He's much more cheerful the next time she sees him. It's January, just after New Years, and Roxanne is still feeling the effects of her hangover from the weekend's revelry. Megamind isn't quite in high spirits, but he is smiling again and he doesn't seem quite as bone-deep tired as he did when he came over at Christmas.

Roxanne is wearing a new scarf, an attractively drapey, flimsy thing that was a gift from her mother. It matches her leggings and looks great with the dress and boots she's wearing; she'll be disappointed if it gets destroyed. So she's touched when Megamind starts to dart across the room behind her and then pauses.

"Oh," he says. "Um. Heads up, I'm coming in."

His phrasing throws her, but then a movement of air and a rustle of cape tells her he's just crouched down behind her chair, and she snorts. "Coming in—pff. Okay, cessna six-mike-whiskey, you are cleared for landing."

Megamind splutters, fingers plucking at something near her wrists. "Excuse you," he says, sounding at once offended and like he's trying very hard not to laugh. "Excuse you! I am not a Cessna!"

"Oh? You're tiny and sputtery, what else would you be?"

"You—! I try to do something nice and this is the thanks I get! Insults!"

"And just how am I supposed to know what you're doing?" Roxanne laughs. "I can't see! What's happening? Do I get to hold a live grenade?"

He makes a grumbly noise. "No, you get to wait while I make sure this cobweb you're wearing doesn't snag on the ropes."

"This…oh, my scarf?"

"Ill-advised garment," he mutters. "How you managed to survive the morning without a pull is beyond me. It is—fffff—very pretty, of course, but—damn. Minion! Minion, how do I smooth this?"

"Hmm?" He clanks over. "Just grip gently on either side and no not like that! Not like—just—yes, grip it like that, and now quick, firm strokes—"

Roxanne snickers.

"Mind out of the gutter, Miss Ritchiii," Megamind sings.

"You're in the gutter with meeee," she returns, mimicking his singsong voice, and he chuckles. "But okay," she adds, "I guess I can upgrade you from Cessna to UFO."

He snorts. "Somehow I think call signs and unidentified aircraft are mutually exclusive."

"Okay, wiseass," she says, resisting the urge to try and brush his fingers with hers as he withdraws. "What kind of aircraft would you want to be?"

"Oh, some kind of drone, probably," he says, getting to his feet and brushing himself off. "I've never really thought about it."

"A Northrop B-2 Spirit bomber," Minion says.

Roxanne blinks. Megamind pauses.

"What?" he finally says.

"A Northrop Grumman Spirit," Minion says. "They're the eight-hundred-pound gorillas of stealth aircraft. I'd be one of those. Or a Raider."

"What's a raider?"

"They're in development," Minion says. "The Spirit was developed in the 80s. The B-21 Raider is expected to fly sometime in the mid-2020s and should be able to deliver both conventional and thermonuclear weapons."

Roxanne squints into the middle distance for a moment, and Megamind frowns. "Why are we going to need to deliver thermonuclear weapons in the 20s?"

"This is the USA," Minion says flatly. "Why do you think?"

"Right, right." Megamind sighs, rubs the bridge of his nose. "Thirty-fourth rule of acquisition: war is good for business."

"Peace is good for business," Roxanne says absently. "Thirty-fifth rule. That's…interesting, Minion, thank you. I'm…going to need to make some phone calls, I think."

There's a pause, and after a few seconds of silence, she shakes herself and looks around. "What's wrong?"

Megamind has returned to his chair and is staring at her with an odd-looking smile. "Why do you know the Ferengi Rules of Acquisition?"

She doesn't, she just knows a couple and remembers that the rule about peace comes right after the one about war. But she doesn't have to tell Megamind that. She smirks at him and lifts her chin. "I'm just that good," she says smugly. "I know all kinds of things."

He turns away, shaking his head and laughing, and Roxanne feels warm.


She's almost all the way home when the next stage hits her. She's in the elevator with Mrs. McKinley from two floors down, thinking about Megamind and wishing yet again that she had some way to get in contact with Evil Lair to make sure he's actually okay after the plots where he's knocked flying and lands hard. Megamind isn't at Evil Lair, of course; he's at the prison. But Minion is probably home, Minion could tell her.

