𝕓𝕝𝕒𝕔𝕜 𝕔𝕒𝕥 | 𝟲 𝗨𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗚𝗥𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗗

5 | Cat's Out of the Bag

Blake met him at the cafe, just like he'd asked. Excitement coursed through her at seeing him again, It was the first time that he'd asked to meet during the day, and she couldn't help but wonder why, since going back to the hotel in the middle of the day wouldn't really be ideal. Was this a lunch date? The thought filled her with equal parts dread and confusion. She knew she desperately needed to break it off before she did something she'd regret, or exposed herself – but next time. For today, she planned to just enjoy his company and a hot chocolate.

He was already there when she entered the cafe, sitting at a booth in the furthest corner from the door. His fingers tapped impatiently against the table.

"Hi, Ellis," she greeted, sliding into the seat opposite. "Have you ordered?"

"I did. Hope you don't mind hot chocolate."

Blake tried not to beam to widely. "It's perfect." They were silent for a few moments; his eyes searched her face and she fought the urge to squirm. "So... How's work?" 

He shrugged nonchalantly, breaking eye-contact. The movement seemed slightly... guilty. "The usual. I-I got a new lead on a story I'm quite interested in today."

"Really?"  What's it about?"

He studied her carefully. "Identity theft. I'm really invested in preventing it."

Blake's stomach dropped. She leaned back, swallowed, smiled. "That's great."

"Yeah, it is."

He let it hang while the waitress gave them their cups, his gaze not leaving her face. Slowly, her hand went for the knife in her belt, while the other stirred the cream into her hot chocolate. She took a gulp, the scalding liquid more welcome than his accusatory glare.

"Come on," he said. "Who are you, really?"

Blake snorted, almost choking on her drink. She placed it down and collected herself before replying. "What do you mean? You know who I am."

He leaned forwards, lowering his voice. "I know you're not Angelica. She's currently in hospital after suffering a stroke. She's also fifty-fucking-three years old."

Blake's mind whirred. "Ah. Well..." She made sure to keep eye contact. She smiled reassuringly. She let go of the knife and relaxed her posture. "Angelica wanted a representative, so she sent me," she said lamely. "But they wouldn't let me in if I didn't have an invite that corresponded to my name, so I just called myself Lady Angelica, and I had to keep up the charade. I'm sorry." she looked at him imploringly, placing her hand on the table between them.

His gaze flicked from her hand back to her face. He did not take her hand. "So who are you?"

Blake cocked her head with a small smile. "I'm her niece."

"Oh..." he nodded, as if it all made sense. "Right." He leaned back, stretched, and revealed the handle of a handgun under his jacket. He raised an eyebrow. "You know, that's pretty fucking funny, since Angelica is an only child."

Blake's eyes widened. Shit.

Her knees collided with the table, kicking it up and splashing him with his scalding drink. His yell of pain and shock followed her as she slid out of her seat. She dodged his grasping hands, vaulted a table, and skidded onto the street. People screamed, yelled, ducked for cover as he followed her.

"Wait!" He shouted. "Just tell me the truth!"

Blake looked desperately at the buildings, but after a moment's thought realised escape would be impossible once she was in his element; she might be good at free-running, but Four was excellent, as he so graciously demonstrated when he had caught her before. Not to mention, she'd be more exposed up there, putting herself in an easy line of fire for Seven, their sniper.

Four had evidently come into the café with a plan: a plan to pull the truth out of her in a public place, somewhere he didn't think she could escape without making a scene. She had to use that against him; that meant he wouldn't want to make any more of a scene than they already had.

She rooted through her pockets as her feet hit the road, dodging a mother pushing a twin pram along the pavement. Her fingers found the thin plastic ridges of a zip-lock tie, and she quickly formed a plan.

Blake span to face him as he caught up with her, the zip-lock tie hidden in her fist.

"Thank you. For stopping," he added, slowing to a jog before stopping directly in front of her, exactly where she wanted him. She allowed herself a brief glance over his shoulder. "Can you just tell me the truth now?" His eyes flitted over her face. "Are you MI5 or something? I promise I can keep it a secret. I'll-"

"Stop talking," she breathed, and kissed him hard, backing him into a lamp post.

He responded heartily, and she caught both of his hands, pinning them behind him.

Blake pulled back. "Sorry," she said.

He realised what she'd done and glowered, tugging furiously at the zip-lock tie she had attached his wrists to the post with. "What the fuck?"

She had to cut it clean. "I can't do this anymore. I can't use you."

"Please," he implored, "what the fuck is going on?" He rotated his wrists, trying the tie for weaknesses. "I don't understand."

"I can't keep using you," she repeated, reaching out to touch his cheek. He stared back at her with wide eyes. "I never cared about you. I'm only allowed to have sex with my targets." She swallowed thickly, schooled my expression into a cold mask. "So I take what I can get. You were the perfect disguise. I'm the Chat Noire."

She wrenched her hand away from his face, averting her eyes even as she sneered. "Don't call me again, Four."