pregnant women.” M. Agreste leaned to her ear. "Don't tell anyone, but she inspired me to alter classic American silhouettes and make them a bit more French."

Agreste’s words rushed through Nathalie’s brain without a chance for her to comprehend their meaning. She could feel the treacherous goosebumps rise as soon as his hot breath hit her neck. She always took pride in her constraint and never gave much thought to actions bordering on intimacy.

But Tibet changed too many things. It's been long since she regretted telling an overly inquisitive Emilie about her "mistake" of following her passion and getting a master's degree in history and damned herself for giving in to Emilie’s plea that she joins them on their Tibetan trip. Nathalie should have known better, but her excitement overwrote logic—Emilie’s friendly attitude had that effect on people.

Despite her feelings, Nathalie never forgot who Gabriel was, who she was, and never overlooked Emilie and her current situation. No, Nathalie was not a saint by any means; if she would frolic around in the dress Emilie wore this evening, she would mock humanity. But she would never stoop so low as to sever a good relationship between a man, his wife and his child.

Her attempt at a sober response shattered when Emilie's voice exploded in the room.

"WHAT?"

Emilie was facing André Bourgeois, her hands folded in front of her mouth. The light hit her unevenly; the gold shine gathered into a few vibrant patches, leaving the rest of her clothes plain white. The queen of the evening was quelled, and a hollow ghost took her place.

Keenly aware of the eyes on them, M. Bourgeois scratched the back of his neck. M. Agreste was already on his way to Emilie, back straight. His movements emitted cold elegance and although Nathalie could not see his expression, she knew she did not want to be on its receiving end. His tender touch on Emilie's elbow was a striking contrast to such a well-schooled and unvexed attitude and Nathalie could not help but suspect that he already knew what Emilie just learned.

"We'll find another way," he muttered as he led his wife out of the spotlight.

The gaze Emilie threw his way was like weak defiance rising from the ashes. Still, Nathalie had never seen her so solemn.

"We should talk to Audrey."

"I should talk to Audrey," M. Agreste offered. "You know her. If she sees that she managed to put you off, she'll never budge." He looked at Nathalie. "Will you help her, please?"

"Of course."

Nathalie closed her fingers around Emilie's arm.

"Can I get you some water, Madame?"

"No, thank you." She rubbed her belly. "Only something strong would help, but I can’t. Some fresh air would be nice, though."

Emilie led the way through the dimly lit corridors with such purpose that if anyone saw them now, they would think that it was Nathalie who needed help. As soon as they stepped out into the garden, Emilie clung to Nathalie's arm.

"Audrey said she will only finance one cause, and that's fashion. She convinced André to drop film production and spend money on a political campaign. Which, she said, would be good for us because if André became a mayor, he could fund Gabriel and maybe Graham Films ."

Even Nathalie knew that they could easily fund both if Audrey wanted to. But Audrey had a sadistic need to create tension between Gabriel and Emilie, especially since Emilie made her pregnancy public. But it was something that Emilie suspected would happen; she already shared her fears with Nathalie when she told her that she was with child.

"Emphasis on 'maybe.' So we're here with a film in post-production and with no money to advertise it. All this work, for nothing."

Emilie's low voice and body language made Nathalie wonder if she was afraid of someone eavesdropping. But before she could so much as look around, Emilie hastened her steps and dragged Nathalie to the chatêau's porch.

Only the distant street lights reached the garden, which was not enough to make a reflection on Emilie's clothes, leaving her completely pale. She looked earthly—almost vulnerable—for the first time during the evening.

"I'm sure Monsieur Agreste can save the Films." Nathalie stepped to the side, hoping that at least one lamp would cast its light on Emilie.

"I'm sure he can't," Emilie said and carefully lowered herself onto the porch. The alarms to save Emilie's clothes sounded off in Nathalie's head, but her heart sank as Emilie let out a short, tired sigh.

Emilie patted the porch.

“I’m not sure you should sit there, Madame. What will Monsieur Agreste say if your dress gets dirty?”

“If only you warned me in time! I would have loved to sit in your lap,” Emilie chuckled.

Nathalie bit her upper lip and swallowed back a defensive—and probably awkward—retort as the mental image invaded her mind. She tightened the blazer around herself.

“If that would save Monsieur Agreste’s work, it would be my obligation, Madame.”

"Oh, Nathalie. You're way too professional.” Emilie chirruped mockingly and rubbed her knees. “Would it kill you to call me by my proper name?"

"I think it would."

