A/N: I told a few of you that this chapter was going to be on the shorter side. Just kidding, apparently. Honestly, it's long enough that I could even break it into two chapters if I wanted to. But I don't. I'm so ready for y'all to see this one. Besides, I always envisioned these scenes as one whole, complete chapter. Honestly, I had originally planned for both Chapter 7 and Chapter 8 to be all one chapter. But I'm happy with where I left off.

Also, there may or may not be a treat at the bottom, once you've read the chapter. (...Honestly, this is a literal "may or may not" depending on your personal preferences xD)

Chat paused ahead of Marinette, and she slowly came to a stop at his side. He was looking out across the rooftop to the next building over, a six story apartment building, but she couldn't help a worried glance at the surrounding streets. It had taken only a matter of minutes to make their way here, and she hadn't seen a single sign of the police. Still, they hadn't made it back yet, and she didn't want to risk getting sloppy before she was sure the coast was clear. She didn't need Paris knowing she was back—just thinking about the possible storm it could cause left her breathless.

She glanced back at Chat, who was still silently surveying the building. She almost asked if this was his apartment, but she bit the question back. He had barely said a word on the way here, only a sparse few comments about where to avoid.

He was pissed.

No, pissed didn't do it justice. The breadth and scope of his anger squeezed the air right out of her lungs. It was a thick, layered thing—anger that she had left, anger that she had come back, anger that she had dragged him into this mess with her, with pain and disgust woven so intricately between them that she could barely tell them apart.

"We need to get onto the roof," he said suddenly, not bothering to look at her.

"Do you want me to swing—"

"No." His voice was flat as he cut her off. Finally, with a small,annoyed sigh, he turned to her. "I'm more familiar with the building. It'll just be easier if I do it."

Marinette had about half a moment to be confused before Chat moved forward and snaked an arm around her waist. "Don't fall," he told her wryly.

Then they were yanked up as he extended his baton below them. Disoriented by the sudden change, Marinette tightened her arm across his back, trying to ignore the way that his arm held her firmly pressed against him. Despite his quipped remark, his strong grip ensured that she wouldn't slip.

The air streamed past them as the buildings below slowly became smaller. Up, up, until they were rising even higher than the apartment building. Suddenly panicked, Marinette wrenched her eyes to the streets below. They were too visible up here. What was he doing? Had she misunderstood? Maybe she shouldn't have trusted Chat. She had thought, even with his new allegiances, that he wouldn't rat her out, but maybe—

Her stomach dropped away, and Marinette quickly looked forward as she realized that they were leaning too far, tilting in toward the apartment, falling. A million butterflies burst to life in her stomach, fluttering nauseatingly as they fell. A brand new concern replaced her fear of being spotted, and she looked horrified to Chat.

He didn't seem concerned. In fact, he was staring with intent concentration somewhere below them. She followed his gaze, realizing he was judging the distance to the roof of the apartment.

Instantly, a sense of calm washed over her, even as the butterflies continued their nervous flight in her stomach. He knew what he was doing, and he wasn't going to let them fall.

They gained momentum as they headed down, and Marinette watched with an oddly nervous serenity as the concrete roof crept ever closer. How on Earth were they going to land on that without breaking their legs?

Then Chat reached an arm down and under her knees, holding her bridal style. She had only a brief moment to marvel at the fact that he had so quickly retracted his baton before he landed on the roof with a solid thud and a grunt, the force of their fall pushing him down onto one knee. He let out a harsh breath through his teeth as he lowered her down onto the roof.

"Are you okay?" she asked, watching his face closely with concern.

He grimaced, waving her off. "I just should have landed on the other knee," he said, rubbing a hand tenderly on his left thigh.

"Were you hurt during the fight?" Guilt suddenly overwhelmed her. She hadn't seen him take a blow to the leg, but she also hadn't seen his entire side of the fight.

"It's fine," he told her, voice clipped. He pushed himself up to standing, and she was reminded once again just how much he towered over her. For a heartbeat she couldn't breathe as he looked down at her. Then his gaze slid away and he walked to the edge of the roof. Marinette allowed herself a silent, relieved breath.

She followed him over to the edge, glancing around nervously. "What if someone heard us land?"

"They didn't."

Marinette waited for a further explanation. When he didn't provide one, she bit her tongue, refusing to press the issue. Still, she couldn't help the nervous hammering of her heart. You're still out in the open, she reminded herself. You're not in the clear just yet.

