Thirty-Six: Watchful Waiting

Author's Note: Chat, suspicious of Alya's recent behavior, embarks on a bit of a campaign to determine why she's acting so strangely, and lands himself in an unfathomable situation.

Author's Warning: Please remember that the characters of Chat and Marinette as depicted in Roommates are consenting adults who have graduated from University and are chronologically in their early twenties. Stated simply, they are grown-ups in a serious, loving relationship with each other. While this story remains firmly within the bounds of the Teen rating attached to it, there is plenty of innuendo within this chapter that readers who are uncomfortable with suggestive content may wish to avoid. No one will think any less of you for skipping to the next chapter. You can PM me and I'll give you the summary of what happened on the way to Chapter 37. ;-)

My dreams alternated between Marinette and Ladybug, and left me with a pleasantly fuzzy feeling as I swam upward through the layers of slumber toward wakefulness. They had felt amazingly real, but the rational part of me – what rational part there was in dreamland, that is – knew I'd simply put our actions of the prior evening on deep repeat. And I couldn't blame myself for that simple action, knowing as I did it had been the culmination of a dream years in the making. Except, as I started to think about it, one particular sensation felt a little more real than a simple dream would otherwise allow…

Eyes snapping open, I was greeted with the vision of a smiling Marinette, a wicked gleam in her eyes. "Milady," I said breathlessly as a part of me involuntarily tensed. A slight panic likely showed on my face. "I'm not—"

"Got you covered, literally," she said softly. "You do sleep rather soundly, Kitty," she added after gently nipping at my nose.

There was no time for further talk as I gave myself over to her ministrations, growling lowly in the process. Returning the favor to my beloved afterward, we were well entangled in the sheets of her bed a short while later, facing each other. The slight sheen of sweat upon her face gave Marinette a glow I'd never seen before, and a portion of me had a hard time focusing on conversation. "That is one hell of a way to wake up someone," I observed with a smile.

"It seemed appropriate," she smiled. "Sadly, it's a workday. And as we only have one shower-"

I waggled my eyebrows. "I fail to see—"

"Save that thought," she laughed as she ran a hand through my messier-than-normal hair. "Damn."

I looked at her questioningly. "What?"

"I miss your feline ears. They are a natural part of you now. It's wrong not seeing them."

"Milady, I'm starting to wonder if you only love my costume."

I was rewarded with a pillow to the face.

We cycled through the small bathroom one after the other, though by necessity I had to transform back to Chat for the brief transit in case her parents caught me in the hallway. Less than forty minutes later, I appeared next to Marinette in the petite kitchen, where Sabine was pulling together breakfast for us. "Tom is down in the Bakery already," she smiled. "I've got fresh granola and hot oatmeal on the stove, Chat. Coffee is ready in the carafe, too."

"The elixir of life! Thank you, Madame," I said as I snagged a mug with a paw and poured out a healthy dose. "This is clawfully nice of you, given how we dropped in – literally – unannounced."

"I've gotten used to the unusual, given my daughter is dating a superhero." She smiled again as a mischievous look appeared – one I had seen many times on the face of her daughter. "I trust you slept well, Chat?"

I could feel the exposed portions of my face heat up. "Uh… actually… very well," I croaked, rooted to my spot.

"Good," she smiled wider. Leaning in to kiss Marinette, she turned back to us. "Marinette partially explained what's going on, and you are obviously welcome to stay as long as you like."

"Thanks," I said, "but we'll—"

"Get back to you," Mari answered, silencing me with a look.

I nodded tightly, face as hot as neutron star.

"Okay," she said, perplexed a bit. "I'm going down to help Tom."

"Breathe, Chat," Marinette teased as I stood beside her, clutching my coffee cup.

"She knows…" I mewled, looking at Marinette wild-eyed. "She knows what we—"

"Of course she does," Marinette replied as she sipped her coffee, acting for all the world as though we were simply discussing the day's news. "I wasn't exactly subtle with papa last night, if you recall."

I slid onto the barstool next to Marinette and started slowly thumping my feline head against the counter. "I can never come here again. I am literally drowning in embarrassment."

Patting me on the back of my unruly mane, I could hear Marinette trying very hard not to laugh. "It's a first for everyone involved, Chat."

"Drowning," I mewled again.

"Eat your breakfast," she advised.

I slunk back into the kitchen and made up some oatmeal and toast, my flaming face a clear beacon to anyone. Sitting back down beside her, though, I had enough presence of mind to pivot to another issue entirely. "Purrincess… I am worried about Alya," I said between bites. "She's not acting like herself. At all."