"You're just as serious as Gabriel.” Emilie laughed. “Please don’t make me get up just yet."

She patted the porch again. Nathalie gave in, but almost jumped up again when she felt Emilie’s head gently press against her shoulder.

"Nathalie, Nathalie…" Emilie savoured her name like she was tasting wine. "You are a gem. There are days I can hardly pull a few words out of Gabriel, but not a day passes without him mentioning you in some context. I should be jealous. But I’m glad that I got to know you in Tibet."

The admission stung. Is this why she invited Nathalie to Tibet? Did she want to know more about her? Did she want to see how Gabriel behaved around her? Or how she behaved? There was nothing to see there. Not back then anyway.

She realised all too late that she was panicking. Emilie’s remark was a push that resulted in a line of dominoes toppling as secrets on unimportant secrets made their way to the surface. Nathalie was sure she could not hide them in time.

She was a fool for overreacting! Thoughts alone never hurt anyone!

When answering, she carefully mixed coldness into her steel-hard statement. “There's nothing between us, Madame. I can assure you. ”

“You’re so serious.” Emilie touched her chin gently. “But I know.” Were she not pregnant and her husband overprotective, Nathalie would presume Emilie was drunk.

When Emilie leaned even closer, common sense shouted at her to flee. But it's difficult to tell pride and long-buried need for attachment to stay away. The kiss was soft and discreet, unlike anything Emilie ever did. But in reality, it was a bold statement—much like Emilie.

In a  normal world, Nathalie would have been shocked. But her body had other ideas; her blood was pulsing, burning, urging her to return the kiss.

Emilie saved her from the trouble and withdrew before Nathalie could have lost the battle against herself. As Emilie's eyes wandered around her face, Nathalie made a mental inventory of all the feelings she must have left on display.

But she could take away a lot from this moment too. Emilie had spent almost an hour with her this evening while she was to use her full glory to charm big names in the film and fashion industries. Then there was her sudden change of mood as soon as they left the soirée together. Even her conversational phone calls to Nathalie after Tibet fell into place. Tibet fell into place.

"You don't feel that devastated about Monsieur Bourgeois cancelling his sponsorship, do you?"

Emilie smiled softly. "I do, very much. But it makes me feel better that you’re here."

***

Nathalie was cold on the surface; her skin sealed everything within. She needed Emilie to warm up the surface.

***

I move through town, I'm quiet like a fire

And my necklace is of opal, I tie it and untie it

When looking at it through a car's windows, the happiness on any face would seem genuine and unbreakable. Couples walking on the street holding hands, gently touching their partner’s shoulders to lead them through a crowd. Deep conversations in a restaurant, eyes rarely leaving the other. Sitting in the park and snatching food from each other.

Gabriel was not a romantic, so he never watched. But today, he saw without looking.

He saw smiles that did not reach the eyes, touches that twitched muscles and bites of food too hard to swallow. There were a few exceptions—kissing without a care in the world or basking in the attention and loving gazes of the other. These were the signs of newly formed love.

He loved Emilie. He always did and always will.

But there was a certain intimacy in getting a glimpse into the daily routines of another. It provided a gateway into their world, where the carefully constructed images discoloured. It bore trust.

The employees jumped out of his way as he strode through the office, greeting him with a distant and measured voice. The first person showing concern was Nathalie.

He swallowed. Nothing was the same after Tibet.

She looked as professional as always; straight poise, long steps, confidence, black and white. Her hair was in her usual impeccable knot, yet it brought back memories of when it was free and messy in the mornings. Gabriel could not forget how true to her age she had looked with an unpainted face and especially when her forehead smoothened in the embrace of untroubled dreams. He wanted to see that Nathalie more. To wake up behind the walls of professionalism and watch her take it up as a shield.

Lust, he could manage—or so he thought—but not this need to get to know her, not this thirst for attachment.

“Did Madame Agreste reach you, Monsieur?”

He blinked. She knew that he had only one cellphone. Emilie constantly pressured him to buy another, but he thought that one was too many. He gladly left it with Emilie, so that she could leave the house and still reach anyone if something happened. But that did not satisfy her, and because Emilie loved complaining, Nathalie knew the full story too.

“Yes, she reached me,” he snarled. "We'll talk about it in my office."

Some around them exchanged glances of confusion or scorn, while others—the smart ones—fixed their gazes on the floor, necks sinking between their shoulders. Even Nathalie seemed uncomfortable.

"Forgive me for the assumption." He swept his gaze over his employees. "But I think it's still working hours."

