Disclaimer: "Megamind" is owned by Dreamworks. I am not profiting from this fanfiction.

Warning: Sexual content ahead.


"Roxanne. Roxanne, wake up. Please? I need you, Roxanne. . ."

She dimly heard her name being called, dimly recognized the voice behind it. Her dream had been intense, though, and a part of her was loath to release it. Her brain had been replaying a recent scene in her life, during which her big blue boyfriend had seduced her on this very bed.

Well, maybe seduced was the wrong word. She'd suggested the interlude with winks and some not-so-subtle nudges, and he'd responded with an eager yet well-controlled success at seduction. In truth, she'd been willing from the very beginning. But in truth, even if she hadn't been, she still would've fallen into bed with him.

Lord above, he was by far the best lover she could have asked for. Attentive, watchful, affectionate, careful yet forceful. . . She had no doubt in her mind that his considerable intellect had played a role. And she was happy for it.

Now she heard, more clearly, the urgency in his voice, felt it in the way his hands shook her shoulders to rouse her. She'd fallen asleep on her belly, clutching her pillow as she was wont to do.

She pushed herself up to her elbows, then turned over, dislodging the sheets as she did so. And there he was, crouched on the floor beside the bed, watching her with wide green eyes.

The worry in his expression set off her own fear.

"What is it?" she asked, giving him her full attention. She gestured him closer, and he rose to sit on the bed.

In a kind of stunned tone, he replied, "I need you." He hesitated a second more before leaning in.

She tilted her chin up to accept his kiss, and though a part of her enjoyed the pleasant feeling of his lips, the rest was devoted to what must have brought this on. As the kisses grew more heated, she snuck a glance at her clock, reading how it was almost three in the morning. That alone was odd; she knew Megamind. He slept like a brick. There was no waking him once he'd dropped off.

Which left her with two options: one, something had woken him up, though she dreaded what that might be, or two, he had never gone to sleep. She was leaning towards the latter; a year and a half they'd been together, and in that time, she'd learned that he could keep going for days without any sleep. Which made his heavy-sleeper habit all the more ironic.

She offered no resistance when his hands began exploring, just held him a little tighter, allowing her hands to wander too. When he moved and pulled the sheets aside so he could place his hands on her thighs, she shivered. Partly from the cold, but mostly from the grip of his hands; no one had ever touched her more possessively than he did. Even the lightest touches he gave were laced with that feeling.

A large part of her reveled in it.

It didn't take long for routine to kick in. Soon those hands were going a little higher, touching a little more intimately. That was his habit, and one she loved; he always so careful with her, as if he feared she'd turn and run if he moved too fast. She'd yet to convince him that sometimes fast was a good thing.

But as they moved together, gradually shedding clothes, she was aware that he was battling desperation. I need you, he'd said - twice, as she recalled. His kisses were laced with that need. So why was he fighting with himself? He was afraid of something, she knew it.

She could feel how riotous his emotions were in a very real sense of the word. It was something that'd been slowly developing throughout their relationship, and not one entirely unexpected. With such an advanced brain as he had, she wasn't surprised to learn that he could project his emotions, though he had been shocked at first. It made her uncomfortable sometimes, knowing she could feel what he did and knowing he could pick up her emotions the same way, but she was fighting to accept it.

He wasn't the only person she was mildly psychic with in that way, anyway.

Routine. No, she corrected herself; More like tradition. He knew what she liked to have done to her, was so observant he hadn't missed a thing during his explorations of her body.

Soon she was laying back on the bed, enjoying everything he did to her. His mouth trailed down her neck, nipping at her pulse. His hands wandered from her knees to her thighs and up her stomach, a move that always made her arch her back into his touch. Those hands curved around to her spine and slid back down. Tradition. He always avoided her most intimate places until she was ready to beg for it.

Not this time. His desperation to have her was growing with each second; she could feel it. So she decided to jump-start the encounter. She pressed her nails into him as she dragged her hands down his chest, using just enough pressure to make sure he felt it, then boldly closed her fingers around him between their bodies.

He gave a strangled groan against her neck, one hand fisting the sheets where he'd braced it for balance. "Roxanne," he hissed, his voice a little chiding. She'd just skipped two or three steps of his plan, she knew.

But when he said her name like that, she didn't care. With a wicked smirk, she drew him closer by her hand, gently, though with a firm enough grip that it left him with no choice but to follow.

It was early for penetration, she knew; he hadn't even gotten to petting her ample bosom yet. But she was ready for him nonetheless, and he needed her, so she would give.

She knew the moment he gave in because he pulled her hand away to guide himself. With no hesitation, she linked her arms around him, leaning up to capture his mouth and delve deep with her tongue. He returned the gesture by driving deep inside her, filling her in all the right ways. The initial entry always pulled a moan from her, and this time was no different.

Above her, he shivered, exhaling against her mouth. And then he started to move. Yes, she agreed, feeling drunk already. She moved with him, meeting his every thrust. The rhythm was slow, as it usually was. It was the most selfish he ever was with intimacy - drawing out this act, at times driving her mad in the process. He made sure she felt every second, made sure she knew exactly who she was with.

She knew he did this because she was a silent type of lover, rarely uttering a moan or a name. A part of him feared she was imagining someone else, someone with a human's skin tone.

As if she could mistake him for anyone else. His every touch felt electric, his kisses alone addictive to her. The feel of him, the taste of him, the sound of his voice when he whispered her name, the driving possession she felt with him - everything. He was one of a kind, and she was proud that he was hers. She would never want anyone else.

When the rhythm increased and he began panting at her neck, she was aware once again that something must have spooked him. His hands coursed over her, rougher than he'd ever caressed her before. She was surprised, but far from unwilling, keeping up with the quicker pace. He was losing himself, she realized.

She responded in like, running her hands over him, rubbing her thighs against him as she rose to meet his thrusts - showing him that he needn't be so careful with her. She began kissing him everywhere her lips could reach, unleashing more and more passion, and in the process, made it clear to him that she was taking, not giving.

He got the message, she knew, when his arms convulsed around her, hugging her tighter than he'd ever allowed before. His mouth ran down her neck and starting sucking at her pulse, and approval flooded from her. She felt relief suffuse him, and then he grew even more aggressive.

