Chapter Text
Lestat's pupils dilated as he drank, and he momentarily abandoned concentration on his meal as he instead contemplated what exactly he was feeling…
…or rather not feeling.
It's always such a strange sensation; drugged blood flowing into him. Through him. Enveloping every one of his senses. Slowly stunning them— drowning them. Until the drugs effect finally takes hold and he feels alive.
Ehh… except that was not what was currently happening to him. Instead he felt numb.
But not in a bad way, per se. Not in a good way either, honestly. In more of a "My life has been day after day, year after year, century after century of non stop fucking bullshit… but I could not give a rat's ass about it at the moment."
— that was the term, right? Give a rat's ass… (what did that even mean?!)
Regardless. He felt calm. And Lestat couldn't recall many times in his very long life that he had ever felt this feeling so strongly. It was nice. So nice, even, he sighed dramatically about it, and had he not been alone (save for the rapidly fading body in his clutches) he would have admitted to his dramatics without any pushback, or discrepancy. He felt light as a feather. Unweighted down with… his fucking miserable life.
Lestat released the neck of his victim, silently pleading with whatever entity had its ears turned on for the damned souls of the earth, that he'd stopped in time.
The man's eyes fluttered, and he blinked up at Lestat. Dazed and very drained— but not fully. "Wha— Wh- Where… Wh- Who are y- yo—"
"What kind of drugs are you taking?" Blunt, yes. But Lestat was desperate…
"H- Huh?" The man's eyes rolled a bit but Lestat gave him a firm shake. Hard enough to jostle him back to consciousness.
"Listen to me," he demands, and the man blinks up at him… maybe understanding. "This, sweetest of all poisons, that is coursing through your veins. I need to know what it is."
The man only stares up at him, with wide unfocused eyes. Lestat groans. He is sure it's not the case, but he swears he can already feel the medicine leaving him. It's as if the heavy weighted blanket that he felt wrapped in from it is being lifted away. He clings to the man, and contemplates draining him now to get it back in its fullness.
"Wait… did— did you ask what drugs I'm on?" The man eventually asks, as he slowly comes more to, and becomes aware of his surroundings.
"Oui! I did. S'il te plaît, tell me!"
"Man… I'm not on drugs! Fuck you!"
The two men stare at each other for a long while, and Lestat contemplates just finishing the man off. But— "Liar! I can taste it in your blood!"
"You can taste it my what?!"
Lestat glowers at him, but doesn't respond to him. He waits.
The body, now rigid in his arms, squirms; the man sucks his teeth in frustration. "Only thing I'm on is Lithium!"
"Lithium?" Lestat repeats the name and it feels heavy on his tongue, it tingles his lips. It brings back the weight he'd thought abandoned him. "Thank you monsieur," Lestat tells him. "Very kind of you to share that with me."
"Whatever, just—" the man weakly struggled in Lestat's arms again… Again in vain. " Let me go, dammit!"
Lestat didn't respond— or, well, he did. But not with words. He responded by sinking his teeth back into the man's neck and finishing his meal.
—
Fareed was still there, surprisingly, when Lestat arrived back to his hotel room.
He hummed at the sight of the doctor, smiled… then apologized, quite sincerely in fact, for the outburst that he'd had, which resulted in him storming out to angrily hunt as a distraction for what he had just been told by said doctor. "It was not my finest moment; I am quite ashamed of my behaviour in it."
Fareed stared at him, confused, then sighed. "It is alright, sir. It was quite a shocking discovery for me as well. I fully understand your reaction." Lestat nodded. "That said, now that you are back we should probably return to our discuss—"
"I need some new blood bags," Lestat quickly interjected. He carefully rolled up the sleeve to his shirt, bit his lip a little nervously. "Blood drugged with this—" he continued, as he stretched his arm out toward the doctor, showing him the name of the drug he had carved into his skin.
"Lithium…" Fareed said aloud. "Where did you—"
"I was hunting…" Lestat explained. "The man… he said— he- he told me that his blood was poisoned by this— this wonderful drug. I need more of it."
"Uh… huh," Fareed hummed. "So that is why you are behaving so— This makes quite a lot of sense actually." Lestat watched the doctor's usually stoic expression soften, and he chuckled.
Before that moment Lestat wasn't sure if he'd seen Fareed give much more than a forced smile. Odd. Regardless— "So you can get this for me?"
