"Are you kidding? She'd be leading the troops herself whether she was bleeding out or not."
Klaus has no doubts in his mind that Allison would want them out there, hitting the ground, if only to help Vanya. But rest is necessary in war, he knows, because to burn out before the final battle could be disastrous. This is no different, then, in many ways. Rest now, fight harder later.
He tilts his head, looking sidelong at Diego when the hand comes to his shoulder and he huffs softly through his nose, corners of his mouth curling in a faint smile. For all of Diego's bluster, his bullheadedness, he's never been able to escape the strange fondness that wells up somewhere deep in him for his brother. Even as children, he would have followed his word earnestly, though whether that was respect or naivety, he doesn't know.
"But fine, fine, stop fussing dear god it's a miserable look on you. I would hate for you to wrinkle," he smiles and pushes himself up to his feet, stretching his arms over his head, almost catlike in the way he moves. "And I'll fill you in, don't you worry. The funny thing is, all of you underestimated me the moment I stepped through the front door, but the jokes on the rest of you, because I love a good punchline and my comedic timing is unparalleled."
He pats Diego's back as he passes, though he pauses briefly to look back at Allison. "I'll be back in a gif."
Klaus disappears for more than five minutes, despite what he'd promised. He takes his time in the shower, though all he wants is to soak in the claw foot tub and let the water all but melt him. He's not sure where the water takes him, but when he blinks his eyes open, twenty whole minutes have passed and he feels heavy. A year of battlefields, restless nights, and physical exhaustion still thrums to life in his bones but the water does something to help him feel a little more human.
He slips into the mess of his room and changes, opting for charcoal jeans and combat boots and a slouchy sweater that almost definitely belonged to Patrick at one point in time, but who's counting. The itch to return to Allison's side is there and urgent, but he tries to calm himself, to trust his sister in the hands of Diego, and opts to make a couple of ham sandwiches and two mugs of coffee instead.
Toeing open the door, he slips in, moving to set the tray on one of the counters off to the side. "Order up, Number Two, one must eat and properly caffeinate if one expects to stop the upcoming apocalypse, after all," he murmurs, voice gnarled and twisted into an over the top, dramatic rendition of Reginald Hargreeves.
Diego rolls his eyes when Klaus tell him not to fuss, although it all but disappears into something akin to guilt when Klaus points out how they underestimated him. He’s not wrong, obviously, and he keeps proving it. If the whole thing hadn’t happened at the bar, if they hadn’t gotten a chance to talk, would they be here? Talking instead of snipping at each other? There’s a bitter taste that settles in his mouth, but he just leans back against the chair when Klaus leaves, picking out a knife from within his boot so he can idly spin it in his hand as the room falls silent again.
“Don’t you dare pull this shit again,” he mutters in Allison’s direction. “I got poked for you once, but don’t think it’s going to happen again.”
It’s a lie, but it’s not like it matters. Allison remains unconscious, completely disconnected from the world, even when Grace stops by to check on her vitals, and when Pogo brings them some blankets. At one point Diego drapes one over Allison, because this room has always made him feel uneasy and it’s almost his way of trying to make sure she’s comfortable in whatever way he can help with.
By the time Klaus comes back, though, Diego is in the same position, still idly spinning his knife. As if he wasn’t the one that had covered their sister with a warmer blanket than the thin sheet Grace had used earlier; as if he hadn’t strategically placed a folded up cot on the wall closest to Klaus so he can try to convince him to sleep later.
At the sound of his brother’s footsteps, he turns in his direction and sits up straight to take from him the mug and the sandwich. “Thanks. Pogo dropped off a few things.” He motions towards the cot and the blankets. It’s not a lie, Pogo had dropped them off. Whether it had been his idea for them, though, he’ll never tell. “Nice sweater. Who’d you ‘borrow’ it from?”
"You're gonna stab an eye out with that thing one of these days," Klaus gestures to the knife before he collects his own mug and sandwich, plopping down in the seat next to Diego. He kicks his feet out, crossing them at the ankle, if only to settle the plate in his lap a little better and focus instead on drinking from the coffee.
"How thoughtful of him," he hums, observing the blanket, the cot. Whether it was Pogo or not, he knows better and he knows he won't be sleeping any time soon. "But this old thing? Well" He raises one arm as though to show off the sleeve, his bare shoulder peeking through the stretched neckline. "Definitely an altered piece from Patrick's closet. It's warm. Why? Are you jealous Mr. Tactical Gear?"
He grins before he plucks up half his sandwich (cut into triangles, like a normal, sane human being) and takes a bite. "Why buy my own clothes when everyone around me is so fashionable? Just you wait until I get my hands on that little leather getup you've got there. Very BDSM-chic, very hot." He waggles his eyebrows, mostly indicating the holsters for the knives he's seen the man wear around.
Klaus takes another bite, looking across the room, thoughtful and tired. "How are you holding up?" With Patch gone, with Vanya missing, Allison injured... they might not be in the same boat, but Klaus can certainly relate. "Can't have you getting wrinkles and sleepy bags under your eyes on my watch." Another bite of sandwich and he's talking around a mouthful, but he uses the remaining corner of bread to gesture at Diego. "It's ham and cheese, by the way. Pickles, no mayo."
Edited (i can write i swear) 2020-11-29 21:56 (UTC)
He snorts a laugh under his breath, giving him a look. “Jealous, of that?” He motions to the sweater. “No. Not my style.”
He does feel a sort of pang of jealousy, but it has nothing to do with Klaus’s fashion choices. If he’s pilfering through Allison’s husband closet then that must mean they’re pretty close, that at least Klaus hasn’t had just Allison, and while he’s glad for his brother he finds himself hating the fact that he himself hadn’t been there. Which is ridiculous, and he knows that. After all, they had all made their choices. They had all followed their own paths, for better or for worse, even if it took them so damn far from each other.
He gives him a pointed look, though, when he mentions the holsters. “Don’t you dare. And why the hell do you have to make it pervy? They’re practical for what I do.”
