☂︎ 𝔱𝔰𝔲 | ❛ ᴀ ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ɪᴍᴘʀᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ ❜

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𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 in the cold crevices of the police station lockup, and Diego was certain he had never been this impatient in all his life, which was saying something. He had barely slept a wink since they locked him up after processing and he doubted you hadn't noticed his absence yet.

"I won't be gone long. Two, maybe three hours tops. You think you'll be okay?"

You were quiet for a moment, your mind, by the looks of it, running. But then you nod and force a small smile.

"I trust you."

Those three words played back in his head over and over, making him wince. From where he's perched on the end of the holding cell 'bed', he plants his face into his palms with a sigh, rubbing at his temples.

Explaining to you, or the others for that matter is not something he was looking forward to. He could only hope you were still at the Fighting Lion, somehow still waiting for him.

"On your feet, Hargreeves,"

Diego looked up from his hands to be greeted with a familiar officer-an old buddy from the police academy-and the clinking of keys against the metal bars meant his freedom.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

"....It gets weirder. It did match an unsolved cold case that came back circa-get this-1938."

Diego's eyes had hardly left Patch since he was guided back into processing and out of holding where down below, his ex-girlfriend and current friend sat discussing a case with her partner Detective Beaman. Through the white noise of the station, he had only managed to pick up on the last half of their conversation as he was led to her desk in cuffs.

"Tell them to run it again," she says, handing back a sealed bag of evidence. When her eyes land on Diego, they're as impatient and stern as he feels. "Uncuff him," she orders to the officer.

The man complies and Diego relishes in the feeling of the cuffs untightening from his wrists and freeing his skin. "Thanks, Rodriguez," he says, and the officer nods, finally departing.

Diego looks down at his old friend, quirking a brow and itching to leave. "Am I free to go now, officer?"

"Sit down," she sighs.

"You know if you needed my help you could have just asked--"

"--Shut up, and listen carefully," Patch warned, snatching back a piece of the evidence files Diego had grabbed as he reluctantly took a seat. "The next time you interfere in one of my investigations-you so much as breathe on one of my witnesses, touch a piece of evidence, I'll charge you with obstruction of justice. You will do jail time. That clear?"

"Damn! You need to relax, Eudora. All this bureaucracy--"

"--Don't call me that." She warns.

"Look," Diego sighs, finally pulling his darting eyes away from the exit doors and to his old friend. "I know you. You like playing by the rules. But you live for putting the scumbags away. I don't understand why you never took me up on my offer. I don't understand why you can't put that badge down for one night," Diego checks for prying eyes before leaning forward and lowering his voice in a whisper. "and come out on the streets with me one of these nights? Without all this bullshit. I got shit going on, people who need..." he shakes whatever thought he had away. "The point is, you need this, Eudora. I know you."

"You're right, that sounds super fun," she retorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "But I think you missed some things when you got thrown out of the police academy, so let me explain. This bullshit is what gets convictions in a court of law. What you do out there, is a fantasy. I would love to play cops and robbers, wear a mask and feel important but guess what? Recess is over. It's grown-up time. And you're still trying to prove that when you were kids running around in those stupid uniforms that it wasn't for nothing."

Diego finds himself in a scoff, turning away at the bitter taste blooming on his tongue, and Patch's voice softens only a notch.

"Yeah, I know you too, Diego. Now leave, before I change my mind." Something about her voice is almost pleading. But he doesn't have the time to look into it.

Instead, a small scoff breaks through the bitter grin prying his lips apart, and he hoists himself out of the chair and makes for the door. But not without wedging in the final word in before departing.

"Gladly,"

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Luther found himself within The Fighting Lion Boxing & Gym and asked himself a great many questions. For one thing, he wondered just how successful this little plan of his would be. He knew he'd had to meet you and Diego today. So why didn't he just ask for an address instead of waiting till the last minute to track down his brother's place by asking around at some gym he was pretty sure Diego still went to? He knew this was the problem; nobody knew each other anymore. And Luther wasn't eager to know the answer to the question: would you agree to go with him after everything? Would Diego? Even if he did manage to track you guys down.

"Break! ....Break!"

Luther's eyes were torn away to the boxing ring in the center of the gym where an older man in white scruff and a tattered beanie was acting as referee.

"Move your feet," the man instructs.

Luther cleared his throat as he approached the ring. "'Scuse me,"

The man perked. He made his way over to the ropes closest to Luther with a hopeful glint in his eyes, no doubt seeing the potential in Luther's physique. "You're looking to box? 'Cause I may need fighters, too."

