She notices him because of the way he isn't moving.

Everything else is moving, the whole club a seething mass of flashing lights and writhing bodies, people crowded together and tangled up together and rubbing up against one another, lubricated by sweat and alcohol.

And there—in the sea of motion, there is Megamind, standing perfectly still. He's dressed in black, of course, a sharply tailored business suit instead of his usual spikes and leather, and there's about a foot of empty space all the way around his body, none of the drunken club-goers quite daring to get any closer to him.

He's standing at the edge of the dance floor, scowling and looking off in the direction opposite of Roxanne; he evidently hasn't seen her.

Roxanne is—slightly drunk. Slightly. Slightly more than slightly. There may or may not have been tequila shots earlier in the night. Her friends are gone; Cassie left with some guy an hour ago, and Sabrina disappeared about twenty minutes ago with another group of her (louder, drunker, more fun) other friends.

So there's no one to tell her that weaving her way across the dance floor towards Megamind is a bad idea.

He sees her when she's about halfway there; she sees him see her, his eyes widening and then flicking down her body, taking in the dress she has on (wine-colored silk; shorter than she usually wears; really she shouldn't have worn it at all; the straps have been slipping down her shoulders all night), the shoes she has on (strappy stilletos that hurt like a bitch), before his eyes meet hers again.

(Roxanne feels the pressure of his gaze like a physical thing, like hands sliding down her body and then back up; the entire look he gives her lasts about two seconds but she shivers anyway)

And then she's across the dance floor, at the edge of the little bubble of space around him.

"What's a nice man like you doing in a place like this?" Roxanne asks, which—yeah, that. Probably doesn't make a whole lot of sense.

(Irony, take refuge in irony, you were being ironic, it wasn't that you were distracted by the colored lights hitting that perfect blue skin of his and forgot how to hold a conversation)

Megamind frowns, his gaze dropping to Roxanne's mouth (painted with lipstick to match her dress at the beginning of the night; most of it has rubbed off by now, though).

Roxanne steps closer, tilting her chin up and Megamind says—

Something; she can't hear what it is, her eyes going to his mouth, gaze catching on the shape of it, the way it moves.

(oh. that. must have been why he was looking at her mouth)

"What?" Roxanne says, shouts, really, but Megamind simply frowns, obviously still not understanding, so Roxanne steps even closer, the movement fast enough that Megamind is too startled to stop her, but so fast that she doesn't see the way his eyes go wide again.

She puts her hands on his chest to steady herself (stupid wobbly heels, stupid wobbly knees) and leans forward until her mouth is pressed against his ear.

He goes still again, beneath her hands; she can feel the way he stops breathing.

"Megamind," she says, right in his ear, so that he can hear her, "what are you doing here?"

For a long moment he just stands there, and then Roxanne sways a little and one of his hands goes to the small of her back, resting there lightly, steadying her.

He turns his face, cheek brushing hers, his nose sliding into her hair.

"Business," he says, lips against her ear, "Miss Ritchi. Just business."

Roxanne sways again, tightening her fingers on the lapels of his coat.

"Is this a kidnapping?" she asks, and hears him, feels him, laugh in her ear, breath stirring her hair, the sensation of it sending a shiver down the length of her spine.

"Shockingly, Miss Ritchi," he says, "there are aspects of my business as the head of Metrocity's criminal underworld that don't involve kidnapping you."

His other hand is on her upper back now, his thumb brushing back and forth over the material of her dress, seemingly unconsciously.

Roxanne feels a lot more intoxicated, suddenly.

"Are there?" she asks, mind only half on the conversation.

She slides one arm over his shoulders, her hand going to the back of his neck; much better balance this way, yes, balance, that's why—

Megamind laughs again, but it sounds—almost breathless this time.

"Nosy reporter," he says. "Yes."

"Mmm," Roxanne says absently, brushing her thumb back and forth over the skin of his neck, mimicking the motion of his thumb on her back. "Like what?"

Megamind gasps.

"Temptress," he says, voice a little uneven, "I—I'm not going to answer that question."

Roxanne hums again and lets herself lean fully into him, so that they're pressed together.

Megamind doesn't even stumble at the sudden shift of her weight. His hand on the small of her slips around her waist, instead, fingers curling over her hip as he holds her up, his other arm wrapping around her back and catching hold of her shoulder.

"I'll bet you're a fantastic dancer," Roxanne says in Megamind's ear. "Dance with me?"

