jimkirkpining - Tumblr blog

jimkirkpining · 2 years ago

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It begins when Louis asks Claudia that one fateful question.

Or, perhaps it begins before that. Perhaps it begins on the day Lestat shoves the last of his boxes into his stupid flashy sports car and peels out of the driveway. Perhaps it begins even before that, when the arguments start getting vicious and nasty, hissed under their breaths so Claudia can't hear. Perhaps it begins in the hospital on the day that tiny wriggling bundle is put into Lestat's arms for the first time and all three of them are bawling. Perhaps it begins seven months before, when Lestat staggers out of the bathroom, ashen-faced and shaking and terrified, clutching that little plastic stick.

Or perhaps it was inevitable from the very start, and really it all begins when their eyes meet across a crowded dorm corridor and Lestat pushes through the throng of drunk strangers to tug on Louis' cloak and waggle his eyebrows and try and deliver a Dracula quote through a pair of terrible dollar-store fangs.

At any rate, the moment Louis can really pinpoint the start of it all at the end of October when he asks Claudia what she wants to do for Christmas.

It's perhaps a little early to start planning, but for the last five years he and Lestat have alternated between who takes Claudia for her birthday and who takes her for christmas, and as Claudia's birthday is at the end of November, if he does need to organise another nightmare of a princess party, he'd rather start doing it in advance. Also, Claudia will be seven this year, and last week Marie forwarded him an article about the importance of agency in choice for young girls - honestly, his brain had switched off after the fourth parenting buzzword in as many sentences, but he did remember that choices were very important - so he wants to give her options.

Claudia kicks her heels against the legs of the stool and chews thoughtfully on the end of her marker; there's a big smudge of red ink over her bottom lip and down her chin from where she'd put the wrong end in her mouth.

"I will have to think about it," she says, with all the solemnity a nearly-seven-year-old can muster, and then she goes back to drawing and watching Frozen for the tenth time that week, and for the moment, that is that.

It takes a while for her to get back to him. He’d half wondered if she’d forgotten, but to his surprise, two days later, halfway through dinner, she shovels a forkful of waffles into her mouth and says, “I know what I want to do for Christmas.”

Actually, it comes out sounding more like “ah-dohwha-ah-wantah-dofah-chrimah”, and he interrupts her on autopilot without even thinking, “Don’t speak with your mouth full.”

She scowls but complies, chewing industriously then swallowing. She announces, “Daddy, I know what I want to do for christmas.”

“Hmm?”

Claudia nods, “I want to go to Gab-Gab’s cabin with you and Papa.”

Louis’ heart sinks.

Claudia had only been two years old when the split happened. For the most part, Louis is very glad of this; she has no memory of the awful, angry, bitter days of her early life, no memory of the stifling tension, the misery, the tears and accusations. She only knows of the cool polite distance between her fathers. She only knows them as two men who interact as little as possible twice a week when they drop her off and pick her up, working together to raise her completely separately. She’d asked him, once, why he and Lestat don’t live together like the parents of her friends do, and he’d been able to satisfy her with the response that, well, for some parents it’s just easier that way. Which is the truth, even if he knows it’s somewhat a cop-out.

She has no reason to believe that her request is anything other than a great idea, and Louis’ heart breaks at the thought of having to disappoint her.

He takes a bite of his own dinner to stall, desperately trying to find a compromise situation to give her almost what she wants, but get him out of having to spend the whole festive season - the most stressful time of the year - with Lestat - the most stressful person he knows.

Claudia watches him owlishly, blue-green eyes big and hopeful. He sighs.

“I’ll have to talk to Gabs about it,” he says, trying to stay firm even as her face lights up, “it’s her cabin, so it’s up to her.”

“Can we call her tonight?” Claudia asks eagerly, bouncing in her chair. Louis holds up a hand.

“I’ll call her later,” he points at her plate. “You finish your dinner.”

As Louis watches Claudia work through the rest of her food, practically glowing with excitement, his heart aches in his chest.

He's not delusional; he knows that he and Lestat breaking up was the best choice for a bad situation, and that staying together would have only made everything worse. He knows that Claudia is happy and well-adjusted. He can't help but wish, though, that things could have been different - that maybe they could have tried harder to save things, been more flexible, or more understanding. He wishes Claudia didn't have to split her week between them, dividing her time between two different households and what must seem like two different lives to such a young child.

