Hello! Thank you for taking time to read this story. =)

Introspect is a series of one shots of varying lengths revolving around different characters in the Despicable Me film. All of these chapters will take place during different moments of the film. They will not all fall in chronological order, mostly due to the fact that they're not being written as such. However, if you've seen the film then the moments should be recognizable. I suppose you could call these more of character studies than simply one shots; they're more on the serious side.

Special thanks goes out to DP-shrine-in-closet-girl, who helped with and offered her support on this section. She's awesome! Go check out her 'Despicable Days' fic, it's wonderful. =)

Margo's turn is first. Enjoy!

Introspect

Margo, Part 1

To her, it had been obvious from the start.

She stood in the dressing room, tugging at her performance wear. The recital was slotted to begin in a half hour, and she had brought the girls early to make sure they'd all be ready on time. Agnes had been looking forward to this the second she was informed of its existence. Edith, despite her general apathy to all things girly, had also not hidden how excited she was for the show. Margo had to admit that she, too, had been highly anticipating this day. She enjoyed dancing, albeit not nearly as much as singing, but still.

It had taken less than fifteen minutes for all three of them to be ready; Edith and Agnes had left her in the changing area, talking overtop each other about something to do with reserving a seat in the front row. They were rather excited about it, judging by the spring in their steps and grins on their faces. She watched as they left, speaking in giddy tones with giant smiles, and felt her heart clench.

She knew this would happen.

Margo's arms dangled at her sides, hands half-formed into fists. Edith and Agnes had been whispering about it for days—about the possibility of seeing him again. When she caught wind of his name passing through her sister's conversations, Margo couldn't help but interject. They hadn't been happy when she shot down their hopes, yet she never expected them to be. Margo understood that they were younger than her, and still tended to see the world through rose-colored glasses on certain subjects. Edith would deny it, but when push came to shove, the truth would be obvious. Agnes was so young that Margo doubted the little one really understood what happened; she still brought him up almost every night during prayer time, asking God with all her heart for them to go back home soon, pretty please!

On certain nights, the kind where her brain refused to shut off, Margo would find herself thinking similar thoughts. That she just wanted to go home, to wake up in her bomb bed to the smell of disfigured pancakes and the sight of him in that goofy apron, welcoming them with a warm smile and oddly-accented English and hearty laughter and such a feeling of welcome home, Margo—

Then she'd remember. She would wake up from her wants, and realize that his home was not their home. It was not her home. It had never been home, and she had been foolish to ever begin believing it was.

She had known this would happen from the very beginning. From the moment she laid eyes on the man, she knew something was off. Margo, to her undesired benefit, had spent many years around adults that forced strained compassion upon the residents of the orphanage. She was young, but certainly not stupid. Actions speak louder than words, this she knew for certain; no amount of sugar-coated coaxing could cover up looks of aggravation, impatience, or annoyance. She had spent quite a bit of time over the years in a cardboard box simply for not making a quota on pre-packaged cookies. Buttery words would never convince Margo it was for her own good, especially coming from Ms. Hattie, whose eyes seemed to have a permanent gleam of greed in them with a voice set on two distinct volumes—insincere softness and infuriated screeching. Margo did not prefer to socialize in any way with apathetic adults, however often she found herself faced with the task when selling cookies. Being orphaned at a young age and finding herself practically raising two younger girls on her own gave her little patience with self-serving authority figures that, in all honesty, truly didn't give two licks to her well being.

That is what she saw the first day he brought them into his home.

Margo checked her watch, pulling temporarily out of her thoughts. Ten minutes until line-up. The dressing room was filling with children and parents. She slipped quietly out of the room, unnoticed. She did not venture far; there was a water fountain at the end of the hall, within sight of the general populace filing in, yet secluded enough that she wouldn't be bothered. She sat gently upon the clean tiled floor, noticing that it was polished bright for the performance. Her frustration had not ebbed; she wondered if it would eventually bubble into the anger she had felt as they drove away from his house.

That odd house. Her mind wandered back to that first day: being lead inside a home fit for the Addam's Family, seeing it stocked with enough weapon paraphernalia to put her almost immediately into mother-mode, finding herself chastising a man at least four times her age for such a non child safe environment. Watching the man give orders, unknowingly displaying the fact that he had no real clue as to how to care for children, that he was straightforward with blunt rudeness to them, confirmed Margo's suspicion that something was not right. Discovering the underground lair and noticing how he avoided them even more, to the point of where Margo wondered why he adopted them at all.

