Megamind Fic: Here in the World
A random little short story that sprang to mind while I was trying to overcome a creative block. Set some time in the future, just a story about the birth of Roxanne and Megamind's first child.
****
She’s never screamed like this before.
It’s an inside out scream, an unearthed sound, a soprano song that comes from every part of her body. His head throbs with the sound of it, the guilt drilling deeper with every new gasping breath she steals.
Because he did this to her.
This: a torture chamber full of silver instruments and people in white. This: her eyes screwed shut so tight he’s worried they’ll never open again. This: her body being carved out and emptied.
Nine months ago it had seemed like such a great idea.
He tries to whisper, but she can’t hear him. She’s drifting out of sync to the real world. “I’m sorry,” he says loudly into her ear, and she crushes his hand. Something cracks, but he can’t hope to feel it. She somehow manages to open her eyes against the pain, finds his eyes. Her expression asks, for what, and his hand gestures helplessly at her trembling body.
“Don’t be,” she gasps, “Don’t - ever -“another scream; his ears ring, “- Whose genius idea was this?!”
He manages a laugh. Of all things right now, she makes him laugh. “Usually I’d take credit for any stroke of genius...but I’m willing to share the patent on this.”
“Thanks,” she replies, subdued, until someone instructs softly that it’s time to push.
Time is an illusion. Surely it was only weeks ago they were lying together on a picnic blanket, listening to the sounds of children, and he asked if she wanted one. He can still see her reply, clear as day, her face turning up to his and her eyes saying yes, please. Honestly, it’s been just a few days since she held that little white stick up for his inspection: positive, it said, and he ran through the lair boasting that their love was so incredible it could create life out of thin air. Was it not only hours ago that they had whispered baby names to the Brain Bots, gauging which word made them the most excited?
But it’s been months, actually been months, and now here they are and the air is electric and she’s crying like he never thought she could. The world is without colour, shape or substance beyond the sight of one another. They are jigsaw pieces jammed together, waiting to fit, and then it happens: one long clear note of silence, a final movement deep inside her - a gushing sound, a muffled thump - and someone else screams. Their someone else, their missing piece. They are no longer jagged edges but a whole beautiful picture. Their world has colours and shape again - blues and pinks and soft ebony, a full-moon face with a pointed chin and a very pointed expression: well, here I am.
And there are too many people in the room but yet not enough - he wants the whole world to see, to marvel and be awe struck by the magnificence of his daughter. They take her and clean her, for too long he thinks, too long, where is she - oh! She’s back with them again, placed against the soft rise and fall of her mother’s chest. She’s crying, as babies will, but not for very long. Unlike her father, she doesn’t seem to crave the attention. He presses his hand to her velvety damp head, marvelling at the long-awaited sight of blue skin against blue. Roxanne rests her head deep in the pillow, entwining her fingers with his. She watches his wondrous expression with amusement. “Are you still sorry?” she enquires, stretching her smile around a yawn. The baby’s fist wraps around his thumb.
“Look at that grip!” Megamind whispers fiercely, “With a grip like that she could give Music Man a run for his money!”
“I bet she can sing better too.”
Roxanne is transfixed by his pride. He’s utterly captivated, completely in love, and definitely not sorry at all. Good. Neither is she. They watch over their daughter together, exhausted in a perfect kind of way, and dream about all the ways she will change the world.
****
She’s never screamed like this before.
It’s an inside out scream, an unearthed sound, a soprano song that comes from every part of her body. His head throbs with the sound of it, the guilt drilling deeper with every new gasping breath she steals.
Because he did this to her.
This: a torture chamber full of silver instruments and people in white. This: her eyes screwed shut so tight he’s worried they’ll never open again. This: her body being carved out and emptied.
Nine months ago it had seemed like such a great idea.
He tries to whisper, but she can’t hear him. She’s drifting out of sync to the real world. “I’m sorry,” he says loudly into her ear, and she crushes his hand. Something cracks, but he can’t hope to feel it. She somehow manages to open her eyes against the pain, finds his eyes. Her expression asks, for what, and his hand gestures helplessly at her trembling body.
“Don’t be,” she gasps, “Don’t - ever -“another scream; his ears ring, “- Whose genius idea was this?!”
He manages a laugh. Of all things right now, she makes him laugh. “Usually I’d take credit for any stroke of genius...but I’m willing to share the patent on this.”
“Thanks,” she replies, subdued, until someone instructs softly that it’s time to push.
Time is an illusion. Surely it was only weeks ago they were lying together on a picnic blanket, listening to the sounds of children, and he asked if she wanted one. He can still see her reply, clear as day, her face turning up to his and her eyes saying yes, please. Honestly, it’s been just a few days since she held that little white stick up for his inspection: positive, it said, and he ran through the lair boasting that their love was so incredible it could create life out of thin air. Was it not only hours ago that they had whispered baby names to the Brain Bots, gauging which word made them the most excited?
But it’s been months, actually been months, and now here they are and the air is electric and she’s crying like he never thought she could. The world is without colour, shape or substance beyond the sight of one another. They are jigsaw pieces jammed together, waiting to fit, and then it happens: one long clear note of silence, a final movement deep inside her - a gushing sound, a muffled thump - and someone else screams. Their someone else, their missing piece. They are no longer jagged edges but a whole beautiful picture. Their world has colours and shape again - blues and pinks and soft ebony, a full-moon face with a pointed chin and a very pointed expression: well, here I am.
And there are too many people in the room but yet not enough - he wants the whole world to see, to marvel and be awe struck by the magnificence of his daughter. They take her and clean her, for too long he thinks, too long, where is she - oh! She’s back with them again, placed against the soft rise and fall of her mother’s chest. She’s crying, as babies will, but not for very long. Unlike her father, she doesn’t seem to crave the attention. He presses his hand to her velvety damp head, marvelling at the long-awaited sight of blue skin against blue. Roxanne rests her head deep in the pillow, entwining her fingers with his. She watches his wondrous expression with amusement. “Are you still sorry?” she enquires, stretching her smile around a yawn. The baby’s fist wraps around his thumb.
“Look at that grip!” Megamind whispers fiercely, “With a grip like that she could give Music Man a run for his money!”
“I bet she can sing better too.”
Roxanne is transfixed by his pride. He’s utterly captivated, completely in love, and definitely not sorry at all. Good. Neither is she. They watch over their daughter together, exhausted in a perfect kind of way, and dream about all the ways she will change the world.