Title: Life Is What Happens

Author: Lady Stormcrow

Rating: PG-13

Summary: After a year and a half as an official hero, Megamind is full of plans for Metro City – and for his own future. But there's a saying, "life is what happens while you're making other plans", and when he investigates a series of missing children from Metro City's poorest neighborhoods, life gets more complicated than anyone imagined.

Warnings: Memories of abuse, naked cuddling, references to sexytimes

Chapter 1

Violet Morgan woke up from another nightmare.

She struggled out of the tangled blankets, not caring that her room was chilly, just needing to get rid of the awful trapped feeling. Which was pointless, because she was still trapped. They'd locked her door a few hours ago, at lights-out. Same as every night.

Speaking of lights, she was glad to see that the overhead lamp was still off. That meant she hadn't cried out in her sleep, and the guards wouldn't be coming to check on her. They'd used to actually come into her room for that, but more often now they just stood on the other side of the mirror and spied.

Because they were afraid of her, even if they wouldn't say it out loud. She might not be the most dangerous one here, but she scared them the most, and she liked that. They should be afraid of her.

They were the ones who'd made her this way.

Okay, that wasn't quite true, but they were the ones who'd made her this strong. Before, she'd needed to be able to touch someone to read them, and even then it only worked if their thoughts were loud enough.

Now she didn't even have to be in the same room.

How long had she been in this place, anyway? With no windows and the temperature always cool, it was damn hard to keep track of time. Still, she knew it had to be more than a year by now, because she'd had her monthlies at least a dozen times – but she didn't want to think about her own blood. Because it made her think of what Paul, her stepfather, had done to her, and what she'd done to him when he wouldn't stop, and then things that had happened in juvie, and things she'd seen after she came here . . .

Trembling, she tried to cut off those thoughts. She cast her mind outward, looking for a distraction. Yes, one of the others was having a nice dream, focus on that. Happy thoughts, girl, good vibes . . .

It took time, but eventually Violet fell back to sleep.

#-#-#-#-#

Miles away and hours later, Megamind woke up shivering.

Someone stole my warm, was his first groggy thought, and there was the culprit right in front of him. All he could see of her right now was her sleep-mussed brown hair, but she was surrounded by the evidence.

He loved Roxanne Ritchi heart, mind, and soul, but he didn't love it when she hogged the covers.

Last night, the blue man recalled, the two of them had been so deep in the afterglow that neither wanted to move, so he'd fallen asleep without putting on his pajamas. Now he was being coldly reminded that Metro City was only just changing from winter to spring.

Remembering last night, and the many exciting nights he and Roxanne had shared over these past months, he quickly formed a plan. He'd been sleeping with his knees pulled up to his narrow chest, unconsciously trying to conserve heat, but now he stretched out and wriggled over to her quilted form. His arms went around her. He nuzzled her hair, breathing the cinnamon-y scent of it.

"Ngh?" Sleepy blue eyes slowly opened.

"You have stolen my blankets, Miss Ritchi." He nudged his groin playfully against where he thought her rump would be; bundled up like that, he couldn't tell for sure. "Therefore I must extract revahnge by stealing the living warmth from your body."

"Mmm, I surrender," she purred, and rolled over to face him, lifting part of the silver-gray comforter with her. A moment later, he was snuggled with her inside a cocoon, her body all soft curves against him, her breath warm on his skin. Without thinking about what he was doing, he rubbed his forehead gently against hers.

It had been like this for a year and a half now, ever since he'd officially made the career change from supervillain to not-quite-super-but-getting-better-with-practice hero. In the few months before that, when the city was rebuilding after Tighten's rampage, the two of them had wondered if they could have a real relationship together. He'd known he wanted to try – he had been attracted to her for years, even if he wouldn't admit it to himself, and by now he was hopelessly in love. And, she'd confessed, she was attracted to him too. Had been for a long time. But there was so much painful history between them, so much baggage . . .

They'd agreed to take it slow. That agreement had lasted roughly two weeks before ten years of sexual tension went like a dam bursting.

Things had been amazing for a while after that. The two of them had been all over each other, making up for lost time – Megamind for a lifetime of loneliness, Roxanne for years of maintaining her image as the city's "good girl" reporter. There were times, at first, when she had to guide him, but he was nothing if not a fast learner, and as passionate and creative about loving her as he was about everything.

Months passed, and the passion was far from gone. But more and more, there had been moments like now, when they were simply together, in love and at peace. In some ways, that was even better.

