Long time no update! But it's here at last, the final chapter of "Cold War," a crack-fest which takes itself seriously. Again, thank you all for sticking with me. Note: I don't type accents phonetically.

EDIT 7/14/13: I'm not making any promises, but it's a possibility. Is there anyone interested in a sequel to Cold War? It'd be a helluva lot lighter, or darker, depending on the way it goes.

Disclaimer: I don't own DM


Gru was bored, insanely bored and aching. When he wasn't dozing off from drugs, he was mentally lamenting the pain, and any other time he had left, he was numb and bored. The only good thing about his situation was that there were no longer tubes in his nose. Finally.

He idly changed the television channels, wondering how much longer he would have to endure this torture. It wasn't long before his mind floated to other things- firstly, he was jobless. According to Richardson, Perkins had fled the country and the Bank of Evil was out of business. Good. He wouldn't have to deal with that annoying Vector or any more of Perkins' outlandish attempts to off him.

Secondly, no one knew he ever touched the moon, which threw all his efforts down the drain. Thirdly, he still had to re-adopt the girls from that thinly disguised Victorian workhouse. Obviously he was in no condition to do that. He groaned, feeling a stitch shift uncomfortably.

He still had no idea who the hell Phillip Neyman was, but Richardson had reassured him the man was behind bars for good. Demidov wasn't allowed to go after him as long as he stayed away from the villain business, at least. Fourthly, he had bills to pay.

He saw his picture flash by in the news, the anchor saying something about a "local man" being "shot in a roadside mugging." The man's identity was confirmed by his neighbor, FRED.

"Damn it!" he hissed before turning the TV off. Hopefully Nefario would arrive with the materials he asked for: construction paper, scissors, and glue. That would be worthier of his time. He suddenly had a craving for pancakes- anything was better than his current bland diet.

"Roadside mugging," he muttered with a frown. Really? Screw Richardson. Then again, Lloyd Richardson was now the new head of the Bureau (with minor repercussions, which according to the man himself involved a smaller salary) while he, notorious agent Igumnov, was now a fifty-year-old unemployed hack.


Agnes didn't really know where they were going. Their father wouldn't say so she let her mind wander to unicorns in the sky as she stared out the car window. She didn't know what happened to the big tank either- this car was boring. Edith said it was a Fork. Maybe it was Ford.

It seemed like weeks ago that the nightmare ended. There were no more nasty guns or mean men or the smell of blood. She started humming, earning a groan from the blonde sitting beside her.

Margo had been worried over the past few days, saying things about Agnes and "trauma." Must be something really bad. But she didn't think much about the bad things- in fact, she usually forgot all about it. Besides, the very first night her dad got back from the hospital, he had talked to her first.

"Eh... I'm not very good at this, Agnes."

"Good at what? Oh! Oh! You mean, doing the fish face-"

"Wha? No! Not the fish face!"

"Oh."

"Some deesturbing things happened to us before- uh, you know. I just want to tell you that-" He stooped to her level with a wince. "It won't happen again. Pins and needles. I will never leave you and things are going to be bet-ter from now on."

"..."

"Ah? Don't cry, Agnes- we've had enough of that- trust me, it's all over and everything's going to be okay, okay?"

Sniff. "Okay, Mr. Gru."

"It's dad."

She threw herself on him. "Ow! Ow!"

The following days were the happiest that she could remember. There were goodnight kisses and pancakes with jam and being tucked in and hugs and unicorn plushies and bedtime stories and old movie nights and blasting music and ice cream and laughs and-

In her prayers each night, she spent at least five minutes saying "thank you" because this was everything they had ever wanted. The only thing missing was the unicorn, but if Agnes could pick between what they had now and the unicorn, she'd throw the unicorn away. No questions asked.

"So, what's your new job again?" Margo asked.

"We're making gadgets now- it's going to be very cool."

"With a K?"

"Ha!"

They passed by a lazy little town, filled with a variety of farm animals and old shops. Agnes pressed her face against the glass.

"When was this place built, the 60s?" Margo asked again, scratching her chin in thought.

"30s actually," her dad's voice called from the driver's seat.

The houses faded from view and they approached a field of yellow grass.


Margo knew it was the big day. Any moment now dad would burst through the door, either with horrible earth-shattering news or the best news in the universe. She was giddy and anxious, ever since the moment he and uncle Nefario left the house.

She sat on the couch, staring blankly at the blank television, not in the mood to do anything. She didn't even know if she was hungry or not. Edith and Agnes were in other parts of the house, roaming and playing, no doubt convinced nothing could possibly go wrong. Margo wasn't so sure.

Her new father had returned the previous night, looking stoned, and leaning on crutches. The welcoming consisted of the three sisters and infinite minions leaping at him, a string of painful "Ow!"s, the old doctor's scolding, and their grandmother insensitively laughing.

Gru left in the morning, promising the girls that they could stay. But watching him hobble away on crutches, stopping every few steps to cough, Margo wasn't sure if he would be able to face off against the likes of Miss Hattie.