God, she wants to dance with him, wants to make him move for her, with her—

Megamind doesn't respond for a long moment, and when he does, his voice seems to have—changed, somehow.

"You're drunk," he says.

His fingers catch hold of the strap of her dress; it's slipped down over her shoulder again. Roxanne goes still and Megamind gently pulls the strap back up into place, his fingertips dragging over her skin.

She feels him sigh, a long, shuddery breath, and then he speaks again, voice in her ear.

"Let me take you home," he says.

And her head is spinning and her heart is racing and Roxanne can't think of any reason not to press her lips to his ear and say—

"Yes."

They take a cab; Roxanne isn't really expecting that, but when she looks at him inquiringly, he says—

"I took the hover bike here; the goal is for you not to die, Miss Ritchi."

Which, yeah, okay, Roxanne isn't too drunk to see the logic in that.

The cabbie stares at them in the rearview mirror until Megamind glares at him pointedly. Roxanne snickers and leans her face against the cold window when the man turns away with a terrified expression.

Megamind gives the driver Roxanne's address, which she supposes also makes sense, although it's a little disappointing. She'd really been hoping he was going to take her to the Lair.

"You didn't see anything," Megamind tells the man when they pull up at Roxanne's apartment. He shoves a large amount of cash through the cab window. "If I were to hear that you had said something about this to someone—anyone—I would be very displeased, do you understand?"

Roxanne tilts her head up to the sky, breathing in the cool night air as Megamind gets on with the business of bribing/threatening the cab driver. Her hearing has mostly recovered from the overloud volume of the club music; her ears are ringing a little, but that's all. She spins in a slightly dizzy circle, arms out.

Megamind catches her arm.

"You're going to fall," he tells her, frowning at her underneath the street lamps outside of her apartment, and then he picks her up, one arm under her knees, the other around her waist.

"Oh," Roxanne says quietly, a little dazed at the way she's been swept off her feet, a little distracted by how close Megamind's face is, his green eyes, his cheekbones, the line of his goatee over his sharp chin.

She puts her arms around his neck and he takes a swift breath.

"Close your eyes," he says. "I don't—want to have to explain the next part."

Roxanne has no idea what he's talking about, but she closes her eyes.

He doesn't kiss her; he starts walking, instead, and then they're going through the doors of the apartment building.

"Miss Ritchi!" she hears Carlos say.

"She's just a little intoxicated," Megamind tells him. "I'm taking her home."

"I see," Carlos says, and his voice sounds like he disapproves, but not like he's going to call the cops, which is—how did Megamind—?

They step into the elevator, and as the doors shut, Roxanne can't resist opening her eyes, looking up at—

It isn't Megamind holding her, it's the cab driver; Roxanne goes stiff in the man's arms, getting ready to shove herself away, and then he looks down at her and sighs and twists the face of his wristwatch.

The image of the cab driver flickers and—

And it's Megamind after all.

"Disguise watch," he says. "Such a nosy reporter. Should have known you wouldn't listen."

"Sorry," Roxanne says, relaxing again. Disguise watch. Sure. Makes as much sense as anything else Megamind has ever done. She leans her head on his shoulder. "Couldn't help it."

The elevator opens and Megamind steps out, moving to her apartment door. He stops in front of it and slides the key into the lock (Roxanne could have sworn her key was in her handbag, still, when did he—)

He opens the door and steps inside, closing the door with his foot.

Megamind hesitates for a moment, then, standing just inside her front door, so Roxanne puts her mouth against his ear, just like she did at the club, and whispers—

"Take me to bed, Megamind."

Held in his arms like this, it's impossible to miss the way his whole body shivers, a fine tremor running through him.

He carries her to the bedroom.

Roxanne is expecting—she isn't sure what she's expecting, but she isn't expecting him to set her down gently on the edge of the bed, isn't expecting him to kneel at her feet, isn't expecting him to start carefully unbuckling the straps of her shoes.

She pushes herself up on her elbows to look at him. He pulls her right shoe off and makes a distressed noise.

"Why in Evil's name would you wear these?" he asks, looking appalled. "You have blisters."

"I looked good in them, though, right?" Roxanne says.

"You'd look better if you weren't bleeding," Megamind says, tossing her left shoe aside and standing. "Stay there."

