Chapter 20

0000

When Monday morning rolled around, Marinette and Alya were over their bout of self-induced stomach sickness and Marinette was ready to throw herself back into the work week.

She spent the better part of the day making calls and going over information for another upcoming exhibit that would be held in the east wing of the Belleville. It was still a long way off so she had time, but if she wasn't working it would leave her vulnerable to thoughts that had no satisfying closure.

Like what she was going to do about Chat- Adrien- whatever the hell she was going to call him now. After an intense minute of inner debate she finally settled on Chat; the man she knew and fell in love with was very much a shameless scoundrel, and she had a feeling the facade he wore as Adrien was just as much a mask as the one he donned as Chat. Which made her itch even more to find out which face was truly real and which one was an act. Or maybe it was all an act.

This train of thought only served to rekindle her already smoldering frustration.

She wasn't even aware she chewed the plastic clip off the end of her pen until it broke apart in her mouth.

Alya was right that staying mad at him would only be squandering away what little time she had, and time was a precious commodity at this point. There was no way of knowing exactly how much she had, but every day that passed was sand she spilled from her own hour glass.

Which left her off at a new conundrum; she had no way of contacting Chat so she could talk to him. All the numbers he'd used to text her the past few months were all conveniently out of use, or not responding, and she didn't know a lick about where he lived.

Even looking up information on Adrien Agreste proved fruitless. According to the fashion company he modeled for, no appointments could be scheduled with Adrien because he was away on extended vacation. No one knew anything more about his whereabouts, or if they did they weren't going to share them with her.

Marinette tried contacting Alya and asking her to dig up information on Adrien. Her best friend proved a wellspring of information, be it from her journalistic investigation skills, or because she was snooping through the files Nino already had on Adrien, or both... it was probably both. But the information turned out to be useless in the end. The address Alya found on file for him was not in use, he hadn't been listed staying at his usual residences in Paris for months.

None of the phone numbers listed for him worked either, all of them routed back to the Gabriel Fashions modeling agency offices, which were a dead end.

She even stooped to digging through the contact information the museum had on file for him when he became a sponsor. The most that unearthed was a private number, which upon calling, she received a toneless greeting that wasn't recognizable. When she asked to speak to Adrien Agreste in regards to business with the museum there was a long silence before someone, a male she deduced, began speaking quickly in Italian and she hung up feeling defeated

"Well, I know how old you are now." Marinette clicked out of a tab on her computer. It was a simple Wikipedia article about Adrien's professional life. There were a handful of personal information bits about his life that she placed close to no stock in, but was still pleased to learn he was thirty, roughly three years older than her.

She cast a glance at the neatly piled maps with their markers already starting to flake off, sitting on her spare desk; they were still pushed aside from the day Nino paid her a visit.

A sharp rap on the office door broke Marinette from her thoughts and she voiced permission to enter.

Her assistant, Juleka, pushed the door open far enough to peek into the office. "I got those files you wanted, and I retrieved a box from the basement for you."

Marinette swiveled away from her desk, "Thanks, set them over there." She gestured to the open space on the spare desk next to the maps.

Juleka complied, her quiet and reclusive personality keeping her from probing into her boss's increasing unrest. She ducked out of the office without another word.

0000

Closing time for the museum eventually came, and Marinette walked Juleka out to the lobby, going over notes with her assistant before she departed for the evening.

"I could stay later."

Marinette blinked at her gangly gothic assistant.

Juleka shrugged, "you're staying late... I could stay late too... and help."

"I'm staying late because I don't want to go home." Marinette admitted, glancing away to look at the other people in the lobby.

"Oh," once more Juleka was kind enough not to pry. She followed her boss's gaze to the two men at the reception desk.

Marinette was studying the individuals with unguarded curiosity. One was a night guard, a tall man with an impressive chin, and gelled hair that was frosted at the tip. He wasn't wearing his hat, was clearly early and not yet on duty.

The other man was Max Kanté, their head computer technician. He stood with his arm propped against the desk, fiddling with his iPhone, while talking animatedly with the night guard.

"Max seems happy," Marinette recognized that particular security guard, she'd seen him around on her late nights, but couldn't recall his name. "I didn't know he was buddies with the night guard."

"Max and Kim became friends after Lila." Her assistant supplied in a disinterested tone.

"After Lila?" Marinette was sheepish to admit she'd been so consumed with her own problems she hadn't paid much attention to Max's turbulent relationship with the flirty conservator.

