A small, sympathetic smile that borderlines on apologetic, because she wishes she could help him somehow with that, too. She’d offer to stay up and keep him company more often, but she has a feeling Klaus won’t agree considering the little bun that’s in the oven.
Suddenly she’s glad she’s awake now, and that she’s able to be here with him.
“We have a lot of movies in the family room, and the pool, so I hope you know you can use anything and everything around here. Make yourself at home.” Which, well, he already looks like he is considering the underwear wearing in the kitchen, but still. She wants to make sure he knows that.
She smiles. “At least there’ll be some peace and quiet for a few months before a tiny little person joins us and keeps us all up with their crying.”
"I think it's going to be a girl," he murmurs, having remained quiet while she explained the different amenities in the house. He drinks again from his mug, the coffee almost gone already. "And I bet she will be as much of a tour de force as her mother. God help us all. She'll take over the planet before she's out of diapers."
He laughs into his cup, keeping it close to his face, his palms curled close around it. Klaus exists in a constant state of fatigue and wakefulness, trapped between exhausted and barely functioning. Even now, standing in the kitchen with her, cast in shadow by the pendant light dangling over the stove top, he feels as though his body doesn't belong to him.
Maybe it's the itch, the shakes, the blind need for something to dull the edges of reality just a little bit, but he can't seem to settle, to stay still.
"If it would make you feel better, you could place a baby monitor in my room. That way you'll be able to hear if I suddenly decide to leap face first into the after life. I'll make sure to put on a real production. Dedicate it to Patrick and that incredibly subtle stink eye he's all but mastered. He's going to be so unevenly wrinkly in his old age."
It's the first time she has said it outloud, but when the words come out of her mouth she can't help the small smile on her lips. For years Allison refused to believe that she could even have a child. Not just because she didn't want to be a mother, but because of how her own existence came about. Nothing about their lives was normal. Their birth parents never planned them (or wanted them, considering what happened after). Then Reginald happened, and Allison was convinced that the Hargreeves name should stop with them.
But, then, she had gotten married and the idea of actually having a family, one that was her own, it...tugged at her heart in a way that she never expected. It still feels odd, now, to know she's carrying a new life inside of her, and there are days when she's terrified about being a godawful mother because what exactly does she have to offer? But then she remembers the ultrasounds, the way the baby's heartbeat echoes in the doctor's office every time she goes in for a check up, and she's overwhelmed with the realization that this little life is hers, and she cannot wait to meet her.
Her. It's good to know that Klaus is on her side with what the gender of the baby is.
Will he be here by the time the baby is born, or will he go home? She's still not sure, because she had been honest about not forcing him to stay and letting him go home if that's really what he wanted, but she can only hope that in six months he'll still be here to help them welcome the newest Hargreeves.
Shifting his attention back to him, she frowns slightly and shakes her head. "What? No. Why would I do that?" At the mention of Patrick's stink eye, she sighs under her breath. "...yeah, he probably will be. He just... He doesn't understand all this. I've told him about you all, but his family and his life have always been so incredibly...normal. It used to scare me, but I think we scare him more."
She shrugs slightly. "But, he knows how important you are to me so you being here isn't an issue. Besides, he travels so much for work that you'll just be keeping me - us," she corrects herself, her smile widening slightly, "company. It all works out."
Klaus smiles softly, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. Why would she drop a baby monitor in his room? The irony of the question almost makes him laugh, bile rising up into the back of his throat. He can tell she’s worried, if only by the way her eyes follow him around the room, the way she treads lightly, delicate in the way she pushes him and fleeting in the way she retreats. Not that he can blame her, all things considered, and the swell in her belly only makes it more difficult to consider staying.
He doesn’t realize that his mind’s drifted away for a few seconds, but when he comes back to the conversation, there’s talk about Patrick and his family and something about being normal. Klaus shakes his head and huffs, finishing off his coffee.
“We scare the whole world, darling, of course we scare him. I mean, I’m a man standing mostly naked in his kitchen, drinking his coffee, and twisting his sweet little wife’s brain with madness. Of course he’s scared. I’d be scared of me, too.” He waggles his eyebrows and moves to place his mug in the sink. The coffee wasn’t enough and he feels the dull ache behind his eyes, a headache coming on that’s sure to cleave his brain in two.
