Diego doesn't stop him from pulling away, but he watches him, silent. Letting him move about as if nothing has happened, as if they're still discussing the stupid plans that Allison had originally thought for Klaus, as if they're talking about Claire's frilly outfits and the threat of dress-up. As if either of them are even hungry anymore for the food they're making.
That's also what all Hargreeves do, isn't it? Their house is littered with silent pain, restrained emotions, weaknesses squashed down before they could even fully master them. It's part of the reason why they're all so fucked up, why everything always goes sideways every. damn. time.
And for a moment, Diego even plays along. He lets Klaus get out what he needs to from the cabinets and drawers, while he himself finishes making another sandwich. He even shakes his head at the offer of juice, before he butters another slice of bread. At the rate he's going, and the fact that neither of them will probably eat anymore, Claire and Allison will have grilled cheese sandwiches for the rest of the day.
"You don't have to do that, you know." It's a belated comment, and he knows it, but he had been trying to almost calibrate his voice in a way that it wouldn't come out like an accusation. He doesn't turn to Klaus, as if somehow that will make it easier to listen to what he's about to say. "This that you're doing, being all lively and shit. Not with me. Not if you're not feeling it." He glances towards him then; there's not a glare, just that same understanding that had been in his eyes that day in the car. That night in the infirmary. "You want to do it for Allison, for Claire? That's fine. But don't burn energy on it for me. And, honestly? Allison would probably tell you the same thing if she could."
It's so very easy for Klaus to slip into that playful nonchalance, to tuck all the gut-twisting fear and worry away. Better for his family to deal with their own shit than to worry about his own, because Klaus can't even put a name to it. He can't explain to them the sleepless nights, the sound of bombs ringing in his hears, the dead woman who stares at him with bleeding eyes while he sleeps, the smell of cigarette smoke in a Vietnamese bar...
He's so lost in setting out the tray, in creating a sense of normalcy for his sister that Diego's comment catches him off guard. "Hm?" He raises his head, blinking curiously at his brother. What do you mean is poised on his lips but Diego continues and he knows better than to rebut right now. He leans a hip into the counter, folds his arms over his chest, and listens.
"She probably would, you're right," he laughs a little at the thought. He can see the look on her face - he's seen it before, years ago. But he'd been happy recently, and his liveliness, his excitement, his grand gestures of hyperbole had all be genuine then. Something about going home for those two weeks has all but taken the air out of his chest.
"Well I'd be very boring if I didn't," he huffs, shrugging one shoulder. It's not that he doesn't take the man seriously - he does - but he's never been very good at sharing his feelings, at stepping away from the mask he's artfully crafted for himself. Diego had seen it, the walls crumbling, as he stood in the vet bar, as he sat in the car with him, but that doesn't make it easier. He looks aside, back to the tray, nervously arranging the bowl, the spoon, the glass. He's a man always in motion, especially now.
"Let's get Allison better first, yeah? I'm not deflecting or whatever bullshit, alright? I just... we gotta get her back on her feet first. This shit? I've dealt with this shit my whole life, what's a week more, you know?" He grins, all teeth and a trilling sort of laugh. "What's beauty without a little bit of despair, after all."
Diego removes another sandwich from the pan and sets it on the plate where he’s essentially stacking sandwiches, but his attention is really on Klaus and on what he’s saying. It’s at least good that his brother doesn’t just dismisses what he says, that he actually seems to listen, so at least that’s good.
Diego doesn’t relent, though, and when he initially huffs and shrugs his response, his expression remains the same. As if to tell him he can’t bullshit him; he can try to do his whole ‘normal’ act, but he had seen too much at that bar to really believe him. As if to tell him that he knows he’s fucking lying, because Diego had also lost someone he loved, and while he’ll never willingly show how much it hurts, he knows damn well that two weeks is nothing to actually ‘heal’ from the loss and grief left behind.
But, fair enough. He wants Allison back on her feet? He can help with that.
“How about we all three have lunch together, then? I can go say hi and convince her to join us.” ‘Convince’ sounds so normal, especially how he says it, but he has a feeling Klaus might disapprove of his methods if he knew what he has in mind. It’ll have results, though - Diego at least knows Number Three well enough to know what buttons to push.
Klaus can't help the masquerade he puts on. It's like a second skin, something he slips into and forgets he's living there, even now, when Diego seems to try and pull him from it. But it's a safer place to exist, where the sorrow and guilt and hurt and confusion don't exist.
He reaches for the plate of sandwiches and sets it delicately on the tray. The soup comes next as he reaches around his brother for the pot, carefully pouring the steaming liquid into an empty, waiting bowl.
"Taking the food to her will yield better results," he chirps, giving the tray a tiny push toward his brother for emphasis, a little waggle of his eyebrows, a curve of his lips. "She'll eat in there. No convincing or coercion necessary. Scout's honor."
He's tired, and it hits him suddenly. Maybe it's because he's existed in this halfway state for weeks now, a frenetic balance between brother and uncle and brother-in-law, but never quite landing on Klaus. But he's been in worse states. He's been in worse places. He's not on drugs or drinking and even though his mind feels the farthest from clear, he has some modicum of control, and that's what matters here, isn't it?
