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Roxanne is not what she thinks of as a “party girl.” She truly enjoys being around people, more or less, most of the time, but parties tend to be both loud and crowded. Roxanne doesn’t do either of those things very well. At least not without taking periodic breathers in various quiet spaces by herself.
But tonight is New Years Eve. New Years Eve parties are far from required attendance but they do tend to be entertaining at the very least, and as Roxanne isn’t much of a drinker, she tends to gather quite a few good stories from her overly-soused coworkers. She’s still getting mileage out of two years ago when her boss, Carl, climbed up on a table and spilled baked ziti all over their host’s white couch. (Roxanne was the only witness lucid enough to recall the incident. She swore not to tell in exchange for a secret extra PTO day, and the reason she’s still getting mileage out of this is because their host that year was one of the station’s co-owners.)
This year's shindig finds her wandering through a particular newly-renovated row home downtown, enjoying the last of her second cider and quietly hunting for a place she can retreat to for some breathing room before everyone comes together for midnight. Bathrooms are out; only assholes hide in bathrooms on New Years, when everyone needs to pee. The second-floor hall closet seems promising until Roxanne opens the door and finds Carl (who yips, looks up at her, and shouts YOU AGAIN!) and his husband Walter (who laughs and yanks the door closed).
Well, they're hosting, this year. What Carl gets up to in his own closet or spills on his own couch is his own business. Roxanne just hopes her knees are that spry when she's his age.
She rolls her eyes and turns away. Okay. So much for that. What about the master bedroom closet? Carl said something about it being a walk-in at some point, she's sure.
But wow, no, bad idea. Roxanne isn’t sure who’s in there through the clouds of smoke—she has her suspicions—but they’re awfully giggly.
The next few places she checks are similarly spoken for. Roxanne stands in the hallway for a moment, resisting the urge to rub her temples.
This is always the trouble at these things: the parties that net the best blackmail material stories tend to be the ones with a dearth of hiding places. These old city row homes don’t have much closet space at all, and the basements tend to be cobwebby and damp.
Someone bumps her hard with their elbow on their way past and she restrains herself from snarling at them, but barely. So it's the basement or go home, because if Roxanne doesn't find a quiet corner soon, she's going to be miserable for the rest of the night.
She sighs. Maybe she’ll just—
Oh! Under the stairs on the ground floor! It's an old house, there's got to be some kind of space there!
And...
Yes! Jackpot! There is, indeed, a closet under the stairs up to the second floor. The door under the stairs isn’t obvious with the way the front room is arranged, but Roxanne is looking for it and so she sees it and so she inches between a sofa and an overstuffed armchair and jiggles the door open to find—
—double jackpot: darkness and out-of-season clothing, the material of which will be perfect for muffling the noise of the party without being too warm. Thank god.
She ducks inside and tugs the door closed behind her until it clicks. Then she turns and drops to sit down with her back against the far wall and takes a deep breath, feeling the tension melt out of her back. Lord, the way people play music at these things, you’d think everyone was still in college.
After a moment, she pulls out her phone and squints at the screen to send a text, ignoring the NO MORE PTO MY HOUSE MY RULES from her boss.
Tell me you aren’t getting stoned with the mayor. She hits send.
With that done, she sighs and sits back, extending her legs as much as she can without hitting the back of the closet door. She—
“This closet is taken,” says a low voice, very close to her left shoulder. Roxanne yells and shoves herself away, flailing and nearly falling sideways.
“What—what—!”
“This closet is—stop yelling! You aren’t hurt!—this closet is taken, I said!” the voice snaps. “Go avoid the party somewhere else!”
Roxanne’s phone pings with a response to her text, but she ignores it in favor of squinting into the darkness and taking deep breaths to calm her adrenaline-fuled heartbeat. She—is that—
—wait, does she know that voice?
She’s pretty sure she does. But she’s also pretty sure that if she sounds too hopeful asking whoever is in here if they’re her goddamn serial kidnapper and she’s wrong, she will never live it down.
She’s trying to figure out how to activate the flashlight on her camera without tipping her hand when her unexpected roommate says, “Ohhhh I know that look; you are about to be nosy at me.”
Roxanne relaxes. She only knows one person able to accurately parse a facial expression in near-total darkness. Ha, she was right. “Megamind."