Despite all of this, however, when he calls Gabs later in the evening once Claudia is in bed, he finds himself guiltily hoping - and he does genuinely feel bad about it - that there will be some completely unavoidable circumstance that isn’t anyone’s fault at all that will mean they can’t possibly go up to the cabin. Though… well, he knows Gabs. Life may have turned her into a prickly, intimidating, closed-off person with a glare like being hit in the face with a brick, but she is utterly devoted to her granddaughter. If getting Claudia to the cabin for Christmas meant moving a mountain, Gabs would just pick up a shovel and start digging.

Most of the time, it’s endearing. Now? Less so.

Louis settles himself into the corner of the couch with a sigh and hits the dial button. There's every chance that she might not even pick up; Gabs is decidedly not a fan of technology, or even the indoors. Lestat once affectionately compared her to Ron Swanson.

The phone rings for a few seconds, and then the call is answered. Oh well, Louis thinks, disappointed.

"Bonsoir, Louis. Ça va?"

"Ça va bien, thanks, and yourself?"

"Not bad," Gabs pauses. Louis can hear rustling, and wind, like she's walking outside. "Is there something you need?"

Louis can't help but smile. Gabs is one person he never has to bother with smalltalk around, and he does genuinely appreciate that about her. And despite her brusqueness, there's something comforting about hearing her voice - Lestat had worked hard to ditch his french accent when his career picked up, but she still has hers, and in a weird way it reminds him of his father. Gabs’ voice sounds like family.

"I was just wondering about your plans for Christmas."

Gabs hums, rumbling through the receiver. "Can't say I have any at the moment. Why?"

"Claudia asked if we could go to the cabin."

There's a pause, "I see. And who is 'we'?"

She knows! Of course she knows. Gabs is basically a mind-reader. Louis cringes.

"Her, myself, yourself…" he squeezes his eyes shut, "and Lestat."

There's another pause. And then she snorts.

“Well. Were you hoping I’d have some great excuse as to why it can't work?” She drawls.

Louis grimaces, “Of course not.”

“You’re a terrible liar. And unfortunately for you, I’ve got no excuses to offer. It would be lovely to have you all over for Christmas… provided that you and Lestat can behave."

“We're adults,” Louis says, vaguely affronted. She has a point, but still - that point is for him to agonise over endlessly in his own head, not for her to use against him!

Gabrielle snorts again, “Oh, and you weren't adults three years ago when you two got into it at Claudia's birthday party?”

Louis’ mouth drops open in indignation, even as second-hand embarrassment over the memory makes his cheeks flush. “Look-” he says, flustered, “look-”

“I'm not accusing you of anything, Louis,” Gabs jumps in quickly, voice no longer teasing but weary now, “I just don't want it to be fucking miserable, okay? For Claudia’s sake.”

And as always, Gabs has cut right to the root of the issue. Louis swallows, running a hand down his face, leaning his head back on the sofa and sullenly studying the ceiling.

“I know. I just… I want her to be happy,” he says.

Gabs sighs, “I know. We all do,” There’s a pause, and Louis can hear the crunch of her boots as she walks through dead leaves. “Talk to Lestat, see what he thinks.”

“That was my next plan, yes.”

He doesn’t admit how reluctant he is to do it, but then again, he probably doesn’t have to.

“He might surprise you,” Gabs says quietly, after a moment.

"That's exactly what I'm worried about," Louis grumbles.

It takes a whole day to work up the energy to call Lestat, and even then, he only forces himself to because Lestat will be picking Claudia up from school this afternoon and he has a lurking suspicion that if Claudia mentions it first Lestat might - god forbid - make an impulse decision that Louis will be stuck with the consequences of.

He texts and messages Lestat with relative regularity these days, because co-parenting separately takes quite a bit of organisation. If anyone were to ask him, he would admit that he's rather proud of how they work as two independent halves of one team; Claudia is fed, clothed, supervised, transported, parented, and loved as much as any other child, and has grown into a smart, responsible, genuinely delightful girl, if perhaps a little precocious.

From a purely practical perspective, they work brilliantly together - just so long as their relationship doesn’t get personal. Personal is when the problems start again.

