To Rose Tiger: Why don't you trust Chloe?
To Lyger 0: Lol! I've watched some of that show, but mostly because my wife was a diehard MLP fan.
To Butterfly: It probably wouldn't give you anything bad. Maybe. A "brony" is a male fan of the show My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.
To yellow 14: It did start out with a clear good/bad dichotomy between Volpine and Shunjar, but after reading some reviews on "Outer Space" I decided I really want to incorporate more nuance into there.
Monday evening, as the sun was beginning to set, Kim shuffled from side to side nervously on the front steps of Ondine's apartment building, his hair slicked back. He had ditched his accustomed sweatshirt for a button-down shirt and jacket, Xuppu hidden in his breast pocket. The bag of fresh pastries in his hand – helpfully provided by Marinette – felt a little lame as an apology. But after he'd had to cancel on her Saturday, it felt all too appropriate to bring something. And after everything that weekend…
"What are you so worried about?" Xuppu demanded as Kim's finger froze on the call button. "You're not asking the girl to marry you; you're walking around for half the night together to look at a bunch of fancy junk!"
"It's not 'junk'; it's 'art'," retorted Kim, glaring down at the Kwami. Xuppu raised an eyebrow at him in disbelief. "I only called it that once!"
"Um, Kim?" a hesitant voice asked from the doorway in front of him. "Why are you talking to your pocket?"
Kim gulped in embarrassment and glanced up to find Ondine's legs before following them up to her shapely chest, the form-fitting sweater accentuating her curves perfectly. He felt the blood rushing to his face and finally looked away, up at her face. Only to find her staring at him with a slightly worried expression. She didn't wear makeup very often – most of the time they met at the pool or right after a practice – but the blue eye shadow drew him in. She coughed into her hand, and Kim shook his head to break out of his reverie. "Huh? Sorry, I was just… um…" He leaned forward, and his lips met hers. "Sorry," he mumbled.
Ondine pulled him in closer, wrapping her arms around his neck, and he put one hand on the small of her back, the other in her hair, holding her close. Her perfume invaded his nostrils, and he let out a sigh. He felt her smile as she broke the kiss. "What was that about?" she asked, the corners of her eyes crinkling.
"Oh, I just love you," he replied, gazing fondly into her eyes.
Her eyes widened in surprise and she beamed at him, squeezing him tightly. "I love you, too, you goof!"
The streetlights were beginning to come on when Kim finally released her and took her hand, holding out the bag of pastries for her to pick a couple. "I mentioned this whole 'Nuit Blanche Tardive' to Marinette and she insisted we needed enough sugar to make it through the night," he explained as they started down one of the two streets still set up with sculpture installations. Down the block, a trio of ballerinas had a mat set up on a street corner next to a radio playing classical music. Even with the traffic noise occasionally drowning out the music, the ballerinas remained perfectly in sync. Kim and Ondine stopped for a moment to admire a painting by a local artist: dark black and brown streaks surrounding a blood-red center ringed by gold. If he squinted, he could almost see Popobawa's face looming out of the blackness. The smell of the fire still lingered in his nostrils. His jaw clenched involuntarily, and he tightened his arm around Ondine's waist, pulling her in closer. He had to remind himself that Popobawa was gone, turned to ash and ground into the Somali dirt. That threat was gone – it would never threaten another person again.
"Hey, are you okay?" Ondine asked, worry in her voice. Her hand found his shoulder and squeezed gently.
He sighed. "Yeah, just… it was a long and weird weekend." The fact that he had gone to recover a miraculous being misused and had ended up fighting the Popobawa had just made it all the weirder. But those girls had needed him. The kid's sister had needed him. So he had done what he had to do. He looked up to find Ondine standing right in front of him, a question in her eyes.
"Do you… need to talk about it?" she asked. "You still haven't said what Chloe needed you to do for her."
He chuckled humorlessly. "Let's just say that she needed me to help her take out a really big, really nasty pile of trash," he answered wryly. "I'm talking from here to the ceiling. It was everywhere! Smelled horrible." Seeing the disturbed expression on her face he froze. "I… would just as soon not talk about it," he told her. "You know what got me through it?"
She hummed.
"Coming back here and seeing you."
