Author's Note: This is the sequel to Truer Than Fantasy. If you haven't read that this probably won't make much sense. I also apologize for the choppiness of the parts. I tried to break them down into small bits but Vestris wanted smaller. I'll do the best I can to try to keep it all coherent and I appreciate your patience with it all in the meanwhile =)

DISCLAIMER: This is a spec story based off of the characters in the universe of the Dagger of the Mind RPG. It was written using only some of the concepts, characterizations and plotlines that appear in parts of Dagger as a starting point and putting what I hope will be an interesting "What if...?" spin on them. It is not and should not be taken as a true continuation of the story and abandon all hope ye who would find spoilers here. Some of it's based on Dagger canon, some of it definitely is not. And I ain't telling which.

USUAL LEGAL STUFF: This is non-profit amateur fanfic not intended to infringe on the rights of Lestat, Random House, Geffen Pictures, the entire cast of Interview With the Vampire nor some chick who goes by the name of Anne Rice. 'Twas written in fun and should be taken as such. Any resemblance to anyone living, dead or undead was a sheer lucky guess on our parts, neener neener neener.

Prologue

For one brief moment there had been a flame.

He'd held it in his hand and felt it. Oh God had he felt it. And it had felt good, and wonderful and right.

Which was everything it wasn't supposed to.

And so he'd pulled back. A little at first, and then more. Pulled back so far the flame was nothing but a memory, and he pulled back from even this.

He stayed dark, and cold, and alone. As he should.

But, even still, he remembered.

And some nights, if he felt he'd been good enough, he would stand off by himself and take the glasses off of his eyes and the band from his hair and let himself feel. Feel the wind tugging at his hair, and the cold flakes of snow against his eyes and the icy grip of winter air against his skin as he imagined. Imagined, for a moment, that it was as it had been - not before, but a short time ago. Imagined that one moment when he'd held the flame in his hands. And he would let himself sink into it, watching the glow form before his eyes, feeling it warm him from the inside, feeling it fill him until his very skin tingled.

And then the moment would be over, and he'd put the glasses on and fix his hair and open his eyes and continue on with his night.

And this was so much easier when he was alone.

As he should be.

Part One: Thunder

The apartment was still very well appointed. Not the largest in the area, but rich, very tasteful, extremely comfortable. Normally it was also the center of a hive of activity as the man who occupied it was rarely still. Tonight, however, was an exception. Snow drifted gently through the night sky, the tiny glittering crystals reflecting the insane rainbow of a Parisian night. Once he thought snow was white. He knew better now. There were more colors, more layers, deeper depths than he had ever imagined existed as a mortal. And yet some problems remained depressingly familiar.

It really hadn't presented a logistical problem, relocating to Paris. One metropolis was easily substituted for another, especially when his business had changed - far more behind than in front of a camera. The change was easy. Gregory was hard.

Tom was beginning to hate Gregory.

Gregory was a son of a bitch.

Tom wanted very much to kick Gregory's skinny ass.

Unfortunately, when he wasn't Gregory, he was Lestat.

This was a problem.

This was not the type of problem Tom was good at dealing with. Normally he'd grab a problem with both hands, wrestle with it for a while, then sit on it until it died or begged for mercy. He was very good at that type of problem solving. This... was something else. Lestat always made time for him, in a polite "Oh, of course" type of way. He never begrudged Tom time, if he asked for it. However, Tom couldn't remember the last time Lestat initiated contact. Lestat was always the first to leave such an encounter, and would stay away until Tom would track him down again.

Tom would find him peering out from Gregory's gold glasses, ultra polite, the soul of courtesy. Tom hated the glasses too. Anything having to do with Lestat's "Gregory" persona needed to be squashed. He didn't know why, exactly. It was irrational and Tom was nearly beyond caring.

How could he stomp Gregory, but leave Lestat alone?

As the problem didn't seem to have a ready answer, he continued to look out the window.

It wasn't really his decision, to go out for a walk. He just couldn't think of anything better to do. And (pathetically, yes) he thought that just maybe he'd run into his elusive friend. Not Lestat, no. He'd only seen the barest of glimpses of Lestat for weeks. But perhaps Gregory would put in an appearance.

Not for the first time Tom stomped through the snow in disgust. It was always a problem. Leave tracks, or not? He didn't like to do it, but felt awkward not leaving the prints behind him in the snow. These were things that, no matter how carefully you prepared, couldn't be covered in Immortality 101. Neither was How To Drag Your Friends Out From Behind Their Damned Tinted Glasses And Back Into The Real World. He found himself once again cursing Louis, for somehow having caused the creation of Gregory, and of course himself, for not figuring a way out of it all. So, still muttering and cursing, he didn't notice the crowd until he nearly plowed through the middle of them.

And then, not for the first time, he found himself face to face with an all-too familiar apparition.

The view was much the same as it always was. Grey upon grey upon grey. Everything Lestat wore from his suit to his overcoat to the tarnished bit of silver in his hair was grey. Beautiful, finely tailored, utterly without expression, grey.

Except for his eyes, of course. Or rather what was on them. Grey eyes, gold glasses.

God they were obnoxious.

"Tom," Lestat said, surprise registering on his face for only a moment. "What are you doing here?"

The remark was too quick, too flip. He didn't care. "Oh, just wandering the streets. You?"

The arms folded in a gesture that was not caustic, but neither was it casual. "An appointment."

His smile was a brittle version of his usual. "Let me guess. Gallery opening? Opera? Ballet?"

Lestat's eyes slowly dragged over to the museum they were standing beside, then back to Tom. There was a quick flicker in his eyes, something almost like humor, before it was quickly smothered again. "Gallery. Nothing very interesting."

"When is it ever?"

This brought a touch of something like a smile to the edge of Lestat's mouth. "Never, I suppose."

"When was the last time you were interested in anything, Lestat?" Tom was careful to stress the name, not really caring who overheard, knowing that Lestat wouldn't allow a slip like that to travel beyond their ears anyway and hoping the words would be enough to jar Lestat into listening. "Do you remember it?"

Lestat blinked in surprise. The expression was all too quickly covered. "I... don't recall offhand," he said. The lie was obvious.

Tom's eyes bored into him, not accepting the cover up.

"Stop it," Lestat's voice was soft.

Tom didn't even blink, not bothering to mask the anger that welled from the helpless confusion of the past weeks.

"Stop," Lestat's voice was hoarse now, his words a curious mix of French and far too thickly accented English. He broke away from Tom's gaze, walking away from him but not so far Tom couldn't follow. "Not now."

Tom didn't follow, his body rigid. His response was silent. WHEN?

Lestat stood stock still, shoulders tense beneath his clothes. Stop it. Stop. It.

Tom turned, but did not follow. When, Lestat? When will you face me?

Why?

The answer came without effort. I miss you. He knew that, laced through his reply, a hot thread of anger arrowed toward Gregory. Who was Lestat.

A spike of derision came first, although behind it was an emotion much softer. Kinder, but too soft to be identified. Why?

He quirked an eyebrow, oblivious to the small pile of snow gathering on his hair. Why do I miss you?

Yes.

Tom considered this for a long moment before meeting his eyes. "Who are you?" His voice was soft, but could carry easily to the ears of a vampire.

Lestat tilted his head, looking at Tom uncertainly before responding. Your friend?

"What's your name?"

"Which one?"

"Your name. You've only got the one."

The grey eyes darkened in anger. "Lestat. De. Lioncourt."

Tom joined him then. "I was wondering if you'd forgotten."

That had definitely pushed a button. His eyes grew darker still. "Excuse me?"

"I don't think I will. You've gone too far with this."

