Bail

Ninnik Nishukan

Author's notes: This story isn't much, but I've been trying and failing at finishing any of my many, many Megamind stories for far too long. In the end, I figured I'd start a new, shorter story, just to see if I could finish anything at all. Here it is.

A beat or two after Minion leaves to get some missing component of whatever the newest plan requires (she realizes she wasn't even listening), she decides to just do it. What she's wanted to for weeks.

"It's just not funny anymore."

She can hear her own voice coming out of her, quiet and tired and sincere, but it feels like it's coming from someone just slightly to the left of her, someone outside of her body, observing her. She feels simultaneously connected and disconnected to the moment.

"What?"

Even his voice is small now, all of a sudden. A few seconds ago, he was shouting. She wonders if he's just responding to the tone of her voice, to her facial expression, because he can't possibly have heard what she said, can he? He's staring at her, walking uncertainly across the floor towards her, in an odd sort of hunched, half-bent sort of way, trying to meet her eye level where she's tied to the hostage chair. What does her face look like right now, to make him act like that?

She shifts in her seat, and swears she can feel a splinter grazing her wrist. Can't they just get a new chair, already?

"I can't do this anymore," she elaborates, wistful yet unmoving to her own ears.

"Can't do…this," he repeats hollowly, the furrow forming between his eyebrows telling her that he's somewhere between not quite understanding and not quite wanting to understand.

She believed she intended it as an experiment, more or less just to see how he'd react, what he'd do, but now that the idea is out there, she understands that she means it with all her heart.

Of course she's asked him to stop before, but usually only so he'd give it a rest for a couple of days or (in some extreme cases) for a week or two— she has never really asked him to stop completely before, and has never asked him this seriously— she was always rolling her eyes, raising an eyebrow or scoffing, not looking him in the eye and being genuine— and she has never taken the time to explain why, on a personal level—

"It's enough now. I just want to get back to my life. I want to do things. I have things to do. I don't want to keep doing this forever. Sometimes it's been almost like fun, but it's starting to wear me out. I've just…I've reached a certain point, and I think I reached it weeks ago, maybe longer." Sighing, she rolls her stiff shoulders for a moment, but makes sure not to break eye contact for too long. Meets his unflinching, stunned stare again. "I haven't had a real vacation in years, I've missed my last two dentist appointments, and I haven't visited my parents in forever. I can't anymore. I want to be left alone to figure some things out."

What will he say, really? Will he threaten her melodramatically, reminding her that she isn't in any position to complain, that she will do exactly as the evil mastermind says, or face the consequences? Or will he lecture her on the rules of the game, complaining that she's acting even more out of character than usual? Or will he just act offended and sulk for a week, before kidnapping her again? Or will he actually—?

He opens his mouth. Closes it again. Wrings his leather-covered hands. Draws a breath. "What is it that you don't…?"

"You know. This." She tosses her head, trying to gesture at their surroundings without the use of her hands. "I can't continue being some…toy ball that you and Metro Man play with, tossing me back and forth. I'm a person. I have a life." She pauses, bites her lip. "Or at least…I want to get a life. I used to have one."

"But it's been…it's always been…" His fidgeting hands retreat behind the curtains of his cape. "What brought this on?"

"Ten years of this brought it on. I suppose."

Slowly, he unbends his back. "The ten year annie-versary last week," he says, a hint of clarity in his suddenly flat voice, even as his expression remains lost.

"Anniversary," she says automatically, and watches his cheeks and ears go purple. For years, she left his constant mispronunciations alone, mainly because they were funny to her. Lately, they've been getting on her nerves, to the point where she's found herself unable to stop correcting him. "And not that it's any of your business, but I also happened to find my first grey hair a couple of weeks ago, and that's just— I mean, how long are we gonna keep doing this? Until we're so old we can't walk or remember who we are anymore?"

"Miss Ritchi, what if we just…do things differently?" Now there's a certain desperation floating about him, covering him like mist. "What if I conjure up something new and unpredictable? Not just a new weapon, but ridding ourselves of the tedious, posturing chessboard of good and evil and thinking in new and sneakier ways! With my con-side-rahbluh intellect, it shouldn't be any trouble! Recall the time when I tricked you into thinking we were in the old conservatory, when we really weren't? Remember that? Well! Let me tell you, that old bait and switch will seem as nothing compared to..."

His bluster trails off as he catches sight of her shaking her head.

For a second, she was almost, almost intrigued, but she's heard it before. And this time, she doesn't even bother correcting the mispronunciation. "It's not about a lack of variety in what we've been doing. You can stop running yourself ragged trying to figure out how to wow me, how to invent something I haven't seen before. Because I want out. Completely. The point is that I want to be doing something entirely else. Something that I choose, not something that just happens to me." A wounded, bitter note is creeping into her voice. She considers squashing it, but perhaps it's more important for him to hear how he's affected her, rather than upholding her cool, collected image of the past. "Not something I'm forced into by other people, just because they feel like it."