Her stomach twisted, and Marinette pressed her lips tightly together. She had been so worried, back in the alleyway—she still was, even now. She had never expected Chat to call the police, for him to be working with them. If anyone found out that she was back—that Ladybug was back—things might get messy. All she had wanted to do was slip away unnoticed. She had never intended for any of this.

Oh Tikki, you were so right, she thought forlornly. It had been ten years, but apparently she still needed to be reminded that Tikki's advice rarely led her astray.

"That balcony," Chat said, pointing to a small concrete porch several feet below them. Marinette nodded, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand. There would be plenty of time to beat herself up over it once she was inside.

Chat dropped down first. He landed gracefully, though she couldn't help noticing now that he favored his left leg. Marinette quickly judged the distance, then dropped herself over the edge. There was a two second span of falling, then her feet landed solidly on the balcony and she crouched into the landing.

Chat was already sliding open the glass door. He stepped inside, then paused, waiting for her to follow. With a deep breath, Marinette pushed away any of her lingering hesitations and followed him in.

She looked around the dark apartment as he slid the door closed behind her. In the moonlight, she could see they had entered a living room area, with a couch, coffee table, and television. Further in, she could make out the shape of counters and a refrigerator.

There was a clanking hiss, and suddenly the apartment was drenched in shadows. Marinette spun around to see that Chat had closed the curtains. Instantly she felt a rush of gratitude—he wasn't taking any chances.

She watched silently as the dark shadow of his shape moved across the room. After a moment there was a click, and the entire room blossomed into view.

It was … nice. Marinette wasn't sure what she had been expecting. Perhaps the problem was that she hadn't been expecting anything.

Looking around, little details stood out. The room was clean—spotless, even. The carpet looked recently vacuumed, and there were no clothes or papers draped across the furniture or floor, unlike in her own room. The furniture itself was simple, but elegant: a sleek black couch and matching black chair that provided a contrast to the white carpeting, the glass coffee table and TV stand. She caught sight of a PS4 near the TV, which wasn't much of a surprise, but even that was tucked away neatly, the controls wound up. There was a square dining table nestled into a dining alcove, with the kitchen sitting on the other side at the far side of the apartment. The whole place hinted to a side of Chat that she had never glimpsed, a home life that she had never let herself imagine.

"You can stay the night," Chat said, dragging her attention back to him. "But in the morning, you need to head out. Just this once—I'm not going to stick my neck out for you again."

It was as if he had dumped a bucket of ice water over her head. Immediately all of the twirled, tangled emotions from earlier came rushing back. "Right," she replied quietly, struggling to find the proper words to say. "Thank you."

He didn't reply. Instead, without a word, he disappeared through one of the doors towards the back of the apartment. Marinette watched him with a rising sense of incredulity. Was he just going to leave her standing out here for the rest of the night?

But a few moments later he reappeared, carrying an armful of blankets and a pillow. She stepped forward, ready to take the blankets from him, but Chat ignored her, instead sweeping past and dropping them onto the couch.

"You don't have to ignore me, you know," she told him, struggling to keep her rising frustration from leaking into her voice.

He didn't reply as he bent over the couch and started tucking in the blankets.

Marinette closed her eyes, taking a slow, painful breath. "At least let me make my own bed."

"I'm sleeping here."

Surprised, Marinette looked over to find Chat watching her with a guarded look. "You can sleep in my room," he added, gesturing towards the room he had gotten the blankets from. "Now if you'll excuse me, it's very late, and I am very tired."

The abrupt dismissal left Marinette momentarily speechless. She opened her mouth to argue, then paused. Chat turned away, returning to fixing his temporary bed.

It felt as if the room was breaking into pieces around her, large cracks running up and down the walls and ceiling.

"Chat…" She paused, picking her words carefully. "Can't we just talk? There's—"

He spun on her with a hard glare, and the words withered on her tongue.

"Talk?" he asked, dropping the blanket he had been holding. "Now you want to talk? Well I'm sorry, but you're several years too late."

"I know," she cut in quickly, afraid that he would shut her down again. "But it isn't what you think. It was an accident. I couldn't—"

"I don't want your excuses." His gaze was almost hostile now, his voice cold, twisting into her gut like a knife. "I waited a long time for you to come back. Eventually, I came to my senses and gave up."

"That's it?" she asked, her own anger flaring. "You're not even going to give me a chance to explain myself?"

"Seven years of silence speaks pretty loudly for itself."

