a.n. i altered what happened to agnes at griddy's a bit so the timeline would match up a little better and give you and diego more time ;)

☂︎ 𝔱𝔰𝔲 | ❛ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏɪʟᴇʀ ʀᴏᴏᴍ ❜

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

𝐓𝐎 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑, the boiler room in the back of the Fighting Lion was just that; a boiler room. Just a simple storage place meshed in with the building's heating systems. But to Diego Hargreeves, it was home.

He had found the place years ago, got a job working for a man named Al in exchange for room space and the rest was history. The setup wasn't half bad: sure it wasn't the cleanest, it didn't exactly have conventional heating but it never needed it. The actual boilers and its tangles of pipes tucked away in the back gave off more than enough to stay comfortable. It even had a sink on the far left wall next to a mini-fridge he had purchased.

He hadn't much to offer but he figured it was something; his small corner of the world. Diego was proud of it, be he was nervous.

Would you like it? Diego wasn't exactly sure what to do or say when you two stepped inside. He didn't realize until now, it was roughly the size of the room he and his siblings had found you in. Only thing was, it felt a bit smaller because, unlike that room, this one was full of furniture, pictures frames, and old posters littered the walls making it seem just a little more cramped.

So here he stood with you, on the small platform, watching you out of the side of his eye as your gaze took you around the room. He half expected you to back out but he was surprised, to say the least, you looked almost... excited?

The truth was it had reminded you of the room you had spent your whole life in, but at the same time, it was the farthest thing from it. It was dark and a little bit grimy, the brick walls were chipped and uneven and the few lights that flickered on were ill-lit and yellowing. Dust hung in the air, filled with all sorts of smells: coffee beans, day-old laundry, and a hint of something you didn't immediately recognize to be cologne.

It was so unlike the suffocatingly sterile white walls that had surrounded you; all those years living in a bubble lacking stimulation. Actual things were laying around to touch and interact with, real things, not just stuff on a screen to learn about. It wasn't open and lonely, it was cramped and lived in. When you looked around the boiler room, you began to smile a little.

You wouldn't mind it here.

"You...like it?" Diego asked, sounding a bit unsure.

He watched as you finally tore your eyes away from the rest of the room and looked at him, relieved. You nodded.

He gave your hand another squeeze and guided you inside, the door closing behind you.

Diego follows your lead down the stone steps, pulling the black gloves that had been on his hands for most of the day, and takes a brief look around.

You were trailing the walls, your fingers tracing the shelves as you took it all in. The clinking of bowls brought your attention to Diego. He was standing at the sink, tidying up the stray dishes when he heard you yawn.

You were unmistakeably tired. He had thought you looked it when you two piled into his car, the way your head was propped against the window as your body swayed with every bump. Diego approached the nearest pillar to the door, his back to you as he opened one of his dresser drawers and began rummaging through.

"You can have my bed," he says. "I can take the floor. It's not the best mattress in the world but, I'd imagine it's better than whatever you had back there. No..." Diego trailed off. "...offense."

Having plucked a clean pair of sweatpants and an old sweatshirt, he closed the drawer and turned to find you already burrowed into said mattress. Your head sunk into his pillow, the scent reminding you of his car. He smiled a little, once again stuffing down the smallest hint of a flutter in his stomach.

A sharp crackle of static cuts the silence in half. Both pairs of eyes snap to the walkie Diego had placed on the table. Through the veil of static, the two of you hear a voice, cutting in and out.

"... reported... on the 400 block, M ...venue. Griddy's Doughnuts."

'Shit,'

Still fighting hard against sleep, your eyes flutter open to peer up at Diego. He hadn't realized he had said that out loud.

"It's work," he says in response to your confused frown.

His eyes flicker to the door and then back at you. Should he really leave you? By the looks of it, you were trying hard not to fall asleep, anyways. Torn, he looks back to the walkie in his hands.

"Leaving?"

The tone of your voice alone was enough for him to want to stay, but he had already realized something... the piece of eyewear he still had concealed in his pockets. He needed to get rid of it, and you needed to be far away when he did. Luther didn't need another reason to be suspicious of you.

He heaves a regretful sigh as he clothes the walkie in anger. He strides a few paces over to your bedside and tosses the pair of clothes at the end of the bed.

