There’s a very specific request (command, really) that Allison’s assistant has outlined as part of her job description: anything that comes to her regarding her family, she wants to know. Allison Hargreeves left the Academy just shy of turning 18, and while she has never returned to see her family, she has kept up with them in her own way. It helps that her family is relatively famous, and the world still has some odd fascination with them that they can never quite outgrow especially as they shifted from superhero children to train wreck territory, so she uses it to her advantage. Direct contact with some of her siblings feels too risky, like she’ll get sucked back into the chaos of it all if she gets too close again, so being indirectly updated on what her siblings are up to feels safe.
There’s one, though, that’s the exception to the rule. Allison’s bond with Luther has always been complicated; with Diego it’s too volatile; with Vanya is nonexistent. With Klaus, it’s different. Klaus has always managed to understand Allison in a way that not even Luther can do. Just how she’d been there for him whenever he needed her after nightmares or sleepless nights, she knew well enough that Klaus would do anything to comfort her or just keep her company whenever it was needed, and she’d be lying if she said she hasn’t considered going back to the city just for him. She knows Klaus well enough to know that he wouldn’t try to convince her to stay - if anything, he might convince her to run for the West Coast all over again. But, in true Hargreeves fashion, he has his own demons to contend with (literally) and makes him go off the grid more times than she’d like. Allison has tried calling to check on him, only to find the number disconnected or getting returned mail after sending him a postcard. If her phone rings or sends an alert in the middle of the night, it sends her into a nervous spiral, because half the time she expects someone on the other line to tell her that her brother lost his fight to one of his vices.
It’s ironic, that the call doesn’t come in the middle of the night how she always feared. It’s bright and early, while she and Patrick are eating breakfast and discussing her latest project, that her assistant sends her an urgent text with an address and a phone number. After that, everything is a blur - Patrick insists in going with her, but Allison is quick to say no. He doesn’t have to come with her, she needs to do this alone. And it irks him, she can tell, because she’s so guarded when it comes to her family and he doesn’t understand why he has yet to meet any of them, but she could care less. Her focus as she more or less flies out of their house in the Hollywood Hills is to get to Klaus. He’s not dead, thankfully, and the doctors that she more or less grills with questions over the phone assure her that they are sure he’ll do a full recovery, but it doesn’t change the fact that her heart feels as if it has moved right up to her throat. It doesn’t change the fact that she’s filled with regret at the years they’ve lost together, at the guilt at not being there for him so this wouldn’t have to happen. Some logical side of her knows that Klaus has been on this path long before she left, but it doesn’t change the fact that she hates it, anyway.
By the time she makes it to the hospital, she has Rumored people along the way so that she can remain as incognito as possible. She knows at some point someone will leak that Allison Hargreeves is back to the city, but at least it won’t happen until later. She hopes, at least, she and Klaus will be far enough away from there before that can happen.
After speaking to his doctor and getting an update on her brother’s condition, she slips quietly into his room. She has pulled strings to ensure that he could have a private room, not wanting any prying eyes on either of them, and she’s glad to see him asleep when she walks in. It takes her a moment to move again after the door closes softly behind her, the relief at seeing him alive and the concern for how he looks colliding into her at a force that knocks the wind right out of her, but she doesn’t linger long before she walks closer to the chair next to his bed. The room is so quiet and almost peaceful, with the rain falling outside that she could probably nap along with him if she wanted to, but even if she gets comfortable on the chair, she already knows that there’s no way in hell she’ll be sleeping any time soon.
For now, she just reaches over to gently rest her hand on top of his, a quiet reassurance that he’s not alone. She’s here, and she’s not going anywhere.
Klaus hears the monitors first, the steady, rhythmic beeping and the hissing of an oxygen machine. His throat feels impossibly dry and his head throbs like someone's taken a sledge hammer to his skull. His eyes feel heavy and he can't quite will them to open just yet. He fades in and out, hearing words like dehydration, overdose, malnutrition.
This place doesn't smell or sound or feel like the gas station he'd been in, trying to scrounge up change for a pack of cigarettes. A long night partnered with fatigue, dehydration and what is sure to be a lack of food warranted a kick of nicotine, to re-energize him. The bed he's on doesn't feel like a stranger's bed, doesn't have the weird smells or lumps, doesn't come with the expectation of a morning quickie or blowjob. Everything about this feels wrong in a way he can't quite put his finger on. Is he home? Though that thought passes as quickly as it comes. After all, dear old Dad made it very clear he was to never set foot upon the stoop again if he continued to show up 'inebriated'.
His eyes slowly open and he shifts in his bed, groaning against the fluorescent lighting that seems to sear its way right to his aching brain. Klaus knows that if he moves too much, he's going to throw up. He can feel the way his stomach sloshes, gurgling in his abdomen like an angry creature waiting to claw its way out. "Shit..." He tries to raise his hand to touch his face but feels weight on it, he turns with wide, blood shot eyes, half expecting to see restraints. He's never been here before, never dropped himself this far, and a tiny part of him reels with fear.
But when he sees Allison something twists tight in his gut, makes bile rise up hot and acidic in the back of his throat. Fuck, he has to look a mess right now, and he does. All wild, sweat slicked hair, a mixture of black and electric blue eyeliner smudged around his eyes, skin pale and sallow, his waist trim in a way that nods to his drug use, his lack of self care.
"Allison. Man, you're either dead or I'm still crazy high because you don't live here." He giggles at himself and presses his free hand over his eyes.
Some part of Allison half expects for the door to open and a familiar face to come in. Maybe Luther, or Diego, or even Vanya. There are no expectations of their father to make an appearance, but some part of her is still half expecting him to drop in if not for the mere chance of lecturing Klaus while he's down.
No one comes, though. The nurses stop by every once in a while to check his vitals, and a doctor drops off brochures of rehab places for him to check out, but Allison just tucks them into her purse. Not because she's not already thinking about those things, but because she doesn't want her brother to stay in the city anymore. Now that she's settled and established in Los Angeles, she wants to bring him with her and she spends most of the time that Klaus is sleeping making plans. She already knows which room to give him in the house, one that would give him a private bathroom with a soaking tub, and a balcony. Would Klaus agree to go with her? She's not sure, but she's ready to do whatever she can to convince him.
Her eyes are staring at the monitors, watching the steady beat of his heart when his groan brings her back to reality. She doesn't say anything at first, letting him fully wake up...but it's also because seeing him like this is so much harder than she could have ever expected.
She doesn't look away, though. And, more importantly, she doesn't let it show on her features. If anything, she just gives his hand a gentle squeeze before she scoots closer to him.
