Title: Helplessness
Kissing Prompt #5: Angry kiss
Summary: To say that Chat Noir would never forget the terror of seeing that man walking on Marinette with that knife in his hand, like that hunter from Snow White, would be the understatement of the century.
Pairing: MariChat
Word Count: 3.5k
Rating: T for language (and kissing)
A/N: Oh. My. Lord. Please, just take this. I've been agonizing over this for months. I've literally partially written each pairing for the square and axed them out at least once because I didn't like the way it flowed.

Also: fight scene because I feel like it. Forgive me, for it's been over a year since I've written a proper fight and I'm probably rusty. (The closest are a gladiator game that the main character watched and a giant wave nearly drowning the main character.)

Oh, and have the angst and the rain for good measure. I'm projecting my own feelings over this prompt on the poor catboy.

Helplessness

Summary: To say that Chat Noir would never forget the terror of seeing that man walking on Marinette with that knife in his hand, like that hunter from Snow White, would be the understatement of the century.

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Prompt #5: Angry Kiss

I was screaming loud tonight
Can you hear my voice this time?

-Fight Song, Rachel Platten

It's raining. Of course it's raining. How utterly cliché for it to be raining during an akuma attack.

The thoughts are unusually sarcastic in his mind, but he figures that a black cat can't be happy all the time. Especially in the rain. Hair flops into Adrien's eyes as his ears lie flat against his head and rivets of water fall over his leather. He glares at the dark sky.

BOOM

He jumps, leaping to the side, just missing the way the concrete explodes. He swears under his breath, something he knows pere won't approve of (and Nino would probably look at him twice), and the sound of the word on his lips, in his voice with that inflection, surprises him.

"Anytime now would be helpful, Ladybug." He calls loudly to her, ducking out of the way of another thorny vine from the plant the akuma –the victim, but it's hard to remember that the person controlling the plants is not the real villain when he's tired, hungry and wet – wields. He grunts when a thorn tears through the leather and his skin, drawing blood.

"Lucky Charm!" She intones, and not long after that, the akuma is cleansed as the rain still pounds against the ground. He bumps her fist under the shelter of a canopy before they part ways yet again. It seems like people have a way of doing that in his life – They walk in and walk out as they please, with no regard to his feelings.

Marinette's smile in his head reminds him that at least one person cares.

He hears a crash and he groans in his head, wishing he could ignore the sound but knowing that his curiosity (and his conscious) wouldn't allow him to leave it. Just when he was going to release his transformation too.

He wheels around, and a knife sinks into the wall right next to his ear. His breathing stops for a moment as his eyes widen and slowly move in his head, reaffirming that someone had just aimed a knife at his shoulder and wouldn't have missed if he hadn't move. The brown, worn hilt enters his vision.

That was sheer, dumb luck.

He meets the man's dark eyes – a dark blue, the glare harder than rock. He doesn't sense the energy the akumas usually emit from their victims. A normal person then – no, a criminal.

He would have left then and there and let the police deal with him – after all, they can deal with people who are not under an akuma's influence. The man had different ideas.

Quicker than he can follow with his eye, the man moves forward. Adrien barely dodges out of the way in time, pivoting to the right side of his fist before the man wheels around on him. A tense heartbeat, where the man breathes in heavy, angry huffs and Adrien tries to wrap his mind around the sudden onslaught of Not-Akuma-Related-Attack.

"Chat Noir, the hero of the people." The man's face broke into a grimace-like grin. That was a title he usually never heard associated with his name. Usually, Ladybug was the one who was hailed as a hero and he was just the cat who hid in the shadows rather than walk in the light. "I wonder what history books will say when I crush your skull. Will they call you a martyr? Will I be the one hailed as a hero?"

"Thanks, but no thanks." He drawls, carefully keeping his tone even. "Nobody is dying today, least of all me-ow."

The man lunges and throws the first punch, a low hit to his stomach. Adrien catches it in the crook of his elbow, but the man twists and frees his arm. He spins out of the way, a glitter of silver catching his eye. Another knife.

"That's pawsitively pawful." He comments, and then he has to back flip out of the way of another small flying dagger – is this guy hiding them up his shirt or something?! He leaps, no he flies, and runs to the other side of the alley. Another curse falls from his lips, and then Adrien chases after him. He could go after the civilians and go off on a slaughter of the innocents due to his rage at Paris' resident superheroes.