"With what?"

"Who's Gregory?"

"Nobody!" Lestat made an explosive gesture, glaring at Tom now in a manner so strong it practically radiated heat. "Tom, what in Hell is this?"

"Simply this, Lestat." Tom's eyes were hard. "I've been here for months. I have seen you only when I've tracked you down. There's nothing left of Lestat that I can see, only this damned Gregory. And the time has come for it to stop."

"Then why do you bother?"

The question caught him off guard. "Come again?"

"If I'm such a pain for you to deal with," Lestat said, arms folded again, "why do you bother?"

"Gregory is a pain. He's more than that. But I do care about Lestat." He couldn't resist adding, "Have you seen him lately?"

"Stop that," Lestat said, looking away. But his words weren't as harsh this time, and there was damn near a smile on his face. Not permanent, but it had been there.

"I don't think so. I came looking for my friend." Tom's voice softened as well. "Like I said, I miss him."

There was a long pause. The snow continued to fall around them, covering the streets and sidewalks as fewer people walked by to crush it underfoot. "Your friend is a married man," Lestat said, finally, not looking at him.

Tom sighed. "Yeah, and?"

"He's trying...." Lestat's voice trailed off in thought. He looked back at Tom, meeting his eyes helplessly from behind the golden frames. "I'm trying to do the right thing for once."

"I know." Tom shook his head. "Have you thought about Louis in all this?"

"Do you think I've thought of anything but?" The voice was snappish, but the undercurrents of helplessness remained.

"I wonder if you've thought about much at all. Recently, anyway."

"I've done nothing but think." And then, suddenly, one of Lestat's own grins. "It's not easy, you know."

Tom blinked, startled. "What isn't?"

"Thinking."

He felt the edge of his anger fading away. "Lestat," he said at last, shoulders slumping a little. "I really don't get you."

"Makes two of us."

Finally Tom looked around, noticing the snow, the cold, the setting. "Should we go somewhere? Or will you fade away again if we go indoors?"

"God, you're cold aren't you?" Lestat - and now it was truly him - moved forward, his face etched with concern. "I'm sorry. Yes, let's go inside." Lestat looked around, then back at the museum which had long since closed. "How about there?"

Tom glanced at it, then shook his head rapidly. "Hell no. I'd loose you for sure. My place." He suddenly met his eyes. "Please?"

Lestat nodded. "Want my coat?"

"No, thanks." It was only then that the cold really registered. His body felt like ice. "Maybe, though, we should stop along the way."

"Alright," Lestat said, motioning for Tom to lead on.

Time. Lestat was painfully, acutely aware of the time. Not so much the hour of the night, but rather the number of hours in the night. How many had passed, how many were left, how many of them were being spent with Tom.

It was all a matter of proportions. If the numbers were just right, then everything would be ok. Just a little bit of time - not much in the span of hours - and it wouldn't be bad.

It wouldn't be a betrayal, that way.

The feeling of time inside of him kept him quiet as Tom hunted. Made him glad Tom worked quickly, then just as quickly brought him back to his apartment. Quick actions, quick movements, quick visit.

Or so he promised himself. Letting himself know it was only natural to take his coat and gloves off, for a quick visit. His scarf stayed on, though. As did his glasses. Small reminders to himself that he wasn't going to stay long. And he wasn't going to forget.

Remembering was the most important part.

He stood then, uncertainly, watching Tom for a suggestion of what to do next.

And the clock in his head kept ticking.

Tom didn't like feeling this way. He felt like a bully, which he had never stooped to in school. Rather the opposite, in fact. Sports had been a way of life for him, not as an athlete, but as a means of acceptance. He knew too well what it was like to be helpless, on the outside. That he had somehow been cast in this particular role stoked his fading anger. He knew he'd need it if he were to make this night mean anything. So he folded his arms, still encased in the thick leather of his jacket, and simply glared at Lestat.

Lestat looked around him as though taking in the apartment for the first time. "Well?"

His eyes narrowed. "Hi Greg. Thanks for stopping by."

The grey eyes narrowed. "I'm given to wonder which one of us is behaving like a juvenile."

He considered before finally moving to strip off the sodden jacket, raking his still dripping hair from his eyes. "Good question. Hide and seek is a children's game, after all."

"Meaning?"

"You've become very good at it. Hiding, I mean."

Lestat seemed to give this some consideration. "I have to be."

He was soaked straight through. The thought didn't so much as cross his mind as hit him like a lead brick. Crossing swords with Lestat was tricky, and exhausting. He didn't need cold and wet on top of it. Moving suddenly Tom stripped off the sodden leather of his coat, then after consideration he peeled out of his sweater as well. He flung open all the doors between the hall and bedroom, making the invitation to follow obvious, but not pressing the issue.

There was a sound of footsteps - a nice courtesy - as Lestat followed. He remained in the hallway, though. In sight, but not close either.

Without ceremony Tom kicked off his shoes. His jeans were plastered to his body - it took a little effort to skin out of them, but he managed. He grabbed a towel and applied it to his hair. Why are you scared of me? What the Hell have I done?

Lestat's feeling of surprise was too strong and fast for Lestat to completely hide before breaking the mental connection. "What do you mean?"

Eyes glittering in anger, Tom tossed the towel aside, padding back to the bedroom for dry clothes, settling for worn sweats. When he emerged seconds later he was damp, but presentable. "What I mean is that if I want to see you, I have to make an appointment with Gregory. That is Bullshit."

Lestat's voice was cool and clipped. "That is my life now."

Tom folded his arms, eyes narrow. "Louis would want your life to be like this, right?"

That got a blink out of him, at least. "Yes."

He rolled his eyes. "Who are you selling short? You? Him? Me? What do you think you're accomplishing?"

"I'm trying to do the right thing," he said for the second time that night. "You know that."

"That's not what I asked you. I asked what you think you're accomplishing. Who do you think you're doing what favor for?"

"I am taking care of things for Louis."

"Business. What about you?"

A flicker of confusion went over Lestat's face. "I don't understand."

Fists clenched in frustration, Tom forced himself to speak slowly. "Louis does not give a tinker's damn about business. He cares about you. That is all he'd want taken care of. So. What have you done to protect Louis' interests while he's away?"

One of the barriers cracked. Lestat looked uncertain. "Haven't I?"

Tom shrugged. "If he loved a guy named Greg, I'd say you've done great. Lestat, on the other hand, is missing in action." He suddenly lunged, snatching at Lestat's face. "And take those damned things off when I'm talking to you."

A hand shot up, intercepting Tom's before he could fully make contact but not soon enough to keep the glasses from being knocked askew. With true fire in his eyes now Lestat ripped the glasses off and threw them at Tom. "There? Happy? Anything else I must do for you, Mr. Cruise?"

Instinct directed Tom's hand to deflect the glasses, twisting them into a shattered curve. "You're trying, Lestat," his voice was surprisingly level. "But you're not succeeding."

Lestat stared at him in disbelief. "I liked those."

"I'm sure Gregory found them useful."

"That's not my only pair, you know."

"Of course not. You'd have a few. Just in case, right?" His voice was soft. "It's almost like panic, taking those things off. Isn't it? WHY, damnit? Why have you done this?" He shook his head. "You can't possibly tell me it's because of Louis. Remember, I know him, too. There's no way he'd want this."

"You can have no idea of what he wants!" Lestat's voice was harsh. It matched his breathing perfectly. "You weren't there, you don't know."

Tom spread his hands. "Then why not tell me?"

"I can't."

"The reason being?"

"Because it hurts too much," Lestat pushed himself away from the wall angrily, walking back towards the living room. "I should think that was obvious."

