Sixty-Three: Preparations

Author's Note: Out and about fulfilling the checklist for Alya's wedding, Adrien is also surreptitiously on the prowl for the purrfect early birthday gift for Marinette.

The candles looked as pleasantly worn down as I felt, lying against my pillow with one arm hugging Marinette to my bare chest, the other just mobile enough for me to toy with her long raven hair. Somewhere along the line (either pre- or post-detransformation, I couldn't be sure), she'd lost the elastic that had held it in the haphazard bun I'd seen upon my return from meeting Carapace. Now lustrous strands of black had fanned out and away from her face as she gently snored, her hand against my chest rising and falling with each breath I took.

Without my claws, I was reduced to just running my fingers through her silky trusses; it wasn't quite the same, but it would have to do. Sighing contently, I tried to imagine what my life would be like without my princess being in it and came up with an emptiness so profound it hit me with enough of an emotional punch I caught myself gasping slightly. I decided to banish that particular line of thought to the furthest reaches of my feline brain, never to be accessed again.

Shifting slightly, Marinette stirred then snuggled in a bit closer. Her finger had been playfully toying with what little chest hair had grown back after my last photo shoot. To my surprise, she'd found the light blonde fuzz rather attractive, but had teased me unmercifully about having to perform, as she put it, "ground maintenance" come Monday morning for the next round of ads we were shooting that afternoon. She was well aware it was one of my least favorite aspects of the job – right up there with the makeup I was often forced to wear – and yet continued to get some insane pleasure out of what I had to go through, even going so far as to declare it was "about time for someone to understand what went into adhering to society's vision of beauty."

She had a point, of course.

Flicking my eyes to the iPhone on the nightstand, the empty box of condoms beside it had me sighing ruefully, for it served as a reminder there would be no further kitty carousing until after I made my shopping rounds that morning. Partners now in all senses of the word, it took on a slightly more nuanced definition when it came to matters of romance. We each had our own part to play in that regard, though sometimes it was frustrating being a responsible feline; as I looked down at my beautiful fiancé, I knew it was the least I could do for her – or for us, since such matters were most definitely a group decision.

Glancing back to the iPhone, I realized it was close to dawn and I was no nearer to sleep than I had been when she'd met me at the balcony slider hours earlier. Happily, it was the weekend, but sleeping in wasn't my style. Carefully, I slid out from beneath Marinette, gently placing her head upon my pillow before pulling the sheets over her bare skin. She sighed and shifted, but didn't stir; I smiled, wondering if I dared tease her about having worn her out and quickly deciding against it for reasons of self-preservation. Tiptoeing with as much stealth as was possible without being transformed, I nabbed a pair of sweats from the hamper and slid them on before slipping through the door to my suite and into the kitchen.

Evidence that Plagg had been there earlier – notably, a pile of crumpled aluminum wrappers for his favorite and insanely expensive Camembert – littered the breakfast bar, but it was a small price to pay for having kept him locked up in the ring for what had to have felt like multiple overtimes. While we'd come to an understanding, I'd still tended to feel guilty about being transformed for personal reasons.

Swiping the foil into a hand, I deposited the mess into the trash and then began to search for ingredients to make Marinette breakfast in bed. To my horror, though, I discovered we were out of just about everything, save for a half-empty box of stale corn flakes that I'd actually used as a coating on chicken breasts a month earlier. One quick look at the clock on the oven produced a Chat grin; there was at least one place I knew I could get to at that hour that would still allow me to take care of my princess.

"Plagg?" I called out quietly as I came out from behind the breakfast bar. "Are you awake?"

Scanning the living room as best as I could with non-night vision eyes, my kwami didn't appear to be about; I didn't bother to check my suite, since I knew he made a point of being as far away as possible when Marinette spent the night with me (unless, of course, I'd remained transformed); turning, my eyes fell upon a slightly-opened door to Marinette's suite, and I felt an eyebrow arch. "Plagg?" I called out again quietly as I tiptoed to the door. "Are you in there?"