... Too much anime, Agreste.

"Chat?"

Adrien swings at Marinette's voice, forgetting the criminal for a heartbeat. Why is Marinette out this late, in the rain? She looks like a half-drowned kitten, with her hair soaked through and clothes plastered to her skin, revealing every subtle curve of her body.

No, bad Adrien. Pay attention!

"Princess!" He breathes, and her eyes widen as she looks at something over his shoulder. He barely registers her warning to look out before he's raising his baton to parry the blow, spinning on the balls of his feet. His ears ring with the sound of steel crashing against iron and his arm vibrates from the strength behind the criminal's blow.

"What a pretty lass..." The man says and, to his Adrien's disgust, he licks his lips. He draws back, grip tight on the knife. Adrien glances at it – if only he could get it away ... And then he looks back. His eyes are laughing – at them, and it brings an uneasy fluttering to his stomach. He takes a step back, and his wet leather boots squelch against the wet asphalt. "Maybe after I'm done with you, me and my buddies will entertain her for a while. I'd bet she'd like that more than hanging out with a grungy street cat like you."

Rushing. His mind rushes like a river finally breaking a dam. He hears Marinette breathe in sharply and the soft squeak of a rubber sole hitting the pavement and the rustle of wet clothing against wet skin. He glares – he wasn't happy being out in the rain to begin with, but now he's downright infuriated by how disrespectful this ... this rat is of Marinette. She shouldn't even have to hear comments like this – someone half as kind, wholesome, pure as she is doesn't deserve to have them directed at them. He hates people like this, who have no shred of human decency.

The man smirks.

As if a switch had just been turned on, the man leaps forward, bringing his knife up. Adrien holds his baton up, parrying the blow and ducking to avoid another. There's a stinging in his cheek and something warm runs over his lips. He tastes it.

Blood.

He cut through my mask! He realizes, gingerly touching the stinging area right under his eye. His eyes narrow – an experienced fighter. This man is not some novice. He's probably been fighting for a while.

And then the man is moving, his knife moving quicker than he expected. He parries as blows thunder against him, but he's no longer on the offensive. He wheels back, nearly tripping over his own tail once and slipping on the wet pavement several times. A staff isn't meant to fight against a knife or in close quarters on top of his bad luck. It snags against something (a wall? A canopy?), and his heart stutters to a halt.

No, no, no!

He tries to yank it out, but it only buries deeper into the ... whatever it's caught on. He jerks his arm back and tugs it, jamming it up and down and – oh, this can't be happening – and then there's a flash of silver in the corner of his vision, and his heart stutters to a halt for a half second. And then his body goes on autopilot, leaping, twisting, dancing out of the way. His tongue hurts – did he bite it? – and his legs ache as he crouches, but he leaps forward.

He's weaponless now, getting tired, and the maniac has a dagger. And it's still raining on top of that.

Just bloody fantastic.

He weaves in and out of the way of the dagger, stepping backward to avoid being hit and stepping forward to try and take it from him. His vision is taking a red tint. A dodge, punch, duck, parry – the man leaps forward and his knees are swept out from underneath him.

His head connects with the hard, wet, freezing pavement, but he has no time to think about that as he grabs the man's wrist and using his knees to try to keep him as far away from him as possible even though he's so heavy, pushing back as the dagger presses against his throat. Sweat beads at his forehead.

In the corner of his eye, he sees a spot of blue and pink, and then the man screams as he rolls off Adrien. No, it's more like he's thrown off. He looks up and – Marinette. He sees Marinette standing there, breathing heavily, clutching something that looks like a baseball bat in her pale knuckles. She looks pale, but her eyes are glinting like twin chips of ice.

"You little bitch—"

The criminal is furious, and with that Adrien senses danger.

"Marinette, run!" He gasps out, rolling over and pushing himself up. But Marinette doesn't move to run like she should have two minutes ago – she stands there like a statue. And then the man charges at her, and how does he still have that knife?

