Two: First Days

Authors Note: It may sound funny, but as I started to expand the Roommates series for our writing prompts, I had all sorts of these "in between" vignettes floating around in my writer's brain. Some of the themes made their way into the stories that were published, but others I stashed with the hope I'd be able to flesh them out further. This is one of them - a peek at how Mari and Chat get through their first week together. Suffice it to say Plagg is not especially happy. -ep

Not much changed for me after graduation. I was already an employee of House of Gabriel, in addition to being represented by a worldwide modelling agency based in Paris. On both counts, I'd had a pretty full schedule of work from the moment I'd been able to be propped up in front of a camera. I might be a bit older, but for the most part, the essentials of the modelling portion of my career hadn't changed much. I had to hold the position I was told to take for hours on end, emote on command, maintain a nearly impossible to maintain body shape and always, alwayslook gorgeous.

Marinette, on the other hand, had never worked anywhere more formal than her parent's bakery. Well, that wasn't entirely accurate: Chat had pulled a string or two for her at House of Gabriel, scoring an internship in the design department that allowed her to get a little bit of experience under her belt. It was far enough off the radar of my Father that he'd not been able to interfere with it in any way; similarly, it didn't necessarily have her come into contact with Adrien – at least, not enough for her to know who had pulled said string.

There had been about a week between graduation and her first day at Chateau Le Blanc. Knowing how stressed out she was likely to become, I'd cleared my schedule completely and then helped her move what little she wanted from her parent's place to our new apartment. We then began a carefully choreographed set of outings for the rest of the week, designed to take her mind off her first day. The hoodie and sweats combo I had to wear when we were out in public became a sort of running joke between the two of us, although she also promised to knit me something a bit more becoming once she'd settled into her new job.

Retiring to my suite the evening prior to her first day, I leaned my costumed back against the door and prayed to the fashion gods that Marinette's first day was full of firsts, exciting, and, with luck, uneventful. Having lived inside the fashion industry for my entire life, I was well aware how nasty the environment could get, and was prepared to help her through the worst moments that I knew were ahead of her.

I flipped over to my bed and folded myself into my patient cat-stance. I was still feeling my way through the whole apartment situation; living fulltime as Chat was proving to be more challenging than I had realized. While I trusted Marinette implicitly, I hadn't quite decided when it would be safe for me to drop my transformation and for how long. For the first week, I'd essentially holed up in the back of the closet in the bathroom of my suite two or three times a day, taking just enough time to feed Plagg and apologize yet again for the situation I had created. My hope was that once Marinette started her nine-to-five routine, and on days when I didn't have anything scheduled, I'd be able to let Plagg loose longer. Days that I was working would be even better for him.

But for now, I'd taken to sleeping as Chat. Just in case.

I awoke early on Marinette's first Monday, though in truth I hadn't really slept at all. I was by parts excited for my girlfriend and her new start, but also wracked with guilt for (possibly) misusing my Miraculous in order to keep up my end of the bargain. I'd also managed to shred my third set of sheets with my claws, too.

Rolling out of bed, I leapt to my door and then crossed to the kitchen. I'd prepped ingredients for omelets the night before and pulled everything out of the fridge. As I removed the cellophane wrapping from the egg mixture, my feline ears picked up movement in Marinette's suite. That was my cue to warm up the range and get down to the business of sending my beloved out into the world with a full tummy.

Marinette appeared about ten minutes later and laughed when she saw me wearing her "This Kitty is a Pure Bread" apron, a gift she had made for me years earlier during cooking lessons she had provided. Having had a personal chef for most of my life up to that point, teaching me my way around the kitchen had been a tall order, but one of many events in our history together that had solidified our feelings for each other.

Sliding onto one of the two barstools, she sniffed the air appreciatively as I folded her omelet. "Coffee, tea or orange juice," I asked.

"Juice," she said. "Can I expect this sort of treatment every morning?"

"I live to serve," I laughed, as I slid the egg concoction onto a plate and handed it to her. "But it also depends on my schedule. You're in luck this week: I'll be home most mornings."

She dug into her spinach-and-ham omelet and made murmurs of gratitude while I poured her a glass of orange juice. "You never told me what you do for a living, Chat," she said between bites.

