Umbrella Academy fic: Changing All the Scenery (20/20)
PART ONE
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
PART FIVE
PART SIX
PART SEVEN
PART EIGHT
PART NINE
PART TEN
PART ELEVEN
PART TWELVE
PART THIRTEEN
PART FOURTEEN
PART FIFTEEN
PART SIXTEEN
PART SEVENTEEN
PART EIGHTEEN
PART NINETEEN
PART TWENTY
TWENTY
So, like, time.
The thing with time -- and Klaus gets this now, he gets it -- whether it’s the future or the past or just right now, is that it passes. Things that seem so important one moment might seem completely unimportant the next. You can take this as a discouragement, a sign that nothing in life actually matters. Or you could see it as a motivation, knowing that the next moment is the only one that matters.
Time repeats itself, maybe. But it also reshapes itself. It ebbs, it flows. Some things are meant to be, and you can look at this as a blessing or a curse, it doesn’t much matter. It just is.
So time.
It passes.
It’s passing.
It’s passed.
And it will pass before him for as long as he’s alive.
-o-
Klaus spends several months training, getting his focus back and reinvigorating his efforts with the Umbrella Academy. Like most things in his life, this is not a simple or straightforward process. He’s good and bad in equal intervals, and some days he wields power effortlessly. Other days, he can hardly conjure a dead flea.
Not that he wants to conjure a dead flea. Actually, he’s never tried. Maybe he should.
There’s no functional value to conjuring a flea, but Klaus has discovered that he likes knowing what he’s capable of doing. He likes learning his limits.
If only to realize that he doesn’t have to abide by them at all.
-o-
After Klaus has redefined his place on the team and conjured Ben to near corporeal status, he comes to terms with the growing restlessness he’s feeling. It’s that itch he has to scratch, and he finds himself pacing the living room at midnight because he’s not sure what else to do.
He’s done all the right stuff. He’s trained, he’s worked hard.
So what’s missing?
Is it back to the drugs again? Is this his addiction he wants to satisfy? Should he find out? Maybe it’s not a temptation for him anymore. Maybe he can handle it.
He chews his lip and rests his hands on the bar.
Maybe this has already happened.
Maybe this is all foretold.
2019, after all. It’s a hell of a year.
He turns away, not convinced, and paces back to the other side. He thinks about conjuring Ben, just for someone to talk to, but he knows what Ben will say. He knows it won’t be what he wants to hear. It won’t even be what he needs to hear.
But what is that?
What is any of this?
It’s supposed to mean something.
It’s all supposed to mean something.
It’s not a surprise for either of them when Five finds him there. In his pajamas, Five still looks stupid and tiny, but he goes over to the bar and makes himself a drink.
“I’d offer you one, but that’s counterproductive I think,” Five says.
Klaus glares at him. “You’re not supposed to drink in front of an addict.”
Five shrugs and takes a drink anyway. “You’re not craving alcohol.”
“I might be,” Klaus shoots back. “Or something, you know. Stronger.”
Five swishes the liquid around in his cup. “This isn’t about your addiction.”
Klaus flounces, flopping onto one of the chairs like this is some kind of annoyance. “Addicts struggle with it all their lives. You should know, apocalypse boy.”
“I do know,” Five counters. “That’s why I recognize the symptoms of withdrawal and know how they differ from something else.”
“What else, then?” Klaus shoots back.
“Closure,” Five says.
It’s a little to the point. Klaus has not been prepared to face anything quite so quickly, quite so bluntly. He makes a face instead. “And what do you know about closure?”
“A lot,” Five says. “I know that when you don’t have closure, you are prone to making really stupid mistakes that you end up regretting.”
Five doesn’t elaborate; he doesn’t have to. He still remembers the wearied old man he found in a hotel room in Vietnam, too tired to quit. It feels like yesterday; decades; a lifetime.
Klaus sighs. “I already faced Dave’s death and made the only choice I could make,” he says. “I conjured him and apologized. There’s nothing more I can do.”
“Of course there is,” Five says.
“What?” Klaus almost demands. “What can I possibly do?”
“You can listen, for starters,” Five says. “Being sorry is important, but it’s only the first step. You have to accept forgiveness.”
Klaus scoffs. “But how am I--”
He stops himself, because he knows.
Five raises his eyebrows and tips his glass toward Klaus expectantly.
Klaus thinks of a thousand excuses. He thinks of a thousand explanations.
