Chapter 752 of the MI code is for crimes and offenses. The rest is stuff I made up.

Also, hey! So, this fic went absolutely off the rails and I got incredibly tangled up on where to go with it and in what time frame, and I had to take a few months to be able to come back to it with fresh eyes. Aaaand then I got tangled again, and so on and so forth.

My hand has recovered nicely! I can make a fist again! Grip strength is low and I can't quiiiiite straighten my pinkie all the way, but I've got my physical therapy stuff and I can type with both hands, thank god. Lord, what a mess.

At some point I may post a separate fic with a couple deleted scenes, but we'll see.

Chapter 14
Fairytales and Firesides - Passenger

A week later, Metro Man and Megamind—healed up, and with his underlay in place—announce their new arrangement, a formalization of their former gentlemen's rules: if they are in regular clothing, out of uniform, then they are not acting as superhero or supervillain. They are off work. They are to be left alone.

(This is, of course, only the first phase of their plan, but they don't mention this.)

They both receive a certain amount of push-back, which they expected. Metro Man's is of the "how can you ignore the city when it needs you" variety, while Megamind's is mostly variations on the theme of "how do you expect us not to have you arrested on sight."

But both Metro Man and Megamind operate under Michigan State Code Chapter 752, Act 126 of 1909, Section 170, which provides additional legal regulations and exceptions pertaining to the "super" classification of villains and heroes. It is quite a long section and ponderously detailed, but what it boils down to is: they are each other's problem. Both Megamind and Metro Man were awarded "super" status almost directly out of high school; as such, Megamind has never been formally arrested as an adult. He has no criminal record outside of 752.126.1909.170(8)(a)(ii), which doesn't obligate the local or state police forces to have anything to do with him unless they want to tangle with him. And, as it happens, Megamind has rather a lot of background on both the local and state police forces that (1) they would very much prefer him not to have, and (2) functions nicely as a deterrent to keep them from so much as glancing in his direction.

This has come in handy more than once, over the years. Just another benefit of living with what amounts to an army of highly-sophisticated, intelligent surveillance drones.

Metro Man, unfortunately, does not have brainbots gathering intelligence and offering him leverage to keep him safe, and he has a much harder time adjusting. He can't turn off his super-hearing, and ignoring cries of distress—of which there are many, in a city the size of Metro—just makes him feel frantic and distracted and unhappy. Justifying all this to himself is something he can usually manage, but his decision is so much harder to defend when humans try to criticize, when they ask him to defend his choice to step back.

"That whole faking-your-death thing is lookin' real good, little buddy," he says to Megamind, one morning a couple weeks after making the initial announcement about their situational ceasefire. They've met up to touch base, to make sure they're still on the same page. "I always said I couldn't understand the appeal of pseudocide, but I tell you what. Trying to ease out of this job is, uh. Oof."

He has his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. The two of them are sitting on a bench in the park in the early morning, hours before pretty much anyone else is likely to turn up. Megamind has gone out in public once or twice in plainclothes in full daylight, but he was with Roxanne, and even then he was jumpy and anxious and unable to focus on how amazingly, fantastically wonderful it is to stand at her side with his hand in hers. He is much more comfortable as—what was the word?—as a crepuscular creature. Dawn and dusk.

"You have more than done your duty to these people," Megamind says, for the third time. Despite their rocky start, he's finding Metro Man surprisingly easy to get along with, at least in small doses. "The brainbots have it covered. You need to take a step back."

"Yeah, I realize," Wayne says dryly. "Taking a few days to just rest in my hideout…man, that was nuts. I slept for, like, a whole day, and then I started picking at the guitar like I always wanted, and now it's like…it's almost like there's a weight on my chest every time I even look at my uniform. I don't know what's up."

Megamind frowns. "Well," he says slowly, trying to muster up some sympathy, "you haven't had a vacation in fifteen years. Prior to that, your down time was sh—school, every day. I'm not surprised you're burned out."

"You know what's great?" Wayne says, as if he hadn't heard a word of this. "Sandwiches. Sandwiches that I make, exactly the way I wanna make them, that I can eat by myself, uninterrupted, someplace quiet. That is fantastic . And the fact that that—just eating a sandwich—is this awesome—I dunno. I dunno what that says about me, but it's starting to freak me out."

Megamind frowns harder, turning this over in his head. Eventually, he hazards, "Were you happy?" Wayne turns a little and looks at him without really sitting up, and he clarifies, "We covered my feelings on villainy when we sat down to figure this out. But. Were you happy? As a superhero?"

