Chapter 10

Marinette's Pov

The rushing sound of water, muffled by the bathroom door, informed Marinette that Chat was busy with his bath. Well, what constituted as a bath for him. Steam slipped through the cracks in the door frame like smoke escaping a fire. He had to have the water temperature hotter than what most women preferred. And for a simple sponge bath no less.

The rest of the apartment was quiet, and Marinette stood in her kitchen attempting to work the blood stains out of Chat's suit. The night before, during her brief cleaning crusade, she had treated the suit with soap and water. Now she was doing a follow up to make sure the stains came out, before sitting down to mend the bullet hole.

She wondered if Chat had more than one suit, and who made this one. The suit was actually well made, but there was no clue, no tag, nor signature, or anything that gave away who the maker was. Whoever made it, knew their way around fashion, as well as a needle, because it was strong and resilient, but also stylish, and the seams were well concealed.

After working vigorously on the stains, she hung the suit up to dry and turned her attention to the utility belt strewn over the countertop. The urge to satisfy her curiosity and rummage through the belt was too much to resist. He'd said no to the mask, but not his belt.

She opened the first pouch and picked around inside. There were strange devices she'd never seen before, a set of lock picks, a couple of mundane objects she couldn't figure out the use for. In another pouch she found more strange devices, and a contact lens case, as well as the fluid. The other pockets and pouches yielded much the same result, except for one.

There was a zippered pocket lining the inside of one of the pouches, and in the pocket she extracted a ring and her ladybug charm.

At first she thought the ring had to be the one pilfered from the pawnbroker in the St. Germain district.

But it wasn't a cat's head.

It was a large gaudy black ring, made of some sort of precious metal she couldn't identify. It was set with five emeralds, and the emeralds were arranged to form Chat Noir's insignia. A cat's paw, consisting of the pad with four little toe beans. The same insignia he often marked the gifts with, the gifts he so often left in her office.

It was the same ring she saw him wearing that night in the rain, when he gave her the umbrella.

Marinette turned the ladybug charm over in her hand. Unlike the ring, her charm was worthless. It was a glorified piece of costume jewelry. There wasn't a reason for Chat Noir to even want something like this. It didn't fit his M.O. He only ever stole cat related things, but here he was with her charm, keeping it on his person, like a trophy, or a keepsake.

It made her throat feel tight.

It also made her think of the bell he'd given her, and how it was still in the nightstand next to her bed. All it would take was Chat Noir opening that drawer to find the bell she'd told him she threw away.

Never in her life had she sprinted through her home so fast. The contents of Chat's belt forgotten, and strewn across her countertop. She darted passed the steaming bathroom, and into the bedroom, hands closing over the handle of her nightstand. She ripped the drawer open so fast it grated on the tracks, and jarred the contents inside.

The bell was still there, in the same place she'd left it. Marinette prayed that it meant he hadn't found it yet. She snatched the bell from the drawer and made a sweep around her room, trying to find a hiding spot for it where a thief wouldn't think to look.

Finally she decided on her back-up stash of tampons, and buried the bell underneath all the applicators. With any luck, Chat Noir shared the same stigma against tampons that the majority of men did, and would keep his nasty little paws out of her stash.

The curator tip-toed from her bedroom and back out to the kitchen just as the water shut off in the bathroom. She sank down into her couch, contemplating the cat burglar and the right mess he'd gotten her into.

Her car was dented in on the roof, and it had been a little adventure that morning trying to bleach all the blood off the top of her vehicle and from the upholstery in the interior. Then there was the issue of how long Chat would be holed up at her place. Who shot him? Why? Was he still planning to rob her exhibit? Why did he call her for help in the first place? She could just as easily turn him over to the authorities. And that left her off at the biggest conundrum.

Why wasn't she turning him in to the authorities?

The object plaguing her thoughts limped into the entrance of the living room, bracing himself against the threshold, looking like he just stepped out of an underwear ad from a Gabriel fashion magazine. The label on his green boxer briefs catching her eye, not for the first time.

Her stare lingered over him, tracing the elastic of his sole article of clothing and following it to the V from his crotch before dragging over the defined muscles on his abdomen. Her throat got a lot dryer, and she involuntarily moved onto his chest. The term rippling pectorals seemed like an accurate one to her mind at that moment, the man certainly had upper body strength- among other things. His lack of body hair intrigued her as much as it puzzled her. Maybe it was easier to don a leather suit with waxed skin?

Her eyes crawled over the line of his throat, practically caressing his Adam's apple before she realized he had fine stubble on his chin. How had she missed that? His face had always been clean shaven before, but now he looked dangerously rugged. Her stare inched up to his mouth which was pulled into the most arrogant smirk she'd ever seen. Her eyes snapped up to his and he was watching her with a self-satisfied expression.

"Enjoying the view?"

Marinette felt like she was gargling the Sahara. Her skin lit afire as if she dove face first into the blistering sands and just drank it all in.

"I-uh…" she trailed off cursing her sudden lapse in articulation. I was ogling him! Him! And it was so obvious! With the intensity that her skin was burning it was a surprise she didn't spontaneously combust right there on the couch.

