faye_dartmouth (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
faye_dartmouth) wrote2019-12-23 03:07 pm
faye_dartmouth) wrote2019-12-23 03:07 pm
Entry tags:
Umbrella Academy fic: Thicker Than Blood (7/13)
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
-o-
For Diego, the news that he could hold his breath for as long as necessary seemed like an obvious conclusion that he should have seen coming.
Everyone else, by contrast, was stunned
Diego tried to be understanding about that -- shit in this family could be weird, and everyone had their own tolerance levels -- but he had to admit that it seemed a bit over the top. No one had balked when it turned out Vanya -- ordinary Vanya -- was superpowered. Everyone had taken it in stride when Klaus could do new shit like levitate. Five’s growing ability to transport people when he jumped didn’t even merit curiosity.
And yet, they were all so surprised with Diego.
Like Diego wasn’t supposed to be powerful.
Or, at the very least, like Diego wasn’t supposed to be full of surprises.
Whatever the case might have been, Diego humored them as best he could while trying to redirect their focus back to the things that mattered.
Like logistics.
That was what Luther had said the meeting with Allison would be about, and Diego had agreed on that pretense. About 10 minutes in, and all the two could do was ask Diego about how his training was going.
“And you really don’t feel anything?” Allison asked. “Not a tickle? No pressure?”
Diego strove to be patient, but it was getting hard. “I told you: nothing. It feels normal.”
“For how long now?” Luther asked. “What’s your best time?”
“30 minutes,” Diego reported, not for the first time. “I could have done more but staying under there just go so boring.”
Luther chuckled.
Allison shook her head, enthralled by the notion. “We should do metabolic tests,” she said. “Have Mom examine your lungs for signs of irregularities.”
“What does it matter?” Diego asked. “We’ve never looked at your vocal cords to see why you can alter reality with a mere suggestion.”
“I know, but you may never have to breath at all,” Allison said. “Do you even process air? What happens to the CO2 in your system?
“What? Did you really pay attention during our science tutoring?” Diego asked.
“Aren’t you curious?” Allison asked. “I mean, what this could mean…”
Diego shook his head abruptly because that was the last thing he was curious about. In fact, that was the last thing he wanted. He didn’t want to know what any of this meant. He didn’t even want to speculate. If he was given the option, he’d hold his breath forever if that meant he didn’t have to think about the crazy guy and the passcode.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t being given the option.
“Look, I don’t know what it means,” he said. “But I also don’t know what anything about this case means. You guys were the ones who had the idea. We have to be ready for what happens next, right? Isn’t that why we’re here?”
He gestured around to the security office where Luther had called this meeting.
Luther took this as his cue to reassert his control of the meeting. Luther was nothing if not a predictable Number One. “Right,” he said. “We do have to be ready. Which is why I wanted to talk through some ideas I had about logistics.”
Allison seemed reluctant to change the topic, but she had always been deferential when Luther was involved. “Right,” she said. “I assume we’ve been running the security feeds again?”
“Started up when we got back,” Luther reported. “I did shift the cameras around.”
“Probably good,” Diego said. “Because I couldn’t do anything about Dad creeping on us, but I’m pretty sure I’m not going to allow it from you.”
Luther didn’t rise to any bait. “We positioned the cameras at key entrances and exits.”
“There are so many, though,” Allison said. “I honestly don’t even know how Dad monitored this whole place.”
“He probably didn’t, the bastard,” Diego said. “He was never actually focused on crime. He was just breeding us to save the world.”
“Which worked, by the way,” Luther said. Allison gave him a look and he amended his statement. “I’m not saying his methods were right or anything, but they did have some success. That’s actually why I wanted to talk to you. I found some of Dad’s old notes, some of his logistical frameworks.”
Luther lifted a file, stuffed with papers. He put it down on the counter between them all.
Diego couldn’t quite bring himself to touch it, but he also couldn’t look away as Allison opened it.
Shit, Diego thought as he saw the old man’s scrawl. It really never did get easier. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably.
Allison didn’t seem to notice, starting to sort through the papers. “These are really outdated,” she said. “I mean, we were kids. And I know some of the equipment has to be so antiquated. Would it have killed him to get WiFi?”
“Oh, I agree,” Luther said. “We need technical upgrades, but the overall framework is worth a second look. He had an impressive system for tracking calls and sorting through which ones were important. And his ideas about response logistics -- I don’t think those need any improvements.”
Allison nodded, still flipping through the pages. “We need to make sure we all know the details, though,” she said. “That was a huge problem with Dad. He never thought we needed to know everything.”
“I was hoping to make up new copies and print them out for everyone,” Luther said, sounding a little proud of himself. For coming up with the idea, maybe. For gaining Allison’s approval, likely.
“Well, we get some technical upgrades, and maybe you can email us,” she said. “Or even text us. Put it on the cloud.”
“Well, a secure cloud,” Diego interjected, almost without meaning to. He had been willing to follow Luther’s lead her, but he always did have the impulse to help. No, that wasn’t true. He had the impulse to do better most of the time. This time, he had the impulse to help. Like, well and truly help. A team player. He shook his heat to clear it. “And I mean, I know some guys.”
Luther looked interested. It was Allison who was skeptical. “You know some guys? That sounds sketchy.”
Diego rolled his eyes but allowed it. “Like, legit guys,” he said. “I know all the people who manage stuff for the cops. Trusted contractors. They can do Wifi, security systems, cameras, in-house wiring -- all that stuff.”
Allison’s skepticism had died away. Luther looked wholly interested.
That was a different sort of feeling.
His siblings agreed with him.
Who would have guessed.
“I can talk to my friend at the precinct, get some names,” he said. “We’ll get this place up to date in no time.”
“Great,” Luther said. “I’ll update the overview.”
“And you know, Dad also knew that the only way we’d survive without interference from the law was to cultivate a good image,” she said. “We can’t just show up and continue to expect to hide. I mean, not without consequences. We got lucky with Diego and Five -- we might not get lucky again.”
“What, you think we need some PR?” Diego said. “I didn’t think the Umbrella Academy was back.”
“It’s not -- at least not officially,” Allison said. “But we need to start talking to our contacts in the police department. Make new contacts with the press. Because the next time we’re out there, I’m not sure we can avoid but going public.”
“I don’t know anything about PR,” Luther confessed.
Diego held up his hands. “I can give the cops a heads up, but publicity isn’t my thing. I work in the shadows.”
Allison rolled her eyes but with some good nature. “Fortunately, I do know a thing or two about PR,” she said. “And I’ve never done anything in the shadows.”
That sounded right.
No, it sounded pretty good.
Like, a plan. That was what it sounded like. A plan.
Here they were, training, testing, developing contingencies.
Almost like a real team.
“You know, I do have one other suggestion,” Diego said. “About how to monitor the situation. I mean, Pogo’s got his feelers out on Dad’s accounts, and we’ll up the security, but we still need access to real time information about the city.”
“Like what?” Luther asked.
Diego cocked his head, smirking a little. It was such a good idea that it was almost like this had been the real plan all along. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe a police scanner?”
-o-
It was surprisingly easy to move the police scanner. He might have expected it to be an awkward process, but since he’d literally fooled no one with his nighttime antics, it wasn’t like it was a big revelation that he had one.
What was a revelation, to all of them, really, was how he gave it up so easily for the family.
He didn’t hesitate.
He didn’t balk.
He just unplugged the thing, marched it to the security room and plunked it down.
“Great,” he said. “Now who wants first shift?”
-o-
For the record, Diego did not take first shift. And no, he didn’t take extra shifts. Yes, he allowed for downtimes In fact, his entire response was entirely measured and sane, okay?
Diego was learning, you see.
The difference between doing what you want and doing what other people need.
The difference of family.
-o-
For the record, Diego was doing awesome with this family thing. He was. And he was a willing team player, doing what needed to be done. He trained with Vanya and Klaus. He talked security with Allison and Luther. He sat up manning the police scanner on his scheduled shifts. He checked in with Pogo about any other potential intelligence breeches.
His siblings thought that that was all shit he liked. And Diego did like it, he did.
But they weren’t his favorite thing.
No, his favorite thing, as it turned out, was strategy.
Now, this was a surprise to Diego. In truth, he had never been much for strategy. Sure, he knew the best way to win a fight, but that wasn’t the kind of strategy they were talking about here. They were talking about the long game. About the odds. About strategic weaknesses and strengths. They weren’t trying to win a fight like most of Diego’s job.
No, this time they were trying to win a war.
The war for their family’s safety.
And damn it, Diego was good at it.
It occurred to him sometimes that maybe he would have known this if he had bothered to be a team player at any point in his life.
But that was a bit too much self reflection.
All he wanted to do was enjoy it.
The last few days had been shitty.
The last few months had been shitty.
So he could indulge himself on this one.
Besides, this was what his family needed.
At least, that was what Five had said when he summoned Diego at 6:30 AM for a strategic planning meeting in the kitchen. He found Five dressed and pouring himself a cup of coffee, Ben perched in one of the chairs as only a ghost can do. Diego glanced around, noting that no one else appeared to be up.
At 6:30, there wasn’t likely to be anyone else up.
“This is kind of small meeting,” Diego observed. He followed Five up at the coffee pot only to find it empty. He settled for some juice instead.
Five sat down indifferently. “That’s intentional,” he said. “The last time I tried to talk strategy with Klaus, he staged a runway show.”
Ben nodded in commiseration.
Diego made a face, taking a seat across from Five. “What about Allison and Luther?”
“Neither can follow my math,” Five said.
Diego wrinkled his nose. “I can’t follow your math either.”
“I know,” Five said. “But you’re too proud not to nod along. They always stop and ask for tedious explanations, and I don’t have the patience.”
“Besides, we’re playing to our strengths,” Ben suggested. “It’s the advantage of working on a team.”
The advantage of a team. What a novel concept.
Diego inclined his head and took a drink. “Okay,” he said. “So what’s our strategy?”
“Well, I know we’ve discussed things at length with the family and come up with plenty of ideas,” Five said, clearly eager to continue. This was one reason he and Five got along: they both liked to get to the point. “But speculation isn’t going to help us. We need to clearly identify the links between the events in order to extrapolate anything.”
“But you said it yourself,” Ben said. “We’ve already tried.”