With a sigh Tom retreated back to the bedroom, returning with another of the fluffy towels. "Dry off."

Lestat stared at him for a long moment before realization dawned. He reached up with one hand to touch his hair and managed a sheepish look when he realized how wet it was. He slowly began to dry off, tangling his hair at first and then pulling it out of the ponytail entirely once it started to come undone. "Thanks."

Tom watched him without comment. When he was, if not dry then at least not dripping, he silently retrieved the towel, dumping it back into the bathroom with the other. Finally he leaned in the doorway of the living room. "I can see you're in pain," he said at last, voice soft. "What I don't understand is why you haven't come to me. Why the Hell you've been avoiding me."

Lestat's response came quickly, as he sat down on a couch, his back to Tom. "It's not that I want to."

"OK. So then why?"

"Because I can't."

"Why."

"Because I want to."

He frowned, tracing the conversation. "You want to avoid me?"

Lestat turned around just enough to look at him from underneath his locks of wet hair. "Non. I have to avoid you because -" his voice caught " - because I want to be with you."

Tom could scream in frustration. He seriously considered it, just to see the look on Lestat's face. "Ok, so I'm not the enemy. I can help you, you know. I'm not in Paris for my health."

There was a ghost of a smile. "Good thing."

"I'm not the one doing an imitation of a polarbear just now." He sighed, crossing into the room finally, sitting across from Lestat. "Explain this to me like I'm a kid, ok? I'm here to help you. You say you want my help, so... why the distance?" He frowned slightly. "A straight answer would help."

There was a long, heavy pause. Finally Lestat stood up, leaned down and kissed him.

Shocked, Tom simply sat for a moment. Then he turned his head, effectively breaking contact. "Damnit! Why can't you just bloody damn talk to me?"

Grey eyes turned to steel. "You wanted an honest answer, you got it." Lestat looked at him as he straightened up. "And I suppose I did too."

Tom stood as well, inches from him. "You got nothing. I beg you to talk to me, you get cryptic. I ask for a simple answer, you kiss me. I'm chasing my tail here and now you're angry. All I want to know is why!"

Lestat's jaw clenched. Tom could see the muscles working as the steel in Lestat's eyes was forcibly made to fade. "You want to help me?" it was an honest question, not a challenge.

"I want to help you. You, Lestat. Not Gregory."

Lestat was quiet again. Arms folded, he looked away at nothing in particular. After a while he spoke again. "He waited over fifty years."

Tom thought about that. "Yeah," he said at last. "But not alone."

"That doesn't count."

"Yes it does."

Lestat looked back at him. "Armand was with him, but he was not truly with Armand."

"You aren't Louis. You have different needs than he had."

Lestat shook his head. "This isn't about need."

"It's about Louis, right?"

"Yes."

"Then what would Louis want?"

"He wants me to wait." There was a slight pause before Lestat sighed heavily and sank back down onto the couch. "He wants me to be there when he gets back."

"Ok. Great. In the meanwhile you destroy yourself. He'd want that?"

"I'm not destroying myself," Lestat said. His generous mouth twisted into a grimace. "God knows it's not possible to do that."

Tom's voice was soft. "You can do it. Gregory can do it. You've damn near done it."

He shook his head. "This is not destruction, just... waiting. Not doing anything." Grey eyes became tinged with a faint ice blue. "It's a nice change of pace."

"Change of pace?"

The smile was weak now. "From having the world blow up."

Tom shrugged. "It's still doing that. And you know it."

A shudder went through his body. "Non. It is not, because I'm not going to let it."

The scream was definitely coming. "It already has! Denying it doesn't change it."

"How?"

"It blew up when Louis left."

Lestat opened and closed his mouth before answering. "Oh."

He couldn't help the smile. "So does this mean that we've finally got a legitimate crisis on our hands?"

Lestat's hands rested on either side of him on the couch. He looked down, watching the ends of his scarf sway back and forth as they fell away from his chest. "Maybe." He paused, then nodded sharply. "Alright."

Tom flopped down in the chair again. "Oh good. Baldrick, this is a crisis."

That elicited a guilty snicker.

He grinned. "Cool. You still laugh."

He looked up from under his hair again. "Sometimes."

"You should do it more often." He met Lestat's eyes. "Louis would want that, you know. He wants you to take care of yourself. No way to deny that."

"I'm trying," Lestat said. He shifted his weight, resting his arms against his knees and flexing his hands in front of him. "Honestly I am. It's just... very hard to do that, when you're me."

"So how can I help?"

"Depends on how you want to help me."

"Let me paint my evening for you, Lestat. I cancelled everything I had to do, because the only thing I could think of was you. There was no way I could reach you, and you needed help." He tried to hide the frustration, but was only partially successful. "What do you need?"

There was another long, pregnant pause. "I need to feel like it won't be my fault."

This time he couldn't hold back the growl. "For Christ's sake, why does there need to be blame here? What divine dictate said you have to go through all this alone?"

"Everybody!" Lestat was on his feet again, pacing now. "You were with us long enough in New Orleans, Tom, you saw what it was like - everything always comes down to something I've done, something Lestat has done wrong." He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "I just thought, once, I wouldn't do that. That I'd do something where no one could point to me and say if only I hadn't..."

"There's no one here, Lestat. Just you and me. To Hell with everyone else." He bared his fangs in frustration. "I will not live my life by their dictates. And if you decide that's what you're going to do, then you really do need help."

"And what about Louis?"

"Louis wants you to suffer?"

"Louis wants me to wait."

"And suffer."

There was that ghost of a smile again. "That's a natural side-effect."

"Did you argue?"

There was a frown. "About?"

"Why does he want you to suffer like this?" Tom shrugged. "I really didn't think he'd have a sadistic streak."

"Oh. No, not that." Lestat shook his head, sitting down on the edge of one of the chairs this time. "We didn't fight, and he didn't leave to hurt me. He just needed some time." Lestat, despite a faint tan, managed to look pale.

Tom tilted his head a little. "Lestat, just for one minute, try to see this from another view. Mine, for example. If Louis came back this very second in time, he'd kill me. You know that, right?"

Grey eyes locked on his. "Oui, I'm very aware of that."

"OK, tell me why."

"Because you're with me."

He shook his head. "Try this. Because I'm not." Then he blinked. "Why would he kill me because I'm with you?"

For an answer, Lestat held up his wedding band.

Tom raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"As I said, he waited."

"So... because you're married, you've got to stay alone?" He shook his head again. "I'm not proposing, Lestat. I want to help you, not marry you."

"Yes, I know how you feel."

Time to slow down. It seemed to Tom that he was still chasing his tail. "Ok. How do I feel?"

"You want to help me, not marry me."

"Great recitation. What, exactly, do you think that means?"

"I believe the phrase is you like me as a friend."

Tom considered. "Can I try this another way? How do you feel?"

Golden eyebrows raised. "Oh? Why don't you try to tell me how you think I feel? Fair's fair."

"Yeah, I guess it does. Problem is, there's no agenda behind these questions. I'm honestly trying to figure out what's going on. Translation, I have no idea what's going on in your head. That's why I'm here."

Lestat nodded, considering this. "I feel... that friendship is not very satisfying."

Tom considered this. "Do we have to have an agenda?"

"What do you mean?"

"You don't want to be my friend. You don't want to betray Louis, right?"

"No, not quite," Lestat said. "I'd like to be your friend. And, true, I do not want to betray Louis."

"So let's start with that. We were friends, weren't we?" He tried to keep the note of confusion from his voice, but wasn't sure if he succeeded.

His smile was more solid than it had been. "I like to think so."