Not getting a response, I paused for a moment before pushing the door open a bit further. Poking what I knew was an extremely tousled head through, I started to call out again. "Plagg-?"

A rustle from Marinette's bed attracted my attention, and what I saw stopped me in my tracks. A sliver of light from the streetlights below our apartment slipped through the crack in the curtains of the balcony door and fell upon the pillow, softly illuminating the tiny God of Destruction spooning with the God of Creation. Both were fast asleep, but it wasn't lost on me just how very comfortable they appeared to be with each other. My heart ached to think we'd kept them apart for as long as we had.

Carefully, I backed out of Marinette's room and returned to the kitchen, my plan temporarily foiled. Taking the Metro wasn't an option (Adrien's movements were tracked far too closely by the Parisian press as it was), so I went to the cabinet above the fridge and slid out the airtight canister I kept for emergencies. Holding my nose, I cracked open the top and waited.

In mere minutes, Plagg phased through the wall of the bedroom and zipped to a spot just in front of my face. "You must need something desperately to pull this out," he smiled as his luminescent eyes followed my movements carefully.

"I do," I said as I pulled out a small wheel of extremely odiferous cheese from the canister, followed by a second. "I hate to bother you, but I want to make breakfast for Marinette. Sadly, all we have in the apartment is your cheese."

"And what's wrong with that?" he asked, his eyes fixed on the wheel in my hand. He might have even been salivating.

"Unlike certain kwamis, my fiancé is not a huge fan of stinky cheese."

"She could learn to love it."

"I think not." I pushed the wheels toward him. "Not exactly the coin of the realm, but will this buy me a some time out and about this morning?"

Plagg's eyes flicked meaningfully toward the canister.

Sighing, I pulled out a third wheel. "You drive a hard bargain," I smiled as I slid it toward him.

"That one is for last night," he smiled in return. "When do you want to go?"

"Now, if I can."

Faster than I thought was possible, Plagg tore into the first wheel and demolished it completely. Laying on his back in the remains of the foil, his tiny tummy distended slightly, he belched once for effect before saying, "All right. Let's do this."

I softly called out for my transformation, and a few moments later I'd escaped the confines of our apartment. The sun was just beginning to peek out over the rooftops of the city as I accelerated into a run; the day smelled fresh and new to my feline nose, and I smiled a bit to think that, barring an interruption from our favorite supervillain, I might spend the balance of it with Marinette, curled up on the couch reading the paper together or watching one of my favorite classic movies. I'd recently picked up the original Thomas Crown Affair and hadn't gotten to it yet; Nino – not normally a fan of the classics – had been the one to recommend it, especially a rather exotic game of chess between the two lead characters. It was such an atypical comment from him it had piqued my feline curiosity, something I was sure he'd intended all along.

The wondrous smell of baking bread alerted me I was close to my destination, and I tacked toward the Bakery; dropping to the rooftop patio, I pulled myself around the wrought iron railing and used the baton to lower myself to the kitchen door. It was actually already open, as Sabine was carting several large trash bags out to the dumpster in their alleyway. "Madame," I bowed in greeting as I stowed my baton. "May I offer a paw of assistance?" I asked before reaching in and grabbing the stack of broken-down cardboard just inside the door.

"Chat!" Sabine said cheerfully as I approached her. "You're out and about early."

Sliding the cardboard into a recycling slot, I turned my megawatt smile on her. "I'm hoping to surprise your daughter with some breakfast today, Madame."

"Are you, now," she smiled wider. "Well, as it happens, Tom has just made a fresh batch of cheese and broccoli quiche, and I think a loaf or two of sourdough just came out of the oven. Will that do?"

I took her hand in my paw and kissed the back of it gallantly. "You had me at 'cheese,'" I laughed.