"If those aren't a comfortable fit, there's some clothes in the lost and found." Before you could ask what that was, Diego paused and corrected himself. "Al will know what that is. He'll help you if you need anything, remember he's nothing to worry about."

Diego began pacing the room, packing up as he spoke.

"Bathroom is down the hall, food and water are here in this thing here," he opened and closed the mini-fridge and turned the sink on and off. "And uh, that's about it."

Diego stopped at the door and sighed again at the thought of leaving you. What had gotten into him?

"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."

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

"Pogo!"

"Guys, he's over here!"

"Pogo, you all right?"

The two remaining siblings converge at the stairwell when they hear Luther's voice. Pogo was shuffling in from the far left of the living room-(how? Luther half-wondered, he had passed through there only moments ago)-a relieved look flashing over his face when he saw everyone safe.

"I'm alright. Thank you, Miss Allison," he sighs, a tired smile on his face. He looks between all three of them now where he stands with them in the foyer. "I should be asking you three the same thing." A worried look flickered in his eyes. He had seen Vanya off, but as far as Pogo knew, the others were still there. "Where are your brothers?"

"The old man ditched us-missed all the fun," Klaus breathed, still a bit out of breath from running and beginning to lose to his high. "And Diego-well he..."

Klaus trailed off, eyeing his brother and sister knowingly, not quite sure how to begin. Neither of them knew how it would seem. That was until...

"Did you know?" Luther blurts.

Pogo blinks up at the man, readjusting the grip in his cane.

"Know what, dear boy?"

Klaus and Allison share a look behind Luther.

"Last night. We found what was at the bottom of the elevator shaft. We found what was causing the tremors."

The expression on Pogo's face was unreadable.

"We found a woman, Pogo," Luther says, sounding wounded. "She's like us, she's... gifted. And Dad kept her there. For years. Locked up, our whole lives."

A million emotions flashed across Pogo's face at once before finally, he settled his sullen gaze on the hardwood floors.

"You were his closest confidant..." Luther tries again, but Pogo says nothing. Finally, Luther swallows a nervous gulp at what he says next, his voice pleading. "Tell me you knew nothing about this, Pogo,"

When Pogo finally returns his gaze upon those he had always considered like children, his eyes were glassy and far away. He looked like he was burying something deep down, something Luther felt himself doing when he first heard the news.

"Your father kept many secrets," he began, shaking his head. "Even from me, I'm afraid,"

Luther's shoulder sink to the floor. He didn't know what he had been expecting-or hoping, for that matter. On one hand, he was relieved. But he was torn at the lack of answers. Above all, Luther felt lost. He was beginning to realize he might not know his father after all.

Pogo shifted under Allison's gaze, and he finally cleared his throat.

"Is she alright?"

"She's with Diego," Allison answers carefully, unable to shake the lingering itch in the back of her mind. "She's fine... She trusts him."

"Good," He nods. "Good. And the lift? You say she was kept somewhere? All these years? How?"

"Well, she had this..." Klaus made wide, very vague gestures with his hands before giving up altogether and scratching a spot behind his ear. "wh-well this-she kinda had her own Grace. Only, she didn't...?"

"An AI," Luther clarifies. "She said his name was Gregory. We think it kept her alive all these years. We also think he kept her contained. Like... counteracted her powers and caused all those earthquakes somehow."

Pogo looked even more confused.

"How did she escape?"

"She must have worn him down," Allison says, shaking her head and shrugging. "I mean, all those years, with nothing to do but get stronger..."

"And this G.R.E.G.O.R.Y," Pogo says. "He is fully inoperable now?"

Confusion flies across Luther's face. "Yeah... Why, does it matter?"

Something flashed in his eyes, something they can't quite identify. "It doesn't," Pogo said finally. "It doesn't matter," Nevertheless, it only agitated the itch Allison had and left her uneasy. There was something Pogo wasn't telling them.

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

The steady beeping of Five Hargreeve's bloodied, carved-out tracker remained unnoticed; swallowed by the sirens flooding the scene of the crime. Griddy's Doughnuts.

"This is a once in a blue moon type of situation, I'd say,"

The detective, Eudora Patch weaves through the tables littered with bodies, a quizzical look in her eye.