Chat took her embarrassment in stride, his grin becoming more Cheshire when he revealed the whites of his teeth. He stayed rooted to the entrance of the hall, weight offset to his right leg and shoulder pressed against the wall, while his left hand reached out to brace himself against the opposite side.

When he finally spoke it was with a teasing light tenor. "Vill du ha mig?" The question slipped off his tongue in a language she'd never heard before. It was clear from the way he spoke it, she wasn't meant to understand.

When she blinked in reply and knit her brow, he chuckled and pushed off from the wall, limping his way to the kitchen and passed the sofa. He used the walls for support, his arms carrying much of his weight. She watched him the whole time despite herself, his presence casting some sort of irritating spell over her, a mix of fascination and agonizing embarrassment.

The severity of the situation the night before had distracted her from how much this man attracted her attention. But with the threat of the previous night lifted, it left nothing for her mind to grasp except him.

She loathed it.

When Chat reached the edge of the sofa, he paused only for a moment to shoot her a heated look that, combined with the fire in her skin, should have reduced her to a pile of ash. He must have washed his face, because the smudged black make-up no longer framed his eyes. Instead it was skin-tone separating the mask from his chartreuse-green stare.

"Om du vill ha mig, kom och ta mig." Chat murmured in a sensual purr, that almost rolled over her ears like a caress. His voice lacking the playfulness from before and taking on a more evocative quality.

Marinette swallowed thickly still dumbstruck by the whole situation. Wide-eyed stare and obvious confusion etched all over her face like an actor from a low-budget film. She really had no poker face.

Chat Noir chuckled and resumed his slow quest. He reached the kitchen and stopped, shooting an annoyed expression at her from over his shoulder. The smirk on his face was gone, replaced with a tight-lipped frown.

Oh shit. It slipped her mind that the contents of his disemboweled utility belt were still strewn over her counter top. Blatant evidence that she'd invaded his privacy while he'd been otherwise occupied.

The sour expression didn't last long. He turned away from her with a shake of his head and an audible sigh. "Where's the food?"

"Huh?" Marinette finally broke out of her stupor and forced herself up from the couch, realizing her unwanted house guest was hungry.

"Food, Purrincess," repeated Chat. He poked his head back out of the kitchen and raised his brows expectantly.

"First of all," she started, attempting to reign in her traitorous hormones by adopting an attitude, "the food is now in the living room. Second, you need to stop wandering around my apartment or you're going to open your leg wound again."

Chat Noir started at her sudden shift in attitude.

Marinette approached him and shoved an indignant finger in the direction of the couch. "Sit, kitty."

When he made to limp passed her she grabbed hold of him and helped him to the couch, ignoring the sudden racing quality her heart adopted just from the proximity. Once seated, she proceeded to toss a couple throw pillows at him, and sat herself in the matching recliner, arms crossed under her chest.

It took Chat a few minutes of finagling to prop his leg up and situate the pillows in a comfortable way. The entire time his face was scrunched up in various expressions of pain and his labored breaths were broken up only by hisses. Marinette could tell he wasn't doing nearly as well as his earlier levity made it seem.

When he finally turned his attention to the box of pastries on the coffee table, he just stared at them with a blank expression. Like they weren't even food.

"What?" Marinette barked a little too testily.

"Is this breakfast?" He continued to stare, hand frozen on the open lid of the box.

"I realize it isn't Kibbles 'n Bits," she retorted, "but I didn't have time to go shopping, so I ordered in from a local bakery."

Chat continued to stare at the food, and swallowed so hard it made his Adam's apple bob.

For several minutes the cat burglar eyed the food, and when he did reach in to grab a pastry it was with the kind of exaggerated slow motion you'd expect from a naughty child. He placed a chocolate glazed éclair on a small plate and brought it to his chest where he began picking it apart rather than eating it.

Marinette just stared at him with a look of incredulity. "Do you hate pastries?"

Chat looked up from the eviscerated remains of the éclair, he had a deer-in-the-headlights look on his face. A second later he picked up a piece of the pastry and put it in his mouth, never breaking their odd eye contact.

Despite the peculiar start to their breakfast he ate the whole éclair, and even licked the plate. When he was done he stared at the box of pastries with the longing expression of a starved child. It took Marinette telling him to eat as much as he wanted for him to tentatively take another. She was relieved when he didn't rend the second one to tiny pieces and ate it with a bit more normalcy.

He ate a third one in three bites when he thought she wasn't looking.

A strange muffled hissing noise interrupted their breakfast, and Chat about jumped off the couch in fright. She swore if he'd been a real cat his tail would've poofed out and his hackles would be raised. Chat's hand shot up to his right ear, where he fiddled with some buttons until the sound ceased, then spoke an annoyed greeting into the device.

"Hello, Plagg."

Noise akin to indignant protests erupted from the earpiece.

