Chapter Text
Eudora puts a topcoat on Klaus's fingernails while Diego gets the food ready. Klaus will just have to paint his own toenails when he's through withdrawal and less shaky. She's not touching his feet. He doesn't seem to mind her unspoken rejection, focusing instead on the way his fingernails now look like zebras.
"Look, they've got stripes," he says, flashing his hands at the empty kitchen chair closest to him.
Eudora glances at Diego to see if he'd noticed how much Klaus talks to himself, but Diego's busy spooning pasta into bowls.
Diego looks so intent, focused even on this simple task, and for a second she forgets why he's here, forgets the shooting and the kidnapping and the murders and the disaster her life has become. There's a flash of memory—of him pouring cereal for the two of them while he's in his purple boxers, giving her the bigger portion even though she's nowhere close to running out and it's just cereal, anyway, but she'd been overcome at that moment by a swell of love. She doesn't know why. She'd been in her underwear, too, and one of his shirts, because he got all gooey-eyed when she wore his shirts. It was so corny; it was like a scene from a montage in a romance movie. But it had been their scene, their montage, their romance movie. They'd eaten their cereal and he'd kissed her, even though she had milk breath, and she’d kissed him back, despite the same thing, and they'd made love again, lazing around on their day off, hardly leaving the bed despite the sunny weather outside.
Diego of the present day turns to look at her and the memory is gone, like a whiff of smoke, like a summer breeze. There's still love behind his eyes now, but he looks drained. No purple boxers, no bare chest. He's all leather and knives now. No cereal, either, but that's less important.
Diego brings out, a few at a time, two bowlfuls of pasta, two cups of coffee, a glass of orange juice, and a stack of waffles. Klaus had been adamant about the waffles—well, it was more like he'd pleaded, Bambi-eyes and all. He'd seemed half-joking, like he thought she'd think he was silly. She did think he was silly, but he also seemed to genuinely want some waffles, and if those were his comfort food then he was getting some damn waffles. She only had frozen waffles to toast, no batter for homemade ones, but he seems gleeful enough about it anyway when Diego sets the plate in front of him.
Klaus keeps three waffles in his stack but balances one precariously on the edge of his plate, close to the empty chair next to him. Diego sits between Klaus and Eudora, and Diego digs into his food, not noticing Klaus's behavior. Or maybe he's used to it, she thinks. Eudora has no idea how long Klaus has had this imaginary friend. It could be a result of his drug use, or it could be something he's kept since childhood. She doesn't know. Either way, though, it's a little sad to watch him balance that one waffle on the edge of his plate while he drenches the other three in syrup, so she gets up and gets a fourth plate out. When she sets it down in front of the empty seat, Klaus and Diego both stare at her. Diego's expression is unreadable, but Klaus's is full of wonder.
"Thanks," he says, voice hoarse, and he puts the single waffle onto the plate without another word.
Diego looks, now, like he's swallowed a goldfish whole. Eudora tries to tell Diego with her eyes that if he says anything about Klaus's imaginary friend—while Klaus is sitting here with trauma practically pouring out of his ears—that she'll have plenty of choice words for him later. It's probably none of her business, she knows. At the same time, though, they're in her kitchen. This is her house. And she remembered what Klaus had said—no one was coming for him. No one would notice that he was gone.
And he was right.
Eudora is sitting here, watching a stick-figure of a man fork waffles into his mouth with trembling hands, and she knows, chillingly, without a doubt, that if she had not seen the signs on that van and followed her gut, Klaus would have died. He would've been found much later, by some cleaning lady or security guard, rotting in that chair, duct tape and bath towel and all. Like the way the old man from the diner had been found. Klaus would be dead. Because no one in his family had known he was gone. Not a single person looked for him except Eudora, and she'd never even met him before—she'd even been looking for another brother, too, this Five person. Not Klaus.
Klaus looks up from his waffles, makes eye contact with her, and gives her a small smile. His fork shakes in his hands.
It makes her want to cry.
"So, I did call the anonymous tip hotline," Diego says, and she turns her gaze on him instead, slicing through the sadness in her head like butter. Compartmentalize, have a sympathy breakdown later.
"But," she prompts him.
"But, I poked around myself first," he admits, voice a little defensive, and Klaus rolls his eyes.
"Diego," Eudora chides.
"Like I was going to let those bastards just sit there!" Diego puts his spoon back in his bowl a little too aggressively. It makes a loud clinking sound. "I waited until I saw the woman leave, alright? I wasn't putting myself in too much danger, or whatever. I went up there, knifed the guy, and then I ransacked the place. I found this receipt," he says, and he pulls it out of his pocket. It's for Griddy's Donuts.
"That's evidence!" Eudora rubs at her brow. "Jesus. Inadmissible now."