None of them mean shit.
“I really have to conjure him?” he asks.
Five nods. “And this time, you let him do the talking.”
Klaus swallows. Hard. “What if he doesn’t forgive me?”
“That’s a possibility,” Five says. “An unsettling one, I know.”
Of course Five knows. He knows because Klaus nearly murdered him in his rage. Twice.
“But time is too precious to waste not knowing,” he says. “And sometimes it can turn out better than you expect. Trust me on that, too.”
That is, naturally, impossible to deny since they’re living together like the brothers they always have been, assassination, betrayal and attempted murder aside.
“Closure, huh?” Klaus asks.
Five nods his head. “Closure.”
They sit quietly like that, Klaus on the couch and Five at the bar. The seconds pass.
“Do you want me to come this time?” Five finally asks.
“No,” Klaus says, and he gets to his feet. “No, I probably need to do this one by myself.”
Five inclines his head. “I’ll be here,” he says. “You know, if you need anything.”
Klaus laughs as he exits the room. “And if I need everything?”
“Yeah, well,” Five says, taking another sip. “I’ll be here for that, too.”
-o-
Klaus doesn’t bother with the attic. He doesn’t bother with pretense or planning. Up in his bedroom, he closes the door, pulls the dog tags out of the bedside table. He sighs, looking at them. Then, he wraps his fingers around them and closes his eyes.
He’s gotten better at this in the last few months; almost too good. There’s little time in the transition. Klaus closes his eyes, thinks about Dave’s face and opens his eyes again.
Dave is there, standing in front of him, plain as day.
For a moment, they stand there, face to face. Divided by decades. Always in the right place at the wrong time.
Klaus swallows back his tears as best he can. “Hey,” he says through the tightness in his throat. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Dave blinks -- he blinks, big, wide earnest eyes. “You broke the connection,” he says, and his throat sounds even tighter than Klaus’. “Last time, you called me here. And you broke the connection.”
Klaus smiles weakly. “Things got a little out of control,” he says. He fumbles awkwardly. “Sorry about that.”
Dave shakes his head, refusing to be placated. “You let go.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” Klaus tries again, his heart skipping a beat. “I was wrong--”
“No,” Dave says, and he steps closer this time so that Klaus can see the smooth planes of his cheeks. There’s no blood, and his eyes are clear like they were when he was living. He reaches up a hand, tentative at first. He lifts it haltingly to Klaus’ cheek, cupping the air for a moment in hesitation before he lets it make contact. “You let go.”
It’s too much. Klaus has to hold his resolve to hold his ground, but the tears build in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I let the orders stand, that I sent them. That I made the choice, that I killed you, I killed you--”
Dave’s hand doesn’t waver, and he leans in. His lips press on top of Klaus’ rambling ones, and the veil between the years is torn away. The years, the fabric of time, collapses -- but in the best way possible.
It’s Dave who is crying when he pulls away, hand still cupped around his cheek. “You let go, you idiot,” he says. “Before I had a chance to tell you that it’s okay. That I understand. It’s not your fault, Klaus, you didn’t kill me.”
The emotion is threatening to choke him now, overwhelm him. “But I made a choice--”
“I know the choice you made, and I know why you made it,” he says. “What you gave up for the greater good -- you’re the strongest, the best man I know.”
“But I chose to let you die,” Klaus implores him, even as he lifts his hand to put over Dave’s own. “I chose to let you die.”
“To save the world,” Dave says. He laughs. “I would have never forgiven you if you’d picked me. We never would have survived that.”
“But we didn’t survive this,” Klaus says. “You’re dead, Dave. You’re still dead.”
“And you’re not,” Dave says, and his voice finds its steady tenor now. The tears dry in his eyes, even as his smile widens. “You’re still alive.”
Closure, then. It’s a rush, it’s a rush that is cold and hot all at once. He floods through him, washes over him, and he understands it now. The power of forgiveness. The meaning of second chances.
Overcome, he presses forward this time and pulls Dave into a kiss. This time, they melt into it, the years between them dissipating. It’s who they could have been, who they never were. Who they are, mostly.
It’s the best moment of Klaus’ life. The best. The absolute best.
When he pulls away, he’s crying harder than ever. Dave laughs and they kiss again.
“And I was so scared,” Klaus laughs, their bodies pressed against each other. “I was so scared to conjure you, to face you.”
“You thought I’d hate you?” Dave asks.
