The most ironic thing of all is that their father somehow ended up in Heaven. Or at least, Klaus certainly thought it was heaven. It didn't look dismal or horrific, and the man was able to tuck in and give him a shave as well as a metaphorical beating, so why not? Heaven enough, especially with God frowning at him through the eyes of a salty little girl.
He opts to omit that part, though, and instead lets out a little laugh. "Oh, right, Mr. Bull in a China shop, but by all means, whatever helps you sleep at night." Though subtlety isn't exactly what he'd use to describe Diego, the man's heart is as big as any, and he has a unique ability for pressing at just the right moment. And even though his approach is often more aggressive than others, it's that direct, pointed sort of action that can be so refreshing.
He'd needed it, in the bar, in the car ride home. Needed someone to shake him back into reality but also just listen, even if the details were all so confusing.
"Glad you could squeeze us into your schedule then. Could you squeeze another sandwich in there, too, while you're at it?" Has he finished the one he stole? Yes, and strangely he finds himself still hungry. It's the most he's eaten in days, really, and while he feels like another one could be verging on too much, he's more desperate for the interaction than he is the food.
With Allison being basically silenced, both by her injury and the turmoil of everything, with Patrick worrying over them both while still working, Klaus spends a great deal of time either tending to Allison's bedside or with Claire, leaving him to sit up, alone, at night with his thoughts, with his memories, with his fears.
A tiny part of him wants to grab Diego by the arm and beg him to stay a little longer, to let Allison sleep because she needs it, but also because he needs this. It's childish, something the vulnerable, wide eyed boy from all those years ago might have done when things got out of control in training. He doesn't have to take care of Diego in this moment, even though he should; they're all grieving right now. The relief that he can just exist for a little while, for a slice of a moment is enough to make him weep with relief. But Klaus doesn't. Instead, he smiles easily, crosses his legs at the knee and leans back on one hand on the counter, foot bobbing to the faint commercial music playing from the living room TV.
"If you're going to stop in, I might as well put you to work, right?" He chuckles, reaching to dip a finger in the soup he'd been warming. It's cooking, but slowly, and it's not quite warmed through for serving yet. "A few more minutes and you can waltz your way to Allison. Surprise the hell out of her and all."
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He opts to omit that part, though, and instead lets out a little laugh. "Oh, right, Mr. Bull in a China shop, but by all means, whatever helps you sleep at night." Though subtlety isn't exactly what he'd use to describe Diego, the man's heart is as big as any, and he has a unique ability for pressing at just the right moment. And even though his approach is often more aggressive than others, it's that direct, pointed sort of action that can be so refreshing.
He'd needed it, in the bar, in the car ride home. Needed someone to shake him back into reality but also just listen, even if the details were all so confusing.
"Glad you could squeeze us into your schedule then. Could you squeeze another sandwich in there, too, while you're at it?" Has he finished the one he stole? Yes, and strangely he finds himself still hungry. It's the most he's eaten in days, really, and while he feels like another one could be verging on too much, he's more desperate for the interaction than he is the food.
With Allison being basically silenced, both by her injury and the turmoil of everything, with Patrick worrying over them both while still working, Klaus spends a great deal of time either tending to Allison's bedside or with Claire, leaving him to sit up, alone, at night with his thoughts, with his memories, with his fears.
A tiny part of him wants to grab Diego by the arm and beg him to stay a little longer, to let Allison sleep because she needs it, but also because he needs this. It's childish, something the vulnerable, wide eyed boy from all those years ago might have done when things got out of control in training. He doesn't have to take care of Diego in this moment, even though he should; they're all grieving right now. The relief that he can just exist for a little while, for a slice of a moment is enough to make him weep with relief. But Klaus doesn't. Instead, he smiles easily, crosses his legs at the knee and leans back on one hand on the counter, foot bobbing to the faint commercial music playing from the living room TV.
"If you're going to stop in, I might as well put you to work, right?" He chuckles, reaching to dip a finger in the soup he'd been warming. It's cooking, but slowly, and it's not quite warmed through for serving yet. "A few more minutes and you can waltz your way to Allison. Surprise the hell out of her and all."