CLOSING OF THE YEAR
by Teresa Isilwath, 1996
tci100@psu.edu 

Okay!  Okay!  It's a Christmas Spec, but it's not silly.  And it's very SHORT 
for me!  

All standard disclaimers apply.  All copyrights belong to Anne Rice 
and Random House, etc.  Spoliers for all VmpChron including Memnoch.


Closing of the Year


	First let me begin by stating emphatically that I am not a
hopeless romantic.  I'm not.  I'm not.  I'm not.  All right, maybe I am a
little.  But just a little. 

	It's Christmas time again.  How could I forget?  Wal-Mart had fake
trees and garish lights that play bad versions of popular carols up in
late September.  And it wasn't even Halloween yet!  Halloween, now that is
a vampire's holiday.  Get dressed up in a outrageous costume and go around
scaring people, and no one bats an eye.  Ah, ignorance is bliss, n'est
pas? 
	One certainly wouldn't think of Christmas as being a vampire's
holiday.  But, strangely, it is... for those of us who were Christian in
our mortal lives.  Well, actually, if you think about it, this is a
special time of year for just about every religion.  I think all of them
got together one year and decided to make the deepest part of winter a
celebration time just so people would have something other than the snow
and famine to think about.  Yes, we're all freezing cold and starving, but
it's the Festival of Lights!!  Tra-la!  Let's sing! 
	I remember Christmas in the Auvergne.  Snow up to your neck, no
central heat.  We all had our own hearths that raged with warming fires
all day and most of the heat went up the chimneys.  And guests would come
in for extended visits and stay throughout the whole holiday season, and
you know what that meant, don't you.  It meant that I was the one out in
the cold, hunting to feed all the extra people.  How I hated Christmas. 
My brothers were even more obnoxious, and everyone expected me to be
civilized and polite.  What did Scrooge say?  Bah hum-bug!!  I'd scowl and
stalk off, and hide in my room for days after tossing another deer in the
kitchen.  They'd have starved if it weren't for me. 
	Notice that I say 'hated' Christmas, which is to imply that I
don't hate it now.  Want to know why I had a change of heart?  I'll let
you in on a little secret.  Louis loves Christmas.  Oh no!  No, don't get
the wrong idea.  He would _never_ admit that he still holds to some of his
mortal attachments to such a trivial and over-hyped holiday.  Yes, he's
damned, and he knows it, and lets me know it, and we are both in hell
together.  Do you know he once told me that he thinks the vampires have
such great powers because we have to walk the dark road alone and not even
God can help us, and that every time he kills he feels he is getting that
much further from God?  I laughed at him.  I shouldn't have, but I did. 
It hurt him, but that is par for the course with me.  But I digress.  Back
to the point. 
	Louis loves Christmas.  And how could he not?  Vampires love
light, and Christmas is full to bursting with candles and sparkling
lights.  And we love music, there's plenty of that too.  But more there is
this overwhelming feeling of _belonging_, of brotherhood and forgiveness. 
Perhaps we aren't damned after all, and God will give us a chance at
redemption.  Foolish, I know.  I don't know if I want to be redeemed, and
frankly I don't know what Louis would do if he were given a legitimate
offer.  After all, he said he would kill Raglan James, but then he never
believed James could really switch bodies, until I showed up, mortal and
desperate, at his little shack.  Then he believed.  But again, I digress. 
I do that a lot, don't I.  It's just part of how I think. 
	Christmas is one of the few times Louis takes note of the world
around him.  I have seen him looking up at the twinkling lights, and
dallying by the window of a shop with a beautiful Christmas display.  I've
watched him brush his hand along the velvet sleeve of a Santa costume and
gently handle the delicate spun glass ornaments.  I will never forget the
look on his face when he came home one night to discover that I had
decorated the flat, complete with a small living tree in a pot adorned
with lights, tinsel and pretty glass balls.  He never expressed his
pleasure, a habit I fostered in our early days.  He learned not to let me
know when I pleased him, lest I cease doing it, but he walked slowly
around the room, taking in the floral display on the mantle, the candles
and bows.  I had done the flat in the traditional Victorian style with
dusty mauve and muted greens and blues being the theme colors, none of
that blaring red and green.  His eyes were alight.  He smelled the
arrangements, ran his hands along the soft drapes on the tables, and
examined the wrapped presents beneath the tree. 
	"Is there anything in them?" he asked me with a wry smile. 
	I went to him and took the gift from his grasp, placing it back
where it belonged.  "You will just have to find out on Christmas," I
teased back, then paused and very gently brushed the back of my fingers
over his cheek.  "And if you are really good, I'll let you open them
Christmas Eve." 
	He said nothing, but he did press his face ever so lightly against
my hand, and gave me a tender smile.  I broke down and hugged him,
coveting his chin and giving him a kiss.  No words were ever spoken.  We
didn't need any.  They would only have ruined the moment anyway. 