Roxanne was part of the reason he'd built these living quarters into the Lair. Decades ago, when the power station was still operating, this upper corner of the building had held offices and record-keeping rooms. Once Megamind had realized he was going to be living here all the time, instead of spending weeks in jail or moving between hideouts, he'd turned the biggest office into his bedroom – their bedroom – and fixed up the others while he was on a roll.

They both liked Roxanne's loft apartment, but it wasn't practical for Megamind to spend a lot of time away from his workspace, so in these rooms they compromised. When she suggested carpet on the floors, he'd carpeted the floors (in midnight blue, though he'd stopped at working in a lightning bolt pattern). When she'd begun staying overnight, he'd put in more closet space and a dressing table big enough for them to share. His first design for the bed had been a bolted metal monstrosity with Tesla coil bedposts and spikes crowning the headboard; when Roxanne finally stopped giggling, she'd remarked "Kinky," and told him she didn't want to live in fear of being stabbed or electrocuted if she rolled over. Together, they'd designed a much more comfy bed, and he'd settled for padded leather on the headboard.

She hadn't officially moved into the Lair yet. But after months of sleeping over for days at a time, and finding (with some surprise) that they could share space without wanting to kill each other, last night she had finally agreed.

They cuddled a little longer, until the alarm clock went off and Roxanne nudged him. "Time to get up."

"Mm, six more minutes."

"Come on, you know we've got a busy day ahead of us. You're unveiling that project at the community center, and I convinced the station to let me cover it." Then, when he still wouldn't move, she added with a smirk: "Johnny."

He sat up abruptly and pushed the covers away. "I knew I should never have told you!"

"I don't understand why you're so touchy about it," she called as his thin blue form disappeared into the bathroom. She could read him well enough to tell he wasn't really mad, and it was always fun to start the day with some banter.

"Because 'Johnny Blue' is not a real name!"

"And 'Megamind' is?"

"Yes!" his voice rose over the sound of a running shower. "It's a name I chose for myself, not one that some bored and uncreative filing drone wrote down! I even had it legally changed when I was old enough."

"I still have a hard time believing they let you do that!" She smoothed out the comforter as she got up herself, and followed after him. The bathroom he'd designed was sleek and futuristic-looking, white tile with a few silver highlights, and she wondered if her comment about him "looking pretty good in white" had been an influence.

". . . All right, maybe I . . . sort-of hacked the database," he admitted, from behind the silver-and-glass door of the shower chamber. "Just a tiny bit. But they never tried to change it back!"

"Calm down, I won't tell anyone," she promised, as she opened the door and stepped under the water with him.

#-#-#-#-#

When the two of them were finally clean and dressed (which took a while, because they ended up having entirely too much fun with the soft, lathery washcloth), they headed downstairs.

Megamind wasn't the only one who'd been making homey additions to the Lair. During their years of evil, Minion had sometimes watched cooking shows and offered to recreate dishes for his ward, but more often than not Megamind had told him not to bother - it was a waste of time when there were always so many other projects to work on. That, and it was hard do anything fancy when all you had was a Bunsen burner or hotplate borrowed from the workbench. But living on takeout wasn't a heroic lifestyle choice ("You need a healthy diet to keep up your strength," the cyborg fish had scolded), so he'd claimed this alcove next to the stairs, and built a nice little kitchenette.

It had started as a rough setup, with counters made from leftover slabs of sheet metal and the appliances scrounged from various places around the city. But whenever Minion had a free moment, he'd added improvements. The floor was tiled, and the metal counters were replaced with glittery off-white stone, like the sand of a tropical beach. When none of the wallpapers he considered seemed right, he'd simply cleaned the bricks and hung up pictures. A metal frame bolted into one corner made room for a TV, which Minion was watching right now as he brewed coffee.

". . . And we're happy to report," the morning newscaster chirped, "that Metro City has enjoyed its first quiet weekend in months, following last Friday's defeat and capture of the villain known as Destruction Worker." They showed a clip from that battle: Megamind jetpacking around a construction site, brainbots swarming after him, as he dueled with a beefy man wielding twin jackhammers, his face hidden by a helmet shaped like a traffic cone. "With the arrest of Hot Flash last month, that marks two members of the so-called Doom Syndicate behind bars, and we can only hope . . ."

It might be true that "as long as there's evil, good will rise up against it", but unfortunately the opposite was also true. The Doom Syndicate wasn't truly a new group; several of its members had been around for years, hiding in the shadows, too scared of Metro Man to do anything on a grand scale. Then Megamind had taken his place, and they had popped up like weeds, believing that, as an ex-villain himself, he'd go easy on them.