Marinette had trouble following half a conversation. Chat spoke in a hushed tone, and it was hard to understand what he was talking about, given she only heard his half of the argument. It wasn't hard to deduce that she was involved in some way, if not the subject of the conversation; because Chat kept shooting side long looks at her the whole time. Whoever was on the other end, sounded very irate, because their voice kept peaking loud enough for her to hear, even if she couldn't make out any words.

After several minutes of heated conversation, and Chat blowing the speaker off with a scoff, the cat burglar suddenly tossed the earpiece at Marinette. The device hit her left breast and it took all her reflexes to snatch if from the air when it ricocheted. She juggled it for a moment and shot Chat Noir a look.

He rolled his eyes, "My partner insists on speaking to you."

Marinette brought the earpiece tentatively to her ear, holding it against the side of her face rather than attempting to attach it. "Hello?" She tested, and waited a moment, listening for the voice of Chat's mysterious cohort on the other end.

A deep throated, gargled sound croaked out a greeting on the other end. "Hello, Marinette."

Well he knew her name, but that wasn't so surprising given Chat Noir knew her name, "So this is Plagg?" She tested out the name on her tongue; it was what Chat had addressed the person when he answered the earpiece.

"Has he been talking about me?" The deep garbled voice sounded downright irate.

Marinette couldn't help but laugh. She clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle the noise and turned to the cat burglar sprawled over her couch, he was watching her with a curious smile and bright eyes. "Is he using a voice changer?" She managed to chuckle out, trying to keep her giggles under control.

Chat's face erupted into a huge grin, and his chest shook from quiet laughter.

"You're using a voice changer, aren't you?" She had to fight back the urge to burst into fits of laughter. It was just so ridiculous.

"This is serious!" Snarled the voice that was now the subject of the room's hilarity. "You seem to have come into possession of my cat."

When the curator finally got a cap on her laughter she addressed Plagg's concern with her own, "when I picked up your cat, it was bleeding to death in an alley."

"That's very unfortunate. There was a territory dispute with another Tom and he's rather stubborn. I'm sorry you were roped into this."

"So when are you coming to collect him?" She eyed Chat on the couch, his eyes were busy combing over her body and it was starting to make her uncomfortable as well as self conscious.

"I cannot jeopardize myself by coming to get him. He'll have to stay with you till he's well enough to walk."

She frowned at this new information. "You do realize I could turn him over to the pound at any time."

"Yes," Plagg's altered voice drawled. "That was a risk he was willing to take when he called you. I can't stop you, and he's aware of the consequences already."

"Right…" her heart gave a sudden painful wrench when she looked at Chat Noir again. He wasn't smiling anymore, or even conspicuously admiring her with his gaze. Instead, he had a pensive expression that was trained on her feet. It felt like this conversation alone was betraying the trust he'd placed in her.

The pain rippled through her chest again, and she gripped the earpiece tighter. Why do I care? She willed the stuttering mess of her traitorous heart to calm itself.

Plagg's next words sent her heart into another unwelcome spasm.

"He's become rather attached to you, Marinette." She found it odd that Plagg was using her first name. Chat never used any of her names, only the strange endearments he'd selected for her.

I'm starting to become rather fond of him too, was her silent response. Her cheeks flushed with a sudden heat at her own thoughts, the sound of her pulse rushing in her ears almost enough to drown out the voice in the earpiece.

"I'm worried his affections towards you are becoming genuine," Plagg continued, his voice taking on a harsh level of severity that had been absent before. "I hope you realize what a problem this is."

A choke almost escaped the back of her throat. "…yes." She replied, still eyeing the despondent cat burglar, and trying not to let on the direction the conversation had turned. It was fortunate that he wasn't looking at her because her flushed skin was snitching on her.

"He will not listen to me. For the sake of you both, end whatever it is he sees between you. Before it's too late."

Marinette dug her toes into the carpet of her living room, and raked her nails over her elbow in a nervous gesture. Chat still refused to look at her, his gaze melting holes into various spots on her floor. "I make no promises concerning your lost cat." She answered cryptically, then tossed the earpiece back at Chat Noir. To Chat, it would sound as if she were still unsure whether to turn him in or not. To Plagg, it held a completely different meaning. She wasn't entirely sure she wanted to put an end to whatever it was that was happening, and that in and of itself, frightened her.

The cat burglar snatched the device from the air with almost inhuman accuracy, muttered a displeased, "goodbye," to his cohort and flicked the earpiece across the coffee table, where it clattered against the pastry box.

The silence in the wake of that awkward conversation was tangible enough to suffocate.

Chat wouldn't speak, nor look at her, living up to the attitude of his alias. It wasn't often that she saw the mirth absent from his features; she'd grown so accustomed to his flirty grins, and mischievous smirks. The despondency was as foreign as the language he'd spoken earlier.

She didn't know what to say to him. The cause of his bitter mood was obvious, but she couldn't promise she wouldn't turn him in. It was an option she contemplated far too often. The temptation just as seductive as he was. And that was her dilemma; do the right thing or indulge her reckless fascination with him?

There was still time, she reminded herself. In the current situation the cat burglar was quite harmless. He wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, and he certainly wasn't going to be robbing anyone in his condition.