The crowd scattered in a heartbeat. Gabriel motioned towards his office door.

The office looked scarcely used; the table was empty, save for the computer’s wires thrown on the top. Nails were sticking out of the white walls here and there, and only one was in use. The calendar hanging from it was up-to-date, at the courtesy of Nathalie, he imagined. He spotted other attempts at a personal touch—a few of his unused designs adorned the otherwise empty shelves, and there was a plastic flower on the coffee table at the back corner of the room—neither of which he remembered putting there. The room was dark and cold; the paper blinders in front of the windows cast only a few lines of sunlight to the walls.

“Is something wrong?” he asked as soon as he closed the door behind them.

“Quite the opposite.” One corner of Nathalie’s lips curled up. “Madame Bourgeois' chauffeur dropped by." She turned the page in her notebook and handed him the envelope she attached to it with a paperclip.

The black logo printed on its corner was simple, yet it meant everything. ‘PFW,’ it read. Gabriel’s fingers closed around the envelope tighter. It was packed full of paper and as he carefully bent it, he could feel the resistance of a cardstock. An invitation, maybe.

“Our application went through?”

“It seems it did.”

“We’re going to the Paris Fashion Week, ” he whispered, in disbelief.

Nathalie was grinning now. She rarely smiled, let alone grin. And it was meant for him, for his success and maybe for herself too, because she saw through the whole application process. Her joy was a beautiful, little secret.

The heat of the moment flooded his clear thoughts like the ocean’s waves claim people their own. His kiss was short but hard, and Nathalie’s only answer was two fingers pressing into his collarbone. He stepped back, jaw clenched from the sharp pain. All notions of sensibility came back to him as soon as he saw shame written all over her face. Uneasy but unsurprised, she walked around the desk. Her reaction was baffling, but what else could he expect from someone kissed by a married man?

He watched her and was disgusted with himself for doing so, for making her feel guilty. Self-disgust was his companion; it shouldn't follow her, too.

“I'll write my letter of resignation in the afternoon.” Her voice was unusually sombre.

It was a wise decision. It would be the best option.

But he was not ready to part with her resolve and incredible mind. Nor with her.

“We wouldn't have come this far without you. I don't think it would be ethical to let you leave.”

Her sardonic gaze pierced through his very being.

“It seems we both have to learn a thing or two about the definition of ethical.”

“It won't happen again.”

"It will," Nathalie countered. She leaned on the desk casually, splaying her fingers on the surface. She would have looked completely unperturbed, were it not for her lips trembling. "The people are already talking."

"I noticed. But there’s always gossip in an office," he countered. "You shouldn't run because of that."

She pinched the bridge of her nose.

“It's not gossip anymore." Then her eyes lit up, and his instincts told him he would hate what she was about to say. "Let's make a difference. Tell Madame Agreste what happened. Let her decide.”

***

Gabriel was a steady flame. He gave warmth and handled hellfires. He gave and took. He was the perfect meeting point.

***

“Do you like Nathalie?”

For the first time in his life, Gabriel wished he could read exact emotions from a tone. Emilie's voice was gentle, but the feeling behind it could be anything between disappointment and understanding.

“I don’t.” He did not want to. “I mean, I do. I asked her to be my executive assistant for a reason. I just don’t know how I like her.”

He told the truth, yet the admission tasted as stale as a lie.

Emilie nestled closer to him.

“What would you say if we asked her over for dinner?” She rested her hands on her belly. “We could discuss it together. It would be almost like—like a family gathering!”

“Don’t hurt her, Emilie. She’s not responsible for any of this. She asked me to tell you.”

Eyes snapping wide, Emilie jumped up. His hand shot out to touch her wrist, a desperate attempt to stop her. He could make it right. He had neither words nor means for it, but he had to try.

But leaving was not Emilie's intention; she stepped in front of him, leant down and looked deep into his eyes. Gabriel forced himself to meet her inquisitive gaze, although bravery led to the same defeat cowardice would.

Emilie grinned.

“You like her.” Her voice had a clear and playful chime; the attribute of the gem-adorned predator he knew from the soirées. "You're attracted to her."

“Emilie—please,” he whispered.

“And she didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

She twirled his tie around her wrist and sat down on his lap. Her lips smashed into his immediately, and he had only a slight second to worry about her belly before she moved on to bite his earlobe and press her palm into his crotch.

“What the hell?” he groaned, trying to push some sensibility through the first sparkles of pleasure.

“It’s your decision, my love.” It was that voice! It was that lustful voice which filled his mind and made him forget everything in his schedule.

