Chapter Text
“How long did it take you? To get your vampiric bearings?” Madeleine asks as she squeezes by Claudia, who holds back the final patch of brush. She’s been doing this the whole night, clearing the way so Madeleine can avoid snagging her dress on loose branches. It’s less imperative now, when she has use of her arms again and she’s not carrying the exsanguinated corpses of their victims, but still sweet nonetheless.
Claudia hums. “I loved it immediately. But that doesn’t mean I really had any idea what I was doing until much later.”
“You had Louis, and the French one, yes? In your early years?”
“Kinda. I was a kid and, you know, not really theirs. I had a lot of questions. Lestat hated that.” She scowls, but Madeleine feels her thoughts warm slightly, saying: “Louis was better, more patient.”
They’ve returned to the edge of the park again, night lamps illuminating their figures in the dark. Madeleine brushes a stray leaf from her shoulder, smooths over her hair. “You’re patient with me,” she notes absently, far more focused on the little smudge of mud on her shoe.
“Well that’s because—” Claudia stills, eyes glimmering and fixed on the lower half of Madeleine’s face. “You got a little…”
She motions to her chin. Madeleine mirrors her, feeling around for whatever Claudia sees but her fingers come away clean. “What is it?”
“Just… come here? I’ll get it.” Claudia beckons her close.
“Oh?” Madeleine steps in, the fabric of her dress brushing against Claudia’s pants.
Claudia’s hand is small and warm at her jaw, thumb sweeping at her bottom lip, the corner of her mouth. Her eyes are wide and pink. Madeleine wonders what she’s thinking, and then stops wondering when she reads her mind. It’s a wonderful thrill, to have such access to someone’s intimate thoughts, all the sweeter when she is welcomed in.
Pretty, Claudia’s thinking, blood suits her. Other words and feelings flit across her mind in quick succession, so fast Madeleine can’t catch them all. Something bittersweet at the end: mine, and then a shock of no, followed by a sharp pang of want that hits her right in the chest. Should be mine, should be my blood, wish he hadn’t— before she stops herself.
Such a shame it would have been, to miss out on this experience had Claudia been her maker. For that, Madeleine is unendingly grateful to Louis, distant as he is by all three of their choices. She would take seven thousand years of silence from her maker if only to hear Claudia’s voice in her head for just a few more days.
The thumb at her mouth lingers. On instinct, Madeleine flicks her tongue out, draws it in between her lips. The blood is stale, but Claudia is sweet.
Madeleine is still making herself comfortable in Claudia’s mind when it goes nearly silent, only a faint sense of buzzing, a live wire left open and exposed. Not a single word breaks through the surface, just a fuzzy pink feeling. She senses echoes of past heartache, a loss after the joy of young love. Madeleine knows the feeling well. There is only one way to solve this.
Keeping her bite light enough to pull away if she wished, Madeleine leans down, steps in. One leg between Claudia’s, she doesn’t back away, but stays frozen in place, eyes wide. “May I? ” she feels her words clash into Claudia’s mind, still clumsy with her telepathy. She doesn’t seem bothered, just nods minutely.
Her hand starts to slip away, down Madeleine’s neck when their lips touch for the first time. It’s so soft, so careful, a barely there press of lips. A slight tremble starts up in Claudia, reminiscent of young boys and girls in years past. Claudia isn’t young, she reminds herself with a thrill, just wounded. Madeleine reaches for the hand at her side. Her fingers are clenched into a fist.
Slowly, one by one, Claudia allows them to be unfurled, Madeleine’s slender fingers slipping surely between. She clutches tight to Madeleine's hand, uses it as a lifeline. It steadies her enough to have her rising up on tiptoe, kissing back in a more comfortable position for both of their necks. Their lips slot together, still gentle but better, equal participants in this new, lovely thing.
It feels right to kiss her like this, thrumming alive with blood and illuminated by moonlight. Claudia isn’t shaking anymore. She’s smiling into the kiss, just wide enough for it to be difficult. And then the giggling starts.
Her laughter is infectious, bubbling up out of her chest in hiccupping little gasps. Claudia’s joy radiates off of her in swathes of yellow fabric, the warmth of a sun she’ll never see again. Forget the sun, Madeleine thinks. It’s enough just to have this: Claudia’s hands in her hair, on her waist.
“Yeah?” Claudia asks, when the shaking of their shoulders has died down. They start back down the path again, hips bumping every few steps.
“Yes,” Madeleine smiles, small and private, just for her. “Although, I think I am going to have more questions soon.”
Claudia beams. “However long it takes, I’ll be by your side,” she says, and tucks her hand back into Madeleine’s, tugging her along. “Got our whole lives and then some ahead of us. 1950 is only a couple of months away. Everything’s changing all the time.”
“Mmm, it’s fitting. The start of my new life at the start of a new decade.”
“Our new life.” The thought floats between them, a flower petal on the wind. It doesn’t matter who it originated from, the sentiment remains the same: a fresh start is waiting for the both of them. They’ve only just taken that first step.
Madeleine smiles and brings their joined hands up to her lips, brandishing a lingering kiss to the back of Claudia’s hand.