Yet she had to remain strong. The younger girls were elated with the man, despite his obvious cold nature. Margo had hoped that Edith, at least, would notice how un-parental this man was; however, the pink-clad girl was far too intrigued by the contents of the house to really care. Agnes, as usual, saw the best in the situation and loved the man to death—what good she saw in the worst of people was lost on Margo, despite the blessing it was. She did her best to stay positive, to make lemonade out of lemons, yet she found herself grasping for straws at the end of the day. She had seen enough, heard enough. She was angry and frustrated. Would he ever become a parent to them? Would this ever really be home for them? She turned her frustration onto him—she found it appropriate, him being the cause of it in the first place—swearing he'd never be her father. His response confirmed what she already knew. It made her feel, for the first time in her life, like running back to the orphanage she had so desperately wanted to escape for years.

"I think I can live with that."

Margo's hands came down with a slap upon the shiny tile beneath her, eyes narrowing. His response had affected her more deeply than he could ever realize, more than she ever cared to admit, and solidified her stance on his person for a long while. She didn't trust the man; she felt foolish for even considering the notion during those days that seemed like years ago. No, those thoughts were long gone, especially after he gave them up and denied them the closest thing to a real home they'd ever had—despite how unorthodox as it was. Not now that she fully knew he was a super villain; the whole spy cover didn't play out very well after the whole "going to the moon" pep talk. He had insisted that his intentions were honorable, and at the time she had simply smiled, nodded, and believed him. Her teeth clenched at the memory, before gently relaxing once more.

He was a super villain. That was, ultimately, his job. He was the type of person one was supposed to root against. The evil individual bent on something destructive, fated to be stopped by some kind of archetypal hero whom saves the day. He was an enemy to all people, which explained his harsh behavior in the beginning. It did not, however, explain how different he became in the last few days before their parting. This she also had to, reluctantly, admit. Despite her negative feelings toward him as of late, she couldn't deny the obvious. She had to admit that he had begun to change before their eyes, had started to make her smile and laugh, had caused her to place a miniscule hope in him. Hope that maybe, just maybe, all his intentions really had been honorable. Admitting this lead to thoughts existing outside of the frustration within her, thoughts that lead her into the vast wilderness of confusion, where she had resided many days after he sent them back.

He had eventually presented himself to her and the girls in such a different manner that it was hard to believe he was a villain at all. The longer they were with him, the more different he seemed. What kind of villain checks if you brushed your teeth before going to bed? Or has a tea party with you in the afternoon? He had defended them at the pier, read them stories at night, even made sure they were comfortably asleep. He was smiling more, laughing more, playing more. It seemed a genuine attempt at being with the girls; no one was forcing him and he seemed to relish each moment rather than regret it. Every morning brought him closer to the girls, won small amounts of trust from them, brought him closer to being their real fath—

She suddenly pulled her knees to her chest, tutu squished in the process, and buried her face into them.

What had went wrong? Everything seemed to be going so well. Had they offended him in some way? Had they annoyed him too much? Were their lives somehow in danger and his only choice was to get them back to the orphanage, to safety? If that was the case, why wouldn't he tell them? If he had returned them only for safety reasons, if he was truly concerned for their wellbeing, Margo knew she could understand. Little by little, but she could; it would prove that he honestly cared about them, and this whole mess had a purpose behind it. She didn't know all the aspects of the super villain lifestyle, yet it obviously wasn't the best thing for children to be involved in. But why did he send them back, especially like that? Like purchases made at a convenience store that turned out to be damaged or, in retrospect, unwanted. Tears began to sting the corners of her eyes, but Margo refused to let them fall.

She had spent night after night, and in some instances full portions of days, debating in her mind the cause of it all. One minute everything was fine, the next they were in a car driving back to the orphanage without so much as a hug goodbye. His face had been stone straight, as if the whole situation truly meant little to him. She need only to have glanced at it briefly to recognize that scowl, the same from the first days they were with him. It made her heart plummet and her stomach flip in the worst of ways. Any amount of trust and affection she had built up for the man immediately fled. She didn't realize how one simple expression could hurt so much; she refused to meet his gaze the whole walk to the car, and kept her eyes forward the whole trip back to her personal prison. She had barely regretted her cold parting words to the man, at the time; he had given her little reason to.

"Thank you, Mr. Gru. For everything."

She internally scolded herself for attaching herself to him, however unconsciously, her mantra ever repeating: I knew this would happen, I just knew this would happen, I always knew. The only thing Margo ever truly wanted in life was a real family; loving parents for her and the girls, officially sealing them forever as sisters. She prayed for it each night, yearned for it each day, desperate to escape the horrible orphanage. Yet after many, many rejections of potential parents, her outlook shifted. She continued praying for a family, hoping with all of her being they'd be swept up in some kind of Annie-esque way, no matter the income of the couple. Yet she realized if that never happened, as it was becoming plainer by the day, it would eventually fall onto her to keep their makeshift family together. When she was of age, she would take in Edith and Agnes, and they'd finally have a chance at a wonderful new life. She had that future for them set in her mind, long before he came into their lives. She just knew it wasn't going to last. She always knew.

