Chat dropped his hand from her neck, hissing in frustration. Making a last-minute decision, he hastily wrapped his arm around Marinette's waist, before hoisting her up into his arms. He bolted in the opposite direction of the interrogation rooms, footsteps heavy on the floor. When they reached the end of the hall, instead of taking a right toward the entrance, he veered left, speedily ascending up the staircase. She released his collar, instead securely locking her arms around his neck. His plan was still a mystery to her, but she knew that at this point, there was no going back. They considered her a bad guy, and returning would only put her in more potential danger.
Once they reached the next floor, Chat headed straight for a vacant office. He rushed to a window, briefly removing one of his hands that supported Marinette to open the window. It was obvious by now what his plan was. She wondered if they would even be able to survive this kind of jump.
"Wai—" she began to protest, before getting cut off.
"Can't you read a dangerous situation? Stop talking." His tone was serious, and somehow made Marinette feel obliged to comply. Normally, she would at least retort, however she knew he was right. Nothing she could say at this point would make anything better. The voices of cops began to grow louder, and she could soon make out the sound of their footsteps.
"Close your eyes."
Marinette did as told, screwing her eyes shut. She didn't know why she trusted him. She knew she shouldn't, and she felt crazy for relying on this criminal. Maybe she was the one that was messed up in the head.
There was a bit of movement, and she could feel them being hoisted into the air, before they fell. The speed at which they plummeted to the ground was terrifying, and caused her stomach to drop. She felt nauseous, as if in one of those fancy hotel elevators that moved far too abruptly. Along with the initial fright, however, came relief. The voices that previously worried her now faded away, as the duo sprung back up into the air, landing safely on another building.
She peeked through one of her eyes, staring at the city in awe as they bounded across the rooftops at an astounding speed. Beyond the horizon, the sun illuminated the shimmering haze of pollution. In the far distance, the silhouette of the skyline pierced through the warm glow like a jagged mountain ridge. Millions of lights caused the dense mass of skyscrapers to glitter. People were needle points and cars were blood cells flowing through the veins of the city. Despite the time, the hustle and bustle never came to a halt.
She'd never seen Paris from this perspective. The fear she previously felt was absent, replaced instead with a rush of thrill. She could almost see the appeal of doing this often. Not becoming a criminal, that is, but just… escaping. Her life wasn't particularly suffocating or anything, but getting out like this allowed her to feel free. Somehow, rather than feeling uneasy about their escapade, she felt oddly calm. Not safe, per se, as she currently resided in the arms of a criminal, but it almost felt surreal. She hadn't come to terms with what was currently happening. It was as if her mind needed time to catch up with the events.
Marinette still didn't know where Chat Noir planned on taking them, but didn't dare question it, fearing a possibly violent reaction, especially after her little stunt back in the hallway.
They headed for the outskirts of the city, their pace remaining quick and stealthy even if the police were nowhere to be seen. She glanced up at her heroic kidnapper, getting a good look at his face. Delicate blonde hairs fell onto his black, leather mask. He was angelic, yet his eyes bore a hard expression, a warning of the devil beneath.
"Not too discreet, huh?" His words were teasing, almost a refreshing contrast from his usual hostility. Marinette dropped her gaze, focusing on her pants instead.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she denied him the pleasure of hearing her admit to her actions. Seeing as he broke the ice first, she decided the time was right to ask her long-awaited question. "Where are you even taking me?"
"You talk as if I'd like to bring you along," he remarked, insinuating that she was only a nuisance. It would've offended her, had she not remembered who she was talking to.
"You obviously did, though," she pointed out, a coy yet complacent grin playing on her lips. Instead of irking him as she'd anticipated, he responded rather calmly. It was almost uncharacteristic.
"I had to."
His answer confused her. Really, he didn't have to do anything. Evidently, even the law didn't do much to stop him from doing as he pleased. "You could've left me."
"You…" A sigh passed by his lips. He seemed to rethink his words, before speaking again. It was obvious he didn't know how to respond. "Stop being troublesome and nosy." His childish response sparked some gaiety in her.
