Allison tries to smile when Klaus attempts to assure her that he's fine, but it falls flat. She can't do it, and while Klaus may act like it doesn't bother him, she wouldn't blame him if that wasn't the case. He has worked so damn hard to get to where he is now, to be clean and sober for over six years. It's something that Allison has been so goddamned proud of, and for them to dismiss it so easily? For Luther to want to throw in his face that he's just trying to cry out for attention? It makes her want to get into a car, go to the airport, and never bother coming back.
She knows that they can't, though. That, just like that day when Klaus had returned from Vietnam, they can't just leave. Not yet. Not when Vanya is so far gone and they need to figure out a way to stop her. Not when the world may end before their flight can even take off. The idea that she's here, and not with her husband and her daughter makes her dizzy, the weight of it all suddenly overwhelming, but she just tries to swallow the knot that builds in her throat.
That's why, when Klaus offers a cigarette, she all but leaps for it. After giving birth to Claire, Allison's habit had been cut back considerably, especially after essentially going cold turkey during her pregnancy, but right now she just needs it. Once they're sufficiently distanced from the door, she takes the cigarette and, once it's lit, she takes a deep drag from it. It's most definitely a bad idea, the inhale and the smoke itself making the pain in her neck flare up in a way that it makes her see stars for a moment, but she doesn't stop. She can't. Not with everything going on.
At his question if she's okay, she's tempted to nod but what's the point? If there's one person that knows her better than anyone, it's Klaus, and she just shakes her head very slightly as she looks down for a moment. Still, despite that answer, she makes a motion as if to say it doesn't matter. And, well, it really doesn't. She's not okay, but they have to save this shithole if only so they could have a chance at going home.
Are you? she mouths again, not writing the question down only because she doesn't want to let go of the cigarette just yet.
Klaus lights both of their cigarettes, and he knows he shouldn’t encourage her to smoke with a neck injury like hers, but it isn’t like he can deny her, either. Not with things going as they are. He takes a deep drag from the cigarette, holding the burn before he releases a cloud of smoke on the exhale.
When she shakes her head, he sighs and moves to curl an arm around her shoulders, tugging her into his side. “It’s gonna be okay, Al,” he says, even though he doesn’t quite believe it himself. They’re going to have to save Vanya and keep their family from harming her in the process- he’s not sure how they’ll make it happen, but they have to try.
“And little old me? Oh, I’m fine. Nothing like the apocalypse and some existential horror to really get me going for the day,” he laughs softly and sighs, dragging from his cigarette again shortly after. He wishes his siblings would listen to him, would let him help, but he reminds himself that they don’t understand, that they don’t know what he’s capable of.
“Patrick’s gonna kill me, you know. Letting you get hurt, letting you smoke. I’m such a bad influence on you,” he teases, though there’s something weary in his voice. He doesn’t know how he will face Patrick, doesn’t know how he can return home the way things are now, but what he wouldn’t give to be on a plane headed there now. To curl up in his plush bed and drag them all beneath the covers with him.
“I don’t know how all of this is going to go,” he says quietly. “With Vanya, with the others. If the world’s really ending like Five says then we don’t have a choice but to try. For Vanya’s sake. For ours. For Claire. How did we end up in this mess again? Pretty sure we hung up our masks years ago, right?”
The moment Klaus wraps his arm around her shoulders, she leans against him, just enough to rest her head against his shoulder. She wishes that she could believe him, or that she could at least believe it enough for both of them, but they both know what’s at stake. Things had gone downhill so quickly in such a short amount of time, and they’re nowhere near being done yet. The prospect of what’s to come, what else could go wrong terrifies her, and right now the slight tremor in her hands that she had woken up with has very little with the lingering effects of the blood loss and more to do with the dread she feels.
At his own response, she turns to kiss his cheek. It’s sad that their brothers’s reactions to Klaus haven’t been surprising, but it doesn’t change the fact that they’re infuriating. Allison has been vouching for him since their arrival, but clearly none of them had listened. They think she’s still just protecting him, covering for him. She can see it in Luther’s face, had seen it in Diego’s eyes when she was going frantic looking for Klaus after he disappeared when Hazel and Cha-Cha attacked the Academy. And Five, well. He hasn’t been as brutal as he probably could have been, but he also hasn’t been around for the last sixteen years.
The mention of Patrick makes her take another drag from the cigarette, almost as if hoping the burn and the pain it causes will ease up what she feels. As she exhales, she flips to a page on the notepad that very clearly says MY FAULT, because it’s true. Just how she had insisted about it to Luther, she’ll ‘say’ it now to whoever she has to because that’s just the truth. How is she even going to be able to explain to Patrick what happened, though? She won’t be able to talk to him. She won’t be able to communicate with her daughter, because while Claire is smart and she’s starting to learn to read, she can’t expect her to read full conversations with her. Their trips to get donuts after school, or whenever she’d take her grocery shopping, or even just watching her swim in the pool... She can’t be there on her own with her, because if something were to happen, if Claire needed anything...
Will any of it matter, though, if the world ends? The idea that it could actually be happening, that this is their last night on earth makes her queasy, but that’s sufficient reason to want to fix this. To find some sort of answer even if it means doing it with the siblings they seem to be fighting with even if they’re supposed to be working together.
With a small nod, she stands up straight again. As much as she wants to walk away, she knows she can’t. For Vanya, for Claire. They owe them more than just them giving up, and she attempts a smile in Klaus’s direction even if it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. They can’t give up. Reginald had conditioned them too much to do so, and the bastard had managed to bring them back here. One more fucking mission.
After taking one last drag of the cigarette, she lets the last of it drop before she stubs it out with the toe of her shoe. Just as she’s about to flip to a new page on the notepad, the sight of a phone booth catches her eye and she pauses. She hasn’t been able to locate her phone since the cabin - not that she would have been able to do much with it, anyway. But, if they’re going to try to stop Vanya, if there’s a possibility of the world ending...
