Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Marinette gently wipes the tender flesh of her ear where the new piercing is. It's red, sore, and a little puffy, but she finds herself grinning at the sight of it.

Her Nonna had promised her another epic gift, as usual, and had especially encouraged something this year as she turned seventeen. The motorcycle had come up again, but while Marinette really appreciated it... she figured a few more years couldn't hurt.

A second piercing seemed more appropriate. Unsurprisingly, it had been nearly as divisive as the motorcycle. When Marinette and her Nona returned from their trip to Naples with a hole (admittedly bloody) in Marinette's ear, the jovial mood had quickly tanked.

Her father took hold of her shoulders, quickly scanned her for any more injuries, and shot a firm look up at his mother. He pulled her Nonna aside, speaking in a very hushed tone as his wife directed their daughter's attention to her, taking the square of gauze Marinette clumsily held to her ear to clean the streak of blood the uncoordinated girl had let slip past.

"Mom, you said you weren't in that anymore."

"I am not."

"Then how did she end up like this? You can't make Marinette–"

"Wai- wha–like what, caro?"

"There's a hole in her head!"

"Oh relax, It's just a piercing, caro."

"Mom, I know what a piercing looks like, and that is–"

"An ear piercing. Marinetta? Where is your earring?"

"I took it out because it was itching…"

"You have to leave it in, Marinetta. Thank you, Sabine."

After getting the piercing clean, putting the provided earring back in ("See, caro? For jewelry." ), assuring her dad that she was still his innocent baby girl and reassuring her mom that the decision was all hers–not motivated by peer pressure– her parents seemed to warm up to the idea. Besides, she mentioned, the piercing wasn’t permanent; if she changed her mind, she couldalways let it close.

Carefully pushing the placeholder jewel in place, Marinette breathes a sigh of relief, tosses her cleaning gauze, and skips out of the bathroom to seize the day!

It'll be her first time around her friends with the new piercing, and she’s excited to see what their reactions will be. She can already guess at some of them. Alix will probably welcome her to the club with gusto, Alya will want to take her shopping for a new ring before she can even use it, Myléne will probably ask if it hurt, and Kim will probably ask if she bled a lot.

Marinette can proudly say she handled the whole thing rather well, though the blood did freak her out a little, at first.

Slinging her schoolbag over her shoulder, she takes the stairs down two steps at a time, kisses her parents, and heads the rest of the way down with as much daring. Normally, she'd never risk it knowing how clumsy she is, but she feels different today.

The walk to school is largely uneventful. The sky is a pleasant blue, mostly unobscured by clouds, the breeze blows just right and the city feels like it's in good spirits. On such a fair day, how could it not? That's why the apprehensive stares stand out to Marinette.

Marinette was taught not to stare, not to talk to strangers, and to preserve herself in general, but she couldn't fight the instinct to stare down those people who looked at her like they'd seen a ghost. After jaunting an eyebrow at each one of them, they quickly look away, thankfully, but it's still very weird.

Maybe it's the extra piercing? They were all elderly, and most of them aren't very accepting of the stylistic choice. Traditionally, piercings are unprofessional and delinquent.

(Which reminds Marinette that eventually, her grandpa will see the new piercing. That's going to be a long conversation…)

The experience stays with her, but Marinette brushes it off once she's arrived in front of the school. Her best friends are talking on the steps casually, eating time before classes start, and they're just the people she's been wanting to see. Marinette starts up the steps with a bright smile lighting up her face, and it quickly attracts the attention of Alya, who sees her first. She waves her over, gesturing for Marinette to join them.

"Hey, guys!" Marinette exclaims as she joins them. Nino and Adrien turn their heads at the greeting, smiling, too, but then they freeze. "What?" Marinette asks.

"Girl," Alya says first, standing from where she'd been lounging beside her boyfriend. "Marinette?" she asks, like she's checking if she's got the right person.

"Yeah…?"

"You look different."

True, Marinette is wearing her hair down today, which she hasn't done in a while. And there is the second piercing on her left ear, an inch above the first. In it is a golden stud with an inlaid rose-red gem that contrasts well with her eyes– at least, that's what her Nonna and the piercer had said.

Marinette turns her ear towards Alya so she can see it. Her hair is tucked behind the shell of her ear, making her earrings easy to see. "Well, there is something a little different about me…"

Alya's eyes brighten nearly immediately. "You got a second ear piercing!"

Nino and Adrien push in to see for themselves, much to Alya's irritation. Their reactions are about what Marinette expects: Nino laughs, in the best way, and Adrien admires the craftsmanship of the jewel like a nerd.

"That's a big rock," the DJ remarks.

"Who cut your ruby?" the model asks.

"Uhhh…"

"Most people don't know that, bro," Nino informs helpfully. "They choose a premade piece that the piercer has on hand."

"Oh." Adrien blinks.

Nino glances over at Marinette, eyeing the stud from the side. "Then again, most piercers don't spend big bucks on their placeholders. You must have gone to a pretty swank place, Mari."

"Yep," Marinette agrees before he can ask who or where she got the piercing from. "The swankiest."

"Nino's right, it looks really good," Adrien picks up. "You got a quality piece of jewelry there, Marinette."

"Oh, thanks! It's a birthday gift from my Nonna. She said she had it ordered, actually. Maybe I can ask her the name of the jeweler."

"Your grandma really doesn't spare any expense for you, does she?" Alya remarks on the high grade of the ruby, after pushing the boys aside to get a proper look at it herself.

"I know. She's the best! I'm lucky to have her."

The intonation of the electronic warning bell fills the air of the school courtyard, cutting their conversation short, and they all retrieve their bags to head inside. Saved by the bell.

"You look great, by the way," Alya offers as they walk side by side. "It's just that I almost didn't recognize you for a second there. You look more… mature."

While Marinette's never been in a hurry to grow up, there is a part of her that preens at the compliment. Specifically coming from Alya, who had managed to become even more lovely over the years, somehow, and is often mistaken as a university student or some other, invited out to all manner of occasions by everyone around them. Her mature energy attracts everyone to her.

"Thanks," Marinette expresses with a blush.