"Funny hearing that coming from Mr. Criminal himself," Marinette mused, her tone easily mistaken for being ridiculing. They passed a cluster of verdant green, entering what she soon realized to be a forest. Not the ideal place to be with a possible lunatic, that much was for sure. Or at least, that's what people called him. Despite the opinions of everyone else, she felt that he wasn't all that bad, and she hoped he wouldn't be giving her any reason to think otherwise.
"The name's Chat Noir, mind you," he proclaimed, announcing it in such a prideful way that came off as boasting. She supposed that after years of earning a title and well-recognized name, even if not for a good cause, it gave you bragging rights of some sort. He was famous, just for all the wrong reasons.
"Big difference," she deadpanned, knocking him off his high horse.
"Me-owch," he feigned offense. Marinette stifled a laugh. It was oddly fitting, the whole cat gig he was running with the ears and puns. Still, she couldn't help but find it amusing how Paris's number one criminal was, if you simplified it, just a boy with a thing for cats. "You know, that's when you're supposed to tell me your name," he informed her.
"Sorry." Her apology was shallow and insincere. "I don't hand out my information to just anyone."
"Looks like you've forgotten who you're talking to, princess." The name that was usually used lovingly to others was spoken to her condescendingly, a disparity from the usage amongst royalty. He glowered at her, that one brief look being enough to shut her up.
Quipping and bantering with him had briefly thrown her off track. This was the Chat Noir she was talking to, after all. Only a fool, or perhaps someone with a death wish, would dare disrespect him. His words set her back in her place. Now a bit more timidly, she apologized once more. "Sorry." The words still held no sincerity to them, however they weren't spoken challengingly as before. He parted his lips, as if to say something, before closing them. He'd regretted his tone, meaning to only say them as a joke, though they came out wrong. The same tense silence that previously lingered between them now resumed. Luckily, they reached their destination in no time, making the short and taciturn trip bearable.
Marinette eyed the house in front of them with awe and admiration. No, house wasn't even the right word. This was practically a mansion. Ivy and ferns grew through the crevices of the old winding stone path, which led directly to the colossal structure. The mansion loomed proudly behind the mass amounts of leaves that obscured it from an outsider's view. At its threshold stood a delicate marble fountain, the soft gurgling of the clear water melodic as it resonated in the surrounding silence. She couldn't believe this kind of place had been concealed away in the dense forest.
He eased her out of his arms, allowing her feet to land softly on the ground. It felt odd to suddenly stand still, after all that time of being in the air. It was like taking your first few steps after a rollercoaster ride. Still, none of that distracted her from the sight in front of her. "This place…" she searched for the right words to describe it, only for Chat Noir to chime in.
"It's noticeable and impractical. Hiding out here is our only choice, though, unless we want to be temporarily homeless." His outlook on it was completely different than hers. She guessed he was used to expensive and grand stuff such as this. As a working-class citizen, one of the bathrooms here could easily be the size of her bedroom.
"I was going to say beautiful, but I guess that works, too…"
He glanced over at her, blinking a couple times prior to responding, as if her words were a surprise to him. "I'm glad you think so." He headed on in, prompting her to follow him. He unlocked the door, holding it open for her as she walked in.
The inside was just as glamorous. It was like a perfect magazine cover.
The white walls and flooring that would normally look plain or dull somehow provided a classy yet modern feel to the place. The main room was cozy, and the furniture was rather conglomerate, but pleasing to the eye. She was afraid to even sit in case she would wrinkle the fabric or stain it with something she didn't even know was on her pants.
"Make yourself at home." She hesitated for a moment, unsure if he was only saying that to be courteous, before deciding to damn it all and take a seat. The couch was cream but inlaid with a fine green silk; leaves embroidered so delicately that they might have landed there in the spring and just sunk in, though she know they must've took hundreds of hours to sew. It felt soft to the touch, almost like the fuzz on a peach. It reminded her of her faux fur pillow back at home.