The silence continued to stretch between them, until Marinette couldn't take it anymore. She excused herself from the room so she could change from her house clothes into something more appropriate. Chat Noir made no acknowledgment, only sprawled out further on the couch, and shut his eyes as if to sleep.

So many things about him reminded her of a cat, right down to his fickle attitudes.

Marinette dressed in a pair of dark wash skinny jeans, boots, and delicate pink blouse with fluttered short sleeves. She pulled her black hair into a loose knot, held in place with a couple of simple hairsticks, and slipped a pair of shades on the top of her head. A brief glance in her floor mirror to confirm she looked decent, and Marinette snatched up her purse, heading back out to the living room.

"I'm going out," she announced to her crippled houseguest. She spared a glance at him, to confirm he was still marooned on her couch; which he was. "Behave," she added.

Chat cracked one wheat-grass colored eye at her, and snapped it back shut just as quickly, setting his cut jaw.

She bristled from his attitude and stalked from the apartment, locking the door behind her.

0000

It was nearly four hours later that she returned to the apartment, arms laden with shopping bags ranging from groceries to first aide. She fumbled with the door key for several minutes before she managed to get it open, and stumbled into her apartment with the grace of an ox.

Heated shivers worked their way down her back, followed by the chilly feeling of claws raking up her spine before a chill pooled in the back of her skull. It was familiar and unnerving at the same time, and a most unconventional greeting from her rescued feline.

"Hello, to you too, Chat Noir," she found herself murmuring. He wasn't on the couch where she'd left him, nor anywhere else in the front of the apartment, and if it weren't for the tell-tale giveaway of his presence she might have wondered if he'd left. Marinette doubted a bullet wound could keep him in one place if he really wanted to leave.

The groceries she bought were simple frozen dishes, and prepared meals. Something Chat could easily fix himself while she was gone, or something easy for her to make after she got home from work. Her schedule left almost no time to cook, and she couldn't just let the man starve. They were easy enough to store in her ice box and cupboards, once finished she gathered the rest of the bags and retreated to the bathroom to store the fresh first aid supplies.

The inside of her bathroom was a disaster. Wet towels were strewn about from his bath that morning, as well as an iodine-stained wash rag, and it appeared he changed his own bandages while she was out because adhesive pad wrappers and leftover gauze littered the countertop. The bloodied used bandages were a wadded up heap in the trash and her bottle of povidone-iodine had gone missing.

Sucks to be him, I bought a new bottle.

As it turned out the elusive cat burglar was snooping through her closet when she entered the bedroom. Her mouth opened to snap at him, then shut with a click of her teeth when she saw some of her sketch books strewn across the bed. One of them was open to a page of dress designs, and one particular design more memorable than the rest.

The red dress.

"It's incredibly rude to invade a woman's privacy, Chat Noir."

"In the interest of gender equality, you invaded my privacy first," he snipped back, bracing himself against the closet door and shooting her a cheeky expression. "Payback is a bitch, Purrincess."

"Keep this up and I'll make good on the old adage, curiosity killed the cat."

Chat Noir pushed off from the closet and limped away from her clothes. While he moved, a few odd lumps in Chat's underwear caught Marinette's eye and she dropped her gaze to scrutinize them.

"I'd ask what you have stuffed down your undergarments, but knowing you I'll only be setting myself up for some lewd response concerning your dick." She was glowering at him, even whilst a cheeky grin stretched over his features. "So, I'm just going to say this: don't you dare steal from me again, and get whatever it is that is mine out of your pants."

"This cat has been yours since you beat him over the head with a rock; does this mean I must remove myself from the pants as well?" Chat Noir settled onto the bed with a series of winces, and pained breaths, but managed to recover and paste a coy smile back on his face. "Because I have no objections~" he finished with a purr, finger tracing the waistband of his designer labeled briefs.

Marinette's face erupted in a wave of heat that traveled over her neck and settled on her shoulders. She hurled the final bag she'd been holding at the thief's face and gave a shriek of frustration before stomping out of the room. Her bare heels connected loudly with the floor and her fingers curled so tightly into fists her knuckles were turning white.

Plagg had to be so wrong about him. There was no way he had any sort of genuine feelings. This Chat was lascivious, obscenely forward, and just… impossible. And to think she found him charming when they first met.

"I can't believe I bought him clothes to wear." She muttered to herself once she reached the living room. "He doesn't deserve them." Despite how miffed she was about his indecent comments, the alternative was to let Chat continue to waltz through her apartment nearly naked, and that was even more problematic. It was hard enough to concentrate just being around him, seeing his unclothed body did things to her that she wasn't comfortable feeling for the man.

She spent the rest of the afternoon avoiding him, and only changed his bandages in the evening when she brought him something to eat. The iodine had stained his skin around the bullet wound, marring his flesh with a murky orange color, which Chat complained excessively about. When she asked what the fuss was about, since his catsuit covered all of his skin anyway, it was like someone hit the mute button and that was the end of that conversation.