"MOVE!" He screams, and that triggers her into action. She leaps to the side in a way that reminds him of somebody else, but now isn't the time or the place to think about that. And then she trips. He runs, his feet pounding hard against the ground. Marinette scrambles gracelessly until she hits the wall, and the man holds his knife above his head and the scene reminds him too much of that one from Snow White where the hunter tries to kill the princess. His heart races and all he can think of is he can't lose her too, she's my friend –

And he leaps while the man's back is turned. Desperation fuels his movements now – protect Marinette, protect Marinette, protectherprotectherprotectprotectprotectpro- and he wraps his legs around the man's stomach and his arms around his neck.

The knife hits the ground with a clatter as the man drops it reflexively and reaches up. He can't think anymore – he just can't let him hurt her and he really doesn't know what he's doing and why the Hell is she still here? Fingers claw into his leather, somehow ripping through it, but he ignores the blood and the sound of the sirens and the choking noises. His lips are drawn back into a snarl as he keeps his arms tight and he can't let go can't let go don't let go don'tletgo –

The man's lips are turning blue and he catches a glimpse of Marinette's terrified expression – or was that horror? – but he can't think and he has to concentrate on this. He feels the body fall forward, and he falls with it. His knees crash into the pavement, taking his breath away, but he can't stop can't stop can'tstopcan'tcan'tca —and everything is dizzying and he tightens and tightens and holds and holds and he has to protect her –

"Chat! Chat, stop! You're going to kill him! CHAT!"

And he pulls back like he's been stung, and shakes his head to clear it. He's straddling the man's waist, and his lips are blue and his face looks gray and oh, God I could have killed him –

She's crying, and he knows it's not the rain because of the expression on her face. He thinks he may be too, though that may be the rain and the dirt and the blood and the pain. The ringing of sirens pierce through the tense silence, reminding him that it's probably better if they were gone before the police swarm in.

"Marinette?" he whispers, trying to break the awkward silence. She blinks up at him, and he stands, kicking the knife far, far away into the sewers so that the man will never be able to use it again. He touches her elbow, and when she doesn't shy away from him, he curls his fingers around it to help guide her back home.

At least, that's what he says inside of his head. If he were honest with himself, it was for him just as much as it was for her. He'd been terrified for his life – their lives.

The silence is heavy as the rain keeps coming down and cops race down the streets, lights flashing red and blue while the sirens blare. He stays in the shadows, out of the lights from the streets because he doesn't want to be seen and stopped. He just wants to get Marinette home, go back to his house and sleep for a month. Wants to pretend this never happened.

When they arrive at her house, they don't speak any words as he silently helps her climb up her fire escape and into her room. She pulls him in after her, and finally the rain can't come in here.

She looks at him for a moment, and he's relieved that her blue eyes are finally beginning to clear. Her gaze roams up and down his body, and he realizes she's taking in his injuries before he can do anything to hide them away – not that he really would; she's patched him up so many times that it would be stupid to even try. She walks out of her door and closes it behind her, so Adrien lowers himself to her rug slowly. Every limb protests the movements already, and he realizes he's going to be sore tomorrow.

Half of his claw has been torn off, so he can see his thumb and palm. There are scratch marks all over his lower arm where there is no leather to protect him, and the cut under his eye stings. His chest hurts. He breathes heavily, trying to calm his racing heart to no effect. He takes the glove off, and his skin looks sickly against the black in the dim moonlight.

Why didn't she run? But he knows the answer – Marinette is many things, but a coward is not one of them. If she were any braver, she'd be a lioness. There was no way she would have left him to fend for himself, though he wishes she would.

No, what confuses him is why she froze up.

Except ... that's really not confusing, is it? If he were in her place, he'd probably have froze up too. He shudders. If he didn't fight akuma on a near daily basis, he'd probably be terrified too. If he was just Adrien Agreste and he'd run into that maniac ...

Her terror was suddenly far too understandable. As a superhero, he feared nothing because nothing could really hurt him. As a civilian ...

Marinette enters the room with supplies – bandages, a first aid kit – in her arms. He moves to stand despite his protesting legs, but she crosses the room in several strides and sits down in front of him. His heart sinks as she keeps her eyes averted but holds her hand out.

"Marinette?" he whispers.

"What?" she snaps, and that's when he knows she's angry for some reason. He puts his hand in hers, the one that has no claws, and she drags it to her lap.

"You're angry."

She snaps, like a coil being cut, and her shoulders drop and her posture slacks. She pours hydrogen peroxide onto a washcloth and he waits for her to say something. Except she doesn't. She puts the washcloth down on torn skin and he hisses from the sting of the disinfectant against recently torn skin.

