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lady-charinette · 8 months

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The Beast in Her Home Chap. 17

I’m finally done with my degree and just waiting for all the paperwork to get done, which means a bit more time to write!! :3 So excited to post this after a long hiatus.

AO3

FFnet

“There is nothing more dangerous than not knowing where the enemy is.”

Chapter 17

When Ivan would write the police report for the incident later that day, he would write the incident had taken both him and Kim by surprise, but in reality, they should’ve seen it coming.

They should’ve seen the signs.

Chat Noir’s demeanor while watching the video of their fellow policemen beating upon the child, his accelerated breathing, frequent glances towards his gun. The frantic bouncing of his leg.

It was all there.

They had underestimated him again.

The memory of the incident still stings Ivan’s body…and ego.

Chat Noir trembled in silent rage, the chains rattling noisily. “I’m sick and tired of playing housecat.”

It was a second. One second was all it took.

Chat Noir had shot up from his kneeling position on the ground faster than a striking snake, sweeping one leg under Ivan and grabbing the gun secured at his belt. Ivan’s outcry of pain from a dislocated shoulder upon impact on the ground had distracted Kim.

Before Kim could reach for his own weapon, Chat Noir had pointed the gun at his head.

Ivan winced, his shoulder and head flaring up in pain as if the memory caused him physical pain.

“Heh, you got off easy, so quit whining, good thing you got a thick skull.” Kim snapped from his position on the bed next to him.

He looked worse for wear, leg propped up, wrapped in thick gauze, he had been the one to have taken the most beating from Chat Noir once the criminal freed himself. Or so was Kim’s version of events.

Ivan managed to trip Chat Noir by kicking his shin, but it didn’t give them the desired advantage. When Kim moved to disarm him, Chat Noir reacted instantly. Like a spring trap.

Shoving his foot into Kim’s stomach, he grabbed his arm and lifted the police officer above his head, slamming him face-first on the small coffee table. Chat Noir had gotten behind on top of him, holding Kim’s own baton horizontally to press it against his jugular.

While Kim and Chat Noir were struggling to gain the upper hand in their scuffle, Kim choking and heaving on the baton, Ivan scrambled off the floor with his good arm to grab his discarded gun near Chat Noir’s feet.

He failed to expect Chat Noir would see him, that he would kick his chin so hard Ivan would see stars.

That the gun would go off when Chat Noir’s foot stepped on it.

Kim’s bloodcurdling scream decided Chat Noir’s victory and Ivan knew where the stray bullet had hit.

Kim’s leg bled profusely, a red rash marring his neck from where his own baton had pressed hard into it. Holding both hands tightly enclosed over the wound, Kim shouted and swore like a sailor.

In one last attempt to stop Chat Noir, Ivan grabbed his leg, nearly tripping the man.

But Chat Noir’s reflexes hadn’t dulled one bit since in captivity, no, it was like the sadistic man had eagerly awaited the opportunity to be free and kick their asses.

Ivan knew his nose was fractured the minute whistling sounds escaped when he tried to breathe, accompanied by the blinding white-hot pain of Chat’s foot violently slamming into Ivan’s face. It wasn’t until Chat Noir slammed his elbow hard into the back of Ivan’s head that the police officer’s vision began to darken.

Ivan shuddered at the memory, a pair of green eyes still floating in his mind’s eye, taunting him.

Kim sighed deeply, glancing over at Ivan, whose head looked mummified. “Well, at least he didn’t go for my face.”

Ivan rolled his eyes. “That’s what you’re worried about? You got shot, man! And almost choked to death!”

The former athlete grinned, albeit a bit painfully. “He gave me a damn good work out though, made me realize I was slacking off and eating donuts with the rest of you instead of training.” He rubbed at his neck, picking at the bandages wrapped around it.

Before Ivan could offer a biting retort, the guard stationed in front of their infirmary room opened the door.

Immediately, the air grew cold.

“Sir.” The verbal salute did little to ease the tension in the room, heavy boots hitting the floor as they entered and closed the door.