	That year I gave him three new complete sets of clothes which he
has since worn to nearly rags, right along with the other outfits I have
given him in subsequent years.  One wouldn't think a vampire would be very
hard on clothing, but once Louis puts something on, I can expect to see
him in the same thing for the next month.  He has one or two outfits, all
bought by me of course, that he considers 'nice' and will only wear them
on very special occasions.  I packed them already, and they are already at
the chalet. 
	That's my surprise for him this year.  We're going North for
Christmas, to a sleepy little town called Stowe in Vermont.  I've rented a
ski chalet on the side of a mountain near the big ski resort, although I
seriously doubt I will be able to get Louis to go skiing with me.  It's a
private residence that the owner put up for rent; a magnificent little
cedar house with a prow front and tall windows on three acres of wooded
land.  I had mentioned a little White Christmas getaway to my agent and
two weeks ago, she called me with this little gem.  The view from the
front windows is breathtaking.  Everything about it is perfect, from it's
large hearth, to the tiny Victorian town nestled at the foot of the
mountain.  I rented it for three weeks, but have spent the past four days
getting it ready, hiring people to decorate it and line it with lights.  I
was there last night, making sure it was ready.  They even found a
beautiful eight foot tree, and decked it in lights and garland and hand
blown ornaments.  I almost wept at the sight of it. 
	Louis and I are going tonight.  He doesn't know it yet, though.  I
left him a note that he should dress nicely and feed early before I went
out myself.  He should be home soon.  I have a gift wrapped and ready for
him on the couch, and I have not done a single thing to decorate the flat
at all.  I hear the chink of the carriage gate, and his delicate step on
the stair.  My heart starts to race with excitement. 
	"Louis," I say as he comes in the room. 
	His appearance shocks me.  He is dressed in a gorgeous outfit with
black trousers, a black and silver sweater, and a high collared shirt. 
I've never seen these clothes so that means he must have gone out and
bought new ones!  I think I may faint from surprise, but I see his eyes,
haunted and sad as he looks around the bare room, and I know he is
profoundly disappointed.  I read the play of expressions on his flawless
face.  He is upset.  He was hoping that I would decorate again.  He thinks
I am punishing him for letting slip that last year's display was
beautiful.  He assumed my note meant a special evening and he wanted to
please... oh how he always wants to please!  When he knows something will
make me happy, he does it without question.  And people wonder why I love
him so much.  They are as blind as I am sometimes. 
	I go to him, my arms open.  He refuses to look at me. 
	"What is this?  I have never seen this sweater before.  Where have
you been hiding it?" I ask, putting my hands on his arms. 
	"I bought it tonight.  All my good clothes are missing.  Do you
know where they went, Lestat?" 
	I smile.  "I might.  Why were you looking for them?" 
	He gives me a resigned look.  "Because your note said to dress
nicely, so I thought..." 
	"And I do," I interrupt, tugging him gently.  "All will be
explained soon, Beautiful One.  Come, I have a gift for you." 
	I lead him to the couch and let him see the large box there. 
	"What is this?" 
	"An early Christmas present," I answer.  "Go on and open it." 
	"But it is still two days until Christmas," he protests. 
	"I know, but I want you to open it anyway." 
	He shrugs and does as asked, but his heart isn't in it.  He still
thinks I am punishing him.  I'm not reading his mind, by the way.  You
know I can't do that.  I just know him so well.  I know what each tiny
crease, each line of concern, each wrinkle means, and they are all saying:
"Lestat isn't going to decorate this year because I messed up and told him
I liked it last year."  Oh how surprised he is going to be! 
	He rips off the decorative paper and opens the box to pull out the
warm parka and matching hat, scarf and gloves. 
	"What is this, Lestat?" 
	I beam at him.  "You're going to need those where we are going." 
	"Going?" 
	"Yes, going.  As in leaving here and traveling to somewhere else." 
	He fingers the down of the parka.  "Where are we going to?" 
	I grin.  "Guess!" 
	"Some place cold?" 
	"That's a good start." 
	He looks at me, his eyes wide.  "We're not going to London are
we?" 
	I smile and shake my head.  "No, cher.  We're not going to
London." 
	"Paris?" 
	"No, not Paris." 
	He brings the coat to his chest and holds it.  "I haven't been to
Paris in... so long." 
	I frown.  Maybe I should have taken him to Paris.  Well... plans
can always be changed. 
	"Would you like to go to Paris, Louis?" 
	"No!" 
	Well, that answers that question.  He usually isn't so forceful. 
I put my hand on his shoulder. 
	"Louis?" 
	"I can't go to Paris, Lestat.  Not yet..." 
	"Hush, Louis.  I know.  I understand." 
	He suddenly turns into my embrace, risking my rejection, but
wanting the comfort of my arms. 
	"Where are you taking me, Lestat?" 
	The voice is small, resigned, and I sigh.  "Nowhere if you don't
want to go." 
	"Were you planning to be there for Christmas?" 
	"Yes." 
	"I don't know if I want to be away from home for Christmas." 
	That grates on me, but I try to control my temper.  "Would you
like to see it first before you make that decision?" 