Yes, she thought again.

She tilted her head back, mouth opening as the pleasure began reaching its crescendo. This was going to be different from all the other times he'd made her climax, she could feel it. Little sounds escaped her throat in time with her pants, surprising her in a welcome way. Yes, yes, she thought, drive me crazy, make me moan. . .

He seemed to hear her, and the realization that he very well might have didn't scare her at all. There were advantages to having your lover be able to read your thoughts, as she was learning.

He pulled her closer, lifting her hips from the bed as he took her. He was being hard now, taking her roughly. She was jerking on the bed with his ministrations, could hear the bed tapping against the wall. And she was loving every second, willing him to lose control, to do everything he wanted or needed with her. Her voice was rising in her own ears, lacing every moan, every gasp. She discerned the word yes coming from her lips repeatedly.

She could only flutter her eyes open for a brief second, but she felt the need to see him like this, so she forced them to open. His gaze was rapt on her, his expression consuming - and a little stunned. That was all she could absorb before her eyes slid closed again and her back arched. A crashing pleasure overwhelmed her, making her body weep for him, and she seized him, clutching him, clinging to him.

Surprisingly, she heard herself cry out, the sound forming a word she couldn't hear over the rushing in her ears. She felt him jerk in the midst of the thrusts, then felt him start to pull back.

But she wouldn't let him. Not this time. He needed her; she would give. Her legs, already wound around his waist, tightened. They convulsed as the onslaught of her orgasm continued, pulling him closer, further, deeper.

"Roxanne," she heard, with her ears or in her mind, she didn't know. He shuddered over her and she knew he'd lost the battle with himself. He clutched her close as she was doing to him, letting himself go, groaning into the pillow as he emptied himself into her.

When at last the rushing in her ears ebbed, her awareness bloomed out around her. They were both shuddering, holding one another. It was hot in her room now, a little stuffy, but she didn't mind. She was content to remain here, blissful, enjoying the security of his arms and the utter possession they were both showing.

All mine, she thought with a smirk, her fingers beginning to circle along his back of their own accord. He made a sound of contentment. She released one leg from its constricting hold, sliding it along his hip. Another serene hum came from him.

Do you feel better now? she wondered. She ached to ask, but bit it back. Right now, silence was golden.

"I do," he breathed against her neck.

She stilled as the implications of his words rushed to her. Without thought, she said, "Did you read my thoughts just now?"

"Hmm?" was his response. A moment later, as she remained quiet, he pushed himself up to his elbows. Their gazes met, and she could see the wheels turning in his head as he replayed her question.

Then his eyes widened a bit. "I did?" he asked.

"Did you?" she replied. "What were you responding to?"

"You asked me if I felt better," he answered, drawing his brows.

Then he did read my mind. Whether he read her expression or her mind, she didn't know, but he clearly got the answer. He glanced away, as if unsure of what he should do now. Feeling each other's emotions was one thing; being able to read minds without any effort was another.

Although, she supposed, maybe this was inevitable. From nothing to feeling emotions, from emotions to reading minds. . .it followed that this would happen. Still, despite the uncomfortable way her stomach was knotting at this new development, she was more interested in what brought on his semi-panic attack earlier.

Pushing mind-reading abilities from her focus, she drew herself up, and he moved with her, though his eyes showed he was fearing what would happen next. I'm not rejecting you, she thought with a little smile. Relax already.

He didn't seem to pick up on the words. Was this distance enough to keep their thoughts personal?

Once they were seated and facing each other, she drew up his hand to begin kissing at his fingers. He cherished tenderness like nothing else, she'd discovered. This act alone should put him completely at ease. And when he relaxed, allowing a smile of his own, she knew it'd worked.

She lowered his hand to her lap as she said, "So, do you want to tell me why you showed up here at three-a-m?"

He shot a glance to the clock and back, and she could tell he was retreating. Coming up with a plan, most likely; No, I wasn't panicking, he would say, I just wanted to be with you. Is that so strange?

"The whole truth," she prompted.

He face fell somewhat, and he looked down at their hands. He brought his other hand into the pile, tangling fingers together, gathering his thoughts, perhaps. At length, he said, "I had a. . .nightmare. About you."

A nightmare had brought him here? What kind of a dream must it have been to wake him up?

"Go on," she urged, petting his hands with the limited range of her thumbs. "I won't run."

He jerked his gaze to her eyes for a split second before looking down again. "That's. . .it's hard to. . ." He trailed off.

Seeing he needed more prompting, she leaned in and kissed him. Remaining this close, she held his eyes and said, "The only way I can help you is if I know what's troubling you."

He glanced away and back with a tilt of his head, as if to say, Yes, that's true. Finally, taking a deep breath as though he had to steady himself, he said, "The nightmare was about you. You. . .left me. You gave a list of reasons about how it just couldn't be, each one centered on. . .me. Being an alien."

When he paused, she squeezed his hands, waiting patiently for him to continue.

He returned the pressure of her hands. "In the dream, I couldn't deal with it. . .couldn't let go of you. I kept calling you and texting you, but you wouldn't answer. I started sending you gifts and coming to visit, but you wouldn't let me in. You sent all the gifts back, unopened. Eventually, you moved away, out of the city."

It was getting harder to listen. She could feel the pain he felt just to be recounting this dream, and knew it had devastated him more than he was letting on.

He went on, "I never lost you. I kept an eye on you, all the time wracking my brain for an answer, something that would make you love me again. Trying to tell you and show you that I still loved you did no good," he added, and his voice broke in that sentence. He swallowed, steadying his voice to go on.

"Then I. . .I got desperate." Fear and shame shone in his eyes, but she couldn't feel them beyond the spear of pain that stabbed through her heart.

He's feeling this, right now? she thought, bewildered and stunned. The despair. . .it left her breathless.

"I decided I had to have you, even if you didn't want me anymore," he was saying. Dread settled in the back of her neck, and when he focused on her eyes, she knew he'd picked it up. "It was just a dream," he soothed, reaching up to stroke her face, but she knew he was more trying to convince himself than her of this.

"Keep going," she prodded, lifting a hand to retrieve his.