Luka Couffaine wasn’t someone known to anger easily, nor was he particularly feared, unlike other colonels who had a fearsome reputation. But the precinct knew when Colonel Couffaine was angry, you’d better duck for cover or have extra lives to spare.

The cold dead stare directed at them both betrayed a silent fury far more ominous than a violent outburst, but as soon as it appeared, it was gone from his eyes, replaced with genuine concern.

And defeat.

Taking a seat gingerly at the foot of Ivan’s bed, Luka hung his uniform over the bedframe, patting Ivan’s uninjured leg. “You guys looked like you’ve seen better days.”

Kim released a sharp laugh. “You don’t look much better chief.”

Luka shook his head, as if to physically shake off the stress from today.

“A boy almost died due to my orders today.“ the colonel stared at his clasped hands.

Kim gave him a knowing look. “Your orders or theirs?”

Luka’s face pulled into a grimace and he hung his head in shame, feeling the weight of the badges lining his uniform like a physical presence looming over his shoulder, challenging all the good he did in the line of duty and reminding him of the sacrifices it took to get there.

As if to add salt to the wounds, Luka remembered Chat Noir’s words from long ago echo in his mind, a time when they both hadn’t chosen sides, a time when a cop and a criminal could even be considered something like…friends.

‘This is your duty to the people? To fucking kill them?! I knew I hated scum in uniform like you, all you do is bark at innocents while you lick the hands of criminals as long as they feed you. You’re wrong about one thing; you didn’t change sides when you decided to quit being a marine and be a cop, you just changed colors on your uniform. The blood of the innocent is still there.’

There was a low buzzing sound of Ivan and Kim talking, but Luka drowned them out and absentmindedly caressed the flak of his uniform jacket.

For a brief moment, he could still see the blood painting it red.

Tikki remembered Marinette when she had just started out, a rookie cop with big doe eyes, full of idealistic dreams and hopes for the people around her and the system.

Now her once doe eyes were hardened, roughened from years on a merciless job and seeing humanity in its worst states.

Tikki had seen Marinette at her lowest, but today just might take the cake. “Tikki…did I hear right? He…Chat Noir escaped?” Alya offered a comforting hand squeezing her friend’s shoulder.

The older detective drew her lip between her teeth, glancing at her partner for help.

Plagg cleared his throat, shoulders set high. “He did. He sent Kim and Ivan to the medical wing for trying to stop him. Some security you had at your house.”

Tikki’s disapproving glare didn’t affect Plagg in the slightest, not even when Marinette’s own glare burned holes in his skull. “I apologize for my home security not being up to par with a high-security prison’s, who rejected Chat Noir due to their overflowing jail cells and sent him to a police officer’s private home for confinement.” Tikki’s eyes widened at the sharp bite in her friend’s tone.

They all had a bone to pick with the way how the police and prison systems operated and treated people, especially criminals, but Marinette was rarely the type to voice out her criticism aloud.

Especially while on duty.

Pointing at the TV in the squad room that showed the ongoing news coverage of the police arrest incident, Marinette’s eyes were glassy. “It’s because of corrupt jackasses like them that make the broken system worse! It’s their misconduct and arrogant attitude that made us all lose sight of what our actual job is! Protect the people, not their property! Did we French forget how to raise arms against systems that discriminate against us?”

This time, even Plagg’s face betrayed his genuine shock. Tikki quickly grabbed Marinette and ducked her head down forcefully, talking in harsh whispers. “Marinette!” Tikki glanced around and sure enough a few police officers were looking their way.

Quickly backing Marinette into the changing room she came from, she shut the door behind her with her foot. “What the hell was that?! Do you want to make an enemy of every colleague in the precinct?”

Marinette had done something she rarely ever did even in her rookie years, she glared up defiantly at Tikki. “I thought everyone was already giving me dirty looks for housing a criminal in my home and the sexist pigs thinking I was sleeping with him! Didn’t you hear the rumors, Tikki? Have you heard the shit they talk about behind my back? Why shouldn’t I give them an actual reason to talk about?” with newfound adrenaline coursing through her veins, Marinette paced the room, sidestepping the metal bunk beds.

