"Take one step closer, and you're dead meat."
Chat Noir's cool, confident voice rang into the crisp night's air. Leaning on his baton like a cane, the superhero peeked down from his perch on top of the building. "Seriously," he chuckled, tossing his baton so it extended into a staff. Leaping gracefully from the building, a couple of midair somersaults later, Chat Noir landed light on his paws between the villain and his princess. With a metallic clank! his staff landed in his outstretched claws. "I wouldn't do that if I were you." His usually velvety, teasing purr lowered to a fierce snarl, one Marinette had never heard before. "Come closer and I'll finish you like you were planning to finish her."
The man before him seemed to waver, though the safety on the gun clicked off. Behind Chat, Marinette's stare grew wide. Chat wouldn't, he couldn't take a bullet for her; if only she could transform now, they would both be safe. Fingers trembled as she reached to push her straggled bangs from the cut on her forehead. By the time her hands had finished staunching the cut, Marinette was ready to fight.
But she was too late. The shot fired, and everything before her was a blur. Chat's baton revolved like a fan, twirling before her and striking the bullet in half.
"You're done here." He was bristling before her, glowing eyes narrowed into fierce slits. Out of thin air, Chat seemed to pull the rest of the man's bullets, scattering them on the ground so they rolled into the large sewage drain. The man was no match for the livid superhero, and turned tail to flee.
Once the threat was gone, Chat sighed. His baton became compact once more, and he slid it into the holster above his leather tail. Straightening up, he turned back to Marinette.
"You're hurt." He commented quietly, coming towards her steadily. Taking the hem of her black button down, he ripped the material without hesitation, wrapping it around the cut over her right brow.
"I know." She swallowed, suddenly timid when it came to meeting his gaze. She'd never seen her Chat like this before, with such a calm serious demeanor that lay like a thin mask over his vicious passion to protect. "I'm sorry, Chat." She mumbled. His fingers tied the material at the back of her head, then trickled through her loose waves, resting beneath the damp navy locks.
The rough mask he'd been wearing dissolved into a crestfallen look, his kind eyes suddenly shining through his anger. "No," his fingers tapped at the base of her neck, bringing her closer. "I am. I should've been here earlier, Princess."
"You can't always be here to protect me, Chat Noir. "Marinette chuckled, despite the gravity of the situation. His chin rested on her forehead, and she delivered a gentle kiss to his Adam's apple. She felt his throat tighten at the sentiment; she was sure he'd thought he'd lost her.
"I can try."