Archive of Our Own

"Who's that?" Louis asked, gesturing at the portrait hanging over their coffins. It was new to the townhouse, he was fairly certain, but not actually new; it was probably something from the latest load of belongings that Lestat had had shipped to New Orleans. He said it was the last of his things, but Louis knew that there would be plenty more new additions coming, just that these ones would actually be new. Lestat loved to spend money more than most anyone Louis knew.

The portrait, though, didn't look new; it looked old. And there was something about the woman in it that looked familiar, something that made Louis look at it closely instead of just dismissing it as another piece of art.

And if that weren't enough on its own, then Lestat's reaction would have made him interested, because Lestat froze. "That is… my mother," he said after a long moment. "Gabriella de Lioncourt."

"She's pretty."

Lestat let out a small, half hysterical laugh. Louis had stopped trying to understand what all of Lestat's laughs meant; he seemed to laugh at anything, funny or not, and Louis could rarely figure out why.

"She was."

"She's dead?"

"Mon cher, did you forget how old I am?"

Louis wondered if he were blushing. Could vampires still do that? In truth, he had almost how old Lestat was, which was something he occasionally found himself doing. Lestat did not act entirely modern, but nor did he act like how Louis would have expected from someone his age. Then again, Louis had never spent much time thinking about how a Frenchman from two centuries past would act, so he didn't really have anything to compare to.

"How'd she die?" Louis asked, instead of responding to Lestat's teasing.

There was another pause. Louis wondered if Lestat had seen his mother die, or if it had been after he was turned.

He wondered when his own mother would die. Things were… tense between them, but surely they would have time to figure it out.

"She was ill," Lestat finally said. "She had been unwell for a very long time. Her hair…" He reached out and gently touched the golden curls in the picture. "It turned white, all of it. And she was so ill."

"Were you there?" Louis asked quietly. "When she died?"

"I went to her side. I was always her favorite, you know."

"Favorite kid? You had siblings?"

"Brothers. I've mentioned them before."

He had, a few times; it had never been positive. "No sisters?"

"None. My father would not have wanted them anyway. They would have been married off as quickly as possible."

"Would your mother have liked a daughter? My mother said she was always glad she had at least one girl."

"My mother…" Lestat looked at the portrait for another long moment. "My mother did not like being a mother. Not that she was a bad one, but… It was not the life she had intended for herself, before she was married off to my father."

"Oh. She didn't love him?"

Lestat laughed again, this time coldly. "No. She did not. Neither of us did. He was cruel, and stupid, and boorish, and- We did not love him."

"You loved her, though."

"Oui. I did. And she loved me."

"I'm glad you had each other, then."

Lestat looked at Louis in surprise, then he nodded. "We did. We did not have much else, but we had each other."

"What was your childhood like?" Louis asked, aware that he might be prying too deeply but unable to stop himself. He was so curious about who Lestat had been before he'd shown up in New Orleans, and Lestat was always so reluctant to talk about it. If he was talking about his mother of his own free will, then maybe he'd be willing to share more.

"Unhappy," Lestat said shortly. Louis thought it was the end of it, until Lestat slowly added, "I was the youngest. I was a disappointment. My father and brothers hated me, and my mother could not protect me. I lived in an awful little place, full of awful little people. But eventually, I was able to go to Paris, and that was much better. I had not truly lived until I lived in Paris."

"I've never been. Might be fun someday, though."

Lestat's face fell abruptly. "No, I think not. Paris has none of the charm of its older days left. We could go somewhere else. Not in Europe, I've seen too much of it, but here, perhaps. Is there anywhere in America you've always wanted to see? We could make it happen."

"Supposed to be nice out west, I guess," Louis said dubiously. "Tell me about Europe, then. If you've seen so much of it."

"What would you have me tell?" Lestat asked.

"Tell me about Paris?"

"A beautiful, glittering city, with a dark underbelly," Lestat said with some relish. "I traveled between the two. It was a good place to be, as a vampire. At least, sometimes it was."

"Did you go there after you were turned, then?"

"No, before. I was turned while I was living there."

"Who made you?"

Lestat tensed slightly, something Louis doubted he would have even noticed if he wasn't so attuned to Lestat's every move, then waved a dismissive hand. "No one important. He's gone now anyway. Dead."