The more experienced detective sighed deeply, shaking her head. “Marinette, what is wrong with you? I don’t even recognize you anymore.”

The lieutenant whirled around to face Tikki, her face turning from righteous fury to one of defeated exhaustion. “I don’t recognize you anymore, Tikki. Where is the detective that went all up in the former colonel’s face about keeping me employed here? Where is the detective who punched an officer for mistaking her as the secretary? Where did my headstrong mentor go?”

With a heavy heart, Tikki took a seat at one of the vacant bunk beds. “Mari…things aren’t as easy as they seem. My ideals stayed the same, but my approach became different. I would get suspended or fired if I punched someone now just because they disrespected me, you file a complaint to the department of discrimination and wait for a verdict. If someone mistakes you as the secretary, you politely correct them. It’s not like it used to be. You can’t do things the same way anymore now.”

“Can’t or you won’t?” challenged Marinette.

That seemed to strike a nerve.

Tikki shot up from her seat and grabbed Marinette’s collar, pulling her close. “Just because you’re a lieutenant now, don’t think you can do that tone with me, Marinette. I was the one who trained you, who showed you the ropes. You don’t get to lecture me about the merciless environment I grew up in as one of the first female officers in the department and paved a way so future women had it easier. You don’t know half of the shit I endured so you could endure less today!”

Marinette’s hand wrapped around Tikki’s and squeezed back, her spit flying into Tikki’s face. “No, you’re right, I don’t, Tikki! Because you never wanted to talk about that! You always preached about how it’s not worth dwelling on the past and that you should keep your eyes trained forward at all times! Look at what happened today! This is what happens when we stop looking back at the past every now and then and ask ourselves where and if it's all going wrong!”

When Tikki’s grip had grown slack around Marinette’s collar, the lieutenant freed herself and brushed passed her superior and former mentor, slamming the door shut on her way out.

A moment passed, before Tikki heard the door open again.

Her tough poker face finally softened when large hands settled and rubbed her shoulders, Plagg resting his chin on top of her head tenderly. “It’ll be okay, sugar cube.”

Tikki relaxed into Plagg’s hold, lifting one hand to squeeze one of his in silent gratitude. “But will she be okay?”

Plagg couldn’t offer an answer that he knew would satisfy his partner, instead they simply stood there in silence, drawing comfort from each-other in a world that devoid them of it.

It was late at night when Alya finally returned home and practically collapsed into Nino’s arms, both adults sinking further into the couch.

Hands gently threaded through her tresses, slowly detangling them from the messy bun she had been wearing all day.

“Rough day, huh.” It wasn’t a question, more so of a statement. Nino had seen the news, after all.

Alya sighed deeply into Nino’s chest, gripping onto his shirt, she knew her boyfriend couldn’t protect her from everything, but laying like this in his arms, it sure felt like he could.

“We have a code blue, Nino.”

Alya felt her boyfriend tense. “What?! Chat Noir and Marinette did the do?! DUDE!”

Alya slapped his arm gently. “Wh- no! No, Nino that was code black! Code black! Code blue means Chat Noir escaped!”

Nino slapped a hand to his forehead in disbelief. “Oh shit, is Marinette okay? I didn’t see anything on the news.”

Alya pressed a finger to her lips. “That’s because the whole country would be in an uproar if the public found out one of France’s worst modern-day criminals just escaped confinement! We have to keep it at a down low, babe.” A pensive expression grew on the reporter’s face. “No… Marinette isn’t okay at all. Luka has been super icy and distant lately, Juleka just unveiled this huge evidence that Chat Noir may not be the actual culprit, which means there are way more criminals involved in this elaborate scheme than we think and a boy is hospitalized because some brainless idiots don’t know how to do their jobs!”

Nino shook his head, holding Alya tighter. “…So…what will we do about it?”