Chat once again gave the food a speculative look, and proceeded to move it around the plate rather than eat it. When she asked what was wrong with it, he remained stoic, face an unreadable mask. Not that he answered many of her questions anyway. Marinette eventually gave up and left the room.

She didn't see him for the rest of the evening and eventually fell asleep on the couch watching reruns of old television shows.

0000

Chat Noir wasn't doing so well the next morning when she entered the bedroom to bring him breakfast and fetch clothes for work. He was writhing on the bed, breathing heavily, tossing and turning in an attempt to get comfortable. The blankets were kicked off the edge of the bed, and his hands frequently made fists in the sheets. Marinette bolted to the bathroom to fetch the painkillers and returned with a glass of water.

After downing the medicine, he was whispering his appreciation like a prayer through chapped lips.

Marinette watched him curl in on himself, grinding his teeth, and curling his fingers, waiting for the meds to kick in. It made her chest ache to see him hurt so much. When he thrashed in her direction she raised a tentative hand, uncertainty making her pause, then buried her fingers in the soft tresses of his hair. The gesture startled him at first, his whole body going tense under her touch, and it took her a moment before she worked up the courage to massage the top of his head.

To her astonishment, Chat Noir let slip a vulnerable whimper and made no movement to stop her. It took several minutes before he relaxed, but his body continued to quiver on occasion from the pain, hands still clenching. She brought her nails over his scalp, and curled them around the back of his ear, then reversed the motion dragging the pads of her fingers back to the top of his head. Marinette continued the motion, slowly moving down the back of his head, till her fingers tangled in the shorter hairs at the nape of his neck.

A noise of appreciation spilled from the man lying next to her, it was shuddering and breathy and caused a shiver to work its way through her own body. His hair was soft, she noted; soft and fluffy, the blonde color sandy, with natural highlights. It was longer and coiffed at the top, but tapered off at the back of his neck where the hair was trimmed shorter.

Marinette brushed the hair away from his ears, and noticed they were pierced. It was a detail she hadn't stopped to consider before; each lobe had a small silver loop. Absently, her fingers trailed over his ear, played with the piercing, then continued along the line of his jaw, his stubble tickling her hand and tugging a smile at the corner of her mouth.

"Hmmm," he sounded content, almost pleased and leaned into her touch.

The acknowledgment of the affectionate gesture, both her own, and his, startled her from the intimate caress and she yanked her hand back to the top of his head. She resumed massaging his scalp, but with more restraint and a mechanical motion. Chat made no protest, but ceased making noises, accepting her gesture in silence.

Thirty minutes passed before Marinette realized he'd fallen asleep again.

At least he isn't hurting anymore. Her fingers felt cold when she withdrew them from his warm mane. As carefully as she could, Marinette got up from the bed, gathered her clothes, and left the room.

She escaped to the bathroom to change into her outfit for work; slipping on a white blouse, grey blazer, with pink lining, and a matching grey pencil skirt with pink lace trim. She fastened the buttons on the front of the blazer and brushed her hair into a neat bun. The makeup she applied was minimal. Today was the last day before the Grand Opening of the Egyptian exhibit. It was the final day for preparations, and she could not miss it.

Not even for the wounded cat burglar.

Tikki was already going to be irate that she'd taken Saturday off without explanation. She was going to have to figure out one hell of an excuse before she arrived at work this morning.

Marinette gathered the rest of her things, and stopped to check on Chat once more. The sight of him caused her to gnaw on her lower lip. He was still curled the same way she'd left him. Hadn't even moved an inch, half of his face hidden in the pillows. She let out a sigh, and placed the bottle of painkillers on the nightstand, where he'd have easier access, then left him a glass of water and a hastily scribbled note.

She wouldn't be seeing him again for over twelve hours.

0000

It was thirteen actually. Thirteen long arduous hours of work, last minute preparations, and a myriad of calls to confirm that everything and everyone would be according to schedule. Lila had been there before Marinette, cleaning and touching up some of the larger artifacts, which absolutely floored the curator. Max and his tech savvy lackeys were testing the security. It was fortunate the museum was closed on Sundays, because the alarms went off frequently with each test, while the men worked out the final bugs.

After the initial scolding of the morning, Tikki's mood lightened up, and she didn't press Marinette for details about her absence the previous day. Juleka shadowed her boss nearly the entire day, making herself useful in any way she could. Even the ever cynical Felix stayed late, which was unusual for him. The chubby Spanish-looking man tended to be the first to leave, but he stayed for the long hours until Marinette was ready to go home.

"Are you bringing a date tomorrow?" Juleka posed the question while the two women were in the office packing up their belongings.

"For the Grand Opening?" Marinette shut down her computer, hearing the tower release a tired sigh when the machine shut off.

"It's going to be a formal event," explained her assistant unnecessarily. It was her job to remind her boss about the acute details. "All our sponsors will be in attendance, even Chloe will be there," she added.

Without permission the curator's mind wandered to the infuriatingly attractive man sequestered in her apartment. Imagine showing up to the Grand Opening on the arm of the internationally infamous Chat Noir. Her cheeks lit up with a crimson heat for even entertaining the thought and guilt wrenched painfully in her stomach. He's a thief, and you're aiding and abetting a criminal.

