Madcap Moments: My Little Scholar


A long table stood in the middle of the armory, neatly set with various weapons and the tools required for their care and maintenance. An adjacent table held an open laptop, a three-ring metal binder with a thick sheaf of papers inside it, and a pot of coffee. A shiny black mug sporting the words '#1 Boss' sat untouched and steaming beside the computer.

Gru stood with his palms resting flat on the cold surface of the table, his dark eyes sweeping keenly over its contents. The sleeves of his gray turtleneck sweater were pushed up to his elbows, his jacket and scarf tossed absently over the back of the chair. The room was blissfully silent, and almost cold.

He turned and took up his coffee cup, idly scanning the files on the laptop's screen while he geared his mind toward the task at hand. Anything was better than dwelling on the fact that Vector had made it back to earth in one unfortunate piece. He'd already had a tantrum about that, a very manly one that involved shooting things, now he was going to focus on something productive.

In the binder were the original care instructions for each weapon in his possession, in the computer were the modified instructions regarding Nefario's modifications to those weapons. As he ensured that his arsenal be in top working order, he could keep an eye out for anything that seemed small enough for the girls to learn to use.

He had so enjoyed teaching Edith with the freeze ray, and was content to let the girls play with it when they wished, but the fact was that they were all so small it took all three to lift and aim it (or just Edith, with three or four minions helping her). The news that Vector was on the planet again had sparked a very fervent need to have the girls armed.

He hadn't told them about their kidnapper's return, yet, but hoped that the information would kill any reluctance Margo might have. It was narrow and unlikely, given how stubborn she was, but still possible. He would not force her to learn if she dug her heels in (as she was ever so likely to do) but he would encourage it by any means.

Setting his coffee aside he perched on the wheeled stool and took up the first weapon. Wordlessly he chose the corresponding file on the computer, and flipped open the metal binder, leafing through until he came to the correct page. Soon he was immersed in the work, and the rest of the world faded away.

So it happened that when someone tapped his arm he let out an entirely undignified yelp and leapt to his feet. He spun in almost the same movement, hand automatically going for the freeze ray at his back and… freezing… when he found himself staring at his eldest child.

Margo stood in a dark tank top, purple denim skirt and her favorite red high tops. She clutched a book to her chest, bound in dark leather with gold-edged pages. He knew the book instantly, and how odd that of all the books in his collection Margo should find that one.

"Oh, Margo." He moved his hand away from the armament, embarrassment sweeping through him. Would he ever become accustomed to having children? Confusion came quickly on the heels of embarrassment when he noticed that she was alone, save for her minion. Margo rarely came to the lab by herself, unless…

"Ees eet deener time, already?" He asked, eyes darting toward the clock on the computer, but it had already gone to screensaver and was no help to him.

"No, I was just, I mean…" She hesitated, and the amused smile that had graced her features a moment before dissolved into something between distress and embarrassment. Eventually she shrugged a little, eyes dropping to the floor, "I was bored, I guess. Edith and Agnes are playing a game, I'm sorry I didn't mean to bother you."

"No, no, no!" He replied quickly, reaching down to lay his hands on her shoulders, "'Eet ees no bother. You are welcome een de lab anytime you like." He didn't miss the worried frown that Loki was favoring Margo with, he'd have a talk with the minion later, nor did he miss the way his daughter was clutching the book so tightly her knuckles were turning white.

She was having the pangs again. Damn.

Guilt flooded, choked him, but he forced everything back. They weren't as bad as when he had first brought her home, when she would be trying so hard to act normal. He wasn't sure if she knew that she would go white every time the doorbell rang, or that she would start to shake when he would get up to answer it.

He hadn't known how to talk to her about it, so he hadn't. He'd just hugged her, held her tightly, and wallowed in his own guilt. It seemed to work as Margo would calm down and as time passed the frequency and ferocity of the pangs lessened. Perhaps he had been wrong, and it would have been better, easier, if they'd talked.

Hell, what did he know about being a parent? He didn't remember his own father, and had virtually been raising himself since he'd been five. He loved his mother, mostly, but he'd be damned if he went to her for parenting advice.

"You sure?" She asked tentatively and he managed a smile through the guilt. He glanced over as the minion scurried away and returned with a stool identical to the one behind him.

"Yes, now… thank you Loki, why don't you come an seet by me. Would you like some coffee?" He laughed at the disgust that twisted her little face, "Maybe not. Loki, please go and make Margo some hot chocolate."

"yako, tub I lliw eb gnisu artxe swollamhsram" He gave a sharp nod and hurried off to the Minion Kitchens before Gru could reply.