Alya quirked an eyebrow at his suggestive question. “…What do you mean?”

Nino shrugged. “Well, I know you know you won’t be sitting on your butt and doing your normal reporting with that cat free and all. Plus Marinette will need a friend to help her through all this so…what can we do? What can I do?”

After the week’s stress, hearing her boyfriend be so supportive made Alya’s eyes feel a bit misty. “I love you, babe.”

“Love you too.”

“First off – we have to find out where Chat Noir’s actual hideout is. We know the locations where the police previously looked and failed, then we have to gather more evidence of who we’re dealing with exactly since we know Chat Noir is not the only criminal involved. We have to find out who his enemies are.”

Nino interrupted. “Hah, easy, dude’s got the whole underworld after his ass.”

“-And we have to keep an eye on Marinette. Her trust in everything is on thin ice right now, we have to make sure she doesn’t go off the deep end. Or worse: goes after Chat Noir herself.”

Nino grimaced. “You think she would do that?”

Alya grinned. “She has the balls to. Question is, when will she decide to do that?”

Click

Clack

Marinette checked the magazine one last time, putting the safety on both her duty gun and personal one before putting them in the bag.

One, two, three. Three tasers weren’t overkill for this situation. One pepper spray. Two handcuffs. A baton. Some rope. One knife strapped to her belt, a second one on her calf the third strapped to her lower back.

She glanced back at her personal gun, remembering when Luka presented it to her as a gift for her first day as a police officer.

It had flower embroidery on the grip, but otherwise nothing fancy. For protection, he had said.

Marinette wondered whom she needed that protection from.

Putting away her weapons, Marinette stood and walked over to the mess that was her living room and kitchen.

It truly looked like a crime scene, the floor still had glass shards on it, the window had been replaced with a new lock, but Marinette knew not even that lock could keep him in. Nor out.

Rubbing her arm, Marinette stared into the darkness of the trees surrounding her, wondering if hiding somewhere behind the cover of darkness, her criminal was safe.

“Cafone.” The shorter man chimed, grinning from ear to ear at the exhausted sigh his colleague gave.

“Va fa napole!” the older male rolled his eyes and lit up his cigarette, eyes scanning their surroundings carefully. “You’re twenty years too early to be calling me a loser. Che bruta, really, you are. Che peccato, usually, us mafioso’s are often bello. What the hell happened to you cafone? Your mother must have been the only one who loved you.”

The shorter man grunted. “Hah, handsome, you? Must have been back in the fourties when you were in your prime.”

The older man flicked his still burning cigarette at his younger colleague’s feet. “Tch, disrespecting your elders, don’t know what the Mistress saw in you to accept you into the family.”

“My devilishly good loo-argh!” the older man quickly leaped away when a shadow fell over his younger colleague and snapped his neck mercilessly.

“You! Bastardo!” before he could grab his gun, the sunglasses he wore shattered, the glass burying deeply into his eyes.

“Ahhh! Cazzo si!” before the Italian could fire his gun blindly, his world turned dark.

Lila laid out her suit dress for tomorrow’s meeting ready, flattening out any wrinkles and creases in the expensive material.

A smirk painted her lips when she spotted heself in the mirror, flipping her hair over her shoulder and walking towards her bed to settle in for the night.

Her eyebrow quirked upwards when she saw an odd protrusion from underneath her blanket. “Hm…” did her maid forget to grab a sheet for the wash and bundled it up? Perhaps she was getting too gentle with her subjects.

Clicking her tongue in disdain, Lila pulled the covers away and reached one hand forward to automatically grab at what she thought to be a curled up blanket, but instead it caused the blood in her veins to freeze.

“MARCO!!!!” Lila’s deafening scream echoed down the hallways and seconds later, her husband and an assembly of their personal bodyguards quickly filled the space of her bedroom.

“Tesoro! What is-“ Marco grabbed his wife’s shoulders, stopping dead in his tracks when he spied the monstrosity on his wife’s bed.

