Chronological markers: this scene fits in as a deleted scene from The Umbrella Academy, season 3, episode 3, around 14:00 (following the previous chapter, at the very end of the evening).

Suggested soundtrack: Sid Phillips - Sugar Beat ; Die Toten Hosen – Hier kommt Alex. TW: funny sexual innuendo.

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April 4 2019, 01:15 am

"That cube".

Above his half-drunk Irish coffee, Klaus stares at me, utterly baffled. Even more so than when he found out Granny was part of high society and was the costume designer for every musical and drag show on Crescent Avenue.

"That sassy Sparrow-box that looks like a Time Lord hypercube... that's you?"

Maybe it's because of his annoyingly spot-on Doctor Who reference, or maybe just for the sheer irony of it all, but he starts laughing—nervously and uncontrollably. Meanwhile, I'm over here, full-on grumbling like a malfunctioning Dalek.

"Not me. The person I could've become if I'd been raised by your damn monocled father."
He practically folds over the counter, laughing so hard he almost spills his drink and mine.
"Rin-rin, that thing looks like your granny's soul crammed into a sardine can…"
"You're being rude."
"No way! I can't take it. It's just too perfect."

He keeps laughing, almost to the point of crying. I have no idea why I'm so annoyed when I should just be laughing along. But somehow, it feels like he's roasting me by roasting Christopher, and that just cranks up my annoyance meter to max.

"Okay, okay, that's enough. I didn't burst out laughing when I found out you were Amish."
He takes a dramatic breath and jabs a finger at me.
"Watch it, Rin. Watch it. Five made it very clear and formally warned me: under no circumstances are you allowed to sleep with your Doppelgänger. Seriously, it's a cosmic no-go! Too bad."

His laughter bursts out again, and he clutches his sides, prompting me to give his ribs a little reflexive elbow. He gasps for air, then finally settles down a bit, wiping the corners of his eyes before tossing his purple swim cap onto the bar.

"Phew... I don't think I've laughed like that since 1961."
"Grrmmm."
"Do you fart when he's around?"
I shake my head as he chuckles again.
"I don't know. Not more than usual. The first time, I didn't stick around long, and earlier today, he was holed up in some kind of basement bunker that filtered most of his energy."
"The basement bunker…"

I can see that mentioning the bunker kills his laughter, even giving him a slightly pained expression. I know Viktor was locked up in that basement. Number Seven too. I thought about it myself on the bus a little earlier. I nod to let him know I get it, letting out a sigh of helplessness.

"This time, it felt more like a recharge station or a resting pod. With... all this complicated technology to keep his energy contained in there. Your father called it... 'Kryptonium'. Or maybe 'Psykronium'?"

Klaus nods, finally back to a bit more seriousness, even though his lashes are still a bit damp. He gives a thoughtful nod.

"It's a bit like the situation that led Luther to use detangling shampoo on his chest, in the end. He... he saved you guys from a pretty desperate situation."
I can only nod because he's right.
"Yeah. And I can guess it wasn't out of altruism or fatherly love."

Klaus takes another sip of his Irish Coffee, and I order another ristretto. I think the bartender is really hoping we'll wrap this up so he can finally call it a day.

"He doesn't teleport, does he?"
I shrug slightly.
"He might have been able to in the past: who knows? He could definitely become intangible, though. It seems like now... he's all about manipulating energy, diving into machines and people's nervous systems."
Klaus tilts his head, clearly intrigued.
"He can make people feel cold, scared, and in pain: I was there. And he zapped Diego a bunch of times, right in the butt! That's pure genius. Could you do that too?"
"Of course not!"
"Damn, you're such a killjoy".

The truth is, maybe I could. I don't really know. And more importantly, that's not the path I've chosen to explore: nothing that could cause pain or hurt anyone. One day, Five told me that the nature of our powers mattered less than what we chose to do with them. My second coffee arrives, and I drown my thoughtful gaze in it, while Klaus rises and looks down at me kindly from his height.

"Rinny, they say laughing adds years to your life, and I think you just gave me fifteen more."

I grumble a bit, unconvincingly, as he puts his swim cap back on and his smile fades slightly. I can tell he's just returned to the reality of his day and remembered his disappointment way out in Pennsylvania. The absurd absence of a mother he doesn't even know and his desire to find someone to blame weigh on him. He takes a deep breath.

