Chapter Text
Daniel woke up alone.
It was the 80s reversed: Instead of falling asleep in an empty bed only to wake up with Armand all up in his face, this time, he fell asleep in Armand’s arms and woke up to find the other side of the bed cold.
But the nostalgia wasn't enough to flush out the wave of euphoria last night had brought him. They had spoken. Armand had looked at him for the first time since that Halloween night when he had been freshly turned and things had still been good. When quiet approval had been thrumming between them. Hunger. Desire. Affection.
This time, too, he'd seen a mix of those emotions in Armand’s gaze, tangled in something too complicated for Daniel to decipher. Regret, maybe? Daniel swallowed the thought down and decided to focus on the good feelings a night together with his maker had given him. He had nearly forgotten how intoxicating it was to bask in his attention.
Halfway into dressing himself, he realized he was humming a tune – one of those they had danced to last night. Whatever the fuck had happened with that Voice, Amel or whatever (he should probably get on that, write a book about it before Lestat would snatch that away from him again), Daniel was glad for it. Immensely grateful that it had provided him this opportunity to reunite with his maker.
The first half hour he wasted by tinkering around the room while sipping from the thermos full of warm blood he'd found on the nightstand. This was all Armand's! The day before, he hadn't taken enough time to check it out thoroughly because he'd had Armand himself right there. But now he could take his time exploring each nook and cranny. The painting above the bed. The reading nook by the window that oversaw one of the gardens.
He wasted another god knows how many minutes in Armand's walk-in closet, not even focusing on the softness of different fabrics under his fingers or taking in the colors of the clothes that were stacked neatly on the shelves or hanging on hangers in an order he was sure made perfect sense to Armand. No, mostly he was just overwhelmed by the smell of what could only be described as Armand, and the detergent he was currently using. Something with cardamom and cedar wood and a hint of sweetness, like honey or cinnamon, that Daniel could only make out thanks to his preternatural olfactory sense. He just stood there, basking in the smell, and had to forcibly shake himself out of it to not waste an entire night like this.
There was a record player, right next to the huge flatscreen TV which hung in perfect line of sight of the couch. Shaking off musings about who Armand was used to cuddling up to here while watching Bladerunner fifty times in a row, Daniel sat down cross-legged in front of the record player instead, to go over the record collection. Some of those, Daniel thought, were his. He grinned to himself. Little thief, his Armand.
Besides records, there were also CDs. At random, Daniel picked up a The Velvet Underground CD and put it into the little black walkman that sat helpfully on the shelf before him. Armed with that, he decided to go exploring outside Armand's quarters. If he couldn’t find Armand, he resolved, he could find a quiet spot to listen to his music.
Outside, he hesitated. It hadn't been a line when he said he couldn't find his way around Trinity Gate. It was too big, too spacious and so unfamiliar that he was a little afraid to get lost without a guide. But he'd found Armand on his own the other night, and he'd be damned if he just sat around waiting for him to come back like some stupid damsel.
His mind gift wasn't great, but it did the job, and he could pick up a steady, familiar hum of love — the same kind he felt plastered to the walls like paint — and piano music!
He only had to turn one corner to find the music growing louder. Without knocking, Daniel poked his head through the door. "Hey, have you guys seen Armand?" When he realized who the occupants of the room were, he slid all the way inside, straightened his back and smoothed his shirt out with a hand. "I mean, hello, nice to meet you! I'm Daniel Molloy."
The fedora wearing boy who had so effectively interrupted the party with his announcement yesterday looked up at him with an expression that aimed for neutrality but couldn't help letting slip some curiosity around the eyes and… was that a hint of suspicion? "The Boy from Interview with the Vampire. We're aware."
The girl at the piano, on the other hand, betrayed nothing but geniality as she nodded at Daniel without ceasing her playing. "Sybelle," she introduced herself, voice soft and silvery. "And this is Benji. Nice to meet you, Daniel. We've heard a lot about you."
Daniel chuckled awkwardly. "All good things, I hope."
Benji just smiled back at him, but there was something shark-like in the curves of his mouth. Something very Armand. Even if Daniel didn't know he was the voice that had implored them over radio waves all those times to reunite as one tribe, he would've liked him instantly.
