Chapter Text
Marinette huffed as she wrapped her hands in gauze and secured them with tape. People in this city really needed to stop picking fights with her. Especially when she was alone. Didn’t they know she didn’t hold back when there were no witnesses? She chuckled to herself at the thought, knowing full well they didn’t know that. They only thought of her as an easy target, just a tired-looking girl all alone in the dark of the city.
Their loss for making such assumptions, really.
Securing the rest of the bandages back in her backpack, Marinette pushed off the alley wall and stood. Staggering for a moment, she moved towards the drink she had abandoned on the corner of a dumpster when she was first jumped. She sipped it casually, glancing at the knocked-out thugs she had tied up with their own belts and hoodie strings.
At the sound of steady boots on concrete, she froze before hastily pressing her back against the wall. The drink returned to its old spot on the dumpster. She inched closer to the corner of the crossway of the two back alleys. The steps only grew closer and she went still again, internally cursing her luck. Nobody just casually walks up an alley that clearly has at least two guys out cold sticking out from around one of the corners. Not unless they know what to expect and are confident in being prepared.
Hearing the scuff of their foot pivot to turn into her alley and seeing a flash of black, Marinette grit her teeth, clenched her hand into a fist, and swung .
With a solid thunk and flash of pain she usually associated with using a punching bag while injured, her fist was caught in a reinforced gloved hand. Eyes going wide, she barely looked up into the dark eyes of the infamous masked Batman before yanking her hand away and stepping back several paces. She shook out her hand with a wince before dropping into a solid stance, fists slightly raised in defense.
“Nice hit,” he said lowly as he dropped his hand. Watching her for only a moment, his gaze turned to the unconscious thugs. She tensed and took another step back as he slowly observed the scene. “You’re practiced,” he adds with a glance.
“Wish I didn’t need to be,” Marinette responds wryly, brushing her unruly hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand.
He used the momentary distraction to lurch toward her, reaching. Cursing internally at giving him an opening, she grabbed his wrist, pushing it away, grabbing his other upper arm as it almost slipped past her side. Grappling for just a moment, she almost manages to push him away before he turns the tables. Forcefully buckling her arms and lifting her around the torso, he tosses her up on top of the dumpster. The plastic lid crunched under her thrown weight, making her hold still so as to not completely crack it open and fall in.
In her stillness, she noticed Batman had her wallet. She really needed to get better at defending her pockets, she realized. He held up her ID card, and she could see the narrowing of his eyes as he realized it was foreign, and most definitely had not been accompanied by a passport in her pockets.
“What are you doing here?” He asked suspiciously.
She huffed, annoyed by the answer. “Wish I knew. Stupid magic follows its own logic.”
After a pause: “I hate magic,” he says in a passive, dry tone.
“Me, too,” she replies with a tilted smile full of irony. She gave him no time to question her expression, however, before it hardened. Pitching forward, Marinette grabbed her drink and threw it straight into Batman’s face. Using the distraction, she rolled off the dumpster, grabbed her wallet and ID, and made a mad dash for the exit of the alley.
No time to check if he pursued, Marinette weaved her way through the streets without slowing, not until she found a sheltered place with undeniable privacy. Though she couldn’t return to Paris yet, she could still at least use the Miraculous at her disposal to escape prying eyes. So she did.
~*~*~*~
“Master Bruce? Has something caught your eye from tonight?” Alfred questioned, observing the footage playing on the screen and the bloodied cotton swab brushing against the equally bloodied palm of one of Batman’s gloves.
“Not sure yet,” Bruce answered vaguely, keeping his focus on the task at hand.
Alfred hummed. “I see.” Intrigued by this new mystery, he continued to watch.