Even if she couldn't feel his reluctance to go on, she still would've seen it. His gaze darted around the room - searching for a way out without divulging this last bit. She felt his fear skyrocket, and the pain in him became almost too much to bear. Crippling, had she been feeling it firsthand. Yet she remained patient, waiting for the panic in him to recede.

Seconds ticked by as he kept up that wild search, his jaw working but no sound coming forth. She just sat where she was, stroking his hands with her thumbs as she'd done before. Be patient, she told herself. He needs to trust you.

Consoling him would only be a temporary fix, she knew. No, what he needed was to believe she wasn't going anywhere, that she wasn't going to leave him. So there she remained as he struggled with himself, his eyes returning more and more frequently to her. Gradually, the fear and pain began to fade, though they were far from gone. She tried to keep her emotions strictly comforting, letting him soak it up.

Finally, he bowed his head and swallowed. It seemed that holding her gaze would be too much for him to handle now.

He needed her; she would give.

She waited.

He sucked in a wavering breath and sighed. "I created a gun," he admitted at last. "It was meant to. . .erase certain memories. I wanted you to forget you'd ever left me. I wanted you to forget any bad memories you had of me - all of them," he corrected himself. "I wanted you to. . .to only remember me. Loving you."

She couldn't see this going anywhere good.

"So I kidnapped you, like I used to do. You were furious. For a while I tried pleading with you, hoping I wouldn't have to. . .use it. But you only got more angry with me, yelling the vilest things. . ." His voice trailed off, as if in memory. "I couldn't take it anymore. I was angry and heartbroken. Minion tried to stop me, but didn't reach us in time. I fired the gun and it. . .backfired."

To what, she wondered. What had it done to her in his nightmare?

"At first, it was like it worked. You stopped screaming at me and went quiet. And I felt bad about having used it, but I kept thinking, 'How bad could it be, if she loves me again?' But you. . .didn't. It erased. . .everything. All your memories, your higher thinking, even most of your capacity for creating new memories. . ."

She was frozen now, and knew she'd paled. That sounded so. . .terrible. A huge accident, she could admit, but not one she could see anyone recovering from. It was like accidental paralysis.

The heartbreak in his voice as he'd spoken had only grown worse, until she wanted to hold him close and offer him anything, everything, if it meant he would feel better. The pain she perceived from him through their link was debilitating, so much so had the urge to clutch at her chest to ward the painful throbs of her own heart. But it wasn't her pain she was feeling, she reminded herself.

He was terrified of the dream he'd had. Terrified of it coming true. Which meant he was terrified that, by telling her, it would come true. . .

He couldn't seem to stop talking now, as if he wanted the words out. As if it wouldn't hurt so much once the words were gone.

"You didn't recognize me anymore, or Minion, or the lair. You barely had enough self-consciousness to get through daily activity and attend to your basic needs. Minion and me. . .we tried talking to you, to help you remember. You never seemed to notice us. You were like a. . .a drone. At first you kept trying to leave, but we never let you. And I tried to reverse the effects, but it never worked.

"Over time you began seeing us as companions and the lair as your home, and stopped trying to leave. I slept with you, holding you in your sleep. You didn't respond. It was like there was nothing inside you anymore. It was all. . .gone.

"I thought, maybe, if you relived some moments of your life, you'd be able to remember. I would touch you and kiss you, and I even tried making love to you once. . . But though you responded to that, it was for the singular act of reproduction, so I stopped."

The picture he painted was painfully clear, and so coherent she couldn't believe it was just a dream. That, alone, scared her. What if he had seen the future? What if that was her future? What if she was to become more of a pet than a person?

"How. . ?" she strangled out, in stun.

He looked up at last, catching her eyes. "When I woke up, I was panicked," he said. "I can admit it. I was so scared that it would happen, I just. . .I just had to prove to myself that you weren't going to leave me."

"I'm not," she agreed with a shake of her head. "But how. . .how was the dream so clear? It was just a dream, right?"

His brows drew in question as he nodded.

Then another thought rose up, and she asked, "Is that normal for you, dreaming like that?"

"Well, yes. How is it for humans?" he half-queried, half-wondered aloud.

"Reason turns off," she answered with a shrug. "That's why dreams can get so. . .wacky." At his look, she realized this subject interested him - that it would distract him. So she went on, "I remember having a dream when I was little where I rode my bike into an electronics store and rode it up and down the partitions. Then I was outside in a park, and a mummy had risen nearby, and I hid from it while it walked away." Which was all true; she didn't add that things had gotten even more strange after that.

Megamind was now looking at her like she was crazy.

She couldn't help but smile. "That's. . .how human brains work. Are you saying your reason never turns off?"

"Never," he agreed. "My dreams always make perfect sense. But I don't always dream." He shrugged.

"Weird," she commented aloud. When he looked hurt, she rushed to correct herself, "I mean, to me, it's weird. I can't imagine my dreams making a lot of sense."

"Then what does the human brain do when you sleep, if not prepare for the following day?"

He'd gone into scientist mode, she realized with a smirk. Just as she'd wanted.

"We, at least, don't know entirely," she answered. "The speculations are that dreams are just a way for us to recount the day's activities and file away things into long-term memory. Which is why we so often dream about things that happened right before we went to sleep. Another theory is that the images are just a mix of random thoughts while the brain rests and recharges."

He was giving slow nods as he assimilated the information.

"The most popular theory is that everything we dream is just a metaphor for something else. A lot of people believe your brain communicates with you in sleep, telling you things you need to know, even if you don't want to. These people would say things like if you dream you're flying, you're craving freedom. If you're flying and then crash, then you're feeling trapped. Dreaming of shopping means you need something. Et cetera, et cetera," she finished with a shrug.

"Interesting," he said now.

She rolled her eyes. "Glad to know I've given you something else to fill that head of yours."

He smiled, though it looked fragile.

She pulled on him now, laying back. "Speaking of sleep," she said.

Following her down, the smile grew more solid. He cuddled up to her under the sheets as they pulled them up.

Arms around her, he seemed to relax, letting go of his tension. "I don't understand," he said against her shoulder. "You were the last person I should've told about the nightmare. Why do I feel better now?"

