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His hands are shaking. Klaus hunches over himself and stares at them. He can’t seem to will them to stop. He’s always known that, when the cards are down on the table and everyone’s hand is played, he’s the one that doesn’t matter.
It just… it hurts having that confirmed. He’d spent days as a hostage in a dingy little hotel room and no one had come for him.
No one but the lady cop, who’d found him and freed him and died for it.
And he knows… he knows the drugs and… and everything makes it hard for people to be around him. He knows this. He’s always known it.
It still hurts.
“Hey.” Diego stands in the doorway, arms crossed, eyebrows drawn low together over his face. How long has he been there without saying anything?
Klaus glances at him quickly, then away again. He swallows past the knot in his throat. “Hey.”
“Are you okay?”
There’s a tightness in his chest. He tries to breathe regardless, even if he can’t quite bring himself to look at Diego. “What do you think?” He’s not trying to be bitter. The question is bitter anyways. And he thinks this is something he has a right to be angry over. He’s allowed to be angry because it wasn’t fair. Nothing in this life is ever fair, but he thinks it would be nice if it could stop sucking so badly.
“I’m going to take that as a no.”
Klaus snorts and Diego comes to sit beside him. The bed springs creak underneath him. There’s a dozen things he could say, each one more accusatory than the last. They bubble up his throat, sit tantalizingly on his tongue.
Where were you? Why didn’t you come?
He doesn’t speak them. He’s not sure why. They’re the words he’s wanted to say since he returned. He wants to know why they left him if they knew. He doesn’t care what the answer is, so long as he gets one.
(That’s a lie. He cares a whole lot.)
“Hey.” Diego touches his knee. “Look at me.”
Klaus does as he says, lifting his head to look his brother in the eyes. Eyes that are filled with concern.
“What’s wrong?” he tries again. He squeezes his knee and his voice is so gentle. “Talk to me. Please.”
And he wishes that he could say “I’m fine” and he wishes that that could be the truth, but the truth is, Klaus hasn’t been fine for a very long time.
He runs his tongue over his lips and tries to find a way to say what he wants to. There are so many things. How does he even start? When does he start?
How does he tell his brother that after being kidnapped and tortured, he accidentally traveled in time and met the love of his life only to lose him shortly thereafter? That he watched him bleed out in his arms and could do nothing?
There’s a knot rising in his throat, tears stinging the backs of his eyes, but Klaus swallows around it. There’s so much to tell. Where does he start? He doesn’t know how to begin.
Finally, he takes a deep breath. “Did you…” He swallows again, tries to work up the nerve to ask what he wants to say. “Did you even look for me?” he whispers. He averts his eyes. He doesn’t want to be looking Diego in the face when he gets his answer.
There’s so much fear in his heart, it makes his stomach curl. What if the answer is something he doesn’t want to hear? It might be better to exist in blissful ignorance, but the question has already been asked and he doesn’t know how to take it back.
Diego sucks in a breath. “Klaus…” he says, low and horrified.
Klaus hikes his shoulders up, keeping his head down. He doesn’t want to look at him. He doesn’t want to…
“I’m sorry,” he whispers and it’s what Klaus wanted, but it’s also not enough. Diego takes his hand away. Klaus feels its absence keenly, but he’s not strong enough to ask for it back.
Diego lets both hands hang between his knees, fingers loosely interlocked, as he stares at the floor. “I should’ve taken the note seriously,” he says. “I thought…” He swallows thickly and his shame is obvious. “It doesn’t matter what I thought. I should have come looking.”
Klaus lets his eyes slide shut. He can’t quite hold back the tears. “Yeah,” he says softly. There’s nothing else to it. “You should have.”
“I don’t know how to make it up to you.” He can see the way Diego’s throat works around its own knot. The grief on his face is heavy.
It’s not that simple and Klaus knows it’s not that simple, but he wishes that it was. The lump in his throat has become painful now and he presses a hand to his lips, squeezing his eyes shut now. Tears are sliding down his face.
Diego reaches out, clasping him gently at the neck. He guides his head down to his shoulder and then his hand shifts to Klaus’ own shoulder. He rubs it consolingly. “I can’t fix it,” he says, “but I sure as hell can track those bastards down. Make sure they know not to mess with my brother again.”
Despite everything, Klaus smiles. His breathing is evening out. His hands, he notices, are no longer shaking. “If you could, please. I’d like that.”
Diego snorts. “I can do that.”