"What did he say?" Margo asked, reaching up to tug on his sleeve.

"He said dat he ees going to thwart my parental authoreety by geeving you far to many marshmallows, no matter what I say."

"He said all that? But he barely spoke?"

"Eet's what he meant dat counts." Gru shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets awkwardly. He watched as she settled herself on the stool her minion had provided, resting the book in her lap. The gilded cover gleamed dully in the florescent light, and he thought of the woman who had given it to him all those years ago.

Desperate for something to do, Gru poured himself more coffee and glanced at the girl sitting at his side. Her eyes roved around the massive room, taking in the various weapons of mass and minimal destruction housed therein. Her face, he noticed, was just a trifle paler than it should be.

They were attractive children, he thought, and had no doubt come from attractive parents. Margo was a wonderfully intelligent eleven-year-old, and saw the world with eyes that were equal parts adult and child. She would be the know-it-all in school, answering every question and throwing off the grading curve. He had been the same way at her age.

Like her sister, Edith was as intelligent as she was wild. He often thought of her as a small blond cannonball rocketing around his house. He doubted she'd ever grow out of it, and expected to be hounded into buying skateboards, roller blades, and all manner of things likely to end in injury. She was tough kid, and he'd no doubt that she'd take to his lessons like a fish to water.

Agnes was an unknown. She lacked both Margo's sensible calm and Edith's manic energy. She was a happy little girl, eternally optimistic, persistently cheerful. He suspected strongly that she would always be the sweet little ray of sunshine she was now, despite his influence, and would go on spreading rainbows and happiness wherever she went.

And he would make damn sure that no one could ever mess with her.

"So… what are you working on?" Margo asked, eyes focusing on the table.

"Routine maintenance," He replied, setting the cup aside, "I try to do so every year or so, but eet has gotten away from me these last few years." Four or five years, really. He hadn't realized how much he had been stagnating in both his career and his life until the girls had turned everything upside down.

"It looks like it would take you a year just to go through the whole room!" Margo said with mild awe, and made Gru laugh.

"Only about two weeks, I think, eef I focus on eet and don't get deestracted by something else. Are you enjoying Cyrano de Bergerac?" At her confusion, he nodded one at the book in her lap.

"Huh? Oh, not really."

"Eef you don't like eet, why are you reading it?" He asked. He had many reasons why his taste for that book had soured; most of them had nothing to do with the story itself.

"I dunno… my mom used to read it all the time, it was her favorite. I've read it before, I just don't understand why she liked it so much."

"Well, why do you dislike eet?"

"The characters mostly, I mean De Guiche is a pervert, Christian is a fake and a liar, and Roxanne is a selfish, vain… shrew. Cyrano would be mostly okay except that he helped Christian lie, and then was to much of a coward to admit it."

He laughed, he couldn't help it, she looked so stern it was adorable. "Well, mostly I agree with you." He glanced over as Loki came in bearing a small tray with a single mug simply overflowing with marshmallows. He rolled his eyes, but said nothing about it only because Margo looked so delighted.

"However, I do not feel dat Roxanne was a shrew, precisely, or Cyrano a coward. Much of Roxanne's vaneety came from being a précieuse, who were a social… clique I suppose you could say, dat were very focused on appearance. Who you were did not matter to them as much as how you appeared to be. Dat is why Cyrano did not believe Roxanne would love him."

"Because he wasn't handsome, like Christian?"

"Yes, exactly. Just as Christian did not believe that he would win her because he was not witty, not a poet. Roxanne equated beauty with intelligence. Because Christian was handsome, he must be clever. She was more foolish than she was anything else."

"What about Cyrano, then? If he would have just told her the letters were his, they could have been happy. Cowardice."

"He couldn't." Gru replied after a moment, "Because eef he was anything, Cyrano was loyal. To reveal the lie to Roxanne was to smear the memory of her husband, and his brother-in-arms."

"Sounds like an excuse to me." Margo muttered,

He laughed, tugged her ponytail, "Eet maybe something you do not understand until you are older."

"Yeah, my teacher last year said that too." She rolled her eyes, fiddled with the book's cover. "Who's Grigori?"

Gru sighed, wondering if he shouldn't have thrown the book out years ago. It wasn't like She would care.

"Grigori was de name I was using at de time I received dat book."

"Like… an alias?"

"Yes. I have several, Grigori Yefimovich is one." One he hadn't used since Paris, but that was a detail he'd keep to himself. He stood up and stretched dramatically, "Now, I believe that all of dis leeterary deescussion has made me hungry. Would you like to help me make deener?"

