AN: There's nothing overly explicit, but this chapter does almost earn the "Teen" rating I give to all my stories. Let's just say that Felix has a mouth…

To Butterfly: Thanks! I've been using "RooT" as an abbreviation for "Running out of Time" for a while; I guess I haven't really used it that much in these notes.

To StarDaPanda225: That happens to me sometimes with certain stories. Usually it just means I need to wait another 15-30 minutes. Felix may be a jerk, but he's our jerk…

To yellow 14: Yeah, probably would have been nice for him not to get shot with an energy beam… I've really enjoyed developing these two!

The Hound's first conscious thought on waking up was that he was being carried – something that hadn't happened since he was a baby. And yet the arms holding him were hard and cold against his shoulders and legs. There was tightness in his chest, matched by the burning heat in his side. He tried to suck in a deep breath, but only coughed weakly.

"You son of a bitch," an unfamiliar voice muttered above him, a distinctly feminine lilt to it.

"I think my mother would disagree with that assessment." The Hound forced his eyes open and found himself staring up into a fair-skinned face with hazel eyes and ringed with bright blue hair – what of the face he could see with the metal helmet only partially pulled open. The girl – probably not much older than him – looked down at him, her eyes narrowed in a mix of surprise, concern, and anger. Her lips were set in a thin line, her cheeks taking on a slight rosy tint. Vaguely he noticed her gaze drifting to his side where the energy blasts had caught him. He blinked in surprise. "You know, last night I really wanted to rip that suit off of you," he coughed, his eyes taking in the startled look on her face as her eyes darted back up to his face.

She arched an eyebrow dubiously. "Oh, yeah? So what about now?"

He smirked. "Well, I still want to rip it off of you," he replied, "but for a different reason." He wagged his eyebrows. "Tell me, do you have matching carpet?"

She scoffed and rolled her eyes in annoyance. "I didn't have to pick you up just now, Mutt," she retorted. "I could have just left you lying in the middle of the street, see what you look like as road kill."

The Hound raised an eyebrow. "My, my, aren't we forward, darling! You're picking me up? Normally I have to go to a club before beautiful women try to pick me up!"

She gave him an unimpressed look before jerking her head off to the side. "Any more of that and I'll throw you in the Thames and let you test out your doggie paddle!"

He snorted, forcing back a wince at the twinge of pain that shot down his side. "And here I thought I was the one offering to get you wet!"

She let out a disgusted groan and threw the Hound into the air and out over the water. He yelled, scrabbling for anything within reach as he sailed over the railing and the Thames rushed up to meet him. Somewhere in the fight – when he'd lunged to knock the suit-woman away from the energy blast, he thought – he had lost hold of his leash. He closed his eyes an instant before he struck the water–

The sharp tug on his ankle came completely out of nowhere. The wind whipped through his hair, blowing his miraculous ears back flat against his head as the top of his head dipped into the water, and he opened his eyes to see the underside of the Southwark Bridge sailing past. A grappling hook had latched around his ankle. He covered his face with his arms as he swung back under the bridge, his whole head skimming through the water. He yelled in surprise when his sopping wet head emerged from the river and the grappling hook line reeled him back and swung him up and over the bridge. Finally the rope wrapped twice around a streetlight crossbar, leaving him dangling upside down, face to face with the irate woman in the suit, his miraculous ears hanging uselessly off the top of his head and water dripping from his hair. The woman scowled at him, eyes narrowed and brows knit together, her face mere centimeters from his own.

"You're a cad, you know that, Mutt?" she growled. "What right do you have to call yourself a hero?"

"That's scant thanks for a man who risked life and limb to save you, Iron Britches!" he retorted, trying and failing to push his miraculous ears and hair back in place so they wouldn't dangle uselessly. Instead, all he managed was to slop water onto his back.

"It's 'Iron Maiden,'" she corrected him, poking him in the chest.

"And quite the 'maiden' you are," he agreed, wincing as his injured side stretched and pulled with the force of gravity. She'd caught his ankle on the same side that had taken the energy blast, and he couldn't lift the arm right against the gravity to stop the muscles from stretching and screaming in protest. Both his arms dangled uselessly, a meter off the ground.

"Oh, so all I am to you is a woman?" she demanded, shoving him hard in the chest so he swung like a pendulum. "Is that some kind of misogynistic 'only men can be superheroes' bullshit?"