Wayne heaves a massive sigh, hauling in air and blowing it out of both his lungs and the exhalant siphons on his back, puffing out his shirt.

"I used to think I was," he says, at last. "But maybe…maybe what I thought was 'happy' was just…" He trails off.

"Keeping busy?"

"Yeah. Something like that. I mean," he laughs a little, "don't get me wrong, the whole 'praise and adulation' thing is nice enough. People like me! It's nice! Except…" He frowns. "Except they don't actually like me. They like Metro Man. And Metro Man and I aren't the same person, it turns out."

"They do like you," Megamind says, genuinely startled at this. "What are you talking about? Everyone loves you. They always have."

"That's what I thought, too." Wayne shakes his head. "But I'm pretty sure they love the idea of me. They love the…the flawless, perfect hero who never takes a break and never drops the ball and always shows up where he's needed, and it's a horrible unusual tragedy when anything goes wrong in this city, and when it does it's always my fault for not being there. They love their version of me.

"But me , I'm…I'm just a guy, little buddy. Metro Man is the me I have to—the me I thought I had to be. But me? Really me?" He shrugs. "I don't know who I am without him. Without them. I don't even know what I want."

"Sandwiches," Megamind suggests, after a moment, and Wayne snorts.

"Yeah," he says, scrubbing his hands down his face and sitting up, leaning back. "Yeah, apparently. Uh—I'm, uh, I'm gonna—" He sort of lifts the arm that's next to Megamind. "I'm gonna put this? Along the back of the bench? Because I'm, um. Too big and, uh. Triangular. Sorry."

Megamind nods. "It's fine," he says, but he still twitches forward and away as soon as Wayne settles.

"Sorry," Wayne says, for possibly the thousandth time since they both started this endeavor. Megamind sighs.

"I'll get over it. Eventually." He pauses, struggling for a moment with himself, trying to let go of his habit of playing his hand close to the vest. Finally he offers, "I…keep thinking about guns."

Wayne frowns at him, uncomprehending. "Guns?"

"You know. Weapons. Weaponry, things I could build."

After a moment, Wayne says, "Huh. Not—plots? Plans to take over the city? I would've thought…"

"So would I!" Megamind shakes his head. "But no, it's—it's just—guns, almost exclusively. Sometimes bombs. Every time I start feeling—I don't know. Worried, stressed." He shrugs, troubled.

There's a pause. "I'm guessing that's most of the time, huh?" Wayne ventures, and Megamind nods. "You build any of 'em yet? Got any plans for them?"

"No, no." Megamind waves his hands, scrunches his face in dismissal. "Nothing like that. It's just…thinking. If I don't have anything else to think about, if I'm not focusing on something or if I'm feeling—upset—I don't know. I turn around and suddenly I'm thinking about firearms, again. Or explosives. A couple of laser cannons." He heaves a sigh, the corners of his mouth turning down.

Wayne scratches the back of his neck, wondering where the little guy is going with all this. "Well, uh…do the thoughts…do anything for you? Are you, like…happy about them?"

"No," Megamind says immediately. "No, I am very much not happy about them! They are extremely annoying! But—but I've been trying to figure it out and—it's almost automatic. I feel—less like I'm hurtling towards a cliff, I guess. Less like something terrible is about to happen." He scowls. "Anyway," he says, "you aren't the only one having trouble adjusting."

Oh. He's—sharing? He's just—

Huh. That's kind of him.

Wayne hesitates, then digs in his jacket pocket for his little notepad and pencil. Metro Man's uniform has a belt with various pockets for his various supplies, but Wayne has to rely on his pockets. He checks in his phone, then scribbles down a name and a phone number so he can rip the sheet off and offer it to Megamind. The smaller alien blinks down at it, then up at him, cocking his huge head. Wayne clears his throat.

"—This is, that's my, uh. Therapist."

It feels weirdly embarrassing to admit to this, never mind that Metro Man has always been an extremely vocal fan of mental health services. It's different for him. He's a hero; he doesn't need help; he doesn't need anyone.

(What a steaming pile of crap that turned out to be.)

Still, if Megamind is willing to share, then Wayne is determined to reciprocate. It is, quite literally, the least he can do. "I'm still pretty new at the whole—thing," he says, taking a deep breath, "but, but I've had a couple appointments with her and I think she's pretty good. Works with a lot of heroes, knows her stuff. I—and she hasn't said, but—but I'd be real surprised if she didn't have at least a couple clients on the evil side of things. She'd be able to recommend someone for you, anyway."