It was the decapitated head of one of their guards, who was supposed to be stationed outside at the front entrance this night.

In his slack opened mouth, there was a note.

Marco swallowed thickly and took the note from the dead man’s lips, opening it to find mockingly neat handwriting splattered with blood.

“Dear Mistress Pompinara, I hope you weren’t too rough on Beni once he came back from spying on me. Knowing you he’s probably dead by now. I dropped by for some tea, but your stupid henchman was rude, so I set his head straight. Meowch! I know you were responsible for the police incident today. If you know what’s best for you, leave me alone. Oh and mangia merda, pompinara! Yours furrever, C.”

Marco clenched the letter in his hands, his eyes noticing the jagged clawmark on the henchman’s cheek.

So it really was Chat Noir.

“He escaped.” Marco handed the letter to Lila, who pressed a hand to her chest in order not to vomit.

“How dare he…” Lila balled her hand into a fist, gritting her teeth.

Thanks for reading!

Translations (Italian):

Cafone – loser

Va fa napole – literally: go to Naples, mafia lingo: go to hell

Che bruta – How ugly you are

Che peccato – what a pity

Bello – handsome

Cazzo si -f*ck you

Pompinara – c*ck sucker

Mangia merda – eat shit

Tesoro - treasure

#the beast in her home #the beast in her home fic #ml #miraculous ladybug #marichat #marichat au #chat noir #marinette dupaincheng #criminal!chat #cop!marinette #ml au #miraculous #ao3 #my fic #my fics

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lady-charinette · 1 year

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The Beast in Her Home - Chapter 16

I’m BACK! I’m really excited to show you guys this chapter, hope you like it! (she says while writing a chapter full of pain). Comments and kudos are always appreciated :3

AO3

WARNING: This chapter may disturb some readers, caution is advised.

Content: police brutality, graphic descriptions of violence, ACAB discourse, injuries, misuse of power.

Chapter 16:

“There is no greater tyranny than that which is perpetrated under the shield of the law and in the name of justice. (Cambridge University Press, September 29, 1989)”

― Charles-Louis de Secondat, baron de la Brède et de Montesquieu, The Spirit of the Laws

Flickering lights of red and blue filled the screen, unsteady camera movements, people running and screaming. News reporters, civilians, cops. An ambulance. Chat Noir rushed to turn the volume up.

Breaking news titles filled the lower portion of the screen.

‘Minor hospitalized due to adverse effect of police arrest.’

‘Police arrest minor who suffers injury while resisting arrest.’

‘Six police officers surround violent criminal, criminal wounds himself during arrest.’

When desperate clicks on the remote finally revealed the sounds accompanying the chaos on TV, even the officers at the table stood up to witness the unfolding scenes.

A group of no less than six men in dark blue police uniforms, their badges displayed proudly on their breast pockets, their body cameras perched on their shoulders. And right there beneath their feet, a person.

No, not a person.

A child.

The unknown child, a still growing teenager, pinned by the cops reminded Chat Noir of Nino, the baseball cap turned in the wrong way, sitting low on his face, or the side of his face that was shown.

Chat Noir could hear his screams through the TV. “Stop! STOP! I-I’m unarmed! Stop! I-argh!!” One police officer’s knee pushed down harder on the boy’s shoulder blade, cutting his words off.

“We told you to keep quiet, boy! You’re under arrest!”

“I- huff – I said I won’t resist! Get- get off me! Please! Get off! Get OFF!” the teen struggled visibly, but the six cops surrounding him were too strong. It wasn’t until he heaved himself upwards that the camera managed to capture a clearer shot of his face.

He wasn’t a kitten, he wasn’t Chat Noirs kitten, but he was still a child.

Chat Noir dug his fingers into the soft texture of the couch, the furniture creaking in protest at the harsh treatment. His other hand held onto the remote for dear life.

The civilians circling the fray like a pack of cautious deer all had their phones out, recording the forceful arrest and sharing it on social media.