"Why? Did I do something?" He asks once the sting fades and she's covering his hand with bandages. She sighs and stills, and her fingers touch his.

It's the first time he's felt her skin on his, he realizes with a start.

"Not you. I just... I should have done something more to help you." She grimaces, tucking into herself. "You put yourself in harm's way for me and ... What if you died? What then?"

I doubt anyone will really miss me much, he thinks, but he ignores that thought because he knows that Nino would miss him, and Alya, and Marinette at least.

"It's what I do for people I care about, Marinette. If I hadn't, then you would have been hurt – probably killed." He breathes. "I'm just an alley cat whose job is to protect Paris. Not many people would miss me."

"That's not true!" She bursts out, and he looks at her. She's still angry – he can see it in her eyes and in the way her grip tightens around his wrist. "You're so much more than just an alley cat – Ladybug wouldn't be able to do half of the things she can without you, Chat. Paris needs you just as much as it needs Ladybug and ... and I hate the way you keep throwing yourself at the enemy like your life is meaningless or something."

He grabs her wrists before she can hurt herself. "My life is nothing without Ladybug—" She shakes her head. "—because without Ladybug, there would be no Chat Noir."

"You don't believe that, do you?"

He nods. "I do."

Her eyes harden. "I'd miss you." I know, he thinks. "Chat Noir is just as important as Ladybug, because without Chat Noir, Ladybug wouldn't be able to do half the things she does."

"I'd bet she could." He says before he can censor himself, and then he cringes at his words. They were true, but hers were as well.

"Agh!" She whisper-screams, throwing her hands up. "You are impossible."

"Impawsible, you mean?" He echoes, trying to lighten the mood. She glares at him, and he realizes that he just made a very grave mistake.

"That's it, I'm done with you. I'm going to bed." And she stands up and stomps over to her bed. He watches as she climbs up the ladder with jerky movements, and he flinches. ...I hope she'll find it in herself to forgive me ... one day ... probably when we're ninety or something. If I even live that long.

"Night, Marinette." He whispers and stands up. He's no longer welcome, and he's going to have to go out into the cold, wet rain. He drags his feet as he walks over to the door to her balcony, and part of him hopes that she'll just let him crash on the floor. Better not push that.

He hears sheets rustle but he figures that's just her moving to get into a move comfortable position, so he ignores it. He turns the doorknob, mentally preparing himself to go outside into the horrible, horrible, horrible rain— He's going to get sick tomorrow or the day after, isn't he?

As the door swings partway open, Marinette grabs his left bicep in a steel-tight grip and yanks harder than he expected such a small person could. He spins, barely able to keep his balance and he grabs her shoulders to steady himself. He opens his mouth to say something—

Cookies.

Her mouth crashes against his, and instantly his brain short-circuits. His hands drop from her shoulders to her small waist and he pulls her flush against him. Her hands push against his chest and he wheels back, out into the rain.

Water and cookies mix and he trips over his tail and crashes against the ground. She falls with him, but her hands tangle into his soaked hair, cushioning his head. Her legs tangle with his as her fingernails dig into his head and he's pretty sure his lips are going to bruise tomorrow on top of everything else, but he doesn't mind that since he's pretty sure her lips are going to be bruised tomorrow as well.

Eventually, her mouth leaves his and her lips blaze a trail from his jaw and up to his ear and then down to his collarbone. His eyes close. A sound bubbles out from the back of his throat and his stomach, and he feels her wet clothes too keenly between his ungloved hand and the covered one.

Her fingers reach up and cup his cheeks far gentler than the way she just bit into his shoulder, and she pulls away and he opens his eyes to look at her. His hand shakes as he reaches up to brush her wet hair out of her eyes.

Her lips press again his again, and he tastes salt on them. She pulls away and presses her head against his chest. He feels the gentle press of her lips against his heart, and he shudders. His eyelids flutter.

"I can't lose you," she whispers. "You're one of my best friends."

He swallows and brushes his lips against the crown of her head. "You won't," he promises, and she whimpers. He means it but he has to tell himself that he intends to keep it. They both know deep down that if push comes to shove, he'll put Ladybug first.

Just like every Chat Noir before him.