The image of a large spider web suddenly sprang up in Tom's imagination. He was tired, admittedly. He knew that sparring with Lestat would exhaust him. Just how tired he was, though, struck him at about the same time as his weary brain finally made the connection. They were friends. Lestat wasn't satisfied with friendship. He didn't want to betray Louis. Louis would kill Tom if he knew of this. Ooh boy. "That's... that's why?"

"What?"

"What, exactly, do you have in mind, Lestat?"

Lestat watched Tom very carefully before shaking his head. The grin he flashed Tom was fake, at best. "I wasn't trying to have anything in mind, if you'll recall. That's why we're fighting right now, is it not?"

Tom just stared at him. "Do you have another pair of glasses, by any chance?"

"On me?"

"Yeah, on you."

"Why?"

"Curiosity." He shrugged. "It almost looked like you were wearing them for a second there."

"You're a real bastard sometimes. Are you like this with all of your friends?"

"Yeah. When they pull away like that. Every time."

"I'm trying to make this easy on you."

He looked for something to throw, then decided against it. "If I wanted that, I'd be in the states right now."

"Fine, what do you want then?"

"Honesty. That's it. I hate games."

"I tried being honest with you and you pushed me away."

Tom frowned, then leaned forward. "Kissing me is the only honest answer you can give me in this conversation?"

"It was one of several."

"What's another?"

"I want to do the right thing, I don't want to hurt anyone." He was quiet for a moment. Then he tried for a weak grin. "I'm in a crisis."

"A large crisis? With a lovely entranceway?"

That got a laugh, and then a faint touch of purple in his eyes. "Pretty lovely from where I'm sitting, Captain."

Tom sighed as he sat back, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Do you think I don't want you?"

"I think your want is different from mine."

"What's yours?"

"I could spend fifty years with you and then some."

He made another sound of frustration. "What's stopping you?"

"First tell me what's yours. Please."

"My definition of wanting you?"

"Yes."

"I... want to be with you. You're the reason I got into this in the first place. I want to support you if I can." He frowned. "I don't like specific definitions. They sound too much like limits."

Lestat mulled this over for a bit. He then drew into himself - not retreating into "Greg" but rather into thought. When he finally spoke his voice was quiet, geared for only the two of them to hear. "If I forget him, he'll die."

Tom's voice was just as soft. "No."

He nodded. The motion was quick, almost a reflex. "If I forget him, if I stop thinking about him he won't. come. back."

Still soft, more determined. "No."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because he's gone, and no one knows where, and he needs to find his way home. To me. I need to wait for him or he'll get lost."

"I don't even know why he left. Where he went." He quirked an eyebrow. "I assumed you knew?"

"I know why, not where," Lestat looked very tired. "No one knows where."

"You don't have to tell me why, if you don't want to."

"It was too much," Lestat sat back in the chair, his posture easing from its sharp lines by only a hair. "Everything that happened in New Orleans - all the questions, the doubts, all of you being turned - or not as the case may be. He couldn't take anymore. I wanted to be with him so badly but heÉ" Lestat looked away, swallowing a moment before continuing. "Emotions ran so high. Finally he left. He told me all about it - it wasn't anything I'd done or that he'd done. He was just... overwhelmed. He needed time alone." When Lestat looked up now his eyes were tinged red. "He loved me, and needed me, but needed me to stay away from him. So I promised I would. I promised I'd wait and do everything he asked. And here I am."

"What, exactly, did he ask. Besides staying away from you and giving him time."

"To wait for him. To understand."

"You've done that, right?"

"Oui, I'm trying."

"So what's the problem??"

Lestat's voice was quiet again. "When I'm with you, I forget."

"Forget what, exactly?"

"Him."

"So when you're with me, you forget Louis. And if you forget him, he'll never come back, right?"

He nodded.

"Oh." Tom sighed. "Well, at least now I understand. Thanks."

"You're welcome." Lestat's voice was flat.

"There's only one thing for it."

Lestat nodded. "I've been trying."

Tom looked startled. "Trying what?"

"To do the right thing."

"Oh that. Nope." He sighed. "Gotta find Louis."

Part Two: Lightening

Lestat looked stricken. "Non."

"You can't go after him, right? But there's no rule that says I can't."

"Yes there is. He wanted to be left alone Tom. That means alone. He'll come back when he's ready."

"I don't want him to come back," he said reasonably. "I just want to talk to him."

"What about?"

"Life."

"Now who's giving cryptic answers?"

"There's nothing I can say that won't upset you, I think." He settled back in his chair, eyes hard. "I also think this is the only thing that will help you."

"Leaving me."

"What?"

"Nothing," Lestat stood. "Leave Louis alone, please. If you are my friend, then I ask this favor."

"Wait a second." Tom stood up as well, head swimming, muscles bunching. "Why the Hell does it have to be this hard to talk to you?"

"Because it hurts, Tom. I thought you understood that. It hurts, I hurt, I -" he stopped, suddenly, his mouth snapping shut as though he only just realized what he'd said.

"What hurts?" He reached out to take Lestat by the shoulders. "I don't understand any of this. I don't understand why you've chosen to be alone, or why you think he'll die. I don't get pushing me away when I want to help you. I don't understand a single assumption you've made about Louis, because the guy you just described and the guy I know have nothing in common. So what in Hell hurts you so much about it all?"

Lestat swallowed, one hand resting against Tom's arm. "You know," he said, his voice far too light, "I think I'm not meant to care about anyone."

"I don't know that. You've searched for it. You want it. Why not just take it?"

"You pushed me away."

He blinked. "Just now?"

Grey eyes locked on his. "Yes."

What else could he do? He moved in, the kiss hard, searing, on the verge of violence.

There was only a pause before Lestat shoved him away. "Was that supposed to be funny?"

"No. It was supposed to demonstrate." He stared hard at him. "Don't judge an entire relationship on a single action."

"What should I judge it on? Everytime I've tried to be honest with you, or understand you push me away. This seems a clear message, Tom. And a cruel one."

"I don't consider a single kiss a conclusive answer to any question."

"What's the question?"

Tom stared at the ceiling. "You're trying to make me cry, right? Barbara Walters couldn't do it, you won't.

A spark of humor flared in his expression. "I didn't know you could."

His reply was far more serious than it should have been. "I'm not sure I can."

The French accent made the words soft and easy on the ear. "I'm sorry."

Tom shrugged. "It's not important right now. But thanks."

"I'm not a talker." Lestat tried for a smile. "I can weep at any moment, but I cannot talk. It's far easier to write it all out and hope someone sees."

"I'm not sure I have time to wait for your next novel." Tom shook his head. "I really think I should talk to Louis. It's not nearly as threatening as all that - you may not be big on talking, but I kind of like it."

"With me?"

"Sure, if you'll talk back."

Lestat licked his lips, his eyes going over Tom's face studiously. There was a twitch of a nervous grin. "I... may have to. I don't think I could write this book."

"I feel like I've cornered you. Talk to me or I'll kill Louis." He looked suddenly tired. "Tell me I'm wrong. Please."

Lestat shook his head. "Non. Talk to you or you'll leave. Which is fair." Lestat stared at him suddenly. Slowly, realization dawning, he said. "God, I haven't been very kind to you, have I?"

Tom shrugged. "I didn't expect this to be easy"

Lestat looked as though he had been slapped. He held up a hand to forestall Tom's reaction as he stepped back, once again looking at him. He stepped away even further, circling Tom a bit as he continued to stare. Behind the grey eyes wheels were working.

A feeling of sudden paranoia tightened his muscles into knots. In spite of that Tom forced himself to be still, to endure the eyes as they swept over him.