"Nope, neither one of those. I wanted to come see you." She smiles slightly, but the concern in her eyes betray whatever casualness she tries to hold onto. "You're hard to find, you know."
"What can I say? I like a little mystery in my life. It really spices things up."
The last time he spoke with Allison, she had just gotten married. At the time, he barely had enough money to live off of, let alone send her a gift or even attend the thing. Living off the grid, without a real phone and no longer allowed into the Academy, he kept to himself and dedicated as much of his time to surviving as he could. Anything for the next hit, the next drink, the next bed to sleep in. Anything to keep the ghosts at bay.
People told him all the time that he was walking a dangerous road, drinking and partying and popping pills the way he was. The last batch he got must have been bad, laced with something more potent and toxic because all he remembers is reaching for his mostly empty wallet, and then hitting the floor. (In hindsight, it's a good thing he kept the little post-it note with her number on it inside his wallet, because he's sure he'd be on the streets again if not).
"Better to stay busy, keep moving. You're not hard to find, though. I saw your face on a movie poster the other day and you looked fantastic." He laughs weakly, wincing when his stomach gives another flip. He feels like he's slowly rotting from the inside out. "But hey this is like living in luxury. Warm bed, crazy hospital socks, and I bet they'll give me all the shitty jell-o cups I want."
"Maybe you need a little less mystery," she suggests with a small smile, almost as if she's joking even if that's the last thing she feels like doing.
Looking down at his hand in hers, she rubs her thumb against his knuckles. He has lost so much weight from the last time that she had seen him that her first instinct is to call up all the fast food places around them so that she can start stuffing him up, but considering the overdose she's trying to take it easy. Not spook him. Not right now, because she doesn't think she'd be able to take it if he wanted her gone.
The mention of her movie poster makes her huff out a soft chuckle, a quiet 'thanks' murmured under her breath even if her brow furrows when she notices the way he winces.
"Yeah, I think all the shitty jell-o cups you want is part of the deal. Do you want anything?"
Klaus laughs in a way that suggests he knows exactly why he needs less excitement in his life. In fact, he sometimes misses the shitty but predictable circumstances of the Academy. He had a roof over his head, food on the table, and was surrounded by people who cared about his existence, in as much as anyone can. But now, they’re all split and it’s a dog eat dog, fend for yourself kind of world. And maybe he’s better at coping with it than most, but something about the danger of this withdrawal negates that.
He died. Klaus knows he came close, at the very least, based on the way he seemed to slip away with the ghosts as easily as air left his lips. He knows he’s already making an incredible recovery for someone who was at deaths door but hours ago. This is how these things go for him.
“God, no, food sounds fucking terrible,” he groans, shaking his head at the thought. “Though I should probably eat anyway. I feel like I’ll ralf even thinking about it.” He squeezes her hand softly, relishing in the small contact that requires nothing of him, that simply exists and promises to stay no matter what he’s able to give in return.
“I’m going to be just dandy. They’ll send me packing in a few hours and I’ll be out of your hair again for another few months. That’s the plan, anyway. The smell of piss and bleach is glamorous and all but I think I’ll take my chances.”
That laugh makes her heart twist painfully in her chest, and her grip on his hand tightens unconsciously. The idea of Klaus going back out there, of continuing this life of his, of this turning out worse than before... It's all terrifying to think about, and it feels like she can't quite catch her breath.
That's why, when he starts saying that he'll be out of her hair again, she's already shaking her head.
"Let's make another plan. Why don't you come with me to California?" She can't help the way that her tone sounds hopeful, how her eyes seem to glisten because the idea of Klaus saying no already feels hard to accept. A part of her wants to Rumor him into going with her, but she's trying really hard to not cave to that inkling.
"We have the extra room," she continues, "and you can decorate it however you want. You can go to the beach, or learn to surf, and we can go shopping... My closet has gotten considerably bigger, you'd love it."
Klaus can’t help but wonder if he’s dreaming. It feels like one of those wild fever dreams he has after a long night on alcohol, paired with a cocktail of pills, when the room’s too bright, his head hurts, and he hears voices in the walls. Maybe wishing that someone would come scoop him up like this is all part of some brain-addled hallucination.
It would be his luck, after all.
“And you think I should surf?” His mind feels like it’s under water, ears stuffed full of cotton. It’s just the withdrawal, just the after effects of a big fall and too many sedatives. “You really think that’s a good idea?”
Any of it. “Me? Live with you and Patrick. Talk about a third wheel. Does he even know you have siblings? Because darling I’m going to be a shock to his system. Oh, shit, I think I’m gonna throw up.”
He pushes himself up suddenly, eyes closed tight as his whole body reels, like the very bed itself is trembling, not his body. His heart rate ticks up on the monitor ever so briefly as he breathes through the wave of nausea. How fucking embarrassing. But it passes in time, leaves his eyes stinging, his chest heaving.
“I can barely afford the dollar menu once a week as a rare treat, Allison. California is out of the picture.”
His question about whether or not Patrick knows about her siblings makes her frown. In a way, sure, she deserves that considering how she left and the distance she has managed to keep the last few years, even during the worst times when she actually regretted leaving. But, even with all that distance, she can never forget that they are her family.
Before she can answer, though, Klaus sits up and Allison stands up along with him, already reaching for the little bowl that the nurse had left on the nightstand earlier. She's ready to help him, to do whatever he needs, but when the worst of it seems to pass she just sets the bowl back down. Instead of sitting on the chair she had been using, she sits on the bed next to him, gently rubbing his back.
"Okay, first of all? Yes, Patrick knows about you. It's fine, Klaus. You don't have to stay with us forever, we can find you another place you'd like. But you can be closer. You don't have to do this alone, I can help you. I want to help you. You don't have to afford it, because I can."
There's a hint of desperation as she tries to convince him, because she's terrified of what could happen if he stays here. She for sure cannot stay here, and it's not even just because she's married and Patrick wouldn't want to live in the city. Allison finds this place suffocating, and for years it felt like it would undo them all. She doesn't want that to happen to him.
She sighs, moving her hand from his back to his shoulder, pulling him slightly closer. "I'm sorry, for not coming before, but I'm here now. And I can-- I have a place where you can stay. Come on, please. Please, at least think about it. We can drive back if you don't want to fly, but I just... I don't want to go back without you."
The last thing Klaus wants is to drag anyone down with him. What is he without this place? He can barely exist without a drink or something else to numb his system, to dull the voices of the dead and the faces that haunt his dreams. Yoga and surfing won’t fix that, won’t wipe away the fact that he’s been handed these horrors and told to accept them, deal with them, learn how to harness them.