	It would be just like Louis to ruin this at the last moment. 
	"Where is it?" 
	"North.  Where Christmas will be white and we can be alone." 
	He shifts against me.  "And have you put a lot of planning into
this trip?" 
	"Yes, I have." 
	"Then I'll at least go for a little while, but if I don't like it,
we'll come home for Christmas, yes?" 
	"Yes," I agree. 
	He looks up at me.  "You give me your word?  We'll come home?" 
	"I give you my word, Louis.  If you truly don't like it, we'll
come home." 
	"Is this trip why you haven't put up any decorations?" 
	"Yes.  Louis, I wasn't punishing you for complementing me last
year.  I was very flattered last year because it was the first time you
ever said so, and this year I wanted to do one step better." 
	The colors of his eyes swirl as I say this.  "How did you know
that?" 
	I touch the crease on his forehead and the dimple at his cheek. 
"This, and this.  They are your 'oh no, Lestat is punishing me again'
lines.  I always know when you think you've done wrong because you have
them." 
	He gives me a shy smile.  "I never knew you were so attentive to
my expression." 
	"Call it a passing hobby." 
	His smile broadens. 
	"So shall we go?" I ask. 
	"Is that where all my good clothes have disappeared to?" 
	"Yes." 
	"And should I put the parka on?" 
	"Definitely.  In fact..." 
	I got to the closet and pull out another parka for myself. 
	"I should put mine on too." 
	He laughs softly as I don the coat. 
	"What?  Do I look like Nanook of the North?" 
	"No.  You just never do things half way." 
	"No, I don't." 
	I wait as he slips on the new coat, adjusting the shoulders and
zipping up the front.  I solicitously wrap the scarf around his neck and
slide the gloves onto his delicate hands.  I do this because I know he
won't object, but I know he won't let me put the hat on for him so I don't
even try. 
	"We have to bundle you up, Beautiful One.  I don't want you to
suffer from the cold." 
	"You are too kind," he whispers, taking the hat from me. 
	"Are we ready then?" 
	"Is everything in order for us to leave?" 
	"I believe so.  Let's see... bills taken care of, Mojo put with
his keeper, security crew hired, credit cards, clothes and toiletries
delivered, fridge empty, iron turned off, forwarding address provided...
yes, I think we're ready." 
	He giggles and steps closer to me.  I smile at him and lead him to
the balcony, closing and locking the door behind me. 
	"Ready?" I question, putting my arms around him. 
	He positions himself very close to me, his arms gripping my waist. 
"Yes."
	I hold him tight and rise into the sky. 
	I love flying with Louis.  It is an act of complete trust on his
part, but more than that, we have never been closer.  When he is pressed
against me, looking up at the stars, we are truly together as we have
never been.  For this reason only, I keep our flight slow.  We will still
arrive before dawn, but this way, we are together like this for much
longer.  I watch his face, the wisps of his wavy black hair peeking out
from under the hat.  He is serene, staring up at the stars, his face calm
and peaceful.  He catches me watching him and smiles. 
	"Where are we going?" 
	"Can't it be a surprise?" I tease. 
	"Yes, if you want it to be." 
	"Then I'm not going to tell you." 
	"Brat." 
	"Mmm-hmm.  And a brat that is holding you several thousand feet up
in the air.  Do you want me to drop you?" 
	"You wouldn't drop me." 
	"Wanna bet?" 
	"No.  But you wouldn't drop me just to win." 
	"No, you're right.  But I might drop you if you get me angry
enough." 
	He rests his head on my shoulder.  "No.  Not even then.  You'd
never drop me." 
	I thrill at the feel of him.  "You'd never be stupid enough to
pique my temper while we were flying." 
	"Perhaps.  Maybe not.  Orion." 
	"Hmm?  What did you say?" 
	"Orion." 
	"Where?" 
	He lifts his head and points his nose at a constellation.  "Up
there." 
	"Oh, Orion the stars." 
	"Yes, the stars.  What did you think I was talking about?" 
	"I don't know, cher.  We went from discussing my dropping you to
your death to picking out stars.  I'm flying, cher, you can't expect me to
keep up with these sudden subject changes," I reply. 
	"But I didn't change the subject at all, Lestat.  You are my
Orion.  That's why you won't ever drop me." 
	I flash him a brilliant grin.  "Because I am a star." 
	He smiles and shakes his head.  "No.  Because you are my night
hunter, my warrior and my protector.  And always have been." 
	He places his head back against my shoulder and I fight tears.  He
always did know how to get to me.  I tighten my grip on him. 
	"I like when we fly like this," he admits softly, his voice rising
into my ear. 
	"I like it too, cher." 
	I feel him smile and relax.  He is preparing to go to sleep, he
always does on long flights. 
	"You don't have to go to sleep.  We won't be flying long," I
inform. 
	"Oh?" he says, looking at me again. 
	"No.  We'll be there in an hour or so." 
	"So we aren't leaving the Americas." 