Finally it stopped. Lestat broke away from the scrutiny to stand before Tom. His voice was hoarse, still, but strong. "I'm not making the same mistakes twice. I'm in love with you, I want to be with you, I'm terrified of loosing Louis but I don't want you to go." And then, with a smile that was somewhere between giddy and sheer terror he added, "How was that?"

Wide eyed, Tom could only stare for a time. Finally he managed "So that's what it feels like to be hit by a boulder."

Lestat nodded. "I was thinking the exact same thing."

"Great." He finally remembered to blink. "Wow. Ok. I think I'd better sit." He sat.

Lestat remained standing, clearly riding a wave of adrenaline that radiated from him in nervous energy. "You can see why I couldn't put that in a book."

Tom stood slowly, facing him. He opened his arms, but did not touch him, almost asking permission.

Lestat nodded, standing uncertainly where he was.

Tom slowly drew him into his arms, not attempting to caress him, certainly not to kiss him, but just holding him, feeling a tension which matched his own.

Lestat wrapped his arms around Tom lightly, not sure of their placement. "I ... I just didn't want to do to you what I did to Louis. Two hundred years is a long time to wait for the truth. Whatever you want to make of it."

His voice was soft, whispered just under his ear. "I love you too."

"In what way?"

Tom laughed softly. "I'm not a poet. What do you mean, what way?"

Lestat stepped back to press his fingers against his eyes. "This is not easy Cruise, I hope you know that." He looked up to take any sting out of his words, his expression making it clear he spoke with affection, albeit terrified. He took a deep breath. "Alright, what if I do poetry and you nod?"

Tom searched his face. "Christ, why are you in love with me? I never meant for that to happen. I really didn't. I didn't want to complicate your life... just to make things a little easier."

A slow grin spread across Lestat's face. "And then, years later in New Orleans, I fell..." he considered the words, "desperately in love with a young actor named Tom. In hair and eye he reminded me of my Louis, but his personality, his fire, his strength were so much different from that."

With a comic shriek Tom dove for the sofa and buried himself under the pillows in a desperate move to escape.

Lestat laughed - and now it truly sounded like him laughing. Something warm, and golden. The laugh stayed in his voice as he continued. "I did not prefer him over Louis, but could not help be attracted to his staunchly American sense of humor, his chivalry, fierce loyalty and..." there was a significant pause. "Well-formed derriere."

In response Tom threw a well aimed pillow, boffing him in the head.

Lestat's now-dry hair fell in a cascade over his face from the attack. He wiped it back with one hand. "How am I doing?"

Tom looked up. "Not bad, actually." He followed through by sitting up amid the pillows. "Now what?"

The nervous energy was back again. "Now you."

"Now What?"

There was a flicker of a smile. "Now you work with me so I know how you feel and do not die of humiliation right on this floor. Or, if I am to die of humiliation, I can at least do it much faster than if we just stand here staring at each other."

"Humiliation?" Tom shook his head. "That was about the bravest thing I've ever seen."

"Thank you," Lestat smiled, arms folded, the energy radiating higher. "But allow me to say once again that the time for 'just friends, thanks' really is now or I shall die."

Tom moved aside so that there was plenty of room to sit beside him. "Would you at least sit down? You're making me too nervous to think straight."

"I could make a pun, but I shan't," Lestat said. He sat sideways beside Tom, one knee resting against the seat of the couch. He took his scarf off and toyed with it in his lap, waiting.

"I've never wanted to be just friends with you. But," he cautioned, "there's no way I'm going to do anything to hurt what you've got with Louis. Frankly," he shook his head, searching for inspiration which never came, "I'm not sure where to go. But for what it may be worth, I think you're probably the single most important person in my entire life."

Lestat let out a long breath of air. "Alright. This is a start." He blinked. "I am?"

"You are."

A slow smile spread across Lestat's lips. "Thank you."

Tom shrugged, trying hard not to blush. "Just the truth."

Lestat met his eyes, his voice calm and serious. "Tom, do you want to be with me?"

He didn't even hesitate. "Yes."

"Like this?" a gesture of his hand indicated both physical and emotional proximity.

Voice softer, just a little breathless. "Yes. But not at the cost of Louis."

Lestat nodded, considering this. "What about Brad?"

It felt as though a bucket of ice water splashed over him. "Ooh, Brad." The emotions came hard and fast, but Tom tried to convey something that made sense. "He's... in California. He's not with me, in other words. By his own choice. He won't be happy if you and I have a relationship, but he's also lost the right to cast a vote."

Lestat nodded, taking this in as well. "So we are in the same boat."

"I don't know. Louis still matters in your life."

"But I think that Brad still matters to you. And in the meanwhile we are both alone."

"In that case, you're right." He took a deep breath. "And I still want to talk to Louis."

"Why?"

"Just to see what's going on with him."

"Why?"

Tom shrugged. "To find out when he's coming back, mostly."

"I know I'm repeating myself, but why?"

He looked at him. "It involves me. I'd like to know."

Lestat looked confused. "What does?"

"Arg. Louis does. He's a part of your life. You're a huge part of mine. Get it?"

Lestat grew quiet, thinking about this. "I don't want him to be hurt."

"Why would I hurt him?"

"I don't know," Lestat said, throwing a hand up in defeat. "Not on purpose, you wouldn't. At least I don't think you would. I just don't want him hurt with things about me when he asked for just that thing to never happen."

"He doesn't want to see you, right?"

"He doesn't want company of any kind. He especially doesn't want me coming after him somehow."

"You're not coming. I am. And I'm not going to talk about you, only him." Tom shrugged. "Your name won't even come up."

Lestat looked away, putting his scarf around his neck once more. "There's nothing I can do to stop you."

He drew his legs up onto the sofa and looked across the room. Outside the snow continued to gently drift to earth. "What would you do if I stayed?"

"I don't know."

He nodded. "That's what I thought." Sighing Tom stood, facing him. "Your life is in limbo. And suddenly you want to start something between us?" He shook his head. "I do love you. But there's nowhere for us to go when so much is in the air. If we have any chance to be involved, some loose ends have got to be tied up. At least that's how I see things."

Slowly, as though he had not heard correctly. "You want to be involved with me?"

Tom forced his fists not to clench. "Why does that surprise you?"

"Most people don't."

His voice was quiet, intense. "I'm not most people."

That brought a faint smile. "So I've heard."

"So don't sell me short." He crossed his arms. "You either, for that matter."

"Alright," Lestat sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "So what do you wish to do? You want to go try to find Louis. And then what?"

"I'm not sure. If I find out he has no plans to return for a few decades it's a little different from he's coming home next week."

One eyebrow raised. "And if he is not coming home next week?"

Tom sighed. "You tell me. It's up to you."

"I find myself too tempted to be with you no matter what the option."

His voice became softer, more intimate. "No matter what the cost?"

"Ah," he said, looking up at him. His eyes said a lot more than the words that followed. "That, I find, is when my heart starts to pound."

It was probably the wrong thing to do, but Tom found himself settling onto the sofa next to Lestat. "I still want to know what price you'll pay in all this."

"I don't know," he said. He moved as though to adjust his glasses then remembered at the last moment he wasn't wearing any. "I honestly don't, Tom. I feel I shouldn't, I feel I should, I have no idea what Louis would think about all of this. Who knows? Perhaps you're right. I'm too much in limbo to say anything, or drag you down with me."

Tom fought the urge to draw his knees up, to wrap his arms around them in a posture of defensive comfort. Damn, why did everything involving this guy need to be this tough? "You're not dragging me down. I'm not being dragged anywhere."