Emilie was everywhere, kissing and biting. Her hands were fiddling around his hips, tugging and pulling awkwardly, trying too swiftly and too blindly to set him free.

“You silly, silly man,” she whispered, voice overflowing with hunger. All the questions cluttering his mind were gone. “I said family, and I meant it. You want her, and I want her. She wants you, and she wants me. It's that simple.”

She managed to pull his zipper and rose from his lap to free him, to grab him with one hand and push his shoulder into the sofa’s back with the other.

“Oh, and Nathalie,” she purred, and a moan breached his throat. “The resourcefulness! Sending you to me.”

Her fingers clasped around him and the surging hot desire lured him to her. Their searing kiss threatened to devour both of them. When he closed his eyes and felt Emilie's teeth bump into his lips, he imagined it was Nathalie.

***

Emilie loved fire. She was fire, but she was burning too bright. Gabriel was lukewarm, good for quenching her. Nathalie was a fire under perfect control. It warmed Gabriel just as much as he needed it while Emilie basked in it. They were all the perfect links, the missing pieces of a puzzle.

***

I never watch the stars there's so much down here

Steal the husband, or steal the wife. Nathalie wanted neither but ended up doing both. Although she suspected that they stole her too.

***

"Come on, Nathalie! Hold him!"

"I'm not comfortable with babies."

"You have to be. You’re part of his family. There has to be a link between you."

Emilie practically shoved Adrien into Nathalie’s arms. The baby’s eyes snapped open on feeling the hands changing around him. Deep blue eyes wandered around her face, already warmer in hue than Gabriel's. Nathalie wondered if they will turn green.

Adrien’s gaze was blank, as expected. His eyes were roaming without a pause while he was chewing his mouth, thinking who knows what. Then his lips stretched into a toothless grin.

Nathalie felt the muscles around her eyes ease. She knew that Adrien was too young to determine who or what he was looking at, and he most certainly did not know what smiling means—or that he was smiling.

As if to counter her reasoning, Adrien chuckled. As his puffy hands reached out to her face, Nathalie’s heart drummed against her chest. The world shook as his tiny fingers collided with her glasses. Another chuckle before her glasses would scratch her nose as he pulled them from her face.

"But baby!" Emilie shrieked. "You can't steal things just because they're shiny!"

Both Adrien and Nathalie had forgotten about the glasses by then. She laughed and Adrien answered with a scream-chuckle, flailing with his hands and legs.

Maybe it was only the effect of Emilie's words, but as soon as Nathalie and Adrien shared in their amusement, her grip relaxed. She trusted her ability to keep him up.

***

Emilie always teased her about her bottled-up emotions. She tried to open Nathalie up, and Nathalie did her best not to give in to her. It was a game they played and Nathalie tended to lose.

She had never experienced so much brightness.

***

“You are so dark. Did you ever think about wearing other base colours than black?”

“Not since I left university.”

“With all the black clothes, the serious face and the pale skin, you look like you’re going to a funeral.”

Nathalie had no idea why the criticism came up now. They were lying in bed, their clothes scattered outside the reign of the nightstand's lamp; the only thing covering them from the world was a blanket. In the late evening darkness, Emilie’s powder-coloured clothes looked as dark as hers.

“Black is a serious colour,” Nathalie muttered.

“And so are many others. Ask Gabriel!”

“Do you have a colour in mind?”

Emilie rolled above Nathalie, masterfully positioning herself to straddle between Nathalie’s legs.

“I do.” Nathalie never understood how a woman gifted with the face of an angel could grin so wickedly. And just that smirk, so full of herself, was enough for Nathalie to know what was coming.

Emilie’s lips brushed against her ear.

“Red.”

Emilie’s hand hovered over her breast, the warmth of her body tickling through the sweat coating Nathalie’s skin even before her fingers could. The gentle pull of damp skin sticking to damp skin flared up Nathalie’s nerves and the hot, wet kisses, licks and nips were no better.

“Feminine—”

Emilie hooked a hand under Nathalie’s shin and pulled a leg to her waist.

“—elegant—”

With a  rock of her hips, she swept over Nathalie’s centre. The jolts of electricity travelled through Nathalie’s whole body at the sheer friction, but all it brought was a reminder of just how tired she was. At Emilie’s next dive, a soft moan escaped her—the full sensation against her nerves drained whatever little power she had left.

She grabbed Emilie’s upper arm and pulled her further up on her body while unfolding her leg around her lover’s waist and pressing it to her side.

