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Diego Hargreeves isn’t exactly known for being what you’d call cool-headed, and if asked he'd be the first to admit that. He’s quick to anger, slow to care, and he doesn’t always get why people do the things they do. Most of his sense of empathy and compassion comes from Mom, a robot, and trust him, the irony is not lost on him. He just… he doesn’t get people.
Take the whole thing with Klaus, for instance.
Diego sighs, going through it in his head again. He’s at the Academy—it’s late, and he was thinking about getting a few hours of shut-eye but he just… can’t. A lot has been going on, assassins and the apocalypse and time travel, apparently, god, who even knows anymore. He’s had a fucking day, and he still has a bullet hole in his arm to stitch up. And Klaus… well. Suffice to say that he can’t get the image of his brother in front of that picture in the vet bar, head bent and tears rolling down his face, out of his mind.
He doesn’t understand what happened to his brother. He doesn’t understand the impulse to numb it, all of it, whatever it even fucking is, away with drugs and drink. He doesn’t understand why Klaus has to act out and fuck up and get on every last one of his goddamn nerves. All he knows is that picture means something to his brother, and fuck if he isn’t going to do something about it.
It takes ten minutes to find the keys to one of dad’s luxury cars, fifteen minutes to get it to the bar, and another five to scout out the place. It’s not late enough for it to be closed, but it is late enough that the day crowd is gone, replaced by new faces and new suspicious glares as Diego decides to just go fuck it and walk in through the front door. Exhausted as he is, he doesn’t stop on his way across the room. He just makes a beeline for that fucking display board and takes the picture right off.
He’s ready for the call that rings across the room, a hefty, “Hey, what the fuck do you think you’re doing, asshole?” He’s also ready for the three men who stand up and get in his way, blocking the exit. He calculates as quickly as he can—not as fast as Five, maybe, but this isn’t his first rodeo, and it's definitely not his first time getting involved in something involving Klaus. This is the first time he’s stolen something on his brother’s behalf, but he doesn’t plan to do it again, and honestly getting banned from a veteran bar is the least of his worries right now.
The fight is quick and dirty. His knuckles are already bruised from earlier and his shot arm hurts like a bitch but he makes it through the vets with the picture intact, and then he’s out into the night with the damn thing tucked under his arm, thanking the heavens for all the cardio he does as he sprints off to the sound of disgruntled old-man yelling.
The car is a few blocks down, and he’s breathing a little harder than he’d like when he gets there, probably due to the exhaustion. He slides in behind the wheel, goes to toss the picture onto the passenger side, thinks again, and punches on the overhead light to get a better look at the thing he’s gone through so much trouble to get.
“…Shit,” he mutters, taking in the figure second to the right. That’s his damn brother, he’d recognize him anywhere. And there, in the corner, a year—1968, right smack in the middle of the Vietnam War.
Taking a deep breath, Diego looks over the rest of the picture. It’s nothing special, as far as he can tell—some soldiers during a spare moment somewhere in the conflict, posing with their gear. He doesn’t know who any of these people are aside from his brother, but he guesses one of them must be the guy that Klaus was talking about, that one that he ‘loved more than himself’. That’s still a hard one to believe, but Diego has seen a lot of things, and Klaus really did seem fucked up about this guy, whichever one he was.
If he was anything to Klaus like Eudora was to Diego… well.
Diego sets the picture down, carefully, and turns the key in the ignition.
He gets to the Academy soon after that. He’s having a hard time seeing straight now—just so damn exhausted—but he’s got a few last stops to make, not the least of which is Klaus’s room.
He hears a voice as he approaches. Klaus. A few mumbles and then a pause, as if he’s waiting for a response. Diego comes up to the cracked door, leaning his head inside to find Klaus lying sprawled out on his bed, utterly alone.
“Who, uh… who you talking to?” Diego asks. He’s trying to be chill about it but trepidation makes it come out a little softer than he means.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Klaus says, in that I’m-just-trying-to-get-under-your-skin way he has. He’s slurring, clearly still deep in his bender, and Diego resists the urge to frisk him for his stash to toss it into the nearest toilet.
Whatever. Gotta take a deep breath and let it go. Klaus is always doing something weird or wrong or stupid, it’s no use getting more involved than he already is. He clears his throat, tapping a knuckle awkwardly on the doorframe. “You got a minute?” he asks.
Klaus doesn’t so much as crack an eye. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asks.
Diego clears his throat again, feeling more awkward by the second. What if he’s fucked up? What if Klaus is going to start crying again? Fuck, he maybe didn’t think this through.
Well, it’s too late to back out now. He grits his teeth and says, “Come here, I have something for you.”
That piques Klaus’s interest. He finally opens his eyes, squinting over for a long moment before he begins the arduous task of finding his feet, saying as he goes, “Aw, a present? For me? You shouldn’t have. I don’t have anything to give you in… in… return…”
To say that his eyes go as wide as silver dollars when Diego pushes the framed picture through the crack in the door would probably be an understatement. It’s like he’s waking all the way up for the first time all day, his brain clicking into focus. Then, right before Diego’s eyes, his face goes softer than Diego has ever seen it.
It’s right then that Diego knows he did the right thing.
Klaus doesn’t say anything. He just takes the photo, a wavering smile on his face and his eyes suddenly glassy. Diego claps him on the shoulder and goes to back out of the doorway, his first task complete. It’s time for a shower, some stitches, and a nap, and not necessarily in that or—
He grunts as something slams into him from behind. It’s only the fact that he can smell that distinctive Klaus smell that he doesn’t throw him over his shoulder on reflex.
“Thank you,” Klaus whispers. His hands clutch at Diego’s front, shaking fingers twisting into his knife harness. “Thank you, thank you, thank you—”
“Yeah. Yeah, okay, don’t… don’t make this weird,” Diego says, but he pats awkwardly at his brother’s forearms anyway, letting him hold on as long as he needs to.
Diego Hargreeves isn’t exactly known for being what you’d call cool-headed, but man… some fights are worth it.