It takes Diego all of two days to decide to pack up a suitcase (although that’s a very loose term, considering it’s more of a beat up gym bag than anything else) and get on a flight to Los Angeles. Which he hates, considering he’s not thrilled with flying, but after the last few weeks of working with his siblings to get Vanya back on track, he figures he should do this. After all, Klaus is home with Allison alone now, and she wasn’t doing too hot herself despite how much she’d try to hide it in front of everyone. It’s not fair for Klaus to be shouldering all this on his own, especially since he has his own shit to deal with, so...yeah. He’s flying to Los Angeles.
The truth is, of course, very different. Not that he’s not worried about Allison - he is. Just...that’s not necessarily the real reason why he’s flying across the country. It’s not even entirely the fact that Klaus probably does need help with Allison. He misses them, and while technically he should probably stick around New York, it feels pointless right now. Patch is gone. Klaus is gone. What the hell does he have to stay there for? It’s not a permanent move, he’s not ready for that. But it’s still a pretty big one, despite his efforts of convincing himself that it’s not.
By the time he arrives, he’s immediately hit by how much warmer it is in Los Angeles than New York. And how much sunnier it is, which he already hates. As the taxi drives over to Allison’s, Diego tries to picture his siblings in the streets that they drive by, trying to picture their lives here in what seems to be a whole other world than what they grew up in, and he forces himself to ignore the way he feels like an outsider. Like someone looking in. Should he have jumped on the plane without even letting Klaus know? What if he shows up and they don’t need him?
It’s too late to turn back now, though, especially as the car pulls up to the house and Diego gets out. His joints feel stiff from the long flight, trying to adjust to the timezone change since right now he’d be napping before heading out on patrol, but instead he’s here. In some swanky neighborhood in the Hollywood hills.
Grasping tighter onto the handle of his luggage, he walks up the path to the front door and rings the doorbell, letting out a sigh under his breath as he tries to ignore the way his stomach seems to flutter with anticipation.
The last week has been nothing but an absolute whirlwind. Klaus has done his best to try and keep his spirits up on their return home, but the days have passed in an odd sort of silence. Claire, thrilled to see them back, bounces around and plays music, but looks sorrowfully at the bedroom where where Allison rests. Where Patrick can't soothe the little girl, Klaus does his best to distract her, trying to find ways to help her communicate with her mother, be it in cards or videos or little notes left on breakfast trays.
Needless to say, Klaus is tired, but he's just gotten little Claire down for a nap when he hears the doorbell. Patrick's off at work, so he's not entirely sure who could be ringing. A rogue girl scout? A delivery? A tricky thief ready to hold him at gunpoint?
He pries himself off the couch on the second ring, but doesn't bother to actually make himself more presentable. Yoga pants and a sheer, lacy kimono are clothes enough, an with the heatwave they've been experiencing lately? Well, let someone complain. He happens to be sporting a tiara and a long set of gaudy pink pearls a la Claire pre-nap time, but he's all but forgotten them at this point.
He swings open the door without checking to see who's outside, "So sorry, the lady of the house is in repose at the moment, you'll have to—" A blink, a stare, when he really takes in who waits on the other side of the threshold. It doesn't add up, Diego with the bright cut of Hollywood hills as his backdrop.
"Diego?" His voice goes quiet, almost a whisper, a hand clenching the door. It's like his brain stalls, the walls and fronts raised for the sake of Patrick, Claire, and Allison stuttering, shuddering against the very breath of fresh air that his brother is. "Holy shit," he laughs and all but throws himself at his brother, knocking the tiara askew in unkempt curls as his arms curl around his shoulders. "What the hell are you doing here?"
There’s a brief moment where Diego wonders if he got the right house, if maybe he should try to track down the taxi and hitch a ride back to the airport, but before he can do that he hears the sound of the door unlocking and suddenly there’s Klaus. With a tiara. And a kimono. And, while none of it is surprising, it still makes him huff out a chuckle of surprise nonetheless.
This is weird. Being here, seeing him in this uncle mode, because he can only assume Claire was responsible for the tiara, in this house that he has never ever seen or been in before. It feels almost too personal, like he’s glimpsing into a life he shouldn’t be privy to, and for a moment he almost forgets to speak.
Until Klaus laughs, and suddenly he’s hugging him, and Diego lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as he waited for Klaus’s reaction.
“Figured you’d have your hands full with our other sister. We already helped one, so...thought I could help with the second.” Not that Diego really helped much with Vanya, other than figuring out logistics and making sure people slept and ate. He doesn’t have the right temperament for Vanya, but maybe he can irritate Allison enough into getting her ass in gear.
He gives Klaus’s back a firm pat before he pulls back, keeping a hand on his shoulder to keep him close. To meet his eyes, to make sure Klaus won’t bullshit him.
Klaus hesitates to pull back from the hug, but he knows Diego's not exactly the snuggly, touchy type and he relents. But it's so good to see him and he presses his palms to either side of the man's face, laughing. "When did you get here? You should have told me you were coming!"
When they left, he'd made sure to leave his number with Diego, but hadn't quite expected him to take him up on it. A tough few weeks does not a family make, after all, as much as Klaus might have wished. But seeing Diego here and now, on the stoop of their house, feels both surreal and lovely all at once. It could be the lack of sleep talking, though, and he drops his hands from Diego's face.
He can't look away, can't deflect the man's question and he lets out a breath. Talking about it outside, in the open like this, feels a little strange. "Bad. But we can talk about that once you're inside and settled, it's absolutely boiling out here and I don't want to get an uneven tan, thank you very much. Come on, Mr. New York." He whines a little and tugs his hand. "Unless you've got somewhere to stay, but I'll go ahead and cancel those reservations anyway and put you up in the guest room here, whether you like it or not. How else can I sneak in and whisper to you at night, huh?"
He waggles his eyebrows, all goof air as he tugs the man again, urging him inside. The remnants of his and Claire's fashion show are all over the living room and foyer: boas, sparkling tutus, jewelry, gowns, heels. "It's..." he lets out a breath and turns to him again. "It's good to see you."
"Just got in an hour ago. That airport is a fucking nuthouse."
Not like New York is much better, but it's a wonder Diego had made it out of LAX without beating someone up, or at least pinning them against a wall for getting on his damn nerves.
As to why he didn't tell him he was coming? Well. Some part of Diego had half wondered if Klaus would just tell him not to come, that he didn't need to. That he had all this covered. It's almost programmed in them, that inability to ask for help, so would he have asked? Would he have wanted to ask? Diego didn't want to risk the answer, so here he is. Uninvited, and unexpected.
Thankfully Klaus doesn't seem to mind him being here, though, and there's a small smile that crosses his lips when he urges him in. "Is that what it is, a heatwave? It's fucking miserable out there." No humidity, so that's something, but god. Between how fucking bright everything feels, and the fancy neighborhood they're in - plus the heat - it all makes Diego feel so out of place. Not to mention the all-black outfit he's wearing, but hey. At least he had taken off the jacket and it's stuffed in his bag now.
As they walk in, Diego is careful to not step on anything that's around - everything is so pink, sparkly and frilly, and holy shit, it feels like a whole other world in here. Reginald would have never allowed stuff like this (the disorder, the toys all over the place, the dress up), but he moves around it carefully. Almost respectfully. This belongs to his niece, after all, and while he has never met her, there's already a very deep sense of protectiveness that Diego feels nestling within himself. As if he's ready to shield this kid from the world, so that she can cling to this world of hers, this innocence that the Hargreeves children never had.
He turns to Klaus when he speaks, and he reaches over to give his shoulder a firm squeeze. "Good to see you, too." He glances around, at the house that feels too quiet, and he frowns slightly. "You here by yourself?"
"How many bodies are we gonna have to hide at LAX? Did you bring your knives in your carryon? I'm surprised you didn't try to wear them onto the plane."
The fact that Diego took a plane here, that he somehow made it through multiple airports, transfers included, and hadn't managed to get himself detained or thrown off a flight is honestly impressive.
Whereas Diego carefully steps over Claire's things, Klaus huffs and scoops some of it up, arms full of frilly, glittery fabric and beads when the hand falls on his shoulder. "Well, not exactly. The lady and her princess are sleeping at the moment. Or, well, Allison's in bed. Whether or not she's sleeping is another thing altogether. I need to get her some lunch together soon if she doesn't show her face. Claire's just gone down for a nap. She was all but falling over into the costume chest."
He makes a face for a second at the thought of saying those things to Diego, and how strange it is that it's actually his brother he's talking to and not someone like Patrick, coming in from work. It's surreal, and he halfway wants to pinch himself to make sure it's not some weird trip.