One wicker basket brimming with mouth-watering goodies later, I was back over the rooftops of Paris, possibly running faster that I had on the way out. While I was purrfectly capable of making quiche myself these days, Tom's was something else entirely and normally sold out within minutes. Luck had been on my side for sure. I managed to slip back into our apartment undetected, though my fiancé's sixth sense for home cooking brought her out into the kitchen just as I was putting the finishing touches on the tray to take in to her.

"Is that what I think it is?" she asked through a yawn as she stretched her arms above her head. The oversized Chat Noir t-shirt hung below her knees, though my feline eyes were quick to note her sexy legs were still quite exposed.

"Yes," I smiled before pouting. "I was about to surprise you with this."

"I'm still surprised," she smiled as she slid onto the barstool. "What a wonderful way to wake up."

I poured her a cup of coffee from the carafe Tom had slipped in at the last moment before sliding the plate with a slice of quiche toward her. A smaller plate with a freshly buttered piece of sourdough arrived beside it, along with a smaller bowl full of berries Sabine had added. "Your parents say 'hi' by the way," I told her as I swiftly vaulted over the counter to perch on the barstool next to her.

"Let me guess…"

"Yeah," I smiled ruefully, "they invited us over to dinner. Tomorrow."

Marinette looked at me. "You said yes, didn't you?"

I knew I looked guilty. "How could I refuse? Your mom gave me a basket full of tasty delicacies and then hit me up." The heat of my guilt told me my cheeks were flaming. "She told me there would be croquets. Your mother plays dirty."

"She knows your weaknesses," Marinette sighed.

My tail swished as I gave her my most doleful look.

"All right!" she laughed. "You clearly know mine. I suppose we can carve out time for a family dinner. Even if we were just there last month."

I leaned over and rubbed my face against her cheek, purring loudly. "Thanks, Princess."

"Don't thank me yet," she smiled slyly. "I intend to extract a heavy price for my assent."

My masked eyes flew wide as I pulled back. "What kind of price?" I asked, tail swishing with concern now.

Reaching up to my face, she gently gripped my chin and pulled me toward her. "The kind that will require you to stop at the pharmacy," she said softly before laying a smoldering reminder of what could be in my future upon my lips.

"Ah," I said as I pulled away, slightly dazed. "Then I'd better eat up and head out."

Much like my weekly run for expensive cheese for a certain kwami, I tended to shop in a district as far away from the apartment as possible in order to keep anyone from connecting Adrien Agreste to it. Someday, hopefully soon, that wouldn't be as necessary, but for that morning's shopping expedition, I chose a favorite set of shops in a specialty district halfway across Paris. Dropping into a secluded alley, I quickly transformed and allowed Plagg to get comfortable in his hiding spot before making the pharmacy my first visit; from there, I had several very specific items Marinette required for the superhero wedding and the pre- and post-festivities. Some were strangely ordinary, but one item – a bolt of brown spandex, and one of green – seemed to be for a sewing project I'd not been privy to.

By midday, I'd managed to round up all of what Marinette needed as well as some impressive cuts of pork that had called out to me from my favorite butcher; my cousin, Felix, had shared a recipe from his time in Stuttgart that included baking it in sauerkraut and serving with boiled potatoes that Marinette had actually liked, despite the rather terrible initial smell. I needed more time to brine the cabbage, but knew the pork would hold in the freezer for a bit. I'd been toying with a separate slow-cooker recipe for what Americans apparently called "barbeque pulled pork" that also sounded interesting, so either way, the cuts would get used.

Before heading back to my hidden alleyway for the return trip home, I made one final stop at an out-of-the-way notions shop I'd been to before. Actually, I was there so frequently, the owner greeted me like I was family. Pushing through the door, Shannon saw me as I entered and smiled widely.

"Adrien!" she greeted. "Perfect timing, I was just about to email you."

"It came in?" I asked as I set my bags down in front of her small counter. Rows and rows of tiny bins were behind her holding all sorts of sewing accessories, from pins, to needles, to bobbins for the most obscure of sewing machines imaginable.

"Yes it did," she smiled wider. "Hang on, it's out back."