"I'm off to take this wetsuit off, slap on a jojoba oil mask to prepare for the skin assault from the steam in the Academy's pipes tomorrow... and then crash like a puppy in its cozy bed."

He gives my shoulder a gentle pat, and I stiffen a bit. But I smile faintly.

"Call me if anything goes wrong", I tell him. The hardware store's number hasn't changed in the directory. It's still the only one on 125th Street."
"Same goes for you. Call the front desk and leave Chet a message: I'll get it when I return".

I agree vaguely. The only thing I'm likely to mess up is confusing the size of screws and bolts. Or - ironically - vanishing into one of those terrible waves of energy, in which case I wouldn't be able to call anyone at all. My eyes sweep over the empty lobster tank. The news and TV have started looping nonstop about it now. But here, in the jazz and the dim light of the late-night hours, you could almost mistakenly believe that nothing could possibly happen.

"Try to get some sleep, Rin…"

I give him a little wave with a tired smile as he turns on his heel, carrying his long neoprene-clad silhouette across the lobby. The bartender immediately swoops in to clear his glass. As Klaus disappears into the elevator, I glance back at my cup. It felt good to unload about Granny, Christopher, and even have him laugh about it. Even if I did elbow him. Hearing Klaus laugh is always both natural and a kind of miracle. Honestly, I think I needed him to lighten the mood.

For a few moments, I sit there, brain completely blank, just letting Sid Phillips's trumpet drift through the bar's stereo, even at this late hour. I close my eyes. I'm exhausted, but my body can only manage to doze lightly. The late coffee isn't to blame: that stuff stopped working on me ages ago. I push my cup aside and rest my forehead on my crossed arms. Just for a little while longer.

Until I hear the stool next to mine creak slightly.

"So, you're not made of bloody ectoplasm anymore?"

My eyes widen against the tattoo on my forearm, and I quickly lift my head. A streak of blonde on cinnamon-colored skin, a slightly busted lower lip - probably courtesy of a punch or two - and eyeshadow that gives her a look somewhere between sarcastic and oddly adorable. The woman I know as Lila is chewing gum, perched on her stool with one leg tucked under her and the other dangling in the air. She's rocking chunky lace-up boots, the same kind I like to wear. I just stare back at her, taking it all in.

"And you? Not trying to kill us this time?"
She flashes a mischievous grin, all teeth.
"Oh, it's still very tempting, but I've got my reasons for giving you a temporary stay of execution, love."

Damn, that British accent. If it didn't sound like Hargreeves's, I might even find it kinda hot. I stay slouched, just turning my head enough to talk to her.

"'A temporary stay of execution', you mean that-"
*Crack!*

I don't even have time to finish my sentence: she's already teleported from the stool on my left to the one on my right. I jerk upright, whipping my head around in her new direction.

"That must piss Five off so much, not being original", she says, turning intangible and phasing right through me, only to return to her original stool. She perches there with a laugh before vanishing into thin air. I sigh, resting my head back on my arms, thinking she'll stop once she's done with her little experiments.

And she reappears on the stool, now hugging the giant jar of peanuts from behind the counter: the one customers definitely aren't allowed to touch. She's got that same chaotic boldness I used to have, except unlike me, she clearly hasn't mellowed out. And I just stare at her, not sure whether to be annoyed or impressed.

"Your power is wild", I tell her. "You're like a copycat."
"Meow", she replies with a smirk.

Her response cracks me up, especially with that little clawing gesture she throws in. I have to admit, I'm intrigued.

"You have to be around someone with powers to use yours... How did you figure that out?"
She shrugs, flicking her chewing gum into the ashtray like it's no big deal.
"I didn't have a clue. But the moment I got near you lot, it just happened, like the most obvious thing in the world. A bit like having sex for the first time: awkward, not exactly flawless, but somehow you muddle through and figure it out."

I tilt my head, because her comparison isn't as dumb as it sounds. But I ask her:

"This reason you're here... It's about Stan and Diego, isn't it?"
She lifts a shoulder, swinging her leg in the air.
"Among other things."
She pops open the peanut jar and grabs a big handful.
"Family's a right load of rubbish. But for now, I'm stuck here with a knackered briefcase and a kid to look after, so might as well cohabit."