“But I guess the company won’t be so bad, all things considered.” He turns to lean against the sink, tilting his head back and letting his eyes drift closed for a moment.
“And while all of that is great, it really is, Allison, all I want is a fucking drink. Pills would be great, actually, nice and easy on the way down, even better on the climb up. I feel like I could crawl out of my skin and take a little leap off the balcony if that’s what it would take to get them.” It’s a dangerous admission, but the need is so real in the back of his mind that he can’t deny it.
“I mean I’d blow the homeless guy on the corner, too, for a hit if I had to. You know, just casual four AM stream of consciousness. Shit. Hindsight I wouldn’t blow him, probably a quick hand job, because God only knows where he’s put that thing.”
Allison stays silent, watching him, listening to what he's saying. Her expression remains neutral, not judging when he talks about a drink, or pills, or even giving the homeless guy a quickie.
When she speaks, her voice is just as neutral. It's hard for her to not show whatever emotion is bubbling under her skin, but for him she tries her best because she doesn't want him to feel manipulated right now. She remembers too vividly the way he had broken down in the hospital, the way he had yelled and how his body swayed as he could barely hold himself up. That memory clashes with the ones that followed in the hotel - how he looked and sounded as the worst of the withdrawals happened, how she'd hold onto him whenever he'd let her be near him as if tethering him to the real world instead of the ghosts that tormented him. She remembers her nightmares, and for a moment that resolve to remain calm and collected almost evaporates, but she had given him her word. The trust that Klaus has in her is too important for her to go back on, because she knows he wouldn't be here if he didn't trust her, so she swallows the nausea that feels as if it returns in full force.
"I think we both knew the urges weren't going to disappear just because we got on a plane and unpacked your bags in the guest room. It's a process, Klaus, and you've come a long way already."
Hell, weren't they teenagers the last time that he had been clean and sober for this long?
"...I'm not going to facilitate or enable anything, but I'm also not going to force you to stay. I told you I wouldn't, and I won't." A small, dry smile crosses her lips as she shrugs slightly. "I can't want this more than you, because otherwise it won't work. So...if you decide that's what you want, then...I can't stop you. I'm not your babysitter. I'm your sister, and I want to help you. But if you choose to go back, then just...let me know, and I can get you a ticket to go back."
Klaus can almost hear his father’s words in the back of his mind: Such a waste. What a disappointment. You will achieve nothing at this rate, Number Four, you are wasting my time. He grips the counter top, knuckles white with tension. If he could squeeze every particle of stone from the surface, he would, what with his hackles up and the bite of desperation in the back of his mind.
“Yeah, aye aye, mon capitaine,” though it lacks heat, instead coming out as a sigh. He shuts his eyes tight, sucks in a careful, slow breath, and tries to muster some semblance of control, even if it’s only for this conversation.
“I want to stay,” his voice stays level, though he sounds hoarse. “I want to stop. But every time I close my fucking eyes they’re there, Allison. It’s like dad shows up, kicks me in the teeth and dumps me in the mausoleum all over again. Getting high eliminated that. At least I could sleep then.” He laughs, an edge of hysteria to the sound when he finally releases the counter, scrubbing his palms over his face, fingers dragging along his jaw and neck before he curls his arms around himself. If he hadn’t chewed his nails down to the quick already, he’d dig his nails into the delicate skin of his arms until they bled.
Maybe he has a roof over his head, maybe he has his sister, but the fact that he could not survive on his own if he was thrown out right now makes him feel as low as the grain on the wood flooring. Maybe lower, if he could press himself into the foundation, into the dirt, disappear beneath it. Six feet under doesn’t sound so bad, sometimes- nice and cold, quiet. The ghosts would find him there, too, no doubt.
“Can I at least convince you to buy me a pack of cigarettes?” He sounds defeated, and the dejected look on his face only mirrors how shitty he feels. “I won’t smoke inside.” A snort of a laugh follows and he shakes his head, looking out to one of the other rooms, unable to meet her eyes.
