Chapter Thirteen: Shirt

Ladybug is not pleased when she finds out Chat Noir has been hiding an injury from her. She is even less impressed when she finds a blood-stained shirt in Adrien's locker.

"Ladybug, can I ask you a question?"

"Hm?" Ladybug only partly-opened eyes that she had closed to better enjoy the faint strains of jazz music drifting over the distant hum of traffic. Catching a glimpse of the city lights spread like a field of stars from beneath half-closed lids, she savoured the feel of a soft breeze wafting against her cheek.

It had been a quiet patrol. Though they had covered their assigned route as diligently as ever, they hadn't gone to the extra effort of scouring deserted backstreets for people in distress, or following the sound of sirens to possible situations - there had been none to follow. Paris was calm, and all seemed right in the world.

They were certainly not disappointed by how unneeded they were tonight. This was how things usually were in the wake of a recent akuma attack. There would likely be a few days of quiet, as if Papillion was pacing himself. Perhaps he led a civilian life as hectic as their own - well, Ladybug knew hers was hectic - and so spaced out his forays into super-villainy, fitting them into his daily routine at times when he could best slip away unnoticed. If only they had such a luxury themselves. They didn't choose when they went into battle, they could only be reactionary - a fact she couldn't help resenting (as if she needed more reasons to despise their arch-nemesis).

Of course, more conventional emergencies that might require the assistance of superheroes had no rhyme or reason; but tonight, they hadn't had any of those, either. With their routine night-trek across Paris coming to an uneventful end, they had taken an early break, lounging against the slope of a rooftop while they waited to see if anything would happen. When nothing did, it became a rare opportunity for them to relax - really relax, away from the pressures of home and school and homework and concealment and making excuses to both her parents and her best friend as to why she couldn't wasn't available for a gaming marathon/Skype session. There were often times when Marinette wished she wasn't Ladybug, hated having to deal with the constant stress and the burden of responsibility that rode on her slim young shoulders. Then there were times like tonight, when her other identity allowed her to run away from it all - for a while, at least. The mask allowed her to become someone else; and though that person certainly had a whole other set of obligations, she also had her own inimitable brand of freedom.

Ladybug stretched her limbs, revelling in how she could still feel a faint warmth from the sun-soaked tiles against her back, while the night air was not yet cool enough to chill her through her suit. How many people got to enjoy these kinds of sensations?

Well, Chat Noir, for one. She wondered if he also reveled in the way his mask gave him a temporary escape from his civilian life. It was hard to imagine him doing anything other than breezing through his studies and after-school chores with his signature wit and savoire-faire; then again, given the way he swung from drainpipes and performed hand-springs atop tv-aerials for the sheer sake of it, he seemed to wring every possible bit of enjoyment from his transformation. Given the long hours they had spent together on patrols - including some that had been far more exciting than this one - and routinely relying on each other in the midst of battle, it was nice to also share less-frenetic moments like this with him.

So long as he didn't spoil it by making a bad joke.

"You're not going to ask 'what colour are black cats in the dark', are you?" she replied with her own question - or rather, with one of his own past questions. "Or 'what was bugging the ladybug?' I've heard those ones plenty of times before."

"No, I really do have an actual question for you."

Ladybug did open her eyes now; she sat up, turning to properly look at her partner. He was perched on the edge of the roof with his legs dangling, one arm casually folded across his body, the other with bent elbow resting upon the concrete ledge that bordered a chimney, his head propped in his hand. His eyes gleamed out of the darkness, looking strangely phosphorescent as they reflected the glow of the streetlamp below them. His mouth was set in a straight line, and his expression was remarkably serious.

"What is it?" she asked, her senses suddenly on high alert. She had seldom seen him look so grave; and then, only during the most perilous situations in which they had found themselves.

His eyebrows drew up a fraction. "Oh, nothing's wrong. I was just wondering about something."

She heaved a sigh that was equal-parts exasperation and relief. "Geez, don't startle me like that!" The tension left her slender frame as she rose and moved to sit next to him, enjoying the thrill of swinging her legs back forth in empty space, knowing that she could easily catch herself if she slipped - and wouldn't likely slip. "Okay, what is it?"

"How does your 'Miraculous Ladybug' work?"

She was startled again, simply because it was not the kind of question she had been expecting from him. Something personal, something humorous (well, meant to be humorous), something flirtatious that earned him a stern bop on the nose; those were the kinds of things he usually asked.

"You're sure nothing's wrong?" she pressed. Was he indirectly asking her if she could fix something? If he was in some sort of trouble-

"No, not at all," he assured her. "I've just been puzzling over it."

"You and me both." She turned for a moment to admire the light radiating from the top of the Eiffel Tower, illuminating the skyline with its whirling strobe. "Your guess is as good as mine. I think it re-uses the magic that goes into creating a Lucky Charm, and undoes any damage it comes across. I have no idea what it's made of, though. I mean, I've seen it up-close twice now, when we battled Chronogirl and Pixellator; it kind of looked like it was made out of a swarm of glowy ladybugs, but it couldn't possibly-"

"No, I don't mean like that." He hunch forward slightly, shifting more comfortably into his perch. "I mean, how does it fix some things, but not others? With Chronogirl, it fixed that girl's watch, even though the fact that it broke was what turned her into an akuma to begin with. You hadn't even transformed at that point, had you?"

"No, I, uh... don't think I had." She knew for a fact that she hadn't, though she couldn't outright tell him that. She had indirectly been responsible for breaking the watch, along with Adrien and Alya, and especially Chloe. For a few minutes just after it had been broken, she had been trying to comfort Alix, offering to help her fix the watch as her civilian self. True, she had considered transforming and using her Lucky Charm on it, until her father's phone call had distracted her; Papillion's butterfly must have floated right past her on its way to its host.

"Other times," Chat went on, "I've de-transformed and walked past cracked shop windows, dinged-up cars and toppled trashcans that were directly caused by the akuma, but not fixed afterward."

"Is this your way of telling me that I'm not doing my job properly?" she asked, a little testily. She still had no idea where he was going with this.

"N-no," he quickly assured her, looking as if he might be metaphorically placing his foot in his own mouth. "I was... just curious."

"Don't be," she joked, giving him a nudge with her elbow that made him flinch. "You know what they say about curiosity and cats!"

Levity aside, she supposed that it was a fair query. She was curious herself about how these things worked. They hadn't really ever had a proper discussion about their respective abilities - not since their very first outing as heroes, when they had both been trying to figure out how to use said abilities for the very first time. Come to think of it, she hadn't ever really asked Tikki about the powers that the kwami bestowed - she was always far too busy taking them for granted in battle, or pretending as best she could that she didn't have them the rest of the time. Still, Chat might not share her love of ignorance. Perhaps he had grilled his own kwami for details, knew how his Cataclysm worked inside-out (better than the first time he tried to use it, at any rate!) and wanted to know how her powers functioned, too. She was slightly embarrassed by how little she understood of them. She had given it some consideration, though she hadn't yet gone to Tikki for confirmation of her theories.