They'd been wrong.

In a twisted way that Minion knew nobody wanted to admit, the Doom Syndicate had helped Megamind. His many public battles against them, and now putting two of their top members in prison, had done wonders to convince the public that he really was a good guy now. Not completely, not with twenty years of mayhem still to atone for, but if those years had taught them nothing else, it was that the people of Metro City loved a good show. And thanks to Hot Flash, Destruction Worker, and the still-elusive Psycho Delic, they got what they wanted.

Minion turned in his dome as he heard two sets of footsteps on the stairs. "Morning, Sir! Good morning, Miss Ritchi!"

"Morning, Minion," Roxanne called back. She took a seat at the bar counter that divided the kitchen from the main floor of the Lair, and smiled as the fish brought coffee and muffins. "You know, I think I can get used to this treatment." She gave Megamind, sitting beside her, a teasing nudge. "And I won't have to worry about you stealing from my fridge anymore."

The alien looked affronted. "I never!"

"Oh really? Thanksgiving? That apple cake my brother sent?"

"There was no evidence!"

"I'll say!"

". . . And finally, the search is still on for Nathan Garcia, reported missing last week from his home in Metro City's East Side." Onscreen, the newscaster's image was replaced by a photo of a chubby, dark-haired boy. "Thirteen-year-old Nathan is believed to be the latest in a series of abducted youths, and police urge anyone with information to contact . . ."

Roxanne felt her good mood fade a little as she watched the broadcast. "Honey, when you're on camera this afternoon, see if you can mention Nathan Garcia. And Annie Coleman, and Tyler Bell, didn't you say they were probably taken by the same person?"

"Uhl-" Her boyfriend paused to swallow his mouthful of coffee. "I'll try to bring it up. But I don't want to give the impression that Find Your Way is merely a ploy! I want it to be a successful, lasting program, with positive effects for generations to come!" He had been practicing lines like these for several weeks now, prepping for this day, and they were both happy with how easily the words came.

The morning news broadcast ended, and now a commercial was playing. The camera's eye raced along a golden beach at sunset, following a man astride a vehicle that, despite the smaller engine and lack of pointy bits, was clearly a version of the hoverbike Megamind often used in his patrols. A voiceover shilled buzzwords like "speed", "power", and "soaring freedom" as the rider picked up a model with artfully windblown hair and they flew away into the sunset.

When Megamind had chosen to hold a "yard sale" a year and a half ago, it hadn't only been about getting rid of his old, evil machines and gadgets. The city did let him have some supplies for free (though the bureaucrats were annoyingly picky about what he could use the supplies for), but it wasn't enough. Worse, the outlet store in Romania had revoked his credit when they learned he'd taken up heroism. A strongly worded letter had claimed he hurt their image, and while they were still willing to do business with him, from now on it was cash or nothing.

In short, he needed money. And since robbing banks was no longer an option, he'd decided to try selling his inventions on the open market. Yes, the first try had ended badly, but he'd learned from it, and realized that an even better plan would be to patent some of his safer designs – why, it was almost like selling the same invention over and over again!

For once, his plan had been a success, even if Minion and Roxanne sometimes disagreed with him on which designs were "safe". The terms placed on him at the start of his release meant most of the money went into Metro City's coffers, but he was allowed to keep a small percent of it, and with things like the hoverbike selling so well, that small percentage added up.

So he had a steady income. He had a home. He even had a job, sort of. It was all so disgustingly conventional.

But he also had the most wonderful and beautiful woman in the universe, and that made it all worthwhile.

#-#-#-#-#

After Roxanne had left for work, Minion was gathering the breakfast dishes when he stopped suddenly. "Oh, sir, I almost forgot! This came in yesterday." From on top of the TV he grabbed a padded envelope with a bulge in one corner, covered in international postage.

One of the first things Megamind had done as a mostly-free citizen was create a legitimate mailing address for himself and Minion, and that had led to one of the most bizarre developments in his new life: fanmail. Well, both fanmail and what he supposed would be called "hate mail", and so much of both that he'd tasked a special group of brainbots with sorting through the stuff. Their sensors could detect explosives, poison, and other chemical and electronic nastiness, but crazy things still slipped through sometimes; he had vivid memories of a female fan who'd sent him her . . . undergarments, along with photos of herself not wearing them.

Fortunately, Roxanne had thought the whole thing was funny as hell. But the sight of this new, suspicious package was still enough to make Megamind scurry down from his chair and back away. "What is it? It's not from those people in Denmark, is it?"