Slowly, Megamind takes the paper, stares down at it.

"Might even be cool if we both saw her at the same time," Wayne adds, when his smaller counterpart says nothing. "One of these days. Might help with the whole…you know. Awkwardness thing. Talking."

Megamind is quiet.

"It's, I just…" Wayne trails off. "I know you're…pretty private. But that sounds like you might have some heavier stuff going on than you can tackle on your own? So…it's ok to ask for help. Okay? No shame in asking for help."

Megamind finally looks up again. "You don't believe that," he says. Wayne rolls his eyes.

"I believe it just fine for other people," he says flatly. "Seriously, I mean it. Call her. Thinking about explosives and stuff just to feel like you're not about to die sounds like it super sucks." Megamind snorts, that's a good sign, and Wayne sends him a weak grin. "Hey," he continues, because he is badly in need of a change of subject, "you eat fish, right? Mostly? I'm remembering that right?"

Megamind blinks a few times, relaxes just a little. "My non-glucose diet is high in fish, yes."

You like salmon? You like tzatziki?" At Megamind's hesitant nod, he says, "Hey, great. Fabulous. Gimme like an hour's notice and come by my hideout sometime; I will make you the best salmon sandwich you've ever had in your life."

"Really," Megamind says, lips twitching. He doesn't lean back against the bench, but a little bit more of his tension eases out of him.

"Yup," says Wayne. "Absolutely. Hand to god, this recipe is the best on the planet and you will love it."

Megamind laughs. "All right," he says. "But you've got some stiff competition. Minion's salmon is to die for."

Wayne chuckles. "Well, heck, bring him along and we'll have a cookoff. Side-by-side comparison. The best competitions end with delicious foodstuffs all around, you know? Nobody loses."

"Win-win, for sure," Megamind agrees.

"And I've been making my own bread," Wayne adds, and Megamind makes an interested noise.

"Huh. Minion will have to give you his recipe for twelve-grain loaf."

Wayne grimaces. "I'm not sure Minion is likely to give me anything except a swift kick in the rear," he says. "He, ah. He has not exactly warmed up to me."

"Yes, well. I'm…starting to." Megamind sighs. "Minion will just have to cope."

Wayne glances down at him, then away. The sun has cleared the trees behind them and the sky is entirely light, now. "I don't deserve that," he says.

Megamind shrugs, uncomfortable. "Neither of us deserves most of what's happening," he says. "I have done some extremely messed-up things in my life. But." He sighs. "Here we are."

Then he frowns. "I wonder if I can make some kind of auditory dampener," he says. "Like a hearing aid, but in reverse. Something that would block sound at a distance but allow you to hear within a certain radius."

"If anyone can, it's you," Wayne tells him. "And that would be both amazing and deeply, deeply appreciated, because I am right now, as we speak, ignoring like four different people screaming and uh. I don't. Actually know how to do that and still feel like not a terrible person." He grimaces. "At least if I couldn't hear them, I wouldn't just be ignoring them."

Megamind frowns. "Would you prefer we continue this discussion in your hideout?"

Wayne turns and blinks down at him, surprised. "Yeah, but…I kinda doubt you'd be comfortable with that."

Megamind takes a deep, slow breath, and then he shrugs and gets to his feet. "Like I said," he says. "I'll get over it. Might as well start now. Up!" He lifts both arms, and Metro Man snorts, stands, and scoops him up, lifts him to sit on his shoulder.

"Okay," he says, pulling air into his flight system and rolling his enfraparticulate flow against Earth's subgravitational field, lifting off. "Okay, yeah. And thanks, I appreciate it," he adds, and ignores the sound of Megamind grinding his teeth. "Hey, you had breakfast yet? Cool, I'll make you a Monte Cristo on French toast."

"That's a sandwich?"

"Yeah, it's sweet, you'll love it."

Eventually, the citizens of Metro City seem to be starting to grow accustomed to seeing Megamind out around town. He isn't keeping the invisible car invisible anymore, which—well, which mostly means he can't park in no-parking-anytime zones anymore, more's the pity. But it also means people realize exactly how frequently he's out and about in the city.