Marinette nodded. "I've been thinking along the same lines. Her reaction to our conversation at the bar was not what I expected at all." She looked at me over the rim of her coffee cup. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm not sure yet," I said thoughtfully, my tail twitching. "But I do know we can't go to the apartment. She can track me if she transforms to Rena." I looked to Mari. "As much as I hate to impose on your parents, maybe another night or two here wouldn't hurt."

"I wouldn't mind it," Marinette smiled, that wicked gleam in her eyes once more.

The penny dropped. "Oh… my… kwami," I said, face flaming again. "Adrien… the Bakery…" I dropped my head to the counter. "This was your fantasy, wasn't it?"

Marinette returned to her coffee, smiling wider. "You have no idea, Kitty."

Chat's Air Express dropped Marinette off at her office and then Adrien made a quick appearance at House of Gabriel, just long enough to snag a fresh set of clothing from my personal stash and check in on a few projects. I'd not been completely candid with my girlfriend earlier, for I had concocted something of a plan – one that I was reasonably sure she'd not approve of. I agreed to meet her back at the Bakery after work, but neglected to tell her I'd cancelled all of my meetings in favor of returning to the rooftops of Paris, in pursuit of my latest prey.

My first stop was the rooftop of the television station Alya worked at; she was one of several journalists they employed, so I knew it would be just a matter of time before she appeared on her way to a story. I didn't have long to wait; about ten, she trotted down the steps of the old brick building and dashed for the Metro station across the street. That gave me pause, for despite having a vibrant online presence with the Ladyblog, she was actually an on-air reporter, and a camera crew was not with her. While it was entirely possible these days for her to record and edit an interview on her phone, it lacked the professional touch Parisians were used to.

Curious, I thought, my masked brow furrowing.

Not wanting to lose her, but also desiring to remain concealed, I waited until her head of recognizable hair had disappeared down the escalator to the station before I leapt off the building, looped around a lamppost one-pawed and landed atop the Metro sign. Another move and I was surfing down the slight space between the up and down escalators full of people, many of whom took it in stride that a human-sized cat was sailing past them.

I hit the bottom of the stairwell and vaulted into the safe darkness of the ceiling, snagging an exposed I-beam with a paw to hide atop so I could scan the crowd. Alya was standing in the crowd, seemingly oblivious to anything around her as she chatted excitedly on her phone. However, when I squinted a bit, my feline vision could see she was actually using the device as a prop, carefully watching the space as she "talked."

Frowning, I pressed myself into the shadows; that changed things, for it now forced me to make the assumption she'd seen me. Or, at the very least, Alya was expecting someone to attempt to follow her. I thought about that for a moment, for maybe it wasn't Chat at all she was worried would be following her. While I did have a propensity for turning up at unusual times, it was highly unlikely Alya would even be expecting Chat at that hour of the day. Most of our interactions had been late afternoon or evening encounters, which meant after work for her – supporting the idea that her Ladyblog efforts were on her own time.

I frowned further as I watched her eyes dart across the platform; they landed on a spot in the wall and then flicked away, but not before she started to deliberately move through the crowd toward it. Carefully, I paralleled her in the dark reaches of the ceiling, skulking across beams above her.

As the next subway train whooshed to a stop at the platform, Alya waited for the right moment and then pressed herself into a small alcove containing a door that I'd overlooked; faster than I could process, she tapped a code into the panel beside it. Using the crowd's surge toward the train to cover her disappearance, she slipped through as the door clicked open.

Not wanting the door to latch shut, I snapped my baton in half and hurled part of it at the closing door; it attached like a magnet to the threshold, forcing the door to stay slightly ajar. I dropped from the ceiling quickly, landing in a crouch beside the door and there I uncharacteristically hesitated; from the moment I'd entered the subway station, my level of uneasiness at the entire situation had done nothing except increase. Generally speaking, I was the part of the team that rushed in where angels fear to tread, so it was worth noting those alarm bells when they sounded in the back of my fur brain.

Standing slightly, I pressed a shoulder against the door – just enough to retrieve my baton piece and reassemble it. As I pressed further to peer into the space beyond, I was forced to change to my night vision as it was cloaked in total darkness. Pivoting an ear, I was reasonably certain I could tell which direction Alya had gone but was flummoxed at how quickly she had apparently moved to put distance between her and the platform.

My uneasiness grew exponentially.

Trying to be a smarter Chat, I slid my baton open and fired off a quick text message to Marinette. My experience with Copycat years ago remained an open wound, so I knew it would be prudent to work from the angle that Alya didn't necessarily have my best interests in mind. I waited until I got Mari's response, smiling slightly as my feline eyes flicked over the characters.