"Oh, shit, do you want to sit your stuff down? I can give you the grand tour in the meantime. Maybe you can surprise Al, take her lunch later? And then of course we'll have to take you to all the fun touristy shit. Baby's first plane ride, baby's first trip to California, I mean the options are endless."
Diego rolls his eyes, although Klaus’s comments are very valid. “No bodies. And I checked in the bag, so it’s fine.”
Because of course he had traveled with some of his knives. Not all of them, but still, there was no way he could have left New York without them. The bag looks like it hardly survived the trip over, but hey, it got the job done. That’s what matters.
He’s half glancing around when Klaus mentions Allison is in bed, and while he keeps his facial expressions under control as he turns back to his brother, internally he’s already thinking of ways to fix this. He and Allison may not be close how she and Klaus are, and their relationship can be more antagonistic than anything else, but he knows their sister. While losing her voice isn’t something she’s holding over Vanya (because she had made that point very clear both after the cabin and while they tried to help Vanya gain control), it is still a major shift in her life. Vanya had ripped away her voice, her powers, her life since it’s altering everything in it, and...yeah, he figured she would not be taking this well despite how put together she made herself be in front of everyone back in New York.
“You sure it’s okay if I stay here?” There’s something in his voice that, although he doesn’t say it, makes it clear that he doesn’t want to impose despite how he had just shown up. He could just get a hotel room somewhere nearby, it’s not like Hollywood lacks options, after all. “But yeah, I’ll take her lunch.” He pauses for a moment before he reaches over to steer his face back towards him, as if checking something on his brother’s face. “Tell you what. Why don’t you just show me where the kitchen is and I’ll make lunch. You sit. Or clean up, whatever.”
You look like hell, he almost says, but doesn’t even if the look on his face is ‘vocal’ enough. Not that he blames him - Klaus had gone from one shitstorm to another, just in a different city. And no apocalypse, at the very least.
"You did something to it, that's for sure. We'll get you better luggage for the next flight."
The bag looks like it's seen better days, but if Klaus had to guess, it likely didn't look much better at the start of the journey. They all lived scrappy lives back home, and Klaus finds the bag comforting, endearing in a way. A sign that things have changed, but they're all fundamentally the same underneath it.
"Well, that's assuming any of us let you on another flight. But will you stop that, of course you can stay here. We're not exactly hurting for room here, and if they can handle a queen like me and my up and coming miniature, I think the guest room can handle the infamous, dagger-throwing, hot-headed Diego Hargreeves. Ground rules though: no punching doors or walls and we require the use of the single brain cell you have left firing in that darling little noggin."
Klaus says all of this in a flurry as he bends to pick up something else tossed aside, a wig and magic wand. "So it's really—"
He comes up short when Diego guides his face so they're meeting eyes again, and Klaus's eyes widen, a little taken aback. It's rare to take one Klaus Hargreeves by surprise, with how easy going and fluid he is, but this stops him in his tracks. He can see the commentary written all over Diego's face, loud and clear, but he sputters for a moment all the same. "Oh. Right. Sure." A nervous little laugh and he takes a step back, swatting at Diego's hand playfully. "But I can't leave you unsupervised in the kitchen. Burning the house down on your first day is bad form. And think of all the catching up we would be missing out on!"
There's a defensiveness to his tone, but Klaus can probably guess that him letting this bag go will not likely go well. He has had it for as long as he has been on his own and, while it's not much, it still feels as the first thing that was his. He'd never admit the sentimentality - after all, he's not the type - but it's very much there despite himself and his best efforts.
As Klaus rattles off the house rules, he nods. Although he may look like he's all but saying yeah, yeah, whatever with the way he does it, he is listening to him. Even if Klaus wouldn't have said anything, Diego would have behaved (or at least tried to); not only because he most definitely feels like a guest in foreign territory, and because he'll be in close proximity to Claire.
Which...is actually more nerve-racking than he could have expected. A six year old probably shouldn't elicit that kind of reaction, but this is not just any kid. She's one of their own, a little extension of their family (God help her).
"I think I can handle some sandwiches without burning down the house. I'd offer to pick up something to eat, but no car." He smiles faintly. "And I'm not leaving tomorrow, so we have time."
“Well don’t you have all the answers?” Klaus laughs and moves to drop some of the items back in the little costume trunk pulled out in front of the TV. The tiara and the string of beads around his neck are quick to join, though he leaves the kimono for the time being.
He’s used to managing this place by himself, used to Allison and Patrick going in and out, Claire being up an down, but to know that Diego is here? It’s odd. He wouldn’t have the man stay elsewhere, particularly since there’s a guest room available, but he finds himself wondering if he should have asked Allison or Patrick first. Absurd, considering he’s in just as many of the family photos himself, but still.
He shakes it off, however, and joins Diego. “So, foyer, living room. Down the hall are the bedrooms. Claire’s the first door on the right, then the guest room for you. I’m on the left. The office has a great view out back, then on the other side, that hall takes you to the master suite. Oh, shit, I’ll have to get you some towels and some sheets. Don’t know if that bed is made or not. That’s usually pillow fort palace, so if it’s in any state of disarray, you’ll have to take it up with the princess herself.”
But he guides Diego to the kitchen eventually, plopping himself at one of the barstools he often sits at during his sleepless nights. “Do any of the others know you’re here?”
Not that it matters, but he can’t help thinking about Vanya, Five, and Luther. Maybe they aren’t as close as they could be, at least his brothers, but Klaus still wants them to be well. “Go hog wild. Fridge, pantry, by all means. Make yourself right at home.”
Edited (i was legit asleep when i wrote this tag) 2020-12-05 15:28 (UTC)
Diego listens to Klaus as he gives him the rundown of the house, already committing it to memory. The mention of the master bedroom makes him glance over in that direction, as if it’ll help him glance beyond that hall and the closed door, but nothing. From the sounds of it, only he and Klaus are awake and moving. It’s fine, he thinks. He’ll change that real soon.
The disclaimer that his room might be in disarray due to a fort that Klaus and Claire have built makes him chuckle, though, the sound almost warm. Despite not knowing Claire, he knows Klaus and he can only imagine the two of them in there letting their imagination run wild. He’s glad his brother has someone to share that with. “It’s fine, I’m sure I can handle rearranging the room. It’s no big deal.”
At some point his ‘luggage’ is dropped off, and by the time they’re in the kitchen he washes his hands in the sink before he moves to the gather bread, butter, and cheese slices. And mustard for his own, because he likes to make his a little differently. “You like grilled cheese sandwiches?” It’s not something Diego normally eats, but it’s something simple and easy, and on rare occasions it’s almost like a sort of cheat meal. And, well. It’s something Grace would sometimes make them when they were sick, saying that they needed something comforting that would help them feel better. He has fond memories of it, even if by the way he’s asking Klaus if he likes the sandwiches, it almost sounds like there’s no sentimentality tied behind it.
As he butters the pan, he glances up at Klaus before shrugging slightly. “I let Five know I was going out of town, and left him my number. I finally got a cell phone, believe it or not. He’s still keeping an eye on Vanya, so figured if she wanted to know how to reach me, he’d tell her.” He doubts it, but still. And Luther... Things may not have been as strained between the family by the time they were able to get Vanya back on track, but things have always been strained between him and Luther. He’s not exactly on overly friendly terms with him, even now.
Not that he needs to tell Klaus that. He has hung around him since they were kids to know the complicated dynamics between him and Luther. And, considering the shit between them, too, he doubts he’s surprised by him not telling him he left New York for a few days.
“So any other ground rules? Anything I should or shouldn’t do?” He turns to him suddenly, pointing with the spatula. “And no. Me playing dress up is a big fat no already, I’ll leave that to you.”
The fact that Patrick also lives in this house is a blessing beyond measure, considering the guest room has, in fact, been restored to a livable state. It's no longer a pile of chairs and blankets and pillows from his and Claire's adventures a few nights previous.
He couldn't do any of this without Patrick, but the thought alone makes guilt well up in the pit of his stomach. If he'd protected Allison...
"You don't have to do all the hard work, you know," Klaus huffs but doesn't exactly move from his place at the stool, just watches as Diego fishes out all the necessary items. He doesn't feel hungry, really, so instead he pushes away from the counter and moves to the coffee machine, starting up a pot. "Was it you who used to dunk these in tomato soup or was that Five and Vanya? I think we have a can somewhere. I'm still full from breakfast, though, thank you very much."
