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“Nique ta mère,” Chat finally told her, fed up with his partner.
Ladybug’s mouth gaped wide as he waved her off, rapidly moving to leave her standing on a rooftop alone. Anger and fire suddenly filled her head. The feeling of fury filled her skull like a boiling kettle, and Marinette’s movements were not her own, yet she expertly controlled the yo-yo with almost a year of daily practice behind it.
The spotted weapon wound itself around Chat’s bicep, and Marinette reeled herself in, the same as if an akuma had been at the end of her line. Catching him stunned for the moment, she realized, even in her anger the strike directed at his jaw could still be avoided.
He’d told her before that his civilian life couldn’t afford any bruises. A right hook to the face from Ladybug would leave a bruise. She had a chance to genuinely strike back at him for the deplorable thing he’d just said about her mother. Maybe she’d deserved it. Maybe she’d provoked him.
The argument they’d been having was entirely not worth all this. She’d said things out of anger, out of spite, and most of all because she’d simply had the most awful day before their patrol. At the last second, Marinette’s rational brain kicked in.
So instead of decking Chat Noir across the chin, she wrapped his neck into a choke hold.
Semi-rational brain; she was still absolutely furious with the cat.
Before Marinette could even think of her next move though, Chat’s clawed hand palmed her forearm. A sharp twinge of pain ran up it as he twisted, ducking down under her. Marinette found her arm being pulled along with the scrappy alley cat, and with an unrefined spin, Chat was behind her, arm twisted behind her back. Once settled into the new position, she found that he wasn’t daring to push on her arm.
He held it in place firmly, but unlike some of the rougher akumas she’d fought, his grip only kept her in place. Pain wasn’t being forced upon her strong, yet petite forearm.
“I’m not trying to hurt you, my Lady.” he said, keeping his grip around her wrist as she tried to wriggle out of his hold.
The simple statement had her seeing red again, and she struggled against him with a new fervor. Very nearly did she escape his hold, starting the fight anew. A second before she did though, a steel toed boot stepped out behind her heel, and Chat Noir let himself fall backwards. Without both arms, and one foot being tripped by the short term foe, she easily was pulled backwards with him.
A thud reverberated off the low brick walls the two of them were surrounded by on the rooftop of Paris. Again, Chat didn’t allow pain to reach her, but the idea that she was losing this fight infuriated Marinette. She wanted to hurt him, like he’d hurt her.
Arms pinned, legs now being held stiffly against the roof by Chat’s powerful calves, and only the Parisian sky to look up at as Chat barely held her back from mauling him, Marinette let fly the only thing she could think of to try and hurt him.
“Nique ta mère, Chat!”
She angrily waited for the response, still struggling atop his chest, a near snarl marring her prettiest features.
Clawed hands released her, and Marinette was quick on her feet. In a defensive position, confused but ready, her yo-yo spun into a red whirl in front of her. Eyeing her opponent, the weapon ready to whip away any attack like a blender, she watched as he stood. He seemed slower than normal.
As soon as she caught his eye, the yo-yo slowed, before dropping from her hand completely.
Chat let his eyes drop to the building underneath them, before muttering, “Désolé.”
Suddenly their argument was completely meaningless. She couldn’t stand the way his eyes wouldn’t look at her. She couldn’t comprehend the way his lips stayed quiet. She couldn’t cope with the way his baton launched him away.
Marinette was left standing on the rooftop they’d had their worst of fights on, and left with more questions than she could hope to answer. Burning in her chest though, she knew there was one thing she’d have to answer in the morning.
What now?