Not for the academy - Umbrella or the police force - but they worked just great for his days as the city’s vigilante. He’s not exactly secretive about it, but at the same time it’s not like he’s announcing his ‘job’ and what he does after hours. He half wonders if Reginald knew about it before he died, if he kept tabs on them how he did when they were kids, but he dismisses the thought as quickly as it comes.
The inquiry about how he’s doing makes him pause as he grabs the sandwich, but he’s quick to recover. So much has happened since their father’s death, and it still makes him dizzy to think about it. Especially when Patch dying feels like it created a big gaping hole within him, and it still feels like he’s doused with cold water every time he thinks about her, every time he remembers the way she looked that night. There’s an ocean of regret when it comes to Eudora Patch, always had been considering their relationship, but now there’s a healthy dose of guilt along with it that makes it feel as if it sucks the air out of the room.
“I’m fine,” he just answers instead, though, his voice almost casual enough to be believable. “I’ll be better when those bastards that had you and killed Patch are dead, though, along with Harold Jenkins. After that, I’ll sleep like a baby.”
He smirks over at him as he says it, like he means it, and he gives an appreciative nod at the mention of what’s in the sandwich. It’s pretty much how he would have prepared it, so no complaints from his side. “Thanks, this is good. We’ll have to get you that burger you wanted once this whole mess is over.” He picks a pickle from the sandwich and pops it in his mouth on its own, quiet for a moment as he chews.
“Has it really been that long since you’ve been in California? Six, seven years?” It’s something he has been mulling over since Klaus left to shower, and while he hates that it shows he has been obviously thinking about that comment...he can’t help but ask it. Because it feels so hard to believe that it’s true.
"I'm fine," he parrots, though there's no acid behind his words. He knows the Hargreeves family mantra better than anyone. Fine means anything but. Yet he doesn't press, instead he returns to his coffee, drinking deeply from the mug with a satisfied sigh.
The motel room feels like a blur, feels like it was nigh a decade ago, with Hazel and Chacha standing over him, beating him senseless. But a pang of guilt courses through him when Diego mentions Patch. The woman is the only reason he's still alive, really, and it had been his fault, however indirectly, that she had died. The whirlwind that followed the motel attack has made details of that day foggy, but he definitely remembers her.
He idly wonders if he could conjure her, but the thought makes his stomach twist sickly. That's for another day, another time, when the world isn't on the brink of ending the wounds aren't so fresh.
"Don't threaten me with a good time," he wiggles his eyebrows when Diego speaks of the burger, an idea so far beyond the moment they're in, that he all but laughs. It's the question about California that surprises him, eyebrows raising, surprised. "What? Oh." He looks up in thought, wiggling fingers as he tries to count. "Shit, I don't know. Claire's about to turn seven, so anywhere from six to seven, yeah. Turns out Allison had people keeping an eye on me. One nasty hospital trip and a hotel stay later and she whisked me off to California."
Now that feels like decades ago, a life that seems so distant and surreal now. Who was the mess of a man back then, that everyone expected to waltz through the door? A man afraid of himself, afraid of the world, unable to find a place in it without the numbing effects of drugs and alcohol. "Saved my life, probably. Hard to say. I'm a little too stubborn to die fruitlessly. Whatever would the world do without my greatness?" He laughs, nose wrinkling, the sound deflating into a sigh. "Time passes so quickly, doesn't it?"
Even if he would have pressed for a different answer, Diego wouldn’t have complied, even with Klaus being the one asking. After all, there’s not a damn thing that can fix any of the shit that has been happening. Killing Hazel and Chacha won’t bring Patch back, he knows that. Killing Jenkins won’t magically fix everything with Vanya, it won’t give Allison her voice back. But it’ll feel like at least something - the ones responsible for the crap that has happened won’t be breathing anymore, and he has to tell himself that it has to be enough. He owes them that much, at the very least.
The eyebrow wiggle earns him a chuckle, and he takes a bite of the sandwich. He knows there’s a lot to do before they can even think about going out for a burger, considering the threat of the apocalypse that is looming over their heads, but hey. Gotta look forward to something, right?
As Klaus speaks, Diego just eats, his gaze not quite on anything specific in the room. He’s paying attention, it’s just more as if he’s trying to place where Klaus’s part of the story fits with whatever he was doing six or seven years ago. Almost, in some way, trying to figure out how in the hell he missed Klaus suddenly disappearing from New York until some years later, when Diego finally glanced at a magazine that someone left in the gym and it was both Klaus and Allison at a movie premiere.
“Yeah, it does.” He glances over at him, and nudges his knee against his. “Well. For whatever is worth, I’m glad she did. It’s good to see you...you know. Healthy.” He sucks at this, but he has to try. He has already fucked up enough, and if they don’t survive this...this may be the only time he can say this.
Frankly, it doesn't even occur to Klaus that his other siblings wouldn't have known about his move out West with Allison. He'd heard the remnants of a damning phone call with Luther, after all, and perhaps he foolishly assumed that he'd have spread the word.
But something about Diego's question proves that wrong, no less the way even Vanya had stared in disbelief as he and Allison walked in together. A tiny part of him feels a little guilty for not reaching out, but in reality, the road goes two ways.
"Oh, what? You didn't like the old me? See, I definitely liked his joie de vivre a little more. And the hair. I think about the bowl cuts from ye olden days from time to time..." A little sigh for the dramatics, because it's uncomfortable, talking about himself like this.
He doesn't expect the apology, though, and he goes quiet, lips pursed. Diego Hargreeves, apologizing for being an ass? Well.
"I forgive you, you big oaf," he says quietly, leaning his weight onto one hand at the seat of his chair, if only so he can turn to look at his brother. "I didn't exactly have a winning track record, you know. I cried wolf so many times over the years, I hardly expected any of you to believe me. Why would you?" He snorts and shakes his head. "Not like any of you had to see me imbibing to know I was a mess before so how would now be any different. I knew what I signed up for when I came back here. I even warned Allison."