Chat Noir gripped the remote harder, the screws and hard plastic squeaking against each-other. He shot upwards like an arrow, moving to stand in front of the TV, both officers behind him on edge at his sudden movements.

“No.” Chat Noir’s voice came out broken, eyes glued to the screen, to the beaten-up teenager. A cop kicked at his head while another one held his thrashing body down. Screams of profanities were thrown around, their voices so loud it distorted their words.

Chat’s heaving was loud in the living room, the stillness in the air only making his nerves light on fire that much more. His body reacted to it, to the boy getting beaten by the police like he had been beaten. To the crowd only able to watch in horror and disgust at what was happening before their eyes.

Chat gripped his chest, nails digging into his shirt, his heart thumping so loudly against his ribcage he could feel it in his throat.

Just who the hell did those cops think they arrested? He was nothing but a child! Why couldn’t they have given him a slap on the wrist for whatever shit he pulled?!

More shouting. The news anchor tried to vocally overpower the loud chaos.

“It seems like this latest arrest was approved by Col. Couffaine of the Dupont Police Force in Bourgeoise Street. Either the Colonel or the precinct have yet to offer an official statement regarding the details of this arrest, follow us for the rest of the recorded footage. Viewer discretion is advised for depictions of violence against a minor.”

Chat Noir’s eyes widened when he saw one of the cops obviously losing his patience. If the footage hadn’t been slowed, he could’ve missed it. The cop had been fingering the handle of his baton while the boy struggled against the man that had previously kicked his head, until he finally grabbed it and swung at the teenager’s head.

A loud whack, a shrill, painful cry released from the depths of boy's stomach.

And then, silence.

“He killed him!!”

“A cop killed a kid!”

“That guy was innocent! What do you think you’re doing?!”

“We’re recording all of this!”

“Hey, hey, he’s still moving! Hey you ambulance guys, grab him quick before the cops kill him! Hey!”

When the camera moved to the paramedics called on the scene, for what reason Chat Noir couldn’t know, they visibly hesitated approaching the still volatile situation. One senior paramedic approached the officer in charge and stated they had to treat the victim immediately for fear of a cerebral concussion and internal bleeding.

The officer in charge hesitated, before waving his men off in the same minute the boy beneath them ceased to struggle.

Ceased to move at all.

Chat Noir shivered at the icy hot pin prick of needles shooting up and down his arms and legs. His stomach felt like it was eating itself alive, the acid burning away all his organs to nothing, but even that fabricated pain was nothing in comparison to the hole in his chest when the boy stopped breathing.

“No…” nails dug deeply into his palms, fire burned through his body, but Chat didn’t care, he cared about the boy brutally arrested, now unmoving on the dirty street, hundreds of phones and cameras surrounding him and nobody to call for help, for protection.

Finally, the paramedics rushed towards him, two checking his vital signs and trying to stabilize him with another one wheeled out the collapsible bed.

The officers which had previously beaten on him stood off to the side, two obviously fighting off smiles while their superior scanned the crowd to determine the mood.

It had gotten quiet, too quiet.

If it weren’t for the police sirens and the sounds of paramedics shouting instructions, one might’ve heard a pin drop.

Then, one of the police officers spoke. “Can’t blame us, if the kid hadn’t been under the influence, none of this would’ve happened. His parents should’ve taught him better than that.”

A scream.

A phone thrown into the officer’s face.

Chaos.

Chat Noir briefly registered officer Tweedledee and Tweedledum standing now next to him, both sporting very grim and visibly disgusted expressions on their faces.

In some small part inside of him, a coherent part of him, Chat felt slightly comforted by the fact that these guys didn’t seem to approve or like the actions of their fellow policemen, but a much bigger part of himself told him how little that mattered.

How little the opinions of the few mattered in the control of the many.

The crowd had erupted, almost like somebody had lighted them on fire. The person that had thrown the phone at one of the officer’s heads was the first to physically close the distance between himself and the officer before getting tased and thrown to the ground.