She swallows, and even if for a moment she can’t bring herself to write the words, she finally does so: Can we call them?
Klaus can't deny the fact that everything happening to them is just a culmination of their father's fucked up mind games. That, for years and years they treated Vanya has though she were some decrepit, black sheep in the family when in reality? She was no different than any of them. They all grew up as sad, dreary children trying to find their place in a world not made for them.
It's no different now, is it?
But seeing the thick lines of sharpie on the paper paired with the look on Allison's face, the rasp that falls between her lips when she breathes or tries to speak, but can't. Klaus knows that feeling. Knows that sometimes, no matter how the wealth is spread, the fault feels so real and deep and cutting that nothing will shake it loose from its place in your mind.
Klaus doesn't finish his cigarette, letting the tobacco turn to ask between his fingers. He wants to go home, now more than ever, and the moment she begins writing on the notepad again, it's like he knows. He and Allison might not be able to communicate telepathically, but sometimes, in terrible moments like these, he feels like the universe reminds him that his bond with his sister is different from all the rest.
"Yeah," he says finally, fighting around an eerie lump in the back of his throat before he flicks the cigarette butt away to the pavement, letting it roll and smoke. So what, if it burns the city down. They're about to go burn the world down, so what does it matter? "Yeah, yeah, of course. Let's go. Though it's gonna be tight quarters, and you know how I am in closed spaces. You can't get mad if a man's hands wander, okay?"
He smiles, all show and teeth and false brightness but he reaches for her hand and gives her a soft tug toward it. The thought of crawling into that tiny box makes his chest feel tight, makes his heart beat, but there's room enough. It'd be much, much worse if it was Luther or Diego he happened to be Clark Kenting with. But opens the little door and gestures.
"Ladies first. I'll dial, if you wanna write some stuff down, yeah?" How is he going to explain? Will Patrick answer? Will Claire? He suddenly feels sick.
Yes they all fucked up, but no one fucked up how she did. She hadn’t failed Vanya just when they were kids - she had ruined her life. She had made her believe she was ordinary. Allison never talked about Vanya’s book, never commented on it despite how insistent the press had been when it came out, but she had read it. Had absorbed everything that she had said, how her label of being ordinary had essentially put her on a course that had sent her spiraling. And, while Allison hadn’t been that decision, she had been the pawn to do it. She had no idea what she was doing at the time, but it had been her nonetheless. She deserves this silent hell she’s in, she knows that. She just hates that it took Vanya losing it for all this shit to come to light.
There’s a brief moment as she waits for Klaus’s response that she changes her mind, and she’s ready to shake her head. She’s ready to tell him to forget it, that they should go back inside or maybe they should smoke another cigarette even if she’s still feeling the agonizing aftermath of the first. She won’t be able to talk to Claire, or Patrick. She won’t be able to say a damn thing. And it’s not like they can see her - which is probably for the best, but it’s giving her a sudden glimpse into how life will be now that she doesn’t have a voice.
At the same time, though, if this is their last night on earth... If this is it, how can she even pass up an opportunity to hear their voices one last time? For a brief moment her features twist as she looks away, the internal agony she’s in unable to be hidden, because she wishes she could be home with Klaus, Patrick, and Claire. She wishes they wouldn’t have come, that they could have ignored the damned sense of obligation that Reginald had ingrained in them and that had made them hop on a plane despite their promises to never return to New York.
None of those wishes change anything, though. They’re here, they’re stuck. Their whole lives have been flipped upside down, the fucking world is ending, and...what else is there to do?
Even if the temperature is surprisingly comfortable, she still finds herself shivering as they walk to the booth, feeling the way her stomach twists and turns painfully with dread. She pushes her way as deep into the phone booth as she can to give him space, but for a moment she just goes still. What can she even say? Her hand shakes a little as she writes, but there’s a sense of resolve in her face as she does so.
We’re just calling them to say goodnight. No goodbyes.
She can’t go there. She can’t think about that, can’t accept that the last time she had hugged her daughter would be the last. She can’t accept that she can’t even say that she loves them, that she’s so sorry.
But that's exactly what this is for them, isn't it? A goodbye to something just in case, the last glimpse of everything they left behind because in a few hours it might not exist anymore. And it's their fault. All of it.
Klaus slides into the phonebooth beside her and slides the door shut, even if the close quarters and stuff box make him want to scream. They remind him too much of the mausoleum, remind him of tight, cramped spaces and loud, ghostly voices. His father tried so many different places, so many different gravesites, but nothing ever got to him quite so much as the perfect darkness, the way it surrounded him. Even if he'd been in a mausoleum as large as a stadium, the infinite darkness would choke the air right out of his chest.
But this? This is for Allison. Sure, he wants to hear Claire's voice, wants to make some silly joke to Patrick and hear him laugh, wants to pretend for a moment they're back in the apartment, snuggled up with a movie of Claire's choosing.
He dials each number after dropping money into the slot. He's grateful he has them; he knows Patrick would be worried if he called collect. Sucking in a deep breath he gives her a soft nod. "Got it. What bedtime story should I tell?"
And he knows that if Claire asks, he'll tell her about the time they saved the whole world, even if it's all made up. Even if she giggles and reminds him that that isn't one of the stories. But he readies himself for Patrick first, tries to pain a thin layer over his voice, because he knows this phone call will set off warning bells. He reaches for Allison's shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze before he tugs her a tiny bit closer, moving so that the phone sits between them.
The sound of a tiny voice on the other end of the phone practically knocks the wind out of his chest. He might be making up the sound of the TV in the background, or the way Patrick laughs through a sigh at his daughter's free spirit. Painting the picture for himself hurts.
