Chapter Text
For most of the two months they spent on Night Island, Lestat didn't say a single word about Akasha. He hardly spoke at all, especially at first, but when he did, it was almost invariably something small and meaningless. He refused to talk about anything bigger than his favorite reality TV stars. If Louis brought up Akasha or anything that happened with her, Lestat would pretend to be deaf.
Which was why Louis was unprepared when, while they were curled up together on the couch in the one of the many empty sitting rooms and pretending to watch a movie that neither of them could probably even name, Lestat said, "I think I will write a book."
"Really?" Louis asked. "About what?"
He thought Lestat would say something lighthearted, something silly, but instead, he said, "About the Queen. And how I woke her. And how she died."
Louis barely kept himself from whirling around to look at Lestat. "Oh," he said, hoping the word didn't sound as strangled to Lestat's ears as it did to his. "Okay."
"You think it's a poor idea," Lestat said flatly. "Are you the only one who can write books about us, then?"
"The book was Daniel's in the end, not mine," Louis said, trying not to rise to the bait. It was an old argument, and one that Lestat was only using as a distraction. "And I'm not saying it's a bad idea. I'm just… wondering why you want to write a book about it."
"You said that speaking with Daniel helped you to remember things, and to organize them in your head," Lestat said. "I don't want to talk to him, not again, but I do think I need to… go over everything that happened. It'll help if I write it down. Or maybe if I just say it out loud. Daniel recorded your interviews, didn't he? I can record mine. Maybe I'll release it like that."
For an absurd instant, Louis could only think of Lestat as some sort of podcaster, telling the story of how an ancient, murderous vampire queen tried to destroy half the human race in between ad breaks. Then he made himself focus on the issue at hand.
"Why do you have to release it? You know I didn't want my book published. You can just… go through it for yourself. And maybe share it with me, and some of the rest of us, but you don't need to give it to the whole world."
"It's my story," Lestat retorted. "I can do what I want with it."
"You can," Louis agreed, "I just don't see why you want to share it."
You don't even want to share it with me, he thought but didn't say. You don't want to share it with any of us. If we ask, you don't answer. And now you want to share it with the world?
"I don't want to forget it," Lestat added. "I don't want to forget how any of it felt. Especially now that she's gone."
"Right," Louis agreed, a bit dubious. He had a feeling he knew where this was going. He had a feeling he wasn't going to like it.
"I want to remember the version of her I loved," Lestat continued, and Louis's stomach sank as he was proven right. "And the version of her that loved me."
"She didn't-" Louis stopped himself. He knew that route would only lead to a screaming argument and Lestat locking himself away for days. "She wasn't good to you. You know that."
"She loved me," Lestat retorted sharply. "And I loved her."
Louis bit his tongue and swallowed back the words he desperately wanted to say. This was typical Lestat, he thought; this was Gabriella all over again, or even Magnus. This was Lestat, looking at someone who'd hurt him and claiming it was love. And he would have some excuse if Louis asked, would claim it was another multifaceted set of circumstances, but Louis had never really believed that, and he didn't think he was about to start. Maybe it was because he clung too tightly to his humanity, maybe it really was different for vampires, but he thought it was just Lestat. It was just Lestat, so desperate for love that he would take it wherever he could find it with anyone who offered anything even vaguely similar. This was Lestat, living off of scraps and pretending they were a full meal.
"I'm not saying that's not true," Louis finally said, although that was certainly what he was thinking. "And if you want to write a book, or record an interview, or do another documentary, then you can do that. If you want to publish it, you can do that too. I just- You won't even talk to me about it, but you'll write a book and share it with the whole world?"
"You put plenty of things into your book that you never told me," Lestat countered bitterly. "And if I publish it, then I can put it out for people to see without having to see their reactions. I don't have to see them judge me for it."
"I'm not judging you," Louis said, for what had to be the thousandth time. "I'm worried about you. And I think you'd process everything better if you talked to someone who's not yourself."
