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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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?"
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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."
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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.