"I'm sorry." Her heart was hammering, chest torn between anguish and anger. "I never meant for it to wind up like this."

Chat was silent for a moment, an unreadable mix of emotions passing across his face. For just a moment, standing there watching each other, she could almost fool herself into believing that nothing had changed. Then his brows lowered into a frown.

"You know, I'm not very inclined to believe you." He turned away, tearing her heart out with him.

"And in the morning?" she pressed, watching as he walked toward the kitchen. "What then?"

He paused at a cabinet, not bothering to look her way as he pulled out a glass. "In the morning, you leave, and we just leave it at that."

The words blindsided her, leaving her speechless yet again. There was no heat to them, no anything. It would have been better if he had simply started yelling at her again. At least then she would know how to react.

He filled his glass with water, then made his way back over to the couch. She watched him, struggling to form some sort of reply. She couldn't just leave it like this.

Chat set his cup down on the coffee table, then turned back to her. "Listen," he told her, voice eerily flat. "I'm going to bed now. So if you could just—"

"No."

The word felt too good leaving her mouth. She pinned him with a glare.

"I refuse to accept that we can't at least talk this out. You're my partner—"

"Just stop!" Chat said loudly, startling her. He took a step toward her, towering over her again. She had to crane her head back to meet his glare. "We stopped being partners the day you left me."

The pain in his glare was overwhelming, and Marinette shook her head insistently, hoping desperately for some way to make him understand. "There was an accident on the highway," she explained. "I had a flight—"

"What a convenient excuse," Chat hissed, bending so that his face was only inches from her own. Marinette's heart nearly stopped, choked by their proximity. She forced her mind to start working again.

"How can I apologize if you're not even going to believe me?" she spat back, squaring her shoulders and meeting his gaze. She leaned in closer, ignoring the way her skin prickled at the tension between them.

"I don't want your apologies," he replied. His voice was low, but alarmingly loud in her ears. "I don't want to see you. I just want to move on and not have to deal with any of this anymore."

"And I won't accept that." She narrowed her eyes, trying not to notice the feel of his breath fanning across her face. "Because I hate that I hurt you, and—"

Chat reared back, anger flaring in his eyes. "I'm. Fine," he gritted out, voice a low growl that inched down her spine.

"No, you're not!" Marinette yelled back. She shook her head. "None of this is fine!"

"That is not my fault," Chat snapped. "You started all of this. I'm merely putting this whole ordeal out of its misery, since you don't seem merciful enough to do it."

Marinette opened her mouth, ready to argue back, then stopped. He wasn't going to listen—wasn't even going to give her the chance to explain herself. The blinding pain that accompanied this realization coursed through her like an electric shock.

She had expected him to be upset, and even for him to yell. But somewhere, deep in the back of her mind, she had always assumed that the hard part would simply be finding him. That once they were reunited, she could apologize, explain the circumstances, and have everything go back to normal.

Normal. The thought made her want to laugh. What even was normal? He was right: they hadn't had a normal moment between them in a long time. Back then, she had relied on him, known that he would always have her back, that he would protect her even at the risk of his own well being.

Now, she should probably count herself lucky that he hadn't simply ratted her out. She did laugh at that, hollowly.

He blamed her, and it wasn't her fault. Not all of it, at least. And yet, though it killed her to admit it, she could understand his anger. She could see why he was throwing the entire blame at her feet.

It made her angry—furious, if she was being honest.

But at the same time, she almost couldn't fault him for it. Was it any wonder, after so long, that he had made such inaccurate assumptions? Hell, just listening to him made her feel overwhelmingly guilty, as much as she knew that she wasn't entirely to blame. They had protected each other time and again, but in the end, she hadn't been able to find a way to protect him from this. And though she hated herself for it, she couldn't rid herself of the dirty feeling of guilt that clung to her skin.

She looked at him now, re-evaluating. This wasn't the same Chat with whom she had roamed Paris. He had grown in more ways than one over the past few years. Grown to a place that she couldn't reach. Grown an armor that she couldn't pierce. That maybe she shouldn't pierce, for his own well being.

"I…"

What else was there for her to do? Maybe he was right. Maybe she just needed to finally let him go, rather than force him to endure the suffering any longer. The decision was heartbreaking, and she struggled to fight against the tears that were threatening to work their way into her eyes and causing her throat to clench painfully.

Because he was—

He had been—

She didn't even know how to put it into words. Her partner. But it had been more than that. The person who could make her smile, no matter how down she was feeling down. The person who supported her when she didn't even know she needed it. Who made her want to be better.