"And a raggedy black coat, and this briefcase." He gestures downward at the briefcase, which rests by his feet. "I don't know what the hell's in it. I want Five to take a look at it before I try to open it, in case it's a bomb or something."
"More forethought from you than I'm used to seeing," Eudora teases.
"My coat!" Klaus exclaims. "You've got my coat?"
"It was yours?"
"Yes!"
"It's in my car," Diego says, unbothered by Klaus's fretting. "Your tire is busted, by the way," Diego says to Eudora, his voice just as teasing as hers had been.
"Bullet," she says.
Diego near-snarls.
"I'm fine," Eudora tells him. "Look at me. I'm fine." She waits until he’s done looking over her, until he makes eye contact long enough, and she can’t decide how she feels about the protectiveness in his eyes. She loves it because she knows he cares. She hates it because she’s her own person, and she’s separate from him, now; she doesn’t need him; he doesn’t have the right. But she loves it because she’s just as protective over him. She knows she is. So if this is what it takes, a moment of reassurance, for Diego to calm down, she’ll give him the moment. She’d given him a thousand moments, and she’d give him a thousand more, if he’d just get his life together. But he’s a boulder. He refuses to try to change.
"I'm fine, too, thanks for asking," Klaus says jovially.
Eudora and Diego break eye contact, and Diego's shoulders sag. "I'm glad you're okay, Klaus," he says. "I mean it."
Klaus just stares at him. "Right, right," he says, shaking his head a little. "They were looking for Five."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Made me tell them about the eyeball." Klaus won't look at either of them now. "I don't know why the hell it was relevant. But it wasn't enough. They wanted more information."
Diego has another sip of coffee, composing himself. "What else did you tell them?"
"Nothing, really," Klaus says. Then, looking up, his mouth presses into a thin line. "I swear, I swear, nothing else. I didn't really have the time."
"I believe you," Diego says.
"Is Hazel dead?"
"The guy?"
"Yeah."
Diego looks between Eudora and Klaus, uncomfortable. "I'm not sure."
Eudora frowns. "What do you mean, you're not sure?"
"I mean I stabbed him a couple times, throwing knives or whatever, and I knocked him out, but my priority was gathering evidence really quick, not checking his breathing," Diego says, raising his hands defensively. "I needed to know what the hell was going on. I hope I killed him. But I heard sirens before I could finish the job."
"I thought you said you called the anonymous tip line," Eudora says.
"Okay, so maybe I didn't. But somebody called the police. Maybe because of the gunshots," Diego says. "You know, your car tire and all that."
Eudora resists the urge to put her head in her hands. He never listens to her, the bastard. But the police went to the scene, at least.
Klaus clears his throat. "I know our old man baby brother is well and capable of taking care of himself," he says. "But. Is Five okay?"
"Yeah, he's okay," Diego says. "Luther and I found him drunk in the library cuddling a mannequin. I think it's his girlfriend."
Klaus bursts out laughing. He has to put his fork down. "Oh, my God," he wheezes, "I forgot about that! Five has a girlfriend and she's literally plastic!"
Eudora doesn't think he has much room to talk, since he's been talking to empty air all night.
"We're so fucked up! Oh, my God! A mannequin! Fuck!" Klaus runs his hands through his hair. "Good on him, finding somebody in the apocalypse. Wow. I fully support our big little brother in his romantic endeavors. All power to him. Fuck.”
Eudora looks between Klaus and Diego. "The apocalypse?"
Diego frowns at Klaus. "He's just saying odd shit. Don't worry about it."
Klaus eats like a bird. By that, Eudora means that he starts by wolfing his food down, but it devolves into small pecking, pushing the food around his plate with a fork and eating in tiny bites. She's not sure if it's a drug thing or a trauma thing or just a Klaus thing, but either way, it means she and Diego wash their dishes while Klaus finishes eating at the kitchen table. He's talking in a low voice to his imaginary friend while he eats, occasionally laughing a little.
"He's been doing that all night," Eudora says, quiet enough that Klaus can't hear.
Diego eyes his brother and then looks back down at the bowl he's scrubbing. "He hallucinates that our brother Ben is still alive when he's high."
Eudora feels like she's been kicked in the stomach. "Oh."
"Yeah."
Diego finishes with the bowl and hands it to her to dry.
"A week or so after Ben died, Klaus started claiming Ben had come back as a ghost, that he was here with us. Klaus can see ghosts, that's his thing," Diego says. "But we knew he was lying."
"How'd you know?"
"We just did," Diego says. "He wasn't making any sense."
Eudora nods, even though she doesn't understand. Diego's shoulders are wound too tightly, so she nudges him gently. "So your brother sees ghosts and talks to himself," she says lightly. "I can't imagine the family dinners."
