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“What on earth is that?”
Adrien’s incredulous voice filtered into Marinette’s ears from behind where she stood near the apartment’s front door. It was only after he followed up his question with a loud yawn that she checked her watch and realized the time: three forty-two a.m.
She’d done it again. Stayed up far too late crafting the perfect project for their daughter, Emma.
With a sheepish smile, she stopped trying to stuff the poor baked clay leprechaun figure into the small cardboard box swathed in tape and rainbow drawings.
“Uh, surprise?” Marinette held up the box and turned to her husband, who was wearing his paw print boxers; his white, cotton sleep shirt; and an exhausted, skeptical look. “Emma made a leprechaun trap. I made her a leprechaun miniature to catch.”
Adrien held up one finger, opening his mouth as if to say something, but then abruptly shut it. She knew what he was going to say; she could read her partner and husband with a single look. Based on the beleaguered expressions flicking across his face, he wanted to tell her that she needed more sleep than she was getting and that she didn’t have to stay up to make every holiday special for their seven-year-old.
When Marinette shrugged, he placed a hand on her shoulder and wrapped her up in a one-armed hug. “How wired are you, Bug?” Adrien asked, resting his head on her collarbones. “Are you going to be able to sleep now or do I have to go back to that huge, cold bed all by my lonesome?”
“Just…” Marinette held the trap up behind him and tried to plant her surprise in the tiny hole that Emma had cut in the side with a butter knife. “Just let me finish…”
No, no good. Adrien was playfully leaning almost all of his body weight on her, making her knees buckle. He smelled stupidly good, too, which was entirely unfair; Marinette rarely smelled good before a shower after waking.
“All alone…” Adrien moaned in mock distress. “My Lady is leaving this handsome cat all alone to be pursued by unscrupulous women in flapper dresses–”
“Flapper dresses?”
“It’s an aesthetic.”
Mental note, Marinette thought, her mind already cycling through potential dress patterns at a rapid clip. Adrien likes flapper dresses.
Whereas Adrien was a morning person and could fall asleep anytime anywhere, Marinette’s brain suffered the unfortunate condition of being a night owl. She only truly became alert around three p.m. If she’d latched onto a craft project, she would hyperfocus on it and easily lose track of time until the early morning hours.
Once again, she tried shoving the little figurine into the hole. Emma was going to have a great St. Patrick’s Day no matter what!
Sighing, Adrien plucked both trap and leprechaun from Marinette’s hands. He turned the mythical creature ninety degrees to the right and eased it into the trap before handing the entire ensemble back to her.
Marinette kissed his cheek and placed the trap down at the foot of the door. “My hero.”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s what they all say.” Adrien gave her a lopsided, Chat-tastic grin.
“Yes, all those women in flapper dresses pursuing you for reasons unknown to me.” Marinette rolled her eyes, swatting his shoulder when he laughed tiredly. “Please don’t tell me you have a side gig at a speakeasy.”
“Okay. I won’t tell you.”
Another swat, on the butt this time. Adrien squeaked and bolted up the stairs, leaving Marinette in hot pursuit.
Well, Marinette thought, seizing a pillow from their queen-sized bed and smacking her precious kitty with it, that’s one way to drag me to bed!
“Marinette. Marinette!”
Adrien’s voice threaded through her ears, rousing her from a strangely nice dream where she’d dived into a pool full of Lucky Charms cereal.
The next voice Marinette heard was Emma’s, and it was only after she’d registered the unease in her daughter’s voice that she heard the notes of panic in Adrien’s.
“You can’t wake mom up before nine, Dad…”
“Marinette!” Adrien tried again, and she bolted upright, despite the pillow calling her with its siren song. “You’ve got to come see this.”
Six-forty a.m. Marinette groaned and rubbed her eyes. “Where’s the fire, Adrien? Is Emma vomiting or bleeding?”
Adrien stammered, which was unlike him. “H-Her leprechaun trap…”
Now Marinette was truly worried – and truly awake. She tossed the blankets off to the side and stood from her soft, comfortable mattress with bare feet on the cold hardwood floor. “What about it?”
Emma jumped and squealed. “It’s moving!”
It usually took Marinette’s brain two cups of coffee to fire on all cylinders before nine a.m., but Emma’s words were like an ice bucket to the face. Marinette’s gaze sharpened on the bedroom door, which lit up in spots.
Marinette scooped Emma up and set her down on the bed. “Emma, stay here. Your dad and I need to investigate.”
“Aww, Mom, please let me go with you?” Emma whined, pleading with the kitten eyes she’d gotten from her father. “Please?”
Marinette slanted a look at her daughter, but Marinette’s mind was already downstairs with the trap. “Absolutely not.”
Best case scenario, Marinette thought, flicking her eyes to Adrien and then at the door, to which he nodded and took point on the march downstairs, It’s a rat. Eeeugh. Worst-case scenario… it’s something harder to kill.
As she crept down the stairs, horrific possibilities flooded Marinette’s brain: Lila escaped from the psychiatric hospital and came back for revenge; a Guardian from Tibet had turned evil and sent them a warning message; Mr. Ramier had snapped and become Mr. Rat – which meant that a rat would be bad!
Adrien reached the trap first. With a glance over his shoulder at Marinette, which she met with a nod, he lifted his foot and stomped on it, crushing the cardboard with a squelch and a tinkling of breaking clay.
“What’s the big idea?!” a nasal voice Marinette knew all too well yelled. “You tryin’ ta kill me?”
Plagg phased through the trap’s top – and through Adrien’s foot, Marinette noticed – and flew up to smack Adrien in the nose.
“Plagg!” Adrien hissed. “What were you doing in Emma’s trap?”
“What did you expect?” Plagg placed his flippers on his hips, looking like an aggrieved Russian grandmother. “She baited it with Irish cheddar.”
Raising his brows, Adrien glanced at Marinette for confirmation, who shook her head. “Don’t look at me. I didn’t know there was anything edible in there.”
Adrien ran a hand through his hair. “What do we tell Emma?”
“Mom?” Emma called from behind them, causing both parents to turn to her. “What is that?”
“I’m a leprechaun!” Plagg threw his head back with a maniacal laugh. “Your St. Patrick’s Day rituals have summoned me from Hell, and I’m here to eat all your cheese!”
Emma screamed bloody murder, Adrien tried to catch Plagg to no avail, and Marinette – giving up entirely – went back to bed.