Sitting still isn't something Klaus has ever done very well, especially when his siblings are around. As welcome as Diego is, as comfortable as he can feel around his brother, he feels just as on edge with him here, too. But it's all a carryover from before, from their hellish week trying to stop the apocalypse.
The coffee brewing, he looks over his shoulder when Diego poses the question. He snorts at the spatula and holds his hands up in false surrender. "Whether or not you play dress up isn't up to me, darling Diego, so I guess you've got a very hard lesson to learn." He grins, toothy and teasing, before swiping a can of soup and clanking it down on the counter.
"I don't make the rules, I only follow them. Claire is a demanding but just ruler, so it's easy to give in. If you don't want to play dress up, you can usually deflect with story time. And I guarantee she will be glued to your side with all the stories you've got to tell, Batman."
“I think it was Five and Vanya. Definitely wasn’t me.”
Not that he never did it, but he had outgrown that pretty quickly. Especially when back at his place he usually only makes sandwiches on the hot plate he has in the corner of the room; heating up soup always felt like too much of an additional step that felt unnecessary.
“Do you think Allison wants some soup? I’ll be fine with just the sandwich. And you’re eating at least a sandwich, you don’t get a choice.”
Just how apparently he won’t have a choice about dressing up. God, maybe he can actually find a room to stay at a hotel nearby. Staying here and being subjected to tiaras and little plastic jewelry sounds like some twisted version of torture even if the house is much better accommodations than any hotel he can actually afford.
He glances up again as the first sandwich goes on the pan, a small smile tugging at his lips despite himself. “What, you want me to tell her stories? Isn’t the kid too young for that?”
"I'll handle the soup, you handle the sandwiches. I make a very pretty sous chef, you know. And you can make me a sandwich if it puts your mind at ease, but I'll save it for later, hm? I want to savor the Diego Hargreeves grilled cheese masterpiece."
The idea of food on his stomach makes it flip and he turns to draw out a saucepan, setting it on the hob to heat. The smell of coffee starts to fill the kitchen, too, and that alone settles his nerves. Coffee and tea are his landing points, something to help ground him when he feels the itch of need and anxiety creeping in. Especially now, when Claire's TV shows get too loud or a car misfires outside.
It's easier to focus on cooking, on Claire, on Allison. A distraction from the chaos in his own head.
"She's six. She loves hearing about the Umbrella Academy, and the sillier the story, the better. She really likes action movies, too, you know. She's incredible." Warmth floods his voice as he works, adding cream and spices to the canned soup to liven it up. Once he's done, it lets it sit to heat slowly.
"I think you'll like her, Mr. Grumpy. You certainly don't have to stay here, if that's what you're at? Because this house certainly belongs to that darling little girl I call niece, and she will have your heart the moment you set eyes on her, promise. And it's going to be a delightful show. Can't wait to watch you turn to metaphorical goo, tough guy."
Diego is definitely making his brother a sandwich. And, considering the sort of ‘clean up’ mode that he’s in, he’s already planning on keeping an eye on Klaus as much as he’ll keep guard over Allison. Even more so, actually; not only because he’s closer to him than their sister, but because he knows Klaus. He won’t focus on himself and will wear himself thin, and there’s no way in hell he’s letting that happen. He may say he’s fine, and he may be acting it, but Diego still can’t get out of his head the way he looked that day at that bar. The way he spoke about Dave, the way he looked out the window as he drove him around.
That’s part of the reason why he had only bought a one-way ticket out here. He’s not leaving until both his siblings are in better shape than what they have been the last few weeks.
As the aroma of the soup, the coffee, and the grilled cheese sandwiches fill the kitchen, there’s a sense of warmth that he feels himself. This isn’t his home - it’s been a long time since he had felt that particular sentiment - but...he’s here, with his brother. And no, things aren’t great, but the world isn’t ending and they have time to fix the collateral damage that Reginald’s death had caused.
As he grills a second sandwich, he picks off a slice of cheese to munch on it as Klaus speaks of Claire. It’s impossible to miss the way his whole demeanor changes as he speaks of the little girl, and Diego laughs under his breath when he shares she likes action movies.
“Yeah, we’ll see.” There’s already a faint smile on his face as he turns back to the pan, flipping the sandwich over once the bread is perfectly golden brown. “It’ll be nice to meet her,” he says after a moment, although the admission feels weird to say. It’s Klaus, though; if there’s anyone that he can trust to let his guard down to at least say that, it’s him. “She sounds pretty great.”
Klaus busies himself with the coffee next, pulling down two mugs, whether Diego would actually like one or not. Much like the sandwich, it's a habit to serve the other person here. Even if his brother doesn't want any, Klaus is happy to drink two cups on his behalf.
"She's great, yeah," he breathes on a little laugh. Claire had basically saved his life, in a lot of ways. Had he not desperately kept clean to meet his niece, he's not sure if he would have made it very far. "Once she's up, she'll be all over you. You've got to show her what you can do, you'll surpass all of us on the list of cool shit her family can do."
He pours himself a cup of the coffee and another, sliding one toward the stovetop. "Sorry, this is crazy, you realize that, right?" He laughs into his mug, taking a piping hot sip and humming as it burns on its way down. "What, two weeks ago we were stopping an apocalypse and now you're here, in the kitchen in California, making a fucking grilled cheese for our bedridden sister. What a wild turn of events. I haven't had anything for years, but I have to tell you the last month feels like a case of some really, really bad drugs. Phew, big shit, maybe a few flashbacks on the way from the good ol' spinal fluid. Saving the best for last."
And even though Klaus had said he wasn't hungry, had said he'd save a grilled cheese for later, doesn't stop him from hovering around Diego so he can steal a piece of crispy cheese from the pan. He hops up to sit on the counter beside him, cradling the coffee mug in his lap.
"Just that a month ago we weren't even really a family, right? Now look at us. Oh how the tide floweth in or whatever the old saying is. I really should memorize more of that shamanistic bullshit for my yoga sessions, but que sera sera and whatnot."
Although Diego wouldn't necessarily consider himself a coffee drinker, he still appreciates the fact that his brother serves him a cup. Especially because today he'll probably need it; the flight had put him on edge the entire time and, while that's not necessarily a new thing for him, flying is definitely not something he's used to. Now that the trip is done, it's making him feel drained in an odd sort of way, and maybe the caffeine kick will help.
And, well, there's also the little part about how he hasn't been sleeping since the night that Reginald died. Sure, he catches some shut-eye every once in a while, but considering all the shit they've been going through the last month... It's almost as if, now that he's here, away from home, he's actually starting to feel some of the effects of it.
Not that he would ever admit it. Even to himself, really. Instead, he just drinks from the mug, wincing slightly at the bitter taste the damn thing leaves behind. His focus shifts, though, when Klaus speaks, and he shrugs before taking another sip of coffee.
"Yeah, I guess so. I mean, the old man's death sort of changed everything, whether we like it or not. Hard to really get back to that, isn't it?"
Not that he seems like he's hating this. Although Diego isn't necessarily the type to ever be at ease, he seems at least comfortable in this moment. It's something that has been happening since that night at the infirmary, since their days of working with Vanya - as if that part of him that used to crave that connection with his siblings is resurfacing, despite how much he believed it had been snuffed out as a teenager.
For as over the top and aloof as Klaus appears, he's incredibly perceptive. He's always honed in on the subtleties of those around them, whether as a tool of exploitation or curiosity, but he catches the wince as Diego drinks from the mug. It's easy to forget that not everyone wants their coffee as dark and bitter as his own little heart.
He slides from the counter long enough to fish a bottle of vanilla creamer from the fridge, but quickly resumes his perch. He opens the bottle and tips some into his own drink before offering it out to Diego, brows raised.
"Not sure what we're trying to get back to, per se but you're right, it's definitely hard. And so weird being back in that house, though I really do have to give a nod to teenage me. He was an edgy little shit. Decorations were to die for."
He sighs into his mug, chuckling against the rim of it as he drinks deeply. The creamer helps, sweet and smooth on the way down. "Oh, shit, that's right. We didn't do the whole catching up thing. Well I live here, with Allison and her unfairly adorable family. I make sure our sister is fabulously styled and occasionally I teach all the rich, old Hollywood folk how to do yoga. Celebrities or big spenders, usually, and only private lessons. Keeps life very entertaining."
And helps him stack money into Claire's college fund, too, among other things. "I started taking classes early on to help with all the bullshit. Dead people, their dead friends, and their fancy cousin addiction. Allison wanted me to surf. Fuckin surf, can you imagine?" He snorts.
He may or may not pick up one of the completed grilled cheeses and take a bite, too, if only for something to do with his hands. And because maybe, just maybe, he's feeling a little bit better with company here, but he won't admit to that.