He sucks in a deep breath and sighs, nudging Diego's knee in return, letting their legs stay touching as he speaks. "Allison scooped me up and nursed me back to health. It was an ugly sight, but here we are. Nearly a decade clean, Vietnam and all, scout's honor. God, though, when Luther found out, you'd reckon someone shot his dog, his best friend, his best friend's dog, and maybe even the dog's puppy. And while I don't necessarily consider myself the vindictive type, karma can be a real bitch." An idle gesture toward the infirmary doors.
"So what, you didn't believe me. It didn't stop you from following me into that bar, you know. Didn't stop you from driving my ass around town. From listening to my tragic sob stories. I'd say you got nothing to be sorry for there, mister."
"Oh I liked the old you. I hated the shit you put in your body." Mainly, he hated the way it left Klaus in a haze. He understood why, of course, or at least he could guess just like the rest of them could. But, even then, the last thing that Diego wanted was to lose him to his vices and he's damn glad that that's behind him.
Klaus forgiving him makes some of the tension in his shoulders disappear, but not entirely. It will be harder for Diego to forgive himself for it, because that list just keeps growing larger and larger, but he nods slightly almost as a silent thank you. He's not quite sure he deserves this, but he's thankful either way.
"What, he got pissed when he found out you left?" Diego frowns, because while he hadn't known that Klaus had been in California for a good while, he knew that he had gotten kicked out. In one of his secret visits to see their mother, Pogo had let it slip. Diego didn't have the same luck as Allison in finding their brother, but he's not quite sure he would have been able to really nurse him back to help either way. Allison has always been the one that's more nurturing out of all of them, so it's not necessarily surprising that she did it. It does take him by surprise, though, that Luther had taken issue with it (although, if he really thinks about it, maybe it wouldn't be so surprising).
A faint smile settles on his lips as Klaus continues speaking, and he shakes his head slightly. "I don't agree, but thanks." He takes a sip of his coffee, quiet for a moment before he sighs under his breath. "This all got so fucked up, didn't it. I knew all of us together would probably be a disaster, but I think we've managed to outdo ourselves this time."
"Correction, he got pissed when he found out Allison took me in. I genuinely don't think he cared where I went, per se. Dad wasn't altogether worried, so therefore his dear Number One wasn't."
A part of Klaus can't blame Luther for what he did, for his hand in throwing him out, because in the end he knows it was just one more nail in the coffin, sealed shut by his father. Why not weaponize the remaining, devout sibling along with it? Really drive it home?
"Called Allison in a fit, but I was so strung out at that point I didn't give a shit. He was worried about her, of course. Worried I would ruin their life, that I would suck them dry and leave them to rot. He forgets the part where he threw me out, though. I'm very good at living on nothing."
He huffs softly and gives Diego's knee another little nudge. "But what would our family be if we weren't a collection of disasters, hm? I think you're right, though. An apocalypse is a new all-time low for us." With a high pitched sigh, he leans until his head plops down on Diego's shoulder, much like he would as a kid, cheekily taking up space even while his brother squirmed and pushed him away.
"But enough about me and the end of days. Where have you been all these years? What has the great Diego Hargreeves been up to in his auspicious time away from the Academy?"
Diego shakes his head at the clarification, a grumbled that stupid son of a bitch under his breath that's almost hidden as he's about to take a sip of his coffee again. He's not sure how much of Luther's reaction is due to Klaus, or to other shit altogether - or if it's everything combined - but, either way, it's annoying as shit right now.
Especially when he mentions how Luther threw him out, and a frown immediately settles on his face at that. Not in surprise, but in disapproval even now, these many years later. Sure, Klaus had his issues, but for Luther to have thrown him out... Diego is never going to be okay with that.
The way Klaus sets his head on his shoulder makes him huff out a quiet chuckle, partly in surprise because he hadn't quite expected it. Although maybe he should have, considering Klaus and his very little regard for personal space.
"I stayed in New York," he answers, and although he doesn't shrug, it's almost as if the movement is audible in his voice. For a moment he stays quiet as if he's weighing out what to say, before finally continuing. "I tried out the police academy, but it didn't work out." It's said as if it doesn't matter, as if he hadn't gotten kicked out, and he wonders if Klaus can guess that part.
"That's where I met Patch, actually. We kept working together after, just...me not officially, I guess. I didn't stop going on missions, I just did it on my own."
Klaus's head doesn't say on Diego's shoulder for long, just enough to urge the man into talking before he sits back up, sipping at his coffee. It's deliciously warm and staves off the chill of the infirmary.
"You're too good for the police," he muses quietly, thoughtful. He can gather what happened, to some extent, but Diego doesn't offer and Klaus doesn't press. He nudges him with an elbow. "I can't fathom you in a uniform every day that isn't all masks and knives and spandex."
But to think of Diego, hitting the streets, helping solve problems, working alongside detectives and policemen? It's nice. Sure, he heard about Diego, ran into him a handful of times in that first handful of years on his own, but he never saw the bigger picture. "Good thing they have you. New York. She seemed like a nice lady. I see why you liked her."
Even in the short exchange he could see how dedicated the woman was to her work, how quickly she thought on her toes, how somehow, she had found him before his siblings. If only she'd known there were two of them, if only he'd been able to stomach the words and warn her, as beaten and fatigued as he'd been.
"I'm sorry you lost her," he says quietly, sobering, a hand dropping to give the man's knee a squeeze. "Sorry I couldn't help more. That I didn't." He huffs softly, shaking his head at the memory, closing his eyes against it for a moment longer. Somewhere across the room there's the echo of Ben's voice it's not your fault, Klaus, but for the first time in years, he ignores it.
Diego huffs out a breath that's intended to be a chuckle, but it doesn't quite reach that sound. Even now, years later, despite how much he may act like the failure of that attempt isn't something he cares about, deep down he knows it's a lie. And it's not even because he wants the fucking uniform, or to get anything out of it, he just wants to protect people. He wants to keep them safe. Isn't that what he's supposed to do? He and Reginald had plenty of differences, and god knows that he rebelled against everything and anything their father set forth for them, but this? He feels it in his bones that he can do the right thing, that he can make a difference.