	"No.  Care to guess where we are going?" 
	"You wanted it to be a surprise." 
	"I do, but that doesn't mean you can't guess." 
	"So you want me to play twenty questions for you, is that it?" he
quips with a teasing smile. 
	"It might pass the time." 
	"All right.  Is it bigger than a breadbox?" 
	I laugh.  "Oh yes.  It is much bigger than a bread box." 
	"Good, then we won't be cramped.  Are we headed North?" 
	"No." 
	"Are we headed West?" 
	"No." 
	"Are we headed East?" 
	"No." 
	He frowns.  "Now see here, Lestat.  What are you up to?  I know we
aren't going south, but you just said no to the other three directions." 
	I laugh.  "Louis, Louis, there are more directions than North,
South, East and West." 
	He gives me an exasperated look.  "Are we headed North-west?" 
	"No." 
	"Are we headed North-east?" 
	"Yes." 
	"Finally!  Is it further north than Nova Scotia?" 
	"No." 
	"Is it south of Toronto?" 
	"Yes." 
	"Is it South of New York City?" 
	"No." 
	"Are we going to New York City?" 
	"Absolutely not!  I told you _white_ Christmas, Louis, not dingy
gray Christmas." 
	He snickers.  I think he likes this game, his eyes are sparkling. 
"Well you can't expect me to know what you mean by white." 
	"Pure colors, Louis, pure colors," I smooth. 
	"Okay, white Christmas...  Are we going to Maine?" 
	"No." 
	"Good, that would be too cold.  Are we going to... Niagara Falls?" 
	"Louis!  You insult me!" 
	He laughs fully now; oh how wonderful his laugh is! 
	"Are we going anywhere on the East Coast?" 
	"No." 
	He casts me a sly glance.  "Please tell me we aren't going to one
of those over-hyped love resorts in the Poconos, with the heart shaped
tubs and mirrors over the beds." 
	I break into a full laughing fit and we drop several hundred feet. 
Louis squeezes me. 
	"Lestat!!!" 
	"It's all right, Louis!  I won't let us fall, but really that was
too funny!  Love-resort in the Poconos!" I assure, stopping our descent
and rising again.  "Make me laugh like that again and I may forget where
we are going, and we'll end up in Hong Kong!" 
	"So, I'll take that as a no, yes?" he asks with some relief. 
	"Yes, that was a no." 
	"Good.  How many questions do I have left?" 
	"Including that one, six." 
	"Ooo, that wasn't a question." 
	"Yes, it was." 
	"Ooo, you know what I mean." 
	"Do I?" 
	He snorts and looks down his nose at me.  God, I love it when he
is playful! 
	"Six more questions, Louis." 
	"All right, Lestat, I'll play by your rules, but it's still
cheating.  Is it in Pennsylvania?" 
	"No." 
	"Is it in New England?" 
	"Yes, technically." 
	"Are we going to Massachusetts?" 
	"No." 
	"Are we going to New Hampshire?" 
	"No." 
	"Are we going to Vermont?" 
	"Yes." 
	He brightens.  "Yes?  Where in Vermont?" 
	"That's not a yes or no question, Louis.  It's also your last
one." 
	He scowls.  "You're impossible." 
	"Please refrain from criticizing the pilot," I deadpan. 
	"So, you're whisking me away from warm home and hearth to take me
to Vermont, and I'm just supposed to stay here and take it." 
	"Well, you could go for a swim.  I think we're over the Great
Lakes." 
	"You wouldn't." 
	"Oh, I dunno, the thought of dunking you has crossed my mind." 
	"Lestat..." 
	"Don't worry, Louis, the parka is waterproof." 
	"If you expect me to continue living with you in some semblance of
peaceful cohabitation, I strongly suggest that you make sure I stay dry." 
	I suppress a giggle fit.  "Are you threatening me, Louis?" 
	"I'm making you a promise." 
	Looking at him, even when he is scolding me, I still fill to the
seams with love for him, and I want to spin him around and kiss him, but I
don't.
	"Don't worry, Louis.  I won't dunk you.  The wet look just does
nothing for you." 
	He smiles.  "Oh, Lestat." 
	His head comes down to my shoulder again and I feel him hug me
tighter. 
	"Going to sleep after all, cher?" 
	"No, just resting and enjoying the ride.  Every now and then I can
see lights through the clouds, and then whole towns.  It all looks so
small.  I remember the first time I flew in an airplane.  I was so
frightened." 
	"Are you frightened now?" 
	"How could I ever be frightened when I am with you?  You will
never let anything happen to me." 
	His simple statement of complete trust chokes me up and I hold him
very close. 
	"Oh Louis..." 

        No more words are spoken as we continue our journey.  Louis rests
against me, dozing lightly until I clear the mountains and land on the
driveway of our rented chalet.  It is as I instructed, left with the
lights on, twinkling merrily in the darkness.  Here the sky is clear, and
the stars rival the lights in their brightness.  Louis mumbles something
and I set him down, covering his eyes. 
	"Mmm?  Lestat?" 
