Not mine, no money, no sue.
Shool Reunion
"Intolerable!"
She heard the shout the minute she walked through the hologrammatic wall into the Lair-Formerly-Known-As-Evil. She winced.
Minion came lumbering up immediately, his fishy face anxious. "Oh, Ms Ritchi, thank goodness you're here… I'm so sorry to have called so early, I know it's not really normal social protocol…"
"What's this all about, Minion?" she asked resignedly. Her head was aching from the shouting that was coming from the Lair's interior rooms and from her early start. Perhaps it hadn't been such a good idea to give Minion her number as well as Megamind. But then, Minion was better at scheduling.
Minion's brown eyes darted towards the doorway to the living areas, and then back to her. "Um, well. You see, sir's never had to…"
"What's he done," she sighed.
"No! Nothing like that!" Minion's massive robotic hands flew up in denial. "Well, there was a small incident with the sonic coffeemaker earlier… but that was barely even a technical hiccup, I'm sure the stains will come off the ceiling."
"Minion, it's six in the morning. You called me here for something, and now you say there's no coffee. So, I had better get an answer. What's the problem?" she asked tersely, hoisting her handbag onto her shoulder and starting across the huge echoing working-area.
"Well…"
"ImPOSS-eyeball!"
They both winced. "It's the school thing," Minion whispered, wide-eyed with urgent meaning.
"The school… thing?" she echoed. "What…"
But then her sleepy brain caught up with her. "Oh, the school talk?"
Minion gave her a sheepish look. She groaned.
"Oh for Pete's sake. It's just a talk to a bunch of schoolkids, what could possibly be so bad about that?"
"Uh…" Minion hedged, but was interrupted by a crash. "Oh, dear."
Roxanne's eyebrows shot up. "That bad, huh."
"That bad and then some," Minion agreed. "School is… not such a fun topic. For either of us."
She frowned. "I know some of that… but surely, as the city's new hero, giving a talk to one of the more impoverished…"
"He never forgets anything, Ms Ritchi," Minion said seriously. "He can't." His fins moving agitatedly, he pushed open the door to Megamind's living quarters.
They were a mess, clothes and uniforms and capes and collars strewn all over the (black leather) furnishings. It looked like he'd tipped out his whole wardrobe and tried everything on, piece by piece. And from the look of him, seated in the middle of the cloth carnage, wearing his bolt-emblazoned bodysuit, boots that probably needed ladders to scale, and a huge, theatrically spiked collar that gave him a passing resemblance to an armoured frill-necked lizard, it seemed Megamind had done just that.
"Sir?" Minion quavered.
"Minion! Can't you see that I'm busy? I told you to - Roxanne!" Green eyes went perfectly round as Megamind spotted her behind Minion's robotic bulk. "Ollo, uhm, hi Roxanne, hi, good morning, er…"
"What on earth are you doing?" she asked in amusement. "Surely you're not scared of a bunch of grade-schoolers."
"Me? No! Never!" he scoffed, and tried to draw himself up impressively. The effect was spoiled when he tripped over the improbable boots. He was up again in a trice, sniffing haughtily. "Afraid! Hah! I am never afraid, particularly of some eensy-weensy little… small persons."
"What happened to your best quality?" she asked sceptically.
"Not applicable here," Minion hissed. "Ixnay on the avery-bray in a oolyard-shay."
"Minion!" snapped Megamind, whirling to no doubt berate his fishy friend in melodramatic style.
"So, you're afraid, then," Roxanne moved a couple of capes from one side of the couch and sat down expectantly.
He raised a declamatory finger, mouth open to object with operatic bravura.
"Truth, now," she said sternly, and then softened. "It's just me. You can tell me."
He deflated like a balloon. "Maybe," he muttered.
Minion rolled his eyes, and began to pick up the scattered clothing. "Finally, Mr. Stubborn," he grumbled.
Megamind shot his lifelong friend a dirty look.
"Well, that explains why you've got yourself done up like a triceratops," she remarked dryly. "Get that thing off, and come down from there. You look ridiculous."
"I always ummmph look ridiculous," he mumbled sourly, pulling off the silly cape and collar and clomping over towards her like a baby giraffe. Flopping down beside her on the cape-strewn couch, he tugged half-heartedly at the absurd boots. "Comes with the blue and the head and all."
"This isn't like you," she noted and turned to face him, and clapped her hands imperiously. "Up. Come on now, give it here."
