It's the start of December, he notes with disdain, and festivities are running rampant in the streets, colorful lights hanging on houses, sugary food in abundance, calls for charity, the increased "family time".
It makes his stomach sick.
And so, having barricaded himself in a dark state of mind in his own room, he completely shut out the world entirely. Not even the brainbots were allowed to disturb him.
It ended after a few days when Minion burst through the door and demanded he get out. Why, though, he wondered grimly. He always goes into a hibernation of sorts during this time of year.
"Ms. Ritchi has been calling non-stop," he said angrily, not at his girlfriend, at him, mind you, "She just called me earlier saying if you came over tonight she'd give you a surprise."
"Oh, goodie," he mumbled, running a hand over his stubble. He hadn't shaved in a while. Instantly he thought of the typical "Christmas Spirit" spiel, but knew Roxanne didn't celebrate that holiday—though it was also secular, not religious, right? Either way the festive concept gave him seasonal depression.
"Just go, please," Minion begged. "She's worried about you, Sir. The only reason, Ms. Ritchi says, that she hasn't come over again to—"
"She came over?"
"Thrice this week! You wouldn't see her, remember!? The only reason she hasn't tried to see you today or yesterday is because she's getting ready for some kind of party."
He glared.
"No."
"Yes. Go. Please, Sir. I'd like to go to a holiday cooking class this evening, and I don't feel comfortable leaving you here alone."
He groaned. "Minion, that happened one time in my childhood."
"I'm still not taking that chance."
This went on for ten minutes before Minion, taking matters into his own fins, ordered a pair of bots to take him by the arms and quite literally drag him to Roxanne's.
Flailing, cursing, and overall hating life, he found himself being thrown on his girlfriend's balcony in a undignified thud.
The first thing he notices, after pulling himself off the ground (besides being suddenly, painfully aware of his state of dress [loose sweat pants and a tight short-sleeved band top {yes, he wears normal clothes, like a normal person, every once in a while}]), was the smell of confection foods, chocolate, sugar, and—overall baked goods. Secondly, he noticed the starring woman, who was passionate about eating healthy things and banning anything with so much as a gram of sugar, baking these things.
Had he died and gone to heaven?
He must have been standing there for a while, staring at this wee woman who was bustling about in her kitchen, frying balls of dough, it seemed, with the countertops covered in baked goods, because she suddenly froze and turned around, and met his eyes through the glass.
She dropped a pair of tongs and came running over, throwing the glass door open.
"Roxa—ooof!" Her arms were thrown around his abnormally long neck, her face pressed against the side of his head.
"Oh my god, Megamind," she gasped, then pulled away to look at him. Her hands grasped his shoulders.
"Hi—" he grasped as she smacked him hard on the chest.
"Do you know how worried I was!?"
"I'm—"
"No, no, don't explain yourself," she said. "Minion told me everything. I should be the one who's sorry. I tried to come over today, but—"
"But…"
"I—just come on in, it's colder than ice out here. You'll catch your death."
Numbly, he let her pull him inside of her deliciously warm apartment. The lights were off in her living room, with the kitchen lights on. The TV was off, with the radio on to some music he immediately recognized as Hebrew, and near the balcony window, which he's now noticing, is a—
"Is that your—me-nora?"
"Menorah. Yeah."
It wasn't terribly eccentric; small and neat, about half a foot tall, with four straight silver-plated branches on either side of one tall branch in the middle. Atop these branches were tiny glass cups. The middle one and three to the right had a bud of a wick, sitting in what seemed to be oil, burned brightly.
"Why aren't the others lit?"
"It's the third night," Roxanne suddenly said, almost awkwardly.
He then remembered this. One new candle each night.
He had missed the other nights with her.
It made him feel-it didn't make him feel very good. Actually, it made him feel like a complete bastard.
"Aah."
"Come," she pulled on his hand. "Have a doughnut."
"I—I'm sorry, but who are you and what have you done to my Roxanne?" He laughed humorlessly because in all seriousness he wasn't kidding. Roxanne always nagged him when he ate sweets. "You don't eat enough as it is! Why put this junk in your body?" Most of the time, anyway. What she didn't know didn't kill her, after all. But yet, here she was, offering him—doughnuts. she made.
"Here," she said, ignoring his statement. She thrust a warm round doughnut into his hands, half wrapped in a napkin, overflowing with powder sugar and leaking red jelly. "Try it."
"Is this a trap?"
"Eat it."
He took a bite.
It was scrumptious.
"Okay. Seriously. Who are you?" He asked her through a mouthful of her sweet confection.
"It's tradition," she said matter-of-factly.