"But by all means. So long as you don't actually wrestle her out of bed I think we'll be in good shape. She'd kick your ass in her sleep." He huffs a bit and reaches for the tray. He just has to get Allison back together again. The rest can wait, can't it? If they can get Allison back, then Claire might be happier, and with Claire happier, Patrick might look less worried, might sleep more, and things will get easier, right? Klaus doesn't much care what happens to himself, really, if he can keep the three of them safe, happy.
"I'm glad you're here," and the words tumble out of their own free will, relief so thick and palpable in his voice. He's surprised himself, really, and it shows in his face as he tries to backpedal. "I was running out of ideas." A swallows and huffs a little as he picks up the tray. "But brute force oughta do the trick, and who better than Diego Hargreeves?"
Diego smiles, all teeth and not necessarily in a humorous way. "You leave the method to me. If she wants to kick my ass, she can try. Isn't that what we're going for here?"
As far as he's concerned, if he can irritate Allison enough to get her to want to kick his ass, that's a good sign. Allison Hargreeves is not the type to be locked in her room, to be sleeping in the middle of the day. Diego had seen her starting to crack on the days before leaving New York to come back to California, how that facade she had been putting up for Vanya and the rest of the group was starting to wear thin as the pain and everything else was catching up to her, but he'll be damned if he'll let her throw herself into whatever pit of despair she's in and drag Klaus down with her.
Especially when he hears the way that Klaus tells him he's glad he's here, and whatever smartass remark he could think of saying evaporates from his mouth. Instead, he just nods and reaches for the tray to take it from him.
"What can I say, only the family bulldog can handle shit like this." She won't like it, he knows that already, but whatever. Diego had grown to be the definition of a bull in a china shop, and he'll use that particular skill to good use.
"But fine, I'll take it to her and get her to eat. Go lay down or something while the kid naps, we'll join you guys after Allison eats." He says it with certainty, as if there is no alternative to what his plan. "Maybe we can go get ice cream or something."
Klaus can't pinpoint whether he's relieved that Diego is taking up the helm here or if he's too afraid to let this moment go. But the tray leaves his hands and Diego's already talking about later plans and Klaus puts on a little smile. "Mm, you'll win your way to Claire's heart so fast with a proposition like that."
He's on the move again, his body a ball of uncertain energy even when there's nowhere to pull that energy from. Stop squirming, you're making me nervous, Dave would have said, had said once upon a time. Everything reminds him of the pretty man on the battlefield with the sweet eyes and sweeter smile, and the hole in Klaus's heart grows wider each time.
"If you get into a fight, at least try and save the dishes. I like those ones." He shrugs a shoulder and gives a little wiggle of his fingers to his brother. "Just let yourself in, don't bother knocking."
He pads away from the kitchen, coffee and half a sandwich left behind on the counter. He pauses in the hallway one time to glance back, both exhausted and hopeful, before he slips into his room. He won't sleep; he can't. He can't remember the last time he rested. So he might well put himself to bed, wrap himself up in blankets, but he always comes to, sweaty and screaming, no matter the beginning.
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no subject
That's also what all Hargreeves do, isn't it? Their house is littered with silent pain, restrained emotions, weaknesses squashed down before they could even fully master them. It's part of the reason why they're all so fucked up, why everything always goes sideways every. damn. time.
And for a moment, Diego even plays along. He lets Klaus get out what he needs to from the cabinets and drawers, while he himself finishes making another sandwich. He even shakes his head at the offer of juice, before he butters another slice of bread. At the rate he's going, and the fact that neither of them will probably eat anymore, Claire and Allison will have grilled cheese sandwiches for the rest of the day.
"You don't have to do that, you know." It's a belated comment, and he knows it, but he had been trying to almost calibrate his voice in a way that it wouldn't come out like an accusation. He doesn't turn to Klaus, as if somehow that will make it easier to listen to what he's about to say. "This that you're doing, being all lively and shit. Not with me. Not if you're not feeling it." He glances towards him then; there's not a glare, just that same understanding that had been in his eyes that day in the car. That night in the infirmary. "You want to do it for Allison, for Claire? That's fine. But don't burn energy on it for me. And, honestly? Allison would probably tell you the same thing if she could."
no subject
He's so lost in setting out the tray, in creating a sense of normalcy for his sister that Diego's comment catches him off guard. "Hm?" He raises his head, blinking curiously at his brother. What do you mean is poised on his lips but Diego continues and he knows better than to rebut right now. He leans a hip into the counter, folds his arms over his chest, and listens.
"She probably would, you're right," he laughs a little at the thought. He can see the look on her face - he's seen it before, years ago. But he'd been happy recently, and his liveliness, his excitement, his grand gestures of hyperbole had all be genuine then. Something about going home for those two weeks has all but taken the air out of his chest.