Unlike the days in collége, the four of them don't have the same homeroom. Nino and Marinette, mysteriously committed to one another throughout their schooling by the Academic Fates, part ways with the other two. They take their seats in different areas of the classroom and get settled, making small talk with their desk mates.

When Marinette gets up for a brief moment to throw away some old cards taking up space in her bag, Alix hops onto Marinette's back out of nowhere, shocking Marinette thoroughly. She begins flailing at first which nearly causes them to crash into the teacher's desk, but by the grace of the universe, they are spared the tragedy. A noogie and some desperate bargaining later, Alix unfastens herself from Marinette and offers a much more reasonable thumbs-up in appreciation of her new piercing.

"So who did your piercing?" asks the fiend, completely unapologetic.

Marinette recalls the long week she'd spent with her grandma abroad, learning more about her heritage in Italy and having some experiences she'd only dreamt of since she was a kid– and some she hadn't dreamt of at all.

In Marinette fashion, she'd spent the entire night before agonizing over how she should answer this question when it inevitably arose. She'd crashed without an answer, but today, she's calmer and sharper than usual, moving forward undaunted by a blank mind.

"An old guy in Italy," shrugs Marinette easily, trying to make it sound as uninteresting as possible– and it's not even a complete lie.

"Awesome," Alix sharply grins. What Marinette likes most about Alix is that she's an uncomplicated gal; once she's got what she came for, she gives Marinette a fist bump and goes to her seat.

After that, Homeroom passes without any other life threatening events, much to Marinette’s relief. Kim is a bit overzealous in appreciating the jewel in Physics, like some habitual thief, and nearly causes her to bleed out in the middle of class, but Marinette salvages the situation before serious damage is done.

It’s smooth sailing from there until,

"Truce."

"What?"

"Truce, okay?"

Today just keeps getting stranger and stranger.

Marinette blinks a couple times, retracting from her thoughts. She'd been wondering what in the world Lila could possibly want from her now, after a year-long Cold War, when her thoughts had wandered, wondering if this sudden parley was somehow related to her second piercing.

Marinette furrows her eyebrows. Her reflection mirrors the action in the reflection of the mirror behind Lila reflecting the mirror behind her reflecting the mirror behind Lila.

"Lila, are you feeling okay?"

"Are you being sarcastic? I genuinely can't tell," replies Lila. "Kudos, by the way."

"I'm not being sarcastic," Marinette tells her. "You would never genuinely want a truce with me unless you were dying and your guilty conscience won out. You wrote it in a very aggressively worded letter when I asked you for a truce in collége."

"That was before today."

"And what's so special about today?"

"Don't think I'm going to grovel just because it turns out you're a little important. I'm just getting the housekeeping out of the way. No trouble around school, capisce?"

"No, I'm not sure I do understand," answers Marinette. "That is what capisce means, right?"

"Are you even Italian?" Lila exclaims. Her face is exasperated in a way that makes Marinette feel like Lila's not off her rocker, she's really missing something here. "I don't get how a loser like you got made."

Marinette partially recoils. "Okay, that's taking it too far."

"No, you dumb– who gave you that earring?"

Marinette, unused to having a second piercing on her left ear, instantly thinks Lila is talking about her Ladybug earrings and nearly has a heart attack. Her face hardens instinctually, guarding the secret even as she realizes Lila is referring to the far more flashy piece of jewelry she received for her birthday.

"My Nonna," divulges Marinette reluctantly. "But what does that have to do with anything? You're not making any sense, Lila."

"Nonna– so you're, what, a quarter? Since it's on your dad's side, I guess that counts."

To that, Marinette doesn't say a thing. She's tired of going back and forth, asking questions Lila refuses to answer. Her silence is punctuated by Lila's expectant look, probably waiting for Marinette to be offended and retaliate with something mean and unclever. She does not.

Lila narrows her eyes at Marinette, looking both suspicious and confused. Then she sighs, her brows set low over her eyes in a subdued glower. "You're going to make me say it?"

"Say what?"

"I can't tell if you want me to put it in bolder terms or if you're really as as dim as you look."

"This is why I didn't believe you want a truce, by the way."

Lila heaves another sigh. "Maybe if I put it this way: your family's bigger than you think."

"Ew, we're cousins?!"

"No, you– your grandma is a gangster!"

"I know that!"

"I knew it! You annoying bitch."

"I wasn't trying to deceive you. Maybe you should try talking forthright with people for a change."

"I'll ruminate on that." Lila says in a flat tone that promises she will never, ever care to do that. "Anyway, we're done here. I could go another year without seeing your face, and it'd still be too soon."

"Likewise," Marinette grumbles under her breath as Lila leaves the bathroom. "Truce my ass."

The truth of her piercing is a curious adventure.

It was near the end of their trip, a couple of days before they were due back in Paris, when they decided to stop by a reputable jeweler in Naples so Marinette could get her ear pierced. The piercing parlor was behind the shop. They entered through sliding doors that blended in with the wall, down a cool corridor with old brick walls and almost no light. Marinette would be lying if she said that she wasn't nervous, but her Nonna had promised the shop was owned by an old colleague of hers they could trust.

With the way the Italians interacted once they finally arrived inside the obscure parlor, Marinette could see it was true.

"Constantino!"

Her Nonna greeted the elderly gentleman in the parlor with loud friendliness. The gentleman, in kind, was warm and generous, and he greeted her Nonna with a respect that kind of surprised Marinette. He treated the teen similarly, with an instant affection for her that was only a little strange. Marinette felt like in another life, this man could have been her grand-godfather. He didn't speak much French at all, so her Nonna had to do most of the talking, but that was fine by Marinette; she was mentally preparing herself for getting pierced by a needle, and wanted to focus on not focusing on it.

The parlor was rather lavish, despite its neglected pathway. Red leather seats, elegant metal decals and a smooth finish on everything. Marinette couldn't honestly list everything, but she knew it was expensive from the look of it. A refreshing daylight bulb kept everything exceptionally well lit. A small antique radio softly serenaded the room with sleepy jazz from its place in the corner.

The gentleman and her Nonna conversed casually with a nostalgic air as Marinette wandered to a nearby chair. She watched them finish the niceties and begin discussing the jewel that would take up residence in the hole soon to be in her ear. Everything was peaceful and still in a way Marinette figured visitors to Paris must find the Louvre, or the wax museum. She was in a calm place, leaned back in the parlor chair as she wiped her lobe clean with a gentle antibacterial solution.