“We can’t just talk about feelings,” Five said. “We have to thoroughly examine the statistical relevance of all the details. We have to chart the important events and then analyze each event in relation to the rest. Then we can derive statistical importance of the events and devise a probability model.”
And that was why he and Five didn’t always get along: Five thought about things way too much.
However, Five had also willingly died on Diego’s behalf, and Five was right: Diego was too proud to admit his own stupidity. So he nodded along. And then he did one better, because he didn’t know shit about statistics, but he still knew the gist of what Five was saying. That was more than enough to agree. “Five’s right,” he said. “If we can figure out the important links between the mall attack and the Highland attack, then we should be able to start figuring out who this guy is, what he wants.”
Ben, as was his habit, was still unconvinced. “But we don’t even know where to start,” he said. “I mean, we still don’t know which event was the actual thing. Was the mall the target? Or was it us? Until we figure out that, we can’t know anything about the psychology of this guy -- or these people. He’s not working alone.”
Five shook his head dismissively. “The odds say the target has to be us. To break into the house on Highland with the level of protections there? I said it that night: that kind of thing cannot be a coincidence. The numbers don’t support that theory.”
Ben, though polite and more mild manner, was not deterred. “But the attack on the mall -- that was massive. I mean, the sheer size of that attack isn’t something that is undertaken lightly. It can’t be a whim. To think that’s a prelude…”
Diego made a small noise of discontent. “You didn’t talk to this guy,” he said. “He was certifiable. Five’s theory that the attack on the family is the main point -- I mean, I’d buy it.”
“But what does that say about this guy then?” Ben asked, sounding increasingly disconcerted. “If he’s willing to commit mass murder to get our attention?”
The implication was grave. “Nothing good,” Five said. “He’s made it clear that the stakes are high, and his next play could be worse. In fact, I’ve done the math on this one, his next move probably will be worse.”
“But are you accounting for the narrowing of his focus?” Ben shot back. “For a huge opening attack, the second one was so personal. If the first attack was just to show what he was capable of, then maybe he’ll continue to play directly to us. Use the first attack as leverage to get us to respond to any demands.”
“But what demands?” Five said. “He didn’t leave demands.”
“It’s a way to soften us up,” Ben said. “It fits with psychological theory.”
Five shook his head contrarily. “No, the probability doesn’t support that conclusion.”
“But you act like the probability charts for emotional responses is proven fact,” Ben argued. “It’s not quantifiable science.”
“The charts I’m working with have been used in countless contexts,” Five said.
“What? At the Commission? For murder?” Ben asked, now sounding a touch incredulous.
Five, in return, looked perturbed. “Why would that be an improper application in this context? We have already established that this man, whoever he is, is fully capable of murder. If anything, my probability charts apply to him more than most.”
“I just don’t think we can afford to be reductive--”
“And I don’t think we can afford to be indecisive,” Five said. “If you want to discuss the validity of the probability model--”
Diego shook his head, holding up his hand to interject. Ben and Five could go at it often -- and it wasn’t that Diego couldn’t get up. He understood what they were saying. But they failed to remember the actual point while they wiled away in theoretical circles. “The thing we all agree on,” he said, seamlessly positioning his voice between them. “Is that this guy will strike again. You both have your theories. So, let’s play the game. Take the models to the next level. Where will he hit?”
Ben and Five, though animated in their discussion, were amenable to input. In fact, Diego would reflect, they could be surprisingly open minded. He had never noticed that before. Probably because he’d never tried to engage them on this level before, but he was learning a lot of shit this week.
Five inclined his head to Ben, who gathered a breath to go first. “If you consider the emotional responses involved, it’s not unreasonable that he’ll strike as close as he can to us,” he explained. He frowned with a shrug. “The mansion, maybe.”
“Psychologically, it may fit,” Five said. “But to what end? There has to be a logistical gain. The attack on Highland wasn’t just emotional. He did make off with weapons -- in fact, you could argue that what he stole from Highland is worth more than anything he could salvage from the mansion.”
“But you’re making an assumption that the weapons were for monetary gain,” Diego said. “I talked to this guy. He didn’t have to play the game like he played it. It’s personal.”
“Sure, but he still took the gun. If he wanted to play a game, then he would have played a game,” Five said. “Why take millions in weapons if you didn’t have a reason for it? The attack would have been just as effect without that theft.”
“Maybe it was an afterthought,” Ben suggested. “A play when they couldn’t pull off the kill.”
“But did they want to kill us?” Five asked. “This guy could have. Easily. Why go through the trouble of setting a bomb that can be disarmed? If this was about killing us, then this guy is an idiot, and nothing about his actions suggests an actual lack of intelligence.”
Diego shrugged, wrapping his hands thoughtfully around his juice glass. “Well, he did try to drive us off the road,” he said. He met Five’s eyes. “That was kind of out there, straight up attempted murder.”
Five, to his credit, didn’t flinch. The guy drowned a week ago, and he acted like it was no big deal. His chest was still bruised and sore, but Diego had gotten the distinct impression that this wasn’t the first time Five had been roughed up.
That was mildly encouraging, maybe.
And really not encouraging, probably.
Diego couldn’t be sure.
Five appeared to be having no such compunction. He tapped his fingers on his coffee cup. “That is a point I’ve had trouble reconciling,” he admitted. “It’s utterly inconsistent. Why give us everything to ensure our escape if you’re just going to try to kill us within minutes? The bomb would be a much more effective means of dispatching us. The car in the river is prone to unknown variables. It’s sloppy. Nothing like the calculated and sophisticated attacks on the mall or Highland.”
“But you said it yourself,” Ben pushed. “Personal factors are rarely going to be applied logically.”
“Yes,” Five said, face screwed up in concentration. “But the unpredictable application can still be computationally understood. With a probability model advanced enough, you should be able to discern the reasons behind the actions.”
Diego shook his head, unwilling to follow them into an argument that got too minutely technical. “There aren’t reasons, though,” he said, still feeling the tightness in his chest. He forced himself to remember to breathe. “I mean, the shit this guy did? There aren’t reasons. There are emotions. You don’t do the shit this guy did without emotions.”
The line of thought seemed to derail Five, who looked both vexed and skeptical all at once. For all that Five was good with logic and numbers, the idea of something less quantifiable was harder for him to reconcile. Five’s always been bad with emotions, and 13 or 58, it seemed like that hadn’t changed.
And, for the record, it wasn’t the criminal’s emotions that were vexing him now.
It was Diego’s.
The rawness, the breathlessness of his voice.
This wasn’t just personal for some nameless criminal.
This was personal for Diego.
For all that Five was taken aback, Ben merely nodded along. He seemed almost grateful that the conversation had finally turned. “Exactly,” Ben said. “We have to look at this as both an elaborate plan and an emotional impulse. I mean, what if for all this guy planned and worked -- he just got overwhelmed? All his hard work and he lost control at the end?”
Critically, Five was still not quite persuaded. “Possibly,” he said with the barest notion of a concession. “But it could also be that this guy, whoever he is, still knows a lot more about us than we know about him. We could still be underestimating him.”
This time, Ben’s expression was less diplomatic. “No way,” he said. “Diego didn’t even know he could do that.”
“So?” Five said. “You’re making linear and altogether limited assumptions.”
They were talking about him now; like, really talking about him. “No,” he said flatly. “I mean, I’m with you, we need to assume nothing with this asshole, but the revelation of my power -- no one could know that. That’s not on the table.”
Diego should have presumed that the moment he expressed confidence, Five would hunker down on skepticism. Was this because Five was a critical thinker? Maybe. Was this because Five was an obstinate bastard? Definitely. “There was no way Dad should have known about the apocalypse, but he did. In fact, there were for people running around the present with full knowledge of an impending disaster. How is anything off the table?”
Diego made a face. “Well, then tell me your odds for time travel being involved,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Again.”
“I’ve run those numbers,” Five said. “Granted, it’s not likely, but the probability isn’t zero. Implausible is what you want to believe, but look at the facts. This guy, the one you saw in the basement, you said he talked like he knew you. Not us, not like another Harold Jenkines. But you. And what happened next? He conveniently tried to kill you in a way by which you could not actually die. You all agreed with me before, and it hasn’t changed now: coincidences in this family are unlikely.”
Diego felt like he’d been suckerpunched for some reason. The implication, that this guy not only targeted him, but targeted him with knowledge that extended beyond Diego’s own purview, was hard to swallow. It didn’t help that he had known the passcode.
How the hell could he know the passcode?
How the hell could he hold his breath indefinitely?
Who on earth was this guy?
As if sensing Diego’s precarious mindset, Ben hedged himself into the conversation once more. “I don’t know, that’s a stretch, Five. Even for you.”
Five looked somewhat perturbed, but with a glance at Diego, he seemed to think better of further disagreement. Five struggled with human interaction, but he wasn’t incapable of it. He didn’t show love in any traditional way, but Diego found himself feeling grateful. He was all for strategy and he liked talking in real, concrete ways. This was veering off into speculation, however. Uncomfortable speculation.
There was a reason Diego ran around at night to do his job.
He didn’t like facing things in the light.
Diego wasn’t scared of anything, it seemed. Anything but the truth about himself.
That wasn’t cowardly. It wasn’t. It was a normal human response to extraordinary circumstances and Diego would kick anyone’s ass who thought differently.
“Maybe,” Five muttered, shaking his head distractedly. “I’ll have to run a few more probability scenarios. We can reconvene in a few days.”
Ben nodded like this was actually some kind of good idea. “I think we should keep this between us for now, though,” he said. “This is more speculative than I’d like. If we tell them, we’re going to freak people out.”
Five shrugged. “Fine,” he said. “This can be need to know.”
“Great,” Ben said. “I’m going to run a few more psychological profiles on this guy. If you think of anything else, any other details, let us know.”
He said this to Diego, earnest and emphatic.
Diego mustered up a small smile in response. “I will,” he said. “If I think of anything.”
Yeah, that shit was a lie.
But Five had already flashed out of the room, and Ben has dissipated, so there was no one left to call him on it.
-o-
Living in the mansion had always been a thing. It was preoccupying; it was insulating. You forgot about the outside world, even when you were supposed to be trying to save it. That had been something Diego had never missed.
Of course, that was before the outside world included maniacs who knew him personally.
Still, when Beaman wanted to meet for lunch, Diego was a little relieved. He was looking forward to a conversation that didn’t have to do with mall bombings, crazy people who knew you personally, superpowers you didn’t know you had, or people drowning right in front of you. Anything would be a reprieve.