	"I'm here, cher," I answer. 
	"What?  Are we there?" 
	"Yes." 
	"May I see it?" 
	"Wait, cher.  Take three steps forward, and now two to the left. 
That's good," I instruct, shifting him to the best viewing spot.  "Okay,
and now." 
	I pull my hands away and let him open his eyes. 
	"Tah-dah!" 
	He stares at the chalet, his face a mask of shock. 
	"Our own little private chalet in the woods, cher," I murmur. 
	"Oh, Lestat..." he breathes and moves up the driveway to the deck
outside the prow, looking in.  "And a tree too!" 
	He raises his eyes to me and I make the door swing open. 
	"It's ours for the next two and half weeks.  Do you like it?" 
	"Like it?" he repeats, brushing past me to enter the house. 
"Lestat, it's wonderful." 
	He divests himself of his parka and other outerwear and goes to
explore the rest of the house.  He goes upstairs to the master suite where
he finds all his good clothes and a few more warm outfits laid out for
him.  I stand in the doorway, watching him happily. 
	"So, are we staying?" I question. 
	He gives me a huge grin, and I don't think I have ever seen him so
happy.  I guess I finally did something right. 
	"Yes, we're staying." 
	I smile and he approaches me, running his hand along my lapel. 
	"Thank you, Lestat.  I..."  He stops, getting his crease lines
again. 
	"It's all right, Louis, you can say it.  I won't mock you." 
	"I... You've made me very happy." 
	"I'm glad I have pleased you."  I take his hand.  "Come, lets go
downstairs.  I'll light a fire and we'll sit beside it." 
	"Yes.  I would like that." 
	We go down to the living room and I build a fire in the hearth
while Louis peruses the CD selection and picks out something soft and
soothing.  The music fills the room as we settle comfortably by the fire,
the only light being from the flames and the Christmas tree.  We say
nothing for the longest time, then I feel something brushing my hair
lightly and turn to see Louis' fingers sweeping ice crystals from my
windblown locks. 
	"You should have worn a hat too," he comments. 
	"I don't suffer from the cold anymore, cher." 
	"I know, but at least you wouldn't drip cold water on everything." 
	He begins to rake out the tangles absently with his hand.  I lean
my head towards him for a moment, then pull back and rise. 
	"Lestat?" he questions. 
	"Be right back, cher," I tell him and whisk back upstairs to my
room. 
	The chalet has two bedrooms and both have been prepared for a
vampire's needs.  The windows have been completely obscured by wooden
blinds and heavy drapes.  I gave Louis the larger of the two and took the
guest room for myself.  I rummage through the dresser for the item I seek
and hurry back to Louis. 
	"Here, cher," I say, handing him the comb as I sit back down on
the floor. 
	He smiles, understanding and positions himself behind me to comb
my hair.  It's a simple gesture really, but one of the few affections we
share, and I treasure it. 
	The relationship between Louis and I has not been perfect.  Over
the five years since the whole Memnoch fiasco and my leaving Anne because
of it, and the subsequent uproar in the vampire community, things have
been a bit rocky for us.  Vampire relationships are always tentative and
full of power struggles of some sort, but our relationship has always been
tenuous and strained.  We walk on eggshells, dancing around each other,
wanting to be closer, yet afraid to take the risk, and we are both still
licking our wounds, trying to figure each other out and not get further
hurt in the process.  So we developed a complex language of touch and
signal, trying to say everything in our hearts without using words, and
often making our words say the exact opposite of what we really mean. 
Much of it is left to interpretation, but we seem to communicate on at
least a basal level, and we've managed to stay together for the past five
years, even with our sometimes vicious fights. 
	This year, 1999, has been one of our best.  We haven't had a very
serious fight in over three months, and that is very good for us.  Half
the reason I planned this trip was because I wanted to make this Christmas
that much more special, and because I wanted him to myself.  Last
Christmas we were swamped with guests; David brought Marius, Armand and
Daniel stopped by, Jesse and Mael joined us the day after Christmas, and
half the coven was with us for the New Year.  It seemed that we had less
than a few hours to ourselves the entire holiday season.  Well, not this
year.  This year, Louis is mine and mine alone. 
	"You're being very quiet," Louis' voice says, bringing me out of
my thoughts. 
	"Forgive me, cher, I was just thinking about how crowded last year
was, and how nice it will be to have a quiet Christmas for once." 
	"I'm surprised we even still celebrate it actually.  It seems
so...  blasphemous, don't you think?" 
	"Blasphemous?  Oh I don't know about that Louis.  We don't really
celebrate the religious events of the season, we celebrate the secular
ones.  Do you really think Christ had a Christmas tree all decked out with
twinkling lights and pretty balls when he was born?" 