"We can die?"

"Anything can die, but we are hardier than most." Lestat's gaze flickered back up to the portrait, and Louis's eyes followed. He wondered what Lestat was thinking. Maybe about how his mother had died, or about how he'd outlived her and would keep outliving her for years and years.

"Your mother," Louis said, then almost lost his nerve when Lestat's gaze whipped back to him with a frightening intensity. "What was she like?" he asked, summoning his courage. "What did she like to do?"

"She liked to read," Lestat said, although there was something strange about the way he said it. "She could use books to escape the life that she hated. She didn't like being a mother, but she liked spending time with me. Not as much when I was very young, but more when I was old enough that we could truly talk."

"And you two got along?"

"We did. We were each other's haven in the storm that was the rest of the family." Lestat hesitated a moment, looking at Louis with some sort of unreadable expression on his face. "What about you and your mother? What were you like, before Paul died?"

"My mother…" Louis sighed. "I love her. She loved me. I hope she still does. But… it was hard for her, when my father died. I had to be the man of the house, but I'm still her son. She didn't always agree with the things I did for money either. One of the biggest arguments we ever had was about if my father would've approved or not. I'd like to think he would have, when he saw how much it helped the family. He was a good man, but he was bad at business. When I took over, I got us money so we could be comfortable. I kept everyone clothed and fed and housed. And my mother… Sometimes, it was like she could only accept if she didn't look at it, and she'd do whatever it took to avoid looking."

Lestat hummed softly. "She will come around, and if she does not, then we will move on without her. That is the nature of immortality."

"You moved on without your mother?" Louis retorted angrily, then he shook his head. "Sorry, I didn't mean that."

"And I did not mean my words to be as harsh as they sounded," Lestat said, although he still looked shaken, either by Louis's aggression or his words. "I'm sorry about your mother, mon cher. You know I am."

"We'll figure it out," Louis said, hoping they would. "You and your mother… Did either of you ever figure things out with your father?"

"Non. He was not intelligent enough for it to be worth the effort. We had each other, and that was enough. For me, at least." Lestat frowned. "I was able to leave, eventually. She could not. She was smothered there, but there was no where else she could go." He shook his head. "I should have taken her to Paris with me."

"Would she have been willing to leave your brothers? They were her kids too."

"She didn't care for them," Lestat dismissed. "She cared only for me."

It sounded egotistical to Louis, but he reminded himself that he didn't know exactly how old Lestat had been when his mother died; it also sounded childish, and perhaps Lestat had truly been young enough when it happened to still have a childish thought like that fixed in his brain. Louis also supposed it probably had at least some truth to it. From what Lestat had said about his brothers, they sounded cruel, and from what he said about his mother, she sounded like someone who didn't like cruelty.

"Would she have wanted to go with you to Paris?"

"Likely not, at least not for long," Lestat said. "She always enjoyed places outside the city best. She did not like to be cooped up, my Gabriella."

It was a bit of a weird way to refer to his mother, but Lestat could be weird. Maybe it was just French.

"She gave me the money to go," Lestat added. "She'd sold her jewels for me before, for my guns and my dogs and my horse. And then she sold the last of them so I could go to Paris with Nicki."

"Nicki?"

Lestat blinked at him, as if he hadn't meant to say the name or hadn't expected Louis to parrot it back to him. "He was a violinist who came from the same town as I did. His music was enough to drive a statue to weep. We lived in Paris together. He… He was my first love."

It made sense, of course, that Lestat had had previous loves. Louis knew he'd had a life before stepping off the boat in New Orleans, as much as Lestat sometimes pretended he'd only come into being on that gangplank. It was just that Lestat never talked about it, and so sometimes, it was easy for Louis to get caught up in Lestat's illusion, to forget that he had a past. To forget that he would have had loves before Louis, that he might have loved a French violinist named Nicki.

"What was Nicki like?"

Lestat looked at him for a moment, something so raw and pained in his face that Louis's breath caught in his throat, then he shook his head. "That was so long ago, mon cœur. Nicki is long gone, and I have you now."

If Nicki had been Lestat's mortal lover, then he would have died decades ago, if not a full century or more. Louis supposed it was fair if Lestat didn't want to talk about him.

