The payphone booth smells like piss and old beer, stale cigarette smoke and sweat, probably leftover from the old man who sleeps in here under the buzzing fluorescent light at night. Klaus's right hand sits on the receiver, the other clutches the handful of coins he has left to his name.
How long he's stood here like this is up for debate as every time he blinks, he can see nothing but the locked doors of the Academy and a duffle bag left on the stoop. His palms burn from how long he beat on the wood, his throat sore for how long he screamed until someone answered. Sure, he hadn't been there in a few days, and the last time he had been, he'd passed out in the sitting room, only to be woken by his father, furious.
You are nothing but an utter waste of space and energy Number Four. Such a disappointment.
But he'd heard that spiel his whole life, hadn't he? So it's not his father's words that stick with him but the cold, unfeeling way Luther stared at him when he answered the door. Klaus knew the moment he saw him, how straight he'd been standing, how he seemed to look past him, not at him, that whatever his brother was sent to say, it wouldn't be good.
If you don't stop, we're calling the police. Leave, Klaus.
Klaus spent the first night asleep on their stoop, where he dreamed Pogo came and tucked some containers of food in his duffle bag while he slept. The second night he curled up on the fire escape after a police officer told him to move along. And now, in the middle of the night, he sits crowded into a phone booth with nothing but the handful of coins and his bag at his feet.
It's cold outside, though, and the booth provides some relief from the wind at least. It cuts him open, leaves wounds raw and stinging, because he doesn't know what to do. Doesn't know where he can go when he has no one. Diego, perhaps? No, he doesn't even know how to find him. Vanya's around, but she probably hates his guts anyway, so there's no point. Allison's gone, and Klaus is sure he just saw her face on the front page of People magazine.
He has a coat, some socks, a pair of jeans and some shirts in his bag. A pack of stale cigarettes, a flash full of shitty vodka, a small bag of pills that's dwindling quickly, and the half a sandwich he has left from Pogo. Not much he can do with any of it. Not even enough to clean his existence off the face of the planet. Even Ben stays distant these days, or maybe that's the drugs shooing him out of his purview for now.
With a deep breath he drops the coins into the little slot and from his pocket he draws an old, beaten up postcard, folded into eighths, Allison's handwriting scrawled upon it, a phone number at the bottom.
What will he say? What can he do? She'll worry, if she knows what happened. But she promised to come back, didn't she? They promised. Both of them. When the operator connects him he waits for the ringing. The postcard is old now, does she even have the same number? But the line clicks and Klaus takes a deep breath, not even waiting to hear the person answer. He can't stand to know he's wrong out the gate.
"Ah, yes, I'm looking for the ever highly esteemed Allison Hargreeves? In the new blockbuster, the feature film on all those billboards and oh, her interview in People. If you haven't read it, you must," he breathes, his voice hoarse in a way that makes it feel like it belongs to someone else. "You know the one. Is she in?"
Life has been a whirlwind for Allison ever since her arrival in Los Angeles. She had quickly found out that venturing out into the real world with hardly any real life experience (or even exposure to life) hadn’t really been smart - especially at her age, and especially on her own - but her ability has come in handy on a few occasions. Finding shelter, getting a job, getting back to people that have gotten too handsy or want to exploit her. It hasn’t been easy, and there have been more than a few occasions when she has wanted nothing more than to pack her bags and go back to the safety of home, but at the end of the day she never had. She knows Klaus and Luther would welcome her back with open arms (or she hopes so, anyway), but their father? She’d be lucky if he let her back in, let alone let her stay, so in the end she had stuck it out.
And, lately, it was finally paying off. She had managed to get the right connection one night while working at the piano bar she worked at, and had landed a relatively big spot in a musical. After that, everything has been snowballing since. She’ll never admit which things since that night required some minor ‘adjustments’ in terms of her guiding events to happen in her favor, but she was finally making a name for herself. Not for the Academy, although a lot of people still seemed to remember that, but for herself. For her acting, for her singing, for what she could bring to the table.