	Well, it was better than laughing at him.  That would have made
him angry and I don't want to fight.  His expression turns thoughtful, and
I take the opportunity to slip the comb from his fingers and reverse our
positions.  He says nothing as I begin to carefully work out the tangles
in his unkempt hair.  He hasn't cut it tonight, so it's almost shoulder
length, and it falls in soft waves.  He can put it back into a band of he
chooses, but the tail is small and stubby, so he prefers to clip it short
when he wants it out of his way.  But I think he knows I like it when it's
full and natural like this, so he leaves it this way to please me.  As I
said, a language of touch and signal.  He'll never say 'I left it long for
you,' but he doesn't need to.  I know. 
	I work my fingers into his waves, lifting, massaging his scalp. 
He will allow that, and he will let me rub his neck and shoulders, but if
I try anything beyond that, I'm pushing it.  I once tried to kiss his
throat.  It was a mistake.  He leans back, into my touch, lifting his chin
so my hands rub the top of his skull.
	"Mmm.  Sun is rising.  I can feel it," he murmurs. 
	"Yes.  The night is nearly over." 
	"I should go up.  The night is over for me." 
	"Yes, cher." 
	He moves to stand, looking down at me.  "Perhaps you're right." 
	"About what?" 
	"About Christmas.  Maybe it isn't blasphemous after all." 
	He smiles softly and I smile back. 
	"I'll see you this evening, cher, sleep well," I say. 
	He nods and drifts off, heading lightly up the stairs to the
bedroom.  I stay by the fire for a while longer, watching the logs burn. 
All in all, this evening went fabulously.  Louis is happy, I'm happy and
tomorrow is Christmas Eve.  This may be our best Christmas yet.  I stay up
for as long as I can, then extinguish the fire and head up to my own room. 
	I awaken early and head out to hunt.  It's cold, but the cold is
invigorating, and I embrace it with open arms.  The little town is lined
with white lights and swept with snow.  People are rushing around, getting
last minute gifts for family and friends, and every now and then a
delightful sleigh pulled by two horses slips by.  I love the sound of the
bells on the harness.  I feed, taking a little drink from several
different people, and head back to our chalet.  I am eager to see Louis
this evening. 
	He's already risen and gone out when I return.  His room is empty
and he's left no note, but the Christmas lights have been turned on and
new logs stacked in the hearth.  Taking his subtle hint, I light the fire
and put on some romantic music.  Then I go to my room to get the gift I
have hidden in the drawer.  I've bought him a necklace, a chain of braided
silver, with a matching bracelet.  He'll hardly ever wear them, but they
will look magnificent on him when he does.  I go back downstairs and put
the tiny box under the tree, and settle down to wait for Louis. 
	Hours pass, much longer than I would think it would take him to
feed and return, and I begin to get concerned.  Where could he have gotten
himself off to?  Did he go back to New Orleans without telling me?  No, he
wouldn't do such a thing.  Was he not happy?  He said he was happy.  Why
would he lie?  I start to pace and get angry, wondering where he is and
why he has not returned.  It is Christmas Eve!  We should be together by
the fire exchanging gifts.  He shouldn't be out in the cold.  I look over
at the coat rack, his parka and hat, scarf and gloves are still there. 
Wherever he is, he is without his warm coat.  Damn him.  Now I am really
angry and I've half a mind to go looking for him.  I'm just about out of
patience when I hear the door click and feel the burst of cold air rush in
as Louis returns.  He is shivering, frosted with ice and snow, and dressed
in the outfit he was wearing last night, his hair is a tangled mess from
the wind.  The very sight of him is pitiful. 
	"Where have you been?" I demand.  "It's past eleven!" 
	He staggers, holding himself, and slumps to his knees by the fire,
refusing to answer.  I curse and grab blankets, draping them over his
trembling shoulders in an attempt to warm him.  Then I go heat up water in
the microwave and bring him an earthenware cup of it to warm his hands. 
	"It was foolish of you to go out without your parka," I scold,
genuinely worried about him.  "What were you thinking, hmm?  This isn't
New Orleans, you know." 
	I kneel down beside him, roughly rubbing him with the blankets to
remove the snow.  He sighs and brings the mug close to his face so the
steam will warm his cheeks. 
	"Come here, closer to the fire," I command gruffly, pushing him
forward towards the grate. 
	In order to bring him closer to the warmth, I put my arm around
him.  His reaction is immediate and completely unexpected.  He puts the
cup down, twists and wraps his arms around me, squeezing me tight.  If I
were mortal, he would have crushed my ribs; instead, I feel merely heavy
pressure, and his face pressed to my shoulder and collar bone, his body
still shaking with cold.  Tentatively, I put my arms around him,
positioning us close to the flames. 
	"Louis?" I ask carefully. 
	No answer.  I try not to lose my temper, but he is really getting
on my nerves, and he is frightening me as well, and that isn't good for my
mood either. 
	"Louis, where did you go?  Why are you so late?" I try again. 
	"Walked," he answers through chattering teeth.  "Walked for
miles." 
	"Walked?  Why?  And why did you go without your coat?  I bought it
for you so you would be warm." 
	"Didn't think of it." 
	I sigh heavily.  "You always neglect yourself.  It is a good thing
you aren't mortal, you'd have caught your death tonight." 
