v. | favor
KNOX MORRIS HAD no clue why she was still at the Academy. Her feet hurt from standing in her stupid heels, her head hurt from trying to keep calm, and her knuckles hurt from holding the black umbrella over her head too tightly.
Outside in the courtyard, placed under the oak tree, stood the residents and employees of the Umbrella Academy. Above, the sky had turned a dark gray, and rain poured down from the heavens, coating everything it touched in a dreary, depressed glaze. Per Allison's request, Knox had stayed behind, agreeing to join the memorial as long as she could go home right after. The day had drifted far too long, and she'd decided that going over the will would have to wait for a later day.
Knox's eyes were trained on a statue of Ben Hargreeves, the other son of the Umbrella Academy. He'd died many years ago, but even though she knew that, Knox kept a close eye on the memorial statue, waiting for it to manifest like Number Five had.
Around her, the Hargreeves children and employees stood still, solemn.
"Did something happen?" Grace asked to Knox's left, red lips perked into a smile around her white teeth. She was dressed in one of her housewife outfits, hiding under an umbrella to protect her perfectly placed blond hair.
Allison answered with furrowed brows, eyes flickering to the android with confusion. "Dad died, remember?" When Grace said nothing, Allison glanced over to Diego, who stood to Knox's immediate left. "Is Mom okay?" She asked quietly.
Diego, one of the only people in the courtyard without an umbrella to protect from the rain, nodded his head. "Yeah, she's fine. Just needs to rest. You know, recharge."
Luther stood at the front of the group, urn in hand with a solemn look on his face. He'd been appointed as the one who would run the service, and he stood with a straight face as that overcoat of his became soaked in the rain. Knox stared at her feet as the memorial started, making sure the sharp heel of her shoes didn't sink too far into the mud forming around her.
The ashes of Sir Reginald Hargreeves hit the ground with no sound. No flash of light, no anguished crying. All he got were the stares of nine individuals who he'd never really cared for, no matter how much those individuals had cared for him. For a moment, the courtyard was quiet.
To fill this silence, Pogo took a turn speaking, forever indebting himself to a man who never loved anyone but himself. Knox's face grew hot as the creation spoke, as she had started to really understand how shitty of a father Sir Reginald Hargreeves had been. He didn't care about his children, his creations. Knox was positive he'd never cared about her.
It made her feel sick, knowing everyone was going through the motions of mourning without any sadness. For a second, Knox thought about her own father's funeral. Nearly five years ago, all the way back in Australia. It had been a different affair, with sobbing, speeches, and two years of a deep, deep depression that had nearly killed Knox herself.
The Umbrella Academy was different, though. Always different.
Before Pogo's speech ended, he was interrupted by an angry Diego. Knox's eyes flicked to her left, where the man - still dressed in all black but now soaked through with rain water - was furrowing his eyebrows and staring at the ground with pursed, angry lips.
"He was a monster," he spat out. Klaus, standing near the end of the line of 'mourners', still puffing on a cigarette, laughed with surprise. Diego didn't stop, though. "He was a bad person and the worst father. The world's better off without him."
"Diego," Allison attempted to cut in.
He didn't skip a beat. "My name is Number Two. You know why? Because our father couldn't be bothered to give us actual names. He had Mom do it."
Grace, whose eyes were strayed off into the distance somewhere, asked, "Would anyone like something to eat?"
"Look," Diego continued, "You want to pay your respects? Go ahead. But at least be honest about the kind of man he was." As he spoke, he broke away from the group, turning to face everyone and keeping his back to Luther, whose eyes had gone a dangerous shade of annoyance.
"You should stop talking now," the behemoth said softly.
Diego looked at his brother, then gathered words to throw back. "You know, you of all people should be on my side here, Number One. After everything he did to you? He had to ship you a million miles away. That's how much he couldn't stand the sight of you!"
To be fair, anyone could see the punch coming from a mile away. It was almost too obvious, like the whole thing was staged. Still, when Luther snapped and swung forward with a punch probably able to kill a man, Knox gasped. Everyone did. And then, like an audience for a play, they stepped back, allowing the fight to commence.