Ondine leaned into his side, her head resting on his shoulder. "I'm glad you're here tonight. It just wasn't the same on Saturday without you."
"Believe me," he assured her, squeezing her waist, "after this weekend, there's no way I was going to miss out on spending some time with my favorite girl!"
She kissed his cheek and stole the pastry back out of his hands. "We'll have to thank Marinette for these tomorrow," she observed, selecting a mille-feuille. She broke off one end and popped it in her mouth before holding the other half up for Kim.
The flaky pastry melted in his mouth, and he grinned in agreement. "There really is nothing better than fresh pastries – or at least with the right company!"
Ondine blushed and reached out a thumb to wipe the pastry cream from around his lips. "Easy there, Romeo," she teased. "It's barely ten!"
As they continued down the street, their supply of macaroons and madeleines steadily decreased. They stopped for a few minutes to watch the ballet troupe finish their performance and applauded with the handful of other onlookers. The leader of the group bowed gracefully before starting the next song. Kim gave Ondine a nudge, and they moved on to take a closer look at a statue constructed from a few pieces of what Kim could barely make out as a car.
"I think he's missing a few bits," he whispered in Ondine's ear.
She giggled. "You mean like the steering wheel?"
He grinned and was about to leave when the placard description caught his eye: "Made from pieces of the car in which the artist himself crashed last spring, in tribute to the Heroes who saved him." Kim vaguely remembered the accident: he and Taureau Dechaine had been on patrol together when the out-of-control car caromed down the street. Taureau Dechaine had dropped down and slammed his shoulder into the car's bumper, stopping it in its tracks. Then King Monkey had pried the door open with his staff and pulled out the driver. His daughter had been stuck in the back, and King Monkey had practically needed to remove the seat before they could get her out. Looking more closely at the sculpture, he could just make out the shape of Taureau Dechaine's shoulder in one of the dents. "Son of a bitch," he muttered to himself. Regardless of the darkness in the world, he had to admit: sometimes it was good to be a hero.
"Hmm?"
Kim startled. "Oh, just thinking about the sculpture," he told her evasively. "Maybe this art thing isn't so bad after all."
They strolled a little further down the street, past a mime and a teenager playing a guitar, and stopped to look at another small exhibit with just a handful of paintings – in this case still-life oil paintings. Ondine leaned in a little for a closer look, and Kim felt her shiver slightly as the breeze picked up. He quickly pulled his jacket off and draped it over her shoulders.
"Aren't you going to be cold?" she asked, looking at him in surprise.
He smiled affectionately but quickly turned it into a laugh. "I've put up with worst," he scoffed. "One time Alix dared me to stand in the cafeteria's walk-in refrigerator for the entire lunch period!"
She stared at him nonplussed. "Don't tell me you actually did it!"
He gave her an innocent look. "It was a dare; I couldn't not do it…"
"Sometimes I have to remind myself that yes, you really are that crazy," she muttered, shaking her head and rubbing her forehead.
He grinned, wagging his eyebrows at her. "C'mon; you know you love it!"
She flushed. "Yeah, I think I do," she admitted, giving him a peck on the lips.
He put his hand on the small of her back, and she leaned into his side, sighing in contentment. He found her hair right under his nose and smelled the fruity aroma of her shampoo. Shadows moving across the rooftops above them drew Kim's eye, and he could just make out Sent-Bee and Cat Noir making their way down the street, probably moving to a different vantage point. He looked at the figure that had to be Sent-Bee and gave a nod. "Thanks," he whispered, more for himself than anyone else.
Ondine hummed in surprise and looked at him. "You're welcome. For what?"
He thought for a moment. "Just for being here. For being so cool about Saturday." For putting up with me, he didn't say. "For everything."
She smiled happily and leaned into him in a hug, her lips meeting his and parting. Kim lost himself in the moment, his senses overwhelmed by the scent of her perfume, the feel of her in his arms, the taste of the pastries on her lips and in her mouth. The evening around them disappeared; all that mattered was this moment. Everything he'd seen in Somalia, the actual monsters he had fought, this moment made it all worth it.
AN: That's the end of "Fear Itself." Today's "Patrol Log" actually takes place the same night as this and shows what happens to Sent-Bee and Cat Noir. And tomorrow look for another "Life and Times" one-shot that gives a follow-up to this story!