He waits until Claudia is at school to make the call, because he’s honestly not sure how well it’s likely to go; he sits in his desk chair in his little home office, feet kicked up, and distractedly scrolling through his work emails, as he holds his phone to his ear and waits for Lestat to pick up.

“Oh, hey,” Lestat says, sounding surprised. “Everything alright?”

It’s fair for Lestat to be a little concerned, Louis supposes. The last time Louis called him out of the blue in the middle of the day was last year, when Claudia had been sent to the principal’s office for biting another kid, and Louis hadn’t been able to come and pick her up.

If he remembers rightly, Lestat took her out for ice cream.

“Oh, yes, sorry, it’s fine, I just, uh-” Louis grimaces at his reflection in his laptop screen and runs a hand through his hair, “I just thought we should sort out what we’re doing for christmas.”

Lestat groans, “Is it that time of year again already? God. Okay, well… you had Claudia with you last christmas, so I’ll take her this year, and drop her back off on the 30th?”

“She said she wanted to go to the cabin.”

“Ah, that’s a good idea, I’ll talk to Gabs and-”

“No.” Louis pinches the bridge of his nose, “She wants us all to go to the cabin.”

Lestat is silent for several moments. Louis sips at that morning’s coffee; it's tepid now, but he's so full of tense energy he needs something to do.

“We can make that work,” Lestat says.

Louis blinks, nearly dropping his mug, “Really?”

“Yeah,” Lestat’s tone is determined, almost defensive. “Yeah, if it’s what Claudia wants then let’s do it."

Louis sets the mug down and covers his face with his hand, "Lestat, have you actually thought about what this will entail? The cabin is nearly a two day drive - there and back - so we'll have to stay at least four days to make the journey worth it. That's eight days, minimum."

"What are you saying?" Lestat snaps.

They're not even in the same room and it's already turning into an argument, Louis thinks, clenching his jaw. There's no way they can survive over a week without making things 'fucking miserable'.

"I'm saying," Louis tries to make his voice as soothing and non-confrontational as possible - the voice he uses when a client starts freaking out on him, "that you and I do not exactly have the best track record when we're together."

Lestat does actually stop and consider that, rather than just flying into a defensive rage, which is honestly more than Louis was expecting.

"If this is Claudia's christmas wish," Lestat says, voice quiet but certain, "then I'm going to make it work."

Claudia's christmas wish. Louis rolls his eyes. He's as sentimental as the next gay man, but he also knows that their daughter is six - last year's 'christmas wish' had been to go to Disneyworld to meet Queen Elsa, and/or to adopt four puppies, neither of which had happened, and both of which she'd utterly forgotten by christmas day in all the excitement.

But… if Lestat has said yes, and Gabs has said yes, that means that if he says no for no other reason than ‘I really really really don't want to’, it makes him the bad guy of the situation. He tries to imagine breaking it to her, watching her little face fall in disappointment, knowing that it’s entirely because of him.

Fuck.

Louis closes his eyes. He tries to exhale the tension out and just accept his fate.

“Alright then. Let’s… let’s make it work.”

He hears a sharp little gasp over the phone. It sounds like excitement. Despite himself - despite everything - it makes Louis smile.

“I’ll handle the travel arrangements,” Lestat says quickly, “I know a good route that’ll give us plenty of places to stop along the way, and there’s an amazing hotel that’s just a perfect distance to hit at the end of the first day!”

The smile drops. The thought of Lestat taking any major part in the planning makes anxiety immediately shoot through Louis, the tension flooding back in.

Look, he has a therapist, he knows that his need to control situations stems from a deep-rooted fear of failure stemming from bad parenting, and he knows that Lestat’s need for control is to mask his eternal terror over being abandoned, also due to bad parenting. It’s always been a source of discord between them. He knows that. But there’s a big difference between knowing it and knowing how to deal with it. His therapist has suggested that he try allowing Lestat to take over little tasks, to practise; letting Lestat pick the time that he’ll drop Claudia off, letting him take the lead in discussions about her birthday presents, that sort of thing.

This isn’t a little thing, though. Louis tightens his grip around the phone, staring at his reflection in his laptop screen. He doesn’t want to give in. He’s already conceded a lot in the conversation by agreeing to do this in the first place. He doesn’t want to let go of the planning too.

“Lestat-” he says, and Lestat must hear something in his tone, because he immediately jumps in.

“Trust me.”