“...Non, zees ees—"
“A truly godawful French accent,” Roxanne finishes, grinning cheerfully into the dark.“I know for a fact you can do better than that. Hello Megs, happy New Year, what on earth are you doing in my boss's closet?"
He makes a disgruntled noise and she hears him shift around on his side of the closet. “Happy New Year,” he returns flatly, totally ignoring her question. “Off to a fantastic fucking start, as usual.”
“Not technically started yet,” Roxanne points out. “Not for another twenty-five minutes or so.”
“Going out with a bang, then,” he snaps.
She rolls her eyes. “Awww, you’ll get over it,” she drawls, settling back down by the wall. “You’re the master of bouncing back, you know you are. Seriously, what are you doing in here?”
"As if I’d tell you."
"Rude. I'm just making conversation." She tips her head back against the wall with a sigh. It's really amazing how much better she feels with the sudden knowledge that she isn't stuck at this party without anyone she likes. Megamind can share her closet, that's fine. He's okay even when he's cranky. "Mister Prickly. Not my fault you're having a bad night."
A long pause follows this remark. Roxanne waits; Megamind doesn't like to be pushed and he usually comes around sooner or later.
Sure enough, finally he makes a disgruntled sort of noise and then sighs. “I was...gathering blackmail material and I had a malfunction.” There’s a sort of muffled click and the closet is dimly illuminated by the blue-green light shed by the barrel of Megamind’s usual firearm. “I’m testing some new gear, this evening. Or I was.”
Lit from below, his angular face would probably look even more diabolical than usual to anyone who doesn’t know him, but to Roxanne he just looks like he wants to tell a spooky story. She bites her lip around a grin. “Test not going well?”
“Test going extremely poorly,” he grumbles, and tucks his gun between his jaw and his shoulder in a position that requires him to bend his head at a seriously unnatural angle so he’ll be able to use both hands. “Test going unwell. Test going belly-up, possibly. I am certain I can iron the kinks out of this stupid pocket dimension bullshit but it won’t—dammit—"
He fumbles the gun and nearly drops it, stifles another curse.
“You want me to hold that for you?”
He shoots Roxanne a Look.
“It’d be easier,” she points out, grinning now. Then she slips her voice to sly, because they’ve known each other for years now and wiggly-eyebrows entendres are just part of the fun of that. “Come on, Megamind,” she says, teasing, “let me handle your weapon for you."
His gaze snaps to her. For a second, he just looks startled, but then his mouth tugs sideways into an answering smirk and he lowers his eyelids at her. “You'll have to use both hands," he warns, "it's bigger than you think."
“Oh, of course.” Roxanne purrs, taking the gun from him and turning to sit cross-legged on the floor facing him, hoping he can't see how absolutely, entirely shocked she is that he actually went with it. She holds the barrel up in both hands with her elbows on her knees to offer the best light. “And don't worry, I'll be gentle.”
Megamind snorts, shaking his head at her as he drops his gaze back to his project and the multitool he keeps hidden in the sole of his right boot. With the light in front of him, his eyes reflect like green mirrors, wolf’s or cat’s eyes, and the sharp lines of his face stand highlighted against the shadows. God, he's pretty. She really could just shove him down against the summer clothes and—
“So,” Megamind says, oblivious to Roxanne's train of thought, “what brings the illustrious Miss Ritchi in all her fancy holiday finery to my homely cupboard this evening?”
“Gathering blackmail material, same as you,” she says. “I got overstimulated, needed to step away for a second. Oh, speaking of which—” Making sure to keep her fingers away from the trigger, she switches her hold on the gun to one-handed so she can check her phone.
I am not getting stoned w the mayor. Hes getting stoned all by hinself. I am fakign to offer him the illusion of solidartyy
She doesn’t realize she’s made a startled noise until Megamind says, “What’s so interesting?”
“Wayne is in a closet upstairs getting stoned with the mayor.”
It’s Megamind’s turn to make a startled noise, and then a pained one when his hand slips. Roxanne’s phone lights with another text: Whyre you in a closet w Megamind?
Why do you think, she sends back, and looks up at Megamind, who has the end of his thumb in his mouth and a pained expression on his face.
“You okay?”
“Well,” he says around his thumb, studying her now in the dim light with clear chagrin, “I just got what I came for, so yes, I’m great. I am also bleeding.”