He rakes both hands back through his hair and releases a shaky breath once his body seems to settle back into the painful, nauseated normal that comes with withdrawal. He’s already itching all over, his skin cold and clammy, his fingers trembling. Stars burst white hot behind his eyes with every blink, but the hand on his shoulder brings him back down to Earth, and he leans heavy into her side.
“I must look really bad then,” he laughs quietly, a huff of a sound. But can he deny Allison? Can he deny the idea that maybe, for once in his adult life, having someone there might help? He’s always been weak where his sisters are concerned; he can’t deny them anything even if he tried. “But sure, let’a have a delightful California vacation. I’ll do yoga, practice all the deep breathing and maybe find a nice little Buddha of my own for a nice jaunty time. I mean, you can’t deny just looking at a statue of the man can get you going.”
He presses his cheek into her shoulder, his eyes closing. It feels like a failure, accepting her invite, feels like one more score in his record. How long until the needle scratches too deep, until he comes out slipping and broken and unusable. He can hear Luther now, the judgement in his tone, Diego’s eye roll that marks his disappointment like a knife poorly sharpened.
At the feel of him leaning against her, she shifts her position slightly so that she can better support him, holding him close. Especially when he accepts, and Allison has to remind herself to be gentle and not squeeze him so tight considering what he's going through.
If Klaus' attention were to shift to her midriff, especially since the cardigan that she's wearing opens up a little wider in the position that she's in, he'll be able to notice the slight swell of her belly. One that she has been very careful to hide from the media, and that she hasn't brought up now only because she doesn't want him to feel like it's a token to blackmail him with. But, well, that new life that she's carrying is a big reason why she's asking him to come with her to California. She wants her brother to survive long enough to meet her baby. For so damn long she negated the idea of becoming a mother, of ever having a family because it's pretty damn obvious that the Hargreeves aren't built for it... But, now that she's pregnant, she's realizing how wrong she had been. And how, especially with her baby coming, she wants that family to be near even if she doesn't quite know how to bridge the gap with the rest.
With Klaus, it has always been different. And, especially for that reason, she wants him in her life. One way or another. It won't be easy, and she knows that, but she'd rather have that than the regret at not even trying.
"Thank you." She turns her head to kiss the top of his head. "I've missed you, you know."
Klaus rests against her, eyes pressed shut, for a minute or two, quiet. His head feels like a mess of static and barbed wire and if he were asked to do anything that required more than basic motor function? Well. But his eyes open slowly when she kisses the top of his head and it's then he sees it. The swell of her belly under the chic cardigan.
He thinks, for a moment, that maybe it's just the way she's sitting, but he knows the media would eat her alive for even thinking about gaining a pound. The thought that she could be pregnant, that there's a baby on the way for one of the Hargreeves, the one inviting him to live with her?
"Were you gonna try and keep this whole thing a secret, or what?" He gestures to her middle, not yet extracting himself from her side. He doesn't have the energy. "You do realize you're inviting a wild, deranged drug addict to live with you and your new little family. Pretty sure that's not gonna go over well with Mr. Allison Hargreeves."
He sighs and pushes himself away from her then, having to steady himself on the bedside rail as the room does a funny little lurch to one side. "Allison, you shouldn't be here," he groans, suddenly frustrated. "You've got a whole grand life out west. If that bump is what I think it is, and not a big lunch, then you need to march yourself right out of this place. I'm not going to be able to fix this."
He lets his hands fall into his lap miserably. "You need to go have your perfect little baby with you're unfairly attractive husband and make lots and lots of money. I can't just turn around and quit cold turkey and let all the undead assholes come running back. I can't do it." There's fear in the insistence.
There’s a moment when Allison let’s herself relax, thinking that Klaus moving to California with her is a done deal. She’s already creating a list of things to do for the next time he falls asleep, just so they can be good to go by the time he’s released from the hospital, but then he brings up her belly and Allison tenses at once. She hadn’t been hiding it, but she hadn’t said anything because part of her had been afraid of this exact response.
“And where should I be? Home, wondering if you made it? Ignoring the fact that you are here, alone? Waiting for the next phone call that tells me that the next overdose was worse and someone needs to identify you?”
There’s a firmness to her voice, but she can’t help the way it also shakes. It’s hard to tell if it’s at the indignation of his suggestion to not be here, or the fear she feels at all those scenarios, because they both feel like a colliding force that is trying to choke her.
She reaches for his hand, giving it a squeeze as she tries to get him to look at her as if to assure him she’s being honest. “I don’t expect or think that it will be easy, or that you’ll be clean because you agree to come with me. I know it’s going to be a process, but you don’t have to do it alone. Please, let me help you. At least try it out. Please.” Her eyes fill with tears, and she looks down at their hands together as her thumb moves gently along his skin. “You and I will never really know normalcy, and I know that because we’ll always have our upbringing and our powers. I get that. But I want my baby to have something that resembles normal. I can’t give her a good grandfather from my side of the family. I can’t even promise family reunions, or holidays because we hardly even know how to celebrate those. But I want to give her at least an uncle. I want her to meet you, Klaus. You don’t have to worry about Patrick, or anything else. I just— I can’t leave you here.”
With her free hand, she wipes the tears away almost stubbornly, as if mad at herself for crying but she can’t help it.
“If you decide you want to come back,” she forces herself to add, and it’s obvious that it’s not easy for her to do so. “If you don’t want to stay, then that’s up to you. But let’s at least try it before you decide you can’t.”
He does not have the energy for this. He can't tap into some hidden cellar and draw out a few more hours of endurance, though he wish he could. Oh what a dream it would be to have energy flowing from the taps. But here they are in a hospital bed, sandwiched together like two misfit puzzle pieces. The blood pressure cuff whirs to life, the machine humming low in the silence that falls, accompanied by her tears, his ragged breathing.
Klaus feels the familiar sensation of anger coursing through his blood, though it isn't necessarily directed at Allison. A cruel part of him wants to remind her that she left. She left him as much as they all left each other and maybe caring now is too little, too late. He doesn't, however, because he knows too well that anger is meant for himself, not for her.
"Normal?" A hysterical laugh bursts from his chest. "You think I resemble normal? Oh yes, let's sit here and have a heart to heart while John who died next door is fucking breathing down my god damned neck." He yanks his hands away from hers and rubs his forearms as they pimple with goose flesh, his hands quaking, with anger, with fear "But yeah, A+ nanny material, sign me up."
He needs to get out of this place. The realization is so sudden and so real that he scrambles for the blankets, shoving them off to reveal skinny, pale legs, spotted with the occasional bruise. The oxygen and heart rate monitor wails as he rips the tape from his finger. "Then lets go. I need to get out of this place." Does he have a choice? He can't look at her, see those tears and deny her anything. While he wants the chance to go to California, see what his life could be there, a small, childish part of him wants it to have been his choice.