Damn. With painful reluctance, she slowly realized that she had loved him, probably, way back then. Not that she had ever allowed herself to see it, because she was always thinking about Adrien Agreste. Chat's words rang through her mind: too late, too late.

"... you're right."

The words must have taken him off guard, because his eyes widened ever so slightly.

Heart tearing in two, she forced herself to push the rest of the words out. "I can't force you to listen. If that's what you want—" She wanted to scream. To make him understand. To not stop fighting, even if it meant going against him. But, more than that, she wanted to do right by him. "—then, okay. I… I won't press it."

Her throat wasn't working, and she had to swallow against a painful lump before she could speak again. "Good night, Chat."

For a long moment he simply stared at her. She did her best to sear the image of him into her mind: sharp, clear green eyes, tousled hair, the hesitant line of his shoulders and back.

Then he shifted, disturbing the air between them. "Good night, Ladybug."

Her entire body felt like it was buzzing, that if she could somehow just communicate and reach out to him that she could make him understand how she felt—something even she didn't quite comprehend.

Instead, she offered him a small, weak smile. Then she turned and made her way to the bedroom. His bedroom—oh god. She nearly stumbled at the thought. Somehow she forced herself to breathe and keep her steps even.

Marinette closed the door behind her quickly, not allowing herself to look back. Better to make a clean break, right? She leaned her head back against the door, taking a few deep breaths. She glanced at the windows, which were thankfully covered by thin white curtains, before whispering, "Spots off."

The transformation lifted, and suddenly Tikki was hovering anxiously in front of her. "Mari—"

"Shhh," Marinette replied quickly with a finger to her lips. The apartment wasn't that big, and she hadn't forgotten his heightened sense of hearing.

Tikki swooped in, wrapping her arms in a tiny hug against Marinette's cheek. "It's going to be okay," she whispered. The words only choked Marinette further, the lump in her throat bobbing painfully. She patted Tikki gently on the head, then took stock of the room.

It was as eerily clean as the main living area. The only dirty clothes were piled neatly into a hamper in the corner. The bed was made, if not perfectly, then at least well. There were no mementos or photos. Guiltily, Marinette realized that even if there had been, she couldn't have betrayed Chat's trust by looking at them. At least, what little trust he had left for her.

Marinette bit the inside of her cheek, trying to force those thoughts away. Then, with a deep breath, she stepped away from the door. "C'mon, Tikki," she said quietly. "Time for bed."

She took off her purse and laid it on top of the dresser. She slipped off her sandals and left them on the ground nearby. For a moment, she considered trying to scavenge up some PJs, but…

But it felt far too personal and invasive. She would just sleep in her loose sun dress—it was light enough that it could almost pass as a nightgown, anyways.

She flicked off the light, then carefully made her way back to the bed and slipped under the covers. Almost immediately she regretted it. The pillows, the sheets, the blanket—they all smelled of him. She hadn't really noticed it earlier, when he had lifted her into the air. But here, nestled in a cocoon of his scent, she immediately recognized it. It was overwhelming, and made her head feel hazy.

Tikki put a hand to her cheek again, and Marinette was surprised to realize the kwami had wiped away a stray tear.

"What am I going to do?" Marinette asked, taking a deep breath to keep herself from bursting into full out sobs. "Everything's ruined."

"You can figure that out in the morning," Tikki promised her quietly. "You should get some rest now."

Marinette nodded mutely, rolling over onto her side. She started a moment later as she caught the low sound of Chat talking in the room outside.

Talking to his own kwami, she realized. She listened to the sound of his voice, trying to push down the crazy longing that it evoked in her chest.

It wasn't fair to want him now—not to him, and not to herself. She had had three years to come to that conclusion, and she had stubbornly refused. At the time, she had only had eyes for Adrien.

But she hadn't even heard from or thought about Adrien in years. And Chat was here.

She immediately rejected that thought, shoving it to the farthest reaches of her mind. First of all, she reminded herself brutally, he hates you. That alone should have been reason enough. And besides that, it was obvious that he was only helping her out of some lingering sense of obligation. Really, he was risking himself to help her—again. Didn't Chat deserve more respect than this?

The low rumble of Chat's voice subsided. Marinette glanced at the clock and saw that it was 2:16. He was probably going to bed. You should too, she chided herself.

...

She tried.

