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Beau and the Beetle	By : Cat_Eyes Category: +M through R > Miraculous LadyBug Views: 3721 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Miraculous Ladybug. Miraculous Ladybug is the intellectual property of Thomas Astruc and released by Zag studios. No profit was made writing this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Prologue: Alya
- 2-Adrien
- 3-Felix
- 4-Bridgette
- 5-Adrien
- 6-Sabine
- 7-Bridgette
- 8-Alya
- 9-Adrien
- 10-Felix
- 11-Sabine
- 12-Bridgette
- 13-Alya
- 14-Felix
- 15-Adrien
- 16-Alya
- 17-Felix
- 18-Bridgette
- 19-Adrien
- 20-Sabine
- 21-Felix
- 22-Alya
- 23-Bridgette
- 24-Adrien
- 25-Sabine
- 26-Adrien
- 27-Felix
- 28-Alya
- 29-Bridgette
- 30-Adrien
- 31-Sabine
- 32-Bridgette
- 33-Felix
- 34-Alya
- 35-Adrien
- 36-Felix
- 37-Sabine
- 38-Bridgette
- 39-Adrien
- 40-Felix
- 41-Adrien
- 42-Felix
- 43-Adrien
- 44-Adrien
- 45-Adrien
- 46-Epilogue
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Tom was still angry over Sabine’s suggestion, but she was no longer sure if that rage stemmed from her plans, or his own impotence. She supposed the two were not mutually exclusive, as he huffed and scowled about the bakery and house while continuing to give Sabine the cold shoulder. However, he wasn’t actively working against her either.
Sabine had dropped back to only sending Marinette two meals per day, with no snacks, and only a brief letter outlining their day to day lives. It was a harder plan to act on than she realised, and sometimes, she had to force herself to walk away, whenever the urge to send more things down overcame her.
She berated herself mercilessly for being a bad parent, slowly starving her only child to death, and for not protecting her in the first place. With Tom’s subtle hostility, the emotional burden was almost too much to bear.
Sabine sniffled as she pulled the basket back up the shaft. At the bottom of the wicker basket sat a return letter, folded carefully in half and lightly smudged with dirt. Sabine threw it into the oven, unread. She and Tom always made sure to destroy all evidence of Marinette’s continued existence, but during the last week, Sabine hadn’t read any of Marinette’s missives. They were always the same, detailing the dark and dirty conditions, the creepiness, the loneliness, and she always finished by asking if they had found a solution yet. So, if Tom asked about what she had written, Sabine could reply that it was the same as usual. Not that he bothered to ask much, lately.
Sabine pushed the worktable back with a grunt, then swept the kitchen floor, literally covering her tracks. She didn’t want Bridgette getting too curious about the scrape marks. The trapdoor was well concealed, but it wouldn’t hold up under close inspection.
The bell over the door jingled, heralding the arrival of a customer. Sabine fixed a smile in place, then went out to greet them.

Tom returned from Fu’s place unusually sombre. His shoulders were hunched, and his face was drawn as he shuffled into the kitchen.
‘Oh dear,’ Sabine murmured. ‘Is Monsieur Fu unwell?’
‘He hasn’t been taking his medications,’ Tom replied, apparently forgetting he was irate with her.
She placed her hand over her cheek in shock. ‘Why not? His poor heart.’
Bracing his hands on the table, Tom slumped forward as if his woes had physical weight. ‘It’s gotten too expensive. He can’t afford the pills on top of his living expenses. His rent alone is exorbitant, not to mention his utilities and food.’
‘Is there anything we can do to help?’
‘I’ll reduce his fees here, and slip him something extra, but he’s a stubborn old coot. He doesn’t want charity.’
Sabine shook her head, upset on Fu’s behalf. It was unfortunate, but his situation was not uncommon.
‘He may be stubborn, but he’s lucky to have you to look out for him, Dear. There aren’t many people who would sacrifice profit for the sake of an old man in need.’
‘You’re selling people short, my Heart,’ Tom rebuked her, lightly, ‘there are plenty of people who would help. But the sad fact is, there aren’t many who are in a position to. According to Fu, many kind people of his acquaintance are as bad, or worse off than he is. Then, on the other end of the spectrum, some people want to help, but don’t know what type of reaction they’d get.’
