Don’t go telling other people I said that though, then they’ll all bother me to say it to them.
WHAT: Having an Important Talk WHERE: Morningside WHEN: After the ghosties have disappeared WARNINGS: Lots of feelings STATUS:Complete!
Diego was tired. But not a tired that could be easily remedied by sleep, no, a tired that made his eyes feel too dry, his skin too tight on his bones, his nerves rubbed raw. He couldn’t sleep, at least right away, he was just so fucking on edge from four days of Reginald Hargreeves in his head. Commenting on everything, of course he had an opinion on everything that Diego did. He always had. This time, however, felt more targeted. More cutting. More dissecting all of Diego’s insecurities, laying them all out on the table.
And Diego had so many insecurities. About his standing with other people, as if his relationships with the people he cared about most were perilously shaky. Not on Diego’s end, of course, once someone had fought through the brambles of Diego’s boundaries to gain his loyalty, he would not be shaken. It was easy for him to reassure Jacob and Evie of the woes of a father who didn’t appreciate them, it was simple to tell Serefin he was more than some vessel, he knew his siblings deserved a better childhood than what they got and he told them that, he told Isabela that there wasn’t a part of her he didn’t appreciate. All of that wasn’t because he felt like he had to, it was because that was how he sincerely felt.
It was just accepting it all in return that was so damned hard for him. And he hated that, that even now Reginald Hargreeves had that ability to throw it all into chaos. He wanted to lean on people, the way he sometimes asked, sometimes insisted, sometimes demanded to be leaned on (go ahead, ask him, he could carry a lot), because logically, Diego knew it would be alright. It was just being vulnerable, being weak, because he had been conditioned to believe that his worth was in what he could do, that he was still struggling with. Admitting he needed help. Couldn’t do things on his own. And perhaps, most importantly, he didn’t want to do them on his own.
“I know what it’s like to love dangerous people,” he said, once, another memory that hadn’t happened for him. “Difference is, they love me back.” His other self had been a goddamn genius. Not that that was a surprise, obviously.
He slid a cup of coffee over to Isabela, the cream mixing in slow spirals. Home and not followed by the ghost of his father, Diego’s shoulders had finally been able to come away from his ears, his perpetually clenched jaw relaxed. “I know you shot down the cave idea, but I think with a few adjustments, it’s really solid. Mostly I’m concerned about my blender.”
His blender. Isabela snorted a quiet laugh, taking the coffee cup and wrapping her hands around it. They were so fresh off a week of one straight party (oddly, she hadn’t really seen Hawke much throughout it all), and then a wedding, and now this - it felt as if she was always involved in some sort of adventure while living in Vallo. Different from the kind of adventures she might see on a ship rocking and swaying, singing a gentle lullaby to ease the fears and give ease to her passengers. This was an adventure that really tugged at the ol’ heartstrings.
Still, if she had to pick a partner to share it all with - she knew she couldn’t ask for someone better than the partner she did have.
“We can talk about hermiting later,” she said, sipping from her coffee mug. The hot liquid rolled down her throat, and she watched Diego with gold dust eyes, squinting speculatively. “But right now we ought to talk about how you had your bloody terrible father ghost hanging around for days and clammed up about it?” He was like a walking stress knot, Diego was. She needed him to know it didn’t have to be like that - he didn’t need to carry every burden alone. That was what a partner was for, aye? To share in the good and the bad?
Diego wanted to look away. Wanted to shrink back and say nothing, or worse, lash out in anger as a means of protecting himself. And immediately, he recognized what he was doing, crystal clear. Reverting to old tricks he’d done when words left him and he couldn’t let down the armor. It was what ended up pushing Patch away, ultimately, not one big blowout but lots of little ones that were all centered around that theme: Diego wouldn’t let anyone in. Already things were different here--he was different than when he and Patch had been together, Isabela wasn’t Eudora and he didn’t want her to be.
And God, he could blame Reginald Hargreeves for a lot, but when was Diego going to take responsibility for his own happiness? Not push aside the trauma and pretend it never happened, but instead, stop letting it control him?
He pulled his gaze up to meet Bela’s, Diego’s teeth grinding down. “I know,” he said, finally. “I saw him, and I had every intention to just tell him to fuck right off and,” he flinched, his hands tightening and releasing against the counter. “I froze. It felt like f-failure.” Well, fuck it, let’s just go for broke, your boyfriend was a stuttering mess, Isabela. Grace’s lessons had helped, of course, but when push came to shove, Diego would have rather thrown knives than words for that very reason.