Her Nonna took up a spot in a loveseat not far from her and picked up a magazine. She glanced over the edge of the pages to catch Marinette's inquisitive stare, shining with an adoration Marinette honestly couldn't fathom. Constantino wheeled a table beside Marinette with a small collection of instruments laid upon it. At her nervous look, he chuckled.

"Don't be worried. Close your eyes."

With another glance at her grandma, who nodded in affirmation, Marinette slowly let her eyes close and awaited the pinch.

Normally, Marinette was so out of sorts with herself that she got blindsided by the sudden changes in her environment, but the stillness of the afternoon in the parlor den had heightened her awareness. She noticed a subtle shift in the air. As the seconds ticked and no puncture came, Marinette peeked an eye open.

Her Nonna had moved. So had Constantino. While her Nonna bent over to fiddle with the knobs on the radio, Constantino was reaching for her shoulder, piercing needle held threateningly in his hand.

As soon as Marinette realized her Nonna's life was very much in danger, she yelled. The assailant's aim was thrown off just enough for her Nonna to roll out of the way with a cut deep enough to scar, not kill.

Constantino wielded the piercing needle with a frightening amount of skill, jabbing, slicing, and stabbing at Marinette's grandmother. Marinette's heroic instincts kicked in and she rushed to thwart Constantino's attempts on her Nonna's life. She jumped on his back and seized his needle-wielding arm.

"Marinetta!"

Her world flipped violently and the air rapidly left her lungs. Marinette gasped up at the ceiling, at the needle racing towards her face.

Marinette jerked her head away, but the needle still managed to land in her ear. She cried out.

Her Nonna erupted, yelling curses, and launched herself at Constantino. Marinette yelped in pain again as the needle was jostled and roughly dislodged from her ear. She cradled the injury, entering shock. She'd never been violently wounded before.

Marinette was so shocked that she couldn't move or feel anything for a full ten minutes after the fact. It wasn't until her Nonna re-entered her field of vision, hands firmly gripping her shoulders as she explained the situation, that Marinette realized everything that'd just transpired was real , and that she had gotten stabbed.

Her Nonna was only grazed– or so she claimed– saved by a life of bombastic habits. Marinette didn't want to think about what had become of Constantino, though somewhere in her she knew the jeweler was probably dead.

After grabbing the ruby earring, they fled the scene as soon as Marinette's legs could hold up under her.

Only when they had found a place to lay low did Marinette's Nonna apologize for her getting hurt (not for the experience overall, Marinette noticed; she catalogued it with everything else unusual about her grandmother).

Needless to say, they promptly left Italy after that.

Following her strange meeting with Lila in the girl's bathroom, Marinette is able to fall back into her normal routine; she goes to school, talks with her friends, and kicks back on the Couffaine's boat when it's sunny after classes and she doesn't feel like going home. The biggest event all week is Alya making some time for her on the weekend to shop for more earrings.

The mundanity is refreshing. Marinette almost forgoes confessing the entire piercing ordeal to Alya in favor of maintaining it, but she’s learned by now not to wait to tell her anything. Alya’s so busy nowadays Marinette’s next window to talk to her privately could be two weeks from now, and Alya always finds out one way or another; if it’s another, there’s always drama.

Alya is genuinely speechless at the news.

"I think this goes without saying, but please don't tell anyone. Especially my Nonna or Lila." Marinette begs.

"I wish I knew your Nonna to tell her anything," Alya jokes, half serious, "but Lila? That's strangely specific."

"We talked the other day and I think she knows more about what happened to me than I do. I can't get you involved."

"I get that you don't like Lila and all, but accusing her of putting out a hit on you and your grandma–"

"No, I don't think she put out a hit on us. In fact, she asked me for a truce."

"Maybe once she found out you survived the hit, she wanted to be in your good graces." Alya offers.

"Do you believe she put out a hit or not?"

"Well, you know I can't completely rule it out. I could be overlooking a potential baddie here."

"Ha ha, very funny," Marinette deadpans. "I'm serious, you know. Why do you think Lila is so precious and innocent, anyway? Have you ever actually witnessed any of the things she claims to be doing?"

"I wasn't joking. It's like you say, I haven't witnessed firsthand any of the deeds she claims to have done, just like I haven't witnessed firsthand any of the wrongs you claim she's done to you. I'm open to the possibilities."

"Then why be so nice? What if you're enabling a real bitch?"

"Because of the Golden Rule. Besides," Alya smirks. "If there really is gangster beef between you two, I'd rather be on her good side."

Alya is always helpful for a broader, more objective perspective, but Marinette knows what she knows.

The girls drop the sensitive conversation as they journey deeper into the mall. Marinette lets Alya lead her around, pointing out interesting kiosks, piercing and jewelry focused stores, and even a few places unrelated to their mission but fun to explore just the same. They compare a few different pieces that would fit the hole in her ear, and discuss whether or not Alya should get a matching one in her right ear (under different circumstances, of course).

It's a great time, but throughout the whole adventure, Marinette can't forget what Lila said about the earring her Nonna gifted her. She seems to know something about it… and as much as it pains Marinette, Lila is probably the only person she can talk to about it besides her Nonna, whom she's not trying to give any ideas yet.

"So when you say truce," Marinette begins, arms folded over her chest (she's a little proud of the icy air she manages to produce), "you mean it, right?"

Lila diminished her pride by somehow managing a sweet smile and a nasty snark at the same time– in lieu of answering with words, by the way.

"Then tell me what you know about my earring, and my family." Marinette narrows her eyes. "And no lies."

"I gain more from telling you the truth than from lying to you in this case, so no need to worry." Lila leans back against one of the pearly sinks lining the wall. "My guess is your Nonna's from somewhere around Naples, right?"

Marinette nods, holding her breath.

"Right. The bling you've got in your ear? It's a classic inlaid cut used by wealthy Italian families. The body is fourteen karat gold, the decal is catholic, imprinted with an old Italian proverb, and the ruby was a popular choice around a hundred years ago, about the time our grandparents were born. Such valuable artifacts are passed down the generations, ready for the next son to inherit."