For a moment Diego figures that Klaus is going to busy himself with something else in the kitchen, but when he comes back with the creamer he pauses slightly in surprise. It's hard to tell, though, if the surprise is at the creamer itself or the fact that Klaus had caught on to the fact that he's not all that used to coffee, let alone black coffee.
But, since Klaus uses the creamer, it's easier for Diego to do the same. Not too much, just a splash...until he tastes it, and then he casually adds a little bit more before going back to the sandwich on the pan as if nothing happened.
He glances towards his brother again, though, as he continues talking and fills him in on what he has been doing. Teaching yoga, of all things, and shit. He wonders if Reginald would die of an aneurysm if he knew what one of his sons was doing, after raising them all to save the world.
"Surf?" Diego all but barks out a laugh at that, shaking his head. "Shit, well. No, that doesn't really sound like you." A smile settles on his lips, but he makes it a point to not watch him as he eats. And he makes sure to not look so satisfied at the fact that he's eating, even if internally he can't help the way the knot in his stomach relaxes at the sight.
"It's hard work, surfing," he whines and drinks from his mug again with the roll of his eyes. "I don't know why she thought I'd be suited for something like that."
Though he tried and in actuality, he hadn't been bad at it. But the idea of trying to teach out-of-state tourists how to balance or how to swim seemed far less than ideal to him. Yoga had happened by accident, really, spurred on by meeting a few fancy, pretty folk that led to something a little more.
His eyes raise to Diego's and he shrugs a shoulder, "It's not too bad. Definitely not what dear old dad had in mind for his dearest, greatest disappointment, after all. But there's something exciting about that, isn't there?" He snorts, smirking around another bite of grilled cheese as he peers up at the ceiling, thoughtful. Squandering his potential, his father had said in the afterlife. Wasting it on frivolity.
"It keeps me honest." He looks Diego over once then sighs, dropping his hands back to his lap. "I'm glad you're here. Really. I'm terribly impressed with your element of surprise, because I have to admit, I can usually hear you coming from a mile away." He grins and takes another bite, gesturing at Diego with the half-eaten sandwich. "Subtlety isn't usually your thing."
There’s a sort of darkness that crosses his features as Reginald gets brought up in actual conversation, his whole body almost going to the defense. It’s an unconscious reaction by now, something that has been happening since he was a teenager. The mere idea of their father causes whatever softened edges to harden; the personality of that stuttering boy that existed back then destroyed by the new ways he had come up with to become better. Tougher, as if so that Reginald won’t destroy him, too.
“Dad’s expectations can rot in Hell right along with him.” It’s not said too loud, but the anger he has reserved for Reginald seeps into his words nonetheless. Especially after Klaus parrots what their father had called him. He may not have heard him tell that story, but the idea of Reginald calling any of them that after being a shitty father to all of them, it makes his blood boil.
He anchors himself in the here and now, though, and whatever other insult is burning in his tongue gets shoved back as he takes another sip of his coffee. Especially when Klaus tells him he’s glad to have him here, which brings a half smirk to his face.
“Yeah, well. It is when I need it to be.” And he did, this time, for various reasons. Considering the deep shit they are all still sorting through, it felt necessary. But, considering Klaus is one of the ones he’s intending to help while he’s out in California, he doesn’t elaborate. He just shrugs slightly, as if it’s not a big deal. “Besides. You went on so much about Claire, that I figured why not now before I get busy again with work.”
The most ironic thing of all is that their father somehow ended up in Heaven. Or at least, Klaus certainly thought it was heaven. It didn't look dismal or horrific, and the man was able to tuck in and give him a shave as well as a metaphorical beating, so why not? Heaven enough, especially with God frowning at him through the eyes of a salty little girl.
He opts to omit that part, though, and instead lets out a little laugh. "Oh, right, Mr. Bull in a China shop, but by all means, whatever helps you sleep at night." Though subtlety isn't exactly what he'd use to describe Diego, the man's heart is as big as any, and he has a unique ability for pressing at just the right moment. And even though his approach is often more aggressive than others, it's that direct, pointed sort of action that can be so refreshing.
He'd needed it, in the bar, in the car ride home. Needed someone to shake him back into reality but also just listen, even if the details were all so confusing.
"Glad you could squeeze us into your schedule then. Could you squeeze another sandwich in there, too, while you're at it?" Has he finished the one he stole? Yes, and strangely he finds himself still hungry. It's the most he's eaten in days, really, and while he feels like another one could be verging on too much, he's more desperate for the interaction than he is the food.
With Allison being basically silenced, both by her injury and the turmoil of everything, with Patrick worrying over them both while still working, Klaus spends a great deal of time either tending to Allison's bedside or with Claire, leaving him to sit up, alone, at night with his thoughts, with his memories, with his fears.
A tiny part of him wants to grab Diego by the arm and beg him to stay a little longer, to let Allison sleep because she needs it, but also because he needs this. It's childish, something the vulnerable, wide eyed boy from all those years ago might have done when things got out of control in training. He doesn't have to take care of Diego in this moment, even though he should; they're all grieving right now. The relief that he can just exist for a little while, for a slice of a moment is enough to make him weep with relief. But Klaus doesn't. Instead, he smiles easily, crosses his legs at the knee and leans back on one hand on the counter, foot bobbing to the faint commercial music playing from the living room TV.
"If you're going to stop in, I might as well put you to work, right?" He chuckles, reaching to dip a finger in the soup he'd been warming. It's cooking, but slowly, and it's not quite warmed through for serving yet. "A few more minutes and you can waltz your way to Allison. Surprise the hell out of her and all."
“Ah, good timing,” he teases with a smirk, as if the sandwich he was putting on a plate wasn’t going to be shoved at Klaus in a few minutes. Thankfully his brother beats him to the punch, but whatever relief he could be feeling about the fact that Klaus is eating gets tucked away as he offers him the plate with the recently made sandwich.
Klaus may not be asking him to stay, but Diego isn’t moving with any sort of urgency. If anything, he looks almost too relaxed as he butters more bread and preps the cheese. As if this is normal, as if he casually shows up to make lunch out of nowhere. All of this is out of his norm, though. Not just making someone that isn’t Patch food, but it’s rare for the force that is normally Diego Hargreeves to be almost still, but like with his subtlety, he knows when to rein things back in. Like right now, he is where he wants to be. With his brother. Yes, Allison had been his excuse to fly out, and even Claire to some degree. It’s easier to say it, after all, and it’s easier than admitting to his brother the truth. Because he doubts he’d take it well if he told him how he still remembers that look of his at the bar. How broken he sounded. How it had wedged something between his ribs, making it uncomfortable for him to even breathe until he makes sure he’s okay. Klaus hadn’t gotten a chance to really process what happened in Vietnam before they found Allison at the brink of death in that cabin, before Vanya almost destroyed the world, before they put her back together, before Allison crumbled.
And, as much as Diego’s demeanor has hardened, as much as he keeps that stuttering boy he used to be buried as deep as he can, in a lot of ways some things never disappeared. Like the fierce loyalty to his family, the love he has for his siblings. The way he has always wanted to protect them despite his outward aggressiveness. The way Klaus has always felt like the younger brother that he needs to guard, despite the fact that they’re all the same age.
That’s why, for now, he just shrugs. “Lucky for her, now I’m hungry, so she can...you know. Do whatever the hell she’s doing before I pop in and say hi.” Oh and say hi he will. Allison definitely won’t know what hit her before she gets more or less dragged out of bed. “God, that fucking flight was miserable. No food, just these little peanut bags that barely had anything. So I guess you’re stuck with me while we both eat something.”
"You'd have sooner walked to California, wouldn't you? A real Forest Gump of the Umbrella Academy. Though if you dare grow a beard like his or go for that casually homeless, deadbeat look, I will murder you myself."
Klaus takes the plate and plucks up the sandwich immediately, smiling a little at how perfectly browned it is. It's warm, too, and is a nice contrast to the bite of the bitter coffee. Funny, how such a simple thing can make him feel a little bit more human.
"Don't let me rob you of your food, though. I can be a bottomless pit when I want to, don't let this dashing figure deceive." He takes another bite and peers around the kitchen, at the house he's called home for nearly a decade. The toys on the floor, the coats on the pretty hooks at the door, the pile of shoes Klaus has inevitably left behind a couch or under a table, because even he can't keep track of them.
Funny, how easily a place can become a home.
