Work Text:
Dubai, June 2022
After 37 years, Daniel was back in his arms. Where he should be. Where he still fit perfectly. Warm, alive, content in his dreaming.
Armand was content, too, inasmuch as that was a state of being he was still capable of inhabiting. He felt less empty than he had in years and that, perhaps, was more than he’d had any right to hope for.
Things had not gone exactly as Armand had anticipated before they had invited Daniel to Dubai, but then what had he expected? There had been so many possible outcomes. But this was the only one that made sense, to either of them.
Daniel had been angry, so angry, and he would be again, but they would talk about things. Make up. As many times as necessary.
And perhaps they could have some kind of future together, however brief.
All of Daniel’s old emotions towards Armand were still there – or there again. The resentment, the imperfect understanding of what an endless life meant, what it did to an individual, which was not something anyone who was still mortal ever truly could understand.
But there was also Daniel’s unabated desire for Armand, his longing, a sense of belonging.
And love.
Though the latter had not yet been articulated or acknowledged. But Armand could be patient; he had waited for Daniel for nearly four decades. He had been waiting for Louis for more than twice as long.
His own feelings hadn’t changed. Not his feelings towards Daniel, not his feelings towards Louis.
And now Daniel was here, in Armand’s arms. Still as beautiful and complicated and imperfect as he’d always been. Older, yes, more experienced, wiser in some ways, less impetuous, but still – always – his Daniel.
And in this moment, this moment Armand wished he could suspend in time indefinitely, Daniel truly was his again.
Armand tightened his hold on Daniel ever so slightly. He was already holding him very tightly, had been for hours, and he must be careful not to damage his boy. Daniel made a small, appreciative sound and rubbed his face against Armand’s chest in his sleep.
Armand almost felt happy. Almost.
He felt love.
And possibility.
A small chance that this moment together would not be all they could have. That Daniel could forgive him. Set aside old grievances, and pride.
That Daniel would come home to him one last time. And stay.
Armand was less hopeful when it came to Louis.
Louis had always been aware of what Daniel meant to Armand, perhaps even before Armand had become aware himself. And he had permitted it. Maybe he had even encouraged it.
They had discussed Daniel at length before bringing him to Dubai. And though Armand could somehow not recall which of them had first suggested the possibility of inviting him, he did recall that it had ultimately been Louis’ decision to extend the invitation.
But things had not been right between Louis and Armand for many years. Not since long before either of them had met Daniel.
Not since they had left Paris together.
Not since Claudia.
There were things they didn’t talk about. Things that could not be truly forgiven.
Events Louis pretended hadn’t taken place, because the guilt he felt at the part he had played in them would tear him apart if he let it.
Though he had been less culpable than some.
Far less culpable than others.
Armand told himself – and often believed – that the termination of Claudia’s short life had been the inevitable result of a series of imperfect decisions made by an array of deeply imperfect creatures.
But Louis had taken all the blame upon himself and wore it like a hair shirt.
There was a sadness in Louis that was at times all-encompassing. It had always been there, even when he had been human, but it had doubled, tripled, quadrupled in size since Claudia’s demise and had been growing ever since.
And Armand could not help him, could not take this crippling sadness away, because his actions were at the root of its expansion.
So Louis’ melancholy, and the emptiness between them, grew and grew and threatened to swallow them both whole.
But they did not talk about it.
They rarely talked about anything that truly mattered and Louis drifted further and further away from Armand as time went on.
Armand had hoped time would heal Louis’ wounded heart. Would heal what had existed between them for those few short months in Paris.
Armand had waited for that for 77 years and he would wait 77 more years and 77 years again. But he was beginning to see that Louis might never heal. Not as long as he remained with Armand, who would always be a tacit reminder of what Louis had once had but lost. What he still longed for and Armand could never replace, try as he might, patient as he might be.
Daniel made another soft noise in his sleep and suddenly Armand understood, with painful clarity, why Daniel was here.
His presence here was a gift to Armand, from Louis.
A parting gift.
Armand drew in a deep, almost gasping breath, almost involuntarily, and for a moment he felt utterly alone. Despite Daniel’s body pressed closely against his.
The feeling was not unfamiliar, but that did not lessen the pain.
Armand exhaled and tried to focus on the glimmer of hope he had felt at having Daniel in his arms again. He could not quite manage it.
Outside the darkened windows the sun was setting. Louis would wake up soon, and they would have to talk – truly talk – about things that mattered.
Armand let go of Daniel and slid out from under him. “Hmm. Don’t go,” Daniel said, his eyes still closed. He reached out for Armand blindly, a drowsy, half-conscious movement. Armand captured his hand in his own and pressed a kiss to Daniel’s knuckles. “I must. Go back to sleep, my love.” And Daniel did, with only the slightest mental encouragement from Armand.
Armand leaned forward and kissed Daniel’s curls. “What would I do without you?” he whispered.
After carefully climbing out of bed, Armand walked into the bathroom, the shower, and washed away the traces of their lovemaking. Then he simply stood there for a spell, letting the water wash over him, letting his emotions wash over him.
On the other side of the apartment, Louis was beginning to stir.
Armand dried off, picked his clothes up from the bedroom floor and put them back on. He took another deep breath, a last look at Daniel, then left, closing the door behind him as soundlessly as he could manage.
They would have to talk, the three of them.
First Armand would talk to Louis, then they would talk to Daniel.
And determine where they would go from here.