The way he grips the countertops, how he sighs, it's not lost on Allison but she doesn't react to them. And it's hard. God, is it hard considering how her facial expressions and overall body language speak more than her actual words at times, but she remains controlled as much as possible. The doctor had given her advice prior to Klaus being 'discharged,' prior to leaving the hotel, and she wants to follow it because she doesn't want to be the reason or a contribution as to why Klaus could spiral.
Most of all, she doesn't want Klaus to feel judged by her. And, really, there isn't any judgment from her part, or even pity. She hates that he has to live through this, absolutely abhors their father with his "training" methods that were downright barbaric, but none of that contempt is towards Klaus. He's just reacting to a very shitty hand that life dealt him, in the only way he has known how, and she gets that. After all, they all have their levels of fucked up they're dealing with; Klaus' is just more obviously destructive than the rest. He always had been.
"There might be some sleeping supplements they can prescribe you that can help. We can find out more. When I said you don't have to do this alone, I didn't mean it'd have to be with just me, ether. We're in Hollywood, I'm sure I can find a doctor or a thousand that can help, you know."
The way he sounds, that dejection on his face breaks her heart, and she finally stands up and walks over to him so she can give him a hug.
"When are you going to listen to the fact that you don't have to pay me back?" It's said quietly, almost as if she's pondering the thought instead of actually asking him the question.
"But, yes, I can. In fact...I think I may have a pack in my office already. I had just gotten a pack right before I found out I was pregnant, so it's pretty much brand new."
But it might be worth a shot, so long as he can regulate them. He knows that if he had a bottle of something sedative right now he'd likely toy with the idea of the high they bring on their own. But he's trapped between two difficult decisions: relapse or find a way to deal with the screaming in his head. He knows which will be easier and which one feels nigh impossible, but maybe he'll give it a try. He's not known what being clean and sober and clear feels like since he was a teenager.
But she's there before he can speak again, and her arms around him do something to dissolve the tension wringing his body tight, vice-like. Letting out a breath he leans into her, arms falling to hug her in return. There's something nice about knowing he's standing in Allison's kitchen instead of scrounging around New York. He has to remember that.
"Have I ever told you that you are an angel, Heaven-sent from the great glowy grand Poobah himself?" He draws her back at arm's length to look at her before he hugs her again, kissing her cheek. "I will happily smoke them in your honor in quick succession. A funeral pyre for all your bad habits, obliterated for the next six months. Alas."
He doesn't feel like himself, not really, but the frenetic energy, the smile, the grand gestures and verbosity are his easiest lean-tos.
She knows how it sounds, and the risk of offering him more pills, but it wouldn't be terrible, she thinks. She's already making a mental reminder to make some calls, at least have that option for him if he wants it.
When he leans against her, she rubs his back, holding him close. It's something she has gotten accustomed to doing lately; whenever he'd hit a rough patch and he let her lay down on the bed with her while the worst of the withdrawals happened, she'd find some way to comfort him. As if that way she could remind him that he wasn't alone.
The kiss makes a small laugh burst from her throat, and she shakes her head at him. "An angel that packs cigarettes, huh?" Now it's her turn to kiss his cheek, before she lets her arms drop so that she can take his hand to lead him out of the kitchen and towards the office that's a few feet away from the dining room. Once she reaches the desk, she opens the top drawer and moves a few scripts away so that she can uncover the pack of cigarettes that had barely been opened three months ago.
"For you. Consider it a 'welcome to California' present." She smirks as she says it, handing him the cigarettes before motioning to the sliding door that leads to the backyard. "Like I said, you can use pretty much any room in the house. But this is how I'd feed my nasty little habit, so if you want to hang out here or use it, or...whatever. You're welcome to. I doubt I'll be here too much in the next few months, this is usually where I practice my lines and I don't have much lined up at the moment."
Klaus follows behind her like a dutiful, lost puppy, taking small satisfaction in the fact that he's parading around her house in nothing but cheetah print underwear. He idly hopes that Patrick wakes up and catches them like this in the wee hours of the morning, but he knows that wouldn't blow over well.
