Sorry this is late again! Life has been… messy, busy, etc. That, and this chapter went through like 5 different drafts. You know. Like I said, updates all require a little wiggle room depending on how stuff is going.
Also, arrondissement = a section in Paris
The police seemed to have smartened up.
In the three days that had passed since those doodles had first been discovered all over Paris, they seemed to have doubled the night patrols. They buzzed like hungry flies through the 7th and 19th arrondissements as soon as the sun set—staked out in alleyways, patrolling the streets, walking around in plain clothes, patrolling in an unlabelled car. They were everywhere. From their eyes, it was the most obvious place to start; a majority of the doodles had turned up in those two areas, so why not devote most of their time there?
The only concerning part was Chat. He just kept going back to those two arrondissements.
In the span of three days, he'd almost been caught four times total: twice on one night in the 7th, again there the next day, and once in the 19th. Somehow, he always ended up losing the cops before they could get too close for comfort, whether it be by cutting through an alley or ducking into a building. Every time Alya would forward a "breaking news" live stream or an updated map of Chat Noir sightings to her, she found her heart clenching in worry.
Worry.
She was worried about him and his stupid ass.
But it wasn't like he was popping in to tell her what was happening with it all. She had a right to be worried—he hadn't shown up since the bracelet incident. Three days, nearly 72 hours, and not a single peep about anything. She figured that, in any normal situation, she wouldn't be quite so worried, but with the police running around like they were, getting so unnervingly close, she couldn't help it—for all she knew, he could be caught at any second of any day. She'd even started leaving her balcony doors unlocked.
She sighed.
"So, if you map it all out, then the cops are right. He's in the 7th and the 19th more than anywhere else," Alya said, scooping up rice with her fork. "And while the 19th kinda makes sense… the 7th is filthy rich. Cops swarm that place-" She stopped herself, her eyes lighting up. "Wait."
"What?" Marinette asked.
"Fuck, I'm an idiot."
"What?"
"He has to live there, in the 7th," Alya said. "There's no other reason for it. Why else would he go somewhere with so many cops?"
"Maybe that's where he gets info. They are rich, right?"
Alya groaned. "Dang. And here I thought I was-"
Marinette tuned her out, too busy worrying about Chat to give a hoot about where he lived. Alya would probably figure something out then post it online or repeat it later, so she wasn't exactly missing anything, was she?
No, she wasn't.
She finished up dinner, helped Alya clean up, then made her way off to her room as usual, spinning off some lie about wanting a nap before they watched their movie later. Alya didn't object.
"Hey there princess."
She squeaked.
"Marinette, what was that?" Alya asked.
"I'm alright!" she called back, shutting the door as softly as she could.
He smiled, spinning around in her desk chair with all the nonchalant in the world. "Sorry," he said, voice hushed. "Doors were unlocked, so I… yeah."
She didn't care. She was too busy freaking out in her brain, all the questions and worries she'd been shoving down for the past three days popping up again like there were little kids screaming them out in her brain. There he was, after three days of utter radio silence, sitting in her chair like it was nothing. No, she didn't care that he'd let himself in.
"Where have you been?" she asked. "You almost got caught four times, and you didn't think to show up?"
His smile fell, mouth opening in a little 'oh' shape. The thought that she'd be worried hadn't even occurred to him. "I… I guess," he said, and a hand came up to rub the back of his head. "Sorry."
"I was worried sick. I thought I'd turn on the news and you'd be behind bars already, you idiot," she said. "I kept waiting for you to make one mistake, you know. One mistake, and then the police would catch up with you, and they'd take that mask off your face, and then- god, Chat."
Another "sorry" slipped out of his mouth. "I didn't realize you cared so much, princess," he said.
"Well I do," she said. If the past few days had shown her anything, it was that. She cared. "Meaning you don't get to pull crap like this again, hear me? No more stupid. No more running around the city all the time, don't step foot back in the 7th or 19th arrondissements, and don't even-"
"Uh…"
"What?"