"Ah, yes. This is not like the drugs you have… become accustomed to, Mr. de Lioncourt. This is a medication quite a lot of people take, actually. Should be fairly simple to obtain donations dosed with it."
Lestat breathed a sigh of relief at that. "Oh. Good. That's—" he nodded his head, a little embarrassed how this resolution brought tears to his eyes. "C'est bien. Merci, Dr. Fareed."
"Of course," Fareed replied, took a breath and reopened his mouth, no doubt to circle back to their earlier conversation…
"Well I will leave you to it then," Lestat said before the doctor could get another word out. He spins on his heels and all but uses his cloud gift to flee into one of the rooms. The closest being a towel closet, but Fareed shouldn't know the layout of the suite… so he hid there until he heard an exasperated sigh, and footsteps trailing away and out of the room.
—
Louis' phone lit up with a text from Lestat only a few days after their last meeting. Which had ended as they all do. With Lestat forcibly peeling himself out of Louis arms, clearly against every voice of reason within himself. Bloody tears brimming his eyes as he chokes out that this is going to be the last time. Then he'd sulk away somewhere… anywhere, Louis supposed, with a door he could close to put a barrier between them.
Why Louis continued to let him do this to himself— to both of them really, but he felt a little more on the deserving end as of late… especially after reading through Lestat's annotated copy of the book— he's not sure. But like all the times before, he simply gathered his things and left, tossing out a request through the closed door, and over the loud (dramatic; heartbreaking) sobs for Lestat to just shoot him a message if and when he wanted to meet up again.
This text was doing just that, he assumed. Asking if Louis could meet; with the address to the hotel the band would be staying at the following night. This was, in and of itself, odd enough. Their meetings usually dragged out weeks between each other, or longer. It gave Louis half a mind to immediately call Lestat to ask if everything was alright. Offer to meet sooner— now if Lestat would just tell him where the tour bus was. He may not have the cloud gift, but he did have a very large amount of money and plenty of resources for getting places he needs to be quickly.
He restrained himself. Lestat was finally letting Louis back in— he was finally wanting to let him back into his life and he was not going to mess that up with impatience.
Of course that lack of impatience was very quickly thrown out the window when he arrived the next night. First for Lestat's concert (which was very… tame… compared to all the others). Lestat was still Lestat. He'd still given the audience quite the show, but the chaos that always seemed to just flow out of Lestat's being, in strong erratic pulses, was non-existent.
Regardless the crowd seemed pleased with the show. Lestat seemed happy with the cry for an encore, and had been equally happy to oblige.
But the already uncannily off energy skyrocketed when Louis arrived at Lestat's hotel room to find his estranged husband sitting on the couch, waiting so patiently for him. On the overly extravagant marbled coffee table was a copy of the damned book. Spread out around the book were sticky notes, note cards, pictures, letters, documents, receipts… and a clipboard with a pen placed on top of a single sheet of paper— what looked to be a contract of some sort printed on it.
"Les… what the hell is this?"
"A truce," Lestat said calmly. "An end to all the hurt, and heartache, once and for all." He shifts in his spot on the couch and taps his hand on the spot beside him. "Please, come sit with me?"
Louis stared at him, confused. Unsure why he felt so uncomfortable with Lestat's behaviour… but intrigued by it as well. "And how exactly are we going to do that, baby? Put an end to all the hurt?"
"We are going to talk. For once. No yelling. No fighting. We are quite old, mon cher… I believe we are capable of acting like adults about this."
Louis had to bite the insides of his jaws, or he might have actually laughed out loud at the statement. The idea of Lestat getting through a conversation about their past— a conversation that clearly was meant to at least discuss the book— and he is the one calling for maturity during it. "Okay…" Louis said, humoring him despite his lack of conviction it would go anywhere.
Except it did.
They talked all night. Deep heartfelt conversations about… everything. Lestat talked about his past; fully answered any questions Louis had. Told heavy and trauamatic stories Louis could not believe, or bear to hear… but he listened anyway, because Lestat was actually opening up for him. In turn he let Lestat ask about the book. About the first interview, and why he wanted to give an interview. About him walking into the sun… if he ever wanted to do it again, since. About Claudia and about Nicki. Armand. Gabrielle. Magnus…
About any resentment still harbored. About how they might walk away from this conversation with that resentment, and any other harsh feelings between them, resolved.