"Ah, yes, I am calling for a miss Claire, also known as Clairebear the Magestic, Queen Claire of all the Lairs. Her esteemed uncle and mighty mother would like to call and remind her that little girls should be in bed, not answering phones at this time of night."
Klaus's voice is nothing but musical lilts and laughter, a mask he wears for the sweet little girl so easily. Allison had dragged him away from a bad life, but Claire had absolutely saved him, after all.
"Your mommy and I miss you, so we thought we'd see what trouble you've been getting into. What? Oh." He shifts a look when the inevitable why can't I hear mommy echoes through the static. "Well, your mommy is here with me but she's a little under the weather. Remember that time you got a super scratchy throat and you sounded like a whispering frog? Well hers is worse. So much worse you'd need a dog's hearing to hear what she's saying. But lucky for you, my ears are better than a dog's."
He eels like he's falling down a hill, tripping over his feet and stumbling into the asphalt, only to get up and do the same thing again, as he lets the words fall from his lips. Klaus glances to Allison's notebook then back up to her face, and he hopes she doesn't see the hurt behind his eyes.
Even if it had been her suggestion to call them, this is torture. Absolute fucking torture, and as Klaus dials she's tempted to just reach over and hang up. She can't do this. How can they do this?
But then Claire answers the phone, and she can hear Patrick behind her, and it disarms her in a way that she knew it would but still takes her by complete surprise. Her vision blurs from relief, from happiness, from complete and utter helplessness at the fact that they are here and not there, and it's as if she forgets how to breathe.
Hi, baby, she tries to say unconsciously, instinct kicking in before she can even think about it, because it's how she would greet her if these were regular circumstances. Her voice would be fond, warm. Happy. She would playfully remind her it's getting late, she should be getting ready for bed while Claire thoroughly ignored her and told her about all the fun she's having with Daddy, and Allison would smile through her daughter's tales of everything they've been doing the last few days. Because, she already knows, Patrick is spoiling her, trying to keep her entertained and trying to overcompensate for the fact that she's missing two of her favorite people.
There's nothing, though. There is no greeting that she can give, no conversation she can make. No connection she can make with her own daughter. There's no gentle teasing, no asking her how her day is going, what they have been up to. There are so many things she wants to tell her, so many things she wants to say, and ask, and she can't. She doesn't have a voice, and there's not enough time in the world for everything she wants to say, anyway. How can you fit a lifetime worth of moments in just a few minutes?
When she asks about her, Allison has to look away, looking like she might crumble right on the spot. She can hear Claire sighing, before her little voice perks up as she reminds Klaus to give her mommy some soup and tea, just how she had that time that she had been under the weather, and Allison can already picture Patrick in the background. Trying to not look concerned in front of Claire, but his brow furrowing in a way that would give him away if she looked past the smile on his lips.
There's no time for reassurances, though. They're on borrowed time. They need to stop Vanya. They need to try to stop the apocalypse, if they want to get back to that little girl on the other end of the phone.
'Please tell her I love her,' she writes, her hands shaking slightly. From the heartbreak, from the grief of it all. From the deep sense of longing she's being hit with as her arms ache for her daughter, and the realization that if they don't stop this tonight, she will never be able to hold her again. 'And I'm sorry, for not being there tonight to hug her, and sing to her, and read her a bedtime story, but we'll be back soon. And I can't wait to hold her again.'
She almost feels sick at the reminder that it might not be true, that they may never be back. This might all end tonight, but right now she just needs to cling to the belief that maybe they can make it because the alternative is unbearable to even consider.
"Ooh, yes, tea and soup would be the perfect solution."
Klaus squeezes Allison's shoulder, but he doesn't look at her face. He can't. He know the moment he sees her that his resolve will break, and he's grateful, in a way, that it's Claire who's answered the phone. This conversation can't go on forever, after all, even if neither of them want to stop hearing the soft, sweet voice of the girl on the other side.
If they don't stop Vanya, save Vanya, the world might end and that little voice will be silenced forever.
"Oh, but Claire-bear, she wanted me to tell you just how much she loves you though. Remember the big, wide ocean we saw at Mr. Tony's house? She loves you ten times more than that. What?" He pauses, listening to the other line, and laughs softly, a sorrow in the sound. "Yes, a million, you're right. I'm old, remember, my brain forgets big numbers. Be nice to me or I'll send your Uncle Ben to punish you."
What a threat, he knows, and he laughs a little. "But listen, hm? Get real close to the phone for a second, hm? Hold it extra tight to your ear." He pulls the phone away from his face and turns, pressing the receiver to Allison's chest, and for the first time he looks up at her. Calling might have been a mistake, he realizes, might have brought his sister to pieces when she was already falling apart at the seams from the attack.
But he holds the phone there, over her heart, for a few seconds before he draws back. "Did you hear that? Did you know a heartbeat says a million-million more things than words can say? And your mommy's heartbeat says your name over and over again, which just means we gotta get back there faster, so she can hug you and kiss you and put you in a good old time out for staying up past your bed time. But don't worry, when she has her back turned, I'll sneak you out, pinky promise."
He reaches the hand from her shoulder to tug Allison closer, arm wrapping round her back. "So when you go to bed tonight, make sure your heart says your mommy's name, because we'll be back before you know it. When hearts say names like that, it makes us invincible. Means nothing in the whole wide world will ever tear our family apart. Because you've got your mommy. You've got your daddy. You've got Uncle Ben. You've got me. You have so many names to say you might want to be careful, your heart might grow wings and run off with your favorite stuffed unicorn. I still think it's only pretending to be a doll. It's a real live unicorn when you're not looking."
He lets out a little breath and leans his head against Allison's.