Still, it was hard to find much comfort in the stories of an overworked, overburdened police force and hints of a city in absolute disarray.
“But I’m sure I’m not telling you anything new,” Beaman said with a small chuckle after telling Diego about a string of pharmacy robberies in a neighborhood not far from the mansion. “I know you’ve always got your ear to the ground.”
Diego smiled humorlessly. “Well, I have been a little busy lately,” he said, suddenly envious and Allison’s ability to lie with ease and make everyone believe her. Diego had no way of sounding convincing, so he didn’t bother. He changed the subject instead. “It was nice to hear from you, though. I’m really glad you called to set this up.”
It was a smooth distraction.
But Beaman, annoyingly, wasn’t distracted at all. “Actually, I was surprised that I hadn’t heard from you by now.”
Diego should have been used to getting caught off guard, but there he was. Blinking dumbly and caught off guard. It was some consolation that there were no explosive and that no one was drowning, but still. He was pretty sure he looked like an idiot and the only thing he could do about it was ask, “What?”
Beaman leaned forward with a surreptitious look around. “That hit on Highland,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And it was, to Diego. But it shouldn’t have been to Beaman. “I mean, I know you were involved, man.”
He said it like it was a secret, but the very fact that he was saying it meant that it was a pisspoor secret. Accordingly, Diego fumbled for a reply. “What? No--”
Beaman leveled his gaze at him. “Diego,” he said, almost like he was insulted by Diego’s attempts to play dumb. And they were pretty bad so maybe he detective wasn’t far off. “It took some work, but I traced the ownership of the property back to a holding company with ties to your father’s estate. It’s circumstantial, which is why nothing has been subpoenaed yet, but I know you. That bomb not going off? That was you, right?”
Diego wasn’t blushing.
He wasn’t.
Adamant, he shook his head. “You know I don’t have any experience with bombs,” he said, not thinking about the fact that he had volunteered to disarm it in the first place. The fact that he’d been able to use his own birthday as a passcode as notwithstanding. “It’s a coincidence.”
He could practically feel Five glaring at him the moment he said it. Five and his damn probabilities. Diego and his willingness to believe him. Gullible at all the wrong times.
Beaman raised his eyebrows, looking skeptical. “A bomb that miraculously didn’t go off? In a house tied to your old man?” he asked. “Even if all that was circumstantial, this is you. Someone was looking out for the city that night, and I know it was you on the job.”
He said it was such confidence that Diego had to sit back. It was humbling; the kind of praise he would have craved a few weeks ago.
But Beaman didn’t know.
He didn’t know about the guy in the sub-basement and the weapons he stole. He didn’t know about the connection to the mall attack. He didn’t know that Diego had used his own birthday to diffuse the bomb. He didn’t know that Five had drowned on Diego’s behalf -- unnecessarily so.
Go figure, Diego was still holding his breath.
In a flush, Diego shook his head and averted his eyes. “There’s no job, Beaman,” he said. “I’m just a guy doing his best. Sometimes it works out.”
Sometimes it didn’t.
He didn’t have the heart to tell Beaman that he wasn’t sure which was true this time.
Beaman probably wouldn’t have heard him anyway. He shook his head, sitting back with a genuine smile on his face. “No, I know you,” he said. “I don’t know why it took me so long to see it. But you’re a hero, Diego. An actual hero. Mask and all.”
That was ridiculous.
Wasn’t it?
All that time Diego spent trying to get the cops to take him seriously? And now it was paying off? At the exact moment Diego didn’t know if he was really up to the job?
“Yeah, well,” he said, pursing his lips. “I don’t even know what that means.”
There were a lot of lies that could have worked, but that truth was pretty damn accurate, too.
Beaman shrugged coolly. “Well, for the city’s sake, I hope you figure it out again soon.”
It was too much. Diego ground his teeth together and rocked back in his chair at the bar. “Well, how are things with you anyway?” he asked. “You made things sound bad, but you weren’t very specific. Your caseload okay?”
This time, the distraction worked. Beaman huffed out some approximation of a laugh. “Man, things are shit.”
Diego could tell by the weariness in Beaman’s voice that it was an understatement. Things had gotten worse, and Diego had been cloistered in the mansion, talking strategy and training. He had been sure that stepping back from the job was the right thing for the family, but it was harder to reconcile with the clear needs in front of him. “I’m sorry,” he finally said.
Beaman sighed with a shrug. “It’s not like it’s your fault.”
There was a difference between blame and responsibility. Diego just wasn’t sure what the distinction was anymore. He set his lips soberly. “Still.”
“It is what it is,” Beaman said with a certain amount of resolved resignation. “No matter how many times you catch a criminal, there’s always another one that you miss. You can save people and three minutes later, they’re in danger from something else. I’m not sure it ever ends.”
Diego frowned. “It might,” he said, but his own words sounded weak, even to his own ears. He had never been one particularly inclined toward naive hope.
Beaman arched his eyebrows. “You offering to help again?”
Diego’s breath caught. All that time he’d spent sneaking around, and this was practically an invitation. All the years he’d spent wanting this job, and he couldn’t accept right now. Not when his family needed him first. “I can’t,” he said, and he met Beaman’s gaze sympathetically. “Right now, I just can’t.”
Not while the Umbrella Academy was still getting its footing. Not while Diego still didn’t know what it meant to hold his breath forever. Not when he could still see Five drowning every time he closed his eyes. Not when he could still feel his shaking fingers press a six digit passcode he had no business knowing. Not when family came first.
Beaman sighed again, nodding to himself.
Diego’s chest clenched with guilt. “It’s family, man. It’s complicated.”
“I get it,” Beaman said with a wan smile.
“No, it is,” Diego said, because it was a point he still grappled with himself. “A lot of shit has changed for us, and I can’t bail on them now.”
“I really get it, Diego, I do,” Beaman said, more earnestly this time. He shook his head, a little bemused. “I mean, the people, right? That’s what got to keep us going. For the people that matter. I know for a fact that every criminal I take off the streets makes the city safer for my mother. So, you know. It’s worth the work. It’s worth the risk. It’s worth it because the people we love are worth it.”
Shit, even Beaman got it better than he did. It was some implicit thing that everyone else in the world seemed to grasp and that Diego had to learn the hard way. Family, relationships: the things Diego had deemed expendable. He’d lost Patch. He’d nearly lost the world. He’d barely pulled Five back from the brink. It shouldn’t have to take losing them to understand that family was part of him. That had its drawbacks, sure. But it wasn’t all shit.
He just wished there was a way to do the job and do what his family needed. He wished he knew how to make it all reconcile as seamlessly as everyone else.
It was his turn to sigh. “You’re a good cop, Beaman.”
Beaman smiled ruefully. “I wish that was enough.”
“No, it is,” Diego said. “Just keep doing what you do, doing the job.”
He hesitated because that wasn’t it, was it? It wasn’t just the job. Beaman had just said it. His family had said it. Five had literally drowned to prove it.
He winced and continued. “But you got to be careful out there,” he said. “I mean, keep you head down. Be smart. Okay? You have to be smart.”
At the invection, Beaman frowned, cocking his head. “Do you know something? Something you want to tell me?”
“Man, I wish,” Diego said. “It’s just a feeling, man. Just a feeling.”
Doubt was a feeling, wasn’t it?
“Anyway,” Beaman said, getting up and laying down a few bills to pay for his drink. “Thanks for the distraction. I needed it.”
Diego offered him a firm handshake. “Anytime,” he said. “I wish I could do more.”
Beaman’s expression was wry once more. “I wish you could, too.”
It was a small grace, then. Beaman didn’t ask, so Diego didn’t have to say no.
They both understood the implication all the same.
-o-
Alone at the bar, Diego ordered another drink and reminded himself that he was doing the right thing. The bartender served the drink and Diego barely remembered to murmur a thank-you. It had been easier when he was single-minded about this. The job, for all the risk and peril involved, was easier than the emotional vagueness of family.
Because, he couldn’t deny it, it felt wrong to hunker down in a fortified mansion while the city went to shit. It felt wrong to sit around and play family while good cops like Beaman struggled through shift after shift. It felt wrong to hole up while criminals got away scot free. It all felt very, very wrong.
But what was he supposed to do? He couldn’t ditch his family, not now. Not with the threat hanging over their heads. He had put the job first and it had nearly gotten Five killed, and Diego could take pleasure saving the world if he couldn’t save his idiot brother and sisters first. He had to stay.
It was messed up, though. He had to redefine his worldview to say that the priority wasn’t the general public; the priority was family. It was a hell of a thing, saying no to the city so he could say yes to six assholes. But that was the right thing.
That was the only thing.
He downed his drink quickly, letting it burn down his throat.
Family didn’t make any sense.
But he had to stick this out to save them.
Even if it killed him.
-o-
Family, then, was the job. That was the best way for Diego to frame it in his mind. It made sense to him that way; it gave him to the mental space he needed to fully cope with what he had to do. He’d always been able to make any sacrifice for the job. Of course, in the past, those sacrifices had usually been different. Physical pain. Strange sleeping schedules. Emotional suppression.
Now, he had to shut the hell up and fall in line.
Now, he had to be Number Two.
Which meant following Number One.
And leading the other damn five.
He hated that sometimes. He hated that Luther got to take point; he did. He hated that Luther was slow and methodical. He hated even more that it often worked out. Diego never talked about that much, about how most of Luther’s missions were, in fact, successful. The shit he’d always given Luther was fair -- Diego wasn’t saying that it wasn’t -- but Luther wasn’t incompetent. In some ways, he’d always used Ben’s death against Luther, but Diego had nearly gotten Five killed for nothing, so he felt like he had less room to judge now.
That was why he kind of hated the leading part of his job, too. He talked big, but maybe he had never wanted to be Number One. Maybe he’d never wanted to be the leader. Maybe he talked shit and rolled his eyes but only because he knew it said Number Two on his legal papers and that was that. There was safety in that, a responsibility he was never going to have to take. Except he did, didn’t he? His siblings loved him enough to follow him -- they didn’t have to like him or respect him or anything like that -- they just had to love him. And love was a shitty kind of emotion, the one that made you do stupid shit, the one that meant that smart, strong, pragmatic assholes would die on your behalf for no apparent reasons at all.