Juleka heaved a quiet sigh. She wasn't inclined to gossip, but Juleka was so silent people forgot she was around. As a result, she heard and saw a great deal more that went on in the museum than even the most nosey employees. "Lila finally released Max from her shark teeth about a month ago. Told him she couldn't be the kind of girl he wanted... that she wasn't ready for a serious relationship and didn't want to lead him on anymore."

Marinette quirked a brow and pursed her lips, silently wondering if her meddling had played a role in all this, and regretting ever getting involved. "That was... oddly mature of her."

Juleka, perceptive as always, noticed her boss's pensive expression and added, "She was nice, Max took it alright... I guess."

Kim was gesticulating with animated enthusiasm, and although they couldn't hear much of the conversation he appeared to be telling a hilarious story because Max was grinning widely.

"So Kim comes in early to hang with Max?"

"That's a recent development," droned Juleka. "Sometimes Max stays late to hang out with him."

"Well, I'm happy Max made a friend," Marinette turned to smile at her assistant.

"Don't meddle."

"I won't."

Juleka gave her a reproving look, but didn't say anymore.

0000

His claws made a satisfying scrape against an arch in the ceiling. It felt nice to be crawling around the ceiling architecture of the museum once more, thrilling and comforting in the same breath.

Chat tested his leg, tensing the thigh muscle before relaxing. He had stretched before this little excursion, the last thing he wanted was to injure the leg muscle again, but there was still a nagging in the back of his mind that this next leap might be the one.

He took a long breath through his nose, readied his nerves and pushed off from the archway. The muscles in his legs sent him into a graceful and powerful leap, he landed against a ceiling beam well over a meter away. He caught the beam with his arms, claws digging to find purchase, and pulled himself up into a crouch.

It was perfect timing, because the clickety-clack of high heeled shoes preceded the arrival of the woman he'd come to stalk. She was accompanied by a night guard, the guard's boots making a lighter noise against the marble tile, as guards were accustomed to treading lighter than the usual museum employees.

Chat Noir watched them pass beneath him, and it was only the subtle tensing in the Belleville curator's shoulders that gave away her conscious awareness of him.

"You clever woman," he praised, barely a whisper of breath against his lips. It would have drawn the guard's attention and alerted him that something was wrong had she begun looking around curiously.

Rather than follow after them and risk the guard hearing him scuffle around the ceiling, Chat watched them disappear toward the offices.

In the pitch black above the reach of the security lights, Chat Noir stretched himself over the beam, lounging against cold metal, and resting his cheek against the cooled leather bracer on his arm, he watched the empty halls. Barely acknowledging a yearning restless feeling that ached in his chest and itched in his fingertips.

It was very easy to confuse with the ache of lovesick longing, and so he did.

He waited. Now that she knew he was in the building, he waited for her to come back to him, so they could talk... or something. The ever-present fear of her justified wrath kept him from making the first move.

Twenty minutes passed, the hour getting ever closer to ten o'clock, and she had yet to return his way.

And it was foolish to expect her to, he thought bitterly. Just because she's in love with you doesn't mean she's going to fling herself back into your arms the next time you show your lying face.

He pushed up, stretching stiff limbs, and crawled onto a smaller ledge, following it through the corridor and over interspersed support beams.

The destination in mind was the entrance to the crawl spaces above the offices. His mind briefly entertaining scenarios of dropping into Marinette's office and surprising her. Such scenarios usually devolved into more perverse thoughts, and the more reasonable parts of his mind were quick to remind him that all of those scenarios would no doubt result in him getting slapped.

And he would deserve it. Marinette deserved a proper apology, and...

"I need to tell her the truth." Part of the truth, more truth than he was currently telling her. She was already in danger, and knowing a bit more might actually help keep her safe at this point. At least, that's what he was trying to convince himself.

Because it was hell trying to keep himself away from her, and it was getting harder and harder to focus on the heist.

Chat paused when he heard the click of heels against the marble again, and settled to perch against a pillar.

Marinette stepped out of the office wing, and headed for the entrance to the basement. He noted the box filled with rolled maps that she was clutching to her chest, attempting to peer around them and find the handle on the basement door. Her fingers fumbled with the handle, blindly punching in a code she had to know by heart, moments later she hauled the door open and disappeared down a darkened stairwell.

He resisted the urge to follow.

She emerged from the basement less than ten minutes later, and there was a frantic -almost run- in her steps, like she was in a hurry to exit the lower floor and return to the museum's main level. Chat tucked that curiosity away for later.