"As far as I can tell," she began, putting her supposition into words for the first time, "'Miraculous Ladybug' seems to function according to my own awareness. That is," she added, since he was looking at her with a mixture of interest and confusion, "it fixes the things that I will it to, whether it was caused by the akuma or not. Like the watch: it was, uh, pretty clear from how the akuma was talking, that her whole reason for being possessed was to try to undo the damage to her watch. I guess I must have subconsciously instructed 'Miraculous Ladybug' to fix it for her, since I was aware that it was the root of the problem. If she had still been upset about it after the akuma had been purified, Papillion might have been able to get at her all over again; to prevent an identical incident, it made sense to fix the watch up, even though it hadn't actually been broken during the attack."

"You did the same with Buzz Saw," he pointed out.

"Yes, that's right."

The akuma they had fought a few days ago had been a master wood-carver, whose competitors had ruined his business by purposefully infesting his store with termites. The poor man had been so grief-stricken when he saw his craftsmanship and his livelihood destroyed by insectoid invasion, he had been manipulated by Papillion into becoming 'Buzz Saw', a villain armed with carpentry tools, who set about attacking anyone unfortunate enough to be in the vicinity of his store. Ladybug had been subjected to some very close encounters with more pointy objects than she ever wanted to see for the rest of her defeating him with the help of her Lucky Charm (a pepper-grinder), she had taken care to use her Miraculous Ladybug to repair every single stick of furniture that had been eaten by termites (ironic, that a Ladybug should be the one to undo the destruction caused by other bugs). The grateful old man had actually cried tears of joy when he saw that she had restored his work, thanking her repeatedly before she was forced by her beeping earrings to leave the scene. A few days later, walking by the shop out-of-costume, she had seen an elegant wood-carved figurine of a girl with pigtails standing in pride of place inside the shop window. She had nearly tripped over the curb as she stared at it, it was so beautiful (and made her blush so hard).

"So, 'Miraculous Ladybug' basically cures whatever you tell it to?" Chat Noir asked.

"I guess so," she agreed, wishing Tikki was there to give them more a definite answer. "I mean, it's not like I have to mentally picture every single fallen brick in a damaged building, or every single item that got smashed by an akuma, in order for it to work. The magic seems to take care of the really obvious damage of its own accord. For extra things, though, like the watch and the furniture, I think I have to actively will it to work."

"I see," Chat said, nodding thoughtfully.

She wasn't sure if he was genuinely interested by her answer, or just being polite. She smirked, thinking of a related incident which would probably amuse him. "The opposite is also true. After we defeated Dark Cupid, I came across a girl - Chloe Bourgeois, you know, the mayor's daughter?"

"Yes, I know her," Chat Noir affirmed, with a wry smile. Ladybug grimaced along with him - Chloe was pretty memorable, for all the wrong reasons!

"Well, apparently she got a signed picture of the boy she liked for Valentine's Day, and she was rubbing it in the faces of a crowd of lonely, broken-hearted girls outside her apartment."

"Cruel," Chat Noir commented, shaking his head in disapproval. "It's a wonder she didn't cause another akuma with that!"

Ladybug winced at the thought of poor Kim's humiliating picture - Chloe had created one akuma that day, which was one too many! She didn't dare mention to Chat - much as she trusted him not to laugh or judge her - that the photo had been of the boy she liked; she had been just as likely as any of those girls to be akumatized by Adrien's signed declaration of love. Or would have been, if she could believe that Chloe had gotten that signature without having to resort to some sort of trickery.

She knew that though Chloe might have eyes that were almost as blue as the skies, she certainly didn't have jet-black hair.

"Well, she soon got her comeuppance," Ladybug went on, grinning to herself in anticipation of the story's moral. "Her best friend got hit by Dark Cupid's arrow, and one of the things she did under its influence was to vandalize the picture, drawing on it in red pen - goatee, devil-horns, bushy eyebrows, fake scar, the whole lot!"

She paused to allow Chat - and herself - time to laugh, though the damage done to a picture of Adrien had been nothing short of a travesty. Chat seemed to subconsciously agree; he stopped laughing and tried to look serious after only a few guffaws. Really, what was with this new conscientious attitude?

"I didn't know about it until I went past after the battle was over," she finished explaining, "so my powers didn't fix it."

"Oh, that makes sense," Chat Noir said, as if this had fully answered his query.

She eyed him thoughtfully. "Hey, if you ever see any damage that I might have missed, you should tell me before I cast 'Miraculous Ladybug', okay? Then I can fix it all in one go and not have to find out after the fact, when it's too late to repair everything. How about that last battle? Did Buzz Saw destroy anything that I didn't know needed fixing?"

"N-not that I'm aware of," Chat hastily replied, "but it's good to know, for future reference."

She regarded him with a raised eyebrow, intrigued by this whole conversation. Now that he mentioned it... "Hey, I have a few questions I'd like to ask you!" If they were going to have a sharing session, they might as well make it mutual - though her questions were far more trivial, if no less perplexing. "For starters, how do those ears and tail of yours even work? The ears I kind of get, they actually allow you to hear things, so it makes sense that they can move; but what's with the tail? It seems to serve no practical purpose whatsoever, yet it has a mind of its own!"

He chuckled as he got to his feet, moving cautiously alongside the sheer five-storey drop their seats overlooked. "Sorry, my Lady, us cats can be very secretive creatures. Speaking of tails, though, I'd better high-tail it before I stay out too late and turn into a pumpkin."

He swivelled to face her, dipping his customary bow. "Good-night, my Lady, enjoy the rest of your..."

Mid-way through his sentence, he abruptly dove off the side of the building.

For a split-second, Ladybug thought he was just joking around, pretending to fall from the roof. However, she quickly realized that a) he would never just stop talking like that, b) he wouldn't jump from such a height without doing several somersaults to impress her, and c) he hadn't taken his baton from his belt before he lurched into empty air, something even he was never foolhardy enough to do.

She had suspected something about him had been slightly off all night; suddenly, she was more suspicious than ever.

"Chat Noir...?"

She reacted quickly, getting up into a crouch while he still teetered beside her. When he overbalanced and began to plummet without another word, she was already reaching for the yoyo at her hip. If he was alright, he wouldn't mind if she reeled him back in; she had done it before and he had just laughed at it, joking about the efficiency of her elevator service.

She flung the weighted end after him, watched it encircle his torso before he had a chance to fall very far; once she was sure she had snared him, she drew in the slack of her cord, tightening the loop around him-

His anguished cry seemed to echo throughout the entire city.

She had never heard him shout like that, had never heard anyone make such a horrible noise. His yell was so obviously raked with raw pain, it shook her nerves and caused her to fumble; a length of cable slipped through her fingers before she managed to grasp it again, causing her to unintentionally pull him up with a sharp jerk.

His cry petered out, replaced by an eerie silence that was far more alarming.