But the more she forced herself to calm down and relax, the faster her thoughts whirled. Could it really be over? For one crazy moment she was ready to leap out of bed, march into the living room, and demand that he listen to her.

Without your costume? she asked herself sarcastically. Because that would make everything better. Not. At this point, he probably didn't even want to know anymore.

God. Why hadn't she just given in to him, all those years ago? She had been so worried about making sure that their identities couldn't be used against them. And, if she was being honest, her own worry that he would look at her—the real her—and see her for the fake that she really was.

If she had only just told him. Then, when she left, he would have understood. They wouldn't be here right now. Maybe, just maybe, they could have worked things out—

Stop. She was letting herself get caught up in the moment. Just because she had finally realized that she had loved him back when they were still partners, that didn't mean anything about now. He hated her.

Which just led her right back to the beginning: all of her anger, her undeserved guilt, the low burn ache of her past feelings.

It was a downward spiral. She could see that very clearly, but she couldn't manage to wrench herself out of it. The entire process was punctuated by the gentle scent of Chat's sheets.

Finally, ready to lose her mind, Marinette sat up.

Tikki was snoring quietly on the bed beside her. Otherwise, the apartment was silent. Marinette looked up at Chat's alarm clock—3:02.

Silently she eased herself out from under the covers. She sat on the edge of the bed, straining to hear any stray sounds.

Marinette tried to breath, shoving the swirling memories and arguments aside. Her mouth was uncomfortably dry.

Just go to bed, she told herself, but she knew it was hopeless. At this rate, she was going to lie awake all night and not have enough energy to drag herself home in the morning.

As quietly as she could, she stood up. She had lay long enough in the dark that her eyes had adjusted somewhat, so that the room presented itself in a series of shapes to avoid.

At the door, she paused. If he was awake…

Nonsense. Chat had made it very clear how tired he was. He was probably out cold. Still, she took great care in twisting the handle, praying that the hinges wouldn't squeak.

The main room of the apartment was even darker than it had been when they first arrived, now that the moonlight had vanished from the edges of the curtains. Marinette carefully padded her way barefoot across the room to the kitchen.

She eased open the cabinet that Chat had taken his cup from and slowly reached inside. Her fingers pressed against cool glass, and just as slowly she took out a cup for herself.

She winced as the small stream of cold water leapt to life, trickling down into her cup. She filled it only part way, then quickly pushed the faucet down.

The water was cool and refreshing, and she downed the entire glass in three gulps. Feeling slightly better, she carefully placed the glass in the bottom of the sink and wiped her lips.

"What are you doing?"

Marinette yelped, spinning around to find Chat's dark shape standing only three feet behind her.

Fear took over, her mind going blank. She wasn't transformed. And he was standing right in front of her. She was so dead—

Reason suddenly snapped back into place. He was standing in front of her, but she couldn't make out any of the features of his face, just a general sense of his angles and curves.

Her hammering heart slowed somewhat as she realized that he wasn't transformed and thus couldn't make out her own face in the dark, either.

"Water," she croaked out, gesturing behind her to the sink. She half-laughed in delirious relief. "Damn, you scared me. I just—"

She was babbling. Oh god, shut up.

"Sorry," she added quickly, wanting to sink into the floor. So much for a quick, clean break.

There was a pause, and Chat shifted, his clothes rustling. "No," he said finally. "I should have thought to offer you a drink. Do you need anything else?"

Marinette opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. He couldn't do this. He couldn't go from accusing and venomous to kind, generous host on the drop of a hat. Her already abused heart couldn't handle it.

"I'm good," she forced herself to say. "So long as you don't give me any more heart attacks."

"I wasn't the one sneaking around someone else's apartment," he pointed out, though the edge that had been in his voice earlier had dulled.

Cautiously optimistic, Marinette gave a soft chuckle. "No, you were just sneaking around your own apartment. Are you actually a goddamn cat or something?"

That elicited a laugh from him, and Marinette felt her heart rate spike. "Sorry," he replied, "just a force of habit."

"To avoid all the cameras?"

She froze, instantly regretting it. Why did she have to go and mention the very thing that had caused him to yell at her in the first place?

But Chat chuckled. "Yeah, actually. I don't know where all of Paris' cameras are, but I scoped out the ones near here, at least, so that I could come and go in privacy."

Marinette felt herself relax ever so slightly. She wasn't quite sure how, but they were having a conversation—a normal conversation. In the dark. At three in the morning. In his kitchen. Out of costume. But she wasn't about to argue over the details.