He was more interested in the empty box she had clutched against her chest. It was the same one that held all the maps when she entered the basement, and now it was mapless. She walked right under his perch, without so much as a glance in his direction, or any sort of acknowledgement of his presence, and headed towards the maintenance door.

Chat frowned, and took off after her. What are you doing, chérie?

He leaped and dug claws into the top of a nearby pillar, dragging himself up and clinging to the surface to stare down at her.

She didn't enter the closet, only dropped the box on the floor behind the pillar, dusted off her hands and the front of her blouse, then marched away.

He bit back the urge to call out to her, and felt his heart sink painfully against his ribs at her absence. His eyes flickered back to the box, scrutinizing it with mild curiosity before huffing.

She didn't want to talk to him. Not tonight, and he would respect that.

Chat dislodged himself from the pillar and scurried through the ceiling to his usual exit.

"I'll try again tomorrow."

0000

The next night, when she dropped the box in the same spot, he realized it was conveniently in a blind spot of the security cameras. A place where the shadows were thick and the pillar hid the box from the view of passing guards.

The door in question was well away from any exhibit and being so close to the maintenance door meant if the box was discovered, it would appear meant for carrying some sort of supplies.

But it wasn't.

"I know what you're up to." He murmured, and shifted his position on the beam. "I'm not going to do it."

Chat followed her back towards the wing with the offices. He was contemplating how he was going to approach her and talk to her, when she was stopped by another museum employee. Someone else who had stayed late.

He moved a bit closer in order to eavesdrop on the conversation, not that it interested him much, he only wanted to hear his curator talk. The other employee he recognized as the museum's conservator, at first glance she looked Italian with her rich dark hair and bronzed skin. Upon hearing her speak, and her accompanying accent, he concluded she was.

"Mind your own business, Dupain-Cheng."

Chat narrowed his eyes down at the two women, having missed the start of their conversation.

"Is it too much to ask that we be civil with each other?" He could tell by her clipped tone and stiff posture that Marinette was irritated.

"I did what you asked and I'm not toying with him. You should be thrilled." The Italian woman started tapping her foot in an impatient gesture while she clutched her belongings to her chest.

"I'm not worried about Max," Marinette defended. "He seems to be fine. I'm worried about you."

The woman scoffed, "Don't be. We aren't friends."

"I never wanted to be your enemy."

The Italian woman made another rude noise, and stalked past Marinette, heading off in the direction of the lobby. The curator watched her depart with a pensive expression, and after a minute her posture relaxed.

Chat barely caught the whispered, "Thank you." She was alone, so it piqued his curiosity whom she meant it meant for.

Marinette didn't stick around much longer and disappeared into her office, leaving him alone with his own thoughts.

In his restless agitation he wandered the ceiling architecture, until she returned an hour later to collect the box, and store it in the maintenance closet.

She didn't so much as glance his direction, or look for him in the darkness.

0000

Wednesday night went pretty much the same.

He watched from his perch as she dropped the box again, and he dug his claws into the metal.

"You can't be serious," he hissed. "This is demeaning." This time he purposefully struck the toe of his boot against the beam, causing a dull metallic clang that echoed softly in the empty corridor.

Marinette didn't even flinch, but turned and started off in the direction of her office.

Chat staggered on the beam, catching himself to keep from chasing after, and had to shift his weight to restore balance. He cast his glare at the unassuming cardboard box sitting on the marble floor, and considered it with cold calculation.

Nearly an hour passed, and Chat spent it picking through the ceiling, making circles around the various corridors before coming back to his perch above the box and grimacing down at the container.

Marinette would be back to collect the box in less than ten minutes, and the guard had already passed less than a quarter of an hour before, and wasn't due to come back this way for awhile.

A silent growl rumbled in the back of his throat before settling into his chest.

Chat crawled along the precarious ledges, until he came to the pillar closest to the maintenance door. He released his grip, sliding down the marble surface until his boots connected with the ground, making only a whisper of noise.

With one begrudging sigh, he sacrificed the rest of his dignity and stepped inside the cardboard box. He made half a circle, considering the average size of the box before sinking down and folding himself up, pushing the limits of his incredible flexibility to keep from utterly destroying the container.

Still, he didn't exactly fit.

"Okay, my lady," he called in a subdued tone. "I did the thing. Will you please talk to me?"

He didn't have to wait very long. It was only minutes before the distinct sound of her heels clicking indicated her approach. Although he'd been listening for that very sound, the wave of anxiety it brought had him fighting to stay put.