Then when the sun began to lighten the sky, they drew the curtains and continued to talk right through the morning… Until finally Lestat let out a long yawn, and Louis suggested they sleep. "There is a second coffin, for you," Lestat informed Louis. "If you—"
"I'd actually like to lay with you, Lestat…" Louis said— his emotions wound tight… "If that's alright."
"Oui…" Lestat said softly. "Of course it is, mon cher." He stood and took Louis' hand, leading him to where his coffin was.
—
Louis did not go to sleep. Too many thoughts running rampant in his head. Why this sudden shift in behavior. Why this sudden willingness to open up and to listen, when all the other times had led to so much screaming and anger and only added to the distance between them.
What changed so that now that distance felt completely closed. Lestat was lying in Louis arms, snoring softly. Louis carefully pushed the coffins lid up off of them, then turned his head to look at the face of the man he loved. So peaceful. It was so rare they slept together anymore. In the very few times he'd stay longer than needed for a quick hookup, he'd found Lestat looked anything but peaceful in his sleep. It warmed something in Louis chest, easing his mind.
He wished it was enough to let it go… but then he remembered the coffee table. The clutter of papers they'd hardly even skimmed the surface of. The still unsigned supposed contract— fuck, he doesn't even know what the supposed contract even was.
Lestat sighed in his sleep, snuggled somehow even further into Louis' side. And the urge to let all this worry go; to stop overthinking… to hold Lestat a little tighter, and be so fucking grateful he was no longer giving him the cold shoulder. That he seemed to be ready to move forward with their relationship. That he fully opened up to Louis for the first time… ever. They had such a good conversation. Such a calm, mature, eye-opening conversation—
And before he knew it Louis was back in front of the cluttered coffee table.
He'd writhed his way out of Lestat's embrace, somehow, without waking him up. Then he tiptoed through the hotel room, wishing then, more than ever, he'd been granted the cloud gift. Trying the whole way to convince himself Lestat was the one who left the papers out— he was the one who'd laid them out to go through with Louis in the first place— so he was not doing anything wrong going back to look at them. Lestat couldn't be upset with him for doing it.
Okay, well technically… he could. But he shouldn't be, right?
Louis' hand hesitated over the messy array of papers. His eyes darted around the table. Most of it was just stuff that went along with things they'd discussed. One thing immediately stuck out, however. Writing scribbled on a napkin.
Approx. 10 weeks
Louis stared at the napkin for a long time. He knew that handwriting.
"Fareed," he said aloud, barely even a whisper. But. What did it mean? His eyes moved from the napkin to the clipboard. Only to find it was not a contract. It was a will.
Louis picked the clipboard up and suddenly he was back at that bank in Paris, Lestat's letter gripped tightly in his hands. Another formal document signing over his assets to Louis.
"Louis?" Lestat called sleepily from the room.
"I'm here, Les—" Louis called back, setting the clipboard back down on the coffee table. A million thoughts were running wild through his mind, he was thankful Lestat couldn't hear. "I'm coming; don't— don't get up. I'm coming…"
He met Lestat's eyes the moment he reentered the room. Those big, beautiful, oh-so-blue and at the moment oh-so-sad eyes locked into him from where he was sitting up in the coffin. Louis' heart stuttered before resyncing with Lestat's, and if Lestat felt it he didn't point it out— if Louis' thoughts and emotions were written all over his face… he didn't point that out either. He simply kept his eyes glued to Louis as he made his way through the room. "I, uh, was hungry… Didn't eat 'fore I got here."
"Oh…" Lestat said, quietly. He looked even sadder "I'm sorry… I kept you occupied all night."
Louis moved quickly, then. Nudging Lestat to give him room to climb back into the coffin. "Hey, no… It's all good. I'd rather we talked like we did. It was good for us, yeah?"
"Yeah," Lestat replied, and the softest smile graced his lips. Bashful and sincere. Louis couldn't help himself, he leaned forward and pressed his own lips to it. "Can we go back to sleep?"
"Course we can, baby." Louis laid down and pulled Lestat with him, fully intent to remain here with him this time. He ran his hand up and down Lestat's arm and felt his breathing eventually slow back down and even out. Approx. 10 weeks Louis repeated the message over and over in his mind. He tried to make it make sense… but the only way it did made Louis feel nauseous.
The strange stoic behavior.
The willingness to talk about everything.
The will.