Louis closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. He tries to think about what exactly he trusts Lestat with.

Claudia’s safety, he trusts Lestat with that; despite his thrill-seeking lifestyle during their college days, Lestat has never taken unreasonable risks with their daughter’s safety and wellbeing - that Louis knows of, at least. He trusts that Lestat would never willingly put her in danger. There's no way he'd allow Lestat to have custody of her for half the week if he didn't trust that Lestat would keep her safe and well.

Claudia’s happiness, that’s another thing he trusts Lestat with; again, there's no way Louis would let her out of his sight if he didn't genuinely trust Lestat with this. When she was a toddler and her face would crease in that tell-tale way, bottom lip beginning to quiver, Lestat seemed to have a sixth sense for knowing exactly how to swoop in and cheer her up, and nothing about what Claudia has told him about her time at Papa's house indicates that that has changed.

Louis trusts Lestat with the car; Lestat has always had a weird macho thing about cars, has always been meticulous about keeping any he owns in perfect condition. Louis isn't particularly impressed by the obnoxious sporty beast Lestat drives nowadays, but he does at least trust that Lestat will ensure it can get them to the cabin.

And ultimately, Louis thinks, reluctantly, he can trust Lestat with this journey; Lestat bought Gabs the cabin nearly fifteen years ago, at the peak of his teenage pop-idol fame, so he knows the roads around it and the route up very, very well. The drive will be simple, and Lestat will know the best places to stop if Claudia needs a break, and whatever this hotel is that Lestat has mentioned will be hideously overpriced and needlessly ostentatious, but if he's honest, Louis would rather that than a sleazy shitty motel on the roadside, anyday.

Realistically, letting Lestat be in charge of the journey will be… well, probably fine?

And that’s the worst part; knowing that if something goes wrong - and historically, when Lestat tries to plan things, they do - it won’t be for lack of trying. It won’t be for lack of wanting, or lack of heart. It’ll be because of some tiny but vital detail that got missed, that Louis knows he would have caught if he’d been allowed to plan it, and Louis will have to look between Claudia’s devastation and Lestat’s mortification and guilt, and he’ll have to find some way to fix everything. As usual.

Trust me.

Louis doesn’t want to trust him. But he does know, begrudgingly, that this trip is going to take a lot of compromise, and that Lestat will likely be less hideously insufferable if he feels like he has something that he gets to be in charge of.

“Fine,” Louis says, before he can second-guess himself and drive this conversation back towards a fight. “But this is Claudia’s christmas wish-” god, he cannot believe he is using that as leverage, “so you know-”

“Everything has to be perfect,” Lestat cuts in, “I know. I’ll make sure of it.”

Famous last words, Louis thinks, glumly, as he hangs up.

Marie comes over for dinner every friday. The official reason is to make sure she gets to spend regular time with Claudia, but Louis knows it’s at least partly to do free washing and get away from her housemates. She may be an adult now, and she may have started her postgrad, but she’s still a student, and she’s still his baby sister.

She collects Claudia from school and brings her home, and the two of them are engrossed in something on Marie’s Switch when Louis gets back from a meeting and starts on dinner. Later, after Claudia’s gone to bed, he and Marie settle down on the couch. She swings her legs up and drops her feet into his lap, and after several rounds of him shoving them away and her kicking him in the stomach, she wins, though he uses her legs as a coffee table in retaliation.

“I’ve been thinking,” she says, without preamble.

Louis immediately responds, “Don’t hurt yourself.” She kicks him again, he wordlessly threatens to empty his bottle of drink over her head, she sticks her tongue out - and then the conversation continues.

“I’ve been thinking that you should start a blog.”

Louis wrinkles his nose, “You mean be a - what do they call them - a Mummyblogger?” He grimaces, “Daddyblogger? Oh god, that’s worse.”

“No,” Marie snorts, “I mean… You could if you wanted to, I guess, but I’m talking about book reviews.”

“Book reviews?”

“Yeah,” Marie pulls her feet away and sits up properly, animated in her excitement, “You read so much, and the other day when you recommended that book to me you wrote such a nice, pithy little summary, it got me thinking - you should start a book review blog! You’d be really good at it! And it might help scratch that writing itch.”

Louis sighs, running a hand through his hair, “Mimi, you know I haven’t written in years… with Claudia and my job I just don’t have time.”