She grinned. "A problem shared is a problem halved," she quoted. "In short. . .you trust me to help you overcome your fear. Thank you for that, by the way."

He nuzzled closer, and she felt unending adoration from him. Then one of his hands slid down, resting on her stomach, and the emotions in him changed to trepidation.

Almost inaudible, he whispered, "I don't know if. . .we. . ."

She put her hand over his, focusing on radiating calm. "If we did," she replied, "then we'll just have to cross that bridge when we get to it."

His arms tightened, clutching her closer. She didn't mind.

Pregnancy was one thing they'd both been worrying over since the relationship turned physical. He hadn't released inside her since the first time (tonight counted as number two), and once she'd confirmed she hadn't gotten pregnant, there'd been a mix of relief and disappointment from them both. Which told her, very simply, that she was ready to be a mother - more so, that she was ready to be the mother of his babies.

They weren't even positive yet if she could get pregnant by him.

She mused over this for a few moments more, and then his mind made another jump, and he said, "What were you dreaming about before I woke you up?"

She couldn't hold back the twitch that went through her, like a tiny jerk of shock. Heat flooded her cheeks, and she chided herself for it. After they just engaged in the very thing she'd dreamt of, she was embarrassed?

She answered, "Remember what happened two weeks ago. . ?"

"Every detail," he replied in all seriousness.

She chuckled. "Remember the night we had dinner together here? And afterwards, I put my hand on your neck. . ?" She made her voice lilting, and felt him begin to tense. Perfect. "And I brought you down to kiss me. . .and down further with me as I lay back on the couch. . ?"

"Roxanne," he said, in that way she couldn't tell if she'd heard with her ears or mind - both, she guessed. She loved how he never shortened her name. And she loved the tone he used when whispering her name, as if it pained him to speak, but he knew it would pain him more if he didn't.

Another chuckle escaped her, and then she sighed. "That was my dream," she finished. "Now, you, go to sleep."

He groaned, reminding her of a child who'd been sent to bed early.

"I'll be right here when you wake up," she promised.

He nodded against her, then burrowed his face into her hair - hair she was letting grow out, since it seemed to bring him so much pleasure just to touch it. Already the shortest strands fell to her nose, the longest curling around her shoulders.

Sleep well, she heard his voice in her head, making her breath catch. I love you.

Telepathy. She wondered if he knew what he was doing or not - or, most likely, if he was testing himself.

"The last one," he answered aloud.

She giggled against her will. "Good night, sleep well, let me sleep, I love you," she replied.

Once lethargy had seeped into her bones and put her back to sleep, she expected a number of things. First, to dream. Second, to wake sometime in the morning, still wrapped up in blankets and her lover. Third, to have to push him off the bed and onto the floor to get him to wake up. And then, after breakfast, to go to work. It was officially Tuesday, after all.

She wasn't expecting to have an awareness of herself in her dream, or to find things occurring in such a coherent way. She caught a reflection of herself from the year before, with her cropped hair, wearing a familiar red dress with a black belt and off-shoulder straps. As she looked around, she realized she was reliving the day Metro Man had "died".

Hal was pointing a camera at her. People were around her, though frozen in place. When she looked down in her hand, a microphone was there. But it'd been too long to remember the speech she'd once given.

And, she figured, if she was aware of her dream (an extreme rarity, as it'd only happened twice that she could remember), she might as well have some fun with it.

She glanced over at the shimmering gold curtain that hid Metro Man's statue. With a thought, it flickered and was gone, and behind it was Megamind's statue instead. She imagined the statue coming to life as she started towards it, and sure enough, the arms lowered, stepping out from under the ring that barred it in, though the sphere it held up remained aloft. It walked with surprisingly light steps, coming to kneel down before her.

The eyes were blank, devoid of color, but the face grinned at her in a familiar way. She grinned back, then stepped onto a hand when it was offered. The statue rose and began walking. A helicopter flew by, and though its rotors passed through her, she was unharmed.

Metro City was only half-formed, as she didn't have many good memories to use to build it, or at least not many from above. But as the statue walked with her perched on its hand, she noted how the buildings seemed to be completing themselves. Curious; was her mind filling in blanks by itself, guessing? When she noticed they were heading towards Metro tower, she decided against this path. No telling what nightmares would arise if she neared it.

With a thought, the scene changed again. She was in Megamind's lair, everything perfect. Again, it was odd; was her memory better than she'd thought it was? She explored, smiling as brain bots hummed by. She followed the path ahead as it lit up for her, shaking her head at the simplicity of the lead.

She entered the control center for the entire lair, finding Minion bustling back and forth. Megamind was at the controls, looking just as he usually did in his leathers, sans cloak and spiked collar. He was giving orders, gesturing the screen, apparently looking for something.

"Am I interrupting?" she wondered, finding her voice echoed far too clearly.

Everything sentient turned around to focus on her; Minion, the brain bots, and especially Megamind. His face split in a huge, welcoming grin when he spotted her. At the sight, her breath caught, and she could feel her heart kick up speed. Her real heart? Now that was weird. Being aware of yourself in a dream was one thing; being aware of your real body while dreaming was another.

They rushed to each other, and then he was kissing her breathless. When she moved to back up and refill her lungs, he pulled her against him with a sudden jerk, lifting her off her feet, refusing to release the kiss. Of their own will, her legs locked around his waist as he continued to plunder her mouth, giving her no time to rest.

At last, she jerked back with a laugh. Silly; she had no need to breathe in a dream. She could spend the entire dream underwater with nothing to worry about.

That thought transported the two of them to a beach she'd visited only once, and she stared out over the waves as her heart swelled at the sight. Beautiful. She wasn't quite so surprised to see how well-formed the beach was in comparison to the city; during the two days she'd been here, she'd made a point of memorizing everything she could.

"What a great place to return to," she murmured, and once again, her voice carried without interruption.

She realized her lover had gone still and turned her gaze to him. He looked confused, glancing around. A silly notion rose in her head, but she pushed it down. This was exactly how he would act in her dream, she told herself.

"Want to go swimming?" she offered. Another thought had her back on her feet, clad a deep red bikini with gold rings at the hips and between her breasts.