Roxanne grins. "Want me to kiss it? Make it better?" Megamind flips her off as her phone lights up with a new text from Wayne. Use protection ;P
She rolls her eyes and doesn’t reply. “Well,” she says aloud when Megamind doesn't reply, stowing her phone in her purse and scooting to lean back against the wall again, “I’m sorry about your machine, whatever it was.”
“...Don't be. I’ll fix it somewhere with proper lighting and the tools I actually need,” Megamind says, locking the sole of his boot back into place and then gingerly moving to sit with his back to the wall next to her, a safe distance away.
Apparently he is not bleeding enough to warrant much concern. That's good.
"You said Metro Man was hotboxing in a closet upstairs?” he says, after a moment. Roxanne nods. “Is he...hm. There’s a joke to be made, there,” he says carefully, “but it’s...tasteless. I’ll leave it to your imagination.”
Roxanne chuckles. “He’ll come out in his own time, don’t worry. No immediate plans, but it’s not like I’ve got anyone waiting in the wings.”
Megamind squints at her in the semi-darkness, his eyes flashing in the light of the gun he hasn’t moved to reclaim from her. “Why are you two pretending to date?”
She shrugs. “Makes a nice headline. Keeps most of the creeps off our backs.”
He's quiet again for a while.
Finally he says, “Not sure I ever got that memo. Should I apologize?”
Roxanne grins into the dark. “Nah,” she says, leaning over so she can elbow him gently. She doesn't mention the small sound he makes in response. “You’re a creep I could stand to have on my back a little more often, actually.”
He doesn’t say anything to that. Maybe he isn’t sure what to say, maybe he can’t think of anything that feels safe to say, maybe a number of things. But it's interesting: none of the silences thus far have felt awkward, this one included. At least, Roxanne hasn't felt awkward in them. It's just been nice, really, sitting with Megamind and teasing back and forth with no real stakes or deadline involved.
Eventually she sighs and turns his gun over in her hands. “It’s a nice piece,” she says. “Wish there was better light so I could see it properly.”
“Mmm,” Megamind says, sounding hesitant and totally missing his cue to say let me show you my weapon in a more intimate setting, Miss Ritchi. “I suppose I should thank you for not shooting me with it.”
"And eliminate my only chance for an interesting conversation tonight? Yeah, I don't think so."
Outside the closet, voices. People trickling back to the ground floor, congregating as the clock ticks closer to the new year. So much for making a discreet exit, Roxanne thinks, entirely without regret. The company in this little dark space is so much better.
“Looks like you’re stuck here,” Megamind observes, echoing her thoughts.
“Oh no,” Roxanne says. “Dear me whatever will I do. Any resolutions for the new year?”
“No,” Megamind replies, after a moment. “None. I used to resolve to defeat Metro Man, but we know how well that's going. How about you?”
She hadn't started the evening with any resolutions, but Megamind is right in front of her and he gave her his gun to hold and this is such easy grapes that she can’t resist the opportunity. Who knows when she'll have another one.
So, “Yeah,” she says, making the split-second decision to just go for it, “yeah, I think…I want to tell this one guy that I like him. Because I really do like him a lot. And, um. And I, I think the feeling is mutual, he definitely trusts me way more than I was expecting, but...well, if not, I don’t think he’ll be weird about it. I hope he won’t be,” she adds. “I like what we’ve got going, you know? If I can’t change it for the better, I definitely don’t want to change it for the worse.”
Megamind makes another small noise. Roxanne isn’t sure what kind it is. But he says, taking a deep breath, “An admirable resolution. He’s…a lucky guy.”
“Mhm,” Roxanne agrees. “Yes, you are; I am fabulously picky. But...I really do like you kind of a lot.
"...Here’s your gun back, by the way,” she adds, offering it to him, trying to sound casual and not at all terrified. Hoping he was paying attention when she basically asked him to please, please not be weird about this.
Silence in the closet.
Slowly, Megamind takes his gun. He isn’t looking at it, though; he just...kind of dangles it absently from his fingertips and stares at Roxanne.