“Yes! I agreed to go along with your murder!” Klaus says. “I was sure you’d never forgive me, but I was stupid to waste so much time--”
He says it, but even as the words leave his lips, he sees the look on Dave’s face falter. Not angry; just sad.
“What?” Klaus asks, concerned now. “I mean, if you are mad, I get it. And it’s understandable and--”
“Klaus--”
“And I can make it up to you,” Klaus continues. “We have the rest of our lives -- well, my life -- together. My brother Ben, he’s dead, and he’s around all the time, and you could stay too, meet my family and--”
He stops short as the look deepens on Dave’s face.
Closure, Klaus realizes, and the happiness comes into focus for what it is. Fleeting and temporary. Closure is something different, something else, something more.
“You’re leaving,” he says it so Dave doesn’t have to. He owes it to him to spare him this much at least. “You’re going to leave.”
“I have no reason to stay,” Dave says.
“Me,” Klaus says, and he laughs at the sound of his own voice. “You can stay for me.”
Dave shakes his head. “Staying would only hurt you, Klaus,” he says. “Ghosts don’t stay because they’re happy. Ghosts stay to haunt.”
“No, not true,” Klaus says, and he refuses to let go of Dave now. “My brother, Ben, he stays--”
“And is a constant reminder for all of you what you stand to lose,” Dave says. “It’s different with Ben. He hasn’t come to terms with what happened. I have, Klaus. I won’t haunt you.”
“I want you to haunt me!” Klaus says. “Please! Please, haunt me!”
Dave pulls back, even as Klaus’ grip remains firm between them. Dave exists by his sheer force of will right now, and they both know it. “You’ll never be who you are meant to be if I’m here, lurking in your shadows.”
“I don’t care who I’m meant to be,” Klaus says. “I’m better with you.”
“You’re not,” Dave says. “Maybe better because of me--”
“I won’t lose you, not again,” Klaus says. “Not when I have a choice.”
“But what about my choice?” Dave asks. “What about my choice?”
Klaus almost breaks at the question, and he has to force himself to breathe, to bring oxygen to his shellshocked brain. “But you’re the love of my life.”
This, for some reason, more than anything else seems to break Dave. “Don’t say that.”
“But you are!” Klaus says. He tips his head to keep Dave from looking away. “You are.”
Dave obliges him because he doesn’t have another option. “But I don’t want that for you. To be stuck on a dead guy.”
It’s harsher than Klaus expects. It hits like a blow, and Klaus blinks in surprise. “But--”
Dave shakes his head, and this time when he pulls away, Klaus can’t stop him. “Klaus, I died. You didn’t. You get to go on, have other loves. You get to live a long, full life.”
“But I don’t want to,” Klaus says. “Not without you.”
“But then what’s the point of any of this? Why bother surviving if that’s it? If this is all there is?” Dave asks, looking almost bereft now. “You’re more than dead people, Klaus. You have to embrace that. You need to live.”
It’s hard to think; it’s hard to breathe. “But I need you.”
Dave steps toward him again, emphatic. “And I’m with you,” he says like a pledge. “The dead can’t change their pasts, but they can -- they do -- change your future.”
Klaus is shaking now, trembling. “But I’m not ready.”
“And I am,” Dave says with more finality this time. He straightens. “And this is my choice. I don’t blame you for taking anything else from me, but I will blame you if you take this choice. Because it’s mine.”
Klaus feels like he’s suffocating, he’s actually suffocating. The emotion builds in his chest, it pounds between his ears. His fingers tingle; his senses throb. He’s at the start; he’s at the end. The in between is gone, and it has been for a long, long time.
Dave lifts his hand, smiling again as he graces Klaus’ cheek with the gentlest touch. “Remember that love isn’t a testament of our worst mistakes and darkest moments,” he says. “It’s about how we overcome them. I’m not defined by my death, just like Five’s not defined by killing me.”
There’s no more denial. There’s only acceptance.
All these years, there’s only closure. “None of it is right, Klaus. What happened to me, what happened to us, it doesn’t have to be right,” Dave says. “It is what it is, though, and you have to let it go. Please, let it go, Klaus.”
The tears burn now, and Klaus feels the protests in his throat. He feels them but he can’t speak them any more.
Dave’s fingers thread through his hair. “I made my choice, and now you need to make yours,” he says, voice no more than a whisper. “Let me go.”