"I am definitely not the family cook here, though. Allison's pretty good but Patrick is just," he presses his fingers to his lips and gives a silly little chef's kiss. "I mean, he's easy on the eyes. I keep telling Allison I will elope with him one day, be the real family homewrecker. My dreams haven't come true yet." He laughs, taking another bite. He's quiet for the first time in their meeting, though, staring off thoughtfully toward the bedroom door.
For a second, in the lull of conversation, his mind goes somewhere far off, though he's not sure how or why. Perhaps it's the sizzle of the pan, the last bubble of the coffee machine, the sound of a cartoon explosion from the TV set. His chest fills with pressure, his ears with nothing but white noise, his mouth runs dry. He's there with Dave in the dirt, sitting among soldiers as shells explode, as bodies fall lifeless and cold around him.
He blinks as butter pops on the pan and he comes up, bewildered, ears finally opening the gate for whatever it was Diego was saying. He laughs nervously, though, and tucks hair behind his ear. He should finish the new sandwich, but his appetite has suddenly left him, his heart aching and racing all at once.
"Got caught up in the fantasy, you know, silly me." A small huff and he looks to the sandwich, picking at the crust. "Hopefully you can get through to her, though. To Allison, I mean. After you eat."
Diego chuckles, nodding as he grills a new sandwich. “Yeah, would’ve been a lot more tolerable than the flight. But would have taken longer, so...guess that’s what I get for not wanting to spend all week driving.”
Not to mention the fact that he’d be screwed if he would have tried, considering his car isn’t exactly up for the drive. He loves the damn thing, but he’s also realistic - it’s old and beat up, there is absolutely no way it would have been able to handle a cross country trip.
“And don’t worry about it, there’s plenty where it’s coming from so just eat.” He says it casually, like it’s not a command, although Diego is determined to get him to get more food in his stomach. “Besides, I’m still working on my coffee. The creamer isn’t half bad.”
He listens as his brother talks, careful to not let the bread get too brown, but when he grows quiet he glances over in his direction. He’s too alert and hypersensitive to his brother’s needs (to his siblings’s needs in general, really, considering he’s on protective mode), and while Diego makes sure he’s careful to not distract himself from the sandwich he’s grilling since he doubts that Allison will appreciate it if he burnt down her kitchen within an hour of arriving, he still keeps a careful eye on Klaus.
But then Klaus laughs, and that nervous energy that comes with the laugh feels as if it shakes something within him. It makes his stomach twist, his mouth going dry.
It makes him reach over for him, a hand wrapping around his wrist. The grip is firm, but still gentle enough to not hurt him. And so that, if Klaus pulls away, he can. It’s something Grace would do for him whenever he’d get too stuck in something, his mouth unable to form the words that he wanted to say as his heart thundered within his chest. It’s not what Klaus is experiencing, he knows he doesn’t know shit about what he’s going through. But Grace would give him something to ground him, to pull him back to reality before the anxiety unraveled him too much, and that sentiment is still there.
“We’ll get it figured out,” he says quietly, but reassuringly. He doesn’t necessarily mean Allison, although that’s his goal, too. It’s intended to be an open statement, one that won’t spook Klaus away, but that he wants him to remember. He hopes he knows he’s there for him, too. “I promise.”
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Whenever your world starts crashing down, that’s when you find me;
The truth is, of course, very different. Not that he’s not worried about Allison - he is. Just...that’s not necessarily the real reason why he’s flying across the country. It’s not even entirely the fact that Klaus probably does need help with Allison. He misses them, and while technically he should probably stick around New York, it feels pointless right now. Patch is gone. Klaus is gone. What the hell does he have to stay there for? It’s not a permanent move, he’s not ready for that. But it’s still a pretty big one, despite his efforts of convincing himself that it’s not.
By the time he arrives, he’s immediately hit by how much warmer it is in Los Angeles than New York. And how much sunnier it is, which he already hates. As the taxi drives over to Allison’s, Diego tries to picture his siblings in the streets that they drive by, trying to picture their lives here in what seems to be a whole other world than what they grew up in, and he forces himself to ignore the way he feels like an outsider. Like someone looking in. Should he have jumped on the plane without even letting Klaus know? What if he shows up and they don’t need him?
It’s too late to turn back now, though, especially as the car pulls up to the house and Diego gets out. His joints feel stiff from the long flight, trying to adjust to the timezone change since right now he’d be napping before heading out on patrol, but instead he’s here. In some swanky neighborhood in the Hollywood hills.
Grasping tighter onto the handle of his luggage, he walks up the path to the front door and rings the doorbell, letting out a sigh under his breath as he tries to ignore the way his stomach seems to flutter with anticipation.
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Needless to say, Klaus is tired, but he's just gotten little Claire down for a nap when he hears the doorbell. Patrick's off at work, so he's not entirely sure who could be ringing. A rogue girl scout? A delivery? A tricky thief ready to hold him at gunpoint?
He pries himself off the couch on the second ring, but doesn't bother to actually make himself more presentable. Yoga pants and a sheer, lacy kimono are clothes enough, an with the heatwave they've been experiencing lately? Well, let someone complain. He happens to be sporting a tiara and a long set of gaudy pink pearls a la Claire pre-nap time, but he's all but forgotten them at this point.
He swings open the door without checking to see who's outside, "So sorry, the lady of the house is in repose at the moment, you'll have to—" A blink, a stare, when he really takes in who waits on the other side of the threshold. It doesn't add up, Diego with the bright cut of Hollywood hills as his backdrop.
"Diego?" His voice goes quiet, almost a whisper, a hand clenching the door. It's like his brain stalls, the walls and fronts raised for the sake of Patrick, Claire, and Allison stuttering, shuddering against the very breath of fresh air that his brother is. "Holy shit," he laughs and all but throws himself at his brother, knocking the tiara askew in unkempt curls as his arms curl around his shoulders. "What the hell are you doing here?"
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This is weird. Being here, seeing him in this uncle mode, because he can only assume Claire was responsible for the tiara, in this house that he has never ever seen or been in before. It feels almost too personal, like he’s glimpsing into a life he shouldn’t be privy to, and for a moment he almost forgets to speak.
Until Klaus laughs, and suddenly he’s hugging him, and Diego lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as he waited for Klaus’s reaction.
“Figured you’d have your hands full with our other sister. We already helped one, so...thought I could help with the second.” Not that Diego really helped much with Vanya, other than figuring out logistics and making sure people slept and ate. He doesn’t have the right temperament for Vanya, but maybe he can irritate Allison enough into getting her ass in gear.
He gives Klaus’s back a firm pat before he pulls back, keeping a hand on his shoulder to keep him close. To meet his eyes, to make sure Klaus won’t bullshit him.
“So. How bad is it?”
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When they left, he'd made sure to leave his number with Diego, but hadn't quite expected him to take him up on it. A tough few weeks does not a family make, after all, as much as Klaus might have wished. But seeing Diego here and now, on the stoop of their house, feels both surreal and lovely all at once. It could be the lack of sleep talking, though, and he drops his hands from Diego's face.
He can't look away, can't deflect the man's question and he lets out a breath. Talking about it outside, in the open like this, feels a little strange. "Bad. But we can talk about that once you're inside and settled, it's absolutely boiling out here and I don't want to get an uneven tan, thank you very much. Come on, Mr. New York." He whines a little and tugs his hand. "Unless you've got somewhere to stay, but I'll go ahead and cancel those reservations anyway and put you up in the guest room here, whether you like it or not. How else can I sneak in and whisper to you at night, huh?"
He waggles his eyebrows, all goof air as he tugs the man again, urging him inside. The remnants of his and Claire's fashion show are all over the living room and foyer: boas, sparkling tutus, jewelry, gowns, heels. "It's..." he lets out a breath and turns to him again. "It's good to see you."
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Not like New York is much better, but it's a wonder Diego had made it out of LAX without beating someone up, or at least pinning them against a wall for getting on his damn nerves.
As to why he didn't tell him he was coming? Well. Some part of Diego had half wondered if Klaus would just tell him not to come, that he didn't need to. That he had all this covered. It's almost programmed in them, that inability to ask for help, so would he have asked? Would he have wanted to ask? Diego didn't want to risk the answer, so here he is. Uninvited, and unexpected.
Thankfully Klaus doesn't seem to mind him being here, though, and there's a small smile that crosses his lips when he urges him in. "Is that what it is, a heatwave? It's fucking miserable out there." No humidity, so that's something, but god. Between how fucking bright everything feels, and the fancy neighborhood they're in - plus the heat - it all makes Diego feel so out of place. Not to mention the all-black outfit he's wearing, but hey. At least he had taken off the jacket and it's stuffed in his bag now.