Ultimately, he had gone his own route with it, and while it would drive Patch crazy, he knows that she understood him and that need better than a lot of people did. It's part of what irritated her, actually, but Diego couldn't stop. He doubts he'll ever be able to.
The ghost of a smile crosses his lips when Klaus says that it's good that the city has him, and there's a tinge of sadness in his expression when he brings up Patch. He hates this, the way his heart aches. The way he already misses her, how there's an urge he can't shake away at the fact that he wants to pick up the phone one more time and call her. He wants one more chance to apologize, to tell her she had been right. That he had been wrong. That he had fucked up, that he was so damn sorry.
That he loves her. God, how he wishes he could tell her that he loves her.
His gaze is lost in nothing in particular, when Klaus's words pull him out of his thoughts. His brow furrows into a small frown, but the way he pats the hand that's on his knee is reassuring. Almost gentle.
"It's not your fault, you didn't kill her." He stays quiet for a moment, and when he speaks again his voice is uncharacteristically low, almost soft for a moment. "All she wanted was to serve, and save people. She'd tell you the same thing." He lets the words linger between them for a moment, before he glances over at his brother. "I'm glad she was able to find you and get you out."
Klaus knows the look on Diego's face intimately; the man has gone somewhere far off, distant, and even though his body is otherwise rooted in the infirmary, he might as well be somewhere else. Maybe it's a street of New York, maybe it's the blood splattered motel room, maybe it's the cabin where they found Allison. Klaus will never know where the man's mind goes, but he knows it's a journey that could very well rip ones heart out.
His eyes raise when the man pats his hand and he smiles faintly, sadly. "Yes, well, I'm sorry all the same. After all, if she put up with you in any capacity, she must have been an excellent woman."
Klaus almost offers, almost suggests they conjure her, because he might be able to. He's too afraid to reach into the ether, to feel out for the edges of her existence. Would it be worth it, pulling her back from the other side for a fleeting goodbye? What would it do for Diego? What would it do for her spirit in unrest?
But he bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes tangy copper and lets out a little huff. His free hand reaches to pat the hand over his own, giving it a soft squeeze before he pulls them back altogether, back into his own lap, cradling the coffee mug he sat aside.
"Talk about a family reunion, huh?" He tilts his head a little, blowing out a long sigh. "If I could have stopped it, I would have. I was afraid they'd find the rest of you. Just means that when we see them again, we owe them a real whopping, huh?"
Nothing will take the pain away, nothing will cure the hurt of the loss, nothing will really bring her back. Not yet. Not permanently. Klaus's eyes shift at movement in the corner of his eye, and whether Diego will be able to feel it or not, Ben's there, hand on his brother's shoulder.
Not yet, Klaus knows. Not yet. Even Ben gives a sad shake of his head, and Klaus almost feels guilty all over again. Isn't that always the story of their lives, as Hargreeves children? Not yet? Not enough?
Instead of answering, instead of letting himself really go further down the dark corners of his mind, Diego downs what's left of his coffee. It burns through the knot in his throat, through the haze his mind feels like it's temporarily in with memories of Patch, with regret and guilt.
It's not enough, though. Especially when Klaus says that he had been afraid Hazel and Chacha would find the rest of them, and his jaw clenches shut. The aggression that he sometimes clings to as a safer shield than anything else he could be feeling makes him wants to chew him out, just how he had done with Vanya that night. You could have been killed, he wants to shout to him as well, the reality of it making something in his stomach twist painfully, but he just scrubs a hand along his face before shaking his head.
"When we find them they'll regret ever coming near here." The 'I'm sorry' makes his skin crawl, makes him want to say how it's fine, it doesn't matter, but it's a lie. He can't regret Klaus being here, and he never would no matter how much he may miss Patch, but none of this is fine. Just thinking of the words sets a bitter taste in his mouth, so instead he focus on the fact that they will find those bastards and make them pay. It's the best thing he can cling to right now; it's at least one thing he can solve.
As he sets down the now empty mug on the ground, he sighs under his breath before he nudges Klaus's leg again. "You should get some sleep. I'll stay here and wake you up if needed."
"You bet your ass they will," he laughs a little. If only because when Hazel and Chacha find them again, Klaus has a funny feeling it will be at the end of the world. Or the apocalypse. They might as well be one in the same, right? If they can't save Vanya, if they can't stop what she does, then there's little else to worry about.
But they will, somehow. Klaus knows for certain that he will do everything in his power to find a way to help, to make sure that Vanya isn't wrong again like she has been for so many years. It's what Allison would want, too.
"Sleep? Who needs that!" Klaus sighs softly, looking over at Allison again, glancing between her and the vitals monitor. Stable, but unconscious. "You're the one who should sleep Mr. Vigilante," he huffs, nudging the man's knee again with his own. But Diego's right, isn't he? Klaus can feel how heavy his body is, he'd seen the dark circles under his eyes in the mirror. Hell, he could have fallen asleep under the hot spray of the shower, standing up no less.
"An hour," he says finally, though it sounds like he's all but chewing it, practically pulling the admission out of himself by force. "Just wake me up in an hour. I can get by on next to nothing, but I swear I will shave that pretty head bald in your sleep if you let me go any longer, mister."
He stands from his spot and looks over Allison, reaching up to carefully tuck her hair away from her face. Gorgeous, even near death, the bitch. He'll have to fuss at her for that later. "You sure?" He says, glancing over at Diego next, really taking in the look of him now that he's not sitting shoulder to shoulder.
It’s said with a scoff, as if the mere idea of sleep is ridiculous when it comes to him. And, well, he’s used to not sleeping. Normally his ‘job’ is at night, so he’d be awake at this time, anyway; and despite the shitty last few days, it’s as if he’s buzzing with adrenaline and anger. Sitting still is already hard enough, there’s no way in hell he would be able to even try to sleep.