Would Minion tell her, she wonders. If she called? Would he—

The Hanahaki attack hits totally without warning. Roxanne gags and stumbles in place, grabbing for the rail around the inside of the elevator and slapping a hand over her mouth, shaking her head wildly as too many petals hit the back of her throat with nowhere, nowhere to go. She can't breathe through her nose, she can't—

"Easy!" Helen McKinley grips her by the shoulders. "Oh, oh no—here, here—"

She pulls a clean handkerchief out of her purse and gives it to Roxanne to hack into as the elevator slows. Roxanne nods thanks and lets go, nearly retching into the cloth.

The doors open, but Helen hesitates. "You'll be all right? Do you need me to walk you home?"

Roxanne shakes her head and waves at her. "No," she manages. "No I'm fi-I'm fine—sor-sorry—"

One of the petals comes free and flutters to the floor. "Oh," says Helen, edging reluctantly backwards as Roxanne shoos her out of the elevator. "Oh that's…pretty, what is it?"

Roxanne shrugs, still coughing, mashing the Door Close button.

"Well, I'll let you get home," Helen says, sounding very worried. "You…you take care, dear…"

Roxanne staggers into her apartment a minute or so later and hurries to her bathroom. Fuck, it's never been this bad! This is new, this has to be because of today, how close he came and how gentle he was and the lilt in his voice as he teased her—

She yanks her medicine cabinet open and grabs the inhaler and bottle of Hanahaki expectorant, slams the latter into the former, and drags on it. The mint-flavored gel coats her tongue and throat in a thick film and she heaves in one last hard breath around the obstruction in her throat, coughs one last hard cough, and—

—spits a slender bud nearly the length of her hand into her palm.

"What the fuck," she says aloud.

She's never. She's. Never actually gotten to this stage, before. And this bud is massive. Narrow, thank god, otherwise she really would be worried about getting them out. But still.

There's a tap on her balcony glass and the door opens, and Wayne's worried voice calls, "Roxie? Roxannie? Hey, uh. You okay? Some lady downstairs said you were uh, you were coughing real bad and—"

Roxanne steps out of her bathroom, still staring down at the bud in her hand. Her boyfriend flits over, his face all worry.

"Hey," he says again. "You okay?"

She swallows and opens her mouth to say yeah, she's fine, but—what comes out is a bitten-off sob.

"Oh no," says Wayne, and lands in a crouch and pulls her in. "Oh, chickie. Roxie, hey. It's okay."

Roxanne puts her arms around his thick neck and cries. "It hurts," she chokes out. "I don't—I love him, I love him and I don't—I can't—"

"Can I ask who?"

"No, no—I don't, no, no I don't want—don't want to talk about that, I don't—"

"Okay, that's okay," he says quickly. "You don't gotta tell me. Do you want me to get you to a doctor? Some kinda counselor? You know I see this all the time, babe, I know some real good people."

She sniffs. "No," she whispers. "I don't want to stop loving him, I just. It just hurts. I'm so tired of the petals, and-and now I'm on buds, and I just know the flowers won't be long now and—it just—I don't, I don't want to stop, it just hurts."

He sighs, but she feels him nod. "You let me know if you change your mind, yeah?" She gulps, nods against his shoulder, and Wayne shuffles her backwards a little and very gently touches her chin so she looks at him. "And hey. Do you wanna break up?"

She sniffs hard, feels her face scrunch as she nods again. "Sor-sorry," she says, "yeah, I—yeah."

"That's totally fine, 's why I asked." He half-smiles. "We knew this had to be temporary anyway, chickie darlin'. You've been with me more than long enough to get the heat off me."

Roxanne swallows hard, gathers herself. Time to switch tracks, time to talk logistics. Time to stop crying before she triggers another Hanahaki episode. "Okay," she says, stepping back. "Yeah, that's...probably for the best, then. Um." She sniffs, looks up at him. "Did you want to come out, or…?" Then she starts laughing in spite of herself; his grimace was so immediate. "I guess that's a no," she says, tearful and amused.

"Yeah, no. Not yet, anyway. I'm just. Not ready to open that can of worms, sorry."

She pats his arm. "It's up to you, baby. Whenever you're ready." She sniffs, gulps. Goes over to her box of tissues and blows her nose. "We'll just say it wasn't working out. Part on good terms."

"Yeah," he agrees. "That'll be fine. You gonna be okay?"

Roxanne nods. This is new territory for her; she's always been far more sensible about love before this. But yes. She's sure. "I'll be fine. Thanks for being so good about it."

Wayne's smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah," he says, dry, "I'm good at being good. Sort of my thing."

"You know what I mean. I appreciate it."

He sighs. "Yeah. Yeah, I know. I know you don't mean it like that. And I really don't mind! Not when it's for you. You get it."