The IVs come next, frantic hands peeling back tape and digging. Nothing worse than the bite of a needle on a hot night in a sleazy apartment, right. His hands shake too much to pull the IV out, however, shake to the point he lets out a near growl of frustration that dissolves into a quiet sob. He presses his palms over his ears instead, sucking in shaky, uncertain breaths, whimpering.
She tries to speak over him, but Klaus keeps talking and there’s not a lot she can say. What could she say? She knows it isn’t fair to ask this of him. But, at the same time, leaving him to figure it out feels wrong, too. There’s a brief moment when she finds herself tempted to Rumor him, to convince him to come with her and damn the consequences, but she bites the inside of her lips as if to force herself to not go there no matter how much she wants to.
When he stands, Allison shoots up too, trying so hard to not shove him back on the bed but staying close enough in case he needs support. Last thing she wants is for him to fall and hurt himself.
When his palms press against his ears, Allison starts to approach him again. If he pulls back or away she won’t force him to come into contact with her, but if he lets her she’s ready to at least steady him.
Klaus lets her close, lets her steady him because he needs it. His legs don't feel like his underneath him, but they're strong, despite it all. He keeps his hands clamped over his ears, keeps his eyes screwed shut until whatever haunt was lingering nearby finally fades away. Allison's touch brings him back to the surface of it all and he reaches for the bedside, sitting like she's asked him to, letting his fingers twist tightly in the overturned bed covers.
He leans forward into her, pressing his face against her shoulder, his own shoulders shaking as he comes down from the hysteria, the tears. He tries to focus on the monitors, the way they alarm, dissonant. "I can hear them everywhere," he says quietly. It's a hospital. So many people have died here. "The longer I sit here, the more I see. They come out of the fucking walls in swarms. I need to be numb again."
Thankfully this is Allison he's making the desperate plea to and not a frenzied hospital orderly. After all, they'd diagnose him with hallucinations and psychotic breaks and maybe even a dash of schizophrenia if he's not too careful. He sucks in a shaky breath, using every beat of his heart to begin laying the bricks of his defenses.
"Welcome home, Allison! Did you know your brother is a fucking mess? He sure is pretty but that's about all he's got going for him. Don't get too close, he might have rabies."
It's a relief, for him to not push away, and she is quick to provide him the support that he needs. When he leans forward, his face on her shoulder, she rests a hand against the nape of his neck, keeping him close while the other hand rubs his back in hopes that it would soothe him.
"We're all a fucking mess," she murmurs against his hair. "You know that hasn't changed just because we're not all at the house together."
She presses a kiss against the top of his head again, quiet for a moment before she speaks. "Give me ten minutes and I'll get you out of here, we'll go to a hotel and you can rest there." A beat. "You can figure out what you want to do after you get more sleep. Are you feeling well enough to do that?"
Klaus laughs weakly and leans back, holding his hands up in false surrender. "But I'm a danger to myself. They will strongly advise you to think twice about such a morally poor decision."
Rolling his eyes he carefully slides back onto the bed, the weight of his body heavy as he flops onto his side. "Besides what would I do without my fill of artificially flavored gelatin."
All his bravado doesn't mask the way his hands shake uncontrollably, the way he sweats, the way he scratches at his forearms like his skin is like to crawl off his body. "But honestly a hotel sounds amazing," he admits, a tiny crack in the facade. "A real fucking bath tub. God." He could cry at the thought of it.
"Fine, I'll get a private doctor to keep an eye on you. I'll figure it out."
She has thought this through already, what she would do after leaving the hospital. This is her first rodeo with him like this, but she has been busy already trying to think of scenarios and what she would be doing to help him through it. One of the good things about her being here, with money of her own, is that she can actually make these things happen and she's damn thankful for it.
Her brow furrows as he lays down, and she sits at the edge of the bed, brushing his hair back. "I'm sure room service can figure out how to get you crappy jell-o, if you don't want to miss out on the experience."
"Yeah, yeah, go on you braggart," he sighs, attempting at something playful when she mentions the private doctor, but it comes out flat.
Sleep would go a long way, really, but he knows that withdrawal is nothing more than staring down insomnia with a body full to bursting with pins and needles and fire. Give it a few days and he might feel like he has control over his nerves again, but for now he doesn't. He wiggles around in the bed before he negotiates his head into her lap, an arm draped across her knees.
"They're gonna put me in restrains when they get in here, so don't freak out, okay?" He laughs softly, clinging to her like a lost child. "And while a hotel sounds like everything I want right now I should stay here. This is gonna be a doozie," he winces as his stomach seizes up again in his gut. "And when we'll get on a jetplane and kiss this sorry fucker goodbye. Over martinis though? God, a martini..." He rolls onto his back, looking up at her, turning his head once to speak into her belly. "You hear that you little shit? Martinis. I'll have your mom's, for your benefit, of course."
"What's the point of you resting here if you're not going to rest?"
The idea of Klaus being put in restrains immediately makes her shoulders tense, but she tries to keep her features normal for his benefit. The last thing he needs is for her to throw a fit, when he's already dealing with all of this. Granted, she knows that she should trust him because obviously he has done this before, but the idea of him being tied down is enough to make that sense of overprotectiveness kick in in a way that she hasn't felt in years.
For now, though, she just stays still, letting him get comfortable on her lap as she idly runs her fingers through his hair. When he speaks into her belly, she laughs softly, a warm smile on her face. "You're so thoughtful." She brushes his hair back, silent for a moment.
Finally, "Is that what you want to do, then? Stay here? If we could do anything. Literally, anything. Don't worry about logistics. Do you want to stay here?"
"You can't rest when your blood is all of 75% opioids darling. That's just not how that works. When I close my eyes I get my own personal laser show."
Klaus knows the only way he stands a chance at getting better is to stay, let the doctors help him through the withdrawal and send him on his way. He knows the responsible thing to do is to tell Allison to leave, and have her return in a few days when he's moderately stable again. He might actually stand a chance at turning himself around that way, but he's never made it far enough out of recovery without another fix, it's hard to say what the outcome would be.
But she's petting his hair which does wonders for his anxiety, and he all but melts into her lap,
"I don't care where we go or when. Whatever." Klaus says finally, honest. "Just take me with you. Please."
Allison waits for his response, her fingers finding a rhythm in the way that they move through his hair. She's trying to give him something to focus on, something to soothe him so that he can at least get some rest in the meantime.
"I'm not leaving without you," she promises. "Let me make a call, okay? We'll be out of here soon."
