I don't own Megamind or any mentioned artists or songs; no money is made from this story. I DO own Sonja, Jason, Bert, and 'Killer,' and a clove of garlic.
A/N: This story was sparked by the death of David Bowie, long after I constructed Sonja as a Bowie fanatic-this is NOT meant to take advantage of his career or make light of his loss. Writing this story has helped me come to terms with his death, and to an extent, the expected death of a certain aged family member, and honestly, I'd prefer if folks could just not go the 'oh poor you!' route. I didn't post this for support, sympathy, or any awkward "I should say something" moments; getting support/sympathy etc always feels awkward and tends to make things feel worse. :\ No matter what Life throws at us, my family and I will survive and thrive; it's just what we do. Thank you for respecting my request and saving your well-wishes for wishing wells. ;) Warnings include depression and vague mention of past-tense suicide, language, and very odd relations.
This occurs at some point during my unfinished/unposted fic "A Match Made In Metal," which will soon be undergoing editing for posting. This fic includes instances of all-italics text. Lyrics in italics are simply music playing in the background—it is NOT a songfic. Any spelling/grammar mistakes in lyrics are NOT my doing; they appear as I found them. Otherwise, significant italics denote a memory. That said, hope y'all enjoy A2A; it's been a long time coming!
Suggested Listening:
David Bowie: "Ziggy Stardust," "Lady Stardust" "Rock 'N' Roll Suicide"
Ashes to Ashes
Branson, Missouri, January 11th, Monday.
No one expected her home so early, Sonja thought wearily as she parked her Harley in the garage. Blue Fire Customs didn't officially close until seven, and she wasn't known for leaving before her employees did. Surely her several hours early arrival would be met with pestering and prodding from the two otherworldly beings she'd invited into her home the previous Fall. At her side, her normally rambunctious brindle Dane mix whimpered for her attention; even 'Killer' knew something was wrong. Too numb to grope around for the light switch, she stumbled over to her workbench, blue eyes blurry.
Sure enough, no sooner had she turned on the stereo in her shop, a hesitant knock came at the open door. She didn't need to look—she knew without a doubt it was the mother hen of the two extraterrestrials. She was well known for her poor manners, but Minion had been exempt from that tendency from the moment he'd sheepishly knocked on her door looking for his friend. Despite it all, she couldn't bring herself to acknowledge his approach—she hadn't spoken since she left Blue Fire, and as hoarse as her voice had been, he'd undoubtedly worry even more if she were to speak now.
"Miss Merlo?" he asked tentatively. "You weren't supposed to be home for several hours…are you alright?" As the first strains of a familiar tune emitted from the stereo system, she sat woodenly at her workbench.
Ziggy played guitar, jamming good with Weird and Gilly, and The Spiders from Mars. He played it left hand, but made it too far—became the special man, then we were Ziggy's Band.
"Miss Merlo?" Minion repeated, creeping toward her, wringing his massive hands nervously. "Are…are you okay?" Shudders wracked her spine; her breath turned stale in her lungs. Somewhere in the deepest recesses of her mind, she registered faintly shaking her head as Killer paced by her chair. Confused and increasingly worried, Minion backed away, glancing toward the stone cottage they called home. "Should I go find Sir? Maybe he can help?"
So where were the spiders while the fly tried to break our balls? Just the beer light to guide us, so we bitched about his fans and should we crush his sweet hands?
Sonja never spoke, never flinched, staring blankly through the paint and grease-stained concrete. Killer whimpered again, shoving his scarred muzzle into her lap and forcing his head under her hand; when the hand failed to pet him, he whined even louder. Minion reluctantly turned to leave the shop, hurrying to find Megamind. Sonja was never quiet—more often than not, she was loud, rude, crass, and sarcastic. For all that to have suddenly changed, for her to seem so…so blank, something horrible must have happened.
"Sir," he called out as he stepped through the front door. "Something's wrong!" Megamind greeted him from the kitchen table, up to his elbows in fliers, schedules, correspondence, and pamphlets.
"Minion!" he grinned manically waving the other into the small kitchen. "Did you check the mail? We're still waiting on a ree-ply from David Bowie's mahn-agers, and they won't answer the phone!" They had only a few short weeks before opening night, and like each of the last five 'tours,' they'd booked several weekends worth of seat-to-seat tickets. All that remained was whether or not the 'Star' would be taking advantage of the complimentary tickets always offered to artists the house featured.