“Lean on this,” she whispered.

Emilie gave her a quizzical look but eagerly complied, positioning them so that Nathalie’s leg was trapped between the two of hers.

As Emilie’s warmth kissed her knee, Nathalie pressed her heel into the mattress and pushed her leg into Emilie’s centre while pulling her chest down to her.

Emilie leaned on her arms, giving full reign to Nathalie over her upper body. Another wave of exhausted anticipation flooded her body at the thought that she could finally taste the salt-flavoured skin. Emilie sped up immediately, whimper leaving upon whimper as she rocked her hips.

“And—” Her voice broke and her body froze as Nathalie sucked on her flesh. She smiled against the skin, ravelling in the power that she could shut Emilie Agreste up. When her lover regained enough composure to continue, her whisper was a windstorm that turned the tide and threatened to blow Nathalie away.

“You should just really try other colours, my love.”

 ***

I dream all year, but they're not the same kind

The power of the impact reverberated through the metal supporting the wall-sized canvas. The balloon exploded into vivid aquamarine, and Emilie laughed as the sloshes bounced back to her white cloak.

“Better?” she asked.

“A little,” Gabriel grumbled.

“If you would like to have the gloomy, boring, black costumes all the stores have, you should take inspiration from Nathalie.”

The afore-named was sitting at the back of Adrien's old splatter painting room, tapping away on her tablet. She shook her head without looking up, which had a comical effect with the hair cover and protective goggles she wore. She looked less like what Emilie mocked her to be, and more like a mad scientist. She also wore a white cloak—or what was once white. She usually helped with Gabriel’s colour inspiration, but unlike Emilie, she stayed far from the canvas whenever she threw a balloon. Miraculously, she never had a spot of paint on herself afterwards. All the faded colours on her cloak were made by Emilie whenever she snatched hers 'out of fun.'

Black and white could work together—much like Emilie and Nathalie. But with added creativity and matching colours, it could become elegant and bright.

Emilie slung another water balloon at the canvas.

“There. Grey. That’s all I can do for you.”

Perfect!

Not white, but light grey. Two serious colours, but with a costume that has an asymmetrical cut, it could be professional without being old-fashioned.

As for black—no! Deep blue, almost black. Professional in a classical sense, to fit more traditional-minded women. And red. Red, like the streak Nathalie had recently dyed into her hair.

“Powder pink looks good even on men,” Emilie said and threw a balloon on the pink splash. The acidic green landing on harsh pink looked disgusting.

“With white, maybe,” Nathalie added.

“On men with fair complexion. Which is rare,” Gabriel muttered as he changed his paintbrush to a mossy green.

“How about powder pink and harsh pink for women?”

“It would look like they were washed together,” Gabriel muttered. “Would you throw a colour to green, please?”

Emilie took a balloon without looking and threw it at the canvas with an arabesque. Red.

“That looks like a toxic plant from the Amazonas,” Nathalie added.

“A horrifying one,” Emilie tapped her jaw. Then she swung theatrically, turning to Nathalie.

“Don’t play the important person, Love. Emails can wait. We need more than your witty remarks.”

But Gabriel did not hear Nathalie’s response and Emilie’s inevitable comeback. He opened a new canvas. A white suit jacket—no, beige!—with the slightest pink tone, visible only if somebody looked closely. Only a hint of pink, hidden by red, not noticeable enough to give the impression of being washed together with red. It will be difficult, maybe even impossible, but he would be nowhere without boldness.

As the rose-coloured paint splashed in the middle of yellow, he sighed.

***

If anyone asked Gabriel what predicted the end of his world, he would say it was the day Emilie did not care to hide her anger.

It was not just any pout this time. Emilie's jaws clenched to the point that her lips were trembling and deep wrinkles he had never seen gathered around her eyes.

Gabriel took a deep breath to retort, to beg her if he had to. But the words got stuck on his throat when Emilie’s expression suddenly lightened as her eyes fixed on something behind him. Acting . He turned his head to see Adrien walk through the open door, carrying so many books that he had to press his chin to the one on the top to keep them in place.

On registering what his son was doing, anger flared up in Gabriel.

“Nathalie has a loooot of books on China.” Adrien emphasized just how much 'lot' was with standing on his tiptoes and drawing a circle with outstretched arms.

“Thank you, Darling,” Emilie cooed, too sweetly for Gabriel's ears.

Adrien hopped down on the side of the bed. Emilie playfully drew him to her and pressed a kiss to his temple. When Adrien’s eyes met Gabriel’s, he brightened up.