"It still seems so weird to me," she conceded. "I mean, they had a lot of cameras in New York, but those were mainly street cams or on the subway."

There was a long, drawn out silence, and Marinette felt her stomach slowly clench with dread.

"Oh," Chat said finally, his voice suddenly much cooler. "New York. Is that where you were?"

Shit. Marinette took a deep breath, struggling to figure out how to respond. Finally, she settled on a simple, "Yeah."

"How lovely."

She cringed, wishing should could just snatch the admission back and somehow keep things at the happy, if tenuous, medium they had established.

"That must have been a lot of fun," he added.

"I didn't go for the fun of it," she replied quickly, hoping against hope that he would understand. "It was a ton of work."

"Mm-hmm."

"Chat," she said imploringly, feeling her heart sink. She strained to see him more clearly through the shadows, watching his face. "Please, can't you just hear me out?"

"Oh, right," he replied. "Forgive me for not asking you more about whatever selfish reasons dragged you off to the big apple."

It was as if something snapped in her chest. An eerie, trembling calm settled over her. "What?" she asked, voice low.

"I'm sure it's a delightful story," he continued, folding his arms across his chest. "I've heard the shopping there is phenomenal."

"It wasn't like that," she hissed. "I went there for my education. I spent four years studying my ass off, and another three running myself into the ground."

"Has it never occurred to you that I was doing the same thing, right here in Paris?" There was a rising hint of fire in his tone, but Marinette ignored it.

"Oh, excuse me," she snapped, voice rising. "I didn't realize that choosing to go to my dream school made me such a terrible person!"

"It's not about the dream school!" Chat shouted back, leaning in towards her accusingly. "You left me without a word!"

"And I've already tried to tell you that I didn't mean to!" she yelled, chest feeling ready to split open from the ache of it. "I wanted us to meet before I left! I wanted to keep in contact, even after I moved! But that day, there were things beyond my control!"

"But how long did you know this for!?" he asked incredulously. "When were you even going to bother telling me? The day you were leaving!?"

"Yes, okay?" she spat. "I waited, and it was wrong. But—"

"No!" he yelled, cutting her off. "Time and again, you chose not to trust me."

"Because I didn't want you to feel guilty!" The words were pouring out of her now, an unstoppable flow. "If you had known that there was a ticking expiration date on that summer, you would have beat yourself up over trying to defeat him in time!"

He opened his mouth, but she pushed on ruthlessly. "No—don't try to deny it, you know you would have! I was worried sick about you! What if you took a stupid risk to try to defeat him faster? And what would have happened if we didn't win in time!? There was no way I could have left—I was ready to give it all up and stay in Paris to see the fight through to the end. I didn't want you to have to bear any kind of guilt!"

"And so instead you just didn't tell me at all and left for seven years!?" His voice was an odd mix of overwhelming anger and incredulous surprise, as if he wasn't even sure how to deal with this information.

"How many times do I have to tell you!?" she pushed back, taking a step closer to him for emphasis. "It was an accident! I tried to get to the park, but everything from that day on went wrong."

Chat made a frustrated, desperate noise in the back of his throat. "Quit yanking me around!" he told her, suddenly looming over her. Her pulse stumbled. "I don't know what to believe anymore. I can't do this!"

She opened her mouth, not even sure what she was going to say, but suddenly he had leaned forward and was kissing her. For half a second she was frozen, taken completely off guard as his mouth moved desperately against hers and his hands gripped her arms. And then she broke, letting her lips match his pace, parting them as his tongue suddenly shifted from reaming her out to breaking her down. His hands were everywhere—on her hip, up her back, clutching her side, woven into her hair. Somewhere, deep in the recesses of her mind, a small voice was screaming at her, trying to drag her back to reason. Because this was so wrong.

But he felt good. Everything about him was hot. His breath. His touch. The feel of his body pressing up against hers, backing her into the sink.

She was dizzy, every nerve in her body jumping in shock. Damn/em. Why was he such a good kisser? She had kissed plenty of guys, but even with Bryce—

Chat groaned into her mouth, the thrum of his voice echoing down every inch of her body, and all thought was reduced to ashes. Then his hands were on her ass, hoisting her up onto the counter. The motion set her completely off balance, and she barely managed to throw one of her hands back onto the countertop to catch herself as he leaned into her.

He kept pressing closer, sturdy arms wrapping around her back and holding her in place. She found her own arms sliding around his shoulders, one hand inching into his hair, which was ridiculously soft. She slipped her own tongue into his mouth, mind reeling at the way he moved against her in response.