Diego talked about Dad, but family had always been hard for Diego.
But this wasn’t about what was easy.
It couldn’t be.
So Diego did what he had to do. He ate meals with the family, talking strategy every other day with Five and Ben. He went over security protocol with Luther, and helped introduce Allison to key figures at the police station in order to facilitate off-the-books cooperation. He trained with Klaus and Vanya, and though he still found their methods questionable, he did not argue with the results. As it was, they had found no limits to his newfound power, and while he could still not imagine the possible benefit of this power, he had always embraced things he was good at.
He even spent time going over any possible developments with Pogo, following up on leads and seeking confirmations. All the lead were proving inconclusive so far -- Pogo suspected that only a fraction of their leads would ever be more than random chance -- but it felt good to at least try to cover the bases with a known unknown threat out there.
And Diego manned his scheduled posts at the police radio, which was now the centerpiece of the security room. Someone -- Klaus, probably -- had moved a more comfortable chair into the room, and Allison had taken to tidying the area up a bit. Five had implemented an efficient filing system, and Vanya had added a few unnecessary touches of personalization. As if a family photo made it seem any less depressing.
It was, however, a good reminder of why he was doing this.
Any of it.
All of it.
He needed the reminder, especially when taking his turn in security. He needed the reminder as he listened to the calls on the police radio, calls for help, calls for backup, calls with weary, desperate cops who had no one else to turn to.
He needed the reminder every time he heard them ask, “If there’s anyone in the area, please..”
That wasn’t the job, after all.
He had never had to like the job.
He just had to do it.
-o-
The thing was maybe it was okay.
Diego had trouble thinking that way. What with the calls he couldn’t answer on the police radio and the threats he couldn’t quite define against the family. But the security was good. The strategy was coming together. The training was showing definitive signs of progress. The longer Diego held his breath, the more he realized what it felt like to breathe.
Breathing wasn’t air in and out of your lungs, not like most people thought it was. No, breathing was what gave you life. It was what sustained you. Turning oxygen into CO2 was a scientific process. Breathing was something much more transcendent. Diego didn’t need to process oxygen, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t need to breathe.
And breathing, for the record, didn’t have to be fun. You didn’t have to like it.
You just had to do it.
Breathing was getting into pissing contests with Luther, winning as many as he lost. Breathing was snarking with Allison, who had this way of making him feel small. Breathing was even carting around Klaus, who talked too much and couldn’t be trusted to do anything until it mattered. Breathing was protecting Five, even when Five rolled his eyes and told Diego to leave him the hell alone. Breathing was having a conversation with Ben, who couldn’t breathe himself but was more alive than anyone in this shitty family. And breathing had to be the daily struggle of mending fences with Vanya, reminding himself that all she had ever done was give voice to all the things they’d ever resented because no one in the family would listen.
Breathing was walking away from the police radio, turning it off. Breathing was finding Mom and asking her to teach him to make cookies.
“But I can make them for you, dear,” she cooed, a hand on his cheek. “Any time at all.”
“I know,” he said. “But I want to do it with you.”
You could tell Diego that her smile was programmed, and her obliging response was nothing but a motherly line of code.
That was bullshit, though.
Diego could see the way her eyes lit up, beyond the circuitry.
“Well, then,” she said, smoothing her dress primly. “Doesn’t that sound lovely?”
Funny enough, it did.
Diego took another breath.
It really, really did.
-o-
It was pretty typical, then.
Right when Diego figured out how to breathe again.
He found a reason to hold his breath.
-o-
It was Pogo of all people.
Or, of all beings.
Creatures?
Shit, life was really complicated and that was even without the new intel that Pogo related to Diego gravely after dinner one night.
“You should understand,” Pogo explained as Diego pored over the file. “That none of this is conclusive. These people who are after us are quite good at what they do.”
Diego barely listened to the caveat. Instead, he fixated on the salient details. “You think this is them? The people who are after us?”
Pogo didn’t bother to correct him. “The trail requires a few creative interpretations, but the pieces fit. I was able to track several of the queries back to shell corporations. I’m sure the police have tried to track these corporations just as I have, but they are similar in nature to the ones your father used.”
Diego snorted cynically. “So we can catch criminals because we are criminals?”
“The shell is not criminal,” Pogo said. “But their usage of it for nefarious ends is.”
Diego quickly skimmed through more of the raw data. “You’re still not telling me who they are?” he noted, looking for names, pictures, addresses -- anything.
Pogo arched an eyebrow behind his glasses. “Because I have none of those things,” he said. “It took a great deal of networking to find out as much as I did. As best I can tell, these people are linked to a Mexican cartel.”
Diego made a face, and he looked up for this. “A Mexican cartel?” he asked. “Operating this far across the border? I mean, maybe for moving drugs or something, but this is a terrorist attack.”
Pogo lifted one shoulder. “I can’t explain why, just the connection,” he said. “I was able to follow enough of the leads back to a common corporation. Although many people funnel their money through that corporation, only one fit the profile of what we’re looking at.”
Diego shook his head again, more insistent now. “But that doesn’t make sense,” he said. “I mean, only the largest cartels would have the network available to pull off a job like this this far north of the border.”
“And this isn’t one of them,” Pogo related. He nodded toward the packet. “You will see the specifications in the profile I’ve created. This is a relatively new cartel, something of an upstart.”
“What reason would an upstart cartel based in Mexico have with causing havoc here?” Diego asked, more than a little skeptical. “I mean, why strike at all in this capacity? And why target this particular urban center? This can’t be a coincidence.”
“I am sorry, Master Diego,” Pogo said, sounding genuinely regretful. “I can’t tell you why, but I can confirm that they are moving in this area with more frequency. After tracking the data back to them, I started looking for other aliases. There is a massive uptick in activity, all very localized not just to this city but to our particular burrough. It is quite disconcerting, as you will be able to see for yourself.”
Diego looked back at the pages, following along with the information. It was all there, as Pogo said it was. The connection, though tenuous, was feasible enough. And if you bought into the connection, then the surge of activity was impossible to miss. There were real estate transactions, bank loans, personal loans -- and more. It was indicative of a large operation.
A large operation in their own damn backyard.
Diego swallowed thickly. “And you think this group is responsible for the attack on the mall?”
“Well, the information there is impossible to fully corroborate,” Pogo said, leaning heavily on his cane. “But given the lack of other suspects and the amount of circumstantial evidence, it does seem likely. The first recorded incursions on our property was a mere week before the attack. They took out their first least two weeks before that. If you’re inclined to believe in coincidence…”
Diego’s stomach did a little flip. The man had known him. The man had used Diego’s own damn birthday as a passcode.
He shook his head stiffly, blinking through eyes that he could bring into focus anymore. “So what’s their next play? The mall, the hit on Highland -- what’s their game?”
At this, Pogo hedged slightly. “Well, that’s where this gets even more speculative,” he said, hemming slightly as he pursed his lips. “I tracked their activity as far back as I could, looking for patterns. You’ll notice, of course, that prior to the attack on the mall, they did a flurry of expenditures before going absolutely silent.”
“Okay,” Diego said. “So?”
“So,” Pogo said. “Two days ago, all activity I was tracking stopped quite suddenly. After a steady flow of information for nearly two weeks, there was nothing.”
Diego was numb, but he wasn’t entirely dumbfounded. “Wait,” he said, trying to bring saliva back into his dry mouth. He didn’t bother to try breathing at this point. “You’re saying that they’re going to strike again?”
“I’m afraid so,” Pogo said. “And soon, if my analysis is accurate.”
Diego wasn’t gaping; it was just that his mouth was hanging open in a desperate bid to at least pretend he was moving air in and out of his lungs like a normal person. “Shit,” he said, flipping back through the pages as if there was some other answer there. “Have you told the others?”
Pogo looked vaguely surprised by the suggestion. “No, I came to you directly, Master Diego.”
Diego’s face screwed up. “Why? The others need to know.”
Pogo shifted his weight on the cane, looking quizzical. “To be frank, you are the only one who asked,” he said. Then, more gently, he added, “Also, I know this is personal for you.”
Diego startled -- badly. “What?”
Pogo was so nonplussed that Diego immediately felt stupid for overreacting. Pogo wasn’t insinuating anything. He wasn’t validating the connection that Diego had tried so hard to forget over the last few weeks. “I know how hard you took the mall attack,” he said sympathetically. “I know you thought you could have done more to help -- that you should have done more. And you were there at Highland. You alone have interacted with these people. You were the one who almost died alongside Master Five. You, better than anyone in this family, are invested in this case. You know these people.”
Diego tried to swallow, but his throat was nearly constricted shut. Pogo wasn’t saying anything, and that only made the truth harder to bear. Pogo was doing this as a favor when he should have been doing it because Diego’s connection to these assholes was a problem.
To be fair, Diego didn’t know what kind of problem, but it had to be a problem. Five didn’t almost die because it wasn’t a problem.
Closing the file, Diego ignored the burning behind his eyes. “I don’t know anything,” he said.
“Master Diego,” Pogo drawled slowly as he stepped closer. “I know that the attacker at Highland spoke like he knew you. I know he used your birthday -- the date you share with your siblings, I might remind you -- as a tool to show just how much of an advantage he had. And I know you have tried to downplay the connection since your confession of these details to your siblings. These are troubling facts; they are unsettling truths. But whatever the intention of this group, whatever his motives -- it is that very connection that he seeks to leverage that you can exploit. I know you have carried it about you like a burden.”
Diego squared his shoulders defensively. “What else am I supposed to do?”
Pogo’s lips turned up in the wryest of smiles. “What you do best, of course,” he said. “Fight back.”
Diego made a face, surprised. “What?”
“I watched you train, dear boy,” he said. “I know you are a fighter who will always go for the low blow. If you will use it on your siblings, then I have to assume that it’s fair game on your enemies as well.”
“Sure,” Diego said. “But I don’t even know where to begin.”
“Correction,” Pogo said, holding a finger up in the air. “You didn’t know where to begin. I think that file might help you.”
He started away, limping carefully out of the room before pausing at the doorway.
“And one more word of advice,” Pogo said. “Just because your siblings didn’t ask doesn’t mean that they might not benefit from knowing. As effective as you are solo, I do think an adversary of this scale might warrant a group effort.”
Diego nodded gravely in agreement. “I think you’re right,” he said. “It’s time for another family meeting.”