"Actually, sir, it's from Cosmina."

Immediately, Megamind perked up. Cosmina Anghelescu had been their business contact in Romania for many years, and she was one of the few who'd continued to associate with him after he changed sides. "It's finished! She sent it!"

"What's finished?" Minion asked, puzzled.

Ignoring him, Megamind plucked the envelope from his robotic fingers and ripped at it like a child tearing into a Christmas present, pulling out tissue paper, receipts, and finally a tiny velvet box.

Minion's golden-brown eyes widened. "Sir . . . is that . . ."

"Take a look, Minion."

The ring was made of black iron, with delicate silver threads twining through. There were three stones: two tiny, triangular white diamonds that framed a larger, blue-tinted one cut in pear shape. It took Minion a moment to realize the placing of the gems mimicked the shape of his boss's "M" logo.

"It's . . . beautiful, sir." It wasn't a complete lie. The ring was definitely striking, and really, he would have been more surprised if Megamind had gone for something subtle and traditional.

"Yes! I designed it myself," the blue alien declared, holding up the open box so that the jewels caught the light.

"I kind of guessed that," Minion said. If Megamind had been looking at him instead of admiring the ring, he would have noticed that the fish didn't seem happy. "Does this . . . I mean, are you planning to . . ."

"Oh yes, dear Minion." His master cradled the ring to his heart, lost in daydreams. "The time has come to ask for the honor of Roxanne's hand in marriage."

". . . Sir, are you really sure this is a good idea? You've only been dating for a year, and she just agreed to move in –"

"Exactly! We know now that she wants to be with me."

"But if the ring arrived yesterday . . . How long have you been planning this?"

"Since our anniversary. I knew it would have to be truly special, so I called Cosmina and asked if she could find a custom zhool-ery designer. As fortune would have it, she knows a man who used to make oor-naments for the old Soviet villains. She made some calls, I sent them my sketches, and now everything's ready. Although I think Cosmina was disappointed." He gave Minion a sideways grin. "She has a thing for me, you know."

Minion rolled his eyes. "Riiight . . ."

"But alas for her," he went on, still ignoring the fish, "my heart belongs to another."

"But sir . . ." Now Minion was struggling to find something to object to, and settled for, "Sending a diamond ring by letter?"

"I know, it was a perfect plan! No enormous fees to pay, no security to draw attention . . . Minion, you know I couldn't have bought a ring here in the city. Someone might talk, and that would ruin the surprise!"

Minion sighed, and gave up. "A very good point, sir. So, when were you thinking of proposing?"

"Oh, I hadn't chosen the occasion yet. But now that the ring is in my grasp . . . yes, tonight will be perfect."

"Tonight?" The bioluminescent growths running down Minion's back flared up in shock.

"Yes, tonight. We're already going to be celebrating the start of 'Find Your Way'; it'll be the perfect occasion to bring up our own future."

". . . Is there anything I can do, sir?"

"Well, I don't expect you to play the accor-deeyon and serenade us. Just prepare a nice dinner. Something romantic, that you know Roxanne likes. Surprise us!" Grinning uncontrollably now, Megamind slipped the ring box into a pouch on the utility belt he'd recently started wearing – as a non-invincible hero facing a variety of enemies, he needed to be prepared. "Oh Minion, this is going to be perfect!"

#-#-#-#-#

As his boss left, Minion cleaned up the torn bits of envelope and filed the receipts, lost in thought. So, Sir wanted to marry Roxanne Ritchi.

His ward was taking a mate.

Minion told himself he shouldn't be surprised. He'd been observing them for the past year, and had to admit that in many ways, the two already acted like a mated pair (he'd even witnessed them mating a few times – with so much space, he wished they'd be more discrete!). And he liked Miss Ritchi, a lot. She was a good influence on his ward, and he wanted her to go on being a part of their lives. And, more than anything, he wanted his Sir to be happy.

So why did the idea of them getting married suddenly worry him like this?

#-#-#-#-#

Every city has a place like it. They call it the ghetto, or skid row, or some other name catchier than "center of urban decay". In Metro City, they called it the East Side, and it described the tangle of old, run-down neighborhoods that lay under the elevated highways.

Roxanne had offered to drive, but now, as memories began to rise up inside her like cold, dirty water, she thought it had been a mistake. This had been Hal's neighborhood, which was probably why it had been spared the worst of his wrath. Unfortunately, that also meant it hadn't received the same care and rebuilding as the rest of the city in those months afterward. The brick-and-concrete buildings were still grimy, many of the street corners hosted trash piles, and graffiti seemed to cover everything.