Then suddenly there was only air as his mouth left hers. Her breathing sounded harsh in the dark, overpowered only by the loud, heady noise of his own breaths. His mouth reconnected, this time on her neck, and there were stars flashing through the dark room, his lips and tongue doing things against her skin that made her whimper and forget which way was up. His hips were pressing against her knees, and she shifted, widening her legs and then wrapping them around him, liking the feel of his body pressed entirely up against hers.

He nipped at her collarbone, and she pushed her hips into him in surprise, earning herself another of his low, throaty groans.

His grip tightened around her, then he lifted her up—like she was nothing—and the room swayed dangerously. She buried her fingers in his hair, letting her lips travels against his temple, brush across his ear, taking delicious pleasure in the small shiver she elicited from him.

Her stomach swooped as he lowered her suddenly, and then he was pressing her into the bed. For a brief moment she panicked, realizing where this was heading very quickly.

I shouldn't—

His mouth attacked hers once more, and she violently shoved any protests from her mind. Reason be damned.

A/N: Okay, remember when I said that this story was going to have a very solid T+ rating? I promised not to show anything explicit. I haven't changed my mind. The rating makes the most sense for the largest portion of my readers. But, in the process of writing this scene, I also couldn't resist writing the do. So here's my compromise: I've posted an extra chapter (Chapter 7.5, if you will) separately in a fic called Burning in the Night. If, in the future, there ever are any additional M scenes that I decide to write for this fic, they will also be posted in that story, and I'll mention it here in the notes.

Just to be clear: YOU DO NOT HAVE TO READ THE EXTRA CHAPTER IN ORDER TO ENJOY OR UNDERSTAND SOMETHING IN THE NIGHT TO THE FULLEST. Basically, the chapter is pure smut. I will NOT be including any major/significant character development or plot in it. Count it as a bonus for people who enjoy reading smut. (Actually, the honest answer is just that I've been interested in writing LadyNoir smut for a while now and just couldn't resist.) I don't want anyone feeling pressured, like they have to read it or else they'll be missing something. That's not at all the case, and you should only read what you feel comfortable with.

Hopefully y'all enjoy it. I've written smut before, but I'm not convinced that I have the art of it down yet xD Still, it is pure, unbridled SIN (as this fandom seems to prefer to call it xD), and I'm quite proud of it.

I really hope that this chapter make sense to everyone. I've been really worried that it might come across as forced. I mean, I highly doubt anyone will doubt the chemistry and sexual tension that exists between Chat Noir and Ladybug ^^ But at the same time, I don't want it to seem gratuitous. Obviously people have sex for various reasons, and not always due to love and happiness. In this case, it's very much driven by the unresolved tension (both sexual tension and frustration) between them.

Oh, and I finally did some research about cameras in Paris. Up until 2012, there were 13,000 cameras in Paris, but most of them were traffic cameras, not for crime deterrence. In 2012, they were thinking of adding 1,100 new cameras, and "The goal of the plan was to make public spaces—from shopping and residential areas to public transportation—safer without violating citizens' civil liberties." So, I was kind of on the right track. Paris has far fewer cameras than other cities, like London (one camera for every 11 people what!?). New York's cameras are primarily traffic cams, on subways, or in public housing. So, just like in Paris, fewer on the outside of buildings to deter general crime. So, theoretically, it kind of could make sense that Marinette wouldn't have thought about the cameras.

As I was writing the scene with the baton, I just kept thinking of Aladdin and Jasmine making their way across the rooftops of Agrabah xD

And then when I was writing "he had grown an armor she couldn't pierce," all I could hear in my head was "MY HEART IS MY ARMOR, YOU'RE THE TEAR IN MY HEART, YOU'RE A CARVER, YOU'RE A BUTCHER WITH A SMILE, CUT ME FARTHER, THAN I'VE EVER BEEN." Damn STRAIGHT I will make as many twenty one pilots refs as humanly possible ;D (I've been a big fan for five years, so it's awesome to see them really taking off. If you ever get the chance to see them live, do yourself a favor and go.)