I watched as the grey-haired proprietress disappeared through colorful curtain and then reappeared a moment later with a plastic box. Placing it on the counter, she located a clasp on one side and deftly flipped it up, then did the same on a companion clasp on the other end. Swiftly she lifted the top off from the base to expose a soft-pink colored sewing machine; it was sleek and streamlined, with all of the usual appointments – and one extra. There was a tiny built-in LED screen that lit up at Shannon's touch.

"This is the third generation," she said proudly. "Pre-loaded with hundreds of stitch patterns and capable of being fully autonomous." Pointing to a small hatch, she popped it open to expose two jacks. "Interfaces for PC and Mac, and it comes with a design studio software package for customization."

Sliding open another hidden area in the base, she smiled. "Auto-threading of up to sixteen spools of thread, totally interchangeable at the touch of the button. But it also has the one thing you were looking for as well – and I can't tell you how hard it is to find now."

I smiled. "The full manual mode?"

"Exactly," she said as she closed it back up and slid the top back over the machine. "You're a smart boyfriend to know that's something she would appreciate."

Smiling wider, I nodded; I'd paid very close attention to how Marinette used her favorite – and now long-in-the-tooth – sewing machine in the small studio I'd set up for her in the apartment. I was also aware that she had consented to making Alya's wedding dress (on top of her own gown for the wedding), and knew the poor device was just as overwhelmed as my fiancé was about to be. The automation would help with some of the drudgery work, for sure, but knowing Marinette, she would prize the ability to handle the most delicate work on her own. For once, having grown up in the fashion industry and knowing the tools of the trade had come in handy.

"It's purrfect," I said.

"Sorry?"

I started. "It's absolutely what I was hoping for," I said quickly, trying to cover my verbal mistake. "I'll pay for it now, but can you send it to this address?" I asked as I scribbled the apartment down on the invoice she's put down beside the machine. There were more zeroes on the bottom line than I was expecting. "I know it's sooner than we had agreed upon, but I need to move up her gift a bit."

"Absolutely," she smiled and then paused. "She must be really special to you. Not many would go to these lengths to give the gift of specialized sewing equipment for a birthday."

"She's worth it and then some," I replied reverently. Looking down at my birthday surprise for Marinette, I smiled. It was a shame in a way that her special day was still a number of weeks away, but it just seemed right for her to have the best equipment available as she worked to make our friend's wedding as spectacular as she could. I retrieved my Black Card, and I handed to Shannon. "If you don't mind, could you wrap it as well? Something festive?"

"Absolutely," she replied. "Anything for my best customer."

It didn't take long to settle up with Shannon and then I was back in the sky again, once more clad in comfortable magical black leather and deftly balancing my wares as I trotted along the rooftops of the city. The machine wasn't exactly a shot-in-the-dark gift, as I'd seen how Marinette had been gushing over some of the equipment my seamstresses had been using for the fashion show a while back. More than anything, I just wanted her to have access to the best, so she could do her best. But now I'd need to find something else for her birthday – assuming she didn't kill me after the new machine arrived.

Marinette met me on the balcony as I landed, leaning in for a kiss before taking a bag from me. "Success?" she asked as we walked hand-in-paw toward the kitchen.

"On many fronts," I smiled.

She paused at the counter and looked at me slyly. "Why do you look like the Chat that ate the canary?"

"Moi?" I said innocently as I set down my bags and then scooped her up into my arms, smiling slightly at her adorable squeak as I caught her. "I have no idea what you are referring to."

Forgetting how limber she was, I was quasi-surprised when Marinette easily leaned up in my arms and kissed along the edge of my collar, then leaned further over to a human ear and whispered: "I have ways of making you talk, kitty."

"Do your worst!" I cried out good naturedly as she pulled my face closer by the bell.

"That is my intent," she said softly, eyes dancing with merriment before she nibbled below my chin.

"Good…" I purred, well aware of how my feline body was responding to her. "But if you don't mind, I need to get to that bag over there first…"