Been a long time, but this fic's almost finished! And we're back to the "main scene." Again, I don't type accents phonetically.

regular = English underlined= Russian

Disclaimer: I don't own DM

"Edith, stop looking."

Margo nudged her siblings toward the window, the truck's dim headlights illuminating the dark path ahead. They jolted as it took another turn, their "cousins" squabbling over how to drive and Nefario turning the wheel in a manner that violated at least ten driving regulations.

Edith tried craning her neck again. Margo blocked her view. Agnes was curled at her side, worn out and shaking.

"Stop. Looking."

"Why not?"

"Just... just don't."

Keeping her back to Edith's eyes, Margo cast a glance at the figure behind them. Mr. Gru was still bleeding, the blood slick against the seat and floor. And the smell. The smell was in her nose, in her head, everywhere.

"Oh, gross, you didn't bleed over my things did you?" he asked, dabbing at her nose.

Margo rolled her eyes. "You're a great parent, you know that."

"How did this even happen?" Mr. Gru put a hand on her chin and rather forcefully tilted it upwards.

"Edith was playing with your decorations. Since there are no responsible adults around, I had to stop her, and well- you know the rest."

"Pfft. I tell you not to touch my things, but no, do the brats listen, no!"

The smell of blood was clogging her nostrils. Margo coughed, forcing it to go down her throat. It really was gross.

"Stop that! That's just disgusting. You'll be hacking up blood in one hour."

She kept the cloth against her face. "What do you want me to do, then?"

"Just stay here! I will get some ice. You, just stay here, and don't touch anything!"

"You're going to punish Edith, right?"

"Yes, yes, time-out for your seester."


He made a sound of annoyance before leaving.

"Is he gonna die?" Agnes asked, half-asleep.

Margo held the other girl on her lap. The smell was still there. She knew the rest of them could smell it too. She didn't know the smell would be so strong. She didn't know someone could bleed this much.

Another jolt.

She kissed the girl's forehead. "I'm sorry," she choked, "I'm sorry."

"Your cassette player's broken," Margo pointed out as she wiped her lenses.

Mr. Gru ignored her, flipping the newspaper to another page, muttering something unintelligible. Agnes walked up to his chair and pulled at the man's pants. "Mr. Gru, we can't listen to music."

He flipped to another page. Edith joined her sister and pinched his leg. That earned them a glare.

"Your music sucks. Go do something else."

Margo put her glasses on, adjusting the large rims, and came over to the sofa. "We're bored."

He didn't respond. The three of them stayed rooted to the spot, staring at him, staring, staring, staring...

He slammed the newspaper down. "Fine! Fine, I will fix your music."

Grumbling, Mr. Gru left the chair and went over to the broken player. His eye twitched- it was completely smashed. "I cannot fix this."

They kept staring at him. He sighed before approaching the corner of the living room. "This," he said, pointing at some sort of trumpet attached to a box, "this is a record player. It is very, very, very valuable to me."

He touched something and the needle began spinning about the large disk. "Enjoy." The girls gathered around it, fighting to touch the record. Mr. Gru swept them up in his arms. "No, no touching!"

The fought themselves loose and slid down his legs, one by one, in giggling fits.

"Almost there, girls!" Nefario's croaky voice called, "hang on, all of you! That includes you, Gru."

They were silent again, the only sound that of the minions' quiet murmuring. Agnes and Edith were huddle by one another, looking out the window as Margo had instructed. None of them would even be here if she never made that call.

That stupid call.

She shut her eyes. What she had wanted so long ago, was a kind, loving mother, a father whose eyes sparkled, a set of parents that would love them forever. She wanted to spend Christmas on a warm couch, with a mom and a dad, and both her sisters. Trips to the beach. Movie nights. She wanted to go to school and be picked up on time and have dinner every night at a round table with a family and-

A father who groaned and spoke oddly and an uncle who fell asleep and cousins who looked like corn kernels and a dog that looked like it belonged in the ocean and a grandmother who laughed harshly. Listening to record players. Watching old Russian films. Running around their father's legs. Pancake tuesdays.

She forced herself to look at him. "I love you." Her throat tightened.

"What are these?" Margo asked, laying out the blueprints for some sort of airplane.

Mr. Gru's eyes widened as he reached for the plans. "Nothing!"

"I thought you said you were a dentist."

"I am!"

"These are from NASA. Do you work for NASA?"

"Eh... yes."

He snatched the plans up and hid them behind his back. Margo had a feeling he wasn't from NASA. She knew he wasn't from NASA. He probably stole them or something.

He could hear her mumbling. It was dark and he could hear their distress. Children hated the dark, didn't they?


Margo flipped through the old photo album, the embarrassing one Mr. Gru told them never to look at. She giggled as Edith pointed out another humiliating photo of their guardian. The cowlick looked absolutely dorky on the boy.

They had been labeled 1952. They kept flipping, wondering why he didn't throw the album out yet. There was a foreign note scribbled onto the side:

Son, if you dare get rid of this, I will kill you. This thing is gold- Mother.

They didn't know what it said. Fall 1950. They doubled over laughing- Mr. Gru had no idea how to pose for photos. Winter 1950. There was a faded photo of him and a girl- she was choking him with a scarf. She had freckles and light hair, from what Margo could make out. Debbie?

There was a gap after 1961. Nothing at all. 1989. The first colored photo in the album: three smiling girls.

And Margo felt her mouth curve upwards.


One shaky, cold finger touched her cheek. She froze- Mr. Gru's hand trailed away, eyes still closed.

" plach..."

She held her breath, straining to hear him. "Ne plach... horoshaya devochka."

And he was still again. Margo let out her breath, pulse quickening, and grabbed his hand. "Mr. Gru- what...?"

"Don't cry," Nefario said matter-of-factly from the front.

He turned around and met her gaze. "Margo, ne plach. It means Margo, don't cry."

The lump in her throat returned. "He said: Margo, don't cry. Good girl."

Good girl. That was it. Her vision blurred and the tears spilled out.

Thanks for reading and feel free to review!

I reckon there are 2 more chaps to go before it ends. Thanks for sticking with me and I promise a faster update next time.