As it is, tonight she’s going over her lines for a new movie she’s in. Her new apartment isn’t too big, but it’s nice and it gives her a beautiful view of Los Angeles. It’s the first thing she had spent money on after the check cleared when she signed on to the movie - get a new place, in a decent neighborhood, and with a killer view. It’s too much for someone her age, but she had been adamant about those requirements. Especially the view. There are days when she still misses New York, when the smog and the sunshine of the City of Angels is almost obnoxious, but the view of the skyline helps. She knows deep down, though, that she doesn’t miss the city itself. Allison isn’t that sentimental. She misses the good parts of her life she left behind. She misses Klaus, and being able to share her ascend to stardom with him how she had hoped she would. The view of the city is just a reminder of what she’s here to do.
When the call comes in, Allison’s brow furrows. It’s too late for it to be her agent, but she picks up nonetheless. When the operator tells her where the call is from, she’s quick to accept the call as she sinks onto one of the stools in her kitchen. Even from where she is, she can see the skyline of the city, the twinkling of lights that keep her company at night.
At the sound of Klaus’s voice, she smiles at once, nothing but relief and happiness at hearing her brother on the other line.
“She most definitely is. To what do I owe such a pleasant surprise?” It’s so good to hear his voice, and Klaus will be able to tell as much through the phone. Allison writes to him, and she doesn’t doubt that Reginald is aware of it, but it hasn’t stopped her from doing it regularly. It mainly consists of filling him in on her good finds of the West Coast, as if trying to convince him in some way of joining her. Is today finally that day?
The hoarseness in his voice registers, though, and she frowns slightly again, concerned. It’s the middle of the night back home, after all, and while she knows his sleeping schedule isn’t the best...this isn’t exactly something he has done before. “Are you okay, Klaus?”
Hearing Allison's voice almost brings tears to his eyes, because she sounds warm, she sounds happy, and for a second Klaus can close his eyes and pretend that, for a brief moment in time, everything is just fine. That this phone call is just routine, like the way they used to sit, shoulder to shoulder on her bed, whispering and gossiping.
"Oh, I couldn't let another day go by without reminding you of my absolute greatness. Without it in your life, you might shrivel up and wither away. We can't have that, Miss Movie Star. Wrinkles would be a very bad look on you."
It takes everything in him to calm the edgy, biting panic that seems to flip and roil at the sound of her voice. Allison has always been a symbol of safety for Klaus, has always been something steady and trustworthy and safe, and it's no different now. Now as he shivers in the phone booth, his voice tired from screaming, his body sore from sleeping rough, his head aching from the lack of food, of water, and too many drugs.
"Little old me?" Klaus laughs easily. "I'm better than okay, Al, you know that. I'm the grandest in all the land."
Please come home, is what he wants to say, the words biting at his tongue. I'm afraid. I'm cold. I don't know what to do. Please help me. But he doesn't have enough time. The coins in his pocket will only get him a handful of minutes, especially long distance, but he feeds the remainder of his change into the slot, trying to keep the metal-on-metal sound to a minimum. After all, he should be calling her from the Academy, not the street. Five minutes. He has five minutes with her before the operator cuts him off.
"I had some pocket change and thought I'd call you on my evening jaunt. Did I wake you up? I can't keep track of the time differences, but you should be honored I called at all. How are you, Al?"
If she's making it, if she's happy, then that will be enough, won't it? If she can throw herself into the wilds of the west and come out on top, why can't he figure this out? He can. He has to. "How's the great world of Hollywood? Have your face on Rushmore yet?"
"Oh good, because I did need that reminder." She smiles as she says it, the fondness and the love she feels for her brother audible in her voice. Without even noticing, she holds onto the phone a little tighter, as if that will bring Klaus closer to her. As if somehow they're not across the country from each other, after being each other's safety in so many ways for so damn long.
God, she misses him so much. She is aware of that piece of herself that she knows it's missing, no matter how much she has been trying to get lost in the glitz and glamour of Hollywood. It's never really satisfying, never truly good enough. One day she'll realize it's because she's not really herself, not really, and that she misses her family more than she'll ever be ready to admit. But, god, in this moment...if she could somehow show up there and hug him, she would. She also probably wouldn't let go without at least attempting to drag him with her back to Los Angeles. She still regrets not insisting more, she hates that she gave up so easily. Some days she even hates not Rumoring him to come with her. But...she had respected his choice, even if it makes her miss him every damn day.