Bearing his full weight on arms that quivered, she held onto the line with fingers rapidly cramping, the cable digging into them uncomfortably even through her gloves. There was no way she was going to complain about it, nor even contemplate letting go. She tottered to the edge of the roof, carefully craning to look over the side without overbalancing. She couldn't see him well from this angle, couldn't tell if his eyes were open or not; but he was hanging limply, like a bit of bait dangling on the end of her line, not moving a muscle.

Cursing under her breath, she braced herself against his weight as best she could, putting up with the increasing pain in her back muscles through gritted teeth. Staggering a few steps towards the nearest chimney, she gave up any idea of trying to anchor the cord around it; she wouldn't manage it before she was forced to let go.

She had originally intended to raise him back up, but lowering him down now seemed to be the safer option. Letting out more cord as smoothly as she could to avoid jolting him again, she carefully set him down. Every so often, she leaned out to see how much farther he was from the ground; at last she felt her line ease, knowing that he rested upon solid earth. She quickly disentangled the line from around him, retracted it, and lowered herself after him.

"Chat-!"

She took a few steps towards him, came to a sudden halt, and clamped both hands over her mouth to keep from screaming out loud.

Usually, when she saw a random splash of her signature red - on street-signs, swathing manikins in boutique windows, as a lone umbrella wandering through the rain - it filled her with an irrational sense of pride. Now, she felt only horror as she gazed at the crimson puddle that was swiftly pooling beneath her partner's inert frame.

Overcoming her shock with an effort, she propelled herself towards him. She was thankful that they were away from the more residential areas of the city; they were surrounded by offices and businesses that would likely be empty at this time of night.

"Chat Noir!" she called out again, throwing herself on her knees beside him and tapping his cheek as hard as she dared, hoping it would rouse him.

His head lolled weakly, he didn't stir. His eyes were closed and he was unnaturally still. It scared her almost more than the blood; she had seen him napping many times before after a particularly tiring patrol, but even then he had been persistently active, pouting his lips and scrunching up his eyes in his sleep, the tip of his tail twitching lazily in time with his breath. Even the tail now appeared to be lifeless, looking far more like the belt that it really was. She noticed that his face was very pale, and not just compared to his dark mask; there was an anemic look about him, contrasting sharply with the pool of blood that trickled out of his suit, growing steadily beneath his right hip.

She bent over him, hovering with her face close to his so she could feel for his breath against her bare left-cheek (her gloves made using her hands for this task utterly useless). She was reassured when she felt a faint whisper against her suddenly-clammy skin; his breath was shallow, but there.

Next, she turned her attention to the site of the bleeding itself. What on earth could have caused it? The edge of her yoyo's cable wasn't sharp enough to cut with so little force, especially not through the impenetrable fabric of his suit. Unless he had landed on something when she had lowered-

Oh no.

Ladybug swore long, vehemently, and silently to herself.

That was what the questions had really been about, that was why he had asked her how 'Miraculous Ladybug' worked. He had been questioning her about it for this, sussing out whether she could heal him or not. But if his injury had been caused by their last akuma, that had been-

Days ago. Buzz Saw had happened several days ago.

She remembered now: when they had engaged him in close-combat, Buzz Saw had repeatedly swung his namesake blades at them. At one point, she had been backed up in a corner of the trashed store with no space to dodge. Before her opponent could come in for the kill, Chat Noir had swung at him as a distraction, giving her time to escape. The villain had lashed out at him next; she recalled his yelp of surprise as the blades had passed dangerously close to him, actually rending his suit. But he had seemed fine afterwards, swinging his staff with enough force to knock a flying buzz-blade out of the air and embed itself in a set of shelves instead of cutting her in half, as its wielder had intended. She had made a point of repairing his shredded suit when she had cast her Miraculous Ladybug; she had even made a quip about excessive tailoring, and he had replied with some stupid joke about it being a 'close shave'.

She'd had no idea... if she had known that it wasn't just the suit, that underneath it, he... he was...

She pushed aside the lump of crushing regret that was pressing against her ribs, making her heart pound in agony as if in penance. It was far too late to go back and do things differently. Pulling herself together with what was left of her battle-hardened nerves, she focused instead on finding a current course of action. She was ashamed to admit that she didn't have a very good knowledge of first aid. Should she de-transform and ask Tikki for guidance? But then she would have to explain Marinette's presence to Chat if he came round; and there was no way she could get him to help without the aid of her suit. Besides, crowded emergency rooms and nosy doctors were best avoided - even if it looked like he desperately needed a hospital.

Before deciding what she would do next, she really should examine the damage and properly evaluate the situation. Steeling herself, she reached for the bell at her partner's collar, tugged on it firmly-

Nothing happened.

She pulled on the zipper a little harder, but it wouldn't budge. Trying to roll back the edge of the fabric to see if it was jammed, she made a worrying discovery: the suit was stuck to his flesh and resisted all attempts to remove it. She recalled what had happened back when Alya had been akumatized and Lady Wifi had tried to take off her mask: her face had nearly come with it, the material magically bonded to her skin. His suit must be the same, and therefore couldn't be taken off, not even unzipped - not without his conscious approval. And he was currently unconscious, would be for the foreseeable future...

Rubbing her head, she cast around desperately for options. His hand, lying limply by his side, caught her eye. Could she use his claws to slash open his own suit? She doubted she could do it without accidentally gouging him in the side, on top of whatever injuries he already had. Now that she looked more closely, she noticed a tiny scrap of black fabric caught on the tip of one of his claws. He had been clutching his side all night, she realized, now that she looked back on it with what she had since discovered; he must have torn the fabric with his claw just before he fell. Clearly his suit could cut itself, but her costume wasn't equipped with any-

She wanted to slap herself on the forehead for being so slow, just when time was absolutely of the essence. Her suit didn't have what she needed, but it would, if she chose to provide herself with it!

"Lucky Charm!"

She hoped her yoyo wouldn't supply her with a rubber duckie, or a spirit-level, or a scented candle, or something equally unexpected, however useful it might be - not at a time like this. She wanted something straight-forward and able to cut! Scissors, forceps, a scalpel even-

A seam-ripper dropped into her hand. Okay, that would do. Not her first choice, but it certainly was designed for taking apart clothes. She probably would have had one on her in her civilian identity, depending on which sewing kit she had slipped into her purse that morning.

She wasted half a minute searching for a seam in his suit to rip. Finally locating one that ran along his side, she inserted the hook at the point of his hip and sliced upwards, taking care not to get distracted by her earrings' first beep, making sure she didn't dig too deep and accidentally stab him. In any other instance, she might have examined the stitches themselves with interest; they didn't appear to be made from any kind of normal thread, but they held the panels of his outfit together very tightly, gleaming with a similar sheen to the rest of his suit. However indestructible they were supposed to be, she was thankful that her Lucky Charm parted them easily. Reaching almost to his armpit with the tear she had made, she was relieved to find that his suit was in two pieces, the end of his jacket concealed by his belt. Untucking the hem, she grasped the fabric and found that it now easily peeled back-

She rocked back on her heels, jamming the heels of her hands against eyes she had snapped shut to block out the sight. She bit down on her lip, the taste of blood mixing with the metallic scent already on the air, making her feel even more nauseous. A sob accompanied the bile that had risen in her throat; she swallowed both, only knowing that her gloves were wet when she felt tears sliding over the edge of her mask onto her cheek.

