Marinette went outside through the back door holding two bags of trash. It was her turn to lock up Le Coccinella. There was a chill in the air but she was covered by her comfort hoodie. It was grey, baggy, and the fabric was beginning to rip. She refused to part with it as it was her father's.

The back alley could have been considered eerie but she found it to be a good place to think. Just her, the decade old brick walls, and awful smell of the two large dumpsters that attract bugs and animals alike. She always wondered how much history these old buildings have witnessed since they've been built.

'Something as mundane as a girl throwing out trash or something as spectacular as true love. Perhaps they've seen dreams come true?' She laughed at her own thoughts because she knew these buildings could not grant her wishes of normalcy. She was not a princess from a fairytale. Her dreams would not come true. 

She sat one bag down so she could lift the lid of the dumpster. She heard the trash hit the other bags. A hard sound to describe but it was satisfying to hear the plastic sound and bags shifted due to the weight. She started to lift the second bag but was startled by a sound. It sounded like someone fired off a firecracker. She let her hand slip causing another loud sound. Different from the first but as she was already spooked and jumped at the sound of the dumpster lid hitting the metal shell. 

When she turned she was blinded by headlights. "What the-" Her eyes comprised a black blurry silhouette of a man wearing a fedora kicking what looked to be a lump of trash laying on the pavement but it was so hard to see. "-fuck?" 

"TURN THE DAMN LIGHTS OFF, VESPERIA!!" The man yelled at the sports car. 

With only the interior lights illuminating the back alley Marinette could see the man. The same man from the café that spent the entire afternoon staring at her. ChatNoir looked quite disheveled compared to his earlier appearance. He possessed scrapes and bruises on his face and forearms. He lacked his tie and his black pinstriped jacket. This exposed  his black suspenders and his white under shirt that was rolled to his elbows both sprinkled with the color red.

Her throat ran dry. She hoped that the red was spray paint and it wasn't a backlash of the first loud sound from earlier. She had often heard gunfire sounded like firecrackers and could not help jumping to conclusions. ChatNoir dressed too well to be considered a street artist.

ChatNoir held a silver pistol in his hand. He had grown tired of dragging on the fight and stared at the newly deceased man. With one point blank shot to the heart, he had ended the fist fight. In the man's hand laid a pocket knife in which he used to try to cheat the fight, evident from the cuts ChatNoir sustained. But he should've known not to bring a knife to a gunfight.

"Damn, now I have to call Shell-head." He kicked the body with his foot knowing that this guy was for sure dead but it didn't hurt to double check. 'Shell-head' as ChatNoir so kindly nicknamed Carapace was the man in charge of cleaning up when ChatNoir got a bit carried away.

He looked towards the dumpsters when a loud noise gained his attention. "Who's there?"

He walked over to the dumpsters seeing a hooded figure frozen in place. He pulled the figure's hoodie down revealing the barista girl from earlier. Normally ChatNoir discarded witnesses but he thought with her looks it seemed such a waste.

He tilted her chin towards him. "Miss... Mari was it?" He stared into her eyes. 

'Who knew blue was the color of virtue?' Innocent was the only word that echoed back at him. A word that he wanted to trade in for something different.

Her eyes widened with fear as his cold leather covered hand made contact with her face. "YOU KILLED SOMEONE!" She moved his hand off her face, not comfortable with being touched by a psychopath.

"Your point?" He smirked as he grazed her neck with the cold barrel of the gun. 

She gulped one wrong sentence and she'd end up not seeing tomorrow. Perhaps she would see her parents sooner than she thought. Tears began to form as this was not the ending she saw for herself.

"Would be such a waste.." He said touching her face again knowing that this time she wouldn't reject his gesture at least not with a gun pointing at her. "But at last I can't have any witnesses." He put the gun to her temple lightly putting his index figure. 

"PLEASE DON'T!" She quickly said before it was too late. She needed a way out of this and needed to find a reason for him to keep her alive. "YOU'RE INJURED! There's a first aid kit in the café and I could help stitch you up." 

She cautiously held up the keys to the back door. She prayed repeatedly that he wouldn't shoot her as she did so. She crossed her fingers hoping that her quick thinking would save her life. 

He lowered his weapon. "Then, I'll take you up on your offer." He pushed the barrel of the gun into her side, nudging her into the direction of the backdoor that vaguely read: "Le Coccinella" in red cursive lettering. 

She fumbled in getting the keys into the door feeling the murder's breath on her neck. She wanted to live at all costs. 'You can do this Marinette! Just breathe. In and out. One step at a time.' 

