Chapter Text
"Marinette, make sure Adrien doesn't only remember the villain I was. But instead, remember the times I tried to be a good father."
Paris, 1991 - 29 Years Ago
Paris was a stage for tourists. A city of beauty shaped by romance, passion and gaze of the setting sun; some would even say Paris was one of the world’s most beautiful cities. Gabriel had seen many starry-eyed tourists in his youth, bounding down the cobblestone pavements with their eyes stuck in their camera, flocking from one attraction to the next like they were in one giant theme park. Tourists generally scratched only the surface. They see the Eiffel tower, they see the graceful mimes hard up for tips, they sit in the expensive cafes and get dragged around the stalls erected as walls to frame their path.
For Gabriel, in truth, Paris was ugly. He saw Paris through the winding, tightly packed back alleys, framed through grime leaking from the walls and drunken thugs prowling for booze. He saw it inside the crumbling remains of another failed housing project, where looters and despots congregated like rats. He saw it from the bottom, where he could gaze upwards and see all those who looked down on him from their castles and towers. He saw what was behind the advertising budget, behind the fake 2d cutouts, behind the illusion of greater glory.
All he saw was superficial beauty. Sometimes he wondered if that was part of what drove his passion for fashion, to bring out something genuine, something that felt like it made the city tourists always told him about a reality.
It was only on nights like this, where the pain in his head throbbed hard enough to distort the world around him, where the buildings and stars merged into blurry blotches of shapes and colours, where he was lost in the space between reality and delusion, that he could see the Paris he sought in his dreams.
That is, of course, when said pain isn’t overpowering every other sensation in his body. Unfortunately for him, being chucked through a window does that to you.
A dark colour wafts over his vision, weaving back and forth between ever darkening shades. He only realized it was smoke when his body started rocking against the pavement, slamming his head down to let out a violent cough as his nose sucked in the putrid substance. “You sure took a whooping back there, fella.” A voice called out, one that made his ears throb with how stilted it came out, heavy with a thick accent he couldn’t place.
The new burning in his nose was annoying but acted like a rope pulling his head back in place, back to where he could focus again. Blurred edges softened into recognisable, if a little primitive shapes. Above him he could make out two figures standing over him. A woman and a man, the woman still a distant blur, while the man had two distinguishing features Gabriel could make out; the manic, toothy grin that looked as if it were on the verge of ripping his face apart. And the oversized cowboy hat.
“I didn’t notice.” Gabriel, despite the pain that wracked his head, managed to keep his voice measured and strait-laced. He attempted to pull himself up, but the protests of his body and the fuzziness of his mind led to him just dropping back down, only to be caught by the cowboy’s grip. Built like an ox, Gabriel could tell.
“Get a fix-it kit out of the car, would ya, Nathalie?” The voices acted as anchors, keeping his focus tightly drawn to the present. He felt himself hoisted up to fall against the cowboy’s shoulder, now getting a view of the bloodstains and rips dotting his own suit. The same suit he’d invested most of his pay checks for the past few months into buying just for today.
Soon enough his vision blinked into a clear enough view to recognise he’d been placed on a bench. A clearer look of the cowboy revealed a man as old as the young Agreste with short mops of white hair, along with a freshly trimmed swirly moustache digging into his narrow cheeks. The man wore a similar attire to Gabriel, he noted, a white tux made up of lush fabrics and expensive expectations. A perfect suit for Graham de Vanily ball. Well, it used to be.
While Gabriel’s had been ruined by his confrontation, he was sure this man’s suit had never been clean and iron pressed. It hung loosely off his body, rolls of dark wrinkles overflowing with every move, and somehow Gabriel knew this was reflected in the cowboy’s loose stance and assortment of mismatched rings.
Flickers of familiarity take hold, images of Paris’ upper crust turning their noses at the uncouth gentleman struggling to drink his wine in a ‘proper’ manner, snide voices asking who invited the ruffian. Gabriel peered up at the man through a narrowed gaze. “You’re the American, aren’t you?”
The cowboy pressed one foot down on the bench, leering over Gabriel with an expression he couldn’t quite place. As the man pushed forward, Gabriel pressed back against the bench, cornered by something he had no knowledge to judge. Lip corners turned upwards like a smile, adding an amused reverb to the man’s voice. Yet, his eyes burned with a flash of indignance, betraying a harsher edge under it all. “You frenchies really know how to say that word like you’re spittin’ it.”