Stupid, stupid, stupid idiotic cat!

Why hadn't he said anything?! He had gone through patrol, running over rooftops and careening around like he always did, with that gaping, festering gash across the right side of his abdomen!

How had he managed to act so normal? No wonder he had been cradling his ribs all night, had quickly stopped laughing when it caused him pain. He had shifted away from her when she playfully jabbed him with her elbow. His cries from when she had broken his fall still resonated loudly in her ears; her yoyo cable must have wrapped around the wound and pressed into it as it tightened.

She rested her forehead against her bent knees, fighting back more tears, brought on by shock and dismay, and - yes, a good deal of anger. She was angry at herself for unwittingly hurting him, angry at him for letting himself get in this sort of state.

Even before tonight's incident, he must have been nursing that wound all week, going through school and home-life and whatever else he usually did, without anyone knowing he was in terrible pain all the while. Why had he just put up with it? Why hadn't he gone for treatment? Why hadn't he asked her for help?! She had been right there when they defeated the akuma, Lucky Charm poised and ready to toss in the air; at a whispered word from him, she could have healed him in an instant, without anyone ever being the wiser! Or at the start of patrol tonight - he could have told her then, instead of simply taking up the challenge when she had proposed a race from the Arc de Triomphe to the Trocadero.

All that time, he must have been in agony... and he had never said anything...

Another shrill beep cut through her inner diatribe. She had to use 'Miraculous Ladybug' to heal him quickly, before her transformation ran out!

She groped around for the seam-ripper that had slipped from her hand, cursing when it skittered through her fingertips; she was furious to discover that her hands were shaking. After far too long she managed to get a grip on it, flinging it up into the air as fast as she could.

"M-Miraculous Ladybug!"

For the first time ever, she faltered over the words. She hoped it wouldn't affect the potency of the spell. Though she well-knew exactly what she wanted to fix, she willed extra hard for him to be healed. It had worked when she had restored her own pixellated limbs; surely it would work now... it just had to...

The seam-ripper rose in the air as if in slow-motion; then it turned into a single ribbon of magical energy that zipped straight for Chat Noir, encircling his waist with a glowing sash of light. It faded as quickly as it had come, leaving the alley dark and dingy-looking after its brilliance. The pool of blood was gone, as was the opening in his suit; she couldn't tell if the cut was healed, now that the fabric had closed over it. She held her breath, watching worriedly with her heart pounding fit to burst, waiting for some signs of life...

He frowned, brow crinkling above the line of his mask, and emitted a low groan. His eyes slowly opened, widening slightly as they focused on the face that hovered directly over his. He regarded her calmly, gaze still bleary with sleep.

"Hey, Buginette," he greeted her, as if nothing untoward had happened. "Is it morning already? I didn't mean to become Sleeping Beauty, though I am pretty stunning. I certainly won't complain if you just woke me up with a ki-"

He stopped short when he noticed the roof they had been sitting on, which was now high above them; the cold cobblestones he was sprawled upon; the very angry expression on the Ladybug who was crouched beside him. His memory of what had happened just before he blacked out came rushing back.

"Oh," he said, softly.

"I think you mean 'Oh, no'." She somehow managed to keep her voice level, though it was clearly filled with suppressed fury.

"Uh..." He cast around for the least-offensive thing he could possibly say to her. "Did you... find out more about how 'Miraculous Ladybug' works?"

"I found out alright!" She was shouting at him now, all attempts at self-restraint forgotten; she honestly didn't care if anyone else could hear her or not. "I found out as I was healing the dirty great bloody gash across your stomach!"

"Oh," he laughed weakly, "that."

"Yes, that." She loomed menacingly over him; he shrank away from her the only way he could, trying to press himself down into the pavement. "Why did I only find out about that after you fainted mid-sentence and nearly fell to your death and bled out all over the place?!"

"Um... sorry?" he tentatively offered.

"Sorry?!" She was shrieking now; if she kept it up, she would soon be hoarse. "You should be sorry - sorry when I'm through with you! What were you thinking?! Why didn't you tell me?! You could h-"

"I didn't think it was that bad," he tried to defend. "Honest," he added, meeting her sceptical look with one that was earnestly pleading. "I mean, I knew that Buzz Saw managed to nick my suit, but I honestly thought that was the only thing he managed to take a slice out of. When 'Miraculous Ladybug' fixed the suit, I figured that was that, assumed the slight twinge was just a ghost-pain from what nearly happened. Turns out it was, uh, a bit more serious than I had realized. I only saw how bad it was when I got home, and you were long gone, probably un-transformed by then. I couldn't explain to anyone how I got wounded without raising suspicion, so I... took care of it myself. It didn't exactly seem life-threatening, and I calculated that Papillion wouldn't strike again for a while, so I should've had enough time to recover. I bandaged it up pretty good, I don't know why it didn't-"

"The bandages were gone," she informed him, in a tone that was still plainly nonplussed. "They must have disappeared when you transformed, along with the rest of your civilian clothes."

"Oh. Uh, right. That's... interesting." For perhaps the first time ever since she first met him, he looked slightly embarrassed.

For once, she was the one who wasn't afraid to get personal. "Why didn't you say something tonight, then? Did you think I would laugh at you, refuse to help you, blame you for letting yourself get injured? You know I'd never do any of those things! All you had to do was ask, it couldn't be any simpler; but you didn't even-"

"I didn't want to bother you," he sheepishly admitted, playing with the tip of his tail so he could look at it instead of her. "It was so long after the fact, and it seemed to be healing alright on its own, so I-"

"That. Did not. Look. Healed." Ladybug put a very dangerous-sounding emphasis on every syllable she uttered.

"Um, I suppose not..." Still eying her nervously as he scooted away from her over the cobbles, he clambered to his feet. He swivelled his torso from side to side, bending at the waist experimentally. He beamed when he wasn't induced to scream in agony, as he would have done ten minutes ago. "Well, your 'Miraculous Ladybug' sure worked this time! It definitely seems t-"

"Show me." When he looked at her blankly, she took a step toward him, gesturing at his zipper. "Show me that it worked."

"Uh... show... you...?" He eyed her as if she was a complete stranger to him all of a sudden. "D-do you really...? I-I mean, I may not be a leopard, but just like they never change their spots, this cat is a little shy about taking off his-"

"Show me," she demanded again, putting her hands on her hips and planting herself in the middle of the alley, as if to block off any chance of escape. "Right now." Her entire pose told him that she would not tolerate any more attempts to conceal anything from her - even if there was nothing there to hide.