“But Claudia’s started school, and you only have her half the week,” Marie protests, “And it’s not like you have a social life now you’ve broken up with Armand and you don’t have to hang out with his weird theatre crowd anymore.”

“Hey,” Louis points a finger at her, “First of all, ouch, I do have a social life, thank you. And second of all, we broke up, but that was over a year ago and we’re still friends, so you don’t get to be mean about Armand.”

“Armand was an asshole and the theatre crowd were super weird. It’s not mean if it’s a fact.”

Louis shakes his head, exasperated, but knowing he won’t be able to change her mind, “I actually heard from him the other day - can you believe that he’s dating one of my exes?”

“Which one?” Marie asks, slouching back against the armrest again and pushing her feet back into Louis’ lap, “You’ve dated, like, four guys, and one of them was Armand.”

“Well… I’m not sure if he really counts as an ex, we only went on one date,” Louis grimaces, “It was terrible, I talked about myself the whole time, it was more like an interview than a date. Anyway, at the end of it he still asked for my number, and I, uh,” Louis cringes further, “I accidentally gave him Armand’s.”

“What!” Marie exclaims, laughing disbelievingly, “How?”

“I don’t know! Anyway, it worked out, because they’ve been dating for three months now. Armand texted me last week to thank me for setting them up. Apparently he’s under the impression that I did it deliberately.”

Marie sniggers, “That’s probably for the best, he already has enough dirt on you, he doesn’t need to realise you’re an idiot too,” there’s a buzzing noise from somewhere near her and she jumps, “Oh, speaking of texts.”

After several moments of searching each pocket, and then under each cushion in her immediate vicinity, she locates her phone and checks it. Immediately, she pulls a face. Louis knows that face.

“Is that…?”

“Yeah, it’s mom,” Marie sighs, “You know she’s been dropping hints about wanting to see Claudia at christmas again?"

Louis’ heart drops into his stomach. He fiddles with the label on his bottle, "And has she…?"

"Changed in any way, shape, or form? Not a chance."

Louis exhales shakily, staring down at the bottle in his hands. It’s something called kombucha - he doesn’t know what it is, but it’s big at the moment so there’d been a promotion on and he thought he’d try a pack. He hates it, although unfortunately he feels too guilty to pour them all away, so he’s stuck drinking his way through them.

Staring down at it, their mother brought so abruptly into the conversation, a traitorous part of him fleetingly wishes the bottle was full of something stronger. He was always braver after a few drinks; stupider, definitely, and meaner, but braver. It would be easier to talk about mom after a few drinks. And then he thinks about the little bronze medallion attached to his keys, with the proud 5 Years embossed on it. He takes a deep breath in through his nose, and exhales the tightness in his chest away. He takes a sip of his stupid kombucha and scowls as he swallows it.

“Louis…” Marie says softly. She pulls her feet from his lap and tucks her legs beneath her, shuffling over so she’s beside him and can squeeze his shoulder. He shakes his head.

"Even after...” he waves a hand, “After everything, I still miss her. I hate it."

Marie opens her mouth, but as he watches, she seems to struggle for the words, and gives up, grimacing in sympathy instead.

Louis turns to her, catching her elbow, “If she’s harassing you about it, I can-”

“No,” Marie says immediately, “No, you said no contact until she stops being-”

“Terrible?” Louis offers.

“I was going to say ‘a homophobic transphobic bitch’ but I guess yours is more succinct - anyway, since she’s still terrible, she won’t be getting any contact.”

Louis frowns, protectiveness rising inside of him like a tide, “I don’t want her to move onto harassing you though.”

“Look, Lou, telling mom where to stick it was probably the most badass thing you’ve ever done,” she snorts. “I won’t let you go back on that just because she’s being annoying. I can handle it.”

“Well,” Louis says, smiling wryly, “At the very least, you’ve got a good excuse to say no to her seeing Claudia at christmas.”

“Yeah?”

“We won’t be here. We’re spending it at Gabs’ cabin.”

“Oh,” Marie says, nodding, “Nice. She’ll love that.”

Louis hums vaguely, takes a long drink, and rips the metaphorical band-aid off, “Lestat’s coming too.”

Marie stares at him, eyes widening

“Oh.”

“Yeah. It’s…” Louis chews his lip, “it’s gonna be something else.”

