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Diego asks her what she wants to do after the memorial for Sir Reginald's passing, and Grace wants to stay. To look after the big, empty mansion with Pogo. To look after them if she's allowed to.
It's not the response Diego hoped for.
Grace hovers around the gallery during that early morning, merrily airing out the curtains, dolled up in soft pastel aprons and hairspray and that powdery, heavily caked-on makeup scented like roses.
Knowing Grace still doesn't understand she has been freed of a real-life monster… it boils Diego's blood.
"You did this to her. You had her watch Dad kill himself and programmed her to forget it. You took away her choices and how to recognize someone was in trouble," Diego snaps. He glares at Pogo who removes his spectacles, looking down ruefully. "So you're gonna fix her. Take out the restrictions. It's not rocket science why she's having a meltdown after putting up with the fucking years of abuse and bullshit."
He half-expects Pogo to scold him for the f-bomb. Even if Diego is clearly shaking with rage.
"… Of course, Master Diego."
.
.
Vigilante missions and scrubbing the floors at the boxing ring keep Diego busy.
He supposes Pogo needs time to work on deprogramming the non-essentials from Grace. Let her be awake for it and decide what she wants to feel, to adapt and learn tasks just like Diego or any human being.
Walking up the first-floor staircase, Diego finds her seated silently in one of the oval-chairs, by the portraits. Grace has her back to them. She peers towards the second-floor balcony, her cerulean eyes unblinking. Diego's brows furrow. What is odd to him is the lack of her 50s style dress or coiffed hair.
Grace looks like she somehow raided Klaus's closet, pulling on a tight, dark leather jacket and pants. Her bright golden hair loosely draping over her right shoulder. She looks so young. Beautiful.
"Hello, Diego," Grace utters, peering now in his direction. Diego's neck warms as he realizes her top is definitely something Klaus owns — four, interconnecting bands of velvety-black fastening in the front with a silvery skull. Leaving the rest of her chest and stomach exposed to the honeyed lamplight.
"Hey," he replies, concentrating pointedly on her face. Grace's lips scrubbed clean, peachy-nude and full. Diego crouches down, zipping up Klaus's rose-monogrammed jacket to her throat. "You feeling okay?"
A glint of longing blooms in Grace's eyes, as she notices the bouquet of white roses Diego set down.
"Those are beautiful."
She didn't greet him with dear or sweetheart. Maybe then Pogo did what he promised. Maybe Grace doesn't assume she needs to be a mother to Diego or the rest of the Academy members. Maybe… maybe Grace never wanted to be. If she could choose. In a way, thinking about it has Diego's insides churning harshly.
"They're, uh, for you," Diego says, offering a warm, close-lipped smile when Grace's lips twitch up. "I figured since you need some more practice on your sensory input adjustments… Pogo mentioned it."
She gathers the fresh roses into both of her hands, taking a seconds-long deep inhale. He has never seen her appear so grateful and honestly overjoyed in all of the years Grace has lived here with him. The awe. "How thoughtful," Grace murmurs, smiling so wide that her dimples pop. "Flowers are so soft."
Diego slips a hand over hers, clutching on. She feels soft too, cooler and smooth-silk.
"How's it all feeling? Tell me the truth."
That's all he cares about. Grace cants her head and glances upwards, as if seeking to run through her internal programming for the weather and dinner plans, and then she hesitates. It's not there.
(Free-will, not machinery and orders.)
"I…" Grace releases a low, dainty breath. "I don't know," she admits, bemused. Diego grins, chuckling when Grace's ocean-water blue eyes lighting up. Not physically — she's more alive in this moment, full of doubts and emotions, more human than Grace has ever been allowed to experience. It's a good thing.
"Mo—"
Bare, slim fingertips press over Diego's mouth.
"Grace," she corrects him politely.
Diego sends her a soft, dubious look. "Grace," he repeats. "I just want you to have a normal life, okay? You deserve that. So… I dunno, maybe I can stay here for a few days. Help out if you need it."
Grace's fingertips return, covering of the thick, colorless bandage over Diego's forearm. A shitty bullet-wound. Nothing major. "I would like that very much," Grace announces, nodding, not leaning away as Diego hugs her protectively, cupping the back of Grace's head with a glove-padded hand, their faces inclining.
It doesn't matter if she's his Mom or not — Diego won't have her be alone.
Or forgotten.
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TUA isn't mine. I saw a prompt for Grace getting reprogrammed and it wanted it shippy but I ended up doing gen. Or like lowkey shippy. It's really up to whoever is reading to decide. I can't really say it matches the prompt so I'm gonna post this version anyway on its own. Thanks for reading! I hope you like it!