A little more than a month after the announcement, Megamind is approached on the street and asked for his first selfie with a random citizen. His instinct is to say no, but—this is a good sign, yes? The human seems very hopeful. This is good. This means public opinion is turning. However, positive or not, a "selfie" requires him to step very close to a stranger, close enough that they can wrap their arm around his back. Megamind nearly breaks right then and there, but—he bares his teeth in an uncertain smile up at the cell phone camera, and he manages to postpone hyperventilating until he can get back into the invisible car.

Okay. Okay! He's okay. That wasn't so bad. That was okay.

…That was not okay. Megamind is getting better at realizing when things are not okay.

He is also getting better at handling himself when he isn't okay, which is to say he's getting better at taking a few steps back and breathing deeply until he can think of something other than run/hide/fight . But he can't help himself, this time: he drives to Roxanne's office and waits—paces—in Reception while they page her until she comes out of the elevator, looking around.

She sees him and smiles. She looks a little confused that he's come to see her, but that doesn't matter. She sees him and she smiles, and Megamind is pretty sure he will never get over Roxanne being happy to see him. He feels himself stop moving, feels some of his restlessness settle as he breathes a little easier.

"Megamind?" Roxanne says, heels clicking on the tile as she walks quickly over to him. "This is a surprise! What's up?"

"Need a hug," he says, offering her a sheepish grin. "Do you mind?"

"Oh of course not," she says immediately, stepping into his arms and wrapping him in hers, relaxing against him. "I'm never going to say no to a Megamind hug."

He hums and tucks his face against the side of her neck, breathes her in.

Now he's okay. Megamind's skills at helping himself feel better are improving, but seeing Roxanne is still the most surefire way to bring him out of a funk.

("Oh, of course it is," said Minion, when Megamind mentioned being concerned about this to him. "Why do you think I insisted on kidnapping her so often? Integrating her into so many schemes?")

After a long few seconds, he steps back a little, moves so that his head is resting against hers. There are a couple other people in Reception; Megamind knows they're staring. It's going to be a long time before he stops being hyperaware of his surroundings, angles of attack, faces he recognizes, exits and vantages he can use—but for now, he is slowly learning to acknowledge these things and then set them aside until he needs them. He still can't feel safe, but he's learning to try.

"Lunch?" he asks, after a few seconds. "I am reasonably certain we won't be disturbed by any of my…associates, this time." Last time they went out, one of Megamind's business-contacts-turned-enemies decided to take advantage of the supervillain's apparent lack of armor and relaxed demeanor and attempt a hit. Both Megamind and Roxanne wear subtle armor, these days—the first thing Megamind did upon returning home from Roxanne's after his nap was make a pair of studded bracelets and double thumb-pointer rings for Roxanne—so the attempt very much failed, and Megamind was able to avail himself of the opportunity to clarify a few points to his various networks regarding his continuing or discontinued involvement in their activities. He may be a ball of rattled nerves held together with spit and spite these days, but he is still Megamind and this is still his city. He's easing off, not withdrawing completely. Total withdrawal from his more subtle operations is going to take time, and he still isn't sure he wants to give all of it up.

Roxanne knows this. Megamind was nervous about telling her, because he didn't want a fight and if she wanted him to immediately resign from all illegal activities, he was going to have to put his foot down on what timelines were realistic and which were beyond the realm of possibility. But Roxanne listened, and nodded, and said it made sense.

"You're working toward something new," she said. "It's going to take time to build the world you want out of the world you have. Big changes have to happen in small steps if they're going to last; that's normal."

There's a reason Megamind loves her as much as he does.

Now Roxanne grins at him and steps back, takes his hand. "Yeah," she says, and nets her fingers with his. "Yeah, let's do lunch."

Megamind smiles.

He continues not to build any new weapons. He might be having trouble not thinking about them, but he can absolutely stop himself from building them. It's a step.

(Carrying weapons is, of course, another story. Weapons, shields—Megamind is never without his armor, although he has reduced its surface area to something a little less ostentatious.)

Big changes. Little steps. He can do this. The first few weeks are rough, but nothing bad happens and nothing bad continues to happen and Megamind does eventually feel something slide into place in his mind like a key into a lock, and he thinks—oh. Oh, this—this is fine. Maybe he can't always control what he thinks about, but thoughts don't hurt anyone. He still wants them to go away but he doesn't have to feel bad about them.

He breathes a little easier, after that. Not feeling guilty about the thoughts helps.