"We shouldn't waste the night talking of such old things," Lestat declared suddenly. "Why do we dwell on the past? We should go out and enjoy the present. What is Paris compared to this beautiful city of ours? We could go to the opera, or we could just go out dancing all night. Do you think we could dance the whole night through? I think we could."

"Where would we get the music?" Louis asked. "Even here, I'm not sure there would be music all night long."

"Then we will make our own," Lestat declared, reaching for Louis's hands. "Dance with me, mon cher. We can waltz the night away."

Lestat whirled Louis around, dancing with him in the over-exuberant way he did sometimes, and Louis caught a glimpse of his mother's portrait as they spun. Had Lestat danced with her like this, when he was little? Had she done whatever she could to make a miserable childhood just a bit more pleasant? Maybe she'd inspired his love of music, even before Nicki. Maybe she'd danced with him, when his father and brothers were cruel.

I've got him now, Louis thought, looking at the portrait. You don't gotta worry about him. I'll take care of him for you.

"Let's dance all night," Lestat said again, eyes bright with a childlike delight at the thought, and Louis let himself get swept away.

There was a bare spot above the bed in Lestat's guest room. Louis stared up at it, then he walked out into the living room.

It was still full of lamps, but they'd at least cleaned up the circle. They'd canceled with Merrick Mayfair at the last possible moment, much to her annoyance, but the look on Lestat's face when they stepped into the living room and saw the room prepared for a séance had immediately told Louis that it would be too much for him to handle that night, after everything else. Lestat had paid Merrick triple her usual rate in apology, and Louis had ensured that a suite at his closest hotel would be available for her as long as she wanted it. When she'd left, Lestat had immediately gone to coffin, despite the early hour, and Louis had gone to stare at the ceiling and blank wall in the guest room until he couldn't handle it any longer.

He wasn't the only one awake, which he'd been half expecting; Lestat was at the piano. His fingers moved silently over the keys, not pressing any of them, but moving with the same grace Louis remembered from countless nights in New Orleans. The piano had always been a respite for him, music always providing a solace that nothing else could, and really, Louis should have seen the whole "rock star" thing coming. Of course Lestat would want to play his music for the world. Of course he would want adoring fans who wanted nothing more than to listen to it. Of course he would be a compelling performer, of course he would entrance any crowd, of course he would take a little garage band and turn them into something huge. What else could Louis ever have really expected?

Lestat's fingers didn't hesitate, not even when Louis sat down on the end of the bench. "You can play, if you want," he said quietly. "I don't mind."

"Sometimes, it is… easier not to," Lestat said slowly. "To imagine the sounds, but not hear them. It's… simpler."

Louis remembered the driftwood piano in the rundown shack in New Orleans, and he wondered if that had partially been a deliberate choice and not just the only option Lestat had. "I get it. Quiet can be nice."

"Nice," Lestat agreed slowly, tasting the word, and then he slammed all his fingers down on the piano in a discordant chord. "Or awful."

"You wanna talk, then?"

"Not about what I think you will want to talk about."

"We don't gotta talk about anything serious. We can just chat."

"Chat," Lestat repeated derisively. "And what do you wish to 'chat' about, mon cher?"

Louis shrugged. "Whatever you want. Something easy, maybe. Nothing complicated." He thought for a moment. "You watch any sports?"

Lestat made a noise almost like a laugh. "Do you?"

"Not really. Armand never did. Lemuel likes hockey."

"Hockey. And you? Do you like hockey?"

Louis shrugged. "Not really. I watch the Olympics sometimes, when they're on. Whatever's happening. Gymnastics might be my favorite, but not enough to watch it on purpose, just if it happens to be on."

"And what about gymnastics is so alluring to you?"

"It's pretty, I guess. Lotta grace. Especially the American women's team, they're pretty great."

Lestat hummed. "I have heard Simone Biles is the GOAT. Greatest of all time."

Louis couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, people say that. Gotta admit, she's amazing."

"I don't understand why people would call her a goat," Lestat added. "I understand the acronym, but it seems ridiculous. Who would want to be called a goat? Cantankerous, filthy creatures."

"Some people like 'em. They're popular at petting zoos."