"What is this?" she heard Megamind demand. He looked yet more confused.

"A dream," she answered with a raised brow. "Come on, let's go swimming." She took his hand, and then he was wearing a pair of yellow swimming trunks. "Nah," she decided, "not your color." They changed to a dark blue.

He jerked, looked down at himself, then back at her. "My dreams are never like. . .this," he strangled out.

His dreams?

"Oh," she said aloud. "Well, that makes sense, then. This is my dream."

"Can't be," he denied, shaking his head. "I was just in my lair. . ." his eyes grew distant, "watching you on the monitor when you walked in." This last was said as a revelation. "No, you couldn't have just. . .teleported there."

"Well, I did," she said, coming to the same conclusion she was seeing forming in him. "Shortly after hitching a ride on your statue from the museum and parading around the city."

He was staring now, unbelieving. "But that doesn't make sense. Statue. . .museum. . .riding. . ." he started in a way she recognized. It was a habit of his to murmur off a few words while deep in thought, trying to figure things out. He looked completely dumbfounded. "But I was watching you from the city's security cameras, and you were just having lunch in a café."

". . .And then?" she prodded, disbelieving the conclusion forming in her mind - the conclusion she could see forming in his, as well.

"You vanished, and then you were in the lair," he finished.

"We're sharing a dream," she said, realizing it. "Did you know this was possible?"

He shook his head, once, slowly. Then his eyes shot down and took in her bikini. "And why are you wearing red?" he demanded. "You look better in blue." Abruptly, his eyes bugged.

She looked down at herself, finding that her swimsuit's color had changed to a bright ice blue. "Of course you'd say that," she said absently, ordering it to go back to red. "You like marking me as yours in every possible way."

He gave a laugh that said, Guilty as charged. Then, aloud, "I didn't think this. . . I mean, how did it happen?"

She remembered that he'd fallen asleep with his face in her hair, directly after. . .an elusive memory took place, she was sure of it. She frowned; she couldn't remember. As if to help, the scene changed, and the two of them were back in her bedroom, standing at the foot of the bed and looking down at themselves as they slept. Or, she supposed, how they figured they were sleeping.

But she was more focused on trying to remember what it was that was evading her mental grasp.

She touched her forehead. "What happened before we went to sleep? I can't remember."

He took a step closer, bringing his arms around her. "Well. . ." he started, only to get cut off from sounds and movement from the bed.

They both glanced that way in unison, and her jaw dropped. The image wasn't very clear, fuzzy around the edges, but that was definitely the two of them engaging in intercourse.

The Megamind still holding her started to sputter.

Out of here now, she ordered. In the next instant, they were in Metro City's park, laying back on the grass.

Beside her, there was an annoyed groan. She glanced over to find that Megamind was glaring at the sky, looking dazed. "I don't think I'll ever get used to this," he said.

She chuckled. "Don't worry about it." She took his hand. "Just. . .have some fun. Control it."


"You changed my bikini's color just by willing it, remember?" she prodded.

"Oh. Yes, I do recall that." He was silent then. Seconds passed, but she was content as she was. What a lovely blue sky.

And then he said, "Roxanne. . .my mind kind of. . .wandered. . ."

What was so bad about that?

She felt movement under her dress - a thin dress she was only now away of - and glanced down, almost expecting to see a bug or a bird had crawled up it. Instead, she saw her belly was swollen, easily in the last trimester of pregnancy.

She pushed herself up to a sitting position, shocked. A part of her wanted to touch; another almost feared to. This was where his mind had wandered. . ?

When another brush from inside of her came through, both hands flew to her womb. She cupped the bulge, began stroking it.

"Roxanne!" Megamind gasped, scrambling to crouch before her. He looked panicked. "I didn't mean that I wanted you pregnant," he rushed out, "just that I was thinking about it and then it happened - it's hard to control these kinds of dreams - I don't know what I'm doing and I - I just -"

She put a finger to his lips, silencing him. "I understand," she said.

He relaxed, then dropped his gaze to her belly. She saw and felt the adoration and pride in him before he glanced away, clearly trying to smother the feelings. He mumbled something that sounded like fix it.

"Don't you dare," she warned, pressing her hands more firmly to the bulge. When he gave her a confused glance, she went on, "I like the way this feels," dropping her eyes to watch as she stroked the well-protected baby within. It seemed to react, giving her another flutter, but no - she was imagining things. This was a dream. The baby wasn't real.

But, God, she wanted it to be.

"Roxanne. . ."

She looked up and met his gaze, then offered a smile. He smiled back. This, like so many other things about them, was aligned. They both wanted a baby, despite any nerves or worries that came with it.

She noticed a prickling of fear just as she was aware that everything about them seemed to be turning distinctly orange. What was this?

She had her answer when she heard the distinct sound of a World War II alarm going off in the distance, watching as black walls shot up around them. The black peeled away in a way she was far too familiar with, leaving behind rusted metal. Instinctively, her hands clutched tighter at the nonexistent baby within her, only to find a flat stomach, no bulge. A pang of loss went through her.

The park and city were gone. Rusted, almost bloody metal, steam punk pipes and metal gears surrounded them, with nothing but black beyond it.

"What's this?" her lover asked, looking around. His complexion was almost identical to a deeply tanned human's under the reflective rusty colors of the metals.

"Silent Hill," she answered, feeling bereft without the swell to her belly. Still, she shook her head, battling her own fear. Once, this game had terrified her, to the point where she refused to continue playing the series.

Alligators, spinning blades, spiders, electric eels, flamethrowers - these she could handle without a flinch, she had grown so accustomed to them. But her fear of the things in this game series was not to be quelled. She shut her eyes and demanded that the nightmare end, though she knew it was in vain.

Nightmares continued on because you wanted them to end. The more you feared it, the stronger it became.

"Silent hill?" Megamind echoed, clearly confused.

"It's a. . .video game series of the disturbing, scary variety," she answered, trying not to envision it. Years she'd spent trying to bury what memories she had of the game, and the last thing she wanted was for them to come back. Especially now, in this situation.

Malicious laughter sounded in a familiar voice, and she shot a sharp glare to Megamind, only to find he looked just as perplexed as she was.