Their lady friend had been especially excited about this performance—after all, she'd never been able to see a David Bowie concert in person, and thanks to Megamind's brilliant improvements to the holographic disguise generators and several breakthroughs in the Brainbots' behavioral programming, he put on performances that could fool even the most observant eye. Their mechanical performance had even fooled her friend Kathy into thinking Alex Lifeson was up on stage—'fooled her into a gooey puddle of fangirly-ness,' as Sonja had so slyly put it.
"Sir, sorry Sir, but this is important!" Minion protested as his genius friend rummaged through piles of paper at a dizzying speed. "Something's wrong with Sonja!"
"Yes, Minion, it's called Monday," Megamind scoffed. "Besides, maybe she reel-eyes-ed that we got Officer Heekerman arrested so he couldn't stalk her anymore—she's probably waiting for the other foot to drop, and worried he'll go after Killer again."
"Kilroy," Minion corrected pointedly, wheeling Megamind's chair around to face him. "is out there with her. She's not worried, she's quiet!"
THAT did the trick. He gaped a moment, struggling to comprehend the words.
"Sonja?" he repeated. "Sonja is…quiet? She's never quiet! She even grumbles in her sleep!" Minion dragged his hand down his dome, exasperated.
"I'm so not asking how you know that," he muttered. "I think she's sick—or hurt—or something! She won't speak, she won't move, she won't do anything but sit there shivering! What could have happened—do you think something happened to Blue Fire?!" Megamind flinched. Blue Fire Customs was Sonja's pride and joy—her entire life had been put into that business. If something had happened to the building…or her employees….
"She's out in the shop, right?" he said softly. "I'll go…um…dee-stract her. Maybe she just had a long day…in…three hours?" he finished dubiously, reading the nearest clock. "Right. The mail?" Minion followed him out the door, rolling his fishy eyes; Sir never could let things go.
Out in the dark shop, Sonja still hadn't moved. Killer had ceased pacing agitatedly and now lay at her feet whining lowly. He'd managed to get up in his Mom's face and halfway on her lap, but she'd not reacted at all. Even stealing away her favorite ski cap right off her head hadn't drawn a reaction; normally, he'd have been banished to the dog run for even attempting such a daring feat, and banned from treats for a week. Mom was so attached to that hat, he thought mournfully. For her to not even care that he was slobbering all over it was unheard of!
Femme Fatales emerged from shadows to watch this creature fair. Boys stood upon their chairs to make their point of view. I smiled sadly for a love I could not obey. Lady Stardust sang his songs of darkness and dismay.
In the open doorway, Megamind scuffed his feet on the dusty concrete, studying his silent companion in concern. The only sign of life came from the stereo, in the form of a David Bowie CD Sonja had already played to death five times over. Kilroy lay by her chair forlorn, her prized grey knit hat abandoned nearby and likely covered in slobber. In the fading light coming from the open doorway, the bold navy and electric blue highlights in Sonja's chaotic black hair shone dimly. Finally dredging up his nerve, he slowly approached her.
"Sonja?" he asked quietly. "Minion said you just got home. Is everything alright?" His only answer was silence, but if he was anything, he was stubborn. After all, if he were easily put off, he'd never have spent so many years dueling his rival in the streets of Metro City—he'd have cut his losses, and sought a less painful way to utilize his strengths. Perhaps he would have realized his potential much sooner, and gone into pyrotechnics or show business. He'd never have supposedly killed Metro Man, never have gone on the run, never have found himself in Sonja's front yard, cornered by the oversized puppy who answered to Killer, and he'd certainly never have taken up shop in Downtown Branson, performing mock concerts with disguised brain bots.
"Sonja…" he urged, inching toward her, increasingly concerned. "Blackbird, say something…!" As he clutched her shoulder, her head fell limply to her chest, her lungs shuddering. She was asleep—in the time it had taken him to realize Minion wasn't being paranoid, that something was really wrong, she'd fallen asleep in the uncomfortable old wooden chair. Minion arrived moments later to find him staring in dismay at the shiny salt trails streaking down her cheeks. Long after Minion carried her to her bed and tucked her in, Megamind sat at the worn workbench as the stereo played on. She was the strongest person he knew; what could have broken her so thoroughly?
Oh, how I sighed when they asked if I knew his name. Oh, that was alright, the band was all together. Yes, he was alright and the song went on forever. He was awful nice—Really quite paradise—He sang all night long.
January 12th, Tuesday
By nightfall, she still hadn't been out of bed any longer than a bathroom trip. Minion had pulled out all the stops with breakfast, lunch, and dinner to entice her into eating, but she'd had no appetite regardless. Sonja still hadn't spoken, still lay in the darkness, curled into a fetal position under her worn black comforter.