He's pulled from his own mischief when she proffers the cigarettes and he takes up the package gratefully, bringing it to his nose to smell the bite of tobacco. "Ah, and Gabriel blew his horn," he muses, drawing one out almost immediately, weighing the lighter in his hand. She hardly has to gesture to the sliding doors before he's moving in that direction, like his body's already moving of his own accord.
"Best welcome present ever," he murmurs around the cigarette. "Can you be around a deadly smoker or should I wait?" Because he wants to be near her as much as he wants the cigarette. "You can recite me all the lines from your last movie. I didn't get in to see it before I did the whole Overdose Act. I really should have won an Oscar for that performance."
“As long as you don’t blow any smoke in my direction, we should be fine.”
It’s a relief, that he still wants her around, so she doesn’t mind going out with him while he smokes. She follows him through the sliding doors, to the patio leading to the garden. Judging by the ashtray that’s on a side table, near some bushes, Klaus will be able to see that Allison really has been using this corner of the garden for cigarette breaks. Patrick never minded it - until the little line appeared on the pregnancy test - and there aren’t any neighbors close enough to worry about, so he’ll be able to take advantage of this spot whenever he needs it.
She leads him towards the pool, though, where the lounging chairs are. If they’re going to be out here, she’d like to be comfortable. If there’s one thing she loves about California, it’s the weather and how comfortable it is even in the middle of the night, so being out here at this hour doesn’t even phase her. The garden and the pool are illuminated softly, casting a comfortable and welcoming glow in the yard, and she smiles over at Klaus as she settles on the chaise.
“I think I like it out here better than the kitchen, anyway.”
"Shucks, that was my plan all along. Making pregnant women suffer is my prerogative in life."
Following behind her he chooses to sit at the edge of the pool instead of the outdoor furniture. He drops his feet into the water and lights up the cigarette. It's stale but the burn feels familiar in a way that draws out a pleasant groan. "God I needed this," he exhales in a cloud of smoke, pointedly opposite of where she sits. And he goes silent, enjoying the rush if nicotine, the sharp bite of the smoke, the draw on the filter. He moves his feet back and forth in the cold pool water, seeming for once to be at peace.
After he's demolished nearly half the cigarette he lets out a sigh, "I'm really going to give this the good old college try," he admits, shrugging a shoulder but not looking back at her. Instead he watches the way the water ripples around his calves.
"Not that I went to college but the sentiment's the same. Just less sorority and frat parties, the dreaded Freshman fifteen and god all the impossibly hot professors. I'll just ogle your husband instead." He looks back at her then, his expression warm. "You'll come home from a shoot and we'll have eloped into the sunset."
While Klaus smokes, Allison just looks up at the stars, just enjoying the quiet. There’s something about this silence between them, the comfort of just being. When they were younger, silence was comforting because it meant Reginald wasn’t around, but there was always that underlying expectation that he’d burst in at any moment, ready to ruin everything. For so many years Allison was sure she’d never be free from it, to the point that silence sometimes made her nerves feel frayed with anticipation.
That’s part of the reason why her house is up in a hill, away from traffic and without a lot of neighbors. The sound of the water is comforting. The fact that her brother is here, with her... It’s more than she could have ever let herself hope for.
By the time that Klaus speaks again, the nausea that had felt overwhelming when she had first woken up has subsided enough where she finally looks comfortable. Hell, she could probably stay here and watch the sunrise if she really wanted to. When Klaus speaks, though, her attention turns back to him and smiles, laughing when he says he and Patrick will end up eloping.
“Well, hey, as long as I get the house, have at it. I put too much work into it to let you two have it.” She tries to say it with a straight face, but the smile on her lips is hard to hide.
“I’m really proud of you, you know,” she adds, her voice warm. “What you’re doing isn’t easy, and you’re doing so good despite what you may think.”
"Save your pride, Number Three," he mocks their father, voice quivering and poorly accented. "Number Four has a long way to go yet! I believe he's still seeing tap dancing tigers and dehydrated elephants when he closes his eyes!"
He chuckles to himself, bringing the cigarette up to his lips for a final drag, letting the cherry burn all the way to the filter. He snubs the butt out on the concrete, holding his breath before he releases a long, slow exhale.