The people that followed all tried to physically stop the policemen from harming the civilian, some were throwing food or pieces of trash at them and Chat Noir couldn’t help but briefly admire the symbolism.

Throwing trash at trash.

Reinforcements had arrived to seal off the perimeter and control the wayward crowd, the reporters and media had frantically tried to capture the moments with dramatic, purposefully provocative commentary.

Chat Noir felt his own ire rise even further and he couldn’t help but poise the question he had been biting his tongue on ever since he got here: “Tell me officers, is this the police force you envisioned to protect innocent people from bad guys like me?”

For once, neither Kim nor Ivan had an answer.

“Mr. Couffaine!”

“Colonel!!”

“Is it true you approved the arrest of 15-year-old Lebrone Kent?”

“Lebron is currently in the hospital due to the actions of your police officers, h

“Col. Couffaine, we’re from the Daily News, when will you issue your statement?!”

The precinct was in uproar, the once spacious halls and office rooms filled with reporters and cops trying to control the media. Even Alya looked overwhelmed as her colleagues and rivals from other news outlets strong armed their way to the front.

Luka was still in his office behind closed doors and shut blinds, Marinette stared at his back as her dear friend and superior fixed his uniform.

The air was suffocating.

“Luka.” Her voice was quiet, her emotions still running high. “Did you approve the arrest for that boy? Is it true what the media said?”

When he didn’t answer, Marinette’s fear shifted into ire. “Well? How can you authorize the arrest without knowing for certain the boy was guilty? His mother is crying on the street because she doesn’t know if he’ll make it! Why did Carlson and Frederique have to be so rough on him? Was any of that necessary? Answer me, Luka!”

By the sudden rigidness of his shoulders, Marinette knew she’d stepped over a line.

A line she would cross again if it meant getting coherent answers.

Luka turned slowly, dressed in his formal uniform, his badges and medals of honor displayed proudly, his hat gripped in his hands at his sides.

The gaze he fixed her with could’ve set fire to the rain. “Let me make one thing clear, Lieut. Dupain-Cheng.” He took two long strides to stand directly in front of her, his normally kind blue eyes colder than ice. “I do not have to answer to you. Whether authorizing the arrest was my decision or not doesn’t concern you, I don’t have to run by every decision I make for this precinct by you. I expect you to behave according to your rank and your duties.”

His words were like a poison-dipped dagger slicing through her heart, a deep throbbing pain that constricted her breathing for a moment.

Until Marinette schooled her features into something she was familiar with: professional detachment. “Colonel Couffaine,” her friend and superior turned his head to glance at her, “If I were to behave according to my rank and duties, I would be the first one to get notified of Chat Noir's abuse while he was held captive.“

She took one step closer to him so they were almost chest to chest, her gaze never once straying from his cool blue eyes. “And I would've reported you for severe misconduct due to the physical mistreatment of a prisoner in my care.”

Luka’s shoulders visibly rose in ill-concealed anger and he angled his head down closer. “I acted in your best interest, Marinette.”

“So am I, colonel.” Marinette spat out his rank like a curse, to forever have the look of resentment she had on her face burned into his memory to haunt him at night.

Luka didn’t answer, he broke off their staring contest and turned his back, clutching at his hat tightly. With a deep breath, he finally spoke. “Tell them I’ll be out in two minutes.”

Marinette didn’t reply, only left his office with the door audibly closing shut behind her.

Luka exhaled loudly once the door shut, his white knuckled grip caused his hat to tremble.

After a heartbeat, Luka fixed his hat and turned to open the door.

Immediately, flashing lights assaulted him, hundreds of mics thrown into his face and notepads held in the air.

There was one sentence Luka spoke that pacified the ravenous crowd of reporters. “I’ll answer all your questions.”

“Marinette!” Alya spotted her friend rushing with impressive speed towards the backroom of the squadron, she knew there were bunk beds there for when the nights grew long in the precinct. It was away from the press.

Away from people.

Marinette didn’t stop, almost like she didn’t hear Alya at all, but Alya followed her, fighting her way through the torrent of reporters waiting to hear Colonel Couffaine’s press release.