Marinette was cursing herself when Juleka posed an idea. "Why not take your professor friend?"

"Nathaniel?" The curator ceased her internal damning and fixed her assistant with a curious look.

Juleka nodded, her dark hair swishing with the movement, "the one you went to lunch with not long ago. You spoke nicely of him."

"That's not a bad idea," she mused. "The exhibit is his cup of tea, so I won't have to worry that it's boring him, and since we're friends, he won't get the wrong idea if I ask him to accompany me."

"Do you think he will agree on such short notice?"

Marinette pulled out her cell and began typing up a text message. "Only one way to find out."

They watched Lila stroll by the office with her usual holier-than-thou attitude just as Marinette sent the text. Juleka expressed a concerned look when her boss furrowed a brow at the conservator. The Italian vixen continued to be aloof and there hadn't been a proper time to approach her.

"I'm going to attempt a word with her tomorrow," mumbled Marinette. Juleka worried her lip, to keep from voicing her concerns. "I promised Max I would try," she explained to her assistant.

"I just don't think you should involve yourself." Juleka was speaking her concerns as a friend, rather than an employee. "Lila's never been fond of you, and neither you of her. I don't see this ending well."

"I know," breathed the curator.

On their way out, Marinette's phone chimed with a text message. She fished it out, only to adopt a relieved smile upon reading it. "I have a date for tomorrow."

Juleka smiled, it was her way of expressing pleasure that her boss was prepared for the Grand Opening. They both fell silent while Marinette continued to text Nathaniel about the details, the clickety sound of typing accenting their heels against the concrete.

"Nathaniel's agreed to meet me outside the museum tomorrow, since I'll already be here." It went without saying that Marinette would be arriving early with Tikki to make preparations before the guests started arriving. For once Juleka would not be required, and was welcome to come and go from the event as she pleased, the curator could only envy that kind of laxity.

When they arrived in the parking garage, the two women parted ways, sharing wishes of good fortune for the following evening.

It will be a good evening, thought Marinette when she started the engine of her Panda. She reached a hand up to poke the dent in her car's roof and mused about the crippled cat burglar waiting for her at home. Chat Noir won't be robbing anything anytime soon, especially not my exhibit. She couldn't hold back the self-satisfied smirk at the thought.

0000

"No, no, no!" Her yellow Panda screeched to a halt outside her apartment complex. "Fuck!" Marinette cursed and grappled with the handle of her car door in a hurry to get out. Another text message chimed just as she spilled out, slamming the door while she checked it. It was another text from Alya saying her and Nino would be there in less than five minutes.

When Marinette told her best friend that she wanted to talk, it was before she had a wanted criminal holed up inside her home. Despite Marinette's insistence that she was too tired to entertain company, and have their inevitable discussion about Nino's occupation, Alya insisted upon it anyway; claiming they needed to celebrate the Grand Opening taking place tomorrow. She even sent a picture of the wine she was bringing over.

Marinette took the stairs two at a time, flying up the floors till she reached her apartment. The keys scraped loudly against the handle when she forced them into the lock, and she was surprised the door didn't come off the hinges when she tackled it open.

"Hide!" She shouted, and slammed her back painfully against the door to close it. Her shoes gave her a bit of trouble as she bounced around trying to pull them off and shed her blazer at the same time. When Marinette stumbled into the living room she swept her eyes around to assure nothing was out of place. Then dashed into the kitchen and ripped the leather catsuit from where it was hung to dry. Her fingers frantically rolled the material up while she searched for the belt, but it was nowhere to be found.

Marinette burst into the bedroom and hurled the suit into the back of her closet, burying it under a pile of shoes. Chat Noir was lying on her bed looking frightened by her frantic behavior, his hands were busy stuffing his belt into one of her pillow cases. His blond hair was a fluffed mess, which meant he'd spent most of the day sleeping, and his tired eyes raked over her with wordless inquiry.

"My friend is on her way right now with her fiancé, and they cannot find you here or all hell will break loose."

"Where can I hide?" Stressed Chat, his gaze combing over the room and coming up with nothing.

Marinette did the same; the closet was out because Chat wouldn't be able to stand upright that long. The bed was too low for him to slip underneath, and there wasn't a single other location in the apartment that would suffice.

"Lay flat on the bed," she ordered.

Chat looked dubious about her request, but complied. When he was completely stretched out, as flat against the bed as he could manage, Marinette began throwing pillows and blankets over him. She arranged them in a messy way, to conceal the presence of a body, and for once felt a swell of pride that she owned such a ridiculous amount of pillows.

"Just try not to breathe and don't make a sound," she instructed. As long as Chat's breaths were kept to a minimum it would keep the bed from shifting oddly.

"Easier said than done," he snarled, but his tone was muffled by the bedding.