Klaus leans into his touch, savoring it. He can almost taste Dave’s lips as he allows himself a sob. “I love you,” he says. “I love you so much.”
Dave doesn’t pull away. “I love you, too.”
They fit so well together, paired and perfect, ageless across the decades. The desire is a palpable thing, and Klaus allows himself to hold tight, to clutch his fists one last time.
Then he exhales.
Opens his eyes.
And Dave is gone.
Klaus is, it seems, well and truly alone.
-o-
Except, here’s the thing.
The little thing.
The big thing.
The thing.
Klaus isn’t actually alone.
Now, that’s not to say he doesn’t feel alone. When Dave leaves -- when Dave finally, truly, completely leaves -- Klaus lets himself stand there for several long seconds. Maybe several long minutes. He stands there, and he breathes. He stands there, and he cries. He cries and he hates and he regrets. He loathes every choice he’s made to bring him here, and he wants to rally the heavens for justice.
When he realizes -- no, when he accepts -- that justice has already been done, he keeps breathing. He keeps breathing and stops crying and remembers, as if this is some kind of revelation, that he’s not actually alone at all.
-o-
This time, Klaus is the one who finds Five.
He’s still sitting there at the bar, nursing his drink. They don’t have to pretend; they both know Five has been waiting here all this time. Five will wait decades if he has to; a lifetime, even.
Sighing, Klaus makes his way across the room. He sits down on the stool next to Five
Five lets them sit there like that for a long moment. Finally, he breaks the silence. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not much to talk about,” Klaus admits. “Closure and all.”
Five looks sorry. “That bad, huh?”
“He forgave me, if that’s what you mean,” Klaus says.
“Oh,” Five says, a little brighter.
“And then he made me let him go,” Klaus says. “Forever.”
Five winces. “So you do want to talk about it?”
Klaus slumps, resting his head on his chin.
“If you want Diego or Allison -- Vanya, maybe--”
It’d be tempting to think Five is trying to worm his way out of an uncomfortable situation, but Klaus knows better. He knows Five is trying to be nice, that he thinks it might be hard to talk about the lover you lost and let go with the brother who killed him.
But that’s probably why it has to be Five.
“No, not them,” Klaus says, making a face as he shakes his head.
Five hesitates, somewhat quizzical as he assesses the situation. For all that this is his doing, he seems moderately uncertain what to do with it. “Are you sure?”
Five is not one for self doubt most of the time, but then, what is time? To them?
To them.
Klaus pushes the emotions down just enough. He falters with a smile. “They won’t understand.”
Five’s brow works. “But Allison is very maternal in my experience, and Vanya is empathetic--”
“Five,” Klaus says again. “They don’t understand.”
It’s not their fault. It’s not a condemnation. It’s not for a lack of trying.
Some things you have to live to understand.
You don’t get it, not until you’re in the grubby motel room making the call.
You don’t get it.
Five is quiet at this, and he looks back down at his drink.
Klaus sighs again, but there’s no more time for malice. There’s no more space for it. “I know you took something from you, and I didn’t think I’d ever be able to forgive you. I swear, I didn’t. Not even ten minutes ago.”
Five looks up at him again. “Ten minutes ago,” he repeats. He pauses, wetting his lips. “And you can now?”
“Yeah,” Klaus says, and he’s not surprised anymore. Some things are inevitable, after all. Some things are fixed points. Some things you just can’t change, even if you want to. “I think I can.”
Five takes this news slightly more soberly than you might think, even for a hardened time traveling assassin like Five Hargreeves. When he does speak, his voice is quizzical as he tilts his head. “What year is it?”
That’s not the question Klaus expects to be answering right now. “What?”
“I can never remember, not anymore,” Five says, and even with a 13 year old body, he looks just like the old man Klaus found in Vietnam, the broken prisoner he recovered from the Commission. His brother. Always his brother. “What year is it?”
“2019,” Klaus answers. He smiles despite himself. “Still.”
Five nods, as if he is processing the answer. “Oh.”
Klaus can’t help but let out an incredulous snort. “Oh?”
“Nothing,” Five says, picking up his drink again and fiddling with the straw. “I just thought it’d take longer than that.”
Klaus grins, then, because somehow, he knows exactly what Five is talking about for once. Time, you see, is funny. It’s longer than you think. It’s shorter than you expect. It’s infinities and split seconds.
Mostly, though, sitting at the bar together, time is right now.
You’ll want more -- always.
You’ll rage against less -- probably.
