It wasn’t that Marinette was stuck on the floor, slumped against a wall like humpty dumpty after the fall. No, that wasn't why she was having trouble getting up. It was the small detail that her legs didn’t seem to work right now.
Exposure to Dick had rendered her unable to stand.
Ah, that was a distinctly unfortunate phrasing. Marinette reflected that, really, it would make more sense to say that the stress of existing in the same metaphysical dimensional Cartesian time-space convergence as Dick had left her legs feeling a little like jello. She’d be able to stand in another minute, she was certain. It would just take a little internal discipline.
A thought occurred to her. There were supposedly infinite multiverses (also, wasn’t that kinda the same thing twice? Well, it was on brand) so in one of them, somehow, Marinette was suave and smooth enough to drag Dick into the janitor’s closet with her and perform her tests upon him.
In the spirit of scientific inquiry only!
That hypothetical Marinette wouldn’t need to wonder if he had a healthy body-mass index (she’d get her answer, one way or another), and therefore she wouldn’t be experiencing her current level of internal anguish. Because, obviously, her anguish was over the possibility that Dick was living an unhealthy lifestyle to maintain such decadent good looks.
Still, Marinette forced herself to stand. After a few somewhat wobbly steps, and after she got through the head rush each motion brought, she was on her way to the shoot. Her plan was to carefully slip through the door and then make sure she didn’t look up before hastily, but nonchalantly, scurrying to her secret room.
Fortunately, photoshoots were always hectic for everyone not in front of the camera. There was clothing to move around, food to set up and take down, models to corral, photographers to herd, editors to do editing things, and a whole lot of other stuff Marinette was only peripherally aware of. Her job wasn’t to be in charge of every little thing, thank goodness, but to haunt the edges of the set like a specter searching for inspiration and seeing how her designs played out on a real person and not just on her sketchbook.
It was vital that the whole system flowed from her fingertips to ensure there was a unified central theme, but not vital that she manage every aspect of it. Her vision, other people’s help. So she left little notes, ladybug notes, around the set for people and that was enough. And if sometimes her notes meandered into novella length, then that was just because she wanted to be extremely clear about a few elements. Generally, however, Marinette understood that she was not as experienced as other people at their specific jobs. So if something wasn’t perfect, that was a learning opportunity for her and not something catastrophic. This apparently made her much different from, for example, Gabriel Agreste and as a result prompted her models, photographers, and so on to experiment a little more.
That experimentation had let to some extremely interesting outcomes, such as hiring Kory Anders, Kory Anders wearing a male button up, Kory Anders doing a whole set of photos where she delightfully highlighted the MDC logo, and, well, while true it seemed a little unfair to list literally everything Kory Anders had done since arriving in Paris. There were, of course, other pleasant surprises and things she’d encountered. But it was hard to get past the six foot bronze-orange skinned warrior princess in her mind. Particularly as her hand curled around the doorknob to the set. Even more so as she entered the set.
Kory was jumping on Dick.
Well, she jumped, singular, on Dick. Kory was hugging him in wild excitement, happy that he’d, “finally arrived, and not as late as ordinary!”
She had her arms wrapped around his neck to the point that her elbows rested on his very broad collar while her legs were thrown in the air behind her. Somehow, Kory seemed to make the airtime last longer than it should as Dick corrected her French before setting her down and apologizing to Donna. Donna didn’t seem to care, simply giving him the wicked grin a sister would give her brother and nodding to her camera to indicate that she’d captured the whole thing on film.
His bashful expression as Kory joyfully showed him the logos conveyed the fact that he wasn’t quite as confident in front of a camera as she was, at least up close. However, that went away once Kory sat him down and let him watch as she twirled across the room, letting the dress Marinette had made last night flare out and expose her thighs. As everyone on the set slowly recovered from the small glimpse of paradise, she spun around and started animatedly highlighting the Jagged Stone logo on the back of the leather jacket up top.
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Marinette was internally bursting with happiness, she’d been right about the heels after all. Somehow, Kory was moving on the stilettos without a care in the world. Casually spinning and contorting to show off the outfit for Donna’s camera and Dick’s slack jawed appreciation she never once stumbled or even seemed to notice the heels. In fact, she moved at times as if she were weightless, almost floating.