"Okay," he said, understanding. "So, why all this…" he gestured to the dozens of treats around them. Not that he was complaining. If this was his "surprise", well, he was certainly pleasantly surprised. He was already close to finished this superb doughnut. But, even this seemed a little over doing it.
Roxanne threw her head back and groaned, wiping her powdery hands on her flower-printed apron. "So, my co-workers know I'm Jewish now, and asked our new boss, Robbie, if they could do something Hanukkah-themed this season. Somehow it turned into me baking for everyone."
"Mhmm," he commented wordlessly, biting into his second doughnut.
"It's tomorrow," she stressed, picking up her tongs to place another ball of dough in a popping pan of crumbly oil. "And I just found out from Lucy down in Sports that a group of the managers and their secretaries are coming for this holiday party, and three of them are Jewish, too, so—now I have like fifteen more people to cater too. Do you understand? I've been on my feet for hours."
He was about to answer with an offer of assistance, but she cut him off before he could get out a single syllable. "No, no, don't listen to my problems. This is about you." She turned to him. "I came over Monday, but Minion said you were still squirreled away in your room. Do you want to talk about it?"
"Not really."
She pursed her lips. "Okay. It's just—Megamind, you know—"
He tilted his head.
"I love you. I love you very much."
He licked his lips, feeling his tongue go heavy in his mouth, and his apitite forgotten. "Roxanne…"
"Shh, don't say anything," she said in a low voice as if this was some big secret he has vowed to keep. She became very close, all of a sudden, and she placed her little hand on his chest. He forgot how she was near his size, despite her being more—curvy, in areas. Which he very much enjoyed. It distracted him, with her like this. Her hair had grown a bit since last year when they first began this relationship. She had sweated in here (it was hot, actually, in her kitchen), and stings of hair clung to her flushed face. A smudge of powdered sugar stuck to her cheek, and she smelled like a bakery. Her apron hugged her waist like a second skin. Plus it made her chest and derrière look amazing. Megamind didn't know where to look. He licked his lips again, wondering how he should handle this situation.
She suddenly leaned over and kissed him. It sparked against his skin, his nerves, sending a million signals to his brain. It felt like he was on fire, yet completely flat lining at the same time. This woman!
"I was thinking the other day," she said critically once she pulled away from the rather chaste mouth-to-mouth, turning around to turn the doughnut over in the oil. "I don't really give you enough attention."
This brought him to the right state of mind immediately. "What? Of course you do!"
"No, I mean—This past year, it's felt like—the spotlight's been on me? Sort of? And I—I well, I wanted to do something for you."
He wasn't sure what she was talking about; until he began to withdraw from the world in general at the start of winter, they spent most of their time together. Enough so that he actually—he feels unnecessarily giddy—met her parents (again), and her brother, and that was—an interesting experience. Either way they were joined at the joint (is that how people say it?)? What was all of this, then?
He wiped his powdery blue hands down the front of his shirt, having finished his third treat.
Suddenly, Roxanne reached behind her and untied her apron. He stood there, confused and feeling, absurdly, oddly excited at her undressing. They're usually very innocent in all their physical trysts, but—she's dropping the apron to the floor, and she's—and—she's wearing a white short-sleeved blouse, with a little oil stain on the turned-up collar, and sugar sprinkles, a jelly smudge, and—and she's beautiful, he realizes in his rattled, dead brain, standing there like the sacrificial lamb. A blue knee-ledge skirt, too, but—
She's taking his hand and placing it on her left breast.
!?
"Not tonight, Megamind, but soon."
"Soon…"
"Yes. Soon."
He gulped.
"I—"
In the back of his alien brain, he knew she was trying to tell him something, because her hand was over his, which was over her clothed breast, but there was some annoying Christmas music playing in the distance. It wasn't coming from Roxanne's radio, that was playing very soft instrumental Jewish music, but from somewhere in the building. His ears were stronger than Roxanne's, so—
It must have gotten louder, enough for her to hear because she's perking up, and—
"Oh, shit," his girlfriend curses, pulling away from him. "I told them not to come until eight!"
His internal clock made him say, "It's eight fifteen."
"Oh no!" She whipped around and grabbed her tongs, pulling the doughnuts out of the boiling oil and onto a plate covered in several paper towel strips. "Megamind! Quick, put most of these in the boxes," she motioned toward a stack of doughnut boxes on her breakfast bar. "Hurry!"
Momentarily panicking, because, really, he had no idea what was happening, Megamind just went with it and starting packing doughnuts like it was life or death. Whatever made Roxanne happy!
The music was getting closer, and now he could tell it wasn't just any Christmas music, but blasting notes of "Santa Clause is Coming to Town," at the same time as "Hanukkah Oh Hanukkah," turning up on what must of been the highest volume. To him, it hurt his ears. As it became louder and louder, he heard the familiar sounds of teenagers and children, stomping down the hallway of Roxanne's floor.