But Klaus needs sleep - he’s the one that went to Vietnam, after all. And, while Diego cares about Allison, this whole thing isn’t taking the same emotional toll that it’s taking on Klaus considering his relationship with their sister. Diego is ready to point out as much, and even point out that Allison is going to need him alert once she wakes up, because he doubts she’ll take the news of her voice being gone well, but thankfully it doesn’t get to that. Klaus is agreeing to sleep, and he nods slightly when he instructs him to wake him up in an hour.
“Got it. One hour.” It’s said with a straight face, as if he has every intention to listen to him, but...he’ll just wake him up later. It’s not like he has much hair to lose, anyway; Klaus can shave him bald for all he cares.
Stretching out his legs in front of him, he crosses his ankles and nods again. “Yep, definitely sure. Go before I knock you out myself so that you can sleep.”
A laugh bubbles up out of his chest as Diego denies the need for sleep. "Oh, okay, pot, meet kettle. What a lovely pair we make."
The very idea of sleeping, though, triggers something in him already, limbs growing heavy, eyes even heavier. It feels like a betrayal, to sleep while Allison stays there, injured on the bed. How many hours did she stay up for him in the throes of withdrawal, when there was nothing she could do? It feels like a lifetime ago, all of it.
But the fact that Diego will stay and keep watch puts Klaus at ease. He knows that his brother will wake him when needed, even if Klaus himself is suspicious that Diego will let him sleep over an hour. He knows how family works, after all, particularly this one.
He drops his hand to Diego's shoulder, giving it a squeeze and a little shake. "Stubborn bastard," he murmurs. The cot doesn't look all that appealing, really, but being any farther from his sister is too much to worry about. So he pulls the cot down and the blanket Pogo left and lowers himself down onto it, curling up onto his side like he might have as a boy, his back to Diego.
"An hour," he sleepily reminds his brother with the huff of a laugh. He might wake himself up long before that, really, with the new stretch of nightmares and the voices in this eyes. "You keep watch," he says on a yawn, a hand waving idly, and while Diego might think it's directed at him? It's to Ben, who takes up the chair Klaus left. With that, Klaus begins to drift to sleep.
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Klaus has no doubts in his mind that Allison would want them out there, hitting the ground, if only to help Vanya. But rest is necessary in war, he knows, because to burn out before the final battle could be disastrous. This is no different, then, in many ways. Rest now, fight harder later.
He tilts his head, looking sidelong at Diego when the hand comes to his shoulder and he huffs softly through his nose, corners of his mouth curling in a faint smile. For all of Diego's bluster, his bullheadedness, he's never been able to escape the strange fondness that wells up somewhere deep in him for his brother. Even as children, he would have followed his word earnestly, though whether that was respect or naivety, he doesn't know.
"But fine, fine, stop fussing dear god it's a miserable look on you. I would hate for you to wrinkle," he smiles and pushes himself up to his feet, stretching his arms over his head, almost catlike in the way he moves. "And I'll fill you in, don't you worry. The funny thing is, all of you underestimated me the moment I stepped through the front door, but the jokes on the rest of you, because I love a good punchline and my comedic timing is unparalleled."
He pats Diego's back as he passes, though he pauses briefly to look back at Allison. "I'll be back in a gif."
Klaus disappears for more than five minutes, despite what he'd promised. He takes his time in the shower, though all he wants is to soak in the claw foot tub and let the water all but melt him. He's not sure where the water takes him, but when he blinks his eyes open, twenty whole minutes have passed and he feels heavy. A year of battlefields, restless nights, and physical exhaustion still thrums to life in his bones but the water does something to help him feel a little more human.
He slips into the mess of his room and changes, opting for charcoal jeans and combat boots and a slouchy sweater that almost definitely belonged to Patrick at one point in time, but who's counting. The itch to return to Allison's side is there and urgent, but he tries to calm himself, to trust his sister in the hands of Diego, and opts to make a couple of ham sandwiches and two mugs of coffee instead.
Toeing open the door, he slips in, moving to set the tray on one of the counters off to the side. "Order up, Number Two, one must eat and properly caffeinate if one expects to stop the upcoming apocalypse, after all," he murmurs, voice gnarled and twisted into an over the top, dramatic rendition of Reginald Hargreeves.
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“Don’t you dare pull this shit again,” he mutters in Allison’s direction. “I got poked for you once, but don’t think it’s going to happen again.”
It’s a lie, but it’s not like it matters. Allison remains unconscious, completely disconnected from the world, even when Grace stops by to check on her vitals, and when Pogo brings them some blankets. At one point Diego drapes one over Allison, because this room has always made him feel uneasy and it’s almost his way of trying to make sure she’s comfortable in whatever way he can help with.
By the time Klaus comes back, though, Diego is in the same position, still idly spinning his knife. As if he wasn’t the one that had covered their sister with a warmer blanket than the thin sheet Grace had used earlier; as if he hadn’t strategically placed a folded up cot on the wall closest to Klaus so he can try to convince him to sleep later.
At the sound of his brother’s footsteps, he turns in his direction and sits up straight to take from him the mug and the sandwich. “Thanks. Pogo dropped off a few things.” He motions towards the cot and the blankets. It’s not a lie, Pogo had dropped them off. Whether it had been his idea for them, though, he’ll never tell. “Nice sweater. Who’d you ‘borrow’ it from?”
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"How thoughtful of him," he hums, observing the blanket, the cot. Whether it was Pogo or not, he knows better and he knows he won't be sleeping any time soon. "But this old thing? Well" He raises one arm as though to show off the sleeve, his bare shoulder peeking through the stretched neckline. "Definitely an altered piece from Patrick's closet. It's warm. Why? Are you jealous Mr. Tactical Gear?"
He grins before he plucks up half his sandwich (cut into triangles, like a normal, sane human being) and takes a bite. "Why buy my own clothes when everyone around me is so fashionable? Just you wait until I get my hands on that little leather getup you've got there. Very BDSM-chic, very hot." He waggles his eyebrows, mostly indicating the holsters for the knives he's seen the man wear around.