The napkin message.
It all pointed to one terrifying and dreadful truth.
Lestat must be dying.
Lestat had really hoped to wake up before Louis. Especially since Louis seemed to have gotten up for an uncertain amount of time in the middle of their sleep.
Given his current… predicament, however, he was not at all surprised when he didn't. In fact, he woke up far beyond fashionably late for rehearsals… even for him.
Christine was going to kill him, he was sure of it. Her string of angry texts to him confirmed it. But—
"Ah, saint Louis… you are too good to me," Lestat said, lacing the words with as much adoration as he could manage as he walked out of the room to find Louis, and breakfast, waiting for him. Louis acted as expected, a soft chuckle as he pointed out all he did was fill his glass for him.
"Yes but now it is one less obstacle in our path to concluding last nights conversation." He didn't miss the way Louis tensed at that, but pressed on anyway. "So… on the topic— where were—"
"I have to go," Louis suddenly interjected, while Lestat stared at him confused.
"G- Go?"
"Yeah, I got a meeting."
Lestat laughed; a hysterical huff of breath forced out. "Y- Y- You're l- le- leav—" and fuck he hated how his stutter now came back the moment he was the least bit emotional. (Fucking Dan!) He stopped and took a deep breath, at least getting a little satisfaction in the guilt-ridden frown Louis now wore… not that a little guilt has ever stopped him before. "You're leaving?!"
"I'll be back after the show," Louis said, and yeah maybe that made Lestat feel a little calmer. The idea of Louis returning to him. His heart always far too eager to blindly believe that the statement was true. Still, he'd kind of wanted Louis to attend the show. He'd hoped after they finished their conversation Louis would be around for far more than just the show.
He'd really have loved to not perform with this— this very big piece of life changing news weighing on his mind.
"Hey…" Louis said, breaking him out of his own head. He came over to where Lestat was standing— pouting as hard as he possibly could— and wrapped his arms around him. "I promise. I'll be back, and then we can finish talking. Okay?"
He pressed a kiss to Lestat's temple, and oh… he was weak. He swooned at the sentiment and batted his eyes at Louis, letting his lips slowly spread into much to content of a smile for the amount of turmoil swirling around in his head. "Of course," he said, finally. "I will see you after the show.
—
The show… did not go well at all.
Firstly because Lestat's mind was stuck back on the tour bus— tucked away in a drawer where he'd stuffed all the papers, notes, and documents (etc.) that he'd hurriedly gathered as he was leaving the hotel room. Secondly because… since he hadn't got to come clean to Louis about the true nature of why he'd called him for a spontaneous visit last night… it was left to weigh down his mind. Which made it very difficult to perform, by the way. Thirdly, and perhaps the worst of them all; he'd only made it through two songs when the blood he'd drank prior to the show— the blood Louis had prepared for him— seemingly soured his stomach.
He then went on to violently (and very projectile) vomit all over the stage… including the unfortunate fans who stood closest to the stage. He turned and got poor Alex next, who seemed absolutely mortified; then Salamander… who seemed not nearly mortified enough. TC was the one to call it quits. She slid her drumsticks into their holder, and yelled for Larry to stop trying to use the moment for a solo. The concert was over, after it had only just begun… a crowd of fans sent home, disappointed. Lestat was led out to the bus, embarrassed and still very nauseous.
TC held his hair as he hurled into the toilet, Christine rubbed his back… but also grilled into him about what he'd gotten into to make him this sick. The entire bus was buzzing with their thoughts. Concerned thoughts, annoyed thoughts, unbothered thoughts. Lestat squeezed his eyes shut as the many mental voices rattled around each other in his now once again unclear head. He could sense Fareed on the couch, arms crossed, face probably blank. He had advised against tonight's performance anyway. He wanted to run more tests, go over everything, discuss options. Lestat had refused until he'd talked to Louis.
(I really tried to tell him…) Lestat conveyed to the doctor telepathically, only to be met with a mental scoff in response. (He took off before I could… but he- he is coming back. He said he was— I will tell him—)
He is cut off by a sudden silence; all the thoughts abruptly stop, and the sound of the bus door shutting behind— "L- Louis…" Lestat managed to whine out, between his current bouts of retching. He pressed his face to the cool porcelain seat and listened for the twin heartbeat, sighing in relief when he finally heard it.