A call had come in that morning from Sonja's assistant, Alice, to reassure them that she and the others had everything under control and they could handle the shop while 'the Big Boss' rested. Several hours later, her friend from the hospital, Kathy, had called to check on her as well. Then, when five o'clock hit, the phone rang again, and her brother Jason left yet another message on the answering machine, threatening to sic their Mother on her if she didn't call him back.
Kilroy was inconsolable, and spent the entire day pacing from room to room, curling up next to her and whimpering, and repeatedly dragging Megamind to her bedroom by his shirt. He hadn't seen Mom so upset since her left leg was mangled by a wrecked muscle car falling from a broken jack. Now, though, she was uninjured, and he couldn't tell why she was so upset. Though he wasn't sure how, he was sure the green-eyed alien could help.
Almost every evening since mid-Fall, Megamind, Minion, Sonja, and Kilroy had welcomed dusk around the porch, fireplace, or kitchen table, but when the sun set that night, it set alone. As the night wore on and his companion remained silent, still, and numb, Megamind scrambled for answers. Finally, shortly after midnight, he called the one person who was sure to have an answer.
After all, she was the smartest person he knew.
Metro City, Michigan, January 13th, Wednesday
The sudden bleating of a cellphone sent Roxanne tumbling from her warm bed onto the cold, hard floor with a shriek. Searching frantically for any sign of an intruder was a habit after so many years of spontaneous abductions, but like every day of the last year, she was completely alone. Another round of bleating rang out, accompanied by her cell phone dancing a jig on the nightstand. Too tired to climb back up on the bed yet, she fumbled for the phone and leaned back against the mattress.
"You do realize it's after one, right?" she grumbled into the phone. "This had better be good." On the other line, Megamind hesitated.
"It's really not," he admitted. "It's actually quite bad." Heaving a heavy sigh, she scratched her scalp and stumbled to her small kitchen.
"It's nice to hear from ya, Megamind," she admitted quietly as she went about fixing some hot tea. "and I'm really hoping you didn't just get swept away by a project and decide it couldn't wait."
"No, Roxanne." He glanced worriedly at Sonja's closed door; the room was as silent as it had been all day. "You remember Sonja Merlo, right? Owns her own customs shop? Let me hide out in her sell-are? Convinced me to beg for a president-al pardon, and saved my high-nee from stair-vashun?"
"Black hair, fancy dye job, lots of piercings and tattoos, has a dog bigger than you?" she confirmed. "Yeah, I remember. What's wrong?" As her old friend related the curious incident, Roxanne turned on her tablet to absentmindedly surf her favorite news site. Suddenly, there it was before her; she gasped, stunned.
"Roxanne? What's wrong—are you okay?"
"David Bowie died…" She stared through the article, stunned. "I don't believe it…Cancer!" At the mention of the musician's name, Megamind startled. Suddenly everything made sense. Sonja coming home in a daze, putting on 'The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust,' crying herself to sleep, winding up too emotionally numb to do anything more than stare at the wall.
"That's it." He turned weary green eyes to Sonja's closed doors. "He was her favorite musician—she's even more addicted to his music than she is to Rush and Styx…she even named her dog after it!"
"I don't recall any David Bowie songs about dogs named Killer," she retorted dubiously. "Diamond I could understand, but Killer?"
"Killer is a neck-name." Despite the sober situation, the full name made him smile. "His full name is Kilroy Ziggy Stardust." On the other line, Roxanne blinked, wondering if she'd misheard. After going over the words again, though, she was convinced.
"What sort of NUT names her dog ZIGGY and calls it KILLER?" she mumbled. "Look—never mind. Megamind, if she's grieving, this isn't gonna be easy. She'll need you two more now than ever before. So since I'm already wide awake anyway, here's what you need to do…."
An hour later, they finally hung up. Roxanne crawled back to her bed, collapsed across the tangled sheets, and zonked out in minutes. In the little stone cottage in Branson, Megamind retreated to the kitchen to work out the last details and worked through the night.
Thursday morning had dawned much as the previous day had faded: Minion felt helpless and worried, Megamind was concerned about his friends, Killer was inconsolable, and Sonja still lay in bed staring at the ceiling, heedless of numerous unanswered calls and messages on her house phone.
By the time lunch rolled around, Megamind sat in her office, staring at the phone and trying to dredge up the nerve to dial. He'd never met the man whose number he'd found in Sonja's contacts book, but he was very, very intimidated by him. Sonja had few photos on her walls, but most of them featured two huge, hulking men who had to be family, despite the drastic size difference. Finally, steeling his nerves, he tapped in the number before his nerves failed him.