"And if your mommy's voice worked, she'd say I love you, Claire, so, so much. All the way to the moon and back. And you make sure to tell your daddy that, too, hm? But don't you worry. Uncle Klaus will have mommy patched up in a pinch and we'll be on our way back to you soon. I promise, Claire. The biggest pinky promise of all time." And he doesn't know if he's making the promise to Claire or to Allison, or to himself.
The sorrow in Klaus's voice doesn't go unnoticed, and she unconsciously reaches for his hand, giving it a squeeze even if she doesn't dare to look at him. She can't. It's hard to tell if it's for his benefit or for her own, but she already knows that she looks like a mess.
That resolve changes, though, when he presses the receiver against her chest and she looks at him, confused for a moment. Until he explains to Claire what it meant, and fresh tears feel like they pour out of her as she looks away for a moment. Until he pulls her closer, and she hides her face into his shoulder as she cries silently, wrapping her arms around his waist. She knows not calling would have been something she would regret later, that they had done the right thing even if this whole process is agonizing, but it doesn't stop the way it feels like the her heart feels like it twists painfully in her chest, knocking the air right out of her lungs.
"Tell her I love her, too, please," she can hear Claire exclaim. "And I love you, too, Uncle Klaus! Come back soon, okay? I miss you soooo much!"
For a moment she can almost picture her as she says the words, bouncing a little with each one as if it would accentuate what she means by doing so, and a small, sad smile tugs at her lips. God, she misses her daughter so much. She misses Patrick, she misses home. It's all broken now, none of it will ever be the same. She knows that. But she would sell her soul right about now if it meant having more time with them.
It can't end like this, she thinks. This can't be it. This can't be the last time that they hear her. Saying goodbye to her a few days ago, and promising her that they'd be back soon, cannot be the last time they saw her.
A robotic announcement interrupts the phone call, warning that the call will be cut short if they don't additional money isn't inserted for more time, but Allison just nods very slightly against Klaus's shoulder. As if to tell him it's okay, that what he had said is perfect. They need to go. If they want to help Vanya, and attempt to stop this, then they need to go. Not to mention that she can already hear Patrick in the background, trying to coax Claire into giving him the phone, and she doubts either of them are ready for that just yet.
The thought that all of this could end, that everything could come crashing down around them based on how they deal with Vanya? It's horrifying. It makes the robotic voice on the phone feel like a knife between the ribs, separating the two of them from the happy, safe world where Patrick and Claire exist.
"I will tell her a thousand times just for you," he responds, his voice softer than before but just as energetic. "I miss you, too. But the phone's cutting off, turns out Uncle Klaus forgot his purse and he's run right out of coins. Is that your daddy? Make sure to give him a big old hug for us. Tell him we miss him. That we'll be home soon."
The robotic voice warns again and Klaus squeezes Allison, arm curled around her back, holding her tight to him. "But we gotta go, Claire-bear. Chat again soon. Hugs and kisses."
He makes a noisy little kissing sound and pulls the phone away just in time to hear a rustle, to hear Claire parrot his words back to Patrick, and he's never felt more relieved and more guilty in his life for relishing in the sound of the phone clicking back into its dock.
With his other arm free, he reaches to curl it around Allison, holding her snugly against his chest, a hand reaching to cradle the back of her head. "I'm so sorry, Allison," he murmurs, even though his own world feels like its falling apart. But he's going to have to shoulder this, for all of them. Maybe they make it through whatever this apocalypse is, maybe they get to go home. But there's so much to explain, so many hurtles now, even at home.
"I've got you. I'm not letting go, either, so don't even think about leaving." He laughs a tiny bit and presses a kiss to the side of her head. They'll have to get back inside soon, have to return to the circle of who-what-why-when-hows. They'll have to find Vanya and stop her at all costs.
"We'll fix this. I'll find a way. We'll be back home before you know it. I swear, Al, I swear."
Allison can't help but huff out a breath in an almost-laugh when he tells her to not even think about leaving, because that is exactly what she had been thinking of doing. It's Allison's immediate response whenever she falls apart, that innate need to hide whenever her emotions became too much to handle, and considering the situation at hand she can't help it. Waking up without a voice, with her life turned upside down in a matter of hours had already left her shaky, but this? Knowing that this could be the end, that she couldn't even say goodbye to her daughter properly? That her last conversation with her husband had been tense and closed off, because Allison had been trying so hard to put that wall between them just so that she wouldn't be convinced to stay in Los Angeles?
They shouldn't have left. They shouldn't have come. She shouldn't have insisted, they shouldn't have--
But, could they risk the alternative? Leaving Vanya alone in all this? The world would still end, things wouldn't change. They would be blissfully unaware of the shitshow going on here, but which one would be the lesser of both enormous evils?
As she buries her face in her brother's shoulder, her arms still wrapped around him, no sound comes from her cries, but the way that her shoulders shake give her away. It's hard not to - she's in so much pain, she's fucking exhausted, and all she wants is her baby. She feels so goddamned helpless that it is beyond frustrating.
But, at the same time, she knows that she can't stay like this. They can't stay here, just as much as they cannot leave New York. They have to figure this out, right? They have to help Vanya. They have to stop all this. She can't swear it back to him, that she'll do her best so that they can figure this out, because Klaus would also be losing Claire and Patrick just as much as she is, but the resolve in her eyes says it as she looks up at him. Despite the tears in her eyes, there's a steely resolution behind them. She has to. Not even for herself, or for anyone else, but for Claire. They owe it to that little girl that they both adore so damn much.
For a moment she feels how she did when she was a teenager, when her arm stung from the tattoo that Reginald had branded them with, as Klaus comforted her. And, just like on that day, it's as if she suddenly decides that it's pointless to keep crying despite how shitty she may feel, and she wipes the tears away from her eyes. They have too much to do, after all.