But it's getting better, she reminded herself, thinking of why she and Kenny were here today. After . . . well, everything, she had gone through a series of camera operators, male and female, before she settled on Kenny Yamada, a quiet and friendly young man who had moved to the city last year from San Francisco. He was new to journalism, but took his job seriously, and she got the impression he was a little awed to be working with the Roxanne Ritchi (he also, she'd been pleased to learn, had a steady girlfriend).

By the time they reached the St. Joseph Street Community Center, crowds were already gathering. The neighborhood residents had known something was underway ever since New Year's, when the first teams of brainbots had started work on the old building, raising it from one story to three and cleaning and repairing the brick exterior, as well as other, interior changes that the reporter hoped she'd have time to cover. For this, the grand re-opening, Megamind and the center's director had planned to open the doors on a Monday afternoon, just after the local schools let out.

Some attention, though, had also been drawn by the line of brainbots discreetly patrolling overhead. With one of the Doom Syndicate's leaders still unaccounted for, and so many civilians gathered (especially children), Megamind couldn't afford to let his guard down.

As she and Kenny took their spots under the blue-pipe-and-plexiglass front awning, Roxanne couldn't help noticing that there were only a few other reporters covering today's event. And if Megamind wasn't making an appearance, there probably wouldn't be any, she thought bitterly. She didn't like to think so badly of her colleagues, but she'd studied journalism for half her life and knew it was true. Places like the East Side hardly ever received media coverage, unless some lurid crime took place there and drew in the vultures. The "viewing public" (in ten years of reporting, Roxanne had never met anyone who identified as a "member of the viewing public") did not like to be reminded that the East Side existed, or that the people who lived here were people, and not some distant problem to throw money at when they wanted to feel generous.

Be the change you want to see in the world, a quote from her school days came back to her. Well, today she would be.

"Good afternoon, Metro City! It's a beautiful spring day here at the St. Joseph Street Community Center, which, starting today, will play host to a new project developed by our city's beloved hero, Megamind." As she led the way into the building, she gestured to the new sign by the front door: two lines, one blue and one yellow, twining together and then dividing, with a pair of gray feet standing at the point where they divided ("Two roads diverged, and that has made all the difference," had been Minion's vision after Megamind tasked him with designing the logo).

"The program, known as 'Find Your Way', will focus on providing after-school services to the youth of Metro City's East Side." Inside the lobby, she found the person she sought, and gave him a warm smile. The full "bad boy" image wasn't right for today's event, so he'd chosen a cape with a lower, more rounded collar, and no spikes. "Megamind, would you tell us, what makes Find Your Way different from other youth programs?"

"Of course, Miss Ritchi. While our doors are open to everyone," he gave his cape a brief flourish for emphasis, "Find Your Way places special focus on helping troubled, disadvantaged children and teens."

"That sounds like something you'd know a lot about." Memories passed between them. A little blue boy in a prison jumpsuit, never accepted by the other children. A schoolhouse, filling with smoke from a paint bomb. "Did your own experiences play a role in creating Find Your Way?"

"Very much so. You see, my life on both sides of the law has taught me something the average citizen might not realize: many criminals, I might even say most, are not 'bad people'. They turn to crime because they grow up believing they have no other choice, because they were born into a society that never gave them the chance to find a better way." He turned the full power of those big green eyes on the camera. "I hope to give Metr- . . . Metro City's future generations the chance I never had."

Before she could say more, he stepped away and nudged the woman beside him closer to the microphone. "But while the idea was mine, much of the credit has to go to my co-conspirator here, Director Alicia Sanders." He grinned at the camera. "I'm mostly here as a pretty face. Not that you're not lovely too, Mrs. Sanders!"

"Flatterer," the director replied with a smile, but the compliment was deserved. Alicia Sanders was a willowy black woman in her mid-fifties, with smoky gray hair worn up in a crown of braids. Roxanne recalled that Megamind had spoken of her often in the last few months, during evenings when the two of them were together in the Lair, talking about their day. She mentally went over the things he'd told her – that the director was a lifelong East Side resident, that she'd kept the community center running for years in spite of low funding and constant budget cuts, that her warm and jovial nature hid a core of iron . . . it was easy to tell that he liked her a lot.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Mrs. Sanders. Perhaps you could tell us more about Find Your Way?"