"Les…" Louis called from the doorway. Then he was pushing past Christine and TC, kneeling beside him— right into a mess, where he had missed the bowl upon rushing inside. Though, it didn't seem to bother him in the slightest. Lestat felt Louis' hand replace TC's, holding his hair. He heard him ask them for a hair tie— ask Christine to re-wet the cool rag she'd been pressin to his neck. Lestat preened at the gentle care, that he always felt so starved for, only for him to quickly be overwhelmed once again by the urge to empty his already empty stomach into the toilet. "Fuck…" he heard Louis mutter under his breath.
"M'okay," he managed to get out. Reaching his hand around desperately for Louis', who catches on quickly and gives it to him. "J- J- Just bad- b- bad blood… probably…" he lied— just to give them a little more time… so he could do this in private, not under the eyes of his whole band, Christine, and Dan (of all fucking people)— and squeezed Louis' fingers, as he felt the nausea attempting to re-take hold of his body.
"We both know it's not bad blood…" was Louis' response. "Baby…" Slowly Lestat lifted his head, turned it to look at Louis. "I know exactly what this is. What's going on with you."
"Y- You do?"
Louis nodded, letting go of his hand to cup Lestat's face, thumbing away at a stray tear that escaped as his own eyes filled with them. "I do, and I'm here, okay? Right here—" he tells Lestat, and enunciated it with the tenderest kiss to his forehead. "I ain't going nowhere, you hear me?"
Lestat found it very hard to get much out, in the way of words, beyond "O- Oh…" His head felt like it was spinning, his ears ringing— which all could have been from the intense puking he'd been just doing, or the fact his stomach was now empty so he was feeling a little starved. He chose to believe it was from utter disbelief, shock, and overwhelming relief. "Y- You will stay… with me."
"Of course I will! I would never make you go through this alone. Not now— Not after everything we've been through." And Lestat felt like he was on cloud nine. He had been so worried for nothing. Of course Louis would be here for him through this new (terrifying) journey. He only wished his breath wasn't likely extremely rancid… or he would kiss him, and kiss him, and kiss him. He settled for just leaning forward and letting Louis hold him. "We will figure this out, yeah?" Louis told him. "Cause I'm not losing you, Lestat."
And, well, that was a weird thing for him to say… Of course the circumstance were vastly different from the traditional way this was typically done. But surely it wouldn't kill him… at least he didn't think it would. He hoped it wouldn't.
"I'm not going anywhere either, mon cher," he said to him confidently, smiling at the smile Louis gave him hearing that.
"Sooo… do either of you want to fill the rest of us in on what the hell is going on , here?" Both Lestat and Louis forcefully broke their eyes from each other to look at Christine, who was glaring at them, waiting for some answers.
Among the whispers now filling the bus, between the band, Dan, and his crew, Lestat heard Fareed chuckle. (Would have avoided all this had you just calmly taken the news and promptly called Louis to tell him— Like I had suggested— instead of storming off, self-medicating… complicating this entire process.)
Lestat ignored the doctor, and instead tried to come up with a way to break this news to Christine, lightly. An impossible feat, he was sure.
"Lestat is sick," Louis answered before he could think of something. Ah, so we are lying it seems, he thought.
"Sick?" Christine repeated, unconvinced.
"Yes," Louis doubled down with the lie. "Dying, actually…"
And… now wait a minute. "Louis, don't you think that is a bit dramatic…"
"Not at all! They need to know what's going on, so they can understand why you have to stop the tour."
Why he has to fucking what?! "I beg your pardon, saint Louis, but I will actually not be stopping my tour."
"Like hell you won't, Les. You are coming home with me, so I can take care of you!"
"I do not need you to take care of me!"
And around them, everyone was staring. Their eyes bouncing back and forth to whomever is the one yelling. Fareed's chuckling has turned to outright laughter. "I am not stopping my tour, Louis. If you want so desperately to care for me, you will just have to come on the road with us."
"Why you gotta always be so damn…" Louis paused, and seemed to be attempting to calm his breathing. "Don't be stubborn about this, baby. You don't need to put yourself through the stress of these shows."
"These shows do not stress me out. You, on the other hand, are doing an amazing job at just that!" It only occurred to Lestat, then, that he was still clinging to Louis' hand, so he dramatically let it go and tried to get himself up from the floor. "I want nothing more than for you to be a part of this, mon cher… but I will not let you come in and start dictating every aspect of it. It is my body after all!"