He looked startled, before succumbing warily to her urging to put his leg in her lap. "What do you mean? Leather, spikes, black. It's very me. Extremely. Overwhelmingly. I hear a fetish-shop wants to market a range named after me."
She started to untie the laces, careful of the spikes that lined the sides of the boot. "I mean this insecurity about image. You've always been… cocky, almost, about what you look like and how you present yourself. This is new. Is the school thing really that awful?"
She pretended she couldn't see Minion making 'nononononono!' motions behind his boss's back.
Megamind's normally hyper-expressive face closed down. Completely. His eyebrows were drawn into a flat line and his lips were tight.
"O-kay," she said slowly. "So it is. Right." She pulled off the boot and put it on the floor beside them. "Next one."
His eyes softened slightly, and he tentatively raised his other leg. She grabbed his skinny shin and put it across her knees, starting to pull at the laces.
"I remember what you told me," she said carefully. "About school. Always the last one picked for everything."
His face snapped back to granite again. It never ceased to amaze her, how fast his emotions could move. As fast as his remarkable brain allowed, she supposed. "I tried," he said flatly.
"Tried?"
"Oh, how I tried and tried. To fit in, to be liked, to be good." His voice was still flat, bitter. She pulled off his other boot, and squeezed the narrow blue foot.
"Tell me," she said gently.
"I'm…" he broke off, and spotted Minion. "Look, can Minion tell you this? I'm not… great at talking about it."
"I'm not the one with the problem here, sir," Minion said pointedly, picking up the discarded boots. "I was pretty much left out of all the incidents. My job was to put you back together afterwards."
"You were hurt?" Roxanne was horrified. Megamind sighed, but his jaw remained tight and closed.
Minion nudged him with a fur-covered shoulder. "Go on, sir."
"I just don't like shools, okay!" Megamind blurted and curled up sulkily, rolling over so he faced the couch-back with his feet tucked under him.
Minion regarded his friend sadly. "That takes me back. You used to lie on the prison-cot like that every afternoon."
"Oh, go jump in a lake, Minion," Megamind groused.
"That's Saturdays, sir," Minion said placidly.
"How did they hurt you?" Roxanne snarled. She was already plotting stories and exposés about schoolyard bullying and its effects.
"Dgbll," mumbled Megamind.
"Pardon?"
"Dodgeball," Minion translated reluctantly. "He got a few broken bones and fractured ribs until he worked out his dodgeball-repelling-field helmet."
"My god, what did they use, cannonballs?" Roxanne was appalled. Megamind rolled over onto his back and regarded his ceiling (covered with glow-in-the-dark stars to accurate constellational measurements) thoughtfully.
"You didn't know?" he mused.
"Didn't know what?" she looked at him, then at Minion.
"Er," Minion said, putting on a bright, toothy grin, "I'll go see to putting all of this away, shall I?"
"Scaredy-fish," Megamind muttered as Minion hustled off into the inner recesses of the living quarters.
"Didn't know what?" she repeated insistently. "Megamind…"
He was suddenly very interested in his hands. "I thought he would have told you. I mean, you interviewed him a million times…"
"Metro Man…?" she hazarded, not liking the shape of where this was going. "You mean, when you said it was your old…"
"My old shoolhouse, yes," he stared at the back of his hands as though they held secrets beyond the ken of man or alien. "We were at shool together."
"He broke your ribs?" her voice rose.
He winced. "Fractured my ribs. Broke my arm, twice, and three fingers… and my nose."
She could barely believe it. "And no-one said anything?"
"Oh come on, Roxanne!" He stood up abruptly, and paced over to the table, his face stormy. "Who was going to complain? The prison? And who at that shool ever gave a… a damun about the blue kid with the big head? Oh no, it was Mr Perfect's world, and we were all just living in it to worship him. So if I was hurt, I'd obviously brought it onto myself. Being such a bad influence, I'm sure they thought I'd deserved it."
"A bad influence…?" Roxanne stood and made to go over to him, but he began to pace, his long thin arms gesticulating wildly.
"I tried! But everything went so very, horribly wrong… the very first of my long line of catastrophic failures. I tried to make the pop-ped corn; I set it on fire. I tried to make the brown-ees; I make an organic chocolate explosive. I tried to use the paints of oil; I make a toxic fumigant. I tried to do well in the tests and exams; I end up correcting the questions. And running out of paper. Bad influence. Bad boys stand in the corner for quiet time, and the good boy gets another star on his stupid smug chest."