As they walk in, Diego is careful to not step on anything that's around - everything is so pink, sparkly and frilly, and holy shit, it feels like a whole other world in here. Reginald would have never allowed stuff like this (the disorder, the toys all over the place, the dress up), but he moves around it carefully. Almost respectfully. This belongs to his niece, after all, and while he has never met her, there's already a very deep sense of protectiveness that Diego feels nestling within himself. As if he's ready to shield this kid from the world, so that she can cling to this world of hers, this innocence that the Hargreeves children never had.
He turns to Klaus when he speaks, and he reaches over to give his shoulder a firm squeeze. "Good to see you, too." He glances around, at the house that feels too quiet, and he frowns slightly. "You here by yourself?"
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The fact that Diego took a plane here, that he somehow made it through multiple airports, transfers included, and hadn't managed to get himself detained or thrown off a flight is honestly impressive.
Whereas Diego carefully steps over Claire's things, Klaus huffs and scoops some of it up, arms full of frilly, glittery fabric and beads when the hand falls on his shoulder. "Well, not exactly. The lady and her princess are sleeping at the moment. Or, well, Allison's in bed. Whether or not she's sleeping is another thing altogether. I need to get her some lunch together soon if she doesn't show her face. Claire's just gone down for a nap. She was all but falling over into the costume chest."
He makes a face for a second at the thought of saying those things to Diego, and how strange it is that it's actually his brother he's talking to and not someone like Patrick, coming in from work. It's surreal, and he halfway wants to pinch himself to make sure it's not some weird trip.
"Oh, shit, do you want to sit your stuff down? I can give you the grand tour in the meantime. Maybe you can surprise Al, take her lunch later? And then of course we'll have to take you to all the fun touristy shit. Baby's first plane ride, baby's first trip to California, I mean the options are endless."
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Because of course he had traveled with some of his knives. Not all of them, but still, there was no way he could have left New York without them. The bag looks like it hardly survived the trip over, but hey, it got the job done. That’s what matters.
He’s half glancing around when Klaus mentions Allison is in bed, and while he keeps his facial expressions under control as he turns back to his brother, internally he’s already thinking of ways to fix this. He and Allison may not be close how she and Klaus are, and their relationship can be more antagonistic than anything else, but he knows their sister. While losing her voice isn’t something she’s holding over Vanya (because she had made that point very clear both after the cabin and while they tried to help Vanya gain control), it is still a major shift in her life. Vanya had ripped away her voice, her powers, her life since it’s altering everything in it, and...yeah, he figured she would not be taking this well despite how put together she made herself be in front of everyone back in New York.
“You sure it’s okay if I stay here?” There’s something in his voice that, although he doesn’t say it, makes it clear that he doesn’t want to impose despite how he had just shown up. He could just get a hotel room somewhere nearby, it’s not like Hollywood lacks options, after all. “But yeah, I’ll take her lunch.” He pauses for a moment before he reaches over to steer his face back towards him, as if checking something on his brother’s face. “Tell you what. Why don’t you just show me where the kitchen is and I’ll make lunch. You sit. Or clean up, whatever.”
You look like hell, he almost says, but doesn’t even if the look on his face is ‘vocal’ enough. Not that he blames him - Klaus had gone from one shitstorm to another, just in a different city. And no apocalypse, at the very least.
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The bag looks like it's seen better days, but if Klaus had to guess, it likely didn't look much better at the start of the journey. They all lived scrappy lives back home, and Klaus finds the bag comforting, endearing in a way. A sign that things have changed, but they're all fundamentally the same underneath it.
"Well, that's assuming any of us let you on another flight. But will you stop that, of course you can stay here. We're not exactly hurting for room here, and if they can handle a queen like me and my up and coming miniature, I think the guest room can handle the infamous, dagger-throwing, hot-headed Diego Hargreeves. Ground rules though: no punching doors or walls and we require the use of the single brain cell you have left firing in that darling little noggin."
Klaus says all of this in a flurry as he bends to pick up something else tossed aside, a wig and magic wand. "So it's really—"
He comes up short when Diego guides his face so they're meeting eyes again, and Klaus's eyes widen, a little taken aback. It's rare to take one Klaus Hargreeves by surprise, with how easy going and fluid he is, but this stops him in his tracks. He can see the commentary written all over Diego's face, loud and clear, but he sputters for a moment all the same. "Oh. Right. Sure." A nervous little laugh and he takes a step back, swatting at Diego's hand playfully. "But I can't leave you unsupervised in the kitchen. Burning the house down on your first day is bad form. And think of all the catching up we would be missing out on!"
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There's a defensiveness to his tone, but Klaus can probably guess that him letting this bag go will not likely go well. He has had it for as long as he has been on his own and, while it's not much, it still feels as the first thing that was his. He'd never admit the sentimentality - after all, he's not the type - but it's very much there despite himself and his best efforts.
As Klaus rattles off the house rules, he nods. Although he may look like he's all but saying yeah, yeah, whatever with the way he does it, he is listening to him. Even if Klaus wouldn't have said anything, Diego would have behaved (or at least tried to); not only because he most definitely feels like a guest in foreign territory, and because he'll be in close proximity to Claire.
Which...is actually more nerve-racking than he could have expected. A six year old probably shouldn't elicit that kind of reaction, but this is not just any kid. She's one of their own, a little extension of their family (God help her).
"I think I can handle some sandwiches without burning down the house. I'd offer to pick up something to eat, but no car." He smiles faintly. "And I'm not leaving tomorrow, so we have time."
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He’s used to managing this place by himself, used to Allison and Patrick going in and out, Claire being up an down, but to know that Diego is here? It’s odd. He wouldn’t have the man stay elsewhere, particularly since there’s a guest room available, but he finds himself wondering if he should have asked Allison or Patrick first. Absurd, considering he’s in just as many of the family photos himself, but still.
He shakes it off, however, and joins Diego. “So, foyer, living room. Down the hall are the bedrooms. Claire’s the first door on the right, then the guest room for you. I’m on the left. The office has a great view out back, then on the other side, that hall takes you to the master suite. Oh, shit, I’ll have to get you some towels and some sheets. Don’t know if that bed is made or not. That’s usually pillow fort palace, so if it’s in any state of disarray, you’ll have to take it up with the princess herself.”
But he guides Diego to the kitchen eventually, plopping himself at one of the barstools he often sits at during his sleepless nights. “Do any of the others know you’re here?”
Not that it matters, but he can’t help thinking about Vanya, Five, and Luther. Maybe they aren’t as close as they could be, at least his brothers, but Klaus still wants them to be well. “Go hog wild. Fridge, pantry, by all means. Make yourself right at home.”
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The disclaimer that his room might be in disarray due to a fort that Klaus and Claire have built makes him chuckle, though, the sound almost warm. Despite not knowing Claire, he knows Klaus and he can only imagine the two of them in there letting their imagination run wild. He’s glad his brother has someone to share that with. “It’s fine, I’m sure I can handle rearranging the room. It’s no big deal.”
At some point his ‘luggage’ is dropped off, and by the time they’re in the kitchen he washes his hands in the sink before he moves to the gather bread, butter, and cheese slices. And mustard for his own, because he likes to make his a little differently. “You like grilled cheese sandwiches?” It’s not something Diego normally eats, but it’s something simple and easy, and on rare occasions it’s almost like a sort of cheat meal. And, well. It’s something Grace would sometimes make them when they were sick, saying that they needed something comforting that would help them feel better. He has fond memories of it, even if by the way he’s asking Klaus if he likes the sandwiches, it almost sounds like there’s no sentimentality tied behind it.
As he butters the pan, he glances up at Klaus before shrugging slightly. “I let Five know I was going out of town, and left him my number. I finally got a cell phone, believe it or not. He’s still keeping an eye on Vanya, so figured if she wanted to know how to reach me, he’d tell her.” He doubts it, but still. And Luther... Things may not have been as strained between the family by the time they were able to get Vanya back on track, but things have always been strained between him and Luther. He’s not exactly on overly friendly terms with him, even now.
Not that he needs to tell Klaus that. He has hung around him since they were kids to know the complicated dynamics between him and Luther. And, considering the shit between them, too, he doubts he’s surprised by him not telling him he left New York for a few days.
“So any other ground rules? Anything I should or shouldn’t do?” He turns to him suddenly, pointing with the spatula. “And no. Me playing dress up is a big fat no already, I’ll leave that to you.”
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He couldn't do any of this without Patrick, but the thought alone makes guilt well up in the pit of his stomach. If he'd protected Allison...