Oh, no.

The statue from before had come more alive. It was here, looming over them, its skin rusted metal like everything else. It looked more cruel and menacing than Megamind had ever been. He, himself, looked shocked.

"No, no, not this," she pleaded with herself. Shut up, stupid brain, shut up! She clutched at her hair, finding it had lengthened to her current cut.

"Try to leave me, you would try to leave me?" that booming, evil voice demanded, grating on her ears though it was fake.

"You're having a nightmare about me?" Megamind asked, dumbfounded. She could sense his disbelief, and beneath it, hurt.

"We are," she corrected automatically, remembering that this was a shared dream now.

All at once she recalled the conversation they'd had right before she'd fallen asleep. He had had a nightmare about her leaving him, one that ended in a complete destruction of her will and personality. To hear him say it, she'd become a living doll, barely aware, barely alive.

Now it'd fed her nightmare, viewing him in his classic role as the villain, out to crush her. Too bad it didn't end there.

She surged to her feet when she heard gross clicking sounds, sounding both wet and grinding. She didn't want to look - didn't want to -

But did.

Deformed, broken bodies were coming her way, parts of them clearly human, others distinctly not. One had an upside-down head, one was twisted around itself like a pretzel, another lacked arms with a puffy, smoking chest. None of them had eyes, just hollow, black gapes in their faces. Her stomach churned.

Megamind seized her and she screamed in reflex, flinching. When she saw his face, he wore an expression of disgust.

"This is what makes up your nightmares?" he asked, shocked. "No wonder I could never get you to scream," he added in a lower tone.

She pressed into him. "We need to get out of here."

"How are we going to leave a dream?"

"I don't know - I've been trying to wake myself up!" She shook her head back and forth.

"Don't!" he snapped. "If you leave, I'll be stuck here. Remember, reason works in my dreams!"

"Then what do we do?" she demanded.

The statue was nearing them, lifting its massive fist. "You will never leave me!" it shouted. "I will see you dead first!"

Hearing Megamind's voice say that made her shudder.

Its first came crashing down, and in reflex, she and Megamind both collapsed. But when he went down, he also shot up his arm in a barring motion, and a huge curved shield shot up from the ground and was braced over them in a second. The fist collided with it, making a deafening clang, and yet the shield held strong.

She felt relief, all at once. She couldn't control the nightmares plaguing her, but Megamind could battle them. She tried to will them elsewhere, hoping she could fight herself as well. However, when she squeezed her eyes shut, envisioning the beach, she opened them only to find the scene hadn't changed.

Megamind was pulling her up. "We're going to have to talk about getting you over this - whatever this fear is," he advised her, guiding her as they began to run.

From beneath her, a hand shot up and grabbed her by the knee, crushing the bones in one squeeze. An agonized scream was ripped from her; the very real pain rocked her. She pitched forward, that leg giving out.

And Megamind had never looked more beautiful to her than when he whipped around, aiming his hand, and his familiar gun was within it. With a blast, the hand clutching at her vanished, disintegrating, and then he was pulling her up. "It's a fake wound, it's not real," he was saying to her. She could feel his panic, knew he could feel her terror.

How was she to run away with a broken leg?

When he reached down and grabbed her shattered knee, she flinched, but no pain came. "It's fake, just will it away," he told her.

She would. . .try.

"I'm sorry about this," she said without thought. "I don't really think you'll kill me or-or anything."

"Let's talk about this when we're awake," he suggested, pulling on her again. "Speaking of, how are we going to last until we wake up?"

"You just have to end the nightmare, and then everything will be fine," she explained.

"How?" he said again.

"I can't stop the nightmare - it's that crappy human brain thing at work," she said, half-gasping as the run was making her winded. Not real lungs, can't run out of breath, she reminded herself. "But you can control things. You'll just have to. . .it's a fight between our subconscious at this point," she tried.

"So I have to outwit you?" he checked, stopping as they reached a barbed-wire fence - literally. Nothing but coiling barbs, as far as the eye could see, straight up and going left and right.

"That about sums it up," she agreed, pushing on him to go left.

He took off that way without waiting. Keeping his left hand on her at all times, he was aiming with his right. Whenever something twitched and headed for them, he fired, no hesitation. Just a dream, she heard his voice echo many times, as if he needed to console himself for firing on things when he didn't know what they were.

That's for the best, she thought wryly. If he did know what they were, he'd probably experience the dream equivalent of vomiting.

"Look, this might work better if you had a gun too," he offered, and she found one in her hand.

"No dice," she sighed, allowing it to fall. "Knowing my nightmares, it'd just backfire."

He made a sound of annoyance.

A screeching face dropped down before them, huge eye-holes bleeding. She fell back, recoiling, and took him down with her. His shot missed, and then the creature - spider-like with sharp blades instead of legs and that one huge, upside-down head - crawled down and scrambled for them.

"Fly," she gasped.

He twisted around, scooped her up, and then a jetpack on his back was launching them into the air. She screwed her eyes shut, wishing nothing else would happen. But then they were twisting, and he was swearing in the mild way he would. She looked up to find bat-like creatures were coming at them, brandishing long stingers. They looked half-crushed, blood streaming down them and flinging with each flap of their wings.

She clutched him tighter, wishing now that she could help. He was very good at evasive flying, she noted, but this fact offered no comfort.

Her fear refused to abate.

Neither of them saw the giant, rusted hand coming for them until it collided with them. The air rushed out of her, pain singing through her, and she lost her frantic grip on him. It hurt worse when she hit the ground, and she discovered that no amount of chanting "not real pain" was going to help. But she couldn't allow herself to wake up and leave Megamind trapped in the dream, having to obey reason.

She shot a glance up, scrambling to her feet, to find the rusty statue was bigger than before, that she was a speck before it. It was watching her, and she noted its eyes had become black abysses. Some black liquid was streaking from those hollow points, and she shuddered.

She hated all things disturbing like this, hated the look of deflated eyes like that. Deformities were among her biggest fears, unable to look on them for long. Why it was her fear, she didn't know; but then, she'd learned a lot of fears never made sense. Which, in turn, made nightmares all the more frightening.