Marinette had left the door slightly ajar, and when Alya fully opened it, a sight greeted her that broke her heart.

Her best friend’s uniform lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, Marinette herself was kneeling on the ground, her head in her hands.

Quiet sniffling filled the room and Alya immediately closed the door and dropped to her knees on the floor, pulling Marinette into a bone-crushing hug.

The two women held each other tightly, Alya whispering soothing words into Marinette’s ear and letting her cry, her shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs.

“Why….why, why, why!” Marinette cried into Alya’s shoulder, the fabric dampening rapidly.

Alya blinked, trying not to let the tears fall. “I…I don’t know…I wish I knew Marinette…”. She ran a hand along Marinette’s hair. “I’m so sorry…”

The sound of Marinette’s cries got drowned out by the ruckus of reporters trying to get their story, but as if Luka heard her amidst the commotion, he couldn’t help but glance at the closed door in guilt.

“Marinette is in bad shape.” Tikki spoke quietly into the room, far away from the bloodthirsty pack of reporters recording Luka’s statement.

Plagg hummed thoughtfully beside her. “Not just her, our pretty boy marine has to hold his neck out for those vultures.”

Tikki rose an eyebrow. “You think this was a set-up to sabotage him?”

It wouldn’t have been the first time, Luka’s predecessor had resigned for that very reason after all. It was no secret that different police departments were unwilling to cooperate or share information with each-other, so sabotaging unit captains or colonels wasn’t uncommon practice.

Especially if said colonel used to be a marine, not one of real blue blood.

Plagg scrunched his nose, fingers digging into his inner jacket pocket and plopping a slice of camembert into his mouth. “I think a lot of things when the day is long, sugar cube,” At Tikki’s steady glare, Plagg caved. “Things look just a little too convenient; the slander against the police, the growing protests, Luka ordering to lock up some innocent kid for possessing some weed? It doesn’t make sense, the guy rescued fucking war orphans during his service. Do you see him ordering a hit on that kid?”

Tikki frowned, watching the colonel adjust his uniform on the stage. “Weed? I thought the official statement was the boy got caught breaking into an old lady’s house.”

Plagg turned his head down to look at his longtime partner. “You believe that?”

Tikki allowed a small smile to grace her features. “Not a lick, but the weed story doesn’t check out either, Plagg.”

The man crossed his arms, still chewing on the soft stinky texture of his cheese. “Exactly, none of it makes sense.”

Tikki mirrored his stance, eyes zeroing in on Luka and the way his dress shirt darkened at the back of his neck with sweat. “What did the higher-ups threaten Luka with to take this risk? And who’s pulling the strings behind this puppet show?”

A moment of silence was all that passed before both Tikki and Plagg’s two-way radios buzzed with life.

“Come in….C&C…C&C….do you copy?”

Plagg lazily pressed the button on his walkie-talkie. “Cheese of C&C here, copy. What’s up?”

“Request-request for 129… we…we have a 135 and 123.” Ivan’s exhausted voice rumbled through the comms.

Tikki’s eyes widened and she quickly responded into Plagg’s walkie-talkie. “Cookie here, copy. Ivan, repeat the first thing you said.”

“135. We have a 135.”

Plagg and Tikki stared at their radios.

A 135 meant escape.

“135 means…” Plagg trailed off, his body moving on autopilot to elbow his way through the sea of reporters to get to Luka, whose gaze was already fixated on Plagg’s oddly pale face and his growing panic.

“…Chat Noir escaped…” Tikki finished the sentence for him and like a bad movie coming to its cinematic climax, the door to the backroom opened and Marinette slowly walked out, catching Tikki’s gaze.

“Tikki, what’s wrong?”

Thanks for reading! Hope to see you guys soon. :)

Yes, Plagg and Tikki's team name is Cookie&Cheese aka C&C :P

Police codes:

129 = Request back up

123 = sick or injured person (In this case both Ivan and Kim got injured)

135 = escape