Disclaimer: I own nothing.

ii.
à la vie, à la mort

Les héros morts ne peuvent pas sauver personne, tu sais ?

A dinner event. It was the last day her great-uncle would be staying in Paris and her parents had urged her to come along… something about how spending time with family was important. And while it wasn't often that Ladybug abandoned her partner on patrols, the evening had seemed fairly peaceful. No obscene disturbances, wreckage in the city, Akumatized villians in sight. So, she had informed Chat Noir of her imminent absence with a clear conscience and took the opportunity to draw back and relax.

She had full faith in the notion that the kitty cat could easily handle any minor crimes without her.

It was nearly midnight by the time she'd arrived home again. Wishing her mother and father good night, she climbed up to her room and wasted not even a minute in peeling her dress off for more comfortable clothing. Once the bluenette was settled down in a pair of flannel pajamas and a loose, red, T-shirt, she grabbed her phone and moved to sit on the daybed.

Tikki fluttered out from her bag. "Marinette, was it okay to leave him behind?"

There was no need to question, 'who?' A reassuring smile tugged her lips as she confidently responded, "As troublesome as he can be, Chat Noir is pretty dependable. I'm sure he's heading home by now."

She'd spoken too soon. These words were followed by a loud crash and Marinette blinked, sitting upright. "Ah?"

What was that?

It sounded as though it had come from somewhere above. With a frown, she scrambled out of bed and made her way up the staircase. Her heart felt like it was in her throat. Marinette unlocked the hatch and hesitantly poked her head out to peek at her surroundings.

There he was, baton retracting and figure crumpled on her balcony.

"Chat Noir—?" Climbing onto the roof, Marinette stepped forward to get a better look before kneeling beside her partner. "H-Hey, are you alright?"

Marinette tried to make heads or tails of the situation. Surely, he had just missed his mark to land and would soon rise from the ground all-smiles! But an uneasy sensation filled her chest when she realized it couldn't be something so trivial and this was confirmed the moment she settled a hand on his shoulder to turn him onto his back.

There was blood spilling steadily from between the gloved fingers pressed to his right side. Horrorstruck, Marinette gasped. He had been injured. Chat Noir groaned in response and for a few moments, all that was in the hero's head was the confusion as to where he was and the screaming pain. The landing had not been easy, and he had instinctively curled up, trying to staunch the bleeding again.

The hand on his shoulder… he finally realized that, oh—Marinette's balcony. Which meant, at this time of night, Marinette. He needed to get up. He needed to move. He needed to do something, damn it, but he couldn't find the ability to act as his body seized up.

"O-Okay, now just relax!" Marinette was the one having trouble staying calm, and Chat Noir couldn't help but huff with amusement despite his ragged state. If she'd possessed the strength in her civilian form, she would have scooped him up in her arms and carried him inside. Instead, she hooked an arm around his back to help the other sit up.

"Can you stand? —'m about to grab some towels and call the ambulance. I promise you'll be fine!"

He hissed at the movement, regaining some sense of direction at hearing the word. "No ambulance!"

He didn't like to snap at well-meaning civilians, especially not Marinette, but he couldn't possibly let her call the ambulance. Secret identity, hello? Then there was the fact that he was a minor; he was pretty sure there were laws that required his father be called if he got shot and Adrien Agreste couldn't just refuse to give his name. [He was pretty sure he had a billboard not far from the hospital, anyway.]

"Y-You're Aly—a friend of the girl who runs the LadyBlog, correct? So, you know there's a time limit to my transformation." Think, think, think. "I only need stitches, but it's not bad enough for a hospital. I can stand, just—"

"Just nothing!" She was wracking her own mind for some way to help. Chat Noir was on her balcony, bleeding and exhausted and it was entirely her fault for leaving him alone earlier. Guilt brewed in her gut. Would this have happened if Ladybug had been patrolling nearby? "Stay here, I'll get my phone!"

"Princess—"

He reached out to grip the hem of her shirt before she could scuttle off, sharp claws digging into fabric. She was a seamstress. Thread wasn't as good, but it would do. "Princess, if… if you're worried, I could use supplies."

