Chapter Text
Dreams do catch up with Daniel eventually, near nightfall, in the early hours of his new day. They’re the same dreams he’s been having for the past six months, all too-bright colors, too-loud voices, too-real touches on his skin. Tonight’s are a strange, shifting haze of senses, unwilling to commit too long to one location: between his fingers the silky emerald-green sheets of Louis’ guest bedroom in Dubai, on the back of his calves the smooth rustling paper of the chair in his neurologist’s office, on his shoulders the cold unyielding concrete of the penthouse floor, and those eyes again, always the eyes, feline gold and washed-out pink above him —
He wakes with a start, inhaling out of reflex, hands clenched around the worn jersey of his comforter, nails punctured through the thin fabric. “You all right?” comes a voice from his left, and he’s reacting before he can think about it, fangs out, claws extending, snarling, ready —
“Hey, easy,” says Louis, who is sitting upright in his bed, wearing a black t-shirt with no less than three holes at the collar, palms out toward Daniel. “It’s just me.”
Daniel exhales, long and slow, the previous night crashing over him like a wave. Louis, on his sofa. Louis, in his bed. Louis, lips soft and cool on his temple. Louis, offering him everything he’d ever wanted from him, except the one thing he couldn’t go back and do over, and Daniel saying no. Louis here now, in one of Daniel’s ratty old sleep shirts, still here, despite every good reason he’d had to slip out right at dusk. “Shit. Sorry.”
“Bad dream?” Louis asks. Daniel just nods, rubbing his forehead and cheekbones, until Louis cautiously lowers his hands and returns to tapping studiously at his phone screen.
“Only kind I have nowadays,” Daniel says, eventually, when he’s pretty sure his voice won’t shake.
“That gets better with time,” Louis says. “I had nothing but for the first … nine months? Maybe ten? Didn’t matter how fine I felt when I went to sleep, or whether I slept on my own or with Lestat. It’ll ease.”
“Could’ve mentioned that in the interview,” Daniel grumbles.
“The point of the interview was not for you to write an instruction manual on the early days of being a vampire. And you probably shouldn’t be relying upon it for that.”
“Not like I’ve had much of a choice.”
And Louis looks down at his hands, and it’s not so much a thought Daniel gets off of him, more of a feeling — a kind of heavy-hearted regret, a resignation to failure, woven through with an odd undercurrent of gentle awe and determined hope. Huh. Hadn’t known you could do that. “I wanted to talk to you about that, actually.”
Daniel just raises an eyebrow at him.
“I have to return to Dubai,” says Louis, “for at least a week or two, to get some … logistics in order. I stayed in New Orleans longer than I should have, given the circumstances. But after that – if you’re amenable – I’d like to come back to New York for a time. I think that the company of another vampire would be a good thing for you, and I realize that I have not … done right by you, after your transformation. I’d like to fix that, if I’m able.”
“It’s not your mess to clean up,” Daniel says. I’m not your mess to clean up, he thinks, not quite at Louis, but without any pretense of being quiet enough for it to slip by unnoticed.
“I’m not trying to clean up any mess,” says Louis, so sincerely that Daniel almost believes him. “Frankly, you’ve done better than anyone could have been expected to, under the circumstances or otherwise. I’m offering because I care for you, Daniel, and because you should have had more support from the beginning, and this is an unfair way for anyone to enter into undeath.” And, he adds, in a thought hardly louder than a whisper, if it should have been me, then at least let me — help out, now. I can’t undo the past. But I can do this.
“I don’t want to be your — your charity case,” says Daniel, out loud. I don’t need your fucking pity.
Louis looks at him for a long moment. Daniel, if you think pity is what I am feeling for you, maybe you do need my help after all.
“I know you’d be fine on your own,” he says out loud. “You’re doing fine so far. You don’t need me. But that doesn’t mean that there’s nothing I can do to help.” They’re both quiet for a moment, then Louis adds, “And it’s been a long time since I’ve been in New York, and I’ve never been here on my own. Might be nice. Plus it’s a hell of a lot closer to New Orleans than Dubai is. And anyway, I’ll need to give the contractors plenty of time with the penthouse renovations.”