A week after that finds Megamind is sitting at his drawing board in Main Storage. It's morning, and pale late-summer sunlight is splashing down through the tall windows of the old power plant's largest room, and the strings of Megamind's idea cloud are hanging over his head with their clothespins and binder clips empty and waiting to be filled. His chalkboards are arrayed around him, wiped clean and ready for him to scrawl over them. And Megamind is sitting at his drawing board with his hands in his lap and his lip between his teeth, staring at his pencil and rubber eraser in their little tray.

He's managed to bring himself this far, managed to actually sit down in front of his paper, but—

Well, it's one thing not to feel bad about it. But actually making something else—if he starts, if he tries, and he just falls back into his old patterns—

He swallows.

It really shouldn't be this hard. He really should not be so hung up on this whole good-and-bad thing. He even knows what he wants to work on! There's a new office building in the works in midtown, forty-five stories high, and if Megamind can sell them on exceptionally thin photobioreactors instead of traditional window glass, he'll be able to generate useful biomass out of light and the carbon dioxide generated by the city's traffic and industry. It's a good idea, he knows it is, but actually picking up the pencil is proving difficult.

Come on, hand. Pencil time .

He presses his fingertips against his palms and grits his teeth.

Then he jumps as his phone buzzes with a text. Oh, thank goodness. A distraction.

Something is wrong with Phobos, Rose says. You have a few minutes?

Megamind has many minutes. All of the minutes. Yes.

On my way, he texts back, standing and already turning in the direction of his long rows of shelves. He'll need a few extra minutes to gather up a couple of his tablets and a few other tools so he'll be able to run diagnostics and hopefully make any repairs that might be needed. And he'll need to get dressed. See you in 30.

He turns out to have estimated his timing almost exactly, and half an hour later he's knocking on Rose and Salim's door to announce himself before he lets himself inside. Derya is in her playpen, knocking blocks together, and—it is honestly incredible how Megamind's whole body just—recognition/safety/love/protect—immediately orients itself in Derya's direction.

"Hey," Rose calls from the dining room, "hey, c'mon in, thanks for coming—hang on, I'll be right there—"

Megamind looks up and—

—freezes.

There is. A stranger. Sitting in one of the dining room chairs. Her eyes are closed and Rose has some kind of bag with wheels open on the floor next to the two of them, and Rose is leaning forward and doing something to the stranger's eyebrows with a paintbrush.

He takes a breath. Okay, this is—this is unexpected but this is not necessarily bad, this hasn't gone bad yet and maybe it won't. It's just. Unexpected. That's all.

"Okay," says Rose. "Lisset, I'll be right back, I just need to run upstairs and grab a sick brainbot—"

I can go upstairs, Megamind almost blurts, but Rose probably has a reason she wants him down here. And. He doesn't want to interfere with that.

But Rose darts away up the stairs and Lisset sees Megamind standing frozen in the living room. She recoils, as Megamind had known she would. Startled expression, slight leaning back, expression falling to suspicion or uncertainty (he can never tell which; they look the same to him).

He swallows, and places his toolbox and the bag with his tablets on the floor. This is apparently enough to draw Derya's attention, and she exclaims something and pushes herself up onto her feet against the wall of her playpen.

Megamind redirects himself. The stranger named Lisset doesn't matter. Derya matters and Derya is reaching for him, so Megamind bends and lifts her up. "Hey, corazón," he murmurs. "You playing with your blocks? They're nice blocks, hm? Wow, you're drooly. More teeth coming in?"

Rose comes back down the stairs with Phobos flickering in her arms, its metallic tendrils draped up over her shoulders and coiled carefully around her arm and neck. "Here we go," she says. "I'm not sure what's up with it. It was fine last night, I'm pretty sure, but this morning it's all flickery and it seems to be having some motor troubles. Can't gain altitude, can't seem to grip anything."

Megamind places Derya back in her playpen and steps forward to gather the bot in against his chest. The little cyborg is humming steadily despite how its lights flicker, but it doesn't let go of Rose until Megamind runs his fingers over its blown-glass sail. "I'll figure it out," he says, as Phobos transfers its coiled grip to Megamind and wraps itself around him. "I think I've brought everything, but I might need to bring it back to Evil Lair if the problem is serious."

"Awesome, you're wonderful," Rose says. "I hope it's okay. I don't know what could have happened."

"I'm sure it will be fine," Megamind assures her. "The brainbots are resilient. Deimos and Phobos have some differences from the rest of the host, but nothing that should affect any critical functions."

