Chapter Text
It was almost an hour after the battle over the Minister’s residence when Turing finally removed his disguise and ended his search for the escaped prisoners. It was unfortunate that Sandy, Fire-Fly, and Monte-en-l’Air had escaped, but it was within the acceptable outcomes to the fight. He was just turning back toward the Mansion when movement on the roof of an apartment building a few blocks from the Dupain-Cheng bakery caught his eye. Focusing in closer, he turned in that direction on recognizing the burnt-orange dress and black leggings and hijab. Landing just outside of the alley she had dropped into, Turing deactivated his jets just as a flash of orange light emanated from a spot halfway down the alley. He turned away for a moment as the light faded, leaning against the pocked wall as he waited. Leïla raced out of the alleyway and almost ran straight into Turing.
“Oh!” she yelped, her eyes widening in surprise, slipping something into her pocket and adjusting her hijab. “Turing? What–” she coughed “–what are you doing here?”
“I just wished to thank you for your assistance today,” he told her calmly. “Thanks to your intervention, we succeeded in ending a significant threat to Paris’ security.”
Her eyes crinkled in a smile. “I was happy to help,” she assured him. “After everything the Heroes of Paris have done for me, it was the least I could do to continue their legacy since they’re…”
“‘Absent’?” supplied Turing.
Her shoulders slumped. “Yeah – that’s a better way of putting it. But–” She cocked her head, her brows furrowed. “Where are they? Are they coming back?”
“Truthfully?” he asked. She nodded. He shook his head ruefully “Nothing is certain at this time,” he admitted. “But all available data, to say nothing of my personal experience with the Heroes of Paris, suggests that they will not give up. I estimate more than 60% likelihood that they will return to Paris eventually.”
She nodded, a frown visible in the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get back the stolen miraculous,” she apologized. Her shoulders dropped. “I’m sorry a couple of the bad guys got away from us.” She sighed. “I’m sorry I failed you.”
Turing put a hand on her shoulder. “You did not fail, Nabatala,” he assured her. “You are not to blame for the three who escaped. Your part in the mission was to stop Mind-Wipe and disrupt his influence over the others; it was the rest of the team which had to apprehend them. Your part of the operation was an unqualified success.” His expression shifted into a smile. “Thank you for your assistance.”
Leïla hummed and glanced down at her black bracelet, rubbing it anxiously with her other hand. “So… since we won today, does that mean I will need to return this, then?” she asked, holding up her wrist.
Turing shook his head firmly. “I am not the correct person to ask that question to. I am only a representative of the Heroes of Paris; I am not the Guardian. Consequently, that is not my decision to make,” he answered. “As the Guardian, that is Mme Agreste’s decision alone. Thus you must ask her.” He cocked his head to one side, examining her carefully. “Do you wish to return it?”
Leïla looked away, her eyes furrowing and widening subtly. Micro-expressions around her face implied her internal conflict. “I… I don’t…”
“You may say ‘no’,” he pointed out. “You are allowed to say that you enjoy being a miraculous user.”
“Then… no,” she told him, shaking her head vigorously. She grinned eagerly, bouncing up and down on her feet. “It was so cool! I was a superhero – just like Ryoku and Lupa Gris and Sent-Bee and Ladybug and–!” She stopped for a breath, her hands shaking from excitement. “I stopped that Mind-Wipe guy and helped the others to win! I would absolutely love to keep going out as Nabatala!”
Turing turned to walk toward the bakery, and Leïla fell into step next to him, watching him carefully. Turing scanned the streets in all directions carefully, alert for any sign of hostile people. At a command, he accessed the feed from the two drones he had tasked to this sector and ran facial recognition for Sandy, Fire-Fly, and Monte-en-l’Air. The drone feed only showed three people in the neighborhood, two of whom were walking in the opposite direction of the bakery. Holding a hand out, he paused for a moment until the third person had passed the bakery.
Leïla furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. “What’s wrong?”
“We should not be seen together like this,” he explained. “Particularly near the Guardian. The more factors we place together, the greater the risk of someone extrapolating information we wish to conceal.”
With a yelp, she turned to look up and down the street nervously. “I’m sorry,” she apologized quickly. “I didn’t realize–”
“I approached you,” he pointed out. “You have done nothing wrong. And your regular visits to the Guardian before now offer you cover for continued visits. However, this is something to consider in the future.”
“‘In the future’,” she repeated slowly. She cocked her head, eyes widening. “Does this mean–?”
“Perhaps. I advise you to tell Mme Agreste that you wish to continue as a miraculous user,” he instructed her. “I think she will be willing to allow that under the circumstances. I believe Paris will be best served if you remain as a miraculous holder – if not forever then at least until the current crisis has run its course. We have a small group of vigilantes now who can help the police to maintain some measure of stability in the city, but I calculate that will not be enough. And with Sandy still in possession of the Koala Miraculous, having a miraculous hero of our own to assist the others against her will prove beneficial.”
Leïla nodded firmly. “I will do my best,” she promised.
“I have absolute confidence in that,” he assured her, putting a hand on her shoulder. “And the rest of us will help and support you in every way we can.” He removed a radio from his pocket and placed it in her hand.
She looked down at the radio curiously. “What is this for?”
“This is an indicator of my confidence that Mme Agreste will ask you to keep your miraculous. It will allow us to communicate when you are not transformed,” he explained. “Your harpoon includes a communication device, but they have been negatively affected by the Tarasque’s poison, along with most electronics. These radios have shown promise. It will buzz when someone is calling for you; it is up to you to determine if it is safe to answer.”
“Can – should – I tell my parents about this?” she asked, clipping the radio to her belt.
“The Heroes of Paris ordinarily consider it to be up to your discretion who you tell and when,” answered Turing. “Mme Agreste may have other instructions for you, but I can tell you that the Heroes of Paris have handled this question in many different ways in the past; there is no universal solution.”
She hummed, glancing around her at the buildings they were passing. Finally they stopped by the bakery’s front door and she frowned, rubbing her wrist. “So what now?”
“Practice,” he told her. “You will need to train – not just to fight Sandy, but to help the other heroes. Assuming that Mme Agreste permits you to continue holding your miraculous regularly, you will be asked to assist us with patrols in order to maintain Paris’ tenuous security and restore the people’s confidence.”
She started. “I would get to patrol?” she yelped. “I mean – that’s how I met the Heroes of Paris… and I could be on the other side now…”
“It is good that you find this acceptable,” he observed. “The more heroes participating, the lighter the load on each of us.”
Leïla nodded firmly. “Of–of course,” she assured him. “I’m happy to help!”
“Then, of course, there is also the Tarasque,” he continued. “The heroes will eventually return and need our assistance to fight it, and we need to be prepared when that time comes.”
“But how do you know they will be back?” she pressed, worry in her eyes.
Turing let out a chuckle as he ushered her into the bakery’s unoccupied front room, where Emilie sat at one of the tables, two cups waiting in front of her with a plate of pastries. “Because I know them. They will never give up.”