ALSO, when I was brainstorming how their argument would go when Adrien discovers that she was in NYC, my original idea was him saying "OH, YOU WERE IN NEW YORK, HUH? THAT MUST HAVE BEEN FUN." And then Marinette being snarky and replying "... yeah, actually, it was." Buuuuut, that awesome reply wouldn't really have fit xD

Major thanks, as always, to Sandra (sandrastar66) and Maf (kickassfu)! This chapter, in particular, owes a TON to Maf, who spent, like, a solid hour squealing and yelling with me trying to figure out the specifics of how they were going to go from arguing to making out xD

And a million thanks to all of you for reading, commenting, following, and just generally being fantabulous human beings. Every chapter I'm amazed, and every chapter you continue to exceed even my wildest expectations. I love getting to hear what you all think, and seeing how many of you are swinging by to check this story out. It means the world to me ^^

If you want, come check me out on Tumblr (Konekat). I'll also elaborate on my usual note about its NSFW status and mention that, although it's NSFW, I rarely post explicit pictures. And recently I've been really conscious about tagging my stuff. That said, there is a PLETHORA of untagged NSFW posts in my backlog (I started the blog as a way to keep up with my favorite yaoi series). So seriously, if you want to follow, cool. But if you're not comfortable with that, then I completely understand! I'm just happy you're here reading the story ^^

And finally, before I duck out, I'm going to address a question that came up. Last chapter, a guest asked this question in the comments here on FFN: "Could you maybe elaborate a little more on why the police are after Ladybug, or at least why she fears them? I understand that they're angry she left, but I'm not getting why she's running away instead of explaining herself."

This is something that has been discussed at length in the comments of this story over on AO3, but which I obviously haven't yet talked about much here on FFN. Because there isn't a character limit to my notes here on FFN, I'm going to take some time to elaborate.

Ladybug ran, not because she knew that the police would chase after her, and not because she's a wanted criminal or anything, but because she's terrified of having her identity revealed at this point. And because she's really worried about what the city will think if they find out that she's back. She just wants to avoid the limelight. It's dumb of her to run, but she does.

The police, on the other hand, have a few reasons for wanting to bring her in. You'll be learning more about these soon in the story itself (probably in Chapter 9). The first reason is that she has possibly fled a crime scene. As you'll find out later, they're not 100% certain that she was there. But the thugs are claiming that someone dressed as Ladybug was there. And Chat very specifically did NOT tell Faure that she was there. At first, it's a he said/she said type of thing. But then they get visual evidence that someone dressed as Ladybug WAS out that night. Which seems to indicate that the thugs are telling the truth (or at least that they need to take their claim seriously). And that's when they start looking for her.

Now, I agree that this would probably be over the top if Ladybug was just some normal person. But she's not. She's a superhero. You know that Chat had to spend a long time building up trust with the police. There's a very specific reason for that: this isn't like with an akuma, where they need super heroes to defeat the bad guys. These are normal crimes under the normal jurisdiction of the police, and they don't want unidentified citizens stepping into the vigilante role. Kind of like in Spiderman, and how the chief dislikes Spiderman and claims that he has no right to dole out his own justice.

Chat has built up trust with the force, but you're about to find out that he's already kind of on unsteady footing recently. Ladybug has no established relationship with the force whatsoever. And the problem with superheroes is that you can't really track them down. They know how hard it is to find Chat (they still have no idea who he is), and they know it'd be hard to do with Ladybug too. So they're trying to find her so they can make it very clear to her that she is not a police officer, and that she cannot just go around trying to fight crime unsanctioned by the force. And, plus, at this point, she's also involved in a crime in some way or another.

Also, I should have made this clearer in the last chapter, but the search itself is kind of on the down low. They're going to be having all available patrol cars driving up and down the streets on the eastern side of the seventh arrondissement. But it's not like they're going in with lights flashing and sirens blaring. It's between 1:30 and 2:00am at that point, and they're in a residential section. They don't want to wake anyone up or necessarily draw attention to themselves. But I also think that it's not unreasonable for them to stop any random people they would see out on a residential street that late at night and ask them what they're doing.

This, at least, is the gist of it. I hope that this is satisfactory. Of course, if anyone still has questions, I'd be happy to hear them and talk about them.

One thing that HAS come up here on FFN, that I've talked with people individually about, is that the public anger with Ladybug doesn't make sense. The short answer to that is: … you're right. It's a bit of a plot hole. The longer answer is that I'm working on trying to revise the reasoning behind this a bit so that it will hopefully make more sense, because at this point I can't go back and change the fact that Paris is mad at Ladybug (or at least unhappy with her).

Alright, enough rambling. These notes are gigantic. If you've fallen asleep, I sincerely apologize.