Gabriel made a sharp inhale, gritting his teeth as he decided that, whatever was behind that tone, he didn’t like it. “And you tourists slur my beautiful language like a drunkard.” He let the oppressive cold of the night wash over him, forming a solid wall of composure over his face that hid his anxieties and fears.
The man snorted. Well, it sounded like a snort, but every action this stranger took seemed to bubble with something contradictory underneath. “Big talk from a guy gargling his teeth through every syllable.”
Gabriel narrowed his eyes, ignoring how the action irritated the dark patches across his brow. “A trifle battering doesn’t stop me from being elegant.”
Cowboy turned his head back towards the advancing form of the woman, Nathalie if Gabriel heard correctly, a dark chuckle following him loud and clear. “Look at this jackass,” He pushed off the bench, retreating behind Nathalie with his arms over his chest. He gestured wildly to Gabriel with his head. “Not a penny to his name or blue in his blood, and he’s still acting all refined and fancy. I don’t know if that’s impressive or sad.”
Nathalie wordlessly crossed the distance between them, a cloth and a bottle of cloudy, unknown liquid in hand. She was a striking woman, an exterior of ice-tipped pragmatism and manners wrapped in a perfectly professional suit. On second thought, Gabriel was sure he saw her carrying drinks and coats for Emilie’s sister during the party, with the same stone face. The stoic mask, the straight edged dark hair pulled back as tightly as possible, the dull blue crystals regarding him with such restrained bafflement that he immediately felt like an idiot. It all came together to project a powerful, intolerant presence that forever regarded you as something to ‘tolerate’. So, pretty much exactly how he always imagined bankers growing up. She was at complete odds with the attire of her companion.
The first conclusion Gabriel came to about this woman was that she did not have a gentle bone in her body. She didn’t so much as wait for him to stop shuffling or give permission before she lashed out at the cut across his jaw, wiping away at the bloody display with a cloth. He’d be half-tempted to compare it to a whip with how immediate the sting of whatever she’d dabbed the cloth with burned him. He made half-hearted splutters of pain, trying to get her attention, but her eyes reflected no desire to acknowledge or talk to him.
Instead, he tried to return his focus to the man, residing himself to just letting Nathalie have her way. “You’re mocking me.”
Cowboy shrugged, crouching down on the balls of his feet and pushing back his hat, always making sure his vibrant, silver eyes always shone through. “Yes, and I’m also helping you.” Gabriel’s ear caught a split-second of Nathalie’s lips betraying an annoyed scoff. Cowboy rocked back-and-forth, pushing his hands together, none the wiser. “Figure that sorta levels it all out.”
The cloth scraped over the side of his face where Graham de Vanily Senior’s ring punctured the skin mid-punch, causing Gabriel to release a sharp hiss. Mercifully, it was enough to make the unflappable woman hesitate. “Why?” He let the calm mask slip a little, allowing a hint of indignation bleed into his harsh tone. He was in no mood for another rich pig looking to get their jollies from poking the penniless tailor. With a condescending smirk he let his hand flap open, gesturing to the dishevelled state of the man’s wardrobe as he added “Are you looking for someone to fix your suit? That is supposed to be a suit, right?”
Gabriel hated how the man laughed, unmistakably carefree and giddy now. The comment was meant to infuriate, to needle the feckless ponce who’d probably have a heart attack over you using the wrong spoon for soup. Yet all Gabriel accomplished was showing that these people got to him easily enough to show cracks in his mask, in his thin illusion of contentment.
The cowboy hat slipped off, the man tapping his chin with the brim. This covered most of his face, just leaving those damn eyes bearing into Gabriel, into the cracks, looking for something to understand. “See, when a shoe shiner dressed like fake royalty marches into the Elite’s personal kingdom, when he stands before the court of silver spoons and announces-“
The hat smacks him across the nose, his eyes screwing up as if the words tasted terrible on his tongue. He appraises Gabriel again, and instead taps the hat against Gabriel’s knee. “No, declares his intent to give his grubby little peasant heart to the big man’s little princess.” He pulled his arms apart; the extra story beat of said ‘shoe shiner’ getting held down and punished fading into his slack-jawed grin. “Well, it gets me curious, you know?”
Gabriel shrugged, “It’s worth minor bruising to impress Emilie.”
Nathalie pulls away from him, her exasperated demeanour, conveyed solely through the tiny spark in her eyes, now bounced between the two. Good to know he wasn’t alone in looking like a fool in her eyes.