She opened the door feeling the barrel on her lower spine pushing her in. "Turn on the lights." He ordered. There was no way that he was going to take his eyes off her as she could call the authorities before Vesperia and Carapace had time to assess the situation out back.

Marinette flipped the switch lighting up the backroom that doubled as a storage room and a break room. "Where's the kit?" He asked.

"In the front room. It gets alot…." She gasped as he pushed the gun farther into her back.

"I don't need an explanation." 

Marinette gulped as trying to talk to him wasn't working as she had no idea how hostage negotiations worked as the only one she's seen have been on TV. Now she was the hostage or the future victim if she wanted to be a pessimist.

Marinette took him to the front room and turned the lights on in that room. ChatNoir following her every step. A deadly tango in which only he could win for he held the power. She went behind the counter pulling out the first aid kit. Opening it, laying the contents on the counter. She added a water bottle and a rag as she needed to clean his wounds.

"Ummm… could you sit? You're a little tall for me to…" She poured water onto the rag. Her hands were shaking. "..reach."

He sat onto one of the barstools feeling her gentle touch as she cleaned his face, lowering the gun so she'd shake less. She couldn't do her job if she was constantly shaking especially if he needed to be sewn up.

"Your mask it's in the way." She said feeling the corner of his mask preparing to take it off. As soon as she finished her sentence the gun made contact with her setrum.

"The mask stays on." He whispered. His breath smelled like cigarettes. A smell that Marinette knew all too well as she found an occasional cigarette soothing. "Is that clear?"

She nodded in agreement causing him to lower his weapon. She looked at the gashes on his arms, a few needing stitches. She carefully took the thread and needle from the kit and had difficulty threading the eye of the needle. She was glad that her friend Alya overstocked the kit as Marinette was prone to accidents. Alya often said "It's better to be over prepared than not to be prepared at all." Something that she had to learn the hard way as Alya was trying to make ends neat for her and her two year old son.

"I need to disinfect it first…" Marinette mumbled to herself as she opened an alcohol wipe. She had already cleaned the wounds with water but needed to make sure all the bad bacteria was gone otherwise it would risk an infection. If she did live she couldn't risk him hunting her down because she accidentally skipped a step. "This is going to sting, a bit."

She placed the wipe carefully on his wounds. She could see his muscles tense up due to the sharp sensation of pain traveling up his forearms. He took a deep breath as no matter how callous he pretended to be he could not hide his body's reaction to pain.

She disinfected the needle as well. He's eyes cursing the small silver thing. He was not a fan of needles despite this not being his first time being patched up. He couldn't look at the needle entering and exciting his skin. Clenching his fist everytime the needle entered. Marinette thought the pain was rightfully deserved.

It didn't take her long but the awkward silence between them seemed to drag on as she repaired him like a beloved stuffed toy. "I'm not professional but I think it looks decent… kind of…" She looked at the zig-zag stitches. They sure weren't medical stitches but he had called on a part time seamstress to aid him. 

She waited for his approval; he nonchalantly waved his weapon, causing her to flinch. "What should I do with you now, Miss Mari?"He asked leaning towards her as she had lost her bargaining chip.

"Let me live!" She didn't know if he wanted a real answer but she was going to beg for her life. 

He laughed at her response. "Let you live?" Let you live? I would if I could because your bedside manners are…" he paused for a moment grinning at the next few words to slip from his lips. "....to die for. But sadly it would ruin my reputation if I spared you." 

He lightly grazed her cheek with the back of his hand. He couldn't bring himself to shoot her as she begged for her life. "I'm too young to die!" "Please don't kill me!"

Desperate pleas heard many times before. Mercy wasn't his strong suit but he couldn't bring himself to end someone so impeccable. "Then I suppose we make a deal. I'll spare you if you become my toy." He said signaling her to come closer and as soon she followed his orders he grazed her cheek with the back of his hand.

"Your toy?!" She replied in disbelief. "You want me to be your toy?!" She repeated before realizing this was her opportunity. "I barely know you…but you insist on having a chew toy…" She leaned into him. Her cherry glossed lips barely touched him. She placed her hand on his thigh as if she was willing to do anything. Anything to survive.

ChatNoir, distracted by her directness, was not aware of Marinette's plan until she executed. She had his stolen pistol when their lips connected. He couldn't help but to let out a chuckle at the predicament. His colleagues had joked that a woman would be the end of him and how right they were.