"Right," Daniel said. People who protected Armand's heart with an iron will and fists ready to strike were always a green flag. He just preferred if this attitude weren't directed at him, personally, but fair's fair. "So do you know where Armand is?"
"Council meeting," said Benji. "Some important decisions that affect all of us made by a select number of people because–"
"Democracy." Daniel nodded. At least Lestat was trying to lead this whole thing away from something too close to resembling a dictatorship.
Benji rested his chin in his hand as he fixed him with his unblinking stare. "So, I figure you guys talked?"
"Talked?" Daniel frowned. "About what?"
Benji stared at him as though he was about to suffer an aneurysm. It looked like he was going to say something, thought otherwise, and said instead, "You know there's more modern stuff now other than your sad little walkman, right?" He lifted two earbuds in the air that must have been ripped from their cords and therefore rendered useless.
Daniel shook his head, clutching his walkman protectively against his chest. "Thanks, I'm good."
"Technology advanced quickly, it's hard to adjust. Give him time," Sybelle said and Daniel shot her a grateful look.
"Thanks, Sybelle. Love your music. Big fan of your radio show, Benjamin."
Daniel closed the door on Benji's protest of "It's Benji!"
Somehow, he found his way back to the huge room that served as a ballroom yesterday. Despite the important council meeting taking place currently, there was a surprising number of vampires here, standing or sitting about in pairs or by themselves. The man that introduced himself as fucking David yesterday and a red-headed woman were playing chess by the fireplace. A regal looking man was explaining the fauna visible through the window to a woman in modern clothes who nodded along absent-mindedly, clearly feigning interest. Heart sinking, Daniel realized how many vampires he didn't know by name. What a journalist he was.
He thought back to what used to be his mantra, during the long weeks (months, years, decades) when he lost himself in the maelstrom of time: Your name is Daniel Molloy. You're a journalist. The Vampire Armand is your maker.
He would punctuate every fact with a tap to whatever surface was nearest — the wall, a table, his own thigh.
You were born in 1953. Made in 1985. That makes you 32 in human years, and just about the same in vampiric age.
How many of those years had passed him by without noticing. He'd thought the Gift would bring him community, a sense of belonging, yet now he felt lost in a room full of people. He clutched the walkman tighter, wished the edges were sharp enough to make him bleed.
"You should work on your mind gift," a voice said suddenly close to his ear and Daniel jumped
"Jesus fucking Christ!"
He dropped the walkman, but the intruder caught it before it could hit the ground and shatter. The woman was wearing a fancy, old-fashioned ballgown with a neckline that didn't leave a whole lot to imagination. Her blond hair was draped in an elaborate braid over one shoulder and the sly smile she bestowed upon Daniel was tinged an enticing cherry-red. "Bianca Solderini," she said, foregoing Daniel's automatically outstretched hand to drop a kiss on each of his cheeks. "We haven't been officially introduced. A terrible oversight, if you ask me."
"Tru-ly!" said Daniel, feeling a little dazed as he accepted the walkman back from her, glad to see it in one piece still.
"Oh, you know him, he has a dozen of those." Bianca made a dismissive gesture with her hand. "It wouldn't have been a problem."
"Uh, Daniel!" Daniel belatedly remembered to introduce himself. "Molloy."
"Oh, I know. Hard not to." Bianca's eyes twinkled as she looked him up and down. Her scrutiny would make him feel self-conscious in his ratty jeans and bland t-shirt but then he found nothing but appreciation in her gaze. "I've been wanting to meet you for a very long time. Please excuse the delay, but you seemed rather, uhm, preoccupied the other night."
"Yeah, well. Ha. Time flies, right?" Bianca's sudden appearance left him wrong-footed and internally cursing himself for his verbal stumbling. "Hey, were you at the council meeting? Is it over, then?"
Bianca nodded. "We elected the Prime Minister tonight," she told him. "As you know, Lestat already suggested Marius, but because he wants this to be a democracy, he insisted on an election."
"Democracy." Had sounded more like an announcement than a suggestion, earlier. Should Daniel feel slighted that he hadn’t been invited for the election?