The sounds of the coins make her frown again, but Klaus is quick to say he was just out and about and decided to call her. Which is believable enough, even when she was there Klaus knew well enough how to sneak out to 'find' what he needed to get, so...maybe he's on one of those outings. The concern for him doesn't disappear at that, though, because Allison will never stop worrying about him. Not really. Not when she will be forever afraid of the phone call being someone else, giving her news that she's not ready to hear.
"No, no you didn't wake me. I was just reading something, nothing important."
It really isn't. It doesn't hold a candle to this, and she'll be quick to tell him as much if she needs to.
"I'm good. I'm finally working in what I want to do, and it's been good. Not what I expected," she admits with a huff of a laugh, one that is a little more wry than humorous. "But things are looking up. I have a place you can crash whenever you're finally ready to take me up on my offer." She says it teasingly, gently because she doesn't want to come across as pushy. But...well. She can't help it. "I miss you, Klaus."
Klaus stays quiet for the first time in a long time, listening as she tells him about her life there in California. The huff of a laugh in her voice, no matter how wry, fills his chest with warmth. She sounds good, she sounds vibrant and alive, and if he could have wished anything for his sister, it would be that.
"I miss you, too, Al," he breathes out in a chuckle and he sinks back against the wall of the phone booth, tipping his head back so it rests against the glass. "New York's just not the same without you, but that's no surprise. Can't take the star of the city away and expect it to be just as bright."
He smiles to himself, looking down as he toes at the duffle bag, trying to muster the courage to tell her exactly what's going on. "Oh you bet your bottom dollar I'll come visit, you know. But are you sure Los Angeles is ready for two Hargreeves? It looks like they're already over the moon with the presence of one."
Klaus knows that he'll never make it out there, and he's sure that she knows that, but the bus ticket alone is too expensive. But it's a nice dream, to think he could cart himself off and see her whenever he wished. "I'll wait for you to get settled first. I would hate to interrupt your perfect Hollywood life." There's a grin in his voice, and were she beside him now, he might even waggle his eyebrows.
But that's the thing, isn't it? Moving out there means putting himself into her life, means interrupting the career path she has delicately crafted for herself. He doesn't fit there, doesn't belong in that life. It's with a sinking realization that he knows he belongs where he is now, in this cold, smelly phone booth. What if he had been able to harness his abilities, to overcome the sickening fear that lurks at the edges of his existence? Would he have been able to go with her then? Forge his way and not trip her up along the path?
"I don't have a lot of time," he says finally, voice breaking a little. "Just nipping out to the bar. Thought I'd grab a drink or two, chat up the locals, bat my eyelashes at a pretty little thing." And that's what he's going to have to do, he knows. Bat his eyes and put the moves on someone who might be willing to drag him into their bed for the night. Anything, really, to get out of the cold. And if it ends up being fun, then even better. "But I wanted to hear your voice. It's a good voice, by the way."
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there's such a difference between us and a million miles;
How long he's stood here like this is up for debate as every time he blinks, he can see nothing but the locked doors of the Academy and a duffle bag left on the stoop. His palms burn from how long he beat on the wood, his throat sore for how long he screamed until someone answered. Sure, he hadn't been there in a few days, and the last time he had been, he'd passed out in the sitting room, only to be woken by his father, furious.
You are nothing but an utter waste of space and energy Number Four. Such a disappointment.
But he'd heard that spiel his whole life, hadn't he? So it's not his father's words that stick with him but the cold, unfeeling way Luther stared at him when he answered the door. Klaus knew the moment he saw him, how straight he'd been standing, how he seemed to look past him, not at him, that whatever his brother was sent to say, it wouldn't be good.
If you don't stop, we're calling the police. Leave, Klaus.
Klaus spent the first night asleep on their stoop, where he dreamed Pogo came and tucked some containers of food in his duffle bag while he slept. The second night he curled up on the fire escape after a police officer told him to move along. And now, in the middle of the night, he sits crowded into a phone booth with nothing but the handful of coins and his bag at his feet.
