THE BOARD IS SET, THE PIECES ARE MOVING. WE COME TO IT AT LAST

also please please please go look at this on my archive of our own! there is an ILLUSTRATION of the FLOWER and it's gorgeous, seriously

Chapter 12

Minion has, of course, been having a rough few months. Megamind's Hanahaki has been holding steady recently but there's not much worse it can get, from Minion's perspective. His Sir still plots and schemes as usual, it's just that so much of his energy is missing these days and he just can't seem to muster any enthusiasm until he's in the thick of an actual battle and his adrenaline kicks in, and no wonder: he hasn't slept through the night in well over a year, except for at Christmas and again earlier this week when he came back aching in his whole body because he spent the night on the floor outside Roxanne's bedroom.

Frankly, Minion isn't sure what to do but let the disease run its course. But there's no course to this! There's no end in sight! Sir's Shame Box :) is entirely full, his bedroom is littered with undying dahlias the color of deoxygenated blood, their uncles and haunt are worried sick. Minion has had to dissuade them more than once from just leaking the news and being done.

Not that he hasn't considered leaking it, himself. But Megamind is adamant, and Minion can't yet bring himself to make his sick friend even more distressed.

At least he's still drinking the sugar nectar Minion makes for him at a rate that would put a butterfly to shame. It's packed with electrolytes and sugar and if is fairly nutrient-rich, so he isn't at risk of becoming malnourished anytime soon. He's just sick and in pain and it isn't his fault and there isn't anything that can be done, and Minion hates it.

Minion doesn't hate very many things. He was worried, for a while, that he might start to hate Roxanne, but he's pretty sure that won't happen now. Her disinterest in Megamind makes Minion sad or it makes him angry, but that's as far as it goes. She would have to be cruel in some way for Minion to hate her.

Hanahaki is cruel, and Minion certainly does hate it. His Sir has felt helpless enough in his life; he does not deserve any more of that bullshit!

(Minion is in the same boat, frankly. He spent something like the first thirteen years of his life in a sphere with almost zero autonomy before his Sir put his foot down and said That's Enough to the whole remote control pet thing. Feeling helpless gives him the screaming meemies. But he tried to help with the Hanahaki the only way he could think of—bringing Miss Ritchi in early and letting her spend time with Sir—and nothing happened! It just got worse!)

He goes to collect Megamind's lunch dishes a few days after his night on the floor, but can't find him in any of his usual workspaces. Eventually he tracks his friend down in one of the biosynthesis labs, a sort of catch-all quasi-medical space with equipment for PCR and virology among other things.

That's…hopeful? Is that hopeful?

"Working on a cure, Sir?" Minion asks. He does his best to sound as cheerful as he can as he gathers up his friend's empty glass and barely-touched plate of food. "If anyone can find one, it's you."

The chair squeaks as Megamind slouches back and grinds the heels of both hands into his eyes. "No," he sighs, "no. I told you, I'm not interested in that. This is…I'm working on a project for Roxanne."

Minion falters, startled. "For—oh? What kind of project? Can I help?"

"I'll let you know. But not at present, no."

Minion glances around, but no explanation presents itself. A project for their longtime kidnappee and maybe-sort-of-friend? A project that involves a biochem lab? Medical?

"She isn't…pregnant, is she, Sir? I imagine Planned Parenthood would be a better—"

Megamind releases a bleak-sounding snort. "No, no. Nothing like that. Don't you worry about it, my main man," he adds, when Minion opens his mouth, "I have it well in hand. It'll only make you sad."

Well THAT'S ominous. Megamind turns back to his work, but all Minion can do is wonder and be useless. "Is she sick? Is it terminal?" He flutters his fins, agitated. When Megamind says he's on top of something, he generally means it, but he's so tired these days and Minion cares deeply about Roxanne and if something happened to her, too, he couldn't bear it.

"It's all right, Minion."

He jitters in place for a moment before finally blurting, "You may as well tell me. I'm already upset now, I'd rather be sad than anxious."

Megamind sighs. "She has Hanahaki."

Minion's jaw drops. He actually takes a step back in shock. "She what?"

"Roxanne has Hanahaki Disease," Megamind repeats dully, without looking up. "I'm just making her something for her throat. To help."

"Oh," says Minion, all sympathy and bewildered dismay. Roxanne? Miss Ritchi has Hanahaki? "Oh, I'm…that's terrible. I'm so sorry, Sir."

"So am I. So. This is the least I can do."

Minion turns away to go make a start on the dishes, pinching his lip around his teeth so he won't wibble. He can't take much more of this, he really cannot. Hanahaki? First Sir, now Miss Ritchi? And Minion had no idea! He had no—

He stops.