"Everyone was in favor except one." Bianca shot him a significant look that Daniel didn't know how to interpret. "Lestat said the vote needs to be unanimous, so he suggested Armand as a second candidate."
"Oh." Daniel didn't know how to feel about that.
"Everyone was in favor of that, but Armand refused the position, so Lestat asked him if he would accept Marius instead since there was no other candidate willing to take over. So he said yes. And now we have a Prime Minister."
"Great." Whatever that meant. "I'm sure Marius will… enjoy it." Enjoy talking everyone's ears off, for sure. Enjoy lecturing people, too. Good luck to all of them. At least it'd keep 'Prince Lestat' in line. Maybe.
"And Armand?"
Bianca smiled. "He's free to stay or go, I suppose," she said, playing with her braid. "And you? Will you be coming to Auvergne?"
Daniel made a face. "Eh. Coats and breeches aren't really my thing."
Bianca didn't hide her chuckle behind her palm like Daniel half expected from a Renaissance lady. Instead, she openly showed him a row of white teeth with no ounce of self-consciousness. "It's not that kind of court, Daniel. Jeans and t-shirt is fine."
"Still. Not really my scene. Besides, there's so much I have yet to see in this new age."
"Hmm. Like here, New York?" Bianca asked slyly. "Or Miami, perhaps?"
Daniel felt himself flush with his breakfast's (dinner's?) blood. "For a start." He scratched at the back of his neck. "Among other things."
Bianca smirked. "I hear Pompeii is lovely this time of the year."
"Shut up," Daniel said, before he remembered how old the lady in front of him was, how much more powerful than him. "Respectfully, ma'am."
But Bianca simply hooked her arm through Daniel's, and touched his shoulder amicably as she steered him through the room for a little stroll. "Please. The only way to insult me is to stand on ceremony. You're Armand's only, we should treat each other like family."
"Okay," Daniel said, feeling, suddenly, pleasantly warmed from the inside with something other than blood. "Auntie Bianca."
Bianca swatted at his shoulder, threw her head back and laughed heartily. She sounded a little like Armand when she laughed — not the timbre but in the way she seemed to pour her entire self into it, no holds barred, and the way it made her look as young as she looked to mortals. It made Daniel's heart swell, seeing her like this after how despairing she'd seemed the other night — something about a dead fledgling she was grieving. He was glad she could get her mind off things even for a little while.
"So, if the business is concluded, where'd Armand go?"
Bianca shrugged. "He didn't say. I suppose he went back to his quarters." Her eyelids fluttered up towards him. "Looking for you, perhaps?"
As Daniel raced out of the room in record time, he wondered briefly if leaving Bianca standing there without a word of goodbye had been too terribly rude.
*
Armand was indeed in his quarters.
He was standing at the foot of the bed, unmoving like a ghost, staring at nothing. Daniel noticed he hadn't put the stash of CDs he'd been going through back in their rightful places, and that the sheets on the bed were still as crumpled as they'd been when Daniel had crawled out of them. Should he have made the bed, at least?
"I made coffee for you." Armand gestured at the mug on the night stand, ignorant of Daniel's thoughts as he would always be, now. Steam was rising from the mug's rim, and Armand’s eyes followed the tendrils with a frown. "Isn't that strange? I didn't even think about it."
A tentative smile began to form around Daniel's mouth. "Muscle memory?" he suggested. "Used to almost make me forgive you."
Finally, Armand turned towards him, breaking the ghostly illusion. "For breaking into your apartment?"
Shaking his head, Daniel closed the door behind himself and stepped further into the room. "For not letting me hold you through the day."
Armand pursed his lips. "I would have killed you in my sleep."
In a move that felt almost daring, Daniel closed the distance between them until their noses were almost touching. "Would've been worth it." Did Armand's breath catch in his throat? (They'd danced all night, sure, and spent the day in one bed together holding hands, yes. But was he allowed this closeness, still, in the dead of this new night?)
Patiently, he waited for Armand to make the next move, to close the gap and press his lips against Daniel's.
Armand didn’t make him wait long.
It was a chaste, closed-mouth kiss, yet it left Daniel's lips tingling with want.