#still haven't decided how far I want to take this Eudora x reader thing

[angst-fairygodmother]

Light Fingers (The Umbrella Academy)

Diego’s vigilantism brings him repeatedly across the path of a young cat burglar. But as he finds himself developing feelings for the thief, he begins to wonder if there’s more to her than meets the eye, and whether they’re really on opposite sides. And as their relationship deepens, it brings with it a plot involving his estranged adopted father, and threatens to destroy all of them.

CHAPTER 5: REVELATIONS

Word Count: 4471  Pairing: Diego Hargreeves x Reader; teased Eudora Patch x Reader Rating: M Content Warnings: fairly graphic description of injury, blood, language Cross-posted to AO3: here

Previous Chapter: Allegiances || Masterlist

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The first thing you were aware of was the high, tinny ringing. It was quite possibly the most annoying noise you had ever heard, and you were pretty sure it was coming from inside your own head so you couldn’t cover your ears and make it go away. Your eyelids felt heavy, like there was something keeping them from opening, and your mouth felt cottony. Your stomach roiled with nausea. The more of your body returned to your awareness the worse you felt.

“Ugh,” you groaned, voice cracking from disuse. As you forced your eyes to open, thankful that your power even in its most dormant form kept the light from burning them, you registered the meeting of concrete and grey-brown bricks wavering in your vision.

You tried to push yourself to a seated position and immediately felt resistance.

“Woah, hey, you shouldn’t move so fast,” Diego said, pressing lightly on your shoulder to hold you in place.

“Am I in your weird boiler room house?” you slurred. “How did I get here?”

You heard him chuckle. “Well after you passed out, I figured you could use some looking after…and then when you weren’t waking up…I was getting ready to take you to a hospital.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that sounded like you were worried about me,” you smirked, throwing back his own words at him.

“I was,” he said softly, almost as if he was talking to himself. “Of course I was.”

You found yourself at a loss for words, and not just because your head was still fuzzy and ringing (the feeling was fading some the longer you were awake).

“How are you feeling?”

“Like death slightly warmed over.”

He grimaced.

“Seriously, two questions: how long was I out for, and why does my leg still feel like it’s on fire?”

“It’s been a few hours. That’s why I was…”

“Worried?” you supplied as he floundered.

He nodded sheepishly. “Yeah. As for your leg, you did get shot. It was pretty bad. I stopped the bleeding but the bullet is…still in there.”

“What?!” you jolted up at that, ignoring the pain and spinning sensation, staring at Diego in shock.

“I didn’t want to do anything while you were unconscious! In case you’d prefer an actual doctor do it or something went…wrong…” you registered the tinge of fear in his voice and felt a little less mad at him for leaving a hunk of metal embedded in your calf muscle.

“Well…I’m awake now so if you think you can get it out safely…I trust you to,” you admitted softly, reaching out to rest your hand on top of his where it sat on your bedside.

It was then you registered that not only were you lying in his bed, but he was kneeling awkwardly beside it, and probably had been since before you woke up. Your heart fluttered at the thought that he had been watching over you, taking care of you.

“Are you sure?”

“Yep. Definitely.” You shot him a grin that you hoped looked convincing and not as crazed as you felt in that moment.

He nodded, rising from his crouch and wincing in a way that, once again, suggested he had been in the position for a while, moving about the fairly small room gathering the first aid supplies he’d need. Your eyes traced him as he washed everything down with rubbing alcohol and soap and water, as he pulled on a pair of cheap rubber gloves, and returned to your side.

“You’re going to have to turn for me to get to the wound,” he said, gesturing. “And so I can put down a towel so you don’t bleed everywhere.”

You rolled your eyes, complying with his direction.

“I notice you don’t have any lidocaine or anything there in your little bullet treatment kit…” you observed, biting your lip nervously.

“No, sorry. I could go out and get some, but it’s late so I don’t know what’s open and the sooner we get the bullet out the better.”

“It’s fine,” you said, your voice rising an octave, betraying your fear.

He knelt back down, carefully unwinding the bandage. You couldn’t help but stare down at the inflamed skin, the horribly red, still sluggishly bleeding opening in your leg, stomach turning at the thought that it was an actual hole through skin and muscle, and you were lucky not bone and not anywhere more severe than your lower leg. Diego, noticing your expression, reached over to give your hand a quick squeeze before turning to the work.

You hissed, doing everything in your power not to flinch away as Diego rested his hands on your calf.