“There is definitely still an – still a vampire-shaped dent in one of your walls,” Daniel agrees, “and I’d be amazed if they were able to get my blood out of the floor.” He’d gone into the sentence fully determined to say the name, and chickened out at the last minute. He’s actually mostly impressed with himself that he got as far as the indefinite article. He can think it, to himself, most of the time. He types it, when he’s writing his book chapters, letting the muscle memory in his fingers do the thinking for him. Giving it voice is another thing.
Okay, he thinks at Louis, and Louis smiles back.
“Okay,” Louis says aloud. “Excellent. I’ve found a few possible contenders for apartments, so I’ll make a decision and get the preparations underway while I’m – getting things settled in Dubai, and hopefully everything will be in order within a week or so.” He executes the verbal pivot with style, barely even a catch in his voice, but he doesn’t clamp down quite hard enough on his thoughts to stop the cleaning up from hissing out into the air. Daniel appreciates the effort, and doesn’t mind. Too much.
Out loud, he says, “I could put a spare – bed, or coffin, or whatever – in the office.”
I don’t want to be any more of a burden, Daniel, says Louis, and there’s genuine surprise in his tone at the offer.
I mean, I haven’t had roommates since the late seventies, but at least we’re on the same schedule, right?
“Only if you really want,” says Louis.
“I – yeah. Come crash with me,” says Daniel, because it’s easier than saying, I do. Louis probably hears it, anyway. No need to humiliate himself out loud.
Louis grins at him then, wide and easy. “All right. But you’re going to let me do some renovations.”
***
They end up leaving the apartment together, in a car with tinted windows and a silent driver; it drops Louis off at JFK, and Daniel at a hotel which Louis has promised is very good with what he terms “accessibility needs.” He’d tried to insist that he’d be fine in his apartment if Louis’ contractors just did their work during the day, while he was asleep, but Louis had given him a look so withering that he’d shut up after only two attempts at protest.
At the reception desk, he pulls out his credit card, but the young woman behind the counter just shakes her head. “We already have a card on file for your stay, Mr. Molloy.”
He texts Louis instead of mentally dialing 1-800-VAMPIRE: Kind of hard to use that ten million dollars if you keep paying for shit.
The room has floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall, but they’re covered in a sepia-toned film that reminds Daniel of the penthouse, and there’s heavy blackout curtains with snaps for extra security on every pane. The mini-fridge is packed full of blood bags; he actually has to take one out in order to get the door to seal closed again once he’s opened it. There’s a note on the desk, written on heavy cream-colored cardstock, in what is apparently Louis’ own actual handwriting: enjoy your writing retreat, Daniel. all affinities - LDPDL. Daniel has no idea how he managed to get it there, or get it written in the first place, but he’s not too proud to admit he’s impressed.
Louis texts back, Think of it as a host gift. Which might be fair, maybe, if Louis was not already paying for the apartment renovations. Then there’s a moment of grey typing bubbles, then a hyperlink, and a second text which just says, Speaking of. Pick one.
Daniel’s pretty sure he’s got a good idea of what he’s supposed to be picking, but he clicks the link anyway, and yeah: it’s coffins.
Do I have to? he texts back, unable to resist.
Louis’ reply is immediate, and to the point. Yes.
He types out a snarky, Okay, maître, but it feels a little closer to unkind than he’d intended, and given that the ancient bastard is already plenty present in every interaction he and Louis have, he thinks maybe it’s better not to summon him. At least if it’s not going to actually, physically summon him. Then it might be worth it. Maybe.
He deletes the text entirely, and just sends back a link to the cheapest coffin on the website. He’s sure that Louis will not actually buy him that coffin, but he’s complied with the letter of the law, if not the spirit, and now it’s not his problem anymore.
He drinks three bags of blood – not as good as the live stuff, but most of the time he’s a food-is-fuel kind of guy anyway, and it’s honestly kind of a relief not to deal with disposal afterward – and bangs out half a chapter’s worth of outline before the twin sirens of the soft hotel bed and the approaching dawn call him down into sleep again.