“Join for a family hug, Pére !”

Gabriel watched his son’s extended arm. In the bedroom's cold light, his skin looked as pale and ill as his mother’s.

It should have not come this far. It was inconceivable.

They always told Adrien that Tibet was the land of dreams. They meant it, because it was the turning point in their lives. It was such an immaculate memory that the hardships of the Himalayas became only secondary.

Tibet had been a land of dreams for twelve years. Why did it start haunting them now? Why would fate let them be happy only to take it away?

It was a slow descent in disguise, sneaking up on them silently until it jumped and dragged them to the ground. And now Emilie sent her son into Nathalie’s room to steal the books she had refused to hand over.

Adrien’s hand dropping brought Gabriel back to the present. As he looked up, he met sadness and anger. The hint of darkness left Emilie’s face as soon as she averted her eyes and kissed the top of Adrien's head.

“Chloé’s been asking about you, Sweetie. Why don’t you take my phone and call her?”

Adrien jumped off the bed with a beaming smile, took Emilie’s phone off the nightstand and ran out of the room.

Whatever warmth was in the room must have wrapped around Adrien because it left as soon as he closed the door.

Emilie was searching Gabriel's face, silent and unblinking. He tried to talk, but the cold glint in Emilie’s eyes froze the words in his throat.

“Don’t worry. You don’t have to say anything.” The vitriol in Emilie’s voice melted away his already battered armour. It also burned his skin, and he had enough.

“I will, anyway. Did you seriously send Adrien into Nathalie’s room to steal her books?”

“Don’t tell me you care! And I hardly sent her into a lion’s den.”

Her words hurt, but she had a point. He was absent from Adrien's life in the past few years.  But he will make up for it once he stops Emilie.

“Point taken. But don’t you think it’s too low?” That made Emilie turn away from him. “Is it so difficult to stop?”

She shut her eyes and shook her head.

"It's not about the difficulty. It's about if there's a point."

Her words gnawed into his chest. Emilie had never shown remorse for using the Miraculous, not even after she fell ill. He always thought that she did not care. So far, Nathalie and he wanted to stop Emilie—or hinder her, because Emilie was always one step ahead of them. It never occurred to them that Emilie needed to hear them. She needed to hear that she could get better. That she would survive.

They were too daunted by Emilie's empathic abilities to see it as anything other than an attack—and answer in kind.

"There must be a way out. You should have talked to us."

He reached out to touch Emilie’s arm, but she withdrew.

“I would like to rest.” Her voice was flattened by disdain and judgement. She was spying on his feelings again.

This time, Gabriel did not tell her his opinion. There was nothing left to be said.

***

If anyone asked Gabriel what predicted the end of his world, he would say it was the day Nathalie panicked.

She was sitting on the edge of his desk—her desk since she took over office management altogether—biting her nails.

Headquarters was not too far from the manor, but Gabriel still hoped the city’s emotions would hide them from Emilie’s prying. It turned his stomach that he had to resort to such secrecy, but Emilie had already accused Nathalie and him of "plotting against her."

“We can solve this.” He tried to calm her.

“Can we? Because right now, we act like children hiding in a blanket fort.”

To his desperation, she was right.

“And she’s bringing Adrien into this? He’ll blame himself.”

“Do you think so? I mean, he doesn’t know what’s going on.”

Her eyebrows twitched.

“He knows something is going on. Just the other day he asked me if there’s anything wrong with his mother.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That she’s tired.”

There was an edge to her voice. Whenever Adrien needed motherly love or discretion, he turned to Emilie. But as Emilie descended in her downward spiral, she seemed to forget that she had a son. Nathalie felt it the most, who automatically became Adrien’s fountain of motherly love when Emilie was unavailable. That was what Adrien wanted her to be, that is. Nathalie had an astonishing ability to read from Adrien’s tone, word choice and even movements. She could even extract confessions out of him with a pointed look. But it was clear as day how uncomfortable she felt whenever Adrien needed her to be nurturing.

“I'm not even lying, but it feels like I do. She can hardly walk,” Nathalie muttered.

“I know.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "We've been looking at it the wrong way, Nathalie. Emilie's not holding onto power. She thinks there's no way back and pushes herself as a last resort."

Nathalie was searching his face. It was as unsettling as Emilie drilling into his soul, but at least Nathalie could only look for traces of emotions.

She flung herself away from her desk and started pacing around.

“We need to take them from her.”

Defensive words dripped onto the tip of his tongue. He chose the ones he thought would work best.