He offered his hand when she nodded, and was as surprised as he was pleased when she took it as she hopped off the stool, leaving the book and a half-full mug of hot chocolate forgotten on the table. Their footsteps echoed around the metal walls as they walked, and it was the first time he ever thought it an eerie sound. Damn book, he thought, should have thrown it out after Paris.

Well, he couldn't very well get rid of it now, not when it reminded Margo of her mother. It didn't matter, he told himself firmly. That bit of foolishness was more than ten years gone, and it did not have any bearing on his life now. He had his girls, the minions, Dr. Nefario and his work. Nothing else mattered.

"What are we making for dinner?" Margo asked, tugging at his hand to regain his attention.

"I do not know. What would you like?"

"Pizza?" she asked hopefully.

He had discovered in short order that the girls loved Pizza more than any other food in the universe. He had soon learned that they had not been allowed to have it at the orphanage. They would use this information to attempt to coerce him into having it for dinner as frequently as they could. He was mildly embarrassed to admit that it usually worked.

Rapidly he searched his memory for something, anything, that might distract her from that. As much as he loved his girls, he could not stand to eat pizza every night. "We had pizza last night so… perhaps I could make something from my childhood. Does Edith eat stew?"

"Edith will eat anything you put in front of her. Agnes is the picky one. She like soup, and that's pretty much the same thing, isn't it?"

"More or less." He replied, "There ees a dish my mother used to make when I was a boy… eet was one of my favorites." And his mother, for all of her faults, had been a decent cook when she'd had a mind for it. Mostly, however, it had been the magic of the microwave.

He nodded to Nefario as they passed though his work area, paused when the old man looked up, "We are having Kapusta for supper tonight, eef you would like to join us."

"Is Anna coming over, then?" Nefario asked, brows raised.

"No, Margo and I weell make eet." He'd always found it odd that his friend maintained a cordial relationship with his harpy of a mother. Not only cordial, he thought, but on first name terms.

"Well, I suppose I'll come up anyway." The doctor replied after a moment's thought, "Let me know when it's ready."

Gru nodded and Margo gave the man a friendly wave that was, to Gru's astonishment, acknowledged with a small inclination of the head. To date Nefario and the girls (with the exception of Agnes) mostly ignored each other. It was progress, he supposed, toward a time when Nefario would not try to use them as science experiments.

"Um… Mr. Gru?" Margo asked as they walked, and he had to squelch the sigh of disappointment that still she would not call him dad. It reminded him, always, of her words on that first night.

"Hmm?" he glanced down at her,

"What's… kapusta?"

"Healthy." He replied simply and was rewarded with a long-suffering sigh and another tug on his hand, "Okay, okay. Kaputsa ees a stew made from meat, cabbage, and various other vegetables. Eet ees good, I promise."

"Grandma used to make it for you?" She asked,

"Yes… sometimes." Whenever she wanted it herself, and could be bothered to make it. Every once in a while the mood would strike and she would bring the leftovers over. Mostly he'd been able to enjoy it on holidays, Christmas and Easter primarily.

Now that he had a family, he thought, he would have to consider doing things on days like Thanksgiving and Christmas. What had the girls done with their mother, he wondered. What had they done in the Orphanage. Well, that was no matter… they were his now and they would make their own traditions.

Which meant he'd probably let them talk him into all manner of things. Well, it was only July so he had a while yet before he had to consider anything. For now he'd just look forward to Halloween, his personal favorite, and the opportunity to frighten children into tears.


A few things regarding the previous chapter: The Mena House is an actual Hotel in Cairo. It's very historic and very beautiful, and the perfect setting for Gru and Nefario's first meeting (which I hope to go into more detail of later one, maybe, if it works out).

Kapusta is a very tasty stew made from beef or pork (my dad always uses pork when he makes it) celery, carrots, onions, cabbage, sauerkraut, and various other things. The word Kaputsa literally means 'Cabbage' in various languages including Russian.

The closest I've come to Cyrano de Bergerac is the movie with Gerard Depardieu. I used my memory of the movie, and a handy little thing called Cliff Notes, for the entire conversation Gru has with Margo.

I wanted to demonstrate Margo's advanced intellect with her reading level, and comprehension therein. I agree with her about the characters, though, I never did like Roxanne. Another reason to choose that story was, well… Gru makes me think of Cyrano. I'd love to see them… nose to nose, so to speak.

Poor Gru can't wait for them to call him daddy, I wonder when that's going to happen.

(P.S. Kudos to any who can guess just why Gru would chose that particular combination of names for his alias)