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
PART FIVE
PART SIX
PART SEVEN
PART EIGHT
PART NINE
PART TEN
PART ELEVEN
PART TWELVE
PART THIRTEEN
-o-
For Diego, the news that he could hold his breath for as long as necessary seemed like an obvious conclusion that he should have seen coming.
Everyone else, by contrast, was stunned
Diego tried to be understanding about that -- shit in this family could be weird, and everyone had their own tolerance levels -- but he had to admit that it seemed a bit over the top. No one had balked when it turned out Vanya -- ordinary Vanya -- was superpowered. Everyone had taken it in stride when Klaus could do new shit like levitate. Five’s growing ability to transport people when he jumped didn’t even merit curiosity.
And yet, they were all so surprised with Diego.
Like Diego wasn’t supposed to be powerful.
Or, at the very least, like Diego wasn’t supposed to be full of surprises.
Whatever the case might have been, Diego humored them as best he could while trying to redirect their focus back to the things that mattered.
Like logistics.
That was what Luther had said the meeting with Allison would be about, and Diego had agreed on that pretense. About 10 minutes in, and all the two could do was ask Diego about how his training was going.
“And you really don’t feel anything?” Allison asked. “Not a tickle? No pressure?”
Diego strove to be patient, but it was getting hard. “I told you: nothing. It feels normal.”
“For how long now?” Luther asked. “What’s your best time?”
“30 minutes,” Diego reported, not for the first time. “I could have done more but staying under there just go so boring.”
Luther chuckled.
Allison shook her head, enthralled by the notion. “We should do metabolic tests,” she said. “Have Mom examine your lungs for signs of irregularities.”
“What does it matter?” Diego asked. “We’ve never looked at your vocal cords to see why you can alter reality with a mere suggestion.”
“I know, but you may never have to breath at all,” Allison said. “Do you even process air? What happens to the CO2 in your system?
“What? Did you really pay attention during our science tutoring?” Diego asked.
“Aren’t you curious?” Allison asked. “I mean, what this could mean…”
Diego shook his head abruptly because that was the last thing he was curious about. In fact, that was the last thing he wanted. He didn’t want to know what any of this meant. He didn’t even want to speculate. If he was given the option, he’d hold his breath forever if that meant he didn’t have to think about the crazy guy and the passcode.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t being given the option.
“Look, I don’t know what it means,” he said. “But I also don’t know what anything about this case means. You guys were the ones who had the idea. We have to be ready for what happens next, right? Isn’t that why we’re here?”
He gestured around to the security office where Luther had called this meeting.
Luther took this as his cue to reassert his control of the meeting. Luther was nothing if not a predictable Number One. “Right,” he said. “We do have to be ready. Which is why I wanted to talk through some ideas I had about logistics.”
Allison seemed reluctant to change the topic, but she had always been deferential when Luther was involved. “Right,” she said. “I assume we’ve been running the security feeds again?”
“Started up when we got back,” Luther reported. “I did shift the cameras around.”
“Probably good,” Diego said. “Because I couldn’t do anything about Dad creeping on us, but I’m pretty sure I’m not going to allow it from you.”
Luther didn’t rise to any bait. “We positioned the cameras at key entrances and exits.”
“There are so many, though,” Allison said. “I honestly don’t even know how Dad monitored this whole place.”
“He probably didn’t, the bastard,” Diego said. “He was never actually focused on crime. He was just breeding us to save the world.”
“Which worked, by the way,” Luther said. Allison gave him a look and he amended his statement. “I’m not saying his methods were right or anything, but they did have some success. That’s actually why I wanted to talk to you. I found some of Dad’s old notes, some of his logistical frameworks.”
Luther lifted a file, stuffed with papers. He put it down on the counter between them all.
Diego couldn’t quite bring himself to touch it, but he also couldn’t look away as Allison opened it.
Shit, Diego thought as he saw the old man’s scrawl. It really never did get easier. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably.
Allison didn’t seem to notice, starting to sort through the papers. “These are really outdated,” she said. “I mean, we were kids. And I know some of the equipment has to be so antiquated. Would it have killed him to get WiFi?”
“Oh, I agree,” Luther said. “We need technical upgrades, but the overall framework is worth a second look. He had an impressive system for tracking calls and sorting through which ones were important. And his ideas about response logistics -- I don’t think those need any improvements.”
Allison nodded, still flipping through the pages. “We need to make sure we all know the details, though,” she said. “That was a huge problem with Dad. He never thought we needed to know everything.”
“I was hoping to make up new copies and print them out for everyone,” Luther said, sounding a little proud of himself. For coming up with the idea, maybe. For gaining Allison’s approval, likely.
“Well, we get some technical upgrades, and maybe you can email us,” she said. “Or even text us. Put it on the cloud.”
“Well, a secure cloud,” Diego interjected, almost without meaning to. He had been willing to follow Luther’s lead her, but he always did have the impulse to help. No, that wasn’t true. He had the impulse to do better most of the time. This time, he had the impulse to help. Like, well and truly help. A team player. He shook his heat to clear it. “And I mean, I know some guys.”
Luther looked interested. It was Allison who was skeptical. “You know some guys? That sounds sketchy.”
Diego rolled his eyes but allowed it. “Like, legit guys,” he said. “I know all the people who manage stuff for the cops. Trusted contractors. They can do Wifi, security systems, cameras, in-house wiring -- all that stuff.”
Allison’s skepticism had died away. Luther looked wholly interested.
That was a different sort of feeling.
His siblings agreed with him.
Who would have guessed.
“I can talk to my friend at the precinct, get some names,” he said. “We’ll get this place up to date in no time.”
“Great,” Luther said. “I’ll update the overview.”
“And you know, Dad also knew that the only way we’d survive without interference from the law was to cultivate a good image,” she said. “We can’t just show up and continue to expect to hide. I mean, not without consequences. We got lucky with Diego and Five -- we might not get lucky again.”
“What, you think we need some PR?” Diego said. “I didn’t think the Umbrella Academy was back.”
“It’s not -- at least not officially,” Allison said. “But we need to start talking to our contacts in the police department. Make new contacts with the press. Because the next time we’re out there, I’m not sure we can avoid but going public.”
“I don’t know anything about PR,” Luther confessed.
Diego held up his hands. “I can give the cops a heads up, but publicity isn’t my thing. I work in the shadows.”
Allison rolled her eyes but with some good nature. “Fortunately, I do know a thing or two about PR,” she said. “And I’ve never done anything in the shadows.”
That sounded right.
No, it sounded pretty good.
Like, a plan. That was what it sounded like. A plan.
Here they were, training, testing, developing contingencies.
Almost like a real team.
“You know, I do have one other suggestion,” Diego said. “About how to monitor the situation. I mean, Pogo’s got his feelers out on Dad’s accounts, and we’ll up the security, but we still need access to real time information about the city.”
“Like what?” Luther asked.
Diego cocked his head, smirking a little. It was such a good idea that it was almost like this had been the real plan all along. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe a police scanner?”
-o-
It was surprisingly easy to move the police scanner. He might have expected it to be an awkward process, but since he’d literally fooled no one with his nighttime antics, it wasn’t like it was a big revelation that he had one.
What was a revelation, to all of them, really, was how he gave it up so easily for the family.
He didn’t hesitate.
He didn’t balk.
He just unplugged the thing, marched it to the security room and plunked it down.
“Great,” he said. “Now who wants first shift?”
-o-
For the record, Diego did not take first shift. And no, he didn’t take extra shifts. Yes, he allowed for downtimes In fact, his entire response was entirely measured and sane, okay?
Diego was learning, you see.
The difference between doing what you want and doing what other people need.
The difference of family.
-o-
For the record, Diego was doing awesome with this family thing. He was. And he was a willing team player, doing what needed to be done. He trained with Vanya and Klaus. He talked security with Allison and Luther. He sat up manning the police scanner on his scheduled shifts. He checked in with Pogo about any other potential intelligence breeches.
His siblings thought that that was all shit he liked. And Diego did like it, he did.
But they weren’t his favorite thing.
No, his favorite thing, as it turned out, was strategy.
Now, this was a surprise to Diego. In truth, he had never been much for strategy. Sure, he knew the best way to win a fight, but that wasn’t the kind of strategy they were talking about here. They were talking about the long game. About the odds. About strategic weaknesses and strengths. They weren’t trying to win a fight like most of Diego’s job.
No, this time they were trying to win a war.
The war for their family’s safety.
And damn it, Diego was good at it.
It occurred to him sometimes that maybe he would have known this if he had bothered to be a team player at any point in his life.
But that was a bit too much self reflection.
All he wanted to do was enjoy it.
The last few days had been shitty.
The last few months had been shitty.
So he could indulge himself on this one.
Besides, this was what his family needed.
At least, that was what Five had said when he summoned Diego at 6:30 AM for a strategic planning meeting in the kitchen. He found Five dressed and pouring himself a cup of coffee, Ben perched in one of the chairs as only a ghost can do. Diego glanced around, noting that no one else appeared to be up.
At 6:30, there wasn’t likely to be anyone else up.
“This is kind of small meeting,” Diego observed. He followed Five up at the coffee pot only to find it empty. He settled for some juice instead.
Five sat down indifferently. “That’s intentional,” he said. “The last time I tried to talk strategy with Klaus, he staged a runway show.”
Ben nodded in commiseration.
Diego made a face, taking a seat across from Five. “What about Allison and Luther?”
“Neither can follow my math,” Five said.
Diego wrinkled his nose. “I can’t follow your math either.”
“I know,” Five said. “But you’re too proud not to nod along. They always stop and ask for tedious explanations, and I don’t have the patience.”
“Besides, we’re playing to our strengths,” Ben suggested. “It’s the advantage of working on a team.”
The advantage of a team. What a novel concept.
Diego inclined his head and took a drink. “Okay,” he said. “So what’s our strategy?”
“Well, I know we’ve discussed things at length with the family and come up with plenty of ideas,” Five said, clearly eager to continue. This was one reason he and Five got along: they both liked to get to the point. “But speculation isn’t going to help us. We need to clearly identify the links between the events in order to extrapolate anything.”
“But you said it yourself,” Ben said. “We’ve already tried.”
