Take-Out Stake
Parisian night: tourist music on the air beside the tell-tale chill of the incoming season and lights that challenged the humble stars found MSG and beer courtesy of the local Chinese shop. Who knew the rooftop that they were suddenly on? Chat Noir shrugged when his Lady asked if he'd holed up in this corner of the city before. He was too hungry and handled the chopsticks well.
The noodles were so hot that the steam curled in front of their blue noses for a good three seconds. Ladybug enjoyed the silence. She enjoyed the patterns in the curls of the steam and in her sparkling noodles: she hadn't known that Chinese went so well with beer. The thought that she could get drunk came to mind readily and she solidly planted her buttocks into the cold of the stone beneath her. Occasionally she reached over into the gargoyle's mouth to retrieve her half empty bottle of beer.
Chat Noir burped and muttered an apology. He looked off into space trying to find a pun but thought better of it. He lounged as if he were majestic. Being as civil and as silent as he was now, Ladybug almost thought that he was. Then the shrimp in her mouth riveted all her attention.
"It was nice of that couple to give up this snack," Chat Noir spoke aloud at last.
"Mmm," she swallowed, "the perks to being a hero."
"Was that a joke, M'Lady?"
"I think not." She'd rather not think that Chat Noir was rubbing off on her. But his good mood was infectious, and on an exhausting day like this it was welcome. To recall the near-misses Paris faced today was tiring in itself and she was too ready to call "Spots Off!" and dive into her sheets ready to play pretend fever for tomorrow. Marinette could disappear for a day. For Marinette's sanity, Marinette could disappear for a day.
"I feel like we're in the end of that Avengers movie and all the heroes were crowded around a table in this broken diner eating junk food after they saved New York City," Chat Noir mused.
Ladybug chuckled. "Now that you mention it…"
They were getting along, communicating without the immediate danger or press for time. It was enchanting to see Chat Noir so relaxed like this. He was totally uninhibited and whatever he felt like doing he did: lying on his back, propping up his legs, reaching for her drink—she held it out of arm's length.
"You're not even drinking it."
"I'm going to."
"I get the feeling I'm thirstier than you."
"More of a drunkard you mean?"
"Just a sip."
"You realize that's even less convincing, right?"
To their mutual dismay her fingers quivering from the cold relinquished the bottle to the force of gravity. They gasped at once and peered over the ledge of the building, staring, staring, until the bottle went "crash!" on the stairs of the Notre Dame.
They suddenly felt very out of place and guilty. The roof became stunningly quiet as the pair stood catatonic.
"Butter fingers," Chat quietly accused.
"It's cold!" Ladybug protested, forgetting to check her volume. Where they were they could be heard by anyone passing by on the interior of the bell tower though it was unlikely anyone should patrol brass and stone at this hour.
Chat Noir grinned: "Cold? I know a sure way to warm…"
She stood up. "I know where this is going." She picked up the junk food paper package and spun her yo-yo, staring out into the night for a good building to act as leverage.
"Leaving already?"
"We're still heroes tomorrow, aren't we? Personally I need sleep if I'm going to manage another day like today"—she looked at him—"you do too."
He stood up with a grunt and a stretch and shook his mane of gold. "Same time tomorrow?"
She scoffed. "What is this, a date?"
"Maybe," he purred, "definitely."
Ladybug stepped off the lip of the roof and the last Chat Noir saw of her was a teasing sardonic disarming smile.