Roxanne blinks at him and he turns and walks into the bathroom. She takes the opportunity to wriggle herself fully onto the bed. Megamind comes back from the bathroom with a washcloth and her first aid kit. He pauses for a moment, and then sits gingerly on the edge of her bed and pulls her feet into his lap.

Oh.

He begins to gently wash her feet with the cloth.

Oh. That's—oh.

He sets the cloth aside and takes out a cotton ball, pours antiseptic over it.

"This is going to hurt," he says, and swipes it across her blisters.

Roxanne hisses between her teeth.

"Sorry, sorry," Megamind says worriedly, as though it's his personal fault that antiseptic stings.

He dabs antibacterial ointment on her blisters, and then puts bandaids on over them.

He uses the kid bandaids, the blue ones with the yellow stars that Roxanne bought on a whim, instead of the boring taupe-colored ones; she doesn't quite know what to do about the way her heart sort of flips over at that, so she sits up, climbs into his lap, and kisses him.

He freezes, stiff and still and unresponsive, and then he—

—he pushes her away.

"What are you doing?" he asks, sounding shocked.

"What am I—" Roxanne stares at him. "What do you mean, what am I doing? You—you asked if you could take me home; I told you to take me to bed; what do you think I'm doing?"

Megamind shoves himself to his feet, backing away from her until he's stopped short by her dresser. He puts his hands on top of it, steadying himself.

"What. I. You. I meant—" he says, eyes round, "—I meant, 'let me take you to your home, Miss Ritchi, because you are clearly too drunk to be wandering around by yourself'! Not—I—it wasn't some sort of code for—"

"I asked you to take me to bed, Megamind!" Roxanne says, disbelief and humiliation flaring in her chest. "What the hell did you think I meant?"

"I thought you meant 'take me to my bed and put me in it, please, so I can sleep'! I didn't—you—you must be considerably more intoxicated than I thought!" Megamind says, pressed back against her dresser, eyes wide, ears and cheekbones stained pink.

Oh god. Oh god, Roxanne is—Roxanne wants to die. He doesn't—he doesn't—he looks terrified—

She curls up into a ball, ignoring the way it makes her head spin. Fuck fuck fuck her.

"Sorry," she says, feeling tears start in her eyes. "My mistake. Sorry."

Roxanne really, really doesn't want to cry in front of him, so when he says—

"I—you—you have a boyfriend, Miss Ritchi."

—she forces herself to laugh instead, sits up, swipes angrily at her eyes.

"Right," she says bitterly. "My 'boyfriend'. How could I forget."

"I don't," Megamind says, "I don't understand. What—"

"He isn't my boyfriend!" Roxanne bursts out, drunk and angry and hating herself too much to care that she probably shouldn't be telling this to Megamind. "He isn't my boyfriend. He's never been my boyfriend. I haven't got a fucking boyfriend, Megamind." She pulls her knees into her chest and leans her head on them, tears rising again in spite of her best intentions.

God, she's such a fucking mess.

She sniffs, head on her knees.

"Nobody wants me," she says sadly.

"That—" she hears Megamind say, "—that is definitely an incorrect statement."

Roxanne looks up at him, glaring through her tears.

"You don't," she accuses.

(because that's, if she's honest, the real problem, the real problem that drove her to wear this stupid dress and those torture device heels, drove her to go out clubbing with a pair of women who aren't even really her friends when she doesn't even enjoy going to clubs at all, drove her to—drove her—drives her fucking crazy)

Megamind stares at her.

"You. Are you serious right now?" he asks. "I don't want you? I don't—you think that I don't—? Of course. Of course!" he throws his hands up in the air, then drags them down his face in a frustrated gesture.

"Of course," he bites out. "Because it's not as if I'm so fucking in love with you that it's sort of hard to breathe sometimes when you're in the same room. It's not as if I didn't have to forcibly restrain myself from pinning you against the wall in that damn club when you put your hands on my neck and whispered in my fucking ear. It's not as if—" he pushes himself away from her dresser, crosses the room suddenly, kneels on the bed in front of Roxanne, presses her down onto the mattress.

"It's not as if I haven't wanted to do this—" he says, hovering above her, eyes blazing with anger and with heat of an entirely different kind.

"—Megamind—" Roxanne gasps.

"—for fucking years, Roxanne," Megamind snarls, and he leans down and—

It's not a nice kiss: too much force, too much teeth and desperation, and Roxanne should not moan when he thrusts his tongue into her mouth, should not wrap her arms around him and pull him even closer when he tangles his fingers too tightly in her hair, should definitely not, when his body presses down, roll her hips up shamelessly into his.