“We can’t just talk about feelings,” Five said. “We have to thoroughly examine the statistical relevance of all the details. We have to chart the important events and then analyze each event in relation to the rest. Then we can derive statistical importance of the events and devise a probability model.”
And that was why he and Five didn’t always get along: Five thought about things way too much.
However, Five had also willingly died on Diego’s behalf, and Five was right: Diego was too proud to admit his own stupidity. So he nodded along. And then he did one better, because he didn’t know shit about statistics, but he still knew the gist of what Five was saying. That was more than enough to agree. “Five’s right,” he said. “If we can figure out the important links between the mall attack and the Highland attack, then we should be able to start figuring out who this guy is, what he wants.”
Ben, as was his habit, was still unconvinced. “But we don’t even know where to start,” he said. “I mean, we still don’t know which event was the actual thing. Was the mall the target? Or was it us? Until we figure out that, we can’t know anything about the psychology of this guy -- or these people. He’s not working alone.”
Five shook his head dismissively. “The odds say the target has to be us. To break into the house on Highland with the level of protections there? I said it that night: that kind of thing cannot be a coincidence. The numbers don’t support that theory.”
Ben, though polite and more mild manner, was not deterred. “But the attack on the mall -- that was massive. I mean, the sheer size of that attack isn’t something that is undertaken lightly. It can’t be a whim. To think that’s a prelude…”
Diego made a small noise of discontent. “You didn’t talk to this guy,” he said. “He was certifiable. Five’s theory that the attack on the family is the main point -- I mean, I’d buy it.”
“But what does that say about this guy then?” Ben asked, sounding increasingly disconcerted. “If he’s willing to commit mass murder to get our attention?”
The implication was grave. “Nothing good,” Five said. “He’s made it clear that the stakes are high, and his next play could be worse. In fact, I’ve done the math on this one, his next move probably will be worse.”
“But are you accounting for the narrowing of his focus?” Ben shot back. “For a huge opening attack, the second one was so personal. If the first attack was just to show what he was capable of, then maybe he’ll continue to play directly to us. Use the first attack as leverage to get us to respond to any demands.”
“But what demands?” Five said. “He didn’t leave demands.”
“It’s a way to soften us up,” Ben said. “It fits with psychological theory.”
Five shook his head contrarily. “No, the probability doesn’t support that conclusion.”
“But you act like the probability charts for emotional responses is proven fact,” Ben argued. “It’s not quantifiable science.”
“The charts I’m working with have been used in countless contexts,” Five said.
“What? At the Commission? For murder?” Ben asked, now sounding a touch incredulous.
Five, in return, looked perturbed. “Why would that be an improper application in this context? We have already established that this man, whoever he is, is fully capable of murder. If anything, my probability charts apply to him more than most.”
“I just don’t think we can afford to be reductive--”
“And I don’t think we can afford to be indecisive,” Five said. “If you want to discuss the validity of the probability model--”
Diego shook his head, holding up his hand to interject. Ben and Five could go at it often -- and it wasn’t that Diego couldn’t get up. He understood what they were saying. But they failed to remember the actual point while they wiled away in theoretical circles. “The thing we all agree on,” he said, seamlessly positioning his voice between them. “Is that this guy will strike again. You both have your theories. So, let’s play the game. Take the models to the next level. Where will he hit?”
Ben and Five, though animated in their discussion, were amenable to input. In fact, Diego would reflect, they could be surprisingly open minded. He had never noticed that before. Probably because he’d never tried to engage them on this level before, but he was learning a lot of shit this week.
Five inclined his head to Ben, who gathered a breath to go first. “If you consider the emotional responses involved, it’s not unreasonable that he’ll strike as close as he can to us,” he explained. He frowned with a shrug. “The mansion, maybe.”
“Psychologically, it may fit,” Five said. “But to what end? There has to be a logistical gain. The attack on Highland wasn’t just emotional. He did make off with weapons -- in fact, you could argue that what he stole from Highland is worth more than anything he could salvage from the mansion.”
“But you’re making an assumption that the weapons were for monetary gain,” Diego said. “I talked to this guy. He didn’t have to play the game like he played it. It’s personal.”
“Sure, but he still took the gun. If he wanted to play a game, then he would have played a game,” Five said. “Why take millions in weapons if you didn’t have a reason for it? The attack would have been just as effect without that theft.”
“Maybe it was an afterthought,” Ben suggested. “A play when they couldn’t pull off the kill.”
“But did they want to kill us?” Five asked. “This guy could have. Easily. Why go through the trouble of setting a bomb that can be disarmed? If this was about killing us, then this guy is an idiot, and nothing about his actions suggests an actual lack of intelligence.”
Diego shrugged, wrapping his hands thoughtfully around his juice glass. “Well, he did try to drive us off the road,” he said. He met Five’s eyes. “That was kind of out there, straight up attempted murder.”
Five, to his credit, didn’t flinch. The guy drowned a week ago, and he acted like it was no big deal. His chest was still bruised and sore, but Diego had gotten the distinct impression that this wasn’t the first time Five had been roughed up.
That was mildly encouraging, maybe.
And really not encouraging, probably.
Diego couldn’t be sure.
Five appeared to be having no such compunction. He tapped his fingers on his coffee cup. “That is a point I’ve had trouble reconciling,” he admitted. “It’s utterly inconsistent. Why give us everything to ensure our escape if you’re just going to try to kill us within minutes? The bomb would be a much more effective means of dispatching us. The car in the river is prone to unknown variables. It’s sloppy. Nothing like the calculated and sophisticated attacks on the mall or Highland.”
“But you said it yourself,” Ben pushed. “Personal factors are rarely going to be applied logically.”
“Yes,” Five said, face screwed up in concentration. “But the unpredictable application can still be computationally understood. With a probability model advanced enough, you should be able to discern the reasons behind the actions.”
Diego shook his head, unwilling to follow them into an argument that got too minutely technical. “There aren’t reasons, though,” he said, still feeling the tightness in his chest. He forced himself to remember to breathe. “I mean, the shit this guy did? There aren’t reasons. There are emotions. You don’t do the shit this guy did without emotions.”
The line of thought seemed to derail Five, who looked both vexed and skeptical all at once. For all that Five was good with logic and numbers, the idea of something less quantifiable was harder for him to reconcile. Five’s always been bad with emotions, and 13 or 58, it seemed like that hadn’t changed.
And, for the record, it wasn’t the criminal’s emotions that were vexing him now.
It was Diego’s.
The rawness, the breathlessness of his voice.
This wasn’t just personal for some nameless criminal.
This was personal for Diego.
For all that Five was taken aback, Ben merely nodded along. He seemed almost grateful that the conversation had finally turned. “Exactly,” Ben said. “We have to look at this as both an elaborate plan and an emotional impulse. I mean, what if for all this guy planned and worked -- he just got overwhelmed? All his hard work and he lost control at the end?”
Critically, Five was still not quite persuaded. “Possibly,” he said with the barest notion of a concession. “But it could also be that this guy, whoever he is, still knows a lot more about us than we know about him. We could still be underestimating him.”
This time, Ben’s expression was less diplomatic. “No way,” he said. “Diego didn’t even know he could do that.”
“So?” Five said. “You’re making linear and altogether limited assumptions.”
They were talking about him now; like, really talking about him. “No,” he said flatly. “I mean, I’m with you, we need to assume nothing with this asshole, but the revelation of my power -- no one could know that. That’s not on the table.”
Diego should have presumed that the moment he expressed confidence, Five would hunker down on skepticism. Was this because Five was a critical thinker? Maybe. Was this because Five was an obstinate bastard? Definitely. “There was no way Dad should have known about the apocalypse, but he did. In fact, there were for people running around the present with full knowledge of an impending disaster. How is anything off the table?”
Diego made a face. “Well, then tell me your odds for time travel being involved,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Again.”
“I’ve run those numbers,” Five said. “Granted, it’s not likely, but the probability isn’t zero. Implausible is what you want to believe, but look at the facts. This guy, the one you saw in the basement, you said he talked like he knew you. Not us, not like another Harold Jenkines. But you. And what happened next? He conveniently tried to kill you in a way by which you could not actually die. You all agreed with me before, and it hasn’t changed now: coincidences in this family are unlikely.”
Diego felt like he’d been suckerpunched for some reason. The implication, that this guy not only targeted him, but targeted him with knowledge that extended beyond Diego’s own purview, was hard to swallow. It didn’t help that he had known the passcode.
How the hell could he know the passcode?
How the hell could he hold his breath indefinitely?
Who on earth was this guy?
As if sensing Diego’s precarious mindset, Ben hedged himself into the conversation once more. “I don’t know, that’s a stretch, Five. Even for you.”
Five looked somewhat perturbed, but with a glance at Diego, he seemed to think better of further disagreement. Five struggled with human interaction, but he wasn’t incapable of it. He didn’t show love in any traditional way, but Diego found himself feeling grateful. He was all for strategy and he liked talking in real, concrete ways. This was veering off into speculation, however. Uncomfortable speculation.
There was a reason Diego ran around at night to do his job.
He didn’t like facing things in the light.
Diego wasn’t scared of anything, it seemed. Anything but the truth about himself.
That wasn’t cowardly. It wasn’t. It was a normal human response to extraordinary circumstances and Diego would kick anyone’s ass who thought differently.
“Maybe,” Five muttered, shaking his head distractedly. “I’ll have to run a few more probability scenarios. We can reconvene in a few days.”
Ben nodded like this was actually some kind of good idea. “I think we should keep this between us for now, though,” he said. “This is more speculative than I’d like. If we tell them, we’re going to freak people out.”
Five shrugged. “Fine,” he said. “This can be need to know.”
“Great,” Ben said. “I’m going to run a few more psychological profiles on this guy. If you think of anything else, any other details, let us know.”
He said this to Diego, earnest and emphatic.
Diego mustered up a small smile in response. “I will,” he said. “If I think of anything.”
Yeah, that shit was a lie.
But Five had already flashed out of the room, and Ben has dissipated, so there was no one left to call him on it.
-o-
Living in the mansion had always been a thing. It was preoccupying; it was insulating. You forgot about the outside world, even when you were supposed to be trying to save it. That had been something Diego had never missed.
Of course, that was before the outside world included maniacs who knew him personally.
Still, when Beaman wanted to meet for lunch, Diego was a little relieved. He was looking forward to a conversation that didn’t have to do with mall bombings, crazy people who knew you personally, superpowers you didn’t know you had, or people drowning right in front of you. Anything would be a reprieve.