"What happened?" Roxanne asked, pity rising in her for her poor boyfriend, always on the outside looking in, still so painfully aware that his differences were wrong in the eyes of so many. How would that have felt for a child?
"I had an… is it pronounced… epip-hanny?" he quirked an eyebrow at her, his expression blackly sardonic in a way she'd never really seen before. If he'd looked like that as a villain, maybe she might have been afraid.
"Epiphany," she said weakly.
"One of them," he waved his fingers dismissively. "I was always in the corner for trying to be good. Always the bad boy without any effort. It was the only thing I was good at. So why not embrace it?" He smirked darkly. "I made a paint bomb from art and cleaning supplies then and there, and turned everyone blue. I was expelled that afternoon."
He had stopped pacing at the table, his fingers were gripping so hard his knuckles had turned a white-blue. "I'm thirty four," he said miserably. "I should be over this. But when I think of shool, when I think of walking into one, it's…"
Roxanne laid a hand over his until his grip relaxed. He blew out a gusty breath and turned his hand over, allowing her to thread her fingers into his. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I didn't know you went through that."
He smiled, but there was no humour in it. "Yes, well," was all he said.
This was so unlike him, so unlike the Megamind she knew, that Roxanne was now slightly worried. "So… this all got dredged up because of the school talk today?"
He nodded slightly. "I… Roxanne, I think I am afraid of children," he said slowly and with a note of panic.
"I don't blame you," she said dryly. "But Megamind, there's not likely to be another Wayne Scott amongst these kids. And they're more like you than you realise…"
His eyes met hers in a sidelong, disbelieving look. "Blue, are they?"
She smacked his side gently. "You know you've got that market cornered. No, I mean, people have been telling them what they can and can't be their whole lives. They live in a poor neighbourhood, in a rough part of town, and they're told every day in so many ways that they can't get out, can't strive for any more or live any better. It's why I encouraged you to take this request. You've got more in common than you think."
He looked calmer, and thoughtful now. "I see. I guess I do."
"You didn't seem that worked up about it when you said yes to it last week," she looped her arm around his impossibly thin body. He shrugged awkwardly, an arm settling gingerly around her shoulders. After three whole months, he was still so unsure about touching her, or being touched in return.
"Well, I didn't think much of it last week, really," he admitted. "There was that leak at the chemical plant, and then I designed a new hoverpack, and then another city sweep rota for the brainbots, and the mayor wanted to know if I could do anything about the waste disposal problems, and that got me thinking about compounds or possibly controlled radiation to speed up the breakdown of plastics and polymers and…"
"Okay, Mr. Science, stop there," she laughed. He looked a bit sheepish.
"I'm sorry about all that," he said suddenly. "I didn't mean to heap all my old shool angst on you first thing in the morning. That was rude."
"It's okay," she said, squeezing him. "It's okay."
"I just… I want them to like me," he said a trifle desperately, and as though a window had been opened into a closed dark room, Roxanne could abruptly see just how lonely he'd been his whole life. Only Minion to talk to, ever. She bit back her gasp, and softly kissed his near shoulder.
"They'll like you."
Then she had an idea. "Hey, do you have any pictures?"
He blinked. "Pictures?"
"Of you at school," she clarified.
"One or two," he scratched at the back of his long neck. "I think Minion… no, wait…" and he whistled. Two brainbots whizzed through the still-open door and bowged expectantly.
"Okay, Rusty, Butch," he said clearly, holding up a finger before them, "Daddy needs the box on the top shelf of the wardrobe. The top shelf. Don't drop it!" he added as they bowged enthusiastically and zoomed away. Then he turned to Roxanne and asked, "why would you need pictures, anyway?"
"You're dating a woman who is employed to be curious," she said impishly, and he laughed, though it was a bit shaky.
"She is very good at her job then," he said with a strained smile, and she tugged at him until he sat back down on the couch with her.
"Megamind, it's okay to not be totally over this. It sounds like it ended up defining your whole life, and that's a lot to overcome in just three months." She scooted closer to him until she could rest her head against the flat of his shoulder. His strange heartbeat, three beats instead of two, thudded in her ear like a dance. "Don't think that you're somehow wrong because it was so long ago, or that you should have put it behind you simply because of your age. There's no should in any of this. You've never talked to anyone about it at all, have you?"