"You don't have to do all the hard work, you know," Klaus huffs but doesn't exactly move from his place at the stool, just watches as Diego fishes out all the necessary items. He doesn't feel hungry, really, so instead he pushes away from the counter and moves to the coffee machine, starting up a pot. "Was it you who used to dunk these in tomato soup or was that Five and Vanya? I think we have a can somewhere. I'm still full from breakfast, though, thank you very much."
Sitting still isn't something Klaus has ever done very well, especially when his siblings are around. As welcome as Diego is, as comfortable as he can feel around his brother, he feels just as on edge with him here, too. But it's all a carryover from before, from their hellish week trying to stop the apocalypse.
The coffee brewing, he looks over his shoulder when Diego poses the question. He snorts at the spatula and holds his hands up in false surrender. "Whether or not you play dress up isn't up to me, darling Diego, so I guess you've got a very hard lesson to learn." He grins, toothy and teasing, before swiping a can of soup and clanking it down on the counter.
"I don't make the rules, I only follow them. Claire is a demanding but just ruler, so it's easy to give in. If you don't want to play dress up, you can usually deflect with story time. And I guarantee she will be glued to your side with all the stories you've got to tell, Batman."
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Not that he never did it, but he had outgrown that pretty quickly. Especially when back at his place he usually only makes sandwiches on the hot plate he has in the corner of the room; heating up soup always felt like too much of an additional step that felt unnecessary.
“Do you think Allison wants some soup? I’ll be fine with just the sandwich. And you’re eating at least a sandwich, you don’t get a choice.”
Just how apparently he won’t have a choice about dressing up. God, maybe he can actually find a room to stay at a hotel nearby. Staying here and being subjected to tiaras and little plastic jewelry sounds like some twisted version of torture even if the house is much better accommodations than any hotel he can actually afford.
He glances up again as the first sandwich goes on the pan, a small smile tugging at his lips despite himself. “What, you want me to tell her stories? Isn’t the kid too young for that?”
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The idea of food on his stomach makes it flip and he turns to draw out a saucepan, setting it on the hob to heat. The smell of coffee starts to fill the kitchen, too, and that alone settles his nerves. Coffee and tea are his landing points, something to help ground him when he feels the itch of need and anxiety creeping in. Especially now, when Claire's TV shows get too loud or a car misfires outside.
It's easier to focus on cooking, on Claire, on Allison. A distraction from the chaos in his own head.
"She's six. She loves hearing about the Umbrella Academy, and the sillier the story, the better. She really likes action movies, too, you know. She's incredible." Warmth floods his voice as he works, adding cream and spices to the canned soup to liven it up. Once he's done, it lets it sit to heat slowly.
"I think you'll like her, Mr. Grumpy. You certainly don't have to stay here, if that's what you're at? Because this house certainly belongs to that darling little girl I call niece, and she will have your heart the moment you set eyes on her, promise. And it's going to be a delightful show. Can't wait to watch you turn to metaphorical goo, tough guy."
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That’s part of the reason why he had only bought a one-way ticket out here. He’s not leaving until both his siblings are in better shape than what they have been the last few weeks.
As the aroma of the soup, the coffee, and the grilled cheese sandwiches fill the kitchen, there’s a sense of warmth that he feels himself. This isn’t his home - it’s been a long time since he had felt that particular sentiment - but...he’s here, with his brother. And no, things aren’t great, but the world isn’t ending and they have time to fix the collateral damage that Reginald’s death had caused.
As he grills a second sandwich, he picks off a slice of cheese to munch on it as Klaus speaks of Claire. It’s impossible to miss the way his whole demeanor changes as he speaks of the little girl, and Diego laughs under his breath when he shares she likes action movies.
“Yeah, we’ll see.” There’s already a faint smile on his face as he turns back to the pan, flipping the sandwich over once the bread is perfectly golden brown. “It’ll be nice to meet her,” he says after a moment, although the admission feels weird to say. It’s Klaus, though; if there’s anyone that he can trust to let his guard down to at least say that, it’s him. “She sounds pretty great.”
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"She's great, yeah," he breathes on a little laugh. Claire had basically saved his life, in a lot of ways. Had he not desperately kept clean to meet his niece, he's not sure if he would have made it very far. "Once she's up, she'll be all over you. You've got to show her what you can do, you'll surpass all of us on the list of cool shit her family can do."
He pours himself a cup of the coffee and another, sliding one toward the stovetop. "Sorry, this is crazy, you realize that, right?" He laughs into his mug, taking a piping hot sip and humming as it burns on its way down. "What, two weeks ago we were stopping an apocalypse and now you're here, in the kitchen in California, making a fucking grilled cheese for our bedridden sister. What a wild turn of events. I haven't had anything for years, but I have to tell you the last month feels like a case of some really, really bad drugs. Phew, big shit, maybe a few flashbacks on the way from the good ol' spinal fluid. Saving the best for last."
And even though Klaus had said he wasn't hungry, had said he'd save a grilled cheese for later, doesn't stop him from hovering around Diego so he can steal a piece of crispy cheese from the pan. He hops up to sit on the counter beside him, cradling the coffee mug in his lap.
"Just that a month ago we weren't even really a family, right? Now look at us. Oh how the tide floweth in or whatever the old saying is. I really should memorize more of that shamanistic bullshit for my yoga sessions, but que sera sera and whatnot."
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And, well, there's also the little part about how he hasn't been sleeping since the night that Reginald died. Sure, he catches some shut-eye every once in a while, but considering all the shit they've been going through the last month... It's almost as if, now that he's here, away from home, he's actually starting to feel some of the effects of it.
Not that he would ever admit it. Even to himself, really. Instead, he just drinks from the mug, wincing slightly at the bitter taste the damn thing leaves behind. His focus shifts, though, when Klaus speaks, and he shrugs before taking another sip of coffee.
"Yeah, I guess so. I mean, the old man's death sort of changed everything, whether we like it or not. Hard to really get back to that, isn't it?"
Not that he seems like he's hating this. Although Diego isn't necessarily the type to ever be at ease, he seems at least comfortable in this moment. It's something that has been happening since that night at the infirmary, since their days of working with Vanya - as if that part of him that used to crave that connection with his siblings is resurfacing, despite how much he believed it had been snuffed out as a teenager.
"Yoga sessions, huh?"
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He slides from the counter long enough to fish a bottle of vanilla creamer from the fridge, but quickly resumes his perch. He opens the bottle and tips some into his own drink before offering it out to Diego, brows raised.
"Not sure what we're trying to get back to, per se but you're right, it's definitely hard. And so weird being back in that house, though I really do have to give a nod to teenage me. He was an edgy little shit. Decorations were to die for."
He sighs into his mug, chuckling against the rim of it as he drinks deeply. The creamer helps, sweet and smooth on the way down. "Oh, shit, that's right. We didn't do the whole catching up thing. Well I live here, with Allison and her unfairly adorable family. I make sure our sister is fabulously styled and occasionally I teach all the rich, old Hollywood folk how to do yoga. Celebrities or big spenders, usually, and only private lessons. Keeps life very entertaining."
And helps him stack money into Claire's college fund, too, among other things. "I started taking classes early on to help with all the bullshit. Dead people, their dead friends, and their fancy cousin addiction. Allison wanted me to surf. Fuckin surf, can you imagine?" He snorts.
He may or may not pick up one of the completed grilled cheeses and take a bite, too, if only for something to do with his hands. And because maybe, just maybe, he's feeling a little bit better with company here, but he won't admit to that.
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But, since Klaus uses the creamer, it's easier for Diego to do the same. Not too much, just a splash...until he tastes it, and then he casually adds a little bit more before going back to the sandwich on the pan as if nothing happened.
He glances towards his brother again, though, as he continues talking and fills him in on what he has been doing. Teaching yoga, of all things, and shit. He wonders if Reginald would die of an aneurysm if he knew what one of his sons was doing, after raising them all to save the world.
"Surf?" Diego all but barks out a laugh at that, shaking his head. "Shit, well. No, that doesn't really sound like you." A smile settles on his lips, but he makes it a point to not watch him as he eats. And he makes sure to not look so satisfied at the fact that he's eating, even if internally he can't help the way the knot in his stomach relaxes at the sight.
"Sounds like you've got it pretty good out here."
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Though he tried and in actuality, he hadn't been bad at it. But the idea of trying to teach out-of-state tourists how to balance or how to swim seemed far less than ideal to him. Yoga had happened by accident, really, spurred on by meeting a few fancy, pretty folk that led to something a little more.
His eyes raise to Diego's and he shrugs a shoulder, "It's not too bad. Definitely not what dear old dad had in mind for his dearest, greatest disappointment, after all. But there's something exciting about that, isn't there?" He snorts, smirking around another bite of grilled cheese as he peers up at the ceiling, thoughtful. Squandering his potential, his father had said in the afterlife. Wasting it on frivolity.