I look her up and down. There's something different about the energy I'm picking up from her. I can sense her Marigolds clearly, just like I feel mine. But there's more. She's carrying another energy, separate from her own, nestled deep in her abdomen.

"A kid to look after", I repeat, trying to keep the suspicion from creeping into my voice, stopping myself from suggesting Stan might have backup on the way. I quickly snap my gaze away from lingering below her belly button and rub a hand over my eyes.

Even though I wasn't in the best shape, I still clearly remember that moment — in the Cooper's Texas barn, in 1963 — when Diego told her they could be a family. I don't think I realized back then just how much weight that statement might eventually carry. And honestly, I feel a bit sorry for her. I've spent my entire life dodging the Hargreeves family drama like it's a contagious disease. Still convinced it's the world's worst nest of problems. But judging by the mischievous look in her eyes, I can tell she's gearing up to ask me some seriously uncomfortable questions. Typical nosy smartass troublemaker.

"You're not one of that lot, are you? The Hargreeves bunch."

I exhale, my finger tracing the perfect pattern on my art-deco coffee cup. Honestly, I'm not sure what the answer to that question is anymore, considering I somehow have a place in Reginald Hargreeves's grand schemes, probably just like her. The fact that I'm part of some weird 'control group' of kids raised outside his direct grip only makes me feel more like one of his playthings. And tonight, I really don't feel like burdening Lila with the idea that she might be in the same boat.

"No", I say, because for a long time, that's exactly what I would have answered. "I was raised alone, just me, my mom, and my grandma."

That's still true: no one can take that from me. I see a shadow cross her face when I mention the idea of a mother. I know what was done to her. How her parents were deliberately murdered by the Commission, and how she was raised within it by the Handler. I wonder if this was all part of Hargreeves's plan. And, just like when I found out about his failure with Christopher, I can't help but question whether the old man with the Monocle is really as infallible as he seems. The thought alone could make me die of satisfaction. But this isn't the time or place to bring it up, and she asks me:

"How long have you been putting up with those lunatics?", she asks.
I chuckle softly.
"Depends. Klaus… across all years and timelines… about thirteen years or so. The others? Honestly… just a few months, all things considered."

Shit, it feels good to finally say those words to someone who actually gets it. Lila shoves another handful of peanuts into her mouth, gazing at me in an almost sympathetic way.

"I don't really know him, but does Klaus always have that look? You know, like a soggy kitten who just got dumped in a rainstorm?"
I raise an eyebrow, keeping a straight face.
"He's got his own burdens. Same dad, but not the same life as Diego. And I'm pretty sure you know what his power is, considering you copied it right in front of the barn."

I know this because otherwise she wouldn't have seen me: I was pure spectral energy at that moment. And she doesn't deny it.

"His power is total trash. I'd rather choke on this peanut than deal with his ghosts again, even for a minute."
I stare at her. It's the first time someone's actually experienced what Klaus goes through from the inside, and it throws me off.
"You felt them…"
She nods, looking more annoyed than sorry, and gives a shrug.
"Yeah, there were like a dozen of them, hovering around me, all desperate to suck my face just so I'd listen to them. I cut it off real quick. I mean, what was I supposed to do, start a ghost support group?"

I blink.

"You could've materialized them. Used them to levitate. Maybe helped them move on to the afterlife. Or rallied them to your cause and made them fight. Maybe even brought them back to life, who knows? That's what some of them want, anyway."

She stares at me.

"He can do all that?" she asks.
I shake my head.
"Klaus… he's way too freaked out by his own power to even try."
She hands me the jar of peanuts with a smirk.
"Yeah, I get it: poor guy pulled the short straw. You seem to know him inside out. By the way, do you guys - like - take turns, or are you always the one doing the heavy lifting?"

I nearly choke, completely caught off guard. No one - at any point, not even Allison - has ever asked me that so bluntly. But Lila's got this zero-filter nothing-to-lose confidence, so she can just toss that out over a bowl of peanuts like she's asking for the time. And I wonder how much time she spent exactly watching us.

"Does any answer make a difference to you?" I ask.
She chuckles, like she's pieced together what she needed. It annoys me because she has no idea what she's talking about.
"Alright, alright. I'm just trying to figure out how things work between you all. You never know, I might've had a shot."
I smirk.
"With Klaus?"
"Or with you."