Megamind tears himself away from her, moving back so fast he almost falls off the bed, and then he's halfway across the room again.

"Megamind," Roxanne says helplessly, reaching out her hand.

"No," he says. "Nonononono. Gnh. You are—you are drunk and I would never forgive myself. You would—you would never forgive me, either."

"Megamind, please," Roxanne begs.

He shudders, closes his eyes, wraps his arms around his chest.

"Roxanne," he says, and she sees his throat work as he swallows. "Miss Ritchi—" He opens his eyes.

"Please," Roxanne says softly.

His breath catches.

"Fuck," he says. "Ask me—ask me another time, Roxanne. Tomorrow. Ask me tomorrow."

"Megamind—"

"I'm going to get you a glass of water," he blurts, and bolts from the room.

Roxanne lies back on the mattress. She feels—everything is—brightly colored and yet dark around the edges, and—

She must doze off, because the next thing she knows, she hears the clink of a glass being placed on her bedside table. She opens her eyes. Megamind is turning away, turning to go, and she reaches out to grab his arm.

Everything is a little blurry, though, so she ends up missing him. The frustrated noise she makes gets his attention, however; he stops and turns to her.

"Don't go," Roxanne says. "Please. Stay with me?"

"I really don't think that's a good idea," Megamind says slowly. "Sober you is—really going to regret this already."

"But what if I die?" Roxanne asks, because Megamind is right, sober Roxanne might regret this, but drunk Roxanne is allowed to be melodramatic and manipulative and look up at Megamind with wide eyes.

"Bad plan," Megamind says. "Such a bad plan. But. Fuck. Okay. Just. I'll be right back, all right?"

Roxanne nods, and Megamind slips out the door again, and it's not until he's been gone for a while that it occurs to her that this was totally probably a trick, and she's lying there trying to decide if she should cry or just curl up and go to sleep when Megamind climbs through her bedroom window.

"You came back," she says stupidly.

"I—yes," Megamind says hesitantly. "Of course, I—I told you that I would. I had to make sure Mr. Judge-y Doorman downstairs saw me leave in my disguise. And then I had to climb up the fire escape. So that took a while."

"Carlos?" Roxanne asks. "Why—"

"Well, I mean," Megamind says. "I didn't—I don't want to ruin your reputation? Did you drink your water?"

Roxanne looks over at the glass on her bedside table, squints at it. Still full.

"No-oo?" she hazards.

"Okay, you need to do that."

Roxanne looks at the glass, looks back at Megamind. The bed is so soft and the cup is—

"—so far away—" Roxanne complains, extending her arm but not leaning towards the cup, in order to demonstrate how very prohibitively, impossibly far away it is.

"There you go," Megamind says, and puts the cup in her hands.

Roxanne stares at the cup.

She has a cup now; she's going to—going to—

"Here," Megamind says, taking it out of her hands again and putting an arm underneath her shoulders, pulling her into a sitting position. He doesn't hand her the cup again, but sits on the bedside, instead, and holds it to her lips, one hand on the back of her head

"Drink," Megamind says coaxingly, and tips the glass. Roxanne drinks. Slowly, savoring the coolness of the water and Megamind, here like this, helping her. Finally, though, the water is gone, and he places the glass back on the bedside table. He arranges Roxanne so that she's lying down again, and then stands and moves back to her dresser again, hops up and sits cross-legged atop it.

Roxanne snickers.

"You could sit on the bed," she says, patting the mattress invitingly. "With me."

"No," Megamind says firmly.

"But I want you," Roxanne says, looking up at him through her lashes.

"Ask me—ask me again tomorrow, Roxanne," Megamind says, an edge of—something, despair, desperation, in his voice. "Just ask me again tomorrow."

"—'s the answer going to be different tomorrow?" Roxanne asks, yawning. Mmmm, soft pillow, yes, sleep now.

"It doesn't matter," Megamind says sadly.

"Hmm?" Roxanne says, frowning as she burrows deeper into her pillow. "Why?"

"Because you're not going to ask the question," Megamind says, and Roxanne, glancing up at him, sees him smile a wry, bitter smile that she wants to brush away with her thumb, with her own mouth, and then she blinks, eyelids dragging closed and—

...to be continued