Klaus takes another bite, looking across the room, thoughtful and tired. "How are you holding up?" With Patch gone, with Vanya missing, Allison injured... they might not be in the same boat, but Klaus can certainly relate. "Can't have you getting wrinkles and sleepy bags under your eyes on my watch." Another bite of sandwich and he's talking around a mouthful, but he uses the remaining corner of bread to gesture at Diego. "It's ham and cheese, by the way. Pickles, no mayo."
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He does feel a sort of pang of jealousy, but it has nothing to do with Klaus’s fashion choices. If he’s pilfering through Allison’s husband closet then that must mean they’re pretty close, that at least Klaus hasn’t had just Allison, and while he’s glad for his brother he finds himself hating the fact that he himself hadn’t been there. Which is ridiculous, and he knows that. After all, they had all made their choices. They had all followed their own paths, for better or for worse, even if it took them so damn far from each other.
He gives him a pointed look, though, when he mentions the holsters. “Don’t you dare. And why the hell do you have to make it pervy? They’re practical for what I do.”
Not for the academy - Umbrella or the police force - but they worked just great for his days as the city’s vigilante. He’s not exactly secretive about it, but at the same time it’s not like he’s announcing his ‘job’ and what he does after hours. He half wonders if Reginald knew about it before he died, if he kept tabs on them how he did when they were kids, but he dismisses the thought as quickly as it comes.
The inquiry about how he’s doing makes him pause as he grabs the sandwich, but he’s quick to recover. So much has happened since their father’s death, and it still makes him dizzy to think about it. Especially when Patch dying feels like it created a big gaping hole within him, and it still feels like he’s doused with cold water every time he thinks about her, every time he remembers the way she looked that night. There’s an ocean of regret when it comes to Eudora Patch, always had been considering their relationship, but now there’s a healthy dose of guilt along with it that makes it feel as if it sucks the air out of the room.
“I’m fine,” he just answers instead, though, his voice almost casual enough to be believable. “I’ll be better when those bastards that had you and killed Patch are dead, though, along with Harold Jenkins. After that, I’ll sleep like a baby.”
He smirks over at him as he says it, like he means it, and he gives an appreciative nod at the mention of what’s in the sandwich. It’s pretty much how he would have prepared it, so no complaints from his side. “Thanks, this is good. We’ll have to get you that burger you wanted once this whole mess is over.” He picks a pickle from the sandwich and pops it in his mouth on its own, quiet for a moment as he chews.
“Has it really been that long since you’ve been in California? Six, seven years?” It’s something he has been mulling over since Klaus left to shower, and while he hates that it shows he has been obviously thinking about that comment...he can’t help but ask it. Because it feels so hard to believe that it’s true.
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The motel room feels like a blur, feels like it was nigh a decade ago, with Hazel and Chacha standing over him, beating him senseless. But a pang of guilt courses through him when Diego mentions Patch. The woman is the only reason he's still alive, really, and it had been his fault, however indirectly, that she had died. The whirlwind that followed the motel attack has made details of that day foggy, but he definitely remembers her.
He idly wonders if he could conjure her, but the thought makes his stomach twist sickly. That's for another day, another time, when the world isn't on the brink of ending the wounds aren't so fresh.
"Don't threaten me with a good time," he wiggles his eyebrows when Diego speaks of the burger, an idea so far beyond the moment they're in, that he all but laughs. It's the question about California that surprises him, eyebrows raising, surprised. "What? Oh." He looks up in thought, wiggling fingers as he tries to count. "Shit, I don't know. Claire's about to turn seven, so anywhere from six to seven, yeah. Turns out Allison had people keeping an eye on me. One nasty hospital trip and a hotel stay later and she whisked me off to California."
Now that feels like decades ago, a life that seems so distant and surreal now. Who was the mess of a man back then, that everyone expected to waltz through the door? A man afraid of himself, afraid of the world, unable to find a place in it without the numbing effects of drugs and alcohol. "Saved my life, probably. Hard to say. I'm a little too stubborn to die fruitlessly. Whatever would the world do without my greatness?" He laughs, nose wrinkling, the sound deflating into a sigh. "Time passes so quickly, doesn't it?"
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The eyebrow wiggle earns him a chuckle, and he takes a bite of the sandwich. He knows there’s a lot to do before they can even think about going out for a burger, considering the threat of the apocalypse that is looming over their heads, but hey. Gotta look forward to something, right?
As Klaus speaks, Diego just eats, his gaze not quite on anything specific in the room. He’s paying attention, it’s just more as if he’s trying to place where Klaus’s part of the story fits with whatever he was doing six or seven years ago. Almost, in some way, trying to figure out how in the hell he missed Klaus suddenly disappearing from New York until some years later, when Diego finally glanced at a magazine that someone left in the gym and it was both Klaus and Allison at a movie premiere.
“Yeah, it does.” He glances over at him, and nudges his knee against his. “Well. For whatever is worth, I’m glad she did. It’s good to see you...you know. Healthy.” He sucks at this, but he has to try. He has already fucked up enough, and if they don’t survive this...this may be the only time he can say this.
“I’m sorry. For not believing you before.”
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But something about Diego's question proves that wrong, no less the way even Vanya had stared in disbelief as he and Allison walked in together. A tiny part of him feels a little guilty for not reaching out, but in reality, the road goes two ways.
"Oh, what? You didn't like the old me? See, I definitely liked his joie de vivre a little more. And the hair. I think about the bowl cuts from ye olden days from time to time..." A little sigh for the dramatics, because it's uncomfortable, talking about himself like this.
He doesn't expect the apology, though, and he goes quiet, lips pursed. Diego Hargreeves, apologizing for being an ass? Well.
"I forgive you, you big oaf," he says quietly, leaning his weight onto one hand at the seat of his chair, if only so he can turn to look at his brother. "I didn't exactly have a winning track record, you know. I cried wolf so many times over the years, I hardly expected any of you to believe me. Why would you?" He snorts and shakes his head. "Not like any of you had to see me imbibing to know I was a mess before so how would now be any different. I knew what I signed up for when I came back here. I even warned Allison."