"Um, okay..." With no other choice but to obey, expecting - or hoping - that she might change her mind at any moment, he slowly tugged on the bell at his throat. It slid down smoothly this time, revealing a sliver of pale skin. Not quite meeting her gaze, he nudged back the cloth the slightest bit, exposing the barest glimpse of toned solar plexus. "There, see? Nothing to worry ab-"

She strode over to him and wrenched his jacket open, eliciting an involuntary gasp of surprise - whether from the cold night air hitting his skin or her sudden assault on his modesty, it was unclear. She cast her gaze over the unblemished flesh on display, looking closer still when it showed no signs of recently-knit skin or faded scarring. She even ran her gloved fingertips over his abdomen to make absolutely sure; he flinched and gave a startled squeak at her touch, possibly out of ticklishness, possibly from... something else. The only blood visible on him was the deep colour that had rushed into his face.

"Thank goodness for that," she finally declared, releasing him and allowing him to hastily do up his jacket again.

"I'll say," he agreed with an entirely different sentiment, still blushing crimson. "Well, uh, all's well that ends well, I guess. I, um, meant it when I said it was getting late-" He was cut off by another beep from her Miraculous. "You need to leave, and I should-"

"Go home," she ordered, "and get some rest. You can't have been sleeping well for the past few nights, not with... that." Her eyes darted to his midriff again, then fastened on his face reproachfully. "I wouldn't be surprised if it was infected. If you still feel ill, or have any other-"

"I'm fine now," he attempted to reassure her. "Really. You're the best medicine I could have taken." He rubbed the back of his neck; he had acted bashful more times tonight than she had ever seen throughout their entire acquaintance. "Uh, thank you for fixing me up. And thank you for catching me when I fell, it was definitely better than falling to the-"

"You're welcome." Her tone didn't match her words; despite his best efforts to placate her, she was obviously still very mad. She looked at him searchingly for several long moments, then sighed. "Let's meet again tomorrow night, at our usual rendezvous point. If something like this should happen again... I'll give you a contact number, so you can call me for help whenever you need it. Even if there isn't an akuma around, you'll be able to find me, in case of emergencies."

He stared at her again, eyes wide, his expression caught somewhere between awe and alarm. "Uh... you don't have t-"

"I want to." She glared at him for emphasis; then her gaze softened without warning, and she hastily looked away from him. "W-we should get going. See you tomorrow, at the usual place."

"Uh, yeah." He reached out toward her, thought better of it, and turned the gesture into a tentative wave. "See you then, my Lady. And thanks again."

Extending his baton, he pushed off from the ground, turned in a flurry of somersaults - likely designed to show her just how fit he was - and disappeared over the pitch of the nearest roof.

As soon as he was gone, she drew in a shuddery breath, then took off and tore towards home, sprinting as if every akuma they had ever fought and Papillion himself were all breathing down her neck. Her earrings beeped shrilly again, telling her that she had little more than a minute to get back; but that wasn't the real reason she was running so hard. She was taking solace in the mindless urgency of it, welcoming the sting of cool night air as it dried the tears upon her cheeks. At this speed, she could pretend they were caused by the wind flying in her face.

Just in time, she leaped onto her balcony and buried her face in the cushion of one of the deckchairs, as her transformation unravelled. Her shoulders shook, a faint whimper trickling out of her throat; she burrowed deeper into the fabric, trying to smother out the sound of her own sobs.

She had never felt less like Ladybug, never felt less like she deserved to be Ladybug.

For once, Tikki's gentle nuzzling against her wet cheek didn't make her feel any better at all.

Marinette wandered distractedly into the locker room. She side-stepped a large cabinet that loomed ahead of her more out of practice than any real awareness, making her way towards her locker on autopilot.

She had been barely conscious of anything all day. How could she be otherwise, after the night she had just had? What little sleep she'd managed to get had been broken by fitful dreams. She kept jolting awake as she reached toward a non-existent Chat, trying to grab him and stop him from running away before she could heal him, chasing him as he slowly dripped blood all over Paris. Since the vision kept coming back to haunt her every time she closed her eyes, she began to welcome the wakefulness.

When she stumbled into class the next morning and Chloe made some unkind remark about the bags under her eyes being the size of portmanteau, she couldn't be bothered coming up with any kind of retort. Her usual excuse of having stayed up late working on a dress design seemed to satisfied Alya; though her best friend had done a double-take when Adrien said hello to them both as brightly as ever, and she had merely mumbled out a tired reply, even forgetting to stutter in her preoccupation.

Though Adrien usually took up almost every one of her waking thoughts, today she had an entirely different blonde boy on her mind.

All morning she'd been barely aware of which class she was in, let alone what she was being taught. When she had gone home for lunch, her mother, perturbed by her uncharacteristic silence, had hovered close, worriedly asking if she was being picked on by 'that Bourgeois girl' again.

During the walk back to school, Tikki had given her a serious talking-to. It was hardly the first lecture that her kwami had given her since they had gotten back from patrol last night; but it was the first that she had actually taken any notice of. Yes, she knew that Chat's injury was not her fault. Yes, she knew she couldn't really blame herself for neglecting a wound she hadn't even known about. Yes, it had been up to him to tell her about it and ask for her help. Yes, she knew that dwelling on it wasn't going to do her any good.

Knowing all of this didn't make her feel any less like she had somehow failed her partner.

By the time the school gates neared, she had agreed with Tikki that she needed to snap out of it - even if admitting it didn't immediately translate into reality. But she would make a concerted effort. When she got home, up until she had to go and meet Chat, she would try to redirect her thoughts toward the task she usually did best: obsessing over Adrien.

The previous day, she had started making sketches of her paramour in her art journal, documenting the thrilling new outfit he had just debuted at school. When he had clambered out of his chaffeur-driven sedan that morning, gone was the crisp white shirt that proclaimed him the charmingly-wholesome boy-next-door type. In its place was a sleek black biker-style jacket with a stiff collar and silver-trimmed epaulets. The sight of their resident fashion-god in this devilish new garment soon had every swooning female in the school recalling the bad-boy image made classic by James Dean (and several other icons they were too young to properly remember). He'd even seemingly adopted an attitude to match, side-stepping Chloe's usual morning hug and casually brushing off her typically-thoughtless invasion of his personal space. Much to the delight of all who witnessed it, the mayor's daughter had been left standing by the curb, looking equal-parts annoyed and enthralled by this rebellious new persona.

That wasn't all: the dark red t-shirt he wore beneath the jacket had made Marinette squeal internally, for reasons she couldn't explain to anyone - except Tikki, as she did volubly when they got back to her room. She had immediately snatched up her journal and begun to lovingly sketch an image of Adrien dressed in her signature super-heroine colours.

Here and now, wandering the empty school in a daze, it was kind of hard to remember what all the fuss had been about. Odd, to think that at this time on the previous day, her biggest worry had been scrounging for the exact shade of red that she needed among her pencils and markers. It was amazing how much her perspective had changed overnight. Now, after months of turning down Chat Noir's requests to get to know each other better outside of the masks, she was going to give him her phone number. In hindsight, she realized how irresponsible it had been to not allow themselves some means of getting in contact with each other when they were out of costume. It was a wonder something like this - or worse - hadn't happened to them already. Maybe, when the time was right and she had worked up sufficient courage, she would agree that they could fully reveal their civilian identities to one other. The privacy she had coveted for so long seemed so unimportant now.