“I’m s-sorry,” he murmured, and you frowned, catching the slight stutter in his voice, something which you hadn’t noticed before.

“It’s okay. It’s…are you sure you can do this?”

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment before he nodded. “Yeah, I mean, I’ve dug bullets out of myself before so…”

“Okay, gonna revisit that later, but for now, I trust you. I still wish we had something to numb the pain first though…”

After that, things became a bit of a blur. You were pretty sure at some point you screamed. It felt like your leg was being rent open by the fiery claws of the devil. You must have passed out again, because the next thing you remembered was someone lightly tapping on your cheek and opening your eyes to see Diego’s face, eyes wide in panic and lip quivering, swimming into focus.

“Fuck me with a cactus, it would have been gentler,” you muttered, wincing. “At least tell me it’s over?”

He smiled, chuckling at your colorful phrasing. “Yeah, bullet’s out, pretty cleanly and I redressed the wound. Now you just need to rest and recover and keep it clean so it doesn’t get infected.”

“Well, thank you then, Doctor Hargreeves. I guess I owe you one, and should get out of your hair.” You shifted like you were going to try to get to your feet and he immediately reached out to stop you.

“You’re not…bothering me. And I’d rather know you were okay. Besides, there’s no way you can walk on that yet. Just…get some sleep.”

“You look almost as exhausted as I feel, and there’s not exactly another bed around…” you pointed out, watching him blush and look away with a slight flush of your own.

“I’ll sleep on the floor. It’s fine.”

“Diego…” you started to protest, but were cut off by a rapid knocking sound.

“Diego, you can’t keep avoiding me,” Patch called, from the other side of the boiler room door. “I know you were at the bank robbery so I need a statement, before someone else issues a warrant.”

“Really?” you groaned. “Terrible timing, Officer.”

“Relax, Eudora is…was…she’s fine. You’ll be fine,” Diego mumbled half-heartedly, moving to open the door and let her in.

You glared at his back as he did so, annoyed that he had managed to avoid the conversation entirely, and once again you two had danced, just out of each other’s reach. You shifted hastily and tugged at the quilt at the end of the bed to try and hide your injury without causing too much pain. Still, you whimpered softly, catching both their attention as she entered the little room.

“Y/N?! What the hell happened?” she said, rushing over to you.

“Heeey, Dora. Oh this?” you gestured down to your leg and the small spot of red seeping through the gauze. “Bank robbers. No respect,” you said with a forced chuckle and a shake of your head. You felt your head swim a little at the movement and began to regret expending the energy so quickly after the secondary trauma of Diego’s impromptu surgery. “Luckily it was just a little bullet and Diego here doesn’t make a bad triage nurse.”

“Wait you two know each other?” he asked, his tone maybe as much frightened as confused.

“While you were off the grid, we hung out. Dora’s great,” you said, flashing her a wink over his shoulder and giggling at his stunned expression, feeling strangely giddy.

“Y/N,” she sighed. “I think you need a hospital, not a little first aid from this idiot.”

“Nah, I’m fine. Why do you say that?”

“You just ‘winked’ with both eyes. And you look a little green around the gills.”

“Still knew I was winking though,” you smirked before frowning in puzzlement. “But I don’t have gills…”

You didn’t catch her response, or Diego’s as the darkness rushed back in to claim you and you slumped back into his bed.

~

Patch was headed for the payphone in the hall, probably to call an ambulance, while Diego hesitated, torn between stopping her and making sure Y/N was alright.

“Eudora, don’t,” he finally managed to get out. “She won’t appreciate it.”

“She won’t appreciate anything if she dies of blood loss,” Patch shot back, glaring at him. “Besides it’s just a hospital, what’s the problem?”

He sighed. None of this was his to tell. Y/N might never forgive him. But still, he had to try and make Eudora understand. He gestured for her to come sit beside him.

“Look. It’s not a serious wound. I’m pretty sure her exhaustion and slipping in and out of consciousness is from stress. I don’t think she’s ever…done something like that before.”

“Like what, Diego? Been in a bank robbery?”

“No,” he shook his head and his voice was soft as he continued, “stopped one.”

“I don’t understand.” Patch was frowning, that confused little furrow forming between her brows which Diego (and you) secretly found cute.

“You remember how I told you about my siblings and me?”

“Yeah your Umbrella School or whatever…”

“Academy.” He frowned at how quickly the correction, almost a defense, jumped out.

She rolled her eyes.

“Anyway, there were more kids that my father couldn’t get.”