Before they can move, though, Allison leans in and kisses her brother on the cheek before she hugs him again. This time it's not as brief or desperate, but it's more to thank him. For doing this, for helping her, for always being there. She doesn't know if they'll have a chance for this again, and she hates that once again she cannot tell him everything she wishes she could say, but maybe in this case it's not so bad. Because, she knows, it would sound too much like a goodbye and she doubts that Klaus would be okay with that.
So, for now, she just hugs him tightly before offering a small, faint nod as if to tell him that she's ready. They have to stop Vanya; they need to go.
Klaus holds her as tight as he can, as though doing so might ease all of her problems, might ward off all the bad things moving in their direction. He wants to close his eyes and will them back to California, where they might be able to find some peace with the little family they've built.
But there isn't an option for that now. They don't get the choice, because now they have to save Vanya, and a tiny part of him hopes that they can. He can't imagine what she's feeling, especially having been locked in the vault. (He'll never forgive Luther, never forgive himself for allowing it to happen. After all, he knows how it feels to be shoved into a container, lost and confused and completely out of control).
Klaus reaches to help dry her tears, thumbs catching a couple stragglers. "We'll figure it out, Allison. I promise."
No matter what he has to do, he will make sure she gets home to Claire and Patrick. He will find a way. As she leans back into hug him, he sighs and curls his arms around her again. A soft, blue light glows in the dim phonebooth. Where she might have only felt Klaus's arms before, she might feel another this time, and Ben's head comes to rest against hers. They don't have long, not before they have to go find Vanya, but there's time for this before they go.
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She knows that they can't, though. That, just like that day when Klaus had returned from Vietnam, they can't just leave. Not yet. Not when Vanya is so far gone and they need to figure out a way to stop her. Not when the world may end before their flight can even take off. The idea that she's here, and not with her husband and her daughter makes her dizzy, the weight of it all suddenly overwhelming, but she just tries to swallow the knot that builds in her throat.
That's why, when Klaus offers a cigarette, she all but leaps for it. After giving birth to Claire, Allison's habit had been cut back considerably, especially after essentially going cold turkey during her pregnancy, but right now she just needs it. Once they're sufficiently distanced from the door, she takes the cigarette and, once it's lit, she takes a deep drag from it. It's most definitely a bad idea, the inhale and the smoke itself making the pain in her neck flare up in a way that it makes her see stars for a moment, but she doesn't stop. She can't. Not with everything going on.
At his question if she's okay, she's tempted to nod but what's the point? If there's one person that knows her better than anyone, it's Klaus, and she just shakes her head very slightly as she looks down for a moment. Still, despite that answer, she makes a motion as if to say it doesn't matter. And, well, it really doesn't. She's not okay, but they have to save this shithole if only so they could have a chance at going home.
Are you? she mouths again, not writing the question down only because she doesn't want to let go of the cigarette just yet.
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When she shakes her head, he sighs and moves to curl an arm around her shoulders, tugging her into his side. “It’s gonna be okay, Al,” he says, even though he doesn’t quite believe it himself. They’re going to have to save Vanya and keep their family from harming her in the process- he’s not sure how they’ll make it happen, but they have to try.
“And little old me? Oh, I’m fine. Nothing like the apocalypse and some existential horror to really get me going for the day,” he laughs softly and sighs, dragging from his cigarette again shortly after. He wishes his siblings would listen to him, would let him help, but he reminds himself that they don’t understand, that they don’t know what he’s capable of.
“Patrick’s gonna kill me, you know. Letting you get hurt, letting you smoke. I’m such a bad influence on you,” he teases, though there’s something weary in his voice. He doesn’t know how he will face Patrick, doesn’t know how he can return home the way things are now, but what he wouldn’t give to be on a plane headed there now. To curl up in his plush bed and drag them all beneath the covers with him.
“I don’t know how all of this is going to go,” he says quietly. “With Vanya, with the others. If the world’s really ending like Five says then we don’t have a choice but to try. For Vanya’s sake. For ours. For Claire. How did we end up in this mess again? Pretty sure we hung up our masks years ago, right?”
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At his own response, she turns to kiss his cheek. It’s sad that their brothers’s reactions to Klaus haven’t been surprising, but it doesn’t change the fact that they’re infuriating. Allison has been vouching for him since their arrival, but clearly none of them had listened. They think she’s still just protecting him, covering for him. She can see it in Luther’s face, had seen it in Diego’s eyes when she was going frantic looking for Klaus after he disappeared when Hazel and Cha-Cha attacked the Academy. And Five, well. He hasn’t been as brutal as he probably could have been, but he also hasn’t been around for the last sixteen years.
The mention of Patrick makes her take another drag from the cigarette, almost as if hoping the burn and the pain it causes will ease up what she feels. As she exhales, she flips to a page on the notepad that very clearly says MY FAULT, because it’s true. Just how she had insisted about it to Luther, she’ll ‘say’ it now to whoever she has to because that’s just the truth. How is she even going to be able to explain to Patrick what happened, though? She won’t be able to talk to him. She won’t be able to communicate with her daughter, because while Claire is smart and she’s starting to learn to read, she can’t expect her to read full conversations with her. Their trips to get donuts after school, or whenever she’d take her grocery shopping, or even just watching her swim in the pool... She can’t be there on her own with her, because if something were to happen, if Claire needed anything...
Will any of it matter, though, if the world ends? The idea that it could actually be happening, that this is their last night on earth makes her queasy, but that’s sufficient reason to want to fix this. To find some sort of answer even if it means doing it with the siblings they seem to be fighting with even if they’re supposed to be working together.