Pushing himself up out of the water, he pads over to her, holding out a hand to her. "You should go back to bed," he rests one fist on his hip, like he might admonish her. "It's long past your bed time, missy. And a Hollywood starlet needs her beauty rest. What will the tabloids thing if they see bags under your eyes?"
She rolls her eyes at the imitation of their father, shaking her head. Sadly, it probably is exactly what he would have said if he was here, but Allison stands with her word. She'll just continue to remind him until he believes it.
Taking his hand, she stands with a sigh. "Fine... We'll go get breakfast in a few hours. There's this little place down by the beach that I think you'll really like."
She kisses his cheek before hugging him, holding him tight for a moment before she steps back. "You staying out here?"
Klaus smiles, victorious, when she concedes and stands with him. Of all his siblings, he feels the most connected to Allison. Not only for the way she cares for him now, but how she's looked after him all of his life.
He leans into the hug, squeezing her tightly to his chest. He's no good at thank yous but the hug will have to suffice for now. He's sure he'll have to thank her for much more later.
"Nah. Maybe I'll actually try and sleep again." He feels tired, but he's always tired at this stage of the game. "Wait for my dreams to bring me my own fabulously gay version of Patrick to elope with." Pressing a kiss to her cheek he takes her hand and walks with her back toward the house.
God help them if Patrick ever overhead any of their conversations. Though, really, Klaus thinks, that could be hilarious good fun.
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Suddenly she’s glad she’s awake now, and that she’s able to be here with him.
“We have a lot of movies in the family room, and the pool, so I hope you know you can use anything and everything around here. Make yourself at home.” Which, well, he already looks like he is considering the underwear wearing in the kitchen, but still. She wants to make sure he knows that.
She smiles. “At least there’ll be some peace and quiet for a few months before a tiny little person joins us and keeps us all up with their crying.”
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He laughs into his cup, keeping it close to his face, his palms curled close around it. Klaus exists in a constant state of fatigue and wakefulness, trapped between exhausted and barely functioning. Even now, standing in the kitchen with her, cast in shadow by the pendant light dangling over the stove top, he feels as though his body doesn't belong to him.
Maybe it's the itch, the shakes, the blind need for something to dull the edges of reality just a little bit, but he can't seem to settle, to stay still.
"If it would make you feel better, you could place a baby monitor in my room. That way you'll be able to hear if I suddenly decide to leap face first into the after life. I'll make sure to put on a real production. Dedicate it to Patrick and that incredibly subtle stink eye he's all but mastered. He's going to be so unevenly wrinkly in his old age."
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It's the first time she has said it outloud, but when the words come out of her mouth she can't help the small smile on her lips. For years Allison refused to believe that she could even have a child. Not just because she didn't want to be a mother, but because of how her own existence came about. Nothing about their lives was normal. Their birth parents never planned them (or wanted them, considering what happened after). Then Reginald happened, and Allison was convinced that the Hargreeves name should stop with them.
But, then, she had gotten married and the idea of actually having a family, one that was her own, it...tugged at her heart in a way that she never expected. It still feels odd, now, to know she's carrying a new life inside of her, and there are days when she's terrified about being a godawful mother because what exactly does she have to offer? But then she remembers the ultrasounds, the way the baby's heartbeat echoes in the doctor's office every time she goes in for a check up, and she's overwhelmed with the realization that this little life is hers, and she cannot wait to meet her.
Her. It's good to know that Klaus is on her side with what the gender of the baby is.
Will he be here by the time the baby is born, or will he go home? She's still not sure, because she had been honest about not forcing him to stay and letting him go home if that's really what he wanted, but she can only hope that in six months he'll still be here to help them welcome the newest Hargreeves.
Shifting his attention back to him, she frowns slightly and shakes her head. "What? No. Why would I do that?" At the mention of Patrick's stink eye, she sighs under her breath. "...yeah, he probably will be. He just... He doesn't understand all this. I've told him about you all, but his family and his life have always been so incredibly...normal. It used to scare me, but I think we scare him more."