"Yeah, and you clearly don't give a shit about it. O- Or about yourself. About— About me! How I feel."
Lestat scoffed then. He couldn't deal with all this right now. Not with all these eyes on him. But the second he turned around he felt faint. His knees buckled and he nearly crumpled to the floor, had Louis not grabbed him. "Easy, baby…" he said softly, despite the way Lestat weakly swatted at him to let go, he was fine. (He knew he wasn't; not entirely. This… was proving to be very draining.)
Louis helped Lestat over to the couch, lowering him down beside Fareed. "See, you are in no condition to go on with this tour. Tell him Fareed."
Fareed lifted his brows. Lestat half expected him to deny his presence among them. When he did not deliver his favorite line Lestat countered with, "Fareed would you actually, not so kindly, tell Mr. du Lac to mind his own business."
"You are my business, Lestat."
"Non! I am only carrying your business… this has nothing to do with me! You don't care about me!"
"The fuck does that even mean, Les? 'Carrying my business.'" And for the record. Louis did truly look confused by his words, but Lestat is angry now, so…
"You know exactly what it means! Tell me, how long have you known, hmm? Did you know when you came over last night… is that the only reason you came— the o- o- only reason you seemed to care about what I was saying. Was it the only reason you held me and k- k- kissed me… Was it all really for th- th- them." Lestat cried out, and buried his face in his hands.
Louis stared at Lestat like he had a second head. "Les, what are you talking about? Was it all for who?"
(It appears Mr. du Lac might not actually be aware of your condition, sir.) Fareed thought, and Lestat ignored him. He ignored Louis' persistent pressing for what he meant. He ignored the rest of the people on the bus as their thoughts began to whir loudly again, as did their actual spoken questions.
Christine demanding someone give her an actual explanation.
Larry worrying what it means for the band, if they lose their front man.
TC getting frustrated with Louis' badgering and possessiveness on Lestat's behalf.
Salamander wondering if vampire sickness is contagious… and how he would go about catching it to get a few days off.
Alex wondered why exactly he willingly chose to come back into this madness.
Dan just hoping his camera guy is getting all this on camera. (Lestat is going to break that damn camera one of these days.)
So much commotion going on around him. It has his ears ringing, his vision blurring from overstimulation mentally as well as auditorily. Until all the voices die in an instant when one screams about them all. Fareed. A booming yell of "Enough!" The doctor huffed out an exasperated breath, giving Lestat a side glance, then— "Mr. de Lioncourt is not sick. He is not dying. He is—" a sigh, because well the truth was quite a bit more outlandish than a simple sickness or death. "He is pregnant."
The room went… uncomfortably silent. Which was to be expected after the dropping of such an enormous bombshell onto a room full of mostly small minds. Lestat was surprised however, with how quiet those minds even became in the moment. He could practically hear the metaphorical crickets chirping around them, and then Alex— because of course it would be Alex— spoke; "Did he say you're… pregnant?"
Lestat sighed. "Surprise!"
More silence.
Lestat sighed… again. "Yes, it's true," he said. "We are getting a new little band mate. Please hold your congratulations and excitement."
"How…" of course fucking Alex asked.
And, well, it was not an unreasonable question. In fact it was one Lestat had been pondering since Fareed told him. Even Fareed himself wasn't entirely sure. He had his theories… none of which were the answer Lestat inhaled and confidently decided to give. "Well," he said, pursing his lips and rolling his neck. "I do have the—"
"I swear to God if you mention the goddamned blood of Akasha again," TC snapped. (…at least someone other than Alex was speaking.) Lestat obliged, and snapped his mouth shut.
Then the silence broke, and was replaced with questions. So many questions.
How far along was he. How long has he known. How exactly did he find out.
When was he due. Who was the father—
Lestat laughed at that silly question. He looked directly at Louis… who was looking very pale. Disturbingly pale. Deathly pale! "Mon cœur… are you alright?" Lestat nervously moved to take Louis face in his hands. He gave the slightest shake to his husband, and got no reaction. "Say something, Louis."
"You— You're pregnant?" Was what Louis finally ended up saying.
"Oui…" Lestat sniffed, and let go of one side of Louis face to grab his hand, and press it to his still very flat stomach. "On va avoir un bebe!" His vision was clouded by his tears, which he desperately tried to blink away, wanting to see his husband's face at the news… and admittedly he was a little (read: a lot) disappointed when he didn't appear very happy about it at all. His other hand fell from Louis' face, and very quickly he was up on his feet and storming away.