Cowboy tossed his hat upwards, no care in the world where it landed as his free hand unfurled to form finger-guns staring directly up at Gabriel. He didn’t have to worry, the hat easily dropped on the back of his head, pulling back his white fringe. “You look at a mad bastard like that, getting beaten to a bloody pulp – you just gotta know what the hell is going on with him.”
“And ’sides, your little display back there gave me the excuse I needed to get away from those snobs.” His form stalked closer, pushing up to a mid-stride to get close enough that his eyes broke through any boundary Gabriel tried to erect, the manic grin wobbling with eager energy. “Was a pretty face all it took to give you guts?”
Now here, Gabriel had no problem with letting his anger boil over into his gaze. “Emilie is no mere pretty face.” His voice was firm, held up by cold fury that had been simmering in his stomach for the whole year, for every vile insinuation he’d heard slung her way while she told him it was fine. “She’s the only truly beautiful thing in Paris. And I refuse to only whisper that fact in private.”
His fingers curled into a fist, pulling his skin so tight he could hear the sound of stretching leather in his mind as his knuckles turned white. “It’s her god damn birthday.” He says it so quiet at first, as if he were confronting the information for the first time and processing how much it disgusted him. He repeated it again, this time louder with a fire in his belly, daring the man to talk back to him. “She deserves at least one day to be treated as more than a future bargaining chip for those... Those…” His chest heaved between breaths as his angry and energized mind searched for a description that satisfied his spite. “Those soulless, heartless, wretched vultures.”
A heartbeat or two passed at the mercy of silence, the gentle breeze carrying water vapours to dissolve against his flushed skin, dowsing his flames for a time. For a time he simply sat there, shaking, waiting for an excuse, a target, that would allow him take out his pent-up frustration on something, on someone; whatever he could watch be consumed and not feel guilt for. And yet it never came, it was just him, shivering in front of two strangers, a lump of shame pressing down on his throat until his anger simmered down.
“Colt.” It cracked through the air with the precision and surprise of a lightning strike.
Gabriel turned his gaze upwards, his shoulders hanging limp as he noted that the man now stood away from the bench, his arm outstretched to close the distance between them. “Huh?”
The question got the man’s head rolling with his eyes, bending his arm slightly as he drew closer, jabbing his thumb back in his direction. “Colt Fathom. It’s my name.” The thumb fell back, and the hand closed into a fist, rasping his knuckles against Gabriel’s head. “I know you got the senses knocked out of ya, but I think you know that at least.”
Colt retreated, offering his outstretched hand again. Which Gabriel couldn’t help but stare at in complete bewilderment. Somehow this man had gone from being spat at by some random riff raff to offering his hand as if he cared about introductions. As if this wouldn’t simply be a passing interruption that both men would forget as soon as they turned in for the night. “Grassette.” In such a state, Gabriel couldn’t help but gulp, slowly taking the man’s hand. “Gabbi- Gabriel Grassette.”
“And your heart’s set on London’s darling princess, huh?” Colt already had a tight grip, but it became an iron vice when he was throwing his head back to laugh. Gabriel should feel that indignation flare up again, yet something in the back of his mind told him he wasn’t really being mocked. “You must be mad. She’s never going to settle down with some nobody from the gutter, is she?”
Gabriel regarded Colt with a polite scoff, standing taller than ever as he pulled himself up to stand face-to-face with this American stranger. The stranger he instantly found himself realizing had a full foot on him. “I’m only a nobody today. Tomorrow’s full of opportunities.” His free arm came up, arming two fingers to press forward and push against Colt’s chest. “You watch, American. They can beat me as much as they please, but this world will remember me.”
Colt whistled at the display; eyes framed by disbelief. “That so, Frenchie?”
Gabriel nodded, pulling away and crossing his arms. “That’s the truth.”
Colt lunged forward, stepping past Gabriel before he could react and throwing an arm around Gabriel’s shoulder, a mix of mischief and determination glinting in his metal eyes. “Wanna have a drink and talk about it?”
To be fair, Gabriel had never been much for physical affection, so the proto-friendly hug left him unbalanced, stumbling further into Colt’s loose hold. “Why?”
Colt shrugged, “I find myself in need of a mad bastard, and Nathalie’s a fine assistant, but a terrible drinking buddy.”
“Because I value my employment to your father, Sir.” For the first time that night, Nathalie spoke. Her voice was delightful, smooth, gentle and way too nice to hear for a woman so cold. It was easier to smile at her than it was to look at Colt, who Gabriel could only imagine as collection of unstable and contradictory energies stuffed in a meat sack. She did not return the smile.