She shrugs slightly. "But, he knows how important you are to me so you being here isn't an issue. Besides, he travels so much for work that you'll just be keeping me - us," she corrects herself, her smile widening slightly, "company. It all works out."
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He doesn’t realize that his mind’s drifted away for a few seconds, but when he comes back to the conversation, there’s talk about Patrick and his family and something about being normal. Klaus shakes his head and huffs, finishing off his coffee.
“We scare the whole world, darling, of course we scare him. I mean, I’m a man standing mostly naked in his kitchen, drinking his coffee, and twisting his sweet little wife’s brain with madness. Of course he’s scared. I’d be scared of me, too.” He waggles his eyebrows and moves to place his mug in the sink. The coffee wasn’t enough and he feels the dull ache behind his eyes, a headache coming on that’s sure to cleave his brain in two.
“But I guess the company won’t be so bad, all things considered.” He turns to lean against the sink, tilting his head back and letting his eyes drift closed for a moment.
“And while all of that is great, it really is, Allison, all I want is a fucking drink. Pills would be great, actually, nice and easy on the way down, even better on the climb up. I feel like I could crawl out of my skin and take a little leap off the balcony if that’s what it would take to get them.” It’s a dangerous admission, but the need is so real in the back of his mind that he can’t deny it.
“I mean I’d blow the homeless guy on the corner, too, for a hit if I had to. You know, just casual four AM stream of consciousness. Shit. Hindsight I wouldn’t blow him, probably a quick hand job, because God only knows where he’s put that thing.”
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When she speaks, her voice is just as neutral. It's hard for her to not show whatever emotion is bubbling under her skin, but for him she tries her best because she doesn't want him to feel manipulated right now. She remembers too vividly the way he had broken down in the hospital, the way he had yelled and how his body swayed as he could barely hold himself up. That memory clashes with the ones that followed in the hotel - how he looked and sounded as the worst of the withdrawals happened, how she'd hold onto him whenever he'd let her be near him as if tethering him to the real world instead of the ghosts that tormented him. She remembers her nightmares, and for a moment that resolve to remain calm and collected almost evaporates, but she had given him her word. The trust that Klaus has in her is too important for her to go back on, because she knows he wouldn't be here if he didn't trust her, so she swallows the nausea that feels as if it returns in full force.
"I think we both knew the urges weren't going to disappear just because we got on a plane and unpacked your bags in the guest room. It's a process, Klaus, and you've come a long way already."
Hell, weren't they teenagers the last time that he had been clean and sober for this long?
"...I'm not going to facilitate or enable anything, but I'm also not going to force you to stay. I told you I wouldn't, and I won't." A small, dry smile crosses her lips as she shrugs slightly. "I can't want this more than you, because otherwise it won't work. So...if you decide that's what you want, then...I can't stop you. I'm not your babysitter. I'm your sister, and I want to help you. But if you choose to go back, then just...let me know, and I can get you a ticket to go back."
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Klaus can almost hear his father’s words in the back of his mind: Such a waste. What a disappointment. You will achieve nothing at this rate, Number Four, you are wasting my time. He grips the counter top, knuckles white with tension. If he could squeeze every particle of stone from the surface, he would, what with his hackles up and the bite of desperation in the back of his mind.
“Yeah, aye aye, mon capitaine,” though it lacks heat, instead coming out as a sigh. He shuts his eyes tight, sucks in a careful, slow breath, and tries to muster some semblance of control, even if it’s only for this conversation.
“I want to stay,” his voice stays level, though he sounds hoarse. “I want to stop. But every time I close my fucking eyes they’re there, Allison. It’s like dad shows up, kicks me in the teeth and dumps me in the mausoleum all over again. Getting high eliminated that. At least I could sleep then.” He laughs, an edge of hysteria to the sound when he finally releases the counter, scrubbing his palms over his face, fingers dragging along his jaw and neck before he curls his arms around himself. If he hadn’t chewed his nails down to the quick already, he’d dig his nails into the delicate skin of his arms until they bled.
Maybe he has a roof over his head, maybe he has his sister, but the fact that he could not survive on his own if he was thrown out right now makes him feel as low as the grain on the wood flooring. Maybe lower, if he could press himself into the foundation, into the dirt, disappear beneath it. Six feet under doesn’t sound so bad, sometimes- nice and cold, quiet. The ghosts would find him there, too, no doubt.