"Oh, no, I'm looking for information on one of the guys that uses your gym. Diego Hargreeves?"

A puffy frown was smushed onto the man's face at the mention as he gestured with his thumb and forefinger. "Well, if you see him, you can tell him I'm this far from firing his ass."

Luther was surprised by this. "He works here?"

"Eh," the man wanes, shrugging. "he, uh, mops the floor in exchange for the back room."

He lived here? In the back room of a musty old gym downtown? Truth be told, Luther didn't know what to do with that information. It only brought more questions. But, he supposed, he couldn't really be surprised. This was what came with the kind of relationship he had with his siblings. He was beginning to see another side of the coin a little bit clearer.

"Okay," he muttered, finding his voice. "Thanks,"

His blue eyes still tucked under a furrowed brow, he scanned the open floor for the back hallway before wandering off. And the man, who he failed to learn as Al, called after him still

"Think about the fight game. You got the build!"

But the fabled Number One hadn't caught a word, his mind far too muddled. It was wandering, just as he was down the narrow back hall. His over-broad shoulders grazed both the lockers and the wall, his eyes racking the countless faded posters of old wrestling champions of past decades. And all he could think about was what he was about to face. Some part of him even hoped you two had already left, and he would have longer to avoid facing the shame he was feeling and whatever fight he could inevitably see unfolding.

But there was no avoiding it, he knew that. He just wished he could have thought of what to say before he reached the end of the hall, his gloved hand reaching up below the sign Boiler Room and giving three soft knocks.

The door stood just a hairs-width open-he only noticed when the gentle wrap of his knuckles on wood nudged it open with a delayed creak.

His eyes eyes flew to the door jam for signs of a break-in but from where he stood, he found none. From his current perspective, no one was inside either.

So he tried again, the same three knocks, just a little louder. Still no answer.

Something told him he knew he would regret his next actions, but he wasn't sure what else to do. By now, surely Allison had gotten a hold of the others and they were already on their way, and he needed to make sure you two were there. So he sucked in a deep, sharp breath peered inside. There was nothing out of the ordinary, nor was there anyone as he suspec--

A grunt was knocked loose along with the remainder of his breath when he felt his back collide with something hard and uneven. The room around him spun as he lay there unmoving, blinking his eyes to make the room stop moving. He couldn't quite process exactly what had happened but he knew he was on his back, and he had fallen-no, been thrown?-and his spine was digging into something painful as he stared up at the ceiling. Wait, he thought, since when do ceilings have stairs?

It took Luther a moment to recognize the entryway of the boiler room from the brief glimpse he got before he was thrown to the ceiling in your grip. He hissed in pain at the wooden beam still digging into his spine. And when he tried to move, it felt like moving against water-like running in a pool, or charging into the ocean. He knew at once what was responsible, or more accurately who, and right on cue, you confirmed his suspicions.

Movement in his peripherals stole his attention away and it took a great deal of even his kind of strength to pull his head away from the ceiling and peer over at the newest figure looking up at him. That's when he saw you, seething in the far corner where you had been waiting just out of view of the entryway with one of Diego's many knives in your hand.

Luther gawked at you. "What the hell?!"

Your shoulders dropped and something in your eyes changed as if you weren't expecting it to be him to come through that door. In reality, you didn't know who you expected or what to expect. You were scared and alone and even Luther could see that. But you weren't about to lose the upper hand you still had.

You readjusted your grip on the small blade and crept closer to Luther, keeping it drawn by your side as you narrowed your eyes.

"Where is he?"

"W-what?" That is all he could manage.

"Where. Is. He?"

"Diego?" Luther asked, still fighting to peer his head up to angle himself at you. You were standing in the corner on the concrete balcony by the door, glaring up at him. He wiggled around, trying to move when you didn't answer. "You mean he isn't here with you?"

He caught the surprised twitch in your frown that you were trying to hide. You could sense his eyes boring over your face, analyzing you and you didn't at all like it. You felt your shoulders tense and the grip on the knife tightened as you inched back. But that didn't mean you couldn't shake the feeling he was telling the truth.

You finally tore your eyes away from Luther and looked towards the door, as if you could will him to walk right through if you hoped hard enough. Or maybe Luther was lying. Diego was right behind him. But he wasn't. Diego was still gone and you didn't know why. That familiar feeling was creeping up fast and hard.

Had he lied to you? Was he just like his father, or at the very least, did he not care as much as you thought he had?

None of it made any sense, but years of your life spent in isolation and captivity had taken its toll on you. You didn't know what to believe.