"Because you don't believe me when I say what happened with Akasha," Lestat snapped. "I've told you over and over again how we felt, and you don't believe me."
"She kidnapped you, force-fed you her blood, and then dragged you around the world to use as her little foot soldier whether you liked it or not!" Louis cried. He knew he was being too harsh, he knew it wouldn't help, but Lestat had always been able to erode his self-control like nothing else. "I don't believe you because you're spewing bullshit and we both know it!"
"Maybe that's what it's like, to have love between monsters," Lestat retorted. "Something you would not know about!"
And that cut, although possibly not in the way Lestat had meant it to. Louis didn't care about the jab at the way he clung to humanity. It was the implication beneath it that hurt. If Lestat was a monster, if he called himself a monster, then monstrous love would be the only type of love he knew how to give. And if Louis had never known it, then what was between them?
Lestat had said many awful things to Louis over the years. He had never said anything that had made Louis doubt his love for him.
He should have taken a deep breath and let it go. He should have talked Lestat down calmly. He should have been careful with the jagged shards of broken glass that make up Lestat's psyche, the pieces Akasha had shattered and Louis was trying to put back together. He should have been gentle-
But Lestat was wrong. Louis could be a monster too.
"That's the coward's way out," he said coldly. "Calling yourself a monster so you don't have to take responsibility for the shit you do. Doesn't matter if you're just a monster, right? Not like you could do any better. Not like you deserve any better. And we both know it's more complicated than that, but you won't face it, will you? Cause you're a coward, and you're too scared to be anything else."
Lestat went horribly still. His skin was so pale and hard now, and sometimes he seemed to just forget to breathe, so Louis had thought that cuddling with him felt a bit like cuddling with an affectionate statue already. But now, Lestat was so, so still, and it felt like he'd been turned to stone. It felt like he wasn't there at all, like he was gone like he'd been when Louis went to find him the night after his concert-
And then, in a movement that was too smooth to have come from anything living, Lestat stood, with apparently no consideration for how he almost knocked Louis off the couch. Louis lifted his head, ready for a fight, but to his surprise, Lestat said nothing.
He'd expected a fight. He'd wanted one, he could admit to himself. He'd thought that if he was cold enough, Lestat would respond with fire, and if they were fighting, at least they were doing something. At least it was some form of communication, toxic as it was.
But Lestat said nothing. He just started for the door.
Louis lunged forward to grab his arm. "Where are you going?"
Lestat went still again. It felt like Louis was gripping stone.
"I am leaving," Lestat said, very precisely, "before I do something I regret." He looked down at Louis, and his eyes- Oh, his eyes. Furious and agonized and so very cold, all at the same time. "Perhaps I am a coward. But I am a monster. And I am… trying not to do something monstrous."
Oh.
Slowly, Louis forced himself to loosen his grip, one finger at a time. Lestat could have broken free if he'd wanted to, of course, but Louis still wanted to be the one to let him go.
He'd wanted a fight. He'd been trying to provoke a fight. And this… This was better and worse, all at the same time. This was Lestat trying to be better, which Louis appreciated, but it was also Lestat pulling away, which he hated. But if Lestat was trying, then Louis couldn't let himself stand in his way.
"Okay. If you need space… We can talk later."
Lestat nodded once, sharply, then he left the room so quickly that even Louis's vampire eyes couldn't quite catch the movement.
If Louis had known he would leave the island entirely that night, if he'd known that Lestat would hole himself up to record hours upon hours of memoirs - failures, he would call them - and then vanish once they were finished, if he'd known how long it would be until he saw him again… He would think about that moment later, think about how he should have held on tighter. He would think about how he could have changed it, but in the end, he'd never really thought he could have changed anything.
And when he listened to Lestat's recorded ramblings, when he pieced together the throughline of loneliness that connected them into a semi-cohesive whole, he'd realize that it didn't matter whether he could or couldn't have changed the past. What mattered was if he could change the future.
Love between monsters, Lestat had said. Louis would give him something else.
He just had to find him first.