Chapter Text
What was Morgan’s favorite part of being a villain?
Minions.
Minions were awesome. Much better than sidekicks, in Morgan’s humble opinion. For one thing, their minions were in no danger of being horribly killed, like all sidekicks were. For another, they had dental. And pensions!
Morgan boasted an uncommonly high number of minions for a D Tier villain. This was, undoubtedly, because of the aforementioned pension plan. Which was great, because it meant, when Morgan was beginning to feel under the weather, they could just delegate most of the prep work for a heist to one of their minions. Sure, Morgan was really good at putting an entire scheme together, but Betty, formerly an accountant, was really good at identifying targets. Francis was informally known as the King of Misinformation and Misdirection around the lair (apartment building.) If you give Dezruar $20 and a steak dinner, they could find the schematics for just about any security system.
Which meant, most times Morgan got sick, they just took a day or two off to rest and their criminal empire — such as it was — would keep on keeping on without much need for their input. So, when Morgan went to bed one day feeling a bit run down and a bit feverish, they just told the group chat that they needed a sick day.
Morgan had forgotten that Alex had added themselves to the group chat as a joke.
“Are you okay?” Alex asked, teleporting into Morgan’s bedroom. It had been approximately three seconds after they hit send.
“I will be. I’m just going to stay in today. Sleep and drink fluids, you know?”
“Uh…” Morgan didn’t need telepathy to know that Alex didn’t know. Alex had the worst poker face. “Are you sure?”
“Yep.”
“Which hero did this to you?” Alex asked. “Do you want me to-” they paused, “take care of them?”
Ah, right. That. Morgan took a deep breath. “No heroes are involved here. It’s just a cold.”
“A what?”
“It’s a virus that people without healing abilities get all the time,” said Morgan. “Remember how we talked about your experiences and how they’re not universal.”
Alex blinked, slowly. “Right.” They blinked again. “Right… Do you need me to do anything?”
Morgan shook their head. “No, there’s no one to maim and/or murder here. I’ve had a lot of colds before. I’ll be fine.”
“If you’re sure,” Alex said slowly, pointing toward the door. Morgan gave a thumbs up and watched as Alex left, using the door this time.
They regretted, hours later, kneeling on the bathroom floor and vomiting their guts up, that Alex’s definition of “help” meant killing people and not, like, holding their hair or rubbing their back or something.
As much as Morgan loved having minions, they couldn't ask for help with this. This was... not in any of the employment contracts Morgan had written. And Alex wasn't even really one of their minions, despite the jokes they would make sometimes. This wasn't their problem. This wasn't anyone's problem, except Morgan's, and Morgan could deal with it.
Then they refocused on making sure all the vomit got into the toilet and not on the floor. It would suck to have the clean that up later.