But that's exactly what this is for them, isn't it? A goodbye to something just in case, the last glimpse of everything they left behind because in a few hours it might not exist anymore. And it's their fault. All of it.
Klaus slides into the phonebooth beside her and slides the door shut, even if the close quarters and stuff box make him want to scream. They remind him too much of the mausoleum, remind him of tight, cramped spaces and loud, ghostly voices. His father tried so many different places, so many different gravesites, but nothing ever got to him quite so much as the perfect darkness, the way it surrounded him. Even if he'd been in a mausoleum as large as a stadium, the infinite darkness would choke the air right out of his chest.
But this? This is for Allison. Sure, he wants to hear Claire's voice, wants to make some silly joke to Patrick and hear him laugh, wants to pretend for a moment they're back in the apartment, snuggled up with a movie of Claire's choosing.
He dials each number after dropping money into the slot. He's grateful he has them; he knows Patrick would be worried if he called collect. Sucking in a deep breath he gives her a soft nod. "Got it. What bedtime story should I tell?"
And he knows that if Claire asks, he'll tell her about the time they saved the whole world, even if it's all made up. Even if she giggles and reminds him that that isn't one of the stories. But he readies himself for Patrick first, tries to pain a thin layer over his voice, because he knows this phone call will set off warning bells. He reaches for Allison's shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze before he tugs her a tiny bit closer, moving so that the phone sits between them.
The sound of a tiny voice on the other end of the phone practically knocks the wind out of his chest. He might be making up the sound of the TV in the background, or the way Patrick laughs through a sigh at his daughter's free spirit. Painting the picture for himself hurts.
"Ah, yes, I am calling for a miss Claire, also known as Clairebear the Magestic, Queen Claire of all the Lairs. Her esteemed uncle and mighty mother would like to call and remind her that little girls should be in bed, not answering phones at this time of night."
Klaus's voice is nothing but musical lilts and laughter, a mask he wears for the sweet little girl so easily. Allison had dragged him away from a bad life, but Claire had absolutely saved him, after all.
"Your mommy and I miss you, so we thought we'd see what trouble you've been getting into. What? Oh." He shifts a look when the inevitable why can't I hear mommy echoes through the static. "Well, your mommy is here with me but she's a little under the weather. Remember that time you got a super scratchy throat and you sounded like a whispering frog? Well hers is worse. So much worse you'd need a dog's hearing to hear what she's saying. But lucky for you, my ears are better than a dog's."
He eels like he's falling down a hill, tripping over his feet and stumbling into the asphalt, only to get up and do the same thing again, as he lets the words fall from his lips. Klaus glances to Allison's notebook then back up to her face, and he hopes she doesn't see the hurt behind his eyes.
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But that's exactly what this is for them, isn't it? A goodbye to something just in case, the last glimpse of everything they left behind because in a few hours it might not exist anymore. And it's their fault. All of it.
Klaus slides into the phonebooth beside her and slides the door shut, even if the close quarters and stuff box make him want to scream. They remind him too much of the mausoleum, remind him of tight, cramped spaces and loud, ghostly voices. His father tried so many different places, so many different gravesites, but nothing ever got to him quite so much as the perfect darkness, the way it surrounded him. Even if he'd been in a mausoleum as large as a stadium, the infinite darkness would choke the air right out of his chest.
But this? This is for Allison. Sure, he wants to hear Claire's voice, wants to make some silly joke to Patrick and hear him laugh, wants to pretend for a moment they're back in the apartment, snuggled up with a movie of Claire's choosing.
He dials each number after dropping money into the slot. He's grateful he has them; he knows Patrick would be worried if he called collect. Sucking in a deep breath he gives her a soft nod. "Got it. What bedtime story should I tell?"
And he knows that if Claire asks, he'll tell her about the time they saved the whole world, even if it's all made up. Even if she giggles and reminds him that that isn't one of the stories. But he readies himself for Patrick first, tries to pain a thin layer over his voice, because he knows this phone call will set off warning bells. He reaches for Allison's shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze before he tugs her a tiny bit closer, moving so that the phone sits between them.
The sound of a tiny voice on the other end of the phone practically knocks the wind out of his chest. He might be making up the sound of the TV in the background, or the way Patrick laughs through a sigh at his daughter's free spirit. Painting the picture for himself hurts.
"Ah, yes, I am calling for a miss Claire, also known as Clairebear the Magestic, Queen Claire of all the Lairs. Her esteemed uncle and mighty mother would like to call and remind her that little girls should be in bed, not answering phones at this time of night."
Klaus's voice is nothing but musical lilts and laughter, a mask he wears for the sweet little girl so easily. Allison had dragged him away from a bad life, but Claire had absolutely saved him, after all.
"Your mommy and I miss you, so we thought we'd see what trouble you've been getting into. What? Oh." He shifts a look when the inevitable why can't I hear mommy echoes through the static. "Well, your mommy is here with me but she's a little under the weather. Remember that time you got a super scratchy throat and you sounded like a whispering frog? Well hers is worse. So much worse you'd need a dog's hearing to hear what she's saying. But lucky for you, my ears are better than a dog's."
He eels like he's falling down a hill, tripping over his feet and stumbling into the asphalt, only to get up and do the same thing again, as he lets the words fall from his lips. Klaus glances to Allison's notebook then back up to her face, and he hopes she doesn't see the hurt behind his eyes.