"I know," Lestat said, not looking at him. "Sometimes I say things I don't mean."

Almost on it's own, Tom's hand reached up to brush Lestat's hair away from his face. "It's ok. This isn't easy for you either. I know."

Lestat moved into the touch only a fraction. "I love Louis," he said, his body tense from the effort of holding still. "I want to be with him, I want him with me. But I cannot deny this."

He looked to the ceiling a moment before concentrating on Lestat's face. "This... doesn't have to be this dangerous you know. We can spend time together in ways that won't betray him, right?"

Now Lestat moved against his hand, turning to look at him curiously at the same time he increased the touch. "How?"

In answer Tom moved closer, drawing Lestat forward into a light embrace.

Lestat responded by moving closer, slipping an arm around him as well. "And is this what you want? What you could live with?" He spoke near Tom's ear, as though the words were not meant to be heard by anyone else.

It was so tempting to turn his head, to take his lips in the kiss which hung so heavy between them. But he wouldn't. Momentary pleasure, followed by years of guilt and pain, at least on Lestat's part. No way. "More would hurt you too much."

Lestat pulled back, but not too far. Just enough to meet his eyes. "And if it didn't hurt me?"

Simple, restrained. "I'd kiss you."

Lestat nodded, as though satisfied by this. "Alright," he said, sitting back. "You're going to find him, then?"

A tension in his chest eased just slightly. "Yeah, I am."

"Alright," he said again. He stood, slipping on his coat and picking up his gloves. "You know where I am, in the meanwhile. I don't anticipate leaving."

Tom looked at him curiously. "That's it, then?"

He shrugged. "What else is there?"

"I'm... not sure." He grimaced. "I came out tonight to kill Gregory. Somehow, I don't think that's what happened."

Lestat grinned a little. "Look, I like him, even if you don't." More seriously, he added. "What do you think happened?"

He considered, then grinned. "I think I got a boyfriend. Hopefully."

Both eyebrows raised this time. And there was no denying the pleasure in his eyes, even if Lestat pretended to be calm. "Hopefully?"

"If the price is right."

"And what's the price?"

"You."

He shifted his gloves from one hand to the other. "My happiness."

"Your happiness, your well being, and ultimately, just you. I'm not willing to sacrifice you to have you, if that makes any sense."

He nodded, putting the gloves on finally. "Oui," he smiled at Tom. "A great deal. I'll be here, when you get back."

Tom watched as he slipped away then continued to stare at the door. He started out this night to murder a man who didn't exist. He ended up committing to a quest in search of a man he barely knew. Sometimes his life was strange, even by Hollywood standards.

Part Three: Daybreak

For not the first time in as many months, Lestat sat at his desk and stared at absolutely nothing.

He didn't like this, but there were a great deal of things about his life right now that he was not overly fond of.

He sighed, removing his glasses long enough to rub his hands over his eyes. Alright, Lestat, he thought. Enough of this. Over sentimentality solves nothing.

Not that the pep talk made him feel any better, but it at least allowed him to feel like he'd done something.

Leaning back in his chair, he toyed with his pen, watching how the view of it changed through the tinted lenses that covered his eyes.

He'd become, he knew, incredibly easy to distract.

Not that he liked that either but there wasn't much for it.

Fine, then. If his mind begged a moment of introspection, then he could pencil in a few moments to indulge himself.

This was a problem that had grown worse as the months had gone on. It was now over three months since Tom had left and with each passing night Lestat had only thought about him more.

This was wrong.

Or, he amended, if not wrong then definitely not right.

He sighed again, this time letting his pen go to hold his hand up and finger his wedding band.

It was a beautiful thing. Gold, with subtle etchings. It fit perfectly on his ring finger, as it should.

He knew the others would laugh, that the easiest joke in the world to make was any joke about Lestat and marriage, but in truth this actually meant something to him.

His heart had stopped when Louis held his hand and gave this to him. A sign, he'd said, so that everyone in the world would know that Lestat was his. That out of everyone in the world, Louis had chosen him.

He'd liked that. Especially the phrasing. He'd been Louis' choice. Not his burden, not his obligation, his choice.

As Louis had been his.

But now Louis was gone.

"Not forever, mon Lestat," he'd said. "And not as punishment. Please understand I am not doing this to hurt you. I just need time."

Time. By himself.

As though that wasn't going to hurt.

But he'd let him go. Or rather had agreed to what Louis had wanted. Not because he wanted to, but because Louis had asked him to.

And because he had to prove to himself that he was no longer the man that he was. No longer a man who would attack a little girl just to keep what he wanted. After all, that's what he'd done the last time Louis had wanted to leave him.

God knew that was what he'd done. Hell, the whole world knew that now. Knew that Lestat was a monster when it came to getting what he wanted.

So he'd kept quiet. And nodded, and tried not to weep like a fool, and promised whatever Louis asked of him, and then had been quietly sick as soon as Louis was out of his sight.

Just so Louis could see he wasn't the man he had been. He could be patient, and wait, and not react like a child.

He'd just feel abandoned like one.

Going to Paris had seemed like a safe place to be, after all that. It didn't feel like Louis, to him. He knew he could come here and feel better. Or, rather, not feel the hurt.

A new persona had helped that.

Although Tom had been wrong in one assessment - it wasn't the cause of that.

Gregory Michaelson, while a nice name to hide behind, had not been created to hide Lestat from Louis. Rather it had been created to hide himself from the world. He disliked admitting it, but involving himself with the movie had made his famous face familiar once more. In a civilized country like France, he'd found good need to disguise himself, make sure he wasn't as easy to recognize.

Everything else had filled in like clockwork after that.

Except for Tom.

Tom was a problem. Or had been a problem.

Seeing Tom had been like a blow to the chest. Talking with Tom had been worse still. And then that moment, that stupid moment, when he'd confessed everything.

Again because he had wanted to show himself that he wasn't the man he'd been.

The man he'd been had tortured Louis for two centuries before admitting his love. The man Lestat was now would do better than that - he'd admit his love for Tom right up front.

In the months that followed Lestat had to keep reminding himself that Tom had called the action brave.

Personally Lestat felt it had been foolish.

Foolish, but not incorrect. That was one small comfort he was able to give himself. Not easy, not graceful, perhaps not the best thing to have said considering the circumstances, but at least it was honest. They had been his true feelings, and he'd liked being able to recognize and admit them. And Tom, though he hadn't reacted in the way Lestat's fantasies would have preferred, had at least listened to him.

It was a start.

Not a great one, but a start.

It was a start that left him feeling as he did now - distracted and uncomfortable.

He'd tried, after Tom had left. He'd tried to go right back into "Greg" (partially because he knew Tom disliked it so) and do everything he'd been doing before Tom had showed up - tried to go right back into that businessman persona that had worked so well for him.

The only problem was, as Tom had quickly been able to zero in on, it didn't work well for him.

True, he liked ballet and galleries, but not obsessively. And business suits, though damned attractive on him, were always constraining and imprisoning.

He didn't even like to think about ties.

He liked the glasses, though, and to Hell with what Tom thought about that.

He liked the glasses, he didn't mind the name, and everything else, every person he had to talk to, every deal he had to cut, every function he was made to appear at he hated. Loathed, in fact.

But there was nothing else for him.

There was nowhere he could go where he wouldn't have to hide behind a false name and, moreover, where he wouldn't run into the rest of the coven as well. At least here, in France, he could be by himself and in an environment of his own creation.

Even if he hated every minute of it.

Because, in truth, there wasn't anything he could do right now that he wouldn't hate.

Except be with Louis.

