July 14: Sick

Author's Note: Epcot97 here with an "other side of the coin" kind of story. Back during MariChatMay we saw how Marinette springs into motion when her kitty is sick. This time around, it's Chat's turn when Ladybug is more than just under the weather.

Did you catch the Miraculous panel at Comic-Con and that guy in the Chat Noir outfit in the front row? I thought maybe I could get their attention, finally; sadly, I was just one Chat among many.

Lyra: Good try though. I'm planning to go to the Expo here in Canada this summer and stand in line to meet Bryce (and Christina, hopefully). Should I see if they can help us with this whole "give us rights" plan?

It had been a long day at the practice, and looked like it would be longer still as I glared at the stack of charts that still needed notations. Being Friday, and not particularly wanting to be a grinch, I'd let my nurse go on time so she could make date night with her husband - though not without a stern warning that I not mess up her filing system when I closed down for the night.

I sighed, leaned back in my chair and pressed my hands to my tired eyes, and contemplated the Keurig that was mocking me from across the office. Another cup would mean I could go for another hour; based on the pile of k-cups in the trash, though, I feared an overdose was more in order. I sighed again, readjusted the stethoscope I appeared to still be wearing, and slid my spectacles back down to squint at the chart I had open on the computer.

On the verge of swearing at the government bureaucrat that had foisted electronic medical records on us, I came up short, my gaze suddenly shifting from the computer to the door to my private office. Someone was in the hallway; I had heard the same telltale squeak Jeanne made in her rubbery nursing shoes, but she wouldn't dream of returning at this late hour.

"Hello?" I called out, sliding my spectacles up to my bun and slipping around the desk. There was a ceramic mortar and pestle sitting on my bookcase that had never seen service; I grabbed the pestle, held it behind my white lab coat and carefully pulled the door open. "Is anyone there?"

The pestle clanged to the floor in shock when my gaze fell upon Chat Noir; his wide green eyes were faintly glowing in the semi darkness of the hallway. "Mademe Médecin," he said formally. "I'm sorry to have startled you. But I need your assistance."

I crossed the space to him quickly. "What's wrong?"

Chat moved to one of the exam rooms, where one of the subdued cabinet lights had been turned on. The tall window fronting the street immediately drew my attention - I knew Jeanne's attention to detail would have ensured it hadn't been gaping that wide when she left. That had to have been how Chat had gained entrance. Three floors up.

Stepping out of the way, he revealed Ladybug on the examination table, curled into a fetal position. An eyebrow went up. Had he really somehow carried her in? Through the window?

From the position of the trash can, I knew it had recently been used; remnants clung to her lips, which Chat Noir quickly wiped away with a damp cloth I'd not noticed he had in one hand. Or were those paws?

Chat swiftly leapt up behind her on the small table, and carefully lifted Ladybug's head into his lap. He was much smaller in person that he looked on television, and the black leather of his costume didn't leave much to the imagination. At first glance, I'd assumed his "tail" was just an affection, but as he stroked her hair, the end of it actually twisted in angst. "She's had a fever for about two days now, and I can't be sure it's not an aftereffect of one of the akumas we've fought."

I pressed a hand to a portion of her face that wasn't covered by her mask and nearly pulled it back in shock; fever was an understatement. "Two days?"

"Yes," Chat said, but he looked uncomfortable with the admission. "She tried to hide it from me, but I could smell it."

I nodded as if I understood; it was well known that cats had a better developed sense of smell, but I just assumed he'd chosen to be costumed as a cat. Was it possible, even remotely possible, he actually had feline abilities? I looked more carefully, and realized his eyes had slanted irises, something I'd missed in the semi-darkness.

He slipped down gently and pulled another set of towels from the dispenser by the sink, efficiently soaked them in cold water, and slipped back up behind his partner, pressing the damp towels to her forehead. "She said she was feeling better today, but I knew the minute I saw her tonight she was anything but."

His wide masked green eyes looked up at me, his expression worried. "She threw up whatever she'd had for dinner two rooftops into our patrol, and then passed out on the third." Chat considered something, and then added, "I can't exactly take her to a hospital, and I knew you'd still be here."

"How-" I started.

"We have a mutual friend. You've been his family doctor for years."

"And he told you about me?" I chuckled, despite the insanity of having not one, but two superheroes in my practice. Turning to retrieve the digital thermometer, I added: "It's true that most of my patients know I'm here well after normal hours." I turned back and carefully ran the device across Ladybug's forehead. 41C. Ouch.

Chat saw my expression and his eyes narrowed. "How bad?"

"Bad enough," I said. "Can I assume she's already tried acetaminophen or ibuprofen?"

He nodded. "I insisted on that myself, but it I don't know what she might have taken today."

I did a quick exam of Ladybug; her heart was racing, which was not unexpected if she was fighting off something. Respiration was shallow, and her blood pressure was high for someone looking to be in their teens and fit. Pulling off the stethoscope, I looked up at Chat. "This is a delicate question, but can we get this suit off?"

The poor kid actually flushed crimson. And it dawned on me in that moment that the two of them were both kids. Kids who had been running around and saving Paris from heaven knew what for some time now. It made my late night sessions at the office seem insignificant at best.

"Err, no," he said hastily. "It's part of the... magic... that comes with the gig. If she wakes long enough," and he flushed deeper, "she, uh, can de-transform." He looked away. "She won't want to, though," he added quietly. There was a subtext there I didn't understand, but let it go.