But, in the end, you will probably be right where you belong.
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
PART FIVE
PART SIX
PART SEVEN
PART EIGHT
PART NINE
PART TEN
PART ELEVEN
PART TWELVE
PART THIRTEEN
PART FOURTEEN
PART FIFTEEN
PART SIXTEEN
PART SEVENTEEN
PART EIGHTEEN
PART NINETEEN
PART TWENTY
TWENTY
So, like, time.
The thing with time -- and Klaus gets this now, he gets it -- whether it’s the future or the past or just right now, is that it passes. Things that seem so important one moment might seem completely unimportant the next. You can take this as a discouragement, a sign that nothing in life actually matters. Or you could see it as a motivation, knowing that the next moment is the only one that matters.
Time repeats itself, maybe. But it also reshapes itself. It ebbs, it flows. Some things are meant to be, and you can look at this as a blessing or a curse, it doesn’t much matter. It just is.
So time.
It passes.
It’s passing.
It’s passed.
And it will pass before him for as long as he’s alive.
-o-
Klaus spends several months training, getting his focus back and reinvigorating his efforts with the Umbrella Academy. Like most things in his life, this is not a simple or straightforward process. He’s good and bad in equal intervals, and some days he wields power effortlessly. Other days, he can hardly conjure a dead flea.
Not that he wants to conjure a dead flea. Actually, he’s never tried. Maybe he should.
There’s no functional value to conjuring a flea, but Klaus has discovered that he likes knowing what he’s capable of doing. He likes learning his limits.
If only to realize that he doesn’t have to abide by them at all.
-o-
After Klaus has redefined his place on the team and conjured Ben to near corporeal status, he comes to terms with the growing restlessness he’s feeling. It’s that itch he has to scratch, and he finds himself pacing the living room at midnight because he’s not sure what else to do.
He’s done all the right stuff. He’s trained, he’s worked hard.
So what’s missing?
Is it back to the drugs again? Is this his addiction he wants to satisfy? Should he find out? Maybe it’s not a temptation for him anymore. Maybe he can handle it.
He chews his lip and rests his hands on the bar.
Maybe this has already happened.
Maybe this is all foretold.
2019, after all. It’s a hell of a year.
He turns away, not convinced, and paces back to the other side. He thinks about conjuring Ben, just for someone to talk to, but he knows what Ben will say. He knows it won’t be what he wants to hear. It won’t even be what he needs to hear.
But what is that?
What is any of this?
It’s supposed to mean something.
It’s all supposed to mean something.
It’s not a surprise for either of them when Five finds him there. In his pajamas, Five still looks stupid and tiny, but he goes over to the bar and makes himself a drink.
“I’d offer you one, but that’s counterproductive I think,” Five says.
Klaus glares at him. “You’re not supposed to drink in front of an addict.”
Five shrugs and takes a drink anyway. “You’re not craving alcohol.”
“I might be,” Klaus shoots back. “Or something, you know. Stronger.”
Five swishes the liquid around in his cup. “This isn’t about your addiction.”
Klaus flounces, flopping onto one of the chairs like this is some kind of annoyance. “Addicts struggle with it all their lives. You should know, apocalypse boy.”
“I do know,” Five counters. “That’s why I recognize the symptoms of withdrawal and know how they differ from something else.”
“What else, then?” Klaus shoots back.
“Closure,” Five says.
It’s a little to the point. Klaus has not been prepared to face anything quite so quickly, quite so bluntly. He makes a face instead. “And what do you know about closure?”
“A lot,” Five says. “I know that when you don’t have closure, you are prone to making really stupid mistakes that you end up regretting.”
Five doesn’t elaborate; he doesn’t have to. He still remembers the wearied old man he found in a hotel room in Vietnam, too tired to quit. It feels like yesterday; decades; a lifetime.
Klaus sighs. “I already faced Dave’s death and made the only choice I could make,” he says. “I conjured him and apologized. There’s nothing more I can do.”
“Of course there is,” Five says.
“What?” Klaus almost demands. “What can I possibly do?”
“You can listen, for starters,” Five says. “Being sorry is important, but it’s only the first step. You have to accept forgiveness.”
Klaus scoffs. “But how am I--”
He stops himself, because he knows.
Five raises his eyebrows and tips his glass toward Klaus expectantly.
Klaus thinks of a thousand excuses. He thinks of a thousand explanations.
None of them mean shit.