He settles where he is, on the living room floor. Phobos continues to cling to him whenever it can, huddling close against Megamind's body, pressing its dome to his ribs. He isn't sure what that's about but he soothes it as best he can, petting its dome and arms with his fingertips as he waits for the diagnostics to run, conscious of Lisset's eyes on him but unable to care too terribly much. In the dining room, Rose continues to talk to her guest about…cosmetics, it sounds like. Megamind is incapable of not eavesdropping, no matter how he tries.

Huh. Software diagnostics indicate nothing wrong. Hardware, maybe?

Phobos twitches and clicks unhappily at the additional connection as Megamind plugs in, which he isn't expecting. "Shhh," he murmurs, "Hush, baby, you're okay. Daddy's here, daddy's got you."

Phobos whines. That, too, is unusual. The little bot seems to be indicating actual physical discomfort; while this is almost certainly a hardware issue, Megamind's bots don't typically feel pain. Not as pain, at least. They register damage and malfunctions that need to be resolved, but other than that—

Nothing wrong in the hardware, either, except that the bot's neuromorophic motherboard is running several degrees hotter than normal.

Does it…is that a fever? Can the bots be feverish? They don't exactly have…immune systems…

Megamind stands. "I'm taking Phobos back to Evil Lair," he says. "When was the last time it had contact with Deimos or Derya?"

"Deimos last night, Derya…two days ago, probably?"

"And its symptoms only began this morning? You're sure?"

"Yeah," Rose says.

Slowly, he nods. "I'm taking Deimos, too."

A few hours later, he texts Rose, Get Derya to the doctor NOW and have her tested for encephalitis.

Rose texts back a grimace emoji. Yikes. OK we'll go now. Will the bots get better?

Probably, he replies. I'm writing a counter-virus.

Is that a real thing? Rose asks, an hour or so after that.

It is now.

Is it safe for babies? Also do we need to sterilize the nursery or something

Megamind blinks at that. She's joking, right? She has to be. He knows Rose trusts him, but giving actual medical treatment to her daughter is beyond his ability to comprehend.

He opts to ignore the question for now. I already sent a cleanup crew to your house, he sends back. They're very thorough.

Derya is not sick, thank every living god. Megamind is not sure what he would do if she caught some kind of illness from his brainbots, but he would feel awful.

He keeps Phobos and Deimos in quarantine for treatment and observation and he completely forgets about his own immune system, which has not failed him in years. Two days after the bots go home to Rose and Salim's house, Megamind wakes with a splitting headache and a mild fever.

He whines and rolls over, disappointment clawing at him. He was supposed to have a date with Roxanne, today, but Megamind does not deal well with headaches. Hopefully she won't be upset at needing to reschedule, hopefully it's just Megamind who'll be disappointed about this.

The sleep that finds him eventually is fitful and plagued with dreams brought on by the headache. He gasps out of a dream of gurgling pressure inside his skull to the sound of his bedroom door clicking softly closed—

—and then suddenly a hand is turning his covers back, and his mattress shifts, and Roxanne slides into bed beside him.

He blinks at her in the dim light, confused, wondering if he's dreaming or hallucinating. "Roxanne?"

"Hey," she says quietly. "Do you want…is this okay?"

He swallows. "You'll get sick."

"Maybe," she replies, "but I'm pretty healthy. I'll be fine. I can go, if you want me to."

He doesn't want her to. He's surprised, actually, at how badly he wants her to stay; sick and sleepy means he's vulnerable.

He reaches for her, scoots toward her, rests his head on her chest.

"Wow, you're warm," Roxanne says, sounding surprised.

"Fever," he mumbles. "Headache."

"Oh, honey." She lifts a hand, strokes his head. "I'm sorry. Headaches are the worst, and I bet they suck double for you."

"Triple," he sighs. "Bad memories, too."

"Oh, no," Roxanne says. "I'm…god, do you want to talk about it?"

"No." He sighs. "Need to call the therapist. Wayne's therapist. There's some…stuff. I've noticed. Still affecting me, more than I thought it was. Can you just…talk to me? For a while."

"Anything in particular?"

Megamind yawns. "Tell me about next year? Next summer. The lake."

Roxanne is quiet for a while, lying in the dark and petting his head. Finally she says, "I bet you've never slept in a tent, before. I don't think I have one of my own, yet; we'll have to get one. Camping is sort of an extended exercise in…I don't want to say discomfort, but it's a different set of expectations. We'll go do some hiking, and some swimming…"

Still fever-warm and foggy, Megamind drifts off to the beat of her heart and the soft thrum of her voice under his ear.