Run. Run now. She's already shook hands with the devil and picked out your resting place in Hell.

The clickety-clack suddenly ceased, and his eyes were tracing patterns on the tile rather than looking at her. He knew she was close enough to see him, but didn't dare look up and chance seeing fury in her eyes, instead he ran a claw over the lip of the cardboard box.

"...Can we talk now?"

"That depends on how many lies are going to ooze off your silver tongue."

He slowly tilted his head up. "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry you got caught," she snapped.

He flinched and his gaze fell back to the floor. "There are things I want to tell you, things I will tell you. But this open area isn't the place."

He heard, rather than saw, her walk past him and unlock the maintenance door.

"Bring the box."

He was about to get up when a synthetic camera sound chimed, and a flash of light washed over him.

On reflex he jumped, head snapping around to fix on the source of the flash causing him to lose balance and fall over, box and all. This prompted a series of corresponding flashes as he scrambled to crawl out of the box and regain his dignity.

"Did you just take a picture?" He bent to collect the mangled container.

Marinette sniffed and pocketed her cell phone. "I took several."

"Why?!" He hastily stumbled to her side clutching the box in his claws.

Marinette gave him a side long glance and smirked before opening the door and pulling him along inside. "So I can lord this over you later." She flicked the light on, and the room became illuminated in a dull yellow glow.

He almost voiced his protest, but clamped down on his tongue. Later. He liked the sound of later, it gave him hope that maybe he hadn't completely screwed things up.

She pushed the door shut as soon as he was inside and took the box from him, breaking it down with an exaggerated slowness that he realized was meant only to distract herself.

Chat took a sharp breath. "I lied to you, and I know you're angry, and your anger is more than justified, and if you want me to get lost and leave you alone I promise I will, but I had to talk to you at least once or I couldn't live with-"

A finger pushed against his lips, and he narrowed his eyes on her hand, falling silent at her unspoken request. He barely registered that she had discarded the box at some point during his rambling.

Marinette took a step towards him, and brought her other hand up to the side of his face. He locked eyes with her, staring into the intense blue of her irides even as both her hands moved over his cheeks, fingers coming to rest on the edges of his mask.

There was a moment of panic that washed over him and he searched her eyes only to find the same curious vulnerability reflected there. The silence carried between them felt like an eternity and finally Chat reached up to run his fingertips gently over her exposed wrists.

"You may," he whispered, answering the request that played almost on repeat in her eyes. His hands withdrew just as his eyelids fluttered shut.

He felt her fingers curl around the edges of his mask and lift it away from his face. The adhesive used to hold it in place tugging at his skin, and the chill of the air rushing to chase away the heat on his cheeks.

A breath hitched in the back of his throat, and a full minute passed.

Then her fingers ran over his face, tracing up the bridge of his nose and along his furrowed brows. The tension in his brow eased under her touch as she smoothed them out. Her hands were probably collecting some of the adhesive residue off his skin, but she didn't seem to care, and continued her journey mapping out his naked face.

"I knew it was you." She moved to cup the sides of his face.

Chat's eyes blinked open and he studied her. He must've looked like a panda to her, with the black shadows of makeup around his eyes.

"I knew before I slept with you, before I slapped you. I knew even when you lied to me back at the railway."

"But you-"

She cut him off, "I wasn't completely sure, and there was still a lot of doubt. But part of me knew you were lying to me. The part that was sure I had you all figured out at the club."

A nervous chuckle escaped his throat and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You scared the shit out of me at the club."

"Good." Marinette shoved the mask against his chest, and he fumbled to catch it before it could fall to the ground. "You deserved it you nasty cat."

"I used burner cells to text you... after I left your apartment. I knew you were mapping out the area codes of the numbers, but I never actually left Paris," Chat started in a low but sincere murmur. "When I encountered you at Chloe's charity fundraiser without my mask, it irked me that you didn't want to talk to me. You were so fiery and spirited with Chat Noir, but so cold and awkward to Adrien. I shamelessly chased you down after the party to see if you'd be more open to Chat." He paused to assess her expression.

She was standing before him, speechless, fingers playing with the buttons on the cuffs of her blazer. Her searching gaze prompting him to go on.

So he did.

"I stole your ladybug charm with the intent to rile you up, but I actually keep it on my person... all the time." He took a breath before continuing, "You're probably familiar with the name of Paris's mafia leader, Hawk Moth. His crime syndicate makes the news enough. I was shot by some of his men... I... I've been poking my nose in their business, and they don't like me playing around on their turf."