The pit in Luther's gut disappeared; it was so abruptly replaced with the feeling of his stomach plunging as he fell back to the ground with dozens of Diego's things. You had dropped him at your feet where you stood, wide eyes drilling into a spot across the room as you stood rooted to the spot. Arms encircled your torso, your grip steadily tightening like a python around your stomach as panic settled in, you ignored Luther's pained groans and the clatter of objects falling from the ceiling.

The room spun around Luther a second time and he clutched his head, clumsily peeling himself off the ground. "Could you maybe, stop doing that? Please?" He huffed, the wind still knocked loose from his chest.

But you weren't listening, you hadn't even registered you had dropped the knife or Luther to the ground and were backing into the wall. When Luther returned to his feet, his bearings somewhat collected, he finally put together the weight of the situation. Or at least, what it must mean to you.

And to his surprise, Luther softened.

"Hey..." He sighed. "Look..."

You looked up at him, waiting. Your e/c eyes boring into his, broken and angry, once again making Luther face a truth he didn't want to face about his father. He continued to surprise himself as he stood he looking at you now, feeling almost angry. He was still angry his dad was gone. He was angry with his dad for the kind of man he was. He was angry at how things had turned out. He was angry by how much everything had changed and how complicated his life always was and how nothing, not even a goddamn funeral could go normally with the Hargreeves without something monumental coming out of it.

And, shockingly enough, Luther was angry with Diego for leaving you here.
Cause wasn't Luther supposed to be the one messing up with you? Luther didn't know the first thing about comforting you. Diego at the very least seemed to act like he knew what he was doing. And whatever he had done seemed to work if you were this upset. You trusted him. And now he was gone and Luther didn't know what to do to help you. Especially after the other day.

Luther sighed after the small moment of silence and tried his best to put on a comforting face-whatever it was Diego had done last night. Finally, he sighs, hoping he doesn't screw up.

"I'm sure he's fine," he tries. You didn't respond with anything but a small look of growing confusion in your eyes. Why was he smiling like that? "How long has he been gone?"

Your eyes tore away from his in avoidance, only for him to follow yours around the room. It was the first time he got a good look around the place and his heart actually sunk a little. There was no telling of course, what exactly it looked like before his arrival. But something told him it wasn't this messy and scattered before you got here-or at least-before his brother disappeared. He was reminded of your little incident in the foyer last night when you had unintentionally trapped several books in orbit when you were distracted. And he couldn't imagine what you could do when you were panicking.

And as he looked around now, he supposed he got his answer. It looked as if an earthquake had hit, funny enough.

He looked back over at you. You were staring at the open door like a lifeline and he sighed again.

"He's been gone all night hasn't he?"

You nodded.

"Did he say where he was going?"

"Work," you shrugged.

"Work?" He asked, eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

Luther thought about this for a moment. It didn't make much sense to him; you couldn't have been talking about mopping, could you? Cause whatever it was Diego did as an "employee" for that man outside, he didn't seem to know where he was either. Not to mention you most likely would know where he was. But Luther still felt defeated. Even if they were practically strangers these days, he still knew his brother well enough to guess what "work" might mean to Diego.

His conversation with Allison from the previous day flashes through his mind on their brother's "vigilante" uniform.

"Do you think he wears that thing in the bathroom?" Luther had asked.

"Like in the shower?" Allison questioned. When he nodded, she answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Yes, absolutely!"

He and Diego had always been opposite sides of the same coin. Luther still believed in the academy and his father, while Diego couldn't have created more distance if he had tried. But neither had given up their pursuit in helping others; in doing what they thought was right. And while Luther may not be in touch with his siblings anymore, he would have had to have been living at least two galaxies away to have been in the dark about his brother's vigilante duties. And maybe not even then.

"I think I know what might have happened," he finally sighed.

He felt your sudden stare. You were looking at him hopefully and curiously, waiting for an answer.

"Come on, we'll wait for him," he nodded deeper inside the boiler room, gesturing you after him.

Reluctantly, you listened and descended the small cement platform before Luther. He stepped back towards the door, lazily swinging an arm to close it out of habit when he came to a halt at your voice. "Don't," He caught on much quicker, turning over his shoulder to find you glaring at him, and again he's reminded of last night.

He nods, and clicks his tongue, leaving the door where it stood, ajar. "Door open. Got it," he's relieved when he's finally released from your captivating stare and subconsciously he fiddles with his sleeves.

He follows you into the room, letting his gaze lead the way as he takes in the details of his brother's home. The first thing being the framed crochet piece he recognized as their mother's handiwork. Two of Diego's blades in a cross above his name and below his domino mask. The frame was well taken care of and was clearly the only thing he ever bothered to dust when he remembered to pick up a duster.