"It keeps me honest." He looks Diego over once then sighs, dropping his hands back to his lap. "I'm glad you're here. Really. I'm terribly impressed with your element of surprise, because I have to admit, I can usually hear you coming from a mile away." He grins and takes another bite, gesturing at Diego with the half-eaten sandwich. "Subtlety isn't usually your thing."
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“Dad’s expectations can rot in Hell right along with him.” It’s not said too loud, but the anger he has reserved for Reginald seeps into his words nonetheless. Especially after Klaus parrots what their father had called him. He may not have heard him tell that story, but the idea of Reginald calling any of them that after being a shitty father to all of them, it makes his blood boil.
He anchors himself in the here and now, though, and whatever other insult is burning in his tongue gets shoved back as he takes another sip of his coffee. Especially when Klaus tells him he’s glad to have him here, which brings a half smirk to his face.
“Yeah, well. It is when I need it to be.” And he did, this time, for various reasons. Considering the deep shit they are all still sorting through, it felt necessary. But, considering Klaus is one of the ones he’s intending to help while he’s out in California, he doesn’t elaborate. He just shrugs slightly, as if it’s not a big deal. “Besides. You went on so much about Claire, that I figured why not now before I get busy again with work.”
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He opts to omit that part, though, and instead lets out a little laugh. "Oh, right, Mr. Bull in a China shop, but by all means, whatever helps you sleep at night." Though subtlety isn't exactly what he'd use to describe Diego, the man's heart is as big as any, and he has a unique ability for pressing at just the right moment. And even though his approach is often more aggressive than others, it's that direct, pointed sort of action that can be so refreshing.
He'd needed it, in the bar, in the car ride home. Needed someone to shake him back into reality but also just listen, even if the details were all so confusing.
"Glad you could squeeze us into your schedule then. Could you squeeze another sandwich in there, too, while you're at it?" Has he finished the one he stole? Yes, and strangely he finds himself still hungry. It's the most he's eaten in days, really, and while he feels like another one could be verging on too much, he's more desperate for the interaction than he is the food.
With Allison being basically silenced, both by her injury and the turmoil of everything, with Patrick worrying over them both while still working, Klaus spends a great deal of time either tending to Allison's bedside or with Claire, leaving him to sit up, alone, at night with his thoughts, with his memories, with his fears.
A tiny part of him wants to grab Diego by the arm and beg him to stay a little longer, to let Allison sleep because she needs it, but also because he needs this. It's childish, something the vulnerable, wide eyed boy from all those years ago might have done when things got out of control in training. He doesn't have to take care of Diego in this moment, even though he should; they're all grieving right now. The relief that he can just exist for a little while, for a slice of a moment is enough to make him weep with relief. But Klaus doesn't. Instead, he smiles easily, crosses his legs at the knee and leans back on one hand on the counter, foot bobbing to the faint commercial music playing from the living room TV.
"If you're going to stop in, I might as well put you to work, right?" He chuckles, reaching to dip a finger in the soup he'd been warming. It's cooking, but slowly, and it's not quite warmed through for serving yet. "A few more minutes and you can waltz your way to Allison. Surprise the hell out of her and all."
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Klaus may not be asking him to stay, but Diego isn’t moving with any sort of urgency. If anything, he looks almost too relaxed as he butters more bread and preps the cheese. As if this is normal, as if he casually shows up to make lunch out of nowhere. All of this is out of his norm, though. Not just making someone that isn’t Patch food, but it’s rare for the force that is normally Diego Hargreeves to be almost still, but like with his subtlety, he knows when to rein things back in. Like right now, he is where he wants to be. With his brother. Yes, Allison had been his excuse to fly out, and even Claire to some degree. It’s easier to say it, after all, and it’s easier than admitting to his brother the truth. Because he doubts he’d take it well if he told him how he still remembers that look of his at the bar. How broken he sounded. How it had wedged something between his ribs, making it uncomfortable for him to even breathe until he makes sure he’s okay. Klaus hadn’t gotten a chance to really process what happened in Vietnam before they found Allison at the brink of death in that cabin, before Vanya almost destroyed the world, before they put her back together, before Allison crumbled.
And, as much as Diego’s demeanor has hardened, as much as he keeps that stuttering boy he used to be buried as deep as he can, in a lot of ways some things never disappeared. Like the fierce loyalty to his family, the love he has for his siblings. The way he has always wanted to protect them despite his outward aggressiveness. The way Klaus has always felt like the younger brother that he needs to guard, despite the fact that they’re all the same age.
That’s why, for now, he just shrugs. “Lucky for her, now I’m hungry, so she can...you know. Do whatever the hell she’s doing before I pop in and say hi.” Oh and say hi he will. Allison definitely won’t know what hit her before she gets more or less dragged out of bed. “God, that fucking flight was miserable. No food, just these little peanut bags that barely had anything. So I guess you’re stuck with me while we both eat something.”
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Klaus takes the plate and plucks up the sandwich immediately, smiling a little at how perfectly browned it is. It's warm, too, and is a nice contrast to the bite of the bitter coffee. Funny, how such a simple thing can make him feel a little bit more human.
"Don't let me rob you of your food, though. I can be a bottomless pit when I want to, don't let this dashing figure deceive." He takes another bite and peers around the kitchen, at the house he's called home for nearly a decade. The toys on the floor, the coats on the pretty hooks at the door, the pile of shoes Klaus has inevitably left behind a couch or under a table, because even he can't keep track of them.
Funny, how easily a place can become a home.
"I am definitely not the family cook here, though. Allison's pretty good but Patrick is just," he presses his fingers to his lips and gives a silly little chef's kiss. "I mean, he's easy on the eyes. I keep telling Allison I will elope with him one day, be the real family homewrecker. My dreams haven't come true yet." He laughs, taking another bite. He's quiet for the first time in their meeting, though, staring off thoughtfully toward the bedroom door.
For a second, in the lull of conversation, his mind goes somewhere far off, though he's not sure how or why. Perhaps it's the sizzle of the pan, the last bubble of the coffee machine, the sound of a cartoon explosion from the TV set. His chest fills with pressure, his ears with nothing but white noise, his mouth runs dry. He's there with Dave in the dirt, sitting among soldiers as shells explode, as bodies fall lifeless and cold around him.
He blinks as butter pops on the pan and he comes up, bewildered, ears finally opening the gate for whatever it was Diego was saying. He laughs nervously, though, and tucks hair behind his ear. He should finish the new sandwich, but his appetite has suddenly left him, his heart aching and racing all at once.
"Got caught up in the fantasy, you know, silly me." A small huff and he looks to the sandwich, picking at the crust. "Hopefully you can get through to her, though. To Allison, I mean. After you eat."
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Not to mention the fact that he’d be screwed if he would have tried, considering his car isn’t exactly up for the drive. He loves the damn thing, but he’s also realistic - it’s old and beat up, there is absolutely no way it would have been able to handle a cross country trip.
“And don’t worry about it, there’s plenty where it’s coming from so just eat.” He says it casually, like it’s not a command, although Diego is determined to get him to get more food in his stomach. “Besides, I’m still working on my coffee. The creamer isn’t half bad.”
He listens as his brother talks, careful to not let the bread get too brown, but when he grows quiet he glances over in his direction. He’s too alert and hypersensitive to his brother’s needs (to his siblings’s needs in general, really, considering he’s on protective mode), and while Diego makes sure he’s careful to not distract himself from the sandwich he’s grilling since he doubts that Allison will appreciate it if he burnt down her kitchen within an hour of arriving, he still keeps a careful eye on Klaus.
But then Klaus laughs, and that nervous energy that comes with the laugh feels as if it shakes something within him. It makes his stomach twist, his mouth going dry.
It makes him reach over for him, a hand wrapping around his wrist. The grip is firm, but still gentle enough to not hurt him. And so that, if Klaus pulls away, he can. It’s something Grace would do for him whenever he’d get too stuck in something, his mouth unable to form the words that he wanted to say as his heart thundered within his chest. It’s not what Klaus is experiencing, he knows he doesn’t know shit about what he’s going through. But Grace would give him something to ground him, to pull him back to reality before the anxiety unraveled him too much, and that sentiment is still there.
“We’ll get it figured out,” he says quietly, but reassuringly. He doesn’t necessarily mean Allison, although that’s his goal, too. It’s intended to be an open statement, one that won’t spook Klaus away, but that he wants him to remember. He hopes he knows he’s there for him, too. “I promise.”
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