“See?” Colt hollered, smacking Gabriel on the back with enough force for Gabriel to recoil. “Total conformist. How am I gonna talk ambitions with that?” Without waiting for Gabriel to give his answer, Colt slipped away, peeling off Gabriel’s stained suit with ease and holding it out to Nathalie. “Nathalie, take his coat and drive until we find a bar.”
The late-night chill and the pools of rain water did nothing to deter Colt as he bounded towards the sleek car positioned at the end of the street. Seems he didn’t need to hear Nathalie’s confirmation either, just told her the score and waited for it to be settled. Gabriel didn’t know what annoyed him more, the entitled attitude, or the fact that he knew he was going to do exactly what Colt suggested. He had to admit, the man had him curious. Besides, what else did he have planned tonight?
“Oh, Mr. Grassette.” His attention was drawn back to Nathalie as she folded his dirty suit neatly over her arm, a service he felt uncomfortable making someone carry out, but common politeness told him to let her do what he assumed was her job.
She reached into her breast pocket, procuring something from it in a closed fist. He noted how some of the ice had melted from her gaze for the moment, a certain softness setting in that hadn’t existed before. He didn’t know what changed, but it did enough to make his smile genuine as he approached. Nathalie’s hand opened, revealing a broach balancing on her palm, a violet jewel with four streaks flowing out of it like wings. Like butterfly wings. “I saw this drop from your pockets during your ‘entanglement’ with Mr. Graham.”
He couldn’t help himself, his body acting before thinking as he eagerly snatched the broach out of her hand and held it close. A man acting in an instant to preserve something precious. When his brain caught up to his actions, both in how odd his behaviour was and how rudely he’d ripped the jewel from Nathalie’s hand, he shot up to stand straight and ‘proper’ with an apologetic bow. “T-Thank you very much, Nathalie. I don’t know where I’d be without this.”
To Nathalie’s credit, she was able to communicate the utterly baffling nature of his response purely through blinking, standing there stock still and stunned. “It is… Just a broach, isn’t it, Sir?” A few more blinks brought the rest of her face into the fray, pulling that wall back up as if she feared she’d crossed some sort of boundary. “If I may inquire, of course.”
Looking down at the jewel, Gabriel found its allure, its importance difficult to explain. He knew she couldn’t see it as he did, no one really could. This thing in his hand, it was more than just an accessory, more than mere visually pleasing. It connected with him, with his heart. Sometimes he could swear that, if he pressed it close enough, he could feel it thrumming with energy, humming an ethereal rhythm that stayed in tune with his heart.
“It’s special to me. Ever since I found it, it’s been a… Well, a lucky charm I guess.” His fingers closed over it, holding it up to his heart. For so many years he’d carried this mysterious trinket, convinced himself that it was something more, something that breathed in his difficult thoughts, that wrapped warmth around him when his heart struggled, that spoke dreams of better days in his ears when he lost his sight. Something that found him, that dropped itself into his lap that fateful day, after his mother was buried.
All he needed to know about it was that it saved him.
“All the disappointments, all the failures, all the pain; somehow it makes it all easier to stomach. Wearing it makes me feel free. Like someone’s there beside me, telling me all the things I’ve yet to do.”
Nathalie averted her gaze to the floor, her tone apologetic. “I’m sorry, Mr. Agreste. I didn’t mean to come off like I was mocking you. We all have our sentimental meme-”
Gabriel was just as surprised as her to find himself gripping her hand, offering a light squeeze as he beckoned her gaze upwards to meet his. Maybe the night was finally getting to him, maybe he just felt tired, maybe he was just really wishing Emilie was here right now so he could comfort her. All that matters was that he let the mask slip freely in front of this woman to show her his genuine attempt. “Thank you, Nathalie. Really.”
Perhaps it was the strange jewel that egged him on, that pushed him to take a chance on these two strangers, that knew this vital point would change the trajectory of his entire life. Gabriel would ponder that for many years to come. However, he eventually decided it was impossible.
After all, if Nooroo did know what was coming, what these two men would unleash upon the world; he would have never saved Gabriel’s wretched life.
I wasn’t ready to be a parent. Neither was Gabriel. I was a sheltered, reckless young girl on the run, desperate for a family to love. He was a boy who’d only seen the worst of the world and could only fear for the few good things he could cling to. I love him. I love my son. I can’t imagine my life without either of them, and yet… We never should have tampered with the Miraculous. Such power, such responsibility shouldn’t be in the hands of a foolish couple drunk on their desire for an escape from their family drama. People who never considered what they’d be putting whatever they created through.