If there's one thing that Hollywood has experience in, after all, is knowing how to handle addictions. Especially in a private manner, when a slip could end someone's career. In this case the help is not for herself, but she knows that her assistant can help to get them set up in no time with whatever they may need. Hell, she had already sent her an email with information while she had been on her way here, so she's sure that she'll have ideas on how to do this.
Without moving him off her lap, she reaches for the phone next to the bed and dials the number that she knows so well. She asks her assistant to set them up at a hotel downtown, to use one of her alias and to make sure to have someone available for her brother by the time they make it there, and she's promised a turnaround time of an hour. It's not ideal, but at least by the time that she hangs up she feels a little better about the situation. There's a plan in place.
"Do you want some water, or do you want to try to get some sleep while we wait?"
Allison sounds like she has everything under control in a way that Klaus envies, and has envied his whole life. Despite their father's mistreatment, all the mishaps with Luther and their siblings, Allison had a cool calm about her that he could never fully wrap his head around. She's no different now, comforting him while sorting out lodging and giving detailed instructions without batting an eye.
He doesn't entirely hear everything she says though, his mind drifting in and out, unable to really focus on anything now that he's calmed down and stopped moving. It's not exhaustion, per se, because he doesn't feel tired, but his brain simply can't keep up.
"Hm?" He looks up at her, bleary eyed. "No. I'm fine. I'm just dandy. I feel like I've been hit by a freight train." He turns his face back to her middle once again, yawning before he speaks. "In case you didn't know, drugs are bad, kid."
It's funny, for as much as she sounds like she's in control, there's something deep down that always lingers, making her question herself. She does a good job at hiding it, and that part she has an advantage over her brothers, but it's still there. It's Reginald, his voice worming itself into her brain, but she has learned to at least diminish it enough to not let her distract her.
Especially now, with what Klaus is dealing with. He needs stability in more ways than one, and Allison is determined to offer that to him no matter what. Of that, she's absolutely certain. In a few days she knows that the tabloids might get a hold of the story, that maybe then their siblings might give a shit about all this at that point (Luther, mainly, as he questions what the hell she's doing), but even that she's already mentally prepared for it. And, as far as she's concerned, they'll be safe in California, away from this goddamned place.
With a chuckle, she shakes her head slightly at him. "...you know, other than Patrick and my doctor, no one else knows yet. This isn't how I wanted to tell you, but I'm really glad you didn't find out through a magazine."
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if the sky comes falling down, for you there’s nothing in this world I wouldn't do;
There’s one, though, that’s the exception to the rule. Allison’s bond with Luther has always been complicated; with Diego it’s too volatile; with Vanya is nonexistent. With Klaus, it’s different. Klaus has always managed to understand Allison in a way that not even Luther can do. Just how she’d been there for him whenever he needed her after nightmares or sleepless nights, she knew well enough that Klaus would do anything to comfort her or just keep her company whenever it was needed, and she’d be lying if she said she hasn’t considered going back to the city just for him. She knows Klaus well enough to know that he wouldn’t try to convince her to stay - if anything, he might convince her to run for the West Coast all over again. But, in true Hargreeves fashion, he has his own demons to contend with (literally) and makes him go off the grid more times than she’d like. Allison has tried calling to check on him, only to find the number disconnected or getting returned mail after sending him a postcard. If her phone rings or sends an alert in the middle of the night, it sends her into a nervous spiral, because half the time she expects someone on the other line to tell her that her brother lost his fight to one of his vices.
It’s ironic, that the call doesn’t come in the middle of the night how she always feared. It’s bright and early, while she and Patrick are eating breakfast and discussing her latest project, that her assistant sends her an urgent text with an address and a phone number. After that, everything is a blur - Patrick insists in going with her, but Allison is quick to say no. He doesn’t have to come with her, she needs to do this alone. And it irks him, she can tell, because she’s so guarded when it comes to her family and he doesn’t understand why he has yet to meet any of them, but she could care less. Her focus as she more or less flies out of their house in the Hollywood Hills is to get to Klaus. He’s not dead, thankfully, and the doctors that she more or less grills with questions over the phone assure her that they are sure he’ll do a full recovery, but it doesn’t change the fact that her heart feels as if it has moved right up to her throat. It doesn’t change the fact that she’s filled with regret at the years they’ve lost together, at the guilt at not being there for him so this wouldn’t have to happen. Some logical side of her knows that Klaus has been on this path long before she left, but it doesn’t change the fact that she hates it, anyway.
By the time she makes it to the hospital, she has Rumored people along the way so that she can remain as incognito as possible. She knows at some point someone will leak that Allison Hargreeves is back to the city, but at least it won’t happen until later. She hopes, at least, she and Klaus will be far enough away from there before that can happen.
After speaking to his doctor and getting an update on her brother’s condition, she slips quietly into his room. She has pulled strings to ensure that he could have a private room, not wanting any prying eyes on either of them, and she’s glad to see him asleep when she walks in. It takes her a moment to move again after the door closes softly behind her, the relief at seeing him alive and the concern for how he looks colliding into her at a force that knocks the wind right out of her, but she doesn’t linger long before she walks closer to the chair next to his bed. The room is so quiet and almost peaceful, with the rain falling outside that she could probably nap along with him if she wanted to, but even if she gets comfortable on the chair, she already knows that there’s no way in hell she’ll be sleeping any time soon.
For now, she just reaches over to gently rest her hand on top of his, a quiet reassurance that he’s not alone. She’s here, and she’s not going anywhere.
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This place doesn't smell or sound or feel like the gas station he'd been in, trying to scrounge up change for a pack of cigarettes. A long night partnered with fatigue, dehydration and what is sure to be a lack of food warranted a kick of nicotine, to re-energize him. The bed he's on doesn't feel like a stranger's bed, doesn't have the weird smells or lumps, doesn't come with the expectation of a morning quickie or blowjob. Everything about this feels wrong in a way he can't quite put his finger on. Is he home? Though that thought passes as quickly as it comes. After all, dear old Dad made it very clear he was to never set foot upon the stoop again if he continued to show up 'inebriated'.
His eyes slowly open and he shifts in his bed, groaning against the fluorescent lighting that seems to sear its way right to his aching brain. Klaus knows that if he moves too much, he's going to throw up. He can feel the way his stomach sloshes, gurgling in his abdomen like an angry creature waiting to claw its way out. "Shit..." He tries to raise his hand to touch his face but feels weight on it, he turns with wide, blood shot eyes, half expecting to see restraints. He's never been here before, never dropped himself this far, and a tiny part of him reels with fear.
But when he sees Allison something twists tight in his gut, makes bile rise up hot and acidic in the back of his throat. Fuck, he has to look a mess right now, and he does. All wild, sweat slicked hair, a mixture of black and electric blue eyeliner smudged around his eyes, skin pale and sallow, his waist trim in a way that nods to his drug use, his lack of self care.