“Can I at least convince you to buy me a pack of cigarettes?” He sounds defeated, and the dejected look on his face only mirrors how shitty he feels. “I won’t smoke inside.” A snort of a laugh follows and he shakes his head, looking out to one of the other rooms, unable to meet her eyes.
“I can’t even pay you back. What a deal, right?”
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Most of all, she doesn't want Klaus to feel judged by her. And, really, there isn't any judgment from her part, or even pity. She hates that he has to live through this, absolutely abhors their father with his "training" methods that were downright barbaric, but none of that contempt is towards Klaus. He's just reacting to a very shitty hand that life dealt him, in the only way he has known how, and she gets that. After all, they all have their levels of fucked up they're dealing with; Klaus' is just more obviously destructive than the rest. He always had been.
"There might be some sleeping supplements they can prescribe you that can help. We can find out more. When I said you don't have to do this alone, I didn't mean it'd have to be with just me, ether. We're in Hollywood, I'm sure I can find a doctor or a thousand that can help, you know."
The way he sounds, that dejection on his face breaks her heart, and she finally stands up and walks over to him so she can give him a hug.
"When are you going to listen to the fact that you don't have to pay me back?" It's said quietly, almost as if she's pondering the thought instead of actually asking him the question.
"But, yes, I can. In fact...I think I may have a pack in my office already. I had just gotten a pack right before I found out I was pregnant, so it's pretty much brand new."
no subject
But it might be worth a shot, so long as he can regulate them. He knows that if he had a bottle of something sedative right now he'd likely toy with the idea of the high they bring on their own. But he's trapped between two difficult decisions: relapse or find a way to deal with the screaming in his head. He knows which will be easier and which one feels nigh impossible, but maybe he'll give it a try. He's not known what being clean and sober and clear feels like since he was a teenager.
But she's there before he can speak again, and her arms around him do something to dissolve the tension wringing his body tight, vice-like. Letting out a breath he leans into her, arms falling to hug her in return. There's something nice about knowing he's standing in Allison's kitchen instead of scrounging around New York. He has to remember that.
"Have I ever told you that you are an angel, Heaven-sent from the great glowy grand Poobah himself?" He draws her back at arm's length to look at her before he hugs her again, kissing her cheek. "I will happily smoke them in your honor in quick succession. A funeral pyre for all your bad habits, obliterated for the next six months. Alas."
He doesn't feel like himself, not really, but the frenetic energy, the smile, the grand gestures and verbosity are his easiest lean-tos.
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When he leans against her, she rubs his back, holding him close. It's something she has gotten accustomed to doing lately; whenever he'd hit a rough patch and he let her lay down on the bed with her while the worst of the withdrawals happened, she'd find some way to comfort him. As if that way she could remind him that he wasn't alone.
The kiss makes a small laugh burst from her throat, and she shakes her head at him. "An angel that packs cigarettes, huh?" Now it's her turn to kiss his cheek, before she lets her arms drop so that she can take his hand to lead him out of the kitchen and towards the office that's a few feet away from the dining room. Once she reaches the desk, she opens the top drawer and moves a few scripts away so that she can uncover the pack of cigarettes that had barely been opened three months ago.
"For you. Consider it a 'welcome to California' present." She smirks as she says it, handing him the cigarettes before motioning to the sliding door that leads to the backyard. "Like I said, you can use pretty much any room in the house. But this is how I'd feed my nasty little habit, so if you want to hang out here or use it, or...whatever. You're welcome to. I doubt I'll be here too much in the next few months, this is usually where I practice my lines and I don't have much lined up at the moment."
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He's pulled from his own mischief when she proffers the cigarettes and he takes up the package gratefully, bringing it to his nose to smell the bite of tobacco. "Ah, and Gabriel blew his horn," he muses, drawing one out almost immediately, weighing the lighter in his hand. She hardly has to gesture to the sliding doors before he's moving in that direction, like his body's already moving of his own accord.