The second thing he noted was the boxing poster of one of Diego's fights. It read DIEGO "The Kraken" HARGREEVES vs SAM "Riot" ROSATI. And below, is the date of the fight. Luther gulped. The day of their father's death.

He turned away, head threatening to sink. When his eyes returned to you he realized you had returned to the bed, seated against the wall with your knees hugged to your chest. Your eyes were on the door, your lip between your teeth as you waited. You knew you could leave at any moment and every moment you were tempted.

But some dark, twisted part of you was still scared. You were mad at that part of yourself, the part that had grown dependent on four walls. The fear The Monocle had instilled in you was seizing you up, terrifying you-not only of the outside world but of yourself and what you would do to it.

"Just once?" Your small voice pleads, begging to see the sky. You asked to see it every day on G.R.E.G.O.R.Y's screen, but you wanted to see it in person. You missed the wind, and the sun and the rain. You missed life.

You laid before him in your bed, his eyes fixed on the AI's screen and the steady beeping line that had been going off since he put the weird device on your arm. He stood at your bedside, not as a father would, but a doctor. Tubes were running into your arm, pumping heavy liquid in your blood that made you feel sluggish and numb.

You were always sluggish and numb when he visited. G.R.E.G.O.R.Y always made sure you were.

"You know the answer to that Number Zero,"

Y/n, Y/n, Y/n, you told yourself silently. You had made it a mission to remember your name, even if it was never spoken aloud again. My name is Y/n.

"But why?" You slurred, the sedative beginning to cloud your brain as tears crept into your eyes, never falling. "I just wanna go outside,"

"The world is a dangerous place," he began, finally tearing his eyes from the data and looking at you with his cold eyes. "Do you know what makes it so dangerous?"

You put all your strength into shaking your head.

"Unpredictability. Do you know what that means?" Again, you shook your head no. You were only roughly five years old-you were hardly two years when he took you-and were still learning addition and subtraction with G.R.E.G.O.R.Y. That was, when you weren't learning other languages. He still hadn't told you why you were required to learn those. "It means something one is not prepared for. More importantly, it means chaos."

He returned his eyes to the screen, his wrinkled fingers flying across the screen as he spoke.

"Chaos breeds destruction. And you, Number Zero, and your... affliction is nothing but chaos. Simply put? You want an answer as to why you can never leave, well, I'll tell you." His bushy eyebrows rose and distaste crept into his voice. And with never once looking down at you, he broke you down completely and the first scrap of hope you had ever managed to find since he took you. "You are the definition of unpredictability. You are what makes this world so dangerous."

The tears finally fell, slinking down your temple and trickling past your ears as you lay on your back.

"Believe it or not," he says, ignoring your silent tears. "I am protecting you. From yourself."

You wished you would just fall asleep now, so you could dream. You wanted to see your mom again-that's who you usually saw when you slept. You missed her deeply, even more now that you were beginning to forget her voice. But even the sweet thoughts of sleep were ruined by his final words to you before he left you alone.

"You're broken, Number Zero. And not even I can fix you. But I'll try."

You were brought back to the present day when you finally registered the pain of your nails digging into your legs. Your eyes were still rooted on the door, thinking most of your past activities.

The Monocle had made you so afraid of your strength, he didn't even need to be here, alive, to keep you grounded. So many times since waking up and realizing Diego was gone-before Luther had shown up-you had been screaming the word in your mind, standing inches from the open door, ready to leave but frozen to the spot. Leave! Just leave! But all you succeeded in doing was bursting into angry tears, dropping to your knees, and thrusting the heel of your palms into your temple over and over as if trying to knock the fear right out. But you could still hear him clear as day. You're broken Number Zero.

"Hey," your eyes snapped to Luther startled. So lost in thought, for a moment you had forgotten he was here. His voice was soft but nervous. "I know this is a dumb question, but... are you okay?"

the answer he got was a blank stare and he knew well enough you weren't. He felt awkward but he wasn't sure what else to say. So he figured he try and take your mind off of Diego.

"So," he began, already trailing off and mentally kicking himself for how badly this was going. Involuntarily, he flashed an awkward, toothy grin that quickly died out. Hell, he didn't know how to do this. He panics, eyes jumping to the fridge before returning to you. "Did you get enough to eat--?"

"--Why are you here?" You finally asked, unknowingly putting him out of his misery. Truthfully, your mind was still spinning and you happened to fire off the question as soon as it came to mind.