"We weren't allowed to talk at dinner," Diego says, and his nonchalance throws her off. It's like she's playing a game of tennis but the tennis ball keeps catching on fire when she least expects it.
Eudora thinks she'd like to resurrect Diego's father and kill him again. Or, at least, give him a good threatening. The more she hears about Diego's childhood, over the years, the more she wants to grab that old man by the throat and shake hiim.
And speaking of Diego's parents.
"I don't think Klaus knows, yet," Eudora says quietly.
"Knows what?"
"About your mom."
If Diego was any other man, he'd have dropped the silverware he was washing. But he's Diego Hargreeves, so he just tightens his grip, freezing a little. Then, "Oh."
"He was talking about her earlier. Having her heal him in the Academy infirmary or something. I don't think he knows how badly the shoot-out at your home went."
Diego closes his eyes. “Okay. I’ll deal with it.”
Diego and Eudora finish washing and drying in silence. Klaus keeps chatting with Ben, and Klaus occasionally hums some tune. Eudora smiles despite herself, a little wistful. This is what we could’ve had, she wants to tell Diego. You and me and kids. She wouldn’t have quit her career for him. But putting a pause on it? A kid or two? Diego would’ve been a good father. He would’ve had to learn how, since he didn’t exactly have a stellar role model, but he’d have learned. And she’d bet good money he would’ve been a stay-at-home, and Eudora's income and Diego’s inheritance combined would become the breadwinners.
Or forget the kids. Just Diego and her, here in this house, playing tag with promotions, going out to bars and having holiday parties with friends, sleeping in on Sunday mornings, theorizing about cases together even though they wouldn’t work the same ones. Not whatever the hell they have now. Eudora lives alone, playing cat and mouse or whack-a-mole with a vigilante. She’s thirty one years old and the possible love of her life lives in the back of a boxing ring.
“Thanks for giving Ben a plate,” Klaus says, when they both sit back down. “He says thanks. He can’t eat, but he’s sure it’s good.”
Eudora smiles at the empty seat. “No problem,” she says, because it’s practically harmless to play along. And it’s worth it, for the way Klaus beams at her.
Diego clears his throat. "Klaus, there's something you gotta know."
The smile doesn't disappear, but it loses its genuineness. "What? Let me guess, my bedroom got destroyed in a hail of gunfire."
"Mom is gone, Klaus."
"What, like taken?" Klaus leans back in his chair. "Those bastards messing with her brain, or some shit? Trying to get her data? She wasn't in the motel—"
Data, Eudora thinks. What the hell?
"I mean, she's dead, Klaus," Diego says, his voice ragged.
Klaus leans back in his seat, almost slumped there, like a marionette with cut strings. "Luther shut her down?"
"No—during the attack—"
"Well, we can just turn her back on, right?"
"Klaus," Eudora says, because he's pulling at strings, he's walking through grief like it's some sort of puzzle. And it can't be easy for Diego to hear, either.
"She's a fucking robot!" Klaus throws his hands up in the air, green sleeves billowing around his thin wrists. "What the hell do you mean, she's dead? She can't die! Computers don't die! We'll just turn Mom back on again!"
Eudora can't do anything but stare.
Diego, on the other hand, knows whatever the hell Klaus is talking about. "The wiring—"
"All that fighting to stop Luther from shutting her down and you're just going to give up? Fuck you. Fuck you! It's Mom! What the hell is wrong with you? You loved her the most, Diego! I remember! I fucking remember!" Klaus shoves his chair back and stands up. Eudora jumps out of her seat, too, and Diego rises.
"Klaus, M-m-m-mo-mom—"
Diego hasn't stuttered this badly in front of Eudora since they were together.
"Shut up! All of you, shut up!" Klaus yells, even though it had only been Diego talking. "I need to concentrate. Shut the hell up."
"What are you doing?" Eudora asks, trying to calm her voice. She doesn't know where the hell to start—their mom is a robot?—but he looks like he could pass out at any second.
Klaus closes his eyes. "I'm trying to summon her ghost."
Diego finds his voice again. "Klaus, stop."
"You're the one who always said she wasn't just a robot," Klaus hisses, opening his eyes to jab his finger at Diego. "'She feels things. She's a person.' Well, then, where is she? Where the hell is she, if she's dead? She should be here! I see fucking dead people, Diego!"
"Klaus, sit down, we're gonna get a noise complaint," Diego says. He walks over to Klaus like he's going to push him down into the chair, face like a thundercloud that can't decide between rain and lightning, but he doesn't touch him. Klaus, for a moment, looks like he's going to shove Diego, but he doesn't move either, just breathes raggedly.
"Shut up, Ben," Klaus mutters, and the tension lessens, but it doesn't go away. "I want my jacket."
"Klaus—"
"I want my fucking jacket, Diego."
Diego storms out. Eudora turns to follow him, but stops herself. He'll come back if he's going to come back. He left the suitcase, anyway.