With a small nod, she stands up straight again. As much as she wants to walk away, she knows she can’t. For Vanya, for Claire. They owe them more than just them giving up, and she attempts a smile in Klaus’s direction even if it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. They can’t give up. Reginald had conditioned them too much to do so, and the bastard had managed to bring them back here. One more fucking mission.
After taking one last drag of the cigarette, she lets the last of it drop before she stubs it out with the toe of her shoe. Just as she’s about to flip to a new page on the notepad, the sight of a phone booth catches her eye and she pauses. She hasn’t been able to locate her phone since the cabin - not that she would have been able to do much with it, anyway. But, if they’re going to try to stop Vanya, if there’s a possibility of the world ending...
She swallows, and even if for a moment she can’t bring herself to write the words, she finally does so: Can we call them?
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Klaus can't deny the fact that everything happening to them is just a culmination of their father's fucked up mind games. That, for years and years they treated Vanya has though she were some decrepit, black sheep in the family when in reality? She was no different than any of them. They all grew up as sad, dreary children trying to find their place in a world not made for them.
It's no different now, is it?
But seeing the thick lines of sharpie on the paper paired with the look on Allison's face, the rasp that falls between her lips when she breathes or tries to speak, but can't. Klaus knows that feeling. Knows that sometimes, no matter how the wealth is spread, the fault feels so real and deep and cutting that nothing will shake it loose from its place in your mind.
Klaus doesn't finish his cigarette, letting the tobacco turn to ask between his fingers. He wants to go home, now more than ever, and the moment she begins writing on the notepad again, it's like he knows. He and Allison might not be able to communicate telepathically, but sometimes, in terrible moments like these, he feels like the universe reminds him that his bond with his sister is different from all the rest.
"Yeah," he says finally, fighting around an eerie lump in the back of his throat before he flicks the cigarette butt away to the pavement, letting it roll and smoke. So what, if it burns the city down. They're about to go burn the world down, so what does it matter? "Yeah, yeah, of course. Let's go. Though it's gonna be tight quarters, and you know how I am in closed spaces. You can't get mad if a man's hands wander, okay?"
He smiles, all show and teeth and false brightness but he reaches for her hand and gives her a soft tug toward it. The thought of crawling into that tiny box makes his chest feel tight, makes his heart beat, but there's room enough. It'd be much, much worse if it was Luther or Diego he happened to be Clark Kenting with. But opens the little door and gestures.
"Ladies first. I'll dial, if you wanna write some stuff down, yeah?" How is he going to explain? Will Patrick answer? Will Claire? He suddenly feels sick.
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There’s a brief moment as she waits for Klaus’s response that she changes her mind, and she’s ready to shake her head. She’s ready to tell him to forget it, that they should go back inside or maybe they should smoke another cigarette even if she’s still feeling the agonizing aftermath of the first. She won’t be able to talk to Claire, or Patrick. She won’t be able to say a damn thing. And it’s not like they can see her - which is probably for the best, but it’s giving her a sudden glimpse into how life will be now that she doesn’t have a voice.
At the same time, though, if this is their last night on earth... If this is it, how can she even pass up an opportunity to hear their voices one last time? For a brief moment her features twist as she looks away, the internal agony she’s in unable to be hidden, because she wishes she could be home with Klaus, Patrick, and Claire. She wishes they wouldn’t have come, that they could have ignored the damned sense of obligation that Reginald had ingrained in them and that had made them hop on a plane despite their promises to never return to New York.
None of those wishes change anything, though. They’re here, they’re stuck. Their whole lives have been flipped upside down, the fucking world is ending, and...what else is there to do?
Even if the temperature is surprisingly comfortable, she still finds herself shivering as they walk to the booth, feeling the way her stomach twists and turns painfully with dread. She pushes her way as deep into the phone booth as she can to give him space, but for a moment she just goes still. What can she even say? Her hand shakes a little as she writes, but there’s a sense of resolve in her face as she does so.
We’re just calling them to say goodnight. No goodbyes.
She can’t go there. She can’t think about that, can’t accept that the last time she had hugged her daughter would be the last. She can’t accept that she can’t even say that she loves them, that she’s so sorry.
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But that's exactly what this is for them, isn't it? A goodbye to something just in case, the last glimpse of everything they left behind because in a few hours it might not exist anymore. And it's their fault. All of it.
Klaus slides into the phonebooth beside her and slides the door shut, even if the close quarters and stuff box make him want to scream. They remind him too much of the mausoleum, remind him of tight, cramped spaces and loud, ghostly voices. His father tried so many different places, so many different gravesites, but nothing ever got to him quite so much as the perfect darkness, the way it surrounded him. Even if he'd been in a mausoleum as large as a stadium, the infinite darkness would choke the air right out of his chest.
But this? This is for Allison. Sure, he wants to hear Claire's voice, wants to make some silly joke to Patrick and hear him laugh, wants to pretend for a moment they're back in the apartment, snuggled up with a movie of Claire's choosing.
He dials each number after dropping money into the slot. He's grateful he has them; he knows Patrick would be worried if he called collect. Sucking in a deep breath he gives her a soft nod. "Got it. What bedtime story should I tell?"
And he knows that if Claire asks, he'll tell her about the time they saved the whole world, even if it's all made up. Even if she giggles and reminds him that that isn't one of the stories. But he readies himself for Patrick first, tries to pain a thin layer over his voice, because he knows this phone call will set off warning bells. He reaches for Allison's shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze before he tugs her a tiny bit closer, moving so that the phone sits between them.
The sound of a tiny voice on the other end of the phone practically knocks the wind out of his chest. He might be making up the sound of the TV in the background, or the way Patrick laughs through a sigh at his daughter's free spirit. Painting the picture for himself hurts.