"They're here," Roxanne cried, rapidly trying to stuff the doughnuts into the boxes, as if this band of holiday horrors coming their way would burn them alive if they saw these treats on the premises.
"Who's here?!"
Before she could answer, the door was banged up on a pair of several fists. "MISS RITCHIIII," yelled a young man. "SANTA IS HEEERRREEE."
"Shit," she said, wiping her hands on a towel. After packing the last doughnut, she took the boxes and put them into the cabinet, stacking them neatly on the floor. "Whatever you do, make sure they don't see these. They're for work."
"O-kay…"
She got up and ran to her currently-being-abused door. When she threw it open, he scowled.
"Mickey, what the hell are you doing here?" He demanded, sliding up next to Roxanne. In the doorway stood a gang of loud, obnoxious young people, varying in age and skin tones. Mickey, the leader of sorts of this group, was a tall African boy from Kenya. Michael Otieno had moved to America as a young child, and having been orphaned shortly after arrival, and speaking not a lick of English at the time, he was completely lost and alone. It was not surprising Megamind saw a kindred spirit in that, and temporarily kept him under his wing for a while until he placed him in a group home that he will never, ever admit to founding. Now, Mickey was nineteen and a complete pain in his ass.
"I'm the black Santa Clause," he shouted, storming in with the rest of his gang—all of whom he knew. All of them were bobbing and dancing to a mix of holiday music, wearing the most hideous sweaters he had ever seen. "And it's bloody Christmas time. Hohoho, bitches!" He wore a big red suit and white beard, caring a big burlap sack with dubious objects inside.
"Happy Holidays, Mr. Megamind, Ms. Ritchi!" A girl in an equally ugly Hanukkah sweater, swearing flashing blue sunglasses and little dreidel earrings, greeted and hugged his girlfriend. He knew her as Rebecca Heys. She was an orphan too, plucked out of an abusive foster home when she was eleven. That was five years ago. "Are we too late?"
Beside Rebecca was a young couple, Missy and Paula, who he more or less, accidentally, put together, when he learned Missy (at the time, she'd had near-crippling depression) had the same interests as Paula. So he introduced the two and hoped it worked out. Wasn't that how friends were made? And friends—help each other? He came back a week later to accidentally walk in on them making out. Paula rubs her hands together and says, "If we're late, we're fashionably late."
"Yes, you're right on time," Roxanne laughed, clasping her hands. The gang of teenagers clobbered together as they began to set up—a party? He sneered as they pulled out cookies and sweets, confetti and even louder music. Mickey gave him a rather tight bear hug, which he made a great feat as to not respond. They all smelled like coffee and cocoa.
"We're here to show you guys the time of your fricken' lives," Fox, a lanky ginger-haired teen said, dropping a bowl of popcorn on the counter. "And damn does it smell like the Pillsbury doughboy's asshole in here."
"Oh my god it totally does," William, an African-American fourteen-year-old said. He was wearing a Kwanzaa sweater.
"And it's so fucking warm in here!" Mickey commented.
"It's colder than my mom's tits outside," Freddy, another kid from the group home pipped up, slamming a jar of what seemed to be egg-nog on the table.
"Language," Roxanne reminded. "And that better be alcohol-free!" She said, directing the boys and girls to the dining room. "Megamind," she said to him, voice raised to be heard over the chaos, yet quiet enough for him to only hear. "This is for you."
"What? Why? You know how I feel about this stuff."
"It's not about that," she said, shaking her head, "You've been inside for ten days."
"It hasn't been that long."
"Yes it has," she crossed her arms. "I'm reminding you that people love you. And for the rest of this month, I want to find you here. With me."
He pursed his lips.
"Okay. Fine. I'll play."
"Hohoho," Mickey said again stomping up to him with his big sack. He dropped it at his feet. Megamind stared at it as if poisonous snakes would slither out.
"They're presents!" Missy said, giving him a hug. "From all of us!" All of them gathered to see his reaction. Instantly, he felt on edge.
"Uh—" he didn't really know how to respond. Presents? For him?
"Who's hungry?" Roxanne interrupted him before he could make a bigger idiot of himself. She came up behind him with a big tray of fruits and candies. Where did that come from?
"Food!" Someone shouted, as a couple of them came storming over.
"Hey, it's okay," she whispered to him. "I've got your back. Now, make sure they don't find the—"
"FFFFFFUCKING DOUGHNUTS," someone yelled, and the loud whoop from the whole gang sounded, followed by them all grabbing a dozen of the confections from her cabinet.
"Crap."