"I know," I said as I slid my own omelet onto a plate and then started eating on the other side of the island bar. "I can't really tell you much at this point other than to say I have a job – well, technically two – and it has irregular hours and occasional travel."

She nodded. "I get it. I was just curious."

I smiled back at her. "I purromise you'll always know my schedule, even though you might not always know where I am. And you'll always be able to call me if needed, though there may be times when I can't transform to takeyour call." I smiled wider. "Or, perhaps, places where Chat Noir really shouldn't be."

Marinette's phone chirped and I raised a masked eyebrow. "It's my 'leave now or be late' alarm," she said sheepishly.

"I can help," I said, pulling off my apron. "C'mon, let me give the girl of my dreams a lift to her first day."

"Chat—"

I leapt over the counter and swept her into my arms. "Not taking 'no' for an answer," I said, touching my nose to hers before kissing her deeply. "Go get ready and I'll wait for you on the balcony."

A few minutes later, I was soaring through the early morning Parisian sky with Marinette holding on around my midsection. It was early enough that most commuters were not looking up and witnessing my unusual payload, but if they had, I wouldn't have cared. It was my own way to be part of her important first moments. About a block out from the building housing Chateau Le Blanc, I found a nice, quiet alleyway and descended gently to it on the baton. Marinette unwound herself from me, and I turned for one last kiss.

"Knock 'em out, Princess," I encouraged. "Do you want me to pick you up after work?"

She leaned up and ran a finger along the edge of my mask. "No, kitty," she said. "I want to save that for a special occasion."

"But this is a special occasion!" I pointed out, eyes wide.

"Which part?" she teased. "My first day as a professional? Or getting dropped off at work by my superhero boyfriend?"

"But—" I spluttered.

Marinette tapped a finger to my lips. "I'll see you back at the apartment tonight." She kissed me again and inserted herself into the crowd heading toward the building.

I watched her form recede and sighed, then rode my baton back up to a rooftop overlooking the entranceway plaza for the building. Marinette had opted for a more professional look and had not worn her signature pigtails, making it a bit more difficult for me to pick her out of the crowd. But she still loved her pink palette, and I quickly locked feline eyes on her and hung around long enough to see her enter the lobby and head for the elevators.

I wish you all the luck in the world, I thought.

I had a ten o'clock call across the city for a catalogue spread, so reluctantly, I turned and headed home to clear out the breakfast dishes and get ready for work myself. The shoot went faster than I expected, so on the way back, I splurged and order takeout at my favorite Italian bistro, then splurged further on an expensive bottle of red wine I knew Marinette favored (but would never ask me to buy).

Setting the takeout in the oven on low, I dashed to my suite and de-transformed, giving Plagg a few minutes to glare at me before retiring to the corner of the room he'd staked out for himself. I ran through the shower, trying to scrub away the cosmetic factory I seemed to get applied to my body whenever I was going on film.

Hair still damp, I emerged from the bathroom in a nondescript sleeveless t-shirt and gym shorts to find Plagg was still in poor spirits. I couldn't blame him, but I also felt a bit trapped by my promise. "Plagg-" I started, only to hear the front door open.

"Chat? Are you home?"

"I am!" I said, hoping my normal voice didn't throw her. Chat had a slightly different timbre than Adrien. "Out in five!" I turned back to Plagg. "Look, I'll figure this out," I whispered. "Can we talk about it later tonight?"

Plagg rolled his eyes. "Sure, kid," he said. "Whatever."

Waves of guilt rolled over me again. "Plagg – claws out!"

After the flash of transformation cleared, I headed out to the kitchen and started getting dinner out of the oven. My feline ears heard her rummaging around in her suite, and she appeared in comfy clothes, hair up in a casual bun. Using my claws, I uncorked the wine and decanted a glass for her. "Tell me all about it," I said as I slid the glass toward her.

As the evening progressed, I received a blow-by-blow description of what she'd experienced. Her pure joy at actually working in her dream field infused all of her observations and had me likewise giddy with the excitement that her first day had gone so well.

We curled up together on the couch facing the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the lights come on over the Eiffel Tower and generally just soaking up each other. My tail had curled around her waist, and she'd planted her head on my chest. I knew my purring had put her to sleep, but I was reluctant to spoil the moment.

It felt like a portentous sign of things to come.