Klaus's head doesn't say on Diego's shoulder for long, just enough to urge the man into talking before he sits back up, sipping at his coffee. It's deliciously warm and staves off the chill of the infirmary.

"You're too good for the police," he muses quietly, thoughtful. He can gather what happened, to some extent, but Diego doesn't offer and Klaus doesn't press. He nudges him with an elbow. "I can't fathom you in a uniform every day that isn't all masks and knives and spandex."

But to think of Diego, hitting the streets, helping solve problems, working alongside detectives and policemen? It's nice. Sure, he heard about Diego, ran into him a handful of times in that first handful of years on his own, but he never saw the bigger picture. "Good thing they have you. New York. She seemed like a nice lady. I see why you liked her."

Even in the short exchange he could see how dedicated the woman was to her work, how quickly she thought on her toes, how somehow, she had found him before his siblings. If only she'd known there were two of them, if only he'd been able to stomach the words and warn her, as beaten and fatigued as he'd been.

"I'm sorry you lost her," he says quietly, sobering, a hand dropping to give the man's knee a squeeze. "Sorry I couldn't help more. That I didn't." He huffs softly, shaking his head at the memory, closing his eyes against it for a moment longer. Somewhere across the room there's the echo of Ben's voice it's not your fault, Klaus, but for the first time in years, he ignores it.

"She saved my life, you know."