Or, and here was the inner voice that was really bothering him, be with Tom.

The latter thought was far too appealing. Especially to a man who wore a wedding band.

Not that it mattered. Not that Tom was there.

But - and Lestat allowed himself only one second for this thought - it would be so damned nice if he was.

His moment of allowed introspection over, Lestat straightened his tie, sat up in his chair, and went back to work.

There was nothing else he could do.

The crowds swirled around him as he walked through what was for him yet another meaningless event. This one, at least, had a purpose. Bastille Day celebration. All of France's finest were gathered together in their black-tie best to celebrate.

That he, the son of a marquis, would be here for it touched on his sense of irony. It provided him something to think about besides eavesdropping on the conversations around him.

The costumes were pretty too. He had to admit he liked modern fashion and especially enjoyed it when it was formal. The cut of the tuxedos, the daring of dresses with exposed backs, the flash of color all around him. His only regret was that men were forced to remain in black. He could remember centuries ago when he - in this very Hall, as a matter of fact - dressed in colors and silks to rival the finest that any woman had to wear today.

But now, just black. Sharply tailored tux, black tie, hair in a ponytail and, of course, the gold-rimmed glasses. Add in a bit of jewelry at his cuffs and a pin near his neck and it was the best he could do for now. At least it helped him stand out a little in the crowd.

Not that he wanted to stand out. That would mean having to talk to people. But part of him, inside, demanded something different. With nothing else to fall back on he'd chosen fashion.

It had seemed safe.

He wandered about the party, pretending to eat, pretending to drink, pretending, in fact, that he was enjoying himself. He'd just gotten up to the point where he could convince himself of this, in fact, was just ready to scan the crowd to see if there was anyone there who might make good, temporary company for a vampire in need, when he saw one face standing out in the crowd.

It was Tom, dressed to kill in a tux of his own, leaning against the main staircase, arms folded, skin tanned, and green eyes locked right on him.

This was unexpected.

What are you doing here? he asked Tom, silently.

The answer was immediate, tinged with humor. Watching you.

Lestat folded his arms in turn, letting the party go on around him as his attention focused on the man standing thirty feet away. I'd forgotten about the American habit of being direct. Alright then, why are you watching me?

Because you're the only thing worth watching in this place.

There were some pleasures too good not to enjoy. The feeling of Tom saying that was at least five thousand of them. He damped this down after a moment, though, just to be on the safe side. And has it been worthwhile?

In response Tom sent a mental image of a stylishly golden figure cutting through the crowd, pausing here and there to flirt, to smile, before moving on. What do you think?

Lestat slid his hands into his pockets in an easy, casual maneuver that he knew was not hard on the eyes. Not bad, if you like blondes.

Tom almost laughed. I like blondes. He fingered his hair. In fact, I nearly am one, now.

Lestat let his eyebrows raise as he slowly circled the staircase - not getting closer, just going around it - to take a look at the full effect. Yes, I'd noticed that. When did you start filming Tale of the Body Thief?

It's a good story, if you're interested. That is, if you have the time.

Outside?

I'll follow you.

Lestat led the way through the crowd and out onto one of the balconies. It didn't take much of a nudge to keep the crowd away from them or the door. "How's this?"

Tom looked around appreciatively before turning to settle his gaze on Lestat. "Nice view."

Lestat realized he was learning entirely new meanings of American directness. He covered up the momentary lapse in his ability to speak by taking a longer, closer look at Tom. The tan, as much as he could see, looked fine. Very nice, in fact. Much like Tom had appeared in any of his action films. And, true enough, his long dark hair now sported some attractive streaks, although Lestat would have called them more chestnut than blonde. "Should I be yelling at you for this?" he asked, gesturing to the tan.

Tom shrugged. "Not my fault." Then he grinned a little. "Ok, maybe a little my fault. I could have hidden better than I did, I'll admit it." He shook his head. "One of the weirdest experiences of my life, waking up with a corpse in my hand."

Lestat moved closer instinctively. "Someone attacked you?"

He shrugged again, grinning a little. "Just a farmer, I think. And he was probably curious more than anything." He turned his hand over and rolled up the cuff of his left sleeve, just enough to expose a white streak. "It's not quite as even as it looks. But not bad."

Lestat gave it another good look. "No, not bad. And you wear it well." He allowed himself to relax just a bit. "I'm glad you're alright."

"Thanks." His voice dropped just a little. "I missed you."

Lestat turned so that he was standing beside Tom, but facing the lawns out in front of the balcony. "I missed you too. Did you have any luck?" He kept his voice bright, cheerful, not knowing what he hoped the answer was.

"You mean, did I find him?"

"Yes."

The nod was barely visible, even to a vampire. "Yeah."

His hands tightened on the railing. He didn't allow himself time to identify the emotions. "Is he... where? What happened?"

Tom didn't meet his eyes, but rather sought out the horizon. "I didn't talk to him."

Ah. Well there was one door closed. "What happened?" he asked again, feeling the tightness in his hands creep up his arms. He tried to force it down.

Tom hesitated, just briefly. "He... damn. I've been thinking about how to say this, and I still don't know how. He seems content." He shrugged a little. "I didn't think it was the right thing to do, you know? Just burst in on him like that."

Lestat considered this and felt the questions come up to his lips. Where was he? What was he doing?

Was he alone?

He felt the questions, but did not ask them. Some instinct inside of him told him he didn't want to know. Didn't want to know if Louis was just a few blocks away, perfectly happy without him, and potentially with someone else.

Just as Lestat was right now, without him.

Ah God.

"Was he alright?" he asked, finally, deciding that would be the one answer he would ask of Heaven and leave the rest be.

"Fine. Quiet. Just as you'd expect, probably."

He nodded, sharply, feeling the pain in his chest tighten before it slowly slipped away, leaving a trail of ice in his veins as a last reminder. "Alright," he said, forcing his hands to relax. "Alright. That's good to know."

"I'm sorry." The words were whispered, soft, almost a thought.

He let himself look at Tom out of the corner of his eye. "What for?"

"I... wanted. To bring him back. For you, you know?"

Something inside of Lestat released. He felt the tension vanish from him in a wave. Yes. Tom, of all people, would have tried to get Louis back for him if he could. He felt foolish for not realizing that sooner. "Thank you," he said, making eye contact with Tom again. "You did the right thing."

Tom took a deep breath, relaxing just marginally. "Thanks. I tried." He straightened, turning to look at Lestat directly. "I'm certain he didn't know I was there."

He shrugged. "Who can say, with him?" He entertained a few thoughts of Louis - picturing him sitting in a cafe somewhere, aware he was being watched but quietly ignoring it. Permission? Apathy? Lestat shook his head, dismissing this. No. He wouldn't give into this again. He was tired of living life by his imagination. "Now what?"

Tom rolled his eyes. "I fight the urge to stomp those glasses."

He laughed. He couldn't help it. "Two minutes ago you thought they were attractive."

"I thought you were attractive. In spite of those things."

"I see," he said. He turned away from Tom again, considering this. He let his hand casually touch the railing, feeling the pattern of it under his fingertips. "You truly dislike them?"

"I dislike what they represent."

"What's that?"

"You being someone besides you." His smile was hesitant, but the effort was honest. "I like you."

"Fair enough," he said. He leaned forward, folding his arms on the railing and resting easily against them. "I do need them, you know. I wasn't kidding when I said they helped accidental trances. But," he looked up at Tom, making sure those green eyes were locked on his, "I'm open to negotiation from interested parties."

Tom's voice was quiet but firm. "I'm... interested."