"Oh!" He says, perking up and clearing his throat. You hadn't noticed in your previous state but he had taken a seat on the small leather chair beside the mattress and bookshelf. He readjusted his seat out of nervous habit, already feeling a bit more at ease from slipping into something familiar: a plan of action. "Well, after everything..."

-our father did to you. Luther swallowed the words that never came where they fell on his chest, sitting there like a weight. You were watching him curiously, the edge in your stance slowing ebbing away in confusion, waiting for him to continue.

Luther released the breath of air that had been waiting in his lungs, puffing out his cheeks as he darts his eyes to the ground.

"I'm sorry about last night," he says instead, looking up at you, exhausted. There was something in his eyes you couldn't quite recognize, but you didn't need to in order to sense he was in conflict. That even he was surprised by his words and actions. "And I'm sorry about-- about what you've been through. I guess I'm still trying to accept all this. Our dad never told us about you, obviously... and we were trained by him to help people."

This was a surprise to you. Your captor, The Monocle, had never once shared a single detail about himself. As the years crept by, you couldn't help but wonder what he did and just who he was. And as you grew older and you started to sense the others with your abilities, a part of you guessed the others were prisoners like you.

But helping people? The question refused to leave your mind unanswered and you were now listening to Luther a little harder. Waiting for anything to make this more believable.

"We were raised to help people. And all this time he's been," he stopped, his hand caught mid-air as he gestured to you. He swallowed, putting both hands back into his lap where he could wring his gloved fingers and he shook his head. "It just takes a little getting used to is all. I'm sure you of all people get that, though, right?"

Nodding, your eyes fall back to your locked knees. There was so much you still wanted to know, so many questions racing through your mind.

Like Luther himself. You had quite literally been in that cell for as long as you could remember, and you had been trying with all your might to break it down. The pain you've endured from strain alone had been another reason preventing you from leaving. It had taken you nearly thirty years to do so, and while you had succeeded in overpowering G.R.E.G.O.R.Y, even then you had slipped into unconsciousness, your abilities returning momentarily to your quarters.

Waking up to muffled voices and someone reading down your door was scary enough, but with the excitement gone, the question remained. How had he broken down the door?

"The door," you said, your voice quiet. "How?"

"How'd I...? You mean last night?" He clarified, seeming surprised. You nodded. "Diego didn't tell you about us?"

There it was again. The look of puzzlement written on your face as you tilted your head, completely in the dark. What else, other than his father and your capture-which Luther was fairly positive you wouldn't want to talk about, even if it was with Diego-was there to talk about? Nevertheless, he shrugged it off.

"Well," he began. "We're like you. All of us. We have," he gestured vaguely, looking for the right word. "abilities. Something that makes us special."

You took a moment to think about this.

"And your... special?"

Luther tilted his head.

"What is your special?" You asked again, and only then he realized what you were saying.

"Super strength," he clarified, deciding it better to sum it up. You figured as much but you couldn't be too sure with how little you knew of others and the outside world. He nodded towards you. "And you? If you don't mind me asking, you can-"

"Gravity manipulation," you said, something deep inside making your stomach twist. You hated when He obsessed over your special, of course, that's all he did when he visited you. Testing you, testing your limits, making sure you were kept in check. Despite the lengths he went to hide you and your special, he sure seemed fascinated with it. "...that's what He called it." You clarified, your voice smaller than ever.

You tried to remind yourself that he was gone and you were free. But look how hard it was for you to leave. Look how much he had burrowed himself into your mind.

Luther seemed to be thinking judging by the look on his face. And for several moments, he didn't say anything. You began to wonder if you should have said anything at all. But finally, he spoke, breaking the small silence before it even got to bloom.

"So what does that mean exactly? You can change gravity, right?" He asked, now clearly trying to pass the time with conversation. At least, you assumed so. It was hard to read people sometimes.

You could barely believe it when it happened, but you nearly laughed when he asked. You didn't. But you felt the urge and it was strange.

"What?" Luther asked, with a funny look on his face. Did he look... amused? It took you a moment to realize why. While you might not have laughed, the corner of your lips had gradually inched upwards at his comment without your knowledge into the smallest of smiles.

He was smiling now too, laughing at the sudden tone change and relief. Most of the tension was quickly melting away, the ice finally breaking.

"What?" He asked again, and your smile grew. Specifically, at the unprompted recollection of Diego's comment the other night. What are you looking at? She can flip the world on its ass, and what can you do? Besides open a really big jar? You weren't quite sure what triggered the memory; perhaps it was because you were feeling slightly more relaxed around Luther. Or just relaxed in general. But you knew now of course what he had been referring to.

And this time, you did laugh.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

I

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