"Ah, yes, I am calling for a miss Claire, also known as Clairebear the Magestic, Queen Claire of all the Lairs. Her esteemed uncle and mighty mother would like to call and remind her that little girls should be in bed, not answering phones at this time of night."
Klaus's voice is nothing but musical lilts and laughter, a mask he wears for the sweet little girl so easily. Allison had dragged him away from a bad life, but Claire had absolutely saved him, after all.
"Your mommy and I miss you, so we thought we'd see what trouble you've been getting into. What? Oh." He shifts a look when the inevitable why can't I hear mommy echoes through the static. "Well, your mommy is here with me but she's a little under the weather. Remember that time you got a super scratchy throat and you sounded like a whispering frog? Well hers is worse. So much worse you'd need a dog's hearing to hear what she's saying. But lucky for you, my ears are better than a dog's."
He eels like he's falling down a hill, tripping over his feet and stumbling into the asphalt, only to get up and do the same thing again, as he lets the words fall from his lips. Klaus glances to Allison's notebook then back up to her face, and he hopes she doesn't see the hurt behind his eyes.
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But then Claire answers the phone, and she can hear Patrick behind her, and it disarms her in a way that she knew it would but still takes her by complete surprise. Her vision blurs from relief, from happiness, from complete and utter helplessness at the fact that they are here and not there, and it's as if she forgets how to breathe.
Hi, baby, she tries to say unconsciously, instinct kicking in before she can even think about it, because it's how she would greet her if these were regular circumstances. Her voice would be fond, warm. Happy. She would playfully remind her it's getting late, she should be getting ready for bed while Claire thoroughly ignored her and told her about all the fun she's having with Daddy, and Allison would smile through her daughter's tales of everything they've been doing the last few days. Because, she already knows, Patrick is spoiling her, trying to keep her entertained and trying to overcompensate for the fact that she's missing two of her favorite people.
There's nothing, though. There is no greeting that she can give, no conversation she can make. No connection she can make with her own daughter. There's no gentle teasing, no asking her how her day is going, what they have been up to. There are so many things she wants to tell her, so many things she wants to say, and ask, and she can't. She doesn't have a voice, and there's not enough time in the world for everything she wants to say, anyway. How can you fit a lifetime worth of moments in just a few minutes?
When she asks about her, Allison has to look away, looking like she might crumble right on the spot. She can hear Claire sighing, before her little voice perks up as she reminds Klaus to give her mommy some soup and tea, just how she had that time that she had been under the weather, and Allison can already picture Patrick in the background. Trying to not look concerned in front of Claire, but his brow furrowing in a way that would give him away if she looked past the smile on his lips.
There's no time for reassurances, though. They're on borrowed time. They need to stop Vanya. They need to try to stop the apocalypse, if they want to get back to that little girl on the other end of the phone.
'Please tell her I love her,' she writes, her hands shaking slightly. From the heartbreak, from the grief of it all. From the deep sense of longing she's being hit with as her arms ache for her daughter, and the realization that if they don't stop this tonight, she will never be able to hold her again. 'And I'm sorry, for not being there tonight to hug her, and sing to her, and read her a bedtime story, but we'll be back soon. And I can't wait to hold her again.'
She almost feels sick at the reminder that it might not be true, that they may never be back. This might all end tonight, but right now she just needs to cling to the belief that maybe they can make it because the alternative is unbearable to even consider.
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Klaus squeezes Allison's shoulder, but he doesn't look at her face. He can't. He know the moment he sees her that his resolve will break, and he's grateful, in a way, that it's Claire who's answered the phone. This conversation can't go on forever, after all, even if neither of them want to stop hearing the soft, sweet voice of the girl on the other side.
If they don't stop Vanya, save Vanya, the world might end and that little voice will be silenced forever.
"Oh, but Claire-bear, she wanted me to tell you just how much she loves you though. Remember the big, wide ocean we saw at Mr. Tony's house? She loves you ten times more than that. What?" He pauses, listening to the other line, and laughs softly, a sorrow in the sound. "Yes, a million, you're right. I'm old, remember, my brain forgets big numbers. Be nice to me or I'll send your Uncle Ben to punish you."
What a threat, he knows, and he laughs a little. "But listen, hm? Get real close to the phone for a second, hm? Hold it extra tight to your ear." He pulls the phone away from his face and turns, pressing the receiver to Allison's chest, and for the first time he looks up at her. Calling might have been a mistake, he realizes, might have brought his sister to pieces when she was already falling apart at the seams from the attack.
But he holds the phone there, over her heart, for a few seconds before he draws back. "Did you hear that? Did you know a heartbeat says a million-million more things than words can say? And your mommy's heartbeat says your name over and over again, which just means we gotta get back there faster, so she can hug you and kiss you and put you in a good old time out for staying up past your bed time. But don't worry, when she has her back turned, I'll sneak you out, pinky promise."
He reaches the hand from her shoulder to tug Allison closer, arm wrapping round her back. "So when you go to bed tonight, make sure your heart says your mommy's name, because we'll be back before you know it. When hearts say names like that, it makes us invincible. Means nothing in the whole wide world will ever tear our family apart. Because you've got your mommy. You've got your daddy. You've got Uncle Ben. You've got me. You have so many names to say you might want to be careful, your heart might grow wings and run off with your favorite stuffed unicorn. I still think it's only pretending to be a doll. It's a real live unicorn when you're not looking."
He lets out a little breath and leans his head against Allison's.
"And if your mommy's voice worked, she'd say I love you, Claire, so, so much. All the way to the moon and back. And you make sure to tell your daddy that, too, hm? But don't you worry. Uncle Klaus will have mommy patched up in a pinch and we'll be on our way back to you soon. I promise, Claire. The biggest pinky promise of all time." And he doesn't know if he's making the promise to Claire or to Allison, or to himself.