"Well, clearly she's fighting something," I said. "Her temperature is very high, so I'd normally recommend more acetaminophen, but if she's been this way for a bit, I would also suggest trying to cool her down a bit."

"Should we do both?" Chat asked, making an intuitive connection.

"We can," I said. "I've got a therapy bath in the therapy room. If you can bring her over, we can sponge her a bit easier."

Without saying a word, Chat scooped up Ladybug far more easily that someone of his size should have been able to do, and followed me out and down the hallway to the therapy room I used for my older patients. A small, shallow whirlpool was in the corner, and he followed my hand gesture toward it and carefully slid her into the tub. By the time I'd returned from the nurses station with a shot of super Tylenol, he had somehow perched on the edge of the tub and was gently dabbing a sponge over Ladybug's form. If it was even possible, his face had darkened to a deep crimson, making it clear to me he'd perhaps not been this… intimate… with his partner before. He remained completely professional, though, and I tactfully decided not to say a word.

Chat looked up at me and I could see he was exhausted. How long had he been with her? I started to suspect he'd carefully edited the timeline and that, perhaps, Ladybug becoming insensate had been his chance to finally get her help.

"It's been longer than two days, hasn't it?"

He looked away, cheeks flaming again. "Yes," he said after a long moment. "She refused to get any help, and I refused to leave her." His blonde mane snapped back. "Did I wait too long? I knew I should have forced-"

"You did the right thing," I assured him, though the jury might still be out on that. "Keep that sponge going," I added, "and we'll pump up her body's ability to fight this."

As worried as he was, a smile actually broke through Chat's face. "You'll have a hard time with that needle," he offered.

Ignoring him, I tried to insert the business end into Ladybug's shoulder, only to watch the needle bend when I pressed it to her costume. "Ah," I said. "One second."

Dashing back to the nurses station, I located the liquid version we used for younger pediatric patients, and returned to the room. "Hold her gently," I said, and we carefully tipped in a mouthful of the fluid.

Some dribbled down her chin, which Chat quickly dabbed away, but the balance seemed to get into her. "Now we wait," I said.

Chat looked at me. "I'm so sorry, Madame Médecin. You probably had plans this evening. Go home, I'll stay here with her."

I smiled my best doctor smile. "I never leave a patient who needs me," I said, gently placing a hand on his costumed shoulder. I was surprised again: it looked like leather, but felt like something infinitely smoother. The tension in the muscle just below the skin tight fabric was palpable. "Let me get some coffee and I'll be right back."

His ears - his feline ears - actually perked up at the mention of caffeine. "Would it be possible-"

"Two mugs, coming right up," I laughed. "Do you take anything?"

He smiled tiredly at that. "I like mine black."

"Of course you do," I chuckled. "Back in a jiffy."

We sat that way through the night, two strange companions fate had suddenly thrown together. I took Ladybug's temperature every thirty; we managed to get another dose of super Tylenol into her around midnight, and the fever finally broke in the early hours of the morning. Chat and I passed the time talking about everything and nothing, though he was careful to keep the topics neutral enough that he wouldn't reveal anything personal.

He didn't have to on one point, though. Without saying a word, I knew from how he caressed his partner's head just how he felt about her; he barely moved more than a foot away from her, if that. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't followed the two of them on the Ladyblog - who in Paris didn't read that? - but had scoffed at the chat boards opining about the two of them being an item. Now, seeing them in person, it was clear how at least one of them felt about the other.

The sun had started to slant in through the treatment room windows when Ladybug stirred. Chat moved from where he was positioned behind her and took her hand in his paw. "Milady?" he said urgently, those emerald eyes of his scrutinizing her face.

I stood from the chair I'd been in, slightly jealous that Chat didn't appear to be stiff in any way, and leaned over the teens. "There we are," I greeted, reaching for the digital thermometer. "How are we feeling?"

"Tired," she said. "And hungry."

"Both good signs," I said as I ran the device across her forehead. 37.9C. Good. "Much better," I smiled.

She looked to her partner. "How long-"

"Long enough," he smiled tiredly. "Let me take you home."

"Chat-"

"Or I'll take you to my home. Your choice." His tone didn't brook any argument, and I could see on Ladybug's face, she wasn't used to him dictating terms.

She looked at me. "Can I go home?"

"Yes," I said, "but you still need rest, fluids and something in your stomach." I turned to Chat. "You'll ensure all three?" I asked, knowing the answer.

"I will," he said firmly.

"If anything changes," I said, scribbling my personal cell down on the back of a business card, "call me. I'll meet you here, any hour, any day."

Chat took the card. "That's not-"

"It's my small contribution to your efforts," I said. "And I will be discreet."

His masked eyes went wide. Clearly this was the first time he'd encountered such an offer. "Okay," he said simply. "And thank you."

"Anytime," I said, and I watched in amazement as he deftly lifted Ladybug out of the tub, threw open the window with his free hand, and vanished into the early morning.

I stood there, slack jawed, wondering if the last fourteen hours had actually happened. The ache in my back said it had, and the yawn that I could no longer stifle. I quickly cleared away the materials we'd used, turned out the lights, brewed yet another cup of coffee and started back in on the charts.

Jeanne found me an hour later, poking her head into my office. "Deidre?" she asked, eyes looking me over. "That looks like what you were wearing yesterday. Were you here all night?"

I looked up, knowing that I had made a promise but also aware that the truth would be even harder to believe. "It's a calling," I laughed.