Still, it was hard to find much comfort in the stories of an overworked, overburdened police force and hints of a city in absolute disarray.
“But I’m sure I’m not telling you anything new,” Beaman said with a small chuckle after telling Diego about a string of pharmacy robberies in a neighborhood not far from the mansion. “I know you’ve always got your ear to the ground.”
Diego smiled humorlessly. “Well, I have been a little busy lately,” he said, suddenly envious and Allison’s ability to lie with ease and make everyone believe her. Diego had no way of sounding convincing, so he didn’t bother. He changed the subject instead. “It was nice to hear from you, though. I’m really glad you called to set this up.”
It was a smooth distraction.
But Beaman, annoyingly, wasn’t distracted at all. “Actually, I was surprised that I hadn’t heard from you by now.”
Diego should have been used to getting caught off guard, but there he was. Blinking dumbly and caught off guard. It was some consolation that there were no explosive and that no one was drowning, but still. He was pretty sure he looked like an idiot and the only thing he could do about it was ask, “What?”
Beaman leaned forward with a surreptitious look around. “That hit on Highland,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And it was, to Diego. But it shouldn’t have been to Beaman. “I mean, I know you were involved, man.”
He said it like it was a secret, but the very fact that he was saying it meant that it was a pisspoor secret. Accordingly, Diego fumbled for a reply. “What? No--”
Beaman leveled his gaze at him. “Diego,” he said, almost like he was insulted by Diego’s attempts to play dumb. And they were pretty bad so maybe he detective wasn’t far off. “It took some work, but I traced the ownership of the property back to a holding company with ties to your father’s estate. It’s circumstantial, which is why nothing has been subpoenaed yet, but I know you. That bomb not going off? That was you, right?”
Diego wasn’t blushing.
He wasn’t.
Adamant, he shook his head. “You know I don’t have any experience with bombs,” he said, not thinking about the fact that he had volunteered to disarm it in the first place. The fact that he’d been able to use his own birthday as a passcode as notwithstanding. “It’s a coincidence.”
He could practically feel Five glaring at him the moment he said it. Five and his damn probabilities. Diego and his willingness to believe him. Gullible at all the wrong times.
Beaman raised his eyebrows, looking skeptical. “A bomb that miraculously didn’t go off? In a house tied to your old man?” he asked. “Even if all that was circumstantial, this is you. Someone was looking out for the city that night, and I know it was you on the job.”
He said it was such confidence that Diego had to sit back. It was humbling; the kind of praise he would have craved a few weeks ago.
But Beaman didn’t know.
He didn’t know about the guy in the sub-basement and the weapons he stole. He didn’t know about the connection to the mall attack. He didn’t know that Diego had used his own birthday to diffuse the bomb. He didn’t know that Five had drowned on Diego’s behalf -- unnecessarily so.
Go figure, Diego was still holding his breath.
In a flush, Diego shook his head and averted his eyes. “There’s no job, Beaman,” he said. “I’m just a guy doing his best. Sometimes it works out.”
Sometimes it didn’t.
He didn’t have the heart to tell Beaman that he wasn’t sure which was true this time.
Beaman probably wouldn’t have heard him anyway. He shook his head, sitting back with a genuine smile on his face. “No, I know you,” he said. “I don’t know why it took me so long to see it. But you’re a hero, Diego. An actual hero. Mask and all.”
That was ridiculous.
Wasn’t it?
All that time Diego spent trying to get the cops to take him seriously? And now it was paying off? At the exact moment Diego didn’t know if he was really up to the job?
“Yeah, well,” he said, pursing his lips. “I don’t even know what that means.”
There were a lot of lies that could have worked, but that truth was pretty damn accurate, too.
Beaman shrugged coolly. “Well, for the city’s sake, I hope you figure it out again soon.”
It was too much. Diego ground his teeth together and rocked back in his chair at the bar. “Well, how are things with you anyway?” he asked. “You made things sound bad, but you weren’t very specific. Your caseload okay?”
This time, the distraction worked. Beaman huffed out some approximation of a laugh. “Man, things are shit.”
Diego could tell by the weariness in Beaman’s voice that it was an understatement. Things had gotten worse, and Diego had been cloistered in the mansion, talking strategy and training. He had been sure that stepping back from the job was the right thing for the family, but it was harder to reconcile with the clear needs in front of him. “I’m sorry,” he finally said.
Beaman sighed with a shrug. “It’s not like it’s your fault.”
There was a difference between blame and responsibility. Diego just wasn’t sure what the distinction was anymore. He set his lips soberly. “Still.”
“It is what it is,” Beaman said with a certain amount of resolved resignation. “No matter how many times you catch a criminal, there’s always another one that you miss. You can save people and three minutes later, they’re in danger from something else. I’m not sure it ever ends.”
Diego frowned. “It might,” he said, but his own words sounded weak, even to his own ears. He had never been one particularly inclined toward naive hope.
Beaman arched his eyebrows. “You offering to help again?”
Diego’s breath caught. All that time he’d spent sneaking around, and this was practically an invitation. All the years he’d spent wanting this job, and he couldn’t accept right now. Not when his family needed him first. “I can’t,” he said, and he met Beaman’s gaze sympathetically. “Right now, I just can’t.”
Not while the Umbrella Academy was still getting its footing. Not while Diego still didn’t know what it meant to hold his breath forever. Not when he could still see Five drowning every time he closed his eyes. Not when he could still feel his shaking fingers press a six digit passcode he had no business knowing. Not when family came first.
Beaman sighed again, nodding to himself.
Diego’s chest clenched with guilt. “It’s family, man. It’s complicated.”
“I get it,” Beaman said with a wan smile.
“No, it is,” Diego said, because it was a point he still grappled with himself. “A lot of shit has changed for us, and I can’t bail on them now.”
“I really get it, Diego, I do,” Beaman said, more earnestly this time. He shook his head, a little bemused. “I mean, the people, right? That’s what got to keep us going. For the people that matter. I know for a fact that every criminal I take off the streets makes the city safer for my mother. So, you know. It’s worth the work. It’s worth the risk. It’s worth it because the people we love are worth it.”
Shit, even Beaman got it better than he did. It was some implicit thing that everyone else in the world seemed to grasp and that Diego had to learn the hard way. Family, relationships: the things Diego had deemed expendable. He’d lost Patch. He’d nearly lost the world. He’d barely pulled Five back from the brink. It shouldn’t have to take losing them to understand that family was part of him. That had its drawbacks, sure. But it wasn’t all shit.
He just wished there was a way to do the job and do what his family needed. He wished he knew how to make it all reconcile as seamlessly as everyone else.
It was his turn to sigh. “You’re a good cop, Beaman.”
Beaman smiled ruefully. “I wish that was enough.”
“No, it is,” Diego said. “Just keep doing what you do, doing the job.”
He hesitated because that wasn’t it, was it? It wasn’t just the job. Beaman had just said it. His family had said it. Five had literally drowned to prove it.
He winced and continued. “But you got to be careful out there,” he said. “I mean, keep you head down. Be smart. Okay? You have to be smart.”
At the invection, Beaman frowned, cocking his head. “Do you know something? Something you want to tell me?”
“Man, I wish,” Diego said. “It’s just a feeling, man. Just a feeling.”
Doubt was a feeling, wasn’t it?
“Anyway,” Beaman said, getting up and laying down a few bills to pay for his drink. “Thanks for the distraction. I needed it.”
Diego offered him a firm handshake. “Anytime,” he said. “I wish I could do more.”
Beaman’s expression was wry once more. “I wish you could, too.”
It was a small grace, then. Beaman didn’t ask, so Diego didn’t have to say no.
They both understood the implication all the same.
-o-
Alone at the bar, Diego ordered another drink and reminded himself that he was doing the right thing. The bartender served the drink and Diego barely remembered to murmur a thank-you. It had been easier when he was single-minded about this. The job, for all the risk and peril involved, was easier than the emotional vagueness of family.
Because, he couldn’t deny it, it felt wrong to hunker down in a fortified mansion while the city went to shit. It felt wrong to sit around and play family while good cops like Beaman struggled through shift after shift. It felt wrong to hole up while criminals got away scot free. It all felt very, very wrong.
But what was he supposed to do? He couldn’t ditch his family, not now. Not with the threat hanging over their heads. He had put the job first and it had nearly gotten Five killed, and Diego could take pleasure saving the world if he couldn’t save his idiot brother and sisters first. He had to stay.
It was messed up, though. He had to redefine his worldview to say that the priority wasn’t the general public; the priority was family. It was a hell of a thing, saying no to the city so he could say yes to six assholes. But that was the right thing.
That was the only thing.
He downed his drink quickly, letting it burn down his throat.
Family didn’t make any sense.
But he had to stick this out to save them.
Even if it killed him.
-o-
Family, then, was the job. That was the best way for Diego to frame it in his mind. It made sense to him that way; it gave him to the mental space he needed to fully cope with what he had to do. He’d always been able to make any sacrifice for the job. Of course, in the past, those sacrifices had usually been different. Physical pain. Strange sleeping schedules. Emotional suppression.
Now, he had to shut the hell up and fall in line.
Now, he had to be Number Two.
Which meant following Number One.
And leading the other damn five.
He hated that sometimes. He hated that Luther got to take point; he did. He hated that Luther was slow and methodical. He hated even more that it often worked out. Diego never talked about that much, about how most of Luther’s missions were, in fact, successful. The shit he’d always given Luther was fair -- Diego wasn’t saying that it wasn’t -- but Luther wasn’t incompetent. In some ways, he’d always used Ben’s death against Luther, but Diego had nearly gotten Five killed for nothing, so he felt like he had less room to judge now.
That was why he kind of hated the leading part of his job, too. He talked big, but maybe he had never wanted to be Number One. Maybe he’d never wanted to be the leader. Maybe he talked shit and rolled his eyes but only because he knew it said Number Two on his legal papers and that was that. There was safety in that, a responsibility he was never going to have to take. Except he did, didn’t he? His siblings loved him enough to follow him -- they didn’t have to like him or respect him or anything like that -- they just had to love him. And love was a shitty kind of emotion, the one that made you do stupid shit, the one that meant that smart, strong, pragmatic assholes would die on your behalf for no apparent reasons at all.