Marinette could be wrong, but she was pretty sure there was some bitterness there.

"Did your Nonna have any brothers?" Lila asks.

"I don't know." Marinette answers. "She never mentioned anything about her life in Italy until my birthday."

"In any case, she had a father. And now she's gotten her hands on a family heirloom and given it to you."

"So you could tell the jewel was valuable and Italian. Fine. What does it have to do with my family and you making a truce with me?"

Lila grins voraciously. "I thought what it has to do with your family would be obvious. Or are you in denial?" Marinette gives her a weird look, and Lila clarifies. "I know that 'piercing' wasn't caused by a needle. Any idiot paying attention could tell."

Showing vulnerability to a person like Lila is asking to be eaten alive, but Marinette is willing to suffer to get to the bottom of this. She pleads, just a little, for the roundabout to end. "I just want to know what it all means."

As predicted, Lila responds to her desperation like the witch she is. "Basically, you're wearing the crown to a lost empire, sweetheart." The witch leans forward into Marinette's personal space, airing her insatiable hunger loud and clear while speaking in her doubly pierced ear. "And I'm going to help you bring it back."

Chapter Text

"No, thanks." Marinette firmly puts Lila at arm's length.

"You can't just walk away from this."

"Watch me."

Marinette swivels on her heel and starts walking to the bathroom door.

"Look, I know how this works!" Lila grips Marinette's arm to halt her. The raven-haired teen narrows her blue eyes in a nasty glower, but the witch is undeterred. "There's no end to vendetta. If you and your grandma are still alive, then men will be after you. If you don't want any of your friends or family to be hurt, then you've got to play the game."

"I trust my Nonna," Marinette pulls her arm free of Lila's talons. "She would never let any of us get hurt."

At this, Lila gives her a look that's equal parts sarcastic and amused.

"Fine. I still trust her more than you."

"Do you?"

Marinette scoffs and starts to turn away again—

"No, really," Lila says. "You came to me looking for answers. Why not your Nonna?'

"That's none of your business!" Marinette calls without looking back.

"But isn't it?!"

The question follows Marinette out as she swings the door open and leaves.

Some of the elderly are staring at her again, on her way home.

Yeah, they definitely look like they've seen a ghost.

Marinette jaunts her eyebrow at the ones that stare too hard. She's always had a soft spot for her seniors, but senior or no, staring is rude. Most of them blink and flinch, as if waking up from a daydream. They turn their head and either shake it slowly or gaze into the distance, probably wondering where their marbles have gone. One guy, though, he grits his teeth and glares at her.

The old gentleman(?) sits at the corner of the street outside his modest boutique. Mild-mannered mannequins in mens suits fill the building's tall windows. A small wooden bench that also appears tailor-made is his perch, situated just aside the entrance to his store, out of the way of most foot-traffic. The man's eyes are keen, unglazed, despite his age. His gaze is sharp and eagle-like as Marinette pauses just short of the crosswalk, staring back at him in surprise, wondering what she had done to deserve his malice.

She considers just ignoring him, but the hate is too concentrated, too real. "Sir–"

"No. I'm too old," Marinette has hardly said a single word before the old man is snapping at her. "Go tell your mother, or your father, I don't care, just leave me alone. No more suits."

Marinette's jaw falls and rises, falls and rises as she searches for words. "What?"

"No more suits!" The man shouts, garnering attention from passerby. "You hear me? I don't make suits."

Marinette spares a glance for the boutique fully stocked of nothing but suits.

Speechless, Marinette decides to respect the man's wish to be left alone and, after checking that the road is clear, hurriedly crosses the street.

She doesn't follow her usual route to the boulangerie patisserie. Today, Marinette is visiting her grandfather. She knows he has to be lonely. Stubborn, he only comes out on special occasions, but she has no such reservations and has the time to make the trip to his house every once in a while. And the past few years, she's more or less kept to her resolution to remain a part of his life– she'd detested being estranged from any of her family and will avoid it if she can.

While most of her visits are spontaneous, her grandfather is expecting her this time; when Marinette knocks on his door, he answers sooner rather than later, he's dressed in day clothes instead of his pajamas, and he doesn't scowl.

He does blink his eyes owlishly at her, though.

"Ah, Marinette! You have—how was the walk?"

Accepting her grandpa's brief embrace—and pretending to not notice his trouble—Marinette explains that while not the worst she's ever had, it could have been less stressful. Her grandpa makes funny faces when she tells him about the old people staring, and the one guy that even had the nerve to shout and lie at her.

"The world is going bonkers," he grumbles as he shuts the door and walks past her into the sitting room.

"Normally, I'd say you're being dramatic, but I don't know…"

"Anyway, don't mind crazies. Come here,"

Rolland guides his granddaughter to a small closet in between the kitchen and sitting room, ensconced under the staircase to the second floor. He flips the door open and Marinette swears a bat flies out of there. Thick cobwebs crowd the corners and a layer of dust coats everything. Grandpa Rolland reaches his arm in the dark space and pulls an antiquated chain. A yellow lightbulb flickers on, weakly illuminating the closet.

Marinette recovers form her flinch, leaning into the closet with a hand over her nose, waving the dusty air away. "Grandpa, I never did ask: how old is this house?"

"Your great, great grandfather was the first to own this house, but it may have been around before that. Why?"

Crouching down to get a better look at the chest on the ground, Marinette answers, "Just curious."

"That's your first assignment," Her grandfather waddles in a little, grabs ahold of one of the chest's handles, and pulls it from the back with a low growl. He drops it unceremoniously with a fatigued grunt and has to catch his breath. "Go through there and toss anything that looks useless," he huffs. "If you aren't sure about something, ask me. I'll be in the kitchen."

That's all the instruction she's going to get. Without further ado, Marinette begins figuring out how to open the chest.

A nice little treasure hunt later, Marinette re-approaches the chest with a key in hand. Popping the lock, she lifts the lid and peers in.

The chest is full of pretty old things. Most of them must be from her grandpa's childhood. Marinette digs through, identifying a checkbook, a worn hat, and a faded red spinning top, among other thins. At times she would come across strange, moth-eaten artifacts that could no longer be identified. She tosses those in the waste bin her grandpa drags over. Most of the items are charming insights into her grandpa's early life, but it isn't until she comes across a photo album that Marinette is truly intrigued– something about being able to see the full picture is exciting.