He chanced another glance at her, and felt his heart curl in on itself at the sight of the fear flickering over her expression.

There was a moment of silence as she digested that information. "Christ," Marinette swore, and bit the end of her thumb.

"I'm sorry," Chat whispered. "I'm a selfish bastard." Well, now she knew he was playing with fire, it was enough for now. He wasn't about to tell her that his father's men had their eyes on the museum, if only to disrupt his heist. He would keep her safe. Only a select few knew about his association with Marinette; it was already more people than he'd like, but none of them had connections to his Father's group. The instance at the club was the only thing that worried him, and that could be excused as coincidence; he had been there with Chloe and Nathaniel, not specifically for Marinette.

He really needed to have a word with Plagg.

"I knew that the first time I met you." She took a shuddering breath, as if trying to calm her nerves. "Will you tell me why you stole the Medici's Clock?"

"No." He almost smiled when she pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at him. "There are things it's better if you don't know. I know I have no right to say that... I've lied to you so much, but you're just going to have to trust me."

"Well it's not like I can force the truth out of you, and even if I did I couldn't be sure it was the actual truth."

He flinched, clenching his teeth for a moment. "I deserve that."

Marinette stepped back to fold her arms over her chest and look him up and down, "Adrien Agreste, thirty years old. A model for Gabriel fashions by day and international thief, Chat Noir, by night. And you're currently in Paris because you're after the Bastet statue on display here at the Belleville. In the mean time you're picking skirmishes with Paris's equivalent to a Mafia?"

"You summed it up nicely."

"Is there a reason you haven't snatched what you came here for, and taken off like a bat out of hell?"

Chat reached up and scratched the shorter hairs on the back of his neck, feeling the heat crawl into his cheeks and having no mask to obscure it. "I've been a bit preoccupied."

Marinette started and blinked owlishly at him.

"Something else caught my interest."

"You've been risking your life, sticking around Paris, encroaching on Hawk Moth's turf... because you want to see me?"

"Don't romanticize it like that. My motives have been entirely selfish."

Marinette's expression softened, and she smiled at him.

"I said don't!" He hissed, realizing she was putting too much stock into it. "To be fair, being shot in the leg put all of my plans on hold, kinda hard to steal a heavy-ass artifact when I can't even wa-"

She didn't let him finish talking.

She seized the bell on his neck and dragged him down for a kiss. It worked, as his capacity to make mouth noises was discarded in favor of her lips pressed hotly to his.

Whatever train his thoughts had been taking before promptly derailed, which was fine. More than fine, because she was kissing him, fervently. Both her hands now gripped the sides of his face, and she coaxed him to open his mouth. Chat obliged, letting her command the kiss, too far in the clouds and deliriously happy that she was kissing him again.

She backed him against one of the shelves, his back striking hard enough to jostle the contents and knock something onto the floor. He spared it very little concern, too swept up in her mouth on his, her tongue down his throat, and the woman who was quite possibly going to cause his knees to give out. At some point his hands had moved to grip her sides, holding onto her as if she might slip from his fingers, although it might have been for his own stability.

Chat loosed an agitated growl when she suddenly broke the kiss. He swooped to claim her mouth again, but she dodged, tilting her face just enough that he caught her cheek.

"I can't stay in here any longer," she began, her voice a hoarse whisper, "or it will look weird on the cameras that I came this way, but spent an unreasonable amount of time in the maintenance closet."

He heard a crestfallen noise escape without consent and quickly amended with a controlled, "okay."

Marinette backed away and began straightening her wrinkled clothing; he cast his gaze on the crumpled mask in his grip. He should say something, ask to see her again, ask if he's forgiven; there was still something off between them and he wanted to make it right. Yet all he could do was watch her unlock the door, and start to pull it open.

She hesitated, her back to him she spoke once more. "Chat- Adrien, whatever you prefer-"

"I want you to call me whichever you prefer."

There was silence for a moment before she spoke again, "if you need someplace safe to crash, and you still have those city keys, I believe my apartment is more than accessible."

She didn't wait for a response, and left the room.

It was just as well because she'd stunned him into silence.

If you follow me on tumblr you may have noticed that I hate the Lila And Max subplot I started. Well my husband offered a solution, and I liked it, so I'm rolling with it. You may thank my husband for the conclusion of Max's subplot.