"Best welcome present ever," he murmurs around the cigarette. "Can you be around a deadly smoker or should I wait?" Because he wants to be near her as much as he wants the cigarette. "You can recite me all the lines from your last movie. I didn't get in to see it before I did the whole Overdose Act. I really should have won an Oscar for that performance."
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It’s a relief, that he still wants her around, so she doesn’t mind going out with him while he smokes. She follows him through the sliding doors, to the patio leading to the garden. Judging by the ashtray that’s on a side table, near some bushes, Klaus will be able to see that Allison really has been using this corner of the garden for cigarette breaks. Patrick never minded it - until the little line appeared on the pregnancy test - and there aren’t any neighbors close enough to worry about, so he’ll be able to take advantage of this spot whenever he needs it.
She leads him towards the pool, though, where the lounging chairs are. If they’re going to be out here, she’d like to be comfortable. If there’s one thing she loves about California, it’s the weather and how comfortable it is even in the middle of the night, so being out here at this hour doesn’t even phase her. The garden and the pool are illuminated softly, casting a comfortable and welcoming glow in the yard, and she smiles over at Klaus as she settles on the chaise.
“I think I like it out here better than the kitchen, anyway.”
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Following behind her he chooses to sit at the edge of the pool instead of the outdoor furniture. He drops his feet into the water and lights up the cigarette. It's stale but the burn feels familiar in a way that draws out a pleasant groan. "God I needed this," he exhales in a cloud of smoke, pointedly opposite of where she sits. And he goes silent, enjoying the rush if nicotine, the sharp bite of the smoke, the draw on the filter. He moves his feet back and forth in the cold pool water, seeming for once to be at peace.
After he's demolished nearly half the cigarette he lets out a sigh, "I'm really going to give this the good old college try," he admits, shrugging a shoulder but not looking back at her. Instead he watches the way the water ripples around his calves.
"Not that I went to college but the sentiment's the same. Just less sorority and frat parties, the dreaded Freshman fifteen and god all the impossibly hot professors. I'll just ogle your husband instead." He looks back at her then, his expression warm. "You'll come home from a shoot and we'll have eloped into the sunset."
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That’s part of the reason why her house is up in a hill, away from traffic and without a lot of neighbors. The sound of the water is comforting. The fact that her brother is here, with her... It’s more than she could have ever let herself hope for.
By the time that Klaus speaks again, the nausea that had felt overwhelming when she had first woken up has subsided enough where she finally looks comfortable. Hell, she could probably stay here and watch the sunrise if she really wanted to. When Klaus speaks, though, her attention turns back to him and smiles, laughing when he says he and Patrick will end up eloping.
“Well, hey, as long as I get the house, have at it. I put too much work into it to let you two have it.” She tries to say it with a straight face, but the smile on her lips is hard to hide.
“I’m really proud of you, you know,” she adds, her voice warm. “What you’re doing isn’t easy, and you’re doing so good despite what you may think.”
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He chuckles to himself, bringing the cigarette up to his lips for a final drag, letting the cherry burn all the way to the filter. He snubs the butt out on the concrete, holding his breath before he releases a long, slow exhale.
Pushing himself up out of the water, he pads over to her, holding out a hand to her. "You should go back to bed," he rests one fist on his hip, like he might admonish her. "It's long past your bed time, missy. And a Hollywood starlet needs her beauty rest. What will the tabloids thing if they see bags under your eyes?"
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Taking his hand, she stands with a sigh. "Fine... We'll go get breakfast in a few hours. There's this little place down by the beach that I think you'll really like."
She kisses his cheek before hugging him, holding him tight for a moment before she steps back. "You staying out here?"
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He leans into the hug, squeezing her tightly to his chest. He's no good at thank yous but the hug will have to suffice for now. He's sure he'll have to thank her for much more later.
"Nah. Maybe I'll actually try and sleep again." He feels tired, but he's always tired at this stage of the game. "Wait for my dreams to bring me my own fabulously gay version of Patrick to elope with." Pressing a kiss to her cheek he takes her hand and walks with her back toward the house.
God help them if Patrick ever overhead any of their conversations. Though, really, Klaus thinks, that could be hilarious good fun.