"I'm inclined to agree," her partner sighs.

"Same gun on every vic, all M4s." She determines. "All the casings are .223s."

With a mischievous smirk, she peeks up the body on the counter, eyeing her partner. "You know what I think? I think these idiots all shot each other,"

Her partner breathes a light chuckle, not quite believing it. "And stabbed," he says sarcastically, leading her around the other victims. "One in the throat, one in the eye, and this guy got his neck snapped. All quick and efficient kills."

He joins her on the floor where she's knelt, said victim with his neck snapped laying motionless between them.

"These guys were definitely professionals," Patch concurs. "Dumb, but professionals."

With a bitter laugh, he nods and they rise back to their feet.

"Any witnesses?"

"Yes," he answers, pointing across the diner to a waitress in a pink uniform. "One. It happened during her shift."

"Well, that's lousy luck,"

Patch takes in a deep breath, preparing herself for the worst, as she always did. It was perfectly normal for witnesses to be distraught-expected even-she just hoped she could get some clear answers and hopefully not ruin this woman's night any more than it already had been.

"Ma'am?" The woman looked up as she approached the table, too upset to offer a smile even though she had clearly tried. "I'm Detective Patch."

"Hi," she nods. "Agnes. Agnes Rofa. Oh, I don't know, did you want a last name?" She fumbles, clearly nervous.

"I'll take it if you'll give it," Patch smiles, grabbing a seat. "Did you see what happened here?"

Agnes sighs. "No, not exactly," she admits.

Patch shrugs, patiently. "Let's start at the top,"

"Well, it was-- it was a slow night. It was quiet. My last two customers were this... older guy and-- his kid."

The man just looked at her, not knowing what to make of the situation. She returned her attention to Five and plastered all over his face was the cheesiest and widest grin he could possibly exaggerate until she left. It seemed to do the trick as her smile quickly fell and she retreated into the shelves and got to work on the coffee.

"The guy had a dough--" Agnes shook her head suddenly. "No, that's not right,"

His hand dove into his pocket fishing for his wallet just as she made her rounds with a cup of coffee and bagged pastry. The man passed her a ten and a polite smile. "I got his."

"The guy had an éclair, and the kid had-- had coffee,"

Patch frowned at the unusual detail, but not without making note. As unusual as it was, it was good. Unusual was helpful.

"I went-- I went into the back room..."

Agnes thumbs the bills from the register as the door swings shut behind her, her feet mindlessly carrying her around the desk without ever looking up as she had done a thousand times.

"um, to just get some more change,"

Bending around the desk, she fishes through the drawer and switches outright bills when she hears it.

"But then I heard his truck start up,"

The engine roared loud to life as she reached the window, her thin fingers peeling open the curtains to reveal the deep azure of his truck.

"They drove away."

Shrugging it off, Agnes returns to her counter and heads for the partition door.

"I heard shots,"

Agnes jumped away from the door, pulling it closed behind her to the best of her ability. The desk. She needed to take cover.

"I tried to duck for cover, but," she gestured to the butterfly bandage on her head. "I fell and hit my head. I don't know how long I was out for..."

But she had been so frightened to have heard it, so eager to dive for the desk her foot had hooked on the floor and sent her tumbling. She had hit her head on the desk, thankfully not enough to do too much damage but it had knocked her out. At the very least, with her out cold on the floor she had managed to avoid the line of fire.

"twenty-five, maybe thirty minutes? I'm not sure, but by the time I got back in here..." Agnes trails off, her voice hoarse. "everyone was..." she shuddered, and gave a sniffle, trying to be strong. "...was, you know..."

Patch quickly nods.

"Was there anyone else in the shop?" she asks gently.

"No, I-I don't think so," she answers honestly. She then places her hand out on the table gently. "I'm sorry, not to be rude, 'cause you seem super sweet, but..." Agnes sighs. "...do I have to go through all this again?"

"Again?"

"Well, I already told the other detective everything."

Patch's face falls into a sour frown and she asks the question she fears she already knows.

"What other detective?"

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

Slinking out of the shadows and the back door to Griddy's Doughnuts, came Diego, throwing a cautious glance over his shoulder. And right into the waiting hands of Eudora Patch.