Klaus sags against the kitchen table, one thin arm keeping him upright, once Diego is out of sight. He's still breathing heavily, and he visibly trembles.
"Are you okay?" Eudora says.
"Yeah," Klaus laughs. "Yeah, peachy." He shakes, but he won't sit down. "Diego ever tell you our mom is a robot?"
"No, he forgot to mention that," she says, and Klaus laughs again.
"Yeah, I can't imagine working that into a conversation. 'How was your day, Patch?'" He deepens his voice. Then, higher-pitched, 'It was good, Diego, how was your day?'" Deep again, "'Great. My mom is a robot!'"
"My voice isn't that high," Eudora protests.
Diego comes back before Klaus can say anything else. "Here's the jacket." He throws it on the table, barely missing Klaus's and Ben's plates.
Klaus lunges for it, scrambling at the pockets, and too late Eudora and Diego realizes he's got drugs in there. Diego makes a grab at Klaus's hands, shouting, but Klaus pops a pill anyway.
"Stop, stop, stop!" Eudora shouts, and Diego stops his yelling, and Klaus stares at her. "Alright. Sit down, both of you. Diego, please stop yelling, we'll get a noise complaint. Klaus, please don't take any more drugs in front of a detective, thank you. Do not make me arrest you. And it's rude to have drugs in my house. I could lose my job."
When they're both seated and looking sheepish, she sits down, too. "Klaus, are you done with your food?"
"Yeah. Thanks," he adds.
"Diego, will you wash his plate, please?" Eudora looks at the single waffle alone on a plate. "Can he throw Ben's food away?"
"Yeah, yeah, that's fine." Klaus waves his hand. "He can't eat."
"Alright, please take care of that, Diego."
Diego does, even though he shoots Klaus a glare. Klaus sticks out his tongue. It's childish, but it's better than nearly fistfighting over a jacket.
"Klaus, do you have any other questions about what happened? At your house?"
Klaus takes a second. "Is everybody okay? Allison and all them? And Pogo? Was Vanya there?”
"Yeah, they're all okay," Diego says from the sink. “Minor injuries. And Luther is a gorilla.”
“A what now?”
Diego shakes his head. “You just have to see it.”
“Right.” Klaus stares down, into the middle distance. Or maybe he’s looking at the briefcase. Eudora can’t tell.
"Hmm. Did my bedroom get destroyed in a hail of gunfire?"
"I didn't check. And I don't really care. The house has a million rooms.”
Eudora frowns, but Klaus doesn't look like he minds. "Fine," Klaus says. "Well, I'm not coming back."
Diego puts down the dish he'd been drying. "The hell do you mean, you're not coming back?"
"Tonight," Klaus clarifies. “What, you want me to come back to Mom’s robot corpse resting in the living room?” Diego flinches at the word corpse, but Klaus keeps talking. “A screaming lecture from gorilla-Luther about how useless I was in a fight I wasn’t even present for?”
Diego turns to face them both. “So what, you’re gonna freeload off Eudora some more?”
“If you think this is the first time I’ll sleep on the streets, Diego, it’s honestly no wonder you flunked out of detective school.”
“You can stay here,” Eudora says, cutting off the brewing argument. “I’ve got a pull-out couch. You can stay here.”
“He’s gonna steal stuff,” Diego warns.
“Hey!”
“Klaus isn’t gonna steal stuff. Right?”
“No,” he mutters. She’s not sure if she believes him—she knows withdrawal is hard, knows the temptations are out there—but he shouldn’t be sleeping on the streets tonight. Or at all, really, but especially not when he’s still vulnerable to infection.
“And you’ll let Diego take the coat. I don’t want you using drugs in my house. I’m serious, Klaus, it could get me in big trouble.”
“Fine.” He shoves the jacket towards Diego’s end of the table. Then, without heat, “Thanks, Patch.”
“You’re welcome.”
Diego doesn’t seem happy about it, but he doesn’t say anything. If this were any other day, this would be the part where Eudora thinks again that this is why their relationship failed— he can’t communicate; he’s either stony or a wall of anger, unable to have a conversation about a problem because he thinks there’s no solution. But now, she’s glad. She’s tired, and she doesn’t want to broker a fight between him and Klaus again. She guesses when their mom is a robot and their dad is a piece of shit, they don’t learn much about conflict resolution aside from duking it out in during a bank robbery.
Eudora gestures for Diego to follow her to the living room. She needs to talk to him more about the investigation, cop stuff Klaus doesn’t need to know about, and she knows it’ll turn into a conversation about their relationship, which isn’t something Klaus needs to hear either.
They leave Klaus in the kitchen, his tired eyes wandering everywhere, from the briefcase to the empty chair beside him to the ceiling and back to the briefcase again.