He shifted against her, narrow body taut with tension. "Well, the prison psychologist, once or twice. And Minion, obviously. But Minion actually listened."
That was interesting. "What did the psychologist say?"
He snorted. "That I was transferring blame onto my teacher and fellow students for my own actions. She was a prisonpsychologist. That's what most prisoners do."
Roxanne scowled again. "That's stupid. You were just a kid!"
"She didn't like me," he shrugged. His jaw tightened again.
"I like you," she looked up at him through her lashes, hoping it would divert him from all that tension. He smiled that warm, closed-mouth smile down at her. The special smile that was only for her. Her breath caught.
"Thank you for that," he said, very gently.
"No need," she breathed back, and brought his head down for a kiss.
"Bowg!"
"Arrgh!" he broke away from her in a flail of stick-thin limbs at the electronic interruption. "Go away, can't you see that Daddy's busy! I am going to rewrite you lot a whole new set of parameters, and this time you'll…"
"They've got that box," Roxanne pointed out, and the reddish bot answered with a petulant "bowg-owg!"
"Oh," Megamind rubbed at his chin. "Ah, well, Daddy's sorry for shouting. Thank you, Butch, Rusty."
The box was deposited with a snippy 'bowg!' into Megamind's lap, and he sighed as the two brainbots sailed huffily out of the room. "I'm going to have to play fetch for an hour later to get them to forgive me," he groaned.
Roxanne giggled, and then tapped the box with her fingernails. It was just a shoebox, the sort anyone would use to keep old photos and random keepsakes in. "So what's in here?"
"Clippings, letters, photos…" Megamind took off the slightly battered lid and rummaged through bundles of paper, some yellowing with age, some held together with ancient, sticky elastic bands and some shoved into envelopes. Roxanne was fascinated.
"I'd love to look through it with you sometime," she said honestly.
He gave her an amused look. "Off the record?"
"Off the record," she confirmed, and then scrunched her nose. "Well…"
"Knew you couldn't resist," he chuckled, getting back to rummaging.
"I'd always ask before going to print or to air," she said defensively.
"I knew you were a journalist, I knew what I was getting into," he smiled, but his smile turned a trifle rueful as his long clever fingers drew out an envelope emblazoned with 'METRO CITY STATE PRISON FOR THE CRIMINALLY GIFTED' and handed it to her. "Here we are."
She checked his face first, but he nodded to her hands, and so she opened the old envelope delicately and drew out the contents. Immediately she was faced with a photo of children, all around the age of seven.
Metro Man was easy to pick out. He had a golden sweater tied around his neck (practising for a cape, perhaps?) and his beefy arms around two other children, all beaming cheesily for the camera. Surrounding them were yet more children, also grinning. A couple of the kids were looking at the muscular boy with expressions of adoration. Behind him was the teacher, a lady perhaps a bit younger than Roxanne now, smiling in a satisfied way. A nice little school group photo, but for one thing.
To the right stood Megamind, just as easy to spot as Wayne. His smile was tiny and hopeful, his child's body just as thin as his adult's, clad in an orange prison suit. Minion was smaller and less ferocious-looking, in a glass globe held by his friend's small hands. Megamind's face was rounder, his chin less pointed, his eyebrows thinner and his expression more open.
They were all alone.
"Oh, look at you," Roxanne murmured.
"Please don't say something about how cute I was," he said in a slightly perturbed voice.
"Well, you were cute," she pointed out. "Look at those big, big eyes! Not that you're not cute now," she added slyly, and watched with delight as that violet blush spread over his cheeks. "If you're in need of 'revaange', I'll bring along a photo of me at school next time and you can giggle at my pigtails."
"You had pigtails?" His eyebrows shot up and he grinned his old, wickedly pleased grin. "That would have been fun."
"You would have been the boy to pull them, I know," she nudged him.
"Not then," he nodded to the photo a bit sadly. "I was still trying, then."
"So I see," she studied the small blue face in the old picture. "Why were you in a prison jumpsuit? Surely the warden could have found you some other clothes…"
"Well," Megamind leaned back against the leather couch. "There were a few outfits, from charity shops and the like, but I tended to be rough on them. Organic chocolate explosives are not kind to perishable things like clothes, books, buildings, that sort of thing. The jumpsuits were sturdier. Besides, it was a bit hard to find things that fit over my head that weren't too big for me in the body… things with zips and buttons weren't always available…" he looked a bit uncomfortable. She patted his knee.
