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It was an unusual phone call. That night, Al’s old rotary dial phone rang at The Fighting Lion, just as Diego was about to leave for patrol. His boss answered, as always, and let him know his sister was calling.
“Which one?” The boy asked, then. He couldn’t imagine why Allison or worse, Vanya, of all people would call, or even know where he lived nowadays, for that matter.
“She said her name was Y/N.” The older man replied.
Diego never reached for a phone so fast ever in his life.
You’d been travelling for years, at that point, and not once did you call him. He had so many questions, so many things to tell you, but his hands were shaking and his heart was thumping away in his chest and he had no idea where to start.
"Y-Y/N?" He stuttered as he answered, eager to finally hear your voice again.
"Hi, D. God, it's so good to hear you! How are you?"
It was awe inspiring how carefree you sounded, your voice still as sweet as he recalled. As if not a day had passed since you saw each other for the last time, as if you were not miles and miles away and this was the first time in years you were having a real conversation. He wonders if it's because you're happier now. That's what freedom must feel like.
"I'm good, I'm good… Are you ok? Where are you now?" He knew he shouldn't have sounded so eager, it was too much though. Too much all at once.
There's a bit of static sound for a second, and your voice comes back through the line.
"Did you get the thing I sent you? I think it's supposed to be there already."
"Yeah! The little bottle? It's so tiny I almost lost it, but it's here, yeah…"
Little did you know, not only did he get every single little thing you sent him, but he secured them all in a box under his bed, a cardboard shoe box he'd keep with his life.
The first one came while he was still at the Police Academy. A postcard from San Francisco with a black and white, vintage photograph of the city. In the back of it, a "wish you were here" scribbled in your pretty handwriting, along with small drawings of a bunch of flowers covering almost all of the surface - a reference to that song you loved and would always listen to on Luther's old record player, but he'd forgotten the name of it. Diego remembers the ecstatic feeling of seeing that come through the mail, because it meant that you were safe, wherever you may be. It also meant that you remembered and thought of him, just as he did you.
You got more creative over time. A fridge magnet from Mexico City. A small statue of a greek goddess. A stone you found on a beach in Rio. A polaroid picture of your shoes in a cobblestone street in Rome. A subway card from Tokyo. A letter you wrote while you lived in New York City for a while, the closest you were from him in a long time. This time it was a small glass bottle filled with colorful sand, it had no depiction of where it was from, but from your question, he could sense that you were not there anymore.
None of these things - these odd knick knacks for tourists and pretty words on pretty pictures - made up for the fact that you were not there with him. But they were all he had left of you, and he would be damned if he didn't cherish them. Like he'd cherish you, if you were here.
"The little bottle, yeah! It reminded me of that one time we went to the beach and…"
"And Klaus didn't want to leave so he convinced Ben to hide with him so we could stay for longer? Hell yeah. That was… a day." One of the few good ones he could count on one hand.
Your watery laugh, distorted through the speaker, was heaventely.
"It was. I miss them. I miss you."
"I miss you too." He admits. More than words could say. He hears you sigh and static fills his ear again.
“When are you coming back?” He can't help but ask, but something tells him he already knows the answer.
You inhale deeply before responding. “I don’t know.” Diego doesn't like the uncertainty in your voice - he could guess it meant more than what you were letting on.
“You don’t know when, or you don’t if…?"
“I don’t know… if.”
A hard punch in the gut hurt less than it did listening to your admission - Diego would know, he'd taken his fair share of those, every week. He should have expected it, of course you were not returning, why would you?
Diego told himself he would do the same, in your place. But he wouldn't know what to do with his life. While you were fine living a hundred different lives in a hundred different places, he had only one life, and one purpose. If he was not a hero, what else would he be?
For a second, Diego wanted to be selfish. To ask you to come back, to lie and make up something ridiculous to convince you it was better for you to come home. But, instead, he said nothing. The silence was deafening.
“I’m sorry.” Hearing your woeful whisper almost made him regret asking, but he needed to know. Even if it hurt, it was better than lying to himself. "I… I'll talk to you soon, okay?"
With that, you hung up. That was the first and last time you called.
The boy on the other side of the line got used to the emptiness on the left side of his chest that was opened by your absence. The man he became, later, recognized it as longing.
Eventually.