It's cold outside, though, and the booth provides some relief from the wind at least. It cuts him open, leaves wounds raw and stinging, because he doesn't know what to do. Doesn't know where he can go when he has no one. Diego, perhaps? No, he doesn't even know how to find him. Vanya's around, but she probably hates his guts anyway, so there's no point. Allison's gone, and Klaus is sure he just saw her face on the front page of People magazine.
He has a coat, some socks, a pair of jeans and some shirts in his bag. A pack of stale cigarettes, a flash full of shitty vodka, a small bag of pills that's dwindling quickly, and the half a sandwich he has left from Pogo. Not much he can do with any of it. Not even enough to clean his existence off the face of the planet. Even Ben stays distant these days, or maybe that's the drugs shooing him out of his purview for now.
With a deep breath he drops the coins into the little slot and from his pocket he draws an old, beaten up postcard, folded into eighths, Allison's handwriting scrawled upon it, a phone number at the bottom.
What will he say? What can he do? She'll worry, if she knows what happened. But she promised to come back, didn't she? They promised. Both of them. When the operator connects him he waits for the ringing. The postcard is old now, does she even have the same number? But the line clicks and Klaus takes a deep breath, not even waiting to hear the person answer. He can't stand to know he's wrong out the gate.
"Ah, yes, I'm looking for the ever highly esteemed Allison Hargreeves? In the new blockbuster, the feature film on all those billboards and oh, her interview in People. If you haven't read it, you must," he breathes, his voice hoarse in a way that makes it feel like it belongs to someone else. "You know the one. Is she in?"
no subject
And, lately, it was finally paying off. She had managed to get the right connection one night while working at the piano bar she worked at, and had landed a relatively big spot in a musical. After that, everything has been snowballing since. She’ll never admit which things since that night required some minor ‘adjustments’ in terms of her guiding events to happen in her favor, but she was finally making a name for herself. Not for the Academy, although a lot of people still seemed to remember that, but for herself. For her acting, for her singing, for what she could bring to the table.
As it is, tonight she’s going over her lines for a new movie she’s in. Her new apartment isn’t too big, but it’s nice and it gives her a beautiful view of Los Angeles. It’s the first thing she had spent money on after the check cleared when she signed on to the movie - get a new place, in a decent neighborhood, and with a killer view. It’s too much for someone her age, but she had been adamant about those requirements. Especially the view. There are days when she still misses New York, when the smog and the sunshine of the City of Angels is almost obnoxious, but the view of the skyline helps. She knows deep down, though, that she doesn’t miss the city itself. Allison isn’t that sentimental. She misses the good parts of her life she left behind. She misses Klaus, and being able to share her ascend to stardom with him how she had hoped she would. The view of the city is just a reminder of what she’s here to do.
When the call comes in, Allison’s brow furrows. It’s too late for it to be her agent, but she picks up nonetheless. When the operator tells her where the call is from, she’s quick to accept the call as she sinks onto one of the stools in her kitchen. Even from where she is, she can see the skyline of the city, the twinkling of lights that keep her company at night.
At the sound of Klaus’s voice, she smiles at once, nothing but relief and happiness at hearing her brother on the other line.
“She most definitely is. To what do I owe such a pleasant surprise?” It’s so good to hear his voice, and Klaus will be able to tell as much through the phone. Allison writes to him, and she doesn’t doubt that Reginald is aware of it, but it hasn’t stopped her from doing it regularly. It mainly consists of filling him in on her good finds of the West Coast, as if trying to convince him in some way of joining her. Is today finally that day?
The hoarseness in his voice registers, though, and she frowns slightly again, concerned. It’s the middle of the night back home, after all, and while she knows his sleeping schedule isn’t the best...this isn’t exactly something he has done before. “Are you okay, Klaus?”
no subject
"Oh, I couldn't let another day go by without reminding you of my absolute greatness. Without it in your life, you might shrivel up and wither away. We can't have that, Miss Movie Star. Wrinkles would be a very bad look on you."
It takes everything in him to calm the edgy, biting panic that seems to flip and roil at the sound of her voice. Allison has always been a symbol of safety for Klaus, has always been something steady and trustworthy and safe, and it's no different now. Now as he shivers in the phone booth, his voice tired from screaming, his body sore from sleeping rough, his head aching from the lack of food, of water, and too many drugs.