She was painfully aware that there was something else that would be far, far worse for her to lose.

Dealing with that could come later. For now, her burnt-out mind was in desperate need of some distraction, as Tikki had suggested. In the turmoil of the previous night, her unfinished drawing of Adrien had been forgotten; she had intended to work on it some more after patrol, but her all-consuming passion for everything fashion- and Adrien-related had vanished after the evening's dramatic close. Now, with any attempts to concentrate on her homework well and truly out of the question, perhaps she could calm herself down by making more progress on the sketch. She would have to pick up a pencil at some point tonight anyway, to write down her number for Chat Noir.

Distracted as she was, she had gotten halfway across the quadrangle when she realized she didn't have her art journal in her bag, having to double-back to her locker in order to retrieve it. As she crossed the room, she automatically glanced across at Adrien's locker, even though it was closed and she had seen his car waiting for him outside. He was probably already-

She lurched to a halt mid-step, staring at that hallowed locker for an entirely different reason.

Something was poking out beneath the door of Adrien's locker. Something that looked like a scrap of fabric, something white. Mostly white. It might be some trick of the late afternoon sun, but in this light, it looked like... it almost looked like it was mottled with... with...

Red.

No. No, no no no, no, no...

She was imagining things. After the incident last night and how badly she had slept, she was starting to hallucinate, only thinking that she saw... Or if it was, then there had to be some explanation, perhaps an accessory to go with his new outfit, a custom colour newly introduced to the Agreste line hidden in his...

No, she knew what it really was. She just didn't want to admit it. This was far worse than she had imagined - even worse than her nightmares.

With an increasing sense of foreboding, she walked over to his locker. Reluctant to uncover what she knew she would inevitably find, she tentatively took hold of the scrap of white - fumbling for a part of it that didn't appear to be stained - and tugged.

The locker wasn't latched properly. It sprung open, dumping a bundle of white cloth into her arms.

She had stared at the back of this same shirt longingly every day since the start of the school year; there was no mistaking it. Just like there was no mistaking the gory red splotch that was daubed across its front, reaching across the right side from hem to in-seam. She knew exactly what the gash underneath it had looked like - in all too graphic detail.

She stood there rooted to the spot, numbly holding onto her find.

Him... it had been him... all this time, all this week, all through school and his scheduled extra classes and modelling and gym and fencing training for chrissakes... through all that, he'd had it, he must have... he'd been in such pain, and... and she had been right there, yet she hadn't even known...

The room was silent for several long moments. Then Tikki's voice said, in a long sigh of pity and compassion: "Oh, Marinette."

Before she could say anything more, she was interrupted by approaching footsteps, forcing her to dart back out of sight. Marinette was still too shocked to do anything other than stand there like an inanimate clothes-horse, her arms out straight and the blood-stained shirt dangling from them. There was no way she could snap out of her stupor in time to stuff it back out of sight and slam the locker shut.

It was fortunate for both of them that the person who came into view was the shirt's owner.

Adrien opened the door to the locker room, glanced around, and smiled warmly when he spotted her. "Oh, hey, Marinette. What are y-"

He broke off mid-sentence when he noticed the open locker behind her, then saw what she was holding. His eyes widened in horror, as if he had been caught concealing some evidence of murder. Which, perhaps he had - if it weren't better described as near-suicide.

"Um, I... uh-"

Whatever excuse he had been about to stammer out - an excessive use of lipstick at his latest photo shoot, a fight he'd lost with a ketchup bottle, early preparations for Halloween - it went unsaid; it would likely remain as much a mystery to him as it was to her, his mind too panicked to come up with anything credible at such short notice.

Before his mouth had time to reclaim any sort of functionality, it was disabled completely by her lunging at him and crushing herself against his chest. Latching onto the lapels of his jacket, she began to sob passionately into his red t-shirt.

Plagg had darted out of the way just in time to avoid her onslaught. Slipping from his hiding place and phasing out through the back of Adrien's shirt, he gazed resentfully at her for a moment, but couldn't hold a grudge... not when the girl his wielder kept mooning over was sobbing for him as if her heart would burst. He had no trouble finding Tikki, silently slipping in beside her. The two kwamis watched their partners through the open clasp of Marinette's purse.

"Uh... Marinette... You..."

Adrien's hands hovered up to ghost near her shoulders, stopped just short of patting her consolingly, and fell uncertainly to his sides again. Had the sight of the bloody shirt scared her? Could he still explain it away? Should he-

Marinette thwarted him all over again by pulling away from him without any warning, opening his jacket, wrenching up his t-shirt, and examining his bare skin through hastily blinked-back tears. Face heating up at this completely unexpected effrontery, he jumped when her fingertips gently traced the contours of his abdomen.

The touch was strikingly familiar. This time, it wasn't felt through a glove.

The realization of who she was slammed into him, knocking the breath out of him, as if her touch had been a violent punch to his gut. His heart seemed to squeeze painfully in his chest as Marinette dropped the fabric, buried her face in it again, and sobbed out a muffled whisper that thundered in his ears even louder than his own pulse.

"Stupid... you s-stupid, i-idiotic... stupid, stupid c-c-cat..."

It was her. Of course it was her.

Who else knew about his injury, except himself and Plagg? Who else would possibly know to check there, to make sure it had properly healed - just like she had already done the previous night? Who else... who else besides her would possibly care about him this much?

Without further hesitation, he stretched out his arms and enveloped her in a loose hug, resting his cheek against the top of her head so he could murmur into her hair. "It's alright, my Lady. This stupid cat is fine. You fixed me, remember? It's alright, you made it alright..."

She shook her head against his chest, scrunching up fabric that was already soaked. "No, it's n-not alright." She struggled to get the words out coherently between sobs. "All this w-week, it was you. You have b-been, you were injured... you were in p-pain, and I was right there... If I'd known, if I h-had only noticed, I c-c-could have..."

"Shh, no, no..." He made gentle shushing noises against the crown of her head. "It's my fault for not mentioning it when I had the chance. You told me so last night, and you were right. I'm a stupid idiotic cat, remember? You were fine, far better than fine; you helped me, when I finally let you. Blame your imbecile of a partner here for not helping himself."

Her shoulders finally stopped shaking, though she still snuffled faintly. "Fine, I will blame you," she said, with a hint of that stubbornness he knew and loved so well.

When she finally lifted her head to peer searchingly into his face, he wasn't prepared to see those familiar blue eyes so tragically bedewed with tears. Those tears were for him. Though he should regret ever causing her to shed them, he couldn't help but feel a little bit elated, as if his cure was now well and truly complete; he had a clean bill of health for sure now. It was her, and she cared enough to cry over him. It was far more than he deserved.

When she finally stopped crying enough to look at him properly, it hurt her to see those familiar green eyes beaming down at her, holding an admiration and gratitude that she did not warrant at all. To think that it had been those eyes that had been screwed up in pain, those eyes that had been forced closed... those eyes that might never have opened again...