Dramatic, yes, but he was dramatic so it was surely to be expected. Equally as quickly he heard the moment Louis' brain decided to come back online, and he started chasing after him. "Lestat! Stop!" Louis yelled, grabbing his arm before he could descend the bus stairs. Lestat tugged against his hold, willing his emotions to not make him look too much like a soft fool until he was alone. But Louis' grip only tightened. He used it to pull Lestat back towards him. Getting him close enough Louis could wrap his arms around Lestat's back, holding him firmly against his body. "Hey… stop. Okay? Stop…"
"You're not happy," Lestat softly stated, more than asked because of course he wasn't. Louis had freed himself from Lestat's overbearing, overwhelming antics long ago. Surely the idea of being once again looped back into the chaotic orbit that is Lestat de Lioncourt's existence.
"'Course I am, baby! I was just… not expecting to hear that." But Lestat didn't believe him, he tugged weakly against the arms holding him, shaking his head. Because why would Louis be happy with this. Why would anyone. He was already so moody, he would only get worse. He was going to be unbearable and on top of it all he was going to get fat! Swollen ankles and feet. His face, his hips… His small waist Louis loved to grab— he could almost wrap his hands completely around it. Poof! Gone! Lestat let out an embarrassingly shaky breath and with it came the flood of tears.
"Whoa! What the— Hey… What's wrong. Why are you cryin'?"
"Because it's ruined, Louis!" Lestat cried.
"What is?"
"Everything! My body! Our marriage!! The— The—" He didn't have a third thing, and so he mentally knocked the nearest breakable item closest to him— a vase— to the floor. Shattering it. "That!!!" Lestat wailed, burying his face into Louis shoulder as he sobbed.
Dear God, I am a mess… I really need more of that blood Fareed, he thought to the doctor, who assured him there was some arriving later the next day.
Lestat sniffled, and brought his puffy tear filled eyes up to Louis'. "And I wanted to be the one to tell you about the baby."
"Ah," Louis said softly, lifting his hand up to Lestat's cheek, running his thumb across it. "Let's go back then, alright? Start the conversation over and you can tell me."
And it's ridiculously silly, but—
"You— You w- would do that… for me?"
Louis' lips twitched into that crooked grin Lestat could just melt upon seeing. Not at the moment, of course, he had a performance he had been asked to put on— and Lestat de Lioncourt would never turn down the chance at putting on a performance. He ignored the silent, stunned, and definitely heavy on the judgemental stares he was receiving from everyone else around them, and focused his attention entirely on Louis. The only set of eyes upon him that mattered. "Now baby…" Louis said, letting his accent fully emerge like Lestat knew Louis knew he loved. "What was it you were wantin' to tell me?"
Lestat licked his lips, shook out his shoulders, and slapped on the best serious face he could conjure up on the spot. "L'amour de ma vie, I a- am w- w- with—" Louis brushed his thumb over Lestat's cheek again, grabbed his hand and squeezed it. Grounding him, and completely shattering this silly facade. He sniffled, once again, and laughed at himself— at his theatrics— before leaning his forehead against Louis. "—with child," he finally got out. "I'm pregnant, Louis."
"You're giving me a baby, Les?" Louis practically cooed at him, his hand so gentle against Lestat's face, the other moving back to cradle his non-existent (yet) bump again. "We're gonna have another child?"
"Oui…" Lestat whispered, and a part of him ached— knew Louis was aching too— for Claudia to be with them to experience this. It wasn't fair, and he knew it would always feel like a do over, but it was not! Could never be. Nothing could replace the daughter they had, and loved, and lost. This child would be a sibling, and know they had a sister.
But those were future details to be set in motion at a later time.
In the moment they were so lost in this newfound and unexpected happiness they weren't sure what to do. Around them the rest of the bus began to (finally) offer their congratulations. TC expressed a very high excitement to experience firsthand— she believed she called it Mpreg.
Salamander was all but begging to be the funcle. (Fun Uncle)
Larry was still worried about what this meant for the band, to which Lestat assured him the tour would continue (despite Louis' disdain for the idea). He wouldn't be due until months after the tour ended. He knew they could make it work out.
And it did, in the end. Everything worked out.