That was expected, I laughed to myself as I quickly replied, then swapped over to the app screen on the baton. Having spent far too much time beneath the streets of Paris roaming the various sewers, catacombs and other creepy spaces, Plagg had thoughtfully added a new Breadcrumb Mode. It had saved my furry behind on more than one occasion, and I activated it as I pushed the door far enough open to slip through to the undiscovered country it protected.

Trying to hide my ingress, I carefully held the door handle in a paw as it glided shut behind me, grimacing slightly as the sound of the lock engaging rang out. It wasn't unexpected, but I did hear the footsteps in front of me pause a moment. I held my breath a beat or two and released it only when the steps continued once more. Glancing quickly behind me, I tried the door and I confirmed my suspicion that it had locked. Even without my night vision, I could clearly see a touchpad below a red LED light off to the side of the door and smiled, for I knew Plagg had also created a lockpicking app on the baton that had similarly proved useful over the years.

Baton in a paw, I kept to a defensive stance and pressed myself against the cold, clammy stone of the wall, then skulked as fast as stealth would allow, trailing the fuzzy night-vision form of my friend. She had a fifty-meter lead on me and I as pursued her, I found myself idly wondering what the Metro had used this space for in the past. My feline sense of smell was assaulted by dust and mold, telling me it hadn't been actively visited by anyone in years. The most likely explanation, given the narrow height and width, was as an accessway between sections of the line, and this proved true when Alya paused ahead of me after fifteen careful minutes of trailing her.

Holding my breath once more, I heard her punch a code into the door and then the lock snapped open; this time, she paused at the threshold, and I could clearly see her turn toward my direction in an attempt to look for a pursuer. Pressing myself back into the shadows, I narrowly avoided being caught in the beam from her phone's flashlight as she swept it from side-to-side, passing just in front of a boot.

Turning on heel, she slipped through the door and I vaulted toward it as quietly as I could, landing on my stomach and sliding toward it, paw outstretched. I managed to get a claw between the door and the threshold, just enough to keep it from fully latching. Quickly, I pulled it open and slipped through, repeating the process of gently allowing it to close behind me.

Pausing to get my bearings, we appeared to be in another station, but one that had not seen any sort of use in decades. One small light bar, hanging haphazardly at an angle, illuminated a tiny part of the platform, and caught the backside of Alya as she moved deliberately toward a darkened area of the far wall containing multiple sets of elevator doors. My masked eyebrows went up, for despite the fact the station was clearly abandoned, at least one of the elevators appeared to be active.

And descending from some level above.

Clearly, Alya was meeting someone, but from where I was standing, her form was blocking the doors to the elevator. I needed to get higher and scanned the space for ideas. There were few options, but the non-functional light bars hanging every few meters appeared to be the best of the lot, so I decided to repeat my earlier trick.

Leaping upward, I caught the first light bar in question and hauled myself over. It swayed uncomfortably below me, though, and perhaps most annoyingly, started to make a loud clanking noise as it oscillated. One that reverberated through the space.

Quickly, I pressed myself down against the top of the light, trying to be one with the metal and knowing it was futile. Alya flipped around and trained her flashlight on the ceiling and caught me dead to rights, for short of an earthquake, there was no reasonable explanation for why the fixture I was hiding above should be moving.

And Alya knew it.

"Chat!" she hissed as she scurried toward me. "You can't be here!"

That wasn't what I'd expected. "I could say the same—" I called out, reluctant to move.

"Damn it, there's no time! Get down here and I'll hide you. Hurry!"

Something in the way she said it gave me pause. I flicked a glance over to the elevators, and the indicator noted the carriage was but a few levels away. I took a shot in the dark. "I can help you," I said. "Let both of us help you."

"Get down here! Now!" she cried out. "Hurry!"

I flipped off the light and landed in a crouch beside her. There wasn't much to work with, but there was a tarp covering something in a corner of the platform. Alya lifted an edge and motioned. "Get under here. I'll keep them away from this side, but you have to remain quiet. Let me handle this."

"Alya—"

"Now!" she said as the signal for the elevator dinged. "Whatever you hear – whatever you see, stay put!" she added urgently.

One look at her face and I nodded, then I slipped under the tarp so she could cover me; I tried not to sneeze at the dust as I angled myself so I could crack a tiny part of the tarp open. Ironically, I wound up with a reasonably good line of sight, and I watched as Alya deliberately walked back to the elevator.

The doors slid open.