"Allison. Man, you're either dead or I'm still crazy high because you don't live here." He giggles at himself and presses his free hand over his eyes.
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No one comes, though. The nurses stop by every once in a while to check his vitals, and a doctor drops off brochures of rehab places for him to check out, but Allison just tucks them into her purse. Not because she's not already thinking about those things, but because she doesn't want her brother to stay in the city anymore. Now that she's settled and established in Los Angeles, she wants to bring him with her and she spends most of the time that Klaus is sleeping making plans. She already knows which room to give him in the house, one that would give him a private bathroom with a soaking tub, and a balcony. Would Klaus agree to go with her? She's not sure, but she's ready to do whatever she can to convince him.
Her eyes are staring at the monitors, watching the steady beat of his heart when his groan brings her back to reality. She doesn't say anything at first, letting him fully wake up...but it's also because seeing him like this is so much harder than she could have ever expected.
She doesn't look away, though. And, more importantly, she doesn't let it show on her features. If anything, she just gives his hand a gentle squeeze before she scoots closer to him.
"Nope, neither one of those. I wanted to come see you." She smiles slightly, but the concern in her eyes betray whatever casualness she tries to hold onto. "You're hard to find, you know."
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The last time he spoke with Allison, she had just gotten married. At the time, he barely had enough money to live off of, let alone send her a gift or even attend the thing. Living off the grid, without a real phone and no longer allowed into the Academy, he kept to himself and dedicated as much of his time to surviving as he could. Anything for the next hit, the next drink, the next bed to sleep in. Anything to keep the ghosts at bay.
People told him all the time that he was walking a dangerous road, drinking and partying and popping pills the way he was. The last batch he got must have been bad, laced with something more potent and toxic because all he remembers is reaching for his mostly empty wallet, and then hitting the floor. (In hindsight, it's a good thing he kept the little post-it note with her number on it inside his wallet, because he's sure he'd be on the streets again if not).
"Better to stay busy, keep moving. You're not hard to find, though. I saw your face on a movie poster the other day and you looked fantastic." He laughs weakly, wincing when his stomach gives another flip. He feels like he's slowly rotting from the inside out. "But hey this is like living in luxury. Warm bed, crazy hospital socks, and I bet they'll give me all the shitty jell-o cups I want."
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Looking down at his hand in hers, she rubs her thumb against his knuckles. He has lost so much weight from the last time that she had seen him that her first instinct is to call up all the fast food places around them so that she can start stuffing him up, but considering the overdose she's trying to take it easy. Not spook him. Not right now, because she doesn't think she'd be able to take it if he wanted her gone.
The mention of her movie poster makes her huff out a soft chuckle, a quiet 'thanks' murmured under her breath even if her brow furrows when she notices the way he winces.
"Yeah, I think all the shitty jell-o cups you want is part of the deal. Do you want anything?"
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Klaus laughs in a way that suggests he knows exactly why he needs less excitement in his life. In fact, he sometimes misses the shitty but predictable circumstances of the Academy. He had a roof over his head, food on the table, and was surrounded by people who cared about his existence, in as much as anyone can. But now, they’re all split and it’s a dog eat dog, fend for yourself kind of world. And maybe he’s better at coping with it than most, but something about the danger of this withdrawal negates that.
He died. Klaus knows he came close, at the very least, based on the way he seemed to slip away with the ghosts as easily as air left his lips. He knows he’s already making an incredible recovery for someone who was at deaths door but hours ago. This is how these things go for him.
“God, no, food sounds fucking terrible,” he groans, shaking his head at the thought. “Though I should probably eat anyway. I feel like I’ll ralf even thinking about it.” He squeezes her hand softly, relishing in the small contact that requires nothing of him, that simply exists and promises to stay no matter what he’s able to give in return.
“I’m going to be just dandy. They’ll send me packing in a few hours and I’ll be out of your hair again for another few months. That’s the plan, anyway. The smell of piss and bleach is glamorous and all but I think I’ll take my chances.”
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That's why, when he starts saying that he'll be out of her hair again, she's already shaking her head.
"Let's make another plan. Why don't you come with me to California?" She can't help the way that her tone sounds hopeful, how her eyes seem to glisten because the idea of Klaus saying no already feels hard to accept. A part of her wants to Rumor him into going with her, but she's trying really hard to not cave to that inkling.
"We have the extra room," she continues, "and you can decorate it however you want. You can go to the beach, or learn to surf, and we can go shopping... My closet has gotten considerably bigger, you'd love it."
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Klaus can’t help but wonder if he’s dreaming. It feels like one of those wild fever dreams he has after a long night on alcohol, paired with a cocktail of pills, when the room’s too bright, his head hurts, and he hears voices in the walls. Maybe wishing that someone would come scoop him up like this is all part of some brain-addled hallucination.
It would be his luck, after all.
“And you think I should surf?” His mind feels like it’s under water, ears stuffed full of cotton. It’s just the withdrawal, just the after effects of a big fall and too many sedatives. “You really think that’s a good idea?”
Any of it. “Me? Live with you and Patrick. Talk about a third wheel. Does he even know you have siblings? Because darling I’m going to be a shock to his system. Oh, shit, I think I’m gonna throw up.”
He pushes himself up suddenly, eyes closed tight as his whole body reels, like the very bed itself is trembling, not his body. His heart rate ticks up on the monitor ever so briefly as he breathes through the wave of nausea. How fucking embarrassing. But it passes in time, leaves his eyes stinging, his chest heaving.
“I can barely afford the dollar menu once a week as a rare treat, Allison. California is out of the picture.”
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His question about whether or not Patrick knows about her siblings makes her frown. In a way, sure, she deserves that considering how she left and the distance she has managed to keep the last few years, even during the worst times when she actually regretted leaving. But, even with all that distance, she can never forget that they are her family.
Before she can answer, though, Klaus sits up and Allison stands up along with him, already reaching for the little bowl that the nurse had left on the nightstand earlier. She's ready to help him, to do whatever he needs, but when the worst of it seems to pass she just sets the bowl back down. Instead of sitting on the chair she had been using, she sits on the bed next to him, gently rubbing his back.
"Okay, first of all? Yes, Patrick knows about you. It's fine, Klaus. You don't have to stay with us forever, we can find you another place you'd like. But you can be closer. You don't have to do this alone, I can help you. I want to help you. You don't have to afford it, because I can."
There's a hint of desperation as she tries to convince him, because she's terrified of what could happen if he stays here. She for sure cannot stay here, and it's not even just because she's married and Patrick wouldn't want to live in the city. Allison finds this place suffocating, and for years it felt like it would undo them all. She doesn't want that to happen to him.