"I can imagine," she said, and flipped over to the only other photo.
It was a picture of a large group of burly men, some orange-suited and some guard-uniformed. They were all smiling proudly. Seated in the middle of the group was a blue toddler clutching that same glass globe. Small Megamind was beaming with baby-toothed delight. Roxanne couldn't help it. She squealed.
"So cute," she cooed. Megamind rubbed a hand over his eyes.
"This was a horrible mistake," he moaned. "Please stop?"
"This is a part of the whole boyfriend experience," she pointed out with a quirked smile, "and since your parents can't be here to embarrass you in front of your girlfriend, your girlfriend has to do it for them."
"Thank you for making it so comprehensive," he said dryly, and she grabbed his hand and kissed the back of it.
"These are your uncles, then?" she asked.
"Mmm. Some have passed on now, of course, but there's the warden, there, and uncles 45090 through to 45113 are still around, either on the inside or out. Uncle 45094 was released last year – I should go visit."
"Were they all called by number?" she raised her eyebrow. "Were you?"
He bit his lip. "Yes."
She sat up straighter. "You have a number, instead of a name?"
"Sort of," he squirmed. "I was… I was Syx."
"Six?" she repeated. "Just Six?"
"Y instead of an I," he corrected with the ease of long practise, and then blushed faintly some more. "Um. It was a small… spelling error."
"Cute," she said with finality.
"Stop," he said weakly. "Have mercy."
"What, when I have you in my eeevil clutches?" she said mischievously, and watched his face darken to violet again. "Okay, I'll stop, I'll stop."
"What was the point behind this exercise in humiliation?" he groused, and she gave him a victorious little smile.
"To get you to talk about it," she said smugly. He huffed in indignation.
She handed him the photos and the envelope, and his nimble fingers slotted it back into the box. He rested a hand on the lid, and she felt rather than heard his sigh.
"Look," she grabbed his hand again and pulled him to face her. His expression was reluctant and resigned. "Just… just be yourself. Don't try to be anything else. These kids… they can relate to all this. The less-than-perfect background, the not-fitting-in, being in trouble at school… just talk to them about it. They'll like you – heck, most of the city loves you. You don't need armour or a big show. They'd probably like to meet Minion, and have a demonstration of your de-gun or something – but the big thing here for them is the same as it was for you. They don't want to be left out, or left behind."
His poison-green eyes flicked down to her hand in his, and then up. "How can you say that the city l-loves me…? Three months ago I was ruling it with an iron fist!"
She snorted. "After a childish spree of property damage that lasted only a week, that iron fist turned into a spaghetti noodle. You put everything back, cleaned everything up, and we've never been so safe. Even criminals put a lid on their activities – your brainbot eyes were everywhere."
"I still took over, Roxanne," he said morosely. "They can't possibly have forgiven me that."
"I'm not done," she said with a quelling look. "Besides that, you fixed the damage Hal did in under a week. That is no small deal, Megamind - it was huge. We are talking billions-of-dollars, public-works-for-years huge. Then there's the transport system upgrade you designed, and the pollution-cubing ray you used on the lake – it's never been so clean! – and all the robberies and muggings you stop every day. I won't even start on the program you wrote to prevent electronic theft. It's only been three months, and the changes are already amazing. Oh, they love you, believe it."
He waved all that away with his free hand. "That! But that's all just… stuff. Piffle. Easy. I took over the city! And I wantedto! If Wayne hadn't come clean, they'd still believe I killed him! And, well… look at me!"
Roxanne snagged his flapping hand out of mid-air and bunched it together with his other between her own, shaking them firmly. "No, you look at me! There's no need for that any more – you don't have to be that boy any more! You're not surrounded by those children and you're not going to be punished for being different. Never again, hear me? Megamind, how you look isn't so important. You've already shown us who you really are, and you're good. You're good. We like you."
His eyes had gone impossibly wide. He stared helplessly at her.
She swallowed, and looked away from that piercingly green gaze. "Some of us do a bit more than like you," she said, feeling unaccountably shy.
His lips parted slightly in a silent 'oh!' and his eyes, if anything, got even wider.
"Oh, stop looking at me like that," she mumbled, and tugged his head down for a kiss to cover her embarrassment.