What. What was that. What did he just think.

Time slows. The world slows.

He—

He'd had no idea.

"...Sir," Minion says, staring at nothing, frantically calculating—just—the odds of this, how many hours, how long has she— "Sir. Miss Ritchi has Hanahaki."

Megamind doesn't look up from his work. "Thank you, Minion, I am aware."

"But. We didn't know."

"No," Megamind agrees, an edge in his voice now, "we didn't."

Minion swallows. Around him, the world is picking up speed again; inside him, his heart is doing the same. If he had lungs, he would be hyperventilating, he's sure of it. He whirls back around and puts the nearly-full plate back down with a clatter, ducking around to try and get a look at Megamind's face. "Sir, just—think, for a moment—just—"

He puts down his pencil and turns, scowling. "I am thinking about other things right now, so if you don't mind—"

"Roxanne has Hanahaki and we. didn't. know." Minion flares his fins and strobes his lights once, making Megamind flinch and then glare. "Why didn't we know? We should have known!"

"Yes, thank you, Minion, I am aware," he snarls. "I am definitely not already kicking myself for not being more observant! Thanks, Minion! I'm supposed to know these things, see these things—I know she was hiding it from everyone but—"

"Yes but how," Minion interrupts. "She—Sir, if you do not stop kicking yourself for two seconds and listen to me, I'm going to pick you up and shake you! How did she hide it from us? From us? Sir! We—she was tied to a chair! For hours!" He sees the realization finally spark as Megamind's lips part and his eyes go wide. "For hours! And she never once, never once coughed up so much as a petal? How did she hide it from us?"

Megamind sits frozen.

Minion nods wildly, his bioluminescence glimmering with excitement, flick-sculling his pectoral fins and weaving back and forth in his dome. "She couldn't! She couldn't possibly! The only way she could hide it from us is if—"

"If it was one of us." Megamind looks up at him, face pale, eyes huge. "Minion," he whispers.

"Yes! Yes! I'm right I'm right I'm right, you know I'm right! Oh my god!"

There's a pause.

"But," Megamind says, his voice thin and reedy, "she had an attack while I was there. I, I was making coffee, and she. Sounded terrible, she...I offered to..." He glances down at his work, still looking absolutely shell-shocked. "I couldn't...no, but she..."

Minion had hesitated for a second, but coffee puts him right back on track. "You were making coffee while she was upstairs? In bed? Sir, that's probably the farthest apart you could be in her apartment! It must have been far enough." Minion stares down at him, heart pounding. He's sure he's right. He's sure he's right. Megamind is a shining light, a bright morning star of exuberance and creativity; Minion can't possibly be the only one who sees that. He can't possibly.

"But…but how do I…"

"Go there and wait for her," Minion urges. "I know, I know it's not what you want to do, but—maybe you can find a flower! Look for a flower!" After a few seconds in which Megamind doesn't move, he lifts his friend out of the chair by his upper arms and sets him on his feet.

Megamind sways as if in a dream. He's trembling. His whole—everything feels—very—big, suddenly, big and absolutely petrifying on a scale he has no experience with. Because suddenly—suddenly there's hope, real hope, and if—if he's wrong—

But Minion is right. He has to be. Roxanne has been with them for hours and not shown one single symptom, and she sounded godawful when Megamind heard her. She must have been in one of the advanced stages. That can only mean one thing.

"Go," Minion says. "Do you need me to drive you?"

"No...no, I'll...I'll be fine..."

Megamind flicks his hips to set himself in motion, then immediately stumbles and nearly falls. Right, right: this is land. Walking. He takes a step, feeling oddly outside himself. Numb.

She can't—but—she had an attack—

—but she's always seemed okay with him nearby. She really has. Megamind would have—if she didn't—he—would have known if—

If he's wrong, at least he'll know. There's no way Roxanne will be home at this hour; he can go over and investigate quietly, and if he's wrong...then he can come home. And mourn. And choke on more dahlias, probably, although it's possible the pain of losing this hope will be enough to kill the love in him and all the dahlias with it.

Guess he'll find out.


When he arrives, Roxanne's apartment looks more or less like it always does. Nothing too far out of place. Red and sunlit, warm in the afternoon light and bright even with all the lights off. The sink is empty of dishes. Nothing odd in the refrigerator.

(Roxanne eats too much takeout. Even in spite of his stress, Megamind mentally sighs as he closes the fridge. He wishes, not for the first time, that she had someone like Minion in her life to make her good food. Home food.)