"Shit," he hisses under his breath, throwing his hands up to his sides. "Hang on, let me expl-ngngngngngngngng"

Diego collapsed to the ground, convulsing as Patch pocketed her taser.

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

"You don't talk to my witnesses, understand?" Patch seethes, securing the cuffs around Diego's wrists.

He winced against the metal pinching his wrists. Despite the cool breeze hitting his skin as she leads him across the lot to the squad car, sweat begins to bead on his brow as panic sets in.

"Look, I know what this looks like, but I can explain,"

He had no fear of custody, or law enforcement, not exactly. He was quite familiar with it, in fact.

"Oh, I can't wait to hear it in questioning,"

It was the fact he would now be breaking a very, very important thing: Someone's trust.

"No, no, Eudora, come on,"

Her grip on his elbow tightens. "Don't call me that!"

"Fine, Detective Patch. Whatever, just--" his tracks slow significantly compared to hers, his heels practically skidding on the pavement in an attempt to slow her down. When she reluctantly does, she's surprised by the desperation in him. The sincerity. "Seriously, Patch. Please. Someone is waiting for me. She needs me, I promised her I'd be back, she trusts me."

Patch had to admit, even if it was to herself, that in all the years she knew him, Diego rarely showed this color. She surprised herself when the single, fleeting, half-formed thought of letting him slip by came to mind. But she dismissed it just as quick, not fighting very hard to keep the sympathetic look out of her eyes.

"You should have thought about that before you interfered with my investigation, Spandex,"

"It's leather," he huffed. "and she could be in trouble."

Patch stopped them again, a tired expression taking over her features as she looked over at him. "Could be in danger or is in danger? We can send someone out if you believe someone is in need of assistance, but if not...?"

Her eyes land questioningly on Diego and for a long moment he looks her in the eye. He knew she had him cornered.

"Thought so," she clicked her tongue.

Truth was, Diego had no idea. He had no idea if you were okay, still tucked away in his sheets fast asleep, or if you were wide awake by now, wondering where he was. Or if you were even still there. His stomach drops at the thought, but before he can come up with another protest, Patch is already searching him.

First, she finds the walkie. "I'm confiscating this,"

In a bitter attempt at a fight, he tries in every way to annoy her.

"Military surplus," he snarks. "practically giving them away."

A badge. "and this,"

"No skin, super cheap, bought it on eBay,"

And a very familiar, very worn, domino mask. "That you can keep,"

"You used to like that," he remarks as she tucks it back away into his coat pocket.

"Not anymore,"

He feels the grip on his arm tighten again and once again he's led through the lot. The two of them are ducked under a line of police tape and his stomach sinks further upon the sight of the squad car.

"By the way, this thing might look like a botched robbery," he begins, growing desperate. "but my gut's telling me something else is going on here. Look, the waitress, she mentioned that Ishmael's Tow Truck guy."

He's jerked to a stop when they reach the car, his arms yanked around to face Patch.

"Maybe they saw something." he continues, and he perks hopefully. "Maybe I can help?"

"You're not police, Diego, remember?"

A bitter smirk takes up his face as she lowers him into the back seat, his tongue darting across his bottom lip.

"Yeah. I know."

"Do you? Because you sure do act like you can be a part of this," she slams the door shut. "And you can't. Not anymore.

"Just give me a chance," he urges. "I'm good at this. You know I can help you."

She rolls her eyes. "I know you give me agita. And I do not need--" she laughs. "I do not want your help. Okay?"

Diego watches as her smirk falls away, leaving behind a near untraceable sympathetic smile. "Good luck with your friend, Diego. I really mean that."

The next thing he knew, Patch was growing smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, and Diego's chin fell to his chest in a sigh.

He thought of you again. Praying to whatever all-knowing force in the universe he would make it back in time, and you'd be fine. You'd been left alone your entire life, he shouldn't have taken any chances. Diego knew that now.

At least, he thought, at the very very least... he had finally disposed of his father's monocle.

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

I REMIND YOU TO BE CAUTIOUS OF ALL RESOURCES YOU FIND REGARDING AIDING THE UKRAINE--IF YOU SUSPECT ME OR ANYONE YOU KNOW HAS OVERLOOKED SOMETHING THEY ARE SPREADING, MAKE IT KNOWN!

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