His mouth was initially slack with his shock, but abruptly he started kissing her in earnest, his thumbs sliding up her face and long fingers ruffling the hair at her nape. She was always startled at the feel of his lips – silky and somehow cool to the touch. "Some of us…" she murmured against his lips, and was distracted by the delicacy of a pointed shell-pink ear.
"Mmm?" His voice had dropped lower. She shivered.
"Some of us… like it.. a lot," she said against his cheekbone. "The way you are…"
"Oh?" Megamind drew back slightly to look at her, lingering traces of shock still around his eyes. Then a lascivious smirk crossed his lips. "Oh, Ms Ritchi, tell me more."
She slapped at his skinny chest, her face reddening, and he laughed sheepishly. Then she smoothed her hand out where she had hit him, feeling that waltz-like heartbeat pattering against her palm. She stared blankly at the back of her hand before meeting his eyes again.
His face was very open and vulnerable, almost as open as in that picture of him as a little boy. His brief joke had been to cover his own nervousness, she saw. He simply couldn't believe that she accepted him, that anyone could. It had been folded into his personality from infancy.
She lifted her chin. Well, good thing she'd always enjoyed a challenge.
"I love your heartbeat," she said defiantly.
He blinked. "Roxanne, you don't actually have to tell me…"
"I like the way it sounds like a dance," she forged over the top of his backpedalling. "I like how skinny you are. I can wrap my arms all the way around your chest and my hands around your knees. I love that you seem so frail, but you're so tough. I like that you're my height. I like not having to stand on tiptoe to kiss you."
He really was extremely boggled now. His mouth was opening and closing, and he was paling to a bluish-white. She plowed on.
"I love your eyes," she reached a hand to lazily trace one eyebrow. "No human ever had such eyes. Green like poison, like gemstones. I like these," she tapped the eyebrow gently, and it twitched upwards. "You're so expressive. It's like you never learned to put your facial brakes on in public, the way the rest of us do. And I love this," she tugged his goatee, "and these…" she placed a finger on his lips, "and this…"
At the last, she kissed him, and he dove into her mouth with a touch of desperation. He kissed her as though she held the answers to everything, his mouth moving hard against hers, a bit messily. She groaned as he clutched her a little too tightly, and his shaking arms loosened a little. She leaned her forehead against his as he tried to regain his breath.
"I like your ears," she whispered. He giggled weakly, his breath puffing against her face. "I like the shape and colour. I like that in full sunlight they're translucent. I love your hands."
He brought one up and clasped hers. She shifted it so she could see the burn-marks, the blue nails. "I like how long your fingers are, and how clever and nimble they look when you're working. I like the scars," she traced one.
The corner of his mouth quirked upwards as he watched her thumb dance over his. His eyes were now suspiciously glassy.
"I love your skinny little butt," she said suddenly and with relish, surprising a choked laugh out of him. "And I love that laugh," she said in a softer voice. "The real one," she added.
His smile was a bit apologetic. He'd found some sort of calm, though his eyes were still far too shiny and bright. He just watched her and listened.
"I like your voice," she said dreamily, and stroked his goatee again. "I love that long neck of yours. That pointed chin. But especially, Megamind… Syx…"
She straightened, and looked directly at him. "I love your great big head," she said firmly, and pulled it down to kiss it.
When she pulled away, she saw that his glittering eyes were now brimming.
"How could I not," she said gently, "when it's got such a wonderful brain inside it?"
He made a strangled noise, and stuffed the heel of his hand into his mouth to stop it. She pulled it away, and held it tightly in hers.
"And I love blue," she whispered.
His eyelids snapped shut, forcing two tears to cut a track down his face. "Roxanne…" he breathed brokenly.
She wiped her thumbs under his eyes, though more tears were threatening. "Come here," she said, leaning back and opening her arms.
With just a moment's hesitation, he fell against her, his heavy head pillowed under her chin. She could feel him shaking still, and knew he probably had his eyes clenched to stop the excess of emotion. It was something he was still very bad at coping with.
"Roxanne…" he mumbled against her collarbone, and she could feel his teeth gritting.
"Hey now," she soothed. "Shh. We need to get you cleaned up. Off to make a speech today. It's at nine o'clock. Good boys are punctual."
He huffed a laugh against her throat. "Oh, Roxanne, you…" she heard, before there was an inelegant sniff and he sat up, rubbing his face roughly.
"Let me look," she said, sitting up straighter. He kept his hands in place and shook his head stubbornly. Rolling her eyes, she grabbed his wrists and pulled them away.