Diego talked about Dad, but family had always been hard for Diego.
But this wasn’t about what was easy.
It couldn’t be.
So Diego did what he had to do. He ate meals with the family, talking strategy every other day with Five and Ben. He went over security protocol with Luther, and helped introduce Allison to key figures at the police station in order to facilitate off-the-books cooperation. He trained with Klaus and Vanya, and though he still found their methods questionable, he did not argue with the results. As it was, they had found no limits to his newfound power, and while he could still not imagine the possible benefit of this power, he had always embraced things he was good at.
He even spent time going over any possible developments with Pogo, following up on leads and seeking confirmations. All the lead were proving inconclusive so far -- Pogo suspected that only a fraction of their leads would ever be more than random chance -- but it felt good to at least try to cover the bases with a known unknown threat out there.
And Diego manned his scheduled posts at the police radio, which was now the centerpiece of the security room. Someone -- Klaus, probably -- had moved a more comfortable chair into the room, and Allison had taken to tidying the area up a bit. Five had implemented an efficient filing system, and Vanya had added a few unnecessary touches of personalization. As if a family photo made it seem any less depressing.
It was, however, a good reminder of why he was doing this.
Any of it.
All of it.
He needed the reminder, especially when taking his turn in security. He needed the reminder as he listened to the calls on the police radio, calls for help, calls for backup, calls with weary, desperate cops who had no one else to turn to.
He needed the reminder every time he heard them ask, “If there’s anyone in the area, please..”
That wasn’t the job, after all.
He had never had to like the job.
He just had to do it.
-o-
The thing was maybe it was okay.
Diego had trouble thinking that way. What with the calls he couldn’t answer on the police radio and the threats he couldn’t quite define against the family. But the security was good. The strategy was coming together. The training was showing definitive signs of progress. The longer Diego held his breath, the more he realized what it felt like to breathe.
Breathing wasn’t air in and out of your lungs, not like most people thought it was. No, breathing was what gave you life. It was what sustained you. Turning oxygen into CO2 was a scientific process. Breathing was something much more transcendent. Diego didn’t need to process oxygen, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t need to breathe.
And breathing, for the record, didn’t have to be fun. You didn’t have to like it.
You just had to do it.
Breathing was getting into pissing contests with Luther, winning as many as he lost. Breathing was snarking with Allison, who had this way of making him feel small. Breathing was even carting around Klaus, who talked too much and couldn’t be trusted to do anything until it mattered. Breathing was protecting Five, even when Five rolled his eyes and told Diego to leave him the hell alone. Breathing was having a conversation with Ben, who couldn’t breathe himself but was more alive than anyone in this shitty family. And breathing had to be the daily struggle of mending fences with Vanya, reminding himself that all she had ever done was give voice to all the things they’d ever resented because no one in the family would listen.
Breathing was walking away from the police radio, turning it off. Breathing was finding Mom and asking her to teach him to make cookies.
“But I can make them for you, dear,” she cooed, a hand on his cheek. “Any time at all.”
“I know,” he said. “But I want to do it with you.”
You could tell Diego that her smile was programmed, and her obliging response was nothing but a motherly line of code.
That was bullshit, though.
Diego could see the way her eyes lit up, beyond the circuitry.
“Well, then,” she said, smoothing her dress primly. “Doesn’t that sound lovely?”
Funny enough, it did.
Diego took another breath.
It really, really did.
-o-
It was pretty typical, then.
Right when Diego figured out how to breathe again.
He found a reason to hold his breath.
-o-
It was Pogo of all people.
Or, of all beings.
Creatures?
Shit, life was really complicated and that was even without the new intel that Pogo related to Diego gravely after dinner one night.
“You should understand,” Pogo explained as Diego pored over the file. “That none of this is conclusive. These people who are after us are quite good at what they do.”
Diego barely listened to the caveat. Instead, he fixated on the salient details. “You think this is them? The people who are after us?”
Pogo didn’t bother to correct him. “The trail requires a few creative interpretations, but the pieces fit. I was able to track several of the queries back to shell corporations. I’m sure the police have tried to track these corporations just as I have, but they are similar in nature to the ones your father used.”
Diego snorted cynically. “So we can catch criminals because we are criminals?”
“The shell is not criminal,” Pogo said. “But their usage of it for nefarious ends is.”
Diego quickly skimmed through more of the raw data. “You’re still not telling me who they are?” he noted, looking for names, pictures, addresses -- anything.
Pogo arched an eyebrow behind his glasses. “Because I have none of those things,” he said. “It took a great deal of networking to find out as much as I did. As best I can tell, these people are linked to a Mexican cartel.”
Diego made a face, and he looked up for this. “A Mexican cartel?” he asked. “Operating this far across the border? I mean, maybe for moving drugs or something, but this is a terrorist attack.”
Pogo lifted one shoulder. “I can’t explain why, just the connection,” he said. “I was able to follow enough of the leads back to a common corporation. Although many people funnel their money through that corporation, only one fit the profile of what we’re looking at.”
Diego shook his head again, more insistent now. “But that doesn’t make sense,” he said. “I mean, only the largest cartels would have the network available to pull off a job like this this far north of the border.”
“And this isn’t one of them,” Pogo related. He nodded toward the packet. “You will see the specifications in the profile I’ve created. This is a relatively new cartel, something of an upstart.”
“What reason would an upstart cartel based in Mexico have with causing havoc here?” Diego asked, more than a little skeptical. “I mean, why strike at all in this capacity? And why target this particular urban center? This can’t be a coincidence.”
“I am sorry, Master Diego,” Pogo said, sounding genuinely regretful. “I can’t tell you why, but I can confirm that they are moving in this area with more frequency. After tracking the data back to them, I started looking for other aliases. There is a massive uptick in activity, all very localized not just to this city but to our particular burrough. It is quite disconcerting, as you will be able to see for yourself.”
Diego looked back at the pages, following along with the information. It was all there, as Pogo said it was. The connection, though tenuous, was feasible enough. And if you bought into the connection, then the surge of activity was impossible to miss. There were real estate transactions, bank loans, personal loans -- and more. It was indicative of a large operation.
A large operation in their own damn backyard.
Diego swallowed thickly. “And you think this group is responsible for the attack on the mall?”
“Well, the information there is impossible to fully corroborate,” Pogo said, leaning heavily on his cane. “But given the lack of other suspects and the amount of circumstantial evidence, it does seem likely. The first recorded incursions on our property was a mere week before the attack. They took out their first least two weeks before that. If you’re inclined to believe in coincidence…”
Diego’s stomach did a little flip. The man had known him. The man had used Diego’s own damn birthday as a passcode.
He shook his head stiffly, blinking through eyes that he could bring into focus anymore. “So what’s their next play? The mall, the hit on Highland -- what’s their game?”
At this, Pogo hedged slightly. “Well, that’s where this gets even more speculative,” he said, hemming slightly as he pursed his lips. “I tracked their activity as far back as I could, looking for patterns. You’ll notice, of course, that prior to the attack on the mall, they did a flurry of expenditures before going absolutely silent.”
“Okay,” Diego said. “So?”
“So,” Pogo said. “Two days ago, all activity I was tracking stopped quite suddenly. After a steady flow of information for nearly two weeks, there was nothing.”
Diego was numb, but he wasn’t entirely dumbfounded. “Wait,” he said, trying to bring saliva back into his dry mouth. He didn’t bother to try breathing at this point. “You’re saying that they’re going to strike again?”
“I’m afraid so,” Pogo said. “And soon, if my analysis is accurate.”
Diego wasn’t gaping; it was just that his mouth was hanging open in a desperate bid to at least pretend he was moving air in and out of his lungs like a normal person. “Shit,” he said, flipping back through the pages as if there was some other answer there. “Have you told the others?”
Pogo looked vaguely surprised by the suggestion. “No, I came to you directly, Master Diego.”
Diego’s face screwed up. “Why? The others need to know.”
Pogo shifted his weight on the cane, looking quizzical. “To be frank, you are the only one who asked,” he said. Then, more gently, he added, “Also, I know this is personal for you.”
Diego startled -- badly. “What?”
Pogo was so nonplussed that Diego immediately felt stupid for overreacting. Pogo wasn’t insinuating anything. He wasn’t validating the connection that Diego had tried so hard to forget over the last few weeks. “I know how hard you took the mall attack,” he said sympathetically. “I know you thought you could have done more to help -- that you should have done more. And you were there at Highland. You alone have interacted with these people. You were the one who almost died alongside Master Five. You, better than anyone in this family, are invested in this case. You know these people.”
Diego tried to swallow, but his throat was nearly constricted shut. Pogo wasn’t saying anything, and that only made the truth harder to bear. Pogo was doing this as a favor when he should have been doing it because Diego’s connection to these assholes was a problem.
To be fair, Diego didn’t know what kind of problem, but it had to be a problem. Five didn’t almost die because it wasn’t a problem.
Closing the file, Diego ignored the burning behind his eyes. “I don’t know anything,” he said.
“Master Diego,” Pogo drawled slowly as he stepped closer. “I know that the attacker at Highland spoke like he knew you. I know he used your birthday -- the date you share with your siblings, I might remind you -- as a tool to show just how much of an advantage he had. And I know you have tried to downplay the connection since your confession of these details to your siblings. These are troubling facts; they are unsettling truths. But whatever the intention of this group, whatever his motives -- it is that very connection that he seeks to leverage that you can exploit. I know you have carried it about you like a burden.”
Diego squared his shoulders defensively. “What else am I supposed to do?”
Pogo’s lips turned up in the wryest of smiles. “What you do best, of course,” he said. “Fight back.”
Diego made a face, surprised. “What?”
“I watched you train, dear boy,” he said. “I know you are a fighter who will always go for the low blow. If you will use it on your siblings, then I have to assume that it’s fair game on your enemies as well.”
“Sure,” Diego said. “But I don’t even know where to begin.”
“Correction,” Pogo said, holding a finger up in the air. “You didn’t know where to begin. I think that file might help you.”
He started away, limping carefully out of the room before pausing at the doorway.
“And one more word of advice,” Pogo said. “Just because your siblings didn’t ask doesn’t mean that they might not benefit from knowing. As effective as you are solo, I do think an adversary of this scale might warrant a group effort.”
Diego nodded gravely in agreement. “I think you’re right,” he said. “It’s time for another family meeting.”