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“Mari, you gotta breathe,” Chat cried, his voice hoarse from shouting at bystanders. “Come on, princess, breathe for me. Please, breathe for me.”
He puffed air into her mouth, five breaths.
Nothing.
“Come on, Mari,” he pleaded, his hands hovering over her chest.
He didn’t want to hurt her, but she wasn’t responsive or breathing.
Shoving down with sufficient force, he performed the thirty requisite chest compressions he’d been taught not two weeks ago.
Nothing. Nada.
Her skin had paled from her brief time in the water. A nasty gash at her temple provided the only vivid color against her pale skin, blood seeping and weaving rivulets into her dark hair. What he wouldn’t give to see her gorgeous blue eyes staring at him or narrowing as he cracked another lame pun.
“Mari, please.” His voice cracked on the platitude.
Two more breaths forced their way into her lungs.
More chest compressions followed, ticking them off in his mind.
His hands ached. His muscles began to burn. He refused to acknowledge either. The only thing that mattered was seeing Marinette spitting up the water she’d inhaled from the Seine.
Foolish bicyclist, he thought savagely. He swore to make the guy pay if anything happened to her.
Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Thirty.
Leaning closer, he placed his mouth over hers, blowing in one breath.
Water met his second breath, rushing past her lips.
Hacking coughs shuddered through her as he dragged her onto her side. His clawed hand rubbed her back while she continued to cough up water.
She struggled to sit up, her hands shaking. Glancing around her, she took in the large crowd, unconsciously moving closer to him.
“You scared me to death, princess,” he whispered in her hair. “You’re not allowed to do that ever again.”
“I promise.” She snuggled into his arms, welcoming his heat against her soaked skin. “Take me home?”
He shook his head, checking the seeping gash. “Hospital first. We need to check this out. After that, then I’ll take you home.”
“You won’t leave me, will you?” she asked, accepting his arms as they lifted her in a bridal carry.
“Not even Hawk Moth is going to pull me away.” He extended his baton and shot them over the crowd.
Not bothering to slow down, he carried her to the nearest hospital, explaining to the staff what had happened.
When they asked him to sit in the waiting room, he became stubborn, keeping his promise to Marinette his only objective.
They acquiesced soon enough, wanting to treat their patient and not forcibly remove one of Paris’s favorite superheroes.
He’d averted his eyes when they replaced her sodden clothing with scrubs, so they could examine her properly and warm up her chilled skin. His thumb grazed the skin at her wrist, noting the healthy undertone color returning to her skin.
The tiniest smile appeared in his relief. Though, his heart gave a painful squeeze to remind him of what he’d almost lost that day.
A few stitches and a stern warning to watch her, they discharged her into his care.
He had no intention of letting her out of his sight, he’d promised.
Carrying her home, he took the least jostling route, noting the tiredness plaguing her. Her blue eyes had grown bluer as purplish shadows appeared beneath them, a sure sign he needed to get her home and into bed.
The sight of her balcony welcomed them like the flashing lights of a lighthouse.
Prying open her skylight, he slid her onto her bed with the utmost care, slipping in behind her.
“Don’t go,” she whispered, her eyes already closed. “Stay with me.”
She’d wasted no time in curling up with her large cat pillow, pulling another smile from him.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised.
He picked up her blanket and draped it over her. In the small space left, he slinked and stretched himself until he could wrap himself around her, fitting her against him as though she belonged nowhere else.
Mine, his mind screamed in declaration.
His eyes grew heavy, sleep claiming him minutes after Marinette.
Neither moved, content to sleep snuggled against each other.