No sign of flowers in her bathroom downstairs, only some Hanahaki suppressants in the medicine cabinet. But—her bedroom—?

If she was hiding this from him and Minion, she would only keep the flowers in her bedroom. If she kept them at all.

(Would she keep them? Or would she throw them away, incinerate them as so many people do? Would she sell them? She might as well get some use out of them. Would she hide them, as he did? The idea that she might be as ashamed of him as he is hurts; he shies hard away from that thought.)

He hovers outside with his lip between his teeth and his uncertain hope shivering inside him before finally he thinks oh, to hell with it, it's not like he's going to touch anything.

He opens the door and slips inside.

And everything in him slams instantly to a halt. Megamind's sharp intake of breath is loud in the silence.

Well she certainly didn't hide her flowers away in a box, that's for sure. Oh evil gods below and above and everywhere in between...

Megamind moves further into her room with his hands curled against his thundering heart, staring around and around, turning in place as if he can somehow see everything at once that way. Roxanne's semi-loft is spacious enough for a big bed and two nightstands and a bureau, as well as a little sitting area with a small table. And scattered across the top of her dresser, floating in clear containers of water on the nightstands and the table and even up on little shelves on the walls, on display...

Silverfoil.

No wonder she sounded so terrible; it's not a small flower. Megamind has received a few petals before in his fanmail (he's never been sure what to make of fanmail), sickly-looking things, but he could never be sure what species they were. He shuddered at them and threw them away rather than dwell on them too long. But the full blooms are enormous and unmistakable: deep blue-violet and beautiful with pale markings.

It's daylight, and Roxanne's bedroom is bright, and Megamind is stunned and staring fishmouthed. He doesn't realize what else he's looking at until he bumps his hip into the table and has to catch himself and look down.

His heart trips on a beat.

For a moment, all he can do is stand and stare down at the blossom closest to him in stunned disbelief. But a quick, more focused glance at the other scattered flowers shows him more like this—not many, no, but a few of them are lit up and shining like stars, which means—

He touches the vase with the tips of his fingers, trying to remember to breathe. Roxanne—holy—Roxanne coughed up—not just silverfoil, which would have been incredible enough on its own, but silverfire, the silverfoil plants that vine-twined their long stems around the coral-wire on the reef barrows of his homeworld. Starlight out of the singing darkness, threshold lamps to guide the twilight metamorphosis. Beacons from the night that comes before and follows after. Megamind would know them anywhere. His family kept them in their capture-pool, to remember the loved ones who wait in the night and let them light the path home in either direction. They were the first things he saw when he hatched, and someday they would have grown around the wire of his barrow if he hadn't been cut off. And of course these are just Hanahaki, just curse flowers, not the real thing, and without growing up in his parents' culture it's hard for him to say whether he's on board with their mythology. But seeing these flowers, here, across the stars…

It feels like being found. It feels like a message. You're okay. You aren't forgotten, little song, you aren't cut away from us. And—

They're so vibrant. The thorned edges are lamplit and dappled to ward shadows away, but the petals deepen all the way to violet-blue at their widest points. They fall in a gentle cup around the silvery-green veins of light and glowing cyan stamens trailing up from the core and shade the ones trailing down into the water, deepest midnight-purple around veins and slender columns of shining silver-blue and pale gold.

you are deeply loved.

With shaking hands, Megamind lifts one of the threshold lamps from its vase. Carefully, unsteadily, he lifts it free and curls his fingers around the silverfire blossom.

It's real. It's real.

His breath catches and he stares down at the flower in front of him until his vision blurs and he has to blink the tears from his eyes. The tickle in the back of his throat that has plagued him for nearly two years is gone. Just—gone, just like that. For the first time in years, Megamind can truly breathe easily.

This is mine.

She loves me.

And if he falls into the chair and stares into the middle distance for a while, that's fine. There's no one to see him, and the threshold lamp in his hands seems unaffected by the occasional falls of freshwater tears that drip into its petals. Looking back on the two years he's dragged himself through his disease...yes, the memories do make—not more sense, but additional sense—now that he has this context, however inconceivable it may seem. He is surrounded by evidence, some of which is literally glowing at him; he couldn't deny it if he wanted to. And he very much does not want to deny it.

Finally eventually he sniffs hard and shakes himself. He stumbles down the stairs on shaky legs until he reaches the sofa and sits down hard to wait for Roxanne with tears drying on his cheeks and his heart—his flower, his life—in his hands.

Megamind stares at nothing as the shadows move around him, and he thinks, for the first time in years, of the future.