	I hear him laugh softly, and finally begin to stop shivering.  He
releases me and pulls away, giving me sidelong glances.  I cross my arms
and glare at him. 
	"So?  Are you going to explain yourself?" 
	He looks away and runs his hand through his tangled hair
nervously. 
	"I'm sorry." 
	"That's not good enough.  Care to explain to me why you were out
for five hours in the cold, without a coat, on Christmas Eve when you
should have been here with me?" 
	"I had to think." 
	"Think?  Think!??  Think about what?  And why couldn't you do your
thinking here?" 
	He sighs and yanks on his hair, wincing.  I get flustered. 
	"Oh, here, let me do that, before you rip it all out," I say
brusquely, pulling a comb from my pocket and going to work on the snarls
in his hair. 
	He doesn't protest, or even whimper when I know I'm being less
than gentle with him, and I rake the comb through his hair impatiently. 
	"So?  What were you _thinking_ about?" 
	"Us," he answers simply. 
	That shocks me and I pause. 
	"What about us?" I ask, resuming my combing. 
	"Our future." 
	My but he is being blunt tonight. 
	"I see," I reply carefully. 
	"Do you know what Christmas this is, Lestat?" 
	"How do you mean?" 
	"It's the last Christmas of the millennium.  Next Christmas will
be in the start of not only the new century, but the new millennium as
well." 
	"So?" 
	He looks at me, surprised.  "So?  So it marks the beginning of a
new age." 
	I shrug.  "It's nothing we haven't lived through before, Louis. 
It's just another age, and there will be more after it.  Tomorrow and
tomorrow and tomorrow, Louis, you know that.  I don't understand.  Why is
it upsetting you so?" 
	"It's not upsetting me," he replies adamantly.  "You're
misunderstanding what I am trying to say.  It's not a new age for the
mortals, it's a new age for _us_." 
	"Oh," I say.  "What do you mean?" 
	He sighs deeply, then he takes my hand with the comb in it and
brings it in front of him.  His fingers pry out the comb and open my palm,
and I allow it, profoundly intrigued.  He bends his lips down and kisses
my flesh.  I feel the shock of his mouth on my skin and I shiver.  He
continues to plant tiny kisses on my hand, turning it over to kiss the
back, and each of my fingers, lightly, softly, sending a myriad of amazing
sensations through my body.  Finally, he stops, shuddering and merely
clasps my hand in both of his. 
	"I can't believe you just let me do that," he whispers absently. 
"I was certain it would send you raging out of here." 
	"Did you want me to?" I question, still reeling from what he just
did. 
	"No, but I feared you would." 
	"Are you glad I didn't?" 
	"Yes." 
	His fingers rub my palm absently as he presses it to his chest. 
	"Louis...  Louis, what are you trying to tell me?" 
	"I don't have a gift for you.  Or rather, I do, but I fear you
will not accept it." 
	"Anything you give me will be wonderful, Louis.  Unless of course,
it's horribly ugly and in very poor taste..." 
	He groans and hangs his head.  "Must you trivialize everything?" 
	"Louis!  Louis, I don't understand.  Maybe if you'd tell me what
is going on, I won't trivialize it." 
	He closes his eyes and his hands tighten around my hand. 
	"I don't have a gift for you because I never bought one.  You were
right, I thought you were punishing me and that we weren't celebrating
Christmas this year.  But then you did all this, and I knew I had been
wrong, but I still didn't get you a gift." 
	I smile, starting to laugh.  "That's okay, Louis.  I didn't give
you much time to shop.  You can get me something after Christmas if you
want to." 
	"That's not the point." 
	"Then what is the point, Louis?  Look, you stay out until after
eleven, you come in freezing and start babbling about this being the last
Christmas of the millennium or some such nonsense, and hinting at our
future.  Then you kiss my palm and tell me you have no gift for me, then
criticize me for making a joke when you've got me understandably confused! 
So would you please clarify what is going on in that muddled head of yours
before I lose my temper and ruin Christmas for the both of us." 
	He drops my hand and sighs.  "I must be completely mad," he
murmurs absently. 
	"That's debatable," I quip back, missing his touch and moving
closer. 
	That is when he chooses to shock me again.  He turns his head and
kisses me.  He's never done such a thing before.  I always initiated the
kisses.  His cool lips press to mine, a little off kilter, covering the
corner of my mouth and part of my cheek.  I move my head to the side to
firmly seat his lips upon mine, and he lets our mouths linger for a moment
before finally pulling away.  I'm stunned. 
	"Louis?" I ask, touching my lips with my fingertips. 
	"The gift I have for you is myself.  The fulfillment of a promise
made fourteen years ago.  To have each other in this century the way we
never did in the past."  He bows his head and clasps his hands upon his
knees.  "You may choose to accept or reject this gift.  If you reject it,
things will remain as they have always been between us, but, if you accept
it, I will give myself to you the way I never have before." 
