The next evening, Marinette slipped a 20 euro note to the box office attendant. "For the current showing of Macbeth, please." She checked her watch. The play should be in Act II at this point. If they hurried, they would catch her favorite scene.

"Hah!" The attendant laughed. "They're swatting flies in there. You can go in for free!"

Marinette nodded, while the other three exchanged nervous glances. She strolled into the theater and stood at the back.

"Um, why are we here dude?" Nino asked.

She shushed him. "It is rude to interrupt a performance." She turned her attention back to the stage. There stood a man with wild, blond hair like sunshine and a somber look in his green eyes. He stood alone with a single spotlight in the darkness, his hand clutching nothing in the hand. Ah, Marinette guess correctly. Of course he was playing Macbeth.

"Is this a dagger!" Macbeth shouted furiously, jerked his fist back and forth. "Which I see before me, the handle toward my hand?" He threw himself on the ground and shouted into the air. "Come, let me clutch at thee!" Marinette mouthed the soliloquy with the actor.

Alya's face contorted. What was happening here?

Nino's hand rose to his mouth in horror. Surely not…

Chloé furrowed her brow and wore her trademark sneer.

"This. Is. Awful." Nino's words were deadpan but they were disturbed underneath.

"Is he injured?" Alya asked. "In the head?" She emphasized.

"He is the worst actor I've ever seen," Chloé admitted to Marinette. "And I've seen some shitty actors."

Marinette's lip tugged up. "That's because this is not his stage." She exited the auditorium. This would be easier after the performance.

The four waited in the alley behind the theater. Chloé was still adamant that this was a bad idea. "I vote no!" She whined.

The back-door to the theater opened, and Marinette walked toward it. "Alya's right. They know us."

The blond actor walked out and buttoned his trench coat. Marinette clapped loudly, almost in fanfare and grabbed his attention. "I thought you were great."

He looked up and recognition washed over his face. "My only fan," he drawled in a British accent. The man slowly sauntered toward her and took her hand. "Pleasure to meet you again, Mlle. Dupain-Cheng," Adrien Agreste said, before placing a kiss on the back of her hand. He met her gaze and winked.

—

(7 years earlier, London)

Sunlight streamed past the curtains into the dusty room. Clarridge's, as always, was a goldmine for some wonderful art. Too bad that this would be his final trip here. From what he heard through the grapevine, the revered auction house and its new chief auctioneer will be improving security ten-fold. He was fortunate that he had quite the rapport with one of the art curators. A lovely woman, he mused.

He slid the knife carefully under the canvas. A 200-year old painting deserved the most tender care in the world. He loosened it from its current home. Some fool thought to overshadow the masterpiece inside of this garish frame. He chuckled; he would give it a much better home.

A crash at the door distracted him. He reached for the small pistol at his side. Not an elegant weapon, but a grifter could never be too careful.

"Freeze!" A feminine voice shouted. He turned with his gun and was pleasantly surprised. A younger woman wrapped in a red polka dot coat with striking blue eyes pointed her own weapon at him. Was that a hint of a French accent he detected? "Get away from my client's property," she said icily. The woman stepped closer to him, her heels not clacking like the other women in the auction house. This woman wore boots that she could run in; more likely, to chase.

"Oh no, how unfortunate. A lucky little ladybug is here to protect her prize. Whatever shall this black cat do?" He taunted her.

She did not react how he would have liked, such as dropping the weapon. Instead, she trained it on him. "Chat Noir, I presume."

His reputation preceded him. Maybe he was luckier than he imagined. "So you know me?"

Now it was her turn for a smile, and it was the unholy mixture of dazzling and terrifying. "I do know you. You've had more aliases than anyone can count. By my count, you've done nearly every grift in the book. The infamous Chat Noir is a ghost that will steal from anyone with money."

"Knowledge like that is a warning sign. I'll give you one more." Chat aimed for her shoulder and fired off one shot. She clutched it immediately. It was simply a distraction. An artful thief like him preferred to leave no blood evidence of his presence. A rubber bullet did the same job for him as a real one.

He felt the pain in his own shoulder before he registered the sound of the shot. His wound, unlike hers, was real. The smoke and dust danced in between them as they both pressed against their wounds. Hers would leave a bruise, while his would scar. How poetic.

The woman re-holstered her gun and withdrew a handkerchief. Gently, she removed his hand from his shoulder and quickly replaced it with the handkerchief. He was surprised there were not guards flocking to the sound of gunshots in the Clarridge's basement. Yet that was a passing thought; most of his thoughts were spent in puzzling out this woman in front of him. First she shot him, and now she tended to his wound.

As if she could read his thoughts, she lifted her gaze to meet his. He looked once again into those striking eyes. He likened them to bluebells he had once seen in the Lake District as a child.

She spoke softly. "I don't know everything about you, Chat Noir, but you should know one thing about me. I do not want your enmity nor your rancor. I simply responded in kind to your, how did you say, warning."

"What is your name, Ms. Ladybug?" He whispered. She shook her head and replaced her hand with his. She left her handkerchief to stop the flowing of the wound. It was more of a nick than a scratch, but he appreciated her care.

"Stay out of trouble, kitty," she cheekily warned as she left him in the dusty basement.

Chat Noir lifted the handkerchief and examined it. There was a bloodstained monogram in the corner.

MDC

He returned the cloth to his wound. He would find a way to return it to her one day, he vowed.

—

"The pleasure is mine, Adrien," she said firmly. "Or should I introduce you as Chat Noir?"