Immediately fascinated by the medium-sized book, she flips it open. The album begins with a black-and-white photo of a baby. In the bottom right corner of the photo, in small, elegant script, is written, Rolland, 1944.

Marinette continues flipping through the pages, seeing glimpses of family, friends, houses, cars, parks. Somewhere in the second third of the book, she stops. The page she lingers on doesn't have a date. Tucked securely into the plastic pocket is a scene from history. A young man sits at a table, one arm propped on it and the other atop his knee. Across from him is a young lady with a beaming smile. The young man looks happily surprised, or maybe unimpressed in an amused way. He's looking at the camera and she's not looking at anything, eyes scrunched close. The way the light hits their faces but leaves the background a strange amalgamation of shadows indicates the flash was likely on, and the photo was snapped at night.

"Hey, grandpa!" Marinette calls to him in the kitchen, "Who's this?"

Her grandpa shouts back something mildly grumpy and mostly gibberish as he moves some things around in the kitchen. A few moments later he's waddling into the sitting room where Marinette is crouched in front of his old chest. He stands behind the girl and peers over her shoulder to see what she's looking at. He has to lean forward and squint, his outdated glasses a poor aid for his failing vision.

In lieu of an answer, her grandpa sighs soft and long, placing one hand on her shoulder and carefully taking the picture from her with the other. Marinette turns her head to watch him questioningly. She is surprised by the emotions that take over his expression: nostalgia and affection—on a man who never has want for the past because he always lives in it, and who saves most his affection for his only granddaughter.

After a minute goes by and her grandpa has still said nothing, Marinette asks him about the picture again. "Grandpa?"

Rolland blinks and seems to come out of a daydream. His soft smile, which had only grown in tiny increments since he'd retrieved the photo, falls, morphing into a reluctant and sobering frown. His hand lowers absently as he looks away from Marinette, into the distance at nothing in particular. Marinette gingerly pulls the photo from his loose grasp and stands.

"This is you, isn't? Who's next to you? And what year is this from?"

Shaking his head to clear the webs, her grandpa gestures towards the picture, asking for it back. He nods. "That's me. It was 1961." He looks at it for a long moment then adds, pointing to the young woman, "And this is your grandmother."

"You look pretty happy here." Marinette can't help but notice. It's the most content and easy she's ever seen him.

He nods, and laments, "I was."

"What was going on? Do you remember?" Marinette looks from the picture to his conflicted expression and feels nervous, remembering that while on speaking terms now, her grandparents had divided rather bitterly. She didn't mean to be insensitive. "I mean, unless, if you don't wanna talk about it…"

"You can't tell because pictures were not so great back then," her grandpa says slowly in his low, gravelly voice, "but your grandmother, then, you're… the spitting image of her at that age."

To say Marinette is pleasantly surprised is an understatement. She'd been expecting him to snap at her and stomp off to let off steam, and take the book with him. Instead he gives the photo back for her to tuck into the album and pats her on the head. A long look at her later, and he smiles, a sadness in the corners of his mouth that Marinette can see but can't understand. She can't stand not knowing why it's there.

"You want to take a break? I'll make us some pain au chocolat as a treat."

"Sure, grandpa. That sounds nice."

Her eyes open and she's in a car. They're on the road, and the engine is powerful. The driver makes use of it, taking off on green lights so fast there's smoke on the road behind them and turning aggressively. Despite the wild driving, Marinette finds herself at ease.

In the seat beside her is a young man. He's strangely familiar. He looks at her with pensive fondness. Behind him, through the window, the street lights flicker in and out of sight. The inside of the car brightens then dims, revealing it's night.

They arrive at a local eatery named Ristorante Famiglia.

Rather than enter through the front with everyone else, Marinette finds herself walking through a side entrance, winding through the staff hallways. They are met by her father who take their orders and seats them at a table in a secluded corner shrouded in shadow.

Time passes strangely. Everything is silent yet buzzing with activity. The young man seated with her at the table goes back forth between pensively looking at her and gazing into the restaurant. She never looks away from his modest features, her smile a fixture on her face. Light flashes and chairs move. An hours-long conversation ends in the blink of an eye with no words exchanged.

Once she's home, Marinette kicks off her shoes and trudges up the stairs. She goes straight to the bathroom to clean herself up and prepare for bed. As she enters, she looks in the mirror and sees herself grinning brilliantly, all the color drained from her face, hair, and shirt.

"Hey, dad?"

"Yes, my sugar dumpling?"

Marinette pauses, her strange dream from last night running through her mind before she shakes it off. "You wouldn't happen to know Nonna's maiden name… would you?"

Her father misses a beat, but picks up again like nothing happened.

"Oh, uh–why the sudden interest?"

Marinette watches her father. His large frame fills half the kitchen by itself. He kneads some biscuit dough for breakfast while her mother is downstairs opening the boulangerie for the morning. Kneading the dough is hard work, but Tom Dupain has always made it look easy. Marinette narrows her eyes at the concern wrinkling his brow.

"Just curious," she answers, "I know mom's maiden name, and auntie, and even Grandma Cheng's maiden name."

"Well, to be fair, your mother's maiden name is still a part of her name."

"That's true. But we still never talk about Nonna or Grandpa's families or past names."

"Well, that's…"

"Come on, dad, you have to know. Don't hold out on me!" Marinette groans.

Her father deflates slightly, casting her a loving glance that's inexplicably tinged by something sad. He sighs as he finishes separating the dough into discs. "It's Mozzarella."

"…Really, dad?"

"What?"

Marinette gapes at him. "That sounds exactly like a dad joke! You have to try harder than that."

Tom dusts his hands free of extra flour. "No, her maiden name really is Mozzarella!"

"Mozzarella…?" Marinette repeats to herself.

"I know. Happy coincidence!"

After staring at her father in disbelief, Marinette beams at him in gratitude. "Thanks, dad!" She jumps out of her seat at the table and zips upstairs. Five minutes later, Marinette zips back down in outing clothes. Her father looks up from putting the biscuits in the preheated oven and raises an aggrieved eyebrow at her.