"Alright," he stood again, moving so that he now stood much closer to Tom than he had before. He wasn't, he had to admit, thinking over much. But on the other hand he'd done nothing but think in the last four months. And not once had his mind told him he didn't want this. "I do need to use them, and will probably wear them most times we go out. However...." he waited to make sure Tom was listening "Under the right circumstances, perhaps I'll let you take them off."

Tom caught his breath. "What about Louis? I didn't even talk to him."

He nodded, accepting this. "Oui. But I have done a lot of talking with myself. And I think - " he spoke slowly, making sure each word sounded right to his mouth, " - even if he were here right now, I still could not forget about you. Not that I do not love him, not that my wedding band shall come off, but that this -" he placed a hand on Tom's chest. He wasn't surprised to feel how strong his heartbeat was. "- is just as important."

"What is this?"

He'd had four months to come to terms with the answer to that question. "Loving you. Wanting to be with you. Hating that you weren't here."

His smile suddenly radiated in the cool night. "I did the right thing, then."

That answer was unexpected. "What?"

Tom shook his head a little, grimacing. "There was too much guilt, before."

"And now?"

His eyes slid away before looking up again, meeting his gaze. Moving slow, but steadily, Tom reached up to remove the offending glasses. "Now? I'd like to get to know the guy behind these things. A lot better. What do you say?"

Lestat let himself have just one moment to enjoy the thought of Tom approaching him before holding up a hand to forestall him and stepping back one pace. He let a teasing smile play across his face. He hoped like Hell Tom understood what he was doing. "I don't know... do you consider this the right circumstances?"

The reply was, once again, immediate. "No. But I wanted you to know I was willing."

He raised a single eyebrow. "Willing?"

"To be with you." His nerve faltered, just a little. "You know."

He'd forgotten that even Tom could be nervous too. He let his thumb slip down Tom's hand, brushing the veins of his inner wrist. I know, Tom. Follow me?

Startled, Tom only nodded. "As always."

Lestat smiled, giving Tom's hand one last squeeze before jumping over the balcony and landing on the lawn below. He cut a large path with his mind, making sure no one watched as he made his way towards the gardens.

Tom followed at once, silently, motions quick and compact.

"I'm making you nervous," Lestat said, once he had brought them into a small grove of trees, well-hidden from anyone else.

Tom laughed, just a little. "Nothing new there. You always make me nervous."

He leaned back against a tree. "Why are you nervous now?"

Tom walked around the tree, seemingly for something to do. "I was nervous before because we couldn't do anything. Now... because we can." He grinned. "Never get a break, do we?"

Lestat smiled. He could understand this. "Not sure where to start?"

"Haven't got a clue."

"The agony of choice?"

He shook his head. "No way. I just don't want to fuck up."

"You worry about that a lot," he said. He turned, still leaning on the tree, to face Tom. He considered his next move. "Why did you wear the tux?"

The question obviously caught him off guard. "It was a fancy dress thing."

He shrugged. "You could have made sure no one noticed. In fact, you did."

"True, but..." he grinned again. "You know me. What if I screw it up. What if they notice anyway? Better be in a tux, just in case."

He would have been frustrated by Tom's anxiety if not for the saving grace of one fact: Tom wasn't scared of him, he was only scared of hurting him. Lestat could count the number of people such a thing applied to with one hand. He did his best to calm his own nerves, lest they add to Tom's. "I noticed."

Tom jumped, just a little. "You did? I slipped." Out of habit, unaware that he even did it, he glanced around to see who else caught the slip.

Lestat shook his head, reaching out with one hand to cup Tom's cheek and make him look at him. "I mean, I noticed."

His eyes darted around one last time, then settled on Lestat's face. "Oh." The smile was slow in coming, but genuine. "I'm glad."

A lazy smile crept across his lips. "I was rather hoping you were. Now then," he said, before Tom's attention could go elsewhere, "I believe we were talking about these glasses?"

Tom frowned a little, his expression a little dazed. "Lestat, when did you decide to come to me? I mean, really do this?"

His hand moved back to let his fingertips touch Tom's hair. "Like this, or when did I first realize I wanted this at all?"

"Both." His voice was breathless, the effort it took for him to concentrate obvious.

The feel of Tom's pulse quickening under his fingertips was rather intoxicating. He let his hand slide further back, teasing both Tom's hair and neck now with the lightest of touches. "I first realized my attraction in New Orleans, after I met you outside of Rue Royale. And my..." he searched for the right word. "... commitment when I realized you weren't trying to hurt me. Or Louis. You're just trying to do what's best. I think you'd leave me right now, if I asked it, even if that meant you'd be just as alone as I was."

The nod was definite, a reaction more than a gesture. "Absolutely."

"And you'd miss me, and hate it, but do it because I asked it and you want what's best for me."

"Of course."

Lestat smiled. He considered telling Tom that this was the exact same sacrifice that he had made for Louis, then decided that he was the only one who was stupid enough not to see that staring him in the face. Instead he settled on the here and now. He touched Tom's lips with his thumb. "How else can I react to someone like that? A protector, a friend - Tom, how could I not be in love with you?"

"Love," he paused to kiss the pad of Lestat's thumb, very lightly, "doesn't have to be physical you know."

He shook his head. "Non. I thought of this. And your chivalry is appreciated, but I do not think it will work. I want to be with you. Even if we never touched again I would want it so badly I don't think I could think of anything else. I cannot go back on that. My emotions are already decided. And as we have already seen," he said, gesturing to his glasses, "my attempts at denial help nothing. Non. You deserve better than that. I want to be with you. However this may work. I do not think I could pretend halfway."

Tom pulled back slightly, with an effort. "What about the consequences? I never spoke to Louis."

He nodded. This was something he could not deny. "I know. And I am not saying that this has now become a perfect option which shall bring no pain or unhappiness down the road. It probably shall. For all I know it will happen tomorrow, or five minutes from now." He sighed, letting the weight of this hit him fully before he stepped closer, cupping Tom's face in both hands now. "But I do know this. After 239 years of life on this earth I am sick and tired of the Vampire Lestat forcing his feelings aside and playing all Hell and havoc with the world around him. Once, just once I want to do something which is honest, and real, and right and accept the consequences for what they are."

The only response Tom could offer to that was a kiss.

Lestat felt himself tense for just a moment, not sure if this was a joke of Fate, and then relaxed, feeling Tom's hands on his arms and knowing that he meant it. This won't be the smartest thing we've ever done, Tom. But I'd rather be with you and happy than alone and a fool. Can you stay with me? In spite of it all?

Tom sent a quicksilver wave of humor laced through his response. I can stay with you. And I think our options at the point are to be together, and fools. But, here he moved closer, deepening the kiss, wrapping his arms around him, at least we are Together.

Fools together, yes. Lestat smiled, sending a wave of humor and happiness back at Tom. He pulled back from the kiss as the glasses were knocked askew (and steamed over, he was amused to find). He was about to take them off when he remembered he'd reserved that honor for Tom. He smiled, feeling giddy all of a sudden. With one hand he grabbed a fistful of Tom's shirt and drew him closer. "Save me from myself, please."

Tom happily complied, stopping just short of twisting them beyond recognition. "I suppose you want to keep them."

"Yes, I do," Lestat said, taking them out of Tom's hands and slipping them into his pocket. "And I do have others. You'd have to work hard to get rid of them all."

He looked into Lestat's eyes. "I accept that challenge."

Ah God, Lestat thought. I could truly get used to this. He leaned in to brush his lips against Tom's. "Could you?"

He nodded. "There's a better way than this. We'll find it." Then he smiled, far less serious. "In the meantime..." he leaned in to kiss him again. And after that they were mostly silent.

Fin.