"I might just happen to live in the 7th?" he said. "Everything else is entirely possible, I can totally stay out of the 19th. If that's what my princess requests, then it shall be so. No more stupid," he said, sitting up straight in her chair with a smile. "But I kinda need to be in the 7th."
She sighed. Alya was right.
Everything, all the times he was almost caught over the past few days, started to make a bit more sense, clicking right on into place like it was supposed to. It explained why he'd almost been caught there twice in one night—once when he'd gone out, the other time when he'd gone back in. Maybe he wasn't quite so stupid as she'd thought, not so much.
"That's why you keep going back there…" she said. "You live there."
Slowly, he nodded.
She looked at him, thinking for a moment. He didn't act like a stuck-up 7th arrondissement kid, not really. She'd been almost willing to contradict Alya on her little 'where does Chat live' rant on that alone, since in real life he seemed more like a 19th kid than anything else.
A wicked smile came to her face. "You're a posh kitty."
"I wouldn't use the word posh to describe myself, per se," he said, smiling. "But you can call me whatever you want, princess."
"I like it. Posh," she teased. "A posh kitty."
It went ahead and explained the bracelet, didn't it? The way he'd just given it to her like that, seeming like he didn't realize how much money it was worth. He was one of those people that could just walk into a store and buy something like that, that cost thousands of dollars, without bothering to check the price tag. He'd liked it, so he'd bought it. Probably.
She got up and grabbed the leather box from her nightstand. "Posh or not, you're taking this back," she said.
He smirked. "You know, it's paw-sitively rude to return gifts."
"And I'd say it's rude to sneak it in my purse," she said, copying his smirk. "So I guess it evens out."
"Oh, does it?"
"Yes, it does." She held it out to him, trying to get him to just take it back already.
But he just looked at the box, then up at her, that smirk getting wider and wider. "It's a gift. You're supposed to keep it, and it's supposed to remind you of moi every time you wear it—like having a picture of me in your wallet, but better."
"I don't want it."
"Oh princess, don't say such things," he said. "You hurt my fragile kitty heart."
His poor heart. Poor, poor posh kitty heart, crushed because she didn't want his gift. "You've been hurting my brain for the past three days. Suck it up and take it back," she said. She'd already told him she wouldn't accept it, he was going to take it back dammit.
"No."
She sighed. "Take it."
"No."
"Chat."
"Unless you plan on putting a picture of me in your wallet for real you're keeping it. I'm not taking it back," he said, shaking his head. "Nuh-uh."
She huffed and sank down onto her bed. Apparently, she wasn't going to be getting anywhere with asking. So really, once she got him to leave, she'd just have to beat him at his own game—shove it in his pocket before he left, give him a taste of his own stupid medicine.
She sighed, looking down the box in her hand. "Fine," she said. "I'll keep it."
"You don't want a picture of me?"
"Nope," she said. She spared a glance at his totally 'sad' face, putting the bracelet back on her nightstand where she hoped it wouldn't be staying for long.
And then, they sunk into two hours of chatting. Two hours of nothing but discussing every non-serious thing they could think up, making sure to stay quiet enough to keep Alya from suspecting a thing. They talked about their favorite Chinese places ("Like the cheap, fake stuff. Not that"), the fact that he smelled like a rich person ("Ew, Tom Ford? This is Creed, I'll have you know"), and the best place to buy a mango in Paris ("nowhere," they agreed).
She called him bourgeoisie, calling herself "a humble proletariat", and he called her out for "being a commie."
She smiled. "Marxist, mind you."
He sighed in defeat. "I was going for a Stalin pun, you know. But you just had to Marx is up like that and throw me off."
She admitted a quiet laugh. It hardly even made sense, but it didn't seem to matter very much—she'd heard so much worse.
And things carried on like that until it came time for him to leave. The bracelet was, with little to no difficulty, slipped into his pocket. All it'd taken was the harmless suggestion of a goodbye hug, and she'd been able to just put it right back where it belonged, in his bourgeoisie pocket, to be taken back to his bourgeoisie house.
"Cat-ch you later, Princess."