He sucks in a deep breath and sighs, nudging Diego's knee in return, letting their legs stay touching as he speaks. "Allison scooped me up and nursed me back to health. It was an ugly sight, but here we are. Nearly a decade clean, Vietnam and all, scout's honor. God, though, when Luther found out, you'd reckon someone shot his dog, his best friend, his best friend's dog, and maybe even the dog's puppy. And while I don't necessarily consider myself the vindictive type, karma can be a real bitch." An idle gesture toward the infirmary doors.
"So what, you didn't believe me. It didn't stop you from following me into that bar, you know. Didn't stop you from driving my ass around town. From listening to my tragic sob stories. I'd say you got nothing to be sorry for there, mister."
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Klaus forgiving him makes some of the tension in his shoulders disappear, but not entirely. It will be harder for Diego to forgive himself for it, because that list just keeps growing larger and larger, but he nods slightly almost as a silent thank you. He's not quite sure he deserves this, but he's thankful either way.
"What, he got pissed when he found out you left?" Diego frowns, because while he hadn't known that Klaus had been in California for a good while, he knew that he had gotten kicked out. In one of his secret visits to see their mother, Pogo had let it slip. Diego didn't have the same luck as Allison in finding their brother, but he's not quite sure he would have been able to really nurse him back to help either way. Allison has always been the one that's more nurturing out of all of them, so it's not necessarily surprising that she did it. It does take him by surprise, though, that Luther had taken issue with it (although, if he really thinks about it, maybe it wouldn't be so surprising).
A faint smile settles on his lips as Klaus continues speaking, and he shakes his head slightly. "I don't agree, but thanks." He takes a sip of his coffee, quiet for a moment before he sighs under his breath. "This all got so fucked up, didn't it. I knew all of us together would probably be a disaster, but I think we've managed to outdo ourselves this time."
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A part of Klaus can't blame Luther for what he did, for his hand in throwing him out, because in the end he knows it was just one more nail in the coffin, sealed shut by his father. Why not weaponize the remaining, devout sibling along with it? Really drive it home?
"Called Allison in a fit, but I was so strung out at that point I didn't give a shit. He was worried about her, of course. Worried I would ruin their life, that I would suck them dry and leave them to rot. He forgets the part where he threw me out, though. I'm very good at living on nothing."
He huffs softly and gives Diego's knee another little nudge. "But what would our family be if we weren't a collection of disasters, hm? I think you're right, though. An apocalypse is a new all-time low for us." With a high pitched sigh, he leans until his head plops down on Diego's shoulder, much like he would as a kid, cheekily taking up space even while his brother squirmed and pushed him away.
"But enough about me and the end of days. Where have you been all these years? What has the great Diego Hargreeves been up to in his auspicious time away from the Academy?"
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Especially when he mentions how Luther threw him out, and a frown immediately settles on his face at that. Not in surprise, but in disapproval even now, these many years later. Sure, Klaus had his issues, but for Luther to have thrown him out... Diego is never going to be okay with that.
The way Klaus sets his head on his shoulder makes him huff out a quiet chuckle, partly in surprise because he hadn't quite expected it. Although maybe he should have, considering Klaus and his very little regard for personal space.
"I stayed in New York," he answers, and although he doesn't shrug, it's almost as if the movement is audible in his voice. For a moment he stays quiet as if he's weighing out what to say, before finally continuing. "I tried out the police academy, but it didn't work out." It's said as if it doesn't matter, as if he hadn't gotten kicked out, and he wonders if Klaus can guess that part.
"That's where I met Patch, actually. We kept working together after, just...me not officially, I guess. I didn't stop going on missions, I just did it on my own."
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"You're too good for the police," he muses quietly, thoughtful. He can gather what happened, to some extent, but Diego doesn't offer and Klaus doesn't press. He nudges him with an elbow. "I can't fathom you in a uniform every day that isn't all masks and knives and spandex."
But to think of Diego, hitting the streets, helping solve problems, working alongside detectives and policemen? It's nice. Sure, he heard about Diego, ran into him a handful of times in that first handful of years on his own, but he never saw the bigger picture. "Good thing they have you. New York. She seemed like a nice lady. I see why you liked her."
Even in the short exchange he could see how dedicated the woman was to her work, how quickly she thought on her toes, how somehow, she had found him before his siblings. If only she'd known there were two of them, if only he'd been able to stomach the words and warn her, as beaten and fatigued as he'd been.
"I'm sorry you lost her," he says quietly, sobering, a hand dropping to give the man's knee a squeeze. "Sorry I couldn't help more. That I didn't." He huffs softly, shaking his head at the memory, closing his eyes against it for a moment longer. Somewhere across the room there's the echo of Ben's voice it's not your fault, Klaus, but for the first time in years, he ignores it.
"She saved my life, you know."
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Ultimately, he had gone his own route with it, and while it would drive Patch crazy, he knows that she understood him and that need better than a lot of people did. It's part of what irritated her, actually, but Diego couldn't stop. He doubts he'll ever be able to.
The ghost of a smile crosses his lips when Klaus says that it's good that the city has him, and there's a tinge of sadness in his expression when he brings up Patch. He hates this, the way his heart aches. The way he already misses her, how there's an urge he can't shake away at the fact that he wants to pick up the phone one more time and call her. He wants one more chance to apologize, to tell her she had been right. That he had been wrong. That he had fucked up, that he was so damn sorry.
That he loves her. God, how he wishes he could tell her that he loves her.
His gaze is lost in nothing in particular, when Klaus's words pull him out of his thoughts. His brow furrows into a small frown, but the way he pats the hand that's on his knee is reassuring. Almost gentle.
"It's not your fault, you didn't kill her." He stays quiet for a moment, and when he speaks again his voice is uncharacteristically low, almost soft for a moment. "All she wanted was to serve, and save people. She'd tell you the same thing." He lets the words linger between them for a moment, before he glances over at his brother. "I'm glad she was able to find you and get you out."