Isabela had similar insecurities, similar hangups - though admittedly, her problems tended to stem from the fact that she had once tried to push Hawke away because she was afraid she’d hurt him. So afraid that she’d fuck things up, because of all the bad shit she’d done, that she thought it was better to cut ties first. Like some kind of weird self-fulfilling prophecy - and yet the fucker hadn’t given up on her.
Somewhere along the way, she’d become just as stubborn. Finally found someone she wanted to be with, and Anders blew up a chantry and war broke out, the Templars deciding to kill damn near everyone. But she stuck by him.
Hawke was gone now too, of course - and Isabela had grieved for him, she’d moved on, and Diego wasn’t anything like her former love either; that was perfectly fine. “Come here - “ She set down her mug and hugged him from behind, cheek pressed in between broad shoulders. “I love you, Diego. You know that, don’t you? I’ll be beside you, no matter how many ghost dick versions of your father appear. Next time, anyone tries to get you to you - they’re going to have to go through me first. Let them go through me.”
“I know,” Diego promised, his fingers looping through Bela’s. There were callouses on the tips of her fingers from working on the Siren’s Call II, he knew, and it was nice to notice that and know that. “I do.” He would likely never feel like he earned it or deserved it, but did anyone ever feel that way, truly? He chuckled, pulling both of her hands up to his lips. “I’d put money on you in any fight, babe, not even a question.” Even as the thought of Reginald Hargreeves ever coming around again, or having access to Bela, or anyone in his small circle, had Diego’s skin itching.
He turned around to set his chin on top of Isabela’s head. “I like protecting my people, you know? That’s never going to change. Have you seen Dan? Fucking looks like a strong wind could blow his ass over, Serefin sneezes wrong and he’s on the goddamn floor like a turtle.” Alright, both of those things were an exaggeration (though not by much, Diego would have argued), but the sentiment was true. Diego was a doer, he showed up first, he left last, he threw himself into tasks because it was how he showed he cared.
But words were important too. People needed to hear things, so there was no doubt. “I love you,” he said, and though Diego was terrible with words, those were simple enough that even he couldn’t mess them up. Telling Isabela felt right, felt good, felt grounding. He knew he did--it had never been a question of that. It was just a matter of Diego getting out of his head. Diego’s smiles were more slanted quirks of his lips, especially when he thought he was being funny, like now. “Don’t go telling other people I said that though, then they’ll all bother me to say it to them.”
Love was indeed a many-splendored thing. It was also painful sometimes, it twisted and grated and it stuck to the heart like barnacles on a ship’s prow. Silly and unreasonable, love was, but it also happened to be worth all the struggles. Isabela loved Diego, she knew it deep in her bones and in the depths of her tarnished heart, and they loved each other in a place where - most of the time - their lives were not easy. Just look at the past few days with Reginald Cocksplat hanging around.
But she definitely needed to hear those words. Even if she knew how he felt, the words were the icing on the cake.
“Your secret’s safe with me,” she promised, bopping up on her toes to kiss him before she bopped up with her bum and settled it atop the counter. The vantage point let her reach for him, ensnaring him with arms and legs like vines. Though her hands definitely slid up his shirt, palms pressed to his abs. Because why not. “You’re quite good at protecting your people,” she added. “Maybe you can let your people protect you in turn sometimes? You could try?”
A united force, and all of that. She knew his siblings and in-laws (well, just the one in-law) and the Fryes and Serefin would stand beside him too. Like equals. But in this instance it also involved a certain degree of trust.
In response, Diego put his face in the crook of Isabela’s neck, the part where she smelled the most like sea salt and spice and the sun. “I want to do better,” he agreed. Because it truly was never about other people--Diego knew if he needed help, the people he cared about most would show up in force. Had shown up in force, in fact, even when it was small, personal bullshit. And also not so deep down he knew that those same people really didn’t need him--the Fryes were assassins, the Hargreeves were trained superheroes, Gideon was a necromancer, Serefin was a blood mage, and Isabela was pirate queen literally disappearing in plain sight? But oh boy, when your entire identity and sense of belonging had come from your usefulness, it was hard to break that way of thinking.
Again, bust out of the cycle. Life was so complicated and crazy here, with people disappearing, or ghosts appearing, or new memories, or new versions of people, fucking dinosaurs and yet he felt more solid and secure than ever. That was probably why all of this crap was coming up now, ~self-improvement~ hadn’t exactly been on Diego’s mind dealing with the actual end of the world. And before that? He just never had the motivation, too busy burying everything under anger and bitterness.
Ugh. Growth was hard.