An hour later, once the clock struck 21:00 and she'd gotten those puns out of her head, Marinette joined Alya on the couch for some random movie.
And, conveniently, they'd had the news on last time they'd watched. Meaning that it was the first thing that popped up when Alya clicked on the TV.
"…police are in pursuit of Chat Noir once again, this time in the west end of the 6th arrondissement-"
"Ooh," Alya said, leaning forward with a frown. "The sixth? Not the 7th?"
She didn't know what Alya was excited about—if he was going home to wherever he lived in the 7th, then it was entirely possible that he'd make his way through the 6th—but she entertained it anyways, watching on in silence.
Soon after, Alya said the same thing, insisting that they watch to make sure he made his way to the 7th, and Marinette made no objections. Her chest ballooned in worry every time they got close or he ducked out of sight of the camera.
She would've been much happier if there had been somebody else there—if it wasn't just him running around out there with no backup, no help, and nowhere to go if he got cornered. At the moment, if he happened to turn into a dead end, he'd be screwed over and left at the police's whim.
Probably.
He did seem pretty good at scaling fire escapes, going by the number of times he'd climbed hers. But the point still stood. If she wanted to stop worrying, he was going to need somebody besides her. Like a sidekick or something to watch his back, not just a home to duck into if he needed to. She could leave her balcony doors unlocked all she wanted, but it wasn't going to do squat if he was miles away and stuck in a bind.
Yes, he needed a sidekick to make sure he was safe.
A Robin to his Batman, of sorts.
As if that was going to happen.
Yet, when he disappeared once and for all from the news copter's sight, escaping once again from the police's grasp, she wondered what it'd be like. To have someone she trusted out there, helping him when he needed it and being there when she couldn't.
It'd certainly give her a piece of mind. Make her worry less than she did right then. It'd be more comfortable to see two people running around under that copter's gaze than just one, black-clad one.
Maybe… she turned to look at Alya
"Hey Alya," she said.
Alya flicked through channels for a moment. "Hmm?"
She wanted to step back, just not ask. But something nagged her in the back of her brain. It was a risky question to pose, even riskier considering it was Alya she was talking to, but… if Marinette wanted anybody out there with Chat Noir, it was Alya. She could trust Alya to keep her word, to dedicate herself to whatever Chat Noir's cause happened to be, to never leave him behind and never betray him. In fact, Marinette couldn't think of anyone else she trusted so much, her parents excluded.
If anybody was going to be Chat Noir's sidekick, it would be Alya.
"What… what would you do if you knew Chat Noir?" Marinette said, turning to make eye contact with her. "I mean, I'm just saying- like… theoretically."
Alya gave her a sort of odd look, something resembling confusion, but answered anyway. "I wouldn't betray him, if that's what you're asking. No blog would be worth that," she said, muting the TV for a moment. Silence descended over the room. "If I met Chat Noir then… It'd be the best day of my life, mind you, but I think I'd try to be friends with him?" she said.
Marinette nodded slowly.
"I've never really given it much thought," Alya said. "It would be cool though. I'd be like… I'd help him run around Paris, taking care of baddies and stuff."
"You'd want to be his sidekick?" Marinette said.
"I suppose so. More like a partner than a sidekick."
She hesitated but muttered out a "cool" and a nod.
"Why do you ask?"
"Oh! I-" she fumbled for an answer. "He just seems like he could use a sidekick, I guess. I mean, it's not like I know him or anything, but I mean he just seems… yeah," she said, rambling on. "The police a- are after him so much… I just wondered what it'd be like if there was someone else."
Alya laughed. "Fair point," she said, looking back to the TV. "It would be cool if he had a sidekick. Like Harley Quinn and the Joker. Or… nah, not them. If he's crazy, I'm not stepping foot towards him."
"Like Batman and Robin."
She nodded. "Yeah. I'd be the Batman to his Robin."
With that, she flicked through another channel. Ironically, they watched ended up watching the Avengers.
Consistent chapter length who?
Also, this story has so much more friendship Marichat than I thought it would? Like what?