“She'll think we don’t trust her.”

“And do we? Can we?” Nathalie rubbed her face with her hands. “She’s become aggressive. And it’s one thing that she won't listen to us. But not caring about Adrien ?”

Nathalie was right. But he loved Emilie too much to stab her in the back.

Nathalie’s lips pursed and her eyes flashed with a plea. It made him want to run before Nathalie could continue and lock him into a decision he did not want to make. Because he loved Nathalie too much to let her deal with this alone.

But Nathalie remained silent. She was as helpless as him and hoped his response would push her into one of the many directions. That in itself was frightening; Nathalie always had a solution.

He had to swallow through a lump in his throat to speak convincingly.

“She’ll leave if we take it from her. Are we ready for that?”

Nathalie's face hardened, and for a moment, the office felt as cold and bare as so many years ago. After what felt like hours passing, she exhaled. Light, colour and time returned to normal.

Her only answer was a slight shake of her head.

***

But I got my fingers laced together and I made a little prison

And I'm locking up everyone that ever laid a finger on me

Rocking back and forth with Adrien in her arms had the expected calming effect. He was gripping the collar of her blazer, breaths shivering—crying into her clothes too softly for a thirteen-year-old. She tried to focus on the soft, chequered blanket’s foot-sized pucker. Gabriel had tucked Adrien in with care and gentleness he rarely expressed, but upon hearing the news, Adrien threw it off and stepped on it with too much passion.

They had come to tell Adrien about Emilie together because they needed each other’s support as much as Adrien needed theirs. Gabriel blurted it out miserably, barely able to contain his own grief.

It was an error on her part. She was not good with children, but Gabriel was even worse.

Something broke in Gabriel after that. Was it the harsh reality of saying it aloud? Or was it Adrien’s reaction? After the blanket had fallen, Adrien had crawled to her and avoided looking back at his father. In his eyes, the bearer of bad news was the cause of the tragedy. Maybe it was this child-like irrationality that broke Gabriel.

If she had fought her cowardice, it would not be like this.

“Your father needs you, Adrien.” She kissed Adrien’s golden locks. Her whisper had the power of a slap on Gabriel. He dropped out of the unseen realm he was in, anchoring himself in her eyes. After an eternity, he shook his head.

They sat in silence until Adrien’s breaths steadied and his grip around Nathalie’s clothes loosened. Gabriel was as still as a statue until he was confident that Adrien was asleep, and moved to help her lay him on the bed. Nathalie watched as he awkwardly tucked in his son again.

Immediately after closing the door behind them, Gabriel took a swift, although awkward step to the side. He was trying to escape.

“Gabriel,” she called softly.

The man who looked back at her was not the one she knew and fell in love with. He had neither endless dreams nor the sparkle of genius in his eyes.

“We need to discuss this,” she continued.

Gabriel’s head dropped. His attention was slipping away and who knows when she will cease to exist in his eyes? And who knows for how long? She had to act fast.

For weeks, she had been thinking about how to handle the looming tragedy, and an insane idea had nestled itself in her mind. She was afraid to share it with Gabriel so far, because he would have thought it disloyalty. She knew he would resist even now. But the story of their family started in Tibet because of the Miraculous; perhaps the jewels will help get them back together.

Clasping her hands behind his neck, she guided him down for a kiss. His paper-coarse lips did not respond, but he did not draw back either. She had learned a long time ago that when it came to Gabriel, there was a difference between lack of movements. But she never imagined that he could be so motionless, so lifeless.

"Don't worry," she whispered, touching her forehead to his. "I know what we have to do."

There was something in that promise that finally brought him back. Shoulders fallen and back bent, he was sobbing. Nathalie could finally let her own tears fall too. They could openly mourn now that they were alone.

And this was the first time they were truly alone.

***

A moan throbbed in Nathalie’s throat as Gabriel's fingers pressed into her tights. The combination of pain and the deep thrust of his hips sent delicious jolts towards her core. 

She was rarely vocal and Gabriel had little reason to care, his lovemaking usually being slow and ruminative as well. But today was an exception. He deliberately drew the sound by turning pain into pleasure. He needed it. She could understand. She needed the release just as much as he did.

Her next moan was deliberate, enough to wake her from her own pondering. She felt Gabriel's weight and the pressure of the mattress, and laying between them was the most pleasant feeling in the world. But it lasted only for a moment. Gabriel rose to his knees and grabbed the back of her shin, pulling her to him.