"...Excuse me?” he says, carefully. “You—is this—some kind of rehearsal, or—”
Roxanne shakes her head. “No, I meant it. It’s…maybe worth noting,” she says, “I was, um…I was thinking about saying something about it being New Years, and what’s a new year without making some bad decisions in a closet on New Years Eve, but—but then I thought, wow, that’s a really asshole thing to say to someone you care about. So here I am,” she finishes, “in a closet, on New Years Eve, making what I hope is a good decision—”
Megamind places his weapon on the floor of the closet and turns toward Roxanne, slowly rests his hand on her shoulder. She can’t seem to stop talking, even as he touches her cheek and guides her to look at him. "—And wow, I’m actually way more nervous about this now than I was thirty seconds ago? No regrets and yes I’m serious but I wasn’t actually planning on doing any of this tonight, so—”
“Neither was I,” Megamind says, sounding absolutely stunned, and kisses her.
He isn’t very good at it, but Roxanne couldn’t care less about good at it; Megamind is finally kissing her and that is all that matters. And he’s actually sort of shaking, but that’s…reassuring, in an odd way. His mouth is cool and soft and his hands are as gentle as Roxanne had known they would be; he’s always been careful with her.
Wow. Wow this is not anything like what she was expecting when she was looking for a place to hide earlier, but she has zero complaints. Kissing Megamind! Yes! Roxanne wins the year with minutes to spare and the new year is off to a great amazing awesome start, hell yes!
She leans into the kiss, lips parting, and Megamind breaks away with a gasp. “Please tell me you aren’t drunk,” he blurts. “Tell me you aren’t drunk, Roxanne, I don’t think my heart could take the strain, please—”
She pets both hands up over the sides of his head and down to wrap an arm around his shoulders while she cradles the side of his jaw with her other hand. They’re pressed together now and both turned uncomfortably sideways, and Roxanne, at least, does not care at all.
She shakes her head. “No,” she says, “No, I—all I’ve had is a couple ciders, I’m—mostly sober.”
“Mostly,” he echoes, voice cracking.
“Almost entirely,” she says, gripping his shoulder, sweeping her thumb over his sharp cheekbone, “and cider is nothing. I promise, Megamind, I know what I’m saying and I know what I’m doing and I’m—honestly crazy about you. I have been for a while.”
Outside the closet, people are counting down. Roxanne ducks forward and kisses Megamind again, and he lets her, tipping his head for her and wrapping both arms around her back with a surprised sort of sigh when she licks his lips apart.
“You know,” Roxanne says, when they separate for the second time, breathless, “you don’t always have to kidnap me. You could just…come to my place. Have coffee. Lunch. Dinner.”
He blinks at her, blue-green pupils flickering in the darkness. “Dates?” he asks, sounding halfway broken and halfway hopeful. “Is—are you—dating, do you mean?”
Roxanne nods, swallows. “Yeah, dates, dating. Do you want to?”
Megamind nods hard, his eyes huge.
“Oh thank god,” she sighs, “hooray,” and kisses him a third time. Briefly, but she can feel his smile when she does it. It’s only a brief kiss this time because he can’t seem to keep from laughing, and it’s hard to kiss a mouth stretched in as wide a smile as Megamind’s but god, she has wanted to kiss his huge smile so badly for so long. “What?” she asks. “What?”
“It’s...happy New Year to me,” he laughs, gulping, sifting his trembling fingers into her hair, staring at her with big eyes like he’s never seen her before, like she’s made of light.
Roxanne feels her heart twist like a key turning in a lock, feels all her tumblers fall into place, feels herself go calm and peaceful as her face breaks into an answering smile. “Happy New Year to us,” she whispers to him, and watches his expressive features reflect a feeling she can’t put words to yet.
“May we have many more,” he says, brushing her bangs softly into place with his knuckles and beaming at her with his whole face because he is Megamind and does nothing by halves. And Roxanne leans forward and kisses him, because he is Megamind and he’s smiling at her, and she’s Roxanne and she so desperately wants to kiss him and she's allowed, now.
When they part to the sound of cheering and exclamations of new year's wishes outside the closet, Roxanne hums happily and turns until she can tuck herself against Megamind's side. He opens the clasp of his mantle and then pauses, hesitating until Roxanne shoves his whole shoulder array off him and onto the floor on his other side.
"You were right," she tells him as he places a slow, careful arm around her shoulders. "Earlier."
"...Which part?"
She grins into the darkness. "The year is, indeed, off to a fantastic fucking start."
He laughs and relaxes. "Ah. Yes. A very happy new year, truly."
(And of course they do have many, many more happy (new) years after this one.)