“I really have to conjure him?” he asks.
Five nods. “And this time, you let him do the talking.”
Klaus swallows. Hard. “What if he doesn’t forgive me?”
“That’s a possibility,” Five says. “An unsettling one, I know.”
Of course Five knows. He knows because Klaus nearly murdered him in his rage. Twice.
“But time is too precious to waste not knowing,” he says. “And sometimes it can turn out better than you expect. Trust me on that, too.”
That is, naturally, impossible to deny since they’re living together like the brothers they always have been, assassination, betrayal and attempted murder aside.
“Closure, huh?” Klaus asks.
Five nods his head. “Closure.”
They sit quietly like that, Klaus on the couch and Five at the bar. The seconds pass.
“Do you want me to come this time?” Five finally asks.
“No,” Klaus says, and he gets to his feet. “No, I probably need to do this one by myself.”
Five inclines his head. “I’ll be here,” he says. “You know, if you need anything.”
Klaus laughs as he exits the room. “And if I need everything?”
“Yeah, well,” Five says, taking another sip. “I’ll be here for that, too.”
-o-
Klaus doesn’t bother with the attic. He doesn’t bother with pretense or planning. Up in his bedroom, he closes the door, pulls the dog tags out of the bedside table. He sighs, looking at them. Then, he wraps his fingers around them and closes his eyes.
He’s gotten better at this in the last few months; almost too good. There’s little time in the transition. Klaus closes his eyes, thinks about Dave’s face and opens his eyes again.
Dave is there, standing in front of him, plain as day.
For a moment, they stand there, face to face. Divided by decades. Always in the right place at the wrong time.
Klaus swallows back his tears as best he can. “Hey,” he says through the tightness in his throat. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Dave blinks -- he blinks, big, wide earnest eyes. “You broke the connection,” he says, and his throat sounds even tighter than Klaus’. “Last time, you called me here. And you broke the connection.”
Klaus smiles weakly. “Things got a little out of control,” he says. He fumbles awkwardly. “Sorry about that.”
Dave shakes his head, refusing to be placated. “You let go.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” Klaus tries again, his heart skipping a beat. “I was wrong--”
“No,” Dave says, and he steps closer this time so that Klaus can see the smooth planes of his cheeks. There’s no blood, and his eyes are clear like they were when he was living. He reaches up a hand, tentative at first. He lifts it haltingly to Klaus’ cheek, cupping the air for a moment in hesitation before he lets it make contact. “You let go.”
It’s too much. Klaus has to hold his resolve to hold his ground, but the tears build in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I let the orders stand, that I sent them. That I made the choice, that I killed you, I killed you--”
Dave’s hand doesn’t waver, and he leans in. His lips press on top of Klaus’ rambling ones, and the veil between the years is torn away. The years, the fabric of time, collapses -- but in the best way possible.
It’s Dave who is crying when he pulls away, hand still cupped around his cheek. “You let go, you idiot,” he says. “Before I had a chance to tell you that it’s okay. That I understand. It’s not your fault, Klaus, you didn’t kill me.”
The emotion is threatening to choke him now, overwhelm him. “But I made a choice--”
“I know the choice you made, and I know why you made it,” he says. “What you gave up for the greater good -- you’re the strongest, the best man I know.”
“But I chose to let you die,” Klaus implores him, even as he lifts his hand to put over Dave’s own. “I chose to let you die.”
“To save the world,” Dave says. He laughs. “I would have never forgiven you if you’d picked me. We never would have survived that.”
“But we didn’t survive this,” Klaus says. “You’re dead, Dave. You’re still dead.”
“And you’re not,” Dave says, and his voice finds its steady tenor now. The tears dry in his eyes, even as his smile widens. “You’re still alive.”
Closure, then. It’s a rush, it’s a rush that is cold and hot all at once. He floods through him, washes over him, and he understands it now. The power of forgiveness. The meaning of second chances.
Overcome, he presses forward this time and pulls Dave into a kiss. This time, they melt into it, the years between them dissipating. It’s who they could have been, who they never were. Who they are, mostly.
It’s the best moment of Klaus’ life. The best. The absolute best.
When he pulls away, he’s crying harder than ever. Dave laughs and they kiss again.
“And I was so scared,” Klaus laughs, their bodies pressed against each other. “I was so scared to conjure you, to face you.”
“You thought I’d hate you?” Dave asks.
