Author's Note: From this prompt:
"Megamind, Minion, & Music Man - Prompt: Guys' Night"
His prison dads had warned him about alcohol. People could say what they wanted about criminals, but Megamind had been well-informed on the dangers of all kinds of substance abuse by the time he was thirteen – and witnessing some of its effects first-hand (not to mention learning that almost all of it had negative effects on a person's brain) had left him with next to no interest in experimentation. He had his outlets. Awesome music, special effects, and ill-defined malevolence being chief amongst them, and he definitely didn't have an interest in impairing himself. His wits had been his sole advantage for the majority of his career.
However, after the first few chords of 'My Fists Can Break Bricks But Yours Can Break Hearts' started ringing out in the gilded chambers of Music Man's secret pad, he concluded that the only way he was going to survive the evening was if he couldn't remember any of it afterwards. So he downed the glass of scotch he'd been offered, winced at the taste, and then poured himself another round. He wasn't even sure why he'd come, except that he was starting to realize that his former archnemesis had even fewer friends than he did (which was really, really sad, because he had all of two), and the phoned invitation to have a 'guy's night' had held a certain tinge of desperation that he remembered from his old shool days. Of course, back then he had been the desperate one.
Right around about the bridge – 'Even with this super-human strength, I can't hold on to you' – Minion solemnly reached over, grabbed the bottle of scotch, and dumped a good third of it into the bubble-dome around him. The water took on an amber tinge.
After that, things started to get a little blurry. When he blinked his eyes open again with something resembling his full faculties, he was lying on the shool building's slanted little roof, and his head felt like someone was trying to rip it apart. Wincing, he sat up and tried to figure out how he'd gotten up there. The music had continued on for an interminable length of time. At some point Minion had started bawling. He thought he could recall blaming the music for that, and subsequently trying to punch Music Man in the jaw (which would explain his bruised fist) and then… then they'd started rambling about the old days. Music Man had said something about how his father always ignored him. Megamind had brought up their relationship in shool, and they'd gone outside to… actually, he couldn't remember why they'd gone outside. But that explained why he was on the roof, anyway. He presumed he'd been carried up there.
Straightening a little more, he started the dubious task of finding a way down. His hand rested on something beside him that beeped. Huh. It was his cellular phone.
The color drained from his face. Oh. Oh crap. He hadn't… scrambling a little, and squinting at the abruptly too-bright screen, he checked his call history. His heart sank – he'd phoned her. At three o'clock in the morning, no less, probably waking her up in the dead of night to ramble drunkenly on about who knows what, and, oh, that was bad. That was not good boyfriend behavior. By now she probably thought that he was a drunkard and an idiot and what if he'd said something awful to her? He could have said anything. What if he hadn't even talked to her, but had instead left some long-winded message on her answering machine? Then his stupidity would be recorded!
With a muttered oath, Megamind shoved the phone into his pocket and slid down to the edge of the roof. His dismount was about as graceful as one would expect from someone experiencing their first hangover in the midst of a mild panic-attack. He landed spread-eagle on the grass. The world tilted nauseatingly, and he groaned, raising his hands to cover his eyes for a moment. When he finally moved them again, the spinning landscape resolved to reveal a familiar, bearded visage starting curiously down at him.
"Y'know, little buddy, I can't get drunk," he said. "I'm thinking that might be a good thing."
Glowering, Megamind put his hands back over his eyes again. "Hate you so much," he muttered into his sleeve.
Music Man laughed, disgustingly cheerful, and then the world went woosh and tilt as he was abruptly hefted to his feet. His stomach gave a tremendous lurch. "Up you go," his archnemesis (not former anymore, no, he was going to revise a new, more effective death ray just because of this) said, batting some stray grass off of the back of his shoulders and grinning like a loon. Megamind managed to grind out something that might have been "where's Minion?" but also might have been a creative death threat. Or both.
"Downstairs, still sleeping it off," Music Man replied. "Do you want toast?"
He nearly threw up again at the mere thought of toast. Vehemently shaking his head turned out to not be a good idea, though, as the world tipped and spun accordingly along with the motion. As he contemplated the divine justice in expelling his stomach contents onto his host's spotless, fluffy white robe, the sound of tires moving over dirt caught his attention.
Roxanne pulled up. She was driving the news van. His heart lurched along with his stomach at the sight, because she looked Mad. With the capital 'm' and everything. As she got out of the van, she slammed the door behind her, her work shoes making her step very deliberately over the rough terrain. Every move seemed like it spelled his doom in large, neon lights, with exclamation points of shame.
"Guess our guys' night is over," Music Man said.
He braced himself.
"You-!" Roxanne began in potent fury. He desperately fished for an excuse, a bluff, something, anything he could use to deflect her temper, and so almost didn't notice that she'd leveled her index finger directly at Music Man's nose. "You incurable jerk! I can't believe you!" she snapped. "I have done nineteen separate interviews with you, and in three of them you mentioned that you don't get drunk! You're like the designated driver, you big, stupid lump! That means you keep anyone from doing something incredibly inadvisable while they're drunk. Like calling me up in the middle of the night to ask what Q-tips are made of!"
Music Man blinked. Megamind felt a sudden surge of relief fall through him. Roxanne, however, was apparently on a role.
"If you ever want to do this again, then you are going to look after them. Both of them. Do you understand me?" she continued. "Because copper might not be your weakness, but if you keep this up, I swear, I will phone your mother and tell her that you aren't dead!"
He gasped. Megamind's eyes widened. Then he flinched at the sudden sharp spike of pain, and raised a palm to his forehead. As Roxanne opened her mouth again, Music Man immediately raised his hands in a defensive gesture.
"Okay, okay," he agreed. "I'm sorry Roxie. I'll do better next time, I promise."
"That's right you will," Roxanne snapped. Then there was a warm hand closing around his forearm, and Roxanne was leading him with appreciable gentleness over towards the van. He caught her glancing back at Music Man once along the way and making the 'I'm watching you' gesture at him, which seemed to do an admirable job of cowing the big lug. For a few moments he savored the relief of not being yelled at, and apparently not being in trouble, until he began to worry if that was actually the case. She could have just been saving up a second tirade. As his girlfriend helped him into the passenger side, he gave her an assessing look through his apparently-permanent wince.
"So… you're not mad at me?" he checked.
She looked at him, her mouth twisting sideways for a moment. But her eyes were soft. "I'm kind of annoyed that you got that drunk," she told him. Then she sighed, and leaned forward, her lips lingering over his brow. "But no, I'm not mad. Now stay put – I'll get Minion." He nodded, and even obligingly fastened his seatbelt as she turned and walked away.
She'd never tell him that she couldn't exactly stay mad at him, though, even if he had woken her up at an ungodly hour of the night to babble drunkenly across a phone line. Not when he'd spent a good portion of that babbling reiterating that she was the smartest person he knew.
What could she say? She had no defense against that compliment, when it came from the right person.