	I'm speechless.  The brutal honesty of his offer humbling me.  I
am at once enraged and overjoyed, and I do not know which will win out: my
anger at myself for feeling such humiliating love, or my ecstasy at his
obvious surrender.  Oh, how bittersweet this moment is.  We've reached a
critical point in our relationship, a veritable fork in the road; which
way will I choose?  If I choose to reject him, there is no telling if he
will make such an offer ever again, but if I accept him, I open myself up
to a whole new set of uncertainties and risks.  Both choices frighten me,
and I stare at him for a long time.  He raises his eyes to meet mine,
questioning, waiting, but I cannot bring myself to answer.  I must stare
at him for too long because he flushes and lowers his gaze. 
	"Your eyes are so intense when you're thinking." 
	I wait a moment before whispering, "I remember when you used to
stare at me." 
	"What?" 
	"You used to fall into staring at me.  You'd get so still that
you'd barely blink, and I'd have to shake you out of it." 
	"Oh, yes.  I remember now.  Is that why you would shake me?" 
	"Yes.  It always unnerved me, to be the object of such scrutiny. 
I felt like your eyes were trying to bore into my skin to see everything I
had underneath, as if you were seeking to expose my soul.  You watched me,
you hung on my every word.  Your dependence was staggering, and your
devotion was complete.  You'd frighten me with the power of your emotions,
because I felt them too, with equal intensity, but I was afraid to show
it.  I have never allowed myself to share it with you.  Perhaps it is time
to remember all of our promises, even the ones I've made to myself." 
	He looks quizzically at me.  "How do you mean?" 
	I reach out and take his hand in mine.  "I made a promise that we
would come together, and talk together, and have each other.  I promised
myself that I wouldn't let you slip away from me." 
	"Does this mean you accept my gift?" 
	"It does if you will accept mine." 
	"And what is that?" 
	I reach behind me, stretching to pluck the box from beneath the
tree and give it to Louis. 
	"It's something small and paltry and not nearly as precious as
what you've given me, but let it be a symbol of the promises we made to
each other tonight," I mumble softly. 
	He smiles, and unwraps the box, removing the paper carefully, and
folding it neatly so that it doesn't get too wrinkled.  He always was
fastidious in everything he did.  He lifts the lid to reveal the silver
necklace and bracelet, and I see his eyes light up with pleasure. 
	"Lestat, they're beautiful," he breathes. 
	I move to clasp the necklace around his neck, and fasten the
bracelet around his left wrist.  "They suit you, Beautiful One." 
	"I'll wear them always Lestat." 
	Now it's my turn to blush and look away.  "You don't have to wear
them always... just when you want to." 
	"I'll always want to," he says fondly, touching the necklace with
his long fingers, feeling the cold metal against his skin.  "You've gone
to such lengths to make this Christmas so special.  No matter what happens
in the years to come, I will always remember and cherish this night. 
Thank you." 
	His words are so sweet and so heartfelt, he nearly brings me to
tears, but I fight them back valiantly, refusing to become a sobbing ball
of mush in front of him. 
	"I always like to please you," I manage.  "I'm glad I have." 
	He smiles, and leans to kiss me again.  He is right on target this
time, and we engage in a long, loving kiss. 
	"You've done more than just please me tonight, Lestat.  You've
given me hope for the future." 
	I take him in my arms and hold him.  "Whatever the future brings,
we will face it together." 
	"Yes.  Together."  He pauses for a moment, then continues.  "And
speaking of together, I wouldn't mind having a roommate.  It seems a bit
of a waste to have such a large bed all to myself." 
	I grin.  "Louis!  Are you propositioning me?" 
	He flushes.  "I might be, if you amicable to it." 
	"Hmm.  Tonight is the night for revelations, isn't it?  And I
don't mean the Book in the Bible." 
	"I didn't think you did." 
	I hold him a little tighter, snickering in his ear, and enjoying
the feel of him immensely.  "I love you, Beautiful One." 
	He gasps, and looks at me, his eyes rimmed with tears.  "Oh
Lestat.  You don't know how long I've waited to hear you say those words." 
	"I'm sorry it took me this long to find the courage to say them. 
	"About as long as it has taken me to find the courage to do this." 
	"I'm glad that we both did." 
	 He snuggles close.  "Me too." 
	The clock strikes midnight, sounding twelve chimes into the living
room. 
	"Merry Christmas, cher," I murmur. 
	"Merry Christmas, Lestat." 
	He slips out of my embrace and gives me a wry look.  "Shall we go
upstairs?" 
	"But it's only midnight, Louis.  Isn't it a bit early to retire?" 
	"Who said anything about retiring?  I just said we should go
upstairs,"  he replies, a twinkle in his green eyes. 
	"Oh," I say, beginning to understand, as a huge smile cracks my
face.  "Well, then, yes.  Absolutely." 
	"Good," he enthuses, standing and offering me his hand. 
	I take it eagerly and rise to my feet, putting my arm around his
slender waist.  He gives me another secret smile, before leading me
slowly, but purposefully towards the bedroom. 

FINIS