"Where are you off to?"

"Oh, just some studying." Marinette tells him. It's not a lie.

Her father seems to forget his regret at not being able to have breakfast with her this morning. His face lights up with pride. "That's my girl! A model student even on weekends. Are you going to the library?"

"Yes! I like the atmosphere, you know how easily distracted I can be. I won't be long!" Marinette pecks her father on the cheek. "Later, papa!"

Tom blinks and his daughter is out of sight.

The library is surprisingly full this Saturday. Marinette walks across the building toward the west section, wondering if she'll be able to get a conference room like she wanted. By coincidence, she happens to ask the librarian about it just as someone's time in the room is ending. Within just a few minutes Marinette is sitting in a small sound-proof room with her laptop and snacks ready on the table.

She sits there, drumming her fingers against the table thoughtlessly. She's navigated to the Googs home page, but Marinette herself at a loss for how to start her search, so she just stares at the text cursor blinking in and out of sight, in and out of sight.

After ten minutes, she pushes the air out of her cheeks and decides to just put it in there.

mozzarella last name

The search results include etymology, artists, scientists, and cheese. Not what she's looking for. Marinette looks around nervously. Noticing that no-one in the library seems to care about her presence at all, she replaces the search with something more specific.

mozzarella mafia

Biting her lip, Marinette hesitantly clicks "Enter."

Chapter Text

Marinette quickly realizes the massive amount of content is too much for her to commit to on a threadbare resolve, so she asks Alya for some research tips and company. Her best friend agrees to meet her at the school library after their final classes since she'd already been approved by her parents to stay after for working on a research project.

"So what are you trying to find out anyway?" Alya inquires as they settle in front of a pair of computers in an unfrequented corner.

"I've been trying to do some research on my family, but I haven't gotten anywhere."

"Is this about Lila?"

"No. This is about me." Marinette scrunches up her nose. "Why would it be about Lila?"

"Didn't she put a hit on you and your grandma? Isn't that vendetta worthy?"

Marinette squints humorlessly at Alya's bitten off smirk. "You are enjoying this too much."

"Okay, okay," Alya begins moving the mouse to her computer. She clicks and slides and clicks, then cracks her knuckles upon arriving at the Googs landing page. "What have you already found out? Is there anything specific you're looking for?" she asks.

Marinette wilts. "All I know is that my grandma might very well have been a criminal, and she might not have finished all of her business." Her head bobs to the side. "I just want to know if she really… if my dad and grandpa really… were a part of that. And whether or not we're safe."

Alya nods, beginning to type something into the search engine bar. She pauses, then asks, "When was your grandma born?"

Marinette blinks. "Uh…" she searches every corner of her mind but can't find an answer. "My dad was born in 1973. I think grandma was… 25? 26? When she had him?"

Alya nods and types some more. Within moments she has a neat, trustworthy article written by a mob fanatic on the screen. She begins reading immediately, scrolling as she goes, and so Marinette scrambles to lean over and quickly read as well.

But she's weak. Marinette's head thumps on the table, startling her upright. Alya flashes her a look. "You okay, girl?"

Marinette shrugs. "I guess. I'm tired from fighting at night all the time, and I've never been a strong reader. I like fiction books mostly," she yawns into her hand and winces. "Sorry. I'll try harder to stay up."

But it isn't much use. As before, on her own, Marinette keeps nodding off. When she sees a bill-sized welt forming on her forehead in the reflection of her sleeping monitor screen, she decides it's time she gave up.

Naturally, Alya gradually comandeers the research. She eventually gets so engrossed that the project becomes her own. Marinette isn't sure how long its been when Alya shakes her awake, but the screen of Alya's monitor casts a glow onto everything in a way it hadn't last she remembered.

Sitting upright slowly, Marinette automatically wipes the drool from her face. "What is it?"

"I used your dad's birthday to approximate when your Nonna might have been active in the Family. Then I researched the things you Mozzarellas were up to during that time. There's a lot of good stuff here, but I'll give you the important things.

"Your family is huge–well, it was. Before 2003, they called it the Mozzarella Clan. The family is based in Naples, but you can trace the blood back to Sicily. Unlike most families, you guys actually let females have more action, which made you more powerful because all of the women weren't suspected, obviously, giving you the upper hand. You're in pretty deep competition with the Bolognes, I would keep tabs on news concerning them. Looks like they're in France now. And I think your grandma was high-profile in the late sixties."

Marinette looks aghast at her. "I'm not a criminal. We are not all criminals!" Alya shrugs, of all things. "And we have no competition with these Bolognes. I think I would remember something like that "

"Alright, you're clean. Your Mozzarella Clan is definitely wanted by the entire European Union, and beefing with that lunch meat, though."

"It's not my clan." Marinette frowns. "What are they wanted for?"

"You know, the classics. A bunch of rackets, some embezzlement, some fraud. Drug dealing. Illegal tobacco." Alya rests her elbow on the table and sets her chin in the palm of her hand. Her smile curls around her glasses. "Though at one point, there were some new tactics in Paris they could never prove were the Mozzarella's."

Marinette's brow pinches as conflicting emotions begin swirling in her chest. "You said my Nonna may be high-profile?"

"She was—it looks like. Gina Mozzarella, daughter of Corelli Mozzarella and Diane Mozzarella, sent to school in Paris, France. She apparently set up shop in Paris, creating a vein of crime that is vital to international smuggling rings today. After her father was killed and her mother convicted after a big fight with the Bolognes, she went into hiding. The family hasn't resurged since."

"Wow."

"Sounds like a movie, doesn't it?"

"I guess," Marinette says distractedly. She swears she saw a shadow walking by one of the bookshelves... "Did you find anything on my dad? Or grandpa?"

"No," Alya begins writing something in her notebook. That's right, she has her own assignment to complete. Marinette groans internally at her failure as a friend to use her time wisely. "Neither of them are mentioned by name—in fact, they're both written speculatively. I don't think it's public knowledge that your Nonna had a child. To be honest, she may be an illegal alien."

"She doesn't live in France." Marinette intones flatly. Her eyes try to find that shadow again. Maybe it's nothing, just an illusion created by the headlights of a passing car, or maybe it's someone. Someone akumatised, someone from Italy? Someone out to destroy her.