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His eyes raise when the man pats his hand and he smiles faintly, sadly. "Yes, well, I'm sorry all the same. After all, if she put up with you in any capacity, she must have been an excellent woman."
Klaus almost offers, almost suggests they conjure her, because he might be able to. He's too afraid to reach into the ether, to feel out for the edges of her existence. Would it be worth it, pulling her back from the other side for a fleeting goodbye? What would it do for Diego? What would it do for her spirit in unrest?
But he bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes tangy copper and lets out a little huff. His free hand reaches to pat the hand over his own, giving it a soft squeeze before he pulls them back altogether, back into his own lap, cradling the coffee mug he sat aside.
"Talk about a family reunion, huh?" He tilts his head a little, blowing out a long sigh. "If I could have stopped it, I would have. I was afraid they'd find the rest of you. Just means that when we see them again, we owe them a real whopping, huh?"
Nothing will take the pain away, nothing will cure the hurt of the loss, nothing will really bring her back. Not yet. Not permanently. Klaus's eyes shift at movement in the corner of his eye, and whether Diego will be able to feel it or not, Ben's there, hand on his brother's shoulder.
Not yet, Klaus knows. Not yet. Even Ben gives a sad shake of his head, and Klaus almost feels guilty all over again. Isn't that always the story of their lives, as Hargreeves children? Not yet? Not enough?
"I'm sorry, man."
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It's not enough, though. Especially when Klaus says that he had been afraid Hazel and Chacha would find the rest of them, and his jaw clenches shut. The aggression that he sometimes clings to as a safer shield than anything else he could be feeling makes him wants to chew him out, just how he had done with Vanya that night. You could have been killed, he wants to shout to him as well, the reality of it making something in his stomach twist painfully, but he just scrubs a hand along his face before shaking his head.
"When we find them they'll regret ever coming near here." The 'I'm sorry' makes his skin crawl, makes him want to say how it's fine, it doesn't matter, but it's a lie. He can't regret Klaus being here, and he never would no matter how much he may miss Patch, but none of this is fine. Just thinking of the words sets a bitter taste in his mouth, so instead he focus on the fact that they will find those bastards and make them pay. It's the best thing he can cling to right now; it's at least one thing he can solve.
As he sets down the now empty mug on the ground, he sighs under his breath before he nudges Klaus's leg again. "You should get some sleep. I'll stay here and wake you up if needed."
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But they will, somehow. Klaus knows for certain that he will do everything in his power to find a way to help, to make sure that Vanya isn't wrong again like she has been for so many years. It's what Allison would want, too.
"Sleep? Who needs that!" Klaus sighs softly, looking over at Allison again, glancing between her and the vitals monitor. Stable, but unconscious. "You're the one who should sleep Mr. Vigilante," he huffs, nudging the man's knee again with his own. But Diego's right, isn't he? Klaus can feel how heavy his body is, he'd seen the dark circles under his eyes in the mirror. Hell, he could have fallen asleep under the hot spray of the shower, standing up no less.
"An hour," he says finally, though it sounds like he's all but chewing it, practically pulling the admission out of himself by force. "Just wake me up in an hour. I can get by on next to nothing, but I swear I will shave that pretty head bald in your sleep if you let me go any longer, mister."
He stands from his spot and looks over Allison, reaching up to carefully tuck her hair away from her face. Gorgeous, even near death, the bitch. He'll have to fuss at her for that later. "You sure?" He says, glancing over at Diego next, really taking in the look of him now that he's not sitting shoulder to shoulder.
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It’s said with a scoff, as if the mere idea of sleep is ridiculous when it comes to him. And, well, he’s used to not sleeping. Normally his ‘job’ is at night, so he’d be awake at this time, anyway; and despite the shitty last few days, it’s as if he’s buzzing with adrenaline and anger. Sitting still is already hard enough, there’s no way in hell he would be able to even try to sleep.
But Klaus needs sleep - he’s the one that went to Vietnam, after all. And, while Diego cares about Allison, this whole thing isn’t taking the same emotional toll that it’s taking on Klaus considering his relationship with their sister. Diego is ready to point out as much, and even point out that Allison is going to need him alert once she wakes up, because he doubts she’ll take the news of her voice being gone well, but thankfully it doesn’t get to that. Klaus is agreeing to sleep, and he nods slightly when he instructs him to wake him up in an hour.
“Got it. One hour.” It’s said with a straight face, as if he has every intention to listen to him, but...he’ll just wake him up later. It’s not like he has much hair to lose, anyway; Klaus can shave him bald for all he cares.
Stretching out his legs in front of him, he crosses his ankles and nods again. “Yep, definitely sure. Go before I knock you out myself so that you can sleep.”
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The very idea of sleeping, though, triggers something in him already, limbs growing heavy, eyes even heavier. It feels like a betrayal, to sleep while Allison stays there, injured on the bed. How many hours did she stay up for him in the throes of withdrawal, when there was nothing she could do? It feels like a lifetime ago, all of it.
But the fact that Diego will stay and keep watch puts Klaus at ease. He knows that his brother will wake him when needed, even if Klaus himself is suspicious that Diego will let him sleep over an hour. He knows how family works, after all, particularly this one.
He drops his hand to Diego's shoulder, giving it a squeeze and a little shake. "Stubborn bastard," he murmurs. The cot doesn't look all that appealing, really, but being any farther from his sister is too much to worry about. So he pulls the cot down and the blanket Pogo left and lowers himself down onto it, curling up onto his side like he might have as a boy, his back to Diego.
"An hour," he sleepily reminds his brother with the huff of a laugh. He might wake himself up long before that, really, with the new stretch of nightmares and the voices in this eyes. "You keep watch," he says on a yawn, a hand waving idly, and while Diego might think it's directed at him? It's to Ben, who takes up the chair Klaus left. With that, Klaus begins to drift to sleep.