The blue seems to be draining out of his otherworldly face now, and she wonders if it has in fact never occurred to him before, not really— and to him and Metro Man both— that she's been forced. That it's all been against her will, even though it's helped her career and has even been exciting occasionally. That her freedom of movement and freedom of choice was stolen from her, again and again. That this is what has actually been happening for ten years. That they just never even thought— that maybe they just assumed she was always having just as much fun as them—

She's not sure if she wants to laugh or be angry at the notion.

She wonders, considering he was raised in a prison, and his personal servant is his closest friend, if making other people do things is just how Megamind thinks people treat each other. If prison routines has messed up his way of thinking about life. At this particular time, we play the kidnapping game, and though some of us may complain, that's just how it is. Lights out at ten, overdone Salisbury steak on Sundays.

Or if it's merely what he thinks supervillains do to other people.

Either way, she's not a criminal, she's not in prison, and she has the right to freedom of all kinds. Whatever issues he has is none of her business, outside of her journalistic or plain ol' human curiosity. His issues aren't going to stand in her way any longer. She knows bits and pieces, some of which she's personally guessed or dug for, some of which Metro Man has told her, and some of which Megamind has inadvertently revealed himself, but she can't afford to feel sorry for or indulge him anymore. He's a big boy, he should be able to deal. And she's a big girl who wants a future of her own design.

He's still just standing there, staring blankly, still pale, and it dawns on her that she's losing her chance. Minion may be back at any moment.

"Megamind," she says calmly, and it seems to jolt him.

"Yes," he mumbles, blinking rapidly, "yes, of course—" As if in a trance, he walks around the chair and starts fumbling with the ropes. She's shocked at how easy it was; wonders if she should've just asked him properly years ago. Wonders what she actually knows about him, even after all these years. As the ropes release her arms, her heart speeds up in a way it hasn't since the very few first kidnappings; she draws a relieved breath when her legs are freed as well. Yes, this was the right decision.

She's going.

She stands up quickly, snatching her handbag from the floor by her feet, and practically jogs across the floor towards the exit (not the one marked exit, because she doesn't want to fall into the crazy alligator disco pit, but the one she discovered only last year was the real exit, during a failed escape attempt). Before she's through the door, she turns to look back at him, catching the dazed, pained look on his face. Then she hears Minion's heavy, robotic footsteps approaching, however, and doesn't take the time to linger.

The door clicks shut behind her, and fresh air hits her face, the sky a warm sunset pink.

Roxanne knows exactly where she is, because she figured out the location of the lair last year. Even if the walk home is long, she smiles. Just in case, she picks up a discarded length of pipe from the surrounding area, which is sprinkled with forgotten building materials. It would be far too pathetic (and/or ironic) if she actually ended up being bested by some common thug after finally escaping the clutches of a supervillain.

Nearly two months go by before anyone really notices Megamind's absence. Two months that Roxanne spends covering local murders, pollution scandals and public strikes. Two months that she spends visiting her family and reconnecting with friends she lost contact with. She even attends an office party (the latter mostly because Hal had to go temporarily live with his parents in Chicago due to his apartment building finally being condemned, meaning he'd be absent from the party).

Roxanne does all this without looking over her shoulder; without expecting to get a smelly bag shoved over her head at any given moment (or at least she stops expecting it after the first week or so).

One Thursday morning, she gets called to a press conference, and for once, she's not the one doing the interviewing.

"I guess the little guy just finally gave up," Metro Man suggests, smiling broadly at the sea of cameras. "I mean, it had to happen eventually, even with somebody as persistent as him. I guess that in the end, he had to admit he couldn't defeat me."

A dozen reporters start speaking as one. Finally, one of them, a tall, young black woman, manages to break through the din. "What is your opinion on Megamind's sudden silence, Miss Ritchi?"

Roxanne brushes her bangs aside with her fingers; gives the cameras a conspiratorial look. "Honestly? I think he just got bored. It has been a very long time, after all, and with a brain that size, he had to eventually get sick of the repetition. I think he wanted to do something else with his life."

The reporter who asked the question (Roxanne thinks she might be from Channel 6 news, Morgan or Matthews or something) grins, and a slight chuckle ripples through the assembled press.

Glancing at Metro Man, Roxanne discovers a puzzled, curious frown on his face. All traces of his earlier public bravado gone for a moment, Roxanne experiences an involuntary wave of fondness for the big lug. Despite appearances, his ego isn't large enough to prevent him from considering her version of the story. She knows that he's spent more than one night wondering about Megamind's motivation, even if he hasn't actively done anything yet to change the game.