"I'll try to keep them to the front of the apartment." She was out of the room, snapping off the light and shutting the door, then racing into the bathroom a minute later. The wastebasket full of bloody bandages got dumped at the bottom of her towel cupboard behind the cleaning supplies. The first aide equipment shoved haphazardly back into the medical cabinet, and the iodine-stained towels thrown into the laundry hamper, just as the door bell rang.

Marinette had to bite back a string of swear words and calm her frazzled nerves on her way to the front door. She wrenched it open and managed to plaster a strained smile on her face just in time to greet them.

"Heeeey." It sounded more like the groan of a squeaky door rather than a proper greeting.

"Hey girl!" Alya pushed her way into the apartment with the kind of familiarity you'd expect of an obnoxious best friend.

Marinette stumbled off to the side of the entryway, and attempted to smile at Nino. He was wearing casual clothes this time, looking the way she had grown accustomed to seeing. There was a sheepish expression on his face when he mumbled a low apology, though whether it was for his fiancé's bullish behavior, or his secret occupation, she couldn't tell.

With copious amounts of resignation, that she hoped wasn't as noticeable as it felt, she ushered Nino into the apartment and asked him to remove his shoes. Alya was taking down wine glasses and popping the top of the bottle by the time Marinette and Nino made it to the kitchen.

"She's already had a few glasses," whispered Nino, they were both watching his fiancé juggle the bottle and dribble the burgundy liquid as much on the counter as she was in the glasses.

Marinette's already strained grin just stretched more, until it felt like the corners of her mouth would be permanently creased.

"Congratulations are in order!" Crowed the auburn-haired woman. She waved a glass around before shoving it into Marinette's clumsy fingers. The curator barely managed to snatch it before her best friend released it.

"Isn't it a bit too early to celebrate? The exhibit hasn't even opened yet."

Alya narrowed her eyes behind her thick-rimmed spectacles and frowned. "This isn't about the success of your exhibit, this is about the freedom that follows. You, my-little-workaholic, are finally free to let loose. No more six to seven day work weeks, no more twelve hour days, and no more boring pencil skirts and stuffy blazers." She picked up her own wine glass, waved it about for emphasis and the contents sloshed dangerously about with it.

"You make it sound like I'm quitting my job."

"Mari, you live your job. I wouldn't be surprised if you brought it home with you."

The curator had to stifle a dry chuckle, and took a sip of the wine to help take the edge off her nerves. "You're right, we should go out more. I'll finally have the time."

"Damn straight. We can go bar hopping, or to a club, and you can pick up guys."

"Ok!" Cut in Nino, he pushed passed Marinette and attempted to reign in his fiancé. "I think someone's had a bit too much to drink already. Mari doesn't need you throwing her into bed with strange men."

"That reminds me," started Alya. She propped herself against the counter and shooed the hovering male away. "How's it going with that mystery man you want so bad, but don't want to want so bad?"

"Can we not have this conversation right now?" The back of Marinette's neck was starting to feel damp and she downed the rest of her wine with a painful gulp. "I don't think Nino wants to hear about it."

"No, not really," he agreed.

Alya made an about face and refilled Marinette's glass. Luckily, she only dribbled wine on the floor instead on her friend. "Why don't we talk about Nino's job instead? You wanted to discuss that right?"

Marinette coughed out a nervous chuckle, "why don't we talk about that another time too?"

"I'm sorry you found out the way you did," mumbled Nino.

"He uses the whole music thing as a cover when he travels," Alya blurted loudly. It seemed everyone would be ignoring Marinette's requests tonight. "He's been on the tail of this thief for ages, turns out that's why he moved to Paris when we met."

"Wait wait wait." It was Marinette's turn to shake her own glass around, "you haven't told Alya until just recently?"

"Well it defeats the whole purpose of a cover, if the whole world knows about it. She isn't exactly being subtle about it now, if you haven't noticed."

This was true, Alya was a journalist, gossip having long replaced her own blood. It seemed intoxicated Alya was having no qualms with barking loudly about her fiancé's private life.

"But she's your fiancé! How do you get that far in a relationship built upon secret identities?"

"Shoosh~" shushed her bespectacled friend, "I think it's cool that Nino's a secret agent man. A top secret Interpol agent chasing the infamous Chat Noir all across Europe! How romantic is that?"

Please, stop talking. Marinette gripped the bridge of her nose after taking a large mouthful of wine. She felt sick and the wine wasn't helping as much as she hoped.

"It's not top secret anymore," muttered Nino grumpily. He adjusted his ball cap and folded his arms over his chest. "So yeah, I'm work for Interpol, and I didn't go to London for a music tour… exactly. I was there assisting the London Police in the capture of Chat Noir."

"It's obvious that didn't happen," snipped Marinette critically.

Nino nodded quietly. "When we missed him in London, we traced him back to Paris. So, now I'm back home working with the PP."

"He's my date tomorrow night for the Grand Opening," announced Alya loudly. "His agents will be working the party in case Chat Noir decides to strike."

Marinette shut her eyes and tried to keep a straight face. "He's your fiancé; he would've been your date regardless."