"Petting zoos," Lestat repeated derisively. "If I am going to pet a zoo animal, it will be a lion, not a goat."

"Lions normally aren't at petting zoos."

"Then what is the point of them?"

Lestat said it with such a mixture of irritation and genuine confusion that Louis laughed again. "Good for kids, I guess. Ain't gonna get eaten by lions."

Lestat made a dismissive noise. "Children would also prefer to pet lions, I'm sure."

"Yeah, and get eaten."

"Survival of the fittest."

"Pretty sure that's not what Darwin meant."

Lestat sighed. His fingers began to pick out a melody again, this time actually pressing the notes. The sound filtered lightly through the air, soft and lovely. It was the tune Lestat had been playing back when he first found out about the book, Louis remembered, the last one that Lestat had asked his opinion on before starting his band, the last time he'd asked for Louis's advice until earlier this very evening. He seemed to have come up with words for it now, as he softly sang in French that Louis couldn't quite catch well enough to translate. It was soft and melancholy, and when the last note faded out, Lestat sighed deeply and turned to Louis.

"We can talk now, about what you want to talk about."

"We don't have to," Louis replied. "Not if you don't want to."

"I will never want to, but I am willing enough now. Ask me what you want to ask."

"I asked my questions at the bar."

Lestat scoffed. "You have more. I know you have more."

"Can't read my mind."

"They're written all over your face."

"Guess I'm just… thinking about her portrait."

Lestat swallowed visibly. "I should have told you before hanging it up. Told you she was still alive, at least."

"I get why you didn't, though. But how much of what you told me back then was the truth?"

"All of it, except for how I implied she had died. She was very ill when she came to Paris, and I did go visit her on her deathbed, and then I turned her instead of letting her go."

"Like with Nicki?" Louis asked. Another figure from Lestat's past that had come up that night so long ago, another person he'd only really learned about later.

"Nicki was… different," Lestat said slowly. "Gabriella was dying. She had already separated herself from the world. It is a different thing, I think, to become a vampire when you have already made peace with death. Nicki… Nicki thought sharing the Dark Gift was the only way we could be together. He thought I hadn't given it to him because I didn't love him enough. I gave it to him to prove my love, and it destroyed him." Lestat shook his head. "Although I may have already destroyed him before that. He'd always been prone to… moods, and then my disappearance and reappearance as something no longer human unsteadied his mind. And then fucking Armand and his fucking coven captured him, and that… That cracked something, I think. And the Dark Gift broke it, and then I smashed it to pieces the rest of the way."

"You didn't know," Louis comforted gently. "You were barely a vampire yourself. You didn't know how Nicki would take to it. You were trying to do what you thought was right."

"Ah, but I didn't think it was right," Lestat corrected, staring ahead without seeming to see anything. "I knew it would likely go poorly. I knew how Nicki was. But he said he would leave otherwise, and I did not want him to leave me. I can be very greedy, you know that."

"It's not greedy to not want to be alone."

"Clingy, then. I thought turning Nicki was the only way to keep him, so I did it, against my better judgment. Against Gabriella's judgment. She told me it would be disastrous."

"Did she help?"

Lestat looked at Louis in confusion. "Help?"

"With Nicki. When he was struggling as a vampire. Did she help with anything? Help him, or you?"

"She- S-She-"

"You don't gotta answer if you don't want to," Louis said soothingly. When Lestat's stutter reappeared, he knew he was pushing too far. "But I'm just wondering. If she knew it would be hard, then did she help?"

"N-N-N-" Lestat stopped and took a slow breath, bracing his jaw with one hand. "Not really," he finally managed to get out.

It wasn't a surprise to Louis, with all he'd learned of Gabriella so far. He still hated to hear it.

"I- I don't want you to think she was cruel," Lestat said suddenly. "She- She was- I meant what I said in New Orleans, about Auvergne. She was all I had there. I- I didn't get the chance to leave until I was thirty, and without her, I would not have survived that long. But she- She was not made to be a mother. It was never what she wanted. But she was not given another choice."

"That's not fair to her," Louis said, and he immediately saw the relief on Lestat's face at his agreement. "Not fair to you either."