He hit deeper, so much deeper. Her breath hitched as she desperately wrapped a leg around his waist. With his next thrust, a moan escaped him, too.

Yes, it felt fantastic.

But it needed to be more. They needed more.

"Gabriel," she breathed and snaked her hands around his arms, lightly pressing her fingers into his flesh. "Let me up."

He pulled her up by her elbow and settled her in his lap.

She clasped her hands behind his neck and looked into his eyes before she slammed her hips down. Gabriel's expression changed only for a slight second, from distant and sad to that of pleasure, but she caught it and clung to it like a castaway held onto a soaked board. She felt his breath burn against her shoulder and her answer was a weak purr buzzing in her throat.

Another surge of greed caught him. He put both hands next to him, and as his pace increased, she followed with ease. They were so out of sync these past few weeks in their daily lives, it felt satisfying that here and now, at their most intimate moments, they were still able to move together, to meet and continue the other’s flow.

He stopped. And then—

He thrust up once, and there was that sparkle. Her head fell on Gabriel’s shoulder.

Next, her grind tingled.

“Nathalie, please,” he pleaded, his breath hot against her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

Next, a huff of air stopped in her throat. Habits.

Next, the gasp finally escaped.

Next, her knees gave up, locking their pelvises tightly in a desperate, soundless plea for him to reach out more.

Next, she lost control over her breathing and muscles.

More, many more, she was not sure how much more. Her release hit her with the power of a gale. It washed through her body, cold and warm and then burning as it blasted in her chest. His skin burned her and she gladly touched the fire, driving herself to the brink of insanity to feel it more than humanly possible. She watched the stars she craved to see so much. Yellow—more like golden—against the darkness. As it should be.

Gabriel followed, and she welcomed him with an embrace.

She held him by the shoulder as she rose from his lap and pulled him with her as she let herself fall back.

He rolled to his back and brought her with him. He must have seen the stars too.

They would survive then.

She nudged her nose into the dip between his neck and shoulder. He kissed her hair—her red lock. How fitting.

 ***

They were so, so cold.

***

They used to shout my name, now they whisper it

The headlines had his name without a photo.

They used to shout my name, now they whisper it

His eyes followed the low voices and the guests turned away.

They used to shout my name, now they whisper it

He nibbled on cool skin and Nathalie sighed, offering her throat to him.

They used to shout my name, now they whisper it

Enter Hawkmoth.

***

Blue paint splattered over the canvas, slowly dripping down on yellow.

How. Fitting.

‘Everybody was born with art,’ that was Gabriel’s motto. Nathalie was the exception to the rule. All she could do was fill water balloons with thick paint and throw them at a huge canvas.

Childish. Laughable. Maybe the overt analysis of such a mess could be called art. The strength of her arm or her anger at the world could be called art.

Another throw, another splatter. Purple.

This could be interesting.

Throw. Splatter.

Red.

Her hands dropped.

No, it's not supposed to be like this.

Throw.

Splash.

Orange.

She hiccuped and pulled her hair behind her ear. She knew her fingers were clean, but it felt like she had smeared some blue over her forehead.

How. Fitting .

***

This is the start of how it all ever ends

The day Nathalie took the Peacock Miraculous, he kissed her the way he used to before their lives had leapt off the track.

He did not mean it as a goodbye, he only expressed his love towards her in the only way he could. But Nathalie, loyal to the fault, misunderstood. There was a time when he called himself the luckiest man on Earth. Now even the remnants of the old were on the line. And he let it happen because Nathalie knew him better than he ever knew himself.

If anyone asked Gabriel what predicted the end of his world, he would say it was when he begged Nathalie to stop and she refused to look him in the eye.

***

Heavy breathing, raspy voice. Dull pain.

Emilie never mentioned the pain.

Nathalie kept it a secret too, but now he feels it. It's a never-ending wave of pulsing starting above his chest, small as a pebble, and then spreading, raking over his body.

Nathalie’s touch on his shoulder is light as a feather. Is it because of her loss of strength? Or to provide support?

Nathalie's pain nettles his throat; his own is choking him. Searching for the Miraculous was a mistake.

No, searching for them was not a mistake; putting them on was.

“It won’t take long now.” Nathalie’s voice is like stone grinding against stone. Its rough echo frightens him.

What won’t take long?

Slow, small steps draw away from him, feet reaching the ground too early and suddenly.

Inhale. Exhale. Through the nose, through the mouth.

The Peacock Miraculous weighs down his pocket.

Nathalie leaves, and he is alone.

He does not want to stay alone.