~.~.~.~
Three hours later, over half of his "children", as they all called themselves, left Roxanne's apartment. Luckily they all were good enough to clean up after themselves, and not much was needed to be done once the party was over. Rebecca was with Roxanne near her menorah, and the older of the two women was directing the younger in the lightning. Now two menorahs burned brightly in the window. Rebecca's cat menorah had wax candles, whereas Roxanne's was oil. Beside them were Paula and Missy, who sipped on some fruity tea Roxanne gave out.
"It's nice, you know," Mickey said, sitting beside him on the couch, watching the women. "The Holidays."
"I suppose," he answered, tired. The festivity had been nice. And to be honest, he'd choked down three more doughnuts, much to Roxanne's distress. At Megamind feet was the sack of presents—some bought, others handmade, and at least a dozen cards with holiday sentiments in his (sometimes with Roxanne as well) honor. He didn't know how to process all of this, but the kids got excited when he examined each item. He particularly liked the miniature figure of himself. Very handsome. That was made by Rebecca.
"Hey man," his couch-companion said, making him turn away from his girlfriend to the boy beside him. "I know you hate this time of year."
"Oh?"
"You never do anything for the holidays. Not even before."
"Before?"
"Ya know," Missy suddenly said, appearing before them. Her arm was thrown around Paula's neck, smiling cheekily. "When you were all 'I'm going to rule the world!'"
He scoffed. "I wanted Metrocity. Not the world. That's too much trouble. And I have Metrocity!"
"Yeah, sure," the boy laughed. "Just—I'm glad to see you, old man. It's been a while."
"Like, three whole weeks," Paula said as if it was the end of the world. "We never see you anymore."
"Hm." Megamind wouldn't admit it, but it was good to see them all too.
"Come over moooore," Mickey whined like he wasn't practically an adult.
"I'll put it on my to-do list."
"And treat her right," one of the girls said, tilting her head to Roxanne. "She's a good woman. She came up to us at the house and asked if we could come over and cheer you up."
"I knew there was a reason I kept you children around."
Mickey punched him in the shoulder. "See? Knew you loved us."
Megamind smiled behind his hand.
"Oh! And nice beard by the way."
~.~.~.~
Missy, Paula, and Mickey had finally gone home, leaving behind a sound-asleep Rebecca on the couch. He wasn't against the idea of housing orphans (he'd cut his hand off before admitting), but he knew Rebecca was good and safe at the group home (he made sure of it). Megamind just—kind of wanted to be with Roxanne. Alone.
"She's never really celebrated Hanukkah before," Roxanne said, handing him an over-sized t-shirt. "This was the first time she's lit candles."
"Really?" she commented, pulling off his over top to pull the new one on.
"Is it—alright if I teach her a few things? I don't think she could ask me enough questions."
He twisted his face up in confusion. "Why would I be against it?"
"I don't know. Yeah, that was kind of a stupid question. It's just—you're like these kids father. You're a daddy." It was probably extremely perverted, but he found instant gratification when she more or less called him daddy.
"I am the daddy."
She shot him a look, but she was smiling.
It was late. Very late. Late enough that Roxanne ordered Chinese for them and the kids, and watched a Christmas movie called How The Grinch Stole Christmas, and then a Jewish movie called The Frisco Kid, with an actor Mickey said was, "Willy Wonka".
"And Michael's so sweet," she said, washing some bowels and plates in the skin. He stood by, drying them off. "You never told me you practically raised him!"
"That's because I didn't."
"Pish," she brushed it off. "That boy's just like you. Big heart and big brain."
"My heart is a dried up grape," he barked evilly, chuckling when it made her laugh.
"I doubt that," Roxanne said, putting away the last of the dishes. "If it was, would you be affected by this?"
"Wh—"
She slid up to him until her form was pressed against his. She's always so warm, and her curves so, so, so soft. Uuuuugh. He sucked in a breath, his mouth dry despite the three mugs of egg-nog he drank. "Why, Ms. Ritchi, there's a child sleeping in the next room."
"She's sixteen."
"A child."
Roxanne sniggered and laughed against the sensitive skin of his neck. She kissed him behind his ear, hugging him tightly. He gasped again, fighting the urge to grab her rear end.
"Now… I need to make more doughnuts. They ate two dozen and a half."
"Hmm."
"Help me," she asked, giving him a pouty smile. "It'll be fun."
"Only if I can have some."
"Fine. One more." She rolled her eyes and turned around, swaying her hips together, side to side, side to side, as she walked over to the cabinet. He felt a shameful amount of blood rush to his nether regions.
It was then, he noted, he wasn't in the same state of mind he was in when he first got here.
Maybe the holidays weren't so bad after all.