Except perhaps the time when, two years earlier, Metro Man attempted to send his nemesis a friendly Christmas card. Megamind mistook it for a sarcastic taunt and proceeded to send an army of robotic reindeer after him.

"And what, in your personal opinion, is Megamind doing with his life now, Miss Ritchi?" possibly-Morgan-or-Matthews asks.

Roxanne Ritchi shrugs. "I don't know. Depending on what it is, we may find out very soon and very publicly, or we may never find out."

The press erupts into questions again, but the rest of the conference is fruitless. Any answers would all just be speculation, anyway, especially Metro Man's answers. Roxanne hasn't even told him how Megamind agreed to let her go, so she's definitely not going to tell the press.

The following week, as she's watching the Sunday evening news, she hears a tentative knock on her balcony door. She's unsure whether or not she's shocked to see the familiar, blue face and dark cape through the glass (and not only because her apartment is up on the 24th floor).

Megamind gives a sheepish, nervous little wave when she notices him, and her stomach does a funny twisty thing. Was he standing out there long, pacing, watching her? Unintentionally invading her privacy as he tried to work up the nerve to knock? She's used to being watched and followed, and usually takes it in stride; but not here, not in her own home.

She sees him fidgeting as he waits for her to turn off the television, walk across the floor, and unlock and slide open the balcony door.

When she's removed the glass and hard plastic barrier between them, she just stands there, hand on the sliding door, and watches him wordlessly. The ball is in his corner. He's the one who decided to show up unannounced. And even though there are worse times when he could have interrupted her— the Sunday news was only featuring a local cat show when he knocked— he has interrupted her. What does he expect her to do, invite him in for tea?

He shuffles his feet a bit. The hover bike hums gently in the air behind him. "I saw the press conference. On TV."

Some sort of understanding dawns on her. "Right."

"Miss Ritchi, I just wanted to say…thank you, I suppose." He shrugs one shoulder, meets her gaze with still embarrassed eyes and a weak smile. "For disagreeing with Metro Mahn. Really, I was rather surprised. I thought you practically worshipped Captain Underpants."

Blinking, she feels like she's a statue come to life, her intellect sparked with interest. She decides to ignore the worshipping comment. "Sure I disagreed! I mean…you? Giving up, just like that? After all this time? That doesn't sound like you, does it?"

Megamind's brow wrinkles. "But I did give up…didn't I?"

Roxanne shakes her head. "Not how I see it. You let me go because I asked. I was the one who took the initiative to stop. If it were up to you, I bet you'd still be going."

There's a moment of silence, during which none of them mention the fact that of course it was entirely up to him, yet he ended things even though he didn't want to stop. Because she asked. Somehow, it doesn't want or need to be said, not right now.

She swears she's never seen his eyes quite this large and helpless before, not even during his most humiliatingly failed schemes. "I don't understand, though. Why didn't you tell everybody the truth? That I released you?"

She exhales. "Because I know how much you value your villainous image. Because I thought I'd give you the choice to reveal the truth yourself, with whatever consequences that might bring. Because I wanted to see what you'd do, what kinda guy you really are. And because I'm not really into revenge."

The frown lines on his face seem to be multiplying endlessly, miserably. "I'm so sorry."

"What for, specifically?" she asks, a thick coat of skepticism painted across the surprise in her voice.

"Oh, I've been thinking a lot since you left that day, Miss Ritchi," he declares, briefly clutching his forehead with one hand. "Pondering day and night, utilizing all the powers of my superior, gargantuan brain! And there are so many, many things to be sorry for. So, so many!" The melodramatic flair has returned, and it's annoying, yet absurdly pleasing.

"Name one thing," she challenges, curious to see how this villain understands fault, and guilt, and what's good or bad, what you're not supposed to do to other people. Momentarily terrified that he's going to turn out to be even more warped than she thinks. That even now, he's going to make her nauseous by apologizing for being too boring, not being evil enough, not going bigger and better, that he's just going to harp on about the same old, same old— but he did set her free, and he heard her say what she said, so surely…?

He opens his mouth and closes it again, gestures limply with one hand. "I've…made a list. Minion helped," he admits, and she wants to laugh. She's sure he has it in writing, and she's sure he's brought it with him.

"Mention something important from the list. Anything."

He meets her eyes with a nearly uncomfortable level of sincerity and regret. "I'm sorry for snatching you away from your life. Inconveniencing you. I'm sorry for taking away your freedom of choice." She sees and hears him swallow hard. "I'm sorry for treating you like…a pawn in a game. I'm sorry for all the wasted time."