"Yes, but now he's going to-"

"And that's enough, my dear!" Nino clapped his hand over Alya's mouth and pulled the mostly empty wine glass away. "I said we could discuss my job before I came back to Paris. Everything from here on out is confidential, at least until we catch the cat." Nino turned to Marinette once more and offered her an apologetic tilt of his head. "Let's talk about this again, under better circumstances."

Alya continued to make a nuisance of herself, and it took the combined efforts of both Nino and Marinette to escort her from the apartment. Once out the front door, Nino assured her that he could get his fiancé down the stairs and to the car without further assistance. Farewells were exchanged, and Alya plastered a sloppy kiss on the side of Marinette's cheek when they shared a hug.

"Good luck with the Grand Opening tomorrow night, Marinette." Nino gave a nod of his head along with the sentiment, because his arms were busy keeping his fiancé under control.

"Good luck catching Chat Noir tomorrow night, Agent Lahiffe," and Marinette found it nearly impossible to keep the condescending tone out of her voice. Fortunately Nino didn't seem to pick up on it.

The relieved sigh she expelled upon the shut door nearly rivaled the weak feeling in her knees. Inch by inch Marinette slid down the door till she settled on the floor and buried her face against her knees. "I'm going to hell for this." She shouldn't be feeling relieved that they wouldn't be catching Chat Noir. She shouldn't have felt sick at the thought of them catching him, shouldn't even be trying to protect him.

Marinette bit back the frustration and shame that consumed her, shutting her eyes on the tears that threatened. Tonight, she had to come to terms with the realization that she really didn't want anyone to catch Chat Noir. She also didn't want him to rob her museum or anywhere else for that matter, and at some point she had to accept that she could not have both.

So instead she tried to take solace in the tell-tale feeling of his presence.

Her head shot up with a start, "Chat?"

The ever present hot and cold chill wasn't prickling her spine, not even when she tried to focus it. With the help of her arms she forced herself back on her weak legs and started for the bedroom. There was absolutely no sensation, she felt nothing. Marinette forced the bedroom door open and snapped on the light.

"Chat?"

There wasn't a response, and the blankets and pillows she'd carefully arranged earlier were disturbed. She rushed the bed and knocked the pillows to the floor, a sudden panic creeping through her chest when all she revealed was the bed.

He's gone. Marinette released a pillow from her grip and it hit the floor with a muffled sound. Of course he's gone. You had an Interpol agent in your kitchen. He wouldn't trust you after that.

She felt the wet heat of tears threaten the corners of her eyes for a totally different reason, and had to sink her teeth into her bottom lip to stifle the unwelcome emotions. What are you doing, Mari? Losing your head over a thief? She reached out once more, attempting to grasp any sort of tell-tale feeling that he might still be around.

How the hell did he even leave?

A shadow shifted and Marinette physically felt the man who came up behind her; two strong arms encircled her waist, and a broad chest pressed against her back. The scream that caught in her throat came out like a strangled yowl, and she dug her fingernails into the arms that entrapped her. He did not even flinch.

"You didn't turn me in." His voice held an ardent quality even though his tone wasn't more than a whisper. "You've had every op-purr-tunity." There was another long pause before he breathed, "why?"

"I-I don't know."

His voice, as well as his breath in her ear, was making it very hard to concentrate. Not that she had an explanation to give him to begin with. She could feel the messy locks of his blonde hair tickling the side of her cheek. She could also feel the contours of his body pressed tightly against her own, and sent a silent prayer, thanking the heavens, that he was wearing the cotton sleeping pants she'd bought him.

But she still could not feel him. Even right next to her, his body touching her own, she couldn't feel his presence the way she'd grown so comfortably accustomed to. The words were leaving her mouth before she could catch them.

"Why can't I feel you?"

Chat Noir went completely rigid behind her, and the tips of his fingers curled in the material of her blouse. His sharp intake of breath tickled the edge of her ear, distracting her thoughts once more. She noted the way he wobbled, struggling to stay balanced on his right foot, and it only caused him to lean into her more for support.

"Did you want to?" and his voice was a throaty whisper.

It was Marinette's turn to go rigid. Her limbs suddenly felt numb, while the rest of her body took on a sudden chill. Her own words came crashing back on her like a deep ocean wave.

Oh hell.

I'm not sure when I'll have a chance to explain in story, so I'll do so now. Chat's earpiece is not a phone. It's a private coded frequency that he can sync to his tech, and use to contact Plagg. If he wants to make calls, Plagg must forward the calls. If any of you have played Metal Gear Solid, think of it like Solid Snake's Codec device.

I'll have some more sketches for this fanfic going up on my tumblr this week, so if that interests you keep an eye out for those. Also if you'd like to see me sketch anything specific from this fanfic feel free to shoot me a message on tumblr about it.

Dont forget to drop a comment if you like the story. Means the world to me when I get feedback on my work.

EDIT: before this gets out of hand, and I receive more criticism over languages people assume I'm using but I'm not. Chat spoke Swedish. I'm not gonna apologize anymore, I double checked this with a good friend of mine who speaks the language, and he says they are accurate enough. Glad that's settled.