She sighs, moving her hand from his back to his shoulder, pulling him slightly closer. "I'm sorry, for not coming before, but I'm here now. And I can-- I have a place where you can stay. Come on, please. Please, at least think about it. We can drive back if you don't want to fly, but I just... I don't want to go back without you."
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He rakes both hands back through his hair and releases a shaky breath once his body seems to settle back into the painful, nauseated normal that comes with withdrawal. He’s already itching all over, his skin cold and clammy, his fingers trembling. Stars burst white hot behind his eyes with every blink, but the hand on his shoulder brings him back down to Earth, and he leans heavy into her side.
“I must look really bad then,” he laughs quietly, a huff of a sound. But can he deny Allison? Can he deny the idea that maybe, for once in his adult life, having someone there might help? He’s always been weak where his sisters are concerned; he can’t deny them anything even if he tried. “But sure, let’a have a delightful California vacation. I’ll do yoga, practice all the deep breathing and maybe find a nice little Buddha of my own for a nice jaunty time. I mean, you can’t deny just looking at a statue of the man can get you going.”
He presses his cheek into her shoulder, his eyes closing. It feels like a failure, accepting her invite, feels like one more score in his record. How long until the needle scratches too deep, until he comes out slipping and broken and unusable. He can hear Luther now, the judgement in his tone, Diego’s eye roll that marks his disappointment like a knife poorly sharpened.
“I’ll go.”
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If Klaus' attention were to shift to her midriff, especially since the cardigan that she's wearing opens up a little wider in the position that she's in, he'll be able to notice the slight swell of her belly. One that she has been very careful to hide from the media, and that she hasn't brought up now only because she doesn't want him to feel like it's a token to blackmail him with. But, well, that new life that she's carrying is a big reason why she's asking him to come with her to California. She wants her brother to survive long enough to meet her baby. For so damn long she negated the idea of becoming a mother, of ever having a family because it's pretty damn obvious that the Hargreeves aren't built for it... But, now that she's pregnant, she's realizing how wrong she had been. And how, especially with her baby coming, she wants that family to be near even if she doesn't quite know how to bridge the gap with the rest.
With Klaus, it has always been different. And, especially for that reason, she wants him in her life. One way or another. It won't be easy, and she knows that, but she'd rather have that than the regret at not even trying.
"Thank you." She turns her head to kiss the top of his head. "I've missed you, you know."
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He thinks, for a moment, that maybe it's just the way she's sitting, but he knows the media would eat her alive for even thinking about gaining a pound. The thought that she could be pregnant, that there's a baby on the way for one of the Hargreeves, the one inviting him to live with her?
"Were you gonna try and keep this whole thing a secret, or what?" He gestures to her middle, not yet extracting himself from her side. He doesn't have the energy. "You do realize you're inviting a wild, deranged drug addict to live with you and your new little family. Pretty sure that's not gonna go over well with Mr. Allison Hargreeves."
He sighs and pushes himself away from her then, having to steady himself on the bedside rail as the room does a funny little lurch to one side. "Allison, you shouldn't be here," he groans, suddenly frustrated. "You've got a whole grand life out west. If that bump is what I think it is, and not a big lunch, then you need to march yourself right out of this place. I'm not going to be able to fix this."
He lets his hands fall into his lap miserably. "You need to go have your perfect little baby with you're unfairly attractive husband and make lots and lots of money. I can't just turn around and quit cold turkey and let all the undead assholes come running back. I can't do it." There's fear in the insistence.
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“And where should I be? Home, wondering if you made it? Ignoring the fact that you are here, alone? Waiting for the next phone call that tells me that the next overdose was worse and someone needs to identify you?”
There’s a firmness to her voice, but she can’t help the way it also shakes. It’s hard to tell if it’s at the indignation of his suggestion to not be here, or the fear she feels at all those scenarios, because they both feel like a colliding force that is trying to choke her.
She reaches for his hand, giving it a squeeze as she tries to get him to look at her as if to assure him she’s being honest. “I don’t expect or think that it will be easy, or that you’ll be clean because you agree to come with me. I know it’s going to be a process, but you don’t have to do it alone. Please, let me help you. At least try it out. Please.” Her eyes fill with tears, and she looks down at their hands together as her thumb moves gently along his skin. “You and I will never really know normalcy, and I know that because we’ll always have our upbringing and our powers. I get that. But I want my baby to have something that resembles normal. I can’t give her a good grandfather from my side of the family. I can’t even promise family reunions, or holidays because we hardly even know how to celebrate those. But I want to give her at least an uncle. I want her to meet you, Klaus. You don’t have to worry about Patrick, or anything else. I just— I can’t leave you here.”
With her free hand, she wipes the tears away almost stubbornly, as if mad at herself for crying but she can’t help it.
“If you decide you want to come back,” she forces herself to add, and it’s obvious that it’s not easy for her to do so. “If you don’t want to stay, then that’s up to you. But let’s at least try it before you decide you can’t.”
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Klaus feels the familiar sensation of anger coursing through his blood, though it isn't necessarily directed at Allison. A cruel part of him wants to remind her that she left. She left him as much as they all left each other and maybe caring now is too little, too late. He doesn't, however, because he knows too well that anger is meant for himself, not for her.
"Normal?" A hysterical laugh bursts from his chest. "You think I resemble normal? Oh yes, let's sit here and have a heart to heart while John who died next door is fucking breathing down my god damned neck." He yanks his hands away from hers and rubs his forearms as they pimple with goose flesh, his hands quaking, with anger, with fear "But yeah, A+ nanny material, sign me up."
He needs to get out of this place. The realization is so sudden and so real that he scrambles for the blankets, shoving them off to reveal skinny, pale legs, spotted with the occasional bruise. The oxygen and heart rate monitor wails as he rips the tape from his finger. "Then lets go. I need to get out of this place." Does he have a choice? He can't look at her, see those tears and deny her anything. While he wants the chance to go to California, see what his life could be there, a small, childish part of him wants it to have been his choice.
The IVs come next, frantic hands peeling back tape and digging. Nothing worse than the bite of a needle on a hot night in a sleazy apartment, right. His hands shake too much to pull the IV out, however, shake to the point he lets out a near growl of frustration that dissolves into a quiet sob. He presses his palms over his ears instead, sucking in shaky, uncertain breaths, whimpering.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck."
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She tries to speak over him, but Klaus keeps talking and there’s not a lot she can say. What could she say? She knows it isn’t fair to ask this of him. But, at the same time, leaving him to figure it out feels wrong, too. There’s a brief moment when she finds herself tempted to Rumor him, to convince him to come with her and damn the consequences, but she bites the inside of her lips as if to force herself to not go there no matter how much she wants to.