She kicks him again, “Hey, maybe you’ll actually have fun.”

Louis snorts

Don’t think you’ve gotten out of talking about the blog!

(The last week of October passes, and then most of November is taken up by planning for Claudia's birthday; with its proximity to christmas, they always try to make a big deal of it for her, though this year she wants something a little more lowkey than usual.

They end up taking a trip to the Museum of Natural History

Claudia birthday party only has a few friends, mention Madeleine, trip to Tulane Museum of Natural History with Marie, Lestat tags along to help supervise, grandmother of one kid - Julia - helps too)

Lestat arrives basically on time, dressed - thankfully - appropriately for an outing to a museum with a group of seven year olds. Early in their relationship he went through a phase of wearing borderline obscene jeans, dressing like a washed up 80s rockstar rather than a washed up 90s popstar. It had been all part of his aggressive attempt to separate himself from his apple-pie boy-next-door image the record label had pushed early in his career, a hangover from his teenage rebellion, but he'd mortified Louis far too many times with his wardrobe for him to ever feel entirely confident on what Lestat might wear. The jeans had been set aside not long after he found out they were having Claudia, and much to Louis' relief, they don't seem to have seen the light of day again.

This time, he jogs in wearing a pair of skinny - but not 'make everyone else feel uncomfortable' skinny - grey jeans, one of those big infinity scarves, a denim jacket, and a pair of designer sunglasses that he flips up onto the top of his head as he enters the building. The whole outfit is so effortlessly stylish that it leaves Louis feeling oddly self-conscious in his chunky knit cardigan and button-up, which is ridiculous because he spent their whole relationship quite contentedly following around in the shadow Lestat's bright light cast, knowing that whilst Lestat had his admirers, one gesture from Louis would have him trotting back to his side like an obedient puppy.

Now, without that devotion, he just feels like the frumpy dad. He does his best to school his expression into something at least borderline friendly as Lestat approaches, for the sake of getting through the day.

For the most part, it goes well; Marie makes for an excellent and engaging tour guide, and Lestat essentially turns it into a two-man comedy act with his annoying knack for performance. The worst thing about it all is that Lestat behaves and is genuinely very funny, and the kids all love him, and so Louis can't even find anything to be irritated by, which just makes him more irritated. So he stews at the back, trailing around to herd the stragglers.

They take a break mid-afternoon for a drink and snack at the museum coffee shop; Claudia demands that Marie sit with her in the middle of the gaggle of kids, leaving Louis, Lestat, and Julia sitting together on a separate table. Louis is absolutely planning on grabbing the three of them drinks to avoid having to talk one-on-one with either of them, but to his dismay Julia offers first, and firmly pushes away their proffered wallets.

It's the first time he and Lestat have been alone in longer than Louis cares to think about. And they're not really alone, not with fifteen schoolkids on the tables beside them, but they are, in all the ways that count, distinctly not with anyone else.

Louis casts around desperately for a neutral conversation starter before the silence gets awkward.

"So," he says brightly, "How was your birthday?"

As long as Louis has known Lestat, he's loved making a big deal of his birthday. Even the birthday just before Claudia arrived, when Lestat was spending every waking moment grouchy and miserable and desperate to piss, he'd demanded an extravagant house party - and Louis presumes, knowing Lestat's love of drama, that the tradition had continued after their break up. No doubt he'd thrown a legendary party and had a wild night with a hundred friends all far too cool for Louis to possibly know, and he'll have enough stories to tell to tide them over until Julia gets back.

To his surprise, Lestat looks almost awkward. He fiddles with his phone, then shrugs, "Uh… well, actually my dad died. So it wasn't great."

Oh god. So much for a neutral conversation starter! Louis cringes immediately, then tries to reel it back into something appropriately sympathetic, "I'm… I'm sorry."

Although, knowing what little that he does of Lestat's father, he suspects Lestat isn't especially sorry himself. Lestat never spoke much about his childhood. A few times, whilst drunk, he'd curled up in Louis' arms crying about how his father had hurt him, but he'd never elaborated or explained, and all Louis knows is that Gabs had been pushed into the marriage at a very young age, both of Lestat's older brothers left home at sixteen, and that the moment Lestat's career success had allowed them the funds, Gabs had hired the best divorce lawyer in the city, Lestat had packed up his stuff, and they'd made a break for it.