"Who owns this place?" Marinette didn't think the question to be rude initially, however soon realized it wasn't her business. Since she'd already gotten the question out, she decided to just complete her thought. "You didn't kill the owner, did you?" One could hear the expectation in her tone.
"I don't kill," he said it earnestly. There was no reason for him to lie about it. "The place is mine." It was technically his under his family's name, however they almost never visited this home, so he called it his. They originally bought it for some vacation or getaway purposes, however with his father always having no time to spare, it was never put to proper use.
"I guess being a successful criminal makes a lot of money." It was clear she was digging for information now. Chat Noir indulged in her little interview, however only briefly.
"I hardly keep any stolen goods."
"What? Where do they go?"
"That's confidential." He pressed a finger to his upturned lips, rubbing it in her face that he had a few secrets he'd never let spill.
"Then, do you work a side job?" She wondered where he got his source of income from. Clearly, he was well off.
"You could say that." His response was vague, avoiding the question. Marinette knew pressing for more knowledge wouldn't do anything but annoy him, so she decided to end the questioning there. Taking a few moments to think, the girl realized something. She didn't need to hide out. Sure, maybe he did, as he was an escapee or whatever, but Marinette did nothing wrong. If anything, running away only made her look all the more suspicious.
"You kidnapped me," she informed him, standing up. She knew it wasn't really a kidnapping, as she semi-voluntarily went along with the situation, but she had to figure out a way to get out of here, even if it was a gorgeous environment.
"You were very willing for being the hostage you claim to be," he watched her every move, amusedly.
"I hope you know I'm not staying here." Her eyes met his, and there was a pregnant silence. His lips fell into a frown, expressing his unenthusiasm.
"You have no choice. Leaving this place is the same as submitting yourself to a life behind bars." Though this may have been the case for most people, Marinette had more leverage than the average law-breaker.
"That's not true." She spoke with confidence, assuming an assertive stance, her hands placed firmly above her hips. "My father is a sheriff."
His argument was now flawed. Making it seem like he was doing this only to protect her was no longer a choice. Besides, with this newly found information, he could potentially be in more danger than expected. "Still, I can't let you leave."
"And why not?"
"We've only just met. I have no reason to believe that you won't immediately turn me in, especially knowing now your connections with people of rank." He slowly approached her, running a hand through his hair.
"I wouldn't."
"Staying silent would benefit you in no way." He knew about the intentions of people all too well.
"Like I said, I'm leaving." She marched straight for the door, attempting to storm past him.
"You keep forgetting who has the upperhand here, Marinette." It was a slip of the tongue that she didn't catch. He didn't dare correct himself, fearing that it'd only draw attention to his mistake. He took a hold of her arm, his leathered hand pulling her back. That same leathered hand had been on her far too many times today.
She winced, expecting to be hit. She was scared, but would never back down. "Go ahead, do what you want. Strangle me if that fulfills your sick desires. I'd rather die than stay with you." Marinette, even being in such a dangerous situation, couldn't help but say such things. The words were harsh, but she had to get her point across.
He closed his eyes for a moment, dropping his hand from her wrist and instead clenching it by his side. She'd hit him with a low-blow, but it was nothing he didn't deserve. "I don't want to hurt you." He looked directly at her, the sincerity in his tone evident. "But you do seem to be forgetting that, if I wanted to, I could destroy Paris on a whim." The idea wasn't as far-fetched as it seemed. Various citizens had been unlucky enough to witness his superhuman powers, even being able to take down buildings and lift vehicles.
Marinette's hand instinctively flew to her pocket, where her phone was previously kept. She felt and felt, but alas, nothing was there. She assumed it must've dropped when they were jumping around in the air. Her back pocket wasn't the most safe place to have stored it… Chat Noir wore a knowing, yet annoyingly smug expression. She narrowed her eyes. He played dirty, and she hated it. If only she'd had some stupid magic suit as well, he would be dead meat. "Show me to my room."