His eyes were fine, but his cheeks and nose had turned a violent fuschia. She stifled a laugh. "You need cold water. Go have a shower or something. And wear a shirt. No intimidating the children," she pointed out, and he nodded meekly.
"Roxanne, I…" he broke off, and looked away. "No one has ever done that before," he said in a quiet voice.
"What's that…?" she stroked his ravaged cheek.
"Accepted… all of me. Except, well… Minion." He looked a bit hesitant for a moment, and then a touch of his usual bravura crept into his face. "You know what, I'm tired of waiting for a right time, because there's never right times, or if there are then they all are, or they're all wrong times, but that's not important right now, what's important… what's really important…"
He rubbed his hands roughly over his scalp and took a huge breath, before cupping her chin gently between his fingers. His eyes pinned her to the spot. "Roxanne, I love you. I love you more than anything. I love you more than hydrogen loves oxygen. I love you more than gravity loves mass. I love you more than a compass loves true north. And you…" he stopped, his throat working furiously, then he continued hoarsely, "… and you are true north to me."
She looked at him helplessly. "You…" Her breath. Where was her breath?
"I love you," he repeated, though he was starting to sound a little panicked. "I love you, I love you, I love you, I – am I not saying it right?"
"That's right," she said faintly. "You…"
"You mean you couldn't tell?" his voice rose incredulously. "Roxanne, are you feeling well? Usually you've got this sort of thing figured out before me. I mean, you're so.."
She put two fingers over his mouth, stopping his babble. "You," she choked, a huge, improbable, impossible happiness clawing her throat, "have always talked entirely too much."
And with that, she glued her lips to his. She tried to lock the memory, the shape of this moment into her head. His worried expression faded to startled happiness as she wrapped her hands along his narrow face and drank him down.
"You are the most idiotic genius I know," she huffed against his soft blue lips.
"Does that mean that you…" he began, and she shut him up.
"Yes, it means that I," she eventually answered back, feeling slightly giddy. She was sure her grin would take off the top of her head.
"You're not kidding?" Those eyes should be illegal.
"I'm not kidding," she confirmed.
The puppy-dog eyes unfocused. "Oh. Oh, wow."
"Lost for words?" she teased him. His face was still flushed from his earlier catharsis, but was otherwise the most perfect expression of joy she'd ever seen.
"Wow," he insisted, and wrapped lanky arms around her, holding her gently as though she could fly away at any moment. "Wow works."
"I guess it does," she smiled, resting her head on his chest. A waltz at double-time greeted her. Usually she would feel the need to move, change the subject, anything to get away from the exposure of a moment of emotional revelation, but to her pleasant surprise, she was peaceful enough where she was. Perhaps because he'd just shown her so much of who he was, it was less scary. In fact, wrapped in his arms, she felt a quiet sort of joy. Her ear pressed against his narrow chest, and she ran her hand against the leather. "Bom-buh-buh, bom-buh-buh…" she murmured in time to that heartbeat.
"What language is this?" he asked languidly, and she gave a low chuckle.
"It's the rhythm it makes," she said, tapping on his chest. "It's a waltz."
"A… walertz?"
"Waltz. It's a dance," she corrected, her smile in her voice. "One you don't have time to learn today. You'd better go get ready."
"Mmm. Comfortable," he protested, and she poked his skinny ribs.
"Go on, you. I'll come too, get a few quotes. It'll make for nice publicity later," she kissed his fragile-looking collarbone.
"A shirt? Really? Not even the teensiest of spikes?" he whined, and she rolled her eyes.
"Get going." She slapped his hip, and stood. "I'll go see if Minion has fixed the coffeemaker."
"Uh, yeah, about that…" he sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. "I've sort of cannibalised the internals, so…"
"And poor Minion doesn't know?" She folded her arms. He looked abashed.
"Well, I pulled it apart at about 3am las-this morning, because I had this incredibly brilliant and astoundingly clever idea for a sound propelled… anyway, I didn't want to wake him, and then there was trying to decide what to wear to this shool thing…"
She shook her head in fond exasperation. "What am I going to do with you?"
"Why Ms Ritchi," he purred, taking her hand and kissing the back. He looked up at her beneath lowered lids. "I have a few suggestions…"
AN: The name 'Syx' was dreamed up by the incredibly handsome authorial genius Silver Shepherd, in the fic, 'Times Syx.'