"Bert Merlo," a deep, smoke-roughened voice greeted him. "We seen ya before, or you a new customer?" Megamind balked. "Y'ello?"
"Sorry, Sir," he finally answered, cringing. "I'm not calling about repairs…it's Sonja." The other man's silence worried him—had he made a mistake?
"She home now?"
"Yeah," the genius sighed. "She never left for work—hasn't even left the house." Bertrando swore lowly, and his chair squawked loudly; his last words before hanging up soured in Megamind's stomach.
"I'm on my way—don't leave'er alone."
Sonja stared at the ceiling blankly. Ten minutes ago, Megamind had invited himself into her room and begun relating a memory of one of his most memorable battles with Metro Man—or, as she'd preferred to call him, 'the twerp in tights.' For once, she found no humor in what had to have been an epic fail—she felt too numb to laugh. Deep in her heart, she knew she was in shock, but she found it hard to give a damn about anything, just then.
She blinked tiredly; a vehicle with a loud, growling engine screeched up the drive, accompanied by someone blasting AC/DC at near-deafening volume. In the living room, Kilroy went ballistic, barking and yelping hysterically and galloping from one window to another, his entire hind end waggling happily. The front door slammed, Minion uttered a little girl shriek before taking off for the cellar, and heavy footsteps thundered down the hallway tailed by Killer's stampeding. Sonja recognized those footsteps; through the fog that had settled over her, feelings of love and sorrow broke through.
Megamind jumped when the bedroom door flew open and gaped at the massive man lumbering toward Sonja's bed; sure enough, he was from the photos on her walls. He was well over six feet tall and built like a linebacker, with thick, scruffy black hair and even thicker, scruffier black beard and mutton chops. His eyes were a lighter blue than Sonja's, framed with deep wrinkles and shaggy eyebrows, and from the looks of it, he had more tattoos than Megamind cared to count. As if his appearance weren't enough, he also stank of motor oil, exhaust, and cigars. Despite the intruder's terrifying appearance, though, he dropped to sit by her and pulled her into a tight, fatherly hug.
"Sawnya, Sawnya, Sawnya," Bert rumbled as he rubbed her back; Megamind was used to Sonja's tangy Midwestern twang, but her father's version was almost incomprehensible. "The Hell'm I gonna do with you?"
"Take me out back an' shoot me," she grumbled into his shoulder, startling Megamind; that was the first thing she'd said since she left for work the day before! Bert chuckled, ruffling her hair.
"Nah," he grinned. "Too noisy. Could drown ya in the pond?"
"Too wet," she retorted, her eyes dark. "Burn me in the barrel?"
"You kiddin'? That'd stink like a sonuvabitch. Guess I'm stuck with ya, huh?" Though the morbid joking was disturbing, Megamind was thankful she was speaking again.
"I'll just...be out here," he announced, retreating to the kitchen; they probably wanted some time to talk, after all. As his steps faded, Bert turned to Sonja curiously.
"Ya really weren't kiddin', huh?" he commented. "Ya got an alien livin' in yer cellar."
"Old news, Pops...He's graduated to spare bedroom. He's tried so hard…I just…FUCK, I just can't believe it!" she exploded, finally, the last of the shock shattering into bits. "He's dead! He's fucking dead!" As he'd expected, she buried herself in her father's arms, sobbing loudly. "He's dead…Bowie's dead…"
"Baby girl, it happens to every'un 'ventually," he soothed gruffly, petting her shaggy black hair. "When yer name's called, ya gotta answer, an' no amount'a money, power, or celebrity'll buy ya more time. It was bound to happen sooner'r later—cancer jus' made it sooner."
"Why, Daddy?" she whimpered. "Why him?"
"Why any'un?" he countered sternly. "Why Robin Williams? Why Nelson Mandela? Why your Granpa an' Granma, an' your uncle Jack? If yer born, yer gonna die—that's jus' how it goes. All ya kin do is make sure ya live while yer alive—leave mem'ries for the ones ya leave behind.
"I…" she sniffed, scrubbing at her eyes. "I know, Daddy. It just—It just doesn't seem fair—"
"Watch yer language, Kid. Fair's a four-letter 'F' word, ya know." Finally, she cracked a smile.
"You're nuts," she laughed weakly. "I've missed you."
"Missed you too, Brat," he grinned, messing up her hair again. "You gonna be okay?" She shrugged, staring through her knees.