“Yes! I agreed to go along with your murder!” Klaus says. “I was sure you’d never forgive me, but I was stupid to waste so much time--”
He says it, but even as the words leave his lips, he sees the look on Dave’s face falter. Not angry; just sad.
“What?” Klaus asks, concerned now. “I mean, if you are mad, I get it. And it’s understandable and--”
“Klaus--”
“And I can make it up to you,” Klaus continues. “We have the rest of our lives -- well, my life -- together. My brother Ben, he’s dead, and he’s around all the time, and you could stay too, meet my family and--”
He stops short as the look deepens on Dave’s face.
Closure, Klaus realizes, and the happiness comes into focus for what it is. Fleeting and temporary. Closure is something different, something else, something more.
“You’re leaving,” he says it so Dave doesn’t have to. He owes it to him to spare him this much at least. “You’re going to leave.”
“I have no reason to stay,” Dave says.
“Me,” Klaus says, and he laughs at the sound of his own voice. “You can stay for me.”
Dave shakes his head. “Staying would only hurt you, Klaus,” he says. “Ghosts don’t stay because they’re happy. Ghosts stay to haunt.”
“No, not true,” Klaus says, and he refuses to let go of Dave now. “My brother, Ben, he stays--”
“And is a constant reminder for all of you what you stand to lose,” Dave says. “It’s different with Ben. He hasn’t come to terms with what happened. I have, Klaus. I won’t haunt you.”
“I want you to haunt me!” Klaus says. “Please! Please, haunt me!”
Dave pulls back, even as Klaus’ grip remains firm between them. Dave exists by his sheer force of will right now, and they both know it. “You’ll never be who you are meant to be if I’m here, lurking in your shadows.”
“I don’t care who I’m meant to be,” Klaus says. “I’m better with you.”
“You’re not,” Dave says. “Maybe better because of me--”
“I won’t lose you, not again,” Klaus says. “Not when I have a choice.”
“But what about my choice?” Dave asks. “What about my choice?”
Klaus almost breaks at the question, and he has to force himself to breathe, to bring oxygen to his shellshocked brain. “But you’re the love of my life.”
This, for some reason, more than anything else seems to break Dave. “Don’t say that.”
“But you are!” Klaus says. He tips his head to keep Dave from looking away. “You are.”
Dave obliges him because he doesn’t have another option. “But I don’t want that for you. To be stuck on a dead guy.”
It’s harsher than Klaus expects. It hits like a blow, and Klaus blinks in surprise. “But--”
Dave shakes his head, and this time when he pulls away, Klaus can’t stop him. “Klaus, I died. You didn’t. You get to go on, have other loves. You get to live a long, full life.”
“But I don’t want to,” Klaus says. “Not without you.”
“But then what’s the point of any of this? Why bother surviving if that’s it? If this is all there is?” Dave asks, looking almost bereft now. “You’re more than dead people, Klaus. You have to embrace that. You need to live.”
It’s hard to think; it’s hard to breathe. “But I need you.”
Dave steps toward him again, emphatic. “And I’m with you,” he says like a pledge. “The dead can’t change their pasts, but they can -- they do -- change your future.”
Klaus is shaking now, trembling. “But I’m not ready.”
“And I am,” Dave says with more finality this time. He straightens. “And this is my choice. I don’t blame you for taking anything else from me, but I will blame you if you take this choice. Because it’s mine.”
Klaus feels like he’s suffocating, he’s actually suffocating. The emotion builds in his chest, it pounds between his ears. His fingers tingle; his senses throb. He’s at the start; he’s at the end. The in between is gone, and it has been for a long, long time.
Dave lifts his hand, smiling again as he graces Klaus’ cheek with the gentlest touch. “Remember that love isn’t a testament of our worst mistakes and darkest moments,” he says. “It’s about how we overcome them. I’m not defined by my death, just like Five’s not defined by killing me.”
There’s no more denial. There’s only acceptance.
All these years, there’s only closure. “None of it is right, Klaus. What happened to me, what happened to us, it doesn’t have to be right,” Dave says. “It is what it is, though, and you have to let it go. Please, let it go, Klaus.”
The tears burn now, and Klaus feels the protests in his throat. He feels them but he can’t speak them any more.
Dave’s fingers thread through his hair. “I made my choice, and now you need to make yours,” he says, voice no more than a whisper. “Let me go.”
Klaus leans into his touch, savoring it. He can almost taste Dave’s lips as he allows himself a sob. “I love you,” he says. “I love you so much.”