Lestat's expression tightened slightly. "I was fine. She was- I know you think-" He paused and shook his head. "She was not cruel. She was a good mother. I was f-f-f-"

"Okay," Louis soothed. He hated the awful look on Lestat's face whenever he couldn't make his words cooperate. "We don't gotta talk about this any more if you don't want to."

"I- I don't like you thinking she was- was-"

Louis knew exactly what he thought of Gabriella, and he was fairly certain that was exactly what Lestat didn't want him to think. But if Lestat wasn't ready to look at this straight-on yet, if he wanted to hide a little while longer, Louis would let him.

"You love her," he said plainly. "That's enough for me."

The relief on Lestat's face was so immediate and so complete that Louis felt a rush of guilt. He wasn't lying, not exactly, but nor was he really telling the truth. Lestat loved Gabriella, he knew that, and he wouldn't say anything awful about Lestat's parent without Lestat saying it first. But that didn't mean he didn't think Gabriella was awful, didn't mean he ever wanted to see her near Lestat again. Someday, he'd say that to Lestat, but only when he was ready to hear it.

"She still wants me to do the concert tomorrow night," Lestat said quietly. "She texted me. She said to ignore the video and stick to the plan."

"Do you want to do the concert?" Louis asked. He knew what he would prefer - what he would have preferred all along, video or not - but it wasn't his concert to decide about, it was Lestat's.

"I don't know," Lestat admitted. "I liked making music. I liked performing. But this concert will not be about my music."

"Then don't do it," Louis said simply. "Do something else that's about your music instead."

"And what would that be, mon cher? If not for the Great Conversion, who would go to see a concert full of songs with a 3.1 rating on Pitchfork?"

"Fuck Pitchfork. You liked making the music, right? And people like your songs. You saw those girls earlier. Doesn't matter what the critics think. And most critics are full of shit anyway. Almost never met an art critic I actually agreed with."

"I like my mortal fans better than my vampire ones, for the most part," Lestat admitted. "I sang about the Great Conversion because Sof- Gabriella insisted, but… I don't think I actually want it."

"So what do you want?"

Lestat hesitated for a long moment. Louis wondered when someone had last asked him that. He doubted Gabriella ever had.

"I think… I want to do the last concert on my own terms. And I don't think- Not right now, not after the video. You said it would die down, right?"

Lestat was looking at Louis with such earnestness and desperation that Louis couldn't do anything but agree. "Stuff like that never lasts long. Internet moves too fast for it."

"Do you think- Could we get Daniel to take it down? Or say it's not true?"

Louis wasn't sure either of those things were possible, and he had a bad feeling they might fan the flames more than anything. But Lestat didn't need to hear that right now. He wasn't ready to come up with a plan for handling the video aftermath, he just needed someone to tell him things would be okay.

And they would be, eventually. Even if they had to hide away for the next century until gossip died down, Louis would go anywhere with him. They'd figure it out.

"I don't know," Louis told Lestat honestly, "but we can handle it. We can come up with a plan after we sleep, okay? Things'll feel better then."

Lestat hummed noncommittally. "I… haven't been sleeping well in general recently. I don't think this will make it any easier."

"Any way I can help?"

"You help merely with your presence, mon cœur."

"You wanna put your coffin in my room, then?"

Lestat blinked at him. "What?"

"If my presence helps, then we can sleep in the same room. Will that help?"

"I-" Lestat's voice failed him, and he nodded once. "I think- But- Do you mind?"

"I offered, didn't I?"

"If you don't want it-"

"I can't sleep either," Louis admitted. "Might help me too."

"Oh." Lestat looked shocked at the thought. "Alright."

"Let's get your coffin, then." Louis stood and held out a hand to Lestat. "Sound good to you?"

"It does," Lestat agreed, and he let Louis pull him upright.

They moved the coffin from Lestat's room to the guest room where Louis was staying, where there was plenty of room for it. Louis set it near the bed so they would be close as they slept, just like how they'd been back in New Orleans. Lestat let him pick the spot without even moving much from the doorway.

"This look good?" Louis asked, once he had everything settled.

"I missed you," Lestat whispered, then looked about two seconds from clapping his hand over his mouth.

They hadn't been saying things like that, although the air had often felt heavy with all the things unsaid. It wasn't like it was a surprise to know that Lestat had missed Louis, and it wasn't like Louis didn't return the feeling, but they hadn't decided yet where things were going to go, and not talking about it had felt easier than admitting that.