I always left that sort of thinking to Gabriel. I always admired his mind and his drive, but in the back of my mind, I feared it. I knew what he could become, and on my death bed I knew what he would become. And I let it happen.
I never thought of Gabriel as an evil man, but that doesn’t stop him from being a dangerous one.
There’s so much that we shouldn’t have done, and now everyone else is paying for it.
Paris, 2021 - Present Day
Gabriel Agreste remembered his death. Every moment following his ascension to Monarch was cloudy, unclear, near incomprehensible to him, but his death was almost crystal clear.
He remembered Ladybug’s voice cutting through the rot consuming his mind, the impending doom that weighed down on his every step leading to that moment and rooting him to clarity.
He remembered his sins catching up with him all at once, as if he’d only just awoken to see what he’d become, what he’d done.
He remembered her talking him down, how his knee’s crumbled and he begged her to make the right choice that he was too weak to make.
He remembered that clarity slipping away when Monarch saw how defenceless Ladybug had let herself become, pouncing upon her like a hungry beast and sinking the Bee miraculous’ stunning venom stab into the poor girl as he snatched his prizes from her grasp.
He remembered the last shred of humanity left in the hollow monster known as Monarch, the piece of himself that held on and forced him to correct his wish.
He remembered hoping against all odds that this act did not come too late to save Nathalie from his mistakes.
He remembered his last thought as he pulled Emilie from her golden cage, their souls ascending to the peace he’d so wrongfully denied her.
He remembered Adrien, knowing that his son was better off without him, that he’d be left in the care of people far better than his failure of a father.
He remembered his body tearing itself apart as oblivion consumed him.
Gabriel Agreste remembered his death.
So, how did I get here? He thought to himself as he felt his knees hit the cold, stone floor of the basement. There were little to no light sources, couldn’t even make out his own hands, but he knew where he was. He’d returned to this room, to this very spot, after every failure to get down on his knees and beg Emilie’s sleeping body for forgiveness and understanding he never deserved. The room had changed, a certain golden coffin was missing, and the greenery had died down, but he knew.
“Ladybug?” He called out into the darkness, his voice hoarse, like razor blades underneath his throat. “Is this… Is this your doing? Was my death some sort of trickery?” It was only in retrospect that he realized how ridiculous that scenario sounded, imagining Ladybug somehow tricking him into thinking he’d made a self-sacrificing wish. For what end? Payback? Leverage? Would she giggle to herself as she left the room, all just to disorientate him for a moment? No, it was ridiculous, but something told him that he was going to wish that notion was the reality soon enough.
No response, no sense of anyone else in the room. It was just him, the dulled rushing of the river below the platform and the skittering of rats. Somehow the basement felt more alive than when he’d kept a corpse down here. He tentatively pushed himself up, but as if his limbs were quicksand, all his efforts simply fell through. He collapsed against the surface, his fingers feeling along the edge of some sort of computer console, tapping against dust-covered buttons and scratched paint.
The silence was oppressive, like an invisible force wrapping tightly around his throat. It was the first time since his mother’s funeral that he was without the butterfly miraculous. Even before it’s powers had been revealed to him, the simple jewel had become a part of him, an extension of his senses. Losing it was like losing his eyes, the impenetrable darkness might as well have been his default sight.
Gabriel supposed he shouldn’t be surprised by how weak he felt. He was dead. His body ripped itself apart. The fact all it left him with was atrophy, let alone that he was able to move without cracking like an egg, was a miracle in of itself. A grace, a mercy, that the detestable likes of him weren’t supposed to receive, which told him that karma was a big fat cosmic lie.
His mood dulled as he felt something slap against his chest, something solid and small that resided in his pocket. Urging all the strength he could muster, Gabriel scrambled for his jacket pocket, grabbing hold of the slender device and ripping it out. A phone, I still have my phone! He huffs internally, the split-second between him looking down and his thumb hitting the power button stretching out into an eternity, his breath held tight against his throat.
Pure, undeserved luck was the only way he could explain the phone still having enough charge to turn on, the bright glow of the home screen parting the darkness and washing over his face. However, his breath stayed baited, the image of Nathalie and Adrien beaming up at him from the screen. He had no sense of time to measure how long it had been since he last saw them, but his heart squeezed as if it were his first time.
He managed to summon the willpower to move his gaze up to the top of the screen, where a notification appeared, informing him of a very special day.
Miraculous Paris, 2021 – One Year after the Breach
Three years. It had been Three years since his demise.