“Are you saying Y/N has superpowers like you do?”

“Not just like mine but…yeah. She can control light or something. She had a more scientific explanation.” He shrugged.

“So the flares that stunned the robbers, and several hostages…?” There was something like awe on Patch’s face.

“Were her. When they turned a gun on that kid…she just reacted.”

“Shit.” Patch rocked back on her heels, pinching the bridge of her nose the way she always did when she was stressed, and Diego knew at least part of her was trying to figure out how that was going to screw with the reports, or if she was just going to conveniently leave it out. “But what does this have to do with taking her to the hospital?”

“She’s not…trusting doctors and hospitals is hard when you’ve got a big secret like this, especially when it contributes to the problem you need treated. Plus she’s stubborn; she won’t like being forced to accept help.”

She bit her lip. “I don’t like this at all. But if you’re sure…?”

He met her eye sincerely. “I am.”

She watched as Diego returned to his ministrations, checking your pulse and adjusting the bandages, which you had managed to rumple in your shifting about, such that the long gauze strips no longer fully covered the wound.

“You’re pretty good at that,” Patch mused. “And it’s obvious that you care a lot about Y/N.”

“You’re one to talk. You never let me call you ‘Dora.’”

She blushed, looking away. “It’s not like that. Not… really. Nothing like what’s between you and her.”

“There’s nothing…we’re n-not…” Diego suddenly found himself unable to look at either woman.

He had been in love with Eudora, once, and still felt strongly for her, even if the romantic connection between them had been severed and probably wouldn’t ever come back together. But there was something about Y/N that just felt right. She made him feel seen and understood and like he didn’t need to still be ‘Number Two of The Umbrella Academy,’ he could just be Diego. She made him smile, more freely than he could remember doing in years. He’d missed her terribly while he was away, while they weren’t speaking to one another, like there had been a piece of him missing. When he’d seen her collapse, he had felt like his heart stopped. But she also scared him. They were so different, so incompatible on paper. And he thought that having her just to lose her might actually kill him, so maybe it was better not to go there at all.

“Relax, Diego,” Patch said with a slight laugh, pulling his attention back to the room and her. “It wasn’t an accusation. I’m happy for you. And I like Y/N. She’ll keep you on your toes.”

He opened his mouth to deny once again that there was anything going on between the two of you, to assure her, but she shook her head and rolled her eyes affectionately. Still he blundered onward, changing tactics slightly but still determined to deny what he knew was real, what Patch could see with her own two eyes.

“She probably doesn’t even—“

Patch held up a hand to cut him off again. “Don’t give me that. Don’t use the excuse of not knowing what you could easily find out.”

“It’s not that simple, Eudora,” he sighed.

“Nothing about love ever is.” She stood up, brushing non-existent dirt off her pant legs. “I need to get back to work, but I hope you give what I said some thought at least. For both of your sakes.”

‘Love.’ The word echoed through Diego’s mind, but not in a way that felt intimidating or worrying. It felt more like suddenly having a name for the feeling he knew was there, like hearing someone else say it made it real. But that didn’t mean he wanted to say it out loud. Or did he?

~

The world swam slowly into existence for a third time, and you groaned, sick of the feeling as much as you were suffering any ill effects. Cautiously, you propped yourself up on your elbows, and the movement caught Diego’s attention. Almost immediately, he was up out of the chair he’d been sitting in and crouched by your side.

“How long was I out for?” you asked, hesitantly, ignoring the way your heart fluttered at his closeness and how quickly he’d jumped to your side.

“Do you mean since Patch made you swoon or in general?” he teased, smiling.

You rolled your eyes. “She did not make me swoon. Although if anyone’s swoon-worthy…but no, I mean how long have I been in the Bat Cave, total?”

“You’ve been in and out for…two days or so.”

“Two…shit!” you bolted upright, trying to get to your feet despite Diego fighting you on it. “I need to go, and hope I haven’t been fired yet.”

“You need to rest! And why does it matter to you so much if you lose your job?”

“What do you mean why does it matter? I need that job. You know for rent, and food, and generally being able to survive.”

He frowned, clearly confused. “I don’t understand.”

“That’s a reoccurring thing for you it seems. What exactly has you confused this time Hargreeves?”

“You’re a thief. You’ve stolen plenty. Why does a dead end job matter to you?”