"I' gotta be," she admitted. "It hurts—It hurts so damn much—but I've gotta keep living." Her eyes were serious when they met his. "I ain't makin' Jack's mistake." He hummed thoughtfully, studying a year inked on his left wrist—the year his little brother was born. Inked in the same place on his other wrist was another year...the year Jack lost a long fight with depression.
"Jackie was his own person, Sawnya; his choices were his own. Much's it hurt us to lose'im, it was hurtin' him jus' as much losin' himself. I don' agree with what he' done—ya know that—but that don' give us right ta judge'im fer it. All we can do is falla' the path we b'lieve in, an' love him d'spite the one he chose." Silence reigned for a moment, then Bert smacked his knee, grinned, and hoisted himself up off the bed. "C'mon—Let's go raid the fridge." Sonja snorted with laughter, following him to the kitchen.
"Daddy, you ain't changed a lick…keep it up." While Sonja collected a couple bottles of Sam Adams Winter Lager and heated up a pan of leftover lasagna, Bert aimed a pointed look at Megamind before lumbering out to the back porch. The younger man dreaded what was sure to be an interrogation about everything from his intentions toward Sonja to his considerable criminal record, but finally worked up the nerve to follow.
Bert seemed almost harmless lounged in the large, dusty Adirondack chair, especially with Kilroy sprawled out at his feet grinning and panting. Nervous regardless, Megamind lowered himself into the other one, grateful for the small table separating them.
"'Pree-shee-yate ya callin' me, Son." The sudden, calm statement startled him.
"Huh?" Bert laughed lowly, shaking his head.
"Relax, Kid. I ain't gonna bite ya. What's yer name?" The younger man answered, adding without thinking,
"Other than that, I've only ever had a number." Bert's eyes darkened slightly, his easy smile falling away.
"Prison?" Megamind winced; he guessed it had been rather obvious, though. "Can't say I'm s'prised, really…after Jack's run-ins with the law, my time in the pen, her own bad luck, an' that Heckerman asshole stalkin' her, she's got pretty skittish of the law—'least she knows what t'expect with us cons."
"You were sent to prison?" Megamind asked before realizing it was a loaded question. "Uhh…I mean—"
"Yeah….twice." Bert scoffed at his memories. "The firs' time, I was innocent, the second time, guilty as sin. Some slimy punk brought a 'Stang in fer work, an' I fergot to run the serials—turned out it was stolen. They offered'im a plea bargain, so he took me down with'im, innocence not-with-standing. When I got out, I beat the shit out'a him, an' they sent me back." Bert's dark grin reminded Megamind of Sonja. She'd worn the same expression the day they met; she hated garlic, but always cooked with enough garlic to kill every bird in a five-mile radius, just in case Officer Heckerman dropped by. The deputy was highly allergic to it and prone to helping himself to her dinner, and she took a sadistic glee in 'inadvertently' poisoning him. And people had called him evil! "So what's yer story?"
"I landed there," Megamind answered simply. "Time and time again, I tried taking down my rival and was sent back, only to break out again. When I finally sook-seeded, he ree-foosed to prove I hadn't killed him, and it was either go on the run or get the death penalty. Minion and I were se-pahr-ated in the chaos and agreed to meet up every couple states till we reached the US-Mexico border. I wound up in Sonja's yard, half-dead from stair-vashun, and she took us in." He leaned back in his chair, staring thoughtfully out at the apple and walnut trees that had drawn his interest the day he'd first arrived at the stone cottage. "She convinced me to plead my case to the courts, convinced my rival to submit a confident-al statement regarding his living status, and talked me into applying for a president-al pardon. She's the reason Minion and I opened our concert hall, too—the disguise generators I'd invented turned out to be perfect for impersonating prom-in-ant musicians, and we're finally making a place for ourselves in this world."
"That sounds like my Sawnya," Bert smirked, amused by the younger man's speech quirk. "She's got a good heart under all the bristles. Take care of'er fer me, will ya, Megs? I'd hate ta have to sic her brother Jason on ya." Megamind nodded, grinning at hearing Sonja's nickname for him from her father, too.
"Of course, Mr. Merlo—you have my word." Bert scoffed, and gave him a light punch to the arm; of course, Bert was massive and musclebound and Megamind was small and wiry, so that 'light punch' nearly sent him flying.
"What's all this 'Mister' business?" Bertrando teased. "Call me Bert—yer family now, kid. 'Sides," He grinned almost sheepishly. "Ya taken good care of my baby girl, I kin tell." Megamind's reply was cut off by Sonja hollering from the kitchen. "Well, let's go eat, Son." His insides squirmed at being called Son again; could Bert have somehow seen the feelings he was hiding from his blue-eyed housemate? Despite the worries, he followed her father to the kitchen, eager for lunch.