"Well I'd be very boring if I didn't," he huffs, shrugging one shoulder. It's not that he doesn't take the man seriously - he does - but he's never been very good at sharing his feelings, at stepping away from the mask he's artfully crafted for himself. Diego had seen it, the walls crumbling, as he stood in the vet bar, as he sat in the car with him, but that doesn't make it easier. He looks aside, back to the tray, nervously arranging the bowl, the spoon, the glass. He's a man always in motion, especially now.
"Let's get Allison better first, yeah? I'm not deflecting or whatever bullshit, alright? I just... we gotta get her back on her feet first. This shit? I've dealt with this shit my whole life, what's a week more, you know?" He grins, all teeth and a trilling sort of laugh. "What's beauty without a little bit of despair, after all."
no subject
Diego doesn’t relent, though, and when he initially huffs and shrugs his response, his expression remains the same. As if to tell him he can’t bullshit him; he can try to do his whole ‘normal’ act, but he had seen too much at that bar to really believe him. As if to tell him that he knows he’s fucking lying, because Diego had also lost someone he loved, and while he’ll never willingly show how much it hurts, he knows damn well that two weeks is nothing to actually ‘heal’ from the loss and grief left behind.
But, fair enough. He wants Allison back on her feet? He can help with that.
“How about we all three have lunch together, then? I can go say hi and convince her to join us.” ‘Convince’ sounds so normal, especially how he says it, but he has a feeling Klaus might disapprove of his methods if he knew what he has in mind. It’ll have results, though - Diego at least knows Number Three well enough to know what buttons to push.
no subject
He reaches for the plate of sandwiches and sets it delicately on the tray. The soup comes next as he reaches around his brother for the pot, carefully pouring the steaming liquid into an empty, waiting bowl.
"Taking the food to her will yield better results," he chirps, giving the tray a tiny push toward his brother for emphasis, a little waggle of his eyebrows, a curve of his lips. "She'll eat in there. No convincing or coercion necessary. Scout's honor."
He's tired, and it hits him suddenly. Maybe it's because he's existed in this halfway state for weeks now, a frenetic balance between brother and uncle and brother-in-law, but never quite landing on Klaus. But he's been in worse states. He's been in worse places. He's not on drugs or drinking and even though his mind feels the farthest from clear, he has some modicum of control, and that's what matters here, isn't it?
"But by all means. So long as you don't actually wrestle her out of bed I think we'll be in good shape. She'd kick your ass in her sleep." He huffs a bit and reaches for the tray. He just has to get Allison back together again. The rest can wait, can't it? If they can get Allison back, then Claire might be happier, and with Claire happier, Patrick might look less worried, might sleep more, and things will get easier, right? Klaus doesn't much care what happens to himself, really, if he can keep the three of them safe, happy.
"I'm glad you're here," and the words tumble out of their own free will, relief so thick and palpable in his voice. He's surprised himself, really, and it shows in his face as he tries to backpedal. "I was running out of ideas." A swallows and huffs a little as he picks up the tray. "But brute force oughta do the trick, and who better than Diego Hargreeves?"
no subject
As far as he's concerned, if he can irritate Allison enough to get her to want to kick his ass, that's a good sign. Allison Hargreeves is not the type to be locked in her room, to be sleeping in the middle of the day. Diego had seen her starting to crack on the days before leaving New York to come back to California, how that facade she had been putting up for Vanya and the rest of the group was starting to wear thin as the pain and everything else was catching up to her, but he'll be damned if he'll let her throw herself into whatever pit of despair she's in and drag Klaus down with her.
Especially when he hears the way that Klaus tells him he's glad he's here, and whatever smartass remark he could think of saying evaporates from his mouth. Instead, he just nods and reaches for the tray to take it from him.
"What can I say, only the family bulldog can handle shit like this." She won't like it, he knows that already, but whatever. Diego had grown to be the definition of a bull in a china shop, and he'll use that particular skill to good use.
"But fine, I'll take it to her and get her to eat. Go lay down or something while the kid naps, we'll join you guys after Allison eats." He says it with certainty, as if there is no alternative to what his plan. "Maybe we can go get ice cream or something."
no subject
Klaus can't pinpoint whether he's relieved that Diego is taking up the helm here or if he's too afraid to let this moment go. But the tray leaves his hands and Diego's already talking about later plans and Klaus puts on a little smile. "Mm, you'll win your way to Claire's heart so fast with a proposition like that."
He's on the move again, his body a ball of uncertain energy even when there's nowhere to pull that energy from. Stop squirming, you're making me nervous, Dave would have said, had said once upon a time. Everything reminds him of the pretty man on the battlefield with the sweet eyes and sweeter smile, and the hole in Klaus's heart grows wider each time.
"If you get into a fight, at least try and save the dishes. I like those ones." He shrugs a shoulder and gives a little wiggle of his fingers to his brother. "Just let yourself in, don't bother knocking."
He pads away from the kitchen, coffee and half a sandwich left behind on the counter. He pauses in the hallway one time to glance back, both exhausted and hopeful, before he slips into his room. He won't sleep; he can't. He can't remember the last time he rested. So he might well put himself to bed, wrap himself up in blankets, but he always comes to, sweaty and screaming, no matter the beginning.