He reached up to tenderly wipe away the tear that had trickled down her cheek. "Cheer up, Buginette. I prefer to see you you smile. It would make me - and you - feel much better if you did. You're my best medicine, remember?"

Though his words had been meant to hopefully elicit a grin from her, all he got was a pout. No, make that a glower. "You'll need treatment when I'm done, kitty cat; I'm not through with you yet." Her words came out in an angry, anxious growl; her sudden switch from one set of emotions to another was enough to give them both whiplash, but she couldn't help it, couldn't stop. She had worried about him far too much to hold back. "Of all the stupid stunts you could've pulled, you-"

"I know, I know," he said, giving her shoulders a placating squeeze which he savoured far more than he reasonably should. "You worry far too much on this alley cat's account. Though I certainly deserve any scolding you could give me, I can save you the effort. I've already been punished enough by seeing you so upset - and I'm bound to be punished some more, once my father sees that shirt."

"The shirt...?"

She pulled back to look at it, assessing the damage again. It looked downright gruesome. She realized, with an entirely new thrill of horror, that it had an Agreste insignia sewn into the collar - not a generic tag, but a craftsman's signature on a hand-made masterpiece, the like of which she had only ever seen before in magazines and books. This was a Gabriel original, and it was stained far beyond any means of repair. Freed from the fear of any physical harm done to him, she gulped at the thought of a priceless one-off garment so irredeemably ruined - and Mr Agreste would no doubt be very unhappy when he saw it.

"Yeah, the shirt," Adrien agreed, heaving a sigh and reluctantly dropping the hug as she took a step away from him. "My father thinks I've still been wearing it. If he finds out otherwise has been the case, he won't be happy. I'm not supposed to wear unapproved outfits in public, you see; but I couldn't let anyone see the, uh, marks on it, so... I had to put it back on when I left for school, with my bag over it-" he winced involuntarily at the memory of how his satchel had banged against the wound with every step he took down the mansion's lengthy staircase "-then quickly change into this other set of clothes in the backseat of the car before anyone at school could see it. Father will want the shirt back eventually; it is a prototype for his mid-season range, he'll need it for when it properly goes into production. If he sees those stains..."

He trailed off, cringing at the thought. Perhaps he would've been better off falling from the roof after all.

Marinette sniffed one last time, swiping the back of her hand across her tear-streaked face. She was rapidly learning that she could display an unexpected amount of boldness under pressure. In a very business-like, Ladybug-like voice, she said: "Let's change tonight's plans, kitty. Instead of meeting at the usual rendezvous, how about you come to my place instead?"

"Wha-?" Adrien was sure that his side was healed, though perhaps he had landed on his head when he fell from the roof. Something had to be messing with his hearing; he thought she had just said-

"My parents will be out," she added, confirming to his disbelieving ears that there had been no mistaking what she said. "If you can manage to sneak out as soon as you get home and come straight over, we should have enough time to get it done."

She only then seems to realize how he must have perceived the meaning of her words; face practically sizzling with the intensity of her embarrassed blush, she stammered an explanation. "Y-Y-You can c-clean up... I m-mean, you use our washing machine w-without anybody knowing!"

Marinette resolved to never, ever let Adrien do the laundry.

As soon as the thought formed itself, she realized that in order for Adrien to have any chance of doing their combined washing, they would have to be living together; and if they were living together, their friendship would have to be at an inter-personal stage where they were comfortable enough to wash and fold each other's, uh, intimates; and if they were that close, they would be- well, maybe it was better to just focus on the load of washing in front of her right this moment, before any grandiose ideas of co-habitation carried her far away from the task at hand.

The fact remained that he had no clue about fabric care - a shocking admission for someone descended from one of France's greatest fashion empires, even if it was unlikely that he had ever had to do his own laundering. He had gone to throw his white over-shirt and his red t-shirt into the same load, having obviously never seen any one of numerous cartoons where a full load of pink washing had comically resulted.

Marinette snatched his white shirt back to safety just in time, before he could pour a cap-ful of detergent directly over it. Holding it up before her and assessing the stains with a more dispassionate gaze than she had hitherto managed, she decided that the blood was far too much ingrained to get out with any amount of washing - or any other conventional means. Instead, she transformed into Ladybug, summoned a Lucky Charm - a bottle of liquid bleach - gave the stain a cursory spray, then threw the bottle into the air, the ensuing blast of pink light encircling the garment and clearing away the mark better than any cleaner could manage. It even smelled fresher, to boot.

Satisfied with the result, she de-transformed, only to find Adrien staring at her with his jaw dropped. Oh, yeah, he had only found out her identity that afternoon, and she had just transformed back and forth in front of him in quick succession without warning him first.

Not prepared to address any underlying implications of this, she focused on the clothes, nervously clearing her throat as she reached over to start the machine filled with his other shirts (he couldn't wash them in his own home, ahead of returning them to their rightful place, without risking his father finding out). "Uh, is that everything y-you needed washed, or...?"

"Oh. Oh, uh... I guess there's also..." After a moment's hesitation, he peeled off the red t-shirt he was currently wearing, sheepishly holding it out to her.

After everything she had already been through, she was not prepared for a shirtless Adrien Agreste standing in the back of her family's kitchen. She quickly averted her gaze, the fact that she had already insisted on seeing his bare torso - twice - now completely irrelevant.

"Uh- uh- uh- p-p-put this on!" she half-shrieked at him, holding out his now spotlessly-clean white shirt.

He did as he was told with a face almost as crimson as hers, carefully making sure every one of his buttons was done up, mumbling almost unintelligibly about having a spare t-shirt in his bag. She wandered dazedly back out into the shop almost before he had finished talking, stammering something about getting pastries for them to snack on while they waited for the wash-cycle to run. As she piled raspberry chouquettes onto a plate and grabbed a few mini-cheesecakes with tongs held in slightly-shaky hands (Plagg didn't help by hovering in front of her face, making sure she selected the 'cheesiest' ones) she somehow has the presence of mind to send Tikki upstairs, asking her kwami to take down all her posters of Adrien before he could go up and see them.

A few minutes later, the atmosphere around them was thankfully less awkward, though decidedly still rather... domestic.

While Tikki and Plagg lounged together on the rim of a plate which had held their shared selection of cheesecakes up until a moment ago, Marinette sat sewing in her desk chair, watching as Adrien, clad in his spare black t-shirt, lay on his stomach - the stomach she had repaired - upon her floor rug, doing a physics quiz while listening to an audiobook playing over a borrowed pair of pink headphones. Tapping his pen thoughtfully against the open page of his textbook, he snatched a jam-filled chouquette from the dish at his elbow and tossed it in his mouth, chewing contentedly.

Marinette smiled at her sewing, shaking her head to herself in amazement. If she had tried to describe any of this scenario to herself before this, she would not have believed. Besides the fact that Adrien Agreste was right here in her room, she had no idea how he managed to multi-task like this. She often listened to their assigned literature readings while she stitched, but she had never tried to do two lots of homework at once.