Sonja stood slightly stooped at the counter, rummaging for flatware; he could see by her posture that her leg was cramping again. For a single, fleeting moment, he considered helping her to her seat and doling out lunch in her stead. Not for the first time, he fantasized about easing her pain. Massaging the stiff ache from her scarred, battered leg could easily transition into soft caresses and sweet kisses…if she weren't Sonja, that is. Being as she was Sonja, he knew he'd be dodging every piece of her favorite socket set if he even mentioned the idea. Still…
His line of thought was obliterated when she turned to greet him, her deep blue eyes full of fondness and gratitude. His heart fluttered—his gut clenched—his palms became drenched with sweat. As though she somehow knew the direction his runaway thoughts had taken, she arched one black eyebrow at him, pointing a dinner fork at him with a knowing smirk; he knew without asking that she was threatening to fork him. Caught. With a sheepish smile, he shuffled over to carry plates and glasses to the tiny table as Minion warily peered out of the pantry at Sonja's father, wondering if it was safe to leave the cellar.
As they sat down at the kitchen table with the rest, Megamind thought over their friendship. With every bite of garlic-free lasagna, he searched silently through weeks and months of subliminal messages and hidden cues, and numberless disguised glances and secret smiles. Every time she let him in, every time she pushed him away, every time she made him second-guess what she'd made him believe…Was she really as attracted to him as he was to her? He knew she was fond of him, knew she saw him as her best friend, and knew she had literally no shame when it came to him, but could there be more?
Across the table, Sonja and her father had erupted in a spontaneous fork-fight over her last bottle of Winter Lager, and Minion watched curiously, munching furtively on a meatball with his dome open. His heart full from the domestic scene and the people he shared it with, Megamind savored the rare peaceful moment. Even as he chewed thoughtfully, though, he couldn't stop himself from wondering if he was really willing to risk everything on the chance that his friendship with Sonja may someday become more.
January 24th, 2am
A constant, repetitive clicking dragged Megamind from sleep's clutches; as the ceiling of the guest room came into focus, he realized exactly what it was, and groaned in resignation. "Hold on, Boy," he mumbled, lethargically swinging one leg then the other off the bed. "I'm coming, just hang on."
Sure enough, Killer whimpered insistently in the hallway, his claws clicking even more frantically as he danced in a circle, glancing pointedly at the back door. Resigning himself to the task, Megamind shoved on his slippers and stumbled to open the back door. A blast of cold air hit him like a sucker punch when the door swung open, and Killer took off like a shot for his favorite tree.
Carefully easing the door shut, Megamind crept to the kitchen for a glass of water while he awaited the dog's return. He toed off his slippers at the doorway to progress in painfully bare feet; after all, Minion preferred sleeping in the warm, comfortable living space in the larger of the two cellars, and was likely powered down right below the kitchen. As he turned off the squeaky faucet, a familiar muttering sound echoed up the hallway; an amused smile split his face.
In the open doorway of Sonja's bedroom, he was greeted by a familiar sight: she had somehow managed to tangle herself up in the sheet, knock the comforter most of the way to the floor, and render her hair into a tragically matted black and blue mess, and now lay face-first on her favorite pillow, grumbling in her sleep. Fighting to remain absolutely silent, he grinned as she knocked the last corner of the comforter down with a vicious kick.
*"Dm r'kun," she slurred, swatting blindly at the edge of the bed. "E my crn, wllya! Trn'ya t'a hat!" Another kick was followed by more unintelligible grumbling. Ah, yes…dreaming about the raccoon that kept raiding her kitchen garden again; his chest was starting to hurt from holding back the laughter fighting to break loose. As every night before, though, he swallowed it down and approached the bed silent as a shadow. The sheet was a lost cause, as usual, so he just tugged the heavy comforter back over her. As he turned to make his way back out, she sighed in her sleep, twisting to free her nose and left cheek from the pillowcase. Moonlight glinted off the familiar metal lining her ear, reminding him of their meaning.
She'd fought long and hard to get recognized by the auto shop's previous owner, and rejoiced when he finally accepted her; she started her apprenticeship while she was still on crutches, and made her way up to assistant and paint specialist. On February 3rd, 2010 she bought the business from her aging boss and reopened it as Blue Fire Customs. To commemorate the event, she'd gotten five new piercings-two studs and three rings-and had her favorite ear cuff engraved with the year in roman numerals. Now she was 'the big boss,' the shop's revenues were through the roof, and word of her custom paint jobs had spread far and wide bringing in customers from every corner of the US.