“Are you serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve tried to figure it out: why you work at the diner, why you’re always wearing the same faded sweatshirt and jeans when you’re not working. You’ve got all that money…”

“Is my sense of fashion actually being judged by a man who wears leather like it’s a uniform and not just an uncomfortable invitation to awkward sweat?”

“It is a uniform. And you’re avoiding the question.”

You rolled your eyes. “Self-imposed means it’s not a uniform. Just a…fashion?...choice.” You cocked your head to one side and intentionally exaggerated the question in your tone, making it clear to him what you thought of his pick of attire. He certainly wasn’t wearing it for comfort.

“You’re really going to insult me after I saved your life?”

“You really think I steal for myself?”

“Who else would you be stealing for?”

“Saving lives isn’t always just stabbing and punching bad guys.” Your eyes flickered away from his face, fixing on some invisible point over his shoulder.

“What?”

You shrugged. “I support myself with a day job and then at night, I take from rich assholes who really don’t need it, or deserve to hurt, and I give it to people that need.”

He fell silent, frowning and avoiding eye contact.

“Well, you don’t have to worry,” he said eventually, pointedly ignoring your revelation. “Patch called in sick for you.”

“A police officer calling me in sick? Great now they’re definitely going to think I’m a criminal and fire me.”

“You are a criminal.”

You glared at him, wishing you had something to throw, especially when your reaction made him chuckle.

“She told them you were a witness and were in protective custody. You should be good for a week.”

“So dramatic.” You rolled your eyes. “Thanks, I guess.”

“It was…her idea…” for some reason he wouldn’t meet your eyes again, and you were pretty sure he was lying to you.

“I don’t just mean the work thing,” you said, fiddling with your fingers. “You didn’t have to help me out. You could have left me in the bank, or dumped me on the EMTs.”

He shifted, sitting awkwardly on the edge of the mattress and twisting to face you, instead of kneeling beside you. Hesitantly, he reached out catching an errant strand of your hair between his fingers and twirling it distractingly. Only a stubbornness warring with yourself (and maybe a fear that if you moved too quickly you would pass out again) kept you from launching yourself forward to press your lips to his. You hated how his proximity and the subtle scent of him made your heart race, how he made you feel weak and dizzy in a way that was entirely separate from the blood loss.

As you sat there, not quite locking eyes, each watching each other, it dawned on you that you might actually love him. Strangely, it sent a sensation of calm flooding over you. It just made sense, so there was no point in fighting it, just deciding what to do with it.

“I saw your eyes when you were talking about what you thought they might do if someone found out you had powers,” he explained finally, reluctantly letting his hand drop back to his side. “I didn’t want to be the reason you were that scared.”

“Oh.” The word felt small and inadequate.

You reached out hesitantly, to rest your hand on his where it sat between you. He turned his up so that your palms were touching and laced his fingers through yours. You both sat there staring at your joined hands, each trying to figure out what it meant to yourselves and to each other.

You weren’t sure how long you sat there in the heavy, waiting silence. Finally Diego cleared his throat and pulled away, standing up.

“Are you hungry? I’m going to go out and get you some food, so you can get your strength back up,” he said awkwardly. “You should get some more rest.”

“Right, sure,” you frowned, biting back the questions dancing on your tongue. “Thanks…”

~

The next few days passed much the same way, with you trying to rest and recover, and Diego doing what he could to help you, including helping you change your bandages and giving you a literal hand when you started testing your weight on it finally. The thread of tension running between you was pulled taut and you waited for it to snap. Until, finally you couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Diego,” you started as you stood next to him, his forearm in a vice grip as you wobbled on your right foot and haltingly placed your left one on the cold concrete.

“Don’t start thanking me again, Y/N,” he said, shaking his head ruefully. “I keep telling you it’s no big deal.”

“Diligently nursing me back to health from a gunshot wound is no big deal?” you asked with a raised eyebrow and a demanding sharpness to your tone.

“No. It lets me know you’re okay.” He tried to shrug without moving the arm you were using for balance, resulting in a very awkward gesture and you giggled at it. “I’d do the same for anyone I cared so much about.”

You hobbled yourself around to be facing him, face blushing hotly. “You care about me?”

“O-o-of…c-c-c…” he gaped and floundered and the stutter that you had quickly come to recognize as a sign of his nervousness or uncertainty in himself was sharp.

“Relax, Diego. I care about you to, I just…it’s nice to hear it confirmed that the feeling’s mutual,” you smiled and gave a little shrug.