He seems to struggle even more to speak next: "I just thought…I thought that was how it was supposed to be. Because it was, right? I was the bad guy, Minion was the evil sidekick, Metro Mahn was the hero, you were the damsel. I thought everyone agreed. I guess I'd gotten so used to it…I guess it had been so long since I'd properly considered my place in the world, that I'd somehow nearly forgotten what it felt like to hate the role you've been assigned without even being asked." He gives a sad little chuckle. "You know, Minion actually let me have a few well-placed words about what's it like being an evil sidekick? Can you believe it? Now he's gone and joined something called a union. I had no idea one even existed!"

Minion helped, he said. She wonders if, without his loyal sidekick, ego and habit would have prevented him from gaining this insight. She purses her lips, folds her arms across her chest. A spike of the anger she hasn't allowed herself to feel much of the last couple of months (or maybe the last ten years), the anger she has barely been aware existed, pierces something inside her. The wound begs to be explored.

On the one hand, she found the whole thing bizarre and amusing; knows she's gotten so much attention, personal entertainment and so many hours of footage for work out of it. On the other hand, there's the unconsciousness and the headaches and the missed appointments and the waiting, the waiting, the waiting, the endless posturing, the cold lairs, the ruined outfits, the endless questions from her co-workers and her family, the missed opportunities to cover much more important news—

She's not ready to forgive him. She's uncertain if she ever will be, not entirely. And now that Megamind's standing there in front of her in his silly cape, she realizes she's not ready to forgive Metro Man either. He could have stopped everything at any given time, if he'd really wanted to. Maybe that was why she didn't tell him the truth about why Megamind's not kidnapping her any longer; maybe because, deep down, she felt he didn't deserve to know. Metro Man never even asked her, never even gave her the option to quit the game. She supposes she should also be blaming Minion, but he was the one who always tried to make a hostage situation feel something more like a visit for her, even though he initially seemed physically incapable of going against his master's will. She can't bring herself to be too angry with him. Sometimes they almost seemed like friends.

She wonders if Megamind has already had, or is planning to have, a talk with Metro Man and Minion; the other amused, but harried players in the decade-long game. If so, she likes to think that he's prioritized coming to her. That he's put her, the most unfairly treated pawn of all, first in line, and that he's done so out of respect. Not just because he may or may not have some sort of weird crush on her.

There's also the simple fact to consider that he still hasn't gone out to find himself a replacement hostage, or even tried to continue the battle of Good vs. Evil without one. This tells her that, to Megamind, what went on for those ten years was just as much (if not more) about her as it was about Metro Man. She's really not sure how she feels about that.

"Miss Ritchi?" Judging by the way he's now tilting his head, frowning in concern, he's expecting her to speak. Lucky for her, all of her thoughts are basically boiling down to one simple thing right now.

"I think I kinda need to yell at you for a while," Roxanne says, matter-of-factly.

Megamind blinks, takes a tiny step back. "Oh. You're angry."

"Yeah. I'm angry. I'm also a lot of other things, but right now, that's what I need to focus on. You've had a lot of fun with me, and I've had…less fun. And much like me in the past, you don't have a choice. I mean, you can choose to leave, of course, but if you choose to remain on my property right now, then believe me— you won't have any other choice than getting yelled at." Her eyebrow cocks. "I don't even care if I wake up the neighbour's annoying, yappy dog."

She can tell he's actually afraid now, despite the fact that he could easily dehydrate her on the spot and flee if he wanted to. But he's not leaving. It appears that he knows he deserves everything that's coming to him, no matter if he's scared. He's still willing to provide her with her catharsis.

She'll deal with the implications of this new behavior later. And she'll postpone asking him what he's been doing for the past two months and about his new plans for the future (if he has any). Right now, if anything productive is ever going to happen for either of them, she needs to vent first. Clear the air. It's been a complicated decade.

"Okay," he agrees reluctantly, "but do you think I could…can I come in?"

Her hand tightens on the balcony door handle for a moment, the skin of her neck prickling, but slowly, the muscles in her arms and shoulders relax again.

He's not overstepping his bounds with her; he's just being sensible for once, that's all. Going inside and shutting the door— and not having the entire block overhearing what should be a very private conversation— would be for the best. Even though he's usually the world's biggest attention hog, now he's making a reasonable point for discretion.

And even though he's made it clear in the past that he's always known her address, considering how many times he and Minion have kidnapped her in her own neighborhood, the thing is that he's never, ever broken into her apartment to get her. Not once in all of ten years.

She's fully aware that you're supposed to simply take for granted that your acquaintances would never do this, and that it isn't exactly something to give a person credit for, but he's a blue alien supervillain raised in a prison for the criminally gifted. Sometimes the expectation bar has to be set a little lower for him than for actual normal people. At least for now.

Nodding, Roxanne steps aside. "Come in, Megamind."

She hears him draw a trembling breath as he crosses the threshold.