It happens in such a regular fight, that it reminds them how dangerous the roles they've taken on are.
It's in a second and Chat Noir is jumping, heart racing to such a degree that he bets she can feel it against her as it pounds against his chest. He is running, trying to get away in time, panicked because he knows how important it is to her. He hears that dreadful familiar noise and she's clinging to him, arms around his neck, face in his chest and her legs around his waist. The sound gets more urgent, beeps getting closer and closer together. Each sound has her squeezing him tighter and if he hadn't been in the suit it would have hurt a lot more. As it is he feels the slight pressure against him. He jumps out, ignoring the sounds behind him and it isn't until he is safe with her in his arms, far away, that its the whirl of magic around her small frame, uplifting and beautiful that is familiar if with different colors, that he realizes the implications.
Through his gloves, touch is semi-possible, it's not exact and sort of hard to describe but it's like a second skin with the same sensory detection afforded to his plain hands. Its dead useful, but also reminds him how... Well, essentially he's running around with something that's magic. The suit isn't leather, as so many people had postulated in blogs and news networks, it's beyond that, magic and true and worked in ways that defied physics as he understood it. And he is so okay with that, because of magic. So in his claws, he feels it, not her suit which always felt textured and smooth as silk but tough as diamonds. But something, softer, more delicate. Cotton, snag-able and he can tell quickly if he keeps too much pressure he will rip the material. Ladybug, his beloved lady, is in her civilian form and he's clutching to her with his heart pounding. All he needs is to put her down or look down, both or one or the other and he will know who holds his heart.
My Lady is right here. I can just look at see who she is.
"My Lady," he whispers and he deliberately closes his eyes. Because as much as he needed to know, he knows her feelings about it. He has long resigned himself to it, much as it pained him.
She doesn't respond, not right away.
"Tiki?" is her response.
His eyes are closed but he can feel as what he assumes is her Kawami float past his arm, lagging, tired and drifting softly past his ear. It lands carefully on her shoulder, he can tell.
"I'm fine," whispers a high, feminine voice, "Nothing a cookie won't cure. Just exhausted."
The tension in his Lady is high, but at that sweet voice's assurance, his Lady relaxes, almost slumps in his arms.
"Are you okay?" says the Kawami, Tiki, voice concerned.
"That… That was scary."
Adrien agrees. He thought, after the Akuma had been defeated, that everything was fine, wrapped up in a pretty little bow as it always was. But sometimes emotions aren't completely purged after purification and watching the distraught civilian launch a devastating blow to Ladybug's side, for 'interfering with his art' with his heavy welding equipment, turned on and sparking flames, striking so brutally and so violently- Well. Adrien had lost it. He knew that the Miraculous handled and kept their bodies from serious harm within the suits, but they only extended so far, could only be pushed so far. And that they were at their weakest after they gave their ultimate skill and if pushed by physical harm, would be removed all the quicker, the magic weaker. He had not made it time to save his Lady from the blow, but he had been in time to scoop her up and run like hell to get away from prying eyes before the magic ran out.
"Tiki, are you okay?" whispers his lady, small and soft. Her voice was pinched and he knew that the blow to the side would bruise at the very least. At worst, she was more than likely had some cracked ribs.
"Yes, I am. I'm sorry little pupa. I know that it was frightening. But were fine. We're all fine. Isn't that right Chat Noir?"
He feels the trickle of her tears before he hears her sob, the way her small body shakes against the length of him. Carefully, mindful of his claws, he presses them lightly under her shirt, mindful of the cloth, running circles across her back. He ignores how soft it is, how warm she is. Unbidden, a pur starts in his chest, deep and soothing.
"Yeah. No harm done my Lady."
"Chat? I… Need you to put me down."
He does so reluctantly. He keeps his eyes closed, his hands on her shaking shoulders.
"You- You closed your eyes?"
Heart in hand, Adrien can only nod.
"But-"
"You made it very clear how much you want to keep our identities a secret, my Lady. I won't betray your trust."
She sniffs. Carefully, she invades his space. He feels her warmth again, smells her and his Lady always smells sweet. Like sugar, or something he can never put his finger on, infused in her skin. It fills his nose, as he feels her fingertips go up his side, trailing across his body until they rest on his face. Small, but thin and impossibly delicately against each side of his face, warm and so nice that he has to stop himself from leaning into her touch.
"Open your eyes."
He hesitates. But her acceptance is given and that what he has always wanted. So he opens his eyes. He first registers her eyes, blue and bright as always, almond shape and large. Then he sees the freckles she usually hides beneath the mask and he feels his heart soar as he realizes who she is.
"Marionette."
An unsure, shy smile. That smile that she always gives him as Adrien, from a distance that made him wish he had better social grace to try and be her friend.
"Sorry to disappoint, Chaton," its meant as a joke. But painfully, he can see the self-deprecation. And he sees a bit of her, sees insecurities that bring her closer to him in a way that makes his chest hurt.
He scoffs, shaking his head.
"I could never be disappointed, Princess. Not in you. Never in you."
She blinks, rapidly tears still on her eyelash.
"I- Really?" her voice is still small, and he can see the unease in his Lady's voice and it just about breaks his heart.
He nuzzles her, he can't help it. It's part of the cat-like instincts that have become a permanent side-effect. He scenting her with his head, marking her as his. He presses his head across her face, into her neck, loving the warmth and the realization of who she is. It makes so much sense and he wants to hit himself over the head for not making the connection. But he's too busy relishing the revelation of her being his Lady.
"I could never be disappointed in who you are... Claws off."
She blinks and he's in front of her, completely bare of his mask as she is. She smiles, watery.
"Adrien?"
"Disappointed, bugaboo?"
She laughs. Her face is red, that blush she dons so frequently in school. She presses into him, against his chest, she's so small, and he feels his heart sore.
"No. Never, Chaton."