He stared at you, eyes roving your face as if searching for something. Whatever it was, he must have found it, because the next thing you knew, his free hand was cupping your jaw, thumb trailing across your cheek. And then his lips were on yours and the time for thinking or knowing was past you.

Your grip tightened further on his arm and the other hand curled around his shoulders, dragging yourself closer as his tongue parted your lips in askance, diving in to tangle with yours when you opened so willingly in answer, a moan escaping you only to be swallowed in his kiss. His arm slipped your grip to wrap around your waist as he felt you buckle, whether under the strain on your leg or the intensity of the kiss was uncertain and irrelevant to you both. Slowly, he backed up toward the threadbare chair in the corner of the room, dropping back into it and pulling you down onto his lap. You tangled your hands into his close-cropped hair, carding and tugging gently at it, making him groan, and his hands ran ticklishly up and down your sides.

Reluctantly, you pulled back, panting for air through your kiss-bruised lips.

“What the fuck was that?” you asked, eyebrow raised and staring down at him.

“I think I’ve wanted to do that for six months now,” he murmured in response, gaze adoring as he met your eyes.

“I’ve certainly been waiting for you to. Maybe I should get shot more often.”

“Don’t even joke…”

“So what changed? Was it just about admitting that I cared too?”

“Yeah, I guess. Or, actually, I think it was something Eudora said when she was here. Something she made me see…I don’t know…” he shifted uncomfortably as if trying to get away from your vision and his voice had just enough of a hitch that you knew that his stutter would come out soon if you kept pushing.

So instead, you gently brushed your fingers along his jaw to turn his head back to you.

“Don’t worry about it, you don’t have to explain…I just…I’m glad we finally got here. Now kiss me again.”

He smirked, arms curling around your back to draw you downward. “If you insist.”

~

A few hours later, you both sat at his little table, picking at your takeout.

“So, you have to get back to work soon…” he started awkwardly.

“Yep. I mean, it was a nice week hiding out in the Bat Cave, but I knew I’d to get back to reality eventually.”

“What will you do about, you know, the other thing?”

“Why? So you know when to go back to failing to catch me?” you teased, cocking you head at him with a smirk.

“No. I just know you could be using your powers differently, so I thought…maybe after everything you might have changed your mind on it.”

You growled in frustration, dropping the cheap plastic fork you had been using to nose the vegetables around in your lo mein. “Not this again, Diego.”

“I’m just saying…”

“Well I really wish you wouldn’t. You can’t say you care about me and expect me to believe that, no matter how sweet you are, when you turn around and try to change me with every second breath.” You heard your voice crack, and fought back the accompanying tears of anger. You had thought, no hoped, that now that your feelings were out in the open, he would be more accepting.

“I’m not trying to change you! I just saw what you did at the bank—“

“What? Nearly kill myself? I spent two days slipping in and out of consciousness! I’m going to probably be limping for weeks. I am NEVER doing that again.”

“You can take direct action to save lives! Isn’t that worth a little risk?”

“Why don’t you ask your brother that?” You instantly regretted the words as they slipped off your tongue.

Immediately, it was like sheet-metal shutters slammed shut behind his eyes, those warm chocolate eyes that you loved so much now gone and stony.

“Shit. No, Diego, I…I didn’t mean that…or I kind of did, but I had no right…”

His jaw twitched but he didn’t speak.

“Fuck. I fucked everything up already. Shit. Please say something? Even if you want to tell me off, which I totally deserve…please?”

“We need to change the bandages on your leg.” His voice was flat. You had heard security alarms with more emotion.

“Oh. Right.” You sighed, twisting awkwardly to pull yourself out from under the table and give him access to the wound.

“Then I think you should go.”

You were silent for a moment, watching him closely as he rounded the table and carefully unwound the gauze from your leg.

“No,” you said softly. “I don’t think I should.”

He turned his head up to look at you, mouth agape.

“We keep doing this Diego. Every time there’s something between us, we end up snapping at each other and saying something that hurts the other person and shutting each other out. And I don’t want to do that again. I really like you, and I trust you and I want to be around you, like all the time, and that’s all new and confusing and…terrifying. But I don’t want to lose it.”

“What are you saying?”

“That we should, maybe, talk this out like adults this time?” you smiled sheepishly, hesitantly.

Silence rang over the room, but you felt gentle hands on your leg as he continued to inspect how your leg was healing.

“You’re…right. We should…talk,” he said finally, and you felt the relief settle over your body, tension dropping away.

“Glad you agree,” you said with a slight smile.