"Happy to. Like our friend said," she gave the beaming blue hero a wink, "we're focused on helping troubled young folks find a positive direction in life. We offer counseling and health services, and classes in science, art, and music. If things go well, we're hoping to offer more subjects, maybe even open some new branches. Most of the staff here are from the neighborhood, so they . . ." She stopped, and waved to someone over Roxanne's shoulder. "Hey, Danielle, come and say something! Miss Ritchi, this is my assistant, Danielle Dymond."

Roxanne wasn't a tall woman, so she was surprised to find herself looking down three inches at the newcomer. Her skin was bronze-brown, and she had dark, curly hair tied up in a short ponytail. She also had to be a lot stronger than she looked, because she was carrying a stack of folders nearly two feet high.

"Nice to meet you, Miss Dymond," Roxanne said, and then hesitated, realizing the woman was mostly hidden by the tower of folders and she couldn't point the microphone at her without it looking like a joke.

Fortunately, Danielle turned to look at the camera, showing a rounded face with high cheekbones and dark, almond-shaped eyes. "Likewise." Judging by the younger woman's cold expression, she didn't mean it.

Ever the professional, Roxanne tried to continue interviewing. "So, I understand you're from this neighborhood?"

"Yeah." Her tone said, Please shut up and let me get back to work.

"And what are your thoughts on the new Find Your Way program? Do you have any comments, any suggestions?"

"Not really."

She might have gotten a multi-word reply, but Roxanne knew it was time to quit. "All right then." She turned the microphone back to the director, and immediately Danielle hurried away with her folders.

#-#-#-#-#

As Roxanne and Kenny moved on to interview some of the visiting families, Megamind caught sight of a figure striding toward him through the crowd. For a moment the ex-villain froze, and his hand actually touched the barrel of the de-gun at his hip.

Then he scolded himself for panicking, because the man who approached him looked perfectly normal. He was slim and tanned, dressed in jeans and a spotless cream-colored jacket. His chestnut hair was tied in a ponytail that was probably supposed to make him look young and "hip", but instead made him look rather like that fellow who appeared on beer bottles. Most of all, his expression was one of wide-eyed awe and delight, and that was a welcome change from the fear and hatred of years before.

"W-wow. I can't believe . . . you're really here!" The stranger held out a hand. "It's such an honor to meet you, Mister Megamind."

Ah, a fanboy. Older than most he'd seen – the man was at least thirty – but he could not disappoint his public, so after a moment to recall how this ritual went, he reached out and clasped the outstretched hand. "I'm always delighted to meet a fan, provided it's my new, heroic persona that receives your admiration! You are . . . ?"

"Jeffrey Tremblay," the ponytailed man exclaimed, shaking his hand fiercely. "And, yes, that's what I admire so much. You've really been a huge inspiration to me. I-i-in fact, that's why I wanted to talk to you today. This new program, it's so wonderful, I wanted to offer my services."

"Oh? And what do you do that would be of service?"

"I'm a doctor," Tremblay said, still beaming. "Actually, I run the free clinic over on Aurora Street. I know you're going to be offering health services with this program, and I thought, well, perhaps you could use some extra help, since I'm right in the neighborhood?"

". . . Perhaps." It might have been all the flattery, but Megamind was starting to like the man. "First we'll need to –"

"Dr. Tremblay, I was hoping you'd make an appearance!" Now it was Tremblay's turn to freeze as Alicia Sanders made her way over to them. The blue genius didn't blame him for that – even at her most friendly, Alicia could be like a force of nature when she wanted to. "How's Kathleen doing?"

Megamind quirked a brow. "Kathleen?"

"My . . . associate," the young doctor shyly admitted.

"Last I heard," the director said, smiling, "it was 'fiancée' now!"

The news that Dr. Tremblay, like himself, intended to settle down with the love of his life raised Megamind's opinion of him even higher. "Mrs. Sanders, Dr. Tremblay and I were just discussing a new idea for the center . . ."

#-#-#-#-#

After she finished work for the day, Roxanne stopped by her apartment to gather some more clothes. Although she'd agreed last night to move into the Lair (it might no longer be the Evil Lair, but her boyfriend couldn't bring himself to completely change the name), it would still take time for her to settle things with her landlord, not to mention packing, and hiring movers . . .

If she asked, Roxanne knew, she could probably have a swarm of brainbots at her command, and airlift her furniture over right now. But one of the conditions she'd laid down last night was that Megamind would let her handle the move completely by herself. It wasn't only that she worried the little trap-mawed cyborgs might chew or drop something (although they were getting better about that). The act was symbolic, and something she knew she had to do for her own peace of mind.