'You really are something, Sonja,' he thought fondly, fighting the urge to sweep her bangs off her brow. Finally, he gave in; surely she was asleep enough to not notice! With soft, slow fingertips, he tenderly brushed a shaggy lock of hair behind her ear, his heart full to bursting.
"Mmm..." she murmured, nuzzling into his palm somewhat. "M...Megs...?" Deep blue eyes opened, focusing on him blearily; he froze, his hand still buried in her hair. "Wha's wrong? Y'okay?" Megamind forced a swallow, scrambling for a good excuse for his current predicament.
"Ehh..." he stammered stupidly. "Claws...Killer...out." Somehow she understood.
"I need'a get those trimmed," she muttered, nestling into her blanket nest. "The clickin's fit to drive ya nuts. Thanks, Hon."
HON?! His heart leapt at the unexpected term of endearment. Sure, it wasn't uncommon for women in the area to refer to others as 'Hon,' strangers even, but his Sonja had never been the sort. 'My Sonja?!' he mentally backpedaled. 'She's not my-' Mid-thought, he cut himself off; he smiled softly down on the already snoring woman still snuggled up to his trembling hand. It was true after all, he realized. With a final pet, he backed out of the room, pulling the door to as usual.
'Goodnight, my Sonja.'
The next morning, Sonja would wake up warm and relaxed, wondering why she felt like the world had shifted on its axis overnight. Ultimately she'd decide it was worth the trouble-worth being seen as soft-and that her friend, her housemate, her crush, was definitely worth risking it all on the possibility he might love her in return.
Glory Days Concert Hall, February 1, 6pm
The hall was packed, Sonja thought soberly. Packed tighter than a tin of sardines. All around her, people muttered amongst themselves and surveyed the meticulously chosen decor. Black granite shone, chrome gleamed, and the heavy black curtain atop the stage hung solemnly. Every other performance had been greeted by excited chattering, anxious fidgeting, and the fragrance of popcorn, sugary drinks, and fresh florals. Now the audience was subdued, and the air almost stale.
Had it really been a year since Megamind wandered into her yard, dehydrated, malnourished, running for his life, and certain that his doom was nipping at his heels? Had it really been a year since she invited him into her home and her life to save her own skin, a year since she found a kindred spirit in the grandiose ex-super villain? A memorable conversation tugged at her lips in a wry smile. "Show business?" her alien housemate echoed dubiously as she cut him another slice of cherry pie. "Be serious-that's a HORRIBLE idea."
"Megs," she retorted, poking him with her dessert fork. "I AM serious. Your pyrotechnics displays are infamous-my friend Dakota's always bitching about getting upstaged by your displays, an' she's a professional pyro! You're stealin' the thunder from 'Thunderstruck Theatrics!' Don't sell yourself short. Besides..." she smirked. "If I were bull-shittin' ya, I'd suggest ya join the Blue Man Group." Sure enough, a glop of whipped cream hit her smack in the face; grinning, she swiped it onto her pie. "Thanks!"
"Um, EW?"
A heavy hand on her shoulder grounded Sonja in the present; she turned to Minion with a somewhat weak smile. For once, the contact didn't put her off. At her other side, her father and younger brother Jason watched the stage curiously. They'd never been to Glory Days before, and were anxious to see Megamind's inventions at work. They'd been even more delighted to find that their seats were in the front row, just to the right of the stage; their view of the Brain Bots and the disguise generators would be almost unparalleled.
As Bert and Jason Merlo muttered amongst themselves, the lights dimmed. The stage was bathed in blue and white light and the entire room went silent; Megamind slipped out from behind the curtain. He hesitated momentarily, nervously fumbling with a note card he'd prepared ahead of time. Sonja smiled softly up at him, recognizing the situation easily; it was easy enough for him to take on a character, a role, and play to an audience, but the moment he needed to drop the disguise, he was lost and nervous. Sure enough, his bright green eyes met hers, seeking assurance. She winked back, mouthing, "Break a leg, Megs!" Finally, he was ready to speak...and he didn't need the card after all.
"Ladies, Gentlemehn," he greeted soberly. "This year, we lost a great mahn...David Bowie has gone home to the Starmahn in the sky, and our world is pu—poorer, for it." He recovered from the verbal stumble quickly; his heart skipped a beat when Sonja smiled encouragingly from her usual seat. "It was with great ree-gret that we learned that Mr. Bowie lost a long battle with Cancer this January. We'd planned to for-go our plans of featuring him and ree-fund all tickets sold, to respect his grieving loved ones and honor his memory." A surprised murmur rippled through the crowd. "We are gathered here today because his family and mahnagers disagreed.