Roxanne gives up and comes back to where he's still standing with his feet on the floor outside her powder room and hugs him around the waist, mashes her face against his solar plexus. "Y'r my besfriend," she mumbles. "I love you."

Wayne's huge hand settles on her head and pats gently. "I love you, too. I got you, okay? You just tell me what you need. Yeah?"

She nods mutely against him, and he rubs his other hand across her shoulders.

"Is it okay if we stay together through Valentine's Day?" she blurts. She's too tired to think of changing anything right now. "You know if we break up before then, it'll be a nightmare of questions."

"Yeah, I was just thinking that. Should probably wait it out a bit after, too, so it doesn't look like we had some kind of fight about the holiday."

Roxanne nods again. "March?"

"Sure. March sucks anyway. Never know if I'm supposed to wear the insulated suit or the thin one, it blows." He steps back. "I gotta fly. You're sure you'll be okay?

"I'm sure." She sends him a smile that almost even looks genuine. "I'll be fine."


She's not fine.

She's fucking tired, is what she is. She's tired and she's worried, and she tries to go visit Megamind at the prison under the pretense of getting some sound bites (because apparently in addition to tired and worried, Roxanne is also weak), but—despite this being something she has done in the past with minimal issues beyond the usual security whatnot—finds the warden absolutely is not having her anywhere near the place.

Also, he sounds completely pissed on the phone. He's hiding it, but Roxanne knows her tones and she's spoken with Jim more than once. He insists everything is fine, no issues, Megamind is just planning something big and Jim doesn't want her on the premises. No, not even for just a couple minutes. No, not even to visit someone else.

But Megamind escapes from prison with his usual ease a couple days later, no 'something big' at all. It's barely a footnote in the B section of the Metro Times, is how unremarkable it is.

Weird. But, okay. Maybe there's some kind of threat happening? Megamind can handle himself, but Jim's protective of him, Roxanne knows. Still, he should know Roxanne wouldn't have anything to do with something like that.

Weird.

"Does your warden have a chip on his shoulder about something?" she asks the next time she sees Megamind. Her hands aren't behind her, miraculously; they've stumbled across each other by chance in a slush-muddy alley while chasing the same piece of information. "I tried to come visit you to get some clips but he wasn't having it. Would barely even talk to me."

Megamind lifts his eyebrows, shrugs. "No idea. How very strange. Please get out of my way."

"No."

"I said please!"

"And I said no." She grins. "I spent three weeks chasing down this asshole's name, you are not stealing him from me before I get what I need."

He glares at her. "Oh, is that why you're being so annoying about this? You could have just asked."

"Would you have told me?"

"Mmm—no. Now get out of my way!"

He dodges past her by step-hopping off the brick wall beside her, and he slips out of her grasp like an eel when she makes a grab for him. Roxanne is laughing too hard to chase him very far; she has to stop after only a few turns down the alleys and back streets.

"You butthead!" she yells after him, panting, hands on her knees. "How are you so fast! With your little skinny legs!"

Megamind turns around momentarily at the end of the street and sends her a wild grin, thumbs at his temples and fingers splayed in the air. "Nyehh!" he shouts back, sticking out his tongue and laughing. "Slowpoke!"

Roxanne considers going after him, but he has too big a lead at this point. Oh, well. She'll get the information she wants out of someone else. Possibly even Megamind or Minion, if she can swing it. It's fine.

He's ridiculous. God, but she loves him.


A surprise package arrives for Roxanne later that month that turns out to contain several bottles of unlabeled, greenish fluid and a letter, which reads:

You owe me an intact bud at the very least for this. The coating on those petals is thickest on the big ones and structurally fascinating, but it does not point to being easy on human mucus membranes.

Well, she's got that right. Roxanne's throat has been killing her, and the buds have not been getting any easier to expel.

If you ACTUALLY choke I don't get more weird plant parts, so the enclosed containers of expectorant are designed to bind to human saliva at one end of their primary molecule and your weirdo petals on the other. They should make things a little easier for you. Try not to use them too much, I could only reduce the toxicity to a certain point. Discontinue use if you develop a respiratory infection. Enjoy.

The note isn't signed, but Roxanne knows exactly who it's from anyway. There's a phone number scribbled at the bottom with "TEXT, DON'T CALL" next to it in big letters.

She does not do either of those things. And she doesn't want to use the expectorant, either, if it's toxic, but she slides a bottle into her purse anyway just in case and hopes for the best.

"Best," when it comes to Hanahaki, is a relative term.