"Sir? Is there anything else you need?"

"No, Minion. Thank you."

Minion hesitated at the door. "Sir...?" It wasn't like him to use polite language.

"I...I'm fine, Minion. Just...go to sleep."

"Okay, sir..."

Minion adjusted his mechanical body in a corner of the warehouse and squeezed into his sleepy-house. Something mettalic groaned in the depths of the old warehouse, and Minion stifled the urge to double-check to make sure his master was safe. The battle with Titan (or was it Tighten?) had done a number on him, despite his protests otherwise. That was the only reason they hadn't brought up the argument from the night before in greater detail.

Hard to believe that less than 24 hours ago, he had been curled up next to an old TV in one of their amandoned lairs. Less than a day ago, his master had disowned his entire life to pursue a charming young woman who had, by all accounts, ruthlessly torn out his heart and stomped on it with a spiked high heel less than two hours later. Megamind really did have the worst luck. At least Miss Ritchie didn't hate the man entirely...not enough that she wanted him dead. It was unfortunate, Minion thought, that the one person Megaind cared for more than anything (he gritted his pointed teeth; that thought would NOT hurt) had no interest in him as himself.

"Minion...?"

He was up in an instant. He'd forgotten that Miss Ritchie knew where the Lair was. "Here, Miss Ritchie."

"Where's Megamind? I looked -"

"He's asleep." Minion didn't mean the comment to come out as harshly as it did. His visitor flinched, but the earlier anger had returned. "How may I help you?"

"I..."

Minion readjusted his stance to get a better look at Miss Ritchie. Her makeup was smudged, where it hadn't been rubbed off entirely. Her hair was rumpled out of control of her extra-strength hair spray that had always held through the most...exciting kidnappings. She was still wearing her blue dress, now torn and dusty. Pieces of rubble and building fragments clung to the ruffle around the hem.

"Are...you okay, Miss Ritchie?"

To his horror, the young woman seemed to crumple in on herself. She didn't sob, exactly; she just collapsed in a rumpled heap and vented out the stress of the day.

"Miss Ritchie!"

"I...I'm fine, Minion."

"I've heard that one before. Now...what's wrong? Are you hurt?"

"Just...stressed..." She trailed off with an ungainly sniffle. Minion had never seen Miss Ritchie cry before. "I...it's just...he was dead. Dead...all my fault..."

Ah. That was understandable. Minion tried to keep his mind clinical, angry...and failed. He couldn't cry, per se - it was a biological impossibility - but the gut-wrenching knowing and understanding and pain was the next best thing. "He's...okay, Miss Ritchie. He'll be fine."

"But...but he was thrown into a wall. He hit his head! on a building! And he was already injured before...before he found me!"

Tears overflowed again, and Minion found himself far out of his depth. "Er...Miss Ritchie? Do you want to sit down? The couch is very...soft..."

He retrieved a blanket from a dusty corner, where it had been used to cover a set of mechanical spy-mice. They scattered in the dim light that filtered in through the windows from the one street lamp that hadn't been shot out. He'd retrieve them later. When he returned, Miss Ritchie had managed to drag herself onto the couch, still half flopped over. She accepted the blanket gratefully; the Lair was too cold and damp to be comfortable for most people. Minion really didn't understand humans' climate preferences.

"He...he's hurt." It was a statement.

"Yes."

"It's my fault."

"Not...not really. He's been through worse...we were expecting worse, if things went badly. But Titan's gone, you're unhurt, and Sir...he'll recover."

Miss Ritchie tucked her chin behind her knees, buried in the folds of the blanket. "Can I...see him, please? I know I don't have any right to ask, after how I...after what I said to him, but...please?"

Minion hesitated, but nodded. Megamind's room was a bit warmer, anyways. He led the way through the maze of old pieces of machinery and abandoned plans to the spiked door covered in blue spray-paint graffiti and tacked-up bits of technical diagrams. A few sticky notes, their stickyness long gone, fluttered as the pair walked by.

The door was slightly squeaky - a defense mechanism, subtle enough to seem accidental - but Minion was able to pull up and back at just the right angle to minimize the noise. Miss Ritchie approached the bed with short, shy steps, as if fully aware of her intrusion in such a personal space. And yet...as she leaned over the bed, one hand hovering above a shoulder-shaped lump under the covers, there was a depth of tenderness and sorrow that even Minion could feel.

Miss Ritchie backed away abruptly. "I'll go, now," she whispered. "I just needed to see...to make sure he was okay."

Then her foot hit the squeaky floor tile between the bed and the door, and the figure on the bed groaned. "...Minion?" He sat up and turned, his eyes widening at the figure frozen guiltily in the middle of his bedroom floor. "Roxanne?"

The pair stared at each other for a moment, then - to Minion's awed amazement, they began to move. Blue feet hit the floor, pale peach arms reached out...and then they were a knot of arms and tears and love and whispers - "I'm sorry," and "No, no..." and "I love you...so much."

Minion backed away, avoiding the scraps of paper and squeaky spots on the floor. He was sure nothing...untoward would happen (Megamind was a villain, but he was a gentleman villain; besides, they were both exhausted), but the two would appreciate their privacy.

Minion settled down in the hallway outside the doorway, out of sight of the occupants in the room. All else would wait.

Everything was all right.

Copacetic: very satisfactory