The Hound scoffed. "If I thought only men could be heroes, I'd be in the wrong line of work here, sweetheart. I've seen Ladybug in action, up close – she nearly gave me a one-way ticket back to jolly old England once in fact –"

"Why am I not surprised?" Iron Maiden muttered, shaking her head.

"–and I'm pretty sure Sent-Bee would kick my ass from one side of the country to the other if I said she wasn't a real hero – miraculous or not," the Hound finished.

She raised an eyebrow at him dubiously. "Wait, are you saying that you actually know the Heroes of Paris?"

"I should… I'm sort of one of them," he replied, gesturing to the dog ears and raising an eyebrow. He leaned forward to look up at his trapped ankle before fixing his eyes on her face pointedly. Iron Maiden grumbled and released him, allowing him to fall gracelessly to the ground. He landed hard on his back and pushed himself up into a sitting position before running a hand through his wet hair to make it lay flat. "Finally."

"You really don't strike me as the 'Heroes of Paris' type," she observed, folding her arms and staring down at him, observing him suspiciously through narrowed eyes. "They're a lot more… um… heroic…"

He scoffed dismissively. "What, are you a fan? I would remember if they had a mech-suit hero of their own."

"I've seen them around town," she acknowledged, nodding. "Cat Noir saved a bus I was on once, a few years ago. Our school trip was attacked by the Tramp, and we would have gone off the bridge and straight into the Seine had it not been for him."

"French?" he asked, surprised. When she nodded slowly, he rose to his feet, took her hand, and bowed, bringing her gauntleted knuckles to his lips. "Enchantée, Mademoiselle," he purred. "Tes yeux brillent comme les étoiles dans les cieux." ["Your eyes shine like the stars in the heavens."]

She gave him a deadpan look and pulled her hand away. "That's enough, Romeo," she growled. "Because that's all French girls want, right?"

"Well…" He grinned and wagged his eyebrows at her, but froze on seeing her gauntlet raised to slap him and the icy expression on her face. He cleared his throat awkwardly and took a step back out of easy slapping range. "Um… what answer won't get me thrown in the river again?"

"With your track record, Mutt?" she asked drily. "Nothing. I'd try saying nothing right now!"

He coughed. "Then I will merely say that it was a pleasure to be fighting with you today, instead of fighting with you… Iron Maiden."

She nodded grudgingly. "And in that case I am… grateful… to you for taking that energy blast for me. Even if I didn't really need or want you doing it."

He held out a hand. "Perhaps we will fight together again some time?"

"Perhaps," she agreed, eyeing his hand but making no move to shake it. "Mecha-Man is still out there, after all."

"As is the Ripper," the Hound added with a frown.

Fifteen minutes later, Felix arrived back at his Bentley, parked outside the police station closest to his fight with the Ripper the other night. He gave the station a halfhearted glare before easing the car door open and collapsing into the seat. He had come down this morning for information on the Stripper Ripper investigation, but the inspector had been mum. All the man would tell him was that they were pursuing some leads, but that he would not comment on an active criminal investigation. When Felix had pressed for details as a concerned citizen, the inspector had politely sent him on his way. He glared at the dashboard. Although he couldn't be certain, he suspected that the Heroes of Paris didn't have this much trouble getting information out of their police. His phone screen lit up to show a missed text from his mother, but he left it sitting where it was.

Barkk emerged from her spot in his jacket pocket and pressed her paws to his side, whining pitifully. "Oh, this must be so painful!" she squeaked, rubbing gently.

Felix sighed and closed his eyes. "It's certainly no walk in the park," he grumbled. "I thought the suit was supposed to protect me."

"It did," the Kwami replied, her tail thumping anxiously against his arm. "If you hadn't been transformed, this would have been so much worse! Unfortunately, while your suit cannot be pierced except by miraculous weapons, the impact and heat will still be transferred. One time the Hound got shot three times in the chest and was out of action for two weeks to recover from the broken ribs! This time your suit absorbed some of the heat, but it couldn't absorb all of it – the fire power-up would give you better protection from heat, though!"

"Perhaps that's something to ask Tante Emilie about next time I see her." Felix groaned. "So what happens now?"

Barkk sighed sadly. "You need to rest as best you can. Since you have a miraculous you will heal a little faster than normal, but you do need to take it easy for a day or two until this burn can heal."

Felix scoffed and winced, rubbing his side. "Not much chance of that!"

AN: The Tramp is not an Akuma who appeared in the show; he appeared in Alya and Ivan's recollections of the final Hawk Moth battle in "A Bittersweet Anniversary."