Dave doesn’t pull away. “I love you, too.”
They fit so well together, paired and perfect, ageless across the decades. The desire is a palpable thing, and Klaus allows himself to hold tight, to clutch his fists one last time.
Then he exhales.
Opens his eyes.
And Dave is gone.
Klaus is, it seems, well and truly alone.
-o-
Except, here’s the thing.
The little thing.
The big thing.
The thing.
Klaus isn’t actually alone.
Now, that’s not to say he doesn’t feel alone. When Dave leaves -- when Dave finally, truly, completely leaves -- Klaus lets himself stand there for several long seconds. Maybe several long minutes. He stands there, and he breathes. He stands there, and he cries. He cries and he hates and he regrets. He loathes every choice he’s made to bring him here, and he wants to rally the heavens for justice.
When he realizes -- no, when he accepts -- that justice has already been done, he keeps breathing. He keeps breathing and stops crying and remembers, as if this is some kind of revelation, that he’s not actually alone at all.
-o-
This time, Klaus is the one who finds Five.
He’s still sitting there at the bar, nursing his drink. They don’t have to pretend; they both know Five has been waiting here all this time. Five will wait decades if he has to; a lifetime, even.
Sighing, Klaus makes his way across the room. He sits down on the stool next to Five
Five lets them sit there like that for a long moment. Finally, he breaks the silence. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not much to talk about,” Klaus admits. “Closure and all.”
Five looks sorry. “That bad, huh?”
“He forgave me, if that’s what you mean,” Klaus says.
“Oh,” Five says, a little brighter.
“And then he made me let him go,” Klaus says. “Forever.”
Five winces. “So you do want to talk about it?”
Klaus slumps, resting his head on his chin.
“If you want Diego or Allison -- Vanya, maybe--”
It’d be tempting to think Five is trying to worm his way out of an uncomfortable situation, but Klaus knows better. He knows Five is trying to be nice, that he thinks it might be hard to talk about the lover you lost and let go with the brother who killed him.
But that’s probably why it has to be Five.
“No, not them,” Klaus says, making a face as he shakes his head.
Five hesitates, somewhat quizzical as he assesses the situation. For all that this is his doing, he seems moderately uncertain what to do with it. “Are you sure?”
Five is not one for self doubt most of the time, but then, what is time? To them?
To them.
Klaus pushes the emotions down just enough. He falters with a smile. “They won’t understand.”
Five’s brow works. “But Allison is very maternal in my experience, and Vanya is empathetic--”
“Five,” Klaus says again. “They don’t understand.”
It’s not their fault. It’s not a condemnation. It’s not for a lack of trying.
Some things you have to live to understand.
You don’t get it, not until you’re in the grubby motel room making the call.
You don’t get it.
Five is quiet at this, and he looks back down at his drink.
Klaus sighs again, but there’s no more time for malice. There’s no more space for it. “I know you took something from you, and I didn’t think I’d ever be able to forgive you. I swear, I didn’t. Not even ten minutes ago.”
Five looks up at him again. “Ten minutes ago,” he repeats. He pauses, wetting his lips. “And you can now?”
“Yeah,” Klaus says, and he’s not surprised anymore. Some things are inevitable, after all. Some things are fixed points. Some things you just can’t change, even if you want to. “I think I can.”
Five takes this news slightly more soberly than you might think, even for a hardened time traveling assassin like Five Hargreeves. When he does speak, his voice is quizzical as he tilts his head. “What year is it?”
That’s not the question Klaus expects to be answering right now. “What?”
“I can never remember, not anymore,” Five says, and even with a 13 year old body, he looks just like the old man Klaus found in Vietnam, the broken prisoner he recovered from the Commission. His brother. Always his brother. “What year is it?”
“2019,” Klaus answers. He smiles despite himself. “Still.”
Five nods, as if he is processing the answer. “Oh.”
Klaus can’t help but let out an incredulous snort. “Oh?”
“Nothing,” Five says, picking up his drink again and fiddling with the straw. “I just thought it’d take longer than that.”
Klaus grins, then, because somehow, he knows exactly what Five is talking about for once. Time, you see, is funny. It’s longer than you think. It’s shorter than you expect. It’s infinities and split seconds.
Mostly, though, sitting at the bar together, time is right now.
You’ll want more -- always.
You’ll rage against less -- probably.
But, in the end, you will probably be right where you belong.