When he stands, Allison shoots up too, trying so hard to not shove him back on the bed but staying close enough in case he needs support. Last thing she wants is for him to fall and hurt himself.
When his palms press against his ears, Allison starts to approach him again. If he pulls back or away she won’t force him to come into contact with her, but if he lets her she’s ready to at least steady him.
“Can you please sit down, at least?”
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He leans forward into her, pressing his face against her shoulder, his own shoulders shaking as he comes down from the hysteria, the tears. He tries to focus on the monitors, the way they alarm, dissonant. "I can hear them everywhere," he says quietly. It's a hospital. So many people have died here. "The longer I sit here, the more I see. They come out of the fucking walls in swarms. I need to be numb again."
Thankfully this is Allison he's making the desperate plea to and not a frenzied hospital orderly. After all, they'd diagnose him with hallucinations and psychotic breaks and maybe even a dash of schizophrenia if he's not too careful. He sucks in a shaky breath, using every beat of his heart to begin laying the bricks of his defenses.
"Welcome home, Allison! Did you know your brother is a fucking mess? He sure is pretty but that's about all he's got going for him. Don't get too close, he might have rabies."
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"We're all a fucking mess," she murmurs against his hair. "You know that hasn't changed just because we're not all at the house together."
She presses a kiss against the top of his head again, quiet for a moment before she speaks. "Give me ten minutes and I'll get you out of here, we'll go to a hotel and you can rest there." A beat. "You can figure out what you want to do after you get more sleep. Are you feeling well enough to do that?"
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Klaus laughs weakly and leans back, holding his hands up in false surrender. "But I'm a danger to myself. They will strongly advise you to think twice about such a morally poor decision."
Rolling his eyes he carefully slides back onto the bed, the weight of his body heavy as he flops onto his side. "Besides what would I do without my fill of artificially flavored gelatin."
All his bravado doesn't mask the way his hands shake uncontrollably, the way he sweats, the way he scratches at his forearms like his skin is like to crawl off his body. "But honestly a hotel sounds amazing," he admits, a tiny crack in the facade. "A real fucking bath tub. God." He could cry at the thought of it.
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She has thought this through already, what she would do after leaving the hospital. This is her first rodeo with him like this, but she has been busy already trying to think of scenarios and what she would be doing to help him through it. One of the good things about her being here, with money of her own, is that she can actually make these things happen and she's damn thankful for it.
Her brow furrows as he lays down, and she sits at the edge of the bed, brushing his hair back. "I'm sure room service can figure out how to get you crappy jell-o, if you don't want to miss out on the experience."
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Sleep would go a long way, really, but he knows that withdrawal is nothing more than staring down insomnia with a body full to bursting with pins and needles and fire. Give it a few days and he might feel like he has control over his nerves again, but for now he doesn't. He wiggles around in the bed before he negotiates his head into her lap, an arm draped across her knees.
"They're gonna put me in restrains when they get in here, so don't freak out, okay?" He laughs softly, clinging to her like a lost child. "And while a hotel sounds like everything I want right now I should stay here. This is gonna be a doozie," he winces as his stomach seizes up again in his gut. "And when we'll get on a jetplane and kiss this sorry fucker goodbye. Over martinis though? God, a martini..." He rolls onto his back, looking up at her, turning his head once to speak into her belly. "You hear that you little shit? Martinis. I'll have your mom's, for your benefit, of course."
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The idea of Klaus being put in restrains immediately makes her shoulders tense, but she tries to keep her features normal for his benefit. The last thing he needs is for her to throw a fit, when he's already dealing with all of this. Granted, she knows that she should trust him because obviously he has done this before, but the idea of him being tied down is enough to make that sense of overprotectiveness kick in in a way that she hasn't felt in years.
For now, though, she just stays still, letting him get comfortable on her lap as she idly runs her fingers through his hair. When he speaks into her belly, she laughs softly, a warm smile on her face. "You're so thoughtful." She brushes his hair back, silent for a moment.
Finally, "Is that what you want to do, then? Stay here? If we could do anything. Literally, anything. Don't worry about logistics. Do you want to stay here?"
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Klaus knows the only way he stands a chance at getting better is to stay, let the doctors help him through the withdrawal and send him on his way. He knows the responsible thing to do is to tell Allison to leave, and have her return in a few days when he's moderately stable again. He might actually stand a chance at turning himself around that way, but he's never made it far enough out of recovery without another fix, it's hard to say what the outcome would be.
But she's petting his hair which does wonders for his anxiety, and he all but melts into her lap,
"I don't care where we go or when. Whatever." Klaus says finally, honest. "Just take me with you. Please."
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"I'm not leaving without you," she promises. "Let me make a call, okay? We'll be out of here soon."
If there's one thing that Hollywood has experience in, after all, is knowing how to handle addictions. Especially in a private manner, when a slip could end someone's career. In this case the help is not for herself, but she knows that her assistant can help to get them set up in no time with whatever they may need. Hell, she had already sent her an email with information while she had been on her way here, so she's sure that she'll have ideas on how to do this.
Without moving him off her lap, she reaches for the phone next to the bed and dials the number that she knows so well. She asks her assistant to set them up at a hotel downtown, to use one of her alias and to make sure to have someone available for her brother by the time they make it there, and she's promised a turnaround time of an hour. It's not ideal, but at least by the time that she hangs up she feels a little better about the situation. There's a plan in place.
"Do you want some water, or do you want to try to get some sleep while we wait?"
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He doesn't entirely hear everything she says though, his mind drifting in and out, unable to really focus on anything now that he's calmed down and stopped moving. It's not exhaustion, per se, because he doesn't feel tired, but his brain simply can't keep up.
"Hm?" He looks up at her, bleary eyed. "No. I'm fine. I'm just dandy. I feel like I've been hit by a freight train." He turns his face back to her middle once again, yawning before he speaks. "In case you didn't know, drugs are bad, kid."
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Especially now, with what Klaus is dealing with. He needs stability in more ways than one, and Allison is determined to offer that to him no matter what. Of that, she's absolutely certain. In a few days she knows that the tabloids might get a hold of the story, that maybe then their siblings might give a shit about all this at that point (Luther, mainly, as he questions what the hell she's doing), but even that she's already mentally prepared for it. And, as far as she's concerned, they'll be safe in California, away from this goddamned place.
With a chuckle, she shakes her head slightly at him. "...you know, other than Patrick and my doctor, no one else knows yet. This isn't how I wanted to tell you, but I'm really glad you didn't find out through a magazine."
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