"That explains a lot. Do you know if your Nonna and grandpa ever got married?"

Marinette considers that. It surprises her how long the answer takes to present itself.

"No," she says, eyebrows lifting, "I don't know. I've only ever known them as separated. I didn't even know I had a grandpa for fourteen years."

"So technically, they could have made your dad out of wedlock."

"That seems like my Nonna's style, not gonna lie." Marinette chuckles lightly. Then, upon reflection, adds, "Not that she's... well, not that I would know, but I don't think she's... you know. A grasshopper."

Alya's expression flattens into a long, pensive stare. Once she decodes what Marinette said, her grin returns. "That is such a cute way to say hoe."

Marinette laughs instantly. "Shut up."

"Soo," Alya starts after their short giggling fit is over. She begins closing the Googs tabs on the computer. "I have an anthropology paper due, and your family would be kiiind of perfeeect?"

Marinette nods warmly. "Go ahead." Her best friend's brilliant smile is a great reward.

"I'll be using pseudonyms of course," Alya smartly taps her papers on the table before slipping them into a brightly colored folder. She pumps her fist as she triumphantly shuts down the monitor. "Confidentiality and all. And maybe safety? No telling."

Marinette pauses. As much as she wishes she could assure Alya that nothing will happen, she really doesn't know. "About that," she says, her serious tone quickly getting the other girl's attention. "I appreciate your help with this, but it would definitely be best if you didn't help me any more. I can't risk dragging you into something."

"Marinette," Alya's eyes beam meaningfully at her, sober, "You know I can take care of myself."

"And you know I can take care of myself," Marinette replies, referring to her own super-powered alterego. "But these people are conniving in an evil way, and they're not afraid of being caught. They're ruthless, and will use whatever they can to make us powerless. You have three sisters," Marinette emphasizes the number, pauses so Alya can absorb what she's saying. "Think about them. Think about what weapons and other things they would use to hurt them if they found out about you."

"I have four sisters," Alya replies firmly. Marinette can feel emotion building behind her eyes. "And I love them all. I can't just turn a blind eye to one of them in their time of need."

"It's not turning a blind eye—"

"That is by definition what you are asking me to do."

"It's not for long. Just until I can figure out what part my Nonna plays in all this. Then you won't have to worry anymore."

"Marinette, what if she's still game?"

She—still game? What if? Marinette hasn't properly considered it. She's kind of been avoiding it. Because if her Nonna is still game, then she's still a criminal, and likely interested in making her granddaughter a criminal, too. Unless she had pressure keeping her in the circuit against her desires.

"She's not," Marinette affirms instead of voicing her doubt. "She left after having my dad, right? And I doubt she has any friends left. She wouldn't bring that danger on my family.

"Anyways, it's not like I'm alone," Marinette drums her fingers on the table. She looks away from Alya. "I have an ally. Another one."

Alya eyes her oddly. "Would I approve of this mystery ally?"

Marinette laughs nervously. "Uh, actually, yeah, you would." For all the misguided reasons.

Alya eyes her skeptically for a few seconds more before continuing to pack up her things. "Well, whatever you say, whatever comes, I'll always be there for you."

"Thanks, Alya." Marinette helps Alya grab the last of her study supplies, then envelopes her in a hug. "I would do the same for you. If you ever need anything, just ask."

"Remember you said that."

The friends finish collecting their things just as it hits seven o'clock. When they exit the library, the halls are silent and the sun has begun growing orange.

"Ah," Alya sighs suddenly as they begin descending the stairs. Her arms tighten their hold around her books. "Now I'll be able to spend some time with Nino tomorrow." She turns to wiggle her eyebrows at Marinette, and Marinette playfully exclaims she doesn't want to know.

Alya and Nino's relationship has only continued to grow stronger since it began three years ago. It's common to see them effortlessly in synch, building off of each other's energy or ideas, or enviously content in their own pocket of reality. A time or two (or a dozen), they've even been caught skipping class just to see each other. Marinette wouldn't be surprised if the two got up to...other things when they were alone. Frankly, she's betting on them getting engaged after high school.

(Seriously, there's a pool, and she's pretty confident she'll be set up to cover a dorm for University.)

And lo and behold, awaiting them at the front of the school is Nino in his new blue chariot.

Alya is delightfully surprised, and squeals just a little bit. Marinette's mouth starts to smile, but it falls into a frown at the itchy feeling of someone watching her. She looks over both shoulders, but catches only the sun in her eyes.

"Babe!" Alya exclaims, quickly closing the space between her and the car. She leans into the driverside window to share a quick kiss with her boyfriend. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear like she's coy and getting butterflies—maybe she is. "What are you doing here?" Alya asks Nino.

Her lad smiles broad and sweet, in his tender, lovesick fashion only apparent to the outside observer. It's honestly so dopey, but Alya swears it's the most handsome thing on Earth. "After a little negotiating, Mom and Dad extended my curfew. You're about to experience a whole new level of privilege, baby."

Marinette rolls her eyes; something else that had gotten stronger over the years was Nino's inability to curb his pride around his girlfriend. It was cute until he took it too far trying to impress her.

Marinette chimes in, brushing off the impending "third wheel" scenario. "Alright, we're living the high life now." She calls to him as she walks over.

When Nino looks over and notices her, he makes a lazy shooing motion with his hand to match the lazy disdain coming over his face. "Oh, uh, maybe you should try the bus or something." he says in a prissy grumble.

"You prick," Marinette grins widely in amusement. "Alya, you're gonna let him talk to me like that?"

Alya looks at her sideways and purses her lips. "You could be a little more—what do you call it, babe? Swank?"

Nino nods stoicly. "Swank." he echoes.

Marinette just laughs, and the other two join her. She approaches the passenger door and Nino reaches his hand to the open window to give her a fist-bump.

"Nah, for real, ladies," Nino begins again, his cool persona back in place. "I am here to take you home. Adrien told me y'all had some studying to do, and I figured you'd be out around now."

Alya wastes no time pacing around to the passenger's door and letting herself into the car beside Nino.

Marinette takes a step back. "Actually," she begins to decline, "I'll just take the metro. My house is out of the way, and I know your parents can be really strict sometimes. I don't want to slow you down. Besides, I know you guys wanna be alone."

