Chapter Text
Swallowed by an arsonous glow, the Théâtre des Vampires was reduced from its grandeur to the wick of a mourning candle. The flames demanded attention. For the occasion, they wore their most intoxicating cologne and remained adamant about embracing anybody around. Monster that it was, the fire could not decide between a roar and the inviting crackle found in a domestic parlour. Specks from the blaze fell like snow onto the cobbles. Smoke eclipsed the moon. Tonight, the light on the street was fuelled by retribution.
One pair of blood-splattered boots clicked down the road, unheard and unseen by the recently twice-dead. It was a horrifying image: the silhouette of a male figure holding a petite, limp body in his arms whilst the spectre of someone absent loomed over each step.
If only Louis could see them now.
The carousel of Pointe du Lac et Lioncourt had come to a stop. All suspended disbelief that horses were not a moment away from galloping out of their starting configuration was thrown to the fire. All music had ceased.
Cradling her in the recesses of a catacomb, Lestat opened his wrist for Claudia to feed upon. Unlike the first time, he did not swat her away the second unlife began to seep into her, despite the ferocity of her adolescent thirst. He would indulge her, just this once, in this barely conscious state. Haunted beauty slowly returned to her features and strength electrified the latch she had on her maker.
Claudia's eyes flung open. For the first time, the dainty killer startled like a fawn. Her hands fell away in an instant. Eyes wide, she stared up at Lestat for a few moments, still not looking quite the woman he knew her to be. Unreadable expressions had been a fundamental of their relationship but the sudden furrow of her brow spoke to her terror, the quirk to her lips sang her sorrow. Desperation screamed out before she did.
"Where's Louis? Madeleine?"
The sight of Lestat at her aid did not bode well for an answer, he was well aware.
"I can't hear-" she started, before slamming a palm over her mouth in realisation.
Lonely drops of blood streamed out of her eyes as she shook and wailed in Lestat's arms. Her fresh grief brought his surging forth from behind the thin veil of numbness he had sported to enact vengeance. A crimson tear without companion rolled down Lestat's cheek. He could hardly bear to look at Claudia now. Gentle, ghostly strokes to her curls were the extent of the affection his body knew to reveal to this fledgling of his. At that, she turned to weep into his sternum.
"There, there. You don't want to cry all your strength away," Lestat said through sniffles of hypocrisy.
"We shoulda never come here. You were right. I shoulda listened to you, Lestat. I'm..." bawling interrupted Claudia's speech, "I'm sorry. This is all my fault."
He chewed his lip. Oh, Claudia, eternal headache, object of vexation, leech of life. Lestat could not console her. Finally, she had a taste of how he felt about her all those years with her loathing now turned from him on to herself.
"Why me? Why not save Louis?"
Echoes of 1132 Rue Royale during Claudia's decade of departure flung themselves around the walls of Lestat's mind. There was no Louis when Claudia was 'gone'. Mardi Gras 1940 and the months leading to it salted the wound. Louis had made clear times uncountable that his maker was not enough for him, that he would always choose Claudia. And how soon had he moved on to a new lover after leaving Lestat for dead?
His index finger traced one of Claudia's curls and waltzed with the spiral, twirling before letting go. "In my position, he would have made the same choice, both you and I know it."
"You shoulda just let them kill me. Louis wouldn't mind, he's fucking dead. He's dead 'cause I dragged him here with me. And I'm gonna jump into a fire one of these days, anyway. Armand said so. I was turned too young to handle it."
"Don't be ridiculous. I made you."
"For Louis! As a mistake. You sure love reminding me of that."
The corners of Lestat's lips curved up. Their battles in New Orleans were now ships shrinking and disappearing over a distant horizon. Admitting to himself it was a genuine rivalry for Louis' affections would cause a distinct snap within Lestat back then, but now? There was no competition in the wake of their most prized's fate. There had been no competition long before that, in truth. Lestat had lost long ago.
"I've made worse mistakes."
With the hand he had run through Claudia's hair, he dabbed away his last tear for the catacombs. Her sobbing continued to stain the white material over his chest red like spilt wine. Time immaterialised as she quivered and Lestat retreated from Paris into memories. Bloodied shards of a past life jutted out with fresh hindsight. How ignorant he had been to believe Louis would ever accept him - love him - without reservation. Thoughts that went through his head as he dished out obscured truths, screaming matches and violations of faith were intangible now. To think Claudia would orchestrate his downfall and Louis would be a willing participant!
Perhaps Claudia's solution was merely the response to provocation her maker had trained within but Louis... Two of their three remained due to that soft, vulnerable chamber of Louis' heart where Lestat lived on through it all. Or maybe it was the humanity that he clung to that prevented him from burning a man he once cared about. It was an unacceptable love by every measure but the undercurrent of tenderness endured dangerously.
Though a fledgling, Louis had kissed Lestat with the gift of a second chance. Not necessarily as lovers because, in the cold, he chose Armand, who held only a sparkler to Lestat's wildfire for him. Cruel mercy was what it was. The night of Claudia's return, Lestat had sowed the seeds for his loves to cave in on him, his lungs were filled with remorse, at last. Memories of a decade in Buenos Aires that did not exist were asphyxiating.
The peace that Louis had starved for, withering away for years in need of, was, at a time, easily achieved:
Say sorry to Claudia, make up with her for his sake, reach for the heart instead of the neck, exhibit restraint, Louis does not leave; ever her brother's keeper, Claudia stays where she is, she's doubtful of the apologetic act for a while but she's still here; a few more years pass and Louis is happy, Claudia one day lets it go, for Louis. Joy from the early years is no longer a nostalgic musing but in renaissance. Nobody goes to the old world. The three of them are together in Buenos Aires, Havana, Port-Au-Prince, Montreal... anywhere new.
Of course, they had been robbed of that life. It had been snatched by the neck and dropped from the sky, shattered beneath a superficially healed surface that Lestat had no sense to recognise.
The mystified warning of Europe he had spit at Claudia on the train all those years ago was not cruel mercy, just cruel, and as selfish as her creation. Uncertainty fogged Lestat's intentions in saving her this time. Was sharing the suffering of loss another resentful blade to butcher her with? In the second he had to decide on where to spend his strength, had he chosen tormenting Claudia over loving Louis yet again? Was this one more mistake to the tally?
Lestat peered down at her curling into his hold, still gasping between tears. No malice made itself known and, if they existed, sensations of regret had no weight.