"We're back!"

The door opened and her father limped inside, nearly falling over the crutches. Edith and Agnes seemed to materialize out of nowhere, bombarding him with questions- "well?" "can we stay?" "oh please oh please-"

His face broke into a grin so large it was uncharacteristic of him. "Yes."


"We're here!" Gru announced, ignoring the dismayed faces of his daughters from the rear-view mirror.

With a few frustrated grunts, he managed to open the door and slide out of the seat, clumsily pulling the crutches with him. It'd be a while before he could cast them aside. If he had still been young, then maybe he'd be doing marathons by then, but nooo.

"Come on out, girls! Margo- help your sisters unbuc-kle."

He hobbled toward the passenger doors and opened from Margo's side. The sun was shining down on them in annoyingly bright rays, which was rather fitting, giving the occasion. Or not. The worn graveyard was right in the center of the yellow field, sprayed with reddening leaves and bland stones, some with more flowers than others.

"Dad, I'm not sure why we're here."

"Oh, trust me- we won't be too long."

Edith tugged on her cap and ran to take her post at his leg, Agnes rushing to the other, and Margo staying an inch ahead. They began the steady walk up the dry soil, Agnes giggling as the grass tickled her legs.

"Are we really going to see mom?" the youngest chirped.

"Yes, yes we are," he answered quietly.

"You didn't tell me and Edith anything about a woman," Margo said. Was that a mischievous tone? He had to chuckle at her.

"She'd be an old woman now."

They came to a stop before a small gravestone. "Debra Summers. 1939-1950. To our angel above, you will always be our Debbie."

Edith fidgeted while Agnes stared. The eldest sister let out a small sound that almost seemed like a gasp. Margo put a hand on the blonde, telling her to stop. She turned and looked at him.

"Dad? Is this the girl from the bedtime story?"

He nodded. The former villain smiled wearily; it seemed fitting to throw the title of "mother" on Debbie. He wasn't likely to meet anyone else soon, nor was he keen to trust anyone else with the girls. He hadn't even thought about her in over thirty years, not until the children had demanded a story that night. There had been lots of women in his life, all blurs and flashes. But Debbie had been a name that never quite left...

"Gru," Richardson's voice said from the other line, "one last thing- Natascha, I never knew her last name. I don't know if you remember, but I- I did love her. Just felt you should know."

"She was married," Gru replied, eyes on the clock, and too lazy to let the words sink in. "I didn't know him."

"Did she love him?"

"She loved her children."

A sad chuckle in the phone. "Goodbye Igumnov."

"Good riddance Lloyd."

The line went dead.

In fact, Gru recalled marrying the girl from his childhood in some pain-induced delirium. Natascha had been there, his father, Yong- now wasn't the time to think about things like that. It made him feel old.

"Well, girls, introduce yourselves, go on."

"Hi mom, my name is Agnes and I like unicorns and once I thought a cheeto was a caterpillar."

"Uh... I'm Edith and I think dead people are cool."

Margo adjusted her large glasses. "My name's Margo. You sound a lot like Edith, Debbie. Well, I'm really happy to know you and- and Felonius is the best dad in the world."

Gru felt a warm swelling in his chest at that. "Debbie," he said, "we did it. We made it to the moon."

The four of them stood for a period of time, looking at nothing but the stone, illuminated by the sun, the clouds bright and fluffy overhead.

"Let's see, before we go- Margo, come here, help me hold the crutch- like that, yeah."

He dug a hand in his jacket and pulled out a book. "I accidentally, tragically lost the three keetens."

Agnes' eyes lit up immediately. "It's a unicorn!"

"One Big Unicorn, the best book ever, made by yours truly." He flashed them a grin and the girls giggled, marveling at the handiwork he put into it. It was no simple task, not that he was far-sighted or anything.


"Okay, let's go!" Gru said, right before Agnes made a sound of agitation.

"No, read it now," Edith demanded.

Margo couldn't help but join them. "Please, dad, please!"

He smirked, pleased with the response. Maybe Margo would have cringed if they were still living in the last month. But now, all she did was giggle with her sisters.

"Okay, we'll read it once, then home."

"Yay!" they called in unison.

He started reading, emphasizing every scene with comical emotion, but it was as heartfelt as he could make it. Margo was just... happy that they were all together, that they were loved, that all of this meant something. She didn't care where he lived anymore, where he was from, or even what he did for a living. She didn't even care that they were listening to a story about a unicorn and three kittens, while standing in a graveyard.

Because with the sun so bright and the weather so nice and their family so happy, what did it matter? It doesn't. And it never would for her.


And that's all folks! Thanks for reading and feel free to review.

The Cold War saga is finally over, finished June in honor of the DM sequel.

EDIT 7/14/13: Just adding an extra note- I'm thinking about making a short sequel-influenced addition to the Cold War-verse. Is that a terrible idea?