Diego sighs, but the effort is cut short considering the pain that it brings along. When he had landed in California weeks ago, he had not planned on working; he had figured he'd pack up and head out the moment that Klaus and Allison started acting and looking more like themselves. Once Allison wasn't hiding in her room all day, and once he was able to get to Klaus. Almost, in a way, as a way to ensure that they were okay before he could focus on anything else.

And he had, the last few weeks have been good. Not easy, but he hadn't expected them to be. But - as fucked up as it was - as they did better, Diego could feel that old urge creeping back in. The ones that needed to be taken care of were people that were out there, unprotected, in danger, getting robbed or beaten up, and...well. He had gotten too cocky. Too reckless. He should have probably waited to get back to New York, he knows that now, but it's as if the reckless streak that has only grown with the grief and pain of losing Patch is finally catching on. As if, now that he doesn't have anything else to really focus on, it had gotten too big for him to ignore anymore.

Part of him wants to get back out there right now. Being here, laid up, feels like a loss. It feels like a weakness - something that Reginald had drilled into them, but Diego has taken that lesson to heart even throughout the last thirteen years.

"God, you make it sound like I got maimed or something," he says in almost a grumbled sigh, but lets his arm settle back down. He wants to tell Klaus how this is nothing, how he has been hurt worse and he has the scars to prove it, but...he can't ignore the concern on his brother's face. Which he hates, because he can't ignore the twist of guilt that his gut makes, and he has to look away for a moment as he remembers someone else giving him a similar look once upon a time.

"Okay, fine. Just tonight." He stays still for a moment, and when he speaks again, his voice is a little quieter. "...thanks. For coming."