For ten years, almost since the first day of her reporting career, she had been a pawn in the game between superhero and supervillain. Even if she had played along, even if she knew now that Megamind had chosen her out of what would eventually become love, even if the game was over now that Metro Man was gone . . . that didn't change the fact that the choice hadn't been hers. Letting Megamind move all her stuff would be too much like being caught up in that again.

It would be like being kidnapped.

As long as she was being honest with herself, she had to admit that she'd thought about moving into the Lair for months now. She knew Megamind worried about her safety, since he knew better than anyone how easy it was to break into her apartment. Their biggest fear, of course, was the Doom Syndicate, but there were other threats as well – ordinary criminals, overzealous paparazzi, and fanatics who would hate her for loving an alien (because whether he called himself Megamind or Johnny Blue, he was an alien, and nothing would change that).

But she had promised herself when they began a relationship that she would never be ruled by fear. And she had known that if she chose to give up her apartment, and declared to the world that she was truly with him of her own free will, she would be giving up any pretense of a normal life.

Except that her life had never been all that normal in the first place.

Last night, she had been sitting with her boyfriend and Minion on one of the beat-up leather couches in the odd corner that served as the Lair's library. Those were her favorite moments nowadays, when the three of them were just together, sharing their lives. And she had realized something that she should have a long time ago.

The loft was where she lived, but the Lair was where she wanted to go when her day was done. The Lair was her refuge from the world, where she felt strong and safe enough to take on the entire Doom Syndicate herself. The Lair was where love was, in the form of a big-headed blue alien and a sentient fish who'd welcomed her into their tiny, outcast family. The Lair was where she had fun, where she could dance to the radio and not feel like an idiot if someone saw her, because most likely they'd want to join her. The Lair was where she felt comfortable in her own skin.

The Lair, she'd finally realized, was home. And suddenly the choice wasn't hard at all.

#-#-#-#-#

She found him down in what she thought of as "the garage", checking over the last of the repairs made to the gear that had been damaged in last Friday's showdown. "You were great today, sweetie."

"Aren't I always?" he replied, rising to his feet. "I'm sorry for not mentioning the children, but it seemed –"

"Hey, it's okay. You were right, the important thing was to talk about 'Find Your Way', and that went perfectly." Roxanne raised one delicate eyebrow. "Though I was kind of surprised how much credit you gave to Director Sanders. It's not like you."

"She deserved every bit of it. Roxanne, you know I'm not much of a 'people person'." She stifled a giggle as he actually used airquotes. "I knew when I started planning this that I'd need help from someone who was, and I couldn't have done it without Alicia. She's a wonderful, clever, caring lady –"

"Easy there, blue man." She gave him a playful sock in the shoulder. "Do I need to be jealous?"

"What? No-no, not at all!" he flailed quickly. "Actually, on that note . . ." Roxanne let out a squeak as he pulled her close. "We have a few hours before I'm shed-yuled to patrol."

She touched her forehead against his. "What did you have in mind?"

"Tonight calls for a celebration. I understand Minion's preparing something special, so if you'd care to join me –"

-TRUDER!-TRUDER!-TRUDER!-TRUDER!-

The two of them sprang apart as Shockwave and several of his team came flying over. The brainbot, named for the Transformers character, had been in charge of security ever since the Lair's location became public knowledge – guarding the perimeters, watching entrances and exits, and, when necessary, 'discouraging' unwelcome visitors. For the bots to actually come and fetch Daddy, it had to be serious, especially as Minion's voice called, "Guys, you both should come take a look at this . . ."

The hero and his lady hurried out to the main floor. "What's going on? Is it –"

And then he saw the figure on the monitor screen.

He was wearing a trenchcoat and fedora (perfect for reminding everyone how inconspicuous you were!), and he still had that hideous beard, but Megamind would have known him anywhere.

"Metr-"

No, it's "Music Man" now.

It had been nearly two years since he and Roxanne discovered the ex-hero was alive. He'd told Minion right away, of course, during the brief hour while they arranged Roxanne's rescue, but the fish had promised to keep the secret, and since then, no word had passed between the former rivals.

Honestly, he wasn't sure how to feel about that. Metro Man had always been a part of his life – a painful and annoying part, mostly, but still a part. He'd built his identity around him. And then the man had simply quit, and his one real victory had turned out to be a "pity win".

They'd all kept an eye out for him since then. When "Right Through Lead" had hit the airwaves, it was a modest hit thanks to the power of nostalgia ("A heartwarming tribute to the end of an era," one DJ had proclaimed), and the three of them had stayed quiet even as questions circled about the mysterious Music Man. As for why they'd never gone back to the schoolhouse themselves . . . well, there were plenty of reasons. Anger, old hurts, being busy with work, and most of all the unspoken feeling that what they all needed now was distance.