Though she looked around, trying to find her lover, there was nothing to be seen. She heard his voice echo, "I can't find you! Roxanne!"

A spark of idea lit in her. They couldn't see each other, which means they were lost to one another in the dream, like it'd been in the beginning. But they were still sharing the dream, which means they could hear each other. Their minds were still linked, and telepathy between them was growing.

Now how to make that work for her?

She darted off in a run when miniature versions of the spiky-spider began descending to her, gaining distance from the number of horrifying things in her nightmare, though she knew she was gaining none from the ever-growing statue.

That was the crux, she knew; that statue. It represented her fear of Megamind's dream coming true, of her future reduced to a mindless state. Which meant she had to conquer her fear of that in particular.

Ironic; she recalled spending quite some time convincing him that it wouldn't come true, and yet it appeared she hadn't convinced herself.

"Just talk to me," she suggested as she ran. Not real lungs, can't get winded, she reminded herself. It helped; she didn't feel the need to gasp.

A spinning blade swung like a pendulum from above her, and she dropped down, then crawled out from under it. All she had to do, she knew, was grow accustomed to this. She'd overcome her fear of everything that had a technological backing to it, thanks to Megamind. She could overcome her fear of everything demonic through these dreams.

Maybe she'd have to play through the Silent Hill series to do so. She hoped not. It was a dreaded thought.

"What do you see?" she heard Megamind's voice echo to her. "I'll try to find you!"

She didn't want to look around. But, eventually, she did, repeating that she saw a series of rusted buildings like you'd see on a dock, with black ooze as the "water" lapping at the structures. She didn't mention the creatures, trying to ignore them.

At once a series of spotlights were around her, bolted to the ground, in a preprogrammed act that pointed up into the skies, crisscrossing. Oh, good thinking, she approved. They swung and arced into the - ceiling, clouds, topmost part of the dream?

"Do you see the spotlights?" his voice called.

"I'm in the middle of them!" she replied, relief and hope coming to her. And then dread settled in. If she could see them - if she felt hope that they were here. . .

The ground around her was crawling. Heavy, thumping footsteps were heading her way, making the hairs at her nape stand up. The statue.

And then she had a wild, cliché thought. That statue represented the darker of her thoughts, right? So she whipped around, spotted it - almost vomited; it had grown much worse since the last time she saw it - and darted to a spotlight. With a heave, she angled the huge thing, and it fell on the statue.

At once, a howl of pain was booming through the dream, the statue flinching, throwing its arms up to shield itself. And then it was. . .gone, vanished.

But the ground beneath her feet was still wriggling. She feared looking down, so she didn't.

Then she was being yanked, and though she fought in reflex, those died when she saw it was Megamind who had her. The relief on his face mirrored her own, and for a moment, they were simply happy to have reached each other again.

Though she had to admit, the spotlight made the shadows of his face very harrowing.

"I found you," he offered with a prideful smile.

"The spotlights were genius," she agreed.

"As always," was his reply. Just like him to always take a chance to inflate his own ego, even in the midst of a nightmare.

Coils wrapped around her waist and yanked, lifting her off her feet with a brutal tug that jarred her vision. She shot a glance over her shoulder, spotting that the statue had come back - and had her in its massive hand - then looked back down. "Use the spotlights!" she yelled. It'd worked last time. It would again.

She hoped.

Megamind wasted no time darting for a spotlight and angling it at the statue, and sure enough, it howled in pain and vanished as it had done before. But then she was falling, flailing. She hated falling.

He caught her, though, the jetpack back. As before, she clung to him, wishing for an end to the nightmare. She could feel it approaching with a part of her, something deep in her subconscious, she supposed. Having found the way to battle her fears was lessening them already.

She was aware of a flickering then, some part of her awareness perking up. It wasn't visual or audible, but she knew it was important. She glanced in the direction she felt it coming from, directing Megamind to head that way. Though she felt confusion from him, they didn't have any other leads, and besides which, he trusted her.

"As long as we're together. . ." she heard, the words sounding as if he'd murmured them when his lips had not moved.

Her lips turned in a strained smile. "You're getting better at this," she approved.

"I adapt quick," he shrugged.

She opened her mouth to reply, but she felt a yanking and a pain in her mouth when she did. Shocked, she felt her head snap back, and realized that strings of barbed wire had dived into her mouth and out the back of her neck. There was no pain in the world like this. . .

"Roxanne!" she heard him cry, and again, it seemed as if he were speaking with words and mind alike. She saw his blue hand enter her field of vision and grasp the wires as she locked her muscles down, willing for herself to remain still.

He tore at the wires, jerking them out the way they came, and once they were gone, she coughed, blood sputtering from her lips. She managed to lift her head again and meet his gaze, both of them in shock.

Though she didn't take her eyes off him, she noticed a kind of slideshow behind him that she accredited to his thought processes. In it, the flashing scenes of her and him and various details, mixed in with barely-audible words, had her understanding where his thoughts were leading to before he could speak.

"Don't even -" she started in denial.

"Wake up," he said.

She shut her eyes and shook her head. "I won't trap you here."

"I'll take it all," he countered, "if it means you won't be hurt again."

"It's my own mind. It can't do permanent damage," she argued, glaring at him, determined.

His eyes were pained. "Yes, it can," he replied in a tone that she recognized. That tone meant I am one hundred percent right about this.

"I won't leave you here," she reiterated.

His emotions only grew more despairing, almost depressed. He murmured, "I can't watch you be hurt like this anymore."

She shut her eyes on a painful throb in her heart. He wanted her safe, even - and, it seemed, especially - from herself. But how could she possibly leave him in this hellhole of a nightmare? And when she was so close to beating it, no less?

"I won't -" she started, only to be cut off.

A series of barbed coils encircled her in an instant, ripping her out of his grip in the next. She saw, horrified, that more wires had him by the wrists and ankles. The distance between them grew until there was nothing but darkness, and it hadn't been two seconds yet.

"Wake up!" she heard his yell echo.

"I won't!" she shot back.

"Roxanne!" he yelled, this time with both mind and mouth. He sounded frustrated.

Two could play that game. "Megamind! I am not deserting you!"

"Just do it!" he argued. "Wake up now! You can wake me up when you do!"