He kissed the spot where his face had been and then set his teeth on the cut of her jaw. “Sorry every other week is some sort of bullshit. You can have the next three hundred or so calamities, I’m a fucking rock.” Yes, Diego knew that wasn’t exactly how it worked, but the point remained. “Even if that calamity is listening to Dorian talk about ice sculpture placement for the millionth time. That’s how you know it’s for real.”
Isabela snorted a laugh. “What would we even do, if every other week wasn’t bullshit?” she asked rhetorically, fingers hooking in the front of Diego’s pants. Tempting to yank them down and go for the kitchen blowjob (wouldn’t be the first time) but she had to set a good example and not be a giant hypocrite when it came to talking through things rather than not. Or pushing it off for sexier, more fun activities.
Still, they were making progress and she was so relieved to hear that Diego wanted to let those close to him step up and deal with the calamities as a united front. “We’ve all got our talents, love,” she said. Maybe Isabela could disappear in plain sight but she couldn’t stop bullets, and she was always proud of her extraordinarily talented companion. “When we all work together, not much stands a chance anyway.”
Wholeheartedly, she believed that. Stronger together held some meaning to it.
As for the placement of party favors, she pulled a bit of a face, a teasing scrunch of her nose. “I’m not sure if I’m cut out for ice sculptures either. Now that I’ve got the ship, it feels like a crime to not use her for something better.” And why not? She could easily hire a crew and get shit done. Stranger things had happened.
“It’s a good team,” Diego said, as thoughtfully as he could be accused of saying something. A team because they wanted to be, gone through shit and bonded anyway. He liked it. It felt like a new start, and sure there was whatever the fuck Reginald had come up with with the Sparrow Academy because stupid time travel stupid changing things stupid Commission whatever whatever. He remembered the mental ward (fuck them, he wasn’t wrong he just...went about it the wrong way. Probably) and being left by Five. Here? He knew enough reckless dumbasses who would have burned the place down. And he would have done the same thing for them. It was...nice. Ew.
He snorted a laugh at Isabela’s expression. Diego’s laughs were usually huffs of air, as if even his body was surprised he was laughing and couldn’t come up with the noise fast enough to respond. “I mean, someone has to care about that, I won’t take that away from him.” And, you know, all the actual magic he did and the wars they fought, obviously. He could understand why Isabela, so proud of all that she’d accomplished in a time and land where women were told they couldn’t do any of it, would want to do more than plan parties at Skyhold. But if she didn’t, that was fine with him too. He was happy at the Underground, it was people he liked, punching each other in the face. Hard not to like that, and Isabela should have felt the same way about whatever she did.
“You got anything in mind? Doesn’t really matter, you’re going to kick ass whenever you decide and whatever it is. Maybe get a crew that knows what they’re doing instead of constantly having to be like, is starboard left or right? Except the knots, I know that shit,” Diego added, with a self-satisfied smirk. From crime-fighting! Obviously.
“You know that shit,” Isabela agreed with a toothy grin, stark and and a splash of white against the cherry-red of her mouth - she liked a bold lip color whenever she was set to head into the Black Emporium for some wheeling and dealing.
But there was something about that too - she missed the sea so much, just being around her. Cooped up all day with magical artifacts and smelly old books was definitely more Dorian’s thing - no, Bela was more about the spray of salt and the nourishing rays of the sun, and a rolling deck beneath her feet.
She draped her arms around Diego’s shoulders, leaning in with a pout to kiss all on his face (and her lipstick was kiss-proof too, at least). “I haven’t got anything in mind yet, but I’ll do a little research. Maybe just hire a Vallo native crew, or see if any of our type wants a job - “ They had to have sturdy sea legs though, that was a requirement, “...and take people out sailing and diving. Between here and the beach resort. I plan to stick around awhile and I want to do something I enjoy.”
And speaking of doing things she enjoyed.
“How much time have you got before you’ve got to be anywhere important?” she wanted to know, leaning in, an arch of her back that pushed ample bosom up against her handsome, handsome lover.
“You better,” Diego said, scarred eyebrow arched. “Because I have every intention of sticking around.” Yes, he knew it didn’t work that way, people disappeared every day, no warning, no nothing, but if you started thinking about it, you’d be likely to end up sitting around doing nothing, only worrying about how temporary this all could be. Long term planning had never been Diego’s strong suit, so instead he’d just focus on being thankful for what he had.
That included Isabela’s curves so dangerous they should have come with a sign and a smile that hid a thousand secrets he’d never get sick of learning. Smiling, soft as Diego ever got, he hiked up Isabela’s legs around his waist. “Huh, look at that, I got all the time you need.”