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That resolve changes, though, when he presses the receiver against her chest and she looks at him, confused for a moment. Until he explains to Claire what it meant, and fresh tears feel like they pour out of her as she looks away for a moment. Until he pulls her closer, and she hides her face into his shoulder as she cries silently, wrapping her arms around his waist. She knows not calling would have been something she would regret later, that they had done the right thing even if this whole process is agonizing, but it doesn't stop the way it feels like the her heart feels like it twists painfully in her chest, knocking the air right out of her lungs.
"Tell her I love her, too, please," she can hear Claire exclaim. "And I love you, too, Uncle Klaus! Come back soon, okay? I miss you soooo much!"
For a moment she can almost picture her as she says the words, bouncing a little with each one as if it would accentuate what she means by doing so, and a small, sad smile tugs at her lips. God, she misses her daughter so much. She misses Patrick, she misses home. It's all broken now, none of it will ever be the same. She knows that. But she would sell her soul right about now if it meant having more time with them.
It can't end like this, she thinks. This can't be it. This can't be the last time that they hear her. Saying goodbye to her a few days ago, and promising her that they'd be back soon, cannot be the last time they saw her.
A robotic announcement interrupts the phone call, warning that the call will be cut short if they don't additional money isn't inserted for more time, but Allison just nods very slightly against Klaus's shoulder. As if to tell him it's okay, that what he had said is perfect. They need to go. If they want to help Vanya, and attempt to stop this, then they need to go. Not to mention that she can already hear Patrick in the background, trying to coax Claire into giving him the phone, and she doubts either of them are ready for that just yet.
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"I will tell her a thousand times just for you," he responds, his voice softer than before but just as energetic. "I miss you, too. But the phone's cutting off, turns out Uncle Klaus forgot his purse and he's run right out of coins. Is that your daddy? Make sure to give him a big old hug for us. Tell him we miss him. That we'll be home soon."
The robotic voice warns again and Klaus squeezes Allison, arm curled around her back, holding her tight to him. "But we gotta go, Claire-bear. Chat again soon. Hugs and kisses."
He makes a noisy little kissing sound and pulls the phone away just in time to hear a rustle, to hear Claire parrot his words back to Patrick, and he's never felt more relieved and more guilty in his life for relishing in the sound of the phone clicking back into its dock.
With his other arm free, he reaches to curl it around Allison, holding her snugly against his chest, a hand reaching to cradle the back of her head. "I'm so sorry, Allison," he murmurs, even though his own world feels like its falling apart. But he's going to have to shoulder this, for all of them. Maybe they make it through whatever this apocalypse is, maybe they get to go home. But there's so much to explain, so many hurtles now, even at home.
"I've got you. I'm not letting go, either, so don't even think about leaving." He laughs a tiny bit and presses a kiss to the side of her head. They'll have to get back inside soon, have to return to the circle of who-what-why-when-hows. They'll have to find Vanya and stop her at all costs.
"We'll fix this. I'll find a way. We'll be back home before you know it. I swear, Al, I swear."
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They shouldn't have left. They shouldn't have come. She shouldn't have insisted, they shouldn't have--
But, could they risk the alternative? Leaving Vanya alone in all this? The world would still end, things wouldn't change. They would be blissfully unaware of the shitshow going on here, but which one would be the lesser of both enormous evils?
As she buries her face in her brother's shoulder, her arms still wrapped around him, no sound comes from her cries, but the way that her shoulders shake give her away. It's hard not to - she's in so much pain, she's fucking exhausted, and all she wants is her baby. She feels so goddamned helpless that it is beyond frustrating.
But, at the same time, she knows that she can't stay like this. They can't stay here, just as much as they cannot leave New York. They have to figure this out, right? They have to help Vanya. They have to stop all this. She can't swear it back to him, that she'll do her best so that they can figure this out, because Klaus would also be losing Claire and Patrick just as much as she is, but the resolve in her eyes says it as she looks up at him. Despite the tears in her eyes, there's a steely resolution behind them. She has to. Not even for herself, or for anyone else, but for Claire. They owe it to that little girl that they both adore so damn much.
For a moment she feels how she did when she was a teenager, when her arm stung from the tattoo that Reginald had branded them with, as Klaus comforted her. And, just like on that day, it's as if she suddenly decides that it's pointless to keep crying despite how shitty she may feel, and she wipes the tears away from her eyes. They have too much to do, after all.
Before they can move, though, Allison leans in and kisses her brother on the cheek before she hugs him again. This time it's not as brief or desperate, but it's more to thank him. For doing this, for helping her, for always being there. She doesn't know if they'll have a chance for this again, and she hates that once again she cannot tell him everything she wishes she could say, but maybe in this case it's not so bad. Because, she knows, it would sound too much like a goodbye and she doubts that Klaus would be okay with that.
So, for now, she just hugs him tightly before offering a small, faint nod as if to tell him that she's ready. They have to stop Vanya; they need to go.
had to sneak in one tag for a cute closer ok;
But there isn't an option for that now. They don't get the choice, because now they have to save Vanya, and a tiny part of him hopes that they can. He can't imagine what she's feeling, especially having been locked in the vault. (He'll never forgive Luther, never forgive himself for allowing it to happen. After all, he knows how it feels to be shoved into a container, lost and confused and completely out of control).
Klaus reaches to help dry her tears, thumbs catching a couple stragglers. "We'll figure it out, Allison. I promise."
No matter what he has to do, he will make sure she gets home to Claire and Patrick. He will find a way. As she leans back into hug him, he sighs and curls his arms around her again. A soft, blue light glows in the dim phonebooth. Where she might have only felt Klaus's arms before, she might feel another this time, and Ben's head comes to rest against hers. They don't have long, not before they have to go find Vanya, but there's time for this before they go.