Knowing Gabs, that alone told him a huge amount about Lestat's father.

Louis had only met the man once; shortly after Claudia was born, he'd turned up on their doorstep, a desperate wreck. Louis had always assumed that Lestat took after Gabs looks-wise, as after all he had her blond mane and sharp jawline, but he'd known the man was Lestat's father from the first moment he saw him as they had exactly the same distinctive grey-violet eyes. He was destitute, the man had said, his sons wouldn't speak to him, would Lestat…?

When Louis had called for Lestat, he'd taken one look at his father, exploded into furious tears, and locked himself in the bathroom. The commotion woke up Claudia, who began screaming, and Louis had been so overwhelmed and bewildered in his brand-new-parenthood sleep deprivation he'd wound up just giving Monsieur de Lioncourt all the cash in his wallet and calling him a taxi.

Later, once Lestat had calmed down and Claudia had stopped crying, and the three of them were curled up in bed together, Louis had silently agonised for hours over whether he'd done the right thing. To be honest, sometimes he still wonders.

Lestat looks at him, then down at his hands, then shrugs, mouth twisted in an expression more of conflict than any particular emotion.

"I'd been put as his emergency contact," Lestat snorts, "Likely because I'm the only one who can afford to pay his medical bills. The hospital managed to contact Augustin and Olivier, but they didn't even bother to show up. And obviously I didn't ask Gabs," he sighs, "So I spent my birthday sitting in a hospital room for three hours waiting for an old man to die in his sleep. I didn’t really feel up for a party after that, so I cancelled it."

Louis swallows. Lestat is fiddling with his phone again, snapping the expensive rose-gold case on and off. Louis wants to reach out and still his hands, thread their fingers together and stroke his thumb up and down Lestat's, kiss his knuckles and smile softly at him like he used to do when Lestat got anxious or antsy-

-but that's not them anymore, so he just sits and watches helplessly.

"I'm sorry," Louis repeats, at a loss as to what else to say.

"Don't be sorry that he's dead," Lestat says, voice tight, glaring down at his phone, "Because I'm not. I don't think anyone is."

"I'm…" Louis swallows, and as he watches Lestat's jerky hand movements around the phone, the compulsion overtakes him and he reaches out - just to his wrist, a safe zone, Louis' fingers holding around his big expensive watch, not even touching his skin, but Lestat still looks up at him sharply.

"I'm sorry you had to do that on your own," Louis says softly. Lestat stares at him for a moment, and then, to his surprise, Lestat lets out a sigh and the tension immediately leaves his shoulders. He can't meet Louis' gaze, but he nods, acknowledging it.

If you'd asked me, I would have gone with you, Louis realises with some shock. It feels like something he should tell Lestat, and it's on the tip of his tongue, but then Lestat sits up in his chair and pulls his hand away. It takes a moment for Louis to realise it's because Julia is approaching with a tray of drinks.

"Here we go," she says cheerfully, setting down the tray. It has three mugs and a small teapot. Louis stares at the teapot and feels his heart sink. Oh dear.

Lestat, on the other hand, immediately perks up, a delighted grin taking over his face as he takes his latte and looks between Louis and the teapot.

"Julia," he says, "Julia, cherie, you got him tea, how did you know?"

Louis grinds his teeth and glares as Lestat meets his eyes, then quickly pulls up a polite smile when Julia turns to him.

Julia preens, clearly proud of herself, "Well, I said I'd get us three coffees, but then I saw that they sold tea, and I remembered that you had tea at [event], and I thought it might be a nice surprise," she hesitates, "Was- was I right?"

"Of course you were!" Lestat jumps in, patting her hand, "Louis is a Tea Person, can't you just tell from how cultured and refined he is? Look at that cardigan, those elbow patches - doesn't it just fit his asthetique?"

Louis is going to grind his back molars to dust at this rate, but he manages to unclench his jaw for a few moments to thank Julia for her kind thought, then he resignedly pours out the pot into his mug. The conversation is thankfully steered onwards, and Louis cups the mug in his hands and avoids drinking for almost five whole minutes on the excuse that it’s too hot before he has to take a sip.

It’s not that Louis hates tea.

(Lestat grabs mug and pours tea into plant when granddaughter calls for Julia)

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