The moment she said his alias, Chloé, Nino, and Alya gasped simultaneously. Of all the grifters in the world, Marinette was recruiting the most infamous of them all. Every criminal worth their salt reveled in the Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir. After their initial meeting in London, Chat Noir spread word of his little moniker for her. Once he did, the criminal world was on the lookout for Ladybug the thief-catcher. He made her into a legend to be feared. In return, she spent a good portion of her career thwarting thieves and figuring out his true name. After all they had shared, it was all she could do.

"I'm a citizen now." Adrien held his hands up. "Honest."

Marinette tucked a lock of her hair back and met his green gaze. "I'm not."

Both his brows raised in surprise. "You're playing my side now?"

She nodded. "Are you in?"

He stared at her for a few seconds. She wondered what he thought of what he saw. Wondered if he saw the bags under her eyes from the last year of drinking. The scar hidden under her bangs from the fire. The weight of the past sitting on her shoulders.

Adrien nodded. "I wouldn't miss this for the world." He took her hand and squeezed it. "Good seeing you again, milady."

Refusing to seem flustered in front of the team, Marinette steeled her nerves and faced the rest. "Okay, let's go break the law just one more time!" Chloé rolled her eyes and began strutting away from the alley. Nino sighed and followed. She didn't have a key to his apartment, and from his short experience of Chloé, he did not want to replace a broken door. Luckily, the theater was a few blocks away from home base.

Alya hung around for a few seconds. She debated whether or not to leave Marinette alone with this man. Chloé may barely trust her, but Alya judged Marinette on their own interactions. It was obvious there was a past between Marinette and Adrien. He was still holding her hand, for instance, and she let him. She almost left them alone when she heard the low rumble of thunder.

"Let's go back to Nino's?" Alya suggested. Both Marinette and Adrien jolted out of their reverie and nodded. Alya turned around and quirked her lips a little. Maybe one day, she could get the full story out of Adrien. He seemed more than willing to tell tales.

—

When they entered the apartment, Nino whisked Adrien away for a tour of the apartment. He pointed things out animatedly and explained all of his equipment. Adrien, to his credit, followed Nino without resistance.

Marinette softly smiled at that. Nino was still a kid compared to the rest of them. Adrien was not a good influence in the least, but he was better than any other man in his life. Better than most men, if she had to admit to herself.

She returned her attention to the papers on the kitchen island. Somewhere in here was the perfect way to take Gabriel Agreste down a peg. And if she could have some peace, maybe she would find it sometime before Fashion Week.

Bang! Slam! Shut!

Alya was making a racket in the kitchen. She opened up every cupboard and drawer. "There's nothing to eat in here." She pouted at Marinette. "Tell Nino to order in."

She opened her mouth to argue when Chloe walked through the door with multiple grocery bags. "I refuse to eat pizza for dinner again." She shoved the bags into Alya's arms. "Unpack these." Chloé heaved a sigh and took off her sunglasses.

The thief scrunched her face when she saw what Chloé brought back with her. She withdrew packets of meat, cheeses, and bread. "None of this is cooked. What good is it right now?" She asked.

Chloé removed her coat and tied her hair out of her face. "I'm going to make dinner. If you're hungry, you can eat it or leave it." She eyed Marinette and her papers. Marinette took the hint and removed herself to the coffee table. At least there she wouldn't be part of this fiasco. Before she settled on the couch, she poured herself a glass of scotch. Sip. The whisky left a trail of fire in her throat.

She peered over her shoulder to watch the girls. Chloé stood at the island and chopped onions. Alya reached for a cube of cheese and was rewarded with a smack on the hand. "Don't touch that! What, were you raised in a cave?" Chloé grunted. Her harsh words didn't affect Alya at all. Instead, she swiped a piece of bread and stuck her tongue out. Chloé rolled her eyes.

Marinette chuckled over her glass. She could feel Chloé's glare boring through the back of her head. "I didn't know you could cook," she said back to the kitchen. The Chloé she knew in school would not even boil water. This Chloé was rougher around the edges. Not meaner necessarily; only different. Their interactions over the last decade were sporadic. Before, she was the thief-chaser. Now everything was off kilter, and Marinette simply adapted to reach equilibrium.

"Some of us have changed from childhood, Dupain-Cheng." Her growl carried through the room. "I can do more than shop and bust heads you know."

Her words struck a chord in Marinette. She put her papers down and turned around. "Really?"

Chloé picked up the chef's knife in her right hand. "Hold a knife like this, and you can dice onions." She twirled the knife into a different position. "Hold a knife like this, and you can cut, like, 8 Yakuza in ten seconds. Knives are like people and require context."

Alya smiled at the display and grabbed another piece of bread while Chloé was distracted.

Nino and Adrien returned from the apartment tour. "Whoa, dudes, that smells pretty good. Even better than my Nana's cooking!" Nino exclaimed, while Adrien sat down next to Marinette.

"Quite a team you've gathered here."

"They're not my team."

Adrien grinned at her and scooted closer. "You may think so, but they think differently." He nodded toward Nino. "He thinks you're some kind of mastermind."

"And what did you say?" She asked, curious to hear what he had to say.

"Dinner's ready!" Alya poked her head between them.

Marinette jumped away from both Adrien and Alya. Gently, she placed the papers back in their folder and rose. "Excellent." She ignored the warmth that was slowly dissipating from her right side. Adrien's side.

As she washed up, she sighed. Bringing Adrien on was not a mistake. It might have been the best choice she made in a long time. Yet at the same time, Marinette knew that the infamous Chat Noir always had a trick up his sleeve. Nino, Chloé, and even Alya; she understood how each of them worked, what they could do. For Adrien, she knew what he could do. The problem was that she never pinpointed why he did it. Any of it.

It was an uncertainty she could not afford.