"Marinette, it's really no trouble." says Nino. "My parents front around others, but they're not that strict."

"Yeah, and we'll have alone time tomorrow," Alya adds. "Please, it'll be safer."

Marinette tries to give a meaningful glint to her eye, but she's not sure she succeeds. "Don't worry, guys, I'll be fine! Ladybug is always around."

Alya understands right away.

"You're right," she says brightly—and maybe a little too quickly—"Get home safe, girl. See you tomorrow."

"Night, Marinette." Nino waves.

Marinette takes another step back and waves them away. Nino hits the gas and she watches them merge into evening traffic.

Looking left and right, Marinette searches for somewhere to transform into Ladybug. She finds a suitable pillar-shaped shrub fifteen feet away and immediately paces toward it.

: :

She doesn't make it.

"How much does she know?"

"Ghuh!" Marinette jumps and spins around, heart rising and falling dangerously fast, arms flailing into a half-offensive, half-defensive configuration.

It's someone out to destroy her alright.

Lila rolls her eyes as she emerges from the shadows. "Your nerves are weak. We'll have to work on that."

Marinette scoffs and mirrors Lila's crossed arms. She's at a loss for words for a few seconds, in disbelief. "I don't even know where to begin."

"You can just answer my question." Lila offers through a huff, as if she has the burden of doing all the thinking between the two of them.

"Don't worry about it, Lila," Marinette drawls, "Alya doesn't want part of the 'action,' she just wants a good grade."

"Alya's a bloodhound. If she becomes too intrigued, she could make things very difficult for us."

"Us?" Marinette sputters, knowing she doesn't want to know but fearing the consequences if she ignores it. "Difficult how?"

"That meddler is bound to get involved sooner or later. The question is how involved. We can control that. You need to keep her at arms length for a while."

Marinette opens her mouth to tell Lila to keep her horrible friendship advice to herself, but hesitates on that response. As much as it pains her to agree with Lila on anything, the liar has a point. Instead, Marinette grumbles back, "That shouldn't be too hard. She's up to her neck in responsibilities."

Between volunteering, writing for the local paper, maintaining the Ladyblog, watching her sisters, moonlighting as Rena Rouge, and dating, Alya has a full plate. It is honestly a mystery how she's managing to be crushing school. For so many reasons, Marinette envies her life-management abilities right now.

"That didn't stop your little study session tonight, did it?" Lila snaps, and Marinette suddenly finds herself wanting Alya's Bitch Repellant, too. "If you're going to do this, the first thing you need to understand is classes of people."

"These creeps are all like you, and I know your type well enough." Marinette quips smartly.

"Not type, class. Echelon. Level. You have low-level, spineless yes-men like our dear mayor who can be bought, gutless, indecisive bystanders like most of our schoolmates, the opportunists who make their bets like Sabrina, some powerful goons that like to wave their big stick around, and then the actual players. Alya Cesaire is a player. Other players are dangerous."

"Alya isn't dangerous."

"Players rally opportunists to their cause and awaken bystanders, giving them strength in numbers. They have drive, stakes, no fear, and self-reliance. It would be bad enough if she were looking for a portion of the pot, but she's entirely against it. If you're not careful, your best friend could turn into your worst enemy."

Marinette pinches the bridge of her nose—that's how tired and done she is right now. "Lila, I'm entirely against this; I told you I don't want this empire you seem to think is waiting around for me. There is no pot."

"That joke is losing its humor."

"I'm serious."

"It used to be cute that you think so. Now it's just sad."

"Ugh, why do I talk to you?"

"Because I know what you need to do."

"And what is that, oh knowledgeable Don?"

"You need to get made."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Mi fai schifo—all that research and you still don't know? It means you need to prove you're committed to the family business."

"Get home safe, Lila."

"Marinette, wait!"

Marinette doesn't look back. "We just went over this. I get we're not friends, but you could at least pretend to listen to me."

"You won't find anything of value to the current situation online, and you think your Nonna is just going to tell you what's going on?" Marinette walks faster, and hears Lila's steps pick up behind her. "She won't. Not if she's the real deal. You weren't raised with loyalty to the Family. To tell you anything would be too risky. She would need to know you'll keep it close to your chest. The only way to prove that to people as paranoid and controlling as mafiosos is getting sworn in. And even then they're not satisfied."

"So what's the point?"

"If it's as you say and your Nonna actually cares about you, she has twice the reason not to tell you anything as you are now. But if you can prove that you fully understand what it means that men are after your family, then she'll have twice the reason to let you in instead."

Marinette thinks about this. Lila makes it sound so simple, so sensible, but that's how she makes everything sound—that's how she lies so well. This could be another clever manipulation, a way to sap the secrets of her family out of the tree and into her tainted bottle. She'd already lead with her desire for money and power—the truth—a lie was due sometime soon.

"So how does one get made?"

"Traditionally, the prospect is blindfolded, transported to a secret meeting location, handed a gun, and ordered to commit a crime within a certain timeframe. Often, the whole ordeal ends with bloodshed."

"I'm not shedding any blood, Lila."

Lila waves her off. "You don't have to. That's a dumb ritual made by boys for boys. They don't feel useful unless they can break something." The brunette blinks, as if remembering something. "Oh, and women aren't traditionally made anyway."

"Then what am I supposed to do?"

"Get made, obviously."

"How?"

Lila pursed her lips in dissatisfaction. "I don't know. Best to be succinct about it, though. Prove your resolve and create some dirt that can be held over you at the same time."

"Excuse me?"

"Commiting some form of crime is a must. When you do, they'll hold it over you to discourage shifting of loyalties."

"But—but theyre all criminals, too!"

"And they'll sell you out to save their own skin."

"Some family."

"What you need to worry about is proving your resolve. It has to be extreme enough that they believe you're committed."

"You know what?" Marinette interrupted, "This is crazy. I can't believe I let you talk me to this point. I'm not committing any crimes, I'm just going to ask my grandma if my family should be expecting unwelcome company soon."

"We both know the answer to that is yes." Lila stops following Marinette, but her voice trails after her quietly. "You just need to decide what you're going to do about it."