As if in answer to her thoughts, Adrien removed the headphones and rubbed his head. "For question 27, 'balance the equation NaBr + Cl = Na Cl + Br', I think I wrote 'things without all remedy should be without regard: what's done is done.'"

Marinette chuckled, her mind skimming through a selection of Shakespearean quotes for the right response. "At least it wasn't 'out, damn spot."

He grinned cheekily up at her. "Why would I tell you to get out of your own room, Spots?"

Flushing a little at this Chat-like display of humour coming from him, she managed to retort: "You'd better not, Whiskers, since I'm bothering to fix your shirt for you."

Adrien got to his feet with what she could now only describe as cat-like grace, padding over to watch her set the final stitch and expertly snap off the excess thread. "Did it need anything else done to it?"

She hummed thoughtfully before she replied, the small sound making his Miraculously-cured stomach do little flips, it was so cute! "I thought it could use an extra pocket for Plagg." She turned the shirt inside-out so he could better review her handiwork. "See, I added a piece of lining in an almost identical material. It spans these two panels and the opening is reversed, so if Mr Agr- er, your father looks it over, he isn't likely to notice the extra layer. There should be plenty of room in there for your kwami to-"

Before she could finish, Plagg floated over to investigate, a blob of cream cheese stuck to one of his whiskers, and wedged himself inside the spacious new pocket. He disappeared from view momentarily, then stuck his head out again to gaze smugly up at them, approval evident in his beady green eyes.

"Hey, it's pretty good, I guess," he purred, "but if you've got any more of those cheesy-cakes around, you might want to make it a few sizes b-"

"You are not going to use the privilege of knowing Ladybug's identity to scrounge free snacks," Adrien firmly interrupted him.

Plagg sunk dejectedly down in his pocket, muttering what sounded like "you and Tikki are allowed to do it."

Still reclining on the edge of the empty plate, Tikki lifted her tiny head and frowned in his direction.

"Hey, this is research," Adrien retorted, helping himself to another chouquette.

"Research how?" Plagg wanted to know; Marinette was likewise curious.

In answer, Adrien whipped a white handkerchief from his jeans pocket, showing off the lurid red stains that adorned it. "Tah dah!" When Marinette blanched visibly, he hastily added, "Don't worry, it's just jam."

"Geez, warn me that you're about do that!" Marinette railed at him, causing him to take a cautionary step back and hold up his handkerchief like a white flag of surrender. Much as she was affiliated with the colour red, she was getting more than a little sick of seeing it!

"Sorry." Adrien tucked the handkerchief away again, absently sticking one jam-tipped finger in his mouth and licking his lips like the cat that had got the cream. "But I had to do it in secret, in order to test it properly. I did it on my way in, when we walked through the store. I thought you might use your Lucky Charm on the shirt, so I stained the handkerchief on purpose, making sure I did it without you noticing. Your 'Miraculous Ladybug' didn't get rid of the mark, so you're right, the spell must only work on damage that you know about. Otherwise you'd think that it would fix-"

"You mangled a pastry in order to test my powers?" she demanded to know. She had notice him gazing at the trays of pastries on display as he walked in through the store, assuming that he was just admiring them. She felt slightly betrayed; she was proud of her parents' bakery and did not look kindly on her papa's handiwork being wantonly destroyed (even if they were made to be eaten).

He wore a guilty expression that would not have looked out of place on a fallen cherub. "I, uh, fully intended to buy the pastry that I maimed. I wouldn't have left it there, where it could have ended up going to another customer. Luckily for us both, you put it on the plate with the others; I recognized it and ate it first."

She managed to frown at him, despite how devilishly, deliciously roguish he looked, with a dab of raspberry clinging to the corner of his mouth. "No more experiments," she warned him, making her tone as stern as she could while gazing fixedly at his jam-smeared lips. "I've found out more than enough about what my powers can and can't do for the time being, thank you."

"Agreed," Adrien said meaningfully, touching his side as he carefully transferred a few stray crumbs from his notes to his napkin with his free hand. "Much as I'm a fan of Ladybug, right now I'm far more interested in Marinette's super-powers." He favoured her with a lusty wink. "You can sew, cook, draw - nice work, by the way, very good likeness-" he gestured approvingly at the open sketchbook on her desk, making her turn almost as red as the t-shirt she had drawn him in "-clean up clothes so that they're good as new, listen to pithy English playwrights while you stitch spare pockets for kwamis. Is there anything you can't do?"

Though her face was tinged pink by his blatant flattery, she was still somehow able to playfully aim her pin-cushion across the room at him. "I could be a bit better at herding cats."

"Hey!" he protested, scurrying to catch the pin-cushion that had bounced off his arm before it could land among the mound of chouquettes.

Marinette chuckled when he tried to steal the pastries away from her, watching his green eyes dance with life and laughter as he strained away from her grasp. Leaning back languidly in her chair as if in defeat, she smirked and took a chouquette from the plate he finally relented and offered her.

After a night spent frantically worrying over his well-being, she finally knew that her idiotic alley-cat was safe, well-fed, and finely-clothed. Nothing could possibly relax her more than seeing him like this: sitting on her floor rug, skimping on his homework, telling her terrible jokes around a mouthful of raspberry jam.

Author's note: finally done! It seemed like I've been working on this for a very long while; in the middle of it, I had the flu for more than a month, then had to play catch-up with all the work I got behind on while I was sick, getting more and more behind in my writing. Sorry it's been such a long time coming!

A need for first-aid seems to be fast becoming a running theme in my stories, which is ridiculous since I know next to nothing about it. This one was for 'Aeon The Dimensional Girl', who requested a story where one of the heroes got hurt - anyone who didn't like seeing Chat Noir suffer, please blame her!

The description of how Ladybug's healing power works is entirely my own speculation, on the show it seems a bit inconsistent in what it chooses to fix or not-fix. As with so many other things, I wonder if there will be an explanation of it at some point in future episodes of the show.

I could have chosen any kind of pastry to include in the end scene (so long as it contained red jam), but the chouquettes were inspired by the conversation Chat Noir had with Nadja Chamanck in 'Audimatrix', which I thought was the cutest thing ever! A quick reminder to readers: please avoid mentioning spoilers for season 2 in your reviews, other readers might not be as far through their viewing as you are (including me!) so please try not to give away anything important.

I really should get back to my other Miraculous fic next, it's been stuck on a cliffhanger for a long time, though I've almost completed the next chapter. For this fic, I actually got an idea for a 'Marinette gets injured' story while I was writing this installment; and I've had so many requests to do the history textbook from the 'Pharaoh' episode, I can hardly deprive my loyal readers! So I will likely do one of those two ideas next. I hope everyone enjoys both stories, please stay tuned for more!

Cheers, ~ W.J.

p.s. my French lessons went well for a while, then petered out - it was hard to practice pronunciation when my throat was so sore I couldn't speak. Thanks for all the tips, everyone, the University of Texas site was particularly helpful!