Sabine tilted her head. ‘What do you mean?’
Tom sagged even further. ‘I once saw a young man try to give an elderly woman on the street some money to buy food. But she just screamed and threw trash at him. It was like a part of him died in that moment; you could see it in his eyes. In an instant, that boy’s generosity soured, and he walked away muttering about how ungrateful homeless people are.’
With a world-weary sigh, Sabine wrapped her arms around herself. ‘I see. But Fu wouldn’t react as violently as that.’
‘No, he wouldn’t’ Tom agreed. ‘Though I wouldn’t put it past him to try to sneak money back into my pocket.’
Sabine breathed out a feeble laugh. Despite the dire news, she was relieved Tom was speaking to her again. Her heart thrilled at the endearing moniker, and she wondered if there was more to his suddenly friendly mood.
‘Listen,’ he said, looking uncomfortable. ‘I’ve been thinking about what you said, about Marinette’s situation.’
‘Yes?’ she prompted, after he’d paused for a moment too long.
‘I don’t like it,’ he bit, as his face tightened around his eyes and mouth.
‘Neither do I,’ she replied, softly.
There was another lengthy pause. Sabine wondered if he was going to continue.
‘We’ve done everything we can, right?’ It was a question that begged her desperately to find an alternative, but knowing there wasn’t one.
Sabine squeezed her eyes shut, her fists clenching on her sleeves. ‘I think we have.’
‘We fought so hard for our baby girl.’
Tears stung her eyes as she nodded. She tried to give him a verbal response, but all she could do was gasp in a choked sob.
Then, Tom’s arms were around her, holding her close in a trembling embrace. She unwound her arms, to wrap them around his middle, her face pressed into his chest.
‘I never wanted this,’ she moaned into his shirt. ‘I never wanted our baby cursed beyond salvation. I certainly don’t want her to die. But we’ve looked everywhere, asked everywhere, but nothing’s worked. She’s so unhappy, Tom. I don’t know what else to do.’
Tom uttered shushing sounds while he stroked her hair and rubbed her back. Sabine could feel him shaking, as he suppressed his own misery for her sake.
‘It’s merciful, right?’ he eventually whispered. ‘Painless?’
‘Quick and painless,’ she lied. ‘She’ll just get tired and sleepy as her body tried to conserve energy. Then one day, she just won’t wake up.’
Tom gulped in another breath and nodded, his embrace tightening. It was a lie, and they both knew it. There was nothing quick or painless about dying of malnutrition, but Sabine needed to reassure him, and herself, that they were doing the right thing. Justifying their actions as merciful was all they had left.
Yet Sabine knew she would never forgive herself for this, even as she knew she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she knew Marinette was still down there, suffering. It was a lose-lose situation, and she was damned no matter which path she took. At least she had Tom back on her side; they would share the burden and carry their terrible secret to the grave.
They stood like that, supporting one another, for a long time. Eventually, Tom drew back and wiped under Sabine’s eye with a gentle finger. She dredged up a smile, and held his hands, squeezing tight.
‘We still have each other,’ she told him.
‘We also have Bridgette,’ he added.
‘As well as the rest of our families.’
Bridgette chose that moment to swing around the doorjamb, her entrance through the shop gone unnoticed.
‘You guys made up?’ she asked, clearly relieved.
‘Yes, Dear,’ Sabine answered. She didn’t deny the recent hostility, but chose not to elaborate either.
Either Bridgette didn’t want to know the details, or she was too relieved to care. ‘Thank goodness.’
‘Why don’t you spend the afternoon with your friends?’ Tom suggested. ‘Things have been quiet here, and most of the cleaning is already done.’
Bridgette gasped, hopefully. ‘Is that really ok?’
‘Yes, Sweetheart,’ Sabine replied. ‘Go ahead.’
With a whoop, Bridgette spun around to dart back outside, the door rattling in its frame after her exuberant exit.
‘She would never forgive us if she found out,’ Tom mumbled.
‘She’s not going to find out. As long as we keep this strictly between us, no one will know. No one need ever know. This is our cross to bear.’
Tom just sighed, then pulled away to make the afternoon’s stock.
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Beau and the Beetle