Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I claim to own any characters or concepts related to Megamind. This is a nonprofit work of fanfiction. This part's named for a line from the song "Absolutely Me" by Caro Emerald—a delightful modern swing tune that I def recommend.

Note: Unlike previous parts, this is set after the film.

And so ends my long, personal nightmare! Huge thanks to everyone for reading, reviewing, favoriting, and bearing with me. I'm hugely surprised by but most assuredly pleased with the incredible response I've received with this ridiculous, silly fic. Thank you all so very much for giving it a chance. :) I hope you like this last piece!

Moving So Gracious
Imagine All the Sugar When I Start to Shake My Hips

The ballroom, brightly lit and stuffed thick with a veritable who's who of people he didn't care enough about to remember, all of them gleaming in gown or tux and so eager to shake his hand, soon filled. The room was large but the people were many, and the heat of so many bodies pressed so close crept along the back of his neck like a spider clenching about his spine. Megamind pulled at his tie and thought darkly of compromises.

"I'm going to need to see an invitation."

He smiled. "I don't have one. But I'm close, personal friends with the guest of honor, if you wanted to talk to her."

Roxanne nudged him with her hip, her thigh brushing his. She offered him a champagne flute, its slender bell glittering with a rich honeyed vintage and a cascade of fine bubbles. He took it from her, and his fingers slid over her own. Her mouth crooked up.

"Close, personal friends, huh," she murmured. "I'll just have to see about that."

"Well, Miss Ritchi, whatever your prejudices," he said, "I assure you, I've completely reformed. I have no intention of robbing anyone blind."

Roxanne drew near, filling his hips, the arc of his shoulders. She slipped her hand beneath his jacket, her palm warm over his hip. Her earring, a silver twist laid upon her jaw, shone.

"Just like I thought," she said. Her fingers caught on his holster, wound up with his belt and tucked beneath his jacket. "What kind of hero brings a gun to a formal dinner?"

"It's just a precaution." Her thumb trailed over his thigh. He caught his breath. "You know how it is, the life of a hero. Bad guys always trying to crash the party."

"Mm, and make off with the girl," said Roxanne, amused. She stepped back. Her hand ghosted over his belly, then she reached up to smooth her hair back from her eyes. "Your story does check out. But I'll be keeping an eye on you, Megamind."

A crystal chandelier hung behind her, a glittering tower of light and etched crystal. The bulbs set into it shone, and the light caught in her hair, glimmering so her brown hair showed a deep and polished red. Shadowed, her pale eyes were dark, a heavy sea blue to match the blue of her dress and the frothy ruffles that coursed between her breasts. She smiled down at him and the softness of it, the small bow of her lips, the easy curve of her brow: it twisted around his heart like a length of rope.

Megamind tightened his fingers about the flute's stem. He swallowed, and it scraped in his throat.

"Yes," he said. "You do that." Then, inanely: "I'll be here."

Her cheeks rounded, and her lashes, long and very thick, dipped. She'd dusted powder across her face, but her freckles showed through, tiny brown stars scattered over her cheeks. The ballroom was unpleasantly warm, too many people crowded all together in what now proved too small a space, but the nearness of Roxanne washed over him like a cooling shower.

How strange, he thought, that he should be here with her.

He passed the champagne flute from one hand to the other and said, "Roxanne—"

A man at the heart of the room struck a fork to a wine glass. The peal rose, filling the small and crowded spaces of the chamber. Roxanne turned. Her bare shoulder flashed. At the corners of her jaw, her earrings spiraled, catching and throwing out light.

The man spoke: "If everyone would please proceed to their tables, we can begin the evening's work."

Roxanne tipped her head. "C'mon. We're at the front."

She preceded him. She sashayed, her hips rolling; her dress, the skirt shaped like the curl of a tide rushing to shore, clung to her thighs and shimmered. Megamind drank from his glass. The champagne sparked on his tongue.

He followed her.

He didn't much care for formal dinners or ceremonies, but to see Roxanne, standing upon the dais before the whole of the room, take the delicate globe that was the Ossenberg Investigative Reporting Prize in her hand and smile at the award then out at the crowd— He clapped long after everyone else had stopped.

The master of ceremonies brought the formal portion to a close. "But we invite you to stay and enjoy the music provided by our very own Metro City Jazz Orchestra." He gestured, his arm sweeping out to encompass the small dance floor cleared before the band.

Roxanne turned to Megamind, her face flushed. She cradled the globe in her hands, tight as though it might turn to smoke and flitter away between her fingers.

"Can you believe it? The Ossenberg!" She laughed. Her earrings swung like dancers near her throat. "I can't believe I'm holding this. Oh, my God, it's so heavy."

"I don't know why they didn't give it to you before," he told her. "After that report on the changing migratory patterns of the loons, at least."

"That's very sweet," she said drily, "but I'm pretty sure you're the only person who watched that."

The band stormed into a loud and brassy number, a lone trumpet wailing a sharp counterpoint to the rest. Roxanne rose, pulling her skirt even down her thighs.

"Come on," she shouted over the thundering music. "I want to dance. With you."

How could he say no to such an offer? He took her hand and together they took the floor. The few couples gathered there made room for them, and Roxanne, still clutching her prize, whirled on him. Her dress shivered with her, trembling like an ocean wrapped about her flowing figure.

"I don't really know how to swing," he said.

"That's okay," she said. She set her hand at his back, the prize a weight between his shoulders. She slipped near to him, her soft and ample curves filling his angles, his flat planes. "We'll improvise."

He rested his hand at the small of her back. Very lightly he stroked his fingers down, his pinky sliding to brush the burgeoning swell of her bum.

"Oh, I intend to, Miss Ritchi," he promised.

She smiled, her eyes brilliant. "Stop talking and start dancing."

She rolled her hips and he moved with her, following the ebb and flow of Roxanne as she spun about then with him. Her earrings flashed like silver knives; her skirt twined about her legs.

How strange, he had thought before; but it wasn't strange at all. They fit like pieces, her low curves to his sharp lines; he wanted to slide into her coolness, to wrap about her like her clinging dress. How long had this been coming? A memory came to him then, of another ballroom and another dress, Roxanne with her hair long and her mouth set not in a smile but a scowl as she stood not with but above him.

Now she leaned into him, her mouth warm on his jaw. Megamind wrapped his arm about her waist and drew her near so her thick hips molded to him. Roxanne laughed and pressed her hand and the prize between his shoulders so he fitted to her. Her earring tickled his nose.

"Try to keep up," she whispered into his ear.

The music swallowed them.