We burst out laughing, because I know she's joking. Or maybe not entirely. Lila is like a walking embodiment of chaos, with this badass, bisexual vibe that could make anyone's head spin. I know she cares about Diego, and not just because of the embryo I can sense she's carrying: I can feel that in her energy, too. But I'm absolutely certain she's dangerous when it comes to relationships. Probably because the woman who pretended to be her 'mother' for years did a real number on her. Still, I tell her:

"I like your look. Reminds me of the drummer from a band I used to listen to when I was a teen".
She shifts into a cross-legged position on her stool, like a parrot perched on a swing.
"Oh yeah? Do enlighten me."
I nod.
"The Puppen Toten. No one knows them, they're German. The band broke up ages ago."
She laughs, tossing a peanut in the air that misses her mouth and rolls onto the carpet.
"Your music taste is as cool as your haircut. If I had a working briefcase and we weren't on the edge of another apocalypse, I'd take you to our next show, back in 1989."
I blink three times.
"You've got to be kidding."

She beams, clearly pleased with herself for getting a reaction. I could question if she's messing with me, trying to twist the truth for a smug little power play. But nope. I can feel in the energy that she's not bluffing, and the 17-year-old fangirl inside me almost chokes on the last sip of coffee. The drummer from Puppen Toten...

"Holy shit. Red-shoe-Banshee, that's you."
She gives a little bow, still perched in front of me. I nearly stumble over my words.
"I loved 'Rebellion im Schatten'. And 'Furchtlose Nacht'. Those tracks were amazing."
"I didn't write any of the songs. I just filled in on drums, mostly to blow off some steam. But if you liked it, cool. I think I've still got a band badge in my skirt pocket somewhere: it's yours".

We sit there, staring at each other in silence for a moment. And then it hits us: something that neither of us has experienced often. We could probably be friends, maybe even more than that. I can feel her probing my energy the same way I'm probing hers, in a way that would feel intrusive with anyone else. But I can't stop her from doing it. She can tap into my power without me putting up any defenses, and it's both unsettling and incredible at the same time. It's nothing like what I felt with Christopher, who, in some strange way, is me.

I probe her back, almost insolently, as insolent as she is while boldly plucking the strings of my power and my being. Deep down, I can sense a desire in her - a fear too - of settling down, not unlike the feeling I had when I shaved off my crest, and tried to work a normal life at twenty. In return, she can feel the nostalgia in me for the time when I, like her, let my rebellious, punk impulses take the lead. Without another word, beyond the silent hum of our Marigolds resonating through the power she 'borrows' from me, we both silently agree that we'll never cross a line with each other. Our loyalties lie elsewhere.

"Stop doing that", I say out loud, and she laughs again, flashing those too-white teeth.
"And you, stop sneaking into the coffee machine to blast steam in my face if I don't back off."

We laugh again as she releases me, leaving me alone in my power, and she nudges the empty peanut jar off the bar, sending it tumbling to the other side. The bartender left a while ago, and he's definitely not going to be happy when he finds that tomorrow. But Lila yawns, shifting to rest her head on her arms, and I follow suit.

"You don't have a room either?" she asks, and I purse my lips.
"I do... more or less. I just don't feel like going back there tonight."

I'm not about to tell her about the White Buffalo, or the symbol on my arm. I get that she doesn't have a room at all, and she's definitely not about to squeeze into the stinky dorm Diego shares with Klaus, Luther, and Five. On that point too, we're riding the same wave.

"I can sing you a lullaby right here, if you want", she says.

I smile as sleep might finally catch up with me. I respond with a weary grin.

"Okay. But only if it's a metal ballad. In German."

-

Notes:

I suspected that Lila would be a chaotic character to write, but I didn't realize just how much. Maybe it's because of the chemistry she shares with Rin that this chapter flowed so easily.

I enjoyed delving into the experience of having Rin's power "borrowed" by her, and the unsettling silent dialogue that unfolds with Rin. It was a fascinating challenge to write.

Do you remember that in the morning, Klaus, in his diving suit, tells Chet to take any calls for him? Well, now you know why. And for the first time since the beginning of this story... I really struggled to stop his laughter...

Any comment will make my day!