She seriously doubted that. "I won't take that chance!" she shouted back. "Either neither of us suffer, or we both do! Take it or leave it!" she ended in a snap.

Silence. For several long moments. The only thing that changed was that she noticed the barbed wire around her was coiling more, tightening until it hurt, the spikes breaking her skin. She chose to ignore it; what's the worst her mind could do to herself?

And then he answered, "I'll take it. Now explain to me why your dreams are only after you," he suggested.

For one, she supposed, she didn't fear him getting hurt, so it wouldn't be part of this dream. Sure, she feared him dying, but that wasn't the same thing. Anytime in the past that she found him injured, she would just shake her head and either bind his wounds or help him get to the hospital for more intensive treatment. And it made her worry over him and wish he wasn't the hero, but she never feared the wounds.

Pain was fluid, after all, and almost any kind of damage can be repaired.

She could see - with a tiny portion of her mind, a part she assumed was seeing through his - that he was still bound, but unharmed. No creatures were swarming him, nothing was hurting him. He was just pulling at the bonds, in darkness and solitary.

She knew what she really feared now. Being apart from him. Knowing he needed her but being unable to help. She was afraid not of him being physically hurt, but emotionally and mentally. Any pain he felt that was other than physical was pain they shared; the distance at which their emotions were conveyed had been growing wider since the effects began almost a year prior.

Finally, she replied, "I fear parting with you. And I fear being unable to comfort you when you need me. And I fear you feeling pain. So my dreams are forcing us apart, hurting me to hurt you. . .feeding on my fears that way."

Another flicker. The wires would be choking her now, if she hadn't learned how to stop her dream self from breathing. The flicker kept coming back. And, as it did so, she was reminded of the scene from before, sitting on the grass and petting her unborn child within her belly.

A little girl was in front of her now, floating, disobeying all rules of gravity and physics. Her long black hair hung down, shading her face, allowing only the tiniest glimpses of coal-black eyes.

Eyes that were capable of making Roxanne's blood freeze. Those types of eyes had always made her blood freeze, always frightened her. Another innate fear, linked with the deformities one. . . And this girl, who was staring at her with an intense interest, was one Roxanne recognized. This girl showed up a lot in the Silent Hill movie - a movie she'd only seen glimpses of, refusing to watch the entire thing outright.

She was dirty, wearing a ragged dress splattered with blood and what Roxanne guessed were innards of some creature. She opened her mouth as she reached forward, saying, "Is this what you want?" in a voice so creepy, so distorted that Roxanne shuddered.

She felt the girl's hands stroke her stomach, and a sudden calm went through her. She glanced down to find she was pregnant once more, if only in dream form. Oh, yes, she wanted a baby. An adorable blue-skinned baby, if possible; she craved having more of Megamind in her life. She craved raising such a child, watching with pride as their offspring showed increasingly high intelligence, solving problems and reveling in his or her own abilities.

Then, in a sudden violent motion, the girl had punched straight through Roxanne's belly, making her shriek with an onslaught of pain, and withdrawing -

A little blue baby with green eyes, wearing a dark blue jumper with a lighter blue lightning bolt across the front. He had no blood spots, no evidence whatsoever that he'd just been torn from his mother's womb. Roxanne recognized him not as any child she'd imagined coming from herself and Megamind, but as Megamind himself. And she realized that she must have taken the vision of him straight from Megamind's own head.

The girl curled a bloody hand around his cheek, and he glanced up at the black-haired girl, confused, his mouth open and showing four front teeth had grown in.

And when the girl smiled in a cruel way, a twisting of her features that was more demonic than anything, Roxanne snapped. She would not allow this. Even for her own mind, this was going too far.

With a yell, she twisted and pushed, breaking through the wires and snatching at the baby. The girl screamed in a mix of terror and frustration as Roxanne fell, plummeting, refusing to let go of the child in her arms. If this was going to be the literal way she would nurture his inner child, then she was going to do everything she could.

Her determination had never been higher, her resolve never stronger. She made a series of snap decisions, wresting the control of her dreams back into her grasp.

She touched ground at terminal velocity, but was uninjured, landing directly beside a sprinting Megamind. He jerked and spun, aiming his gun, and then a flood of emotion washed over her. The biggest one was relief, and she returned it with her own pride. She'd gotten free. By herself.

He didn't seem to notice that she was carrying his baby self as he came nearer, but abruptly jerked back around when a huge thud crashed around them.

"No more of this," she murmured, deciding upon it.

The statue was within sight, though it appeared smaller now, less of a threat. It reached down for them, and though Megamind braced himself to fight or flee, she didn't bat an eyelash.

"Stop," she ordered, and its reach halted. "I'm not afraid of you." At her words, a large split broke open in its hand, another cracking its disease-ridden metal face. "Because nightmares don't come true," she ended it.

All at once, the scene flicked again and was gone. She was still cradling the baby in her arms, but now she and her love were back in the park. It was close to sunset, a time of day she adored because of the lovely colors it painted the sky.

". . .Roxanne?" Megamind said, facing her again. "You stopped it?"

She smirked at him. "About time, huh?"

He smiled back, then glanced down to her arms. "What's that?" he wondered.

She moved her arms to display the baby, grinning down at him -

Only to find he'd changed. The jumper remained the same, but now it appeared as though she held a little girl with tiny black curls and Roxanne's blue eyes. The only difference between this beauty and a human was her skin, a matching blue to Megamind's.

She heard him catch his breath as he put two and two together.

"That's. . .ours?" he said in a wondering tone, reaching out to touch the baby's cheek.

In answer, the girl grinned wide, displaying two front teeth. She caught his finger and began chewing on it, turning her wide blue eyes up to Roxanne as she did so. Roxanne, in turn, lifted her higher so she could cradle the babe to her neck.

She didn't let go of Megamind when Roxanne did this, and he moved closer so she'd have free control of his entire arm. Pride and adoration and affection coursed through them both as they watched the girl, absorbing the details of her toothy smile and tiny baby dimples. And when Roxanne met his eyes, the same thought passed between them.

The nightmares were over. It was time to make their dreams come true.

It was time to make this beautiful baby a reality.