Like children, the two wrestled with each other, grappling like idiots. Knox rolled her eyes, because both men could handle themselves in a fight. She knew no one would get seriously hurt, but if they did, Grace would handle the clean up. Without saying a word, she slipped away, ignoring Allison when she tried to grab her.
She was going home.
-
Even though she'd ignored the glass of whiskey Klaus had handed her earlier in the day, Knox Morris was usually never one to turn down alcohol. After working at the Academy for so long, she'd learned that at times, the best way to relax involved a hot bath, a good book, and a bottle or two of expensive red wine.
That's why that night, hours after the sun dipped below the horizon, she found herself slowly dipping into a scorching hot bath. Bubbles had formed in the water, adding a scent of roses and cinnamon to the air. And Knox leaned into the smell with a sigh, sipping on her third glass of wine while closing her eyes. She wanted to forget about the day, and if the wine didn't do it, she was sure she could find something stronger to help.
Faintly, she listened to the sound of music emitting from her bedroom down the hallway, where she'd put on a record that swelled and swerved with key changes and a movable, dance-worthy tempo. Classical music had never been her thing, so she hummed along to the lyrics for the song, recognizing it as a piece her mother had played on guitar many years ago.
"You're so vain,
You probably thing song is about you,"
She sang the lyrics, bopping her toes to the beat. Water swished around her, and she smiled slyly, letting the words build in her mouth until she let them out. The wine continued to be sipped, and eventually the bath ran cold.
When all of the bubbles had popped, and the water drained, Knox stood and dried off, before wandering into the bedroom of her apartment. On her bed, spread around where she'd dumped them, were the files that included the will and testament of Sir Hargreeves. Without too much care, Knox threw the files to the floor, then shuffled them under the bed with her feet.
Still naked, she moved around the room, dancing to the music as it continued. The tempos picked up and as Knox moved onto her sixth glass of wine, she raised her arms over her head. Dancing had always been able to alleviate stress, but this night, it felt different.
She moved and swayed and laughed out loud, throwing her head back and letting the music move her however it felt like. The best part about living alone was this. The running around with no care in the world.
Everything was good - great actually.
Until it went to shit.
Late that night - later than Knox would ever stay up willingly - the telephone rang. Knox was on the couch in her living room, wrapped in a fluffy robe, but still with unbrushed hair and a half empty glass of wine in her hand. Open in her lap, she had a copy of a frayed paperback book. With half of her attention still on the page, she mindlessly picked up the call.
"Hello?" She drawled casually.
What came back got her immediate attention. "Miss Morris." It was Pogo. "I hate to call you so late."
The warm buzz of alcohol running through Knox's system dulled slightly, put off by the unexpected voice. "Uh," she scrambled, closing the book and sitting up straighter in her seat, "No, it's fine. I was just finishing some ... work."
"I see," Pogo answered thoughtfully. It wouldn't have taken an idiot to hear the slur of wine on her tongue, but Pogo had known Knox for years now. He decided to bypass that conversation. "I was hoping I could ask you a favor, if you're not too busy."
Like the busy little personal assistant she was, Knox nodded. "Of course," she said, momentarily forgetting that she didn't really have any obligation to Pogo. She could do whatever she wanted, and there would be no dock in pay or fees. Still, she understood that Pogo wouldn't have called her so late if it wasn't an emergency.
"It seems that our young Diego has gotten himself into a lick of trouble," Pogo said smoothly. "He's being held at the county police station, under suspicion of obstruction of justice." He sighed heavily. "I was hoping you could help me corral him."
"You want me to bust Diego out of jail?" Knox asked, rather deadpan. Her thoughts trailed to the man she'd met earlier in the day - the throwing knives, angry disposition. "I'm pretty sure he can do that all on his own."
"Not without breaking any more laws," Pogo explained. "The station called and told us to have a lawyer ready, but I doubt the Umbrella Academy needs any more press after this week."
Catching on to what her favor would be, Knox sighed. "You want me to be the family's lawyer, don't you?" It wasn't really a question. She knew it wasn't possible for anyone else to do it. Grace had never left the Academy, and Pogo was a literal chimp. Knox Morris was the only person able to get Diego Hargreeves out of trouble. She sighed. "I can be there in the morning."
"Thank you, Miss Morris."