The problem was, Louis thought ruefully, not talking about things had always been their downfall.

"I missed you too," he said, pretending that there was no tension in the exchange. "It's nice to be together again."

Lestat nodded eagerly, looking incredibly relieved. "Living alone is… boring. Lonely."

Lestat had always hated loneliness more than anything else. "It can be," Louis agreed noncommittally. "Not gonna be lonely now, with the two of us in the room together."

"No," Lestat agreed, although there was something a bit wistful in his eyes as he looked at the coffins. Louis wondered if he was thinking about how they used to share one, about how often they fell asleep tangled together in a tiny space. Louis wasn't quite ready for that again, but he thought he would be someday. He thought Lestat would appreciate it.

"It's a nice room," Louis added, heading for the bed. If they could just go to sleep, maybe they could stop having this increasingly awkward conversation. "Nice place in general."

"I'm glad you like it," Lestat said, going to his own coffin and climbing in. "You are welcome to stay as long as you wish, of course."

"I'll stay for a bit," Louis said. "Could help you find some art too, if you want. There's a couple of blank spots." He gestured at the wall above the bed. "Could use something there."

"How could I possibly turn down the art advice of such an esteemed dealer?" Lestat asked, as if they didn't both know he'd left the empty spot just so Louis could help him find something to put there. "We can find something. But… Perhaps not a portrait this time, oui?"

It was a poor attempt at a joke, but Louis snorted anyway. "No more portraits. I think a landscape would work nicely in here. Of a countryside, maybe."

"That seems a bit… bland. Would it match everything else?"

"Just a suggestion. We can start looking in the next couple of days. I might have something in storage that would work."

"I would pay a fair price, of course."

"You could just borrow it," Louis said, hoping Lestat would take the offer as he meant it. "Not doing me much good stashed away, and I know you're good for it."

"You could see it whenever you wish," Lestat said slyly.

"Yeah," Louis said, lying down in the bed, "sounds good to me."

"Louis?" Lestat called, just before Louis could close his eyes.

"Yeah?"

"I- I wanted t-to-" Lestat paused and took a deep breath. "I wanted to thank you. For everything. For tonight. For… not caring, or at least not caring enough that you didn't leave."

"I reacted badly," Louis said, looking up at the ceiling instead of over at Lestat. "When I saw the video. I jumped to the worst conclusion. It… It's not like I thought. And I reacted badly, and… I'm sorry."

He was glad Lestat didn't ask what exactly was different from what Louis had first thought. Louis should have known better, should have put together all the scattered, concerning pieces into a horrifying whole, but instead, he'd seen the video and immediately blamed Lestat for it. He'd thought that Lestat wanted it. But Lestat had never been given another choice, had he? Gabriella had never physically forced him, at least from what Lestat had said, but she hadn't given him any more of a choice than if she had.

"I-" Lestat's voice faltered. "I haven't looked online yet. But I- I don't think I want to go out for a while. I don't want- If people look at me-"

"We don't have to go anywhere," Louis promised. "And we can be sneaky if we have to be. We're vampires." He hesitated. "Wanna go after Armand and Daniel, get 'em to apologize?"

Lestat barked out a half amused, half hysterical laugh. "I don't think we will be able to get Armand to apologize. Nor Daniel. And… Armand likely sees this as payback for the song I wrote about him."

Louis would never admit to anyone that he found Big Boss, for all its other flaws, to be horrifically catchy. "Yeah, probably."

He finally let himself tear his gaze away from the ceiling. Lestat was looking over at him, eyes full of an affection and vulnerability that made him look terribly young. Louis wished, suddenly, that he'd known Lestat when he really was that young, that he'd been there for him all along. So many awful things had happened to Lestat throughout his life, and Louis wished he could have been there for him in the aftermath, could have held him and told him everything was going to be alright.

Well, he supposed, he could do it from now on. I've got him now, he thought to himself, remembering a silent promise he'd made a century earlier to a mother who didn't deserve it. I'll take care of him, even if you won't.

"We'll figure it out together," he promised, and he knew from the relief on Lestat's face that it had been just the right thing to say.