There had never been anything plainer to her than the realization that he could never be a permanent part of their lives, even if that revelation came so late upon her that it occurred while comforting Agnes as Ms. Hattie's car pulled away from his home.

So why thendid it hurt so much to think of him; him and his ridiculous accent, his hairless head, his silly apron? Flipping pancakes and reading bedtime stories and giving such a feeling of you're home, Margo! Just like a parent; a person who welcomed you home with open arms, comforted you when you were upset, held you so tightly you couldn't breathe. He had started to become like that—she had admittedly noticed his swing in attitude. She had tossed aside her reservations, finally seeing a potential in him, wanting so desperately for this to work. She had just started to think of that deathtrap as her home, looked at that odd bald man and saw what they had always wanted, what the three of them always needed; what she wanted, what she needed—

That was it, then. That was the real problem, the one she would not truly admit to having. The elephant in the room that refused to end its trumpeting that began days before.

Margo released her knees, jumping to her feet. No, she would not think this way. That man was no more her father than the water fountain she was quickly stalking away from. He would never be their father, no matter how much they desired it. He gave them up, and that was that. What she had wanted, what she had so foolishly believed then was irrelevant now. She had reached this point in her thoughts many times, and just as many times after that retreated from them. There was always an excuse for it; it was time to get up, time to sell cookies, time to go to ballet, time to go to sleep and leave me alone stupid thoughts.

She needed to remain calm. She was the cornerstone of the three, and if she crumbled Edith and Agnes would have nothing to lean upon. They couldn't know how much turmoil she was experiencing from the whole ordeal; how she, admittedly or not, desperately wanted to join them in waiting for him to appear, to magically make everything ok again. How much hurt and confusion the whole issue brought her, how she wasn't sure she could ever trust him again, even if he did miraculously want them back someday. The bewilderment she felt at disliking yet liking the man at the same time; at wanting him as far away as possible, yet desperately wishing he was right beside her. It was too much, far too much, and she didn't want to burden the younger girls with her thoughts.

She retained a detached mask, shooting down their hopes, flinching inwardly at their hurt faces. She didn't mean to upset them, yet she couldn't think of any other means to keep under control, to keep reality in check. She couldn't encourage them in this, couldn't join in, couldn't go out there and save him a seat and hold back a corner of the curtain, searching frantically for a man that will never show. Not like how the girls would be doing, and very soon.

No. She was the leader, the caretaker, the backbone. She could handle this. She had to, for all their sakes.

A shout brought Margo out of her thoughts, head jerking upwards at the sound. Edith was there, waving from the other end of the hall, pointing frantically at the holding room next to the stage. It was nearly time for the recital to start, Margo realized, embarrassed by her lack of punctuality. She rushed to the room, entering it with Edith ahead of her.

All the girls in the class were fussing over themselves, puffing out tutus and playing with their hair. Margo looked down, noticing her tutu had been slightly wrinkled from her small episode, and straightened it quickly. She reached up, absently adjusting her glasses, searching the room for her youngest charge. Agnes stood, unsurprisingly, at the curtain edge; her tiny head darted back and forth, searching for the man that would not show. Edith moved closer, as if to join the little one in the search. Margo sighed softly, knowing she'd have to shoot them down again, disappoint them again, hurt their feelings again. She never looked forward to it, however necessary. She refused to encourage Edith and Agnes' hopes on the subject, or her own. Not when the truth was so plainly clear.

He had given them back. He didn't want them. He didn't want her. And he wasn't ever coming back.

AN: This movie left an impression on me the very first time I viewed it nearly a year ago. I hadn't wrote fiction in years, let alone published any, but I really had the urge to explore these characters further. The characters were so individualistic, with the majority of their backgrounds left unexplained and parts of the film left to be filled, that I just began to type what came to mind. I actually wrote this shot a while ago and posted it on DeviantArt, but I thought I'd share it now on here as well.

I really like Margo, as a character. I've read quite a few reviews of people labeling her as bossy and annoying, and thus casting her off, so to speak. I work with kids Margo's age, and for a child in her position with her background, her personality is perfectly understandable. She didn't annoy me, she intrigued me. The girl that at the beginning wanted nothing to do with Gru, yet at the end was the only one shown saying "I love you". I wanted to explore her transition from resentment to acceptance. This shot was born from that idea.

There will probably be two more parts of this for Margo.

As far as ages go, I personally view Margo as being 11, Edith as 8, and Agnes as 5. Just an FYI.

Trivia: In the Junior Novelization of the film, it's stated that the girls are notrelated-they simply stayed together so much that people began to see them as sisters.

Despicable Me belongs to Illumination Entertainment and Universal Studios.

Please review. It helps me know how I'm doing. =) Thank you again and I hope you enjoyed it! Part 2 coming soon.