"Little old me?" Klaus laughs easily. "I'm better than okay, Al, you know that. I'm the grandest in all the land."
Please come home, is what he wants to say, the words biting at his tongue. I'm afraid. I'm cold. I don't know what to do. Please help me. But he doesn't have enough time. The coins in his pocket will only get him a handful of minutes, especially long distance, but he feeds the remainder of his change into the slot, trying to keep the metal-on-metal sound to a minimum. After all, he should be calling her from the Academy, not the street. Five minutes. He has five minutes with her before the operator cuts him off.
"I had some pocket change and thought I'd call you on my evening jaunt. Did I wake you up? I can't keep track of the time differences, but you should be honored I called at all. How are you, Al?"
If she's making it, if she's happy, then that will be enough, won't it? If she can throw herself into the wilds of the west and come out on top, why can't he figure this out? He can. He has to. "How's the great world of Hollywood? Have your face on Rushmore yet?"
no subject
God, she misses him so much. She is aware of that piece of herself that she knows it's missing, no matter how much she has been trying to get lost in the glitz and glamour of Hollywood. It's never really satisfying, never truly good enough. One day she'll realize it's because she's not really herself, not really, and that she misses her family more than she'll ever be ready to admit. But, god, in this moment...if she could somehow show up there and hug him, she would. She also probably wouldn't let go without at least attempting to drag him with her back to Los Angeles. She still regrets not insisting more, she hates that she gave up so easily. Some days she even hates not Rumoring him to come with her. But...she had respected his choice, even if it makes her miss him every damn day.
The sounds of the coins make her frown again, but Klaus is quick to say he was just out and about and decided to call her. Which is believable enough, even when she was there Klaus knew well enough how to sneak out to 'find' what he needed to get, so...maybe he's on one of those outings. The concern for him doesn't disappear at that, though, because Allison will never stop worrying about him. Not really. Not when she will be forever afraid of the phone call being someone else, giving her news that she's not ready to hear.
"No, no you didn't wake me. I was just reading something, nothing important."
It really isn't. It doesn't hold a candle to this, and she'll be quick to tell him as much if she needs to.
"I'm good. I'm finally working in what I want to do, and it's been good. Not what I expected," she admits with a huff of a laugh, one that is a little more wry than humorous. "But things are looking up. I have a place you can crash whenever you're finally ready to take me up on my offer." She says it teasingly, gently because she doesn't want to come across as pushy. But...well. She can't help it. "I miss you, Klaus."
no subject
"I miss you, too, Al," he breathes out in a chuckle and he sinks back against the wall of the phone booth, tipping his head back so it rests against the glass. "New York's just not the same without you, but that's no surprise. Can't take the star of the city away and expect it to be just as bright."
He smiles to himself, looking down as he toes at the duffle bag, trying to muster the courage to tell her exactly what's going on. "Oh you bet your bottom dollar I'll come visit, you know. But are you sure Los Angeles is ready for two Hargreeves? It looks like they're already over the moon with the presence of one."
Klaus knows that he'll never make it out there, and he's sure that she knows that, but the bus ticket alone is too expensive. But it's a nice dream, to think he could cart himself off and see her whenever he wished. "I'll wait for you to get settled first. I would hate to interrupt your perfect Hollywood life." There's a grin in his voice, and were she beside him now, he might even waggle his eyebrows.
But that's the thing, isn't it? Moving out there means putting himself into her life, means interrupting the career path she has delicately crafted for herself. He doesn't fit there, doesn't belong in that life. It's with a sinking realization that he knows he belongs where he is now, in this cold, smelly phone booth. What if he had been able to harness his abilities, to overcome the sickening fear that lurks at the edges of his existence? Would he have been able to go with her then? Forge his way and not trip her up along the path?
"I don't have a lot of time," he says finally, voice breaking a little. "Just nipping out to the bar. Thought I'd grab a drink or two, chat up the locals, bat my eyelashes at a pretty little thing." And that's what he's going to have to do, he knows. Bat his eyes and put the moves on someone who might be willing to drag him into their bed for the night. Anything, really, to get out of the cold. And if it ends up being fun, then even better. "But I wanted to hear your voice. It's a good voice, by the way."