It was reminiscent of the way a mountain lion leapt from rock to rock above vertigo-inducing chasms. Or how a snow leopard could hop from one ice-coated branch to another without leaving a trace. As if gravity were a choice.
Kory shook her hair out, stalking from one end of the room to the other in precise steps as Dick appreciated and Donna photographed. The move would have looked traditional with a stern expression on her face, but Kory replaced that with a playful smile that looked like she’d stolen it straight from Dick’s lips. It had the same internal war as his going on where her lips seemed to fight with one another to stop the smile, losing ground as it slowly overflowed from her mouth. By the time she reached Dick, putting her hands on his knees and bending at the waist to bring her face a breath away from his face, her smile had burst free. In that moment, Marinette realized that no matter how many infinite multiverses there were she would never have gotten Dick into that closet. Because she didn’t look at him the way Kory looked at him, and he didn’t look at her the way he looked at Kory.
And despite how good the outfit looked, the edges of the leather jacket simultaneously challenging and framing Dick’s face, the sinful bend in one of Kory’s knees allowing the dress to flare wide while rolling the curvature of her back and inviting the eye to travel up her legs, the way the heels gave the impression she was falling into him while also raising her height to the point that the challenge in her posture wasn’t implied, the subtle lean in Dick’s posture as he unconsciously found himself drawn in and rising to that challenge, the high flair of his black hair matching the darkness of the leather while contrasting with Kory’s sunset red locks, the hopeless adoration in his face next to the playful loving smile in hers and the hints of more in both, it was all just too intimate somehow.
Marinette would be happy to make sure they got a copy of the photo, framed, and with a signed invitation to model for her again in the future handwritten on the back. But she wouldn’t be using it in her portfolio, not only because it would be false advertising (no article of clothing could make people fall in love that much) but because this moment was somehow too private to share.
Even Donna seemed to realize it, snapping only a single quick shot before teasingly telling Dick to stop crashing her set unless he was planning on getting a job. Dick very seriously replied that keeping Kory happy was his job but did begin to move away, to which the girl in question blushed and shooed him away because, “Earth is a strange planet where royalty needs a job and it is everyone else who does not need to work!”
Dick snorted. “Well there’s always the marrying into money option,” he said quietly enough that nobody who didn’t have hearing honed by years of listening for the ticking timer of a Lila-lie-bomb or was leaning over him could hear.
“I must have a job, Dick. Or I will becoming an illegal alien.”
He gave Kory a bemused and slightly exasperated smile before planting a swift kiss on her lips. “To help with your French.”
“I am still learning,” Kory answered innocently.
“Then I promise to help you with your French as much as you want tonight, but for now I think Donna is giving me a warning look.”
“What a dedicated boyfriend, volunteering to help you learn the language.” Donna’s sarcasm was palpable.
“He is!” Kory replied without a hint of duplicity, throwing an arm around Dick before letting him go and returning to the main area so she and Donna could continue.
Seeing Dick suddenly free, Marinette realized she absolutely could not be seen by him or it would lead to questions she didn’t want to answer. And while she was improving as a liar, there was no reason to stress test those nascent skills so quickly. So Marinette did the smart thing and zipped her way through the room to her secret chamber.
After slamming the door (gently) behind her, Marinette let out a long sigh and slumped her back against the wood paneling, letting her head fall backwards until all she could see was the ceiling. She hadn’t even seen Adrien on her way through, which was unfortunate but probably for the best. There was no chance she would have reached this sanctuary with him in her way, particularly since he didn’t know about her fake internship or MDC.
“You are intruding.”
Marinette whirled into alertness, her hands pressing (slapping) against the door as she threw herself backward on instinct. Only the fact that there wasn’t much backward to travel prevented Marinette from achieving much more than looking like a bug plastered on the wall.
“Leave.”
Marinette peeled herself off the door and took a deep breath, closing her eyes to center herself. She hadn’t caught a look at whoever was berating her for coming into a space she had specifically designated as unused, but she was looking forward to piercing this particular liar’s falsehoods. It would be cathartic, even if it lacked the specific sweetness taking down Lila would bring.
So Marinette steeled her spine, stood up straight, smoothed down the front of her shirt, set her sketchbook under her arm in a professional looking fashion, and then opened her eyes while projecting as much upright certainty as she could. She could stand up for herself, if not as Marinette then definitely as MDC. Nobody would be stealing her space.
And then she saw him.