But still, all this time and not even a postcard . . .

He thought of a novel Roxanne had given him last winter, on what they celebrated as his birthday. Fantasy and religion, not his usual fare at all, but she'd promised he would enjoy the witty writing. And there had been a line, about two people who had been enemies for so long, and grown to know each other so well, that they'd become almost like friends.

That was him and Metro Man. And that, as much as anything, was why he felt anger rushing up like a splash of acid. "Do you think he'll go away if we all stay very quiet?"

"No," Roxanne replied, and before he could do anything she seized the intercom. "Wayne, what are you doing here?"

Wayne. That was another thing Megamind had long envied about his nemesis. Two alien orphans had come to Earth, and each had received a new, human name. But one had been named by loving parents who adopted him into their family, while the other was labeled by a prison filing clerk.

"Roxie?" Onscreen, the big man's face lit up in a smile. "Hey, it's great that you're here! I was hoping I could talk to both of you –"

Megamind leaned over the intercom still in Roxanne's hand. "Just get inside before someone sees you!" Why did he have to come back? And why tonight, of all nights?

That, at least, was answered almost as soon as they'd hurried Wayne inside. "So . . . I saw you guys on the news today." He took off his hat, and they saw his hair was still a mess. "And I think it's great, what you're doing for those kids. I knew this kind of thing was why you'd be good at the hero business, little buddy. You think about things. You don't just deal with stuff as it happens; you make plans for the future."

"I am not your 'little buddy'." And, because Wayne was one of the few people who might use it, he mentally added, And I'm not 'Johnny', either. "Did you come here just to flatter me? If so, I have better things to do."

"Actually, I thought maybe I could help out."

He hadn't been expecting that. Stuck for words, he fell back on what he'd said to Dr. Tremblay. "And what do you do that would be of service?"

"Well, I heard you say the place was going to have a music program. I've been meaning to make a live debut for a while now, so if you'll have me, I'd like to perform at your little community center." He noticed the skeptical looks from all three of them, and explained, "I don't mean a big, expensive concert; Music Man isn't that popular yet. Just something small, and free of charge, of course. For the kids." He pulled a card out of one coat pocket.

After a long moment of hesitation, Megamind took the card. ". . . I'll think about it. And now, if you don't mind, we," he gestured between himself and Roxanne, who he wished would step in and say something, "have plans for this evening."

But Wayne stayed. And talked. And didn't leave until they noticed the smoke pouring out of the kitchen alcove.

"Oh sir, I-I'm so sorry," Minion panted once the remaining three of them had extinguished the blaze. He fluttered around anxiously in his dome, trying not to look at the blackened, chemical foam-covered remains of what was supposed to have been chicken marsala served with the first vegetables of spring.

"Don't worry about it," his master whispered through gritted teeth.

"But you –"

"Minion, code: don't worry about it."

"Calm down, guys, it's not so bad!" Roxanne called from over by the sink. "I think we saved most of the beans."

"That was risotto."

". . . Oh." She took another look at the saucepan's contents, and grimaced.

"The nerve of that man," Megamind muttered as he started cleaning extinguisher foam off the stove. "Abandons us all, doesn't say a word for two years, barges in here and ruins our special evening, and he expects me to let him . . . him . . . worm off of all the work I did!"

"If you mean 'leech' . . ." Roxanne paused from scraping out burned risotto. "I really don't think that's what he wants." She looked over at him, her blue eyes soft. "I know you don't want to hear this. I know the center is supposed to be your special project, but I think you should take him up on his offer." He gaped at her, and the hurt in his eyes was painful to see, but she needed to get this out. "We should have known Wayne would come back into our lives eventually. And you heard what he said. Megamind, he likes you. He wants to help."

"If it makes you feel better, sir," Minion cautiously spoke up, "you could turn things over to Mrs. Sanders, and see what she decides?"

"But she'll . . . !" But she'll say yes. Because Roxanne was right, just like she always was. Getting Music Man to perform at the community center, for free, would be good for everyone, and the only objection he had was his own lifetime of resentment against the man.

And a hero, a real hero, couldn't let such a thing rule him.

Damn. Even when he was dead (with airquotes), Metro Man ruined everything.

Well, the evening might be a loss, but he still had the ring, and he still had the girl. So he'd do what he'd always done when a plan failed: come up with a better one, and try again when the time was right.

To be continued . . .