"Supplies?" Marinette felt uneasy when Chat Noir struggled to sit up, desperate for her to stay in place, and the clear pain on his features even as he attempted to assure her of his lack of need for an ambulance made her heart clench uncomfortably.

She couldn't find it in herself to feel annoyed at the nickname. All her attention had shifted to getting the bleeding to slow down.

"…We have a suture kit." She spoke slowly to keep her words from melding into some frantic mess. "I only know how to sew clothes but I can take a look with that."

"The process is more or less the same," he responded, forcing his voice to remain equally as steady. "I-I've done it before a few times. Admittedly, the wounds were minor in comparison." Often times, it was an injury he hadn't realized was still bleeding until returning home, and only two or three stitches were used to the many he'd need now. But, if he was obstinate about skipping a hospital visit, she couldn't let him go without doing something.

"Understood. Here." Marinette slowly rose to her feet, tugging Chat Noir along. Once he'd managed to stand, she allowed him to lean his weight on her and reached around his waist – being wary not to graze his wound in the process.

"Put your arm around my shoulder," she advised him so that she could walk the limping cat inside.

One part of Chat Noir wanted to leave, to not put this on Marinette. The logical, saner, part of him shouted that he was going to seriously hurt himself if he left, and that he needed to take the help when it was presented. So he didn't argue, putting his arm around her shoulder, keeping the other pressed to his wound, leaning heavily on her as she guided him inside. "The fun part will be cleaning the wound," he muttered under his breath and Marinette cringed to herself, offering an, "I got you," as she struggled to stay calm for the both of them.

Once down and inside, the bluenette hurriedly shuffled them over to the bathroom on the opposite side of the small living place. She eased him off of her shoulder to seat him on the edge of the tub. A few towels were handed to him, to replace the hand that was keeping pressure on his wound and he complied, making a mental note to get Plagg a shitload of cheese. Chat Noir knew the transformation upped his endurance for pain because he expected he'd be pretty miserable by now. [Moreso than already. Or rather unconscious, but he didn't like dwelling on that.]

Pressing the towels to his side with a soft whimper, he dazedly nodded to Marinette's succeeding remark, "Give me a second, it should be here." The girl crouched and searched the cupboards under the sink, withdrawing the small suture kit after a few moments.

Fairly confident in her embroidering abilities, even Marinette knew this wouldn't be quite the same. She decided to go with her gut and trust Chat Noir's earlier remark; there was no time to dwell on it, and she opened the case on the floor.

A glance over the instructions was enough for now. She stood and washed the materials as well as her hands. While Marinette cleaned the tools, he began removing his gloves and bell. He let the latter item fall to the ground but kept a single glove beside him.

"Right, okay, so…"As the tools were left to dry, she kneeled in front of Chat Noir and carefully moved the towels aside to inspect his injury. There was a tear in his suit from the impact and wide bluebell eyes wandered the damaged skin, clearly perturbed. [This was more serious than he had described.]

Brow creased, she regarded him with concern. "Were you... stabbed? No—shot?!"

"I, euh, I got careless. I didn't see a second mugger, but it's a graze. The bullet ended up in a wall, so even a black cat can have a little luck," he sheepishly explained, grinning at his joke despite the pain.

A mugger… "That's not funny," she mumbled as she focused on cleaning the wound like he had mentioned earlier, wiping away most of the excess blood. He sighed as she worked off the blood, undoing the zipper of his suit and watching her clumsily prepare a syringe to clear out the debris. Marinette had read once before that medical saline stung far less than alcohol, so she could at least be assured that she wasn't making things any worse.

"This may hurt a little."

Maybe so, but with what was going to come, he could handle it. Chat Noir chuckled weakly, peeling away the tight leather from his right side. It would be much easier to sew up the wound without his suit clinging to him.

"Mm, it's going to hurt a lot," he breathed, grabbing the glove he'd left at his side and sinking his teeth into it.