"We sent our condolences and declared our intentions, and almost immediately received a response: 'the show must go on.' In accordance with their wishes, Mr. Bowie will play one final tour—not as he is, but as he once was. In honor of fifty-four years of his music, we will donate fifty-four percent of this tour's profits to his preferred charities; there are also marked jars in the lobby where you can make a donation to the American Cancer Society."
He paused, sweeping his eyes across the silent, still audience; Minion flashed him a toothy grin and ducked out of the room to man the controls. Finally sure everything would be fine, he fixed his eyes on Sonja's, all-too aware that his heart was doing flip flops again.
"Watch closely, Boys and Girls...tonight, Ziggy Stardust will sing his songs of darkness and dismay." With a sweep of his outstretched arm, he ducked backstage as the curtains lifted. Right before their eyes, the band of bots began to play as the last, in the guise of David Bowie's glam rock alter-ego, wailed familiar lyrics.
Megamind approached silently, accepting the seat his lady friend had saved him. She blushed slightly, passing him a bouquet of cut flowers. From the very first show, it had been her custom to attend each opening night and greet him with a small congratulatory nosegay of blue carnations. With each opening night, though, the contents of the bouquet became ever more complex; with every day, he became ever more certain that his feelings were not unrequited.
Oh no, love! You're not alone-You're watching yourself but you're too unfair. You got your head all tangled up but if I could only make you care. Oh no, love! You're not alone, no matter what or who you've been, no matter when or where you've seen. All the knives seem to lacerate your brain. I've had my share, I'll help you with the pain. You're not alone.
"Are you alright?" he asked softly, glancing pointedly up at the stage. The bright white and blue lights reflected brightly off of her steel decked left ear; aside from her usual two hoops, three studs, and engraved cuff, she wore an unfamiliar pair of sapphires in her lobes. In preparation for the tour, she'd gotten her hair dyed again; several thick highlights of 'Ziggy Stardust Red' now joined the navy streaks glaring blindingly from her shaggy black tresses. She stared pensively through the figure on the stage-an idol she'd never meet; she shrugged, and hesitantly took his hand.
Just turn on with me and you're not alone! Let's turn on with me and you're not alone! Let's turn on and be not alone.
"I will be," she answered honestly, fixing a weak smile on him. "Thank you, Megs...It doesn't seem like it, I'm sure, but I really appreciate you and Minion...you two've been such a blessing." Her eyes strayed lower, almost to his lips, but she wrenched them back to his eyes resolutely. "You did great tonight; really, really great." She punctuated the praise with an unexpected, brief kiss on his cheek, only to hear her brother grumble sarcastically,
"If they start neckin', I'm 'onna puke."
"Quiet, Son," Bert chuckled. "Jus' ignore'em." Sonja shot a dark glare over at her family, then smiled sheepishly at Megamind. He blushed, but returned it with a soft smile; for the first time, he had a family to embarrass him...even if it was technically HER family.
When Sonja's eyes returned to the stage, he studied the flowers she'd given him and mentally cataloged the meanings according to a book he'd found stashed in a forgotten corner of the hidden cellar. As always, there were a few blue carnations. Queen Anne's Lace: sanctuary. Purple Heather: admiration. White Heather: wishes coming true. Statice: remembrance. Red carnations...He faltered, stunned, and searched his memories again, but came up with the same answer. Love, pride, and admiration. He silently scrutinized Sonja's profile, hoping against hope that he wasn't wrong. Surely he was wrong! As though sensing his eyes on her, she turned to him.
She almost grinned at the sight of her housemate completely dumbstruck; of course, she knew why, which made her feel uncharacteristically shy. Instead of answering him, she bit the bullet; she released his hand and draped her arm around his shoulders, and glanced pointedly to a single tall, round cluster of lavender flowers, dead-center. The moment he recognized it, he broke into a matching grin; he knew that plant.
It was the plant she'd spent a year poisoning her food with...the hated plant she'd put up with to protect her sanity and her dog's life...the only plant permanently banned from the kitchen now that Officer Heckerman was behind bars and she and Kilroy were safe...
...she gave him garlic.
«*»
*Sonja talking in her sleep, translation: "Damned raccoon! Eat MY corn, will ya?! I'll turn ya into a HAT!"